The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 4

[senatus]

Santiago had granted herself the luxury of a quick shower and four
hours of sleep, and while she knew her body needed yet more rest, at
least she felt able to think as she conferred with her remaining
front-line generals – Lockhart, Cassaroni, St-James and Honshu. Mel
Cassaroni, in fact, looked more worse for the wear than even Santiago;
although the Lightning Strike commander had evacuated with the drop units,
she hadn't been conscious at the time. A glancing hit from one of the
alien mechanicals had destroyed the forward right wheel of Cassaroni's
command rover on an attack run, and she'd been slammed forward as the
rover had careened into the rubble at nearly a hundred kilometers per
hour, breaking her collarbone, cheekbone, and nose and knocking her
unconscious. Despite that, she was one of the few officers who could
claim to have been actually hit by one of the aliens' god-awful
weapons and survived the experience, and now all of Lightning Strike
had come to hold her in the sort of superstitious awe that soldiers
throughout the ages had held for a lucky commander. Despite the surgical
braces and painkillers, Mel was exhilarating in her good fortune, and
had been trying unsuccessfully to lure Lockhart into a game of poker
when Santiago entered. All four generals stood and saluted as one.

"At ease, people." Santiago sat down at the table with the others,
and with her characteristic aversion to wasting time, turned immediately
to the senior officer, Field-Marshall Salvadore St-James.

"Salvadore. Please summarize the status of our remaining forces."

"Ma'am. Aside from local base garrison units, our remaining offensive
units are as follows. As we had planned, General Honshu's Militia and the
469^th Infantry were evacuated before contact with the
aliens, to preserve the core of an intact counter-strike force. Lightning
Strike has lost two divisions, but by combining the survivors and
with replacements in training, can still field two divisions. Rolling
Thunder's artillery is intact, as is the Chaos anti-air detachment and the
majority of the second Shard division. All of the pens and interceptors
are gone, however. And of course, General Wang and the entirety of the
2^nd Armour were wiped out at Sparta Command. Other forces
in the miscellaneous category include armoured counter-espionage teams
One and Two, and Jeneba's mindworms; but they don't significantly add
to our combat power – at least in the conventional sense," St-James said.

"How long until we can field our replacements? Not new units, but
to repair the damaged divisions up to full strength?" Santiago asked.

"Spreading the trainees out with the veterans, we can repair what
we've got left within three months," Cassaroni answered. "As for new
units, we'll be lucky to deploy two or three new divisions by the end
of the year. With Morgan's energy donations, the factories have been
running at 113% continuously. But that's long-term, and the aliens will
also have reinforced at least their infantry by then."

"Maybe," Lockhart spoke up. "We know that they have some sort of
cloning facility. But from what MilInt has been able to ascertain – in
truth, from Morgan's analysts, not our own – these cloning vats that the
aliens have seem to be able to produce only members of their worker
caste, not their warrior caste. And they are just as limited by the
production of new equipment as we are – maybe even moreso; we don't know
what their energy production capacity is like. So they may be able to
boost their production, but it doesn't appear that they can create new
infantry divisions straight from the egg, so to speak."

"Well, what are the aliens' current force dispositions at
Sparta Command and the other occupied bases?" Santiago demanded, and
Honshu rose to address her.

"Madame President," Honshu began.

"Madame President?" St-James thought to himself. Interesting
that Honshu continues to use Corrie's civilian form of address. Yet
Honshu has never had much respect for civilian authority. Am I
the only one who has noticed this? Or am I just being paranoid – surely
there's no way Honshu could even think about unseating Corrie
anytime soon.

The Gecko quickly switched back to following Honshu's dialog,
although he was just as aware of the aliens' statistics as Honshu was,
since he'd arrived almost twenty-six hours ahead of Santiago.

"... and so the aliens do not appear to have brought in any additional
units, although they continue to slowly produce infantry garrisons. In
terms of their losses, I had concrete information all the way up to the
loss of the Tactical Planning Center and the death of General Bisset. In
increasing order of importance, they've lost about twenty percent of
their infantry, virtually all of their conventional interceptor airforce,
sixty percent of their mechanicals destroyed or heavily damaged, and
of course two of those aerial battleships. Call it an overall force
reduction of forty percent," Honshu summarized.

"I see," Santiago said, and steepled her fingers. Her dark, cold
eyes glanced around the table to each of her commanders in turn, and
no-one tried to interrupt her train of thought.

"What you are all saying, effectively, is that we're down to about
20% of peak, and the aliens to about 40%. And since they started
with an estimated force advantage of four to one, they now have an
effective force advantage of about eight to one."

Mel Cassaroni spoke while St-James was formulating his own response.

"Ma'am – I think we are neglecting the fact that, from any reasonable
perspective, we gave the aliens one hell of a fight, and hurt them
far more than anyone might've predicted. In absolute numbers, we forced
an exchange even when the odds were against us – and our soldiers fought
well and died bravely. I wouldn't like to say that their deaths were
in vain," Cassaroni spoke evenly but with an underlying edge of anger.

St-James understood Cassaroni's anger. Like himself, she'd lost
over half her soldiers at Sparta Command. Unlike himself with respect
to Rolling Thunder, Mel had built up Lightning Strike from scratch for
over thirty Planet years, and no-doubt had formed binding loyalties and
friendships with many of her officers and soldiers. Most of whom were now
dead. He could respect and even admire that bilateral loyalty; it made
Cassaroni an excellent tactical commander. Corazon, on the other hand,
had to think at the theater level; St-James doubted that the Spartan
leader thought of the Federation's soldiers as merely abstract numbers,
but she couldn't afford to get sentimental – not and allow herself
to think clinically and deliberately absorb the sort of losses that a
war like this was going to entail. Already had entailed.

"Mel, no-one's suggesting we didn't fight well at Sparta Command –
we asked for unbelievable sacrifices and performances from our soldiers,
and they delivered like Spartans. But that doesn't negate the fact that
we took one hell of a beating. That we're still here and in fighting
shape attests to our soldiers' characters and skill; no-one's suggesting
that we curl up and whimper like a whipped Peacekeeper," St-James said,
and there were a few half-smiles at the old joke.

"So what are we suggesting, Salvadore?" Cassaroni queried.

"Change in strategy," Santiago spoke up again. "Let's face it,
people. We've lost so many forces that another conventional engagement
would be suicide. But that doesn't mean the losses at Sparta Command were
in vain; far from it. For one, we've bloodied the aliens so badly that
they may think twice about proceeding further. Now I for one don't think
they will stop; it probably isn't in their psychology. But we have
given them reason to pause and proceed more carefully. If the Axis
war machine is better than the aliens, we might be able to out-produce
them now in the long run. That's a big 'if', but it is possible
that time really is on our side now. Again, I wouldn't bet energy on that,
especially given those cloning vats of theirs."

"But," Santiago continued, "we have taken a big bite out of
their forces. Look at the map of the free Federation bases, and then
the rest of the Axis. If the aliens tried to take every one of them,
they'd soon find themselves spread so thin that we would be able
to knock out their garrisons, and whittle them down. We give ground where
they concentrate, and hit them wherever they are weak. Guerilla warfare."

"And if they don't spread themselves out?" Lockhart asked.

"Then we have to wait until they do make a mistake. Given the
force disparity, the best we can do is be ready to take advantage of any
opportunity that arises. It may be a long time coming; in that case we
must be patient. But just because we got our asses kicked doesn't mean
we're going to give up, or get spooked into a bad engagement with our
remaining forces. We can't afford to," Santiago said with blunt finality.

"There is a strategy available to the aliens that would allow them
to take our bases without weakening themselves. Extermination," St-James
said quietly.

A brief silence fell over the Junta. What St-James was suggesting
was a brutally simple strategy: that the aliens could simply concentrate
their army and obliterate every single Spartan base in succession.

"The thought had entered my mind," Santiago spoke seriously. "I
don't have an easy answer for it, either. For what it's worth, that
would mobilize the PK's. Even with their current leadership, the
populace wouldn't stand for it. Now I'm not saying that the Peacekeepers
are our best hope, but there would be at least some hope from that
quarter. About the only answer I can formulate is our reading
of the alien xenopsychology. If they see humanity as an infestation
on Planet, they might simply start mass genocide. On the other hand,
if they see Sparta as part of their 'path to conquest', they might want
to take what is ours, rather than destroying it. I really don't
know; I'm afraid that we will have to see what their next step is and
go from there."

"I have an alternative strategy to offer," Honshu spoke slowly,
and all eyes turned towards him.

"We've seen that the aliens have an unstoppable ground contingent,
as well as a powerful air force. But no navy; it might not even be part
of their strategic doctrine. What I suggest is that we consider falling
back to sea bases. The aerial battleships and bombers will still
be a factor, but we will have already neutralized effectively two
thirds of the enemy. And we have a navy. Between the Fleet and
the infantry defense we could put into our sea bases, against only
their air force, the odds are much more in our favour."

General Lockhart at least looked thoughtful, but Santiago shook
her head.

"That's an interesting idea, Kenichi. But I see at least two
problems. The first being that I already sent out MacMillan a
month ago, and she's beyond contact now."

"What? Why?!" Honshu half rose out of his chair, a
frown forming on his face as anger began to overcome his public image,
and Santiago could feel a rising anger of her own at the repeated
insubordination.

"You're familiar with the psychology of Old Earth's street gangs,
aren't you, General Honshu?"

Honshu's anger turned to puzzlement at the sudden non-sequitor.

"I know the public explanation for those tattoos you're so proud
of," Santiago said cooly. "I also know that you were the scion of one
of the last great Yakuza clans that secretly controlled Japan's
government after the War of Crimson Succession. So you and I both know,
in our own way, how the mindset works."

"Ah, and that would be...?" Lockhart asked quickly, as much to try
to defuse the tension as to satisfy his curiosity.

St-James answered before Santiago could, hoping that his own
interjection could head off the confrontation long enough for both his
commander and his rival to rein in their tempers.

"It's all about possession and territoriality. When one gang gets
stronger, it looks to pick up territory from its neighbor. But the tribal
mentality is more attached to what it already views as its own,
than what it thinks it can take. Is that where you're headed,
Ma'am?"

"Exactly," Santiago answered, as if no confrontation had taken
place whatsoever. "I sent MacMillan out to bombard the aliens' home
continent. A risk, of course – neither of us were happy with the prospect
of such a deep raid into unknown territory. But Patricia agreed that
this was probably the best way to use the Fleet when the homeland was
under attack."

Cassaroni, ever observant, spoke up.

"That was one reason we couldn't follow Kenichi's suggestion,
Ma'am. You mentioned a second?"

"Yes," Santiago said, and she didn't bother to hold Honshu's gaze this
time. "The second reason is a matter of policy. If we retreat to sea,
we're effectively pulling ourselves out of the fight. And abandoning
the rest of the Axis."

Honshu had his temper under control again, but his gaze was deadly
nonetheless; only the Gecko and Santiago herself seemed to be immune to
the sudden chill in the air.

"Our responsibility, Madame President, is the survival of the
Spartan Federation. I don't think we should abandon any strategy that
helps ensure that goal."

"I was also elected Planetary Governor, General Honshu. We will not
abandon our allies. Or humanity," Santiago said, and her tone of voice
was unyielding. There were, of course, plenty of other tactical and
strategic reasons not to abandon the Axis; if nothing else, there was
the pragmatic realization that if the Spartans did run and hide,
the aliens would simply turn their attention on Morgan.

And then it would only be a short time later before they came
back hunting for us – and nothing would stop them, Santiago thought
of adding, but decided not to. She wasn't in the habit of justifying
herself to anyone. Not even Honshu. Especially not Honshu.

Honshu relaxed back in his chair, as if he accepted Santiago's stance
as the others apparently did. But inside, he was aghast.

My God, she really has sold out, Honshu thought
with shock. He's claimed that before, of course, when he'd made his
unsuccessful bid to take over the Junta. But that was just propaganda.
He'd never actually believed it. Until now. As far as Honshu
was concerned, the other factions weren't worth a the life of a single
Spartan soldier. But Santiago, evidently, had been "bought" – and the
rest of the Junta had backed her. As, reluctantly, had Honshu himself
– for the sake of loyalty to the Federation.

Not anymore. If the Junta had sold out, it was time for Honshu
to go it alone. He made himself speak and participate as the strategy
meeting continued. But inside, General Honshu began planning a strategy
of his own.

[senatus]

South Chiron Seas, coordinates 118 by 78

"Approaching point Charlie, Admiral."

Admiral Beverly "Trawler" McMillan nodded acknowledgment to her Chief
of Staff, Captain Rahman. The Spartan Home Fleet was now over the body
of ocean known as the Frew Rift; along with the Deep, this was the area
where the ocean floor was measured to be nearly three thousand meters
below the surface. Exact measurements were impossible; the ocean floor
of Planet was covered in layers of dead sea fungus that confused deep
sonar. And this depth was far beyond what humanity had been able to
physically probe so far. For all McMillan knew, there were true monsters
lurking far beneath the reach of Chiron's suns; creatures as strange or
terrible as the Isles and Sealurks had appeared at first. Not that either
of those was any less terrifying with repeated exposure, but at least
the fear of the unknown was less. Still, whatever creatures –
if any – lurked in Planet's deepest reaches were unlikely to pose any
threat to her fleet; the nature of their environment would preclude
their ability to exist at the lesser pressures near the ocean surface.

McMillan was the highest-ranking officer in the sadly neglected Spartan
Navy. At other times in her life, she'd been a captain in His Majesty's
Royal Navy, and a marine biologist. It was the last of these callings
that she'd sometimes felt most comfortable with, and her ocean supply
foil program had earned her the nickname "Trawler". And the marine
biologist in her wondered if she would ever live to see the secrets of
the greatest ocean depths that Planet held. If humanity survived its
conflict with the aliens – which was hardly certain – and if technology
continued at the pace of the last hundred years – and if she kept up
her longevity treatments – and of course if she survived this conflict,
McMillan assumed that she would. But her military duty called
to her now. McMillan wondered, briefly, if she'd ever be able to be a
civilian again; if she even remembered how. As the years marched
on, her old life – especially on Earth – became a distant, fading memory.

When Morgan Biogenics had developed the Longevity Vaccine, some
scientists had theorized that, in time, a person's brain would simply
"fill up", and that there would come a point where the capacity to learn
new things would begin to reach an asymptopic limit. The development of
MMI had extended that limit, but it relied on replacement of the organic
learning functions with electronic ones. As more of the developing psyche
was migrated into the computerized memory, the older, organic memories
began to fade. A change in personality was inevitable. As a member of
the Junta, McMillan had seen the post-op studies of the soldiers of the
469^th, the first military unit on Planet to be fitted with
MMIs; and it disturbed her more than she cared to admit. Not that she
was a Believer or anything, but she wondered just what the definition
of "human" would be a hundred years from now, and whether the Beverly
McMillan of the future would be at all recognizable to the Beverly
McMillan of now.

McMillan smiled to herself. Her old mentor, Scott Allardyce, had
sometimes teased her gently about her tendency to philosophize rather
than act like a good Spartan and simply just march to the tune of the
military band. Which was ironic, since Scott had probably been the most
free-thinking member of the Junta. In the end, his wanderlust had carried
him away from Sparta to the Gaians briefly, then the U.N., then – almost
incomprehensibly – to the Drone Believers. McMillan expected that Scott
would move on again, once he had done all for the DB's that he'd set
out to accomplish. Scott's problem, McMillan suspected, seemed that he
was too much a man of Old Earth; the ideological factionalism of
humanity on Planet left him with no place that a man like him could ever
truly feel at home.

A long time ago, she and Scott had been briefly lovers. They'd remained
friends ever since, and McMillan wondered how he was doing. If she'd
really wanted to, she could have commed him when the Fleet had passed
near the Drone Believer seabase of Sea Habitat. But operational security was
paramount on this mission; no hint of it could reach Yang or the aliens
for it to be successful. So instead, the fleet had drifted by Sea Habitat in
electronic silence, unnoticed in the night. That had been three weeks
ago, and now McMillan knew that there would be no friendly harbor ahead
as the Fleet began the final leg of its journey.

"Course change as specified," McMillan ordered, and fifteen ships
turned as one towards the Progenitor continent.

Unnoticed, a sixteenth ship trailed in the Spartans' wake, as the
Peoples' Navy Ship Li Min changed course as well.

---

South Chiron Seas, coordinates 120 by 76

To say that Captain Ulrik Svensgaard seemed in a foul mood was an
understatement. To the crew of his flagship Crusty Barnacle,
and indeed to those officers of the self-styled Nautilus Pirates who
knew Svensgaard at a more personal level, it seemed that their leader
had changed as well. Certainly Svensgaard had a lot on his mind, they
knew; the "alliance" with the Human Hive hadn't gone to most of the
Pirates' liking – or profit. Had any of them been social psychologists,
they would've been able to scientifically show that the socially and
economically repressive Hive was a most unlikely partner in the pursuit
of the Nautilus agenda, regardless of the logical coordination of the two
finest navies on the seas of Planet. But instinctively, they resented the
proliferation of Hiverian officers and "observers", and the interference
in the free-wheeling, buccaneering lifestyle they'd become accustomed
to in the past.

The Nautilus Pirates were far more "realistic" in their goals than
any of the great factions. Let others pursue lofty ideological goals,
or free market economies, or bizarre social experiments, or "harmony
with Planet", whatever the hell that meant. No, the Nautilus
Pirates were simply interested in as profitable a living as could be
obtained by scavenging from other peoples' efforts – not that they
didn't work hard themselves at becoming very, very good at
piracy. Indeed, Svensgaard's brilliance had been in the way that the
Pirates had moved from coast to coast, shipping lane to shipping lane,
taking what they needed but never staying so long as to attract attention.
Dozens of Morganic, U.N., and even occasionally Spartan merchant ships
had disappeared without trace thanks to the Pirates, and no-one outside
the wiser for it. After all, the seas of Planet were a dangerous place,
and each faction had written off its occasional losses to wandering
Isles and Sealurks. As for the crews, each was given a simple choice:
Join the Nautilus Pirates, or walk the plank. Not surprisingly, everyone
chose the first; and those who merely pretended allegiance but secretly
hoped to contact their own factions quietly disappeared overboard with a
bullet in their heads once Svensgaard's empaths tested their loyalty and
found them wanting. It was ruthless; it was also brilliantly effective;
and the sociopathic men and women who were amongst Svensgaard's most
loyal core respected him all the more for it. And they feared him too;
one thing about Svensgaard that had not changed in the past few
months was his complete determination and willingness to eliminate any
who dared to challenge his authority.

But they missed the old times, before the Hive alliance. Oh, Svensgaard
had explained why they'd had no choice. The Hive had discovered the
Pirates' operations; with their Maritime Control Center they could have
eliminated the Pirates – or revealed their existence to other factions,
which would've had the same result – or, as it turned out, they could
decide to work harmoniously. The Hive would supply sailors and officers
and logistical supplies, the Pirates would continue to rake in profits,
and all the Hive demanded in return was that the Pirates confine their
targets to Axis vessels, and – occasionally – provide support to the
Peoples' Navy. Certainly it seemed like a logical arrangement
– and those of Svensgaard's officer cadre who saw any flaws in the new
arrangement simply disappeared, with a ruthless efficiency that exceeded
even the "old" Captain Ulrik Svensgaard.

But then again, that would've been expected, if anyone knew just who
the new Ulrik Svensgaard really was. Which very few people did;
none of the Nautilus Pirates (that is, none that were still alive),
nor even any but a very few of the officers supplied by the Hive
– and they were completely loyal to him already. Such was the nature of
Haraad Ashaandi.

To say that Haraad Ashaandi was in a foul mood was also an
understatement. In truth, enraged might've been a better word, for
the world had come crashing down around him. His world, that is;
the one he'd worked for and plotted for and killed for. It'd taken him
decades to create the Circle of Ashaandi; it had taken less than
an hour to destroy it. All because of that b*tch Catherine Atreus,
and Merlin. And Ruth. The child whose birth he had engineered by
manipulating Kurt and Shauna, and who had turned out to be a source of
his nemesis.

The Circle was gone. All he had left were a few of his most loyal, or
most psychopathic, followers – and now at least one of them, Angel, had
gone mentally "offline" after an encounter with Sven Alfredsson. It was
obvious now that Kurt had betrayed him. Now, whatever else, Ashaandi had
to return home, to rebuild or salvage whatever power base still remained
his to command in the Human Hive. And to repay some debts, beginning
with Kurt and his Believers. But even Ashaandi's formidable psi talents
couldn't do that isolated all the way up in the Pirate base of Penzance.

Ashaandi had at first neglected Admiral Hy's summons to chase an errant
Spartan task force. Hy knew fully well who Svensgaard really
was, and Ashaandi found it unbelievably presumptuous for a mere
Homo Sapiens like Hy to presume to command him. Not
for a minor military affair, at any rate. But now that Ashaandi had
to return anyways, it provided a convenient excuse for "Svensgaard"
to make his way south. Given the current planetary chaos, air travel
was unreliable, at least in making a connection all the way to the
Hive. If Allardyce was aware of what had happened to the Circle – and
that seemed all too likely – he'd be on the lookout for any suspicious
air traffic. No doubt Allardyce would've taken great satisfaction in
using one of his Drone Believer interceptors to shoot down his worst
enemy. The possibility was remote, but there was no sense in taking
chances. In fact, given Ashaandi's severely weakened position, could he
even trust that Yang would not consider this an opportune moment
to remove him? Ashaandi had always planned to remove Sheng-Ji as soon
as the Chairman was no longer useful to him and became vulnerable. He
was under no illusions that Yang was ignorant of this, and was certain
that the reverse held true as well.

Ashaandi knew he was vulnerable right now – was he still useful
to Yang? Yes, certainly as long as he performed his Svensgaard role at
the least. And there were other problems that Yang could need him for;
it appeared that the Drone Believers were becoming pests again – and they
were a definite ideological threat to the Hive. Sinking some Spartans
along the way while planning his next move seemed like just the ticket
after all, so the Nautilus Pirates had set sail. Ashaandi knew that
despite his disguise, he was not a naval officer. But the six ships
under his command should be more than enough to deal with a Spartan
task force, especially if he struck from surprise – which was
his trademark. Thanks to the Maritime Control Center, he expected to
overtake the Spartans in about a week, and then it would be a simple
course change to make for The Leader's Horde. He'd be back in his element
within two months, with luck.

[Googlie]

Sea Hive

Kurt approached the corridor guard cautiously. His preliminary, somewhat casual psi sweep had revealed that the guard had psi-augmentation, so Kurt couldn’t employ his usual deception/coercion tactic.

So far, he’d safely negotiated three corridor guards during his descent to 117 – none had been a challenge, really. They were more concerned with a perceived external threat after the explosions had rocked the base, so he presumed that his message had been delivered to Bree. He hoped she hadn’t fruitlessly waited too long for him ten days ago and fervently trusted that she had been willing to go to 117 to resume the adventure. It had cost him one complete decal – a tenth of a standard energy credit – to bribe the interrogation guard to deliver the message that today was the day. And he just had to trust that Allardyce had fulfilled his part of the deal and maintained the patrols looking for their signal to hoist.

He really didn’t want to do it this way, but he could see no alternative. Ever since he’d been intercepted that first day when he made his way to rendezvous with Bree, the guards had been posted. He’d wondered how he’d slipped up – indeed, had Bree betrayed him? But then the message had been smuggled from her to him, by one of her ex couple-mates, one of the militia who’d drawn guard duty.

Reaching into his kitbag, he felt for the headgear, and slipped it on. The filaments snaked out, searching for the skull nodes, and fastened themselves, penetrating to the cortex. Kurt shivered. He hated this procedure, this losing of self, immersing into the psi , an enhanced, almost cybernetic, state of mind that allowed superior channeling.

He moved, to take out the guard.

He focused his psi energies, ratcheting up the power, the cybernetic augmentation rapidly pushing him through the normal self-imposed limits. He was dimly aware, through the pounding in his skull, of the guard turning towards him, almost in slow motion, a surprised look on his face that rapidly turned to fear as the neural force wave hit him.

Kurt sensed rather than saw the psi-meter display scrolling across his optic enhancer – 350….375….400…450….525. he knew he was out of control now, that nature – or psi – would take its course. He could only affect the means, not the result.

Suicide. That might stall pursuit

The guard unslung his shredder rifle, a look of incomprehension on his face, and turned the barrel towards himself.

Kurt let the psi energy continue mounting 600 ….650….725

Suddenly the guard’s head and torso exploded, and before the body hit the floor, Kurt was sprinting past and heading for 117

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

Bree was waiting. She looked up as he entered, and took a step back as the residual psi energy, now rapidly abating, swamped her.

Apologizing, Kurt removed the enhancer headset, and took her by both hands:

“Thanks,” he said. “Do you have everything?”

“Yes”, she replied. “It was difficult, but at least I could make it sound legitimate. But how will we get to the Facility?”

“I have a skimmer stashed inside one of the caissons,” Kurt replied. “A gift from a Circle acquaintance.”

Bree shuddered. So it was true – he did have Circle connections.

“Did you get the burst off to Allardyce?” he asked.

She nodded. “That was an easy part – I told the comm officer that I needed to contact the downed alien. He bought that.”

“Good. The let’s go and trust that Googlie kept his part of the bargain.”

She nodded over to a pile in the corner of the room: “This is the translator,” she said.

Kurt’s heart sank. It looked to weigh several hundred kilos. He’d never be able to maneuver it down eleven flights to sea level to the skimmer.

“How did you move that here?” he asked in admiration.

“Oh, easy,” she replied. “It’s on a sort of anti-gravity skiff – something the aliens developed, I believe. Look.”

She pointed a small device at the heap in the corner, and slowly it rose, until it was brushing the ceiling, then she lowered it to a few inches above the floor, and it came towards them.

“What are we waiting for?” she asked. “Let’s go.”

They left 117 to make their way to zero level.

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

Free Drone Central

I regarded the holoburst again.

Kurt Weiss looked at me with gaunt eyes. He was manacled, his shirt in tatters, with pain lines etched around his eyes and bruises on his face and neck.

His voice croaked:

“I was intercepted on my way to the rendezvous – I think the message I sent must have been compromised.

“I have one last chance to get out this evening, with my accomplice. Will need a diversion, and a pick up at the agreed spot.

“Same time, same place. I trust you”

The image faded.

Of course I’d authorized Trixie to take to the air again, and Miles to prepare the chopper. As a discretionary bombing run was envisioned, Trixie had enrolled her brother, who was delighted to be landing a blow – however symbolic – against the Hive.

He’d returned, mission accomplished. Some SAM activity, but only mild damage to his needlejet. The CAP mission was active now, and Miles had just left.

There was nothing to do but wait. And hope it would all be worth it.

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

Sea Hive

It was slow going. They were inside the caisson itself, laboriously climbing down the interior stairwell, with the antigrav struts on the freight skiff whining almost imperceptible as it kept pace with them lowering itself down the well of the caisson.

Kurt paused at level 8.

“Bree,” he asked. “Do you need to be remote from that skiff to operate it?”

“I don’t understand,” she replied. “Remote how?”

“Well, do you need to point the control, or is it multidirectional? In other words, could we climb aboard and let it take us down to sea level?”

“I guess so – I’ve never tried riding one. Let’s find out.”

They clambered aboard, and after a somewhat precipitous free fall through two levels, until Bree got the adjustment made as to weight, she finally mastered the settings and they glided to a smooth stop and shunted to the small docking port at ocean’s level.

It took Kurt a few minutes to locate his skimmer, then it was an easy task loading the pallet aboard, and then Kurt punched in the authorization override sequence to open the marine bay.

“We’ll be challenged almost as soon as we egress, by a marine patrol. You do the talking and I’ll do the coercing,” Kurt whispered. “The usual story – alien fighter crew stranded on the islet of the Advanced Weaponry Facility – you have your translator’s pass and I have the Institute Director’s pass. They’ll let us through.”

As they passed through the bay doors, and they closed behind them, the alert light flashed in its safety sequence. Kurt knew that this would draw the attention of the marine patrols, and sure enough, within minutes they were being challenged.

“Ahoy. You are unauthorized. Pleas hove to for investigation.”

Kurt felt the hairs on the nape of his neck rise, as he delicately sent the interrogation tendril weaving throughout the crew. The weapon was trained on them – an impact cannon, and the crew were jittery after the bombing and strafing runs earlier in the evening. He cut the engine and coasted to a halt, as the foil drew alongside.

Bree spoke coolly:

“I am Brianna Henderson, Alien interpreter. There is a downed Usurper needlejet just on the perimeter of out weaponry facility – I have the translation equipment her and we are going to interrogate the crew and lend assistance as necessary.”

She held up her flashcard for the officer to pass his laser checker over.

“Confirmed,” he said. “And who is this?” he asked, turning his attention to Kurt.

Kurt replied:

“Xenophysician – specialist in alien metabolisms and diseases. One of their crew needs medical attention badly.” He held up his own pass for scanning, and as the officer looked at his readout Kurt was in his mind. The officer read Spencer Mathieson, Institute Director, Xenobiology

“OK – you can proceed,” the officer intoned. “Will you need an escort?”

“No,” Kurt replied. We’re using this skimmer to keep under any radar sweeps the enemy might have – I hear they’ve been active this past week or so.”

The officer grunted. “Tell me about it. About ten days ago they were at it every night for three or four days, then it eased off. We thought it was just exercises – testing our defenses, maybe. Then tonight, a real attack. I don’t know how much damage we took, but we heard plenty of explosions. But on you go, and good luck.”

With a jaunty wave of his hand Kurt gunned the skimmers engine, and they roared off, rising on their twin foils as they picked up speed and left the calm confines of the Sea Hive.

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

Miles kept a wary eye on his radar readouts as he skimmed across the waves in the chopper. He kept the line of tidal harnesses between his craft and the base, but knew he was vulnerable as he passed between them. One saving grace was that the glare and activity from the two huge boreholes, one just south of Drone Mound and one north of The Hive itself, would blind anyone looking directly east or southeast from Sea Hive.

That would rule out naked eye spotting. But there were still sensors. He didn’t know if the Hive technicians still picked up data from their old sensor, northwest of Drone Mound, but he wasn’t going to gamble that they couldn’t.

His threat proximity alert was active, but quiet. It recorded the high altitude activity that he knew was his cover, the IFF registering friendly, so he felt fairly safe from the air. He knew that the sensor at the Hive Advanced Weaponry Facility was active, and would register him. He hoped he’d not have to use his weaponry – it was untested in real combat, but he was pretty sure from what the boffins told him that an adequate defense had not yet been developed.

Of course, there was no telling if the aliens had psi-defenses. Those same boffins waxed eloquently about something called Eudaimonia as being necessary before effective defenses could be constructed to psi weaponry – maybe that was an alien technology.

His instruments recorded and alerted him to the first faint sweep of the sensor on the island.

Miles cut his daydreaming, and sent a secure burst to Trixie, high above him

Detected

He switched to cyber mode, and activated his MMI control. Now the chopper was an extension of himself.

The second sweep came. He sent a recognition burst to buy time, chuckling inwardly at the confusion the sensor technicians must be feeling as they registered that Judaa Marr’s personal transport was on its way to them. He’d picked that up at Temple of Chiron when he’d gone to the rescue of the captured citizens there.

His display beeped. It was Trixie.

He deciphered the secure burst.

Launch detected. Engaging

Then his threat proximity alert squawked, as the Hive needlejet came over the horizon from the facility to investigate.

He estimated he was some fifteen minutes from destination, so he hoped that Trixie and her wingman could deal adequately with the threat.

Then he saw from his own surface radar display that two blips were converging on a third that seemed to be making a beeline for the island. All were registering threat on his display, but he guessed that one would be his old buddy, Kurt, making his run.

One glance at the co-ordinates told him that they wouldn’t make it.

His reading of the situation, and the threat analysis took a nanosecond. By the end of the second, he had composed a message, lined up the laser, and sent it as a secure burst, then commenced his own veer towards the new co-ordinates.

It would be touch and go.

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

Kurt was surprised when his commlink beeped.

He activated it, and peered at the message displaying:

Too much activity at facility. Veer SE to tidal harness and wait for pick up on east side. Miles

Instinctively he flipped the controls and the skimmer threw a huge wake as it curved round on itself and made for the distant structure. Kurt gunned the engine as much as he could as he became aware of the pursuing foils also changing course.

“Hang on, Bree, this could get rough,” he shouted to her.

She grinned back through her breather, as if she were on a summer cruise, her hair whipping in the gale and a look of sheer excitement on her face.

Kurt sensed, just before he heard, the twin thunderclaps, as two needlejets rocketed overhead, twisting, turning, trying to get a bearing on the other enemy craft. Occasional flashes could be seen as first one, then the other, thought they had a lock and discharged their weapons.

But as he brought his gaze down to sea level, he saw that the two Hive foils were gaining on him. He would make the sanctuary of the Tidal Harness, but there would be no place to hide. They would follow him into the sheltered waters of the kelp farm and while he might be able to play hide and seek with one, two would easily flush him out.

As he approached, he saw the baffle inlets, where the tide pushed relentlessly at them, and thought briefly of entering one – his craft might be small enough to do so, but the larger foils certainly couldn’t. But he didn’t know what lay within.

Go to the east and wait had been the message, so Kurt swung the skimmer past the huge generators attached to the ends of the harness array and scurried to the east of the superstructure.

And coasted to a halt as he saw the chopper rise from behind the harness to confront the rapidly advancing foils.

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

Miles activated the weapons toggle, and fed commands neurally directly to the psi launcher. Isolating one of the foils, he sensed the wave project, and looked on in quiet satisfaction as he became aware of the crew’s panic. The foil veered from its course round the tidal harness, changing to one that would take it directly into the baffles.

He watched as it imploded on the structure of the harness, and hoped that Kurt and his colleague were not in danger of flying debris.

Simultaneously, he had trained the weapon on the other foil, and was stunned to find that he was being advised against attack – the foil crew were tranced, and elite at that, and his threat assessment indicator showed that he would expend the weapon’s psi charge to no avail.

Instant change of plan was called for.

Trixie – take out the remaining foil – I’ll evacuate the subjects

Miles slewed the chopper round and made for the leeward side of the tidal harness, where he quickly identified Kurt’s skimmer, lying idle alongside the structure.

He brought the chopper to hover, and opened the bay doors.

“Get in, and hurry,” he yelled, and was surprised to see a cargo pod detach itself from the skimmer, with the two humans clinging on to it, and maneuver itself into the chopper’s cargo bay.

“Hold tight,” Miles yelled, as the chopper lurched and sped off to the sanctuary afforded by the channel between the second harness and the Hive Borehole.

They gave a ragged cheer as they saw the missile strike the second foil, as Trixie’s wingman rolled overhead, setting a course for home.

Miles fired off one last secure burst, to Allardyce:

Operation Jasper successful

[Hydro]

Fungal Tower, Progenitor Territory

Sarah stood at the top edge of the russet fungal tower, which was swaying ever so gently. The top of the tower was somewhat flat, or so it appeared so at a distance. At close range it looked more like large rolling hills that rose at its center. Arrayed around the top edge of the tower were a series of fleshy nodes that acted as muscular shoulders that flexed with the movement of its huge multi-colonial tentacles. The tentacles themselves were only occasionally visible from the top of the tower, even if they were the main features noticeable at ground surface. As always, the tentacles were in various states of agitation, some quiescent and others in full sentry alert. From a distance the tentacles appeared to move languidly and gracefully, but that was only at a distance. Sarah knew the tentacles true speed, and the fact that they could move faster than the eye could see if properly motivated. Humans had learned not to underestimate the speed of these tentacles the hard way over the last decades in their various accidental and purposeful encounters with the towers. The towers tended to grow at Planet nodes, which humans found to be inconvenient since sometimes these nodes occurred in the middle of the human settlements. Chairman Yang had found out about that the hard way since the center of his reduced empire now held a huge fungal tower, which had grown in a spectacular fungal bloom as a result of his wanton pollution. She knew that humans had discovered that the towers were both fascinating and deadly in all their encounters.

She stood at the apex of the central tower mound and was facing into the wind, which was brisk today. She no longer felt ‘cold’ anymore, but she knew that when she was human she would have been chilled, likely to the bone. Even this passing human thought made Sarah a bit a bit wistful since she didn’t even have bones anymore, not really. Planet had seen fit to give her something better, and it was – a composite of interwoven macrofibers that were many times stronger than bone, and which could change from a rigid to flaccid state at need, allowing her to effectively morph her form. Still, knowing she had been ‘improved’ did not dampen her sense of unease and loss. Or, was she feeling not unease and loss, but lost? No. Sarah knew she didn’t feel lost. Voice had filled her and completed her in a way that nothing else even did. Growing up as a Spartan she had felt some camaraderie during her extensive regimes of martial training, and she had liked that, but there were never a real connection. Her squad-mates seemed to bond right away in a true Spartan fashion, and she was able to be a valuable part of the team. But it never went beyond that. There was no deep sense of belonging, only a sense of duty. For a while that was enough, and joining the Spartan Empaths after her late-developing psi abilities had manifest themselves had been a natural outgrowth of her duty, a way to give back and contribute to society, and protect it from the predations of a rising and aggressive Chairman Yang.

Then came the blows, and disappointments. Her new family, her empath cadre, fell apart due to neglect as senior military leaders were distracted by a hot war with the Hive, outright mismanagement, and simple fact that her cadre was devastated by many of her comrades that had gone missing or had become casualties of war. Reduced in strength, leaderless, and without a mission she had been absorbed for other duties, which she had completed with distinction and without any help or guidance. Her first major assignment was at the captured Plex Anthill, and there Sarah had seen first hand what the Spartans were up against – the raw, unvarnished subjugation of humanity into an organic machine, an unnatural machine. The Hive citizens, in her opinion, were traumatized to the point of being true drones and mindless workers, and that, she supposed, was exactly what Chairman Yang wanted – a new humanity bent to his will. It had been a scaring experience, and it wounded her belief in humanity even as it strengthened her resolve that her faction was right to oppose him.

She had a surprise there, too, one that no one could have ever expected and it was the only bright spot in that bleak trauma. One of the drones that had fought with the Spartans against the Hive counterattack had been gravely wounded. By all accounts he was just a drone and his biochip said his was a Political, the lowest and most abused caste in the Hive’s society, stripped of his former identity and slated to toil for the benefit of the Hive for the rest of his days. This drone was unremarkable in every way, except when it came to fighting the Hive. In this he displayed a brilliance that was highly improbable to exist in a mere Hive drone, and a military acumen that suggested something else. Moreover, he inspired the loyalty in drones that had been beaten and conditioned to show loyalty only toward their superiors and the Chairman. He was brought to her in a deep and likely permanent coma, and her superiors ordered her to investigate. Like a good Spartan she obeyed the order and probed deeply into his mind, even though she was utterly exhausted. His mind was a mess, and there was ample evidence of extensive but subtle reconfiguration and reconstitution. While probing she almost accidentally unlocked and awakened the imprisoned remnants of his old personality, which had been in ‘storage’ for future retrieval by the Hive spymaster Ashaandi. This drone had been a member of the Hive Circle of Ashaandi and had made the mistake of crossing both Ashaandi and the Chairman, who subsequently slated him for their worst punishment. For his ‘crimes’ he was forced to execute his own family, knowing full well that if he refused that or they would be tortured for years or decades using all the creative techniques that the Hive had developed over the years. He had complied, and looked his father, wife and children in the eyes as he killed them. They forgave him, but he had never forgiven himself. Then he had been robbed of his personality and made a true drone, a cipher, in everything except his bitter pain at what he was forced to do to those he loved. He wasn’t even allowed to remember those he loved, only that he had lost them. Sarah had learned this in a flash at his release, and she allowed him to bridge to her, even as his body lay dying. In allowing “Merlin” into her consciousness she gained a valuable ally. He helped her straighten and strengthen her craft, adding his ability to hers. All he asked in return was revenge, which he had gotten indirectly with the Hive’s likely inevitable defeat at the hands of the Spartan Juggernaught.

The experiences at Plex Anthill were trivial by comparison to her next assignment at Pointa Sur. There University terrorists had unleashed a deadly virulence that only the twisted researchers of Zakharov’s dead faction could dream up: a bioflux that absorbed sentient minds and bodies, but not before causing them exquisite agony and pain. The beautiful backwater resort community of Pointa Sur was now a town of death, made all the more eerie by the fact that it was otherwise completely intact. It didn’t take long to find out the true cause, although the University terrorists had been very good in their execution and covering their tracks. The deaths at Pointa Sur were so horrific that the thoughts of the dead were burned into the former seaside resort. Sarah, using the training taught to her by Merlin, had ferreted out the last conscious thoughts of the University assassin, whose thoughts were imprinted onto the surroundings as the bioflux absorbed his mind and reduced his body. That increase in empathy that Merlin had released and refined in her, however, had been a catalyst. The floodgates opened, and Sarah vividly remembered the relentless mental assault of all the murdered beings at Pointa Sur – it was like putting a magnet in a pan of iron filings since these impressions were instantaneously and irresistibly attracted to her. She tried to escape but no matter where she went the attack only became worse. Her grip on sanity slipped as she relived lives of people she had never known, absorbing their loves, hopes, fears, and final grisly deaths. It was overwhelming and even Merlin wasn’t able to help.

Then there was the Voice, the Voice that had quieted the tumult. It offered protection and fulfillment, and a profound sense of belonging. It offered truth, and knowledge beyond anything that any human might have to offer. It filled a need, and Sarah knew that she filled part of its need too, so she instinctively knew she belonged. The price? Losing her humanity. The price was easily paid, but not easily given up. She knew what she missed but not exactly why. Planet had left her with part of the core of her human sensibilities, but not the raging emotions and needs to make it fit into a context. Maybe the Voice modified her so she could remain sane? It was impossible to say, but while she felt fulfilled when she joined the Voice she still felt a profound empathy for humanity. Voice may have designed that, too.

Sarah always came up to the top of her towers when she felt these needs since up here she could contemplate and digest. There were almost limitless stimuli within the tower and, while there, she was almost always immersed within it, sorting and filtering the myriad of impulses for what she was looking for. Here at the top of the tower she was slightly removed from the constant potential impulses she felt at these fungal nodes. It was a constant challenge and she knew her abilities were expanding. She had part of Planet’s resources at her disposal, a tiny fraction, actually, but it was more than useful.

During her explorations she had come to understand a few critical truths. Planet’s sense and awareness were growing, as it had been for thousands of years, and now its awareness had started to grow exponentially. The cause of this growth was clear: the presence of foreign human settlements, the human conflicts, and now the human-Progenitor conflicts. Normally the fungal net was placid, almost static, and change occurred slowly as the weight of slow change accumulated over millennia. Starting over a hundred years ago the humans had violated the net by their ever-expanding settlements and by the removal and replacement of the fungal flora and fauna by their own ecosystems. Planet felt this acute change, and occasionally reacted to it with its mindworm vectors, as the human body reacted against foreign bodies with white blood cells, whose purpose was to protect the body by attacking and destroying these sources of infections and disease. Human wars also stressed the fungal net since it was very sensitive to psi energy, and particularly sensitive to violent psi energy such as that of raging conflict. There were also the recent provocations that elicited Planet’s instinctive immune response, like willful degradation of the environment and the use of weapons mass destruction. These actions were like lances into the waxing but fragile Planet consciousness, and Sarah sensed each one as it coursed through the fungal net, tripping, changing, and forcing the net to adapt and accept the overload. Each event was like a small catalyst in many places over the globe of Planet. Individually they were insignificant, but cumulatively the effect was striking: Planet was learning, and growing more aware. The new stimuli were having a profound feedback effect as new connections were made within and between the fungal networks, forming veritable hubs or nexuses of activity, and these hubs now stored vast amounts of organic and raw energy, acting like batteries or capacitors. It was clear to Sarah that these were energy reserves that were being built up as Planet groaned to its next state, one that it had catastrophically failed to achieve so many times before over the last half billion years in countless cycles of failed awakening. As a Voice Avatar Sarah felt protective of Planet, and did what she could to understand the interaction of human activities and Planet’s likely responses. Sarah knew it was not possible for her to completely or even partially understand Planet or the Voice, mainly because Planet was only partially aware and was generally not completely connected and integrated. At this points its elements were dissimilar. If the irritations and responses by humans and Progenitors were mild Planet would be able to adjust and grow, with minimal disruption and destruction.

Worry over the disruptions and potential disruptions to Planet, more than her long-standing angst, was the reason Sarah was visiting the top of the Fugal Tower again. The war that was raging all across Planet was more than a little disruption, and Sarah could feel the spasms in the fungal net whenever some excessively violent act occurred, or when nerve gas or some other agent caused severe injury and death. Lately the spasms had been growing as the pace of the stimuli had increased, and this was causing some of the fungal nodes to become a little unstable, and that was worrisome since they now contained vast amounts of stored potential biologic energy. At the moment it looked like it might be under control, but barely. It wouldn’t take too severe an event to cause an extreme reaction on the part of Planet, she knew. The reaction would be instinctive and excessively violent, and Sarah understood all she could do is hold on tight and try to manage and direct her small portion of Planet.

Change was literally in the air.

As she stood on top of the tower the horizon darkened and the stiff wind quickened. Sarah felt the storm approach. At first it looked like a dark, silent line. It grew imperceptibly larger until she could see flashes of white light playing within the now thick line of clouds. The wind picked up, blowing steadily directly away from the advancing front. Dark thunderheads were now boiling on the horizon, and the light was failing. A low rumbling of distant thunder announced the arrival of the front, and the gusts of wind grew as the storm front approached, and flashes of defined lightning flickered within the darkened clouds. Below the front it was black, evidence of a steady torrent of rain that was cascading to the surface of Planet. The clouds themselves seemed to roll forward as they engulfed the low gray horizon, and they looked like the leading edge of an onrushing wave of black and dark gray. Rain began to fall in a few large droplets, then in sporadic bursts. The heart of the storm front, filled with a crescendo of thunder and lightning, approached and the rain started to fall in sheets. Light decreased, and now only dim shadows blurred by the rainfall remained.

It was invigorating to see these events, which to Sarah were a beautiful renewal of Planet. Sarah relished the wind and the feeling of the torrents of rain that fell over her changed yet familiar body. It was – right. Yet Sarah knew another storm was rising, and the dark clouds formed by this storm were anything but reassuring. Instead of warring cold and warm fronts that created thunderheads and rain there were the Progenitors and humans, each doing its part to fuel the rising conflict. Each was stoking the fire, and raising the flames higher with each passing day.

It is still there, you know: Impaler. It is a shadow of its former self, tethered to the ground as it is. Rather sad, really, that a proud Progenitor battleship should end its days as ballast. I know you can’t see it, but can you feel it? Merlin asked.

The thin remains of Sarah’s lips turned in a smile. Merlin was always there, observing and only rarely intruding, and then only to offer useful council. He knew, even if she didn’t, what her concern was. Sarah turned her face upward toward the sheeting rain, looking toward where the great Progenitor battlecruiser, now shorn of its engines and a mere hulk in space, was tethered to the Space Elevator anchored at Spires: Ascendant. The remaining human musculature in her face tightened and the pale smile disappeared. She knew it was there, and feared it not for what is was but for what it held and represented. She had never seen it directly, but she was now able to discern ‘feeling’ that coalesced into discernable patterns. In effect, she was able to ferret out secrets based on a multitude of seemingly unrelated impulses that were constantly bombarding Planet’s neural net from stray Progenitor or human thoughts or actions. Thus, closely guarded secrets were available to her when she turned her mind toward focusing and sorting out the billions of impulses to identify patterns. Impaler contained the trigger that Sarah feared most.

She then turned away from the rain and looked to the southwest of her tower, over the Progenitor continent and toward southern Chiron Sea. She could see nothing of the sea through the low clouds and driving rain, but she could feel it and almost see it via the fungal network she was so intimately connected to. There, hidden within the sea, lay the other terror, another trigger. It was smaller, but no less deadly, and the source of that trigger was none other than the unlikely Morgan, housed in his bright, shining cities of metal and glass. Placid, timid Morgan had primed the fire, which might become a dark, raging inferno.

Sarah wasn’t ready to give up yet. She sent an impulse into the tower and an organic iris opened at her feet, forming a conduit into the tower. Sarah’s form seemed deflate as her bones lost shape and she rearranged her softer tissue to fit the orifice. She flowed into the tower and descended into its moist halls. She left the turbulence of the storm, but her black feelings didn’t leave her.

[Googlie]

The Drone Mound

I’d requisitioned the Hologram Theater for the presentation and paced irritably as Bree set up her equipment.

Kurt was tight lipped, and would reveal nothing other than “This is big. This is very big.”

I knew by now that it was the holorec of a Usurper top level meeting, itself conducted by holoremote, which was giving Bree fits as she tinkered with the programming to hook it to projectors. At least our equipment was compatible, being Hiverian in origin, and of a similar generation.

The Believing-Drone high command was present.

Sister Miriam sat in one section, conversing with James Domai, who had just yesterday emerged from the rejuvenation tanks, where he had been ‘rebuilt’ after the horrific aircraft crash. He wore eyeshades to protect his eyes from the harsh light, and held Miriam’s hand fiercely as she looked tenderly on him, bringing him up to date on the geopolitical situation.

Brother Joaquim was conversing animatedly with Sister Beatrice, responsible for the Believing-Drone civic infrastructure. Assistant Foreman Woodrow Simpson was discoursing with his economics counterpart from the Believer wing, Brother Luke.

I glanced out of the window, not yet darkened for the session. Across the bay, and out over the serried ranks of tidal barrages and kelp farms lay the huge base, Sea Hive, just barely visible as a smudge on the far horizon. I wondered what the Chairman was thinking now, having thrown his lot in with the Aliens, and perhaps realizing that the humans he so detested were not just laying down in the path of the superior Progenitor forces, but were fighting back with a vigor and determination that I was sure was surprising the Usurper leadership.

My reverie was interrupted by Bree’s terse “I’m ready.”

I nodded to my assistant, who flipped the remote and the room darkened.

All settled expectantly in their seats, adjusting their earpieces to hear Bree’s running commentary.

##################################################

The room was sparse, hosting a large worktable with four empty recliners arrayed along one side of it. At the head sat an imposing Alien figure, who scanned the room imperiously. Opposite him, at the other end of the table, a single broken tusk lay on a chair. Across from the four empty seats sat four figures, heads bowed in deference to their leader.

Bree’s voice cut in:

”That’s Judaa Marr at the head, with his chief advisors. L’Motte, infrastructure; S’reth, military; Xarass, research and Canla, historian. The empty chair represents the betrayer, Kri’lan. We’re waiting for the holofeeds from the others”.

A shadowy figure materialized into one of the empty chairs, and a greeting resonated, with a ritual bowing of the head.

“Conqueror Zzar,” cut in Bree, “and here’s Admiral Zoth,” as another shape materialized.

Then a third, almost lifelike, appeared in a third chair, nodding to Marr, as though an equal.

”Commander Haart, equal in rank to Marr, commands the battlecruiser that’s in orbit now as the Space Elevator Terminal,” came Bree’s voice in my ear.

Then I started, as the final figure took its place. This one needed no introduction.

Ashaandi

Bree began the translation for us:

Marr is speaking. “I am calling this war council to obtain your thoughts on my decision. I am not asking for debate, as my decision is final and is not open to amendment. I simply want your assessment of the situation both now, and after its execution.”

That’s Haart now, asking the obvious question: “What use is it, Conqueror, in soliciting our views if you have already decided. Simply act, and we will deal with the consequences.”

We all could make out the rumbling resonance of assent as the others seemed to be agreeing with Haart.

Marr again. “It is not so simple, as I cannot act alone. I need your co-operation, and, dare I say it, agreement.

“But first, my resolution. Commander Haart. You currently have, in the Impaler shell, two interspatial singularity torpedoes. They will never be fired in space, as the Impaler is no longer interstellar, and the scout craft lacks the launching mechanism. You will immediately convert them to Intercontinental Planetbusters – my Science officer estimates that this will take ten turnings”

I looked at Bree, knowing the answer, but wanting the others to hear it too “How long is that in our time?” I asked her

“A turning is a Chiron revolution, so it’s ten days in our time.”

“And when was this taped,” I continued.

Bree paused. “Nine days ago,” she replied.

As one, the audience stiffened, and I saw Sister Miriam raise her eyebrows in surprise.

“Tomorrow,” she breathed.

Bree nodded.

Haart is arguing that there is insufficient time, but L’Motte and Xarass are insisting that it is, and that the materials can be shipped up immediately via the Space Elevator.

The young Conqueror Zzar is seeking the floor.

“Supreme leader,” he is asking. ”For what purpose are these weapons being built? If they are to be used against the Spartan bases, I need to withdraw my troops so that they do not become collateral damage in the detonations.”

Marr looked at the holograph of the young conqueror. “No, young Zzar, you nor your troops will be in danger. Our human ally” – and here he nodded to the holo of Ashaandi – “has suggested better targets, and our historian” – and he nodded to Canla – “has sought the advice of the Ancients, and they have confirmed that these are indeed the best targets”

“And just where am I to send these missiles?” asked Haart.

Marr waved a talon at the remote holo command, and a map materialized on the table.

“Coordinates 19:75 and 124:58,” he replied. “We have simulated the detonations.”

He again flicked a talon at the command node, and there were two almost simultaneous puffs. Some lights on the map twinkled out, and then a new map took shape, with two massive lagoons where the detonations had centered.

“How many estimated deaths in this culling?” queried Commander Haart.

Marr waved airily “Around 4 million in each,” he said.

I whistled softly. That represented almost half of the Peacekeeping population, and over half of Morgan’s.

It was not lost on the young Conqueror either.

“They would be devastating if used against the Spartans,” he said. “May one respectfully inquire why they would not be so used?”

Marr turned to Canla. “Explain,” he barked

She began:

“Some days ago, in the Manifold Nexus, I sought the advice of the Ancients.”

Zzar nodded in assent. He too had often sought their counsel.

“Their advice was to treat those citizens as unworthy of our fighting troops – indeed, they are sub-human, preferring the decadence and soft life to the warrior way. And they are like sand under the carapace. They finance the war of others, or profess neutrality while covertly helping the warrior humans in every way possible.

“The Spartans, with whom you are engaged in conflict, or the Gaians, are worthy opponents, even although we find their tactics unconventional and disconcerting.

“But by dealing this twin blow to their weakling friends, they themselves might be given food for thought as to the advisability of continuing their struggle against the inevitable.”

Zzar resonated his assent.

“This is true,” he affirmed. “Immediately after we will resume the attack on the Spartan homeland with renewed vigor.”

Marr looked round the room at the delegates.

One by one they resonated assent.

Haart interjected “And when after completion will you want me to launch these Planetbusters?”

Marr turned to the hitherto silent participant.

“Pactmate Ashaandi. What is your counsel? If we are in a position to launch the strikes in eight turnings, when should we execute?”

My heart sank. I already knew the answer. It needed no translation, as we all could understand:

”At dawn of the eighth turning,” he said coldly. “That will be optimum.”

There was a general resonance of acceptance.

“So let it be done,” Marr pontificated.

The holograph shadowed out.

################################################

I raised the lighting in the room to a comfortable level and looked at the ashen faces.

“In four hours time these missiles will strike. Did anyone see the target areas and the bases that will be hit?”

Bree spoke up:

“I have had time to analyze the map and the data.

“Map co-ordinate 19:75 is at the center of the western part of the Morgan landmass. He will lose the following bases according to the Usurper data:

Morgan Industries
Morgan Metagenics
Morgan Pharmaceuticals
Morgan Bank
Morgan Transport

“Map co-ordinate 124:58 is the Command center for the Peacekeeper Avishnu Testing Range. They will lose:

U.N. Headquarters
U.N. Planetary Trust
U.N. Great Refuge
U.N. Temple of Sol

“Bastards,” Domai muttered under his breath. Miriam patted his hand gently.

“We cannot hope to evacuate the entire populations in time,” she said. But we must give the faction leaders notice. They and their key advisors must be saved. Can you see to it, Scott?”

I nodded my agreement, and left the room for my office, to put in the fateful calls to Lal and Morgan.

[Hydro]

Sea Hive

An image wavered in front of Chairman Yang. It was no more than a 100 centimeters tall, and it appeared to be speaking into the air. The small figure was dressed in immaculate blue and purple with orange filigree. Behind him were ghosts of a plush sofa, and a fragment of a fountain.

“I have very little time, honored Chairman,” the figure said as he looked behind himself and then back toward the Chairman. He had a richly textured voice, which was marred by a staccato static that faded in and out with his image. “Three weeks ago the Morgan submarine Pegasus was launched. There was no ceremony, as there had been with every other launch of any naval vessel – it simply slipped away. My sources say there was a Gaian mindworm aboard by the name of Ehm with its Gaian handler in tow. My bribes had no effect since it seems no one knows anything, not even for an obscene amount of energy credits. That is most unusual. Still, it is probable that the submarine is headed west. Unfortunately, there is no way to track it.

Honored Chairman, another mystery is the disappearance of almost all the energy trawlers from Morgan lands. There were many reports of these moving with great urgency along the mag rails in specially modified cargo cars, which disrupted transport for three days. It is not clear why they have left, but it is likely their resources have been used for the construction of some significant project. I have no information what those project or projects might be. Also, Morgan scrapped the research hospitals at Morgan Bank, Morgan Pharmaceuticals, and Morgan Industries, and the financial markets are in chaos due to the massive redistribution of energy credits. The government is doing nothing to stop the slide, and there is wild speculation about a crash.

I have nothing else to report, Chairman. It is my sincere wish that this, the least of information, will assist you in your noble quest to bring enlightenment to humanity, and that my service will earn some small bit of clemency for my family.” The figure bowed low.

The Chairman was silent for a moment. The figure straightened, and flashes of apprehension crossed his face.

Finally, Yang deigned to respond. “You have done well. Your father will be released from the punishment sphere and will be placed in a reeducation program. The remainder of your family,” he continued in a quiet, somber, and earnest voice, “will earn commutation of the sentences for their seditious crimes by your services to the Hive. Do not fail.”

The figure bowed again, and then winked out.

Yang was silent, and he considered. He knew about Pegasus, and had known the day it was launched. He also knew what it carried. These were mere details, facts that were obvious to anyone who cared to observe with a practiced and disciplined eye.

Still, there was uncertainty. In trying times the logic, and therefore the predictability, of men decayed as they clutched at straws, feeble and fleeting though they were. This rising chaos created ambiguity, and that made it difficult to divine the questions that had plagued Yang for the last three weeks.

Against whom would Morgan use his two planetbusters?

Where does a weak man strike?

A rare smile crept upon Sheng-Ji Yang’s lips, for he knew the answer.

[senatus]

The Drone Mound

Four hours.

It seemed an incredibly short time, Miriam Godwinson mused, yet it was an eternity compared to the milliseconds it would take for four million souls to vanish.

Not even four hours. Three hours, thirty seven minutes, and fifty-three seconds. Barely enough time to pray for intercession. Was there time for any earthly intervention?

Certainly, Miriam knew, Scott Allardyce would be alerting Pravin Lal and Nwabudike Morgan. But at best a few dozen or hundreds would be saved, depending on the sort of contingency plans each leader had available to them.

An bizarre thought flitted through Miriam's mind. Did a soul have an earthly component, too indiscernable to measure or detect scientifically in individual quantities? If so, would the simultaneous destruction of four million souls be enough to finally measure and prove the existence of such an entity? Maybe Zakharov would've liked to have set up an array of sensitive instrumentation for such a unique experiment. But of course he would find nothing; for Miriam knew the souls were eternal. And so both Miriam and Zakharov would again find results consistent with each of their interpretations and beliefs.

I have to do something, Miriam thought. Was there any earthly agency that she could call upon that even might avert this holocaust?

Yes, there was.

"I have to make some calls, James," Miriam spoke softly into her fiance's ear. "I'll be back in just a little while."

Foreman Domai looked at his partner. Like everyone else in the briefing room he had been shocked, but one of the qualities of his leadership was that he didn't allow shocks to paralyze his thought processes. He knew Miriam well enough now to know there was more than what she was saying; he also knew that now was not the time to press her on it. And he had work to do, too.

"I'll be all right, Miriam. I think I should talk to our industrial foremen; prepare the hospitals and the landing pads at our bases. It's not much, but... it's something constructive, I suppose."

Miriam nodded and squeezed Domai's hand before she left. She had two calls to make, actually. The first was to a man she had no liking for whatsoever - a mutual sentiment, she knew; nevertheless he stood by on the comlink as she explained the situation, and placed her second call.

Sea Hive

A leader's time is precious, and in any modern faction he or she needed a series of protocols and assistants to screen and prioritize information as it arrived. Only a very select set of missives would have the necessary parameters to reach a faction leader without prior screening; and such an event was unusual enough to peak Sheng-Ji Yang's curiosity when it did occur.

Curiosity became surprise - an emotion that the Chairman had almost forgotten - when he recognized the comlink frequency header displayed on his private communications suite. He knew the frequency, of course; it was one he'd last seen over a hundred Chiron years ago. Certainly not one he'd expected to see used again. Nor one that he particularily welcomed, curiosity or not. But information from any source - particularily unexpected ones - could be valuable; and in any case there were time-honoured protocols to be observed.

"Sister Miriam. I trust this unexpected call has a purpose. Speak, please."

"Sheng-Ji Yang." The voice accompanying the hologram was flat and cold, yet nevertheless controlled. Commendable. Perhaps the former Unity Psych Chaplain had indeed learned something valuable while Yang's "student" for nearly the past hundred years, despite her fanatic adherance to the most irrational of beliefs.

"I do not intend to waste your time or mine, so I will be brief. Do you or do you not know about the two planet busters?" Miriam asked.

Yang assumed that Miriam meant the two planetbusters that Morgan had most unexpectedly constructed. Was this the prelude to some threat or demand? If so, it was most certainly a bluff; for if Yang read Morgan correctly, the mogul would be unlikely to waste such weaponry on the Hive; not when there were more important targets to consider.

"I am aware of these weapons, yes." Yang replied.

"Then you endorse the imminent deaths of four million human beings?" Miriam challenged.

For once, Sheng-Ji Yang was taken aback.

"I beg your pardon?" He found himself asking.

If Yang knew Miriam, so also Miriam knew Yang. Her arch-foe was genuinely confused, Miriam was certain.

"The aliens you have allied with, and Ashaandi, intend to destroy the continents that Morgan Industries and the United Nations of Planet reside upon. In three hours. Were you not aware of this?" Even as Miriam spoke, it occurred to her that the Chairman was conspicuously absent from the fateful meeting.

Yang was quiet for a moment, now contemplating new patterns and possibilities.

"Since there I see no gain to the Human Hive in prevarication, I will say this: No, I was not aware of this. You have proof of these matters?"

Godwinson pushed a button on her console.

"I am transmitting on Subchannel One an intercepted briefing, obtained nine days ago, by Axis operatives. On Subchannel Two you will find an image and audio signature analysis that indicates the briefing's authenticity."

Yang observed the transmission with his own eyes. While using MMI would be faster, he wouldn't put it past Godwinson to use the information as a carrier of malevolent software. His personal firewalls were very good, of course, but there was no sense in taking chances. Finally, he nodded.

"I see. I accept this information; in return you have discovered that I am not fully appraised of the Usurpers' plans. It seems to me that you have profitted the more, strategically, from this exchange. If that was your sole intent, let us end this discussion. Or did you have something else to add?" Yang asked.

"This does not seem consistent with your vision for the human race, Yang," Miriam addressed the Chairman by his first name.

Yang almost laughed.

"Is that a personal opinion, Psych Chaplain?"

"It is an informed and professional one. We've conversed about your goals and vision many times, you may recall. Furthermore, I've run the ethical calculus test against the Hive's social profile, and there is an obvious discontinuity." Miriam responded.

Yang nodded slowly. Whatever else she might be, Miriam was amongst the most insightful of social analysts that Yang had ever met; it was a tremendous waste that her talents were twisted to serve the propogation of a religious myth. And she was right. Yang was true, not to the obsolete Charter of the Unity, but to the vision - the survival of humanity. The loss of human life on such a scale - not to mention the ecological consequences - would be catastrophic.

"Very well. But that is an observation only, and I presume that merely sharing it with me was not your intent. Unless, of course, you are attempting to appeal to my 'conscience'." Yang responded finally.

"Then let me put this in pragmatic terms as well, Sheng-Ji Yang. If by your actions you show yourself to be complicit in this... this atrocity, then this will result in open warfare between us. Unlimited open warfare," Miriam added significantly.

Yang paused. For Miriam to threaten to abandon the U.N. Charter was an indication of her desperation - or her seriousness. But in any case, the Hive's forces were far better equipped than the Drone Believers, although the latter now had a formidable air force. But on balance....

"An unlimited open war would not be one that you can win, Miriam Godwinson," Yang warned.

"Unlimited open warfare between us would leave the victor with little more than the loser. You are correct in your intelligence; we have never attempted to outfit our forces with nerve gas as you have. But I have the genetic codes to the Prometheus Virus. And as you are no doubt aware, Drone-Believer covert missionary teams have already penetrated Hiverian security." Miriam was careful to show no emotion on her face as she delivered her ultimatum, for it was vital that the Chairman only challenged her on the actions she was able to carry out.

Yang looked at Godwinson coldly.

"You are bluffing. Your research is laughably poor; you cannot have developed such a complex virus."

Miriam relaxed, and deliberately showed her confidence in her body language that the Chairman's bioscanners could read. Yang had called the wrong bluff. She conferenced her first contact into the link, and had the personal satisfaction of seeing the Chairman's eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

"Your data are correct but your conclusions false," Prokhor Zakharov rasped.

"University of Planet researchers developed the virus and deployed it at Pointa Sur. The vector was 100% effective in a quantized sense - that is, all individual terrestial animal lifeforms were eliminated," Zakharov continued with a clinical detachment that only added to his chilling authenticity.

"Godwinson may not have developed the virus, but she is certainly technically capable of deploying it. Ethically, I cannot say; however human psychology is more to your specialties than mine. Zakharov, out."

Miriam waited for a moment after Zakharov disconnected, deliberately giving Yang time to process the unexpected data.

"Choose your next actions carefully, Chairman. The Sword of Damocles hangs over us all. Godwinson, out."

The hologram winked out, leaving Sheng-Ji Yang to stare into empty space. Godwinson was, of course, irrational to the core, but as long as he'd known her, her irrationality was confined to her religion. On perfectly earthly matters, she was capable of rational thought. She had to be taken seriously, at least.

The endgame was finally upon him, and it was his turn to move.

[Hydro]

Fungal forest, near Temple of Planet

The air was hot and heavy in the fungal forest, and the setting suns cast long shadows among the towering stalks. Brilliant reds and greys at the top of the fungus faded to deep purple and then black at the base of the forest. There was very little sound with only a few muted rustling of small creatures moving though the fungal mat and the understory, and a small number of larger vocalizations in the indeterminate distance.

Amid the deepening gloom a human hand appeared, and then another. The hands rose, cupped together, strained and then pulled apart, yielding a soft tearing sound. Behind the tear was a face that slowly emerged as the fungal biocloth was removed. The face spasmed as writhing tendrils from the biocloth was pulled from the face’s nose and mouth, and as white strands were slowly and carefully removed from the closed eyes. A faint sheen of mucous covered the face and dripped down the white cheeks, falling to the fungal mat.

After a few minutes the tendrils were removed, and they fell, quivering, to the sundered fabric, where they were reflexively retracted. The fabric itself had already started healing itself and the tear lines softened, then formed a neat edge as the rest of the cloth around the face was pulled away.

Deirdre Skye cautiously opened her eyes and squinted even in the gloom. Here pupils were completely dilated, and a few small droplets of blood seeped from the corners of her eyes into the mucous, creating a pink sheen that flowed down her pasty white cheeks. She spit, ejecting more mucous from her mouth, and a few tattered tendril fragments. Her biosuit had been on for a long time and it had almost formed hard connections that would be much more uncomfortable to sever.

Steadying herself against the base of a fungal tree, she used her other hand to reach out and she touched another freestanding fungal structure. The structure moved, and hands appeared, which reached up and removed his biofabric. As Jay pulled off the biomask Dee touched a few more ‘stalks’ and more hands appeared. Within minutes a portion of the fungal forest was becoming a small Gaian task force.

Dee opened her mouth and started to say something, but nothing came out. She shut her eyes, and tried again. Her voice was horse from disuse. “Jay, it’s time. I have to know if the strike forces are in position.” Dee looked at Jay, who was just now recovering from severing his link with the fungal cloth. He looked over at Dee, shielding his dilated eyes from the dappled light of the setting sun.

Jay appeared slightly disoriented and he focused vaguely on Dee’s voice.

“Jay?” she asked.

“Yah. I’m all right. Losing all those senses is hard. It feels like I’m cut off, crippled. I can see you and hear you, but I can’t feel you. You know?”

“Yes, I know. You can’t focus with the biosuit integrators on, Jay. You know that.”

“Yah,” Jay nodded. He took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

He didn’t look ready to Dee, but she took his word for it. Jay was the empath assigned to this Gaian battle control group, and he was responsible for keeping in touch with the other strike forces deployed around Temple of Planet, which had been taken from the Gaians by the Hive and the Progenitors. In a way he was a communication linchpin, and although he could be replaced it would be difficult since broadcasting empaths were not common.

Dee touched his shoulder, and Jay started. Dee smiled at him, letting him know that she valued and trusted his ability. Jay smiled weakly in return.

Jay turned to his task. “Fluff, where are you?” he asked.

The other members of the team, knowing Fluffy’s proclivities, stopped what they were doing and looked around, expecting Fluffy to emerge in the most inconvenient part of the fungal mat as was possible. While everyone else thought it was hilarious to see someone swept off his or her feet and sent flying through the air on a cloud of mindworm the victim generally wasn’t nearly as appreciative of the event. The problem had gotten much, much worse after the battle at Velvetgrass Point. Fluffy was now almost Daemon size, and he easily massed more than all the humans in this smallish task force. He was literally a pink wave, when he wanted to be.

The fungal mat to Jay’s left heaved, and then surged with pink wormlets. Fluffy poured out of the porous mat at a furious rate, and in a few moments his vast bulk was pulsing beside Jay.

“What took you so long?” Jay asked.

Fluffy formed a pseudopod ‘head’, which wagged back and forth, then cocked itself to one side.

Jay frowned. “Fine. Keep your secrets. We’ve got work to do.” Jay walked off into the now dark fungal forest to find a quiet place away from distractions.

He turned back toward the group. “Well? Are you coming or not?” he said, addressing his pointed comment to Fluffy.

Fluffy deflated a little, and then perked up and bounded after Jay, sweeping him off his feet and hurling him in a frightening but controlled way through the fungal stalks. Jay emitted an involuntary yelp. His diminishing voice could be heard admonishing Fluffy to ‘Watch out for that…OOF!’, ‘HEY! Not that way!’, and ‘No tickling!!!’.

Back at the opening in the forest there were tense chuckles from some of the observers. While the rest watched and listened to Jay and Fluffy as they disappeared into the fungus Dee finished removing the biofabric from her head. Her treasured flowing raven hair was gone, replaced by multi week-old greyish-black stubble. She had no time for any type of hair care in a time of total war.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Erith un-merged from her mindworm and stood on her feet on a low hill far north of Temple of Planet. She could sense, but not see, the artificial human structures of Temple of Planet, and the enormous complex that the humans had inadequately named Manifold Nexus. Erith sneered with what was left of her lips. The human structures were so…wrong, temporary and impermanent. Even in its semi-ruined state the Nexus was awe-inspiring. She could feel its age, and she knew it had roots deep within Planet. It had survived countless millions and even billions of years as Planet convulsed in its failed attempts at consciousness, and it had survived the more mundane trials of weathering, geologic upheaval, and occasional meteorite strikes. It has even, she knew, survived wars, and those ancient Progenitor wars made the current conflicts between the humans and Progenitors seem pale and petty by comparison. Those battles were buried deeply in the depths of time and she could only get a faint taste of them from the complex resonance fields that folded and enveloped this place.

All around the human settlements and the Manifold were vast expanses of fungus. Erith felt at home there, as did her mindworm companion. A few now ruined tilled fields had been scratched out of Planet’s fungus-less surface and a small corpse of Earth trees were peppered around the low ferrocrete housing complexes to the east. Even at this distance she could feel the crude metal forms that were war machines, each of which was lethal to human’s weak flesh but useless against her and her mindworm. She could sense this easily, but could not sense the essence of these things, which is what she was here to do.

Here mindworm drew near. It knew what she was thinking, and in many ways they did not have separate thoughts anymore. The worm flowed around her, taking her into its form as it would a transient wormlet. Its electromagnetic and resonance fields caressed her, and changed her. She could feel it and welcomed it. Reaching out, she folded the resonance fields in a way the mindworm could not and projected it outward, seeking to find the status of the forces that had slaughtered so many Gaians and mindworms and that now held the precious Nexus for insidious and undoubtedly malevolent purposes. Her probe had an aggressive aspect to them, and her feelings of violation and wrongness gave them a force of will and a critical urgency. It was not right that humans, or especially the Planet-unfriendly Usurpers, should claim this place. At best the humans would be a caretaker to lovingly and reverently learn its secrets, not consume and twist its primeval abilities to foul ends. Erith trusted Dee to do the right thing with this sacred place, but not the degenerate Hive and certainly not the sad shadow of the Progenitor race that now afflicted Planet. The aliens might have been great in the past, and she was in awe that billions of years ago they had created this place and all its wonders, but these Progenitors were a blight on Planet. They didn’t understand Planet and they would use it for ill purpose. There was no place for them here, and she knew they must be exterminated.

At last Erith found what she wanted, and she focused in. And she saw.

A toothless smile erupted on her face and a gasping throaty cackle pierced the air. The wormlets that lived in her empty eye sockets and helped her ‘see’ started to frenzy, their small fields taking strength from Erith’s raw emotion.

She saw, and she was very happy.

*~*~*~*

Jay snapped out of his seeing state, willing mental clarity and forcing the flood of alien thought from his mind. This was the third scout he had touched, and each one was more disturbing than the last.

Is that what I will become? he thought, remembering the hideously changed bodies and minds he had seen and the almost inhuman mental patterns that were painful to touch.

He turned toward Fluffy, who was in contact with his entire body, not unlike the creature Erith. He could feel his resonance fields, just like Erith. He did not feel himself changing, and he didn’t have worms for eyes or degenerate and altered flesh.

But will I in the future? Will I even know I have changed?

Jay shuddered.

“Are you going to change me Fluffy? Make me into…that?”

Fluffy bulged at one side, but there was no answer. There never was, at least there was not overt answer. Any answer he ever got from Fluffy was more of a feeling, or maybe an image; he knew rather than heard. In this case he knew the answer to his question was ‘no’. Fluffy wouldn’t change him unless he wanted to be changed.

Maybe that was the difference? Perhaps the changes in Erith and the other ancient Gaian mindworm trainers and handlers were the result of their own needs, and their state was a reflection of their minds? Maybe the mindworms didn’t change their human handlers, but they responded to them? Could they be changing together?

Jay didn’t know the answer to that question, and he ‘knew’ Fluffy didn’t know either.

Although he was exhausted he knew he had to continue. There were two more scouts to go, and he first had to find them and then touch them.

He closed his eyes and folded Fluffy’s resonance fields, and projected outward. Searching.

*~*~*~*

“Thanks, Jay,” Dee said. “Go get some sleep.”

Jay nodded and left, happy to be dismissed.

Dee turned to her advisors, who were standing around her in a natural bowl of a fungal glade. All had a similar fungal biofabric open only at the face and hands. To a casual observer it would look like disembodied faces and hands bobbing in the air.

“All the scouts see the same thing. There are almost no Progenitor aircraft at Temple, since they apparently haven’t gotten around to replacing the losses they suffered from their assault on Velv. The few alien infantry that escaped their rout at Velv still haven’t recovered, and many of the Hive forces have gone missing. They may be hiding in the fungus, but considering what happened to the aliens I doubt he’d be so foolish to try that trick.”

There were a few dry laughs from Dee’s assembled staff. Mindworms, and especially Gaian mindworms, were lethal in the fungus, their home territory.

“Any reason not to send in our forces?”

The serious faces that surrounded her shook their heads.

Dee nodded to acknowledge their acquiescence. “OK. Send in the boils and the locusts.”

*~*~*~*

Erith felt the signal. She raised her arms and, in a flurry of winged wormlets, rose into the air as they engulfed and held her mass in the embrace of their resonance field. Everything grew clear to her, and she radiated a savage determination. Her locust felt this determination and reinforced it, adding the power it could draw from Planet. More and more locust swirled from the fungus into the mindworm maelstrom, and the boil grew into a daemon.

Erith disappeared into its growing bulk, a tiny mote lost in the ordered chaos of its flight. Its speed built up quickly as it headed toward Temple of Planet, and the Manifold. Behind it the air crackled and sparked.

*~*~*~*

“Did you hear that?” Trish asked. Looking north she could see the settlements as a distant dot, barely discernable against the fields of fungus. In fact, the only reason she could ‘see’ it at all is that the small patches of green Earth vegetation stood out from the pink of the fungus. And, of course, there was the hulking ruin of the Manifold Nexus that rose above it all.

Her mindworm didn’t say a word.

“We have a go. Our orders are to kill everything in that place, unless they are Gaian captives. Last report I had is that the Progenitors ate them all.”

Trish was suddenly all business. She didn’t have any friends or family at Temple when the Progenitors and Hive had struck, but the tales told had been horrific: penned humans taken one by one out to be gored to death by Progenitors as sport, and then eaten. If there weren’t so much evidence she wouldn’t believe that any sentient race would do such a thing, or that any human would stand by and watch!!! The reports also dovetailed with the atrocities that had come out of the attacks in Spartan territory - horror, pure horror, piled one upon the other.

Trish shivered, trying to beat away the images. Then she realized that was the wrong thing to do. She focused on them, and gave them to her new mindworm recruit. She could feel ‘him’ absorbing the images, lapping them up. He seemed to draw upon them, sucking them out of her. She gave him all he wanted, and he always wanted more.

After about a half-hour she felt drained, and elated and tingly all over. Her mindworm had finally given her something back! She distinctly felt his voice, as it were, and it was almost like a feral.

She poured her loathing into her consciousness and asked, ”Wanna eat some Hive, or maybe a juicy Bug?” she asked.

Trish smiled. She knew the answer since he was already speeding away through the fungus even before she finished the thought. It was hard, but she tagged along for the mental ride. Trying to hold onto her mindworm was like trying to hold onto a bucking bronco, but she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

She thought grimly to herself, Payback’s a b*tch. And this will be payback with interest.

[Hydro]

Temple of Planet

K’rth ground his lower mandible. Should he tell the Secondary Sub Primary Commander about the resonance disturbance in the fungus? He knew if it were yet another false alarm he would be severely punished and likely judged unfit for duty, and that would mean the Pit and a messy execution.

But what if it is an attack? Against all reason the strange invaders had wiped out the Progenitor troops during their assault on their city using Progenitor native life, with which they had an unnatural kinship. The Conquerors had told them again and again that these Invaders were weak and inferior, and that they only had to be shown the depth of their inferiority and that they would submit or die. The Invaders had died, but many more Progenitors had died, including the Conquerors leading the battle force! It was not to be believed.

Bile seeped into K’rth’s second stomach. He knew his duty. He would have to tell of his observations and, if he was wrong, die well, our at least as well as he could.

K’rth trilled a second harmonic, with an overtone of urgency. When he had the attention of his Sub Primary he shunted the information and the Sub Primary started reviewing the data.

Then the data projection lit up. Multiple resonances, vectoring in toward their holdings! They were coming in from the fungus from all sides, and from the air! He shunted these findings to his Sub Primary, trilling EMERGENCY!

Seeing these images and statistics his Sub Primary launched into action, ordering the two remaining Gnats to take flight, and the infantry to stand ready. K’rth could hear him send a message to the subordinate Invader Yang’s troops, but there was no response.

K’rth felt vindicated – he had been right!

Then he realized as he looked at the vectors and their strength that he was likely to get an opportunity to die well after all.

*~*~*~*

Erith felt no wind or sensation of any kind except the surging resonance of the locust that surrounded her. She did not even feel the change in direction as the swarm banked sharply toward the Temple of Chiron. Below were her targets, and Erith felt the alien crafts take off and angle up to meet her and her locust mates, which were converging from the north, west, and south.

One craft, a rather small thing, angled toward her. Erith could feel that this was an old entity, older than any human civilization – ancient, and likely a cast off or survivor of some long forgotten Progenitor conflict. It was small, and it was lethal. Inside it was the thought pattern of a pilot, but not a Progenitor pilot. Maybe a construct? It did not seem quite sentient. She willed it to come closer, closer, so that she could taste, and then rend!

A surge of raw energy erupted from the craft, and the bolt transfixed the locust Erith traveled within. Erith could feel the deaths of a few of the wormlets unlucky enough to be caught by the surge, but the beam met with mostly air and passed right through. Erith snarled – such a weapon is useless, useless! She reached out with her hands and extended her fingers, clawing and clutching at the thing she felt, willing her locust on. The target was not the craft, oh no, but the sentience in side. She would have it, and consume it – tear the very thoughts from its mind and fill it with terror and hopelessness just before the spark of its life was thoroughly and utterly destroyed.

Fractions of seconds after its ineffectual fire the gnat started to veer off.

NO! Erith screamed with her mind, and she vectored to intercept the craft. The gnat grew closer and closer, being unable to shed its velocity fast enough to angle away fast enough.

Now she could send out the first tendrils of the attack, touching its mind.

Resistance! Erith thrust harder, and deeper – there was still resistance! The mind was fighting back.

Erith drew upon the locust, harnessing its wellspring of power that it had from Planet, and used this to force her way into its mind. As she did so some of the wormlets surrendered their energy, crisping and winking out and falling dead away from the locust. It was like a human body drawing on its cells for energy, but like a human as it did so its energy declines and its mass decreases. The mass of the locust started to dwindle.

Erith willed the locust farther, and faster. Now she was on top of the craft, and her mindworm swarm engulfed it. Inside the craft she could feel the mind start to struggle, and finally panic. Now she could see its essence, and how to attack it. It was a construct, as she suspected, and she found its weaknesses and tore at them, filling the holes with gibberish. Nothing could be more frightening to a construct than to have its mind, its program, filled with noise and then sense its being diminished as its functionality eroded – this she saw clearly. And she used it with gusto.

She ignored the craft, and continued to tear at the mind. It was going! Futile attacks, too weak to matter to her, put up a failing resistance. Erith drew upon more strength and re-folded the resonance of the assault.

The mind crumbled, torn apart and reduced to components. There was no integration, and the mind simply winked out of being. The ancient craft was now so much ballast, and Erith pulled away. Gravity took over. She watched for a few seconds, with great satisfaction, as the craft took a great, sweeping parabolic arc and started plunging to the ground.

It was only then that Erith noticed the second craft bearing down on her.

*~*~*~*

“Are you in need of assistance?” Gnat 46 asked. He saw the locust swarm bear down on Gnat 23, and the ineffective firing on the locust, which was not only unfazed by the raw energy but actually seemed to hone in after the firing. The locust was almost on top of Gnat 23 now, and it was closing fast.

“I…am in,” it said, and there was a pause, “…distress.”

“I am angling to assist,” Gnat 46 said as he used the supreme maneuverability of his craft to execute an impossibly sharp bank to redirect his acceleration toward his afflicted compatriot.

Gnat was able to close quickly, and as he did so the locust swarm engulfed Gnat 23. The air around the craft was a chaotic series of coursing waves of resonance fields, most of them directed inward, impacting on the hapless craft. In a few moments Gnat 46 could see the craft start to behave erratically. It no longer was trying to escape the swarm and its path was linear. A quick projection of its course showed it would be orbital if given enough time - a wise move, considering that the locust could not survive in a vacuum. Another projection showed that Gnat 23 would not have enough time to execute such a maneuver.

The air was filled with organic matter as Gnat 46 pursued his stricken companion. Great portions of the locust were sloughing off, creating a debris field arcing behind the combatants. Based on the strengths of the resonance fields Gnat 46 knew the energy expenditure was enormous. It was also clear that Gnat 23 was unlikely to survive, and that was borne out by the silence since his last fragmentary transmission.

The resonance field strength subsided, and Gnat 46 saw that his companion was clearly dead since his craft was plummeting from the sky. Ahead of him was the locust. Gnat 46 accelerated and headed for its heart.

*~*~*~*

Erith could feel the other gnat and its attack as it plunged into her mindworm’s bulk. She tried to change course by willing the locust to swerve one way and then the other, but the alien craft seemed to know her moves, or it was able to respond so quickly that it gave the impression of omniscience. No matter. If evasion won’t work then a response to the attack must be mounted.

She concentrated, willing the locust and focusing its remaining resources, which were much less. Her first attack was met with very stiff resistance and it felt like she hadn’t even scratched its surface. Erith tried again, and she got a taste, but just a taste, of its essence. That was enough to give her renewed fervor and resilience, and she attacked again. As she attacked she could feel more and more of the locust fall away, its energy expended. The resonance fields were fluctuating now and the protective cocoon of locusts was thin, and she could feel the wind tear at her body. It was cold. Erith hadn’t felt cold in a very long time.

Still the craft stayed with her as she slowed to a crawl, and tried changing directions again.

More failure, and more collapse. She could feel the magnetic fields that bound the locust into a coherent whole start to waver, and the resonance fields they generated were dissipating. Erith screamed, throaty and loud, in frustration. It had to die! The alien! It had to die!

Summoning the last of her resources, she knew she had only one weapon left and she would use it, and it would destroy the alien! Her scream turned into a cackle and she launched forward.

*~*~*~*

Gnat 46 felt…disoriented. Three subprograms were gone and a subprocessor was generating impulses he was pretty sure were not correct. He had to parse off a portion of his primary program that could be trusted to deal with that problem and directly countermand the failing processor.

Each resonance spike from the locust caused some sort of damage. At first it was not very serious. He knew his program was resilient and there were many redundancies built in. He also had the ability to adapt and change, and effectively mutate his resources to deal with new and unexpected threats. While this native form was not exactly new to him he had not fought one before. It was disconcerting. There was not physical damage, only pieces that no longer functioned. Gnat 46 supposed that is what had happened to Gnat 26 as he was failing.

There were even fractions of seconds when he forgot who he was. Even that time seemed like an eternity for a construct, and it elicited what might be called fear. To have no purpose would be the end of existence. Gnat 46 knew this was an attack on his identity programs, but they were beginning to get harder and harder to resist. Most of the redundant and adaptable portions of his being had already been assigned to cover for missing segments, and that there was now a significant reduction in performance. These programs, while adaptable, were not optimized for their tasks.

Another flux washed over him, and he felt another portion of his functionality waver and decay. It had to be fixed, it had to be. His identity program was threatened! Gnat 46 assigned mechanical servitor algorithms to the task, filling the hole. It was inadequate, but it would have to do.

After this crisis was resolved Gnat 46 realized the attacks had stopped. He paused and looked around his craft, searching for the telltale features of the locust’s resonance field. Where was it? Was it destroyed? Had he won?

Then he saw it. It was small, a pale remnant. And it was directly under his craft! What was it doing?

Alarms started going off, and small fields indicating immediate danger. The craft was under direct physical attack!

Gnat 46 was stunned, and his thinking was slow. Too much had been redirected. What was happening?

More telltales started going off, indicating a hull breach. Minor system failures were occurring all over the craft, although nothing major was compromised yet. Based on the pattern the locusts were digging a hole through his hull. But why? That could not significantly harm him!

He activated his remaining servitor algorithms - the few that had not been sacrificed to preserve his identity function. They worked at repairing the damage and they worked quickly. The exterior breach in his hull was sealing itself. He did another search to find the location of the remaining resonance fields. He searched outside – nothing. Was it still in the area?

Yes. Was it on his hull? YES! It was in his hull, and he had sealed it in! Gnat 46 suffered a moment of paralysis, and then he analyzed the field strength of the mindworms. It was almost extinguished, and Gnat 46 knew he was safe. His servitors could deal with them, and he told them to sequester or destroy them. He could safely ignore the remaining mindworm resonance fields and perhaps take the mindworms back for analysis and study. That would be useful

Gnat 46 turned his attention back toward the battle outside and saw that he was needed. Mindworm boils were flowing out of the fungus and he could see the western half of the settlements were overrun. As he watched a few muffled explosions roiled on the plain, signifying the death of infantry units, or maybe one of the allied Invader troops. He banked his now sluggish aircraft back to assist in the defense.

Then he realized something was wrong. More telltales were going off. What was that air modulation? What was it from? He did a cross-reference in his databases, and got a positive result – Invaders used sound modulation for communication. What was this air modulation? He queried his databases. Meaningless result: screaming?

What was screaming?

Gnat pondered that puzzling answer as Erith clawed her way into the cockpit with her few remaining locusts, screaming incoherently, smashing and flailing at everything she could find. She was intent on his death, and she would have it.

From the ground the second Gnat appeared to dispatch the locust swarm, turn back toward the battle, lazily careen to one side, and then take a steep nosedive into the ground. The explosion to the north of Temple rocked the valley.

*~*~*~*

Dee and her staff looked over the carnage across the formerly sleepy and peaceful fields of Temple of Planet. Progenitors could be seen sprawled in clumps where they had made their stands, and others were scattered radially away from their reactors when they had gone super-critical and blasted outward during combat. In this last case there was typically not much left besides shattered carapaces. As ghastly as they were, the fields were much more pleasant than the city. Dead Progenitor civilians covered the streets. It seems the mindworms had been told by their handlers what they had done to other humans here, and there had been no mercy. They had been slaughtered to the last, and none had escaped. The Hive soldiers had fared no better since they were seen as collaborators with those who would exterminate other humans – the worst kind of traitor. When the Gaian occupying force finally got to the city it was nothing but a shell, gutted and glowering.

“Lady Skye?” a young man asked.

De turned around. A Gaian recruit in a full biosuit stood near her. He had detached himself from his squad, who had the gruesome task of investigating and disposing of the piles of bodies.

“Yes?”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he said. He sounded tentative, so Dee nodded to encourage him to continue. Dee had found, much to her bemusement, and the people that allowed her to lead them idolized her. That had the unpleasant side effect of being isolating, and creating what might be an unhealthy hero worship. Dee tried to undo that whenever she could.

“What do we do now? We’ve taken back Temple. The Spartans and everyone else are hurting are a long way away. We need to help them. Don’t we, Lady?”

“What is your name?” Dee asked.

“Rodrick, Lady,” he said.

Dee walked toward him. His entire squad was watching him now.

“Rodrick,” Dee said, “I want you to call me Dee. Everyone does. OK?”

Rodrick nodded, and he swallowed hard.

“The way I see it we have an obligation to help any way we can, and help everyone that can be helped. Liberating Temple was the first step, but only the first step. We won’t stop here, and we won’t stop until humanity is no longer threatened and peace is established everywhere. We hid for far too long, and that did us no good. As Gaians we have to fight for what we believe in and what we stand for.”

Dee looked around and Rodrick followed her gaze, taking in the destruction of so many ‘invincible’ Progenitors and the soldiers of the fearsome Hive at the hands of the passive and contemplative Gaians.

“It seems we are stronger than we thought, and with that strength we can help Planet and the peaceful people who live here. I believe that. Do you?”

“Yes La..ah..Dee!” he said, standing partially at attention.

On impulse Dee walked over, took Rodrick by the shoulder, and planted a kiss on his cheek. When she pulled away she winked at him. She was sure he would be blushing if his skin weren’t a rich ebony color.

Rodrick was speechless, and Dee took that as her cue to leave. She waved carelessly at the motionless and equally speechless cleanup squad in back of Rodrick and started walking with her staff back to the admin center of Temple. She had a lot to discuss with her command staff, including an interesting find at the Nexus – a very interesting find.

[Hydro]

Sea Hive

A small holographic interrogative interrupted Chairman Yang’s daily system review. It appeared as an aggressive pulsing tone and light in the bottom of the multi-layered view. He had been expecting this and he finished poring over the force summary for the Spartans, Gaians, Believers, and his allies the Usurpers. Even in its current tattered state due to the incompetence and willful arrogance of Asshandi the Hive’s data collection and ‘acquisition’ system was excellent. His agents had infiltrated all the factions long ago in multiple ways, including human, mechanical, and expertly designed self-perpetuating algorithms. Information is truly power, and if so then the Chairman knew he had his fair measure.

He touched the holo and terminated the diagnostic overlay, and then activated the link. The pulsing ceased. The message was from one of his rising Talents, a political officer that had the rare combination of talent, drive, dedication, and appropriate ambition. Such values were treasured by the Chairman, and nurtured when possible. But a long history had shown him that nothing is static, and that talent and drive frequently changed from appropriate into inappropriate ambition. Then the nurturing of this offending Talent ceased, sometimes abruptly and permanently.

The image of a young woman appeared. Her hair was closely cropped, and her Anglo face had a classical beauty to it that the Chairman found to be aesthetically pleasing due to its clean lines subtle skin tones. The clarity of her mind was pleasing, too. She was diplomatic when she needed to be, but otherwise she was succinct and to the point.

“Agent,” he said. There was no need for names, and there were numerous advantages for omitting them. Denial of information is also power.

The image inclined her head. “I require your presence in my office,” Yang continued. “Inquire at Security for my current location. I will be waiting for your report.”

The image’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Yang was pleased. He had surprised her by his request, and by making it clear that he would wait for her. Personal reports to the Chairman were rare, and a report that was so critical that the Chairman would place his current activities in abeyance until he received it was doubly so. She undoubtedly understood this, and its meaning: trust. While this was not true trust it was a gesture of trust.

Sheng-ji Yang waited for his Agent’s arrival. It was going to be good news.

*~*~*~*

“Chairman, Temple of Planet has fallen to the Gaians. It has been confirmed that all Usurper and Hive forces have been destroyed, and that the Gaians are holding the remnants of the city and the Manifold Nexus with significant forces, including mindworms and locusts. The Gaians attacked with overwhelming strength in a combined assault of locusts to destroy the Progenitor aircraft and some ground forces, then a succession of mindworm attacks from the fungus. They were able to reduce the city within a few hours. This means that the Gaians now control the Nexus, and that their largest holding at Velvetgrass Point is largely secure from attack.”

Chairman Yang nodded once. He knew this, of course. His recent review of force holdings had confirmed the results, if not the details, of the Gaian assault.

“How many of our garrisons were destroyed?” Yang asked.

“Three, Chairman,” she said.

“And our airforce?”

The Agent almost smiled. “They arranged to be elsewhere during the assault, Chairman. They will be arriving on the mainland shortly.”

“Exactly what Hive forces were destroyed?”

“Three fission synthmetal garrisons, Chairman. It seems the Progenitors do not pay much attention to our military abilities, or the capabilities of our forces. We were able to use their psi gate at the Nexus to do a ‘routine’ transfer of forces over the past few weeks and replace them with these ‘military’ units. During the transfers we followed all the protocols our Progenitor allies seem to crave. They were more than satisfied with our displays of obedience, to the exclusion of all else, it seems.”

“And the current disposition of our elite infantry, artillery, and rover strike forces?” he asked.

“As you commanded, they are in bunkers outside of the Spartan-held Hive warrens, Chairman.”

“Very well. I want you to personally instruct the Hive generals that they are to immediately begin the process of liberating the cities the Spartans took from us,” the Chairman said. A rare hint of urgency colored his voice, whose timbre went up ever so slightly. The Agent noticed this with some interest. “They have stripped their occupied holdings of everything of use to feed the war machine on their own continent in their attempt to survive the Progenitor onslaught. Although it should not be necessary, our forces are to use nerve gas to eliminate the Spartan resistance if any significant Spartan resistance is encountered. Victory must be swift and complete.”

She nodded to acknowledge the orders. “Chairman,” the Agent said. “What of the Believers?”

The Chairman paused, thinking of his recent conversation with Sister Godwinson. She had been blunt, but she was still the same oddly brilliant creature he had tried and failed to educate for almost a hundred years during her stay in a Hive punishment sphere. She had a curious resilience, even under the stress of pain and the threat of pain. Most unusual. That was undoubtedly due to her unwavering faith in her chimerical god, a fantasy constructed to ease the pain of doubt and give meaning where there was none. Yang knew his solution, which was to accept the pain and lack of meaning, was superior since it did not require an artificial construct to allow mental stability. Again, simplicity is key.

Yang knew her threat was significant, and he had no doubt she would use her new weapon, the Prometheus Virus, against him if given provocation. Or, more accurately, that she would try to use it against him.

He would have to find a way to delay her action – in an authoritative way.

Yang looked his Agent directly in the eyes. Yang was pleased that she didn’t flinch as most did. “Destroy the Believer air force, and pin their cities. Cut the roads between us. Destroy any Believer or Drone forces that venture into or near Hive territory. Ensure our troops are escorted so they can not be subverted, and eradicate any probe forces that may use air drop capability into our territory. Ensure any transports are eliminated. Dismissed.”

His Agent nodded again to accept the clarity of the Chairman’s orders. Then she departed, leaving Yang to try to guess Miriam’s next move. It irritated him. Even if she was obviously intelligent she was not logical, and that made her inherently unpredictable. Oddly enough, Yang realized this might be something of an advantage even if it was more of a long term liability. At least Santiago, Skye and Morgan operated on an understandable level, and their actions did make some logical sense. Not so with Miriam. She operated under a different set of internal rules that he had never been able to truly fathom.

Finally, realizing Miriam was disrupting his thought patterns again he dismissed that line of thinking and returned to consider the primary threat to the Hive: Conquer Marr.

[Googlie]

The Drone Mound

There was no reply to Morgan’s Comlink. I quickly ran through the possibilities. Either he was ignoring me, was disconnected, was out of range of groundlink relays or perhaps sunspot activity was disrupting communications. I doubted the latter, so remembering the code that the Colonel had given me I left the simple message:

”Indigo, Industries plus 4, Dawn”

I switched to Lal’s frequency, and got him after a short delay, looking somewhat disheveled. I’d obviously awakened him from sleep.

“Ah, Allardyce,” the familiar face and voice intoned. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I cut in abruptly. “Commissioner, it is imperative that you and your immediate family and advisors leave UN Headquarters immediately – and I stress immediately, and avoid …” here I paused to look at the scrawled notes I’d made … “Planetary Trust, Great Refuge and Temple of Sol”

“Why, might I ask?” he replied.

“I can’t dwell on the details, as I must contact the CEO, but the Aliens are about to launch a nuclear – or worse – strike against your HQ and surrounding bases. We estimate the launch to be in ….” And I consulted my timepiece … “three hours approximately from now. An hour before dawn. So please, evacuate immediately.”

There was a pregnant pause at the other end. I could see his facial muscles twitching.

“This is not some sort of ruse, is it?” he asked.

“Ruse?” I replied, somewhat flummoxed. “Why would I want to joke on something like this?”

He harrumphed at the other end of the commlink:

“To get me out of UN Headquarters,” he replied. “Tomorrow is the huge peace rally, and if I am not there then Anwar Sanjit gets all the free publicity, and might even be emboldened to lock me out of government.”

“Pravin,” I replied exasperatedly. “Listen to me. You now have less than 3 hours to evacuate yourself and your key advisors. They’re striking Morgan Industries simultaneously – it’ll be Dawn there – I have to warn them. Now prepare to leave - I have no more time to spare.”

“Wait,” he rasped. “Will you be contacting Sanjit as well? I won’t leave the base without him.”

“Then he is your responsibility,” I said coldly. “The Council gave me no instructions regarding him. Allardyce out”.

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

Morgan Industries

Petra brought the chopper expertly on to the tower’s landing pad and cut the engine.

As she unbuckled her harness she turned round to the passengers and said “We’re here.”

“Thanks,” Nwabudike Morgan muttered, as he turned to help his companion from her harness.

“Come along, dear. We’ll soon be inside. And may I say you were magnificent this evening.”

Brooke Simpson smiled coquettishly. She was young for Planet’s most renowned concert pianist, but her talent was rare.

“Why thank you, my CEO” she breathed. “I hope to be equally magnificent the rest of the evening.”

Nwabudike’s blood raced, then he caught sight of Petra’s disapproving frown. She was devoted to him, and looked askance at his various dalliances that she was obliged to ferry back and forth from his apartments to their residences.

But she was frowning for a different reason.

“You have a commlink waiting, Sir,” she said. “Coded, so I can’t tell from whom.”

“That’s OK, Petra,” Morgan replied. I’ll get it in the morning. I won’t need you again tonight, so you can stand down and get some rest.”

She nodded her agreement and watched as he entered the building with Brooke on his arm.

Checking that all systems were on standby, she reached into her tunic and brought out the small data crystal, and inserted it in the commlink. Roze was such a dear friend, and had given her the small present with a “you never know when you might need it” wink.

Petra recognized Allardyce’s face when it popped on the screen through the encryption.

“Hmmm,” she thought. “Indigo Dawn. I wonder what that’s all about.” Although it was getting late – she checked her timepiece: just over 2 hours from dawn – she knew someone that would still be working and who might know, and entered the code.

“Paul, here. Ah, Petra. What can I do for you?”

Paul Antrades had been poring over a readout of Hive data, and was glad of the interruption.

“Paul. What does ‘Indigo’ mean, in a message to the CEO?”

“Say again, Petra? – and if I heard you correctly, where did you hear the expression? Are you sure it wasn’t ‘Index’?”

“No – it was ‘Indigo, Industries plus 4, Dawn’. In a message from Scott Allardyce to the CEO. He didn’t take it, but I have …. ah …means, shall we say, of intercepting them.”

“****!” came the response. “****, ****, ****. Petra – get to the chopper and get fire it up – extra fuel pellets if you can. It means evacuate immediately. Before Dawn. While you’re waiting for me to arrive with the CEO, contact anyone you know with personal air transport and tell them to get out. Set a course for ………. oh, say, Great Conclave ”

“Willdo, Paul. I’m in the chopper now, as a matter of fact – just arrived with the CEO and his latest bimbo.”

Paul chuckled at the other end. “Well at least I’ll know where to find him. Out”

While she waited, Petra restarted and set the engines to idle, then walked over top the small maintenance shed and wheeled over a pallet with two Ionized Deuterium pellets, and loaded them on the chopper. They couldn’t refuel in midair, but at least could set down and refuel.

Activating another useful feature in Roze’s disk, she checked on the whereabouts of the Board. Only the Culture Minister was in Industries – she didn’t have personalized air transport, though, and it would take too long to detour to pick her up. Paula Forbes, though, had transport, and lived nearby.

She caught Paula asleep, and after a reality dose of shock therapy managed to stress the urgency of getting as far from Morgan Industries as soon as possible.

Then she settled down to await the arrival of the CEO.

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

UN Headquarters

The guard, as instructed, didn’t wait for the door to be answered but simply kicked it in.

In an instant, Anwar Sanjit rolled out of bed and was on his feet, fleschette pistol in his hand. “What the f…….?”

“Commissioner Sanjit,” the guard shouted. “You are to come with us – Commissioner Lal is outside in the transport and we are evacuating the Base – something about an imminent alien attack.”

“Sure,” replied Anwar. “That’s an old tactic. Incarcerate me for 48 hours while he makes hay. Now get out.”

“Sir,’ the guard persisted.

Sanjit raised the pistol and fired at the guard, the fleschette darts not fully penetrating the silksteel armor, but delivering enough of an impact as to throw the guard from his feet. He reached behind him to the chair by his bed where he had carelessly thrown his tunic the night before, and was pulling it on when a deep voice came from the doorway.

“It’s true, Anwar. The base is being nuked at an hour before dawn. We’ve just received an alert from the Believing Drones who have broken Progenitor codes. Simultaneously with Morgan Industries – dawn there..”

“But why, Pravin? Why? What have we done to them?”

“Planet knows, Anwar. Now are you coming?”

The two men broke into a run as they went for the transport to the Aerospace Center.

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

Sea Hive

Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang stood on the observation deck of the seabase’s Command Center and gazed to the northwest. He wondered if there might be anything to see on the horizon, although his advisors had told him that they were too far away and that in any event, if the Usurpers were using a modified controlled singularity weapon there would be no explosion at all, merely the implosion of a gravitational anomaly.

He felt no elation.

Unlike the tactical nukes he’d authorized for the attack on Santiago’s Junta, and the ruse on the Hive base, he could see no strategic reason for these planned twinned attacks.

Advisors estimated almost a million Morgan citizens – fully 2/3rds of their population base – and a similar number of UN citizens - about 40% of their population. Two million humans, slaughtered like animals to make way for the Alien’s ‘Grand Experiment.’

Would Hive lives be any more valuable to Marr? Other than as cannon fodder? He doubted it. And what did the future hold if the experiment was successful? They achieve ‘Godhood’, he endures slavery? That didn’t sound too appealing.

And in any event, his advisors were telling him that the war wasn’t exactly the pushover that Marr thought it was going to be. The Spartans were proving to be more obdurate than anticipated. And they were fighting unconventionally. Both from the Progenitors’ expectations, and even surprising the Hive officers with unusual tactics and the vigorous prosecution of a covert war.

Perhaps it was time to seriously considering throwing his lot in with the human factions in what was undoubtedly going to be a messy interspecies war.

He glanced at his timepiece.

Nearly time.

Yang went inside to the War Room. The feed was being patched in from the satellite as well as from the spy-eyes he’d ordered launched a few hours ago. One was just south of Pharma, carefully avoiding the area around Great Conclave, while the other was offshore UN Great Refuge.

“Sir” the orderly snapped to attention as he entered, and the officers stood to acknowledge his presence. He waved his hand for them to resume their duties and turned to the duty officer:

“Status?” he asked.

“No activity yet, Sir.” He replied. “Although we have seen other observation needlejets at both locations – Believing Drone, we think. They’re leaving us alone, and we them, likewise.”

Yang settled back in his chair and prepared to wait for the inevitable.

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

Morgan Industries

Petra drummed her fingers impatiently, and for the umpteenth time glanced at her time readout. Dawn was getting close, and as she looked to the east she could almost imagine Alpha Prime’s rising rays lightening the horizon.

She did see some flickers of light fro the taller buildings and realized she was witnessing the exodus of Morgan Industries’ elite citizens – those shareholders and decision makers in the various enterprises who had obviously been warned by, she presumed, Paul.

Finally she saw him emerge from the building with the CEO in tow, Paul toting a laden satchel and the CEO, incongruously, clutching a 30 inch figurine to his chest as they ducked under the idling blades and entered the chopper. No sign of the Diva, thought Petra – just a plaything to be discarded when the time arose. Paul settled into the co-pilot’s seat, while the CEO made himself and his figurine comfortable in the back. Petra arched one eyebrow as she made out the likeness of the figurine – it was the CEO himself. He saw her gaze, and grinned that boyish grin that charmed everyone.

“Ivory,” he said. “An old elephant that I killed on Earth and had this made from one of its tusks. Brought it to Chiron with me. It’s priceless here.”

Petra checked that they were secure, then commenced the lift-off,

She felt a jerk on the chopper, and looked round to see an armored fist grab the doorframe, followed by a largely metallic arm, then the torso and body of Chuck Washington, Morgan’s security Mech.

“Thought you’d leave me behind, eh?” he growled as he found a seat and strapped himself in. “It takes more than that to lose me.”

As they joined the exodus of skimmers flitting among the towers of Morgan Industries, Petra spoke into her throat commlink to her passengers:

“Can someone enlighten me? What’s the significance of ‘Indigo’ – and why did you ask if I’d heard ‘Index’ instead? Is it some sort of code?”

Morgan chuckled ruefully.

“Indeed – and a simple one at that. Set up after Yang’s attempt on the Spartan Junta.

“Indigo means simply ‘Imminent Nuclear Destruction Immediately Get Out – followed by the target and then the expected timing.

“INDEX is the same, but more leisurely – the EX connoting just ‘exit’, and would be followed by the number of days’ warning that was being given.

“With the message being ‘Industries plus 5’ I am assuming that multiple warheads are on their way, and that other key bases are being attacked.”

As they crossed the shoreline, Morgan looked back at the dwindling lights of Industries and sighed: - after almost 140 years, to have it come to this – losing all that we have striven to build. And here we are, fleeing to the safety of a Believer base, of all places.

“Hey, look at that. They’re switching out the lights at Industries.”

They all looked back at the light smudges on the horizon, and saw what initially had been a pinprick of blackness slowly expand, shutting off the lights, and growing even as they watched.
“My God,” Paul breathed. “It’s not a nuke. It’s a singularity. Petra – gun this bird for all she’s worth.”

The whine of the fusion engine increased in intensity as Petra delivered maximum power to the chopper.

“It’s gaining on us,” Washington said, as he gazed back.

“I’m losing groundspeed,” Petra yelled. “We’re being slowed somehow by that shock wave”

“It’s not a shock wave,” Paul replied grimly. “It’s a gravitational well. Yang or his cronies have detonated a singularity weapon, creating a controlled black hole. We’re just beyond its event horizon, but soon won’t be.”

Chuck Washington unslung his launcher and slipped down into the aft weapons nacelle of the chopper. His muffled words came over the intercom:

“Brace yourselves.”

There was a sudden gale whipped through the cabin as the gunport opened – the CEO scrabbling to get the ivory figurine as it slithered across the floor.

With an audible THUNK, Washington fired, and then mercifully the gale stopped as the gunport slammed shut.

“Fat lot of good that will do us”, Paul murmured, “firing at the bloody thing”

There was a flash like a sun going supernova, and the small craft was lifted and hurtled through the atmosphere like a fungal bloom caught in one of Chiron’s many hurricane winds. Petra fought the controls, trying to stabilize the chopper as it careened across the sky, Paul reaching over to help manually where possible. Gradually they brought the chopper back under control.

“What the hell was that?” the CEO asked, of no-one in particular.

“Tactical micronuke,” Washington replied laconically. “I figured it wouldn’t make much difference to those left behind, and might give us some assistance on escaping the pull. It worked.”

Petra checked her new position and then punched in new co-ordinates for Great Conclave, and they sat back to relax on the journey.

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

Sea Hive

Sheng-Ji Yang watched impassively as the feeds came in, listening to the dry factual commentary of the watching crews at their stations:

“That’s PK-1, Lal’s personal needlejet transport, now exiting UN Headquarters’ airspace. He’s scrambling his entire airforce it looks like – some 70 or so, at a guess.

“No other evacuation activity to be seen. Approaching Dawn minus 1. Switching to full enhanced visual.”

Yang leaned forward in his chair.

The lights of UN Headquarters glowed, fierce and radiant, as an unsuspecting populace readied for a new day.

A black orb erupted on the nearby mountaintop housing the Avishnu Testing Center. For a split second it was tiny, but the orb grew, opening its maw to eat the lights and the very earth, consuming them. The black orb expanded like a black flash, growing and enveloping a cubic kilometer, then a thousand cubic kilometers. Light vanished, and the air and sea the rushed to fill the void, which accepted them and everything else into its greedy, final embrace.

UN Headquarters winked out of existence, replaced by an expanding black void. The island screamed, and the air and water rushed in, as the sphere grew to touch Planetary Trust, Great Refuge and Temple of Sol. These cities of light winked out of existence, too, and still the sphere grew. Finally the sphere grew gray and turbid, and still the tumult of its consumption continued. Whirling tornadoes of debris formed and flew into the void, ripping and tearing as they went. Great cyclones of water, mud, and earth tore at the land, streaking toward its destination in the black.

Then the great black maw dissipated, but the influx of earth, soil, and air it initiated moments ago continued, torrents of in-rushing land, air, and water that continued to tear toward the now extinct void. The hyper-kinetic energies of these materials built, and met in center in a titanic implosion.

At last there was sound, a rolling thunder of chaotic rumbling burst away from the implosion as the shock waves of land, sea, and air exploded from its center. The rolling wave of gray and black death covered the Peacekeeper island in a second wave of destruction as it boiled over the vanished cities of UN Headquarters and Planetary Trust and engulfed the tattered remnants of Great Refuge and Temple of Sol.

As this shock wave radiated outward there was a new void to fill and the sea rushed in where the bright lights of the Peacekeeper cities once stood. This second implosion of gray sea and torn earth rolled and tore, tearing a third time at the land. The void was filled.

Yang turned away from the screen, horrified, nauseated almost, his heart heavy.

And Planet screamed.

[Hydro]

The Airspace near Morgan Nexus

Most of the severe turbulence had passed, and it appeared that the aircraft was no longer in danger of flying apart or being overwhelmed by the chaos emanating from the gaping gray maw that had been Morgan Industries.

“What do we know?” Morgan asked in a subdued voice.

“I’ve gotten some fragmentary radio and holo traffic from Morgan Hydrochemical, Morgan Energy Monopoly, Morgan Aerospace, and Morgan Distribution on the mainland, and Morgan Nexus on the Hive continent. The communication lines to Morgan Industries, Morgan Transport, Morgan Bank, Morgan Pharmaceuticals, and Morgan Metagenics are dead,” Paul said and immediately regretted his choice of words.

Morgan’s jaws clenched. Paul saw the indecision and fear disappear and they were replaced with a grim determination, and fury. “I want you do go to the sub Pegasus, and I will give you my command codes for the nukes. I want them taken out. Immediately. I will not allow anyone to do this to me. No one!”

Paul thought that it was good that Nwabudike was coming to life again. He had been too passive after the strike, perhaps due to the shock. In Paul’s long history with Morgan he knew that times like this did not bring out the best in the CEO.

“Yes, sir,” he said. Paul reflected on how Morgan’s ministers had objected to the construction of the two planetbusters, and the extravagant expense of the enormous submarine they were staged within. At the time Paul doubted the efficacy of the act. It was almost willful on Morgan’s part, and the repercussions of discovery were enormous. Had that already been a half year ago? Why, yes it had. And now the submarine was waiting off the Progenitor coast, and it was likely hiding in a fungal bed or in some deep-sea crevasse. The Bugs had never paid any attention to the ocean, apparently thinking it beneath their status. The only real chance of discovery was an accidental probing by one of their gnat aircraft, which was unlikely since they had regular and extraordinarily predicable flight patterns that were easily avoided. In truth, a rogue isle was the worst problem since even with trance defense hiding in or near the sea fungus was dangerous business.

In the back of his mind Paul was already going over the logistics that he would need to get to the submarine. He would have to pull in a lot of chits, and with Morgan Industries gone he didn’t have many left. Still, it had to be done, even if he had to trust in some Believer operatives, who were very good but had other loyalties.

Paul looked over and saw that Morgan was quiet again. His gaze was fixed on the slowly expanding plume of gray incandescent dust that was arcing upward from his island. Before the shores had been covered in glittering, strident cities, boreholes, echelon mirrors, and solar collectors, and they teamed with an unconquerable vitality. Now it was home to a cloud of smoke and the pathetic remnants of a few shattered cities in the northern part of the island that managed to hold on through the maelstrom. It was a striking and sad contrast.

For the first time Paul realized he had no idea what Nwabudike was thinking. He simply had no frame of reference; Morgan had never been defeated like this - never. He did have a mission, however, and – by god – he would do it.

[Hydro]

Conquest of the Weak, formerly Sparta Command

“Conqueror,” senior aide Rasn resonated, “all commanders report their troops are in readiness. They await your order to advance on the Invaders, and resume their subjugation by the glorious Conqueror Marr!”

Conqueror Zzar looked up. Rasn was so earnest, and so confident. It was clear from his bearing he was one of the Cloned, a product of the cloning vats. They produced superb soldiers and workers, as each was modeled on Conqueror Marr since he was the model of Progenitor perfection. Each were inculcated with the wisdom of the ancients, and in mere months what had been raw material was a living, breathing Progenitor, born and bred for their intended function. None of these green but battle hardened younglings had been in the Arena, or experienced the crèche, except in simulation. Each was made, not molded and shaped. Their devotion to Conqueror Marr was absolute, as was their belief in victory. Zzar hoped his confidence wasn’t misplaced.

“The order is given, Assistant Rasn. As commanded by the glorious Conqueror Marr, our infantry are to lead, destroying all infestations of Invader structures and vegetation as they advance. Gnat aircraft are to remain at Conquest of the Weak, and remaining Battle Ogres are to guard our flanks as our invincible troops advance toward the hapless Invaders. Deathspheres are to remain in the rear as command posts. Such are the orders of Conqueror Marr.”

Assistant Rasn straightened and trilled assent, then turned and left Zzar’s command post in his Deathsphere.

The iris door to his chamber in the deathsphere closed after Rasn and Zzar was alone again. It was a commander’s prerogative to enforce isolation on themselves, and Zzar thought it best to avoid the wash of pheromones and synergistic resonances that coursed through common areas. To Zzar it was distracting, even if it did build confidence and bind a group of Progenitors each other. It did not promote clear thinking; rather, it promoted obedience to purpose, all of which had their place except in Command.

There were other reasons for seclusion. In the last few days he had felt uneasy with a kind of growing tension. He did not feel ill, and the feelings were not due to the upcoming battles with the Invaders. It was difficult to pin down, and the only similar experience was when he was crèche-bound, shortly after his hatching. When he was a youngling he had had these feelings, but they had been more wholesome and less threatening. Then they had been welcoming, like a siren call. Now it was like a blast of cold wind before a thunderstorm.

Zzar could feel his claws erupt from his paws, sinking deeply into the hard material of his command chair. His breath was short and his vision narrowed to a tunnel, forcing out his peripheral vision. All that was left was his perception of the webs of resonance that bound Manifold 6.

Something was happening. He could feel it.

Resonance lines surged, and they grew and merged. New lines formed. Arcs of light and darkness raced across these lines, all of which screamed in pain.

Zzar couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t want to breathe. He just wanted the screaming to stop.

Then it happened again, and this time the screaming pierced the very core of his soul, searing it and filling it with hate. It was a pure, unadulterated hatred driven by a pain of loss and betrayal like nothing he had ever felt or imagined, and it was coming from Manifold 6 itself. He could feel that. In fact, he couldn’t help but feel it.

The washing of light and dark of the resonance continued, and it was timeless and, to him, unending. He clutched onto the mote of his sanity and ignored all else. Gradually he was able to push some of the resonance away, and finally to close his eyes and shut off his ability to see the resonance patterns that were all around him. A blackness and silence filled his senses; the screaming stopped. He could feel himself again.

He took a breath, then another. After a moment he opened his eyes, and allowed himself to perceive some of the resonance around him. And, he knew: Conquer Marr had used his singularity planetbusters against the Invaders. His object was to destroy the Invaders, which was a worthy goal since most Invaders were vermin and deserved no better. Zzar had known this would happen, but since he was a simple field Conqueror the grand Conqueror Marr had never seen fit to tell him.

Zzar could see and feel that Manifold 6 was alive, more alive than he had ever seen. He felt that the singularity planetbusters had violated Manifold 6 in a way it had never known. Even with most of his senses shut down Zzar could see that its hatred was still there, alive and seething.

Conqueror Marr had awakened something and for the second time in his life Zzar was afraid.

[Hydro]

Fungal fields between Velvetgrass Point and Temple of Planet

Shadows were lengthening in the fungus, turning the pinks to blues and grays. There was no wind, but the larger fungal fronds and trees were swaying and pulsing. All around the fungal forest was alive with sound and energy. The over-active xenofungus ‘animals’ moving around at a frantic pace and the sessile fungal forms emitted a low, resonant discordant tone that seemed to throb in the virgin fungal net. Gaian mindworms, many of whom had grown considerably after their defeat of the Progenitor assault on Velvetgrass Point, had grown even larger in the last few days, seemingly infused by new energy and malice.

Jay walked over toward one of the weave tents that had been erected in a small clearing. He entered and waved to get Deirdre Skye’s attention. She saw and acknowledged him, finished talking to one of her generals, and then paced over. “I just finished my survey,” he said. “Everyone reports a huge increase in net activity in the fungus and there have been mindworm eruptions everywhere. Over half of our empaths and controllers are either catatonic or slightly delusional, as best as we can tell,” Jay said. “It isn’t any better at Temple, or Landing for that matter, although communications over toward our bases on Yang’s continent are spotty.”

“Any sign the fungal net is settling down,” Dee asked.

“No one knows. The Bug’s planetbusters were like dropping a boulder in a puddle,” Jay said. “Some of our Sensitives may never recover, and two have died.”

“Keep an eye on it, Jay,” Dee said as she adjusted her combat gear. Things had been so crazy in the last few days that she hadn’t noticed that Jay had a sallow complexion, and that his face was pale. “Are you all right?”

He gave Dee a thin smile. “I’m doing OK.”

She nodded. “Do what you can,” she said. “I can feel some of it you know. Not as much as you can.” Dee paused. “It feels like there is electricity flowing through me, all the time. It comes in pulses, and spikes so sharp they take my breath away.” She refocused on Jay. “I can’t imagine what it is like for you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” Jay said. He really didn’t want to trouble Lady Skye with his nightmares and splitting headaches - she had her own problems, like forming a strike force to enter the psi gate they had found in the Manifold Nexus. All indications were that it led to the Progenitor continent, and that the gate was how the Progenitors and Hive got all the troops all the way across Planet to take Temple so quickly. The Bug and Hive troops had just appeared, seemingly out of the blue. No transports had been spotted, at least not the number that would be required for all the troops, and no one had seen them para drop from the alien’s Space Elevator. It was a complete mystery until an Adept had discerned the traffic patterns and had intuited the connection. It was the only logical solution, except no one knew how it worked. Dee was determined to find out.

“Are worms still erupting out of the fungus?” Dee asked.

“Oh, yes,” Jay said. “They’re still leaving us alone when we have our worms nearby, but Velv was in trouble for a while since they were still recovering from the siege. We captured a few, and the rest were destroyed, yielding a good lode of Planetpearls. There are a few reports of worms near the remaining Spartan bases, and a few have speculated that the Bugs must be getting pounded. Serves them right. No one has ever experienced anything like this before, not even when Yang nuked the Spartans. It’s like Planet is going nuts.”

“Arrange to send the pearls to Sparta any way you can. We don’t need them,” she said as she made the final adjustments of her combat gear. “Take care Jay, and keep good care of Fluffy,” she said.

Jay watched as Dee waved at two of her generals and walked with them into the dusk of the fungal forest. The hulking ruins of the Manifold Nexus were just over the next hill.

!!!!!

Jay cocked his head to the side. “Yes, Fluff. Dee’s gone now. And no, you can’t come in. Stay outside; I’ll be out in a sec. Remember last time you came into a tent? And ate half of it on your way in? Andrew was not happy about that.”

?????…!!

“Yes, we’re going too. I’ll have to check, but I think we’re in the third wave,” he said.

!!…..!!!!

Jay sighed. “We can’t cut in line. We’ll just have wait our turn. What’s your hurry?”

Jay staggered as a series of images beat at his consciousness, visions of death and white and black destruction. They were overlain by a visceral hatred and of tearing and rending, and demands for revenge and retribution. Everything else vanished from his mind as he was filled with Fluffy’s visions. He slumped to the ground. “Stop…Fluff, stop,” he whimpered. His hands went up to cup his ears in a vain attempt to keep the images out. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and Jay’s mouth opened in a silent scream.

When the images finally stopped Jay understood, and wished he didn’t.

[Hydro]

Sea Hive

”Liberation Two, you are authorized to commence bombing the Spartan emplacements at Unity Lair. Your wing is to follow up the strike if needed,” Hive Sub Air Leader Maitz said.

“Copy that,” Liberation One replied. “Commencing bombing run now.”

The Hive shard penetrator dived at the former Hive city of Unity Lair, loosing its main gun as it bore in. Anti-aircraft fire erupted from the base and Liberation One felt her aircraft take flak immediately. She cursed the accuracy of the Spartan defenders but knew her duty and fired again as her weapon recharged. The incandescent shards found their mark, reducing some of the emplacement to slag. More flak hit and tell-tails on her system display went from yellow to red, and those on her left wing went from green to yellow. Her gun was losing power as it cycled, and she fired again, pressing hard on the now sluggish weapon trigger.

Pilot Hudles had a savage look on her face. The last hit had almost destroyed the Spartans! She ignored the alarms and verbal warnings her crippled aircraft was giving her. She fired again, her shard cannon a tiny fraction of its original strength, and was rewarded with a muffled explosion as the Spartan’s fusion reactor was breached. The flak stopped, and Liberation One pulled up.

“Liberation One reporting target destroyed,” she said, coughing as some acrid fumes permeated the cockpit. “Repeat, target destroyed. No other enemy defenders. Recommend start of airdrop.”

As she pulled up she heard an acknowledgement of her message, and an order to initiate paradrop to the now defenseless Unity Lair.

Soon all enslaved Hive citizens would be free of Spartan tyranny, and the Hive citizens would be welcomed again into the wisdom and grace of the Great Chairman! Marith Hudles was happy.

*~*~*~*

Chairman Yang looked over the reports and holo feeds and was pleased: the war against the Spartans to re-take Hive cities was going well. Only a day after the resumption of a hot war there was victory and Unity Lair was now back in Hive hands after brief resistance. The lone Spartan defender had fought well, but it was no match for the combined assault of shard aircraft and the paradrop infantry that re-occupied the newly undefended base.

Of course, the Hive’s War of Liberation was made much easier by the Spartan’s withdrawal of almost all their forces. The insatiable appetite of the Progenitor war machine was bearing down on the Spartans on their own continent and the Spartans had called in all their resources to protect their homeland. The Progenitors had unwittingly accommodated his designs by having an inordinately leisurely advance against the Spartans. In fact, Santiago had months to recall her forces, which had arrived in typical good order and in time to die gloriously in the defense of Sparta Command.

Yang took great satisfaction in using the Spartan’s own ‘Chop and Drop’ strategy against them. It was surprisingly effective since it was fast and mobile, and it did not require plodding and fighting over defended terrain. These irritations could be mopped up after the Hive cities were retaken. His modest air force was already refueling and preparing for the next liberation, and more troops were dropping into the city. Waves of Hive ground troops were advancing over the remnants of the efficient Hive road system, some of which the Spartans had destroyed to slow an expected Hive ground advance that had never materialized.

This was good, very good indeed: his designs were working well. Even the Believers seemed to be distracted, and Yang mused that might be due to the Hive interceptors that were harassing their borders and, conveniently, preventing them from destroying his bombers and pinning their ground forces. A few of his interceptors had been shot down, but not before inflicting grave damage to their attackers. He knew the calculus: he would lose 4:5 in most engagements to the Believers, but his resources were superior to theirs. All he had to arrange is to liberate his bases since, after this was accomplished, his resource base would have increased significantly. In other words, time was on his side now that the Spartans weren’t there to support them, and since Morgan was now a refugee.

That thought dimmed some of his muted elation. The Usurper singularity strikes still were a source of unease, even if they did serve his purpose. Of more immediate concern was the spread of the fungus, and the report of new fungal towers that were growing. Years of terraforming work had been destroyed, but more worrisome were the mindworm attacks. This native assault was more serious than the previous outbreak had been, and it was a testament to his preparation that no Hive holdings had been seriously threatened. But, these attacks delayed his advance since his troops were damaged.

If Yang had any satisfaction in the fungal outbreaks it was what he had seen being inflicted upon his ally Conqueror Marr. His lands were rife with blooms and eruptions of worms, and the sudden growth of fungal towers in the nexus of the swaths of new fungus as the long-extinguished fungal net reestablished itself. It was amusing watching his terrified civilians scramble and huddle in their unaesthetic bases as their soldiers tried to defend their homelands. It was even more amusing to watch when their soldiers failed and daemon boils engulfed them in a crimson wave, and then continue by sating themselves as they gorged on the hordes of aliens and their structures. He had seen entire buildings collapse, and mindworms running loose and causing havoc in Courage: to Question. Being a ‘Pactmate’ with the Usurpers did have its benefits, not the least of which was almost total access to their data nets. In fact, Yang was sure that the aliens would be most displeased if they knew the level of his penetration.

It was a good thing the aliens were like haughty children: arrogant and ignorant of their ignorance. He could use that to his advantage. When Yang thought of that his good mood returned.