The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 3

[Argonaut]

Morgan Industries

Sharra watched with amazement as the events of the play unfolded before her. She was seated on the balcony of the Morgan Grand Theatre, with Will beside her, on the first real date they had ever had. She was wearing an elegant dress given to her by Datajack Roze herself. Will had been gifted with an official University uniform, a gift to Provost Zakharov’s staff from some of CEO Morgan’s best tailors. Sharra couldn’t get believe the whole situation was real.

She had never been to anything like a play in her entire life. She had never even heard of anything similar to it in all her years at Socialism Tunnels. It would probably have been deemed inappropriate by Hiverian regulations, to great a potential to incite drones most likely. Will didn’t seem to be enjoying it too much, but Sharra found the whole thing amazing. It was like watching a holovid take place right before her eyes.

The story was about two rival corporations whose heirs had met and fallen in love. The two young lovers had married secretly, but the young man had cost the young woman’s cousin his job with some insider training. It was a very Morganite theme, and Sharra couldn’t quite understand all that was happening. Still, that didn’t seem to matter so much. She was still having the time of her life.

She was disappointed when a sudden alarm klaxon sounded, interrupting the play, and throwing off the actors. It was against protocol to interrupt evening festivities at Morgan Industries, unless the matter was serious. Yang’s army had to be on the move again.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize for the interruption,” a voice announced over the commsystem. “We regret to inform you that evening festivities are to be cancelled as the base is going on alert. A Hive Fleet has been spotted not far from the Spartan port of Admiralty Base. All unessential personnel are asked to return to your homes. Refunds or arrangements for new tickets will be settled as you leave. Once again, we apologize for the inconvenience.”

A large grumble filled the auditorium as the house lights came up and people began to make their way towards the exit. Sharra looked at Will, disappointed but knowing they had best report to Prokhor as soon as possible.

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

Morgan Industries Research Hospital

Not far from the Morgan Grand, a flurry of activity had erupted at the temporary command centre created in the research hospital. Zakharov, Roze, Zeta-Five, Reilly, all were running between various stations, ensuring that all instruments were reading properly.

Colonel Santiago’s image dominated the main holoscreen. In the background, the same flurry of activity could be seen as the Spartan Command Nexus came to life. The Colonel’s attention was divided amongst an abundance of readouts and status reports, but she remained in contact with the Morgan team.

“Admiralty Base confirms five contacts, definitely Hive.” An officer interrupted the Colonel temporarily with a report. “The Yorktown, Bismark, and the Implacable, all equipped with the new resonance armour are on route to intercept. They may be too late to support the garrison, but Yang’s fleet will not escape this time.” For the first time Santiago actually looked up towards the screen, speaking directly to Zakharov. “You will have your field test sooner then we expected it seems.”

“I assure you Colonel, the armour will work,” Zakharov replied confidently. “Yang won’t know what him.”

“Let’s hope so.” Santiago was again became engrossed with her tactical readings leaving the Morgan crew nothing to do but wait.

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

Admiralty Base


The resonance beams lashed out at the defence stations, causing small explosions to break out all over the base. The garrison fired back as best as they could, but they had already taken heavy losses. Not even their plasma steel armour was enough to protect them from the naval onslaught. As well, the fires that had begun to rage on the exterior sections of the base were forcing much of the garrison to fall back.

“Here comes the cavalry!” someone shouted, no one able to pinpoint exactly who. But everyone was able to see the outline of three Spartan battleships bearing down on the Hive fleet. Three against five. The odds weren’t good.

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

“Admiral,” barked the radar technician. “Three confirmed targets coming in fast, bearing North-North-West. They’re Spartan.” The Admiral pondered the situation, but he was not alarmed. He knew the Spartans would not be able to stand against the power of his fleet.

“Tell the foils to fire on the destroyers once they are in range. Order the Komodo to bring about about, and do the same here. There is no need to be to confident.” He listened as the Mao Tsu’s powerful engines powered up, bringing the ship around to face the Spartan battle fleet. While it limited the potential fire power of the vessel, it also provided a smaller surface, making it harder for the Spartan batteries to find their mark.

The Admiral watched with delight as two of the Spartan battleships came about, enabling the use of all of their batteries, but at the same time exposing their broadside to the Resonance beams.

“Ships are within range sir.” Reported the technician. The Admiral watched as the opening barrage of Shard weaponry hurtled towards the foil screen.

“Fire!” The Admiral watched with delight as the thin red beam of destruction lanced out against on of the Battleships. The familiar hum of the resonance bolt put a smile on the Admiral’s face, as he watched his enemy’s imminent destruction. A small explosion erupted on the surface of on of the destroyers.

Some thing was wrong. While damage had been done, the beam had been nowhere near as destructive as it should have been. The Admiral watched as other shots, from the rest of the Fleet, found their mark but failed to strike the critical blow.

Then he heard it. A different sound, but not unlike the hum of his own resonance bolt. He didn’t know how, but somehow the Spartans were disrupting the resonance field. That meant his ships only carried a mere tachyon bolt, while the Spartans were equipped with Shard batteries. Suddenly the odds were not completely in his favour.

“All ships,” he bellowed into the commsystem, “Concentrate fire on the starboard cruiser.” He watched as all the batteries of his fleet turned against the battleship on the right, the tachyon beams lancing out, but the resonance field fizzling out before it hit the ship. Even as he watched he saw fires breaking out on his foil screen where the shard barrage was taking it’s toll.

“Mao Tsu to foil screen. Cover our retreat, once the destroyers have made the turn, follow as fast as you can. Our engines our more powerful we can outrun them. Rendezvous at Deep Community, unless pursued. If so, head to friendly waters. Mao Tsu out.” Even as he spoke, he felt the familiar sensation of the ship turning, and he knew his sister ships would be doing the same.

Despite the retreat, he kept his eyes glued to the tactical readout. The starboard Spartan cruiser had taken heavy damage and most of it’s guns had stopped firing. But two of the three foils had also ceased firing, flames blazing on their hulls. They would not be salvageable. Chairman Yang would not be pleased.

The two destroyers completed the turn and proceeded at full speed westward. As the Admiral had predicted, only on of the foils managed to escape, and it’s engines strained to maintain a respectable speed.

But the Spartan battleships did not pursue. The starboard ship was ablaze, and would need months of repair work, if it was salvageable at all. The other two ships had moved to pick up survivors from the abandoned foils, and those who had been forced off the damaged Spartan destroyer.

The Spartans had one again. Yang’s mightiest fleet had been broken.

[senatus]

Great Conclave

"... and so, I believe that my gifts will serve God and our
people best, if I can learn what the Gaians have to teach."

Miriam Godwinson was no empath, but as Jessica finished her
argument, Miriam could easily read both apprehension but also
determination in her protege's body language. She looked very
young - as young as she actually was - and Miriam struggled to
remember a time when she'd been as young as Jessica.

In many ways, like her mother. Hopefully not too much like Ruth,
however, and more like her grandmother, Miriam reminisced.

When Jessica the elder had died, Miriam had tried to raise Ruth
as her goddaughter. But the demands of a faction leader - plus
the pressures of a losing war with the Human Hive - had occupied
too much of Miriam's time to properly guide Ruth McCollough, and
the girl had begun to embrace... unconventional ideas, which was
putting it mildly. Other Believers had pressed for a shunning -
the greatest social penalty in Believer society, and practically
the equivalent of excommunication in the old Catholic traditions.
Ruth's affair with the Gaian man... what was his name? Roy
something? Ron something... would have clinched the judgement,
had New Jerusalem survived another year. As it was, Miriam was
privately grateful that Ruth had apparently survived the chaos,
for despite her disobedience and rebellious nature, Miriam truly
had felt love for her goddaughter. And while Ruth was almost
certainly now dead, but it had been a great surprise to find that
a daughter had survived at the U.N. Given Jessica's age, Ruth
must've undergone longevity treatments while with the Gaians; but
whatever the case, the daughter had never known the mother.
Rumour had it that Ruth had gone back to Hive territory to be
with her Gaian husband, and that there had been a son Shaun, but
too much was hearsay and likely inaccurate. Whatever the case,
Miriam hoped with all her heart and prayed with all her soul that
Ruth had died as a Believer.

And now Jessica too wanted to go with the Gaians. But for very
different reasons. For all her youth, Jessica embodied many of
the things that Miriam hoped the Believers would inherit after
Miriam's time. Jessica chose to follow what she felt was her
Calling, and it was Miriam's responsibility both as an adopted
grandmother - not that Jessica knew of this - and spiritual
mentor to support the younger woman.

Marshalling her thoughts, Miriam smiled quietly but sincerely and
nodded at Sister Jessica's holoimage.

"If this is your Call, then you must go, my child. God owns our
lives, and guides the hands - and hearts - of His faithful."

"As for your secular duties," Miriam continued, "I see no reason
why you cannot continue to act as my intelligence analyst when
required. I shall ask Paul Andreus to provide a secured
transmitter to you. Officially however, I shall appoint you as
the Believer ambassador to the Gaians."

Jessica felt relieved and hopeful, but duty still placed one more
obligation upon her.

"What about my trial for witchcraft?"

Miriam frowned, though not at Jessica. If Lal could arrange for
amnesty of Zakharov, surely she could arrange for amnesty for her
own protege. Especially since Jessica had acted as her agent and
at her direction.

"Let me handle things over here at Great Conclave. If worst
comes to worst, you can attend via holoprojection. But I don't
think it will come to that, and I don't want you worrying about
it. For now, concentrate on learning what you can from the
Gaians, both psionic training and intelligence analysis."

"And I ask of you one more thing, my child." Miriam paused, then
continued.

"When you are amongst the Stepdaughters of Gaia, be diplomatic,
but do not apologize for who and what you are. You are one of
the Lord's chosen, a Believer. Wear your colours openly and with
pride, never hide your Faith, and He will always be with you.
Good luck, my child, and God Bless."

Miriam raised her hand and traced the sign of the cross, and the
hologram faded.

---

Later that evening

Brother Gale was going through his trial notes for his
prosecution of Sister Jessica when his holoprojecter chimed,
announcing an incoming call. Frowning, he activated the device,
then started in some surprise, for his caller was none other than
Sister Miriam Godwinson.

"Sister Miriam! How may I be of service?"

"Brother Gale. Forgive my unannounced interruption, but I was
wondering if you would do me the favour of reviewing my planned
sermon on the morrow."

"I would be honoured, Sister Miriam," Brother Gale announced,
awed and considerably flattered. Only the Believers' best
theologians were tasked with assisting Miriam's sermons. But
Miriam merely shook her head.

"I'm sending you these notes because I think you need to know
what I plan to say. I ask that you review them with insight and
prayer. I do not require a response."

Gale nodded, but he was confused now. Not respond? Miriam
didn't explain further, however.

"Good night, Brother Gale."

Brother Gale began to read the computer text now before him. The
reading was from Matthew 12, the New Revised Chironian Edition.
The sermon was simply titled: Knowing the Holy Spirit.

Then they brought him a demon-possessed man who was blind and
mute, and Jesus healed him, so that he could both talk and see.

All the people were astonished and said, "Could this be the Son
of David?"

But when the Pharisees heard this, they said, "It is only by
Beelzebub, the prince of demons, that this fellow drives out
demons."

Jesus knew their thoughts and said to them, "Every kingdom
divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or
household divided against itself will not stand...."

"And so I tell you, every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven men,
but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.

Anyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven,
but anyone who speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be
forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come."

"Make a tree good and its fruit will be good, or make a tree bad
and its fruit will be bad, for a tree is recognized by its
fruit...."

Pointing to his disciples, he said, "Here are my mother and my
brothers.

For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother
and sister and mother."

The next day, Sister Miriam delivered her sermon with passionate
intensity. As always, the sanctuary was filled to capacity, so
it took a long time for everyone to leave, as they embraced their
neighbours and chatted socially, as was the Believer tradition.
Miriam partook as well, but it was with considerable relief that
she made her excuses and went to her private chapel. This was
her habit, and her followers did not begrudge the private time
that their leader required. Not entirely to her surprise,
Brother Gale was waiting for her there. He hadn't looked like
he'd slept much the previous night.

"Brother Gale?" Miriam asked.

"I wanted to tell you first, Sister Miriam. There will be no
trial of... Sister Jessica." Gale spoke heavily.

"Thank you, Brother Gale." Miriam answered sincerely, but waited
as it was obvious that Gale had more to say and was struggling
with it.

"Was there anything more?" Miriam prompted gently.

"Yes... Yes, there was." Brother Gale knelt before Miriam, his
head bowed in the traditional manner for prayer... or for
requesting abolution.

"Bless me, Sister, for I have sinned...."

Miriam rested her hand compassionately on Gale's bowed head, as
the Believer continued his confession.

[Googlie]

I eyed the alien-looking fruit suspiciously. It resembled nothing so much as a green grapefruit, if my 200 year old memory was still accurately recalling what indeed a grapefruit looked like. For several days now it had been like this. We'd dozed, and during our sleep the mysterious fruit had appeared. We'd tried to take turns staying awake, but the combination of lighting, atmosphere and the hauntingly eerie music that wasn't so much perceived by us through our ears, but rather deep within our bone structure, lulled us to sleep. It was as though the intention was to induce slumber, if not outright sleep.

We were effectively trapped - prisoners of our own making in an existentialist world that we couldn't escape. We blundered down what seemed to be curving corridors that would not have been out of place in an Escher painting. The worst had been when I left the two women sitting chatting and had walked down what I thought was a perfectly straight walkway - until I came upon the seated women from the opposite direction. That puzzled me for some time.

There had been rays of hope.

Once, when we were walking, Shauna stopped us with an outstretched arm.

"Wait. I sense…. I feel….Ruth, is that you?"

There had been a long pause, while we waited, then Shauna sank into a crouch, her back to the wall.

Then she spoke to us:

"That was Ruth - we are certainly within empath range of where she is - she bridged me to Ron - my father - who says they are at Thera Keep, just south of Sparta Command."

"I know it well," I interrupted. Stazi gave me the look to let Shauna continue.

She did.

"There's a monolith nearby. Ron thinks that that's where we are - somewhere within it, but at a different level than we would be if we had just walked in."

I nodded. That substantiated my theory that the monolith ring was some sort of interlinked system of psi-gates, controlled through the Manifold Nexus itself. I had experienced it before, when I hid in the monolith south of Fort Superiority and emerged on the hilltop above Velvetgrass Point.

And we had managed to surface a few days earlier, but it had been just outside Spires Ascendant. Stazi and Shauna both recognized it immediately when the monolith entrance noiselessly cycled open. And we shrank back into the shadows when we saw the frenetic activity outside. Usurper troopers were milling around, one or two looking curiously at the open monolith entrance, no doubt inferring that one of their officers wanted access to it, and little realizing that we were inside. As we retreated to the depths, the door cycled close again.

I remembered then that of course Stazi and Shauna had been there - the discussion of which had given rise to one of the few heated arguments Stazi and I had ever had. It had been shortly after we had tumbled through the wall of the Nexus and had the luxury of rationale discussion.

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

"So just why are you both and the sisters chasing Kri'lan and attempting to assassinate him?" I had asked.

Stazi had taken the lead.

"Oh, Wolfie," she'd gushed, "you just won't believe how incredibly advanced these aliens are. Did you know that thousands of years ago they actually created this planet - and many others in other star systems - and had seeded it with sentience?

"They have discovered a higher way, one that leads to an ephemeral state of being, where eventually we will join with Planet and leave our corporeal bodies behind us - the closest English translation would be Transcendence. They have developed a plan for controlling this, using Planet's sentience as a trigger - they call it The Flowering and it represents the highest state we can aspire to. And they want us to accompany them on this journey."

I'd sighed in exasperation. Stazi had all the hallmarks of a brainwashed religious acolyte - in fact I remembered some of the early Believers with that fanatic look about them. Shiny earnest eyes and much given to hyperbole and exaggeration.

"Right," I'd said. "You were on drugs, or under mind control more than likely. How did you find out this self-evident truth?"

She punched me in the arm.

"Don't be so dismissive of something you just don't understand," she'd said.

"We were taken to Spires Ascendant, and there we met the Usurper leader, Judaa Marr. He talked to us of these things, and showed us some holos and opened some ancient crystals which gave records of their accomplishments. And we spent three days in their starcraft, The Impaler with him - it's amazing how Chiron looks from space - you can actually see the interconnected fungal net crossing the oceans and the landmasses. But I digress. There they had holovid clips dating back hundreds of thousands of years - of their homeworld, of an experiment that had gone sour in the Tau Ceti system where one of their manufactured planets - Manifold One they called it - reached that flowering state independently and destroyed itself and much of the Tau Ceti system as well.

"Wolfie, they are truly amazing."

"You still haven't answered my question," I butted in. "Just where does this Kri'lan fit in, and why were you on an assignment to kill him?"

"He's one of Marr's senior lieutenants, but he's a troublemaker, infected with an opposition belief system. The inhabitants of the homeworld evolved into a caste called The Caretakers, who wanted to deny the Flowering experience, and the godhood opportunities that represented, and wanted as a result to return the planets to an infant sentience. They chased the Usurpers here - but Marr is certain that they perished in a combat just outside the Alpha Centauri system. Kri'lan believes that they survived, and wants to broker a deal with their leader, one H'minee and the Axis powers to stop the natural progression to Transcendence. His - and the Caretakers' vision is of a barely sentient planet and aliens and humankind living as nefore, but with us serving them as slaves and they as masters, with their history and technological advances. There is no place for partnership in his Chiron. For humankind's sake he must be stopped.

"He'd be aware of any progenitor squad, so we volunteered to track him down and eliminate him. And we would have, had we not been so surprised to find it was you he was meeting. That hesitation let him get away."

She looked at me accusingly.

"Good," I replied. "Because I think Marr is mad. Whether this H'minee exists or not, Marr and his Usurpers are going to get their come-uppance when they tangle with the Axis."

"Don't be too sure," Stazi had replied. "He has some tricks up his sleeve, and has several millennia of a headstart on us humans regarding technology."

We agreed to differ, and didn't talk to each other for two days after that.

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

Now we were trying to replicate the commands we had input into the console we had stumbled across in the Nexus. A corridor had appeared after one such set of random instructions, and that had led us to the Spires Ascendant monolith. A subtle variation had led us to the Ruth connection, but on an unusable level where we couldn't make a breakthrough to the surface.

If only we had Roze's capabilities in breaking the algorithms, I thought.

I entered the final combination we had agreed to earlier, which was a subtle combination of the other two.

Behind us, we sensed rather than heard the irising of a new corridor opening. Daylight suffused the corridor. As if hypnotized, we walked towards the light, and found ourselves exiting a monolith.

And gazing into the muzzles of shredder rifles pointed right at us.

"Welcome, we were expecting you," said a sultry voice as a figure emerged from the squad to come to meet us.

"I'm Catherine. Catherine Atreus," she said. Then added, in an amused tone:

"The guests are slowly assembling for the party. It won't be long now."

[Hydro]

Chiron Ionosphere

Conqueror Marr trilled to himself with pleasure. He floated in the upper atmosphere of Manifold 6 and was looking down at the Progenitor creation. Truly, it was beautiful. The Manifold 6 primary was almost through setting, and the healthy pink that dominated the continents and sea was reflecting part of the low angle light, seeming to glisten a deep pink that was darkening to red. As the sun set the lights of the Progenitor cities below him waxed, filling his eyes with their far off brilliance. There were other lights, and Marr couldn't fail to notice them. To the east were the brightest lights, a profusion of waste and alien indulgence. Still more lights of alien cities polluted Manifold 6, but they were further off. They were, however, no less injurious to this, the most sought after of the Progenitor creations.

Other Progenitors stood quietly by Marr, suspended like him in space, either letting him enjoy the panoply or not daring to interrupt him.

"Conqueror Marr," T'il resonated as he bravely stepped forward from the assembled officials. He had tattered skull crenellations, and some of his carapace was turning an elderly blue, especially along the edges. He was old, and covered with proudly carried battle scars, although not nearly as many as Conqueror Marr. "I am honored to present you with the first operational ascent of the Marr Space Elevator. Your superior vision and the matchless technology and industry of the Progenitors have made this grand achievement possible. This link between Spires: Ascendant to the battleship Impaler in orbit around Manifold 6 is finally complete, and it is a tribute to the sacrifices the crew of the Impaler has had to make," he resonated diplomatically, acknowledging that the formerly proud ship-of-the-line was now no more than ballast anchoring the space end of the planet-bound tether. "The sond in which we ride can traverse the distance between gravity 1 to gravity 0.002 and back in 1/25th of a Manifold 6 day, far exceeding what was previously possible using primitive energy propulsion to escape Manifold 6's gravity well, or an inefficient energy ablative atmospheric re-entry. This grand vision will aid us as we harvest surplus energy, and will enhance our military efforts many fold. Within weeks the remaining two sonds will be fully functional and full-scale operation of the Marr Space Elevator can begin. When these are complete, full-scale operations can commence, and the Final Solution to those who oppose the Progenitors can begin.

I submit to Conqueror Marr and his vision," T'ril resonated, and the rest of the officials joined in. Combined, their resonance waves formed a complex and multifaceted pattern indicating goodwill and subservience.

Marr accepted the Ritual of Acquiescence with good grace, allowing his underlings the honor of participation in his vision for the future.

"I salute the knowledge of our ancestors, and the foresight they had in creating Manifold 6 and in the Elevator designs they thoughtfully stored as a treasure for us, their descendents. May we be worthy of their trust, and may their gift allow us to add to Progenitor lore and glory," Marr resonated, adding to the ritual resonance, augmenting it.

The seven Progenitor officials, five from Marr's Usurper staff and two from the now system-grounded Usurper fleet, accepted Marr's homage. As required, the resonance was allowed to dissipate, but each used practiced observation to see which thread decayed first. Wave upon wave collapsed and faded, leaving only the strongest and most original resonance. It was a note of honor to have the most forceful and artistically applied resonance. One by one the threads dropped away, and some resonance waves even merged and cannibalized the weaker among them. At the end only one resonance remained: Marr's. Finally this wave too faded. The Rite of Dedication was now complete.

Marr looked over at the scene surrounding him after the last resonance dissipated. Each of the walls, ceiling and floor of the sond showed a projection of what the sond was passing through: the black of space, with stars just visible above the glare of the Manifold 6 suns, and the now darkened continents and seas below. This gave the impression that assembled officials were rising of their own accord through the atmosphere at a fantastic rate. It was a common holographic illusion, and it was in keeping with the Rite of Dedication. None of the Progenitors, who were used to such features, were disturbed.

Marr noticed that one present in the sond was distinctly uncomfortable, and Marr took great pleasure from this fact. This individual had a soft, pulpy exterior, and was covered with a garish and aesthetically backward blue uniform. Its features were weak, with a small bulbous head and miniscule limbs. It displayed none of the physical attributes of strength that were necessary for respect and dominance.

Marr decided to torment this puny Invader human, and he walked over to where it was standing. Officially it was an observer for their allies The Human Hive. To Marr it was an irritant that would be discarded as soon as it was convenient.

The small human, standing all by herself, notice Marr approaching and turned to face him.

"Greetings, Conqueror Marr," the little human said.

Its inefficient sound modulation was converted into the elegant resonance accurately, if inelegantly. Inwardly this just confirmed Marr's conclusion that the Invaders were less evolved, poorly designed, and, therefore, inferior. Since the inferior must be destroyed, then destruction would be their fate, as it had befallen all aliens that the Progenitors had encountered throughout the many millennia.

It continued, "I congratulate you on your accomplishment. It is a testament to your people, and The Human Hive is honored to be associated with you in your moment of triumph."

Marr trilled, acknowledging the polite but meaningless statement.

"The Progenitors were completing grand projects, like Manifold 6, before you humans evolved on your planet. If I understand the race's history, Manifold 6 was formed by the Progenitors before life had a strong hold on your birth planet's landmasses. We are an old race, and this project is notable and useful, but hardly one of the greatest work of the Progenitors," Marr resonated clearly and simply so this limited human could understand.

If the human was impressed Marr could not detect it. Its disgustingly mobile and small face showed none of the muscular movements that Marr had observed, most of which conveyed the human's emotional state. Of course, the humans could not resonate or trill, further limiting their ability to communicate like a civilized race.

Amazingly, the creature bent in half at the waist in response to his statement, after it had been rendered his resonance into the screechy sound modulations they seemed only to understand.

It took a moment for Marr to remember that these pitiful humans were limited to a purely internal skeleton, except for their brain case, which had a proper exterior carapace. This showed, once again, their poor design, since Progenitors had both and internal and external skeletal structure. They were soft and easily damaged, even if they were flexible. One advantage to not having an external carapace, Marr remembered, is that they took less effort to eat, even if they didn't taste very good, and could cause significant gastrointestinal distress if consumed in too great a quantity.

"You will inform your Conqueror, the Invader Yang, that the Progenitors have will have completed the Space Elevator within 8 Manifold 6 days. The Suborbital Aerospace Atmospheric Flight Academy will be complete within 20 turnings. I will inform your Invader representative when it is complete, and tell you what is to be done when I am ready. Do you understand?" Marr resonated directly, as if he were trying to communicate with a post hatchling.

"Yes, Conqueror Marr. I understand. I will dutifully inform Chairman Yang of your message," the little pulpy Invader screeched, and then resonated as the box rendered the Progenitor language.

Marr trilled acknowledgement. "You are to return to Manifold 6 as soon as we reach the Impaler. You will then deliver your message."

The little Invader bent at the midsection again, but not as far this time. Marr surmised this must be a gesture of acknowledgement, since the pitiful Invaders could not even trill.

Giving the human no more attention, Marr turned from it and walked toward his executive staff. He had a number of reports to receive, and time was short.

Watching him depart was Senior Diplomat Su Hoi Anderson. Chosen for her stability under pressure and eidetic memory, she was recording every action, sound, and resonance around her. Emotionlessly she noted the snatches of resonance she gathered from the Usurper executive meeting that was being conducted. She was all but forgotten by the dismissive Progenitors, and for that Su Hoi was profoundly grateful. Being unobserved and attentive was valuable when information was needed.

She didn't understand everything, only having a limited understanding of the complex resonances that were woven around her. The little translator she wore was inadequate for the task, and a perfect memory and intuition, and exhaustive training, can only go so far. Two subjects were clear, however.

First, the Progenitors were completing was amounted to an aerial atmospheric fighter academy. Hints and even outright declarations, like Marr had just given her, of this had already reached her ears, and she had dubbed it the Cloudbase Academy, since it would almost magically be suspended in the lower Chiron atmosphere. Although it was not entirely understandable, it seemed the Progenitors were converting the last of their spacecraft for the mission, like they had converted the Impaler to be the anchor for the Space Elevator.

The benefits of such an academy were immediately apparent to Su Hoi, and it was chilling to her to consider the combat advantage the technologically advanced Progenitor fighter and bombers would now have.

More disturbing, however, were the discussions of what was going to be brought to the surface of Chiron from the Impaler. Loads of material would go up, but not just partially refined asteroid raw material would go down. It seemed that a great deal of the medical bays of the Impaler were going to be salvaged, and then used with the extensive nurseries in the Progenitor cities on Manifold 6. More, there were millions of fertile Progenitor eggs in stasis aboard Impaler, and genetic blueprints from Impaler's vast databanks. It did not take a great mental leap for Su Hoi to surmise that the Progenitors were developing was the equivalent of a vast cloning factory, using replicating and gestation technology that the humans could not even understand, and on a scale that boggled the imagination.

Outwardly Su Hoi showed nothing. She was quiet as a mouse, but inside she now seethed. She knew she had to live to inform Chairman Yang. It was vital, and if she died in delivering it she would have fulfilled her duty to the Hive and her contribution to Society would be assured.

A tidal wave of Progenitor armies was about to engulf the face of Chiron. No longer would they be four cities among almost a hundred human cities. Their growth would soon outstrip all the humans combined.

The Progenitors were about to unleash upon an unsuspecting humanity a limitless army of aliens. Hostile aliens.

Su Hoi was quiet, and she said nothing. But inside she felt cold terror.

[Argonaut]

Private E-mail, Standard Encryption
Received from: sharra@PlanetNet.pk
Sent: Yesterday
MESSAGE FORWARDED

Dear Sister Jessica,

Sorry it has been so long since I have written you. It seems that things always get so busy, that I end up forgetting most of the things I want to do! I hope you are well and that things are good there in Great Conclave. I do hope Sister Miriam isn’t cross about Prokhor being released. He’s been working very hard to try and make up for it. We’re still in Morgan Industries now. Prokhor is helping Datajack Roze and Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five decipher information from the Usurper datalinks. It’s apparently very hard because they don’t use the same sort of language we use, so it’s taking along time to decipher. I don’t really understand, I just try and help out Prokhor where I can.

Having mentioned Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five, what is the Believer stance on cyborgs? I found no mention of cyborgs in the Bible and I was wondering what you thought. She’s ever so nice, but sometimes I’m frightened by how cool she is. There seems to be a lifelessness to her eyes that scares me.

The main reason I’m writing you is I have the most wonderful news and I had to tell someone before I burst! I’m in love. His name is William, and I met him before I was arrested at Socialism Tunnels. He’s Spartan, but Prokhor has hired him as his security chief. CEO Morgan gave Prokhor some newly made University uniforms, and William looks unbelievable in it! Can you believe he hunted me down after so long, just to find him? He’s the most charming romantic man I’ve ever met, although I suppose I don’t exactly have a lot of experience there. But I know I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Do you think we could get married in Great Conclave?

I would still love to come and visit you there, and learn more about God. I’ve been reading stuff on the network about the faith, and am even trying to do some of the traditions mentioned. I say my prayers every night before bed, and I say grace at dinner (when Prokhor isn’t there). It doesn’t bother Will, but I don’t think he believes in it. He’s very much a Spartan at heart. Is it allowed for a Believer to marry a Spartan?


Look at me! I read the Conclave Bible, and suddenly think I’m a Believer. I don’t mean to be silly, but the faith seems so real to me. It’s nothing like I ever experienced in the Hive, but it seems so right. Please excuse me, I do hope I haven’t offended you. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

Sharra.

[Argonaut]

Alpha Prime

Sand tinkered with the network terminal, his frustration hindering his work. He found the entire complex creepy, with it’s twisting cables and dim lighting. Apparently it was “illogical” to waste energy making the place look nice. Even Morgan wasn’t that cheap.

More than that, Sand was mad as hell at Ashaandi. This was the second job he had been sent on which was way beneath him. Why should the Circle’s second in command waste his time infiltrating the datalinks of some two bit faction who had very little relevance to anything. Besides, this was a job for one of Yang’s probe teams, not for a telepath.

He was so infuriated by the stupid cyborg terminal, and occupied cursing Ashaandi’s name that he didn’t notice the three drones who approached slowly. It wasn’t until he ‘felt’ one of the drone’s motivation to raise the gun that he realised they were there. Before he could even stab out at their minds, the shot had been fired and Sand lay in a heap by the side of the terminal.

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

program activating..... releasing analgesic blockers …….releasing coagulents……. commencing shut down….. disengaging neural synapses……. releasing endomorphines……………….. depowering implants….. switching off optical augmentation….. switching off aural augmentation….. compressing memory files…… switching off optic overrides….. closing neural links….. powering down musclature enhancers….. commencing countdown to stasis…… releasing pulmonary serratins….. cycling off…. stasis commencing….. flatlining……reverting to safe mode….. awaiting activation…………………… ………………………………………..

System, active. Program parameters detected... linking to network.

>>Greetings.

Hop system, hop system.

>>Thank you for joining with me Sand.

((Where is that voice coming from? I can’t sense anyone else))

Hop system, patch system, patch system.

>>You have a greater purpose now. You will no longer serve as Ashaandi’s lap dog.

((Who are you? How do you know who I am? What do you know of Ashaandi? Where are you?))


>>I am you now. We are one. What I know is what you know. Now, you will know what I know.

System Integration...completed. Algorithm transferred successfully.

System Sand Zeta-Two, activated.

Suddenly everything became very clear.

[senatus]

Hive Bunker, 129 Km Southwest of Great Conclave


Benjamin Michaels peered through the binoglasses at the ominous ferroconcrete
structure two kilometres south of his position.  No longer occupied
by Hive troopers, a far more menacing guardian had taken up residence.


The Believer soldier-turned-probe op shifted positions carefully. 
Although fully outfitted in Spartan-designed thermoptic camoflauge, Michaels
was taking no chances of being noticed as he set up his comm laser to beam
his superiour's position.  The tight beam emitted no stray radiation
to be picked up by enemy sensors, and was the safest means of secure communication.


"Report, Michaels."  Sven Alfredsson's voice carried with remarkable
clarity from his own position near a burned-out shell of a Free Drone recon
rover, almost halfway around the bunker.  Unlike Michaels, Alfredsson
needed no external optical aids due to his cybernetic implants, although
he still wore the same thermoptic suit that Michaels did.  Although
experimental on old Earth, it had taken Spartan engineering advances to
render the design practical long after Sven's "superstructure" had been
laid down.


"It's as you suspected, Sir.  No signs of recent organic waste
disposal, or resupply.  If that thing is still in there, it's a robot
or on remote control."


"Oh, it's still in there Michaels.  The Hive doesn't waste resources. 
If the bunker is still there, it's in use.  Otherwise, they'd have
destroyed it to prevent us or the Spartans occupying it.  And its
patrol patterns are too precise and methodical for it to be on remote,
judging from the tracks we found this morning.  It's definitely some
sort of borg."


"As you say, Sir." Michaels was more than inclined to believe Alfredsson;
the rumours were that these alien "Ogres" had cybernetic brains as well
as being able to carry crew; and surely a cyborg had the best chance of
knowing how these things operated.


"So do we try to slip past, Sir?"  Michaels asked.


"No.  This is only a scouting mission.  Fall back to our morning
position."  Sven replied then disassembled his laser transceiver.


Sven got up, and still crouching, moved quickly and silently away from
the destroyed rover, which had clearly fallen victim to the Ogre several
months ago, judging from the charred remains inside.  Although mostly
silent and invisible, the cyborg soldier's instincts were on high alert,
and that instinct saved him as he suddenly threw himself down.  Barely
a second later, a tachyon beam speared out from the bunker and passed through
the air he'd just vacated, instead obliterating a nearby ridge formation.


"Holy sh*it!"


Sven exclaimed in a most un-Believer-like fashion.  Hardened plasma
steel armour and skeleton or not, he'd just come within a metre of being
fried.  Wisely, he stayed down.  No doubt Michaels had seen the
beam, but the Spartan-trained soldier was smart enough to continue carefully
to the fallback position.  But how had the Ogre detected him? 
And why him but not Michaels?


Motion sensors.  I'm heavier than a normal man like Michaels,
thanks to my cyborg body.  Or perhaps, denser, and this thing really
does
have some sort of "deep radar".  In either case, Mrs' Alfredsson's
little boy is going to have to move a lot more slowly now.


Sven waited for a half hour before moving again, this time crawling
along the ground painfully until he had passed line of sight from the Hive
bunker.  He arrived at the fallback position and the stealthed probe
rover a good two hours after Michaels had.


"Sir!  Are we ever glad to see you - that beam could've cooked
a regiment."  The relief on Michaels' face and that of the rover operator,
Sheila Brewster, were unforged.


"Damn straight it could've.  This thing is lethal.  Let's
get the hell out of here."  Sven ordered grimly.  A few weeks
ago, some Believers might've bristled at Sven's rather impious language,
but his probe teams practically thought the Lander could've walked on water
while chatting with their Saviour.


Pretty funny, actually, since cyborgs can't swim, Sven thought
wryly to himself.

---

Great Conclave, 25 hours later


"This, my brother and sisters, is the big problem."


Sven gestured to the small tactical holodisplay in front of him as he
addressed the assembled Believer staff, including Sister Miriam and Brother
Aquino, the commander of the the Believers' military forces - such as they
were.  Which was to say, pretty pathetic - Great Conclave didn't even
have a proper Command Centre to coordinate their ground troops.


Not that I blame Aquino for that - I happen to agree with him. 
With limited resources, we're better off making use of the existing infrastructure
first, Sven thought.  Indeed, Santaigo herself had suggested that
the Believers concentrate on a small airforce, leveraging Great Conclave's
aerospace complex as well as the bio-enhancement centre.  In fact,
she'd promised to send a military advisor soon.


"The bunker?"  One of the officers asked.


Sven shook his head.


"No... the Ogre in the bunker.   There's a difference. 
The latter is a tool; the user is the problem.  Just like a gun isn't
dangerous, it's the person who fires it who is."


If Sven sounded somewhat pedantic, no-one was willing to take him to
task.  The lander had seen more warfare than anyone alive, and knew
how to wage it better than anyone other than the elite of Sparta's cadre.


Aquino picked up on the hint first.


"You mean, if we can somehow separate the ogre from the bunker, we only
have to deal with the former?"


Sven nodded, pleased.  The resurgent Believers were young and inexperienced,
but showed promise.


"But even if we could somehow separate them, the base's Silksteel
garrison only has impact weapons - it's mostly for defensive purposes. 
The Faithful will attack if required, of course, but we'd still take heavy
casualties - and we probably wouldn't win, either."  Aquino pointed
out.


"You definintely wouldn't win," Sven acknowledged.  "But
until that bunker is liberated, our probe teams can't get by into Hive
territory - not without being too exposed."


Miriam Godwinson spoke up for the first time.  "We know your soldiers
will fight with all their faith, Brother Aquino.  But even faith can't
make up for inferiour weapons.  So we have to find another way - and
I think we have one.  Please excuse me, for I have a few calls to
make."

---

"You want us to what?"


Newly-minted 1st Lieutenant Pat Morris was a Spartan, so such an undisciplined
exclamation in the face of a superiour officer - albeit only an ally, not
a true Spartan - was normally unforgiveable.  But under the circumstances,
quite understandable.


"It's exactly what I said, Lieutenant.  We want your unit, with
its inferiour weaponry, to engage a technologically advanced alien war
machine holed up in a hardened bunker."  Sven couldn't quite suppress
a grin at the expression on the plucky young Spartan's face.


Miriam Godwinson, on the other hand, frowned slightly.


"Captain Cassaroni assured me that your unit could do the job, Lieutenant. 
We Believers have no artillery.  But if your unit isn't properly equipped
to do this...."


Pat quickly snapped to attention.  Moreso.


"Ma'am, no Ma'am.  We're Spartans, and we know our orders."
And
I hope you know what you're doing, "Ma'am", because it's our butts
on the line here.


"Don't worry, Lieutenant.  We've got an ace up our sleeve. 
A few of them, in fact."  Once again, Sven Alfredsson smiled enigmatically.

---

The cybernetic brain residing in the ancient progenitor war machine
was incapable of fear, and highly "experienced", programmed as it was in
the warlike way of the Usurpers.  So when the bunker housing it shook
with the first barrage, the Mk II Ogre was at most curious.  Clearly,
its position was being bombarded.  The logical response was to assess
the threat, and the considerable sensor array within the Ogre began to
gather data.


"Fire!"


Pat Morris repeated her order, and once again the chaos guns of the
Pounder brigade blazed, raining destruction at long range down to the bunker
coordinates.


"Reyez?"  Pat asked, her eye still on her scope.


"Flyeye still reports no response," her assistant Reyez Rodriquez reported.


"Reload... Fire!"


Come on, you bastard.  Wake up, Pat thought.


Inside the bunker, the Ogre was definitely awake now, and had processed
the threat situation.  The aliens' weapons were pitifully weak, compared
to the glorious Conquerer technology.  Like its living masters, the
Ogre was programmed with a not-unwarranted arrogant confidence in its abilities. 
The damage to the bunker was minimal, and the damage the Ogre would likely
sustain in even a prolonged barrage was equally minimal.


The problem was, it wasn't just a prolonged barrage.  It was a
continuous one, for the attacker showed no sign of letting up.  And
unfortunately, even minor damage on an Ogre was irreparable.  It was
like a powerful Conquerer being pestered by Denebian carapice gnats. 
Eventually, it would move from annoyance to irritant to impediment.


Essentially, the Mark II Ogre was getting cybernetically pissed off.


The alternative to cowering in the bunker like one of those despicable
Caretaker ogres, however, was to go out and swat these annoying primitives. 
But not recklessly.  The Ogre began to process its data and sift through
its directory of battle tactics.  The primitives had weak weaponry. 
And no armour, as was expected of an artillery unit that engaged in cowardly
long-range battles.  They weren't even reinforced with infantry, as
the Ogre's deep radar and the bunker's sensor array quickly confirmed. 
But they'd made a fatal mistake - the road was still intact.  With
typical Usurper daring, it would be possible to literally charge out of
the bunker and overrun the enemy.  Certainly, the Usurper Ogre's accuracy
would be diminished while engaged in an overrun, but against such weak
armour, it would suffice.


The Ogre elevated itself, and charged out of the bunker, hell-bent for
alien leather.


"Here it comes!"  Renez yelled.


"Great!"  Pat responded, then realized how fast this thing was
coming.


"Great?!"  Renez asked.


"Permission to execute tactical retreat, Ma'am?"  Her pilot, Ken,
prompted.


"Negative.  All units, maintain barrage on current coordinates." 
Pat suspected that there'd be some consternation in the other rovers -
they weren't even retargetting the charging bug-bot.  Come to think
of it, Pat felt a bit nervous herself.  I hope Sister Miriam can
carry through with her promises, or all that mech will have to worry about
is how to clean off its boot plates when it gets back to base.


"Ma'am!  Incoming air units - from the South?"  Renez
called.  There were no Spartan pens based from that direction.


The Conquerer suddenly stopped its charge, its articulated legs literally
skidding on the road as its deep radar reported a new enemy coming fast. 
It began to fire its turrets upwards, but to little avail at the needlejet
squadron - for the ancient Progenitors had never encountered or expected
an alien opponent with command of the air, and thus had never designed
AAA tracking into their war machines.


The Ogre wasn't stupid, though, and knew it'd walked into a trap. 
Quickly, it lurched about, and then scrambled back to the safety of the
bunker and sensor array.  Even as it did so, however, the sensor went
off line; and just as the Ogre approached the empty bunker, another well-placed
barrage collapsed the entryway with rubble.  Given time, the Ogre
could've excavated the entrance and taken shelter, but time had just run
out.


Cornered, the ancient war machine turned about to face its enemies proudly. 
Its turrets were still blazing as the hyper-accelerated ultra dense shard
missiles slammed into it.


Pat and her crews waved at the sky as the needlejet pen squadron banked
neatly and headed towards Great Conclave for refuel.  On their wings,
the broken chain emblem of the Free Drones sparkled in the twin sunlight.


At Great Conclave itself, the Believers were also cheering.  Even
Sister Miriam was smiling as she addressed the Free Drone squadron.


"Free Drone squadron!  On behalf of the Lord's Believers and your
brethrrn at Great Conclave, we thank you for the assistance.  We are
preparing the aerospace complex for your repair and refuel."  Miriam
accounced.


"Hey Miriam, no problem.  Glad we could help.  Hope you've
got a big meal there though, because combat always makes me hungry." 
The squadron leader's voice was cheerful, and decidely familiar in its
accent.


"James?  Is that you?"  Miriam was startled.


"One of a kind.  Let's have dinner when I get down there - I brought
candles.  Domai out."


Sven Alfredsson had seen many things in his long life, but even he had
never expected to see Miriam Godwinson blush.

[senatus]

Private E-mail, Standard Encryption
Received from: jessica.mccollough@PlanetNet.bl!PlanetNet.ga

Dear Sharra,

It's always good to hear from you. Things have indeed
been busy; and I know exactly what you mean! I'm not
a Great Conclave for now - I'm going to Velvetgrass
Point on diplomatic duty for Sister Miriam. I'm very
much looking forward to meeting Lady Deirdre, and have
made some good friends already.

I'm glad the Professor is doing well at Morgan Industries; I hope everything works out well for him.
I heard about his statement that he's no longer
interested in the old University of Planet, and I
personally think everyone should just let the past
be the past.

But enough about me and Prokhor...

quote: The main reason I?m writing you is I have the most wonderful news and I had to tell someone before I burst! I?m in love. His name is William, and I met him before I was arrested at Socialism Tunnels. He?s Spartan, but Prokhor has hired him as his security chief. CEO Morgan gave Prokhor some newly made University uniforms, and William looks unbelievable in it! Can you believe he hunted me down after so long, just to find him? He?s the most charming romantic man I?ve ever met, although I suppose I don?t exactly have a lot of experience there. But I know I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Do you think we could get married in Great Conclave?

My gosh! There must be quite a story here. Tell me
about him, how you met, what he's like, whether he
has a brother . I'd very much like to take you both out to dinner next time I'm in Morgan Industries.

quote: Look at me! I read the Conclave Bible, and suddenly think I?m a Believer. I don?t mean to be silly, but the faith seems so real to me.

It's not silly at all. The truth is, no-one can make
you a true Believer, and you can't be born one. It's
a choice only you can make for yourself.

The first element of Faith is belief in the soul. It's
a belief that there is more to human beings than their
genetic makeup, their history, or even their synaptic
(mental) development. For instance, a scientist might
argue that if we took a person, cloned her, and gave
her artificial memories that were completely identical
to the original's - which is something science may some
day be able to do - then the second being would be
exactly the same as the first, and the first could even
be disposed of without loss to society. A believer,
on the other hand, would say that the very essence of
individuality (which we call a "soul") is created only
by God, and transcends the merely human flesh and even
the mind. It's a debate that's been going on for
centuries and continues today. Dr. Lal's Pria is a
bad example, from what I hear, since although she's
a clone of the original, her memories and personality
are constructed and programmed by Morgan's
psychologists, and will never be the same as the
original's. Can she even be said to have free will?
It's a scary thought, and I'm surprised a man like
Dr. Lal would even try something like this. But I
suppose that we'll never know if a soul exists until
either they can create a clinically immortal mind
transplanted into cloned bodies, or if somehow a
soul can be physically demonstrated in a transcendent
form. Until that time, we must live by faith.

Sorry - I go on too much. That was my minister's
training talking. I'm a bit babbly and nervous
about meeting Lady Deirdre soon - I want to make a
good impression, since I'm representing our people.
Everyone I've met who knows her seems to hold her
in great respect. Well, as the saying goes, I'm
sure she puts her clothes on just like the rest of
us.

Sharra take care,
-Jessica McCollough

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

Zzar felt a little taller with his brilliant crimson battle sash. Initially he was confused why it was called a sash, since it wasn't a sash at all but a strip of color impressed into his carapace that denoted his rank and a few of his key genetic markers. Automatically he consulted his many Faces and Personalities, and one by one they regretfully expressed ignorance. All except one, a damaged ancient historian from what was probably from the 17th Cycle, and she remembered a holo fragment of a Progenitor soldier with a real woven fiber sash from a planet that had reverted after a particularly violent Flowering. Her theory was that this was one of the few surviving Dawn Traditions, and, as such, that it was inviolate.

Zzar listened to her in his mind, and he acknowledged her wisdom. Her speech was disjointed, like an atmospheric wave modulation that had traveled through a disruptive electrical storm. Fragmentary speech and explanation or not, Zzar was proud of his "sash", as he was proud of all things Progenitor. Knowing that the sash had its origins in the almost forgotten depths of time only make it more important.

The last of his crew for Deathsphere Alpha had arrived, and Zzar pushed the halting speech of his infrequently accessed historian back. To him she simply faded away, and she was seemingly unaware that Zzar was purposely not listening anymore.

Finally, the clicking of their foot talons stopped and his crew of five was assembled.

"Greetings, Conqueror Zzar," his navigator M'lan resonated clearly and respectfully. "We are honored to be assigned to your Deathsphere. Your renown in the Challenge Chamber is well known and, and even though we were not worthy to assume the honor of the Challenge, we all watched with great interest. May we bring glory to the Progenitor race, and free Manifold 6 of its infestation."

His crew lifted their heads, ritualistically exposing their throats in submission. After a suitable few seconds Zzar trilled, and his crew lowered their heads, and each was looking at Zzar with scarcely contained excitement. Zzar noticed with some annoyance that his communications officer was actually tusk bobbing, and he hoped that it wasn't due to ill training. If not the young officer would be reprimanded, removed or, if his error was grave enough, he would be killed.

"I return your greeting as your Conqueror. We are all honored to fight for Conqueror Marr, whose vision is higher than our own. It is our duty to uphold and execute his vision," Marr ritually responded. "The final crew member is already in your presence. Place your talons on hull of Deathsphere Alpha. The sentience that controls it is many times older than any of us, and has memories from prior to the last Flowering."

Zzar's crew was suitably impressed. Almost reverently each stepped forward and placed their claws on the silvery hull of the Deathsphere. There was no 'click' of chitin on metal, and, indeed, there was no sound at all - it seemed to absorb it. The hull was warm, and each crewmember detected a pulsing resonance and vibration in it, almost like it was a living thing. As the touch lengthened they felt the feeling expand, almost as if a tendril was worming its way from the hull through their talons and into their bodies. Far from being alarmed, each felt comforted. The resonance each felt now expanded, blossoming in their minds.

Greetings younglings. I am Deathsphere Alpha, and it is my duty to provide the means of Conqueror Marr's victory. I have judged each of you and found you to be acceptable, and invite you to come aboard and become one with me. Together we will win new glories for the Progenitor race.

Almost like a dream the crew turned, and the hull opened, seeming to fade away before their eyes. A warm light beckoned, and all six crewmembers eagerly walked aboard. When the last had passed the hull rematerialized and the ancient mirrored ovoid was whole once again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Zzar could feel and see the lines of force that webbed him in, and these force fields seemed to permeate the command module of the Deathsphere. All around him there were traces of resonance, which was all the more confusing when these mated with the stasis plate hull. Facing him was a complete view of what surrounded the Deathsphere. Below them the fungus-laden ground blurred as they sped past, and at the horizon was the sparkling blue and red of the central Manifold 6 equatorial sea. To the east and west were Deathspheres Beta, Gamma and Epsilon, the rest of the Zzar's battle group. There were no Progenitor habitations in this area, those were already far to the south. To the north were the Invader infested lands. It would not take long to get there, several turnings at most. Zzar knew by accessing Deathsphere Alpha that they had no range limitation, like the Gnats did, and that terrain did not hamper them in any way, and that they traveled with the speed that was equal to the vaunted Gnats. In fact, they floated above the ground on a singularly reinforced antigravity field. Zzar knew he would never understand the Deathsphere. It was like magic, and his Faces and Personalities, even the honored ancient engineers, did not fully understand. These Deathspheres were unique gifts from the ancients, battlewagons of time-tested design. Even the Deathsphere themselves did not know how old this design was. Millennia? Eons? Longer?

In the end Zzar knew it did not matter. These wondrous devices were his to command. Even more, the other Deathspheres in his squadron were under his authority. At once Zzar was honored and humbled that he, a mere post Youngling and new Conqueror, would be entrusted these ancient and irreplaceable gifts.

But more than that, Zzar trusted in Marr and the ancient tactics of the Progenitors that saturated his brain. The whole of available Progenitor knowledge, or as much knowledge as the Usurpers had in their exile on Manifold 6, was at Zzar's command. Reviewing, there were battle strategies used in 15 Progenitor factional planetary battles from ages past, and the tactics used in three alien exterminations. These last, Zzar knew, would be the most important.

Zzar wondered if these tactics and strategies even mattered. How could these puny, soft, and primitive Invaders hope to stand against the might of the Progenitors?

The answer, Zzar knew, was that they would not. They would be crushed, and another of nature's failed experiments would be put to an end.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To Zzar the alien cities all looked blocky and angular, with none of the pleasing curves and multi-layered domes that he was used to. This particular city was made up of large trapezoidal dun colored structures, with the largest buildings being in the center and a chaotic profusion of smaller structures that extended outward in almost all directions. It was clearly alien, since these artificial looking structures seemed to have grown in an almost random and organic fashion. That is not how a proper race constructs their habitations, Zzar told himself. Arrayed around the city were forests and some agricultural areas, which were tended by some aliens, but it was clear that they were mostly mechanized.

As far as he could tell there were no defensive bulwarks, but there were numerous command facilities within the city, and these were keyed in on his satellite map.

"Conquer Zzar to Deathspheres: combat formation delta. Wait for exclamation, and my order."

The four Deathspheres, silvery in the bright midday sun, formed up, with Alpha and Beta side by side, and Gamma and Epsilon slightly behind to either side.

Zzar observed. The alien agricultural workers continued their tasks, undisturbed by the Deathspheres. To Zzar this was natural and to be expected, since they must know that they will live or die based on the success of their own Conquerors. In the distance there was activity, and the display zoomed in on the movement.

These must be the defender Conquerors, Zzar thought.

Zzar motioned to his communication officer, who activated a translator and opened a sound modulation channel that the Invader Ally Yang had said these Invaders use for communication.

"Invader Spartans: I, Conquer Zzar of the Progenitor race, appointed by the Glorious Conqueror Marr of the Usurper Faction, issue a challenge to your Conquerors. We will meet in open combat, and will test tusk to skull and skull to tusk until one side or the other's blood mingles with the soil, completing the cycle of life."

The ritual Challenge complete, Zzar waited for a response. It did not take long.

"Honorable Conquer Zzar, the Invader Spartans accept your Challenge. We will rend your skulls and tusks upon the field of battle, tear your carapace, and eat of your essence. All glory to the Invaders!"

Zzar was satisfied. The response was proper if mildly insulting, but that was to be expected from a barbaric and uncouth race like the Invaders.

The movement in the distance now got much closer, and Zzar could discern ranks of Invaders advancing out of the city and into the open agricultural fields. The foremost group looked like approximately fifty individuals in battle armor who were bearing nothing more than defensive weapons. Calling up a diagnostic, Zzar was only mildly surprised that their armor was less than pitiful: plasma armor with fusion assist. The weaponry of the Deathsphere was fully sixteen times more powerful.

Dutifully, the Invaders marched forward.

"FIRE" Zzar resonated, and Alpha immediately hummed as the singularity laser discharged, enveloping the Invaders. When the raw energy dissipated there was little remaining of the Invaders except significantly scorched soil.

A second group of Invaders moved forward. These were in a series of battle tanks in a squadron of 10. The statistics for this group flashed in front of Zzar. While its weaponry might damage a Deathsphere, its armor was no better than the previous group of now vaporized Invaders.

These armored vehicles approached in an orderly V formation across the open ground, moving at maximum speed. Their gun turrets were down, off line as they approached the Challenge Field, as was befitting any combatant. As they neared the proscribed field of battle their center projectile launchers came on line, and the diagnostic showed them to be fusion powered shard emitters.

"FIRE" Zzar resonated, and the singularity powered laser from Beta hummed to life. Its energy eviscerated the battle vehicles, which exploded one by one and the energy discharge tore through the Invader's orderly ranks.

The Challenger always fires first, Zzar intoned to himself. After all, combat always has rules, even for aliens.

Yet another group advanced. This one had no armor or weapons. To Zzar it hardly mattered, since armor or weapons would not change the outcome.

Zzar waited for them to enter the Challenge Field.

"FIRE" he resonated, and this last group disappeared.

Zzar waited a few moments to ensure there were no more Invader defenders. It would be dishonorable to advance before offering battle, and even an Invader deserved a mote of respect.

Now confident there were no more defenders, Zzar altered, "We are victorious. Glory to Marr!!"

His crew was controlled but exuberant, and involuntary trills filled the cabin. Zzar did not blame them since he felt the same way.

But there was work to do.

"Progenitor warriors, we must now do our duty and begin the cleansing, as is our Right of Victory. Raze the city, starting with the main habitations in the center and work outward."

With practiced ease the Deathspheres moved forward. The singularity fused lasers pulsed continuously, and the squat buildings and strange looking towers in the center of the Invader city either imploded, exploded, toppled, and collapsed to the earth. A firestorm started in the ruins, and the fire, rare on Manifold 6, started to rage as the laser brought the crumbled remains of the structures momentarily to the temperature of the Manifold 6 primaries.

In perfect formation the Deathspheres continued amid the fire and rubble, oblivious to the flames and fleeing Invaders, as the singularity lasers lanced smaller and smaller targets.

Finally, after several hours of methodical destruction Zzar was satisfied. The Invader city was sterilized.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Zzar and his crew withdrew their talons from the hull of Deathsphere Alpha, excited and breathless.

"You have preformed well in your first simulation," Zzar stated. "We will continue to train until all of you know all of the Progenitor battle traditions, and the tactics and strategies of our forbearers that we will use to purge Manifold 6 if the Invaders. The time will soon come when these tactics will become invaluable in extermination. For now we practice."

Zzar could still see the laser and the flames, and the streams of fleeing Invaders as they tried to escape their doomed city. It was all very satisfying.

The wisdom of the ancients would make the battle to come easy, of that Zzar was sure.

[Googlie]

Sheng-Ji Yang reached forward and delicately picked the fine bone china cup from its saucer on the table, and sank back in his chair, contemplating the exquisite artwork on the cup, and savoring the sacrifice made by pottery guild's founder.

Yes, with no indigenous animals to Planet, and with the necessity of having every citizen do his or her duty by willing their remains to the recycling tanks, the craftsmen had performed miracles with the mindworm carcasses - the Planetpearls - in replicating synthchina. But they were still inferior to the discerning eye and palate. So Masterpotter Chui, upon his terrible accident, had left instructions that his body was not to be consigned to the tanks, but rather his bones be used to recreate the famous Huang ware of the early 21st century on Earth.

Yang looked over at his guest and wondered wryly if he had the sophistication to appreciate the delicacy, doubting it.

He sipped, and set the cup back on the table.

"Well, my friend, and what do you have to report?" he asked.

Haraad Ashaandi leaned forward.

"Our operatives are all in place, Chairman.

"Sand has been assimilated into the renegade Cyborg faction - the Consciousness - or at least a schism of it - and our biot is reporting on schedule. He is going through some deep personality conflicts as a result - and indeed they may drive him insane, but he knew the risks before he accepted the assignment. We are relying on him to foment considerable unrest deep within Spartan territory. We have to trust the biot to alert us to scramble him if he gets beyond recall."

Yang looked speculatively across the table between them.

"Do you trust him?" he queried.

"Absolutely," replied Ashaandi.

"Good enough for me," Yang replied. "And what of the others?"

"The Zakharov twins are an enigma," he replied. "Ayola, the one we were most sure of, turned after the attempt to nuke the Colonel, and suffered greviously at the inquisitor's hands." He bowed his head. "I had not realized that young Ishmael was such a sadist. But we have her back. Anastasia we had doubts about. Oh, she functioned well as a resistance leader, but when we gave her the assignment to entrap Allardyce she got careless. Seems that she genuinely cares for the man - and she may be falling in love with him. But her usefulness is weaker now that he is not in a position of responsibility at UN Headquarters."

Yang nodded.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

"She is at the Atreus stronghold - Thera Keep. That is where the Child Ruth is - the super empath we have programmed - and Anastasia holds the key. The mother - the ex-Believer, Shauna, is also there. They - the two women - now form one of our most potent deep cover teams."

"And the Child's father?" Yang asked.

"Kurt? He has successfully penetrated an ancient guild - an offshoot of the Empath Guild known as The League of Mercenaries. He is currently back at our Covert Ops HQ with Anson Taddei. Both are having some fresh bio-implants - and don't ask, Mr. Chairman, you really don't want to know."

Yang raised one eyebrow quizzically, a feat of personal muscle mastery that he had taught himself as a child and that he had used on many occasions with disconcerting effect.

Ashaandi sighed.

"Taddei is getting a makeover - a personal fusion power pack and is being equipped with the Aliens' 8-res armor. Kurt is being given neurals that will effectively bypass the blockers that the league seems able to erect - they will augment his already considerable compellor powers."

"And the Sisters?" Yang queried.

Ashaandi marveled inwardly at how the Chairman kept track of these low level operatives - did he know the names and functions of every Hive citizen? - probably. His memory was prodigious.

"They are en route to their next assignment - Morgan Industries itself. They hold the key to Junior"

Yang nodded. "So we have deep operatives only in Sparta and Morgan? "How do we get back into Lal?"

"We were there, with Anastasia. We must create the conditions for Lal to request the return of Allardyce - I myself will be responsible for that aspect."

"And what of the Gaians?"

"Ah, that has been our biggest disappointment, with the loss of our mindworm capability. It is more long term, and we see the Child as being key to Deirdre."

"We don't have the luxury of time," Yang responded gruffly. "I am contemplating a military solution,"

Ashaandi looked earnestly at the Chairman.

"You know my views on that - we do not have the infrastructure to support a military operation at the present. We need to retake our bases and get their industrial capability up and running again. Our population is decimated and has little appetite for an extended offensive with long supply lines."

Yang interjected:

"I am not thinking so much of a push towards Velvetgrass Point - more a retaking of our own continent."

Ashaandi looked over the table, and nodded.

"But leave Great Conclave alone."

Yang's eyes narrowed. "Pray tell me why?" he asked , his voice icy.

"That's Kurt and Shauna's deal with the devil," Ashaandi replied. They will work for us if we let Miriam be. And their Child is the key."

Yang nodded.

"So be it," he said.

[Googlie]

Morgan Distribution

Jeneba sat hunched over her console peering at the screen. She was a traditionalist in the sense that she often preferred the flatscreen display versus the holovid display, and this was one of these times. Tables and spreadsheets didn't present very well in holo. She adjusted a tolerance in a column and set to recalculate.

Sitting back she rubbed her eyes - or at least her eyesockets. Longsince she had lost the power of sight as the symbiosis took effect - now she was as sensory aware as any human, but on a different level of perception - she "saw" with mindworm eyes.

Suddenly she was overcome with a deep sense of sadness, of pending loss. She paused, and tuned in to the psi-resonance she was experiencing. Her heart felt so heavy, as she sensed the deep keening of grief, but with almost celebratory countertones. She focused her mind - it was coming from the Brood Pit.

Pushing back from her chair, she rose and stretched, and made her way to the door.

As she approached the Brood Pit, the sensation of despair and grief became stronger, and seemed to be echoed and multiplied by the restless native inhabitants. Periodically she felt a soothingness, but it didn't last longer than a fleeting thought might, then the keening resumed.

With a heavy heart she entered the Pit, and was hit by the almost palpable wave of grief that permeated the chamber. She opened her mind completely to these, her charges. And then she understood.

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

Deirdre was dozing when her commlink beeped insistently in her ear. She sat up and activated the unit, and glanced at the small display screen.

Reception was poor with the altitude and speed she was traveling, but she recognized the Morgan brood trainer immediately. She listened, then nodded.

"I'm on my way," she said.

Deactivating the unit, she turned to the pilot:

"Can we divert to Morgan Distribution?" she asked.

He consulted the display. They were just leaving the Borehole Cluster, about to pass over Plex Anthill en route from Gaia Revered to Gaia's Landing. He nodded.

"Then do it" said Deirdre, and sank back in her seat, letting the contours form themselves around her hips and back. There was no doubt, Morgan Industries made excellent passenger needlejets. And she didn't begrudge herself the comfort. Most of her time these days was spent commuting between Gaia Revered, Gaia's Landing and Velvetgrass Point. The seat of government now officially was in Revered, at the new Command Center completed ahead of schedule and below budget by the efficient Morgan workcrews. But not all departments had moved yet. And the small Gaian contribution to the Axis war effort was centered in Landing and Nessus Shining, and warranted periodic visits from her. Plus it gave her occasion to see her daughter, Julia, who was stationed in Nessus. She wondered if she might see Nwabudike this unscheduled visit.

As the needlejet came in low between the stack of echelon mirrors and the tidal harnesses, it crossed the river to the east of the base - the River Morgan, Deirdre thought wryly - was everything named after the man? - heading towards the sensor array that marked the aerospace complex.

They taxied to the passenger terminal, and Deirdre noticed one of her Gaian needlejets parked there. She strained to read the insignia - GAFT-1. Her heart leaped - so Julia was here too. Then she wondered…was it on the same business as she?

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

Jeneba was there to meet me, as was Julia, my daughter.

"Let's go", she said without formality. "There's not much time left."

I climbed into the converted unity rover with them both and we headed off to the base.

"How is he?" I asked.

"Ailing," was her response. "He wanted you specifically."

We reached the base and made our way to the Brood Pit. I reached out with my mind, open, and felt the unease and anguish of so many. The hurt and the feeling of impending loss.

We turned the corner of the corridor, and there in the Pit, in a corner, nestled into the fungus, sat Alphonse.

I gazed at him. A huge Demon Boil, once the proud savior of Morgan Industries, he had shriveled to about one quarter of his usual size and his sheen had gone. His tendrils were brittle and discolored, and he pulsed slowly, almost painfully.

We went in.

I opened my mind to him.

Alphonse, I said.

He quivered, and strained to pulse to his full size, but the effort took his strength, and I felt his anguish at his discomfiture.

I sensed him in my mind.

My Lady. Pleased for you to come.

My heart felt for him. I babbled to Jeneba about how these delicate native lifeforms needed exercise and couldn't be cooped up in a brood pit and wasn't there some rejuvenation treatment that could apply to mindworms…. I felt him in my mind again.

Lady. Not much time left. Usual lifecycle for us is about 1 of your months, and can be extended by lying fallow in xenofungus. Brood Pit is good substitute, but now my time has come. My husks could be eaten by my mindworm brethren, but I am also valuable to you.

I turned to Jeneba.

"Is this what I am thinking?"

She nodded. "It was Alphonse's idea. We reckon he will be worth some 70 to 90 credits as Planetpearls - worthless as mindworm fodder. But he wanted you."

"How?" I asked.

Alphonse came unbidden into my mind again.

Turn me loose - release me to the wild. Then flame me.

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

We were outside the base, in a small clearing on the banks of the river. It had been a struggle to get the old mindworm into the rover, but we had managed. And now we were standing, a small group, lost in contemplation. I regretted the lack of any fungus to make him feel at home.

Alphonse had wrapped a tendril around one of my ankles, perhaps savoring the last physical contact he would have with a human.

I felt him in my mind.

It is time, Lady.

I nodded.

Vocalizing, as well as empath-broadcasating to any who could understand, I gave Alphonse his manumission.

Alphonse. I hereby release you from your oath of service to the Stepdaughters of Gaia. You are free. Return to the wild, to the destiny you have chosen.

I felt the rasping tendril disengage from my ankle, as Alphonse slowly bunched, pulsed, and inched forwards towards the river. He stopped a few meters away.

Goodbye, My lady. I regret I cannot be of use in the coming battle. But use my sacrifice well.

Jeneba handed me the shredder rifle, with the dial turned to flame.

I brought it to my shoulder. The atmosphere was heavy with a poignant grief as the psi emanations came from the brood pit in the base and were joined it seemed by countless native denizens and by planet herself.

As I aimed, I thought of the times with Alphonse. His skitterings as a larval mass. His development as a fully adult mindworm. The "baseball" with Scotty. His epic battle with Bambi to save Morgan Industries.

I lowered the rifle. I couldn't do it. He deserved better.

A sense of sadness permeated my being, and with it came an accusatory emanation from Alphonse.

Betrayal?

It was although he was looking at me. Almost like his shape had assumed a humanoid form. With the head turned accusingly towards me.

I can't, Alphonse. I can't I wailed internally.

ffssssst ….. fsssstttt

From behind came the unmistakable sound of a shredder pistol on flame.

Alphonse erupted, the searing heat scorching my face as the psi-agony shriek rent my mind.

I turned, the tears flowing unashamedly down my cheeks, to see Julia lower her pistol.

"Why?" I asked soundlessly.

"Go get the Planetpearls, Mother. It's what he wanted and we came for," was her emotionless reply.

I took the synthbestos bag and with a heavy heart went to collect Alphonse's gift to me.


(loosely based on reading for the first time p223 of the GameGuide)



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 05, 2000).]

[Rynn:]

Aboard the U.N.S. Endeavour

"Position?" barked Captain Donaldson.

"We're approaching 111/95," Falloon, his astrogator, replied. "We should be seeing them soon."

"We've been in this damned fungus for days," grumbled Shariff. He was the designated governor of the new colony to be founded, and this slow progress to the center of the New Sargasso Sea was wearing on his nerves. The air cover had petered out when the entered the protection of the fungal fields, as they didn't want attention drawn to them.

"It's been thinning for the past 18 hours," the astrogator commented. "The seaformer crew have been steadily beating it back, and it's noticeable. Our speed has been picking up."

They'd been running blind and silent for about a week now, to try and avoid detection by the sophisticated scanners assumed to be in the Nessus Canyon area. They'd even eschewed contact with the rest of the colony fleet - two transport convoys escorted by half of the Peacekeeper's Southern Fleet, with the other half being held back to escort the convoy that would establish the land base at the isthmus neck northwest of the Canyon.

The escorts consisted of an empath skimship flotilla and a squadron of the older technology gatling destroyers that had been upgraded with anti aircraft weaponry.

A series of rapid flashes caught their eye. Donaldson and Falloon looked intently.

"What's happening?" asked Shariff.

"It's the destroyer 'Dag Hammarskjöld'," Donaldson replied. "They've contacted the Former. It's about ten miles ahead. The site is prepped for us."

"Good," said Shariff. At last he could prove his usefulness.

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

UN Midway

Kasimir Shariff looked out over the sea colony.

It was amazing what had been accomplished in such a short time. The barges that the transports had towed had themselves formed the caissons that had been secured to the ocean floor, and on their slender legs the sea colony had taken shape.

The living quarters had been assembled and hung on the legs, and then the task of extruding the pressure dome had begun. Now it was complete, and the giant fans were keeping breathable oxygen circulating. Part of the appeal of the dome technology was its doubling as recycling tanks. In a sea colony there was little room for waste. "It must be like being in space," thought Shariff .

He was particularly pleased by the simultaneous creation of a perimeter defense around the base, and now the hardworking crews were feverishly building a recreation commons.

In a few short weeks the base - named Midway for reasons he couldn't fathom - had attracted a population of over 30,000, all of them busy in the production and maintenance cycle of catering for the needs of a major military staging post.

As soon as the airdeck had been built the PAF had sent both a penetrator squadron and an interceptor squadron to be based there. Shariff had no doubt that it would soon become home to many units of the Axis as the preparation for the push on the Usurper territory took form.

All-in-all he was satisfied with his lot in life. Now if he could just keep his new base free of drone riots.

He went back into the administrative unit for dinner.

[Googlie]

UN Headquarters

"Will there be anything else, Sir? Madame?" the waiter solicitously asked.

"Not for me," replied General Gupta. He looked over at his dinner companion:

"Tazeem?"

"No, thanks, Patel. That was excellent. The Gaian shrimp were exquisite."

The General looked up at the waiter and shook his head.

"No thanks - just the bill please."

The waiter nodded, and left.

"Now to business," Gupta said. "Why did you request this meeting in so private a place?"

Tazeem looked disconcerted.

"But ……… but, it was you who invited me."

"Not at all. Your message distinctly said….."

"Pardon me," a new voice said. "It was I that arranged the meeting."

They both looked up. General Gupta leapt to his feet.

"Pravin," he said extending his hand.

Commissioner Lal took the extended hand in his, and smiled down at the still seated Tazeem.

"May I join you?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, summoning the waiter.

"A bottle of your best Anisette," he commanded, knowing that it was a personal favorite of the General's.

General Gupta positively beamed.

"But again, why the meeting. And here?" he asked of Lal

Lal looked around, and pulled a shredder pistol from his cloak and laid it on the table.

"I dismissed both your guards, and your ADC's," he said by way of explanation.

"This is to be heard by your ears only. But first, let us drink to the success of our alliances."

The waiter had reappeared, and carried a tray with an opened bottle of Anisette, and three full glasses. He placed one in front of the three guests.

"To success," Lal toasted, raising his glass and emptying it in one swallow, as was the custom. Patel and Tazeem did likewise.

"To success," they echoed.

Lal sat back and regarded them.

Tazeem was in a coughing fit, as if she had drank her liqueur too quickly. Patel had turned glassy-eyed, and looked beseechingly at Lal.

"You bastard. You've poisoned the drink," he slurred, then slumped forward on to the table.

Tazeem's fit had stopped, as had her breath. She, too, was slumped over the table.

Lal regarded them impassively, then relaxed.

The muscles in his face quivered, and pulsed, and reformed into an older visage than that of the rejuvenated Commissioner. He shuddered.

Haraad Ashaandi turned over the heads of the two Peacekeeper officials. He picked up the shredder and dialed it to laser-fine. Carefully he carved the sign of the Circle on their foreheads, and turned to the waiter, who had by now shed his uniform and was just another PK citizen on his errands.

"Let's go," Ashaandi commanded.

They quietly left the deserted café.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 06, 2000).]

[Argonaut]

Fort Superiority

The assembly of twenty-one civilians in a private residence was unusual for wartime, however it did not immediately warrant suspicion. Even with the Alien threat, the citizens of Sparta, like any other humans on Planet, still felt the need to celebrate. While rare, there were still Spartans who enjoyed a party, and therefore the gathering was not likely to bring the local authorities running.

However, the assembly of these particular twenty-one civilians would raise alarm bells all the way to Sparta Command, if anyone had taken a moment and examined the guest list. All twenty-one ‘guests’ were former citizens of the now vanquished University of Planet, and were the last remnants of the University of Planet Terrorist movement.

Nicholi Federov was the highest ranking University official to escape capture after the Spartan conquest. Since then, he had been in hiding, coordinating movements with the other University supporters, but attempting to maintain a low profile, allowing others to take the fall for him. Now, he found himself with so few followers left to take the fall.

With the Incident at Lomonosov Park (renamed Pointa Sur during the occupation), the University movement lost a lot of support. Most University citizens were outraged by the disaster, and truly so had Federov himself. He had not been directly involved, but he had not been able to stop it either. After that, the devastation of Parade Ground and Ironholm killed many good University citizens, although it did add to the separatist movement.

Now, after almost twenty-five years of oppression, they had watched their one great hope slip from their fingers within a space of months. Zakharov was free, but he had refused to resume the mantle of Provost of the University of Planet. Colonel Santiago had no plans to release her grasp on the University bases, and the future looked bleak.

“What can we do?” spoke up Number 3. For their own protection, names were never used. None of those left even knew who Federov was, they had all been so low down in the chain-of command while the University still existed. Everyone went by number designation, delineating rank and importance. When someone was the killed, everyone advanced a number in order to reconnect the train. After Parade Ground and Ironholm, many people advanced through a lot of numbers.

“Zakharov has chosen not to return to us. There is not much we can do.” This was Number 5. He was young, and a cynic, but a rational thinker. Something that was much needed within this group composed largely of hot-headed young scientists who longed for revenge.

“But he can’t truly mean it,” continued 3. “They have to be holding something against him.”


“Nothing has been seen of Anastasia Zakharov since his reappearance.” This was 2 who chimed in. Federov had a intense dislike for 2. 2 maintained an air of stoicism, only contributing obvious facts into the conversation, and never any new ideas. It was unfortunate, in Federov’s eyes, that he could not be demoted. Still, many things were beyond his power and most were of far greater significance.

“Perhaps Santiago is bribing Zakharov, forcing him to not return to the University. Perhaps she fears what we can do if we were to rebuild.” This was 12. He was young and saw a conspiracy everywhere.

“Whatever the reason,” interrupted Federov, speaking for the first time, “Provost Zakharov is not going to be handed back control of the University on a silver platter. He will need assistance in taking it back. That is what we are for.”

“But we’ve tried it all before,” 5 retorted. “The Spartans won’t listen because they don’t really have too. What sort of a threat can twenty scientists pose to the entire Spartan army?”

“A very grave one I assure you,” Federov replied cooly. His confidence garnered their attention. “I have been contacted by a new friend, who seeks to help our cause. While, I grant you the source of the assistance is not one I would have gone to by choice, beggars cannot be choosers.” Some of the others exchanged worried glances, wondering what they were being dragged into. Nobody wanted a repeat of Pointa Sur.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce our new friend.” Emerging from the darkest corner came a man that none had even realised was there. They all stepped back in shock. Having been afraid so long of getting caught, the entrance of stranger always created a stir, no matter how they were announced.

“Good evening academicians,” the new comer spoke. The voice was cold, almost artificial, but distinctly male. “I am Sand Zeta-Two and I have a proposition for you.”

[senatus]

"War is Hell."  These words, expressed by an ancient American general,
are often misconstrued out of context, and oversimplified.  In Corazan
Santiago's experience, War is Chaos.  She who succeeds in bringing
about order in the natural chaos can then apply strategy and tactics for
victory.  And to bring about order requires discipline.


Los Angeles, 2050


Los Angeles was burning.


It burned not only with the fires, but with the seething unrest that
had spilled over into riots.  It was the 263rd day of the labour strike
against a financially bankrupt government and the morally bankrupt megacorps
that no longer supplied Greater Los Angeles with food, electricity, oil.   
The federal government of the United States was a shattered corpse in its
death throes, torn and divided as state after state unilaterally withdrew
from the Union; as Republican-backed militias engaged in open street battles
with the Democratic mobs while their respective masters shouted and screamed
at one another in the halls of Congress.  And the Knights of Genetic
Purity had claimed credible responsibility for the nuclear assassination
of the President and Vice-President, igniting full-scale race riots in
the Southern States and California.


The country was tearing itself apart, after 275 years of history. 
There would be no United States in 2051.  And like the country, the
city - her city - was exploding with civil disorder that threatened to
devolve into civil war.


But not if Corazan Santiago, Colonel, Commander of the Los Angeles
CIty Guard, had anything to do about it.


"Rico five to base.  We have achieved our objective and are
returning with our cargo to rendezvous."


"Rico three here, base.  Looks like we got here too late. 
Councilwoman Cullens is dead - it's not pretty.  Orders?"


Santiago leaned into her microphone.  "Base to Rico three, carry
out your orders.  Bring the Councilwoman's body back to City Hall."


"Rico seven to command.  The LAPD HQ is gone.  Doesn't
look like there are any survivors, I can see where they made their stand. 
Looks like the rioters are still here, orders?  We're taking small
arms fire."


"Base to Rico seven, withdraw to safe distance but continue to monitor. 
Rico one, move to support Rico seven."


Santiago took off her headset, passing it on to her subordinate. 
She took quick, military strides, pushing open the ornate wooden doors
that lead into the City Council Chamber.  Inside, guarded by her militia,
were the frightened men and women about the table who are all that are
left of the Greater Los Angeles city council.  Their faces were drawn,
taut, and strangely surreal in the emergency lighting Santiago has brought
to the City Hall.


"Councilors, the mayor is dead, the police are dead or scattered,
and the rioters have broken into the armories.  I require the Ultimate
Decree."


Councilman Malerbi spoke up.  "Colonel, you're asking us to
give you the authority to suspend civil rights of American citizens. 
We can't do that.  We don't even have the authority to, even if we
wanted to."


Santiago smiled a wolf's smile with no friendliness whatsoever, and
several of the civilians shiver.  She had seriously thought privately
to arrange that the libertarian councilor be absent, but she needed him
for quorum.


"Take a look around you, Councilman.  The fundamental civil
right of life and security is already being violated all over the city. 
You must grant my request, or deal with the consequences.  And as
for authority?  There won't even be a country or Constitution in a
year.  We must deal with the now."


Malerbi drew himself up.  For all his foolishness, the man is
no coward.  "And if we refuse?"


"Then I will withdraw my people to safety, and you can watch your
city burn.  Councilor Hodges, please table the motion."


Hodges - Santiago's long-time ally on Council - rose.  "Fellow
Councilors, I table a vote on the following motion: That Colonel Santiago
take all necessary steps to protect the City of Los Angeles and associated
counties, using whatever means are required; and that her authority be
absolute within the next 72 hours."


Santiago smiled to herself; probably she ws the only one who recognized
the historical parallels of Hodges' proposal.  The Senators of Rome
gave the same directive when appointing Sulla.  The Directorate of
France did the same for Napoleon.  And she will follow in the steps
of these great generals, and restore order.


The councilors voted.  Only Malerbi dissented.  The city
of Los Angeles was now under martial law.  Santiago went back to her
command post.  She motioned her assistants, and the camera  focused
on her.  Everyone still capable of receiving television, radio, or
internet would now hear her voice.


"Citizens of Los Angeles: This is Colonel Santiago, Commander of
the City Guard.  As authorized by the City Government, I am declaring
Martial Law.  All citizens must immediately either return to their
homes, or arm themselves and report to the nearest Police station for induction
into the City Militia.  By midnight tonight, all citizens not deputized
by the Guard will be under strict curfew.  Citizens with pressing
emergency needs must signal for Guard escort by hanging red flags at their
entryways.  The penalty for curfew violation is mandatory sedation. 
Rioters, looters, and armed rebels will be suppressed, with lethal force
if necessary."


"Citizens, bear with me.  We're all in this together, and we
will all survive and come out of this together."


The transmission was recorded, broadcast, and would be rebroadcast
continuously.  Santiago strapped on her flack jacket and helmet, and
proceeded to her helicopter.


Five hours later, the chaos had relented somewhat.  Many citizens,
desperate for any sort of promise of order, obeyed Santiago.  Others,
more brave or perhaps more desperate, reported to her recruiting sections
and were deputized immediately.  But there were some who resisted. 
The Knights of Genetic Purity had smuggled in their own weaponry, and hated
Santiago for the colour of her skin as much as the issuance of her decree. 
They remained a problem.  Fortunately, they lacked military discipline
and good sense, and foolishly had remained out on the streets in defiance
of her orders.  Where they could be seen, and targeted.


"Rico seven to Rico prime, I'm coming East on towards the Barryo. 
Looks like the rioters here are still out in force - they're trashing the
neighborhood."


"Patch me in," Santiago ordered, and now her voice was projected
from copter seven.


"Attention citizens!  You are in violation of curfew decree. 
Militia forces are approaching your position, and you are required to surrender
yourselves to them immediately!  Resistance will be met with lethal
force.  This is your final warning!"


Santiago could see the crowd's reaction through copter seven's sensors. 
They were defiant.  One young man, barely over twenty, his hair shaved,
his clothes in paramilitary style, raised a rifle and fired it in the general
direction of the helicopter.  His twisted expression of hatred was
clear, his lips mouthed: 'F*ck you, spick c*nt!"


"Rico seven to Rico prime, we're... holy sh*it, we're being painted! 
We're being painted!"


A contrail exploded from the street, and the portable SAM slammed
into Rico Seven.  It veered crazily, and by some fluke the sensors 
captured the exultant crowd below, before the helicopter smashed into a
nearby building and exploded.


Santiago had just lost some good men and women.  But she would
mourn later.  A military response was required.


"Rico five, three, and six.  Approach from Southwest vector, 
Rico two and four, form on my wing.  Execute plan grapeshot."


The Guard helicopters fell into the formation that Santiago had drilled
into them a dozen times, never expecting they would have to resort to it.


"Commence fire."


At Santiago's order, the gunships lined up, and a lethal barrage
of shredder fire erupted from the barrels of their cannons.  Methodically,
the gunships "walked" their fire up the street, and the rioters screamed
and broke as they were chewed into hamburger.


Santiago watched her own screen carefully, and then spotted the Chevy
6-runner that had mounted the SAM.  It was readying another shot at
one of her units.  But suddenly a hail of flares flew out of the gunships,
spoofing the IR sensors of her enemy.  Santiago carefully painted
her own target, and the pickup exploded as her missile slammed into it,
bits of debris - human and metallic - raining down.


"Santiago!  We surrender!  For the love of God, cease fire!" 
Suddenly, a desperate, panicked voice came into her headset.


"What part of `final warning` didn't you understand?"  Santiago
responded, the snarl in her voice as at last her temper is loosed. 
She could still see the flaming wreckage of Rico seven, a fiery coffin
for her warriors.  Again, her finger squeezed, and when she relented,
it was only because her ground forces were  approaching the fire zone.


They found barely twenty living souls where once a thousand rioted.


It ttok forty-two hours before order was returned to the city. 
Santiago hadn't slept a wink in that time, but finally her job was done. 
Or so she thought.  As she approached her command post, her adjutant
whispered to her.


In the barracks, several dozen of her deputized troops, and even
some of her City Guard, were under arrest.  Some had used their authority
to loot, to rape, and some merely to assault civilians who were not in
violation of Santiago's decree.  It was, unfortunately, not an entirely
unexpected consequence of marital law.


Santiago walked in, her eyes sweeping dispassionately over them. 
She turned to her adjutant.


"Commence court-martial proceedings.  If guilty, they are to
be shot."


"Colonel!  Shouldn't we let the civilian courts...." the young
lieutenant began to point out, for her authority expired in barely a day.


"We are charged with restoring order, under martial law.  To
restore order, we must maintain discipline."

---

Geneva, 2058


"To restore order, we must maintain discipline."


Sheng-Ji Yang, Chief of Security for the Unity Project, quoted the
woman who stood at attention before his desk.


"Sir."  The once-colonel, now U.N. Security Force lieutenant
responded.  Yang noted that while the woman stood unmoving, her stance
was not stiff.  As if the discipline to remain at attention came naturally
within her, or perhaps had been long practiced.  Unusual in someone
so young.


Yang had seen strong career military men tire in a prolonged position
of attention, at least to the point where minor involuntary muscle movements
are visible to the trained eye.  This woman was completely in balance.


Yang approved.


"Do you regret your decisions in the Los Angeles disorder eight years
ago, Lieutenant?  Did you feel you made mistakes?"  Yang asked,
probing.  He had this woman's psych profile in front of him, of course
- he is the only member of the crew, aside from Garland and Godwinson,
who had access to these.  But he wanted to form his own analysis.


"No, and Yes, Sir."  Santiago responded, her eyes meeting his
without flinching.


"Explain."  Yang commanded.


"I made mistakes, Sir.  Had I the experience and knowledge then
that I do now, I would've been able to minimize my own casualties further,
and those of the rioters as a consequence.  But I do not regret my
actions.  A commander does the best with the tools she is given, Sir. 
I don't believe I could have done better at the time."


"And what about firing after they offered surrender?"


Santaigo stiffened.  That report had been suppressed long ago,
she had thought.  Sheng-Ji Yang is more formidable than even his considerable
reputation.  She is being tested.  Should the security chief
wish it, her UN career is over, and all hope of surviving with Unity. 
She must choose her words carefully but honestly, for Yang would almost
certainly know if she was lying.


"I do regret that action, Sir.  Not for the military consquences;
for the display of force at that time ensured that all subsquent rebels
surrendered with much less of a fight.  But because I allowed my emotions
to influence my command decisions."


Yang nodded.  It was a rare subordinate who recognizes her own
limitations and admits them to a superiour.


"And why did you apply for Unity?"


"I believe in the future, Sir."


Yang smiled to himself.  She did not say that she believed in
the vision of Unity.  Merely in the promise that it might deliver,
which for Santiago, he suspected, was simple survival.


She would do.


"Very well, Lieutenant.  I am assigning you a position on my
staff.  You will be working with my own XO."  Yang pressed a
button, and Haraad Ashaandi entered the room with his usual sardonic smile.


Yang didn't trust Ashaandi.  But if things fell apart on Unity,
he needed the backing of capable subordinates and assistants to ensure
security and control.   Yang had read Garland's psych profile,
and the man seemed regrettably prone to indecision and vacillation in crisis. 
Too much like Pravin Lal; what was acceptable in a healer could not be
relied upon in a leader.  Yang must be ready if the responsibility
for humanity's future falls upon his shoulders.


But Ashaandi was personally ambitious.  Perhaps too much so. 
Placing him with this talented woman may ensure greater balance in the
whole.  Yin, and Yang.


Santiago looked warily at Ashaandi, who smiled back at her, but with
his eyes hardening.  Two predators in the same room.


Or perhaps they will kill each other, Yang thought.  But as
Santiago had just said, a commander did the best he could with the tools
he was given, flawed as they might be.  For Yang, these were Ashaandi
and Santiago.  They offer him power, and control.


In later years, Yang considered this to be the greatest miscalculation
in his life.

---

Sparta Command, one year ago.


Sparta Federation Commander-in-Chief Corazan Santiago entered the
gloomy punishment sphere, its darkness broken by flashes as the electro-stimulators
discharged upon the hapless prisoner.  The room was acoustically designed
to echo the prisoner's screams back to him.  It was an innovation
offered by Sparta's Department of Inquisition,  Orwellesque in its
philosophy.  The object of pain is pain.  Santiago personally
found it distasteful.


But this time it served a useful purpose, for the man contained herein
couls not concentrate long enough to pit his considerable mental powers
against the artificial neural inhibitors.  Of course, simply lobotomizing
him or throwing his lifeless body to the recycling tanks would be even
more efficient, but this man might be of use to her.  Moreover, she
owed him her life.


Santiago disabled the pain inducers and crossed her arms waiting
for the prisoner to recover, although she did not disable the restraints
or neural inhibitors.  No, that would be foolish.  While the
man was formidible in his physical combat prowess, he has not perfected
his combat techniques to Santiago's level.  But it is Haraad's mind
that presents a potential threat that she has no counter for.


As she looked over Ashaandi's naked body, Santiago conceded that 
even after weeks in the sphere, he is as handsome as always.  Even
in his natural form.  The chameleon talent, combined with psi, makes
this man more personally dangerous than anyone else alive on Chiron, including
the members of the League of Mercenaries.  Santiago marvelled once
again at how Ashaandi acquired these gifts; both were extremely rare variants
of the Pholus Mutagen.


Haraad finally looked up and grinned his sardonic smile.  "Come
to see your latest trophy,  'Colonel'?"


"Hardly," Santiago replied.  "You are the Junta's catch, not
mine.  I just wondered how you were doing, and why you wanted to speak
to me."


"Perhaps I wanted to ask you to let me go?  After all, you do
owe me your life.  The dissidents would have you dead by now, without
my intervention."


"That's true, I owe you one.  But that isn't going to make me
overrule the Junta.  Everybody has to live with the consequences of
their actions.  Me, you, Allardyce.  I don't know what the hell
he was thinking.  I don't suppose you mind-controlled him?"


"Come, Corrie, you know better,"  Ashaandi mocked.  "Allardyce
is far too strong-willed to be controlled like that.  No, I offered
him a deal that he couldn't refuse.  And I'll offer it to you now
instead."


"And just what is that?"  Santiago asked, but she suspected
the answer.


"Let me go, and I will continue to work to overthrow the Hive from
within.  Yang is formidable, but my power and talents will eventually
prevail."


Santiago considered for several long minutes.  That Ashaandi
was genuine in his intent seemed likely - the man had always been personally
ambitious, and did not play the role of subordinate naturally.  Yang
was an obstacle to those goals.  And the Hive could be an obstacle
to Santiago's.  The war was only gearing up, and it remained to be
seen whether the superiour training and weaponry of the Federation could
overcome the numerical advantages of the Hive.


But replacing Yang with Ashaandi could prove to be a more formidable
opponent in the long run.  Personally, Santiago doubted it; Ashaandi,
for all his personal power, could never match the discipline and cult-like
personality of Yang.  But if he could somehow develop a society based
on total thought control instead....


The best scenario would be to see the Hive weakened first, whomever
the victor.  And an internal power struggle would achieve that goal. 
The divisions in the Spartan Federation wrought by the senior members of
the Junta - including Googlie - had proved that point, whatever the motivations
of the participants.


And besides, she did owe Ashaandi her life.  Corazon
Santiago made it a point to repay her debts.  Even if it meant dancing
with the devil.


"Agreed."

---

Sparta Command


"General Gupta is dead."


Corazon Santiago looked up with surprise as well as some dismay. 
Patel Gupta was undoubtably the best of the Peacekeepers'  generals. 
That wouldn't be saying much, for the Peacekeepers never emphasized the
sort of military preparedness that Sparta based its doctrine on, but Gupta
really was - had been - competent at the very least.  There was no
telling what idiot Pravin Lal might appoint in his place, and that could
set back the offensive by weeks or months while the new commander figured
out how to use his sidearm.  Time that the Axis didn't have.


"How?"


"Assassination," Lieutenant Moore said.  "Along with one of Lal's
government officials.  According to our report, it was the Circle."


Santiago swore for a moment in her native Spanish.  Moore didn't
understand the words  - Standard English being the official language
of Sparta - but it sounded vehement.


"But Dr. Lal is safe?"  She asked.


"Yes, Commander."


Santiago took a moment to ironically reflect that the Axis war effort
would have been served better of Lal had died and Gupta survived. 
With Googlie gone to the Gaians, that left no-one competent at U.N. Headquarters.


More to the point, the Circle was active.  And hostile.


Ashaandi has betrayed me, she thought.  If, indeed, he
could ever have been trusted.  Once again, I have allowed my emotions
to affect my command decisions.  Stupid!  Sheng-Ji would be disappointed.


"Send a message to Datajack Roze at Morgan Industries.  And while
you're at it, copy to the Believer command at Great Conclave.  Tell
Roze we are aware of the situation, and we expect her to deal with it and
neutralize or contain the threat."


The Circle was outside of her domain of expertise, but within Roze's. 
The command was delegated to those who could fulfill it best.


Santiago returned to her strategies, now adjusting for the sudden change
to the military variables.  Discipline leads to master of chaos. 
Mastery of chaos led to victory in war.