The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 3

[Hydro]

Velvetgrass Point

Shannon Lindly signed contentedly. The chaos from the last year or two had abated somewhat. Who would have guessed that that she would be the first Gaian ambassador to the Morgans since the Trail of Tears, and then broker an alliance? Or that she would be a member of the first human exploration of space, even if that little adventure was brought to a screeching halt with the arrival of the alien fleet, which had made it abundantly and violently clear they would not allow humans in orbit or beyond. Then she had the distinct and unpleasant 'honor' of being the Gaian pro tem leader while Dee was in the tanks (again). Luckily Dee only needed an update, so she wasn't on the hook very long. Administrative duties ranked at the absolute bottom of where Shannon wanted to spend her time.

There was one good thing about a little stature, however; you could tell certain people to buzz off. As the stand-in Gaian leader she had gotten quite good at it, and she could tell she had a certain talent for it by the way people cringed when she got into one of her 'tiff moods'. That seemed to happen quite often since she had been irritable most of the time.

So, the experience hadn't been pleasant for anyone and, thankfully, she wasn't about to be elected Queen of the Universe anytime soon because of all the ruffled feathers. Shannon had absolutely no idea how Dee put up with all the whiners and wheedlers, or how she could be gracious to people who obviously had less than pure ulterior motives. That, in the end, made Dee a much better leader than most admitted. She was soft on people, but hard on policy, since there were some issues where she simply would not compromise on. Having been in that limelight Shannon could see all too clearly the temptation to give in to expediency on policy and people, if for no other reason than to make some unpleasant person or issue go away. At that she smiled grimly, thinking that other more ruthless faction leaders who practiced realpolitic in a Machiavellian fashion, like Morgan or Yang, would find a less prosaic way of making an inconvenient person or an issue 'go away'.

Still Shannon felt more relaxed than she had in months. She was back to her true love, research, even if it wasn't the high-energy research she was accustomed to. The arrival of the aliens had changed the focus of Gaian research, since it now seemed key to fathom Planet to understand them and what they meant to Mankind. The Manifold Nexus figured prominently in this effort since it was obviously an alien artifact of the first order, that it was intimately linked with Planet itself , and that it was in the uncontested hands of the Gaians. But for now the mysterious and glorious Manifold was banished from Shannon's mind, as was the ever-present threat of the vaguely threatening aliens, and the complex and messy political elements that infected her life as an (almost) pure lead researcher.

The most complex thought on her mind now was how not to burn her hands no her hot mug. Leaning back in her favorite slightly overstuffed chair, Shannon cradled the warm cup of tea. A fragrant steam rose, and Shannon inhaled deeply. It was a delicate chamomile, and its flowery aroma never failed to sooth her nerves. Chamomile was definitely an acquired taste, but then so was fungal gin.

Shannon shivered. Fungal gin was truly nasty stuff.

Pleasant thoughts she reminded herself.

Shannon sipped, and the warmth of the almost too hot tea washed down her throat.

Tranquility.

Shannon closed her eyes.

Shannon sipped again, a long, slow sip, and the heady steam bathed her face.

Ahhhhh!

Slowly, Shannon opened her eyes.

What was that? She felt something tugging on her robe hem. In a flash she knew: Ehm was trying to get her attention.

Looking down she saw him. He was brushing against her leg, politely asking in a non-verbal way that she had taught him to initiate conversation. It had been a long time in training, and he seemed to have no problem simply barging into her mind with whatever thought or comment he might have at the moment. Normally this is fine if there was any amount of self-restraint, but Shannon compared Ehm to a precocious 10-year-old. He always had questions, and he never seemed to sleep. For a few months Shannon thought she would go insane, or sink into catatonia due to lack of REM sleep due to Ehm's constant intrusions.

"Hello Ehm," she said. "Come on up. Let's talk."

In a blink Ehm had darted up into her lap. He was no longer the tinniest mindworm she had ever seen, but he was still pretty small. He easily fit into her lap, which looked like it was covered with a rounded mound of moving pink confetti. Shannon marveled, knowing that as he moved he controlled the magnetism around him and used it to keep the individual mindworms suspended and to propel himself.

Simply amazing, if now old hat.

Hello Lindly, Ehm said quietly into Shannon's mind. Shannon perked up, since Ehm was always almost bursting with enthusiasm and almost never said anything quietly, or slowly. His conversations were staccato bursts of ideas or questions, and he sometimes didn't even wait for an answer if he was excited enough.

Shannon waited for him to continue, and this wait itself was another rarity.

You are my friend. Will you die, Lindly?

Shannon was surprised again. Ehm's questions were all over the map, but this was a new and pretty serious question.

"Yes Ehm, I will eventually die, but hopefully not for a long time. All living things die, though."

Ehm accepted this statement and paused again.

When?

Shannon now knew where this conversation was going, and remembered how she had dealt with it so long ago on Earth when her young Greg had starting asking such questions. It was hard, and a little touchy, and she knew she had to be careful and honest. She remembered that Greg was unusually serious for an eight year old, and had looked her straight in the eye when asking this question. But that was over a two hundred years ago - a lifetime ago, or several lifetimes. When leaving Earth Shannon had made her goodbyes, knowing she would never see Greg or his family again. It had been sad, but it was so long ago. Still, she knew she would never forget.

"I don't know. Normally humans live for less than a hundred years, but now it is many hundreds of years and in the future it could be much longer. I could have an accident that would mean I would die sooner. "

Like when Tala my friend at the training school went away?

"Yes. She went to the hospital after the hab unit at Morgan Industries collapsed when the ferals attacked, but the doctors there couldn't save her."

What happens when you die?

"Well," Shannon started, and she shifted in her seat and put down her tea. This was going to be longer than she had thought. "Humans have been thinking about that for a long time, and no one really knows. Some humans think that when you die your soul, which is the essence of your being, will go to a nice place, which most call heaven, to be with the being that created all life. Others think that your soul will be reborn over and over again forever. Still others think that we are complex chemical reactions and that when we die we simply cease to exist. "

Ehm was quiet for a while. Shannon knew he understood the basics of biology and was busy digesting what might be new ideas.

Will I die?

"I don't really know. You might. I've never seen a mindworm die naturally, but I've only been on Planet for 125 years. You are a collection of little wormlets the each grow, reproduce, and then die, and they are replaced as fast as they die. In a way it is a little like the cells of a human. The cells themselves are created and die off continually, but the human continues to live. We are programmed to die, since that is central to our species' reproductive strategy and place in our ecosystem, and some would say the key to our evolution. That may not be true on Planet, though. Your ecosystem and programming is completely different and there is no reason that I know of why you can't live forever, Ehm."

But I don't want to live forever if I can't be with you. I don't want my friends to die.

Shannon got a little misty eyed as she thought of an immortal little Ehm watching all his human friends grow old and die, being all alone and feeling abandoned. The yawning future might be gray and bleak in such a world. Maybe immortality wasn't that desirable after all?

"In know, Ehm. I know. "

Mindworms can die, too. I know it.

Shannon perked up.

"Really? How do you know that?"

I felt Alphonse die. He was my friend. He was hurting and the hurt wouldn't go away. His friends killed him near the fungus. He doesn't hurt anymore.

Shannon was nonplussed. A mindworm dying? And that great big demon boil Alphonse? That was new and totally unexpected.

"I'm sorry Ehm. I really am. I liked Alphonse, too, and I knew him from when he was a hatchling. He and Dee had such fun together! I'm sorry to see him go."

Shannon didn't know what to do. It was clear that Ehm was sad, if a mindworm can be sad, with the loss of Alphonse. She wanted to give him a hug to make him feel better, like she had with Greg, but hugging a mindworm was worse than fruitless since they couldn't feel it and simply flowed out of the way. The experience literally made the hairs on her arms stand on end, from more than the residual magnetism.

I felt him go into the fungus. He isn't focused anymore. Is that dying? When a human dies to they go into the fungus, too?

Now Shannon was confused. Unfocused? Going into the fungus?

Going into the fungus!

Slowly a glimmer of understanding crept in. Dee was always talking about the neural conductivity of the fungal network on Planet, or what could be a neural network. What if the sentience of the mindworms was intricately linked, or what if they were linked together through the fungus? The idea of a super-organism of Planet has been floated before, but it was only an interesting theory with no proof. Shannon felt a chill shoot up her spine. That linkage would explain some of the perplexing elements of the Manifold Nexus she had been working on. The Nexus could be like a neural focal point, or what was left of one, for a fungal neural net, which would include the sessile fungus, the myriad of other life forms on Planet, and the sentient mindworm vectors. Could they all be part of one system? Are what humans see as organisms simply part of a larger organism? Maybe mindworms are like intelligent white blood cells?

Alphonse says hello, Lindly. And not to be sad.

Shannon's reverie was broken.

"When did Alphonse tell you that? I thought you said his friends killed him. Did you talk to him before he died?"

No. He just told me. Then he unfocused again. Can humans refocus after they die like Alphonse?

Shannon was a little stunned. Alphonse was still here? In the fungal net? Or was Ehm having a delusion? Thinking back on it, Ehm was quite literal and not fantasy prone. Delusions and imagination are not mindworms' strong point. Humans, however, are quite good at delusion and imagination.

"No, I don't think humans can refocus," she replied with a distracted voice. Shannon thought to herself: If mindworms can refocus after they die, can they really be dead, at least as humans understand it? But more importantly, can they 'refocus' and come back to life? Is Alphonse simply in storage in the fungal net?

Right now Shannon had lots of questions, but few answers. It seemed that the Manifold and Planet got more complex every day. Like it or not, she wasn't relaxed anymore, but invigorated. Questions kept popping into her head, and there was one place where they might be answered.

"Come on, Ehm! Let's go to the Manifold!" Shannon stated.

OK!

Ehm loved going to the Manifold and playing in the ruins. He was also very helpful, since he could get into places that were otherwise inaccessible. Shannon started to get up, and Ehm slid to the ground and made for the door.

"Ehm, I have to get dressed. I only put on robes at home. Remember?"

Yes. Can I help?

Shannon through for a moment, "Sure. Find my work boots. I think they're downstairs."

OK!

Ehm skittered downstairs. To Shannon it was very strange. Even though he was a mindworm there were moments that he reminded of her of Greg when he was little. Happy thoughts darted through her head as Shannon got on her field clothes, thoughts of family old and new. Shannon decided she was very glad Ehm was around, and couldn't imagine life without him.

Isn't that strange? she thought to herself as she finished dressing.

[Argonaut]

Morgan Industries

Morgan Junior looked at his reflection in the mirror. His suit was impeccably clean, as usual, and the best that Morganite fashions provided. He was a model of the Morganite elite, at least as far as he could tell in this terrible lighting.

Junior turned to look at the reason for the lack of lighting. Her naked body lay peaceful, partially enshrouded by the silk sheets. Enough of her ebony could be seen glistening in the dim light from Junior’s tiny bedside lamp. Her chest rose and fell in the rhythmic pattern of sleep, a strange calmness surrounding a woman known for creating such chaos.

Junior almost wished he didn’t have to leave Roze quite so clandestinely in the night, but business was business, and daylight would soon be hitting Spartan territory. He would be back soon enough, it was only a short tour of the Western Spartan bases in order to examine Morganite holdings in the region.

Junior was almost at the door when a slight rustling sound informed him that his partner wasn’t quite as relaxed as he thought.

“So that’s it huh? Wham, bam, not even a thank you man. Gee Nwabudike, you sure know how to make a gal feel special.” Junior turned and saw the mischievous smile on her face that took any potential sting out of her words. “So where are you off too at this time of night?”


“Fort Legion.”

“What on Earth for?” Spartan bases, let alone smaller ones like Fort Legion, rarely held any appeal for a wealthy Morganite.

“Business. What else?” He replied smiling, knowing the dislike Roze had for the intense capitalism that reigned in Morgan Industries and all it’s subsidiaries. It had been part of why she left in the first place. “I have to go and tour the investments in the West, make sure everything’s still running smoothly, even with the war going on. I finish of in Fort Superiority, after which I’ll be coming home.”

“And you didn’t think this was something worth while mentioning?” There was some real surprise in Roze’s tone. She had thought that they were close enough for Junior to inform her of any extended trips away.

“The CEO,” Junior began to explain (he always used his father’s title when discussing business relations), “only asked me yesterday afternoon.” Junior approached the bed, grabbing the sheets Roze was entwined with and pulling the sheets, and her towards him. She didn’t resist, wrapping her arms around Junior’s shoulders. “Needless to say you had me a little distracted.” He kissed her tenderly, feeling her body pressing against him.

“I suppose I’ll let you off then.” She collapsed back onto the bed, readjusting the sheets to ensure she was properly covered. “You’d better go catch your flight.” Junior smiled at Roze’s subtle manipulation for control. An extraordinary woman. He just dreaded his father’s reaction when the good CEO learned of the extent of their relationship. Still, that was a problem for another day. Regretfully, Junior left the apartment and headed out to catch his flight.

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

Roze nodded to William as she entered the laboratory. The room had been annexed since Provost Zakharov, Aki Zeta-Five and herself had been gifted with impossible task of deciphering the Alien databanks. Zakharov and Zeta-Five were already there, the academician sipped from a coffee mug as he and the leader of the Consciousness leaned over a computer screen.

“Anything new?” She queried. Zakharov and Zeta-Five looked up, only just now registering the new presence in the room. Sharra approached with a mug of what the Morganites were calling coffee. It had been a long time, but Roze knew that what she was drinking tasted nothing like the real thing. Still, it was better than some sort of Gaian fungal concoction.

“Nothing, as expected,” the Provost replied. So far they had made little headway, simply because the Alien form of language was unilaterally different from that of the humans. From what was understood, they communicated through some sort of wave resonance. However, their writing was of course based on this resonance, and it therefore became unfathomable to the human mind. Roze was convinced that the only way they would discover it’s secrets, if one of the Aliens were to translate it itself. Still, Zakharov held onto his belief that nothing couldn’t be solved with science.

“We did receive a call from our most benevolent Colonel,” Zakharov said with a snarl. The Academician never hid his dislike for Santiago, not that anyone would blame him. He had agreed to put his ambitions regarding the University behind him, but he would not forgive Santiago for the years of torment inside a Spartan Punishment Sphere.

“She wishes to speak with you,” Zakharov finished. Rolling her eyes, she moved into the back room where she could have privacy and closed the door. Keying up Sparta Command, she waited to be connected. Santiago’s image came into view quickly, suggesting that Roze’s reply was considered high priority.

“Datajack,” Santiago smiled that typical diplomatic smile that screamed ‘it is good to hear from you because I want something from you’. “Thank you for returning my call so promptly.”

“Of course Colonel. What may I do for you?”

“As you may already be aware, General Gupta is dead. The Circle has been causing some...disturbances in Peacekeeper territory.” Roze hadn’t known this, her time with the Alien datalinks having kept her somewhat out of the loop. However, she gave no indication that this was the case, it wouldn’t suit her image.

“I had heard. I take it you have a request?” Roze had a bad feeling she knew what was coming next.

“I need you to eliminate the threat of the Circle once and for all. They pose to great a threat to our alliance. Haarad Ashaandi must be stopped.” Roze picked up a twinge of bitterness at the mention of Ashaandi, a small note which might prove interesting later.

“I understand Colonel. Paul Andreas has been planning an operation to infiltrate the Circle.” Roze was interrupted before she could finish.

“That’s not good enough Roze. I need the Circle eliminated.” Roze had never seen the Colonel quite so irritable. There was certainly more going on here then Roze had suspected.

“Of course, Colonel. They will be. I’ll upscale it to a full assault. Hopefully we can discover what exactly happened to Anastasia Zakharov and eliminate the Circle at the same time. I trust I can count on your support? I may need to use the services of the Hydra again in order to reach the target.” Santiago frowned slightly at the mention of her prototype sub-carrier. The vessel had almost been lost the last time Roze ‘borrowed’ it. However, Roze was betting that the destruction of the Circle would be worth it Santiago. She only had to figure out why.

“Of course. I understand some of my former pilots are in Zakharov’s employ currently. I can’t spare pilots, but I could possibly provide you with needlejets if you need them. Not top of the line, of course.” Roze mirrored the Colonel’s phony smile.

“Of course not. In the meantime, I will inform our operatives to go on full scale alert and to be aware that the Circle is increasing it’s activity. I’ll speak with Sister Miriam’s people as well, make sure they are prepared. Anything else Colonel?” Roze tried to be extra polite, knowing how irritating it would be to the Colonel.

“That will do. Keep me informed Datjack. Santiago out.” The Colonel’s image faded from view, being replaced by the triangle logo of Morgan Industries.

Roze took along swig from her mug. The moment she had been avoiding had arrived. She would go head to head with Haraad Ashaandi and the Circle. The worst part was, Roze didn’t know if she could win.

[Hydro]

Velvetgrass Point

Jessica wasn't sure if she was impressed or disappointed or maybe a little scared. After a week in Velvetgrass Point she had conflicting impressions of both the Gaians and how they lived; some things seemed so normal and 'human', while others almost made her skin crawl.

The biggest thing was that there were mindworms all over the place, and they all make Jess more than a little nervous. After being cooped up with Fluffy for so long in the Isle of the Deep, and out in the fungus, she remembered coming close to screaming or throwing her hands up in frustration at his antics. Jess was glad when they had finally come to a respectful peace. She still caught him 'looking' at her out of the corner of her eye, and Jess was positive the little sneak was peaking into her mind, or planning another 'unintentional' prank. She never felt his probing, but he was sure he was trying. Or maybe, Jess thought, she was getting a little paranoid. The devious little snot had probably planned that, too. Still, she had to respect Fluffy and his abilities, and Kirsten had done a reasonably good job of keeping him in check. Of course, their peace could be due to the fact that Jess noticed Fluffy less, and that could be due to Kirsten and Jay ordering Fluffy to stay away.

To Jess, with her limited experience, mindworms would be a little creepy and nerve-wracking, especially if they were all like Fluffy. However, all her preconceptions were dashed when she was introduced to the Senior Ecological Manager of Velvetgrass Point, Leonardo, during her tour of the Centauri Preserve.

The double Chiron suns were shining fitfully through the Centauri Preserve dome as the pair of them ambled down the wide path, examining the multifaceted and rich flora and fauna that had been reverently collected and cherished for a decade before coming here.

Jessica was a little ill at east, and Leo broke the silence.

Sister Jessica, I understand that you grew up as an exile in Peacekeeper Headquarters. It was very good of Commissioner Lal to take your family and the other Believers into his fold in the face of Yang's overt and covert threats after the capture of New Jerusalem. I remember my own time of exile during the Trail of Tears, also at Yang's hand, I might add, and can understand some of what your grandparents must have gone through. You and the other Believers have prospered, notwithstanding your trials. I was pleased when Sister Miriam took stewardship of Great Conclave, which Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang mismanaged so. And I understand you are Sister Miriam's personal aide? What an honor! And you are so young, so it is a double honor to your abilities!

My friend Kirsten has informed me of some of your exploits. You have done so much! I truly envy you. In your travels you must have been over much of Planet now and have been exposed to many of the cultures here on Planet, and I must ask what do you think of Velvetgrass Point?

It was strange, but when Leo mentioned Velvetgrass Point Jessica could detect more than a tint of pride in his voice, which had a crisp and precise diction as it appeared in her mind. Jess looked over at the huge mass of ambulatory worms that 'walked' beside her. Actually, he kind of pulsed and rolled, and even flowed over objects like fungal bushes or small sculptures that were tastefully placed in the Centauri Preserve. Leonardo, or Leo as he preferred to be called, was fully 6 meters in diameter. Most of the time he assumed the proportions of a rough, grayish pink ball that was being pressed from the top, making him an ovoid. By any definition Leo was not human, and couldn't be mistaken for one under any circumstances, unless you just listened to his voice.

In response to Leo's question Jess purposefully looked around. At first impression Velvetgrass Point was that it was not at all impressive, and it had nothing of the exuberance of a Morgan city, or the stately solidness of a Peacekeeper city. Nor was it squat and purely utilitarian, like Spartan cities almost always were. The city was decidedly low key. Its towers were deceptive in that they looked small, and rather blunt and rounded with muted brown and green hues. However, the towers just kept on getting bigger as you got nearer until they were just as solid as a Peacekeeper city, or as imposing as a stately faux Baroque Revival Morgan corporate headquarters of an intercontinental conglomerate.

"Well," she began, trying to make the most positive outlook on her ambivalent observations, "Velvetgrass Point seems … intimate. I'm not sure what it is, but it seems to blend into the land, almost like it was organic, or was grown. All except the balconies, which do give a wonderful view. The design doesn't seem very practical to build, though. How do you get it to look like giant cypress root shoots, anyway? That's what they look like. I remember seeing a vid in our Earth Awareness and Sensitivity class in elementary school on the Amazonian swamps, or was it the Nile? Gaian buildings look exactly like the root runners, or whatever they are called."

Jessica ended her inadequate and awkward explanation, not satisfied and not at all certain she had even partially explained her views.

Leo pulsed along at a slow pace, matching Jessica's.

I had not thought of the great cypress trees of Earth, but their root systems do indeed bear a strong resemblance to the form and function of Gaian architecture. It is an apt analogy, since the root systems allow the trees to gather nutrients, propagate, and breathe under more than saturated conditions. I commend you on your observation. You are correct on several counts. Our cities are designed to blend with the environment in which they are situated, and can grow to accommodate new population of humans or Chironese…"

Jessica was puzzled. "Chironese?"

Excuse me. I was unaware that you did not know the term. We who are natives of Chiron had to pick a racial name. Most of us think the word 'Chironese' is appropriate. We do not do so to segregate ourselves, of course, but to lessen confusion, since 'Mindworm' is hardly an appropriate designation due to all of its negative connotations. We are proud of our integration into human society, and the positive influence we have on the society of which we are a part. Does the term offend you?

Jessica smiled. Having grown up with the Peacekeepers she was more than acquainted with cultural distinctions. The Peacekeepers seemed to delight in differences, claiming it as a source of diversity and strength. In that context Leo's racial name was modest.

"No, not at all. I just hadn't heard the term before. Please, continue," Jess prompted.

Gladly. For a Gaian, form follows function, but there is no reason that function cannot have a certain aesthetic. Each tower complex within a city is largely self-supporting, with its own circulatory system for atmosphere and other fluids, as well as intake and disposal systems. This balance is finely wrought, and this balance is the base of the Gaian drive for efficiency to minimize environmental impacts. Each of the complexes, you see, can actually grow itself to some degree, and it is self-repairing. Part of the structure is organic and, indeed, the best part is organic. What the Morgans do with their energy and recent advances in metallurgy and technology we have been doing for a hundred years with an integrated design.

That is the function. The form is entirely cultural. The rounded forms and the textures and colors that are reminiscent of trees, and with these we seek to remind ourselves of our oneness with nature, and the fact that they cannot be separated from it. Other cultures on Chiron take a different view, and these cultures form their cities in opposition to nature, like the Morgans, or heedless of nature, like the Peacekeepers. Even the Spartans, with whom we Gaians have so much in common, have a culture to which nature is either irrelevant or simply a tool or material. The Hive seems to hide from nature and deny it, as they appear to cower from the light of day in the recesses of the earth. Our cities are a reflection of our philosophy, and our ideals. We welcome the gifts of nature, and embrace them. The places where we live reflect that need, and that ideal. Does that make sense, Sister?

As Leo spoke grand images flitted through her mind. She saw the stark white edifice of UN Headquarters, and the squat dun colored Sparta Command, and the gleaming and arrogant spires of Morgan Industries. Then she saw the hunkered Hive, and even the tattered remnants of the lofty towers of the defunct University culture, and the sad and now rare crumbling remains of the Hive-held Believer cathedral complexes. All were different, and each was a vision of the culture's vision. Intellectually Jessica could understand Gaian culture, but emotionally it was still different, even alien.

"Yes, I think I am understanding a little more," Jess responded.

That is why you are here, I believe, to understand us better, and for us to try to gain insight into your beliefs. A basic understanding is the start of true friendship. We Gaians and the Believers lost our chance so long ago. Let us not lose this second chance.

Jessica nodded somberly. Leo was right. If nothing else, necessity drove the Believers and Gaians closer together. Time would tell, however, if true friendship would take root.

Quiet took hold, but it wasn't an awkward quiet, but a quiet of reflection. Images kept darting through Jessica's head, a blur of her childhood, the many places she had seen in her short life, the people she had known. In a way it was comforting, and comfortable. Peaceful. Just like these surroundings.

Leo respected Jess' thoughts as they walked along.

After a number of minutes Leo broke the silence.

We are happy that you are here, Sister. Do you know that we have had almost no contact with your culture, even after landing? Lady Skye was always receptive, even during our mutual troubles with Yang, but Sister Miriam was always somewhat aloof, and almost withdrawn. We hope that this dialogue can allay any fears the good Sister may have. Indeed, we may have more in common than you might think.

Jess thought for a second and decided a forthright answer was best. "I can't speak for Sister Miriam, but I can say that there are some Believers that are mistrustful of the Gaians based on their understanding of the Gaian philosophy. Their faith tells them to be wary of false gods, and they are concerned about the Gaian pre-occupation with Planet, which some see as having been elevated to be as a god. They worry that there would be no place for God in the lives of the Gaians. A few speak darkly of the Gaians. I am here to observe for Sister Miriam so that we can better understand each other."

Excellent. That is all we ask, since communication is the key to understanding. Did you know, Sister, that there are Gaians who firmly believe in your Christian God? Their faith is in no way compromised by the Gaian outlook. For most Gaians their philosophy is mainly secular, and it focuses on the practical necessities of respecting the environment in which we live, and trying to integrate ourselves into it as best we can. Some become more mystical in their Gaian beliefs, and these individuals may be those that the Believers are concerned about. Yang's vids show these neo Pagans prominently as they dance naked through a corpse of trees. But do not be mislead. At the base of the Gaian belief system is the scientific understanding of how and where we live. In this case 'Gaian' does not refer to these neo Pagan beliefs, or the pseudo mystical theory advanced in the 20th Century by Lovelock on Earth about the Gaian Hypothesis. The base of the Gaian philosophy incorporates the elements of a holistic ecology that suggest that, in some ways, it functions as an organism. We see this evidence all around us. To some this belief in the web of life may seem mystical unto itself, but we have learned through painful experience that all ecosystems are interrelated. We Gaians seek to preserve what we must, and nurture what we can.

Jessica nodded. What Leo explained sounded reasonable, although it wasn't too far from this reasonable explanation to the rabid frothings of the occasional anti-Gaian Believer sermons she had heard occasionally.

For some reason Jess remembered something Kirsten had told her. She had been pretty excited about it.

"Leo, Kirsten asked me to ask you about the prawn farm. Could you show that to me?"

I would be honored, Sister Jessica. It is one of my finest creations, and a monument to ecological integration and mutual benefit. Come. It is not far.

Leo lead Jessica rather leisurely through the Centauri Preserve, pausing only occasionally to point out some of the more rare or fascinating elements of Chiron life, both plant and 'animal', or what passed for animal on Chiron. Jessica was politely interested, but leery. After her jaunt in the fungus with Kirsten and Jay, and Fluffy, she knew the fungus could kill, even if that seemed wildly improbably here. Still, the lingering pale fear lingered in her mind.

Slowly Leo made his way, and before she knew it they had left the vast preserve and were heading south under the open sky. It was fairly warm, with low clouds and a stiff southerly wind. Jess thought she smelled salt in the air, and the smell grew stronger. It was a clean smell, and it easily made it through the biofilters of her microbreather.

A vast expanse of water appeared, like a subdivided checkerboard sea. The sun peaked from behind the clouds and the water lit up with thousands of sparkles, glinting as the breeze disturbed the normally placid surface. It wasn't exactly breathtaking, but it was beautiful.

Jess couldn't help thinking that the Gaians even made farming a work of art.

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

Jessica lay awake in the dark, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. It wasn't that she wasn't physically tired. Leo had kept her in constant motion all day, even if it was at a genteel and leisurely pace. The images Leo had painted kept spinning, and coalescing.

Looking back on it, Jess was sure she didn't make a very good impression on Leo, the demon boil. Jess didn't like that name one bit, since it denoted a malevolent entity, and Leo was definitely not an evil entity. Still, he actually ran the environmental departments within the city. Try as she might, she couldn't help but thinking of mindworms as being for attacking and killing, or as scouts or useful tools, but not as actual members of a society. But Leo seemed to fit in naturally, and the humans he worked with didn't give it a second thought that the senior administrator of Velvetgrass Point was a mindworm.

It turned out that Leonardo fit his name very well. He was, well, cultured and respectful, with a sense of humor that was almost human. He also had amazing insights into how a society fit into Planet, and how to ensure human needs were met while causing as little disruption to Planet as possible. Jess' visit to the prawn and shrimp farm had been instructive. Leo's innovations were positively creative. He knew that humans loved prawn and shrimp, and that they adapted well to aquaculture and were a reasonable fit for the environment on Planet. Moreover, they weren't adversely affected by the nitrogen-rich atmosphere, like most Earth animals were. Leo explained that the aquatic environment is friendlier toward oxygen/nitrogen transfer for Earth-based animals than the standard atmosphere was. The result was a vast research project that had spawned immediate economic and social results for the Gaians, and had become a lucrative industry almost overnight. But it didn't stop there. The prawns were about the same size and had similar neural complexity as the mindworm's native prey. The result was an ideal human-mindworm symbiosis: the mindworms used the neural system of the prawn to breed, and the humans happily ate what was left, being none the wiser.

To Jess it was a little intimidating to have a 6-meter tall mass of moving pinkish-gray worms being your host for the day. But after a while Jess found, to her surprise, that she stopped thinking of Leonardo as an alien mindworm that might suck out her brain at any moment, He had mysteriously transformed into a person: Leo the Ecological Administrator of Velvetgrass Point.

He told Jess that he remembered being captured shortly after coalescing almost a hundred years ago. Actually, it wasn't really capturing. Leo explained that he didn't remember too much after coalescing, only that he was unsure and was eager to explore and 'see' what was around him. He had a short memory of flowing through the fungus for what was probably the first time, and when he had first learned how to 'boil' and 'roll.' Everything was so big, but he was only vaguely aware of the mobile creatures around him. He had been drawn toward what he thought was a beautiful thought pattern, or 'song', and not knowing any better, simply went toward it. That thought pattern belonged to a human Gaian woman, Loala. It seemed natural and right, he said, to be with her. Their relationship wasn't like that of a mother or father and child, as he explained from his understanding of the human-child bond, but more of a partner, or a soul mate.

That last statement had rattled Jess, even though she didn't like to admit it. Long after he had bid her a good night and excused himself Jessica just couldn't stop thinking about it. Leo was clearly intelligent, and more human in his sensibilities than some Believers Jess had met recently. The key question: did he have a soul? He was part of God's creation, that much was obvious, but the Bible says that he created Man in his image. Man has a soul. But do mindworms have a soul? Can something that isn't in God's image have a soul? Can they receive the grace of God, or will they suffer forever in eternal torment in the depths of Hell? How could God deny part of his magnificent creation? Even worse, can something as wondrous and complex as Leo simply cease to exist at death? Jess' jaws clenched in unconscious agitation at that thought.

Jess understood that God's will was unknowable by humans, and the only salvation was a steadfast faith in God. Planet, or Chiron, and the mindworms had to be part of his Plan for a fallen humanity.

Still, the question lingered. Was Leo, and mindworms like him, a person? Did he have a soul?

Finally, not being able to stand it anymore, Jess got up and padded across the comfortable room. She touch activated her console, and the light from it illuminated her slightly disheveled face and the otherwise dark room.

She keyed in her access code and accepted the retinal scan. It took only a moment to cycle, and during this time Jessica tried to compose herself.

"Sister Miriam, forgive me for leaving this message at this hour. I am doing my best to be your representative to the Gaians. They are an amazing people, and we can learn from them."

Jessica paused, biting the side of her bottom lip.

"But Sister, I have questions and I pray that you will help me understand…"

Jessica let it all pour out. It took a half hour, but when it was done she felt relieved, like it felt after going to confession. A weight was lifted from her shoulders. Going back to bed, Jessica almost immediately went to sleep, calm and assured in the knowledge that Sister Miriam would have the answers to the thorny question of souls and redemption in the eyes of God.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited November 15, 2000).]

[senatus]

Gaian transport enroute to Velvetgrass Point, two days previous.
Sinder Rose idly flipped through the book in front of her, waiting for
the room's owner to arrive. She didn't have to wait long, in subjective
time, before the door opened.

Jessica McCollough didn't seem overly surprised at the unexpected guest,
instead hanging her robes over an antique coat rack as she nodded at the
older woman.

"Ms. Roze, I believe?" Jessica asked politely, unaware of the
unintentional pun.

"That's me, but drop the 'Ms.' - it makes me sound like I'm some Morganite
suit, which I quit a long time ago. Sorry to drop by unannounced,
but I thought it was high time I introduced myself to you. I hope
you don't mind my letting myself in."

"Please, no trouble at all, Roze - although I don't recall leaving the
door unlocked."

"It wasn't. Not a bad lock, though. One of your own designs?"
The Datajack asked, and Jessica nodded.

"Nice office," Roze's gesture encompassed the cozy study.

"Thank you. I find it very comforting to be able to study, read,
or pray in a familiar environment, and when you travel as much as I do,
this is very practical." Jessica replied. "Roze, would you
like some tea? It's almost as good as the real thing."

"No thank you, but please help yourself." Roze watched the other
woman tilt a kettle over her cup. After a moment, water began to
flow intermittently.

"You've got a fair bit of packet loss, there." Roze observed.
Jessica looked a bit regretful.

"I'm still in transit on a Gaian transport jet, so bandwidth to my
MMI is pretty limited."

"You're using a MorganNet 1500, right? Remind me to show you an
algorithm I designed that can increase the effective bandwidth with predictive
compression." Roze offered.

Roze gestured at the book she'd been reading, which Jessica recognized
as her doctoral thesis.

"Interesting stuff, what you wrote about neural net activity in machines
and human brains. You've got a good grasp of computers. Pretty
cutting-edge stuff. No offence, but it doesn't sound like typical
Believer subject matter." Roze deliberately switched tacks, to see
how the younger woman would react. It wasn't entirely unjustifed,
though; the Believers had traditionally been less than eager to embrace
new technologies.

"If you've read the abstract, you'll know that I was trying to postulate
the theological implications of neural grafting. If consciousness
is related to the soul, then does adjusting one have an effect on the other?"
Jessica rebutted, trying not to feel defensive. Really, it's not
like we Believers are some backwards society living in the 21st century.

"That's right, I forgot you are a priest too," Roze acknowledged, though
of course she had already read as much as there was on record about Jessica's
background.

"I studied as a minister. There's a significant theological difference
between that and the role of priest that some of the old Earth versions
of Christianity adopted. But forgive me for saying so, Roze, but
I hardly think that socio-theological evolution of Believer doctrine is
what you dropped by to discuss... as fascinating as I'm sure you'd find
it." Jessica's mouth couldn't help quirking a bit at the last part,
and Roze actually had to chuckle.

"That's true. Actually, I was hoping that we could help each other,
and also get a chance to know each other," Roze said, giving Jessica
her best "I am friendly, trust me!" smile. Part of the reason
that Roze had decided to meet Jessica in virtual reality - other than the
convenience factor - was that she didn't want to be on uneven ground when
they first met. In cyberspace, psi empathy wasn't a factor.

For her part, Jessica wasn't sure what to make of Roze's intentions.
It wasn't just because Roze's clothing just shouted "bad girl" - no doubt
a deliberate effort on Roze's part, and certain to scandalize the more
straight-laced Believers that Jess knew. Nor was it the inability
to scan Roze empathically. But Jessica was also an expert psychologist,
and Roze's body language projected a sultry, amused confidence. Jess
reminded herself that despite the other woman's appearance, she was much
older and more experienced that herself. Under those circumstances,
it was best to be forthright, open, and helpful. Which was her natural
inclination in any event.

"Of course, I would be happy to assist you in any way I can, Roze.
And certainly we owe you; the energy credits you provided us earlier this
year went a long way into boosting our infrastructure. We are now
a credible, albeit small, faction on this planet. So what can I do
for you?" Jessica said earnestly.

Roze resisted a sudden urge to suggest that the young Believer join
her at Morgan Industries with "good girl" lingerie, and a can of whipped
cream. It'd taken Roze many years to perfect her cynical outlook
on life, and the "goody-good" thing could be a bit annoying at times.
Especially when it was probably sincere, as it was from Dierdre Skye and
now Jessica.

"What do you know about the Circle?" Roze asked.

"Enough to know that they're very dangerous. They'll have to be
tackled sometime, but I'd prefer that our own probe teams at least build
up some experience before attempting it." Jessica answered.

"That's a wise strategy. But it looks like the 'sometime' is coming
very soon. You've heard about what happened at the U.N. HQ, of course?"

"Yes. I'd never met General Gupta, but I knew Tazeem somewhat."
Jessica sighed and perched herself on the desk facing Roze, sipping at
her virtual tea.

"Right now, Santiago's mad as... er, heck, Lal's aghast, and half the
U.N. governers are running around like chickens with their head cut off
- sorry, that's an Old Earth reference - wondering if they're next."
Roze stated.

"But why?" Jessica asked, as she suddenly leaned forward to look
at Roze directly.

"Why are they scared?" Roze asked, wondering what Jessica meant.

"Yes... why should they be? Put it another way, why would Ashaandi
- and it had to be Ashaandi himself, from what I've heard - be bumping
off U.N. government officials? Or even General Gupta? Sure,
it causes some confusion, and impedes the Axis war effort somewhat.
But it also stirs up a hornet's nest, and makes security that much tighter.
Why should he bother? Why did he bother?" Jessica asked
aloud.

Roze was impressed. She herself had been wondering the same thing,
actually. It seemed that Jessica had some more promise than selling
Girl Guide cookies after all.

"To answer that question, we need to know more about Ashaandi himself.
Do you have anything on him?" Roze asked.

"Lots. Most of it useless. There's more hearsay about him
than there is even about you - no offence. And unreliable data is
dangerous to use. We have a fair bit about Sand, which I'll
transmit to you." Jessica couldn't quite keep a tone of revulsion
out of her voice. Sand had been heavily involved in Miriam's torture
during her incarceration in Yang's punishment sphere.

"But as for Ashaandi - we know he was a Lander, but Sister Miriam was
certain there was no psych profile for him on Unity. Of course,
there was a lot of confusion in the final days, and many of the psych profiles
they gave her were of dubious quality. You should read the one on
Corazon Santiago." Jessica made a face.

"Oh?" Roze raised an eyebrow. Dirt was always interesting,
even if over a century old.

"Nothing unnotable, which given what we know of her now, is awfully
suspicious. But I bet old Yang was more shocked than anyone when
the truth came out. Did you know he approved her profile personally?"

"He must be mightily peeved," Roze agreed.

"Back to the Circle - from what I've heard about and from Scott Allardyce,
they're not simply an extension of the Hive mentality. We need
to know who they are, what they want, what they're up to."

"And where they are." Roze finished.

"Actually, I did notice something odd a few months ago,"
Jessica offered. "There was a lot of high network activity that terminated
somewhere on the Gaian continent, and yet it was too heavily stealthed
and encrypted for me to trace or identify it. Since the Gaians don't
maintain a very active military or intelligence operation, that might indicate
Circle involvement?"

"Er, yes. I'll definitely look into that." I hope I don't
have to bump this kid off, Roze thought with a chuckle to herself.
Maybe I should make my pitch.

"Sister Jessica," Roze said formally. "I have to say, I
like the way you think. And I need good analysts. I don't suppose
you'd like to come work for my team?"

Jessica was startled for a moment, but took a few moments to compose
her reply.

"Datajack," she replied thoughtfully. "tell me, what do
you believe in?"

"What?" Roze asked, surprised by the apparent non-sequitor.

"Well, I do what I do because I believe in a cause. Why do you
do, what you do?"

"That's not an easy thing to answer," Roze protested.

"Well, it must be pretty important, if you're willing to risk your life
for it," Jessica said seriously before continuing.

"To answer your question, I think you would have to answer mine.
But, for now, the answer would have to be no - I've got many duties already.
But I do want to help you in any way I can, and I'd look forward to working
with you."

Jessica's avatar got up and shook the hand of Roze's avatar.

"I'm sorry, but my flight is landing, and we have to deactivate our
MMIs. But please, feel free to drop by my 'office' anytime.
Not just for business, but for a social chat?"

Jessica smiled at Roze as she opened the door to leave, and handed her
a set of keys.

"Would you do me a favour? Lock up when you leave. I don't
want just anybody walking in after you; there are confidential files here.
Thanks!"

The door closed as Jessica left the matrix. Roze looked around,
feeling a little non-plussed. Ordinarily, she would've at least have
rooted through the desk drawer, but now that Jessica had deliberately left
the room entirely open to her, the challenge was gone and so was the incentive.

And I bet the little minx planned it that way. Yeah, this kid's
got potential, Roze thought as she left the office undisturbed and
locked the door behind her.
[This message has been edited by senatus (edited November 15, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Thera Keep

I stood shoulder to shoulder with Ron Stone looking out from the ramparts of the sensor array that formed one wing of the bunker complex known as Thera Keep.

Lord Atreus had been shrewd, acquiring the land at a time before the development of Industrial Automation, and the 3500 meter peak by the monolith had been just too far away from Sparta Command to warrant attention as an energy source. Morgan, of course, knew differently. His development of vast energy parks across the Morgan Federation lands were certainly an eyesore, but delivered an incredible amount of energy to fuel the somewhat decadent Morgan lifestyle as well as his impressive economic and research efforts.

To the north, down the defile that ran from the peak to the ocean just east of Sparta Command I could just make out the vast forestry operations of the automated crawler units, but the sprawling metropolis of Sparta Command itself was hidden from view by the intervening peaks.

Likewise Blast Rifle Crag to the west was hidden from view, being built just below the crest of the ridge that Thera Keep commanded.. To the southeast we could see Janissary Rock across the huge river that meandered south to enter the southern ocean at the ill fated Pointa Sur.

"What do you make of it all, Ron?" I asked the gangly silver-haired man standing next to me.

"Scott, I tell you, it was a simpler world before the Aliens made their presence known."

I nodded.

"Indeed it was. Up to two years ago it had been largely Yang and Morgan allied against the Spartans, with Lal lolling on the sidelines. Four factions, and after the CEO switched and the Spartan war machine got rolling, it was only a matter of time before the Colonel had herself declared Planet's supreme ruler. And I had no doubt that was what she craved."

Ron inclined his head.

"Now we have the scientists talking about "the Transcendence Option," fuelled partly by the scuttlebutt coming from those who have had contact with the aliens - the flowering, as they called it when it happened to a planet they had created. It's got people talking everywhere - half truths and rumours - and it's leading to a lot of dissatisfaction as far as I can tell."

I nodded again. This was the time to broach the subject that was the reason for my asking Ron to join me on the observation deck of the keep.

"Ron," I began.

He looked up morosely from his fungal gin.

"I've heard that tone before," he said. "Not from you, of course. It usually indicates that this wasn't just a social chat while we admired the suns'set that you had in mind."

I chuckled.

"Very astute of you," I said grinning.

"Let me cut to the chase.

"Pravin Lal has contacted me and asked me to return to UN Headquarters and take over his civilian administration. This after the assassination of his Deputy Commissioner, Tazeem, and General Gupta. I have accepted of course, and in the meantime have been doing some thinking.

"I understand that you had quite a reputation within the Hive when you were clandestinely broadcasting from your living unit. Some say, in fact, that you were the genesis of the Free Drones, and not James Domai…."

Ron interrupted;

"My part was small. I encouraged, fomented, you might say. Domai acted, as did others. My neighbour, Mr. Lee, might in fact have been the first Free Drone."

I nodded.

"Ron. I'd like you to come to UN HeadQuarters with me. Resume your broadcasts to the Hive citizenry. Foment unrest and discontent. Play up the alien angle - humanity versus the progenitors. Encourage them to put pressure on Chairman Yang to desert this unholy alliance he is in with the devil. CEO Morgan has already earmarked netserver facilities and even resurrected an old audio system to reach those Hive living units that may not have planetary net access.

"The objective will be to put pressure on Yang to turn."

Ron looked thoughtful.

"And you say Morgan is financing it?"

I nodded.

"What's the Colonel's posiution?"

"Good question," I answered. "She won't like it - doesn't even know we're setting it up. But she's a minority of one. Lal, of course, wants to see all of the Unity factions reunited. Dee wants to see us live in harmony with planet, so this destructive war is tearing at her soul. The CEO was the Chairman's pact brother for a number of decades, and feels that Yang can be redeemed - that he is just striking out like a cornered cat."

Ron raised his eyebrows quizzically. "A what?"

I chuckled.

"An old terran saying - I often forget that not everyone has the same memories that I have.

"A trapped mindworm. He got himself into a war he didn't really want when he tackled the patrol that went looking for the needlejet wreckage. He was totally surprised by the Colonel's response. And he is a proud man. Domai is in favour as so many of his people still have relatives and friends in the other faction. And if James approves, then so will Miriam, I believe. I hear they are pretty thick these days. Of course, there was never any love lost between Miriam and Yang, but many Believers are scattered throughout the Hive, and she desperately wants them back into the fold.

"The other leaders that have emerged - Datajack Roze, Aki-Zeta - or re-emerged, in the presence of Zakharov, have little influence.

"So if your efforts prove fruitful, and Yang is coerced by his citizenry to make overtures to the Axis, he will get a sympathetic hearing. You can say that in your broadcasts too.

"What do you say?"

I looked at him hopefully.

Ron was openly brooding.

"There is another factor in play," he said.

"Go on," I replied encouragingly.

"You won't like this," he said.

"Try me," I grunted.

"Ashaandi."

I was taken aback. Ashaandi? What did he have to do with the proposal.

"You'd better explain," I said.

Ron spoke:

"He has a sort of hold over me - a relationship I find hard to explain. He appears in front of me at odd times - or at least a simulcrum does … a sort of floating face … a presence. I can hear him and he me. As a powerful empath I guess he can project himself over distances into my mind and make me believe I can see him.

"Either that or he has planted some sort of biot in my system that tracks me and produces these hallucinations on command. Don't get me wrong. He can't harm me - I have immunity to his empath compellor powers - as does Ruth by the way. But yet I cannot harm him either. It's like a programmed revulsion I have. If I am to appeal to Yang I must also appeal to Ashaandi. He will be part of the package.

"And if he were to refuse?" I asked. "What if he sees an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the Aliens?"

"Then I am off the hook," Ron said. "I can't compel, just make the offer."

I nodded.

I would see to it that Haraad Ashaandi allied himself with the losing cause. No way was I going to welcome him to the Axis, or link arms with him while humanity transcended, whatever that was.

"Pack your things - we leave tomorrow," I said.

"And what of Shauna and Ruth?" he asked.

"Leave them here," I replied. "They are doing exceptionally well with Catherine as an empath tutor to Ruth. It's exactly what she needs."

And I wanted to split up the Shauna/Stazi duo - they were altogether too close and chummy - and potentially lethal - for my comfort.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited January 11, 2001).]

[Googlie]

Command Center, Sea Hive

Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang settled back in his chair, elbows on the chair arms and steepled his fingers under his chin. He regarded the holoprojection in front of him it was of the pages of an open book.

He read.

Defense is for times of insufficiency; attack is for time of surplus.

He pondered that. How relevant even now were the writings of Sun Tzu.

He had hunkered down these last few months when the war entered its "phony" stage. While his infrastructure had taken a pounding - the destruction of an invaluable borehole pained him still - it had allowed his faction to draw breath. Bolstered by the stationing of the Usurpers' amazing Ogres - even though two had been lost - he and his generals had focussed on the execution of their strategic plan.

He read on:

Those skilled in defense hide themselves in the deepest depths of the earth; those skilled in attack maneuver in the highest heights of the sky. Therefore they can preserve themselves and achieve complete victory.

Was Sun Tzu prescient? Was he, 4,000 years ago, describing the Hive and the Usurpers?

He pondered. Were the Allies even now entering the period of "surplus"?

The Usurpers had downloaded from The Impaler significant infrastructure, including technology that they referred to as "The Cloning Vats", and they were reputed to be hatching vast numbers of Progenitor infantry. Their weaponry was unmatched, but the window of opportunity was slim, as surely the Axis scientists would eventually decipher the arcane technical language and replicate the weapons.

He looked up at the holograph, and moved his hand through it.

The pages shimmered and reformed.

He read:

So you should take away the energy of their armies, and take away the heart of their generals.

Yang reflected on that.

For one so imbued with self control and discipline, he loved these sessions with the master. He would move his hand through the random command order, and settle back to review and cogitate on what appeared. Often the message was so relevant that he wondered betimes if he himself might not be somehow influencing the pages being selected.

Indeed. Ashaandi must be recognized and praised for the realization of the Peacekeeper strategy.

He moved his hand again, and studied the offering:

Change their colors; use them mixed in with your own. Treat the soldiers well; take care of them.

Yang stared at the holo for minutes.

He had forgotten this. Well, not forgotten, but consigned to the "less relevant" section of Sun Tzu's writings. He prided himself that he knew the works by heart.

So he looked fore some time at the page floating in front of him, and pondered their significance.

Then he summoned Haraad Ashaandi.

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

Penzance

"Aw come on, luvey, give me another."

"No, Bosun - you're drunk enough as it is. Get back to your bunk and sleep it off."

"Now that's a good idea, luvey. Wanna come with me?"

Bosun Stockwell reached over the bar and put his arm around Suzie, the barmaid.

She pushed him away.

"Get going, Bosun. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Well at least give me a kiss," slobbered the bosun, pulling Suzie into his arms.

"Enough!" came a yell, as a young rating got up from a table and went to the bar.

"Leave Suzie alone, and take her advice. Go home to bed, old man."

"Oh, so it's Suzie, is it?" asked Stockwell. "First names, eh? What'd you had to do to get on first name terms? Into her pants, I bet."

"You slobbering drunk," answered the rating, throwing a punch at the older man.

"Tony, don't," said the barmaid. "You'll just get in trouble."

"I don't care," said Tony, landing another punch on the bosun's chin. "It’s been anarchy here for months since the Captain copped it. This bully has had it coming for weeks."

"Tony, look out!" Suzie yelled as a mate of the bosun cracked a bottle of gin over Tony's skull.

That brought Tony's buddies into the fray, and the Bosun's friends joined in. Soon fists were flying and bottles were breaking over skulls as a general melee broke out.

"QUIET!"

A roar froze them in their tracks.

They recognized that voice.

They looked to the doorway.

There he was, large as life, the familiar navigator goggles on his forehead, the one synthglass eye staring blankly into space, the other raking over the group with contempt. He was accompanied by a half dozen ferocious looking marines, weapons drawn.

The bosun looked up groggily from the floor.

"Ulrik? Is it really you, Ulrik? Or am I dreaming?"

"Is that what we have come to?" Svensgaard asked. "We, who were once such a closeknit team, reduced to fighting amongst ourselves - and over a barmaid? Is this why we broke from the Peacekeeper navy? Is this why we founded these hidden bases?"

They cowered in front of him, anxious not to unleash his famous wrath.

"But we thought you was dead," said Stockwell, now sitting up.

"Yeah," chipped in others. "We was there. We saw your skimship blow up."

Svensgaard looked fondly at his crewmates.

"It did. I was. The Hive divers saved me, recovered my body, and with the technology that we humans have now they gave me back my life. My mind and memories are intact, and I've come back for you."

"We're going to go on the rampage again, Captain?" asked Tony, now himself recovered from the blows to the skull.

"Indeed we are, young Tony, indeed we are," replied Svensgaard. "But with a difference. We are now the Northern Fleet of the Hive Navy. Captain Hotchkiss, You can call me Admiral."

"Wow," said Bosun Stockwell. "Bleedin' captain now."

"You have a point to make, Commander Stockwell?" queried Ulrik.

Stockwell positively beamed. "Commander, eh? Now that's a real fancy title. I like it."

"Come on, men. We have work to do," said Svensgaard. "Lieutenants Massenberg and his Hive colleagues will be assigned to each of our ships and will instruct you in the Hive conventions and protocols. We need to be ready to sail in a few days."

The crews, suddenly friends again, gleefully mingled with their new colleagues, introducing themselves and calling out the names of their ships. The Hive commanders subtly assumed control, getting their respective crews assembled together, and taking their leaves of the others as they made their way to the pens.

Svensgaard was left alone. He looked over at Suzie, and reached into his tunic. He passed his disc over to the barmaid and said "swipe a half credit through to pay for the damage the crew's fracas caused."

She nodded, swiped the disc, then handed it back to Svensgaard.

"Thanks, Admiral," she said shyly, looking hopefully under her eyelashes at him.

He nodded, turned, and left the bar, making his way to the heliport where his chopper was waiting.

Ulrik Svensgaard sank back in the seat as the chopper lifted.

He let his features relax, and they shifted perceptibly as the chameleon algorithm wore off. He reached to his eye, and popped the synthglass contact, as his form shifted and morphed.

He reached for his commlink, and dialed the secure number.

"Chairman Yang? Ashaandi here. The Northern Fleet is secured."

[Argonaut]

Morgan Industries

Paul Andreas looked up with surprise as his door open unexpectedly. Some of that surprise faded away as he saw Roze enter the room. Only the Datajack would have the impudence to enter the office unannounced.

“We’ve got a problem Paul,” she announced, making no apologies for abrupt entrance. She also expressed no concern that Paul might have been doing something important at the time and that she was interrupting. Paul stopped the data stream he had running, showing him psych profiles on various Circle agents.

“‘We’, Roze? I like it how we suddenly become a team every time you need my help on something.” Paul opened up the usual round of personal jabs that characterized their conversations.

“I don’t have time for your crap right now Paul. Perhaps later we can work out your personal issues.” Roze rarely snapped at anyone like that. She was far to laid back a person indicating to Paul that something was seriously amiss. As much as Paul hated it, he and Roze were on the same team. If she was that worried about something, it could impact the entire Axis Alliance.

“What’s the scoop?” He asked, dropping the insults and settling into his professional manner.

“Got a call from Santiago, beginning of last week. Just after Gupta was assassinated. The Circle’s been allowed to get away with too much. We need to take them out.”

Paul leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh. The Circle had been a pain in Paul’s side ever since they first announced their existence. Unfortunately, they held a heavy advantage due to their telepathic abilities, something that Paul and his agents lacked in. Suddenly Paul realized the magnitude of the situation.

“I see,” was all Paul could think to say. Then he added, “did we have any empaths available?”

“That’s the worst of it,” Roze said, her frustrating showing somewhat. She settled into one of the leather chairs opposite Paul’s desk. “Most of our contacts disappeared with Anastasia Zakharov when she went off in search of her grandfather. Our best options, like Miles Cavenaugh went with her. But like Anastasia, no one knows where they are right now. As far as we know, the Circle could have their hands on them too.”

“What about Sister Jessica, Miriam’s assistant. I believe she’s got empathic ability, if a little untrained. And she’s got the needed operative experience.” Paul was still trying to catalogue other potential empaths, but was coming up short. There were several Gaians who had the ability, but they didn’t have the probe experience and would end up being more of a liability than an asset.

“I already talked to her. Unfortunately, she’s currently tied up at Velvetgrass Point, serving as an Ambassador. I would have ordered her to come with us, but Santiago and I have guaranteed Believer autonomy. They’re out of my jurisdiction.” Paul considered momentarily whether it would be worth converting in order to be rid of Roze, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Great Conclave had very little offer, especially in comparison to the luxury of Morgan Industries, and Paul was a Morganite at heart.

“What have we got, then? You, me and a couple of shredder pistols? Some how I don’t think that’s going to cut it.”

“We’ve got Santiago’s backing for one thing. I’m purloining the Hydra, her submarine carrier prototype, and she’s throwing in a couple of needlejets, granted without pilots. However, I think I can convince Zakharov to lend us his honour guard. The three of them are former Spartan Pilots, and William came with me when I liberated Morgan Industries. He’s a good shot and good under pressure. We can use them in the field.” Roze stood up and pulled something out of one of the many pouches that hung from her belt. She had nowhere else to keep things really, seeing as her suit was so form fitting. It disturbed Paul that he had noticed this on more than once occasion, but physical attraction aside, the woman was unbearable.

“And we’ve got this,” she said as she threw a small device down on his desk. Paul looked at in shock. It was slightly different from what he was used to, but there was no mistaking it as a neural inhibitor.

“Where the hell did you get this?” If someone else was developing this technology, then the Circle could be aware of it, making it obsolete.

“I acquired it from a lab in Morgan Industries along time ago. You know what it is?” It seemed that Roze was as surprised as Paul was.

“It’s a neural inhibitor. It blocks brain wave transmissions beyond a persons body, preventing telepaths from detecting someone approaching. I’ve been perfecting it for years, I only just completed it.” Suddenly a memory clicked in his head. The scientist who designed the prototype had never made another after Paul stole the original schematics. Roze must have stolen the prototype, leaving the scientist with nothing to work from.

“How many do you have?” Clearly Roze was feeling somewhat more optimistic about the mission now. They wouldn’t give themselves away to the Circle with their thoughts alone, and they stood a chance to get in fast enough to surprise them.

“I’ve only got the one, but I can have another ready very quickly.” Paul did not share Roze’s enthusiasm. “Does it really matter though, when we don’t know exactly where the Circle is? I doubt there hanging around Sea Hive, or that they’ll be listed in any of the Planetary directories.”

“One step at a time Paul. Do you have anything else we might be able to use against the Circle?”

Paul paused. He was loathe to reveal his secrets to this woman, but he found himself with precious little options. Together they were going to have to move against some of the most dangerous people on Chiron. If they couldn’t at least work together, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“A few. Here.” Paul typed in a few commands on his terminal, and the appropriate information was displayed. Roze came and looked over his shoulder and the two examined the readouts.

“You’ve been a busy man, Mister Andreas.” Roze smiled and the two began to plan.

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

Paul Andreas looked at his suspect intently. It was not common for him to be directly questioning a suspect, however this woman had gone over the edge. Shutting down all the power in Morgan Industries had cost people a fortune and was highly unacceptable. Somehow, Paul doubted that this woman was capable of it.

Her head was bowed, staring at her feet and her tangled mess of hair almost hanging over her face. She slumped in the chair, her baggy clothing making her look more like a lump than cyber criminal.

“Well Miss. Rosaline?” The woman twitched at the mention of her name. It was clear she was afraid. “The charges brought against you are very serious, don’t you think?”

“Yes sir.” Her voice was barely more audible than whisper, and still she had not looked up.

“Why did you leave your post during the blackout?”

“I was afraid. Everything was dark, I tried to move to an outer building. Somewhere where there was light. I don’t like the dark.”

“But you never returned to your post the next day? Are you trying to tell me that it’s a coincidence?”

“Not at all sir,” she stammered. “I don’t like my job. I never pretended too. I hate computers, I’m no good with them.” It was entirely possible. Most people in Morgan Industries only went into computers when they couldn’t handle being business men and women. Not everyone was cut out to handle the Morganite market.

“And you didn’t think to tell your employer?” Paul had pretty much written her off as a suspect, but still he would not let her go so easily. Paul would ensure that this woman would never even consider such an activity, not that she would ever have the guts to go through with it.

“I was going to soon. It’s just....he scares me sir...I don’t like to talk to him, and I was well....afraid...Mr. Davison can be very intimidating...sir.”

Paul sensed sincere fright in this woman, particularly at the mention of her employer. The story seemed to add up, and a known hacker from Morgan Metagenics was shaping up to be the most likely suspect. Paul saw no reason to question the woman further.s

“Very well, Miss Rosaline. I believe you. However, in future, save us both the time and hand in your resignation to your boss before you officially quit, would you?” Paul opened the door for the woman to leave, who sheepishly nodded at him as she left, her hair still covering most of her face. So much so that he didn’t even notice the smile on her face as she left the room victorious.

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

Nursery manager leader ‘LarTal stood smartly at attention and resisted the impulse to fidget. She knew she had no reason to be apprehensive, and it was befitting of a person of her modest but important stature to present the correct bearing. More importantly, she could feel her Heat rising, and it would soon be her time, and that made her want to move about even more restlessly. The smooth and young male Clar from Engineering and Domestic Construction stood at her side. He was a prime candidate to complete her cycle, even though he wasn’t a Conqueror. He had no battle sash, nor did he have honorable marks of battle on his carapace; he was not a warrior, and he filled his life with the mundane tasks of a lowly engineer. But, contrary to all what her mind told her was right and proper, she could feel her hormones rush slightly when he was near, and she suspected that he had brought on her Heat a little earlier than normal. She knew it was unnatural to let feelings and biological drive determine her reproduction choice. There were plenty of Conquerors in Spires: Ascendant, and more were being hatched every day, and each had a duty to fulfill her need. Simply put, non-Conqueror males did not deserve to procreate, and only rarely did so. Still, looking at his unblemished gray-green chitin was distracting. He did not know it yet, but she would take him shortly and claim his gametes for her own, and if she was surprised by this decision than he would certainly be more so.

‘LarTal gauged her Heat and judged her need to be in two days hence. That was plenty of time to take this latest shipment from the Impaler and attend to its installation and storage. She would be in close proximity to Clar, since he was the field engineer responsible for completing the cloning facility at her nursery, and he would personally ensure that it functioned properly. So much the better when she decided to take him.

The tests on the first equipment shipments had gone well, and Clar had assured her that the installation was over 80% complete. The old gestation cabinets were now long gone, and industrial-sized clutch warmers had replaced each of them, expanding the facility by an order of magnitude. In the beginning the equipment was a little confusing, but the whole process was so automated that it seemed like a factory. There was no gentle rotation of each egg by talon, and no individualized caress and application of nutrient nanos. Uncaring but exact prosthetics now completed the work she and her staff had done. She and her staff would not be reassigned, however, since their other tasks would be multiplying a hundred fold. While the cloning vats produced almost mature post hatchlings and vastly accelerated the development of the clones to pre-adults, it was still her job to ensure their forced education, and that was much more difficult than the mundane rotation and care of eggs. The regular treatments of forced RNA enhancements were already planned, and the casualty rate of this traumatizing procedure had been reduced to 14%. Now, instead of thousands of new Progenitors each month there could be tens of thousands each week to serve Conqueror Marr, if that is what he ordered. Once the infrastructure was in place the only limitations were egg stock and genetic templates.

Being the Nursury Leader made her reflect on her own situation. ‘LarTal knew she would not clutch. Like all other females she would give up her fertilized eggs for the glory of Marr, and he would do with them what he saw fit. Such was only right and proper, even if she was somehow saddened by the prospect. But even with forced fertilization and harvesting it would not be enough to meet Marr’s demands, since there were not enough females that had not already been harvested on Manifold 6.

That was why ‘LarTal was so excited. The answer to her concern and Marr’s desire would be arriving shortly.

As ‘LarTal finished this thought a clear resonance filled the room. Announcement: Marr Extra Atmospheric Elevator Service Module 14 arriving. Security Clearance Required. Non-authorized personnel will be disciplined or terminated if found to be in violation of Security Protocol.

‘LarTal and Clar immediately stepped forward and presented their pips, which were embedded in the chitin above their right arm, to the security sensor. She felt slightly warm as the high-frequency query resonance washed over her, and she could feel the pip being interrogated. It took only a moment, but the routine was completely normal. Marr had had significant security procedures in effect for almost fifty years. Such was only right and proper.

There was no further acknowledgement of their presence, except that they had obviously passed the interrogation since the space elevator module doors now opened. Inside was a vast array of interlocking stasis boxes, which almost filled the entire cavernous space elevator transport module. Five progenitors, who were military security from their chitin markings and head paint, paced out of the module. There was no trill of greeting, or gesture of acknowledgement. It was clear from their posture that this was all business.

The larger of the five stepped forward. “This is the 2 to the 5th shipment of the Impaler’s genome horde. The authorized representative will come forward and receive the shipment of 2 to the 20th power fertilized eggs from the medical bays of the battleship Impaler.”

‘LarTal walked forward. As she did she wondered, Why is he using a two-based number system? Why doesn’t he simply say the 32nd shipment of 1,048,576 eggs? Maybe that is one tradition we Progenitors can do without. As quickly as it flitted into her mind ‘LarTal banished it, since such treasonous thoughts were grounds for a selective mindwipe.

‘LarTal presented her claw, and the male from military security grasped it and quickly placed it in his authenticator. She felt an almost painless *****, which would draw a tissue sample for a DNA and nano analysis. Simultaneously she felt a focused resonance to verify her neural signature. In a moment the authenticator was removed.

“Your presence and authority is noted, Nursery Crèche Leader ‘LarTal. The male that stands with you has also been noted and acknowledged. We will escort this shipment to nursery receiving, level five, circle 2, subfloor 7, task room 72.”

“Yes, honored Conquer. I will be pleased to lead the way,” she responded automatically.

Turning abruptly she walked down the hall, and Clar walked with her. Once again she was acutely aware of him. Yes, he smelled right. The Heat was rising.

That would have to wait. Now she concentrated on the task at hand, which was leading the future of Marr’s army and the Usurper’s hopes to the gestation chambers. All 30 million of them.

[Hydro]

Former Battleship Impaler, Manifold 6 High Orbit

“Conqueror Marr, removal of our artificial gravity grid will negatively impact our ability to function as a starship,” the agitated Captain Sar of the Impaler altered. “At least allow us to leave the structural elements intact so we can…”

“My orders are not negotiable,” Marr resonated clearly and distinctly. “Your own engineers have determined that the antigravity components of Impaler will be needed for the new orbital Gnat academy, and that to use any less would result in an unacceptable risk.”

Marr leaned forward and narrowed his eyes as he looked directly at the recalcitrant captain. It was a direct challenge, and highly threatening in the scrupulous etiquette of the Progenitors.

“You have the right to Challenge me if these orders are unacceptable. I would not decline such a right. Do you Challenge me?”

The Captain’s mood wilted from agitated and angry to agitated, then to agitated and slightly afraid. Marr was well known and clearly the most skilled Progenitor on Manifold 6 at ritual combat, and other Conquerors only Challenged him when their honor was at stake, or if they were stupid to the point of self-immolation.

“I accept your wisdom, Conqueror Marr,” he resonated back. He did not offer his throat in submission, since such a gesture would be seen as weakness for the second ranking Progenitor on Manifold 6. “Your will be done. The antigravity grid and controls will be removed from Impaler and installed on the scout ship, which will be retrofitted to act as a fighter carrier supply and training facility. The scoutship will then be placed in permanent low orbit, and will remain there as long as its antigravity field remains operational. According to the engineer’s report the grid will not be self-repairing, and it will have a significant risk of failure in a mere 500 years. In accordance with your wishes the new facility will be named the Marr Atmospheric Training Facility.

The Caretaker mine destroyed both our wormhole generator and main drive. After the removal of our antigravity systems the Impaler will no longer have the ability to move within the Manifold 6 system. We will have to remain the anchor for the Marr Space Elevator. Likewise, the reconfiguration of the Scout into the Academy will destroy its drives. We will no long have the ability to leave the Manifold 6 system and return home to Manifold 1.

These are statements of fact. Is this satisfactory?”

Marr paused, as if to consider whether getting everything he wanted was satisfactory. Seeing his chief rival start to get nervous Marr let this time increase as he continued to ‘consider’. The silence grew very painful, from Sar’s point of view. Marr found it highly enjoyable, and he had found that exercises such as this were a useful way to assert his authority and make his subordinate truly subordinate. The key was balancing the threat of pain and punishment and acquiescence.

Now acquiescence was needed, but only now after pain and punishment had been properly applied.

“It is satisfactory,” Marr resonated grudgingly. “Ensure that the retrofit is completed in two weeks. I expect it to be fully operational at that time. It is, after all, one of the keys to my conquest of Manifold 6 and its cleansing.”

Sar blanched involuntarily. Two weeks? Looking at Marr he had no doubt that this statement was not a mistake, or that Marr would look unkindly on failure.

“It shall be done, Conqueror Marr,” he resonated.

Marr was pleased. He thought to himself: The two week timetable for completion of the Academy is ambitious at best, foolish at worst, and Sar has been sufficiently cowed to accept it. At worst he will fail, and I will be able to hold him accountable, damaging his honor and decreasing his stature. If he succeeds then I will claim credit for both the idea and the execution, and Sar will be given small credit, but just enough to sate his diminished honor. In either case he will be occupied with ensuring the completion of the aerial academy, and he will not meddle with my ongoing plans for the conquest to come. The glory will be mine, all mine.

Marr maintained his dour and harsh tone. “See that it is.”

Marr rose and left the room, feeling like he had just left the Challenge Chamber and that he was yet again victorious. Almost every day was a victory over those with less vision or weaker intellect. After all, victory need not result in death for the loser, merely submission. Of course, only those with honor would be allowed to submit. Those with less honor would be consumed to strengthen the victor. Those without honor would have their worthless husks scattered to the biome so that they would not soil the bodies of the victorious.

Marr intended that there be millions of human bodies scattered over Manifold 6. At least then, as they decayed, they would contribute to the biome that his Progenitor ancestors had created so many millions of years ago. Then, and only the, would then cleansing be complete.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited November 21, 2000).]

[senatus]

Great Conclave


Miriam Godwinson read Jessica's dispatch, and her stomach clenched in
distress.


This is what she'd feared most.


It was acceptable to put Sister Jessica - or any other True Believer
including Miriam herself - into physical danger, if such was necessary
to achieve His cause.  Miriam had resigned herself to that fact long
before even Sven had warned her; resigned herself to it when she'd first
selected Jessica nearly a year ago.


What pained Miriam was putting any Believer - especially one as dear
to her heart as Jessica - into such terrible spiritual danger. 
Clearly, Jessica's thoughts were skirting the edge of heresy.


Or were they?  Miriam took a deep breath, and with all her considerable
will, forced herself to try to look at this rationally - theologically
- without her own prejudices.


But the Scripture was clear.  The Son of Man had come to save the
souls of Men.  And no matter how intelligent or sophisticated, neither
a so-called "Progenitor" alien nor a mindworm cluster could be called human. 
The precedent was set; Believer doctrine had likewise ruled that neither
artificially intelligent animals, nor sophisticated self-aware machinery,
had a soul.  

---

Velvetgrass Point, next morning


When Jessica awoke, she was pleased to see that her data terminal was
blinking with the indication of awaiting messages.  She plugged in
her MMI, and the cross and omega logo of the Believers was replaced with
the recorded image of Sister Miriam Godwinson.


"Sister Jessica.  I trust in God that you are well.  I have
considered your questions, studied the Scripture, and prayed for guidance;
and these are my answers to you...."


As Miriam's recording went on, Jessica felt a growing dismay. 
It was evident that Sister Miriam disagreed with Jessica's private feelings. 
Which meant that her feelings were misplaced, misguided.


Or did they?  Jessica felt with such strong conviction - was she
truly misled?  Could the unthinkable be possible, Sister Miriam be
wrong?  Jessica was here, amongst the Gaians.  She'd seen
and interacted with mindworms.  She'd heard the "planetsong". 
Miriam had not.


Jessica respected Miriam, even loved her.  The Believers revered
her as a living saint.  But Miriam was still only a human being, and
human beings could be wrong.  Only God was infallible; this Miriam
had said often enough herself.  And if Miriam was wrong....


If Sister Miriam was wrong, then Jessica had to find her answers for
herself.  The dismay was still there, and a sudden feeling of aloneness
- stronger even than after the accusations of witchcraft, for Miriam had
stood by her then.  But beyond those, there was a strange, even uplifting
sense of freedom... and conviction.


Sister Jessica McCollough sat before her console, the unchanging logo
staring back at her for perhaps half an hour.  The implications for
herself - for the Believers, and yes, even humanity - had to be pursued. 
She would not, could not, hide from the truth.  For the Truth
was in God, and how could she hide from Him?


But if Miriam could not help her find these answers, who would?


Jessica's reverie was interrupted as Jay's face came onto the screen,
his face smiling and enthusiastic as he delivered his message.


"Jessica!  Lady Dierdre has returned to Velvetgrass Point, and
she told me to invite you to lunch with her!  If that's OK, I'll come
and pick you up at 11:00."

---

Jay arrived at Jessica's living cube fifteen minute early, and chimed
the entry announciator.


"Jay?  Is that you?"  Jessica's voice came out.  It was
a bit of an odd question, given that the optical sensor should've relayed
his image, assuming Jessica was at a house terminal.  But then again,
it sounded like she was a short distance away from it.


"Yes, it's me, Jessica.  I hope you don't mind my being a bit early?" 
Jay said hesitantly.


"No... not at all, don't wait outside; come in."  The door opened,
and Jay stepped inside.


"Sorry, I haven't finished dressing just yet.  Or figured out just
what to wear.  My formal robes or business dress?  You know the
Lady better than me."  Jessica's head popped out behind a partition.


"Oh!  Er, I'm sorry.  I mean... that is, casual wear is fine,
Lady Skye doesn't stand on protocol.  Except for formal ceremonies
- which this isn't, she said - usually she just greets people wearing shorts
- Velvetgrass being one of our more humid bases, here at the equator."
Jay replied.


"Really?" Jessica asked.  Besides her robes and the Morgan-Macy
business dress, all Jessica had were the simple, comfortable clothes that
the Gaians favoured here - and they were very informal.  In
fact, her hosts had insisted that they provide their guest with the attire
and other furnishings; shipping or purchasing other belongings would've
been scandalously wasteful in the hyper-green economy that the Gaians preferred.


"All right then - I hope I won't embarrass myself."  Jessica's
head disappeared behind the mobile partition, and Jay swallowed to himself
as he heard a rustling of clothes and Jessica's dress was draped over the
top of the barrier.  When she emerged, she was clad in shorts and
tee-shirt like Jay.


Jessica sat down on the edge of her bed to strap on the sandals, which
like her clothing were organic byproducts of the Gaians' farming collective.


I hope Roze never sees a recording of me dressed like this - she'd
probably tell me all that I was missing was a straw hat and picnic basket,
Jessica thought to herself, not noticing Jay's appreciative glance
at athletically slender legs.


"Ready to go, and thank you for waiting Jay."  Jessica smiled. 
"How is Fluffy, by the way?"


"Fluffy's playing down in the hybrid fungus with the other mindworms,
so why don't we take the long way around the other side of the base?" 
Jay asked wryly.  "There's some spectacular terrestrial gardens lakes
over there, in fact Lady Dierdre's villa overlooks them."


Jessica appreciated Jay's suggestion.  Indeed, the living beauty
that the Gaians had painstakingly invested into their parks for the benefit
of their citizens was unparalleled anywhere else on Chiron.  The recreational
facilities of the other factions were far more artificial or drab, from
the quiet libraries of the U.N., the mall complexes of the Morgans, the
sweaty arenas of Sparta, or especially the communal feeding rooms and education
theatres of the Hive.  Only the Believers' old cathedrals, in Jessica's
mind, approached the splendid beauty of the Gaian enclaves.  She found
it peaceful and restful.  Could she have almost as many Gaian values
as Believer ones?


"You seem... different, this morning, Jess?"  Jay asked, his empathy
reading the change in his companion's emotions.


"Different in what way, Jay?"  Jessica was curious as to
what the Gaian empath "felt" from her, for she was hardly certain of how
she felt herself, despite her outward demeanour.


"I don't know... calmer perhaps?  Determined?  More certain
of yourself?  Forgive me, I didn't mean to probe."  Jay suddenly
apologized, feeling awkward.


Jessica turned and put her hand on Jay's arm.


"Don't apologize, Jay.  I did ask, after all.  And maybe you're
right, I have come to realize that sometimes I have to make my own path
and walk it with confidence, rather than always questioning myself."


"Questioning yourself?  About what?"  Jay asked quizzically.


"What do I believe?  Who am I?  Things that Believers aren't
supposed to question."  Yet even as she said this, Jessica no longer
felt doubt.  Just... a desire to know.


Jay stopped and turned to face Jessica.


"Lady Dierdre sometimes took the time to tell us stories when we were
children.  'Celtic fairy tales' she called them.  I remember
there one she told me about a frog - that is, an old Earth amphibian -
who was never sure if he was a land creature who liked swimming under water,
or a water creature who liked sunning himself on logs.  So he went
to a powerful enchantress to ask, and instead she turned him into a stork
- that's like a razorbeak - with a keen appetite for frogs; and from then
on he never had any doubt about who or what he was.  Neither did any
of the other frogs, for that matter."


Jay chuckled at the memory, and Jessica laughed out loud.  It was
infectious, and soon they were both laughing and hanging onto each other.
Jay found himself looking directly into Jessica's eyes.


Kiss her!  An voice inside Jay urged.  He hesitated.


Their eyes held for a moment, before Jessica disengaged and squeezed
his hand.  "Thank you, Jay.  I needed that."  The moment
passed.


You idiot.  The voice sounded disgusted with Jay.


Around the bend in the path, Lady Dierdre's villa hove into view.

[Hydro]

Assassin's Redoubt

Mary's tapped a couple of times at an image with her left hand, examined the results, and then called up another grid and starting tapping commands simultaneously with her right hand. Then she paused and examined the results, frowning slightly.

"Enhance grid 95-24.23, mag increase to 2.4" she ordered the gray void she was standing in. Instantly the image in front of her got almost 50 percent bigger. It did not, however, get any clearer. Wide gaps in resolution now rippled over the image, distorting the resolution of intact segment as the optical computer tried to refine the holo, or interpolate the image fragments.

"What is that?" she said quietly to herself, squinting unconsciously at the object.

Abruptly she had to pee. Really badly, too.

"Damn it! Holo off!"

The gray evaporated, and Mary was sitting back at her sensor tech station. Quickly and expertly she pealed off the holo gear from her head and hands and placed the bits and pieces on her console. A 3-D holo of the image she was trying resolve hung in the air above it, no better for her efforts over the last half hour.

Bracing her hands against the arms of the chair Mary arched her back and leaned forward, and with a small grunt she was able to push herself out of the chair. Standing almost straight she braced herself on the console and without even thinking about it she rubbed her now huge belly, which was the root cause for her extreme lack of mobility these days. Her left hand caressed it in a circular fashion as she waddled out of the Command Center of Assassin's Redoubt to make a b-line for the ladies room.

"Mal! Take over for a minute. I'm down to 40 minutes. My bladder must be the size of a ping pong ball now," Mary said somewhat irritably. She knew her hormones were all over the map, and that her lower back hurt from her decidedly forward center of balance, but couldn't help being a little sharp now and then. At home at least she hadn't bitten Marky's head off today, and had only snapped at him twice.

A small woman with salt and pepper hair walked out of a dark alcove. "Sure Mar. Take your time," she said with a grin. "Word of advice from a woman who's been through it three times? Lean back a little more, since your back will hurt less. And walk a little more slowly. You'll get there faster. I guarantee it."

"Fat lot of good that will do me if I pee my pants," Mary said as she shuffled toward the door. Still, she leaned back and look of relief crossed over her face, and some of her biologic urgency went away.

Malorie couldn't help but notice the look on her face as she sat down at Mary's station. "See? Trust me. I know everything."

"Yah, yah. So you're always right," Mary replied. "Could you have this baby for me, too?"

"Oh, no," Mal replied. "You and Markus got yourselves into this, and you have to get yourself out of it. All Mark can do is coo at you and give you ice cubes. That's how it works."

"Great. Some help you are," she muttered in response.

Mary braced herself against the wall as she walked, grabbing the doorframe for support.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. Next time Markie gets to have the baby," Mary said softly to herself as she waddled out the door.

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

Mary walked up behind Mal.

"Any luck with the VLB?" she asked in a voice that indicated she was in much better humor now that her bladder was no longer bursting, or threatening to burst.

"VLB?"

"Very Large Bogie. We have lots of those now days. But none like this. Get any better resolution?"

Mal got up from Mary's chair and Mary gratefully sat down, lowering herself down in much the same way she pried herself out. She kind of fell the last few centimeters, and landed with an 'oof'.

Mal bent over slightly and pointed of a portion of the image.

"No, not much. This part of the image itself is a bit better, though. Its mass is still anyone's guess, and its size is within an order of magnitude of 300 meters in diameter, for what that's worth," she said.

"Hmmm. May need to patch then. Anyone closer?"

Mal thought a moment. "No. I can't think of anyone."

"How 'bout Bruce? He is certainly closer," Mary said as she put on her holo gear carefully and deliberately.

Mal shook her head. "He'd ask for reciprocity. This is close to top secret. We can't do that. Plus, with his resources at MI he'd have the resolution faster than we would. What would Helen say?"

Mary repressed the urge to snap something about 'thinking outside the box' and 'letting the rule book help you to lose' but didn't.

"Morgan Industries may have some fancy-shmancy tech, but we have the experience. All we need is the data. Call him up. Tell him this is routine and that our grid is partially down. Sometimes I think he thinks we live in the stone ages up here at Redoubt, and he won't doubt that our equipment is on the fritz, and don't tell him about the upgrade that was just installed. By the time he figures it out we'll have our answer. Helen won't mind as long as we give her results."

Mal looked a little unsure of herself, but then decided Mary was right on this one.

"OK. I'll get right on it."

"Inject the data when you get it. You know where I'll be," Mary said in a slightly far away voice as she submerged.

The gray returned, and the image was once again the center of her universe. Mary continued tapping and honing, getting minute but incremental improvements in the imaging. It was slow work, but Mary had a hunch.

Tap tap.

No, too far. Derez at 83.2

Tap. Tap….tap

Better. Small anomaly at 0.3 now. Why? Movement

Tap.

Ah. Real time feed. Good ol' Mal. I'll send Bruce some fungal gin when this is done. I know he hates it, but I always send him gin. Just like he sends me chocolates. Shameless flirt. Good thing he doesn't know I'm pregnant.

Tap…..taptaptap

Good data stream from MI! Hey! What the hell is that? More derez? No….more movement. Lots of movement! Rez is better….maybe 67.6%? Yup, maybe better with a little interpolation.

Now, what is that? Optical failure? No, mini diag says not. Black void? No…no, not voids. Openings. Into the structure. Lots of them.

Tap tap…Tap

Feed complete. Rez up to 78.2%. Structure is motionless above the alien continent, half way into the ionosphere. Reason for lack of an orbit or trajectory is not clear. Mass uncertain due to interference, but from what? Can't quantify. Size 534 meters in diameter. Roughly ovoid. Height is 1/3 of width.

Taptaptap

Zeroing in on movement. There. Caught one. Hone to 23, mag 4. Extrap algorithm 23, actuate. Resolution? Yes, with error bar of 5. Acceptable for first cut.

What is it?

Computer, cross correlate extrapolated image to atmospheric military and commercial database, cross-index size and configuration. Display in side holo matches with greater than 30% ID match.

Well, it isn't a MorganJetstream aeroliner. Delete image. Delete second image, since the image is 200 years old. Revise query request: no commercial or military matches from Earth.

No, no. Delete three, and four. Now, what is that? Computer, display ID parameters on match 5.

Now, superimpose on image. Correlation?

Good fit. 87%

Now, what is it? Que ID. Gnat? What a gnat?

Progenitor attack craft?

ATTACK AIRCRAFT!

Abruptly Mary ripped off her holo equipment and the gray space vanished.

"Mal!" Mary yelled with a little panic in her voice.

Mal ran into the room from her adjacent alcove, expecting Mary to be in labor, or in some other type of distress.

"Call up Helen! Flash these results to her," Mary stated in a Command Voice Marky had taught her. While doing so she pried herself out of her seat again.

Mal responded instantly, glancing at the series of images now floating above Mary's console:

A large whitish-blue structure floating motionlessly in air, and the structure had numerous bays spaced across its circumference. Streaming out of this disk-shaped object were dozens of Progenitor fighter aircraft, each of which were constantly coming and going. Mal's face turned a little ashen while actuating security communication protocol and encryption. Not only was such a floating "city" the images showed impossible, but those were the same fighting aircraft that had wiped out the Spartan Argonauts Fighter Squadron, the pride of the Spartan air force not so many months ago.

Mary made her way to the next station and bent over the console, not wanting to spend the time to sit down.

"Computer, initiate retinal scan and DNA verification. Authorization Beta Two, Lieutenant Mary Bellefontaine, Assassin Redoubt Command Center Senior Sensor Officer. Priority 2A message for Coronal Corazon Santiago. Download Assassin Redoubt sensor files from time index 2.525, file 13. Encrypt. Execute."

Mary felt a trickle of fear ripple through her body. Her duty was done. It was serious business for a very junior office to violate the chain of command, but the Coronal was well know for being much more harsh on those who denied her important information than those who broke command to ensure she got something that was not of the appropriate level of importance - better to ask forgiveness than permission.

That line of thought caused Mary no fear. An aerially based Alien fighter base was a Priority threat, and Mary's mind raced as she considered the implications - that is what caused her stomach to knot.

"Mary?" Mal said in a strained voice as she pointed to the image. "I think it's moving."

"Damn," was Mary's only response.

Elegant and direct, it said it all.


[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited November 28, 2000).]

[Googlie]

UN Headquarters

I was old fashioned enough to have programmed the holosec to display my in-basket as text pages that I could read rather than rolling holovids of the anxious deputies or supplicants.

I sank into the chair in the newly appointed Deputy Commissioner's office, just down the corridor from Lal's own. I didn't want to immediately jump into Tazeem Chandrasekhar's old office, so now that was a meeting room. Mine had been a small meeting room that had been hastily converted for my arrival. While I was familiar with the sensor activated communications system I often defaulted to the older technology voice command console and manual input system. First day on the job shouldn't be too onerous, I thought.

"Display in-tray" I commanded.

The representation was of a series of overlapping files, with the file title visible for each. My heart sank. More than twenty awaited my attention. Where to start. One caught my eye, and it was a logical starting point.

"Display Status Report."

The opened file appeared to hover in front of me. I read:

To: Scott Allardyce, Deputy Commissioner
From: Sonja Gustavson, Operations Director
Re: Status Report
Date: 19/13/2227

Here are the statistics you asked for, and the base status report.

Population: 1,010,000 (rounded)
Bases: 18
Production: Trained Chaos Needlejets at:
HA (Health Authority)
PR (Pillar of Rights)
PT (Planetary Trust)
TS (Temple of Sol)
AT (Amnesty Town)
HC (Haven City)

Clean Chaos Speeders at:
HC (High Commission)
SC (Social Council)
DA (Data Acquisition)
SA (Settlement Agency)

Empath Fusion Rotor at:
UNH (Headquarters)

Trance Chaos Destroyer at:
GR (Great Refuge)

Recycling Tanks at:
CJ (Court of Justice)
EB (Enforcement Base)
CT (Criminal Tribunal)

Habitation Complex at:
OA (Ocean Authority)

Recreation Commons at:
MA (Marine Agency)

Perimeter Defense at:
MW (Midway)

State of Production (summary):
CJ and EB are desperately short of minerals, and production is lagging.
Needlejet squadrons will soon be commissioned at PR, HA, TS, PT and AT, followed shortly thereafter by the completion of the Fusion Rotor wing at UNH

Economy:
Reserves are low, at 91 credits. Our meager reserves, as you will recall, were largely used in the last couple of months to hurry the two colony pods that were recently built. Our annual income amounts to 161 credits, with expenditures running at 153. There is a strong faction in government that favours a move to a free market economy. This would in my department's estimation increase the revenue to 243 credits per year. It has been tabled for discussion at the Base Governors' meeting later this week. Morale, of course, would suffer somewhat.

Another faction among the Governors has tabled a counter motion - to move to a Gaian model Green economy. Income would rise to 175 credits under this scenario. Growth and industrial production would suffer - growth to about 70% of what we are currently experiencing, and industry to around 90%, but we would enter what the economists among us are referring to as a paradigm economy. As well, we would be more likely to be in harmony with Planet, and might experience the Gaian benefits of better mindworm control.

Research:

We are currently allocating 50% of our revenues to our laboratories, with the balance going 4/5ths to the economy and 1/5th to our social psych programs.

Our science department tells us that this translates into around 320 laboratory credits (whatever they are) and the cost of the current research they are working on is just over 3500 of these credits.

Verbals:

I have asked your autosec for a time with you later today or tomorrow. You really need an assistant.

S. Gustavson


The holopage flickered off.

I pondered. The Governors seemed to be complying well enough with the revamped instructions given them before I left to meet with Kri'lan. I'd need to plan a tour of the bases in the near future, though. And Sonja was right - I did need an assistant.

I scanned the in-tray again.

"Confidential 1 from Lal. Disencrypt on my voice command."

The holo flickered and the one pager appeared:

Scott Allardyce.

For your eyes only.

I am troubled by the replacement Head of Covert Ops, Mats Sorenstam. I am getting confidential reports of exhibited sadism and vindictiveness against those who opposed his appointment on Jacques Cartier's death. He reports to you.

Replace him if necessary (that would be my suggestion to you)

P.

"Delete," I commanded. The holotext shimmered and with a dramatic simulated flash it appeared to incinerate and ashes fell to the desktop - or appeared to. I chuckled. Some technicians with a sense of humour.

I pondered Lal's "suggestion."

I admitted to myself that I hadn't taken to Sorenstam the few times I had met him starting with the very first cabinet meeting I had attended. But did Pravin mean for him just to be given a new head, or to be taken out of the division completely. He was experienced, after all.

Then I had my brainwave. So simple, yet so subtly ironic.

"Record:

Security code Alpha:.

To: All Department Heads
From: Deputy Commissioner Scott Allardyce
Subject: Covert Operations

Effective immediately all Covert Operations personnel shall report through their normal chains of command up to and including Director Mats Sorenstam who will report to me through Executive Director Anastasia Zhakarov.

Allardyce."

Perfect. The Peacekeepers had spent many years financing the Yoop underground movement. Now they would have one as their leader.

Another caught my eye.

"Activate personal 4"

Deputy Commissioner Allardyce;

It is imperative I see you soonest.

Schumacher

PS Nikki Petrov will vouch for me.

Nikki Petrov? Who was she and did I know her and why would she vouch for someone named Schumacher?

I racked my brains.

Obviously a Spartan - or a Lander that I would have known on old Earth.

Then it hit me.

Petrov.

The Merc.

Santiago's elite bodyguard commander.

And Schumacher. I vaguely remembered that name too. Timmy - no, Tommy. Lal's Merc. Petrov had once confided that each faction leader had assigned to them one of Garland's special rangers, or whatever they were called.

"Holosec. Free up time today - 1/2 hour - to meet with Tommy Schumacher."

A representation of a daytimer appeared in front of me with two half hour blocks flashing. I selected the first one.

Turning back to the in-tray I selected an innocuous one from the Chief Scientific Officer

Allardyce:

I am unable to comply with your request for a status report on our scientific research progress as you do not have appropriate clearance.

Kakani

I harrumphed. Not cleared, eh? We'd see about that

I looked at the next one for a long time

Scott:

We seemed to work well a few weeks ago, when you availed yourself of my services. Logic dictates that we work together again.

I and my like minded colleagues are few in number, but dedicated. Our small operations center is on the border between the Spartan Federation territory and the Peacekeepers'. We fret under Santiago's police state, however benevolent. Logic suggests that we align ourselves with the Peacekeepers and so I offer my services as your administrative co-ordinator in exchange for peacekeeper protection from any repercussions from the Colonel.

Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five
The Cybernetic Consciousness

Hmmm - Corazon surely wouldn't like the Delphi Training Center to change hands to the Peacekeepers, even if it essentially now was a small semi-autonomous city state called Alpha Prime.

I'd have to think that one over. I sure could use her logical thinking skills, though.

The penultimate one in the "urgent" pile discomfited me somewhat. Both as to its abruptness, and to the message it contained:

For your Eyes Only

To: Deputy Commissioner Scott Allardyce
From: Admiral Salim Gavaskar
Subject: Naval Morale

I learned today of the defection of our entire Northern Fleet to Yang's cause. I would have to believe that the Southern Fleet is similarly compromised. They are essentially at two locations - Midway and Marine Agency, where they escorted the colony convoys.

We have only token offshore coastal skimships in our mainland bases. We need to instigate a crash program to refurbish our navy.

Only to have them staffed by the same mutinous crews rushing to join Yang, I thought skeptically. Better to train the seamen first to disciplined or veteran standards, then give them their ships.

But it was nothing compared to the last one I opened.

Welcome Googlie.

I see my baited trap worked.

Haraad

Now what the hell did that mean?



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited November 29, 2000).]

[Googlie]

U.N. Headquarters

The office door slid open and I swiveled in my chair to observe his entrance.

His frame filled the aperture completely, and as I stood up to welcome him I realized that, tall as I was, at well over six feet, I was dwarfed by Tommy Schumacher.

I stepped forward, hand outstretched in greeting:

"Well, I 've heard a lot about you, but it is…………"

"Quiet!" he hissed peremptorily, striding past my hand to the center of my office.

Reaching from under his greatcoat he pulled out a small spherical object, and with a twist of its base activated its power.

Immediately I felt the dull throbbing in my head.

"Ah - a Neural Inhibitor," I said.

He raised an eyebrow, as he visibly relaxed.

"Very good, Deputy Commissioner. Where have you encountered these before?"

I shrugged. "Oh, I get around. Now what was so important that you had to see me today? And why the melodramatics?"

He eyed a visitor's chair speculatively, as if to gauge whether it would support his bulk, then decided it would, and lowered himself gently on to it.

I took the cue and sat down on the other, not across the desk from him, but beside him, leaning forward conspiratorily.

"I don't have much time," he said, "so I'll cut to the chase. I believe Commissioner Lal's life may be in danger."

"Go on," I said, now very serious.

"By someone who has day and night access to him," he added.

I could think of only one person.

"You're not saying that Pria………" I let my voice hang.

"Exactly," he replied.

"We have been observing her covertly for several weeks now - in fact, ever since she arrived on his arm. We have run surreptitious tests on her, and here are our conclusions."

He reached inside his coat again, and placed a crystal on the desk.

"It's all in there, but I'll summarize:

"We believe that Pria is not a clone, but a construct, very skillfully done. Part android, part cyborg, she has everyone fooled - even Lal. But activate the crystal - look at the reports, see the holovids for yourself, then tell me I am wrong."

"But why would Morgan try to pull a stunt like that?" I asked.

"Not Morgan, Yang," Schumacher replied. "Maybe even Ashaandi. I've hilighted some telltale signs on the holos. Somehow Yang has a high mole in the Morgan Medical Science hierarchy. The plan must have been years in the hatching, just waiting for the right conditions to launch it."

I nodded. I remembered Kendra Ossenton's warning about the tank tampering that might have killed Burge, LeVavassier and me if not caught - and almost did kill me.

"Let me view these. Meet me again tomorrow, same time, here. I'll have the autosec set it up."

He nodded, and stood up.

"Thanks," he said. "If, after you've seen them, you agree, then Pria will have an 'accident' - but of course you officially will know nothing about that."

I nodded.

"See me tomorrow."

He left, and I settled back to view the crystal's contents.

[Rynn:]

The drive up to the Testing Center brought back troubled memories for me.

Was it just a short year ago that Wolfie and I had climbed up here? - he, as he thought, to keep me company on a honeymooners' hike; me to seek justice and confront Jacques Cartier.

So much had happened in the intervening time, and who would have thought that now I was being driven to the Covert Operations' Headquarters as its commanding officer.

As the driver extinguished the engine, and cut the recycled breathable air, I inserted the latest gift from my Yoop friends into my left nostril. A bio-organic microbreather, the size of a minute nose plug that one would use to stop a bleeding nostril, it was unnoticeable to an observer. Slightly uncomfortable at first, until you got used to the sensation of a constantly ticklish nose, it delivered some three to four hours of filter life before it needed to be replaced. The trick was not to sneeze when outdoors, as it could easily be expelled that way, and if without a replacement, or a conventional breather, it might be bad news.

Mats Sorenstam was waiting for me, as I'd expected. With the onset of winter, there was already a slight dusting of what passed for snow in these parts at the 3000 meter level. I could see my breath frost as I exhaled.

Mats, of course, was wearing the conventional lightweight breather mask. It filtered much of the nitrogen, and collected and recycled his own air rather than vent it to the atmosphere.

His eyebrows rose as he saw that I was - apparently - not availing myself of a breather.

As I approached I pulled my tunic's high collar snug against the biting wind, and tugged at a synthleather glove to free a hand to shake his. I was wearing the classic Peacekeeper's Commander's uniform. Stone grey tunic jacket with maroon accents, and tailored to fit my curves perfectly. Black dress pants with the maroon verticals denoting rank. I had elected not to pile my hair in a military bun underneath my cap, so that my auburn tresses fell to shoulder length from below my commander's visor.

Mats saluted smartly, and I touched the peak of my hat with a gloved finger in acknowledgement. I was not military, but a civilian commander, although entitled to wear military colors, but I was damned if I was going to act like military.

"Can I show you around, Commander Zakharov?" he asked.

I almost replied that I knew my way around, but bit my tongue. I could not reveal that I had been inside already as part of the assassination squad. I nodded my acquiescence.

The Covert Ops Center was an adjunct to the Avishni Weapons Testing Range, and there was the constant screeching of the experimental needlejets taking off and landing, interspersed with the occasional THWUCK of an explosion as yet another theory was tested out in practice.

He kept looking at me during the external tour - I'm sure, wondering how I was apparently able to survive without oxygen. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him, and he blurted out:

"Commander. It's been 45 minutes since you left your car. How can you survive so long with no breather?"

I decided to have a little fun with him.

"Mats. You've heard all those stories about my grandfather's experiments?"

He nodded.

"Well, he experimented on his own children and grandchildren too. From six months on we were conditioned to live outside without support. We learned to control our breathing, and to self-filter the nitrogen from our air intake. By 16 I could last for three hours. Now it's more like four."

He whistled. "Controlled breathing, eh? You must teach me the technique, Commander. It sure would be useful at times."

"It is, Mats. It is." Then I decided to come clean.

"But I'm pulling your leg."

He looked confused.

"Here, let me show you."

I pulled from a pouch a small perforated tin, and gently opened the lid to show him. Inside could be seen about a half dozen mites, just beginning to stir. I closed the lid, and put it back in the pouch.

"Bioengineered microbes," I said. "designed to 'eat' nitrogen and 'secrete' oxygen. They have a lifespan of around five hours when active, but in their dormant state - as they were just now, and are again - they survive several weeks until needed. As they age in dormancy their efficacy degrades, so that a four week old one might just give an hour or so of oxygen transference."

"Wow, our scientists did that?" he asked in awe.

"Not 'ours', Mats," I replied. They are Spartan designed, or more correctly, University designed. Mankind on this Planet is probably 50 years behind where it could be thanks to Santiago's warmongering those many years ago. The scientists haven't lost their edge, nor their appetite for knowledge, but their needs are secondary to Spartan's military needs. As they are here, to the Peacekeepers' humanitarian and cultural needs."

Sorenstam nodded his understanding.

"We always have has to fight to get the energy credits allocation to finance our regular military, let alone these covert operations, and I'm sure the scientists are behind us in the pecking order."

I nodded.

"I'll maybe be able to change that," I said. "I have a - shall we say - entrée, to the Deputy Commissioner that might enable me to pull a few strings.

"Now let's get inside and introduce me to my team."

He hesitated.

"There is something that I need to brief you on, first," he said. "Can we go to my office - to yours now - first, and I'll walk you through it?"

"Lead on, " I replied, as we entered the Center and made for the Director's office.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I sat back and whistled softly.

"I see what you mean," I said.

The signs were many, if one knew what to look for. Frankly I was surprised at the sophistication of the Peacekeeper surveillance equipment. And at the insights shown by Tommy Schumacher in bringing them to Mats' attention, and in his absolute professionalism in handling the material and in performing the scans and probes without detection.

And I could see why the viewing audience was restricted to a 'need to know' basis.

As a woman, I knew what we did to prepare for, enjoy, and clean up after sex. But Pria obviously hadn't been programmed the way we were. And poor besotted Lal couldn't tell.

But clearly Tommy - or Mats - was worldly enough to have spotted these incosistencies after the first surveillance, and this had led to more detailed ones, and finally to the surreptitious bioscans and finally the DNA analysis.

"But why do you think it's Yang - or Ashaandi?" I asked.

"A process of elimination," Mats replied.

"First, What's in it for Morgan? Nothing. He genuinely believed he was giving Lal the gift that would bind the Peacekeepers to Morgan for ever. Why risk it being uncovered as a fraud and jeopardize this?

"The Gaians don't have the technology, nor do the Spartans. One's too poor - and new - and the other is too bent on military research. Yang has the research, and the motive. The Peacekeeper's democracy is a direct threat to the Hive values system - witness the splinter Drones. And this plot has its genesis many years ago, when the Morgan scientific staff was infiltrated.

"What we don't know is when it will happen."

"When what will happen?" I asked stupidly.

"Lal's assassination," Mats replied bluntly. "It's the only reason we see that she has been introduced at this stage - and it would fit right in with the pattern - General Gupta and Deputy Commissioner Tazeem. I have ordered redoubled vigilance, and of course Tommy Schumacher is taking it almost personally."

"Has anyone spoken of this to Pravin?" I asked

"No," was his blunt reply. "Realistically only Allardyce could. Lal wouldn't listen to any of us. I asked some questions once or twice concerning his - shall we say 'satisfaction' - of how things were between he and Pria, but got a very cold shoulder. I think I may in fact have offended him, and I surmise that might be the reason you are here as my commander."

"Has Allardyce seen these?" I asked.

"An expurgated version," Mats replied. "Tommy met with him yesterday and left a copy crystal - much abbreviated. But with the same conclusions very evident."

I nodded.

"I'll broach the subject about him talking to Lal next time I see Allardyce. Now let's go meet the rest of the team."

We went to the rec commons to make the rounds.

[senatus]

Training Grounds


The soldiers present were some of Sparta's brightest and best. 
They were trained far more thoroughly than the best soldiers of the other
factions of the planet.  Their equipment was more advanced, more innovative,
more deadly than even the more technologically advanced factions, for Sparta's
focus had always emphasized pursuit of martial excellence as a prerequisite
of the most fundamental human need on a very hostile planet: survival. 
They embodied Sparta's most basic doctrine.


Superior training and superior weaponry have, when taken together,
a geometric effect on overall military strength. Well-trained, well-equipped
troops can stand up to many more times their lesser brethren than linear
arithmetic would seem to indicate.


In any other faction, the soldiers in this room would've been high-ranking
commanders or senior NCOs.  In Sparta, they were students, and they
were attentively focused on the words of their lecturer.  They were
in a classroom.


"In this final engagement, Darius had gathered all of his forces to
finally crush his enemy.  By conservative estimates, the army of the
King of Kings numbered towards a million - a staggering amount of force
with nightmare logistics in the time of antiquity.  Only a kingdom
as old and as vast as Persia could have fielded such an army.  And
against this, were barely forty thousand hoplites and calvary of Alexander
of Macedon."


Salvadore St-James gestured, and the holotable before him formed into
an overhead view of a valley.


"Now Alexander, of course, knew that he was outnumbered.  His strength
was in his mobility, provided by his calvary, and the training of his troops. 
To avoid battle would certainly have been possible; indeed, many of his
advisors urged him to do so, forcing the Persians to exhaust their own
supply reserves with such a huge army in opposition.  Alexander, however,
felt that the time had come to engage Darius in open battle.  Darius'
army was formidable, but inexperienced, and certainly his commanders were
untrained in commanding such a vast force.  Moreover, they were used
to fighting the same kind of enemy that the Persian Empire had usually
fought, and so their tactical doctrine was based on an outdated and inflexible
form of battle that the Macedonians did not subscribe to.  However,
giving the Persians time to adapt and learn would've proved fatal, in Alexander's
estimation.  Despite appearances, his army was at the peak of their
abilities, while his enemy could only grow even stronger."


The instructor frowned in disapproval as the door to the Advanced Strategics
class opened and another officer entered the room quietly, seating herself
at the back.  The officers already present were well aware of St-James'
no-nonsense disposition, but ignored the latecomer with Spartan discipline
as the Gecko continued.


"Alexander chose this valley primarily because it was wide enough to
allow his forces to manouvre, but too narrow for Darius to overwhelm his
flanks.  While the bulk of the Persian forces were infantry and light
calvary, Darius did have elephants - the ancient equivalent of armour -
and skirmishing horse archers.  Alexander didn't, so he utilized his
first and second phalanxes as a mobile shield for his forces, while...."


St-James described the ancient battle for the next forty minutes, pointing
out the key elements according to the histories of Arrian.  Finally,
the lights came on, the class dismissed, and all but one of the Spartan
officers marched out the door.


"Comments, Coronel?"  St-James asked as finally the latecomer arose.


"No disagreements," Corazon Santiago said mildly.  "You did neglect
to mention an alternate explanation fo Alexander's choice to give battle,
however."


"That being?"  St-James prompted.


"That he was a megalomaniac as well as being a military genius. 
That he was so convinced of his superiour abilities, and those of his troops,
that the concept of defeat was unfathomable.  And that avoiding battle
would've detracted from his followers' belief in their leader's infallability."


"Harsh."  St-James laughed.  "And unsubstantiated.  Alexander
was merely the first in the European arena to recognize certain characteristics
of warfare that applied in his favour.  Scipio, Marius, and Caesar
all were able to pull off similar endeavours with hardly any differences
in the underlying technology."


"So you don't subscribe to the theories of Alexander's detractors?" 
Santiago asked.


"No, I do not.  Most of them appeared in the 19th and 20th century,
and these historians were frankly unable to appreciate the realities of
battle in that era, and unqualified to pass judgement on Alexander's strategic
abilities.  They seemed eager to attribute his success entirely to
the efforts of his father Phillip in building the Macedonian army, forgetting
that an army is no stronger than its leadership.  In the absense of
contemporary witnesses, I think there is no evidence to imply that things
were other than what Arrian described."  The Gecko answered.


"I need you back on active duty,"  Santiago changed the subject
abruptly.  Nevertheless, St-James wasn't entirely surprised. 
Although Santiago was generally happy to discuss military history, that
wouldn't justify her flying out here personally.  While not the oldest
or most senior of the Junta, very few of the others could claim the amount
of modern experience or expertise that St-James had.  In fact,
St-James suddenly realized, with Gavin Burge dead and Scott Allardyce's
departure, there wasn't anyone else.  Except Santiago herself,
of course.


Salvadore St-James didn't particularily like the Coronel.  He didn't
particularily dislike her either, however.   And he certainly
recognized her abilities.  Talent like his own was rare; it came along
perhaps a few times in a generation.  Talent like Santiago's, St-James
privately believed, came along about as often as Alexander's.  Not
that she was without personal flaws.


Oh, not without flaws indeed.  It's a damn shame she and Scott
had that falling out, and all because of that rat bastard Ashaandi, worms
eat his brain.  If half the rumours St-James heard were true (and
he had very good sources), Allardyce and Santiago could barely stand
to talk to each other now.  Which was the sort of division that the
Federation - and the Axis - couldn't afford now.


"Let me get straight to the point, General.  I need you back, because
with Field Marshall Burge dead, and former Wing Commander Allardyce...
pursuing other objectives, Sparta is extremely short of senior commanders." 
Santiago said bluntly, unaware that she was echoing St-James' thoughts
a moment previous.


"We're at an impasse.  But we won't be, soon enough.  The
aliens are coming, and they're coming hell-bent for human leather, with
hardware that makes the old UoP stuff look like popguns and slingshots. 
Three guesses as to who stands in their way, and the other two - Morgan
and the PK's - don't count,"  Santiago grimaced and continued. 
"I need a theatre commander who can be dropped into any arena - even on
foreign ground - and still be able to function and keep his head. 
Your name was at the head of the list.  It was a short list. 
Are you up for it?"


General St-James straightened.  The question was rhetorical, of
course.  He was a Spartan.  But protocol demanded he answer it
anyways.


"I'm up for it, Ma'am."