The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 3

[Argonaut]

HCPA Security Boat: Approaching Sea Hive

“There she is.” William looked up to see what Roze was referring to. About one kilometre north of the gargantuan structure that was the surface level of the Sea Hive, Yang’s headquarters, was a massive destroyer class ship. It lay silent in the water, unmoving, protected by it’s solid silksteel armour.

“What is it?” William found himself increasingly in the dark as the mission progressed and he didn’t like it.

“It’s a boat, William. Haven’t you seen one before?” Roze’s smile took some of the sting out of her barb, but at this point William was getting a little tired of her nonchalant attitude. Sensing this, Roze chose to elaborate on her answer.

“That is the Remora . She’s currently serving as Yang’s Detention Centre for the Rich and Famous. That is where we will find our target.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll find out when you get there.” Roze simply smiled, as Grant began to gather equipment for infiltration.

************************************************** ************************

Roze watched on the entire break in from the bridge of the patrol boat. They had pulled up slowly to a safe distance, looking like nothing more than a typical sentry. Already, William and Grant had swum the entire distance between the two ships underwater, and had climbed silently up the side of the ships hull. Roze had, meanwhile, linked her system into the Sea Hive main computer system over the cellular net in the region. As the team progressed, she ensured that the correct doors were unlocked, and the correct observation devices transmitted to her eyes only.

So far, they had been successful in avoiding detection. Only two guards had been encountered which William had quickly disabled. Roze would have to thank the Colonel for her dedication towards military training even for her pilots. Without the Spartan help, this mission would have probably been impossible, even for her skills. Well, it certainly would have been more difficult.

All the while, Roze was working swiftly in a small subwindow on the main screen, furiously concocting a program that would guarantee that there would be no pursuit.

************************************************** *************************

“This is it.” Grant whispered into William’s ear. Since they had reached the cell block, their noise had been covered by the screams of the prisoners torment within the punishment spheres. Row upon row of spheres echoed the tortured screams of those who had most earned the Chairman’s hatred. All of those that he had been able to capture at least. While the noise provided cover to the team’s operation, it also provided cover to any approaching security teams, not to mention the psychological impact it had on them.

Grant once again rolled up his sleeve and made a direct connection with the punishment sphere’s control panel. The punishment spheres were not connected to the main network, to prevent tampering. However, this did not stop the Cyborg probe operative from breaking the electronic lock. The door released with a click and an immediate alarm sounded through out the ship.

“Let’s get out of here.” They quickly entered the sphere where a man hung limply from a pair of shackles. The screaming had stopped as the sphere had shut down when the door was opened. Grant undid the restraints, allowing the limp form to fall into William’s hands where he could see him for the first time.

“Morgan?” William couldn’t understand how the faction leader could’ve been captured. It would have been all over the news.

“Not Morgan, his son. Now let’s get out of here.” With that, Grant slung Junior’s other arm over his shoulder and the operatives began to make their way back to the ship.


************************************************** ************************

The look of Chairman Yang’s face was priceless as he recognised who it was that was calling him.

“How did you get this frequency? What is going on?” The normally composed Yang was not his usual serene self at the moment.

“Now, now Chairman. That’s no way to greet one of your old and dearest friends.” Roze smiled. This was the part of her job that she loved.

“I was just calling to let you know that I’ve taken Morgan Jr. off your hands now, so you don’t need to worry about him anymore. You look like you’ve been awfully stressed lately, and so I thought you’d appreciate it. You can consider it an early birthday present. Love ya” Roze blew the fuming Chairman a kiss just before she shut down the commlink. She quickly began to move the patrol boat into position in order to pick up her comrades.

“That’s where I recognise you from!” The old Hive captain was suddenly hit by a wave of revelation. “You’re the one from all the holobroadcasts! You’re the one everyone has been looking for!”

“In the flesh,” Roze said with a broad grin. “I would offer to sign an autograph, but I don’t have a pen and I’m a little busy. May be later, though.” With that, Roze pulled the boat alongside and left the bridge to find the rest of her team.

************************************************** ************************

“Where are you going Grant? The rendezvous is on the other side!” William had to yell over the siren. So far they had been able to keep ahead of most of the guards. There had been one small firefight, but Grant’s precision shooting had ended it quickly.

“Not my rendezvous Spartan.” The full wait of Junior was suddenly shifted onto William as Grant let go at his end. Suddenly, Grant’s metallic right fist connected with William’s jaw, sending him to the cold hard deck. Morgan Junior, still not recovered from the pain, was unable to move, and lay dazed on the deck.

“You didn’t think I would actually let Roze turn him back over to Morgan for free, did you? Not when I can make a fortune selling him back.” Grant pulled his shredder pistol and aimed it directly at William’s head. William was still to dazed from blow to react properly.

“You Spartans are dumber than I thought.” A shot rang out and William shut his eyes, and clenched his teeth, awaiting the final pain he knew was coming. When no blast hit, he looked up to see Grant, lying on the floor with a large burn right across his chest. Shocked, William looked behind him to see Roze, laser rifle at the ready.


“Think about it William. This is me were talking about. I know what Bra size Deirdre wears, and you didn’t think I would know he was going to doublecross me?” Roze walked over and helped William to his feet. Together they picked up the dazed Junior and made their way back to wards the boat.

************************************************** ***********************

Back on the bridge of the patrol boat, William settled Junior into a seat and began to try and revive him. As Roze resumed the controls, a transmission came in over the commsystem.

“Roze.” It was Chairman Yang. “My forces are quickly surrounding your position. Surrender yourself and Junior, and I will promise that neither Morgan’s son, nor your team will be executed.”

“What about me Sheng-ji? Don’t I get a prize?” William watched as Roze stood up to one of the most feared men on Planet, and didn’t even seem to care.

“You get the pleasure of spending a vigorous session with my good friend Sand before I have you killed. You must understand, I do have to make an example of someone for all of your crimes against the Hive.” Yang was clearly playing along with Roze’s game to buy his troops more time in surrounding her.

“Thanks but no thanks. Keep in touch, Yangy.” Roze shut down the transmission as she pulled the boat away from the Remora.

“Yangy?” William asked. Suddenly, the water exploded all around them as shots rained down from the base garrison, and other HCPA patrol boats began moving in. “I don’t think he liked it.”

“I must remember that in future. Now for the real kicker.” Roze pulled up the tiny little window that she had been working in earlier, and pressed the innocent little button that said ‘run’.

************************************************** **********************

“What’s that noise?” One of the Sea Hive lieutenants, looked around in shock as a strange and powerful melody erupted from the bases loudspeaker system. Mixed with the continuing weapons fire towards the fleeing patrol boat, the sound was less than enchanting.

Suddenly, a large wave splashed the garrison’s position, as something large splashed very near to the base.

“That was too close to be our weapons’ fire! What the hell was it?” Their was a break in the garrison’s firing, as they waited for the water to clear and find out what had happened.

From out of nowhere, a large sealurk emerged from beneath the surface, and crashed down upon the base. The garrison ran in fear as the psi-induced terror overwhelmed the unprepared Hive forces. All around the base, the water thrashed and bubbled as the young sealurks tending the kelp farms were affected by the music and the presence of their overgrown sibling.

Just as quickly as the commotion had started, the sealurks disappeared beneath the waves, leaving nothing but silence and the remnants of their rampage. Then, from over the loudspeaker came a gentle, soulful jazz song. Roze had struck again.

[senatus]

UN Headquarters

Jessica entered the Serengeti, a posh restaurant overlooking
UN HQ's main govermental complex. Classical music filtered from inside
the restaurant to reach her ears; from real musicians rather than
holorecordings. The maitre d' glided over to her and bowed slightly.

"Madam?"

"Representative Allardyce's table, please."

"Ah yes, Sister Jessica. Please follow me." Jessica started
to follow the headwaiter, but a subdued chime sounded as she stepped over
the threshold into the restaurant.

"Madam is carrying a weapon?" The maitre'd asked politely, his
eyebrows raising. Jessica began to apologize, making as if to hand
over her purse, but the maitre d' raised his hands dismissively.

"Not a problem, Madam. Mr. Allardyce has vouched for you.
Apologies for the interruption."

Scott Allardyce was sitting with another man in a private room.
Both men rose politely as Jessica approached, an old-fashioned tradition.
Scott introduced the other man.

"Ah, Jessica. Please let me introduce you to my good friend Paul
Andreus. Paul, this lovely young lady is Sister Jessica McCollough."

"Googlie, you do seem be acquainted with the most attractive ladies
from every single faction on the planet," Paul said, his eyes twinkling
as he shook Jessica's hand. "With such a list of contacts, perhaps
you should have my job."

Jessica smiled at the compliment, while she studied Paul. Other
than his impeccable Morgan-tailored suit - which barely showed the slightest
bulge from a holstered shredder pistol - the man looked very ordinary.
Extremely ordinary, as if he'd made an effort at appearing unremarkable.

"Paul Andreus is the head of Mr. Morgan's Security Intelligence Service."
Googlie explained. That explains his carefully unremarkable appearance,
Jessica thought. She'd heard of him, of course.

"Jessica here is Sister Miriam's personal assistant and... information
research specialist." Googlie continued, and while Andreus'
good-natured expression didn't change, Jessica sensed a sudden focus behind
his eyes, not entirely dissimilar to the focus the MorganMall store manager
had when Jessica had produced her credit card. He doesn't feel
like an empath... but neither is Roze, supposedly. Paul Andreus
is Morgan's intelligence director, he will be the very best that
money can buy, Jessica knew.

"Don't be fooled by her pretty face, Paul; I can assure you that Jessica
is very good at her research, even if she looks too young for her role."
Scott chuckled as he seated Jessica.

"And you, Scott, don't look a day over ninety." Jessica retorted
good naturedly, even as she was unable to entirely suppress a blush at
the compliment. Both men laughed at the joke, and then conversation
proceeded to small talk.

"Scott, I'd been meaning to ask you, what does the nickname `Googlie'
mean?" Jessica asked as the wine arrived. Allardyce inspected
the bottle, and then reached over to pour some into Jessica's glass.
A strange expression of deja vu crossed his face as Jessica covered the
glass with her hand.

"No offence intended, it's just that we have a rule about alchohol,"
Jessica declined apologetically but firmly.

"Probably very wise, when Googlie's around." Paul stated with
an innocent smile.

"You wound me," Scott assumed a mock injured expression.

"In answer to your question, Jessica, the nickname comes from -" just
then, Scott's comlink beeped.

Allardyce studied the screen of his box for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Jessica, Paul; looks like another `emergency'. The
fun never stops at UN HQ. I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you.
Paul, could you see Jessica back to her hotel after dinner?" With
that, Googlie made his exit.

"I don't think I'll ever find out," Jessica muttered under her
breath.

After dinner Paul walked Jessica back to the UN Hilton.

"I understand you were looking for Miss Roze. She's on assignment,
but I'm filling in for her. Did you want to pass on a message?
Or is there anything I can do for you?" Paul asked, and Jessica almost
had to laugh. She could learn from this man; almost every seemingly-innocuous
comment was designed to gain information.

"I just wanted to pass on our thanks for the assistance she rendered
us," Jessica replied. Let him chew on that for a bit.

"But... there actually is something you can do for me, if you
wouldn't mind. What information do you have about Sand and the Circle?"

Paul halted and turned towards her, and if his face betrayed no thoughts,
it was obvious to Jessica that the wheels were turning inside his mind.

"I take it Mr. Allardyce asked you to help out with Anastasia?"
He asked carefully.

Wow, lucky guess, or... Jessica thought.

"He asked you too, didn't he?" Jessica realized, and Paul nodded.

"Yes... in fact, I'm assembling a mission team right now. I'm
telling you this because I think it would be bad if we ended up stepping
on each others' toes, if your Believers are also in play."

Jessica nodded. "Death by friendly fire" didn't apply to just
military operations.

"I'm guessing that your plan would be to leverage your assets in the
Believer underground?" Paul asked, and again Jessica had to nod,
impressed by this man's deductive capabilities.

Paul appeared to be thinking hard, then reached a decision.

"If you want, I could offer you a place on our probe team. That
way we could help each other. But we can't have two bosses; your
people would have to be subordinate to mine for the duration of the mission."

Jessica thought hard for a moment as well. While Sister Miriam
might initially balk at the prospect of working with the Morgans so closely,
this would be an invaluable opportunity to learn about their methods
and gain some practical experience within a team of veteran operatives.

"I have to go to Great Clustering tomorrow to see Sister Miriam anyways.
Let me frame your suggestion to her, and I'll get back to you within 24
hours?"
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 14, 2000).]
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 14, 2000).]

[senatus]

Great Clustering, 07:13 AM


Foreman James Domai was a very big man.  He towered over the diminutive
woman opposite him, his hand enveloping hers.  The incongruity 
might've seemed vaguely ludicrous, but no one present was inclined to laugh. 
The man and woman shaking hands were the respective leaders of their factions,
and each commanded a tremendous amount of stature and respect amongst their
followers.


"Sister Miriam.  A pleasure to meet you at last.  I only regret
I was unable to greet you personally upon your arrival to Great Clustering." 
Of course, nobody told me that you were coming, Domai thought
but did not add.


From Miriam's perspective, this could be interpreted as a remonstration
against her acting behind Domai's back.  But since this was to be
an amicable transaction, there was no point in debating a non-issue. 
Apologies, properly worded to avoid casting blame, were in order.


"Foreman Domai.  Indeed, it is my pleasure to greet you in the
flesh; my apologies for the breach of protocol.  Indeed, you should've
been informed in advance."  "Should've", given that things worked
out as they did.  If they hadn't... well, all that is hypothetical
now, thanks to Jessica and Scott Allardyce, Miriam thought.


Domai waved a giant hand dismissively.


"Protocol is for U.N. bureaucrats.  We have work to do.  And
call me James."


Miriam found herself liking the down-to-earth simplicity of the Free
Drones' faction leader.


"Very well, James.  Please call me Miriam, if you prefer. 
And yes, I agree, we have much work to do for an orderly transfer of government
of Great Clustering before noon today."


The two delegations sat down and began their work.  Miriam had
something more long-range to discuss, however, and she brought it up to
Domai during the Free Drone traditional observation of coffee break.


"James, the more our people work together, the more it seems to me that
your ideological goals of creating a worker's paradise and our own emphasis
on spirituality can complement each other.  In particular, I want
the workers in this base to know the labourers' working conditions that
they have fought for will not be sacrificed in this change over. 
Indeed, it is Believer doctrine that all are brothers and sisters in Christ;
that doctrine seems very convergent with equality amongst all the People."


"I would like to invite you to leave your Workplace Health and Safety
supervisors in place here, to help teach the Believers  how we can
bring about a fair labour environment.  I would like us, Believers
and Free Drones, to work together to achieve both a labourers' paradise
here on Planet, and a spiritual paradise in the eternal life beyond. 
I ask for this as I offer a Pact of Friendship."   Miriam paused,
awaiting the Foreman's response.  Had she read him correctly?


Domai's eyes lit up, and Miriam got her answer.  Like herself,
James Domai was a "believer" in a greater ideal.


"Emphatically yes, we accept your invitation, Miriam.  I
am personally delighted to see that you treasure the well-being of the
workers as I do.  Let us seek to perfect a Eudaimonia on Planet together!"


"Then, let us announce this pact at the noon Address to the People?" 
Miriam suggested.  "It would also encourage the Free Drones here at
Great Clustering - whom I recognize as the largest segment of the population
here - letting them know that nothing will be changing for the worse as
this base changes hands; that the work here will continue as usual."


Domai nodded enthusiastically, and Miriam felt a moment of satisfaction. 
Truthfully, she'd meant every word she'd said.  Having had a chance
to study the social psychology of Domai's vision for the Free Drones, it
was clear to Miriam's trained eye that the Free Drones were actually delivering
what the Hive only promised; an extremely industrious, honest, and
egalitarian society.  Which was what the Believers wanted anyway. 
Although Miriam Godwinson's detractors often characterized her as narrow-minded
and inflexible, in fact Miriam was quite willing to embrace new ideas;
just so long as those ideas didn't conflict with her vision of a
strong, righteous, pious society of Christian worship.  And
so the Religious would become pact mates with the Workers as they had with
the Warriors.  A trinity that would carry them together through
the next millennium, Miriam prayed.

---

Great Clustering, 11:52 AM


"Do you smell it, Provost?"  Sharra asked.


"I smell recycled air."  Prokhor Zakharov replied.


"You're so literal.  It's free air."  Sharra
smiled and actually jumped happily.  "We've made it!"


Zakharov had to smile in spite of himself at the girl's enthusiasm. 
It was infectious.  Indeed, it seem that the entire base shared some
unexplained jubilation.


"Yes, he's here!  I saw him at the aerospace complex myself! 
It was definitely the Foreman!"  A nearby fragment of conversation
reached Zakharov's ears.  A crowd was forming in the tunnel, sweeping
towards the surface where the aerospace complex would be.  The two
refugees found themselves caught up in the throng.  Zakharov stumbled
more than once, his vision suffering from the loss of his glasses in their
narrow escape a few hours previous.  But Sharra was always at his
side, steadying him.  She was saying something about how she too wanted
to see the Foreman, and Zakharov nodded.


His mind was still active though, ignoring the hubbub even as his body
was carried along.  Considering his options.  His own faction
had been eliminated by the hated Spartans, he was sure.  He couldn't
go home.  He couldn't go to Sparta, and he would choose death before
returning to the Hive.  Of the other factions he knew of, that just
left the U.N., the Gaians, Morgan Industries, and the Free Drones. 
The first two might offer him shelter, but both Pravin Lal and Diedre
Skye had been foolishly sentimental and illogical in the past when it came
to the pursuit of research - the genetics experiments that the University
had undertaken in the past would've horrified Lal as "inhumane" and disturbed
Skye as "unnatural".  Besides, they were too cozy with Santiago. 
Morgan was much more pragmatic; while Zakharov knew he'd resent the demands
that Morgan would place upon him, he knew that he'd at least be paid well
for it.  More than enough to earn a living, perhaps even enough to
form the nucleus of a new University?  But Morgan was pacted with
Sparta.  That left the Free Drones.  More of an unknown; the
Drones were reputed to believe that they had little need of "research". 
Almost as bad as Miriam and her bible thumping fanatics had been before
Yang had crushed them.


Foolish, Zakharov thought.  Knowledge is always
worth pursuing.  Those ignoramuses who can't appreciate it
might as well go back to beating drums and and conking each other on the
heads with clubs.  Meanwhile, the rest of us will be communicating
with tachyon emitters and defending ourselves with antimatter plates.


Still, the Free Drones were a good, though perhaps temporary, option. 
Sharra liked them and would likely want to stay there; Zakharov strangely
felt that he wanted to stay with her at least until he knew she
was safely settled.  The Drones were independent of Sparta and had
no quarrel with Zakharov.  They were pacted with the UN, though,
so perhaps it would be wise to remain anonymous.  That was one advantage
to losing his distinctive glasses; no-one would recognize him from his
description, and certainly no-one here was old enough to remember
him from the old days.

---

Great Clustering, 12:03 PM


Foreman Domai finished his introductory speech to his fellow workers. 
The tarmac below was thronged with people, more arriving even as he finished
speaking.  Politely, he adjusted the old-fashioned microphone to a
lower height before making way for his pact sister.


Sister Miriam Godwinson stepped to the podium, resplendent in her orange
robes of a Minister of the Lord's Believers.  Behind her, similarly
attired, Sister Jessica McCollough smiled.  Everything had worked
out better than dreamed.  What could possibly go wrong?


"Brothers, Sisters!"  The crowd cheered.  Miriam raised her
Conclave Bible in her right hand as she addressed the crowd, her eyes sweeping
over the assembly as if to make personal contact with every single one
of them.


Miriam Godwinson was a natural orator, gifted and flawless when addressing
a crowd.  Which is why it was quite unusual for her to stop mid sentence,
her mouth open, her precious bible slipping from her outstretched hand,
as her gaze locked onto the squinting face of Academician Prokhor Zakharov.


Zakharov couldn't quite make out the face of the woman who had come
to the podium after Domai.  But the voice sounded strangely familiar,
and the style of address, that pose of holding up a... book?


"Bohze Moi!"  Zakharov's jaw dropped.


To Sharra, frowning in confusion, the next few moments could only have
been described as what her Provost called "chaos theory".  But somehow,
she found herself separated from Zakharov as the latter was propelled by
the puzzled crowd towards the podium.  Sharra followed as best she
could.


Zakharov simply couldn't believe his bad luck.  Short of Santiago
herself, he couldn't imagine any other woman he'd less like to be face
to face with.  It was inconceivable.  Or, perhaps Miriam was
right, there was a "God", and he had a nasty sense of perverse humour.


Miriam looked down at the long missing Academician, both of them still
in shock.  She didn't even recall what she'd said or done, but somehow
the crowd had brought the former Unity Science Officer before her as if
in response to her mental wishes.  Even though everyone, including
Domai, was looking puzzled.  Some still had incongruous smiles on
their faces, perhaps believing that she'd spotted an old comrade in the
crowd.  Which was sort of true.


"Seize him!"  Miriam turned and ordered Major Jason Ian. 
The Believing major was as surprised as anyone, but combat reflexes took
over as he and one of his men stepped forward, reaching for the old man.


"No!"  Sharra shrieked.  "Leave him alone!"


The two Believer soldiers stopped as the distraught young woman pulled
out a shredder pistol out.  The muzzle swung to cover them, then swiveled
to aim at Miriam Godwinson as the young woman realized instinctively where
the true source of the threat to Prokhor was.  Nearby members of the
crowd screamed and people started to duck for cover, but Zakharov, Sharra,
Jason and Miriam all stood unmoving.


Zakharov shook off the spell first.


"Sharra!  No!"  He ordered.  He knew that if that pistol
was fired, neither he nor Sharra would live more than a few heartbeats. 
But Sharra instead ignored him, except to move in front of him protectively.


"Let him go."  Sharra ordered the two soldiers, although her words
and gaze, as well as her unflinching aim, were focused on the expressionless
woman in the orange robes barely three metres away.


Another woman, also wearing orange robes but younger, suddenly stepped
in front of the older woman, her arms outstretched and her hands open to
show that she was unarmed.  Clearly, she was shielding what Sharra
presumed now to be her faction leader, just as Sharra was shielding Zakharov. 
Their eyes met, and in that moment, both realized the determination in
the other.  And realized what the cost of a mistake would be.


"Sharra?  I'm Sister Jessica.  Please, don't shoot anyone. 
I'm sure we can work this out?"


Zakharov sighed.  Resistance was useless.  And he wasn't going
to let Sharra get killed on account of him.


"She means no harm, Sister.  She's just trying to protect me. 
Let her go, and I shall come willingly."


Sharra shook her head.  "They mean you harm, Prokhor."  For
the first time, she used the familiar form of address.


"Sharra," Jessica said carefully, "I give you my word that we will cause
no harm to your `Prokhor'.  I swear this in the name of the Blessed
Redeemer."


Behind her, Miriam's jaw tightened.  She knew that Jessica was
trying to protect her, but the public oath that her assistant had just
made was sacred and holy... and one that Miriam herself would be bound
to uphold.


Sharra looked at Jessica.  She didn't understand the references
the other woman had just made, but looking into her face, somehow Sharra
knew the words were genuine.


The shredder pistol dropped to the tarmac, and the two relieved Believer
soldiers stepped in to take Zakharov into custody.

---

Great Clustering, 22:32


Zakharov paced in the empty conference room.  All the old interrogation
rooms under the Hive had been destroyed when the base revolted, so this
is where they'd put him.  At least they'd provided him with food and
drink, but requests and demands to see Sharra had been rebuffed with a
coldly polite "no" from the Believing guards.  Finally, he asked to
see the "Sister Jessica" that had faced off with Sharra.


"We'll pass your request on, Academician."


So Zakharov had waited.  Finally, the door slid open.


"He's inside, Sister.  Are you sure you'd prefer us to stay out
here?"


To Zak's surprise, the woman who walked in was not Jessica, but Miriam.


The faction leader of the Lord's Believers looked at Zakharov with mild
disdain.  She saw an unkempt man, unshaven, his hair wild and dirty,
squinting without his glasses at her.  The man didn't even have the
courtesy to rise.


"So, `Science Officer', it has been some time since we last had a conversation." 
Miriam stated flatly.  In fact,  Zakharov and she usually had
talked only when absolutely necessary.  Miriam had been inclined to
attribute that to Zak's poor social skills as much as his personal dislike
for her; even the lovely Diedre Skye had experienced the same veiled contempt;
both women had been brought onto Unity over Zakharov's objections. 
There had been one exception however; when Zakharov had deigned to explain
why he found Miriam's religion - as well as Miriam herself, by implication
- so objectionable on what he characterized as a `science' mission. 
Surprisingly, Zak had been relatively polite (for him), as if by engaging
in the debate he had switched to his clinical mindset rather than his personal
dislike.


"We had very little to discuss, `Psych Chaplain'," Zakharov retorted
in kind.  "And now?  You'll forgive me if I seem somewhat discourteous. 
I haven't had a shower or a shave in days, as you are no doubt aware judging
by your wrinkling nose.  If you expect a civil conversation under
the circumstances...."


"You'll get those amenities once we can properly keep an eye on you. 
I have only a handful of trained Faithful here at this time.  And
don't blame the guards; I specifically instructed them not to provide you
with anything that you didn't absolutely need.  I am quite confident
that you could fashion a weapon or means of possible escape given tools
of any sort."  Miriam said.


Zakharov laughed harshly.  "Is that a compliment?" he asked, his
tone still seeming to mock her.


"No, Academician.  You may take it as one, but it was not intended
as so."  Miriam refused to mock the man in return, as tempting as
she found it.  Instead, she would remain coldly honest.


"Of course, practical application of knowledge has little appeal to
you.  You would rather return to the 20th century and embrace those
silly superstitions of yours."


Miriam's nostrils flared.  The man was already in her power and
seemed intent on provoking her.  Or perhaps he figures that he
has nothing to lose, Miriam suddenly realized.


"I would be careful in mocking those `silly superstitions' as you call
them, Prokhov.  It is thanks to them, and the promise made by a certain
assistant of mine, that you are here and in good health right now. 
And don't tell me that you would have been so generous had the situation
been reversed and one of your assistants promised my well-being
`in the name of science'".


Zak looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.


"If the the circumstances were reversed, and you were both a danger
and of no use to me, it would be prudent and logical to have you removed. 
I would not feel constrained by the word of an assistant."  Zak acknowledged
matter-of-factly.


"Fortunately for us both, I am not you."  Miriam said.  Zakharov
shrugged.


"And what of Sharra?"  Zakharov asked.


"Sister Jessica is looking after her.  If she is no more than she
claims, we wish her no misfortune.  She may go or stay as she chooses."


"Thank you."  Zakharov's response was brief and dismissive, but
the sudden courtesy in it surprised Miriam.


"That leaves you," Miriam continued.  "Despite our differences,
the Believers were never in vendetta with the University.  However,
I am sworn as pact sister to Colonel Santiago.  Normally I'd turn
you over to her, but given the nature of the little incident this
afternoon in front of Foreman Domai, that may seem an act of petty ill
will at a politically sensitive moment for me.  So tell me, Provost..."


Miriam steepled her fingers and leaned forward to fix Zakharov with
an intense gaze.


"... what do you think I should do with you?"

[Argonaut]

Great Clustering, 22:35

“I suppose the obvious answer of ‘let me go free’ is not up for consideration.” Zakharov eyed Miriam, seeing if he could somehow make a dent in her composure. The Believer remained as cool and calculated as ever.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied.

“This much I do know,” Zakharov stated as he finally stood up. He began to walk back and forth, as if he were giving a lecture, not pleading for his life. “You shall not turn me over to the murderess whom you now call Pact Sister. And absolutely no harm will come to Sharra whatsoever, or you will answer for it personally.”

“You are in no position, Zakharov, to be making such demands.” Zakharov smiled as he finally cracked Miriam’s cool demeanor. His attempt to shift the power had caught her by surprise. “While I can guarantee the safety of your young friend, I see no reason why I shouldn’t turn you over to Santiago, whom I’m assuming you mean when you say ‘the murderess’.”

“The reason, Miriam, is that I am in possession of something which the Axis coalition needs very desperately, although they remain unaware of it. While you may not be a key member of the Axis powers, your Pact Sister, Santiago, is.”

“All the more reason for me to turn you over to her,” Miriam countered.

“No.” Zakharov almost surprised himself with the vehemence of his response. Miriam to seemed surprised, although she hid it well. However, Zakharov had been involved in politics far too long not to notice it. Zakharov took a breath, attempting to calm himself. Talk of returning to the Spartans had almost made his blood boil.

“No,” he continued much more calmly this time. “Because if you turn me over to Santiago, then I will die not long after.”

“Granted, the Colonel’s police state is strict in it’s punishments, but she is not likely to have you executed. Especially if, as you say, you have so much to offer.”

“Of course Santiago won’t execute me, that would be far to quick for her. But I would rather die than return to the lair of that witch after what she has done to me.” Zakharov slumped back down into the seat, the long journey and the emotions of today finally overwhelming him. Miriam, sensing this, let the argument drop temporarily, and poured the tired old man a glass of water. Zakharov eyed the glass suspiciously, but not about to let his pride override his health, he took a sip.

“I will not turn you over to Colonel Santiago. I don’t know what she has done that is so terrible that you would give up God’s greatest gift for...but I will respect your wishes.” Miriam’s benevolence for her fellow man would normally have been enough to make Zakharov sick to his stomach. But now, when it was need, he was thankful.

“What will you do with me then?” Zakharov watched as Miriam gave the subject a great deal of thought. She walked slowly along the far wall, gazing at the ceiling as if waiting for some divine inspiration. Finally she stopped, obviously having found it.

“I will do what the UN Charter for this mission demands that I do. While I understand that it has currently been revoked, for us it seems like the only possible course of action. I will turn you over to the authorities at UN Criminal Tribunal. From there, it will be the judges decision what to do with you, and you will be out of my hair forever.”

Zakharov let the decision sink in for a moment. He couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome, under the circumstances. While he disliked Lal, it would be possible to plead to Lal’s over compassionate side to grant Zakharov political asylum.

“As for Sharra,” Miriam continued, “she will be informed of all options available to her. She is welcome to stay here in Great Clustering, to go with you to the trial, or perhaps to make a home for herself in on of Domai’s bases.”

“When will I be able so see her?” Zakharov had been concerned for the girl’s safety, ever since the incident at the assembly.

“Soon enough Provost. For now, goodnight.” With that strange gesture of respect, Miriam turned and left.

*********************************************

Great Clustering, 07:24 (The next day)

Sharra stepped out of the shower into the cool, temperature regulated air. The night had been miserable. She had been unable to sleep, constantly worried about what they might be doing to Prokhor. Even after the long journey, it had been well into the night before she finally fell asleep. Then, the guards had woken her at 07:00 and brought in breakfast.

Sharra could not deny that they had treated her well. The food had been splendid, the room was comfortable, and the shower after their long journey outside had been wonderful. The only thing they had denied her was the one thing she wanted most right now: to see Zakharov.

Sharra was surprised as she emerged from the bathroom to discover Sister Jessica, the woman who had been looking after her, sitting on the edge of the couch. Although Jessica had been exceptionally nice to her, she still did not trust her. She clearly worked for the woman who had arrested Zakharov, and she insisted on calling everyone ‘Sister”. As far as Sharra knew their was no relation between the two of them.

“Good Morning Sister. I trust you slept well?” Jessica’s attitude was genuinely pleasant, but there was still something strange about her. Not necessarily in a bad way, but there was something about her that just didn’t seem right to Sharra.

“Not really. I spent the whole night worrying about Provost Zakharov. Is he all right? When can I see him?” Sister Jessica simply smiled at her, as if she was anticipating the barrage of questions.

“He is quite all right. I served him his breakfast this morning and he is currently having a much needed bath. You will be able to see him shortly, before he leaves.” Sharra was surprised to hear that Zakharov was leaving. She had thought he was under arrest.

“Where is he going?” Sharra found herself quite perplexed.

“I am unaware of what was settled between the Academician and Sister Miriam, but it appears to be a somewhat amicable decision. He was in fairly good spirits when I awoke him this morning.” Sharra couldn’t understand. He didn’t plan on leaving her here, did he?

“If you don’t mind my asking, who exactly is this, Sister Miriam?” Sharra had never heard of her, yet she seamed to wield an enormous amount of power.

“She is the leader of the faction, of which I am a member, known as the Lord’s Believers,” Jessica explained. “We have only recently come back into power with the acquisition of this base from Foreman Domai. Our bases were conquered, long before you were born most likely, by Hive forces. Great Clustering actually used to be one of those bases, and with a little help it has been returned to us. Now we can celebrate our faith, and devote ourselves openly to God once again.” Sharra couldn’t grasp a great deal of what Jessica was saying, but thought it might be rude to ask. She had never heard of this God while growing up, and Sharra couldn’t understand why he wasn’t in charge instead of Sister Miriam if they liked him so much.

“If your ready now,” said Sister Jessica, shaking Sharra out of her private analysis, “I can take you to meet with Provost Zakharov. Then we’ll find out what happens from there.” Sharra nodded and quickly set about getting dress. Once ready, she took Sister Jessica’s hand and followed her out of the room.

*********************************************

Great Clustering, 07:34

Sharra was lead into a large conference room with a solid wood table in the centre. At one end of the table sat Sister Miriam, clad in her orange robes and looking startlingly dignified. At the other end of the table, was a strong and powerful man that Sharra recognized as none other than Foreman Domai. She had seen him on the datapads her family had examined dozens of times before the raid. He stood for everything that Sharra had long for ever since.

Seated on the far side, at the centre of the table was Prokhor. He was looking very much himself again, having had a good bath and a shave. He had received replacement glasses, although not the characteristic type he usually wore, and they seemed out of place.

Sister Jessica offered her a seat across from Zakharov and once Sharra was seated, she took up a position behind Miriam. It was Miriam who spoke first.

“Sharra. As you know, Academician Zakharov has been placed under my arrest as of yesterday. After careful deliberation, I find that the only course of action is to turn him over to the proper authorities at the UN Criminal Tribunal.”

“But he hasn’t done anything wrong,” Sharra blurted out. Miriam smiled, almost condescendingly before she continued.

“Provost Zakharov has been collaborating with Chairman Yang, with whom my people and my allies are currently at war with. This amounts to treason. Granted he has escaped to us for whatever reasons, his fate is not for me to determine. It may be that the trial proves him innocent, but until then he remains in custody.” Miriam spoke as if she were speaking to a child, something that irritated Sharra immensely.

“Now you have a decision to make Sharra,” interrupted Zakharov. It was clear from the glances exchanged between him and Miriam that their was no friendship between the two. “Sister Miriam has welcomed you to stay here, with her, at Great Clustering. This base is currently being transferred to Believer control, and won’t be Free Drone Territory any longer. However, Sister Miriam has assured both Foreman Domai and myself that the same freedoms will be provided.”

“Indeed,” said Domai, speaking for the first time. His voice was deep and powerful, and had a strange accent that Sharra had not heard before. “As well, you are more than welcome to join with the Free Drone movement, as I understand was your original intention. Are territory is currently expanding and there will be several bases where you might set up a home. Who knows, you may find that some of your relatives have escaped and made it to Free Drone territory. We would be more than willing to help you look.”

“The chances are good that you may find someone Sharra,” Zakharov nodded. “The Foreman tells me that quite a few people escaped Socialism Tunnels during the Spartan attack and made it to Free Drone Central.” The idea was highly appealing to Sharra.

“Or,” Zakharov continued, “you are welcome to join me at the trial. No charges will be laid against you, but you could function as my aide, if you so wished. The choice is yours.”

Sharra thought about the three choices for a moment, but she was sure which way she wanted to go anyway.

“Sister Miriam, Foreman Domai, I thank you for your kind offers. However, I would like to continue to travel with Provost Zakharov, at least for a little while longer. Perhaps I might come back after the trial, I don’t know. But Provost Zakharov helped make sure I got here safely. I can’t just leave him now, he means far too much to me. I hope you understand.”

“Of course dear child.” Foreman Domai leaned over, resting one of his massive hands upon hers. His smile was sincere and genuine as he talked to her. “Such loyalty in someone so young is inspiring. And know, that you will always be welcome here as a Free Drone citizen, if you would ever like to visit.”

“And feel free to return here anytime.” Sister Miriam added. “I understand Sister Jessica here has enjoyed your company. I sometimes think I’m to old for her. She appreciates having someone younger to talk to.” Sister Jessica simply frowned at the idea, but Sharra suspected their was a grain of truth there.

“Well, now that the matter is finalized, it would be best if the two of you prepared your belongings. Your transport will leave within a few hours.” Miriam stood, gesturing for Sister Jessica to escort Sharra. At the same time, two orange-clad guards entered, obviously to escort Provost Zakharov.

“Excuse me Sister,” added Sharra quickly, before she was led out of the room. “How long a boat ride is it to UN Criminal Tribunal.”

“It’s not a boat child,” smiled the Believer leader. “You’ll be flying there by needlejet transport.” Suddenly, Free Drone Central was looking enormously appealing.
[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited July 17, 2000).]

[senatus]

Great Clustering


The decision to hand Zakharov over to UN custody sat uncomfortably with
Miriam; turning the brilliant if amoral scientist over to Santiago would've
stood the Believers in excellent stead with Sparta, more than justifying
the effort the Colonel had invested on their behalf.  Nevertheless,
a promise made before Man was also a promise made before God, and therefore
had to be adhered to.  Besides, it wasn't as if Zakharov was being
released; the UN Criminal Tribunal would judge him and apportion responsibility
for the University's crimes against humanity, like the creation of "Bob"
and "Alice".  Miriam also knew that despite his faults, Pravin Lal
would never corrupt a judicial process merely for the sake of political
expediency.  Zakharov would be judged fairly by the laws of Man.


However not everyone was as generous as Miriam, even within her own
faction.  David Weaver was as devout a Believer as any man. 
He therefore could not understand why Zakharov was being released. 
Zakharov had led the University.  The University had committed unholy
acts upon human flesh. They had created and destroyed abominable parodies
of life, taking onto themselves the role that belonged only to God. 
They had developed monstrous retroviral weapons.  And Yoop terrorists
had deployed these weapons in the base of Pointa Sur.  Tens of thousands
of civilians had died there, including David Weaver's wife and son. 
Surely these acts deserved retribution in the eyes of the Lord,
just as He had visited destruction upon Sodom and Gomorrah.  Why then
was His servant Miriam releasing the very father of this evil?  Had
she lost her vision?  David couldn't believe that.  But it was
possible that Sister Miriam was being misled.  Perhaps by Jessica
McCollough, who was rumoured to have strange mental abilities.  Not
a prophetess, but a witch.  And if this was so, God's divine will
would be frustrated... unless he, David Weaver, became His instrument
of Holy Justice.

---

Sister Jessica helped Sharra pack her meager belongings. 
It didn't take long.


"Is that all?"  Jessica asked.


"Yes... that's all we have."  Sharra responded.  Jessica looked
thoughtful for a moment.


"Hmmn... wait here for a second, OK?"


A few minutes later, Jessica returned with a handful of packages. 
Inside were some nicer clothes, toiletries, and sundry items.


"If you're going to make a good impression in the U.N., Sharra, appearances
count.  Not as much as it would in Morganic territory, of course. 
Also, you'll need some money.  Here's a card with twenty energy millicredits
on it.  I'm sorry I can't afford to give you more, but if you spend
carefully, that should last you a while.  If you claim refugee status,
the U.N. people may be able to help you more."


Sharra was overwhelmed.  She knew that Jessica and her Believers
didn't like Zakharov.  Not to mention that less than 24 P-hours ago,
Sharra herself had pointed a pistol at and threatened the very life of
their faction's leader.  So why were they going out of their way to
help her?


Jessica read the emotions playing on Sharra's face and in her mind,
and it was easy enough to guess her thoughts.  But it was best to
let her form her own questions before offering answers.


"Sister Jessica.... why are you doing all this for me? 
Especially after yesterday?"


Jessica smiled, trying to project a feeling of benevolence.


"I don't blame you for yesterday, and neither does Sister Miriam. 
You were just trying to protect someone you cared about.  Whatever
crimes the Academician may have  committed..." and here Jessica raised
a hand to forestall Sharra's protest "... and it is not for me to
judge him - has nothing to do with you.  So helping you seems like
the Christian thing to do."


"Christian?  I thought you were a Believer."  Sharra asked. 
"And why do you call Miriam `sister'?"


"We are Believers in Christ, whom we also call `Lord'. 
That's where our faction name comes from.  And we teach that all who
believe, are to be considered as brothers and sisters."  Jessica tried
to explain.


"Then where does this `God' person fit in?"  Sharra asked.


Of course, Jessica thought.  The Hive's Bureau of Mental
Hygiene erased all references to the word "god" in the official
drone vocabulary.


"God is the creator of everything.   That's why we sometimes
call Him the `Father'.  It is our desire to live a life according
to His teachings."


"So, he's a Progenitor?"


"Er... no.  We don't know what exactly these aliens are, but they
certainly didn't create us.  Or Earth, or Planet.  God
is... well, it's sort of hard to explain in one sitting.  Wait, I
know...."  Jessica reached into her robes and pulled out an old-fashioned
datapad.


"I truly wish we had the time to talk about it more, but this is our
Conclave Bible.  If you read it, you'll get the idea, even though
it may raise more questions than answers.  If we ever meet again -
and I hope we do - then you can ask me those questions and I'll try to
answer.  Actually, any Believer that you can find will do her or his
best to answer any questions you have."  Jessica pressed the book
into Sharra's hands.


Sharra looked at the datapad.  She sort of doubted that Zakharov
would approve, but Jessica obviously meant it as a gift, so the very least
Sharra could do was skim it.


"Thank you, Sister Jessica."  Sharra said as the two women got
up to go to the awaiting transport.

---

Sister Jessica watched the Free Drone transport depart,
bound for U.N. territory.  She wished Sharra well, and prayed for
her safety.  Jessica had developed a strange fondness for the girl
- they weren't that far apart in age, and Sharra was exceptionally intelligent
considering her background.  Perhaps she too would find a home in
the U.N., as Jessica herself once had.


Two of the Believer guards had gone with Zakharov, more of a symbolic
gesture than a practical one.  A third waited on the tarmac, watching
the transport get smaller.  Jessica suddenly twitched; the third Believer
soldier was projecting a palpable feeling of hatred towards the diminishing
speck.  He turned and walked towards the control tower complex, and
Jessica found herself following surreptitiously.


The man then turned again, moving disappearing into the empty alleyways
between maintenance sheds.  Half of this portion of the complex was
gantries and ladders, and he rapidly climbed up one.  Jessica looked
down at her own robes and grimaced.  They weren't made for any sort
of physical activity, so she unclasped them and shrugged the cumbersome
garment off.  That just left her in modest (but much less restrictive)
undergarments, and she quickly followed where the soldier had disappeared.


"Sparta Command... come in... this is David Weaver of the Lord's Believers. 
Be aware that the fugitive Zakharov is on Free Drone needlejet transport
seven-zero-seven, bearing 32 degrees North by Northeast, speed approximately
2012 kilometers per hour, tracking frequency 181.2 gigahertz.  To
prevent his escape, you must intercept and destroy.  I repeat,
this is David Weaver of the Lord's Believers...."


When she caught up to him, the Believer soldier had his back turned
to her and was speaking into a patch set obviously hooked into the tower's
radio electronics.


"What are you doing?!" Jessica hissed, and the soldier whirled
to face her.  His lips curled into a sneer as he viewed the half-undressed
civilian and recognized who it was.


"I'm delivering the Lord's Justice to a heretic and a sinner." 
The man's fanatic conviction hit Jessica like a sledgehammer.  He
pulled out a heavy laser pistol and pointed it at her.


"Brother... are you planning to shoot me, a Sister in Christ, a minister
and missionary for the Lord's work?" Jessica asked hollowly.


"You are no `sister' of mine.  You're a witch who has betrayed
Sister Miriam.  And I shall not suffer a witch to live."


"There are two other Believer soldiers on that plane.  What about
them?"


David Weaver hesitated only a moment.  "Their souls will be with
God soon."  He raised the laser pistol and fired it at the woman before
him.


As the pistol rose towards her, Jessica reacted without thinking. 
Just as she'd been so rigorously trained by the soldiers of Sparta. 
She threw herself to the side, twisting to minimize her target profile. 
The beam passed so close to her that her shoulder burned from the heat
trace.  But her own pistol came out seemingly of its own accord, and
her beam caught David Weaver exactly as she aimed it into his right eye. 
The laser burned through the soldier's eye, and the brain tissue behind
boiled in milliseconds,  bits of it spurting out of his eye socket. 
There weren't sufficient nerve impulses left for the Believer soldier's
finger to twitch a second time.


Ignoring the burn on her shoulder, Jessica rushed to the patch set and
quickly reset the frequency to that of the Free Drones.


"Transport 707!  This is Sister Jessica of the Lord's Believers! 
You may be pursued by hostile fighters!  Change your course and tracking
frequency immediately!"


The startled needlejet pilot acknowledged, and Jessica breathed again. 
Then she looked down at the body of what had once been a living man. 
There was a faint hissing noise of steam escaping from the gaping eye socket.


A precise and instant kill.  Corazon would be so proud of me,
Jessica thought, and then threw up.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 18, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Free Drone Transport Seven-Zero-Seven: En route to UN Criminal Tribunal

Zakharov leaned back in his seat, finally relaxing as Great Clustering disappeared into the background behind them. Miriam had been merciful, this Zakharov couldn’t deny. She could have easily turned him over to Santiago, but she hadn’t. Granted, some manipulation had occurred on Zakharov’s part, yet Miriam had been willing to turn him over to the more sympathetic UN. Perhaps he thought, the thought of me dying before she had a chance to convert me was not appealing. It wouldn’t be unlike her.

Zakharov watched Sharra and smiled. He was thankful that she had chosen to accompany him to the trial, despite her chance to join the Free Drones. Since his escape, she was the only person who had shown unabashed kindness towards him. Sharra truly was the only friend Zakharov had in this world.

He watched her as she examined a datapad carefully, obviously reading something of particular interest. He had no idea what it was, she hadn’t had one with her when they left Sea Hive, and he hadn’t been able to buy her one. So where did she get it?

The image of Sister Jessica sprang to mind and instantly Zakharov knew what it must be. The incessant preachers of the Lord’s Believers had given Sharra a copy of their beloved Conclave Bible. Zakharov fought the urge to get up and snatch it from her immediately.

It is her choice he thought to himself. I cannot deny that the Bible is one of the most critical aspect of old Earth literature. To understand the likes of Shakespeare, and Dante, the Bible can be key. Besides, Sharra is an intelligent girl. She will quickly recognise that it is nothing more than folktales and stories. At least I hope so.


The plane shifted heavily to the right, causing Zakharov, Sharra and the two guards to lurch in their seats. Zakharov pushed the commlink on his chair to connect him to the pilots in the front.

“What on Planet is going on up there?” It was clear from the nervous expression on the pilot’s face that all was not well. Even on the tiny vidscreen, Zakharov could see the sweat rolling down his face.

“We just received an emergency transmission from the base sir. We’ve had to adjust our heading, but I think it might be too late. Long range radar is picking up two needlejets in Spartan airspace, heading for our position.”

“How long till we reach Peacekeeper airspace?” Zakharov was worried. Somehow, Santiago must have been tipped off that he was on this transport. It would not be beyond her to shoot it down.

“I estimate that we can hit Peacekeeper airspace in thirty minutes. We’re doing our best to avoid the Spartan aircraft, keeping as much distance between us and them as possible.” The pilot swallowed hard as he examined his data readouts. “It’s not going to be enough. They’ll pass UN Criminal Tribunal in minutes.”

“Do what you can pilot.” Zakharov shut off the commlink and realised all eyes were on him. The two Believer guards were clearly out of their league. They probably hadn’t seen combat in months, if not years, and they had not been prepared for such a situation. The Spartan’s were their allies, Zakharov was not. Somehow, Zakharov did not believe that they would be willing to see him to safety at the risk of getting shot down.

************************************************** **************************

“Attention Free Drone Transport, number seven-zero-seven. By order of the Spartan Air Fleet, you are ordered to proceed with us to Hero’s Way Point. At which point, your passenger will be handed over to our custody and you will be free to leave. Failure to comply will force us to open fire and if necessary destroy your aircraft. Please respond.” The message from the Spartan Pilot sent chills down the Drone pilot’s spine.

“Don’t they know were their ally? What do we do?” The co-pilot had never even flown outside of Drone territory before, let alone been in a combat situation.

“We ask him,” replied the pilot, pointing towards the back.

“But he’s a prisoner! And he’s the one they want anyway!” The co-pilot was clearly out of his depth.

“He’s also the only one here who’s ever gone up against the Spartans. Did you have a better idea?” The co-pilot’s silence was enough of a response.

************************************************** ***************************
“Spartan aircraft, this is Provost Prokhor Zakharov of the University of–“ The Spartan pilot cut him before he could even finish.

“The University was wiped out, in case you don’t remember old man. We’re here to take you back to the punishment sphere where you belong.” The Spartan’s insolence was not unexpected to Zakharov, but nevertheless, it was annoying.

“This aircraft is en route to the UN Criminal Tribunal, where I will be put on trial from my past actions. You are welcome to escort us there, but we travel under the authority of Sister Miriam Godwinson and Foreman James Domai–“ Again the Spartan interrupted.

“And we travel under the authority of Colonel Santiago. And in case nobody told you since you broke out, she pretty much runs things here.”

“Colonel Santiago is in charge of military operations only.” This third voice came out of nowhere, and Zakharov was unable to get a visual on the speaker. What he was able to see, were the three shard needlejets who moved into position around the transport, bearing the unmistakable symbol of the Peacekeepers.

“As Governor of the Peacekeeping Forces, I am in charge of the civilian operations of this coalition, including all criminal trials. Therefore, you shall return to base and allow the transport to proceed without further harassment.” The strange voice obviously wielded a great deal of authority, for the Spartan pilots refrained from their usual snide remarks.

“Yes sir. However, I will be forced to file a full report with Colonel Santiago.” The pilot’s words did little to veil the underlying threat of the action.

“Please do,” replied the voice. “And give her my regards.”


With that, the Spartan fighters turned and returned towards Spartan airspace.

“Free Drone Transport,” came the voice again. “Please adjust your heading to proceed directly to UN headquarters. The prisoner will be taken into custody here. Our fighters will escort you in.”

“Understood sir. Transport seven-zero-seven out.” Zakharov, returned to his seat as the plane shifted it’s trajectory and moved towards the Peacekeeper capitol.

So Lal has come to my aid? Zakharov thought to himself. An unusual display of backbone for him, standing up to Santiago like that. Perhaps things will work out better than I planned.

Zakharov watched as once again all eyes were on him. Sharra had even put down the datapad she had been examining. Leaving it behind, she shifted seats and sat down right beside him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Never better,” he replied with an uncharacteristic optimism.

[Argonaut]

UN Headquarters

Zakharov entered through the large wooden doors of Pravin Lal’s office and made his way towards the desk. Lal’s chair was turned away from him as he approached, the old man obviously gazing out the large window and onto the beautiful lands below. Zakharov cleared his throat in order to get the man’s attention, despite knowing that Lal must be fully aware he was there.

When the chair turned around, Zakharov was only somewhat surprised to see that the man was sitting their was by no means Pravin Lal. He was a young and handsome man, yet with a grave expression on his face. Their was something familiar about him that Zakharov couldn’t quite place his finger on. Then suddenly he realized what it was.

“I should have known Lal wouldn’t have had the backbone to stand-up to Santiago like that.” Zakharov began. “Of course, I never thought I would live to see the day a member of the Spartan Junta was in charge of UN Headquarters. I know you, don’t I? You must forgive me. After spending so long in one of your punishment spheres, my memory isn’t what it used to be.” Zakharov tried to contain the rage that had started to boil inside of him. To have made it all this way, only to end up in Spartan hands again. He was glad he had left Sharra back in the quarters they had been provided.

“Yes you do know me Provost. And please, the situation is not what you think.” Zakharov could hardly believe his ears as the Spartan murder tried to appease him. “Prokhor, my name is Scott–“

“Do not presume to be on a first named basis with me Spartan. Not after what your people did to mine.” Zakharov’s fists clenched behind him, wanting nothing more to reach across the desk and strangle the man sitting there.

“My name, Provost, is Scott Allardyce,” the man continued. The name was familiar to Zakharov but he still couldn’t quite place it. Normally, the rejuvenation tanks would have regenerated his neural tissue, but it had been so long since his last trip that his mind had begun to deteriorate. Nothing could have frightened Zakharov more.

“I was part of the original Unity mission, and settled a number of issues for you before we left. Then, when we landed I did side with Colonel, and yes I was a member of the Junta.” As the man spoke, more of the memories began to come back to Zakharov. The arguments about Miriam’s presence on board the ship, conflicts with Deirdre. He had been a key negotiator in resolving such conflicts. But he was Spartan, and his people had wiped out everything that Zakharov had ever held dear, including his granddaughter.

“But I no longer work for the Colonel now.” Allardyce’s statement caught Zakharov by surprise. Few people ever dared to countermand their commander back in his day. In fact, this man’s actions today would have been grounds for treason when Zakharov had led the University.

“I’ve become, some what of a free agent,” Allardyce said, managing a small smile. “Currently, I’m filling in for Pravin Lal while he is away indefinitely on personal business. That’s part of why I’ve brought you here.”

“At some point, I believe it would be beneficial if you did explain that.” Zakharov was trying to contain his hostility, knowing it would get him nowhere. He could learn far more from this Spartan if he attempted to cooperate.

“I’m aware that you are currently being sent here for trial by Sister Miriam,” Allardyce finally explained. “The good Sister, has herself, not long been back on the world scene. A great deal of time has passed, time which you have spent contained in a Spartan punishment sphere.” The way this man spoke so openly about Zakharov’s own torment, sent shudders down the academician’s spine.

“Whatever crimes that Miriam has accused you of are a thing of the past. You have already paid your dues for you past transgression, and lots more beside. Had Sinder Roze not spirited you away, you would have found yourself released shortly after.”

“I find it hard to believe,” Zakharov retorted, “that the Colonel would ever have been willing to allow me to leave a free man.”

“She may not have been entirely willing,” Allardyce replied, “however I had convinced her that it would be the only way to stop the terrorist attacks.”

“You? Terrorist attacks?” Suddenly Zakharov realised he was missing out a great deal of the big picture. “First off, what terrorist attacks and how could I have stopped them? And secondly, why did you want to help me?”

“Since the University was eliminated, their has been a large underground movement acting in your name. At one point, they were drastic enough to destroy a Spartan Base at Pointa Sur. It was hoped that your release would be able to help stop the needless violence.”

Zakharov sat in shock as he listened. Yang had told him that all University citizens had been exterminated. Suddenly, the foolishness of accepting such a source as Yang hit Zakharov hard. Tears began to role down his cheeks, a mix of sadness and elation. Sad to believe he could have been so naive, yet delighted that those who had followed him had not been murdered for their loyalty. Zakharov was almost too terrified to ask the question that he most wanted the answer too, fearing it would not be the same.

“My Anastasia?” Zakharov’s throat tightened on him, as if his body was almost afraid of what the wrong answer might do to him. “Is she..?”

“She’s alive, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Allardyce seemed somewhat confused by that question, but he seemed affected by Zakharov’s emotional state. Zakharov couldn’t understand why this man had done all of this for him. “She would be the answer to your second question, “why me?”. You’re granddaughter and I are very much in love.”

Of all the things this man could have said, Zakharov was not expecting that.

[Argonaut]

HCPA Security Patrol Boat: Fleeing Sea Hive

“I can’t believe we managed to get away with it.” The smile on the young private’s face showed his delight at the successful completion of his first probe meeting. Roze simply shook her head. She had regretted having to kill Grant, despite his betrayal, simply because it only left her with the naive Spartan pilot for companionship. That and Morgan Junior, but he was still unconscious from the effects of the punishment sphere, resting peacefully on the ground opposite the old Hive Captain. He at least, had remained thankfully quite since his startling revelation of who his ‘prisoners’ were.

“Bradford, you’re so cute when you’re being all innocent and naive.” The Spartan pilot blushed at the gentle reprimand from Roze. Roze couldn’t help thinking that if he were only a little bit older...

“So far we’ve made it through the easy part. No one there was expecting us, or had any idea who ‘us’ was. Getting Morgan Junior out was simple, because we didn’t give them enough time to organise a proper pursuit. But they’ve had five minutes now, and in operations like this, that is all you need.”

As if on cue, massive explosions of water went up on either side of the patrol boat, causing both Roze and Bradford to lose their balance. The explosions moved closer as the two Hive interceptors made their first attempt at a strafing run. In an instant, William and Roze were both back at their posts and examining the situation.

“We’re in luck,” William reported. “Those planes carry the same ID as the one’s we met on the way in. That means they’re interceptors and aren’t used to hitting ground targets.”

“In this little boat, all it will take is one lucky shot.” Roze was not being pessimistic with this statement. Bursts of water once again rocked the ship as the interceptors made a second pass. A piece of shrapnel sliced across the upper deck, fortunately not deep enough to cause serious damage.

“How are we going to make it all the way back to friendly territory with these guys diving at us all the time?” William was suddenly worried as realised the gravity of their situation.

“We don’t,” Roze replied confidently. “We wait for the calvary.” Again, as if Roze was somehow orchestrating everything that was occurring, four more fighters appeared in the air and moved to intercept the Hive aircraft.

“Angel One to patrol boat.” The voice from the transmission made William smile. It was Private Kingswell and the others. “You look like you could use a hand.”

“If you can find the time, we would appreciate you chasing off these Hive pilots,” Roze smiled calmly. “They’re getting a little bothersome.”

“Not a problem,” was the affirmative response from Angel One, whose fighters had already engaged the Hive pilots.

Ahead of them, William could see the Pericles and the Hydra , obviously having taken the long way around. William altered the course to meet up with the Pericles in order to transport their cargo to safety.

“Datajack, this is the S.F.S. Pericles here. We’ve got enemy vessels approaching on our escape vector. Five confirmed contacts. What are your orders.”

“Damn,” Roze swore to herself silently. As far as William could tell this was the first part of the mission which had not gone exactly as she had planned.

“How long until they intercept? Can you bring the fighters back in time?” Roze hadn’t anticipated Yang’s Fleet responding so quickly. These must be the five unknown ships that they had passed on the way in, probably returning to port.

“Negative. Not with those Hive fighters up there. As soon as our pilots lined up for their entry runs, they’d be shot down.” Even as the Spartan Captain said that, one of the Hive planes crashed into the ocean, chased down by two of the Spartan interceptors.

“Sir, if we send the Hydra to intercept, she can buy us some time. It’s our only option.” Even as he said it, Roze had already come to that conclusion.

“Do it. But tell the Captain that as soon as our fighters are back on board, he’s to dive and get the hell out of there anyway he can.” Despite that last command, Roze knew she had just ordered the crew of the Hydra to their deaths.

Roze pulled the patrol boat alongside the Pericles where crew were already to take them aboard. William helped the semiconscious Junior onto the boat, as Roze shut down the controls. She returned to the Hive Captain and untied him.

“My recommendation, is that you take this boat and get the hell out of here. Yang doesn’t think too highly of failures.” The old man simply looked at Roze, understanding the honesty behind those words. With that, Roze climbed up onto the large sub, and disappeared below.


*********************************************

“Report.” Roze walked onto the bridge which was currently a flurry of activity, with every station fully manned. The Spartan Captain stood at attention as he began to fill her in on the events of the battle.

“The last Hive fighter has been disabled. Our fighters are already lining up for their approach. Within five minutes, we should be able to dive.”

“What if the Hydra doesn’t intercept. How quickly could the Hive fleet get here?” It might be possible for their sister ship to dive now, and then they could all get away with their skins intact.

“Two minutes.” The Captain clearly understood that the Hydra could not withstand the odds. With no options left, their was nothing left for Roze to do but sit and watch.

“Give me a visual.” Over the main command console, a 3-D hologram sprung to life, showing the opening minutes of the battle.

Before the Hive ships could even fire, the Hydra opened with a full barrage on one of the smaller foils. Rather than cycling her firepower between all five ships, she was concentrating on the weakest link, trying to inflict as much damage as possible. It was succeeding, as fires sprang up all along the Hive foil’s outer hull. Than the Hive fleet fired back.

The lead destroyer fired first, a strange beam emitting from it’s main battery, slicing through the Hydra’s armour. A strange rippling effect accompanied the beam, causing the Hydra’s hull to buckle. Soon the other ships joined in the assault, four more beams carving through the Hydra’s shielding. Roze and the others watched with horror as an explosion rocked the ship, causing it to explode from the inside out where the beams had breached the fusion core. When the blast receded, their was nothing left but a flaming hulk.

“Hive ships continuing on intercept course,” came the frantic report from one of the lieutenants.

“All fighters accounted for.” The second-in-command's words were like a blessing.

“Dive. Get us the hell out of here.” The Captain’s order was already being implemented by the time he made it. Even as they dived, the powerful Hive beams lanced through the water where they once were, sending tremors through the ship. Fortunately no damage was sustained.

“Keep adjusting our heading until we’re certain they're not following us. Then, take us out of this sea and set a course for Morganite waters.” The crew busied themselves with their work, even as the Hive fleet passed overhead. Around them, wreckage from the Hydra began to sink to it’s final resting place. Unable to watch, Roze left the bridge and headed back to her quarters. The mission had been a success.

[Hydro]

Sea Hive

Chairman Sheng-ji Yang sits on the floor in his austere office with his legs crossed in the lotus position. His eyes are closed and his face has a serene, composed aspect of inner peace, and his breaths are deep and purposeful.

Breathe in.

Ignore the thought of the ungrateful Zakharov, who managed to escape despite all efforts to the contrary. Something is slipping.

Breathe out.

Focus

Breathe in.

Put aside the wretched and impudent Rose, and the flight of my student Morgan Junior. He had so much to learn, and was taken away too soon.

Focus on the center

Breathe out.

Dismiss the deluded Miriam Godwinson, who stubbornly and illogically resisted decades of wisdom, and who now has the gall of calling Great Clustering a true Believer holding, when it had been founded and built through the labors of the Human Hive.

Focus…

The disturbing thoughts fade, and are banished to memories.

on the Center

Gradually his perceptions change, or rather they alter to be understood in a different way. First the soft and almost imperceptible sounds around him fade.

Focus

The hum of the air cyclers, and the dull clangs and reverberations of the constant construction and repair recede into the background.

Focus

The residual reddish light that seeps through the flesh and blood of Yang’s translucent eyelids dims to gray, and then to black.

Focus

Then the feeling of the ambient air temperature and the pressure of his slight mass on the floor decreases and then vanishes completely. Finally, even the core, the beating of his heart and gentle throb of blood through his veins, fades from Yang’s perception.

Emptiness. Blackness. Oneness.

The Center is near.

Near the Center a faint mote of brilliant white light forms at infinity. It is almost imperceptibly small and far away, so distant that it seems to be inaccessible. Yang wills it to him, and the light comes. At the Center Yang focuses on the light, understanding its form and its essence. As it gets closer the light is a sphere. The white undulating sphere is not perfect, but Yang understands its imperfections and accepts them, or changes them. This is his essence and Yang has crafted and molded it for almost 200 years.

Satisfied Yang metaphorically steps inside his essence. The light envelops him, blinding him, consuming him.

Then only the light remains.

+++++++++++++++++++

Yang examines himself. All of his memories and motivations are before him, each exquisitely ordered and categorized.

One by one he wills his memories toward him and looks at them anew, examining each for hidden, lost, or forgotten meaning. Yang has a multitude of memories from his long life: most of them have multifaceted links to other memories or events, and all of them are interrelated. In here Yang takes his time, for this place, his Center, is timeless. While within himself there is all the time in the world.

Yang spies a minor but crucial memory from almost 150 years ago from long lost Earth and wills it forward. Looking at the memory it opens like a flower, and Yang remembers.

”Good morning Mr. Sheng-ji Yang. I’m Carlin Potter. Please have a seat,” the UN Project Unity technician says as she points to a chair to her right.

Yang nods to acknowledge her instructions and sits in the holo chair, which is common in both high-end instructional programs and correction programs.

“As required by Captain Garland and UN protocol, I’m going to administer a Character and Personality Compatibility Evaluation Test. This is required for your application to be a member of the Unity crew. You will have to acknowledge that you understand and agree to the standard contract and this test, and then sign this affidavit for the record,” she says with a serious smile as she hands Yang the datapad.

Yang takes the datapad and scrolls through it. Of course, he knows the method, purpose, and format of the CPCET. However, he ‘reads’ through it, making sure he takes an appropriate amount of time.

After a few moments Yang looks up.

“May I ask a few questions?” he asks softly and politely. Even with his whisper of a voice it seems to carry across the room and it gets the technician’s undivided attention. Her eyes lock onto the impassive features of her Asian testee, and Yang looks back and locks her gaze with his eyes.

“Of course Mr. Yang.”

“I understand the basic mechanics of this test and that it will read my neurological and physiologic responses to stimuli, Ms. Potter. It is common enough in China. But how will the machine read my brain patterns to determine my pre-dispositions? Has that been properly baselined? I am leery of improper results and how that would affect my record.” Yang structures his question and concern to show he has a little knowledge but no deep understanding of the test, as is befitting someone who has been nominated to be the Unity Security Chief.

Still looking Yang in the eyes, Carlin responds with a smile, “Very perceptive, Mr. Yang. This procedure has been baselined against the psychological profiles of almost 1.1 million people, and its accuracy is in the six-sigma range. Is that acceptable?”

Yang nods. “Yes, it is. One more question, if I may. What does this test determine and how will these results be used to determine my acceptance to the Unity project?”

“Well, the test identifies those that display a more than a 0.1% propensity toward undesirable behavioral traits, such as what the layman calls megalomania, sadism, masochism, multiple personalities, violent tendency disorder, extreme alpha personality disorder, and many others. Other than that, the test screens for those that work well with others on a personal level and in groups. So if you meet these criteria you will be considered on your credentials for the Unity mission.”

Yang nods once, having gotten the expected response and affixes his genetic tag, voiceprint, thumbprint, and retinal scan to accept the terms and conditions of the test.

Carlin notes this. “Well, now we can begin. Please relax. The test shouldn’t take more than two hours.”

As he leans back the full holo of the test enfolded him and Yang lets the holo play its way out.


Hours later Carlin comes up to Yang moments after the test has ended.

“Congratulations Mr. Yang! Your responses are well within the norm, with an average amount of response deviation. You are certainly well adjusted, and should make an excellent crewmember of Unity. With your credentials I’m sure you’ll get on the mission! I sure wish I were going.”

Yang bowed slightly toward the young woman to acknowledge her station and service. “Thank you for your attention. I am indeed unworthy, but I will be honored if I am selected for the mission. It is my earnest wish to expand humankind to other worlds, and create a stable and peaceful society,” he said softly and truthfully. At this point there was no need to conceal the truth from this technician, especially since the truth aligns with the goals of the Unity mission. As he finishes he looks into her eyes and brakes his connection with her.

Carlin shakes her head slightly and then refocuses no Yang, smiling again.

“Have a good day, Mr. Yang.”

Even small memories can be important. In a way that was the beginning, Yang thinks.

The Center is a refuge, and it is a place of ultimate order and contentment, and a place for reflection. In his mind, Yang wills another memory to him for inspection, but something catches his eye. One of his memories is pulsing slightly, as if demanding attention.

Yang displays the barest hint of a smile. Only one person can enter his core, his Center, and he knows this person well, too well, even. Back in the beginning times on Chiron close associations and alliances were formed, and these resulted in the Hive society. Although the structure and philosophy of The Human Hive had been designed by Yang, others had had a significant influence on its genesis and development. The most influential of these architects and early collaborators was Haarad Ashaandi. The Hive was based on discipline, and where discipline could not be maintained then control by the State was necessary. A balance between discipline and control had always been maintained, and Yang’s philosophy had erred on the side of discipline. Within society discipline can be encouraged, taught, and, if necessary, enforced. This results in a contented, productive, and orderly society that strives for the greatest good of humanity, as opposed to selfish and wasteful individualism that had torn apart and ultimately destroyed the fabric of civilization on Earth. Ashaandi’s view of the optimum society was through absolute control, which preferably occurred through the control of the mind. With Ashaandi the control of the State is absolute and enforced without remorse for the good of society. Yang understood at the beginning of humanity’s landing on Chiron that the ultimate goals of his and Ashaandi’s vision were similar and that these would result in a powerful Hive society. However, their methods to the ultimate goal were different, and differences such as these can lead to conflict. Yang understood and accepted this, as did Ashaandi, as both implicitly understood that they both walked the same path.

Approximately a year ago Yang perceived a change in the relationship. Ashaandi was drifting away, even though he and his operatives cloaked it well. Yang knew that his understanding of Ashaandi was not the result of the psi ability that Ashaandi prized so much, but simple observation and correlation of actions and responses. Yang knew that using and developing psi powers made such users sloppy in the more subtle avenues of manipulation, control, and information gathering. As such they were quite readable, even when they thought they were obscuring their motives and objectives. It was quite clear that the outcome of psi verses discipline was lopsided, in that a disciplined mind will persevere every time. A disciplined mind can yield results of any psi probe, and can create a more impenetrable shield toward unwanted influent or intrusion than any psi blocking strategy.

So, here was Ashaandi knocking at his door. However, he can’t enter without permission.

Yang willed the memory to him and unfolded it.

“Ashaandi,” Yang said, calling him into his domain.

Ashaandi’s indistinct form strengthened, then faded as he struggled against the barriers that Yang enforced whenever Ashaandi visited. After a few moments he gave up, and his form coalesced.

“My Chairman,” Ashaandi stated with a ritual bow, standing a respectful two meters from Yang.

To Yang his voice carried no mocking overtones, however slight, as they had in the past. This indicated a change. Perhaps his incarceration by Santiago had changed him? Not likely. It was likely that the political winds had changed, or that he had struck a deal or was going to strike a deal. With Santiago? Perhaps. How else could he have escaped his neural inhibitor and very private punishment sphere?

“You have been long absent. Santiago finally released you. We have,” Yang paused for a moment, “issues to discuss. Issues of loyalty. I am aware of your efforts to weaken me by weakening The Hive. Your agents were partially responsible for Morgan’s treacherous subversion of loyal Hive citizens, and you have conspired with Scott Allyrdice,” Yang stated with some distaste, “to militarily destroy the Hive and then replace me as its leader. Have you strayed so far that you will put personal ambition above the needs of humanity? Have you abandoned the basic tenets that are the foundation of The Hive? The forces of decadence and disorder threaten to overwhelm what we have built. Will you enlighten me?”

Ashaandi didn’t respond immediately as he considered.

Yang was inwardly pleased to see the glib Ashaandi pause. Yang knew that Ashaandi expected him to be oblique and subtle, especially in delicate matters such as the fealty and the betrayal of a trusted associate. But now it served his purpose to test his errant colleague and gage his reaction with a direct challenge. It was clear from his pause that the he considered the dance they had played for the last hundred years would continue. That indicated a certain mental fixation that Yang knew he could use to his advantage. Again, discipline wins over the arrogance of psi and the intoxicating power of the mind.

“Yes. Loyalty. Loyalty to the guiding principles of the Human Hive, or personal loyalty and a cult of personality? Loyalty to personal principles? Which do you mean?” Ashaandi replied sardonically.

Yang didn’t verbally respond, but instead selected a memory and drew it toward him. As the luminescent ball glowed in his hands he held it out toward Ashaandi, and it unfolded, capturing both Yang and Ashaandi in its wake.

The emblem of UNS Unity was emblazoned above the door, and the seats appropriated from the command module were a UN powder blue. There was a slight but noticeable tilt to the entire room, which grew less pronounced with each passing day as the unstable ground the pod had landed on settled and was compacted. The room was small, barely 16 square meters, and space was so limited that even the few leaders of the pod’s landing had to crowd around the makeshift table. An air compressor thumped in the background, working hard to keep a positive pressure in the seared and often repaired habitation module pod of what had just been named The Hive. Repair crews worked around the clock just to keep some semblance of atmospheric integrity in a structure that not meant for continuous habitation, but only for atmospheric reentry and as a source of raw materials for a permanent settlement.

Seated around the table were six men and women, all of whom had serious looks on their faces. Two, seated opposite Sheng-ji Yang, were slightly hostile, and two others were simply concerned. Two men seated next to each other, Sheng-ji Yang and Haarad Ashaandi, were impassive.

Yang bowed his head to the others in the room to honor them, and broke the looming silence, “The Unity mission as we previously understood it has failed. The mutiny, assassination attempts against me by Santiago, the disintegration of the mission, and the chaos of Unity’s last moments have gravely weakened humanity’s seed in UNS Unity. With nothing but silence from Earth we can only infer that humanity on Earth is at an end. Therefore must assume that we are the only remaining humans, since we have no assurance that the other landing pods landed safely. We must adjust and learn from the painful lessons on Earth and Unity to ensure the survival of humanity.”

One of the men to the side of Yang looked down, and his left hand started trembling. He discretely used his right hand to still the tremors so that he didn’t distract the rest of the Council. His efforts were unsuccessful, for all eyes drifted toward him. Psychological maladies were all too common after the disaster of Unity and the landing, even with the psych profiles having chosen the Unity crew for stability under stress. At least 10% of the surviving 20,000 humans in this pod were so debilitated by stress that precious medication had to be used to help them through the turmoil. These drugs and treatments were limited, and soon alternate therapies would have to be considered.

“We must attend to the needs of the people entrusted to us and provide for their physical needs, and their societal needs,” Yang said softly and pointedly, and most people around the table unconsciously nodded in assent. “Our primary interest at this moment is survival, and we must do everything in our power to ensure the survival of the human race. Sacrifices will have to be made.” Yang made this last statement slowly, and looked at each of the other five Council members in the eye. In doing so he gauged their dedication and fortitude.

Council Member Samuel Rodregez, Unity Assistant Engineer Grade II and current Minister of Works, cleared his throat to get the attention of the rest of the Council, even as he continued to still his trembling hand. “Chairman Yang, what you have described is a ‘hunker down.’ I can see why this is needed now, but surely in the future we will not have to be so…ridged. People have rights, and the State has to have limits.”

Yang waited patiently for him to finish. “Minister Rodregez, what was the cause of destruction of humanity on Earth?”

Samuel paused for a moment, and then answered, “The Chaos.”

Yang nodded. “And what was the cause of the Chaos?”

Rodregez hesitation indicated that he didn’t want to answer. However, Yang and the other Council members all looked at him expectantly waiting for his reply. Finally he gave one.

“It was the spiral of societal instability caused by the feedback effect of wars, ecological damage, governmental corruption and mismanagement, overpopulation, and economic dislocation. The UN used its resources for over 50 years to damp what were first called ‘brush wars’, pandemics, and starvation. Later it was found that these were part of a larger trend toward instability, and the UN found it impossible to contain more then the symptoms. There was always one more outbreak, and they were getting more serious and more frequent. Unity was supposed to be a common goal, a noble goal, to pull humanity together. They never said it, but we all kind of knew it was an admission of defeat. Kind of like a life raft from a sinking ship.” Samuel finished in a small voice. He truly believed in the UN and its ideals, and in the martyred Captain Garland. Admitting the failure of what he had devoted his life to was painful.

The faces around the table were somber.

“The Chaos is a sickness that kills humanity. Do you agree that this cannot be allowed to be repeated?” Yang asked, looking at Samuel but intending the question for the whole Council.

Samuel’s hand started to violently tremble again, and he took it and placed underneath the table.

“Yes,” he said, and his voice cracked as he said it. Samuel had the undivided attention of the entire Council, even Ashaandi, who was typically aloof and somewhat contemptuous of his Council-mates.

Yang looked to each of the other Council members, and one by one they also nodded in assent. Some nodded reluctantly and some with regret, but all nodded. Only Ashaandi nodded with the barest hint of a grin on his face.

“Very well. We have chosen a new course for humanity. Now, let us define how we can ensure the survival of humanity, and lay the structure for a society designed for the greater good.”

Yang folds the memory and wills it away, and then looks at Ashaandi.

“Loyalty to the guiding principles of the Human Hive, then,” Ashaandi concedes as if unwilling to remember that pivotal Council meeting so long ago.

Yang looks at Ashaandi intently. “Do you reject these principles? Do you see these basic tenants in any of the other factions that strive for supremacy? Perhaps you see it in the shortsighted militancy of Santiago? Or in the humanism of the Free Drones? Maybe the Commissioner Lal’s ideals appeal to you?”

That got a rise out of Ashaandi, “There is no need to be insulting. Your point is taken. I believe that our paths converge once again, and that any further dissention between us will lead to further unfortunate results for our vision of humanity. I will once again work for the greater good of man.”

This is what Yang knew he wanted to hear, and he was therefore wary of it. Was there sarcasm in Ashaandi’s voice? Yes, but only a hint, and it is likely that there is always a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Very well. Hive security has been criminally lax during your absence,” Yang said, referring to the liberation of Miriam, the escape of Zakharov, and the recent abduction of Morgan Junior, “and I expect you to correct these errors. In particular, ensure that your colleague Sand takes proper care of our charge Anastasia. She is valuable to us for her influence over Zakharov, and our ‘friend’ Allardyce. Sand has failed me in the past. I trust that he will not fail me again.”

“Yes, Chairman,” Ashaandi replied, bowing slightly and taking on his accustomed role of subordinate. “I will ensure that there is proper security during Anastasia’s stay in the care of the Progenitors, and I will ensure that Sand doesn’t take too many ‘liberties’ with her, or at least no liberties that damage her irreparably.”

Although he didn’t show it, Yang found the use of torture for pleasure distasteful. Physical duress has its place as a tool of correction and education, but torture for torture’s sake serves no purpose. Of course, Ashaandi knows this. So the dance begins again, just like it has continued for the last 100 years, Yang comments to himself.

“Our allies have provided us with new tools in our efforts to form a perfect society. With these tools we will soon begin our efforts to reclaim what we have built. Very soon. Ensure that your operatives are in position to enforce and ensure the liberation,” Yang stated.

“Yes, Chairman. Allies?” Ashaandi commented.

“A means to an end,” Yang corrected. “You are dismissed.”

Ashaandi bows again and then his image fades as Yang escorts him out of his Center.

Once gone Yang cleanses his Center of the traces and ‘doorstops’ Ashaandi has placed within it. It is a tired ritual, but after a moment he is certainhe has gotten them all. In completing this trivial labor Yang reflects on arrogance, and especially the arrogance of one such as Ashaandi. His addiction to power is his weakness. In many ways it is a waste. What could a man such as that achieve if he would put aside his personal pride? Discipline. It always comes back to discipline.

Yang shakes his head. He can be redeemed, but his education will take a long time. First Ashaandi must shake off the influence of distractions like Santiago, and the corruption of his subordinates like Sand. Second he must realize that discipline is greater than control. Can he achieve this? Perhaps.

The last memories, including this one of his meeting with Ashaandi, are filed away and Yang prepares to leave his Center.

White light recedes into infinity. Sensation returns. Sight returns. Hearing returns.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sheng-ji Yang opens his eyes, and his internal chronometer tells him that exactly 20 minutes has passed. Completing the ritual, he unfolds from the lotus position and rises.

The Center is renewed.

[Argonaut]

UN Headquarters

Tears welled in Zakharov’s eyes. It was a mixture of elation, that his beloved granddaughter was alive and disappointment that she had sided with his enemy. Yet, there remained something about this Scott Allardyce that confused Zakharov. He didn’t seem like the same man who had once been a member of the Junta. So much had changed since the fall of the University.

The emotions of the moment soon overwhelmed Zakharov. The tears welled up in his throat, and soon he was overcome with a severe coughing fit. Allardyce offered him a glass of water, forcing Zakharov to take a sip despite his initial refusal.

“It’s been a long journey for you Provost.” Genuine concern showed on the young Spartan’s face. Zakharov almost smiled at the thought of calling someone from the original Unity mission ‘young’.

“Perhaps,” Allardyce continued, “you should get some rest.”

“It’s got nothing to do with rest, Governor” Zakharov scoffed. “I’m an old man. Somewhat of a rarity among the elite of our civilization.”

“How long has it been since you were in a rejuvenation tank?” Allardyce returned to sit behind his desk, pulling up information on his personal network node.

“Too long. Occasionally the guards would throw me in the tanks for a period, to ensure I stayed alive long enough to suffer for standing against Santiago.” Despite the inherent accusation in the statement, Zakharov placed no blame on the man seated across from him. All blame lay directly on the head of that wretched Santiago.

“There,” Allardyce said as with two final keystrokes. “You have an appointment in one hour for the rejuvenation tanks here at UN Headquarters. We can sort out Miriam once you get out.” Again the Spartan startled Zakharov with his kindness. Zakharov doubted, that had the situation been reversed, he would have been so merciful.

“Thank you.” The two words were barely enough to express his gratitude for all that Scott Allardyce had done for him in this brief meeting. However inadvertently, he had given Zakharov back his will not only to survive, but to fight.

Allardyce helped Zakharov from his chair and led him towards the large doors, where a guard was waiting to escort him back to his quarters before he entered the tanks.

“Before I go,” said Zakharov, halting their movement. “I must see my granddaughter before I enter the tanks.” Here, Scott Allardyce frowned.

“I’m afraid she isn’t currently in UN territory. However, as soon as you are settled, I will contact her and let her know that you are safe and sound. I’m sure she’ll be waiting to greet you when you come out from the tanks.” Zakharov couldn’t quite get over the feeling that there was something he wasn’t being told. Still, the journey had taken its toll on his old frame, and the thought of a good two weeks in the rejuvenation tanks was undeniably appealing.

*********************************************

“What is a rejuvenation tank?” Sharra queried. Ever since their journey to Great Clustering, she had been much more outspoken. She was inquisitive, which pleased Zakharov immensely. She would make a good student.

“It is a place,” he explained, “where old men go so that they don’t come out quite so old. It regenerates the body, essentially turning back the clock.”

“I’ve never even heard of one.” Sharra’s innocence was flattering to her.

“That’s because you’ve never been old,” Zakharov replied with a smile.

“Prokhor,” Sharra began. It was clear from the look on her face that a serious question was plaguing her. “Why do you dislike Sister Miriam so much?”

“How would you like the list categorised? Alphabetically or chronologically?” Zakharov quipped. It was clear the answer was unsatisfactory to Sharra.


“Sister Miriam and I have disagreed upon many things, since before humans ever came to Chiron. Miriam is a believer, and I don’t refer to her political leanings, but more to how she sees the world. She looks at a fungal stalk, and sees it for what it is: a native form of plant life. She does not see the need to understand, what it is made of, or how it lives, to her it simply exists. If it proves troublesome, she burns it to the ground.”

“I on the other hand, seek to understand the way things work and move, so I have a chance to predict what might happen in the future. I discover the facts, and that knowledge prepares me for the future.” Sharra was clearly intrigued by what Zakharov had to say, and it reminded him of his teaching days.

“Knowledge is power,” he continued. “If we can unlock the secrets of this planet, then we can understand how it works, how it thinks. We can determine when a fungal stalk will cause a bloom and endanger lives. We can understand how the mindworms attack, and then better prepare ourselves to defend against them. Do you see what I’m getting at?” Sharra was silent for a moment, allowing the Provost’s words to sink in.

“I think so...I don’t know.” It was clear that Sharra was somewhat out of her depth. She was a bright girl, but as a drone had never received more than a basic education under the Hive. When Zakharov came out, he hoped he would have the chance to rectify this.

“Prokhor?” It was clear from Sharra’ tone she was nervous about her impending question. “Would it be all right if, while you were in the rejuvenation tanks, if I were to possibly go back to Great Clustering for a bit? I promise I will be here when you wake up.” That is the question Zakharov had feared was coming. But he had promised himself he would be open minded towards Sharra’s future and allow her to make her own decisions.

“Sharra, you are free to go where you please.” Zakharov sat down beside her, brushing his hands gently through her hair. “You are a grown woman and free to make your own decisions. Just know that I will always be there for you if you need me, no matter what. Okay?” Sharra nodded sheepishly.

“Now give me a hug.” She wrapped her arms around him tightly. Zakharov felt a tear in his eye, for he knew that she had forgiven him for what he had done to her. And he would make it up to her, he guaranteed.

Gently kissing her on the forehead, Zakharov left the room and was escorted by the guard to the tanks.

_____________________________________________

UN Headquarters Aerospace Complex


Roze was awakened as the transport ended it’s flight and landed with a slight bump on the tarmac at UN Headquarters. As they pulled into the hangar at the Aerospace Complex, Roze breathed a sigh of relief. Morgan Junior was on a transport home, the pilots were headed back to Sparta Command, and Morgan Sr. owed her one big debt of gratitude.

The plane came to a stop, and Roze made her way out with the few other passengers. As she stepped down the ramp, she observed the expectant crowd waiting for the passengers to disembark, and thought it was kind of sad that none of them were waiting for her. Sure she hadn’t told anyone she was coming, but if she had been in their shoes she would have found out.

Suddenly, a blast from a shredder pistol impacted with the side of the needlejet, just inches away from where Roze had been standing. The crowd scattered, and Roze dived over the side of the ramp to cover. Even as she did so, she knew her attempted assassin would already be making his getaway. He wouldn’t dare try for a second shot now that the guards were alerted.

Roze emerged from her shelter and quickly made her way to the approaching escort, who had finally recognised her. As they escorted her towards her office, a thought suddenly came to her. Well, at least one person was waiting for me.

*********************************************

Roze entered the room which she had dubbed Data DeCentral to find none other but Paul Andreas waiting for her. He was sitting leaning back in a chair by one of the terminals with a large grin on his face.

“Heard about your bumpy landing,” he said with the same grin plastered across his face. “Glad to see you made it back in one piece.” Roze was not about to let herself be baited.

“It wasn’t too bad really. At least the food was good.” She smiled that same vindictive grin back at him. “Of course, if you were any sort of intelligence officer, you would have known the assassination attempt was going to take place.” She let the not so subtle jab sink in, as she leaned back against the shelf that lined the room, mostly covered with computer terminals.

“I did know,” he replied as his grin broadened. “But I figured you could handle it.” Roze smiled. Paul certainly knew how to keep life interesting. However, she was only alive right now because that shot had missed. It was clear that the resentment Paul harboured for her ran deeper than she thought.

“Well, all that besides, we have work to do.” The game was now over, and both operatives understood that business needed to be taken care of, despite their differences.

“I understand you’re mounting a mission to rescue Anastasia Zakharov. I want to you to stay in charge of it.” Roze watched the man suppress his anger at the idea that Roze could have simply taken him away from his mission. It was a subtle reminder that Roze was in charge, and that they were not equals. “Use whatever resources you need, just try and keep the budget to a minimum. We can always syphon credits from Yang, but I’d rather not piss him off more than we have too.”

“And what will you be up to while I’m risking my neck against the Circle?” Paul was clearly struggling to contain his anger at this moment. It appeared he was going to be more of a danger than Roze had originally anticipated. Who knows , she thought to herself. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Sand will switch Paul’s life for Stazi’s.

“I’ll let you know,” she said, the phony smile returning to her face again, “as soon as the deal is finalized. Katt! How’s the program coming?” With that, Roze moved onto her personal assistant and left Paul to fester.

*********************************************

Roze watched as the familiar face of Scott Allardyce appeared on the screen. He smiled when he saw her, which was a good sign.

“Roze. Glad to see you made it back to us in one piece. I trust that Morgan Junior is safely home?”

“Sleeping like a baby in his old room, or so his dad tells me.” Roze returned the smile, this time genuine. She couldn’t help liking Scott Allardyce. That’s probably because he always gives me what I want she realised. She would have to ensure that the trend continued.

“Any word from Stazi?” Scott became sombre at the mention of his missing beloved. He’s even cute when he’s sad. Too bad he’s taken.

“I’m afraid not.” Scott’s answer wasn’t anything Roze hadn’t anticipated.

“Don’t worry, Scott. Paul will find her. He’s a good man and he knows what he’s doing.” Roze thought how Paul would wretch to hear such an honest commendation coming from her mouth.


Scott sighed heavily, and collected himself, trying to recapture his earlier good humour.

“So what can I do for you? I’m assuming this isn’t just a personal call.” Despite his effort, Scott could not hide the concern in his eyes. Roze couldn’t blame him.

“Is it ever, Scott? Actually, I’m just here to let you know I’m going on vacation.” Roze smiled as the anticipated confusion showed on Scott’s face.

“Vacation? You haven’t even been working here for a month, and already you want a vacation?” Scott was a cooperative man, but Roze was crossing the line.

“Don’t worry,” Roze smiled. “It’s a working vacation. I’m going to take a team and establish a private headquarters for the agency. Security isn’t tight enough here anymore, and I have the feeling Yang has put a price on my head.”

“Yes, I heard about the attack. I apologise,” he offered sincerely. “In future, if you would simply inform us of your arrival, we could provide an escort.”

“And miss the chance of making a grand entrance?” Roze feigned shock. “Not on your life Governor. Besides, the deal has already been made. And autonomy will do the agency good. No one faction can say we’re favouring one over the other because we won’t be favouring any of them!”

“And where, pray tell,” Scott asked, aware that he didn’t really have any say in this decision, “is this base going to be located. And more importantly, who is paying for it?”

“Well, I had a little chat with Lady Deirdre, wonderful lady actually, thinks very highly of you by the way.” Scott smiled at Roze’s description of Deirdre. It was clear that Deirdre had been her usual amicable self when she had spoken to Roze.

“Anyway,” Roze continued, “she has agreed to allow us to establish a base to the North-West of the Monsoon Jungle. It’s undeveloped territory, and she has even been generous enough to help us build an environmentally friendly facility. Yippee.” Roze's sarcasm made it clear what Deirdre had asked for in return for the land.

“As for paying for it,” Roze added as her smile broadened. “Let’s just say that Morgan was very appreciative for the return of his prodigal son.” Even Scott had to laugh at the thought of Chiron’s best deal maker, being outdone by a former employee.

“We leave tonight,” Roze finished off. “Oh and Scott, incase Lal comes back before I see you again, don’t worry. I can always find you a job working for me if you need it.” Roze grinned broadly and turned the terminal off.

[Argonaut]

Scott,
One last thing which I forgot to give you. Here are the files you requested on the most influential PK officials and bureaucrats, including Lal. Every dirty little deed since the age of four is in there. Who would have thought that Lal was such a loose cannon in his youth! Makes for some interesting reading, if nothing else.
Roze

[senatus]

Sparta Command

Her face has been described as aristocratic, haughty, cold. Now
it is illuminated from below as she leans over giant holotable, upon which
all the military forces and bases on Planet are arrayed. If she wished,
she could focus in upon a particular unit, a particular battle; even perceiving
the actions of individual soldiers so long as they were comlinked into
the tactical net that is but one input to the Command Nexus.

The Command Nexus is the greatest military supercomputer built by the
hands of man. Not the most sophisticated or advanced; that title
would have to be awarded to Morgan's Hunter-Seeker Algorithm. But
for the specialized needs of the Spartan Federation, it was far more powerful
than the simple command centres scattered in various bases of other factions.
It consists of two giant supercomputers, "Sandhurst" and "Westpoint"; each
focusing on aspects of proactive and reactive military actions respectively.
It contains all military wisdom recorded in the Unity datalinks, plus all
data garnered over the years on Planet. From here, Corazon Santiago
can call up Arrian's "Campaigns of Alexander", Sun Tzu's "The Art of War",
"The Civil War" by Gaius Julius Caesar, the memoires of Napoleon, or the
Spartan Battle Manual.

Yet for all its power, the Command Nexus can only advise and coordinate.
It cannot fight or win battles on its own. War is fought
by human beings, Karl von Clausewitz once wrote. Centuries of
technological evolution; yet the truth remains.

Hundreds of years ago - in Clausewitz's time, in fact - a commander
could only watch the theatre of war and issue directions to the actors
involved. It took time for messengers to travel to and from an embattled
flank, or a reserve unit. The commander could assess trends and direct
strategy - but in that time, the men under his command would be fighting,
dying. The tactical situation could change. As tempting as
it was to use the power of the Command Nexus to micromanage individual
battles, a good general served her cause best by watching the entire
theatre and formulating the strategy. Corazon Santiago was more than
a good general. She was the finest military mind that Planet
had. Even her enemies granted her that, even if they resented her
arrogance and self-assurance.

War is fought by human beings. Human beings have flaws.
A woman could be a great general, yet still be politically inastute, personally
inflexible, and so opaque to outsiders that some would consider her a sociopath.

Human beings are unpredictable. A man, once a trusted subordinate
and as close a confidante as a survivalist could have, might turn on her
unexpectedly.

I thought Scott Allardyce - Googlie - was such a man. A fine
soldier, a good leader, a fellow survivalist.

It was true that Corazon had said nothing when Googlie was on trial
for his life, accused of acts of subversion by the Junta. What could
be said? Her own power base had been precarious already. She
had known very little of what had gone on in her absense. Instead,
she had trusted Googlie to able to defend himself - assuming, of
course, that the charges were false. Was he not a survivor, like
her? And like her, should he emerge victorious, would he not be hardened;
stronger, smarter than before? Contrawise, would his own abilities
not be stunted if she'd stepped in to protect him from his own mistakes
in judgement? What she had done had not been an act of petty powermongering,
but a deliberate, calculated decision designed to harden her own subordinates
and through them, Sparta. The ideal had to be greater than any one
woman. Or man.

To care for someone was a sign of weakness. Therefore, she did
not care about Googlie. Therefore, his blackmail and betrayal meant
nothing to her, save how it affected the Grand Strategy. That is
what Corazon "Corrie" Santiago told herself; and telling herself it often
enough meant she was convinced it was the truth.

Santiago reviewed the huge tableau of data before her. Individual
elements could be quirks of fate. The greater picture could be obscured
by the fog of war. But if she perceived the pattern correctly, an
image began to form. Spartan needlejets crashing in fungal fields.
A cessation of overt Hive army activity on all fronts; behind them, the steady
rotation of units in what could only be a refitting operation. The
destruction of an entire Morgan fleet. The loss of the S.F.S. Hydra.
She punched a query and waited while emotionless computers formed their
response. Conclusion: Tentative. Predictive algorithms optimized
for land-based battles. Confirmation of superiour weaponry and armour
refits. Probability of imminent parallel refit on land / air forces:
High.

She has already lost the technological edge. Now she is losing
the initiative. The tide seems minor, insignificant as yet.
But the ocean moves. For the first time in months, defeat is a possibility.

Santiago stood in thought for five minutes, her eyes observing the battle
table but her mind considering her options.

I face two enemies. Yang, and these Progenitors. Napoleon
faced Blucher and Wellington. He failed to engage either until they
combined; and united, they defeated him. Like Napoleon, my lines
are extended and ill-suited for reactive defence. Like Napoleon,
time is against me.

Santiago made her decision. She knew it could be the wrong decision.
But inaction would cost her the war as surely as the wrong
action could.

"Summon the Junta." Colonel Santiago issued her first spoken words
in two hours.

---

Four hours later, holotablets activated at Morgan Industries, Velvetgrass
Point, Great Conclave, and UN Headquarters.

Nwabudike Morgan looks calm and impeccable as always, despite it being
deep in the night for him. Although his forces are weak and undisciplined,
his cool rationality and pragmatism are an asset to any general in need
of logistical support.

It is late in Great Clustering - which Miriam has renamed to Great Conclave
(a similar enough name so that the drones can adapt) as well.
Domai hadn't been included in the conference and Miriam's significance
was even more limited than his, but her unswerving loyalty and devotion
were particularily welcome after the betrayal by - but Santiago cut off
that train of thought.

In Velvetgrass Point, Deirdre Skye's beauty appears as naturally flawless
as Morgan's crafted image does. Like Morgan, she appears calm and
collected; but while the CEO's demeanor is a composition of his intellect
and grooming, Deirdre's reflects an inner peace.

Finally there is Googlie. Santiago did not bother to give him
more than a cursory glance.

"My fellow faction leaders - and delegate. I apologize for the
short notice, but I felt it necessary to discuss the current military situation
at the highest and most confidential level."

Unseen, unheard, Datajack Roze listened intently.

"As you are aware, these `Progenitors' possess an extremely sophisticated
technology which we cannot hope to match by quality or quantity as yet.
However, data seems to indicate that they also possess limited resources
and have no immediate source of reinforcements."

Some of the faces around the table turned grimmer. The fact that
the aliens couldn't have come out of nowhere had occurred to everyone;
no-one knew if that meant more would be coming.

Deirdre Skye spoke up.

"If more may be coming, then perhaps we should try again to establish
peaceful relations with them." Her words seemed reasonable, even
coloured as they were by sadness over the prospect of continued conflict
and lost lives, human and otherwise.

Santiago had been anticipating the question and was prepared.

"Recording THX1138 please."

A seamless door opened and a scrawny dark haired human girl is ejected
into the room. She is naked and has the body of girl just
into womanhood, and can't be much past 16. Her dark brown hair is
cropped short in a messy way, as if by inexpert hands (or
talons), and her face shows she is a polyglot of human genetics
common on Planet. Her eyes hint of an oriental heritage, but her skinhue is too dark and the wrong cast, perhaps of North African descent.
And her eyes are blue, a clear nod to northern European stock.

The recording, "liberated" from Hive intelligence databanks, continued.
The faction leaders watched one of the Progenitors enter the same arena,
and the wretched girl's demise as the alien hunted her down, tore her throat
open, then disemboweled her and clearly began to feast. Deliberately,
Santiago had left the audio unmuted. She looked about surreptitiously.
Morgan showed little emotion, but the distaste was plain upon his face.
Deirdre said nothing, but tears were visible on her cheeks. Even
Miriam looked shaken and pale. Googlie... Googlie was looking back
at her, his face expressionless, waiting to see what was coming next.

Carefully making an effort to appear fair-minded, Santiago resumed
speaking.

"We don't know the details behind this recording. We know nothing
of these creatures' psychology, and whether this incident is characteristic
of the race. However, I believe that any negotiations we may eventually
undertake must be done from a position of strength."

"All this had been agreed upon by the council already, Corazon.
Why summon us for this?" Googlie spoke for the first time.
In public, he betrayed no evidence of the rift between them.

"I'm getting to that. Consider the destruction of the CEO's fleet.
It is clear that technological exchange is occurring between the aliens
and Yang. Nothing else could explain his leap in weapons tech.
Likewise, the aliens no doubt are receiving data on humanity, such as our
genetic code and potential succeptability to retroviral strains.
Clearly, if we do not act, our situation will worsen. However, the
results of our last offensive were costly, and I don't want to throw away
Spartan lives for no improvement in the overall situation. The time
has come for us to shift strategies. We must apply more pressure,
especially on the aliens, while at the same time finding out more of their
capabilities and building up our own forces while hopefully tying theirs
down."

"We begin by shifting to harassment tactics. Since we cannot win
a direct conflict without horrendous casualties, we try to damage their infrastructure.
And if we can draw their forces out individually, we isolate and destroy
them, or perhaps even subvert them via probe operations."

"On the home front, Sparta will begin to concentrate on creating `core'
units, properly trained but with only the minimal equipment our industry
can provide directly. I remind you all that my resources are stretched
thinly. CEO Morgan, your industries will be responsible for upgrading
the equipment of the core units to state-of-the-art technology. Sister
Miriam, you are in a position to provide logistical support to our front-line
units in Hive territory, where Spartan supply lines are over-extended.
I intend to shift some infantry and air units over to Great Conclave, and
I expect the Believers to assume the responsibility for their upkeep."

Miriam and Morgan both nodded; this suited their inclinations well.
The Believers were famous for "digging deep" in times of war. While
for his part, Morgan was loath to put his units on the front line; the
danger pay required by his troops was prohibitive. But outfitting
Spartan units was within his means, and led to lucrative military
contracts in the future.

"How can we help?" Deirdre asked.

Although her question was probably meant to speak only for the Gaians,
Santiago deliberatly chose to apply it collectively to the U.N. as well.

"The U.N. has yet to assume its fair share of the duties. I realize
that your infrastructure isn't designed for military production, so instead I
want you, Googlie, to establish an Axis base near or on the Usurpers' continent,
north of the Nivetech facility. We will need a forward base to conduct
either reconnaissance or raiding operations on the aliens."

"Why the U.N.? Morganic territory is closer to the eastern side."
Googlie pointed out.

"Morganic waters are being patrolled by Hive vessels," Santiago explained.
"And his movements are watched. On the other hand, a convoy coming
south from U.N. territory would be unexpected and unwatched for.
The most you might encounter is a few wandering Isles, and perhaps Lady
Deirdre can help you with that."

"I would nevertheless suggest-" Googlie began, but Santiago cut
him off.

"This isn't a matter open for debate. As you pointed out to me
recently, you are in charge of civilian affairs. I
am in charge of military operations. Correct?" The smile
that Santiago showed was anything but friendly. A short silence ensued
around the table. Miriam looked confused, and Deirdre looked concerned.
Morgan was studiously examining his fingernails, concealing discomfort at the
faux pas.

"Now... faction leaders, Representative... if there are no other questions,
do I have consensus?"

One by one, the faction leaders signalled assent. Santiago waited
a brief moment to see if Googlie would put his head into a noose for her.
He did not oblige.

"Then our staff will work out the details. This conference is adjourned."
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited July 21, 2000).]

[Googlie]

I de-activated the holocam, and sat back in my chair.

The woman was preposterous. Oh, yes, I had noticed the slight – the barely perceptible acknowledgement of my attendance. And I had endured her putdowns, but, of course, I was not one of the faction leaders, merely deputizing.

At least she hadn’t used the occasion to strip me of the Axis appointment.

But she was so wrong. Dead wrong.

Yes, the prosecution of the war was a military matter. But the establishment of a base was very much a civilian matter. And an internal PK one at that. How dare she presume to dictate to another faction where it sites a base?

Yet she had a point.

Of all the factions, the Peacekeepers would find it easiest to assemble a colony pod convoy, and it would be less noticeable than one coming from Morgan territory.

But I needed to discuss this further with some trusted aides. Ones that wouldn’t bristle with indignation at the loss of the PK sovereignty, at being ordered about by the Colonel. Ones that could think rationally, emotionlessly, unbiasedly. Ones that would complement my admittedly impulsive nature. I thought I knew the perfect candidate.

I remembered a fragment of a conversation….

I activated the holoscreen again, and keyed in the phrase Aki Zeta. The archives dredged up the short holovid, which I then replayed:

Ah, Allardyce, you who once was known as Omicron-One – I greet you.

Our small faction is swept into this war much against our will, as we are not a violent people. But to side with those known as The Axis is the logical choice for me and my followers. We will be poor fighters, I fear. But we will bring a sense of rationality to the decision making process, and we are excellent administrators -–in fact I offer myself as an assistant to your administration in any way needed. We are not without skill.

Think it over

I dialed the commlink.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++

We met later that day at the Governor’s offices in UN Amnesty Town. Aki had suggested coming all the way to UN Headquarters, but this was half way between my location and hers, so it suited our purposes just fine.

I’d been brief over the commlink, just saying that I wanted to take her up on her offer to have special accreditation to me as an assistant, so I broached the subject in a light hearted fashion, to remove any residual tension that may have remained from my CC days.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet, and so quickly, too. I’ve been thinking of a title for you in my administration, and the best I could come up with SCRATCH – Special Consultant Representing the Axis Temporary Civilian Head.”

“Droll, Representative Allardyce, droll,” was her humorless reply. “It doesn’t matter what I am called, how can I help?”

I sighed. Ah well, down to business.

I explained the situation, then activated the recording of the holovid of the leaders, and then asked:

“So as an unbiased third party, what do you think?”

Aki Zeta pondered, then gave her reasoned reply:

“Firstly, the Colonel is correct. We are entering a war of attrition , of harassment, and as such a forward location is essential to stage units for skirmishes against the aliens. But I question why a base. Why not just an airfield with a sensor and bunker?”

“I think I can answer that,” I replied. If we are to have troops stationed there, in any numbers to speak of, then we need a full civilian infrastructure to support them. Food and minerals production for repair and refitting, recreation activities, a hospital, and of course the subsequent infrastructure to support these – a childrens’ creche, recycling tanks, etc. We are talking about a sizeable base within a few months, I think.”

She pondered that, and nodded.

“Yes, I see. If we are eventually to overrun the alien bases we need ground troops to do so. So I would agree, a base is essential. And the Peacekeepers are the logical Axis faction to hurry a colony pod to completion and move it there, perhaps fitted with drop technology if speed is of the essence.”

I nodded.

She continued:

“But why north of the Nivetech Testing Center? The logical place is the waist of the continent, map co-ordinate 1,93. It has ocean access to the North, West and Southwest, and is almost surrounded by fungus, which would provide excellent defense, particularly if there were some Gaian mindworms attached to the base.

“And it would be accessible to fusion needlejets from UN Great Refuge and Settlement Agency, Morgan Bank and Pharmaceuticals, the Gaian Temple of Chiron, Great Conclave, and the Drone base on Mount Planet. That would be the ideal location.

“But why would you not consider a sea base? With drop technology, a landbridge is no longer as essential as it once was. And the area of New Sargasso, with its thermals, is known to be extremely rich in energy.

“In fact, why would you not consider two bases?”

I replied: “Why not indeed? Except for the cost, and the moans and wailings of the Base Governors whose bases were going to be asked to produce the colony pods, it’d be a piece of cake.”

Aki Zeta looked at me quizzically. “I don’t understand,” she said.

I explained the plebiscite ruse the governors had pulled on me earlier.

“But that is illogical,” she said. “Highly wasteful and inefficient.”

I sighed again, “Tell me about it,” I said.

She moved over to the holomap, and adjusted some of the settings.

“Why not a Peacekeeper base at 1,93, and a Free Drone base in the New Sargasso Sea – at 111,95” she asked.

Good question.

I remembered the holovid from Domai, and reckoned that to the extent it could, the Peacekeepers should control the expansion.

“I don’t think so,” I said. Foreman Domai has his hands full right now with the consolidation of his little empire after the base swap. In normal times, yes, but this time I think you’re on to something, but as a full PK effort.

“Let’s look at the base situation.”

I pulled up the base display on the Peacekeeper map.

Aki Zeta-5 was entranced.

We scanned through the base production statistics, and both came to the same conclusion.

“You first,” I said

“UN Great refuge has drone problems due to overcrowding. They are currently partway into constructing a research hospital. A change to a fusion sea colony pod, with accelerated building, would cost 85 energy credits and be finished before the year is out.’

I nodded. “Go on.”

She continued:

“Likewise, at UN Headquarters, you have the same problems with drone control, so taking some of that excess population and hiving it off to a colony pod would make sense. Rush building it would cost 320 energy credits, but delaying it until the riots die down might cheapen the cost – albeit prolonging its development, as the workers would be happier with some recognition of their discontent.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I beamed. “It’s good to have them corroborated by an independent third party.”

I looked at the time display. Too late to contact Tazeem to get her blessing – that would have to wait until morning. Then we’d tackle the Base Governors. I might need some of Roze’s dirt to get their co-operation, but I’d review that later in the evening.

I turned to Aki Zeta – 5.

“Prime Function. Can Omicron One interest you in dinner?”

She looked startled for a moment, then saw the twinkle in my eye, and relaxed.

“Ah, being droll again, Representative Allardyce. Yes, I would.”

“Then you must call me Scott,” I replied, taking her arm and leaving the office.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited July 22, 2000).]

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

“Father, I’m fine. Really,” Morgan Junior stated.

“Yes, you have said that several times now. However, you need a complete physical and psychological medical exam. Most who are tortured by Yang come out changed. I need to ensure that he has not altered you. The physical and mental stress of a punishment sphere is enough to change any man,” Morgan Senior replied, looking down on his son. As he did so he remembered the audio of Junior’s screams that Yang had sent him as a ‘present’ to remember his son by.

Gone was Mwabudike Senior’s steely, critical gaze, and the mildly disapproving body language that said ‘what you have done is acceptable, but you can do better and I expect more of you.’ Morgan knew business and the affairs of state always came first, but he also knew that the loss of his only son to Yang had changed something in him. He was still able to intuitively evaluate the value of a business dealing or transaction, but now he was more aware of relationships. It made the net sum more complicated.

Morgan looked at his son, who had a far off look in his eyes. That far off look in and of itself was unusual, since he knew that Junior was even more driven and, in some ways, more ruthless than he was. In the past his demeanor almost crackled with energy, and impatience. Junior had built his own corporate conglomerate, Morgan Microtrade, Inc., into a powerhouse without his help. The fact that he was a Morgan undoubtedly greased the wheels, but it had grown in only 45 years into the 8th largest financial entity in the entire Morgan society, which made it the 8th largest corporation on Planet. Competitors had been crushed without remorse economically or politically, and there was a long trail of debris behind him. But, what businessman does not do such things? That is the way of the world – consume, or be consumed.

What drives someone so hard?

Morgan Senior knew. He had known all along, but had never chosen to realize it.

Morgan place his hand on Junior’s shoulder. “Son, I am proud of you.”

Morgan Junior, lying on a scanning bed, refocused and looked over at his father. There was a slightly surprised look on his face.

“Thank you, Father,” he replied. His voice sounded more ‘here’ than it had since he had arrived home. And there was a smile on his face, the first smile Morgan Senior had seen since he had been given back into his care. In fact, it was the first smile he remembered seeing since he was a boy 80 years ago.

“Son, the doctors are going to do a deep scan, which is similar to the exam taken before a longevity renewal treatment. These results will be compared to your last exam. It will take several days. Do you understand?”

Junior continued looking at his father and replied in a disinterested voice, “Yes, Father.”

Senior looked from his son to the swarm of technicians waiting to start the procedure. The return of Morgan Junior had caused quite a sensation, and these men and women had jockeyed for the honor of attending to the heroic Returning Son. Of course, they each paid dearly for the honor. Junior’s leadership during the horror at Morgan Bank had been told and retold, sometimes in the vids but just as often in private conversations. His failed revolt against Yang’s oppressors had taken on the caste of a tragic tale of bravery against hopeless odds, and those that Yang had executed after the revolt failed were now called the Milton Burle Heroes. Rumors spread that speculated about the tortures that Junior had endured in Yang’s punishment sphere, and the tape of Junior’s screams finally leaked out and spread like wildfire. The survivors of Morgan Bank told anecdotes of Junior’s compassion and help to the distraught and his fearlessness in the face of doom. Of course, the tales grew with the telling. Everyone knew this, but no one cared. Every society needs its heroes, and in Morganic society a heroic businessman is a rare thing indeed.

Morgan nodded, and a gentle sleep was induced on Junior. Slowly his eyes closed.

Senior looked at his son. He looks like me, but has his Mother’s fearlessness. Or, he did.

Morgan pulled himself up straight, realizing he was slouching a little. Turning, he walked out of the room, his polished patent leather shoes clicking on the floor. As always, there is business to attend to, and paying his debt to Rose was at the top of his list.

[Googlie]

Fellowship City

Anson was surprised to hear another knock on the unit’s door, and instantly activated his aug-psi defense as he looked at the sleeping Sven and the gibbering Kurt.

He reflexively tapped his nails against the sensor pads, and in his hands came the nervegas and fleschette shredders. He moved to the door, and yanked it open, pointing the shredders in the face of the visitor.

Miles Cavenaugh reeled back, hastily raising his arms in the air:

“Whoa, Old Fellow. Take it easy. I’ve come to help Kurt there,” he said, indicating with a nod of his head the pathetic figure of the young man clutching himself and rocking to and fro on his heels, muttering incoherently.

Anson looked up and down the corridor. A couple of neighbors had opened their doors to see what the commotion was about, so to mollify them Anson said expansively:

“Come on in, my friend. I’ve been expecting you,” and yanked Miles inside the apartment, pushing the door to behind him.

Miles staggered into the room, and sat down by the table, hands resting on the surface, palms up, indicating that he intended no harm. He sent the thought tendril exploring to Anson’s mind.

Anson felt the tingle, and recognized it immediately, although the operator was a lot smoother and professional than Kurt had been.

“Cut the crap, kid,” he said. “I’m blocking and I’ll make you sorry if you try and persevere. Now do what you came to do and get your friend here out of his trance.”

“Why did he come here?” Miles asked.

“Wanted to meet my buddy,” Anson replied.

“Ah, yes, his father,” said Miles.

“Well I’ll be damned. He’s Sven’s boy? Wouldn’t have thought that seeing his father like that would have set him off. Sheesh, you never know.”

“That wasn’t it,” Miles responded. “He was mind-probing him as he slept and came across some particularly painful memory that he had been suppressing all those years. His mother’s death. Threw him into this trance. I’m going into his mind and will try to cauterize these links and excise these particular memories for him. But I can’t do it alone. I need to summon a greater talent than I.”

“No one else comes into this room,” Anson said stubbornly. “You can leave with the boy if you need to enlist someone else.”

“Oh, not in person,” Miles replied. “Psionically.”

“Might this … talent friend be able to help old Sven here?” Anson asked.

Miles contemplated the sleeping man.

“Perhaps,” he replied, “although I fear it’s more medical attention he needs, not neural. We’ll try, though.”

“Well better get to work,” was Anson’s caustic response.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++

”Merlin …. Merlin ”

Miles sent out the psi-wave.

“Ah, my boy. And how are you?” came the almost instantaneous response into his mind.

“Not too good,” Miles transmitted. “I have a friend with a badly fried brain that needs your help.”

“Well then, link me,” came the thought from Merlin. “Although forgive me if I wander at times, I’m having the ride of my life with Sarah.”

“Sarah! How is she. How come I can’t connect?”

“She’s preoccupied now – on a mission, you might say. Wheeee - she's summoned a locust swarm and it's her own 'magic carpet', so to speak. But what's the problem?"

Miles empathed the Kurt problem to Merlin, and together they went into Kurt's mind.

Miles led Merlin to the memory core, where he'd been flummoxed, but it was easy going after that. Merlin had been trained by the Circle as an Empath Talent and had obviously been their agent in numerous mindwipes and alterings. Miles 'observed' with interest as Merlin identified the offending memory strands, and then skillfully isolated it.

"Trouble is that we don't want to block it completely, but neither do we want to link it to a feeling other than complete revulsion, lest we create psychopathic tendencies in him. He mustn't lose the memory of what happened to his mother, but we need to remove the link to catatonia."

Merlin's deft mental touch carefully undid the linkages and then reconnected to less traumatic areas.

Finally he was done.

"What about seeing what you can do for the old man, while you are here?" asked miles.

"What old man?"

Looking over to Taddei, Miles indicated that his friend was going to try and help Sven. Anson nodded.

With the empath link intact, Miles gently entered Sven's mind again, Merlin in tow.

Merlin's exclamation point came as a mental jar in Miles' mind.

"But this is Sven Alfredsson," Merlin empathed.

"You know him?"

"Very much so. I was still an operative with the Circle when the Hive and the Believers were at war. It was my assignment to find him after Miriam surrendered and mentally cripple him before turning him over to Sand, my superior officer in The Circle. After I learned what the sadistic Sand intended to do with him, I released him and alerted some Spartan officers as to Sand's whereabouts. They tried, obviously unsuccessfully, to assassinate Sand. That act of kindness - yes, and betrayal - on my part was the reason for my banishment from the Circle by Ashaandi and my corporeal disbandment as punishment. I'd love to help, if for revenge on Sand if for no other reason"

"Be my guest," Miles replied with his mind. "I'll let Anson know what's happening."

"Anson? Anson Taddei?"

"What, you know him too," Miles asked

"Ah yes. He was - is - the Hive Independent Mercenary. I was the operative who installed his psi- augmentation. Ask him to unblock, and I'll pay him an empath visit. He'll remember me as Agent Steel. But let me get to work on Sven."

Miles nodded, and let him get to work.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sven was sitting up eating some stew when Merlin said his mental goodbyes.

Anson sadly shook his head.

"Poor fellow. We all thought he was dead - trapped for decades in Ashaandi's control. I hope this Sarah woman can help him."

"That reminds me," said Miles. "I need to reconnect with my team."

He let his mind roam, looking for Anastasia's telltale mental signature.

"I'm getting nothing," he said. "Kurt, can you join me and augment me?"

Kurt nodded, and forged the bridge.

They swept the city.

Nothing.

"I left her guarding Angel and Angelica when I came here for you," Miles said.

"Well, they're either being blocked somehow, or not in easy range," Kurt offered. "But let me try. Angelica is pretty new at this game so her empath broadcasts will be like scattered chaff if you know what to look for. Join me if you like."

Miles nodded.

"Got her," Kurt said. "In a needletransport heading for…the Hive Covert Ops base. I know that - that's where I first met Angel. "

"I, too, know it well," said Anson softly.

"Can I get there?" asked Miles.

"Yes," Kurt replied. "I'll take you."

"And I'll come too - how about you, Sven?"

He shook his head.

"No, I've been following the underground broadcasts. I'm going to make my way to Great Clustering - now called Great Conclave, I understand.

"I have to report for duty to Sister Miriam."

Anson nodded.

"I understand. Glad to see you feeling and looking better, old friend. You need a couple of weeks in the tanks, and you'll be as good as new."

Sven agreed.

"Thanks to Miles and his friend, I haven't felt better for a decade, but you're right. I've lost the edge, and a couple of weeks in rejuv would work wonders."

The two mercs clasped wrists, then the groups quietly exited into the corridor and went their separate ways.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited July 23, 2000).]