The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 3

[senatus]

Great Conclave


Jessica walked back towards her quarters, feeling drained.  She
nodded politely to the other Believers she recognized in the underground
tunnels of the former Hive base, but inside her emotions churned, despite
her exhaustion.  She tried to blot out the emotions of the others,
trying not to read what lay behind the equally-polite faces.  This
one looked at her with indifference.  That one, with stirrings of
sexual attraction.  This one, with distrust.  Would the next
be radiating hatred like David Weaver had?  Suddenly afraid to find
out, Jessica rushed back to her room, ignoring the surprised glances of
Believers and Drones alike.


The room was a refuge of sorts.  It didn't provide the same feeling
of peace that the various chapels usually did, but right now Jessica didn't
want any other human contact.  Instead, she went to her computer terminal
and absent-mindedly downloaded  her MMI passcode, after impatiently
waiting for the retinal scanner she'd installed had finished confirming
her physical identity.  A necessary set of minimal precautions for
someone who was supposed to be the Believers' covert ops coordinator,
as well as a junior member of the Believer Council.  Now, however,
it looked like she might not have much of a career at all....


Stop it!  Jessica rebuked herself sternly.  Sister
Miriam is on my side.  And God is on my side... I hope and pray. 
No, I believe.  If this is to be a test of faith, then I must
believe.


Jessica took a deep breath, and recited the Lord's prayer to herself. 
When she opened her eyes, she felt calmer... as she always did after prayer.


She found a number of messages awaiting her.  She noted one from
Sharra, "reaching" for it and opening the envelope in the simulated environment
provided by her MMI.  The recently-purchased Morgan technology was
startlingly realistic compared to the simpler models and artifacts that
Jessica had used in the U.N., and she was glad she wasn't one of those
people who felt more comfortable in the virtual world than the real one. 
If she was, doubtless all her time would've been consumed playing addictive
computer strategy games and the like.


Sharra's letter was brief, but enough to make Jessica smile just a moment,
despite her poor mood.  Sharra had a charming innocence that reminded
Jessica of... well, of herself.  Before she'd been forced to kill
a man.


That action had given Jessica nightmares for the first few evenings. 
She'd known that she could do it, of course, but being trained for it by
the Spartans, being warned that it might be necessary by Miriam herself,
and actually having to do it were two different things.  And
the fact that her victim had been a fellow Believer... could it have been
avoided if it'd been someone other than Jessica who had confronted David
Weaver that day?  Or would that other person now be dead, along with
Zakharov and Sharra?  Realistically, Jessica knew the latter was true. 
But it'd been easy to dismiss David Weaver's accusations as those from
an insane, vengeful fanatic.  Now, Jessica knew that he wasn't alone
in his sentiments.  It was very easy to get depressed again, but she
would not.


I know God loves me.  I will not allow my faith
in this to waver, despite my accusers.  That settled it. 
No more moping.


There was another letter from Brother Joaquim.  Unsurprisingly,
he'd heard the accusation and offered his wholehearted support.


The next message was unsigned, and Jessica's mouth quirked as she unravelled
the amateur efforts to conceal the sender's identity with barely an effort. 
The contents were spiteful and accusatory, and had come from the office
of Sister Larson, another member of the Council.  Jessica's first
inclination was to send a nasty virus back to Sister Larson's computer,
but instead she installed a covert monitoring program.  After all,
she didn't know it was Sister Larson, and even if it was, better
not to alert the offender that Jessica was onto their little game.


Suddenly a letter flew in (literally - Jessica had tailored her enviroment
to put wings on the letters if they were urgent), and the young woman quickly
snatched it out of the air and opened it.  Her eyes widened and then
narrowed as she read the contents, and her own concerns became forgotten. 
Jessica snatched up a virtual pen and began to compose.

---

Data DeCentral, Covert Ops Centre


Obtaining information was easy.  Every minute, millions of packets
from thousands of tapped sources made their way into the network node at
the Axis Central Intelligence Agengy.  What was more difficult was
sorting and characterizing the data into the useless (99.999999% of the
time) and potentially of value (very, very rarely).  That task fell
primarily to Datajack Roze's computers.  Despite their sophisitication,
however, there was always a need for human intuition.  That was why
Roze was going to considerable effort to find and recruit good analysts.


That was the sort of administrative and logistical stuff that Roze hated. 
A natural-born anarchist at heart, the sultry Datajack had avoided organizations
and rules all her life.  It was extremely ironic that she found herself
needing the latter now that she was in charge of the former, and not for
the first time, Roze wondered what insanity had convinced her to take the
job.


So when the personal message was received, Roze was positively relieved
to find a short-term distraction.  Until she read the message contents,
that is.


Datajack: Be advised that a hostile organization has subverted Spartan
Counter-Intelligence and has been active for some time.  I have enclosed
the following report from one of our Lord's Believers inside the organization. 
I suspect that the Circle is involved, given the psionic talents demonstrated
by the infiltrators.  They are planning a near-term assassination
attempt upon Colonel Santiago.  I have not informed Sparta Command,
as I expect their operations are compromised.   The Believers 
there don't have the training or resources to deal with this on our own,
so I'm hoping you can run the countermeasure.  We can, however, provide
some local assistance if you are planning a sweep and require military
backup; we have a small contigent of soldiers at Sparta Command undergoing
training, and our own chain of command is uncompromised.  Sincere
regards: Sister Jessica McCollough.


"Son of a b*tch!"  Heads turned at Roze's loud exclamation as the
message flashed across her MMI.  Bad enough that someone had infiltrated
the Spartan Department of Inquisition (and therefore her domain
by extension), but what was more embarrassing was that those wacky, backwards
Believers had discovered it first.  That wasn't entirely surprising,
though; the Believers had always placed an emphasis on "human intelligence"
and field operations, and their members were scattered across every faction
on Planet save the progenitors.


Serves me right for getting a desk job and "swivel-chair spread",
Roze reflected.


"OK boys and girls.  Time to disconnect those datajacks and to
get our hands dirty.  We've got a real job headed our way," Sinder
Roze announced.

[Googlie]

U.N. Headquarters

Where had the time gone?

I reclined in the synthleather chair and idly looked out of the 47th floor window at U.N. Headquarters spread out below me.

Had six weeks really passed since I saw Pravin off at the airport, and promised to run an efficient "ship" in his absence? I had picked him up last evening at the aerospace center, fresh in from Morgan industries with a young Pria in tow. We'd had dinner with Tazeem and General Gupta, and throughout the meal we had exchanged surreptitious glances at each other as we observed the chemistry between Lal and Pria. He had rejuvenated to a youthful looking 40 ish, while she was restored to the 30 year old status her original had been when the Unity departed.

We'd given him a rundown of events in his absence, but clearly his mind was elsewhere, and he had requested the meeting this morning that I was preparing for.

The base Governors had all done their bit, and I had ready a holographic roll call of their bases' readiness, their production status, and other details that he would find useful. Tazeem would walk him through that. The General would report on the military state. I would fill him in on the geopolitical affairs of the past six weeks. Then I would take my leave, and head to Velvetgrass Point.

I steepled my fingers under my chin, and thought back to last evening's commlink message waiting for me on my return from dinner. I waved a hand over the control sensor and the message reappeared on the wall screen.

Scott:

Imperative you come to VP soonest.

The Alien has been in contact with Megan again. You need to meet him/her.

Call.

Shannon Lindly

ps Dee's back out of the tanks - looks stunning. We pack in 2 days for the big move to Gaia Revered. The Morgan construction crews have done a tremendous job on the new state-of-the-art HQ

I was booked on the daily noon flight to Velvetgrass Point, right after the meeting.

I wondered what the alien wanted with us - why he/she wouldn't use the diplomatic channels that were open, albeit difficult with the resonance adapter linked in.

My commlink beeped. It was Tazeem

"Are you joining us? We're waiting for your august presence."

I sat upright - "coming," I said, and snapped the controls shut.

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

"We'll start with Great Refuge first," said Tazeem, as the holo lit up.

"They were persuaded a few weeks ago to change production from a research hospital to prepping for a sea colony convoy. This was in response to the "suggestions" from the paranoid Colonel, but it made so much sense and as well alleviates a drone problem that keeps resurfacing here. I am pleased to report that the inducements offered the crews to rush build this have worked and just yesterday the colonists and their equipment left the security of the base. We estimate that they will be in the New Sargasso area in a few days. Spartan air cover will be provided courtesy of Domai Dome.

"They are now partway through the prototyping of a Trance AAA Chaos destroyer

"At HQ there was some considerable resistance to discontinuing the hydroponics satellite, but the logic of our presentation to the base council was compelling. There is no way that the Aliens would permit our facility to remain in orbit more than a few hours, and I am afraid that this is the same for all the Axis partners. Until we develop the ability to launch an orbital defense pod we are helpless in the face of their orbiting spaceships. The colony pod with its accoutrements will be complete in a few weeks and should be on station at 1,93 in two months or so. Then the offensive can gather speed.

"We have used our share of the Unity core salvage to rush build all our major base facilities and clear the decks for upgrading our military.

"Trained Chaos Needlejets are being constructed at:

Health
Pillar of Rights
Planetary Trust
Temple
Amnesty, and
Haven City

"Clean Chaos Speeders are being built at:

High Commission
Social Council
Data Acquisition, and
Settlement Agency

"Ocean Authority is constructing a Hab Complex - they are beset with terrible overcrowding there leading to repetitive drone riots

"The three newer bases on the large continent are all building recycling tanks. They are:

Court of Justice
Criminal Tribunal, and
Enforcement Base.

"I will now hand you over to General Gupta."

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

My mind wandered as "Sweep" went through a recital of the units, their positioning, their state of readiness, the tactics that they were being trained on, relations with the military at the other factions and so on. I perked up as he drew to a close.

"In short, Commissioner, we are in good shape. Our military will shortly be the equal of the Spartans, but with less well-trained crews. We have focussed our attention on the airforce, spending our precious training credits there. We are ready now, and in scant weeks we will be poised to assume an equal partnership in the upcoming offensive.

"Scott Allardyce will now brief you on the geopolitical influences.

I brought Lal up to date with the emergence of the Progenitors, their alliance with Yang, the Phony War that ran for a few months then, with an amusing abruptness, the loss of patience on the Colonel's part.

"So we will shortly be taking the war to the Aliens homefront. Our forward bases will soon be established and will serve as the springboard for our attacks on the Alien bases. We all have a role to play - the Morganites as financiers, the Spartans with their ability to develop crack troops, the Gaians with their impressive psi corps, we with our population edge and an ability to put several squadrons and units in the field, the Drones with their burgeoning industrial might, and even the Believers, with a highly credible probe infrastructure in place via their diaspora.

"So while victory is not assured, especially against what we believe to be a vastly more advanced military machine, if we all do our part it will surely come.

"And let me say, dear Commissioner, what a pleasure it is to have you back behind the helm. As you know, I am leaving right after this meeting to head to Velvetgrass Point. A high ranking alien (we believe) has made several contacts with a young Gaian, and has asked for me, so I will go to see what gives.

"I will stay in touch."

With that I left the council hall, and headed for the aerospace center.

[Hydro]

Great Conclave

thup-thup-thup-thup

Jessica felt and heard the rotors of the civilian helicopter. Although she had been only on one once before, it still struck her that they were going very fast and high, and beneath her was the vast blue and pink Central Chiron Sea. Since leaving Great Conclave they had flown west for hours. The low mound-city of Great Conclave had disappeared quickly and its low profile blended into the horizon. To the north she could just make out a brilliant glint that might be some of the lofty spires of Morgan Pharmaceuticals.

Although not afraid of heights, Jessica did feel a little apprehension when looking down and seeing only sea and fungus. A supersonic flight was high enough and fast enough to give the illusion of invulnerability and detachment, but the copter was so low and fast that whitecaps and swells could be seen on the ocean, and the interwoven kilometer-wide ribbons of sea fungus that extended to the horizon were all too apparent. The swells could even be seen crashing into the fungal areas, with the fungus absorbing the wave’s kinetic energy effortlessly as the swells were muted to low waves and then damped out entirely. In many ways the ribbons of sea fungus looked like low, pink islands with small patches of quiescent blue sea showing through here and there.

In short, it was all too apparent that this Morgan helicopter was in middle of nowhere, and seeming going nowhere but ‘west’. It was all very mysterious, kind of spy-like.

At that thought Jess looked over at her companion, who was what Jess called a ‘generic man’ since he was of indeterminate age and had absolutely nothing about his features or bearing to make him stand out. He was ageless and could be anywhere from a doctored man in his late 20s to a rejuvenated 180-year-old. His clothing was nondescript and far too bland for a Morganite, and even his unevenly cropped hair belied his Morganite heritage. In many ways he was the exact opposite of Paul Andreus. Whereas Paul was tall, stocky, exuberant, and flashy, this man ‘blended’ – her could be a faceless worker, that some called by a term Jess hated, a ‘drone’.

He had picked her up at Conclave and whisked her off with not so much as hello or a by-your-leave. All he had said is that his name was ‘Rider’, and if that was his real name than Jess was an atheist. During the entire flight, now into its third hour, he had sat staring at the bulkhead in front of him, and he only moved slightly during a bit of turbulence or a course correction. Jess knew it was rude to stare, but every once in a while she stole a look in his direction, and he always had the same far away look on his face.

Then Jess saw his Plug at the base of his skull. Or, rather, she felt it as she finally gave into temptation and brushed his mind.

Still with his far off look Rider finally spoke.

“Now, none of that, Sister,” he said in mildly reproving voice.

Jess involuntarily blushed and looked away.

A faint smile crept over Rider’s face. “I was wondering when you’d try to peek.”

His eyes focused, and he turned to look at a very embarrassed Jess.

“You held out for a longer than I thought you would,” he commented in a friendly voice. “Paul told my of your psi ability, and a little about your ‘situation’.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jess said, “I…I…please forgive me. I know it’s wrong.” Jess felt like the roller coaster ride she had been on for the last day or so was still charging up and down, and now she was done again.

“I don’t blame you Sister. Actually, you should be a little upset at me for deliberately tempting you, keeping you in the dark, giving you no information. You have to be curious and concerned, and I was ignoring you. All you have had to go on is intuition, and the discipline of your faith. So, can you forgive me?”

Jess felt a little better. “To forgive is divine. I forgive you, if you will pardon my intrusion.”

Rider leaned a little closer and winked at her. “Done. I don’t mind an occasional intrusion.”

Jess didn’t know how to react to that. Another test? Was he making a pass at her?

“Now, I will be happy to answer all your questions, since we have left Great Conclave. That city has changed government so frequently in the last 6 months that it is a Level 2 security risk, and any discussion is liable to find its way straight to Yang, or any other paying interested party. This ‘civilian’ helicopter is as secure as any place can be, so we can get started after we land, which should be pretty soon.”

Jess was confused. She glanced around to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. There wasn’t a bit of land anywhere around them.

“Land? We’re in the middle of the ocean.”

“Yes, we are,” Rider replied, nodding. “We’ll be landing over there.”

Rider pointed straight ahead in the general direction of a large swath of fungus. Jess looked at it, and it seemed pretty thick.

Jess knew enough about sea fungus that to know that it is Planet’s equivalent of kelp, although it is much more vigorous and covers a larger array of climates and water depths. It was more like a Sargasso Sea of old Earth, with an even more integrated biosystem that was both complicated and robust. But it wasn’t land.

Then Jess felt it: a wisp, a tendril, almost like a keening voice, off key and dissonant. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was noticeable.

Jess concentrated on it. It was almost like music, a little like syncopated waves that were slightly out of sync, creating destructive interference as pianissimos and constructive wave modulations as fortes. She turned her head to the side to try to ‘hear’ better, trying to grasp the interwoven complex melody. The melody was elusive, and hard to grasp. Just as one piece seemed to click it seemed to vanish, and was replace by another tendril. It seemed like one tendril touched her, lightly, and then pulled away as the turned toward it, only to be replaced by another. Like a darting fish, it was just out of grasp, but graceful and elegant. Each touch was gentle, but ephemeral. A melody? No, it wasn’t a melody. A song? But it had meaning, Jess could feel it.

Beautiful. It is so beautiful… Jess thought. She concentrated harder, almost like she was seeing with her mind, searching, focusing, reaching out.

As if from far away Jess sensed there were hands on her. A pair of hands, rough hands on her shoulders, and that the hands were holding her, forcing her. Restraining hands…

But the music was compelling, and Jess felt herself being drawn back.

Then Jess heard sounds. They weren’t the music, and they didn’t seem to make sense. The sounds weren’t beautiful, and didn’t have the overlapping harmonics. The sounds were…primitive. They didn’t’ resonate.

Jess ignored the insistent sounds. Jess concentrated on the music.

Jess felt pain.

Shock!

Awareness!

The music was slipping away!

No! No no no no no! NO!

Jess panicked and lashed out at the hands, automatically using her Spartan training for self-defense. She felt trapped, and the music was slipping away!

“Sister Jessica! Jessica!” Rider was yelling, as if from down a well. The sounds were like a weak echo, and seemed hollow and faint.

Jess realized that is was Rider’s hands that were on her. Violating her!

Jess fought harder, but felt the futility. It was like striking a tree trunk. She felt a scream building, and inhaled deeply.

Rider’s hand clamped on her mouth, and she felt his body pressing against her.

“Fight it Jessica! Fight!” the man’s voice said, sounding a little closer, and much louder.

Jessica fought against the grip, focusing on the hands, feeling the warmth of his body pressing on her, holding her. Striking her!

NO!

Then something snapped. The song disappeared, and all the remained was Rider, who was a quarter of a meter from her, still shaking her, and shaking her hard.

Jessica’s eyes focused Rider, and the panic faded.

What song?

Rider noticed that she was ‘back’ and stopped shaking her shoulders.

“Jessica?” he asked, concerned.

Jessica was a little disoriented, and looked at Rider.

After a moment she asked, “What happened? What was that song?”

Rider almost sagged with relief when he heard her voice.

“Thank God! I thought I was losing you! But I’m glad you’re back!”

Jessica looked at his hands, one of which was on her shoulder, the other was under her left shoulder and his hand was on the center of her back. He could feel his chest, which was pressed against her chest, and she could feel is breath faintly on her cheek.

Suddenly Jessica felt more than a little uncomfortable. The situation was…unseemly. She looked at Rider again, and moved backward to give some distance between her and a man she didn’t know at all.

As she pulled back Rider got the message.

“Oh. Sorry,” he commented as he disentangled himself.

“Please explain what happened. What was that music?”

Rider sat in back in his seat beside her, “Haven’t you ever experience Planetsong?”

Jessica shook her head. “No. I’ve never spent much time in the wilderness. I grew up at U.N. Headquarters, mainly. Most of the fungus there was terraformed away decades ago. I just haven’t been around fungus very much.”

“Well, your going to get lots of experience very soon. My guess is that your heard a snippet from the sea fungus, maybe from our destination. We’re going to rendezvous with a Gaian daemon boil Isle of the Deep. Most of our team is already there and will be waiting for us.”

Jessica inwardly recoiled at the very name ‘daemon boil’. It smacked of the Enemy, and represented the almost alien and heathen ways of the Gaians. Her heart sank a little at the thought.

Maybe this is part of the Dark corners that Sister Miriam wants me to explore? Jessica thought suddenly in realization. She knew her reaction was like those of other Believers to anything relating to Planet – although it was God’s creation, so much was alien and seemingly counter to His word. In many ways her instinctive reaction was similar to those who accused her of being an agent of the Enemy. Do I fear it because I don’t understand it?

“How long ‘til we’re there?”

In response Rider looked west, shading his eyes against the glare of the Chiron primary.

“Well, I think I can see the Isle a couple of kilometers away, although with the fungus it is hard to tell. I’d guess less than a kilometer or so. But you can probably tell me. Can you feel it Isle? You seem to be sensitive to it, especially if you listen.”

Jessica looked toward the northwest and opened her mind, thinking of nothing in particular.

There! There were snatches of the Song!

Now that she knew what it was it was even more ethereal. Alien, but still beautiful. This time, however, she didn’t let the Song in.

“Yes, I can fell it. I think we’ll be there soon.”

Both Jess and Rider looked out at the horizon and silence engulfed both of them as they considered.

Then Jess’ brows furrowed. She remembered a comment just after she came back to ‘consciousness’. It was something Rider had said.

Then she remembered.

“Rider? When I first spoke I heard either thanks or an exclamation. Which was it?”

Rider looked at her, puzzled. Then he saw the beautiful silver cross around her neck.

“’Thank God?’ It was a little of both, I guess.”

Almost hesitantly she asked, “Are you a Believer?”

“Well, I don’t know. My grandparents were. I went to church as a kid at Morgan Pharmaceuticals. Not all the Believer refugees went to the Peacekeepers, you know.” Rider seemed about to say more, but stopped himself. He had let his guard down, and that was sometimes fatal in his profession.

Jessica nodded in acceptance of the explanation, and his awkward halt. Even though the Believers had been destroyed by Yang so long ago it was amazing to Jessica that Believers and their progeny seemed to be all over Planet, and in all societies, no matter how antithetical that societies’ believe system might be to a Believer’s core, like the Morganites were. Just like the Jewish Diaspora after the destruction of the Temple by the Romans over 2000 years ago, or the Spanish Diaspora over 600 years ago, we Believers have dispersed all over the Planet. But while assimilating in some place and being persecuted in others, we remain true. In our essence we are still Believers, either in fact or waiting to be reclaimed and renewed.

Rider pointed out the left window. “I think I see the Isle. It looks like we’ll be landing soon.”

Jessica looked where he pointed, and all she saw was another of the endless expanses of fungus.

But she still heard the Song.

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

Jessica stepped off the helicopter and onto the surface of the Isle of the Deep. She heard a very faint ‘crunch’, and the surface of the Isle was just a little yielding, like that of a crusty, old, and dry sponge. Inwardly she recoiled, knowing these were the husks of long dead mindworms and living mindworms, long since cemented together or held together mutual electromagnitism to form a ‘boil’,

Overall, it was strange, like the view around her. It seemed like the Isle was a conglomeration of random low mounds of pinkish gray for as far as the eye could see, although Jess could see water here and there in the distance. Not surprisingly, the mounds looked organic, although there were some features that were not natural. For instance, the helicopter was perched on a low rise that had obviously been leveled, and a ferrocrete road lead away in three directions. There was a low dome in the distance that almost blended into the hummocky mounds, but it was a little too even and regular.

The other thing that struck Jessica is that the mound didn’t appear to be moving. There was just a faint, warm sea breeze that caressed her as it passed, and certainly not the stiff wind of an oceangoing ‘vessel’ the she had expected. It was hard to tell, though, since it was overcast, and land and sea mindworm boils had a disturbing ability to move through fungus individually while the ‘boil’ didn’t seem to move – they seemed to morph or flow through the fungal stalks. So, they could be moving, but with the wind.

“Sister?” Rider said from in back of her.

Jess turned around, and saw that Rider had two satchels. He also had a microbreather on, just like she did. This Morgan version did a wonderful job of scrubbing excess nitrogen from the air, as long as you breathed through your nose. The joy is that it didn’t cover your mouth and gave so much freedom outside that it was almost like roaming free, like must have been done on Earth. Even more amazing, the breather told you if you were breathing through your mouth too much. With that reinforcement you developed ‘good’ breathing habits pretty fast – almost a little voice giving you constant positive and negative reinforcement.

“They’re probably waiting for us. Let’s go.”

Rider turned to go down the largest ferrocrete ramp toward the low-slung but enormous dome that was almost buried in the fungal mounds.

Jessica followed him, which was pretty easy since she didn’t have anything to carry. Rider had made her leave everything behind at Great Conclave, citing a ‘Security Risk’. Well, fair enough, but did they have to take her Conclave Bible? Apparently yes, since it was just a book to them. When they had reached for her mother’s silver cross she had vehemently stood her ground, and they scanned it on the spot and they let her keep it.

Jess felt the tangy sea breeze increase and a strange static seemed to fill the air, and the hair on her arms was standing on end. Walking down the ferrocrete road behind Rider she could perceive a change in the otherwise changeless and trackless fungus. There was also a change in the caress of the Song that seemed to always be in the background from the Isle – it was less lilting, and more focused.

Then Jessica figured it out: the Isle was moving west.

They were on their way toward the land of the Progenitors.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited September 01, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Data DeCentral

“Kat, I want you to get in contact with Paul Andreas at Morgan Industries, see if he might have a lead on this ‘navajo’ thing. Try finding someone in one of the old University bases if you can too. There are still lots of bookwormy types in that area.” Roze slung her equipment bag over her shoulder and made her way towards the lift.

“And what are you doing while I’m slaving away here, oh fearless leader?” Kat was just as tired of Roze was looking at the same stupid screens and fighting with the same useless paperwork all the time. Fortunately for Roze, she had the authority to delegate.

“I’m going to deal with an apparent bug problem in Sparta. Catch you later.”

Sparta Command - Off Duty Lounge

Will downed the last of his beer as the other pilots of his squadron finished their game of net-poker. Still nothing had changed for them as they spent their days doing menial jobs and not being let anywhere near a needlejet unless to clean it. It was enough to make Will want to quit the army, but in Sparta that didn’t leave you too many career options.

Will watched with mild interest the MorganNews coverage of the Zakharov trial going on at UN Criminal Tribunal. Preliminary hearings had already started and the main trial was getting under way. So far, it was shaping up to be a MorganNews ratings sweep as people tuned in all over Planet to see the trials outcome. William couldn’t see the fascination.

Apparently Zakharov had been the leader of an old faction called the University, now controlled by the Spartan Federation. There was still a resistence movement in effect there, but for the most part the University was extinct. So why was everyone so interested in what happened to it’s former leader?

William was just about to order another beer and join his friends at the terminal when an image caught his eye that turned his world upside down. It was a close up of Zakharov being hassled by a crowd of reporters as he approached the courthouse. And holding onto his arm was Sharra.

At first Will couldn’t believe it was true, until her name flashed up in the caption along with Zakharov’s.

At that moment, Brad approached from behind, placing his hand on Will’s shoulder as he ordered another round.

“What’s up buddy?” When Brad saw the expression on his friend’s face, he knew something was going on. “What is it?”

“That’s her,” was all Will said, as if it were enough. “That’s Sharra.” Brad looked up at screen to see the last few seconds of Sharra’s image before she disappeared into the courthouse.

“If you’re right, and it is her, then I will certainly understand why you’ve be down so long. She’s a ten.” The bartender deposited the drinks on the bar and Kirstie approached to help carry them.

“It is her Brad, I’m sure of it. Her name showed up on the screen.” Kirstie’s face was puzzled as she joined the conversation.

“Who is ‘her’ ? Will, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing Kirstie,” Brad replied. “Will thinks he saw Sharra on the MorganNews broadcast. Look, Will. If it was her, what would she be doing with that Zakharov guy?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that it’s her. Besides, I’ll find out when I get there.” William grabbed his jacket and began to make his way towards the exit.

“What? You can’t just run off like that!” Kirstie was truly shocked by his behaviour. She had never known Will to be so impulsive. “What about your shift tomorrow?”

“What, miss getting screwed around because somebody decided they don’t want us working her any more? Forget it, I quit.” With those words Will walked out the door knowing he wouldn’t come back.

“Kirstie, we can’t just let him take off like that, can we?”

“When in Sparta.” With that, Kirstie and Brad downed their drinks, grabbed their drinks and chased off after Will. Their squad-mates moved to the bar to pick up their drinks, not knowing what was going on. It was then that they noticed all three Spartan ID tags thrown down on the floor. Their friends had gone awol.

[Hydro]

Sparta Command

Bernie leaned back in his chair with a big smile on his face. He looked out into the veiled darkness of the Command Center, a ghostly glow of nearby holo panels partially illuminating his face.

"Hey Captain Price, look at this," he called out into gloom. His voice echoed a little, and then faded.

A middle aged woman appeared, almost out of nowhere, and Bernie leaned forward and pointed to a data display.

"Three hours, 29 minutes, and 36.5 seconds! A new record! Now pay up!" he almost shouted triumphantly.

Captain Marcie Price looked at the display, looking for an error. After a moment her brows wrinkled in irritation. There were no errors.

"Fine, fine. You win. How did you do it?"

"Well, the tuskheads shoot down everything we put up, and have figured out the orbits we like the most. So I sent this one a little below the standard apogee, and two degrees off. The data we got from this satellite wasn't as good, but at least it lived more than 15 minutes! We'll have to have more non-standard orbits planned, but I think this strategy will work. Get cheap satellites, shoot 'em, and make sure the orbits are not very efficient - keep the tuskers guessing!"

Marcie nodded. The fact that the Progenitors had taken this long to shoot down their latest satellite proved the strategy.

"Good job. I'll note it in your record. Now let's see what you got!"

Bernie looked a little puffed up with himself as he activated data retrieval. Five mini holo displays formed, and digital and image data cycled by. Bernie and Margie watched them simultaneously, looking for anything that might be unusual or interesting. So far it was pretty boring - orbit-to-ground shots of Axis and Allied territory, the endless swaths of fungus near Pholus Ridge and the Great Fungal Wall, the ribbons of sea fungus and were present almost everywhere except around the terraformed oceans at Morgan, Peacekeeper, and Hive territory. There were a couple of anomalies in the sea near the fungus, which might be an Isle, or maybe a lurking Hive or Spartan craft. Next a series of orbit-to-orbit shots, which first focused on the looming Progenitor ships. Their hulking almost serrated-looking battlecruiser was still in its geosynchronous orbit above Spires: Ascendant, and their little scout spacecraft had assumed a lower orbit.

"Wait!" Marcie barked. "Computer, back up holo 3 to index 2.2.44. Display still frame, and cycle one frame per second."

Obediently, the images reset and played through slowly, with Marcie and Bernie looking attentively.

"What are those blips around the battlecruiser?" Bernie asked, staring fixedly at the holo.

Marcie barked an order to the holo. "50 mag, right bottom quad at space ship."

The image resolved itself, getting much bigger. The cruiser was absolutely enormous at this magnification, showing just how huge it really was. Minute pinpricks of light that might be observation portals played across its dark right side as its orbit changed and new portions of its rounded portions of its hull were brilliantly illuminated by Alpha Cenauri A, with shaded areas fading to gray and then black. Little motes, probably the little fighters the humans had fairly frequently seen, could be seen flitting about the behemoth.

"Geez, it's big. I always forget, since I see the f***er all the time. We never made anything close to that big. Not even Unity," Bernie stated in an awed voice.

But Marcie wasn't looking at the cruiser, or even the gnats.

"Bernie, what is that little fighter pushing. Right there," she said, pointing at the closer fighter in their view.

He leaned even closer and turned his head. "It looks like a rock. A black rock."

"Right," Marcie replied, as his assessment confirmed her own. "And what do you see over there," she said, pointed to an area near the aft portion of the cruiser that was passing from being brilliantly illuminated to gray and black with the quickly shifting orbit. The area almost twinkled with dull silvery light.

"More rocks. Lots of them. They're hard to see. All I can tell is that they are pretty dark colored."

They both looked at the display in silence for a moment

"Sh*t," Marcie said softly.

Bernie looked over at her. "Captain?"

Marcie looked over at Bernie. "When you have a pile of rocks in orbit, clustered around a ship as big as that, what do you think of?"

"They're a grade A navigation hazard, since even the tuskheads have to be worried about collision, damage, and explosive decompression. It has to be h*ll to keep them corralled. It's a lot of work."

"But what are they going to do with them," Captain Price asked quietly and seriously.

Bernie thought about it for a moment. Then he sat bolt straight in his chair.

"They're going bomb us from orbit!" he exclaimed in horror.

"Bingo. Nice, neat little craters where human cities used to be. And there's nothing we can do about it."

They sat looking at the screen for a moment longer, their dread growing in the pits of their stomachs as they stared at the hundreds of lethal 'little' rocks. And each one of those black rocks which could pulverize part or all of a city, and kill tens of thousands of humans in the process.

"Class one alert, Private. Get me the Coronal," Captain Price stated in deadpan.

Bernie responded instantly. There was only one 'Coronal' at a time like this.

[Hydro]

Sparta Command

A great, grayish spaceship was motionless against the backdrop of distant stars, with pearly light playing off its hull as it orbited Chiron. The battlecruiser was clearly of alien origin, with a sense of proportion that just didn't sit well with the human eye. At its center was a great bulge, and at either end of the craft there appeared to be minute lights from viewing ports. Portions of the hull were smooth, metallic, and polished, while others were laced with ropy tendrils, which almost looked organic. There was no identifiable propulsion system, which to human sensibilities should be a reaction drive of some sort, like those of Unity. Winglike flares jutted at seemingly random intervals from the hull for no discernable purpose, but they looked vaguely hostile and hinted at weaponry. Perhaps the most threatening element is not what it looked like, but the readings from it: there was a gravitational anomaly near its center, which seemed to pulse and gave off readings that suggested a mass many time greater that what would be reasonable for a ship of its size. Some speculated that the gravity anomaly was a captive singularity, but no one could fathom how a singularity could be captured or in what way such a prestigious feat could be used for any useful purpose. Could that be its propulsion system? Or a weapon? Every observation led to a dozen speculations, which lead to a dozen more questions.

Clearly the mammoth device was beyond the understanding of humans, and the technology required to create and support it was centuries or millennia more advanced than what humans had now or in the past. Humans were even now struggling to regain what was lost in their flight from a now lifeless Earth and the tragic fall of Unity, and to understand the Planet they now called home.

But the hastily assembled Axis conference was not concerned with the spaceship or its implications - they were focused on something much more mundane and, by comparison, much more ominous: the lethal black rocks that swarmed around the huge spaceship.

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

The holo of a young looking astronomer and physicist from U.N. Headquarters, Dr. Ali Mershadeh was summarizing the observations to date, pointing at a holo of the battlecruiser and asteroids that was suspended above the center of the conference table.

"There are 126 asteroids in orbit with the alien ship, with more arriving every hour. The asteroids range in mass from approximately 2,000 to 4,000 metric tons, with a volume of 1000 or more cubic meters. Most of the asteroids seem to have been shaped, and some are obviously portions of larger now dissected asteroids."

Dr. Mershadeh cued a blowup of several asteroids, which appeared in front of him. "Strangely, there are few stony or iron-nickel asteroids. Approximately 78% are carbon-rich carbonaceous chondrites, which is notable since they are relatively rare, and certainly rarer than common stony asteroids or uncommon iron-nickel. Because of their mass and density, the carbonaceous asteroids are not likely to survive atmospheric re-entry very well. In fact, I have calculated that over 86% of the asteroids the aliens have collected will completely burn up, or be fragmented to such a degree that any impact will not cause more than 500 deaths in a direct hit on one of our cities. Stony asteroids would have a survival rate of 43%, and iron-nickel 89%. So it is a mystery as to why they have chosen these particular asteroid type."

Santiago watched and listened attentively, and interjected, "So, if they are not effective for orbital bombardment, then have you be able to determine what the aliens are doing with the asteroids? Why they breaking them up near the ship? Using them for raw material? Are they constructing something? Maybe the asteroids are not as serious a threat as we thought, but what if they are constructing something is even more of threat?"

Dr. Mershadeh's image looked over at Santiago with a apprizing eye, mildly surprised that a military mind could jump to the next point of his discussion. "Why, yes, we have tried to determine what they are doing. Here is the information we have acquired so far." Ali cued a new set of images, which appeared below the orbital scene. The new images showed what looked like the partial deconstruction of the 'bow' of the battlecruiser. Ovoid-shaped chunks of hull were being removed, and some of the ropy tendrils that seemed to cover some portions of the ship looked like they were uncoiling themselves and either snaking back onto the hull, or intertwining to for quasi-organic beanstalks perpendicular to the ship. The little gnat fighters were seen in the second close-up image pushing one of the blackish asteroids into what looked like a black maw of the ship. It was a little disturbing, since it looked like the ship with dagger-like teeth was eating the chondrites, and the gnats as hoer devours.

"As near as we can tell, the asteroids are being maneuvered into the ship a little faster than they are arriving. Almost all of the asteroids we have observed that have entered the ship are the carbonaceous chondrites. Moreover, there is this, which is new."

The Doctor activated a third image, which was a closer image of the bow of the ship. From this angle the organic nature of the hull was even more apparent, and even the portions of the hull that looked like ovoid sheets of metal now looked more like layers of fused skin with organic ribbing underneath. What little that was visible within the maw appeared to be something like a chest cavity.

There was something else that was digitally highlighted - a black thread that was coming out of the maw. Instead of having an irregular and organic look, its surface was perfectly smooth and black, and while it looked small against the battlecruiser, it was big, being over 15 meters in diameter.

Dr. Mershadeh continued, pointing at the black thread. "We didn't notice this at first, but it appears to be growing. We have done a little spectral analysis and it is made out of carbon, pure carbon. It appears the be molecularly fused in a process we can't quite determine…"

Dr. Andre Zahrenov, seated quietly in the back, blurted out, "Buckyballs."

All eyes turned to the ancient doctor, a holdover of the old University days. He looked sallow and worn, with a sickly pallor only seen on those about to die, or those who want to die. Had he offered an obscure dismissive statement to the astrophysicist that was a third his age?

Santiago gave him a cool stare with a slightly arched eyebrow, indicating he was required to continue and explain himself. Andre flinched under her gaze.

"Ahm. Buckyballs were discovered in the late 20th Century, and are typically interlattaced spheres formed of covalently bonded carbon atoms. They are uniquely stable and strong, stronger in hardness than diamond and the bonds between the carbon atoms are extraordinarily difficult to sunder. The balls can be of any size, but are exponentially more difficult to form as the size increases due to the care and energy required to form and propagate the bonds. There are variations of buckyballs, and under intense magnetic fields they can form tubes, and these 'buckytubes' can be of any length, limited only by technology and energy. Interwoven buckytubes have been theorized to be the ultimate super-thread, and woven together would form a super-rope."

Andre paused as if he was exhausted, and he thought he was finished.

Santiago, however, wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily. "Very interesting Doctor. I rarely have the time to be lectured on irrelevant molecular physics. What is it for, and how is impact our situation?"

"I thought it was obvious," he continued quietly. "They are going to use the chondrites as raw material to manufacture a buckytube super-rope. It will be anchored to their battlecruiser, which has the gravitational mass of a small moon due to its gravitational anomaly, and they can apparently control gravity in any case. They will lower this rope through the atmosphere from their geosyncrhonous orbit and anchor it to the ground, probably around Spires: Ascendant. The corded buckytubes will easily be able to withstand the atmospheric friction, and will transmit the heat and electrical energy it collects or ablates to the anchor site, providing free energy. Moreover, they will have cheap and easy access to low and high orbits. By attaching a vehicle to the cord they will effectively defeat the gravity well of Planet, being able to store the kinetic energy of atmospheric re-entry to propelling objects back into orbit.

Coronal, they are constructing, for lack of a better phrase, a space elevator. "

Most gave Andre a rather blank stare. But the Coronal nodded, as she instantly understood some of the military and economic implications of a space elevator. "Is there any limitation on the mass they can transmit with this space elevator?"

"Well, yes. But they can lift anything we can place into orbit, and do so without significant material or even energy cost, which is always the limiting factor. The only consideration is that the material they bring down will have to be within an order of magnitude of the mass they send up."

Several of the conference attendees were squirming as Andre's picture came into focus.

Santiago took another mental leap. "Will this allow orbital insertions?"

"Orbital insertions?" Andre asked, not understanding the military term.

"Low or high atmospheric drops of troops and equipment, with personal or group re-entry capability, that can immediately attack an enemy position" she explained, skipping the specifics.

"Yes, I don't see why not," the pallid Andre replied, instantly grasping her description.

Now the military attachés started to shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"How can it be disabled or destroyed?" Santiago asked, focused and very interested now. The Spartans used chop-and-drop as part of the Korn blitz tactics and the thought of it being used against them and the Axis was alarming.

Andre thought for a moment. "Short of destroying either anchor points, it can't be. The cable can literally absorb almost any type of chemical and maybe nuclear explosion, since anything we can do to it is trivial compared to the energy it would absorb simply by existing within the rarified atmosphere."

"And when will it be complete?" Santiago asked.

Dr. Zahrenov thought for a moment, looking at the holo of the asteroids and the battleship as if asking it a silent question.

"At their current rate of growth, about a month."

A mixture of 'oohs' and groans swelled softly from the conference attendees.

"I believe that answers our questions. Are there any other points to consider? Other theories, or reasonable speculations or relevant observations?"

The Coronal looked around the room, noting that the scientific advisors were all staring at the growing elevator with wonder and with only questions in their eyes, while the military advisors were either scared or deep in thought, pondering implications.

Seeing no obvious additions to the discussion as the silence increased, she said, "Thank you Doctors Mershadeh and Zahrenov. You have been most helpful. Please excuse us, but I must discuss this with my military advisors and the other members of the Axis."

Santiago nodded deferentially to both men, who winked out, along with the other scientific advisors in the room. Remaining were senior diplomats and military adjuncts from all the factions, even the Believers.

Santiago slowly stood and looked down at her military advisors, and the military attaché's from the allied Axis factions.

"Gentlemen," she said, using the term in its generic military sense "this is almost as grave as the prospect of orbital bombardment. With this device no Axis production center is safe against attack by ground troops from the air, except, perhaps, those that have an integrated air defense. So, the questions are: can we destroy it and can we defend against it?"

Field Marshal Wang caught Santiago's eye, and she nodded to him.

"Coronal, to answer your first question, we can't destroy it unless we raze the alien city it is based in. At this point, this is not practical, unless we develop a planetbuster for the task. This, however, would be problematic, " he said, looking at the Gaian ambassador, who had a hard look on his face at the very mention of a planetbuster.

"As for intrinsic defense, less than one-third of Spartan held cities have an aerospace center to coordinate against an air attack. The Morganites are much better prepared, since all of their cities have an aero center. Almost none of the Peacekeeper cities have aero, but some of them are water-based cities, and would be extremely difficult to organize an airdrop against. Almost none of the Gaian cities have aero, and I believe that Domai is about to finish construction of an aero center at Drone Central. The bottom line is that we are critically vulnerable.

As to military defense, there is none. The aliens possess weaponry as good to quantitatively superior to our own. At this point the attacker has a 3:1 advantage using shard vs. silksteel, and the ratio gets much worse when considering some of the alien weaponry and reactors we have seen. In short, we have no defense that would be effective, and we are spread out all over the globe so it is difficult to focus our offensive and defensive resources."

Wang finished and let his statements sink in.

Everyone was glum, except, strangely Santiago, who had a glimmer of a smile on her face.

Santiago broke the silence. "If defense if useless, then we will go on the offensive."

Looking at the Axis attaché's, "War is hard, gentlemen. Let this reality sink in. If you thought that war was something that happens far away that you could keep at arm's length then you were mistaken," she said, glancing surreptitiously at the Peacekeeper attaché.

As Santiago finished she positively glowed. Wheels were turning in her head, testing, probing for advantage where others only saw despair.

"Now, let us discuss our military assets, where they are, and what we intend to do with them..."

[Argonaut]

Spartan Command Nexus

Colonel Santiago examined the readings. No matter how she looked at it, she could not devise any better a strategy. If the Usurpers began orbital insertions, each base would be isolated and required to fight for themselves. Divide and Conquer. What made it more irritating was that this was the strategy Santiago preferred herself.

It was late. The room around her was empty apart from the minimal night crew. It would be a while before the Usurpers would be ready to drop, and her team would need all the rest they could before the coming battle. Santiago noticed the arrival of her unannounced guest and turned to greet her.

“Datajack Roze, how nice of you to pay me a visit.” Emerging from the shadows, the woman with the ability to crack into almost any system on the planet, smiled.

“Impressive Colonel. Most people aren’t aware of my arrival until I wish them to be.”

“You were most impressive yourself. You failed to trip any of the alarms incorporated in this facility. However, even you cannot make yourself invisible to my video recorders.” Santiago pointed to a terminal of holoscreens hanging from the ceiling above the main display. They showed continually cycling images of every hall, and ventilation shaft within the facility.

“You of course, can understand the need for security.”

“Of course Colonel. And once I inform you of my purpose here, I believe you will understand my need for secrecy.” Roze helped herself to a seat at one of them empty terminals. Santiago disconnected her partial MMI link with the Nexus, giving Roze her full intention. Although she disliked Roze, she was a crucial asset to the Axis alliance and was better on their side than on Yang’s.

“I have been informed that your internal intelligence agency has been breached. I have examined the situation myself and find that my sources are correct. And these people are good. They’ve covered their tracks well. It’s hard to determine how long they’ve actually been there, but I would guess a minimum of two years.”

The Colonel took a moment to ponder this news. Such a breach of security was entirely unacceptable. However, as she considered the history of her intelligence agency, it suddenly seemed quite possible. Things had not been the same since the Edgecrusher had left at least, and perhaps things had been wrong since even before then.

“Who are they, and what do your propose we do to get rid of them?” She assumed Roze had a plan, otherwise their would be no purpose to her personal visit.


“They’re a sort of ‘Cult of Planet’ for lack of a better term. Their leader is a man named Ishmael Skye, however, I believe he adopted that name to connect his cause with Lady Deirdre.”

“You’re telling me my intelligence group has been infiltrated by Gaians?” Santiago knew such an action was far to uncharacteristically untrusting of Deirdre.

“Not at all Colonel. They’re a group of radicals who believe they can communicate with Planet, nothing more. They simply sympathise with the Gaian cause.” This seemed far more logical to Santiago. However, Deirdre must be informed that there are people out their using her name for their own purpose. Perhaps she could then prevent any further expansion of this ‘Cult’.

“I’m going to personally infiltrate this Cult, and pick it apart from the inside. I was hoping that I might work with the same team I worked with to liberate Morgan’s son. I know they’re not probes, and you have military concerns to worry about–“

“Actually, Datajack, Private Bradford and three of his colleagues have disappeared. To be honest, I can’t say I mind. Children should not be allowed in the military, they’re simply too young. A former underling of mine felt it appropriate to grant them a field promotion for stealing a flight of needlejets. They went awol two days ago, and to be honest I am happy to let them go.” It was clear that Roze was somewhat disappointed by this news.

“I can offer you this, however,” Santiago added. “I will have a squad of my elite police force on standby, waiting for your signal. If things get hairy, and you need out, or just for a general clean-up, then give the word and they’ll be there. Will that do?”

“That will be perfect Colonel.” Roze stood smiling. “I thank you again for your cooperation.” A question tugged at Santiago’s mind though, as Roze began to walk away.

“Datajack? One more thing before you go.” Roze stopped near the access tunnel from which she had come in.

“You said that you discovered this information from your sources. Might I ask to whom else I should be grateful?”

“I see no harm in that,” Roze replied smiling. “Send your thank you card to Sister Jessica, care of the Believers. I believe she trained with your people. Smart kid.”

“Thank you Datajack. Oh, and Datajack. This time, feel free to use the door.” Roze smiled, and exited through the main entrance.

[Argonaut]

UN Criminal Tribunal


Zakharov was angry and frustrated. For the second day his trial had been postponed without explanation. The preliminaries had gone through without a hitch, but now that the real trial was ready to begin, there were delays.

Not that Zakharov was in a rush to reach the outcome of such a trial, far from it. He was certain that the court would find him guilty and he would swiftly find himself within another punishment sphere. He only hoped that his granddaughter would return before that happened.

It was thoughts like these that plagued Zakharov. Since his liberation from Sparta Command he had lost a granddaughter, found her to be alive, only to learn he had lost one he never knew existed.

Zakharov’s thoughts were consumed by Anastasia, and now her lost twin Ayola. That was what was most frustrating about these delays. It left Zakharov time to mull over the fate’s of his family.

Even Sharra was able to provide little comfort. Not that she didn’t try. Zakharov practically had to order her to sleep and eat as she was so worried about what happened to him that she neglected herself.

A chirp from the commlink roused Zakharov from his musings. Most likely it was another bureaucrat informing him that the trial would be further postponed. Zakharov reached to the terminal and pressed the button to receive the communication. His surprise was immense when the image of Pravin Lal filled the screen.

“Provost Zakharov, I trust your accommodations are acceptable?” Lal was sincere in his question, yet it irritated Zakharov nonetheless. There had never really been any animosity between the UN and the University, however their’s had not been the fastest of friendships either.

“The room is fine Commissioner. However, I find it hard to believe that you are concerned with such a simple courtesy call. To be frank Pravin, what do you want?” Zakharov was in no mood to wade through Lal’s usual small talk and diplomatic pleasantries.

“Indeed, Prokhor, I must confess to ulterior motives.” Zakharov almost had to laugh at the thought of Lal NOT having ulterior motives. “The truth is Zakharov, that I have a proposition which will be profitable for both you and the Axis Confederation.”

Zakharov leaned forward in his seat, his curiosity piqued.

“I’m listening.”

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

Gradually, the images of the various Axis faction leaders began to fill the screen. Domai, Miriam, Deirdre, Lal, Morgan, Aki Zeta-Five and even Zakharov were all present. The only one missing was Santiago herself.

Finally her image materialized, and it was clear from the expression on her face that she was not happy. Neither, for that matter, was Morgan who clearly felt he had better things to do. Deirdre smiled warmly, and Miriam had a quizzical expression on her face. Domai and Aki seemed somewhat unconcerned, having never dealt with Zakharov in the past. Lal now convened the meeting to order.


“My friends,” he began, “I’m glad we could all meet on such short notice.” Santiago and Morgan rolled their eyes as they prepared for another of Lal’s pep-talks. Even Deirdre looked as though she were straining to look interested.

“As you are aware, Sister Miriam has delivered our former colleague Prokhor Zakharov to me in order that he might be placed on trial for his past actions. Neither I, nor Zakharov himself, deny that many of his past actions were in violation of human rights under the UN charter.”

“That charter is no longer in effect, and too be honest, our government does not have a case. As well, Zakharov has already spent a great deal of time contained in a Spartan punishment sphere, far exceeding a maximum sentence.” It was clear that neither Santiago or Miriam were happy with the direction Lal’s speech was going.

“I propose we offer the academician a plea bargain.”

“That is out of the question,” Miriam interrupted.

“I concur,” added Santiago.

“Ladies, please, let me finish.” Lal waited to ensure they would be silent before he continued. “Zakharov has spent a great deal of time at Yang’s headquarters, as I am sure you are all aware. He has even spent a great deal of time with the Aliens, and has a firm understanding of their weaponry, and why it has thus far proved so devastating to our forces.”

“In exchange for his freedom, Provost Zakharov will use his skills to develop weapons and armour that will be able to stand up to the Alien weapons, or at least give us a fighting chance. Personally, I don’t think we can ask for a better offer.”

“That’s preposterous Lal,” Miriam retorted. “That is only permitting Zakharov to proceed down the same paths of evil he has followed in the past.”

“All of his actions will be supervised by our own people. We will choose the team which Provost Zakharov will work with.” Lal had clearly anticipated such rebuttals, and was ready to defeat them one by one.

“I cannot allow that.” As expected, this time it was Santiago who spoke. “There is still an active terrorist activity going on in most of the former University bases. If Zakharov were to be given his freedom, the bases would revolt and insist on his leadership.”

Before Lal could respond, Zakharov jumped in himself, speaking for the first time.

“Corazon, I have no interest in returning to the University again. I was defeated, I lost the war. If humanity survives this war, we can fight later to decide who should lead it. I am the only hope you have to understanding the alien technology. I can help you. As for any University patriots, I will ensure they are aware that I will not be returning. I will denounce any acts of terrorism, whatever it takes. Now, more than ever, we need to work together. It’s our only chance to survive.”

A silence settled over the meeting. Santiago took turns glaring at both Zakharov and Lal, who had put her in this awkward position. It angered her even more that they were right.

“Despite my personal feelings, I find that the Academician makes a good point.” Lal relaxed somewhat as Miriam put her support behind the bargain. If someone as strong headed as Miriam could see the reality of their situation, then their was hope.

“I agree as well. We need Prokhor,” Deirdre stated, putting her support behind Zakharov as well.

“As do I,” said Morgan, speaking up for the first time. “And I also offer my facilities for the Provost to work within as well.” Lal smiled, for he had hoped Morgan would make such an offer.

“It seems the only logical course of action.” This, of course, came from Aki Zeta-Five, the first of the new faction leaders to voice their opinion. “As well, I offer my assistance in deciphering the alien technology.”

“I’ll take whatever help I can get. The Free Drones support this.” With Domai’s agreement, it left Santiago as the only roadblock. However, she still held the authority to veto the entire proposal. She looked at the other leaders, the possibilities clearly being weighed in her mind. The threat of the orbital insertions weighed heavily on her mind, and soon it was clear which was the only profitable tragedy.

“Agreed.” That one word cut the last of the tension that had gripped Zakharov throughout the entire meeting. He was to be a free man. “However, I expect to receive any help I request with dealing with any Yoop resistance movement due to your pardon. If I find you have been supporting any such activity, then you can be assured that their will be serious repercussions.”

Zakharov was not surprised by the Colonel’s harsh words. He had hardly expected anything less. But it didn’t matter. He was free, and he would be able to continue his research into the alien technology. It didn’t hurt that he would be able to get back against Yang for his manipulation as well.

“If there is nothing else to discuss,” the Colonel stated, “then I have pressing matters to attend to. Good day.” Slowly, one by one, the images of the Axis leaders faded to black.

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

This…configuration is…not correct. The Type 45C vacuum fighter, which…you call a Gnat, and the Stage 3 Stasis Automated …Mobile Ground Fighting Unit, which you call …a Mark III Ogre, may be combined to …form an Anti-Gravity Self-Sustaining Planetary Air Fighter, which you call a Deathsphere, but a …Progenitor crew is required. Even with a translator artificial intelligence, …the partially automated and semi-sentient Gnat and the fully mechanical Ogre's AI will not …communicate effectively, which will …lead to AI conflicts that will compromise the assembled unit. The …Gnat, Ogre and Deathsphere are historical designs, which …are …now only archived in full at Tau Ceti. All three are beyond …your technical understanding and manufacturing ability, having been created …during a higher zenith of a now long…and long past brilliant Cycle. I understand …most of the specifications, and know that the Ogre design is ancient even by Progenitor …criteria, since it formed the backridge of our …fighting forces in …our planet-based xenoextermination during the Third Alien War 500 …billion turnings ago. You must inform …your superiors of this information.

Zzar listened respectfully to his Personality, Engineer Enstarn, which was difficult due to its choppy resonance fields. Its thoughts resonated freely, but part of its download had been damaged when it was installed in another Progenitor over 275,000 years ago. That Progenitor had been unlucky and had been caught is a Spasm, and had died of radiation poisoning during orbital bombardment. The EMP pulse had been so intense that part of it disrupted this most valuable Personality, which was a nearly complete recording of a weapons designer from the 43rd Cycle - very rare, indeed. The oldest of the Personalities were inevitably the most valuable, since they were saved when all other heirlooms were cast aside. During the episodic Spasms much was cast aside, and some Personalities were preserved as insurance to the future, even if they couldn't be used.

"I am told, Honored Ancestor, that I am to commend these Deathspheres, and that with them we will exterminate the aliens and bring glory to Marr and the Progenitor race. What, exactly, are Deathspheres? My commanders are either not clear, avoid the question, tell me that the question is beneath them, or instruct me to contact my Personalities."

[I]Young Conqueror, they do not…answer because they do not…know. The Deathsphere is a common design for planetary subjugation …during the apex of a prosperous Cycle. They use antigravity to provide locomotion, and the best are powered… by micro-singularities. According to the standard …specifications, each is equipped with a graviton …projector and stasis generators …for defense. Unlike all other air …units, they …have no need of a base and have no …range limitation. Each is just as fast …as airborne units such as the Gnats and, like Gnats, are… not hindered by inconvenient terrain. By …combining the Gnats and Mark III Ogres …in the stores of the battlecruiser you will be able… to construct a limited number …of these noble weapons.

What is unfortunate …is that you do not live in a glorious …Cycle. Yours if full of deprivation, and …the Progenitor race lives …off …the glories of the past. The …previous Cycle was great, but the …Spasm that rent it was equally as great. Your Gnats and Ogres were manufactured… in this previous epoch, and you will have …no more. You may be able to repair your …Gnats and Deathspheres, but not the Ogres. It is …beyond your understanding. You will… not be able to fabricate any more any other …instruments, since you have neither the technology nor the industry."

Zzar was humbled, as he always was when he communicated with his Personalities. Not for the last time he wondered why he was entrusted with such a treasure. If times were different he would spend all his time listening and learning. But he did not have the time.

"Thank you, honored ancestor. I hear your words, and cleave to them. As you instruct I will inform my superiors of what you say," he resonated mentally, and the fragmentary Personality faded from his mind's eye.

Zzar rose from the floor, feeling invigorated, as he always did after his communion with the Ancients. But there were duties to attend to, and these duties grew ever more pressing as the day approached when the slaughter of the aliens at soiled this planet would commence, which would be the start of the purification of Manifold 6.

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

Weaponcrafter Ferrlis eyed Zzar, his tusks raised just the right amount so not to insult the young Conqueror, but enough to let him know he was in the presence of a superior, as far as battle craft were concerned.

"So, young Conqueror Zzar, you are here to instruct me on the creation of the great Deathspheres?" he resonated carefully.

"Yes, Weaponscrafter. I am honored to be host to an ancient Engineer from the 43rd Cycle, and he has instructed me to come forward to offer what education he might, through me. He has informed me of some of the history of the Deathspheres, and although I am not an Engineer or a Weaponscrafter, I will act as his conduit," Zzar stated with full authority. The yellow inlay in his carapace announced to all that could see what his rank was, and that he was one who was favored by Conqueror Marr.

Ferrlis looked at this medium-sized Conqueror through very slightly slitted eyes, trying not to project his envy. An Ancient Engineer! What grand knowledge this underserving Conqueror had, almost wasted on his mind, which was focused on using, not making. He lowered his tusks to 10 degrees below horizontal to defer to Zzar.

"Conqueror Zzar, I gratefully accept the assistance of the Ancient Engineer. Perhaps I will learn, and add to the glory of the Progenitors with my increased knowledge."

Zzar acknowledged him in return.

Without further delay, Ferrlis turned toward the organized chaos that surrounded him. In this great underground bunker of Spires: Ascendant sat the remains of the semi-sentient Gnats that had survived atmospheric re-entry, and the five remaining Mark III Ogres. A few of the Gnats moved slightly out of boredom, and a few resonated pitifully in their state of partially disrepair. Some were silent and were little better than piles of metal that were destined to be spare parts. Not being designed for atmospheric reentry the attrition rate had been over 60%. The Ogres had fared much worse.

Zzar listened to instructions from Engineer Enstarn.

"Weaponsmaker, the Engineer instructs you to select those two Gnats, and that Ogre," Zzar said, pointed at two seemingly random Gnats and the third Ogre. "These will have the necessary compatible parts for the first Deathsphere."

Zzar paused, as the Engineer looked around at the wounded and demolished vehicles.

"But first," Zzar continued, "the Engineer will instruct you on the humane treatment of Gnats and Ogres. They are needlessly suffering, and I see you have inexpertly ripped one Gnat open. Its resonance almost causes pain. First, you must…"

Zzar mentally stood back as he let the Engineer take over his resonance fields to communicate to the weapons maker. He used the field to form concepts that he would never hope to understand, and the resonance fields played across the room and folded over Ferrlis. Ferrlis, for his part, simply stood, desperately trying to grasp what was unfolding around him. He understood most of it, even if he didn't have the technique to execute the procedures he was asked to do. Some required multiple explanations, and it then became clear that they in some cases he did not have the correct tools. Enstarn quickly improvised an alternate technique until one was found that could be completed by this technician with inadequate tools and training.

Enstarn was not put off by the slowness of his student, who was the most advanced Weaponsmaker the Usurpers had. Zzar took some grim amusement that he was used to stupid students. After all, he had been a Progenitor Genius in his own high Cycle, and the fact that he had been a teacher for a quarter of a million years didn't hurt, either.

Zzar could see in Enstarn the glory of the past, and the glory that could be had.

The fabled Manifold 6 was within the grasp of Conqueror Marr. With the extermination of the humans that glory could begin again, and reclaimed for the Progenitor race!

[senatus]

Great Conclave

"Sven!"

Miriam Godwinson hurried over to the big man and gave him an
enthusiastic hug, much to Jason Ian's surprise.

In truth, the Believing major in charge of Miriam's safety had
been loath to admit the heavily armed cyborg into his leader's
presence without disabling the augments. Obsolete as they were
compared to modern technology, they were still lethal enough to
shred a small, defenceless woman in seconds. But the cyborg had
been insistent, and Ian personally suspected that the lander
would go through him if he'd tried to bar the way. Fortunately
the problem was moot; in response to Jason's message, Miriam had
instantly requested that Sven Alfredsson be conducted to her with
all courtesy.

Alfredsson was a scary looking character - although it also
looked like he'd seen better days. His stern appearance had
cracked some though when Miriam came through the doorway,
actually smiling as the two embraced with what was obviously the
reunion of old friends.

"Sven." Miriam repeated. "Merciful God, it is so good to see
you."

"You too, Sister. It's been a very long time. I'm glad to see
that you're looking well," Sven replied.

"And you too, Sven. I trust all your parts are still working?"

The watching Jason did a double-take, before realizing that
Sister Miriam was undoubtedly referring to the cybernetics of her
guest.

"Thank you, Jason. That will be all for now."

Miriam turned to her bodyguard and dismissed him, and Jason Ian
reluctantly left her alone with the dangerous cyborg.

"Please don't mind Major Ian, Sven. He has your old role, and he
takes his duties very seriously." Miriam apologized.

"No need to apologize, Sister," Sven confirmed. "I think he's a
good man. I would have regretted having to take him apart to see
you."

Sven smiled, although he would have carried out his threat if
required, as Miriam knew.

"Sit, please." Miriam poured tea for Sven. The old Svede had
long gotten used to the no-alcohol habits of the Believers
(except during Communion, of course).

"I was on the verge of sending a recovery team to try to find
you, actually." Miriam admitted. "I was worried about your
welfare."

"I was worried about yours, Sister. For a long time. I
suspected that Yang had kept you alive, but I didn't know where,
I tried but...." Sven started to apologize quietly and
sincerely, unable to meet Miriam's gaze, but Miriam quickly
reached over and patted his hand reassuringly.

"There was nothing you could have done, other than get yourself
killed. Praise God that we both survived and are here now."

Sven took a deep breath and nodded. Although he'd been a true
agnostic at the start of the Unity mission, he'd eventually been
won over by the faith and determination of the Believers; even to
the point of marrying into the religion. And although he'd
doubted often, Sven took his promises seriously, and had always
identified himself as a Believer when challenged to it.

"So you knew I was alive?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Yes... Sister Jessica had compiled a list of known adherents for
me."

"Jessica's alive too?" Sven was surprised.

"Not the original Jessica," Miriam explained. "Her
granddaughter. Ruth's daughter, you remember Ruth?"

"Yes," Sven replied cautiously. Ruth McCollough had been widowed
shortly after her first child, during the short Believer - Hive
conflict. She'd then fallen for a Gaian trader, if he recalled
correctly. Sven also remembered that Miriam had been furious at
the time.

If Miriam still was bitter, it didn't show on her face. Perhaps
she'd made peace with the past.

"At any rate, I'd heard you were alive. I'm sorry to say I could
find nothing about Patricia." Miriam's voice suddenly was quiet
and sympathetic.

"She's dead." Sven said abruptly. He wanted to stop there, but
somehow, found himself telling Miriam what he'd learned from
Kurt. When he was done, the tough mercenary found himself
weeping; and Miriam was holding him close as a mother would hold
a son.

"I'm so sorry, Sven." Miriam's cheeks were also wet with tears
of shared sorrow for her oldest living friend. "But her soul is
with God, you must know that."

"I know." Sven said too quickly. "But I'm going to make sure
that the bastards who did that to my wife, and all their kind, go
straight to Hell." Bitterness tinged his voice, and Miriam chose
her next words carefully.

"Sven... for Patricia, and myself, would you do something for us
both?"

"Anything in my power." The cyborg responded.

"Try to forgive." Miriam stated.

"Forgive? For that? How can you of all people ask that? Can you
forgive Yang and Sand for what they did to you?" Sven snapped
back angrily, and then felt instant regret. Truly, Miriam had
likely suffered as much physical and mental torture, possibly
even rape, as any woman still alive, while her tormentors had
tried to break her spirit and faith.

When Miriam responded, her eyes were distant.

"Forgive? No, not yet. I am, to my shame, unable to forgive as
Christ did on the cross. But I can pray for their souls."

She looked directly at Sven now.

"Sven, we find ourselves locked in a life-or-death struggle with
the Hive, for our beliefs are antithetical to Yang's vision. We
will have to fight his followers, and we will have to kill or be
killed. But we can try not to hate; for hate is a path that
leads only to the Devil. Instead, we must pray for the souls of
his minions, that they may find forgiveness and redemption in the
Beyond. Can you do this?"

Sven closed his eyes, and his mind travelled back nearly a
century.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I know what Patricia
would've wanted. And for her... and you, Sister, I'll try."

Miriam squeezed Sven's hand reassuringly.

"But in the meantime, Sister Miriam, I'm yours to command."

Miriam shook her head.

"Not to command, Sven. You've done your duty and far more. Yes,
I know about your contract, but John Garland is long dead, and
circumstances have changed far beyond what he envisioned. You
don't need to serve anyone."

It was Sven's turn to be unyielding, now.

"I'm not talking about that contract anymore, Sister. I'm
talking about a personal pledge I made to you a hundred years
ago. I want to help - not only for Patricia, but for myself."

"Sven Alfredsson! If you're going to serve, you have to stop
arguing with me!" Miriam crossed her arms sternly, but a smile
warmed her face nonetheless. It was good to have her old friend
back.

"Very well, just this once. Well... I have good bodyguards now.
And as for your personal arsenal - even when we upgrade your
weaponry to modern standards, there's only so much that one man
can do. Your days on the battlefield are past, old friend."

Sven nodded reluctantly.

"But," Miriam said thoughtfully, "there is something you can do
for us. Our Believers are the weakest of surviving factions, and
aside from a small air unit Domai and I are working on, probe
operations seem to be our best talent. The younger Jessica was
our prototype, but we still have scores of willing and able
volunteers. Information gathering of the sort that Jessica
specializes in is important, but "hard" operations - like
sabotage and demolition - we still lack experience in. I'd like
you to take over that training, if you would."

A hard smile crossed Sven Alfredsson's face.

"Sister Miriam, I would indeed."

[Argonaut]

Sparta Command, Department of Inquisition

Roze walked through the corridors of the Spartan Counter-Intelligence Agency, or the ‘Department of Inquisition’ as it was commonly known. Her figure was shrouded in the thick robe that employees of the agency were now required to wear, by order of the ‘Grand Inquisitor’. Roze wondered how it had not been obvious to the Spartan’s that their organization had been infiltrated with such obvious signs as that.

Roze had ‘assumed’ the identity of one of the lost level workers at the Inquisition, keeping herself on the outskirts of the organization, and as far away from Ishmael Skye as possible. Roze’s information told her that he was a powerful empath, and that his paranoia led him to probe deeply into the minds of all of his confidants. So far, with the help of her contact, the Believer Benjamin Michaels, she had avoided detection. But soon she would need to get closer.

Fortunately Roze had just the thing. She had stolen it, by chance, from a Morganite Lab long before she left her job as MorganNet QA Manager. It was only a prototype device, and a side project and it was apparently never missed. A shame, because not only did the invention work, it was exceptionally handy for Roze’s purposes.

The device was a neural inhibitor. It was worn behind the ear, and generated an invisible and completely undetectable field around the wearer’s head. The field allowed oxygen, food, water, almost everything to pass through it, except brain waves.

Brain waves were naturally transmitted, and it is these waves that telepaths are able to latch onto, using them as a sort of rope to enter your mind. With out those waves, a telepath is forced to punch through, as if you had erected a mental block. While it was, therefore, not fool proof, it allowed the wearer to remain undetected if they could not be seen or heard. No stray thought waves escaped to give away your position.

This worked perfectly for what Roze had in mind. At that moment, Michaels walked around the corridor and nodded in her direction. She nodded back, and both knew the hallway was clear. Within seconds Roze had taken a running leap, with her Believer ally giving her a boost, and latched onto the ventilation shaft suspended in the ceiling above them. A few more seconds later, and Roze had disappeared within the shaft, the cover was replaced, and Benjamin Michaels returned to his business as he waited for the next signal.

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

Roze looked through the grating of the vent and into the office of the Grand Inquisitor. The room was sparsely decorated, but entirely flooded with light. In one corner, a small terrarium had been set up containing samples of native life forms.

Roze almost laughed. Ishmael Skye was so obsessed with his beloved Planet, he failed to recognize the inherent danger of it’s native life. Even Roze knew that several of the species contained within the terrarium could be highly lethal to humans. Roze stopped her mind’s wanderings as Ishmael came into view.

He too, was clad in the now customary robe of the Inquisition. However, on his chest was embroidered a strange symbol Roze didn’t recognize. It was a strange three pointed star, contained within a circle. It looked almost like a combination of the Gaian and Believer emblems.

Suddenly, Ishmael’s body convulsed, his arms trashing out as he knocked over unseen objects on the desk below her. A second man stepped into view, and Roze felt every hair on the back of her neck rise. She had never seen him in person before, but she knew without a doubt who he was. It was Sand, Ashaandi’s right hand man and a member of the infamous Circle.

“Please, my lord! Stop!” Ishmael cried out in pain, but not to Sand. He was speaking to someone else, someone not in the room. The presence of Sand meant that it could only be Ashaandi himself.

“I am sorry,” Ishmael now groveled to Sand. “It just seemed strange that Lord Moor would send a non-believer. Please, forgive my impudence.” Sand smiled, obviously enjoying the power he held over Ishmael.

“Whatever. Just bring me Zakharov’s granddaughter.” Roze froze at Sand’s command. Did he mean that Anastasia was being kept here at the Inquisition? It seemed improbable, but the possibility had to be considered. Anastasia was an extreme liability to the Axis, especially if she ended up in the hands of the Circle. But all information pointed to her already being taken by the Circle, and how would she have ended up in Ishmael’s hands.

There was too little information for Roze to risk blowing the operation on. Besides, Roze wasn’t ready for a face to face confrontation with one of the Circle. Roze might be the best at hacking computer systems, and bypassing security, but the Circle would be able to take her out with a single mental punch. It would be futile to take them on without a powerful empath on her side.

Ishmael once again disappeared from view, apparently moving towards the desk as he was then speaking into a comm-system.

“Bring out Ayola Zakharov, and have her delivered to Lord Moor’s emissary. See that they depart at once.” There was a inaudible response as the guard received the order, and Roze found herself more confused than ever. Who was Ayola Zakharov? There had never been mention of anyone beside Anastasia.

Roze watched as Sand left the room, not even giving Ishmael any further acknowledgement. It was clear that the Circle had little concern over what happened at the Inquisition, and that Ishmael was only serving as their pawn. That was a positive, as it would mean they wouldn’t miss him after he was gone, which would be in a few more minutes.

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

Ishmael rubbed his temples where the pain was still intense. Lord Moor had once again punished him, despite his loyal actions. The man had been an unbeliever, it was only sensible to question his authority in taking the Zakharov girl.

In his chair in the corner, the Grand Inquisitor gurgled slightly as the drool dripped down his chin. Ishmael normally paid him no notice, but there was a strange sense of recognition in the old man’s eyes as he gazed vacantly past Ishmael.

The gentle thud alerted Ishmael too late to the new presence in the room. He turned to see a robed form and a fallen ventilation shaft cover. The figure raised it’s arm, a shot was fired, and Ishmael’s world faded to black.

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

The sounds of shredder fire erupted as the Spartan and Believer response teams moved through the corridors of the Department of Inquisition. Anybody who resisted, was promptly shot. Attempts were made only to wound, however there were still many casualties.

Sand heard the shots from the other side of the building. He grabbed Ayola’s limp frame, and dragged her away into the narrow corridors and alleyways of Sparta Command.

[Googlie]

As I waited alone, as instructed, I looked around me. So this was the Manifold Nexus, the ancient nerve center of the Progenitors' experiments into planetary sentience. I wandered down one of the corridors, towards an area where the roof had collapsed millenia ago, and where now a Gaian workcrew had erected a scaffolding and were attempting to understand the arcane construction methodology.

I ran a hand along the corridor wall, feeling the subtle bumps and indentations, understanding little of their significance, but experiencing a tingling at my fingertips, and recalling the phrase I'd heard: "harnessing and reshaping the resonance."

Glancing at my chronometer, I thought 'only a few minutes now,' and hastened back to the rendezvous point.

I thought back to our first meeting........

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

Megan was excited.

"You'll have to be Vlad, Elspeth's character. Don't worry about the others you'll meet - just ignore them. And run from any glyphs - leave the shooting to me."

I nodded, and pulled on the boots and helmet, pulling the snaps tight. I pulled on the gloves, and flexed my fingers experimentally, creating a kaleidoscope of colors across my vision.

"Not yet," Megan said. "I have to plug in the game first. You ready?"

I nodded my assent, and ascended to the game platform. Megan moved her hand, and I felt the hairs on the nape of my neck tingle as the helmet activated, the nodes snaking out to meet the receptors taped to my skull at the contact points.

In my mind I sensed Megan saying “Commander Allardyce, I’m starting a saved game. We’re operatives disguised as drone workers in the Sea Hive. From now on you’re Vlad and I’m Thomass. Here we go……… “

I gasped.

I was standing on a rampart viewpoint forming part of the Perimeter Defense of the Sea Hive, and was looking south out over the inland sea to The Hive itself. The twin suns were setting behind me throwing long shadows over the waving beds of cultivated kelp and glinting off the metallic structures of the Tidal Harnesses that supplied the Sea Hive with its energy. Idly I wondered why we hadn’t bombed this infrastructure, then realized that I was in a VR sim, constructed some months ago, and that probably by now we had.

“Let’s go, Vlad,” I heard at my side. I looked over at my companion.

“Thomass?” I asked.

He nodded.

“We’re drawing attention to ourselves,” came the gruff reply. “We’re supposed to be a drone work party, not gawking tourists.”

Sutably chastened, I said “Lead on, MacDuff.”

“Huh?” came the query from Thomass.

“Never mind,” I said, “let’s go”.

He moved off, and I followed, marvelling at the teeming industriousness of the Hive’s general populace. Drones were scurrying hither and yon, with supervisors barking orders to their underlings. The perimeter guard was changing and troopers coming off duty were exchanging reports with their replacements. I knew it was a simulation, but recalling the thoroughness with which the Morganites operated, I was sure that it was exactly like that when the game designers commissioned the vidclips taken. The one overriding feature that stuck in the mind’s eye was the utter drabness of it all, with functional greys predominating, and a sameness about most of the clothes being worn by the populace – only the troopers being distinguishable by their collar regimental flashes.

I was drawn into the immediacy of it all though, even to the tiniest detail like the smell of stale sweat that assailed our nostrils as we entered the elevator to take us to a lower level.

We exited at sub 18, Thomass leading the way, hurrying down the corridor. At a junction he turned to the left and opened a door, entering, with me close behind.

The small apartment was vacant, and almost empty of furnishings.

Thomass pointed to a closet – “You’ll find a change of clothes there,” he said, and I duly changed into a guard’s uniform, as did he. We were now Security Detachment 12.

“Let’s go,” he said, and we went back into the corridor.

Thomass led the way, weapon holstered, rudely shoving drones out of his way as he strode purposefully down the corridor. I followed, taking my cue from him, but the crowded pedestrians gave me a wider berth noting my larger size and my officer’s tabs.

Another elevator took us deeper, and we exited at the sub 21 level to face a door labeled “Authorized Personnel Only”

“This is where it gets interesting,” Thomass said. “Stay close.”

He drew his shredder, turning the dial to its tightest band setting, where it operated as a high power laser. Pointing it at the security lock, he cut around it and kicked the door open as the klaxons wailed.

As he entered he yelled “Everybody down”, and waited as a dozen or so researchers and technicians threw themselves to the floor.

Thomass surveyed the situation. Suddenly he whirled and fired at a scanner that was relentlessly tracking him, and was just about to activate its weapons pod to deploy its automatic firing sequence. It hissed and sparked, then with a series of explosive pops, it disintegrated.

A door burst open and the security detachment of three glyphs appeared, weapons drawn. Thomass raked them with disapersed fire, dropping them swiftly.

“All clear,” he said, and moved towards the central console.

Over his shoulder I could see another automatic scanner appearing, looking as though it was prepping to activate. I drew my shredder and fired, but unlike Thomass I had not dialed in the tight beam, with the resulting dispersed fire bringing down a plethora of overhead girders, wires and equipment, sufficient to stall the progress of the scanner, and giving Thomass the opportunity to turn and fire, rendering it inoperative.

“I told you to leave the shooting to me,” he said. “Now let’s get to work.”

He moved over to the console, and activated one of the terminals. I watched as his fingers flew over the command console, then he reached into his tunic and extracted a cartridge, which he inserted into the machine and…………….

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

……… reality shifted.

I was standing alone in a stark white walled room, facing its only door, which opened.

An alien creature walked in, dwarfing me by some two to three feet. He spoke, and a deep resonance filled the small chamber.

“Ah, Allardyce. At last we meet. I am Kri’lan. We need to resonate tusk to tusk.”

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

I glanced again at my chronometer. Almost time. I made my way to the rendezvous point where I had left the translation device, and waited.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Seemingly from out of the wall itself, Kri’lan suddenly appeared.

We eyed each other.

I touched my fingers to my forehead in a patrial salute, and said:

“Kri’lan. I greet you as an unofficial ambassador of the Human Federation.”

He responded by lowering his tusks deferentially to me.

“And I greet you, Allardyce, as an informal representative of the Progenitor Race.”

“Why did you ask for this meeting?” I began.

“Wait,” he replied, and reached into a fold in his clothes.

I tensed, instantly on the alert, suspecting danger and treachery.

He produced a small orb, and touched it, activating it, and releasing it between us. It hovered at shoulder height for a moment, then gracefully rose to a position just above our heads, and between us, emitting a dull, pulsating murmur. I felt the beginnings of a headache.

“Explain,” I commanded.

“We call it a self-res blocker, he said. “I think you might understand it as a psi-dampener. You have many operatives who can read and interpret our internal resonances – our minds. This will block them.”

“Ah, I understand,” I replied, and thought ‘We do? That was news to me.’ This then was why I was going to have a doosie of a headache.

“So why the meeting?” I continued.

“First you must understand something of the history of the Progenitors,” he replied, and began.

I listened.

“Many turnings ago, when your star, Sol, was but a white dwarf, The Progenitors were a starfaring race – as far as we knew then, the only sentient race in the universe. Our science was wondrous and our capabilities unlimited by either imagination or means. We manufactured planets – we refer to these as Manifolds – around suns, and indeed Chiron, on which we now stand, is one of these - Manifold Six.

“Some millennia ago, we got off track, and my forebears started experimenting with building sentience into the planets themselves. We seeded six, and on this one built the monitoring and control structure – the Manifold Nexus – where we are right now.

“Something went terribly wrong at Manifold One, which gained a sentience far beyond its ability to cope, and it erupted – The Flowering, we call it. Manifold one sent its genetic codes in a broadburst dispersal throughout the universe by way of a massive resonance wave. This wave followed the well navigated paths and reached our own star system, Tau Ceti, the headquarters of our empire, with full force, reducing our home planet, Harmony, to a primitive husk.

“Our race was well defined in those days, with the warrior caste having their headquarters in a series of manufactured planetoids – the Rim Systems. The resonance wave hit them, but dispersed the fleet in its wake, technology intact, but manned largely by gibbering primitives. Over the succeeding millenia they have evolved into the Usurpers, personified by their commander here, Conqueror Judaa Marr. Their mission is to raise the Progenitor Race to its former glory.

“The remnants of the Race on Harmony grubbed out a meager existence for these millenia, occasionally stumbling across relics of the civilization past, uncovering scientific tools and slowly rebuilding the planet’s capability to sustain life. They named themselves the Caretakers, taking as their mission the nurturing of Harmony.

“Over the course of time the civilization was rebuilt, although never to its former peak, and some turnings ago the Caretakers achieved space flight again, and met with their long lost brethren.

“The meeting was a disaster, leading to a series of bloody wars – the Succession Wars – that was finally resolved by the signing of the Tau Ceti accord. The Caretakers would keep Harmony, while the Usurpers would keep their Rim Systems habitats.

“Thus an uneasy peace prevailed.

“This was shattered shortly after the discovery of The Explorer, one of the scoutships assigned to the Manifold Experiment. It had escaped Manifold One by riding the resonance wave of The Flowering through its cycle, turning up again in the Tau Ceti system with its two researchers still in cryosleep.

“A bitter custody battle ensued for access to the wisdom and knowledge of these two pioneers – ‘Yees and Teq – which resulted in the feud erupting again into a race to discover the Manifold Six with its Nexus Command Center.

“The Usurpers believe that they can repeat the Flowering, in a controlled environment, with themselves participating, and thus be raised to Godhood. The Caretakers believe that the six manifolds need to have their sentiency reduced, and to be allowed to function as normal planets, with the possibility of ‘sentience overload’ being eliminated.

“Unfortunately, the Usurpers seem to have discovered Manifold Six – inhabited by Humans – and the Caretakers are nowhere to be seen.”

“And what is your position?” I asked.

“I am a Usurper by upbringing, but a Caretaker by conviction,” Kri’lan replied. “Teq is an ancestor, and through him I can see the damage that a Flowering can bring.”

“So where do we fit in?, I continued.

“Marr wants to be the hero. To do so, he needs to control Manifold Six – Chiron, as you humans call it. Therefore he must eliminate any opposition that stands in his way. The Caretakers dispatched a scoutship from Harmony at about the same time Marr left the Rim Systems, but nothing has been seen of it or its commander, Guardian H’Minee, leading us to believe that it has either been destroyed or has been unsuccessful in following|Marr to here. Only you humans can now stop Marr, and I am here to offer what help I can in giving you insights into our thinking and our technologies.”

“What of his allies, the Hive?” I asked.

“Marr tolerates them. He will either elevate them, as lesser, subservient, Gods, or will break with them before the Flowering, destroying them in the process.”

“What does he plan to do next?” I asked further.

“I am not privy to his detailed plans, but aggression is in his nature. I believe that he will strike overland at the Spartan heartland, as well as here, while he is readying for an orbital bombardment of the industrial might of the humans. He has awesome weaponry at his disposal, much of which we do not understand, but in limited quantities. He will use the Hive troops as cannon fodder on their own continent.”

“What do you think you can do to help?” I asked.

“I have brought with me one of our early Ogres, for your scientists to wxamine and see if it can be replicated. I also believe that I can be of assistance in ………….. “

A blinding explosion rocked the Nexus, momentarily stunning me, and throwing Kri’lan off his feet.

As the debris settled, and my concussion subsided, I heard a shouted command, in a voice I recognized:

“Freeze. Don’t move.”

I looked around for the source, but could see no-one, not even Kri’lan.

“Stazi?” I yelled.

“Hell, Wolfie?” came the reply. “Team, Activate.”

Suddenly four blurs took shape and substance in front of me - four figures dressed in black hooded suits. One detached itself from the group and came running to me, freeing her head from the hood, and letting her auburn hair flow loosely. She melted into my arms.

“Wolfie, what the heck are you doing here with the Traitor?” she breathed.

“I could ask the same of you,” I replied. “And who are your friends?”

“We’re a pursuit team trailing Kri-lan, the Traitor,” she replied. “Angel, you know,” she continued, indicating one of the figures who raised a hand in acknowledgement. “Angelica is her sister and psi-bond, and Shauna here is my psi-bond.”

“But why are you pursuing Kri’lan?” I asked. “And talking of which, what became of him?”

“We’re doing it because he’d be too alert to a Progenitor squad – and he’s out to stop the march of progress – the next step in the evolution of sentient races in the Universe – both Progenitor and Human. But he wasn’t really here – you were just talking to a very sophisticated holo-projection.”

I kept my peace. Holo projections, however sophisticated, don’t release psi-blockers, and that was real. I had caught a glimpse of it, some distance above, still active to black out Kri’lan’s resonance projections. And my headache was all too real as well, and not just from the percussive blast.

Suddenly from the entrance to the Nexus came a rumbling and a huge mech warrior machine hove into view, its laser sights searching and the armaments turrets swiveling towards our group.

It started firing, laying down systematic pattern fire that crept inexorably towards us. At the same time its main cannon roared, and a section of the Nexus roof came crashing down behind us, cutting off our escape that way. ‘This must be the Ogre he talked about’, I thought.

“Team divide,” Anastasia yelled – “confuse his fire. Take out its sensors.”

The team split, Angel and her sister moving in closer to one side while Stazi and Shauna covered me a shorter distance away.

“This is hopeless,” I said. “It’s a Progenitor Ogre – a killing machine, and we’re trapped.”

It looked that way. The fire pattern was inexorably closing on us, hemming us in.

I could see only one way out.

I grabbed Stazi’s wrist.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

She looked at me.

“How?”

“Trust me – and follow implicitly. You too, Shauna. Angel and her sister are doomed – they can’t get to us now. Let’s go.”

I stood up, still holding Stazi’s wrist. She grabbed Shauna’s.

Either I was right, or my headache was going to get much worse.

I crouched, dragging the two women with me, and ran right into the wall of the Nexus from where I’d seen Kri’lan emerge ………………..

………….. and passed right through, as if running through jelly, the inertia suddenly being released sending all three of us tumbling to the floor of a chamber the likes of which I had seen only once before – the heart of a monolith.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Stazi said. “Where the hell are we?”

Shauna giggled. “Hell, maybe,” she said.

“No idea,” I replied. “Let’s go explore.”

[Argonaut]

Sparta Command, Somewhere in the depths of the Department of Inquisition

Ishmael looked up as his captor finally entered the room. It was Michaels, he was apparently the betrayer. Ishmael lashed out with his mind, but he was still groggy from the stun blast, and Michaels was able to mentally block the assault.

Michaels approached quickly, attaching a device behind Ishmael’s ear. Suddenly Ishamel, was aware of a change. He could no longer feel Michaels presence at all. Somehow, his mind was be blocked before he was even able to reach out.

The door opened again, and a new figure entered the room. Suddenly Ishmael realized that it was not Michaels who had captured him, that the betrayer was merely an assistant to a greater power. A power that wanted the demise of the Planet Cult.

She was dressed in the standard issue of a probe operative, a sleek black body suit which appeared seamless in every way. However, Ishmael knew enough to understand that almost every inch of that suit was equipped with highly sensitive computer equipment. The entire arsenal of a probe operative, without the need of a single pocket.

Ishmael could not recognize her face, but she had a striking beauty about her. She had long dark hair, and wore an optical receiver over her left eye, with a microphone headset looped over her ear, keeping her in constant communication with her computer systems.

She made her way across the room towards him, sauntering with vague hints of a smile crossing her face.

“You may leave us for now Brother Michaels,” she stated. Her accent was unusual, probably originating from pre-Unity days, a member of a nationality who was poorly represented on the Unity mission. “I’ll come and get you when were ready to leave.” With that, the betrayer nodded and stepped from the room.

“Well Ishmael,” she began casually, slowly beginning to circle around him. Such simple psychological tactics would have no effect on him however. He would not succumb and allow Lord Moor’s cause to fail. Lord Moor would save his loyal prophet.

“You’ve certainly caused quite a commotion here. We’ve had to arrest almost the entire Department of Inquisition. The whole Spartan Counter Intelligence organization will have to be rebuilt from the ground floor up.”

“I care not,” Ishmael spat, “what happens to Santiago’s foolish little organization. She merely reaps what she sows.”

“So, you’re not a fan of the Colonel?” This was not quite the response Ishmael had expected. “Neither am I quite frankly.” That was definitely not what he expected.

“If you dislike her so, then why do you work for her?” Ishmael sneered.

“You see Mr. Skye, and by the way Lady Deirdre doesn’t seem to recall you from any of the family gatherings, perhaps you can explain to her the relation if you should ever come back, I don’t work for Colonel Santiago. I am a self-employed woman, shall we say, and work for what is in my best interest, and in interest for the political organization I choose to support. I happen to be a fan of this little alliance we’ve got going here, so a security leak in one of the departments, isn’t healthy for my interests.” Ishmael was stuck on three words from that speech: “come back” and “if”.

“Where do you think I am going? Am I to be allowed to return to Lord Moor?” The woman laughed aloud. In fact, it took her so long to finish laughing, that Ishmael began to feel very enraged and embarrassed at the same time.

“Oh, Ishy,” she laughed, slapping him on the back. “You crack me up. I don’t know who the hell this Lord Moor guy is, but I doubt he’s going to be anywhere near where you are going.” Suddenly the woman’s mood changed. There was a fierce intensity in her eyes, as she stared at him with contempt.

“I don’t like you Ishmael. My job is to know everything that goes on in this alliance, and you got away without me knowing for a long time. That makes me very angry.” She regained her composure, taking a breath before continuing.

“Now I’ve had a private chat with our mutual friend Colonel Santiago, and as far as we’re both concerned, you were killed during the raid.” Suddenly Ishmael began to realized how dire his situation actually was.

“I’ve arranged for a little trip for you, a sort of holiday. We’re going to take you out in a chopper and drop you in one of those nice and cozy fungal beds that you seem to love so much. And if you even consider showing your face in Federation territory, or the territory of any other Axis faction, then I will see to it that you are shot on site. Are we clear on that?” Once again the woman smiled, showing bright white teeth.

“Good.” The woman’s arm raised and once again Ishmael was looking down the barrel of a stun gun. Her finger twitched and Ishmael’s world dissolved into nothingness.

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

The Great Fungal Wall

Ishmael awoke, feeling a strange spongy support on his body. He opened his eyes, squinting as the bright light of the suns beat down on his face through the hazy sky. It quickly occurred to Ishmael just how wrong that was.

Sitting up, he looked around him and gasped, thankful for his micro-breather. He was surrounded by beds of fungus as far as the eyes could see. And everywhere, flitting in and out among the tendrils, were mindworms...hundreds of them...

Ishmael began to scream.

[Hydro]

Fungal Tower on Progenitor Continent

Sarah viewed the resonance field she was forming, watching the lines of force wax and wane as she shifted the field to her needs. The field was focused on part of the living flesh of her new Fungal Tower, which she and her new mindworms were modifying to accommodate her humanoid form. She extended her hands to help her guide the field, even though hands were totally unnecessary for the process. Although it was not necessary Sarah though of molding clay, and it helped her focus and feel.

As she watched in total darkness, the flesh of the tower quivered like jelly, then it flowed away in sheets. The resonance fields guided this movement on a macro and microscopic level. As the flesh moved the Tower's circulatory system was being re-routed, as were its complex neural networks. These alterations were more than mere surgery, where tissue was brutally excised or moved, it was more like design. It would be as if a human surgeon could see the very cells of his patient, analyze the problem and solution, and then modify or move existing cells to their new configuration.

After a few seconds the portal was complete, which provided the bare living quarters she required and access throughout the Tower. Just on the other side of the portal were two mindworms, who were playing out their smaller resonance fields to shape a crude hallway to the central vertical corridor. This corridor branched, with one line leading to the top of the Tower itself and the second to the birthing chambers were new mindworm entities were formed and took shape.

To Sarah this was all quite natural now, almost second nature. She didn't reflect that what she was doing was more profound than the most skilled Morgan nanosurgeon, or that it would be wholly baffling to any human or Progenitor scientist on Planet. Sarah had long ago gotten the answers to all of her questions, and all that now remained was Planet's timeless purpose, and Sarah's will to see that it's will be done.

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

Sarah sat at the center of the Tower, which was itself centered at a natural fungal nexus that covered Planet. She could feel and absorb the neural data from millennia or even eons, where it existed, but now she 'tasted' the network, feeling through the thousands of Planet mobile mindworm or sessile Tower denizens. This was periodically necessary to keep abreast of developments since she was far from omnipotent or omniscient.

The current 'hot spots' were a new Hive assault, as monitored by the fungal bloom Unity Lair. Other areas of the Hive continent were blank, since the industrious Hive citizens had long ago removed the neutrally connected fungus from their homes, considering it dangerous and non-productive. There was also a military buildup all over Spartan territory, which was more obvious since the Spartans were not nearly as fastidious about fungus removal. Sea fungus near Peacekeeper land showed unusual movement, and occasional flights of military craft. Morgan territory was opaque, since Morgan had a rightful fear of fungal blooms from past misfortune, since fungal blooms were synonymous with mindworm assaults. Sarah felt it was deeply ironic that now Morgan was the most ecologically friendly human society on Planet due to their integration of hybrid forests, a truly worthwhile addition to Planet's ecology. It had been a Morgan invention, too. Moving her sights to the Progenitors, there was nothing new. That is not to say there was no activity. On the contrary, there was a great excavation near Spires: Ascendant, which was almost as deep as a thermal borehole. Sarah didn't know what it was for, but instinctively disliked it. Any wound in Planet that was that great could not be for a good purpose. Likewise, there was the orbital fall of military material from the battleships over Planet during the last month. The Progenitor's four city complexes were almost crawling with military craft.

In short, Sarah noted that the entire human and Progenitor population was gearing up for war.

Sarah didn't like that either. War was when normal, rational behavior was put aside, like when the human Yang ordered the use of the two planetbusters, which was wounding to Planet. Likewise, the use of nerve gas disrupted Planet's neural net, even when these mutagenic chemicals were present in minute concentrations.

None of this was new, and only increased the urgency with trying to understand the Progenitor's motives.

Sarah put that aside, and cast her net more widely, searching the Planet's neural net outside the areas controlled by humans and Progenitors. There were vast swaths of ocean where the newcomer human or Progenitors had never visited, and even large fungus-rich swaths of land, like those of Pholus Ridge and what was called the Great Fungal Wall by the Spartans. Of these the Great Fungal Wall was the most interesting since it was almost completely covered by fungus, except for a very small area at its southern end, where the humans had established Plex Anthill, and at the north, which was covered by forests and streams and a few flegling human settlements by the Spartans and Believers. Remembering, Sarah could recall the beautiful stands of redwood at Assassin's Redoubt, which was a worthy addition to Planet's web of life. The center of this continent was completely covered by fungus, and at its center was the Monolith Ring. This area was truly ancient, being many millions of years old, and it was more of a hub for Planet's neural net than any fungal tower, or even the Manifold Nexus. It had been partially explored by the Gaians a hundred years ago, by the Peacekeepers briefly before the expedition had been consumed by mindworms, and by the Hive and Spartans as part of their military ceaseless campaigns.

Still, it was a wilderness, and had a profusion of native life that Sarah found to be fascinating. Everywhere Sarah looked there was more richness and diversity, showing how this planet had advanced since its last Flowering cycle.

What is that? Sarah thought as she flitted through the three dimensional neural network and bounced from mindworm to mindworm.

Sarah focused.

It was below the Monolith Ring. An anomaly.

There!

Sarah jumped into the chaotic, alien mind of a larval mindworm, which had just hatched. Its mind was functional but not complicated like the Great and Daemon Boils, so it was easier to ride. Using its resonance field she probed around 'her'.

The little mindworm morphed slowly through a low stand of fungus, its worm components almost leisurely rotating about each other, as their magnetic fields moved around an object, making it appear that the mindworm moved through fungus. There were many overlapping resonance fields, indicating other mindworms were in close proximity, and they all were moving in the same general direction. Most of the mindworms were fairly young, being only a couple hundred years old. A few Boils were in the rear, since their fields were stronger, and they could 'see' from a greater distance.

Each mindworm was moving slowly and deliberately, and there was no agitation or alarm, nor was there the static of a mindworm about to feed. Searching for what this meant to a mindworm Sarah came to the conclusion the closest human emotion was curiosity.

What could generate curiosity in a mindworm? Sarah thought to herself. Now she was intrigued since mindworms were normally placid, except when aroused as Planet's immune system, which is when most humans saw them, to their short lived regret. Mindworms in the wild are not overly aggressive, since they have a pace of life that is alien and as long-lived as Planet. There is no hurry when you live for thousands of years, or maybe even an eon.

The resonance field of the little mindworm was honing in on the anomaly. As it tasted the field it became clear to Sarah why there was curiosity in the sentient worm clusters. There was a strong and now latent psi force ahead, which was generally only associated with mindworms. But this psi force was not that of a mindworm, that much was clear. It was also not hostile, and seemed 'tuned' into the fungal net to some degree.

Sarah knew what it was before the mindworm actually 'saw' the recumbent form. It was a human with substantial psi powers, but with an innate sympathy with Planet. There were few of these, and Sarah knew that she herself would not have been this sympathetic before her transformation.

Perhaps it's a Gaian? But what would a Gaian be doing down here, in the middle of a vast fungal forest?

As the mindworm 'looked' more and more mindworms appeared. They formed an informal ring around the human, still watching, and 'tasting' his psi field to see if it was friendly or not. None moved toward the human.

Sarah asked the mindworm to move forward, and it did. It reached out a tendril of worms and brushed the man's face.

The man stirred, and groaned, obviously groggy.

Then he saw the mindworm almost on top of him. His blue eyes grew wide with terror and he instinctively recoiled and in doing so saw the mindworms all around him.

The man screamed.

Sarah considered. Then she told the mindworm, Take him, in a dispassionate mental voice.

Almost at once the little mindworm sprang, covering the man's face. The man's psi field was assaulted and crumpled almost at once from the shock and terror, and he fell backward into the fungus, unconscious and limp.

The rest of the mindworms descended.

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

Sarah had grown used to the perpetual dark of the Tower. Light was not necessary when you could see the resonance fields all around you. In fact, it was superior to photic based information gathering in every way since you could probe the essence of the object in front of you or in back of you, and could even mate the field with another sentience to understand them, depending of your master of the fields themselves. Eventually, Sarah decided, her eyes would have to go, but not now, not yet.

The roughly formed corridor was pulsing with energy, and Sarah could feel that a birth was about to occur. The Tower summoned energy from the grid, borrowing from the sessile and mobile organisms that were part of its great web to create another life. It was part of the ancient cycle, where Towers were programmed to hone the balance, and replace what was lost, or create what was needed. As always, Sarah marveled, since the Towers were responsible for the amazing genetic variety and the interwoven tapestry of Planet. In many ways they were organic genetic replicators, or even gene splicers.

Each pulse grew with intensity, and Sarah knew she would have to hurry to view the birth. Each birth was wonderful and glorious, regardless of whether it was a lowly spore launcher or a new, unique species the Tower decided needed to fill a niche in the ever-changing ecosystem of Planet.

Sarah waved her tendrils at her temples as she entered the moist chamber. A great bubble was rising from the floor, and the central pillar was dripping slimy writhing masses to the floor. Each 'plop' echoed slightly to Sarah's ears, like a drop of water falling in an underground grotto. To Sarah's ever increasingly acute resonance receptor she could see the art of the Tower where, even as the birth was to happen, it was shaping, molding.

The bubble rose further from the floor, and its translucent skin trembled.

In a final spasm the membrane ruptured, sending ooze all throughout the chamber.

Sarah, with a smile on her face, walked over to the newest denizen of Planet, viewing it with a critical eye.

She found it acceptable. Good, in fact.

Sarah bent down and reach out, touching the form.

She projected to it: I greet you, EarthIshmael. You now have your greatest wish, for you are now one with Planet.

EarthIshmael looked around with wonder, the mindworm tendrils at his temples waving in confusion, for the new portion of his brain still did not know how to process the resonance.

Slowly he stood up, the ooze of the birthing falling from his full form. He stood in front of Sarah and reached out with his mind. He did not lash out, or strike for pain, as he had done so often in the past. He could tell something had changed, but it was something wonderful, something that was right.

Gently EarthIshmael touched her mind, and Sarah could feel the caress of his probe. He let him in, fully, and she reached out to him. Gone was his twisted hatred, and the human frailties of need, either of belonging or of needing to make others belong. All that remained was his love of Planet. Indeed, that is all that he needed, and what he truly wanted.

Suddenly Sarah could feel his pheromones. She accepted them, and welcomed him. Sarah reached up to EarthIshmael's face and brushed his young cheek.

The touch was electric.

[senatus]

Manifold Six: Then

Despite the somber nature of the occasion, and the damages of previous
battle, the bridge of the battlecruiser Fortitude literally resonated
with excitement and anticipation. Ambushed in deep space by the treacherous
Usurpers, not only had the Caretaker warship destroyed her enemies despite
difficult odds, they had survived to finish their far-range exploration
course. And, by the most incredible of coincidences, discovered the legendary
Manifold Six.

That the Manifold had been in a quiescent phase between Flowerings
had been truly fortunate, for not even the mighty defences of the largest
and most advanced ship class in the Progenitor order of battle - that is,
the battlecruiser - would stave off the effects of even the weakest of
Flowerings within the same star system.

And there would be no subsequent Flowering. The Caretakers would
see to that. They would restore the Manifold back to its original status,
and harness its power in a controlled fashion, just as their ancestors
had designed it.

"Ship status, operational query?" Guardian She'Ra resonated to her
assembled officers.

"Space Modulator: charged. Hyperjump capability: available." Engineer
Mar'Veen responded, his resonance tired but still exultant.

"Conclusion: Return to Homeworld: required. Home fleets: to summon.
Object: Manifold Six. Emotion: Exuberance." She'Ra spoke for all her officers.

"Return journey: Time. Probable: 3.4 turnings." Navigator Chi'coff
warned.

"Object: Manifold Six. Concern: Discovery by Usurpers in meantime.
Probability: Very low. Consequences: Catastrophic." She'Ra's advisor pointed
out. Although it was unlikely, it was possible that the Usurpers could
also discover the Manifold in the meantime, and such power in corrupted
claws could not be allowed.

"Emotion: Consenus. Request: Suggestions?"

Advisor Lluar considered before resonating a reply.

"Garrison: establish. Automated defences: Deploy."

She'Ra could see the wisdom of Lluar, and over the next planetary
rotation, a core group of volunteers were dropped down to the Manifold,
along with all the Ogres that the battlecruiser carried. In addition, the
mighty starship began to seed intelligent spacemines into orbit of the
Manifold. Any visiting Usurper scoutship would surely be destroyed, and
even a battlecruiser would receive a nasty surprise.

At last it was time to go.

"Communication: Encouragement. Emotion: Hope. Prognosis: Caretaker
victory." She'Ra resonated to the garrison commander, and the mighty battlecruiser
Fortitude vanished into the bands of hyper.

The garrison watched their ship depart with pride and dedication,
and settled into their base to await the return of the Caretaker fleet.
A turning passed. Then two more. Then ten.

Then a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, a million. No Progenitor
would ever know or remember what happened to Fortitude; whether
the mighty battlecruiser had succumbed to damage, natural disaster, or
the fortunes of war on her return journey was unknown to the Caretaker
and Usurper descendants in cycles after cycles following. All signs of
the Caretaker garrison were obliterated over the years of repeated Planetary
flowering and simple ravages of time; save a few Ogres scattered and lost
over the planetary surface, inert, their programming long forgotten. In
the skies above, the automated sentinels continued their watch, but one
by one they too succumbed to the march of millennia, pitted by space dust,
drifting off course, or simply shutting down in cybernetic death.

---

Chiron orbit: One week ago

The Sentinel waited and watched, as it had done for a million years.
Only two others of its kind were left of the hundreds of brethren that
had once been seeded by Fortitude. There had been a third; but it
had been damaged and was cybernetically senile. Still, it had been "alive"
until very recently. Then an intruder had come, slowly and ponderously
driven by primitive ion thrusters rather than hyper emergence. Though clearly
an intruder, it was equally improbable that this was the legendary Enemy,
and so the Sentinal and its two sane brethren had stayed their claws, for
their weaponry was self-destructive. They were, in fact, artificially intelligent,
cloaked and mobile space mines, although their warheads were far more powerful
than the humans' seagoing analogues. But their sick cousin had dissented,
and attacked. And so the hope of Earth, UNS Unity, had been shattered,
its passengers forced to crash-land on the very planet that She'Ra had
tried to protect so long ago.

But, defying the laws of cosmic probability, the Ancient Foe had
arrived barely one hundred and fifty turnings after the first intruder,
and nearly a million after the Caretakers. And the Sentinel and its two
siblings awoke again, and watched and planned.

Direct, open engagement was impossible, for the Foe was well-armed and
well protected, and not alone - it came with smaller, non-hyper capable
scoutships as well. The latter were no true threat to the Caretakers' plan
- which the Sentinels still adhered to, awaiting their masters' arrival
- but the battlecruiser was. It had to be destroyed, or at the very least,
disabled. But how? The Sentinels conferred, and a plan began to form. The
Foe's own actions would bring about the opportunity.

---

Battlecruiser Impaler: Now

Usurper pilot Drrawn completed his pass in the agile Gnat, one of the
last to remain unconverted for planetary action. From his mothership, a
molecular chain once conceived by Buckminster Fuller stretched to the surface
of the planet below, its construction almost complete. Only a few more
asteroids needed to be shepherded to the atomic converter of the Impaler,
and it was Drrawn's job to do so.

A tiny anomaly caught the Usurper warrior's attention, a ripple on his
sensors. It seemed to come from one of the asteroids, in fact. Perhaps
it was contaminated by the primitives' space wreckage? Drrawn self-resonated,
sucking a tusk absently. Hardly a concern, but Drrawn was an uncommonly
thorough and dutiful specimen of the Usurper race. He fed the sensor data
into his computer, and coincidentally into the Gnat's own input. And while
the computer processed, the gnat strained its memory. Something seemed
familiar about this... and then both the semisentient starfighter and its
linked pilot spasmed in alarm.

"Priority: Urgent! Request: Communications link to bridge!" Drrawn resonated
at the top of his spectrum, but it was too late. The three Sentinels detonated
simultaneously, and the very bonds of creation unravelled and vanished.
Their long duty finally discharged, the Sentinels faded silently and eerily
from existence, taking with them Drrawn's gnat, the entire stern of
the Impaler, several hundred Usurper crew, and the battlecruiser's
hyperspace drive.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited September 24, 2000).]