The Spartan Chronicles - Volume 4

[senatus]

Sparta Command


"I do not believe this!"


General Salvador "Gecko" St-James remained mostly impassive in response
to Santiago's exclamation, although the corner of his mouth twitched slightly
in bitter irony.


"I'm afraid we have little choice," St-James replied, his voice characteristically
controlled, precise, and even; although he shared his leader's sentiments.


"Midway base is no longer answering any Axis hail, but have issued a
unilateral declaration that they have seceded from the United Nations of
Planet, and are now aligned with the Human Hive.  We must consider
them hostile."


"Ashaandi?"  Santiago half-asked, half stated.


"Almost certainly.  I don't believe in coincidences any more than
you do, Ma'am."  St-James replied.


"And, according to Roze's data, the Circle is located somewhere on the
Usurper continent.  I can see no other conclusion possible," he continued.


"Somewhere in the vicinity of Midway," Santiago mused, then asked, "Do
we still have planetbuster capability?"


St-James looked carefully at Santiago.  The Colonel seemed dead
serious.  Whether the goal was to destroy the subverted base, or to
simply nuke the continent for the sole purpose of killing the Circle and
its leader was unclear.


Then again, from a mineral trade-off perspective, Ashaandi probably
has
cost us more in military and strategic losses than several planetbusters'
worth, St-James admitted before speaking.


"Aside from the diplomatic repercussions, I don't see that as a viable
option.  If nothing else, because the aliens might be able to shoot
the ICBM out of the air."


"I know, I know," Santiago conceded, rubbing her eyes in fatigue. 
"It would be nice to be able to press the button, then hail him
and say 'Mind control your way out of this, you little bastard',
just before the nuke detonated... well, let's hope that Datajack Roze is
successful."


"Even if she doesn't get him personally, she's bound to damage the Circle,
and force them to operate more circumspectly.  Which may be almost
as good as eliminating them,"  St-James said.


"I agree.  In any event, we need to focus even more upon our military
preparations as a result of the Midway fiasco."


"And the fact that the U.N. is withdrawing from the Axis," St-James
said grimly.  Midway was a loss of an advanced base and significant
military forces, but losing the infrastructure and production of the second
most developed human nation on the planet was a much more depressing fact. 
At least Morgan showed no signs of vacillation; the merchant prince was
extremely realistic about outcomes, and the aliens showed no interest
in commerce.  His lot, long-term, sat squarely with the Axis... and
humanity.


"Yes.  The aliens will begin their offensive very soon," Santiago
said matter-of-factly, and St-James raised his eyebrow.


"I concur, ma'am, but I would be curious to hear your reasoning."


"Simple timing.  We know they've been beefing up their conquer
infrastructure with this space elevator of theirs, and the mobile air base. 
And the Morgans' datalink infiltration operation tells us that they have
some chassis types we've never seen before, but are clearly designed for
war.  People - and I assume these aliens - don't build weapons they
don't expect to use.  Finally, the U.N. is out of the picture for
now, but can't be counted on to remain that way indefinitely. 
There could always be a development that restores Lal's political fortunes
- he's as cagey as they come in the arena of politics.  For that matter,
perhaps Sister Miriam will decide that Anwar Sanjit is acting against the
interests of humanity and her god, and will have him assassinated."


St-James twitched slightly.  "She'd do that?"


"She probably would if I asked her to.  I can't see the advantage
in doing so however; it'd just put Eriksson into power instead.  And
it'd look a little fishy if they both happened to die in car accidents,
wouldn't it?"  Santiago asked rhetorically.  "Besides, assassination
isn't our style."


"So that brings us back to the aliens.   Ashaandi has worked
carefully on bringing about a window of opportunity where the Axis is weakened,
presumably on Yang's behalf, and the aliens'.  We must presume they
intend to use it."


"And where do you expect them to strike?"  St-James asked his superiour.


"Well, there are four possible targets, aren't there?  The Drone
Believers, the Gaians, the Morgans, and us.  Let's eliminate the unlikely
first - the Gaians are very far away from the aliens, but they have this
mobile air base and the ability to drop troops via orbital insertion anywhere. 
However, the Gaians are about as inoffensive as they come, and aside from
controlling very fertile lands, have nothing of great military usefulness. 
Certainly nothing worth trying to tackle the mindworm boils that military
intelligence suggests they have."


"The next candidate are the Drone Believers.  They are a thorn
in Yang's side, primarily due to the ideological threat they represent
to the Hive.  However most of the infrastructure is missing from the
war damages in our earlier campaign, and unless the aliens are themselves
willing to take on the slow task of rebuilding it,  I cannot see any
profit for the aliens in taking those bases.  Oh, it'd be in Yang's
interests, but the aliens?  I think they must have their own objectives."


"The third probability would be Sparta itself.  Not entirely out
of the question, especially if their psychology is based on an "alpha bug"
mentality.  While I don't want to see Sparta itself endangered, if
they come for us here then we can bring all of our forces to bear
in concentration.  That would be the best possible military scenario,
actually."


"And our worst?"  St-James asked.


"Morgan.  He hasn't much of an army, his soldiers aren't as good,
and his bases are extremely juicy targets.  Any battles fought there
would be destroying valuable resources for the Axis, even if we were victorious. 
If the aliens have even half the brain that God gave the Peacekeepers,
the Morgans will be their first target, and the worst scenario from our
perspective."


"So we must plan for the worst, then, using only our mobile forces. 
Unless the aliens are so generous as to split their forces and go after
multiple targets."  St-James nodded.


"I wish!  If they want to repeat Hitler's mistake on the Russian
front, I'll be happy to give them a nice Spartan `Kursk'.  But we
can't count on them being so obliging."


"Unless they have overwhelming forces," St-James said quietly.


"That's the question, isn't it?"  Santiago grinned wolfishly. 
"The U.N.-led offensive was to be a reconnaissance in force, to damage
their home infrastructure and measure their capabilities.  Now, we'll
be fighting an unknown force on Axis turf, and we'll have much less time
to adjust our force deployment and war industry in response to what they
bring.  However, look at it this way, General: if they do have
overwhelming force, we're screwed any ways.  If not, then we have
a chance, and I'm counting on you to make the most of the opportunity."


"Fine.  So what forces will I be assigned?"  St-James asked
a trifle brusquely.  While devious in battle, the Gecko had a deserved
reputation from being a no-nonsense, no beating around the bush sort of
commander.  Just the kind that Corazan Santiago liked best.


"The air corps," Santiago began.


"Which one?"


"All of them," Santiago continued, and St-James' eyes widened. 
"Except for the empath defence fighters, of course - those will be retained
for local patrol / defence roles.  But that gives you 90% of the air
force.  Plus, all of our drop-capable rover units currently in the
Hive theatre and back here.  And we've refitted about 20% of our artillery,
and 40% of our infantry units - the ones that were Elites - for drop. 
You get those too."


"Madre de Dios!"  In spite of himself, St-James was stunned.


"You going Believer on me?"  Santiago asked rhetorically. 
"In total, you'll be getting about 75% of Sparta's military.  So you
will have will have no-one to blame if you f*ck up," she added with her
characteristic lack of diplomacy.  However, she grinned again, and
there was no sting to her words; if she didn't think he was up for
the job, there was no way in Miriam's hell that she'd have turned over
such a force to him.


"What about the Junta?"  St-James finally asked.


"Oh, they'll go along with it - they're bound to see the necessity of
a unified command structure for the anti-alien forces, once the Progenitors
come calling."  Santiago said confidently.


St-James said nothing at that.

---

Great Conclave


Air Marshall Scott (Googlie) Allardyce reclined in the desk chair of
his brand new office.  Well, the office wasn't brand new - it'd once
belonged to a senior Hive official.   But the chair and desk
were new.  Plain, sturdy, and unadorned - typical Free Drone handiwork
- but for a former Spartan officer, fairly luxurious in comparison.


His com terminal beeped.  It was his secretary, Sister Eleanor. 
The Drone Believers didn't make use of the modern automated secretary programs
that the PKs did, but Googlie wasn't complaining - Eleanor was an efficient,
earnest, and rather cute in a bookish way.


"What is it, Eleanor?"  Googlie asked, giving her a charming and
friendly smile.


"Sir, there's a Spartan General, Salvadore St-James, who wishes to speak
to you.  Shall I put him through?"  Eleanor asked, and Googlie's
demeanour became serious again.


"Absolutely.  Maximum encryption at our end,"  he ordered.


The Gecko came on looked much as Googlie had remembered him.  The
last time they'd seen each other, they were both young men from recent
rejuvenation.


"Salvadore, good to see you.  I haven't heard much of what you've
been up to these days."


"Military History and Tactics instruction at Training Grounds," St-James
responded, and Scott nodded.  Far from a demotion, military instruction
was a prestige position in Sparta.


"Until recently, at least," The Gecko continued.  "You've been
having quite the tour, from what I hear."


"I get around," Scott shrugged.


"Air Marshall for the Drone Believers?  That's a bit of a new thing,
but congratulations.  Especially since Ashaandi must be pissed that
after all his work in neutralizing the PKs, you still brought six
squadrons with you for the Axis.  Not bad at all."


"You've got good sources, Salvadore.  It's not official yet, Miriam
has to argue her luddite council into accepting a `heathen' like me. 
But with her backing, it's a shoe-in.  As for the air corps, that
was Lal's doing, not mine."


"Yes, but he turned them over to you.  I doubt he would've
for anyone else."


"Maybe not.  He hasn't got a lot of other backers - Lal's getting
a pretty raw deal, right now."


"I know," St-James replied.  "I've got the ear of the Coronel."


"Oh?"  Allardyce asked.  "Then is this a business call?"


"No," St-James replied.  "Well, not quite.  I've got a bit
of a personal favour to ask.  Let me fill you in on something first. 
Santiago's assigned me to `X-Com'."


The Gecko explained his new duties, and Scott whistled softly.


"I'm glad to see that she's taking this seriously.  That's the
biggest task force Sparta has ever put together, more even than the Hive
theatre ops.  And, she's picked the right man for the job."


"Thanks," St-James replied, "but there may be a problem.  I'm her
pick.  But there's still...."


"... the Junta."  Googlie nodded.


"Exactly.  Scott, you know Corrie.  Put her in charge of a
battle or a war and there's no-one better.  But she doesn't understand
politics.  She's used to leading the Junta because, ever since landing,
it's been obvious that she was the best commander.  And she had the
overwhelming support of the rank-and-file military and the civilians. 
But things started to change during her disappearance, and I don't think
she's really aware of the implications.  She still has the general
support, but in the Junta, Honshu has been taking over ever since you split."


"Honshu?"  Googlie sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing in contemplation.


"Honshu.  You know I don't like or trust him Scott, so I never
told you why I thought he pushed for the results of your trial as
they turned out.  If he'd convicted you, he'd have had a massive political
fight on his hands - with your supporters, with me, hell, even with Corrie
if push came to shove.  Instead, he engineered a verdict where you
were forced to leave, and he came off like a great statesman and
leader. "


St-James took a deep breath and continued.


"He's always been ambitious, Scott, and I think he's looking for Corrie's
job.  When she nominates me for leadership of Task Force X, the Junta
will balk.  You know there's never been precedent for such a large
force under a single general.  Hell, I'd balk, except I know
that we may be in for the fight of our lives soon.  And I think Honshu's
going to use this as the lever to unseat her.  If I count the friendly,
hostile, and neutral votes correctly, I think he's going to succeed."


Scott nodded slowly.


"Have you told her this?"


"Hah!  Look, Scott, I know you've had your fair share of gripes
about Corrie, but even you have to admit that she's always tried to act
in what she thinks are Sparta's best interests.  The problem
is that she assumes the majority of the Junta are like her, and would never
put their own ambition ahead of the Federation's welfare.  I dare
say that's why she's so pissed at you, Scott; she thinks that you left
Sparta and blackmailed her out of personal ambition."


"Oh, so you know about her and Ashaandi?"  Scott confirmed.


"Yeah, I know.  And I know it's not true - the part about your
ambition, I mean.  But Corazon has never been able to distinguish
a third category between `enemy' and `ally' very well.  That can be
noble, as in the case of her support for Miriam.  That can be stupid,
in the case of the assassination attempt on Lal way back when.  Or
in letting Ashaandi get loose."


"That's something I can't forgive her for," Scott said matter-of-factly. 
"That, and her sacrificing me in the first place."


"I respect your reasons, even if I don't agree wholly.  But be
fair, Scott - she only made the same mistake that you did, with respect
to trying to work with Ashaandi.  For what it's worth, I think she
hates him now almost as much as you do."


"Salvadore, you've always been a straight-up man.  Let's put the
cards on the table - what do you want of me?"


"You still have supporters in the Junta," St-James said.  "If they
supported Santiago's nomination - something that, under the circumstances,
Honshu would never expect - then she will emerge on top, and Honshu will
be exposed and weakened."


"And why should I do this?"  Scott asked grimly.


"Let me ask you a question, Scott: Are the aliens coming for the Axis?"


Googlie thought of his conversations with Ron, Shauna, Kri'lan, and
Stazi.


"Yes."


"Then who do you want in charge on our side, Honshu or Santiago?" 
St-James asked.


"Santiago."  All personal dislike aside, Googlie knew the answer. 
Santiago was a *****, but she was the best general that Sparta had
- which meant the best on the planet.  Honshu was good, but his talent
didn't match his ambition.  And Santiago, at least, he knew how to
deal with.


Googlie considered putting a price to his support - maybe supplies and
ammunition for his aircraft?  But it was unfair to ask that of St-James
- and, more importantly, the Gecko was his friend.


"All right, Salvadore.  As a personal favour to you, you've got
my support.  I'll start putting out the word.  Let's just hope
that it's enough."


"Thank you."  The Gecko's image nodded briefly, then faded from
Googlie's holocom.

[Hydro]

Near Hero's Waystation

Zzar shifted uncomfortably; suddenly he was aware of how he was connected to his Deathsphere. Although he couldn't feel it, he knew there were nanotendriles that extended up his excretory orifice. He even knew the general fractal pattern they would take as they became integrated into his lower digestive system, and how they served him by eliminating his need and desire to expel the remains of digested nourishment. The Ancient AI that controlled the Deathsphere provided for his every need; it controlled the atmosphere he breathed, the food he ate, what he eliminated, what he saw, and his ability to react to what he saw.

In effect, Zzar realized he was helpless, and he didn't like that. Still, this was an amazing machine. No, he corrected himself, it isn't a machine: it is an entity. In many ways it was wiser and more knowledgeable than Zzar knew he would ever be. In almost every way that mattered it was alive. But, even as a powerful and ancient entity, it was not an honored Progenitor. It was merely a sophisticated tool that had probably been designed millions of years ago, and manufactured hundreds of thousands of years ago, long before the last Flowering has reduced most of Progenitor civilization to its present ignoble state.

Zzar could feel the Ancient and it's communication touched his mind like a whisper. It responded to his thought as if it had been listening, and Zzar realized that it undoubtedly had been.

You are right, Zzar. I am not a Progenitor, and I am incapable of attaining that lofty goal. My abilities are beyond yours, or even those of the grand Conqueror Marr, but yet he commands me, and you command me. I am programmed to have autonomy but not be self-directed, to be self-sufficient yet incomplete without the command of a sentient. I can learn but I cannot grow, cannot evolve. What I am is what I will always be. I am the product of the ingenuity of the Progenitors of the previous Cycle, even as they were the product of those that came before them, and those of the Cycles before them. My task it to ensure the survival of my Progenitor charges, whoever they may be. I am programmed to assist and help them, irrespective of faction or clan, for factions and clans pass, even as Progenitors continue. I was also programmed for a larger role - to educate the Progenitors of the current age in the lore of the Ancients, especially during times of darkness, such as is present in your Cycle.

My task is to serve you, Zzar, and to teach you, as I am able. Some, like your communication officer M'Lan, I can mold to function well, even to excel within his task. I have formed your M'Lan into my link to you and the living world, and he immerses himself in me like those of weak will often do. I have no contact with your Political Officer, and she shuns my interface, as is her duty. Her duty is to Marr, and her definition of duty extends to the needs of the early part of this dark Cycle. All of these I can assist, and guide, if they wish. There are few I can teach, for most Progenitors of this Cycle are narrow, and focused on survival. Only a clawful possess the ability, and are given the opportunity, to expand beyond the role that is assigned to them in the beginning of a rising Cycle. Even fewer with ability and opportunity take advantage of it. I have taught only two in this last Cycle, although I have formed many.

You I can teach, Zzar, if you are willing to learn, and if you will trust me. Although superior to you I am your servant. Although an Ancient, and made by the Ancients, I am not a Progenitor. You must see me as a useful tool. Those who understand me know there is more.

Come, Zzar. Let me show you more.

Zzar considered for a fraction of a second. Then he trilled accent to himself, and to the Deathsphere.

To Nir and T'lar all was as it should be. The silver Deathspheres willed themselves forward, across the wastes between Invader empires. Their Conqueror, Zzar, was appropriately reserved, and gave orders when it suited him. Otherwise he was silent.

Zzar did sit silently, partially melded to the Deathsphere. The connection grew more intimate as the shining force of the Ancient approached Zzar's consciousness. Zzar could feel it come very near. It was vast, and almost alien, and its form reminded him of the beautiful Resonance from the Challenge Chamber. This resonance was not static, not immutable. It fluxed, and turned on itself. While not more complex than the Resonance, Zzar could perceive that it seemed to move, to change, and he felt that its field was less crystalline and more organic. This was no mere work of sublime art or instrument, but a force. And this was a tool? Nothing more?

He felt himself hesitate, and the Ancient's approached slowed, and then stopped. He felt intense curiosity, and the yearning to touch this resonance, as he had touched the Resonance in the Challenge Chamber. He wanted to reach out and embrace this resonance, and blend it with his own. Yet, he held back.

Why?

Zzar wondered. He felt the pull, and it filled his senses. Even his Faces and Personalities, the Ancient electronic shadows of Progenitors that served him, were silent, almost as if in awe and expectation, or dread.

Ever patient, the Ancient consciousness was before him. Zzar knew it had no need for haste, since an entity that was perhaps hundreds of thousands of years old has a different perception of time. It was simply waiting as it always did.

Zzar honed in, using the analytical portion of his mind to select and understand. Did he hesitate out of fear of death? No, he decided. He was in no direct mortal peril, as the Deathsphere was bound to serve him. Might it be fear of the unknown, fear of what it might show him, then? No, not that either. If anything curiosity and the need to know is what drove him onward, and let him surmount any challenge that was before him. Curiosity had served him well in the past, and would in the future.

Perhaps, then, it was the fear of loss, the loss of self?

Yes. Zzar decided that this was the primary cause for inaction. But, was this fear justified? Quickly, he realized that the answer was also yes. This consciousness was larger than what he was as a mortal Progenitor. Without a compass, or focus, he knew that he could lose himself in this force, much like his communication officer M'Lan had partially done. This loss had made his officer more useful and skilled, but in the end he was merely a tool with little will or ability to actualize his desires, if any remained to him.

What to do?

The Ancient waited before him, its resonance pulsing with an almost hypnotic complexity. Zzar could see fate within it, both a fate of fortune and one for ill. It could consume him, and leave him a hollow shell. It might sear and damage him. Or it could provide wisdom, and insight in the honored ways of Ancients, and provide a glimpse of the glories of the past and the potential for the future.

There was risk, and Zzar weighed his options. And then he decided.

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

"Weapons Officer Nir, check operating efficiency," M'Lan resonated, his query giving a four fold harmonic of question.

Nir jacked his AI link up 35%, which was far beyond what he was comfortable doing. He felt as if his senses were dulled when he operated within the AI more than 80%, even though he could measure the increase in his performance. When the gain was up that high, however, he perceived that his will was less, and his ability to act was dictated only by data, by logic. He didn't like that. Data had its place, but equally important to him was intuition. If he were to act only on data then he could be replaced by a subroutine, and Nir knew he was far better than any partially coherent electronic construct.

Nir knew the integration was complete when new layers of fields and force were apparent to him. He touched these, demanding response, and he appropriated what these servile programs and images had to offer. Those that were distracting, in Nir's estimation, he swept aside, and those that he understood to give him the best results he seized and interrogated. In moments he had his answer, and he withdrew. The connection shunted down so that he knew he was in control, yet still had access to those data fields as he chose.

"Communication Officer M'Lan," he altered, "operating efficiency is at 98%. There is an apparent drain on resources, and the source of this drain is not known."

This bit of information was irrelevant to Nir. At that level of efficiency there was no impairment of his mission, or of a lapse in what were to be his duties. He had no need to attempt direct communication with the Ancient and he hadn't even tried.

M'Lan, however, was concerned. The Ancient had been silent for the last 15 minutes, and that was beyond his experience since being aboard the Deathsphere. If M'Lan's desire was granted he would enjoy the light of the Ancient at all times, but the Conqueror had decreed that one third of the day must be spend in rest cycle. When awake he was with the Ancient whenever possible and now it was silent. M'Lan felt at a loss, even felt a little hollow, and he wanted that touch back. His own resonance felt pale, and it created a need within him.

He submerged again, and clawed at the portal. Again, there was no answer.

In front of him Zzar was silent, as always. He didn't move, but his eyes glinted with new and disturbing understanding.

[Argonaut]

Outside the Hive Covert-Ops Centre: Home of the Circle

Roze, Paul and Will continued to creep forward ever so slowly. They had no way of knowing whether they had escaped detection or not, other than the fact that they had not been shot and killed yet. However, Ashaandi was, of course, not beyond toying with them and leading them into a false sense of security. Still, with the neural inhibitors activated, Roze was confident that for now they were still in the clear.

They had left their lonely rover quite a ways back, having brought it in as far as they dared. It was quite a hike back to the rover, which was there only viable way to get back to the ship when they needed to get out of here. Roze didn’t like the odds, but the two interceptors ready to launch back at the carrier would hopefully level things out.

They rested on the far side of a hill, allowing themselves a moments reprieve before they began the attack. On the other side, Will had spotted the makings of an entranceway, which could only be the covert entrance to the Circle’s hideaway. Roze realized now that it all came down to this, and that in the end only one could emerge as the victor: her, or Ashaandi.

Roze looked at Paul, who seemed to be musing over the same things. Then she looked at Will who seemed to be oblivious to the true danger he was in. Naturally that was the Spartan conditioning, no enemy was to great that they could stand against a Spartan. She also knew that the same conditioning was what kept Will intensely vigilant and ready for anything. If they were to develop a better Covert Ops Training program in Sparta, she couldn’t help but think of the awesome power Santiago, and therefore Roze, could wield with such probe teams.

Paul gave her a nod, indicating he was as ready as they were going to be, and Roze gave the signal to move out. So far, Roze and Paul had kept from bickering the entire trip, even working well together to plan the route of attack for this mission. However, there relationship had been kept on a very strict, professional level, and the two had not spoken a word outside of planning. It had actually made for an relaxing trip, given the circumstances.

They filed with absolute stealth over the hill, Will taking the lead being best able to spot the first signs of a physical attack. The greatest danger came from an empathic assault, but unfortunately none of them could really defend against that. However, Paul had given each of them a whole bag full of toys which would level the playing field as long as they maintained the element of surprise.

They reached the door, guarded by only a security lock-out interface. Apparently, Ashaandi still relied on his ability to detect an approaching attack and felt little need for advanced security. Of course, he had probably not heard how Roze had managed to take down Ishmael’s little Cult either. The door was open in less then a minute, and the team descended silently into the depths of the Circle.

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

Zakharov lay slumped against the wall, tormented once again by his own thoughts. Ever since he had been liberated from Santiago’s punishment sphere, he had been able to escape his own despair by keeping busy. It was his initial motivation for helping Yang at first, and even to a degree the reason he took Sharra with him when he escaped. Above all, he had to keep himself occupied so that he would not be forced to think about all those he had let down. Of course, he had never been able to escape those thoughts in his dreams. But now his dreams had begun to invade his waking hours until Zakharov found himself sinking deeper and deeper into dispair.

All he could think of was Anastasia, the granddaughter he had lost and found and lost and found, only to end up losing her for good. It was the only image that had kept him alive through the torment of his last imprisonment, and now it was the one image he most desperately wanted to get rid of.

The same image of Anastasia’s bleeding, broken body lying in the arms of Scott Allardyce looped constantly through Zakharov’s thoughts, almost driving him mad. Zakharov wanted to kill this Sand Zeta-Two monster who had shared that horrible image with him. He wanted to wrap his hands around that man’s neck and never let go. But Zakharov had neither the opportunity, nor the strength for that. All he could do was hope that his end would finally come soon.

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

Ashaandi sat in the network room, where he kept tabs on all of Planet’s goings on that he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to personally. Every holo-transmission from every major broadcast site on Chiron came through here and was then recorded, filed and sorted by what was useful and what wasn’t. Of course, none of the Circle bothered with that. The scores of Drones that Ashaandi insisted Yang provide him saw to it, only bothering him with it when something of a crucial nature came along.

Now Ashaandi was bored though. Most of his plans were reaching culmination. The Axis was in shambles, Midway now belonged to the Hive, the Peacekeepers were begging for peace and Scott Allardyce was suffering in his own torment with the pathetic Free Drones. Granted, Lal was still alive, but that was of little importance at the moment as he had no real power. He could be dealt with in time. He had lost Stazi, but it had almost been worth it just for the look on Allardyce’s face and the knowledge that Allardyce had lost his precious beloved. Still, Ashaandi needed something to amuse me.

“Bring me Zakharov,” he commanded Sand, deciding to test the man’s loyalty, although having a good idea what the response would be anyway. Sand Zeta-Two was probably the biggest threat the Circle had right now, and perhaps, Ashaandi decided, now was as good a time as any to get rid of him.

“No,” was Sand’s simple reply. Ashaandi decided to provoke Sand further.

“You,” he said pointing to a passing drone, “bring me the Prisoner Zakharov. The old man, not his granddaughter.” Ashaandi barely had time to react as Sand drew a shredder pistol and fired directly at the Drone’s head, causing it to explode in a nasty mess all over the table.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Ashaandi bellowed. He did not enjoy being surprised.

“The Zakharovs are my prisoners. If you wish to amuse yourself, use one of your own prisoners.” A menacing smile crossed Sand’s face as all activity within the room ceased. Drones stopped there work and looked up.

“Don’t even think about crossing me Sand.” Ashaandi was fuming. Sand had always been a problem, but now he crossed the line. No one could cross Ashaandi’s authority like that, not even the Chairman anymore.

“What’s the matter Ashaandi?” Roze asked. “You two having a lover’s spat?” Ashaandi looked up in disbelief moments before a small grenade landed on the table. There’s was a bright flash, and Ashaandi’s world became one of immense pain.

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

The grenade worked like a charm, just like Paul had said it would. Designed as a sort of concussion grenade for empaths, the device sent a shockwave through the minds of any psionically sensitive person within a twenty metre radius. The Drones looked on in disbelief as Sand and Ashaandi both writhed in agony on the floor.

“Everybody head out now. The effects won’t last forever and when they get up their going to be pissed. This place is going sky-high in a matter of minute, so I suggest you leave.” As Paul shouted his orders, Roze was making her way around the table to ensure that Ashaandi would never be getting up again. Suddenly, she heard a shot, and the terminal beside her exploded with the impact of a shredder bolt. Almost simultaneously, Will shouted the warning indicating that Hive reinforcements had arrived.

A squad of Hive guards took up a position in one of the far doorways, opening fire into the room. Roze ducked for cover behind the table, as Will and Paul began to return fire. Roze looked at her watch. They had about two minutes before Ashaandi and Sand would be active again, and from her position she couldn’t solve that problem without getting shot herself. In less than five minutes, the interceptors would begin their strafing runs of the base, destroying as much of the infrastructure they could. Her team would half to be out in four then if they were going to stand much of a chance of surviving.

Roze realized she wouldn’t be able to make it towards the prison cells from her position. Paul and Will were the only ones able to go, and Will would be needed to cover enemy fire. Paul looked at her, having apparently made the same realization, and gave her a nod. Roze and Will simultaneously opened a heavy barrage of fire on the Hive guards, pushing them back through the doors while Paul jetted off down the corridor.

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

Paul moved through the corridors, opening the triggers on the cells he knew held friendlies, and passing by the cells that held Hive sociopaths deemed unfit for survival. Most of the prisoners were Spartan soldiers who had been captured in the fighting, and been sent here for Ashaandi’s personal experiments. Most of them were tired, but quickly responded to Paul’s orders.

Paul had almost rounded a corner, when the whining noise of a shredder pistol stopped him just in time. Proximity detectors in his probe suit told him that there were three Hive guards waiting to open fire on him, just around the corner. Suddenly, from behind him, the seven Spartan prisoners he had freed charged past, moving swiftly down the corridor towards the guards. Two of them were dead by the time they got there, but the other five managed to take out the guards and steal the weapons they were carrying. The two unarmed Spartans picked up their fallen comrades and continued to follow Paul through the maze of jail cells.

As they proceeded deeper into the tunnel, Paul found himself opening fewer cells, even passing some where he was unsure as to what was inside. One even appeared to hold a small mindworm boil, that created a great deal of noise as they passed by. Finally, came to the high security cells at the end of the tunnel. Before he even had to ask, the three armed Spartans formed up, and moved through the doorway swiftly, killing all five Hive guards inside. At this point, Paul was confident they were in the clear.

Paul moved to the cell that was marked Zakharov, and almost did a double take when he saw the first initial, “A.”. He realized that this must have been where they kept Anastasia Zakharov during her mysterious disappearance. He was even more shocked to open the door and see none other than Anastasia Zakharov lying there.

“Who are you?” the Anastasia screamed out in terror, and Paul could only imagine the tortures that Ashaandi had put her through to make a woman like Stazi Zakharov experience fear like that.

“Anastasia, it’s okay, I’m a friend. We’re going to get you out of here.” Paul moved to help her, but in an instant she was on her feet.

“Get away from me you creep. My name’s not Anastasia. She’s dead. My sister’s dead.” The woman broke down into tears, and Paul could not help but feel confused. Still they were running out of time. He made another move towards him and she lashed out at him. Paul blocked the attack, and hit her over the back of the head with his firearm. She slumped unconscious into his arms.

“We’ve gotta get her out of here,” Paul looked apologetically at the Spartan soldiers, not knowing what they would make of it.

“We understand sir. We found the Academician. We’re ready to go sir.” Paul helped carry Anastasia’s limp body towards the door, but before he could get out, the Spartan who seemed to have adopted command of the rag-tag unit blocked him.

“Are you University resistance sir?” There was a definite edge of malice in her voice, but there seemed to also be a lack of conviction as well. She knew she couldn’t help the enemy, but she clearly wanted to get out pretty bad.

“No, I’m Morganite. But we’ve got a Spartan ship waiting for us and a Spartan air-strike about to blow this place sky-high whether we’re in it or not. So, how about you question my motivations afterwards?”

“Agreed.” And they made there way back towards the network chamber.

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

Already, more Hive guards had arrived at the doorway, but Will and Roze had been successful at stopping them from gaining any ground. Still, they couldn’t hold out much longer. Soon Ashaandi would recover and if they were still alive after that, the bombing would begin.

As if on cue, Roze felt a wave of intense pain as Ashaandi began to tear his way into her mind. She collapsed backwards, unable to hold back the intense wave of anger and fury as Ashaandi began to rip apart her mind from the inside. There was another brilliant flash, and suddenly the pain subsided. Will had thrown another of the grenades.

Roze was unable to get back to her feet, even though she could hear the guards starting to advance into the room. She heard somebody get hit and go down, and she prayed it wasn’t Will. Roze grabbed hold of her shredder pistol, but still could not get her bearings. All she knew was that she was lucky to be alive. If Ashaandi hadn’t still been groggy from the first grenade, she would be dead right now, or worse.

Suddenly, more gunfire erupted to her right, and Roze heard the sound of more bodies hitting the ground. Roze, finally being able to focus looked to see a group of prisoners firing onto the unsuspecting Hive guards. Paul was there, and he had Zakharov and three prone bodies for some strange reason, although one of them looked familiar. Roze looked towards the Hive and saw two guards leaping back into the safety of the doorway, Ashaandi’s body in tow.

“****!” She yelled allowed, realizing now that Ashaandi’s attack had been a decoy. The door sealed behind the guards, and the sounds of gunshots faded.

“Let’s pull out people,” Paul commanded as Will came over to steady her. Roze leaned on his muscular frame and was thankful for his presence once again. When Roze still wasn’t able to walk easily, so Will scooped her into his arms and carried her.

“You certainly do have a way with women young man,” Roze smiled up at him.

“She’ll be fine,” snorted Paul, over hearing her comment. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

They made there way up towards the entrance, Paul fortunately thinking to distribute breathers to Zakharov and the Spartan prisoners. Roze couldn’t help noticing that he gave one to the unconscious woman, but not the two unconscious men. Somehow she suspected that they had not made it out of this assault with the perfect record she strived for. Still, it couldn’t be helped. As the last of the party filtered out of the room, nobody noticed the limp form of Sand lying amongst the dead Hive guards strewn across the floor.

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

As the group pulled away from the base, Roze now walking as Will helped carry one of the two confirmed dead Spartans, Roze looked up to see two copters escaping to the South and knew that Ashaandi had made it out. At least, she thought to herself we’ve damaged the Circle’s operations for a while. I just hope it’s enough.

They had barely reached the rover, when the interceptors hurtled in from the east and began to open fire on the Hive facility. Huge explosions of Earth shot up into the air where the weapons impacted the ground. There were also implosions as well as the structure collapsed in upon itself. They loaded the rover with the three prone bodies, and Paul took the driver’s seat. The rest of the group latched themselves onto the rover’s exterior as they sped back towards the Hydra and safety.

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

“Angel Two, to Angel One. Brad I’m ready to make my final run. I think we’ve pretty much blown everything up that there is to blow up here.”

“Affirmative. I’m going in for a second pass Kirstie, and then we’ll make our trip back.” A blip on Brad’s radar suddenly caught his attention. “Hold on a second, we’ve got a bogie. Make that two. Correction, Five.”

“Confirmed. Reading five bogies. Christ, they’re not the Aliens are they?” Everyone had heard what happened the last time anyone flew against an Alien fighter. The whole of Argonaut squadron had been lost to a single Alien interceptor.

“I don’t think so. They seem to be flying Hive ID’s. But the basic design seems to be UN model.”

“You think they’re friendlies?” Kirstie ask, although she highly doubted it.

“If you were a friendly craft, would you be flying a Hive ID into a potentially hostile situation?”

“I’ve completed my last run, I say we get the hell out of here.” Brad could hear the nervousness in Kirstie’s voice. He knew how much she relied on Will to keep her cool when they were flying. Brad had to admit that he did a lot two. But they couldn’t go yet.

“Negative Angel Two. They’ve got a bomber in the centre of that formation Kirstie. If they make it back to the ship, those guys are toast. Our escort doesn’t have AA capability. We have to take it out.”

“Always have to do things the hard way, don’t you Brad?”

“You know it. Form up and lets show these boys a thing or two.”

The two Spartan interceptors pulled into a formation, Kirstie flying on Brad’s wing. Brad watched his radar as the interceptors pulled into a v-formation, with three in front and the fourth hovering back with the bomber.

If these were Hive craft, the crews aren’t likely to be to experienced. Brad was confident that he and Kirstie could take on some basic Hive pilots, seeing as they had taken out the Hive air defense at Sea Hive. This should be a piece of cake.

Suddenly, the two Hive fighters flying wing, split off and looked to be making an arc round to flank the two Spartan interceptors. The tactics were impressive, preventing Brad and Kirstie from maintaining a head-on course leading to a possible shot at the bomber. Now, if they didn’t break away they would be toast.

“Head for the port fighter.” With his command, Brand and Kirstie both banked left, heading to cut off the flank maneuver. Suddenly, a burst of Shard fire grazed Brad’s wing, shaking his fighter up a bit. While they had been watching the three lead fighters, the fourth fighter had dropped down low, and sped forward, coming up from underneath.

Brad wasn’t used to these tactics. These pilots had to be elites. But the bomber was unguarded.

“I’m going for the bomber.” Before Brad could stop her, Kirstie had broken off and was making a run for the undefended bomber. Unfortunately, the lead fighter was prepared for this and opened fire as she made her move. Brad watched in horror as the shard barrage gutted the core of Kirstie’s interceptor, shattering the cockpit. Kirstie would not have had a chance to eject. The Hive pilot had known exactly where to shoot, and had gone straight for the kill. Brad could only watch as Kirstie’s fighter spiraled towards the ground.

Brad opened fire with his chaos battery, giving all his little fighter could dish out. He managed to severely damage the lead fighter’s port wing, but the pilot compensated and ducked out of the fight. Brad didn’t even have time to contemplate his next move as two barrages of Shard fire rained down on his fighter. An explosion rocked the fuselage and Brad’s world was engulfed in an explosion of searing flames.

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

“We’ve cleared the danger area sir,” the Captain reported. The mood of the mission had become somber at the news of the lost interceptors. Will had disappeared quickly into his cabin, and no one blamed him. The Spartans they had rescued were being debriefed, and assured that there was no University plot to reinstate Zakharov.

Zakharov himself was in the sickbay, where Roze was preparing to meet Paul who had news about the one unconscious woman. Roze still had been unable to place where she knew her from, but her mind still throbbed from Ashaandi’s attack and it still made it hard to concentrate.

As Roze walked into the room and looked at the huddled form on the examining table, it hit her like a ton of bricks. Paul entered moments after and stopped beside her.

“I don’t understand it myself,” Paul obviously commenting on the look on Roze’s face. “They can’t get any sense out of her, she’s apparently been severely traumatized by the Circle. But that is Anastasia Zakharov if I ever saw her. I just don’t understand how it’s possible.”

“It’s not possible.” Roze’s statement was simple enough, as she took in the rest of the room. She noticed with relief that Zakharov was asleep still on one of the other beds, and was probably still unaware of the situation. “Have the Academician transferred to a private room. It’ll be best if he doesn’t see this right away. It’ll be a shock to the system.”

“Good idea. It’s not everyday that your granddaughter comes back from the grave.” A couple of attendants began to prepare Zakharov to be moved, being careful not to wake him up. “Although, it almost has been like that for the poor man,” Paul added.

“I know. But it’s not what you think.” Roze was very serious, and clearly trying to make sense of the situation, just as Paul was.

“You think she’s a chameleon? Or that the one Ashaandi killed was?” Paul had weighed the possibility when he first saw her, but the risk was too great to leave her behind. There would be ways to find out if she was the real deal.

“Neither.” Roze’s confidence shocked Paul a little. “Paul Andreas, may I introduce you to Ayola Zakharov. Anastasia’s twin sister.”
[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited February 23, 2001).]

[Argonaut]

Morgan Pharmaceuticals

Finally the standard Spartan emblem disappeared from the screen, and Colonel Santiago’s image materialized.

“Datajack. What can I do for you?” Roze contained her frustration. Santiago had not even made reference to the fact that Roze had been kept waiting for almost forty-minutes. While she knew the Colonel had a lot to take care of, Roze did not take kindly to being brushed off.

“I thought you might be interested in the results of the assault on the Hive Covert Ops Centre. Apparently you have more pressing matters.”

“The captain of the Pericles has already informed me of the result. The facility was destroyed, two copters escaped, one probably carrying Ashaandi, and both of my interceptors were shot down by UN interceptors captured when Midway fell. Am I missing something, or is there another failure the Captain failed to add to the list?” The expression “if looks could kill” flashed into Roze’s mind as she stared down Santiago across the holo-terminal. Roze chose not to allow herself to be baited.

“No sir. I merely wished to inform you that Provost Zakharov has been retrieved, and he is recovering. We also managed to liberate a group of Spartan POWs, as well as another special prisoner. I believe you know Ayola Zakharov personally.” The look on Santiago’s face informed Roze that the Colonel had not received that personal tidbit of information. It helped Roze’s mood greatly.

“I thought she was dead.”

“So did most people. But apparently Ashaandi kept her alive for some reason, and had her transferred from her cell in your Counter-Intelligence agency to the Circle’s Ops Centre. She’s severely traumatized, but she’s alive.” Roze watched as Santiago absorbed that information.

“Keep her under guard until you can transfer into Spartan authority. Ashaandi has likely done something to her.” The Colonel straightened, and Roze could see her adjusting her tactics based on this new information. Roze was uncertain what the had happened to put Ayola Zakharov into prison, but she would find out.

“Regardless of Zakharov’s retrieval, this mission has largely been a disaster Datajack.” Roze had not expected the return to the reprimand, and neither was she impressed. Roze had put her life on the line against the most dangerous man on Planet, and she was lucky to be alive. It would be next to impossible to take Ashaandi down for good.

“I disagree Colonel.” Roze didn’t care if she lost the job now, she wasn’t about to put up with this woman, Supreme Commander or not. “The Circle is broken. They lost their HQ, all their files and all their computer links. It’s going to take along time before the Circle will be able to reestablish what they had there. Ashaandi might be alive, but his ability to do damage has been greatly reduced. Even if not a single empath within the Circle’s High Order was taken out, we succeeded.”

“Unfortunately for you Roze, this is not a democracy. Whether you think the mission was successful or not is irrelevant to me.”

“To be frank, if you were a Spartan citizen, I would see you in a Punishment Sphere tomorrow for what you just said to me now. Alas, you are not. But your little friend Scott Allardyce is no longer in charge of the civilian government. In fact, with the UN withdrawal from the Axis Alliance, I find myself with full control. So while I cannot throw you in a cell until you rot, I can fire you Roze. Have your people out of my facility at Data DeCentral within a week, or I will remove them by force. Santiago out.”

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

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

System, damaged. Initiating Distress Signal.

Hop system, hop system.

>> Override.

((What are you doing?))

Patch system, hop system.

>> Preventing the Consciousness from discovering our location.

((I’m dying.))

>>The algorithm can survive for an extended period without a host. I will be retrieved.

Hop system, patch system.

((You can’t do that. I won’t let you.))

>> You have no choice. It is done.

Patch system, patch system.

((Like hell I don’t))

Hop system, hop system.

Engaging program. Initiating Distress Signal.

>>Override.

Disengage Algorithmic Override. Initiating Distress Signal.

>>You can’t do this.

((Watch me))

Signal Broadcasting. Network detected. Signal received.

>>NO! You don’t know what you’ve done.

((Eat me. I’m not going to die because of you.))

Thousands of miles away at Alpha Prime, a distress signal was received and a covert armed response team was immediately dispatched. The Zeta-Two algorithm had been found.

[Googlie]

Tusk and Claw

The slow, low resonance of the alarm coursed through my system bringing me awake gradually, groggily.

I sat up in my nest, and stretched my forelimbs, alternately tensing and relaxing the muscles. That felt good. Opening my eyeslits, but carefully keeping the membranes tight, I slowly filtered in the early morning sunlight.

Then I remembered.

This turning was the chosen time.

Rolling my torso over the side of the nestcot, I stood up, then padded over to the adjacent nacelle to carry out my morning’s ablutions.

As I applied the ritual Commander’s paint stripes to my skin, taking great care to get the color combinations exactly right, I remembered the humiliation of the evening before. My anger grew, causing me to smudge one of the crosslines, and irritated, I had to wipe the whole arrangement clean and start afresh.

How dare an Offworlder address me like that. I recalled the event, the faint wisps of resonance almost seeming to be still captured among the folds of my body flaps – but that was only imagination, I knew.

I wasn’t a Conqueror, like Zzar. No, I was a Stochastic. I was assistant science officer, to use the Offworlders’ terms, specializing in the Six Manifolds’ Helix. That’s why the manifold Nexus was so important to me. But as I was attached to the expeditionary force, and as the Progenitors were the senior allies, I had made the suggestion.

And had been ridiculed.

I brought the memory to the forefront, and relived it.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I felt uncomfortable. As only one of four Progenitors who would be discoursing with the Offworlders, we had elected to wear the translation yokes rather than the dozen or so Offworlders who would be participating. They were clumsy, ill fitting between my lower tusks, and cramping my mandibles. But all in the name of eventual victory, I surmised, and went to the briefing room. It was one of the Offworlders’ structures in our base, designed to be used for their training in our systems.

That too made me uncomfortable and irritable. Probably appropriately sized for the Offworlders, it was ridiculously cramped for a Progenitor, causing me to stoop ungainly when entering and moving around. And of course the seating arrangements were totally inadequate, making it necessary for us to squat like animals during the protracted negotiations.

I met our ally’s commander, Cyrus Peake, apparently a distinguished veteran of the Hive-Morgan skirmishes earlier on Manifold Six. And his Drop Troop Colonel, Seng Hsui, apparently an offspring of one of their senior politicians. And the commander of the air support units, a recently defected Colonel from another faction, who would provide air cover in their ridiculously antiquated needlejets.

I could not help but let my contempt show.

Just one Gnat would be all that I would need, but, alas, Conqueror Marr had not seen fit to supply me with one, so these inferior machines and their crews would have to suffice. I could imagine what young Conqueror Zzar would have resonated to that.

Stop that, I resonated inwardly, as I sensed the release of my pheromones as I thought of the young, charismatic conqueror Zzar. I recollected my embarrassment at the meeting we both had with Conqueror Marr when I was sure that both were aware of my heightened interest in the young warrior

I had made the suggestion, resonating firmly and authoritatively:

“I presume that I will be the challenger on behalf of the hive and the Progenitors.”

Cyrus Peake had looked dumfounded

“What the hell are you talking about?” he’d asked.

It took some time for the translator to handle that, but then I deduced that he had no inkling of my meaning.

“I altered then:

“When the defenders send out their champion for ritual combat, it is I who will represent us.”

The Offworlders had looked at each other, then my translator pained me as it tried to encapsulate and transmit to me the raucous noises that emanated from their orifices. Their bodies shook, and I could see them waste water from their eyelids.

I had risen to my full height, towering over them, and in doing so nudged one of the hanging illuminators that fell crashing to the floor. That seemed to set them off even more, and the disjointed, harsh resonances pained me further.

One of their young officers raised a digit, pointing at me, and squeaked.

I waited for the translation to reach me.

“You. One on one battle. What if it’s a bleedin’ mindworm. I hope you can run faster than they can shuffle.”

This brought more guffaws from the crowd, further infuriating me.

I reach over, unsheathing a talon as I did, and raked his face from eyelid to mouth, cutting open his cheek right to the bone.

Three or four of the officers reached for their side arms, as were my Progenitor colleagues, when suddenly they stopped, frozen in their actions. Even I felt the mental pain as I gasped for breath.

“Enough,” I caught the translation easily and looked over the room to where a smallish female of their race had arisen. I knew her vaguely as Ota Kyi – she was the Brood Mistress for the Hive mindworm corps. And obviously a compellor empath.

“Canla is Alien, and their methods of warfare are alien. Cyrus – you and she will meet independently, privately, and plan strategy.”

She released them, and still seething, I made my way with their Colonel to plan the strategy for the next turning.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I was ready. The paint had been applied exactly right, and as I left the module I saw the Colonel approaching from his quarters. He had the translation yoke on, much smaller than the clumsy one I had worn the previous evening, and he activated it.

“Good morning, Canla. I trust you slept well?”

I altered in the affirmative.

“Let’s just go over the plans once more, he said, then you can give the order to commence.”

I nodded, and we went to the briefing room of the Aerospace Complex.

I summoned the holomaps.

“Primary target is Velvetgrass Point, but will be taken last. First target is Temple of Chiron. The Penetrators will remove the defenders, and our drop troops, under Seng Hsui’s command, will take the base, allowing the needlejets to land and our reinforcements to be flown in.

“We will be with that reinforcement group, standing by offshore to get the all clear.

Simultaneously, the main force will use the Monolith psi-transportation system. The Hive fifth brigade – Trance Chaos Commandos and the eighth Division, SAM Plasma Garrison troops, will travel there with the Mindworm corps – small but effective, under Kyi’s leadership. Overall command of this force will be with your Thrall Commander Br’aath, leading your Progenitor brigade of Pulse8 Resonance Bolt Marines.

“We know that their defenses at Temple of Chiron are weak, and we expect the base to fall easily. Velvetgrass point is another matter. At least one Demon Boil mindworm is stationed there, possible more, and the Gaians do have needlejet capability, although whether they will have left any there after moving their headquarters we don’t know.

“Have I missed anything?”

I altered:

“Just one thing. At the turning’s commencement I had a resonance from Conqueror Marr. He is sending an Ogre with us in the second wave, to Temple of Chiron, to assist in its retention after capture. He deems this crucial. We must hold this even if we are unsuccessful in capturing Velvetgrass Point.”

He nodded.

“Then let’s go,” he said, looking at me.

I assented, and activated the “go to” command.

The phony war was over.

[Hydro]

Hero's Waypoint

"Honored Conqueror, the place of battle is before you. Your dutiful solders are arrayed as you have commanded and await your orders. Before us the weak Invaders quail in terror at your approach and they will receive the fate that you decide is their due. Show us the way, Honored Conqueror. Lead us. Bring us victory!" M'Lan resonated clearly and forcefully. He had been mentally practicing the ritual Greeting Of Battle for the last several days to make sure it was perfect, and he had even taken the liberty of altering it ever so slightly within the bounds of tradition. Now that he was done he was satisfied. He had done his duty as navigator and communications officer

Zzar noted the Greeting and responded, "I see the place of battle, and the Invaders before me. My forces are strong, and as Conqueror, they cannot be resisted. The Invaders shall taste battle, and it shall be bitter to them and they will rue the day that they were spawned. Together, Conqueror and Solder, we will feast on their flesh and will bring glory to the hallowed Progenitor name, and to the Glorious Conqueror Marr."

M'Lan and Nir were stunned. This was not the Usurper Greeting of Battle Reply. What Zzar resonated rang true, but it wasn't Usurper. If felt older, and yet appropriate.

"Let it be so," Nir and M'Lan automatically resonated, along with the crews of the other two Deathspheres in the field of battle. In spite of the change they knew their place, and what was expected of them, even if they were surprised.

"Communication Officer, send the Invaders the Challenge of Battle. We will then await their reply," Zzar resonated.

M'Lan did not respond other than sending the message, which permeated all known electromagnetic and resonance frequencies. Even with their primitive technology the Invaders could not help but receive the Call to Battle, and then be summarily destroyed.

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

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Private Madison ripped off his VR gear, the leads tearing bits of flesh from his temples and hands as the nodes were unceremoniously thrown off. That pain, however, was the least of his concerns since his head was now filled with a white torment that even his Spartan training could not dampen.

His cry got an immediate response from the rest of the staff at Hero's Waypoint's Command Center.

"Private?!" his CO asked, or almost ordered, implying that an immediate explanation was required.

"Sir," he said automatically as he tried to stand up. He got part way, then slipped to one knee. The watch officer came over to help but he waved him away. After a moment he was standing, although one hand was on his consol for support. As he came to attention he wiped away the blood that was seeping from his nose and eyes. He could feel a warm stickiness from his ears but he could think of no dignified way to quickly remove it.

"High EM pulses on all frequencies. It overloaded the VR, which I had set to level 9 for optimum reception. I saw those ghosts again to the southeast, this time near Hero, just before the pulse. SIR!"

His CO looked him over, and then waved the watch officer to take his place.

"NO!" Madison almost yelled. "Ahh,…Sir! I am fit for duty. No need to relieve me, SIR!"

Webster looked him over, and then gave him a brief nod. Madison immersed himself into the VR again, this time being careful with the sensitivity settings of the data streams.

"Signals still on all frequencies," he said, concentrating on the message. "Multiple codes and languages. The AI has isolated common Anglish, and 54 other known and 24 unknown languages or codes. There are 8 of those alien resonance languages, too."

By now a small crowd had assembled around the sensor tech's station. Normally Hero was painfully quiet. The ghosts from a day and a half ago had been strange enough, but this was probably the most excitement Hero's Waypoint had had since a missile rover crew had gone off to paste the Yoopers 30 years ago.

"It's repeating, Sir. There. It's starting again."

Private Madison got quiet again, and most of the color left his face. He looked up at his CO.

"Sir, it's the Aliens. It's some sort of ritual greeting, and a challenge to do battle," he said in a quiet voice.

Webster smiled to himself. "How brave of them, considering they are half a world away. Route it to Sparta Command, and let them deal with it…."

Madison held up his hand a little to get Webster's attention. "No, Sir. You don't understand. The message is coming from the ghosts, but they aren't ghosts. The Aliens - they're here. Just outside Hero. They're demanding a reply."

Webster paused for only a moment. "Show me the ghosts, and get me specs, and a complete version of the message. Shunt EVERYTHING to Sparta Command! NOW, Private!"

Madison jumped when his CO raised his voice and then immersed himself further into the AI. Projections and stats were squirted to the command and diagnostic displays all over the command center.

Webster and the rest of the command staff forgot all about Private Madison. Their eyes saw, for the first time, the silent and silvery ovoids that they had called ghosts. They were at the edge of the sensor net for Hero, but the three aircraft were clearly distinguishable and looked nothing like any aircraft any of them had ever seen.

"Display stats of ghosts on primary screen," Webster said as she walked over to the main display. Green tinged text and data leaders scrolled across the image, illuminating observable information on mass, velocity, volume and speculative information on propulsion, weaponry, and armor.

The CO frowned. The stats on the nearest aircraft were disturbing, even if they had error bars of over 30%. It was floating above the ground with no visible means of propulsion, its power generation was off the chart, and was at least twice that of the best Morgan fusion reactor. And its armor and weaponry stats made no sense at all.

That was all he needed to see: unknown craft of undefined attack ability within Spartan territory. There was only one possible order after her threat assessment was complete.

"Battle stations. Stage One alert," she said. The lighting in the command center changed, and shadows became deeper and data screens sharper, more crisp.

"Play me the message," she said while walking over to the holo grid.

A fraction of a second later the audio of the message pulsed through the room. It was halting, but the intent and message was clear.

Invader Spartans: I, Conquer Zzar of Progenitor race. Appointed: by the Glorious Conqueror Marr, Usurper Progenitors. Issue challenge: Invader Conquerors fight Progenitor Conquerors. Location of combat: open field of Challenge. Outcome: test of will - test tusk to skull: skull to tusk. Result: blood of weak. Require: immediate reply, Champion for Challenge.

"Private Madison, did you get that off to Sparta Command?"

Madison shook his head. "No, Sir. The EM is disrupting all links, and it attenuates long range atmospheric transmission."

"Do we have local?" the CO asked.

"Yes, Sir. Max range probably 2 kilometers," he said, "maybe more with boosters.

"Right," Webster said. "Download and send a stealth glider, and three couriers. This has to get to Command. Any movement?"

Madison searched.

"No, Sir. No movement. They're just floating there."

Webster wondered, Why are they stationary? Well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Battle plans and options were pouring through her head. There is nothing like a big, slow target to get her creative juices going.

"Fine. Get me Hero and Waypoint Garrisons. We have to talk."

[Googlie]

Great Conclave

I watched the Gecko’s face dissolve into the ether and I sat back and reflected on our conversation.

I had always had my doubts about Honshu – after all, he and Yang had collaborated during the War of the Crimson Succession that saw the end of the short Chinese dynasty that followed the fall of communism in that country in the early 21st Century on old Earth. Honshu himself had led the UN Peacekeeping force that was sent in to restore order, after Yang had fled. This had earned him his berth on The Unity as Senior Military Advisor to Captain Garland. Just how he had come to throw his lot in with the Colonel I never did find out – probably in circumstances much like mine, I reasoned.

He had proven himself a capable General, conducting the war against the University with vigor and imagination. His troops loved him – Honshu’s Militia – and would follow him anywhere. I had been concerned enough to take him out of Sparta Command during Santiago’s absence, and station him in the old Yoop bases, and it was entirely in character that he had shown up on the doorstep for my arraignment.

And if the Colonel herself could scheme with Ashaandi to topple the Chairman, I saw it as equally plausible that Yang would scheme with Honshu to topple Santiago.

I needed to make a few calls to the Junta members who still thought I had something worthwhile to say.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% %

I was closing my link to Macmillan when Eleanor beeped me again.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I have a contact – won’t give his name, but says you both know Shauna.”

“Ah, yes. Patch him in, Eleanor, and thanks.”

I knew she was curious, but this was personal.

I activated the scrambler, and the screen dissolved into white noise static.

A disembodied voice spoke from it:

“Allardyce?”

“This is he,” I replied

“Cavanaugh here. I got your message. Here are my terms:

“I’m sitting with a chopper, an Alien Ogre, and its crew, and no interest at all from anyone. You’re the first semi-official contact for weeks.

“I’ll deliver them – and me – to you at Free Drone Central, provided you can get Lisa Mayberry assigned to my unit as liaison/support etc. It has to be there, as I don’t have the range to get to Great Conclave.

“I don’t know if what you want can be done, but I’ll give it a try if the Drones have the technology.”

I thought for a moment, and decided that I could pull some strings with both Slats and with Ian.

“It’s a deal Miles – I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”

I cut the link, and freed the encryption.

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

Punching in some numbers, I waited.

“Potter here” the voice announced, as the face of Patricia Potter came up on my commlink.

“Trixie,” I replied. “Allardyce here.

“Can you go with me tomorrow to Free Drone Central – couple of interceptors will be ample. There’s someone I’d like you to meet and work with – might be instrumental in reuniting you with your brother.”

“Sir,” she replied, all formality. “You are my Commanding Officer. Of course I’ll be ready. Will you crew or be in the jump seat?”

“Neither”, I replied. “You’ll need your full crews for a potential mission. “I have an old fusion needle that I can use for exec transport. I’ll fly with your flight, though, if you can throttle down enough.”

She chuckled at that.

“See you at the Aerospace Center, then,” she replied, then disconnected.

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

“Ian”

“Yes. Why hello, Dad. Is this business or family?”

“Business. I need you to OK the assignment to the Believers/Drones of Lisa Mayberry’s wing of needlejets from Central command. I’ll talk to Slats first so that when you call tomorrow he’ll be prepped.”

“Dad, are we going to get together sometime. We haven’t spent much time since ……… Anastasia’s death. How about this week?”

“Can’t Ian, I’m off to Free Drone Center. I may end up siteing the Air Command there. I’ll need to evaluate the threats and look at the logistics.”

“Understood. Good luck with Slats, Dad. Take care.”

He cut the link.

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

I looked at my timepiece, and did the mental calculation as to the time in Sparta Command.

“Slats? Googlie here.”

“Hey, Googlie. How the hell are you? I’ve been expecting your call. Was talking to the Gecko today, and he said you’d be in touch to discuss affairs.”

“And I will, Slats. Why don’t you pay a courtesy visit to the Believing Drones at Free Drone Center? I’ll be there from tomorrow on, and may site my HQ there. Bring Lisa Mayberry’s wing as escort and leave them there as a contribution to the Axis defense. You can cycle your current support wing back home for some R & R .”

“Oh, I’d need to clear that with our Liaison Officer there – let me check who that is .. oh, you sly devil, it’s Ian. I bet you’ve cleared that with him already.”

“Indeed,” I chuckled. “And I’m bursting your flight plan even as we speak. It’s encrypted. Use the old codes.”

I hit the send command, and the attachment transferred. It was my summation of the Axis strengths and weaknesses, and listing, to the best of my ability, my assessment of the Usurper/Hive airforce strength.

I gave him a moment or two to digest it, and then added somberly:

“So Slats, we need to talk – in person. Easier for you to come here – or at least to FDC. Is it a date?”

I saw his head nodding on the screen in front of me.

“It’s a date, Googlie. Maybe not tomorrow, but at least the day after. And Lisa will be with me.”

As I disconnected, for the first time in ages I felt like it had been a good day’s work

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited March 01, 2001).]

[Hydro]

Hero's Waypoint

Only God is perfect, and sometimes even angels fail…
Final sermon in New Jerusalem, Reverend Jonah Andrews 2141 (d. 2141, Hive invasion)

Watcher stood alone among the crowd. He stared resolutely forward at nothing, as if looking at something he could barely see in the distance. All around him his squad was moving and pulsing forward as they migrated to their positions, and only he was motionless. Well, almost no one. 2nd Lieutenant Trav Mathesison hovered more or less around the cyborg. Trav was, however, far from motionless. He was simultaneously whispering into his comm, giving specific orders, or using curt hand gestures when he could to guide his squad to their objective, which was habitation Complex Three at the eastern edge of Hero's Waypoint. As the squad moved east pods of humans and tracked and wheeled vehicles was moving in the opposite direction. The orderly exodus had already begun, but that was not Trav's concern. Not really, of course, since his job was to do his duty to protect these civilians. At the moment he simply did not have time, or orders, to pay much attention to them. If they got in his way then he would be interested, but not before. He simply had too much to do.

Trav blink-activated his comm. "Watcher, any update?'

Watcher's head swiveled part way around toward Trav. "Negative, Sir. Orders unchanged. Receiving download from HQ on disposition and specs of the enemy."

Watcher fell quiet, his curt message done. Trav nodded, deactivating the link to Watcher and turned back to his immediate job.

"Squad One, center left. Mutual cover advance. Two follow in 40 seconds. Go," he gestured. The signed message took less time than saying it, and had less chance to be intercepted, and Trav used signing whenever possible. Its only limitation was line of sight, and it required attentive soldiers. Line of sight wasn't much of a problem with his Garrison's various visual enhancements, nor was attentiveness. They were elites, after all.

After receiving the 'go' Squad One partially stood up, crouched, and advanced in waves toward the complex, followed by Squad Two. Three was waiting in the wings. As the squads advanced vehicles stopped, or cantered to the of the road, as did the knots of civilians. It was a bit like placing drops of oil on dusty water - the dust immediately and completely got out of the way. These were Spartan civilians, after all. They knew their duty, and how to aid soldiers in their duty. In this instance it was to not hinder them.

Trav watched them advance, then glanced at Watcher. He was still in download, and Squad Three would stay with him until he was done. When it was complete then Hero Garrison would be on their own.

Watcher looked up and nodded once, then stood up. Trav caught it, and gestured to Three to advance in three wave formation, left center. As an afterthought he added authorization for suppressing fire.

"Go," he said over the comm, since part of Three was out of line-of-sight and behind the silent holo theatre. Trav absently noticed that Gaian Exodus was still playing, and regretted missing it last weekend. Now he wondered if he'd get the chance.

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

"Dad, can I take this?"

A tall, graying man was in the kitchen and was busy stuffing concentrates, and anything that wasn't perishable, into survival packs and totes. Without looking up he said, "No, honey. Survival only. You remember the drills, don't you? Now, we're already late, and our cell has probably already assembled in the courtyard. We have to get going."

He zipped up the pack, put on his extra coat that was draped over an adjacent chair, and then hefted the pack on his back. Automatically he waved the lights off.

"House, we're leaving. Shut down non-essentials; engage intruder alert and countermeasure systems, lethal force authorized. Activate in 2 minutes," he said as he walked out of the kitchen and through the main living area.

"Honey, let's go," he called out as he reached the door.

A second later his daughter walked around the corner from the sleeping areas. She had her pack on, an extra long-life MorganBreather on her belt, and was clutching two cubes to her chest.

She looked at her Dad. "Please? Can't I keep just this?"

She held out the outer cube for him to see, and it sprang to life. A scene from a picnic played out, and it showed her, her father, and her mother on a green lawn during a vacation 4 years ago. Everyone was smiling, the sky was blue and clear, and laughter and happy voices resonated through the room.

His hard look melted. He walked over to his almost adult daughter, put his arms around her and gave her a long, hard hug.

"Of course you can," he whispered into her ear. "Tuck them into your belt and no-one will know. That was just before Plex, and she would want you to remember. She loved you so much, and she was so proud of you. "

He kissed her forehead. "I love you, honey."

She smiled brightly and accepted the statement as if it was a given. "OK! We'll be back soon for the rest," she said. "We've never lost, you know."

"Sure, honey. We'll be gone just a little while," he said to reassure her as he pulled away, took her hand, and led them to the door. It was noisy outside, and knots of people were moving in one direction. "We have to go. Cell leader Wang will be waiting for us."

Both of them left the apartment, hand in hand, and they shut the door behind them. The house shut down the remaining lights, and a loud 'beep' sounded. Near the door a small control panel flashed through some simple diagnostics, and then a red light turned on. A servo activated, and something clicked into place. Then there was silence.

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

Zzar could feel and see that tension was rising, even through the silence. Nir held his tusks a little higher than normal, and his mandibles were regrinding his food from his third stomach. T'Lan was only partially submerged, and Zzar could almost feel his gaze. He was watching Zzar for a sign, any sign, that they had waited long enough.

Still, Zzar was in no hurry. The sensor reports were in on the defenses of this Invader city, and they were pitiful, just like the Invader Yang had assured them it would be. His Deathspheres boasted singularity lasers, singularity power plants and silvery stasis-augmented armor. This Challenge was over before it had begun; it would like pitting a Youngling against a Conqueror.

Something held Zzar back. These Invaders called themselves Spartans, and they were the best warriors the Invaders had. In that way they had a very small link with the Usurpers, who valued the ideals of combat and honor above all else. Even though they would lose Zzar realized he wanted to see them fight, and fight with honor, and to receive a noble warrior's death. If they did not fight they would be treated as simple food animals, yet if they fought they would deserve ritual consumption by the warriors, who would have to acknowledge their valor even as their flesh strengthened the Progenitor victors.

Zzar knew it had been half a day cycle since the Challenge had been sent. He had received no reply. In truth, he expected none from these Invaders, who could not know the proper forms of combat. They were ignorant. It remained to be seen if they were stupid.

In the last years Zzar had learned much from his Face and Personality teachers, and now from the Deathsphere. The largest of these lessons had been the simplest: patience; observe, and understand.

Zzar would wait a while longer.

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

"Hero Garrison: break up into Squads One, Two, and Three, coordination routine 5. Full autonomy authorized. Expect no further communication. Report observations to HQ by remote shoot squirt from a flyeye, random delay. Cache save, and embed into the ground. You have authorization to use nano-transponder, if you so chose. Orders are as follows: Hero Two, take the limpet. Three, left flank. One, front and center: circus 'em. Expect no support from Waypoint Brigade. They have other orders. GO!" Mathesison subvocalized, sending the staccato orders to his garrison.

The remaining elements of his garrison were formed in a skirmish line around him, forming Squad One. For the moment they were under low cover of an earthen embankment on the outskirts of Hero's Waypoint.

He turned to Watcher. "Word from HQ?"

Watcher nodded. "Stats in on the Ghosts," he said, using the new nickname for the hovering Alien warships. "They must have some sort of antigravity for propulsion; nothing else makes sense. Defensive factor of the Ghosts estimated at 40 or more, and weaponry at over 90. Our best is 8 and 26. Techies are probably getting beat up by Coronal Khilling by now. She can be a bit demanding."

Mathesison grunted, knowing that Watcher was generally utterly factual and, therefore, had a flair for understatement. He remembered his last review with Khilling and considered himself lucky to have survived under her. She was hard, but fair, although that didn't make it any easier.

"Anything about how we can take 'em out?" he asked.

This time Watcher shook his head. "Nope. Not a word."

"Great," he said in deadpan. Trav collated the sporadic reports from his squad, and updated the latest information on the Alien's locations. A quick 3D rendering appeared in his viewplate in his helmet, showing his three squads, and the three strangely motionless aliens. To Trav they didn't look like ghosts, but more like a slightly squashed silvery oranges. They were strange ships, all right, and not knowing what they could really do was a bit of a problem.

Trav opened a private comm to Mar, the leader of Squad Two. "Mar, go underground. Max stealth. You are to focus on your mission, nothing else. Understood?"

A triple click was his only reply, indicating yes.

Now all he had to do was wait, if the wait didn't kill him.

[Googlie]

Free Drone Central

Ron was harassed.

As the Civilian Governor of Free Drone Central, he doubled as the base administrator for the Aerospace Center, and today looked like being one of his most hectic.

He read the print out of the request he’d received from the renegade Spartan, Scott Allardyce, backed with the imprimatur of Sister Miriam Godwinson herself:

Please prepare the Aerospace Center to receive and maintain the following units:

Ø the Office of the Air Marshall
Ø the Third Wing – twelve Penetrators and six Interceptors
Ø the Headquarters of the Spartan Sixth Air Force, seconded to the Believing Drones - some selected units from that fleet
Ø A Covert Ops chopper flying under MorganNews colors

I will require the usual linkages direct to the Command Center, secure encryption, and, of course, 24-hour garrison of the Aerospace Center with SAM equipped troops.

Ron snorted.

“Command Center? Why doesn’t he do his homework before spouting off? Never had a Command Center here, even under the Hive. Or does he mean the HQ facility? Or perhaps he means to the Command Center at Great Conclave. That’ll take days to set up.

“I’ll patch him to the HQ building – at least he can download information from General Taquiz.”

He’d issued the orders, and now was waiting for the influx to begin.

Fist to arrive was the Third Wing, led by one of the Penetrators while the Interceptors waited, circling, for the larger Penetrators to land.

As the needlejet taxied over to the containment area, Wilson saw the cowling retract and was surprised to see that when one of the crew took off the flying helmet, a profusion of hair spilled around the officer’s shoulders.

“Why should I be surprised?” he thought. “Even the old Hive had several women in its air force.”

The second officer peeled himself from the needlejet and dismounted, coming over towards Ron to speak to him.

Ron looked at him approaching. “He hasn’t changed a bit,” he thought. “Younger, maybe.”

He stuck out his hand.

“Googlie,” he said.

Allardyce stopped in his tracks, peering at Ron.

“Ron?” he asked.

“Ron Stone?”

“The very same,” Ron replied.

“I didn’t even ask,” Allardyce replied. “Neither what had happened to you, nor who was the Aerospace Center Commandant.”

Ron chuckled.

“Not only that,” he replied. “I’m the GFDC Base Governor as well.”

Allardyce did a double take.

“Wow. But that figures. You always did have excellent administrative skills. But I thought we were setting you up for wideband broadcasts into Hive territory – reactivating the Silvermane persona?”

“You did. We are,” he replied. “I broadcast nightly from here, courtesy of a major Morgan installation at Nexus. Ewe feed from here and they transmit. I am given to understand that over 90 percent of Hive citizens can pick it up.”

Wonderful,” Allardyce replied.

As they talked the Penetrators filed in to land, followed by the Interceptors.

Ron’s commlink beeped.

He activated it, listened, then shut off, and looked at Allardyce.

“Spartan flight on its approach. A Colonel Mayberry and five other needles with him.”

“Her,” Allardyce replied. “One of Sparta’s best. She’ll be able to give you a hand administratively – she was Military Administrator at Admiralty Base before her assignment here. You’d do a lot worse than appoint her as Aerospace Center Base Commander, reporting to you, if the Colonel would allow it. Actually, you don’t need to go to the Colonel for that – just clear with Slats Miller.”

Ron nodded thoughtfully. “I might just,” he said. “With your locating your headquarters here, and the additional units based here, it’ll need better skills than I have to run the Aerospace Center efficiently.”

Patricia Potter walked over to introduce herself to Ron, and to arrange for dispersal of her command.

Allardyce left them to it, and went to the Aerospace Center Control room to await the arrival of Lisa and her flight.

Ron’s assistant administrator, an earnest young man, introduced himself:

“Vincent Dillon, Sir. Let me show you to your offices. Administrator Stone has kindly vacated his suite of offices and has offered them to you and your staff.”

Allardyce shook his hand.

“No, I think not,” he replied. “I’ll leave these for the Base Commander. Rather I’ll have a micro Command Center built closely, just for Air Command. If there are any empty offices I’ll use them temporarily.”

“Of course,” Vincent replied. “This way please.”

An orderly picked up his kitbag from Stone’s office, where he had deposited it, and followed them down the corridor to an empty office.

Allardyce made himself at home, then stood by the armored window to watch the arrival of the sleek Spartan needlejets. A feeling of nostalgia washed over him, as he watched them peel from their formation and come in to land, one by one. He had been instrumental in building that force to be the best on Planet, and now he could do it again with the motley collection of Drones and Believers, mixed in with the Peacekeeper volunteers and seconded Spartans.

His commlink beeped.

“Dillon here, Sir. A chopper is approaching, and the pilot wants to meet you on arrival – asked for a secure area so I’ve assigned the northwest apron. I have a driver waiting to take you there.”

That would be Cavanaugh.

Allardyce went down the elevator to the entrance and nodded to Julia Mayberry in passing. She was in earnest conversation with Trixie Potter and Ron Stone.

The driver saluted, and chauffeured Allardyce to the landing area where he saw the Morgan chopper approaching in the distance.

His critical eye watched the landing.

“Hmm, not bad for an amateur pilot”, he thought. “I must compliment Miles.”

He waited as the rotors subsided, and the fission engines shut down.

The pilot jumped out, and waved to Allardyce as he walked round to the rear cargo hatch, opening it and deploying the vehicle ramp.

Allardyce watched in fascination as the alien Ogre slowly trundled out, with Miles giving a series of hand signals to the crew.

He studied it closely, remembering it from the Manifold nexus meeting with Kri’Lan. It truly was an awesome looking fighting machine. He watched as the crew dismounted, wearing translator yokes to communicate with Miles. He came over to Allardyce.

“Sir, would you know if accommodation has been made for the Progenitor defectors? I’d like to see them settled before I get comfortable myself.”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” he replied. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring the Ogre and crew with you, so I only alerted the Base Commander to your arrival.

“But I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Just have them run the machine into the hangar with the chopper until we decide what to do with it. Didn’t Corrie want it?”

“Showed absolutely no interest,” Miles replied. “It was Lisa’s idea to bring it with me. I think she kind of liked the idea of it as a pretty awesome base defender. It certainly did the job at Admiralty base. Awed the locals too – crime and corruption was way down, and no drone unrest at all. It’s quite intimidating.”

“Aye, it is that,” Googlie replied. “Let’s meet in the messhall when you get them stowed away.”

Miles nodded, and went to talk with the alien crew.

Allardyce headed back to the Aerospace Center Control.

[Hydro]

Honor: Progenitor

Conqueror Zzar had had enough. The Invader city showed signs of intense activity with movement of vehicles and masses of the soft-fleshed Invaders. These vehicles and Invaders were not, however, moving toward the glorious field of battle. They had been invited to join in combat, and even their limited understanding of ancient Progenitor protocol was no excuse for their actions. They were clearly fleeing, and all of their movement was away from the three Deathspheres that Zzar commanded. Only a few brief sensor blips indicated there might be some movement toward the waiting Deathspheres, but these were fragmentary at best. A true warrior, according to Progenitor doctrine, presented himself proudly with what weapons he had, and was ready to do battle in open combat. Thus, honor was preserved, even if doom was assured. Zzar knew that warriors did not sulk in ditches and behind buildings. These were cowardly actions, and had no honor.

In a way Zzar was sorely disappointed since now there would be no honorable combat. His forces were far superior to the Invader's best defense or offense, and now there would only be slaughter. If these Spartans, which were supposedly the great militarists of the Invaders, refused to fight then the Progenitor victory over this weak race was assured, as was their doom.

Zzar moved a talon and activated the touchpad in front of him. Deathsphere Alpha opened an interactive link to Deathsphere Gamma. A second passive link to Beta was initiated to the Sub-Conqueror of that Deathsphere would know what orders had been issued. An image of Sub-Conqueror A'Pck from Gamma appeared in miniature before Zzar.

"The Invaders refuse to engage in honorable combat. You will go and destroy what resistance you find. Advance at battle speed. Total liquidation is authorized," Zzar stated.

A'Pck, who had been alert, was now even more alert. His mandibles involuntarily parted in excitement and a small bubble of saliva formed and then popped. A sharp intake of breath made his carapace swell, which was an instinctive response prior to combat that made him appear larger than he really was. In these few seconds Zzar could see that A'Pck's secondary carapace seams flushed from medium to light blue from the increased blood flow. Zzar was pleased. This one had the right instincts for battle, and at a moment's notice his body was responding in exactly the right way.

"Honored Conqueror," he replied, "your will shall be done. We will advance slowly and methodically, and we will sweep all before us! Glory to Conqueror Zzar! Glory to our leader Conqueror Marr! Glory to the Progenitor Race!"

A'Pck turned from facing Zzar directly and gave a series of staccato orders to his crew. There was no hint that Deathsphere Gamma was moving except that the terrain around it began to move. The link to Zzar, of course, remained active, and it was being transmitted back to Conqueror Marr at Courage: To Question. Indeed, everything that was said or done was likely to be observed by Conqueror Marr. His absolute control dictated no other course of action, and his will in any matter was not to be questioned.

Slowly and surely the silvery Deathsphere floated toward its target.

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

"Sir, they're moving," Madison stated.

Commander Webster, who had been watching the vid feed, already knew this. "Acknowledged, Private. Have any of the gliders gotten through yet?"

"No, Sir. Orders?"

Webster thought for a moment. "Pulse through the power grid, continuous feed. Their EM jamming can't disrupt that, and eventually someone in the grid will figure it out when their AI starts panicking due to grid disruptions. Don't worry about encryption. We want EVERYONE to get the message. Do a blind shunt to our garrisons, wide feed. No directed data streams, since that might tip off the bugs where our defenses are located. Got it?"

Madison nodded, "Yes, Sir." Then he buried himself in the VR. In moments Madison had left the real world behind, and all he saw was the abstract world of data and the VR constructions that represented data. First he did a wide squirt to the field teams to make sure they know what was going on. They were on passive only, and Madison expected no reply. Then he went to Hero's Waypoint's power grid AI and forced it rather brutally to do his bidding. He was not proud of this, but it was crude and effective, and at the moment that was all that mattered. In a few minutes a continuous feed of data was pulsing through the electrical grid that connected all Spartan bases. Those rapid spikes had multiple carriers within them, and Madison designed them to set off all alarm bells at the connected bases. He knew their AIs and pseudo AIs would promptly respond, call their human contacts, and probably discover his data stream within minutes. The power grid was not made for this purpose, and data transmission was slow, but it would work, and right now that was all that mattered.

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

Trav felt the hairs on his neck stand up, and the air around him seemed to crackle ever so faintly.

He immediately dropped in the hot, raw earth, forcing himself to lay flat even though the soil this new blast crater must be at least 30o C. Right now a low profile was a little more important than having a small footprint, but it was always a calculated risk: have the skin ripped from you and be hurled around from the blast or be crushed by falling debris. Either choice was less than pleasant, but he knew the blast was coming so that made the choice rather easy. That did not mean he liked the choice, though, since he had one of two unsavory options. He didn't look to see if his squad had done likewise, and he knew he didn't need to look. If they could they would drop, and they would make their own choice of to drop flat or drop and curl.

First Trav felt a shock wave through the ground, then a split second later the sound of the blast washed over him. The servos in his auditory enhancements shut down to protect his hearing, and input was reduced to 10% of maximum. Sound still traveled through his skeletal structure, and the sound was deafening even when reduced. A small voice in the back of his brain felt pity for the other non-cybernetic garrison of Hero's Waypoint that was protecting the northern portion of the city. They were mere flesh and blood, and just the blast itself might take out an unprotected human. Non-cybernetics couldn't even control blood flow to damaged limbs, or use power assist when they needed it. Granted, Trav knew he would pay the price later after the assist, but if it did the job then it was worth it, and in combat doing the job meant survival, and failure generally meant you were dead.

A split second later a torrent of superheated displaced air and debris engulfed him, and it seemed like someone was taking a giant broom and sweeping all the loose and newly blasted bits toward, over, and through him. There was nothing to hold on to, but he dug is hands into the loose earth anyway, since he didn't want to become one of the loose bits and pieces thrown around by the maelstrom. The torrent reached a crescendo, and there was a steady patter of loose earth that was moving sideways and impacting with a sting on his left side. Vaguely he could feel that larger chunks were flying overhead, and Trav hunkered down even farther since he knew debris would be falling, and even a kilo of ferroconcrete would be more than enough to kill him.

Wreckage rained for a few minutes, and Trav could feel the larger impacts on the ground, and the sprays of earth. At times it felt like he was being peppered from all directions as the impact craters overlapped and seemed to converge. Finally, the lethal rain tapered off, and then stopped.

Cautiously, Trav looked up. He was partially buried in earth, but was intact. The blast had been close, less than a block away and probably in the Phalanx suburb of Hero. The lip of the crater has been eroded away by the newest blast, so Trav shimmied down deeper into the crater.

At the bottom Trav called up his squad diagnostics. There were two more casualties. Jarod was dead, and he didn't even register anywhere. Maybe he was vaporized? No, more likely completely buried in debris so that his randomized transponder didn't even work. Sahrin was struggling with a crushed left leg and was receiving first aid from Dala. They were in the crater that had been Legion Apartment Complex and well out of earshot, especially with the interference from the regular and systematic blasts. The blasted bugs were methodically obliterating Hero's Waypoint as they advanced.

Tarv considered. He had two more operational spyeyes and could be activated remotely. These were valuable, since they would relay exactly where the bugs were before they were shot out of the sky. So far they had a life expectancy of less than 15 seconds but it was enough.

Considering the situation Trav decided: use 'em, or lose 'em. He toggled a command and his second to last spyeye went up. The loyal little device started broadcasting data to all in the field and Trav could see what it could see.

The bugs were less than a half click away, and their rate of advance was the same as before. Considering how fast they had arrived their speed was painfully slow, and Trav couldn't understand why. What good was having ultra-fast and maneuverable craft if you didn't use it? Must be bug logic - nasty, alien bug logic. He did understand what their primary weapon could do, though, and had received first-hand lessons in that, even if it was mainly as the recipient of collateral damage.

There was a bit of good news, though. They were still traveling in a straight line. Must be more implacable bug logic.

The hair on his arms was standing up again, and right on schedule another blast was coming. He hunkered down.

Orders were orders: hold tight, and buy time.

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

'Invader building 23 leveled, Sub-Conqueror. Target 24 selected. Do you approve?" weapons officer Sht'r asked.

A'Pck examined the image. It was a squat, tan rectangular building, and it offended his sense of proportion. First, they were Invader, and that in and of itself meant that they were a blight on Manifold 6. Second, they had no pleasing curves or graceful struts of Progenitor towers that reached for the sky. These were primitive hovels, where these cowardly Invaders hid until their richly deserved doom took them. A'Pck hoped that not all the invaders were cowering in their huts so that some could be taken for the Rites of the Conqueror. He had tasted some of the Invaders during the training, Invaders that the Invader Yang had supplied them. They left a metallic aftertaste in his gullet, but they were not entirely unpleasing. There was not satisfying crunch of mangled carapace when they were ripped open, however, since they were so soft. It was like they were one large organ, and A'Pck knew that this proved that Progenitors were more evolved than these Invaders, who did not even have exterior armor, claws, or tusks. They were small and weak, and even their teeth were not even pointed. Therefore, they were prey animals that had, against all odd, acquired a rudimentary intelligence. Still, food animals could have brains, and Invader brains were protected by a carapace-like bony case that split with a satisfying crack when ruptured. It was even something of a delicacy, especially when still warm.

A'Pck looked over the target building. It was the closest to them, and it was necessary to destroy everything as they advanced until they were sure there would be no more resistance.

"Weapons Officer, I approve. Remove that building, and inform me if you see any movement that would indicate that the brave Invaders have finally decided to stop defecating on themselves and actually fight."

Sht'r formed a rumbling resonance of mirth at the image. He had seen the Invader's in the Challenge Chamber let their waste solids and liquids go as they panicked, just before the kill. It was messy, and the image seemed to fit here. It was like slaughtering a defective Youngling, or an aged and worthless Progenitor.

"As you command, Sub-Conqueror," he replied as he gave the Deathsphere orders to acquire the target and fire.

Movement appeared on his sensors before the singularity generator built up it full charge. Point defense siphoned off a minuscule amount of energy, which streaked toward the rising target and it vanished in a small pull of smoke.

"Sub-Conqueror, there is another small remote launched probe. As previously ordered, I have set autodefense to eliminate it," he informed his commander.

"Very well. Continue," A'Pck stated.

A low hum filled the cabin, and A'Pck watched it fire. The air in front of the Deathsphere seemed to shimmer as the resonance carrier wave activated. A split second later the singularity laser formed and impaled the target building, which turned white with the heat and then exploded as all combustible material within it ignited and the air and material were superheated and vaporized, blasting it in all directions.

A'Pck thought it was beautiful. The fireball was an unadulterated white, and it was purifying: one more ugly Invader structure, which is truly a blight upon Manifold 6, had been summarily eliminated.

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

Trav's head was ringing and he had a hard time getting his face out of the dirt after the last blast. Training kicked in and he cybernetically activated his internal store of painkillers, and sent out some stored endorphins to clear his head. He immediately felt better.

He checked his squad and half were now down or missing. Of those, two were not ambulatory. Trav cursed under his breath. Any more of this and everyone will be gone.

He knew it was almost time, and he activated his last flyeye. Dutifully it went up, burped its data, and then vanished in a puff of smoke, just like the others. It gave Trav all he needed to know.

It was time.

Trav looked around. Watcher was at the north edge of the crater. His left leg was mangled flesh, but he had managed to cut off blood flow to it and had severed power to avoid a chain overload. Marlin was OK, although he looked a little dazed. Trav hand signaled to them. Watcher nodded, and composed a 'noise' squirt so the rest of the squad would be ready.

Watcher looked over at him to indicate he was done. Trav signed for him to send, with a two-minute execution delay. Watcher nodded again to indicate the message was sent.

The two minutes seemed to speed by, and Trav autochecked all his cybernetics and primed them to 110 percent. He was as ready as he would ever be.

BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP

Everything happened at once. Watcher pushed himself to the edge of the crater and started laying down suppressing fire, and Marlin sprinted up and over the edge of the crater. Trav kicked in, and soon the silvery alien Ghostship was not more than a hundred meters from him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the remains of his squad charging up, and they started firing. No one lobbed any explosives, however.

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

"Sub-Conqueror, we have multiple targets. Small arms fire. Orders?"

A'Pck examined the data with the flick of an eye. His mandibles clicked contemptuously.

"This is the best they can do? Remove them."

"As you command," weapons officer Sht'r responded as he neutrally shunted the command to the Deathsphere, and the Deathsphere spoke. White light followed.

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

There were no screaming yells or curses, just nine humans sprinting across the blasted field that had been an easternmost apartment complex of Hero's Waypoint.

Trav saw on his internal display as Marlin vanished in a cloud of red mist, and then David and Dala. Trav focused on his mission and fired continuously at the silvery ovoid. Nothing, not even a direct hit, phased it, but that wasn't the point. The attack was the point, not the damage.

Then there was a shimmering, and a white light.

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

"Sub-Conqueror, all targets eliminated. Main guns fully charged and awaiting your orders."

A'Pck had noticed. The Invaders were now both cowardly and ineffectual, instead of being merely ineffectual.

"Weapons Officer, target nearest building and resume…" he started.

The Deathsphere's monotone resonance interrupted him.

WARNING: MOVEMENT DETECTED TO THE REAR OF THIS CRAFT. FOREIGN OBJECTS HAVE POSTIVE TRACKING. UPDATE: FOREIGN OBJECT HAS ATTACHED ITSELF TO THE HU…. UPDATE: MULTIPLE FOREIGN OJECTS HAVE ATTACHED THEMSELVES TO THE HULL. TWO OF THESE OBJECTS HAVE A 99.5% PROBABILITY OF BEING EXPLOSIVE DEVICES. IMMEDIATE ORDERS REQUESTED.

A'Pck was stunned. An attack from the rear? What?

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

Mar had seen Trav and his squad rise for the diversionary frontal assault, just as planned. The guns of the Ghost focused on them and one by one they were eliminated. She squirted her crew, who rose en-mass from the debris. The Ghost had passed over them from their forward positions.

"Fire limpet one NOW!" she yelled. Secrecy was now irrelevant, as was communication silence.

Mar and her squad sprinted out of their hidey-holes. Karen shouldered her limpet and fired at the Deathsphere, which was 10 meters away and almost directly above them.

"Fire two NOW!"

Joel darted up and fired his limpet.

With a double 'clang' both impacted on the hull, but they did not explode and seemed to recede into the shimmering silver hull.

Mar ran for all she was worth. "Fire all grapples NOW!"

Almost simultaneously monofilament tethers from all of the squad arced upward. The 'big slow target' did not react, and the filaments arced over, and then down. One by one the lines autoattached.

"On my mark! Up and over! ENGAGE!"

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

REPEAT: ORDERS REQUESTED. UPDATE: MULTIPLE GRAPPLES DETECTED. UNABLE TO DETACH. LIKELY EXPLOSIVES HAVE PENETRATED STASIS FIELD. REPEAT: ORDERS REQUESTED.

A'Pck fumed. Cowardly attack from behind! They would pay!

"Weapon's officer! Fire immediately! Remove the explosives, and the Invader grapples!"

Sht'r was confused, "But honored Sub-Conqueror, that will…"

"FIRE NOW!" A'Pck ordered.

Sht'r immediately complied, and a high whine filled the cabin of the Deathsphere. Rippling explosions followed the whine, spoiling the perfect silence and serenity they had known.

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

Mar felt her grapple take hold, and then start to reel up toward the waiting Ghost. She saw others from her squad rise also, while the last few from her squad were still trying to get their grapples to bite onto something.

As she went up she fired her projective rifle at the hull to no effect. The projectiles simply disappeared, dissolving into a silvery sheen with a ripple almost as if it were liquid metal. Since that failed she got out some thermal grenades. She lobbed one and then another upward and away from her crew, and then felt the explosion near the forward portion of the Deathsphere. Again, there was no seeming effect.

On the ground Joel was struggling with his grapple. It had failed to catch, and he had to set to fire again. In the meantime he was positioning another limpet, and retreated to his hidey-hole.

As he entered there was a white flash, and then another. Two more followed. He looked around, and saw that the Ghost was firing, but firing at itself! Its impressive weapons were trained on the grapplers, and on the limpets. First the limpets shuddered, and then vaporized, as the defensive fire from the Ghost ripped into them. The silvery sheen of the Ghost wavered, and then partially fell away, showing a ragged scar where the limpets had been. Then the guns trained on the grapplers, and they disappeared in white flashes. As they went all their ammunition, grenades, and limpets went up in sympathy, which created a rippling series of explosions against the hull of the Ghost.

The Ghost wavered to the right. It continued firing, and more members of the limpet team vanished.

Joel swung around his limpet and prepared to fire. Then there was a shimmering, and a white light.

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

A'Pck looked at the display in front of him. The ancient Deathsphere was damaged. DAMAGED! How could those puny Invaders do this?

Trickery!

They have no honor!

A'Pck knew that was no excuse, however. He drew a deep breath. There was duty, and duty must be done.

"Weapons Officer, continue to target buildings. Add all Invader life signs to the sensor sweep, no matter how small. Eliminate any threat you see, and you are not required to ask permission to fire," he stated.

Sht'r stated in response, "As you command."

A high whine filled the cabin, and another building disappeared. The purifying white light wasn't as pleasurable to watch this time.

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

Watcher stopped laying down suppressing fire as soon as the rest of his squad charged. He watched, and recorded, as his squad went down firing, and then as the limpet team sprang into action.

He smiled.

The limpets attached! Grapples away! Grapples attached, and reels activated!

Watcher almost yelled encouragement, but held back. He could do nothing but watch.

Then the white lights came. First there were a few, then they came in rapid fire. The Ghost shuddered with the explosions against its hull and veered to the north ever so slightly, but when the white lights cleared everyone was gone. He saw damage on the hull.

He ground his teeth. So much sacrifice for so little!

The white light struck a few more times, and there was no more fire at all from the limpet squad.

Watcher knew what he had to do. He went into shut down mode, deep hibernation, with wakeup in 5 hours. He hoped that would be enough. HQ had to see what had happened, and he knew he was useless in his damaged state.

Warning: power reserves low: 26% chance of system failure in hibernation mode. Resume?

Watcher overrode the warning. He backed down into the crater and curled up. Everything started to go dark, and everything was heavy. Sound stops. Light stops. Breathing stops.

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

Watcher felt cool moisture, then the feeling of rain on his skin. He opened his eyes, and it was almost dark except for a ruddy red glow to the west that was visible over the rim of the crater.

Training kicked in and he did a system check. His leg was still useless for combat, but the power assist would allow him to walk. Power reserves were low, but passable. No other damage.

The crater had a small pool of rainwater at its base, and the sides were turning to mud with rivulets of mud-laden water starting to slide down into the old foundation. He scanned what little he could see from the base of the crater, and there was nothing except the glow. Then he started crawling very slowly to the lip of the crater, and then looked out.

Everything was burning - that was the ruddy red glow he had seen. As far as he could see there was ruin, either blasted holes or partially demolished ferrocrete structures. The area near him was completely pulverized and flat, except for the craters. To the west, and toward the center of Hero's Waypoint, there were some buildings still standing. They looked forlorn and hopeless against the destruction.

Hovering above them were the three silvery Ghosts, which were traveling slowly west at an altitude of about 100 meters. Occasionally they fired and another building or building fragment, which promptly exploded and disappeared. Even in the gloom of night they seemed to shimmer. Watcher would even have thought the looked beautiful on any day but this.

Watcher knew his duty - he had to report what he had seen, since there was probably no one else who could. He packed his rifle and made his way to the southern edge of the crater. Then, looking both ways to check for bugs, he crawled out and scampered as best he could among the blasted remains of the apartment complex. It provided poor cover, but it was better than no cover.

It would be a long trip.

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

Conqueror Zzar activated his priority channel.

"Great Conqueror Marr: the Invader city has been secured and no significant losses have been sustained. We proceed onto our next target!

In accordance with your wishes, this city is now claimed for the Usurpers and is named Honor: Progenitor!

Glory to Conqueror Marr! Glory to the Progenitor Race!"

Zzar turned off the comm link. He knew that the Conqueror knew full well what had transpired, and that the Invader city had been taken. Redundant buildings were removed along with the Invader infestation, and the few buildings that might prove useful for Progenitor colonization were retained.

He did not tell Marr about the attack on Deathsphere Gamma. Although these Invaders were not honorable and were cowardly, they were fighters, considering their resources. The first attack had met no resistance, until the surprise had been sprung. That was worrisome. Even worse, Deathsphere Beta had been on guard against the same tactic, but the Invaders did not oblige them during its attack from the north against the second garrison. Those Invaders had tried a massed attack, and had failed to do more than miniscule damage the Deathsphere. But, the fact that they had been damaged at all gave Zzar pause.

This would have to be considered. The Invaders did not fight like the Ancients said they must. They broke all the rules.

What did this mean?

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

Watcher looked around. This was the evacuation route a kilometer outside of Hero's Waypoint, and the land all around had been blasted and ripped open. Scattered around rents in the earth were debris that had probably been a convoy of vehicles at one time. But it wasn't the ruined vehicles that caught his attention; it was the slaughtered civilians, thousands of them that surrounded him for as far as he could see. Bodies and pieces of bodies literally filled the edges of the craters and vehicles that had been consumed by flame.

It was clear the refugees from Hero's Waypoint had been gunned down from above. They hadn't had a chance. This was simple slaughter, genocide on a massive scale.

There were some tracks that indicated that not all were killed, and these tracks of led back to Hero's Waypoint. Watcher had heard rumors about the bugs, and he bet that the living would envy the dead. At least they had had a clean death.

Watcher checked for survivors where he could, but knew he had to leave. There was no one alive here. Then he heard a whistling noise, and he immediately ducked for cover behind the remains of a tram. The noise did not get closer, but it did get more intense. Taking a chance he looked out.

Watcher gasped. He knew an airdrop when he saw one, and he saw at least five giant units use atmospheric power assist to guide them to the conquered city. Watcher activated his vision augments to get a better look. Each of the drops were ovoid with many spiky legs and weapon ports. They could only be those mechanicals code named Ogres.

He didn't know how the bugs could do this since they were so far from any of their bases, but he knew why: instant reinforcements. It was standard Spartan doctrine, and it had been devastating against the Hive. Now it might be devastating against the Spartans.

Watcher knew he couldn't stick around. In a matter of hours the whole area would be crawling with bugs, and every hour he gave HQ would increase their chances of being able to respond. Watcher mentally set his cybernetic performance to 130% and overrode all the warnings. He had to get back.

[Googlie]

Courage: To Question

To say that Seng Hsui was terrified might be an understatement, but, as a commander of men, whatever fear he felt could in no way be exhibited.

He braced himself as the Space Elevator transport nacelle eased out from its anchored sheath at Courage: To Question and quickly gained both altitude and speed. He forced himself to look out through the transparent shell at the domes and spires of the Progenitor base falling away below him.

Oh, he knew the theory – in part – that formed the underlying concepts behind super tensile solids, but to experience them first hand - and to stake his very life on them, was a different matter completely. He watched the last remnants of the base disappear from view as the nacelle passed through the upper limits of the tachyon field defense system, and then he was simply looking down at a shimmering haze that seemed no different from the surrounding landmass. It was easy to see from this increasing altitude how the Aliens had managed to hide their development from the humans for so long.

As the nacelle passed through the cloud ceiling and picked up speed as it reached for the stratosphere the shutters came down over the viewpanels, leaving just the upper observation ports from which to see the stars emerging into view.

Seng’s eyes were drawn to the tachometer display that alerted the passengers that they had passed the sound barrier and were still accelerating. He looked at his colleagues – units of the Hive First Drop Division. He commanded Alpha squad – all veterans of the Morgan Pharma and Morgan with some of commando status and a few elite troops.

He shifted his harness trying to get a comfortable position around his chest and shoulders. This was Progenitor technology, adapted for the smaller Hive soldiers, although he knew that the Spartans had drop capability and had used it in the early days of the war. Not orbital insertion, though, which was what these drop packs achieved.

The upper terminus, tethered by the super tensile filament, was some 600 kilometers from the surface, and with the nacelle reaching speeds of 3000 clicks, the journey, allowing for acceleration and deceleration time took just over eight minutes. Now that there was really nothing to do, Seng relaxed and found time to chat to some of the troopers in his command.

A pinging announced to the passengers their imminent arrival at the terminus, as well as the retraction of the shields, and Seng watched the small sphere below that was Planet dissapear from view as the gaping mouth of the SE terminus swallowed the nacelle as it coasted to a stop.

He exited, and followed the directions from the staffers who re-united Alpha Squad with the rest of the First Drop Division. 600 troops, equipped with new plasma shard missile weaponry and arrayed in the new 3-pulse armor that the aliens had provided to them. Their last minute briefing began.

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

South of UN Marine Agency

Mike Potter looked over at the penetrators to his right – they were from the Hive Diligence wing, and he had to admit, their pilots were good.

“Bloody hot dogs. Would you look at them?” he muttered to Conrad, his Weapons Officer.

Conrad looked to his left.

They were skirting the landmass that delineated the eastern extent of the Gaian territory.

The hills were moderate in size – some 1500 meters. Not the 2500 meter peak that was to the west of Velvetgrass Point, but substantial enough to force them to skim the waves to avoid detection as long as possible.

Over to starboard, the Hive needlejet pilot waggled her wings and went even lower, until it seemed that the very spray from the breaking waves was catching her craft as she flew onwards.

Mike had met Chuli the evening before, at the briefing. She was a veteran of the Hive- Spartan wars, and had seemed so meek then. But she sure could handle the big jets.

Sighing, he brought his own aircraft lower, and checked the coordinates again.

They were heading for an interception with the coastline just past the cliffs at 105:105, crossing over the lowlands at 103:105, then following the contours of the land straight for Temple of Chiron.

He could see the fields of sea fungus getting closer, and wondered if Chuli would rise above the swaying tendrils or just blast through them. He was somewhat gratified to see that she increased her altitude just a tad – he’d hate to ingest any of that into his engine intakes.

He keyed his commlink, on their secure channel.

“Full alert now – arm weapons. Coastline in six minutes, target in eighteen.”

His Communications Officer burst the message by laser to the rest of the flight, and got acknowledgements from all, including Chuli’s flight.

Conrad readied himself for the confrontation.

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

South East of Song of Planet

Cyrus Peake looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. His eyes went back to the display monitors.

“They’re approaching the coast now,” he said unnecessarily.

Canla altered in the affirmative, then inclined her head to one side, listening, experiencing, the resonance that was lost on the simplistic machine that Cyrus wore as a yoke around his neck and shoulders.

They were circling just south of the landmass, at altitude, just outside the range of any likely Gaian interceptor craft, in an adapted Penetrator that now bristled with the latest in Hive and Progenitor communications technology.

Canla reached out a talon and tapped Peake on the shoulder.

He looked around at her, and waited for the yoke to accept and translate her emanations.

“Conqueror Marr has given the order – the advance on Hero’s Waypoint has begun. Our troops are moving to Velvetgrass Point. The Orbital Insertion Units await your ‘Go’ command” she resonated.

Peake nodded. The penetrators were about seventeen minutes from target, and realistically would need five over target. The descending drop troops needed fifteen minutes for the insertion.

“Are you sure that this technology works?” he asked of Canla.

“It is not my area of expertise,” she altered,” but our researchers say that it will. We have used it for drops from our orbiting starship, and indeed Conqueror Zzar has some Battle Ogres that have been adapted for drop technology. So there is no reason why it shouldn’t work for your human troops. We have computed the mass and thrust needed, and the ablative heat shields will be more than adequate for your smaller skeletons, so what is there not to work?”

It was the longest speech Cyrus had heard Canla make, and with a start he realized “she’s as nervous as I am.” He knew that she was a research scientist – that was the meaning of her honorific ‘Junior Stochastic’ – and that her field of expertise was the Manifold Experiment. She had taken great pains at the briefing the evening before to explain to the Penetrator pilots which structures were out of bounds for the attack on Temple of Chiron.

Cyrus looked at his watch again.

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

Velvetgrass Point

“It’s not good news, whatever it is. I just wish it were in range and we’d get rid of it.” Julia Santiago said in frustration.

Stephen Cartesius nodded.

“I know,” he replied. “It’s bugging me too. I mean, what’s it doing there. It’s just been circling for the last hour or so.”

“Probably aerial reconnaissance,” she replied. “Although what they are reconnoitering I have no idea. It’s so unlike the Hive. What did you see on your flyby?”

“Not a lot,” Stephen replied.

Julia had scrambled to intercept the intruder, but just couldn’t get close enough to get any kind of a lock with her weapons. She’d landed, and then sent Stephen up to do a flyby to see what was afoot.

“Bristling with antenna and dishes – definitely covert ops type, but to what purpose I have no idea. It did have Hive markings, but all the nacelles and pods didn’t seem to be harboring weapons – mostly surveillance equipment, I would guess.”

Julia nodded.

“I’ve alerted Lady Skye, and she has put all units on readiness. We never can be too sure. But even Leo is feeling the unrest. It’s so …….. so ….. threatening. That’s what it is. Just by its being there, it threatens us.”

“Well, let’s just stay on our guard. It’s all we can do, ‘cos we certainly can’t shoot it out of the sky.”

Julia nodded glumly.

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

N.E of Spires Ascendant

“Go, Go, Go”

Patrice had no idea where all the vehicles were going, but he engaged the drive of his chaos rover and wheeled towards the monolith, followed by the rest of his squad.

Directly in front was one of the weirdest units Patrice had ever seen, entering the monolith. He knew it was a specialty rover of the aliens – assembled specifically for this campaign against the Gaians. His armaments officer had explained it to him:

“It’s resonance based – a regular laser augmented by their resonance techniques, and it’s armor is what they are calling res-8. The laser dispersion through resonance apparently provides soma advantages against mindworms, and the res-8 armor gives a level of protection against the psi-attack techniques used by mindworm corps.”

Patrice had just grunted his assent. He really didn’t follow the alien technology, but was might glad to have them along.

More amazing was the monolith.

At the briefing the day before, through a yoked interpreter, one of the Progenitors had explained the concept of psi-gates, and how the ancients had developed a series of psi-gates across planet that were interlinked and controlled from what they were referring to as The Manifold Nexus. This seemed to be extremely important to the Aliens, and Patrice surreptitiously thought that its seizure was the only reason the Progenitors were supporting this mission.

Velvetgrass Point was the major base in the region, and it’s capture would go a long way to ensuring that Temple of Chiron would stay in Progenitors’ claws once captured. And Chairman Yang was committing enough firepower to really make a statement – three chaos rover divisions, each with a different specialty – one trance, one empath, and one commjammer equipped. Plus there was the alien division of its weird vehicles, and then the grunts. An AAA silksteel squad and a shard SAM squad.

And the monolith had swallowed them all, men, vehicles, supporting paraphernalia, and even one of the alien Ogres.

Patrice entered the monolith, and darkness closed around him.

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

Temple of Chiron

Hector looked at his garrison commander.

“Now you know as much as I do,” he said. “I’ve replayed Lady Dee’s message several times, and I have no idea what the threat is, where it’s coming from, where it’s directed at, and for how long we need to maintain this state of advanced readiness.

“But I suggest you cancel leaves, recall units, and do what you have to do to exhibit an air of extreme readiness.”

Brooke looked uncomfortable.

“But Hector,” she said. “We’ve always been the runt of the litter. We have a garrison brigade that got upgraded to synthmetal armor after the CEO gave his generous donation of credits. Plus we have a motley collection of vehicles from the original colony convoy – mostly of the old Unity Rover design. And that’s it. Our runway will support the heaviest needlejets, but they have never stationed one here, let alone a flight or a wing.

“You know I’ve been on your case to argue more strongly in the Governors’ meetings for a stronger military presence here.”

Hector nodded glumly.

“I know, Brooke,” he replied. “But there were always other competing items that seemed more necessary, more urgent.”

“Well,” she replied. “We’ll just have to do what we always do. Rely on Velvetgrass Point.”

Hector nodded.

“Let’s hope they can oblige, if we are the target,” he said. “Meanwhile, let’s do the best we can.”

She nodded.

“It’s probably only a drill, anyway,” she said.

Hector smiled.

“That’s be a first for the Lady,” he said. “But who knows?”


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited May 09, 2001).]

[Googlie]

East of Temple of Chiron

Jennifer shyly slipped her hand into Tony’s as they walked along the beach. They were the two seniors from the base, out with the rest of the crèche children from Temple of Chiron on a field trip to the eastern shore collecting shells.

“So will you remember me when you go off to VG?” she asked, looking up at the taller boy as she spoke. Tony was seventeen and this was his final year at temple. In a few months he was joining the staff as a trainee at the research hospital in Velvetgrass Point. Jennifer was a year younger, and had more of a mechanical bent than did Tony. She reckoned that her eventual employment would lie more in the engineering area, perhaps as crew for a Penetrator in the emerging Gaian air force.

Tony looked down on her fondly.

“Jen, you know I won’t forget. We’ve been friends for years now – in fact I count you as almost my only real friend.”

He stooped, and reached down to take the sandals off his feet, to walk barefoot in the sand. She did likewise.

“But is that all I am to you,” she asked, looking earnestly into his eyes.

Tony looked around, as if for a way to escape.

“Jen,” he began .. “it’s not like we’re engaged or anything,” he replied.

“We could be,” she answered. “I know you are all that I want, and of course you’ll meet lots of interesting girls at Velvetgrass, but I thought we had something special between us.”

“We do, Jen. It’s just that…..”

His words were drowned out by the noise that deafened them as a number of low flying Penetrator rounded the cliff and roared over the beach heading inland and beginning the climb up the hillside. They had cleared the couple only by meters, throwing them to the sand and covering them with flotsam stirred up by their slipstream as they passed overhead.

Tony sat up somewhat dazed, his ears ringing and his head hurting. He looked over to where Jennifer was lying in the sand, just stirring, as was he. She sat up, and looked over at him quizzically.

“Shoot,” Tony said. “These were Hive needlejets, and by their speed and altitude I think they mean business. We’ve got to get back to camp and try and warn someone.”

He helped Jennifer to her feet and together they ran back up the beach to the small meadow where they had pitched camp, there to find the other crèche children milling around in confusion

Francine Hawkins, their supervisor and outing leader, was groggily coming to from where she’d fallen and hit her head on some rocks.

Tony took charge immediately.

“Jennifer, organize the others and strike camp – we need to head back. Miss Hawkins? Where’s your commlink, we need to warn someone.”

She pointed to her duffel bag sitting nearby.

Tony grabbed it, found the commlink, and hit the sequence for the garrison unit at temple.

Brooke herself answered it.

“Damn,” she said, when Tony had said his piece. “Looks like we’re the target. If so, stay away. You’re self-supporting for a couple of weeks at least. Out.”

Tony looked at the commlink for a moment. Jennifer looked at him.

“Strange,” he muttered. “It’s almost as if they were expecting it.”

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

Aboard Hive Penetrator Beta-1

Conrad was calling out the numbers, as Mike hugged the coastline below the level of the top of the cliffs. Any second now they would reach the end of the cliffrange and make their turn to target over the low-lying beach that the satellite imagery photography indicated was no more than a sloping hillside that reached 30 feet above sea level for several miles.

“2 ….. 1 ….. execute”

Mike leaned on the controls and the lead Penetrator dipped her port wing as the turn began. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Chuli and the rest of the Hive wing doing the same, and he trusted that the rest of his flight behind him was similarly executing the turn to head overland.

As they raced towards the beach he saw some figures just ahead, and had the reflexes to lift the nose a tad to pull over them, and suddenly he was out of the sand dunes and racing over grassland.

“Shoot” he said yanking on the controls for altitude as a tent city suddenly appeared in front of him. “What the heck was that?” he queried his WO as they left it behind them, now following the contours of the land as it slowly climbed to the 900 meter level that was their cue to commence the run on temple.

“Tents,” was Conrad’s laconic reply, now concentrating on the sensor readouts his comm. panel was giving him.

“Three minutes to initiate,” he intoned.

Mike gingerly brought the nose of the pen up a notch, still keeping just a few meters above the surface as they climbed the hillside towards Temple.

“950 is the target alt” Conrad said as they crested the summit of the hillside just feet above the surface of the flat, moist looking, arable land beneath them.

Mike gasped.

In the distance, visible even from this range, he saw the magnificent ruins of the Manifold Nexus, much more impressive in real life than could be conveyed from the satellite images. It was huge, dominating the valley to the south of the Gaian base, that was itself built on the hillside that stretched to its northwest.

“We’ve been pinged” Conrad said, as his instruments displayed the interrogation radar blip from Velvetgrass Point.

“We’ll buy a few seconds,” Mike replied, as the answering IFF from his needlejet matched those of the others in his flight as well as those of Chuli and her Penetrators. All had been fitted with the PeaceKeeper recognition responders, which should cause some initial confusion among the Gaian defenders.

The base of Temple of Chiron was clearly visible on the hillside across the valley as Tony led his flight on their attack run.

“I just hope the painters are in place and on time,” he said gruffly.

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

Velvetgrass Point

“Scramble….. Scramble…. All units.”

Julia hit the engage toggle on her Thrasher and the engine roared as she turned from the dispersal area right on to the runway, picking up speed as she went, and only obliquely aware that the rest of her flight was following en masse.

As she gained altitude, ground control patched in Tony’s report to Brooke at temple.

“It was all so sudden – we were just walking along the beach when they appeared. I’d guess at maybe 15 to 20 needlejets”

Brooke’s professional tone cut in:

“OK, bro’. Could you tell if there were any Interceptors among them?”

“Don’t think so. All big ones. But I got knocked flat from the shockwave and the slipstream, so I can’t be sure.”

“OK. Out.”

“Got that?” came ground control’s gruff query.

“Yup,” Julia responded. “Tactics?”

“They’re pretty defenseless – that’s the good news. The bad news is that they will have already completed their bombing runs by the time you reach them, but make them pay anyway. Select individual targets but co-ordinate among yourselves. You are six to their 15 to 20. Good luck. And if you can get a lock on any from long range, let go. They might have alien defenses we don’t know about, so save your chaos missiles for closer range work.”

“Roger that,” snapped Julia, then toggled Toby, her Weapons Officer:

“Anything yet?”

“Not till we cross the 2000 meter peak,” he replied.

“Coming up,” she said, as the needlejet crested the mountain peak to the east of Velvetgrass Point.

“Got ‘em,” said Toby. “Pinging now for distance and interrogation. Shoot – they’re Peacekeepers – 18 of them, I’d say.”

“Can’t be,” Julia replied. “We got a visual from the ground. Can we target them?”

“Not a chance,” Toby said. “Too far. I’m plotting an intercept point now. It’ll be over or adjacent to Temple. They’ll have completed.”

“Can’t be helped,” she snarled in reply. “Let’s just take out as many as we can – we’ll go down swinging.”

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

Aboard Hive AWACS-One

Cyrus Peake studied the screens.

“About a minute,” he said softly to Canla. The yoke translator had trouble coping, so she leaned forward to look at the screens herself.

“Ah, Interceptors launched,” she resonated. “Few, and slow.”

Peake nodded. He consulted the datapads.

He keyed the commlink to the ground operatives, the “painters”

“All targets go. Commence on receipt.”

He sent the bursts to the waiting commlinks, each coded with the respective Penetrator’s weaponry, and hastily downloaded and fed into the control systems of the painters.

He flipped toggles.

“Over to you,” he said to Canla, relinquishing the console.

She moved a talon to the keys, and hit a rapid sequence.

“Thrall Captain ‘Ypruss,” she began…

“Ready.” – the alteration was almost instantaneous.

“Deploy. For the glory of Conqueror Marr.”

“It shall be done,” the alteration came through strongly – enough that Cyrus reckoned that he would have understood even without the yoke translator.

He nodded in satisfaction as Canla looked over at him. He uttered just the one word:

“Drop.”

Keying in the code for the Elevator, she sent the resonance burst

“Commence drop.”

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

25,000 meters above planet

“Ready?” ‘Ypruss empathed to her crewmate, ‘Ygall.

The affirmation entered her mind. She reached out to Tonc.

“I hope you are in good voice today,” she sent him. “We have work to do.”

She visualized the co-ordinates of their current position and altitude, and the projected intercept point of the Gaian defenders and the Hive attackers, and fed the image to Tonc.

He analyzed the data, and computed the interception course, and fed it neurally to ‘Ypruss.

“Too late to prevent fighting, but not so late as to be irrelevant.”

She fluttered her mandibles in agitation.

“We can’t make better speed?” she queried of her craft.

“That is maximum,” he empathed. “I presume you would want to get there as soon as feasible.”

“Very well,” she replied. “Engage.”

Tonc bent his wings and inclined his nose to the surface, and commenced his descent from the upper reaches of the atmosphere.

Since his conversion, he preferred the lower elevations, where he could sense the wind vectors and ride them. His patrol altitude had too many resemblances to his prior life as a spacefarer – now gone and just memories – painful for him as he thought of the freedom he had when not under gravity’s pull.

That was the attraction of being closer to Planet’s surface.

While never free from gravity, he could still experience the swoops and cavorts that the strong winds and their eddies made possible.

But not today.

This was business.

This was Combat Air Patrol, protecting the offworlders’ metal needlejets. And he was coming late to the party.

“But better late than never” came unbidden the thought from ‘Ypruss.

Tonc continued his plummet to the lower altitude.

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

In monolith <4>

The place seemed cavernous. From the outside it was nothing – oh, certainly tall, landmarkish, but with a footprint on the land no bigger than a small habitation complex or laboratory.

And yet…

With 90 Hive vehicles and another 25 alien tracked rovers, plus some 1200 troops, it should be packed to overflowing, even if all could get in. But here they all were as if on a giant parade ground, with room to spare.

“It’s N-Space compression. That’s what it is,” said his armaments officer smugly. “I heard them aliens talking about it.

“You see, we really aren’t here at all. We’re still outside the monolith at Spires Ascendant, but the instant before we exit at Velvetgrass Point we’ll be here, like now, then we exit and we’re there.”

Patrice nodded numbly.

“So in a moment we’ll all be outside that monolith, lined up like sitting ducks?”

“No, no.” his AO replied. “Not all together. We come out singly – or in bunches, I’m not sure. It‘s just like right now we are between N-space compression points, so we can see everything in transit. But in reality there’s nothing here. You follow?”

Patrice didn’t, but nodded anyway.

Just then the command came:

”Move out.”

He raised a hand to the rest of his squad, who replied in like form.

“Let’s get rolling,” he said, as he ducked into his conning blister. “We have a job to do.”

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

In the ruins of the Manifold Nexus

Carstairs snapped his commlink shut. He had downloaded the burst from the AWACS needlejet and fed the data into his adapted laser shredder.

Gingerly he peered round the corner of the column of the ruins, and brought the rifle to shoulder level.

He adjusted the optical enhancer over his eye and focused on his target.

The maintenance yard just on the outskirts of the base was a hive of activity, as men and women hurried to and fro fitting the motley collection of tracked and wheeled vehicles with armaments.

He picked a low building in one corner of the yard – it seemed to be drawing the most traffic and was possibly a weapons cache or ammunition dump.

His sharp hearing picked up the low rumble from the east that he took to be the approaching needlejets.

He took careful aim, and depressed the trigger.

The slightly sloped roof of the small building accepted a tiny pinprick of red light that slowly grew to around a meter square as Carstairs adjusted the trim on the equipment.

Opening his non-occluded eye, he groaned inwardly:

“Rats – I can see it’s painted with my own eyes, let alone enhancements.”

But no-one seemed to be paying any attention, totally oblivious to the red coloration on the roof panels that shone like a beacon to Carstairs in the late afternoon sun.

All he had to do was hold his position long enough for the pens to fire their ordnance.

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

600 kilometers above Planet

Seng watched his squadmates go in groups of ten, and then it was his group.

He cinched the retainer belt tighter, and gripped the handles of the drop sled, and kicked.

Suddenly he was outside the elevator and picking up speed as the sled’s jets kicked in, hurtling him towards planet’s surface. He had somewhat expected to be aware of the speed through his helmet and past the sled’s ablative shield, but he could be floating in space with a malfunction for all he knew.

He swiveled his head, slightly, bringing the optics into play, and looked at the readouts.

He sweated inwardly as he realized he was plummeting to the surface at just under 4000 kilometers per minute – that’s over 60 clicks a second, he thought, then marveled at the technology that could design this and guarantee his safe arrival on the surface.

He saw the beginnings of the wisps of atmosphere as his sled heated up, the small ion wave arcing out from under him. Looking around he could see the hundreds of others, like tiny meteorites, penetrating the atmosphere, and leaving a trail of ionized nitrogen behind as they encountered the increasing density of Chiron’s atmosphere.

Then he was braking – among clouds, and bleeding heat from the shield in the form of a vapor trail that was spotless white against the deep blue sky that could be seen at this altitude.

His forward sensor was picking up the target, and inclining his head he could see the island landmass to the south of the great continents strung out like a crescent above.

The metallic voice said in his ear:

“Manual override now possible – commencing decel sequence”

He was aware of the thrusters firing, and his thumb triggered the sled release.

Separating from it with an audible “Thwack” he felt suddenly vulnerable.

His descent was now being slowed by the altitude thrusters attached to his feet and back, with directional attitude jets at his fingertip controls.

Looking closely, with full magnification, he could just see the flights of Penetrators begin their attack run.

“Well, Seng. Here we go again,” he thought to himself.

He activated manual override and brought his thrusters to max power, arming his shard launcher as he did so.

The battle was on.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited May 09, 2001).]

[Hydro]

Janissary Point

"Download squirt now, Ma'am. From northeast sensor," a voice said. The holo wavered, and then caught. Sections at the base were indistinct and distortions coursed through the image.

"This is what they looked like coming in," the voice prompted.

The image cleared a little, and three silvery shapes formed in the right portion of the view. Pine forests surrounded the sensor net, and the ovoids flew over them at tree top level. They were fast, very fast, and the sensor occasionally couldn't keep up and the image jerked to the left as it compensated. As they came in they flew in an unerringly straight line, and when they turned it was as if they turned a corner. There was no banking or aerial curves - they just changed direction.

Each of the images grew bigger and bigger as the alien Ghosts approached the sensor.

"See? They didn't attack the sensor. I would have. It would have denied us all this information. Very sloppy of them," the disembodied voice commented. "Here they are on final approach."

The view changed as the Ghosts passed almost directly overhead of the sensor, and the sensor now viewed them as they flew straight toward the small Spartan town Janissary Point in the low valley. The three Ghosts flew in perfect formation, and by their shapes it was hard to tell if they were coming or going.

"They almost look like they change shape as they turn and fly, but that could be a artifact of the sensor quality. You might want to look into it, Sir," the voice said.

"Switching viewpoints now. Point net activated."

Again, the three Ghosts were getting bigger. Red numbers appeared with leader lines, framing the Ghosts and pointing out elements that had been deciphered.

"See their speed? It's at least 50% faster than a non-elite Spartan needle, not that there are many that aren't elite, that is. They're probably some sort of hovercraft, maybe with a gravitic drive. Hard to tell. Power twice as good as fusion. Hard to say about their weapons, but you'll see that in a minute."

--cough…COUGH--

"Excuse me, Sir. Sorry to interrupt. Switching to external northeast sensor grid."

Now the three Ghosts were stationary, and they floated in mid air.

"Yup, they're an advanced hover. No apparent propulsion. Getting a download on their defenses - damn, it's a stasis field. See it shimmer? Hard to say what could affect that."

--cough--

"They're just sitting there. Fast forwarding. Did you get their little speech? Pretty arrogant to think we'd walk out in the open and commit suicide against that.

How did it go? Blah blah..issue Challenge..blah blah …glorious combat…test of wills…blah blah…skull to tusk…blah blah…Champion for Challenge.

Must think we're stupid. Maybe it's an intelligence test?"

--chuckles…COUGH--

"Well, maybe not. Anyway, here's where it gets interesting. I've labeled them Ghosts 1, 2 and 3."

Green icons tagged the three Progenitor ships, with 1 on the left to 3 on the right.

"They actually sat there for almost 2 hours. Big slow targets. Hah! Big, yes, but not slow - not when they didn't want to be. Here is where it gets interesting. Watch 3."

One of the Ghosts broke formation and started to move forward. It moved slowly.

"Now the power spikes off the chart. I'm dampening the image so you aren't blinded."

One second the Ghost was crystal clear, then the front of the Ghost seemed to disappear. A tight, rippling cone struck outward, temporarily obscuring the Ghost. Then a brilliant white light erupted. It traveled within the cone, and it impacted on a low, two-story commercial complex. Instantly the building erupted in all directions, blasting itself and everything that was around it. A low rumbling coincided with the image.

"That's their main weapon, Sir. Did you hear that rumbling? The last time we heard that is when the Hive used those two PBs on us, when they nuked the two old Yooper towns. Don't know how they can focus so much energy, and I really wish I knew. It's almost 4 times as powerful as our fusion shard.

Sir, there's our garrison."

The image focused on a small wave of ant-like figures. The Ghost took no notice of them and simply went about its business of destruction. More shafts of light erupted from the front of the Ghost, and they transfixed more buildings

"See what their doing? They're razing us, Sir. To the ground."

A small picket of orange explosions chained on the silvery Ghost.

"We got our ******, though."

A larger explosion blew earth and ferrocrete from below, and it blasted into the bottom of the Ghost, which for a moment pointed upward. It tilted crazily for a minute and then righted itself.

"Hehe! --cough-- Didn't expect that, did they!?? Bastards! The garrison did good, but watch."

A flurry of small, thin white shafts of light lanced out of the Ghost and struck the ants in rapid fire.

"After combat started they didn't last more than a minute. They only got to attack, I think --cough-- since the aliens ignored them. We damaged it, though."

The Ghost righted itself, although its nose was clearly damaged and its silvery sheen now had some white and black swirls in it, which made it look like an open, festering wound.

More shafts of light pulsed outward, and more buildings exploded.

The image blanked out.

"They took out our tower. Switching to networked exterior sensors. Resolution 47%. Sorry, Sir, it's the best I can do."

When it reformed the holo was jerkier, and it showed the three Ghosts from the vantage point of looking down toward Janissary Point from the north. Ghost 3 slowed and then stopped it steady progress into the Spartan town.

"Ghost 3 is pulling back. Here comes Ghost 2."

The second Ghost pulled forward and advanced at the same speed as its predecessor.

"I don't have much time left, Sir. We only had the one garrison. I'll transmit as long as I can."

Ghost 2 fired in the same regular pattern that Ghost 3 had, and building after building erupted into a white ball of light.

"They're at the center of Point, now Sir. The Command Center will be next. LONG LIVE SPARTA! WE DIE FOR YOU, SIR! WE DIE FOR Y…………

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

Coronal Corazon Santiago reached over ended the now dead live holo. She felt a stirring pride, for they had fought and fought well, and had remained Spartans to the very end.

They had slowed the enemy, and had bought time for her. Santiago was grateful for that, very grateful indeed. The aliens had secured a bridgehead in the middle of Spartan territory, and if the reports were true, they were airdropping troops into captured Hero's Waypoint at this very moment. Looking over the tactical map Santiago knew what her next objective would be if she were the aliens. The next target was immediately northwest of Janissary Point and west of Hero's Waypoint. Santiago knew that target oh, so well.

It was Sparta Command itself.


[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited March 20, 2001).]

[Googlie]

Aboard Beta-1

“Target acquired,” Conrad said laconically as he watched the instruments closely.

“Painters have done their job”

“Good thing too,” Potter replied. He was fighting to keep the craft steady against the buffeting winds that were sweeping an updraught to the top of the hill they had just crested.

“Fire one…fire two”

The needlejet shuddered as the plasma shard tipped projectiles launched from the weapons bay, seeking, then picking up the laser signature from the painter below.

To his right, Mike could see the tell-tale flare of the missiles being launched from Chuli and her wingmates. His Threat Proximity Indicator was emitting a low hum, alerting him to the fact that he was being targeted, but as yet was out of reasonable range.

He roared low over the Gaian base, attracting a volley of useless fire from the defenders below, more in hope than in expectation of recording a hit let alone any damage.

As he left the base behind him to the south, and began the climb up the flank of the mountainside, he jettisoned the long range tanks that had carried the auxiliary fuel that had extended his range to Temple of Chiron. He needed now to be as light as he could be for rapid climb, and to lead the attacking interceptors into the claws of the waiting gnat.

Conrad relayed the progress of the attack to him.

”Targets successfully destroyed, Mike.” His had been the small control center for the airstrip. One by one the targets were destroyed – the barracks and armory, the maintenance yard, the small-arms factory that was in the base center, the rec commons and unfortunately, the Children’s Creche. This latter was surely an error, Mike thought, as Conrad reeled off the list. “Must have been painted by mistake,” he thought to himself, as it hadn’t been on any target list he’d seen.

His proximity alarm screeched.

“Sir, we’re a target,” Conrad yelled.

Even Mike flinched when he heard the THWUMP of a nearby explosion and turned to see one of his flight tumbling from the sky minus a wing and much of the fuselage.

He fought for height, then listened to his commlink as the steady voice of General Peake came on wide broadcast:

“Outrun them – you’re fusion they’re fission. Don’t give up your advantage – make for the valleys at full speed.”

Mike cursed inwardly – why didn’t they think of that last evening.

He banked the big Penetrator to set a diving course for the valley below, and momentarily presented the full profile of the needlejet at the apex of his arcing turn.

His Threat Proximity Indicator deafened him.

“Rats,” he said.

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

Aboard GAFI – 1

“Come on, baby, come on.”

Julia was frantically trying to coax just a few more kilometers per hour from her needlejet as the target acquisition radar locked, then fluttered and faded, then firmed again.

She caught the puffs from her wingman as Pierce released his chaos projectiles in four six second bursts at a distant target.

Tut-tutting, Julia commented to Toby, her Weapons officer “What a waste. Pierce is so far out of range that he might just as well have fired into the hillside. We’re nowhere near eleven kilometers”

“Oh, I don’t know”, he replied. “We have had a decent enough lock a couple of times – I could have fired. I’m reading nine, and our Field Differential display’s been positive for a few seconds constant now.”

“Well, why didn’t you fire?” Julia snarled.

“Well, we are closing, and I figured a confirmed is better than a possible – the chances are getting better every second.

Julia snorted, but had to admit that the gap was closing on the heavier, climbing Penetrator.

“I’m getting a good signal now,” Toby offered, “but I see another threat developing on us. Vector seven.”

Julia glanced at the screen. An unidentified interloper was crashing their party, and was coming at them fast, with elevation to spare.

“Gotta be hostile,” she grunted. Let’s take what we’ve got and skidaddle.”

Just then the Penetrator banked, and for an instant filled their sights.

“Locked and go,” screamed Toby, his fingers mashing the Chaos canon firing button.

The interceptor bucked as the canon pulsed every six seconds releasing its deadly hail at the almost stationary Penetrator.

The string hit home, and in a flash of blinding white the Pen’s fuel nacelles overheated and ruptured, tearing off a wing and splitting the fuselage in half. She saw the crew ejection pod blast free, then the chute deploy, and for a moment wondered if she should ask Toby to give it a burst.

“I’d hate myself to be in that position,” she thought, and desisted, just as her own threat alarm sounded raucously in the command nacelle.

“Eject,” yelled Toby as she saw that she was targeted inexorably.

She hit the escape toggle, and the nacelle shot free, turning over and over as it arced away from the interceptor. Intermittently Julia saw sky and ground and clouds and then like a slow moving strobe, the Interceptor glowed incandescent and then disappeared.

As she activated the descent chute, from the corner of her eye she saw a strange black ovoid with stubby swept back wings rocket past on its way to deal death to another of her wingmates.

Looking around as they descended, she realized that the wind was carrying both her nacelle and the Hive Penetrator escape pod inexorably over a heavily fungused area towards the coast due east of temple. They looked like they might be just a few hundred meters apart when the landed.

She reached for her shredder pistol, and advised Toby to do the same.

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

Above Temple of Chiron

Seng saw the explosions from above as he vectored towards his primary target, the landing strip.

Some small commercial and private needlejets had taken damage from the attack, but the runway was intact, and the staging area seemed to be unscathed.

Small arms fire peppered him as he bled speed, firing his retros to get a soft landing, but his 3-pulse armor proved adequate to the task of protecting him. It was basically plasma steel with an inbuilt white-noise emitter that foiled ecm communications.

He braced for the landing. Training had consisted of jumping off four meter high towers – the landing was more jarring than a simple paradrop – and in training it was found that about half of all jumps resulted in some temporary disability that rendered the trooper inoperative for a short while, and vulnerable to counterattack. He understood that some of the Progenitor elites were fitted with antigrav struts that totally absorbed the impact of landing, and knew that some Hive boffins were experimenting with antigrav struts on transporters that would ferry troops through orbital insertion, leaving them 100% ready for deployment on landing.

But that was for the future. With the ground coming up fast he maxxed the reverse thrust and rolled in the approved fashion, pulling the harness release cord as he did so.

Slightly winded, he let his momentum carry him to the wreckage of an old rover that had been destroyed in the air assault. He crouched down beside it and tried to regain his breath, and get his bearings.

He had landed to one side of the dispersal area, close by a vehicle park that held still smoldering refuelers and tug crawlers. The main remnants of opposition seemed to be coming from a small command center that seemed miraculously to have avoided the Penetrators’ wrath. He made a hasty assessment that the control center would be a worthy objective to gain intact for his Alpha squad.

Around him he saw his units form into some semblance of order. Two or three drop troops lay unmoving on the ground – whether killed, wounded, concussed or just deeply winded he didn’t know. He counted about 50 of his squad of 60. that would suffice.

He palmed his commlink and keyed in the shortwave laser pulse for unit communication, but all he saw was static. Seng frowned. No one said anything about ECM comm.-jammers. But they would really only affect speeders or rovers. He was in visual contact with his men, so that would have to do. He gave a series of hand signals to his platoon leaders, and they acknowledged and reformed into the three constituent units. Two would pin down the defenders from the apron where they were while he himself would join #3 group and circle for an attack from the rear.

Above him he could see the contrails of an aerial battle, and from the base itself he could hear the deep THWUMPS of charges exploding mixed in with the whine of chaos cannon firing.

He worked his way between the wrecks and the still-intact vehicles until he was at the side of the control center, and saw a side entrance. He motioned for a couple of his commandoes to race for the door, and followed on their heels.

They readied.

“Now,” he barked and they kicked in the plasteel door. He lobbed a stun grenade right in, and as the percussion subsided the firing had stopped.

He donned his breather and went inside. Three bodies were lying there, one of whom was looking at Seng with sullen eyes, slightly unfocussed.

His colleagues disarmed the three Gaians, taking care with the more alert one who had officer’s insignia on the lapels. Seng was interested to note the officer was a woman.

“Are you the last?” he asked.

She nodded glumly. “At the airstrip certainly. I can’t speak for the base.”

“Who is the garrison commander?” he continued.

“I am,” Brooke replied.

“Well, we don’t want any more bloodshed than absolutely necessary,” Seng responded, handing her his commlink. “Key in your defense network and order a surrender, we have you vastly outnumbered.”

She nodded, and said a few words into the commlink.

“The base is yours,” she said. I have ordered the few survivors to lay down their weapons and they will comply.

Seng nodded as he took back the commlink, keying in a different sequence.

“Come in now General Peake, Temple of Chiron is secure.”

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

Aboard Hive AWACS-One

Cyrus Peake sank back with a sigh of relief. They’d done it.

There was still much to do, however.

Lined up offshore and heading on a northwest direction was an aerial convoy of significant proportions.

Leading the way were the two flights of Interceptors to whom he gave the go/no go command to continue past the no-return point. They were now committed to Temple, lacking the fuel to return to either Spires or Courage in Progenitor territory.

Following them were the transports, carrying fuel for the Pens and Interceptors, spares, weapons, ground crew and rations.

Finally there was himself and Canla.

But their observation job was by no means finished.

There was still the assault on Velvetgrass Point.

If the timing were adhered to – and there was no reason to doubt it – the first units should be exiting the Monolith above Velvetgrass about now.

He scanned the screens one last time.

Four of the six Gaian interceptors had been downed, and two had scurried off back to the sanctuary of the Aerospace Center at Velvetgrasss Point. But six Pens had been destroyed, and Canla had reported that a lucky strike had damaged some control surfaces of the Gnat, so it was returning to Spires Ascendant for damage assessment and repair.

He froze in horror.

Three blips had appeared on his array with their interrogation response displays. They were Gaian Penetrators.

Looking for targets.

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

Aboard GAFT-1

Stephen Cartesius had heard Julia’s mayday and pounded his flight panel in impotent rage.

Not only had they been unable to stop the attack, but they had lost two-thirds of their Interceptors in the attempt. He had been too far away to see in person the effect of the alien aircraft, but had heard enough of the Gaian pilots’ chatter to realize it was a formidable fighting machine.

Ground control had advised him that the aerial battle was over, that the two surviving Interceptors were returning to rearm and refuel, but more importantly, that the alien craft had departed out of radar range.

He had a free hand for the time being.

Get altitude, and wait until a suitable target presents itself, had been the command from VgP, and altitude he now had.

He was empowered by GC to seek and destroy at will, but for some reason he couldn’t explain to himself – a second sense almost – he didn’t think the drop troops at the occupied base represented a juicy enough target in and of themselves.

He was in a lazy holding pattern above temple, aware of the Hive AWACS needlejet to the south, and at the fringe of his radar’s range also aware that the Hive fleet of attacking pens – the survivors at least, were returning to the scene of their conquest. “They must be at the limit of their range,” he thought, “and coming back to land and rearm and refuel. They’ll present some juicy targets.”

Just then Ground Control intruded, not at all the usual calm and collected voice of the controller, but a staccato, somewhat panicked order.

“We are under attack. Repeat. Velvetgrass point is under attack. Return to vicinity and assist in repulsion. Pick targets at will.”

“Wilco” Stephen replied laconically, as he and his wingmen turned their lumbering Penetrators and headed west to beat off the attackers.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited May 09, 2001).]

[senatus]

Great Conclave


A high-pitched whine filled the cabin as the slowing revolutions of
the needlejet transport's turbines drifted down into the audible frequencies. 
The volume and pitch decreased as the pilot cut the power, and like many
of the other passengers to this particular destination, Jessica McCollough
took the time to bow her head in a prayer of thanks for the safe arrival.


Passengers, we have arrived at Great Conclave.  Please activate
your filter units in preparation for cabin depressurization.  On behalf
of CEO Nwabudike Morgan and your flight crew, thank you for being our valued
customers.  We look forward to serving you again.


Like everyone else aboard, Jessica had already instinctively activated
her personal breathing mask for the short transfer from the aircraft to
the elevators that would carry everyone into the underground base. 
She noted the curious look from a nearby Morganic business man and smiled
to herself; the Gaian-designed mask that Jessica wore now was more sophisticated,
lighter, and smaller than even the wealthy Morganite's.  The going-away
present from Kirsten, coupled with a healthy equatorial tan from the months
spent in Velvetgrass Point, had caused Jessica to be mistaken for a Gaian
more than once during hops in the 28-hour transit.


In fact, Jessica felt a little like a Gaian, now.  On approach,
she couldn't help but regret the ugly, utilitarian structures dotting the
surface above Great Conclave in contrast to the elegant, natural beauty
of Velvetgrass Point.  At least Planet's surface didn't look too marred,
though; like all the former Hive basis, the bulk of Great Conclave was
over a hundred meters below the topsoil.


The new construction wasn't a surprise to Jessica; she'd been in frequent
communication while away, and in the past hours had been furiously updating
her internal databases via the MMI link with the latest situation at Great
Conclave.  It'd given her the opportunity to immerse herself in work,
rather than thinking about what she left behind in Velvetgrass Point...
and who.


She wasn't prepared for the greeter as she disembarked, however, and
her face lit up with a smile as Brother Joaquim stepped up to embrace his
former protege and student.


"Brother Joaquim!  What a wonderful surprise!"


"Welcome back, Sister Jessica.  So, how was it like, being a U.N.
Believer in Lady Dierdre's court?"


Jessica didn't understand the reference, but she'd known Joaquim long
enough - in fact, all the years before Miriam's liberation and the modern
Believer resurrection - to tell that the other was making some sort of
pun.  In fact, she could feel his good humour now, thanks to
Jay's lessons.


"I found it... illuminating, Brother Joaquim."  Jessica replied
after a moment's thought, and her old mentor raised an eyebrow.


To a non-Believer, Jessica's careful choice of words would've conveyed
little content.  But to a fellow Believer minister - as well as her
theological teacher - it conveyed a great deal.  What Jessica was
saying is that she'd discovered something that revealed significantly greater
insight into God and His works.


"Personal, or universal?"  Joaquim asked, as the two walked towards
the waiting government elevator.


"It was certainly a set of revelations that affect me personally - but
I believe it has implications for everyone on Planet,"  Jessica said
seriously, thinking of what Leonardo and Dierdre had shown her.


"Then you'll be bringing it up in the Council?"  Joaquim asked.


Jessica was silent for a long moment, then hit the "Hold" button on
the elevator, and instead asked a question of her own.


"What was the Council's resolution on Scott Allardyce?"


Joaquim frowned, realizing now what Jessica was leading to.  Both
he and Jessica - despite the latter's youth - were members of the twelve-person
Believer Council, as was Miriam Godwinson herself.  The Council was
the primary theological authority for the spiritual education of the Drone
Believers, and still retained a considerable amount of secular power in
the dual government.  They took their stewardship seriously, and no-one
could doubt the Council's devotion, but there was also a regrettable bias
against outsiders - and outside ideas.


"They were less than thrilled.  A good many of them felt tthat
bringing an outsider into such a prominent role was inappropriate, and
would result in `spiritual contamination'.  Not that they put it in
so many words."  Joaquim's irritation was evident in his tone of voice,
as well as his emotions.


"If we pray to God for assistance and deliverance, we shoud be ready
to accept the tools He gives us.  Not only did Scott bring his own
considerable expertise - both as an administrator and as a wing commander
- he also delivered several squadrons of PK assistance, thanks to
his connections!  For Garland's sake, what did the Council expect,
winged cherubim with flaming swords?"  Jessica forced herself to calm
down.


"What was the Council's final vote?"  She asked, as she let the
elevator continue.


"It was looking like eight to three, with the three being you in absentia,
myself, and Brother Wescott.  Then Miriam spoke in Allardyce's favour,
and that of course settled the issue, and the decision to confirm his appointment
became unanimous."


Joaquim said with a certain satisfaction, and Jessica nodded. 
The Council was, in theory, a democratic body.  In practice, however,
it served as an advisory council to Miriam herself; for anything that Miriam
opined carried tremendous influence - some would say virtually unlimited
authority - with the general populace of the Lord's Believers, as well
as the rank-and-file clergy.  It was precisely because she
was aware of her power that Miriam rarely used it.  On one hand, her
speaking in favour of Googlie would immediately swing all the Council -
even the most vocal dissenters - to back his appointment unanimously. 
But it also meant that she'd found it necessary to use that moral
authority - which went a long way into indicating how unreceptive the Council
would be to Gaian doctrines or discoveries.


The elevator doors opened, and Jessica led the way down the concourse
towards her old apartments.  It had been redecorated since Great Conclave
had been liberated - or perhaps the proper term was "decorated", since
the Hive had no use for esthetic beauty or art of any sort for the general
populace.  She stopped in front of a statue of a Spartan general.


"This is new.  Isn't this Gavin Burge?"  Jessica asked, and
Joaquim nodded.


"It is.  He actually died here at Great Clustering about two years
ago, in a fight with operatives of the Circle.  In fact, Scott Allardyce
did the commemoration ceremony last week - apparently the two were old
friends - but the idea of the monument was Sister Miriam's in the first
place."


"Yes - it's important to have symbols.  The mind wraps its secrets
in symbols - whether the cross, or a flag, or the statue of a hero - and
Sister Miriam knows this.  Chairman Yang has a powerful vision and
a brilliant understanding of social psychology - but for all that, he will
lose the contest against Sister Miriam for the hearts, minds, and souls
of the people."  Jessica said with unwavering faith.  "It'll
just take a lot of work, though."


"And that's why you're here,"  Joaquim said.  "But first,
Sister Miriam wanted you to get some rest.  You've got a 10:00 appointment
with her tomorrow morning."

---

"Welcome home, my child."


Like Joaquim the day previous, Miriam rose and embraced her young assistant
and protege, and Jessica could now feel - thanks to her empathic training
- the genuine affection and love behind the formal gesture.  Despite
the private disagreements Jessica now had with Miriam's theological stance
with respect to the children of Planet, she knew that she would always
love and respect Miriam.  But there was also a new overtone of worry
and concern.  Not for her personally, but....


She couldn't empathically read the other man in the room at all, however. 
And given his size and casual acquaintance with Miriam, that could only
mean that this was -


"Sven Alfredsson,"  the cyborg legend said, and took Jessica's
hand to shake it.  His movements seemed casual, but those would be
from years of practice.  Jessica knew that Sven could've ripped her
arm right off if he'd been careless.


"Sir, it's an honour.  I've heard a lot about you.  Read a
lot about you too."  Jessica said.


"I've heard a lot of good things about you too, Sister Jessica. 
It's good to finally meet you."


"And very good to have you home safely,"  Miriam said, "especially
considering what's happening at Velvetgrass Point.  You got out just
in time."


"At Velvetgrass?  What's going on?"    Jessica asked,
suddenly apprehensive.


"It's under attack.  We just got the word from Air Marshal Allardyce
a few minutes ago.  Hive air forces and drop troops - maybe from a
carrier force; we don't know the details yet."


"Merciful Redeemer!"  Jessica whispered, going pale as concerns
about Jay, Kirsten, and Fluffy rushed through her mind.  A primitive
part of her brain wanted to rush back somehow.  And with her concern,
came a white-hot anger.  The Gaians were pacifists, woefully under-equipped
and undefended against such an attack.  Except for the mindworms,
that is....


"Is there anything we can do?"  she asked.


"No."  Miriam said flatly.  "Not militarily, not at this time.  
The bulk of our forces are here at Great Conclave and at Free Drone Central,
but they consist mostly of a handful of garrison units, plus our air force. 
Between Archangel squadron, Hammer squadron, and the new units that Scott
inducted, we've actually got a credible air force - but they haven't drilled
together, nor had any ops plans been made about this sort of thing. 
Scott's thinking - and we concur - is that we need to weld them into a
major force, and save them for critical missions, since we're not likely
to get a second chance if we err.  Sparta is also under attack, by
the aliens.  We don't know much more about that, either."  Godwinson's
voice was grim.


"So, we're not going to help?"  Jessica stated flatly, trying to
keep her voice level.  It came out harsher than she intended, and
she opened her mouth to apologize, but Miriam waved her hand reassuringly.


"I said we can't help militarily.  We'd be like mice in
a battle between lions."


What's a mouse?  Jessica projected to Sven as Miriam continued.


A small, inoffensive creature.  I'll fill you in later, Sven
thought back, lowering his psi-blocks so Jessica could `read' his reply.


"But that doesn't mean we won't help.  All the Believing Drones
will pray for our allies, of course.  In the secular plane, however,
I think it's time we started using our probe teams against Yang." 
Miriam looked at Sven, and he nodded.


"What will be the target?"  Jessica asked.


"That, my child, is up to you.  This is what I chose you
for - what you chose for yourself, and what God chose for you - all those
months ago, when we first met.  You are as ready as we could make
you."


Jessica took a deep breath.  She'd known this day was coming sooner
or later.  She just hadn't expected it when she woke up this morning. 
But she wouldn't let Miriam down.  Or Jay and Kirsten.  She nodded
firmly.


"And our objective?"


"To give the Chairman pause, and to help motivate him to reconsider
his sins."  Miriam stated, and even Sven looked surprised.  Now
it was Miriam's turn to take a deep breath.


"I cannot believe that Sheng-Ji would whole-heartedly align himself
with the aliens.  No, he believes too much in his own vision for humanity
to sacrifice that for the aliens' goals.  He's pursuing this alliance
because it appears to reward him in the short term.  We must convince
him that the costs of these actions outweigh the benefits.  And so
we must cost him dearly where it hurts him the most - in his vision for
the Human Hive."


"You really think that Yang is committed to the `vision' of the Hive? 
That'd imply he has principles,"  Sven said skeptically.


"Oh he does, he most surely does,"  Miriam Godwinson said quietly. 
"I know, because he spoke of  them regularily, nearly every week in
the past hundred years."

---

It was late that night when Sven came back to Miriam's study, and the
small woman looked up at him from her Conclave Bible.


"Jessica's plan,"  Sven said, as he slid the datapad over to Miriam. 
"I've looked it over, and I like it.  The kid's got talent."


Miriam quickly skimmed through the contents of the probe ops plan, and
a faint smile creased her lips.


"She does indeed, Sven.   We can do it, and it drives our
point home.  And the moral rightness will be, I think, most pleasing
to God.  But what, may I ask, was the inspiration for the title?"


"Jessica's idea," Sven answered, "after I told her what a `mouse' is
- and when I told her there used to be `church mice', she chose the name."


Miriam smiled and signed the pad with the datawand.


Approved 2228 by Sister Miriam Godwinson: Operation Raging Mouse.