The Wizard of Chiron

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 75: This Means War


"Damn, I hate service-tunnels!"

">What was that, Balbo?<"

">Sorry, that wasn't meant for the MMI-link. I just said how much I love creeping around in confined, cold and above all oily places. My hands are already pitch-black from the stuff, and more slippery than a soaped snake.<"

">Quit complaining, brother. you've been through worse.. remember the time when-<"

">Probably would, but I'm at this intersection right now and I need you to tell me which way to go.<"

">If you keep interrupting me you can go for a long stroll down a short pier. Go left.<"

">Creep, you mean. Or slither; I slipped with my hands again.. Oh great; now I'm coated with oil up to my chin.<"

Laysa's voice sounds sarcastically dramatic over the link.">You must be strong, my brother; for the world is cruel! You should come to a panel marked 'FJ-06' about now.<"

">That's right. Is this it?<"

">No, I just thought I'd impress you with my knowledge of the floor plan. You're still five meters from the one you want.<"

">Sister, you have an odd sense of humour. Have I said that before?<"

">At least ten quadrillion times.<"

">Good; it can't be said enough. Then this one would be it? Says 'FJ-09' on it.<"

">That's the one. Says here that the white cable contains the datalink-optics.<"

">Darn; the lid clanged.. but not too much. Lightening, tell me if something moves. White cable, you said Laysa? They are all more or less gray from dust, anyway.. Ah, this must be it. Opening.. yes; that's optics, all right. Okay, I'm going to cut these cables. LightEning, do you see any activity at all?<"

">No, boss; all is nice and quiet. I have a slight increase in the temperature in the corridor; I guess he's taking a shower.<"

">Great. That will give me all the time I need.. Cables cut.. attaching our little bug.. clamps shut; let's see if it's aligned. No; it's not. Luckily, there's only one cable without contact... reopening and adjusting.. retesting.. ah! I'm set! Now, where's my pillow?<"

">Pillow?! Am I sister to a probe that brings a pillow to a stakeout!?!<"

">Yeah. And my teddy-bear. Of course I'm pulling your leg, Laysa! Honestly, that you'd even think... wait, there's an incoming call on the node. Wow; source untraceable, but last node is on the border to the peacekeepers! Amazing, really, that the cult has failed to spot this weak point in their privacy and secrecy.<"

">LightEning here. He's just come out of the bathroom, and is running towards the terminal..<"


****


"Lord Paidar, you have a serious problem."

"More like a horde of them, my good Hubris; do you have something to add to the list?"

"How does a double-agent sound to you?"

"You mean the BP has been infiltrated? How high?"

"No; actually, the agent doesn't work for you at all. But both his employers are working against you."

Paidar grunts. "Who are we talking about?"

"Ambassador Burton. He is also known as Sprayber."

Paidar chuckles. "So he's an agent of the Peacekeepers? No big harm done there; I doubt their training comes much further than how to best skim through the local headlines for matters of national importance, how to overhear conversations while socializing; things like that."

"That may be so. Too bad he isn't trained by the Peacekeepers alone. He has received instruction by at least the Spartans and the Hive, and is using these skills for the Cyborgs."

"I hope you can prove your statement! I won't accept that merely on your words!"

"Of course you won't. Listen to this conversation I've recorded. Oh, and don't ask me how I did this; there's plausible deniability and a dozen other good reasons why I won't tell you."

"Including that I probably wouldn't like the answer, I gather. Well, I promise not to choke on the ethical dilemma inherent in listening to this..."


****


"Ambassador Burton."

"Doctor Ashton here. May I speak freely?"

"You shouldn't have any cause for worry, doctor. I've been told that the diplomatic nodes never enter the public network."

"That means only that the Cultists don't have to be distracted by masses of meaningless spam."

"Of course, and by the same line of reasoning, it is easier for my agents to be certain that the net is not tapped. The Cultists have a major flaw- they are truly honourable. So, Michael Kappa-209 Ashton, you don't have to worry. Now.. what is so important that you interrupt my bathing?"

"Lal is dangerously close to figuring out what is wrong. Just this morning he-"

"Spare me the details. They are unimportant. Am I correct in assuming that he has scheduled a new appointment?"

"Yes."

"Good. Log on to the special node; there is a package I've asked your Cyborg specialists to prepare for this moment; it has your name on it. Follow the instructions contained within. And be happy; if all goes well, the final phase will begin. I will in fact send a message to our allies that they should mobilize their forces shortly. Soon, the Consciousness will expand."

"Thank you, Ambassador, and goodbye."

"Goodbye."


****


A visibly stunned Ferrel shuts off the player.

"That is bad. I must present this evidence to Cha Dawn; he must be informed of all events as serious as this." He gives Hubris a slightly embarrassed look. "At least, that's what he said. And.. thank you. This will probably solve a great many of our problems."

"Don't be too sure. I am quite convinced that Cyborg infiltration has occurred at almost every layer of your society, including the BP, and that many of the ambassadors from other factions are also in fact working for the Cyborgs."

"We shall see. They will be investigated. And so will everyone else. When it comes to rooting out spies, Planet offers some unexpected advantages..."


End of Chapter 75.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 76: The Weak Link


"Tell me the good news."

Zakharov's office has changed little since the discovery ot the sleeper algorithms. Dorothy reflects on a very popular University superstition; if Zakharov's office remains unaltered for more than a year, it marks the beginning of the end for the University of Planet.

"We have found a weakness, that hopefully will enable us to neutralize many of the more recent network-node infections."

The Academician raises his eyebrows. "More recent? And only those caused by corrupted nodes? Not the 'black box' -conversion?"

"I'm sorry, no. The two methods are now essentially resulting in different things."

"Well, what has changed from the black box to the network node?"

"For some reason, the node-transmittable splinters are less encrypted than their traditional counterparts. We can't explain why, except that Beta somehow has been unable to use the traditional cybernetic melding-techniques when he created the method. Consequently, I have very high hopes that they will prove easier to neutralize."

"Hmm. Good. We'll see what can be done; provide me with a complete report and I will assign a team of researchers on it."

Dorothy nods. "There is more. I have investigated the possibility of interfering with the actual downloading. Trying to remotely disturb a node within Cybernetic Consciousness -territory is impossible, of course, but they must use Gaian nodes as links between ours and theirs; no direct link would be allowed. So we could create a team of information-specialists to attack their data-traffic within the Gaian network."

"Excellent!" Zakharov stares into space for a moment. "I'm thinking, we might want to spread this information. We could tell others how to protect themselves from Cybernetic infiltration via the nodes."

Dorothy shrugs. "I doubt many would believe you."

"I know that. But if I can convince even one faction-leader that this threat exists, then the time has been well spent." Zakharov puts his hands on the table, palms down. He seems to be unsettled. "Dorothy, Methis has estimated that the University as a faction will cease to exist within two years from now, based on the estimated spread of splinter-algorithms and the current calculated critical percentage of the population required to ensure a successful takeover. The two numbers are rapidly approaching each other."

"I was afraid of this." Dorothy sits down in one of the chairs in front of Zakharov's table and stares at the floor for a while. "We could investigate another possibility. It's a very, very questionable scenario, but.."

Zakharov grimaces sarcastically. "If I find it too offending I'll withhold your scientist's paycheck for the two minutes it takes me to reestablish my purely scientific motives. How about that?"

"Hah; it's a deal. Well.. I've prodded on the neural coding of the splinters we've been sent, and am positive that they are not locked. Beta has not prevented in any way adding completely new information to the splinters. It doesn't have to be encoded or anything; it will work as long as the new information is meant to interact with the splinter. So we could try and interfere with the efficient functioning of the splinters; enter in a very strict set of requirements that have to be met before the splinters are activated, for example. Or we could try to interfere with how it interprets the conditions we assume Beta has set for it. There are many, many possibilities."

Zakharov looks at Dorothy, a smile slowly spreading on his face. Then he chuckles. Then he laughs. Then he stands up and shouts; "Dorothy, why on chiron haven't you told me of this possibility earlier? It's most irresponsible of you!"

Dorothy raises an eyebrow. "One; because I heard of it only yesterday, and two; because it was originally not my idea. One of my assistants raised the subject on our lunch-break. I encouraged him to look into it, and allowed him to use some of our assigned work-time, and some equipment. I even assisted him myself. The results were really promising."

"Well, she deserves a medal. Send her up."

"Him. His name is Dr. Vanadi Bresl."

Zakharov shrugs. "Whatever. I'll get to know him better when we meet. Would you mind if I assign him to a higher post, should I find that he has what it takes?"

"No, not at all. He is brilliant, certainly, but I have found out there are some less desirable aspects of his personality as well. It will be your job, of course, to decide how much they deter from his ability to lead. I will send you my evaluation of him."

"Good. Then, I thank you for these news... Good day."


****


"Honestly, Provost, you are going too far. Do you think that you can make us believe everything merely by leaning on your scientific reputation? This- this warning of yours- nothing but fantasies! Would you have us become superstitious, maybe? This is pathetic. A sadly transparent attempt to make us fear the Cybernetic Consciousness. Really.."

Pravin Lal sits down.

Zakharov would have welcomed some calamity and disorder at the moment; but the council of Planet is deathly quiet. Every single faction-leader is looking at him, their stares unforgiving. Merciless.

Lal leans forward, so that he takes the center of attention in the virtual council-chamber. "In fact, Provost, you have just -in front of us all- possibly committed a crime against humanity, as outlined by the U.N. charter. Namely, that of attempting to incite hate and fear towards a group of people. This is a crime that may cost you your place in council, as the punishment is exclusion from the U.N. council until it's remaining members deem the University suitable for representation again; usually when the leadership has changed."

Zakharov's jaw tightens. "Will I get a chance to clear my name by proving my claims?"

Lal rises from his chair so quickly that it falls over. He slams his fist onto the table. "No! By Planet, I will not reduce the council to a forum for petty, jealous rumours and hurtful lies!" He calms down a bit and turns to the other faction-leaders. "While Zakharov's offense is serious, excluding a member is a matter requiring very, very careful consideration. All members, excluding the accused, will be given a vote. In order for the council to be able to consider Zakharov guilty -and therefore have the justification to suspend his membership- the vote must be unanimous. This session will now take a two-hour break while each member considers how to vote. I am shutting down the virtual room in the meanwhile."

Zakharov waits until the holographic illusion disappears. Then he slumps backwards into his chair, his face gray.

Dorothy rises from the corner where she could watch the council undetected. "Did I not warn you? But I certainly didn't expect that strong a reaction."

The provost bangs his desk in frustration. "What has gotten into Pravin? He used to be calm, peaceful and above all without bias! To not even allow me to prove myself- outrageous! And I could see Beta smirking the whole time. Has he really that large support?"

"The media research -division can tell you more abot that. But, know that Beta, and the Cybernetic Consciousness, is continuously gaining prestige from the war against the Caretakers. The Cyborgs have been very successful in making your hostility look like the random attacks of a jealous and frightened neighbour. The UoP has lost what international credibility it had."

Zakharov nods somberly. "Public relations is not my forte. Science must tread down all paths; even those that provide no glory -only notoriety."

"Nice motto, but the council won't be swayed by election-speeches."

"Never mind the Council. They're now history, as far as I'm concerned: We're certain to be eliminated. No-one likes us much right now except Domai, and he has his own image to think of."

"Well, how about using these two hours to see if you can gain some new friends?"

"No; it would be a waste of time. Besides; who should I contact? Who is not likely to report my attempt, thereby giving Lal more things to fuel his indignation with?"


****


"Two hours have passed, and I would have the members vote now; remember, all must vote for removal of Zakharov's position for the results to have power. Use the voting buttons in front of you."

All members (except Zakharov) perform variations on the same move, and the result materializes as some ghostly numbers in front of every leader.

Result: 10 votes for removal. 1 vote against.

"What? Who voted against!

A man rises from his seat, turns to Lal and bows deeply. "I did."

"I strongly urge you to reconsider, Yang! His defamatory statements, if left unpunished, will make a mockery of this council."

"No, Lal. I will not reconsider.. or, at least, not reconsider until Zakharov is proven guilty. Since this would wrongly put suspicion on Beta and the Cybernetic consciousness, such an investigation would not be diplomatical. I instead would make a counterproposal of adding a statement to the council records, where we speak out against rash and unconsidered statements like Zakharov's, and state that he owes Beta an official apology."

Lal seems unsatisfied. "Hmm. Anyone in support of this proposal?"

Domai nods. "I am."

"Then we will vote on that now."

Result: 11 votes for the proposal. 0 against.

"So be it, then. Zakharov, we will expect you to change your behaviour, and also apologise to the Cyborgs, before our next session. Otherwise we'll be forced to discuss more serious punishment to curb your insolence and insubordination. This session is now ended."

The virtual room once again fades away, revealing an intrigued Dorothy.

"Have you had any contact with Yang before this?"

Zakharov shakes his head. "We've acknowledged the existence of each other, established that so far none of our interests are in conflict and that's it."

"Yang isn't known for his charity, and no-one in their right frame of mind would describe him as compassionate, or merciful. He must have another reason for sparing you."

"I know... I wonder what he knows?"

Dorothy smirks. "Seems like you have to brush up on your PR-skills. Yang is a master of protocol."

"Indeed he is, and yes it seems I must. I'll get the media research -department send me everything we have on Hive society and customs."

"I'll leave you to it, then", Dorothy states. She rises from her chair and exits the office.


End of chapter 76.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 77: A Storm in the Horizon



The Cult was going through one of it's most severe moments of crisis. After receiving Hubris' report, Cha Dawn had summoned her. He wanted to know how to detect these traitors. And while Hubris watched him communicate with Planetmind, as the first outsider ever allowed this honour, she advised him. What to look for. And where to look. How to mark them so the Branch of Pruning could find them.

The day turned out to be long, and Cha made it longer by frequent outbursts of blinding rage. Once he calmed down, he'd shout out a name or two and again resume his probe of every Cultist mind. Hubris would exit the hall to find Lord Paidar and report the new name, quite often to be answered by disbelieving shock.

Elsewhere, the Branch of Pruning (once rid of it's share of sleepers and actives) systematically purged the capital, block by block, hunting for those individuals that Cha and Planet had marked.

And the day dragged on. Name after name after name after....


Excerpt from the novel 'Cha: The Struggle -a True Story' by Liam Proudwillow Ninety-three.


****


The Cultists have scrapped the old Terran calendar, instead going through their life with a pure Chironian calendar. Thus, the twin suns of Alpha and Beta Centauri are actually setting as Cha Dawn slumps down onto his cushioned divan, his entire body shivering from exhaustion. Dorothy walks up to him, and he gazes at her with matted, tearful eyes.

"Over twenty thousand cultists. Including more than a third of my closest staff. How could this be?"

"Beta has been actively infiltrating the other factions for years; long before he usurped total control of the Consciousness. And he, for some reason, sees Planet as a threat. You are therefore a most likely target. But you should be happy as well; with this amount of infiltration I doubt you would have been alive at the end of this year, should all this have gone undetected."

Cha seems to slowly regain some of his strength. "Are the other factions as bad off?"

"Most likely, though not necessarily in the same way. Beta wouldn't use the same strategy everywhere; one strategy wouldn't work for all the factions, and even if it did, we could topple it everywhere if we found a weak spot in it. No; he might be insane but he's not stupid."

"Then how can we help the others? Even if we warn them, the threat they face might not be the same."

"One step at a time, Cha. First, you could help the Peacekeepers. I believe they are in still more trouble than you were."

"How so?"

"Sprayber has infiltrated the government, and he alone is a major threat. He's currently here as an ambassador, of course, but as we proved with the message we intercepted, that isn't slowing him down. He is working for the Cyborgs, and as such is probably one of the main links in their strategy here on Zeus. The Peacekeepers would be much safer if they removed him from their government, and safer still if they got rid of him in a permanent manner. Unfortunately, as he currently has diplomatic papers, the Cult would be committing a gross diplomatic insult if we acted on the PK:s behalf and silenced him."

"So what do you suggest."

"Explain to him that he is unwelcome; in other words give him a one-way ticket to Peacekeeper territory. And warn Lal of him even before he arrives."

Cha sits up. "Yes. I shall warn Lal of him right now." He rummages among the pillows, and pulls out his hand holding a remote-control. He fiddles with it, and parts of the floor sink down and to the side. Up from the hole rises a holo-projector. It is already flickering to life before it is fully raised. For a while only the Peacekeepers' symbol is visible, then it is replaced by a man clad in the drab, grey-blue uniform of Peacekeeper officials.

"Good evening, Cha Dawn. I am Anwar Hemet, Commissioner Lal's personal secretary. How can I help you?"

Cha raises an eyebrow. "I've never heard of any secretary for Lal before! I need to speak to him."

"Lal has informed me that he is not to be disturbed, unless a matter of utmost importance arises. I have to ask what the nature of your business with the Commissioner is."

Cha grits his teeth. "What insolence!" Then he calms down a bit. "It concerns the safety of the Peacekeepers as well as that of his own person! I demand you connect to him immediately!"

The secretary seems unimpressed. "I have heard that phrase some twenty times today. Please, specify."

Cha is silent for a moment, while presenting one of his most ominous grimaces to the secretary. "For starters, I'm going to send home your ambassador Burton. He is no longer welcome inside Cultist territory. And the other matters I have to discuss are a damned bit too sensitive to tell to you! Do I have to make myself any more clear than this?! If he values his life and those of his countrymen, then he'll talk to me RIGHT THIS MINUTE!"

The secretary is now more stonefaced than a granite bust. "I will inform him, certainly, of this diplomatic action. As for your other topics, if they are too sensitive to be relayed to me then Lal has informed me that I am to advise you to send a deputation to him, carrying the necessary diplomatic letters, properly signed and sealed. Then, once your deputation has presented itself to me, Lal will speak to them in privacy and absolute security. That is the proper diplomatic procedure, and that is how Lal wants it to be done. Good day, Cha Dawn."

The projector dies down as the link is closed. Dorothy expects Cha to erupt, and is as surprised as she is wrong. Cha simply stares out into the empty space of the holo-projector and shrugs. "It seems that you are right, Dorothy. Somehow, that man strikes me as more twisted than a moebius-loop in a hurricane." He shrugs again. "But it is a feeling right now, nothing more. Despite the gross insolence, it seems I have to assemble a deputation."

"With your permission, I'd like to include a couple of probes on the deputation."

Cha smiles. "They will be easily included, Dorothy! Since he demands a deputation, he can't blame me for complying.. in the grandest of styles."


****


"Good morning, LightEning! What's that you are reading?"

"Well hello, Hubris. Nice of you to drop by." He waves vaguely with the pad he is holding. "This thing is crammed with today's most important news-bulletins around Zeus. Some nice vid-feeds, and a lot of text. Mainly, of course, I'm following up on our new target."

Dorothy looks surprised. "There's news about Ambassador Burton?"

"Of course; he arrived to U.N. Headquarters last evening. They are giving him a real hero's welcome." LightEning looks confused. "I thought Celan fed you the news as and when they happened..?"

Dorothy shrugs. "He only submits what he thinks is important. But that's not why I'm here. I came to check if you are ready to return to work."

He grimaces. "Well, the docs say they want to do a heap of tests and monitor my health a few days because there's the risk of some infinitely improbable after-effect from the absolute punishment I went through under that shelf. But mainly I think they want to find out as much as possible about the med-nanites sloshing around in my blood. Seems they're quite impressed by it's reoxygenating capabilities."

She nods. "Good; I'll make the doc declare you fully restored and in no need of further followups. I want you to play the role of diplomatic aide again; you'll be part of a deputation to the Peacekeepers."

He groans. "These propagandistic wimps? You must be joking! The show they're putting up for the ambassador is bad enough!"

"Oh? Fireworks and stuff?"

"That's where it starts. Listen to this.." He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.

"Once the airlift entered Peacekeeper territory, it was honoured with an escort by a squadron of needlejets. As the plane was landing, on the Central Airport amid the cheering masses of ten thousand Peacekeeper citizens, the jets performed brilliant feats of aerial acrobatics and released mock missiles loaded with fireworks in honour of the ambassador. Once mr. Burton exited the airplane he was greeted by thunderous cheering, as well as the Peacekeeper Council -led by Pravin Lal. The Commissioner awarded him with a medal for his distinguished service for his country, citing especially his 'brave and unwavering conviction to upkeep the Peacekeeper ideals of humanity in the face of a barbaric and rogue nation'. After several speeches in his thanks, the ambassador was allowed to rest in the U.N. Grand Hotel's diplomatic suite, while Pravin Lal sent his personal surgeon and neurospecialist, Doctor Albert L. Ashton, to examine the ambassador's health. Then-"

"DOCTOR ASHTON?!?" Dorothy shouts.

Startled by the outburst, LightEning eyes the pad carefully. "Yes. Yes! Good grief, I've missed that- There's a popup-menu about him as well.. Let's see-"

Dorothy rises. "There's no time to study his bio. I know who -and what- he is. Get your clothes and get to the palace, as fast as possible!" She grabs the handle to the door leading out of the hospital room.

He nearly wails. "But I don't know where my clothes are! The doctor..."

Dorothy stops and turns around to look at him with a concentrated expression. Then she disappears out into the corridor of the hospital. LightEning hears a startled intake of breath, and seconds later an obviously stunned and disoriented nurse stumbles into the room. He focuses on LightEning. "You haven't received your clothes yet? Just a minute, then. I can't imagine why I haven't remembered them, if you are in a hurry to leave..." He turns and walks out the door, shaking his head. LightEning watches him go with a bemused look.


****


"What's the status?"

Balbo turns to LightEning and grins. "Hi again, tough guy. Your mates have agreed on a honorific for you, to commemorate your first wounding in action."

"Oh? Oh no. I don't like that look you're giving me. What is it?"

Balbo takes a slow breath, clearly savouring the moment. "It's 'Shorted'".

"Shorted LightEning?" He groans and chuckles at the same time. "Okay, that's it then. Now, what's happening?"

"Between Hubris and you arriving, the entire palace staff has been working on all cylinders trying to contact Pravin Lal. We fear now that not only are we being denied contact with him, but that he also is not being informed that we'd like to speak to him."

"Then it's too late?"

"Not really. Maybe. We just have to get the deputation going as soon as possible. I hear you're on it; so will most of the Cultist diplomats be. Ten BP:s and ten of our men, including Oaken and Starbright, will act as guards. Then there's what the official document calls 'staff'.. which is mostly actual staff, but also includes the rest of us probes under the heading 'troubleshooting'. We're all going there." He grins.

"And Hubris?"

"Not as Hubris. She'll use the name Rebecca Kojl."

"Right. When do we leave?"

"When you've packed. Get going."


End of Chapter 77.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 78: A Friend you Need is a Friend in Greed


The diplomat stepped forward with an outstretched hand in the direction of his colleauge.

"Greetings, and welcome to The Hive! I hope you were informed that I would meet you; I am diplomat Cheng, as you should be aware." They shook hands while Cheng continued talking. "I am afraid we only caught fragments of the message detailing your arrival; there was a most inconvenient EM-storm directly over our territories... I am afraid I must ask your name."

The University diplomat smiled and told Cheng his name.

Cheng looked perplexed. "Your name is.. Troubled Child?"

"Impressively close. Problem Child. Of course, that's the translation from traditional russian. My mother was of Armenian ancestry and knew a smattering of ancient russian words; She told me she found this name reading an ancient copy of Moscow Times in a museum while carrying me. She couldn't understand the words, but she could pronounce them. She thought they sounded like a good name for a warrior. I'm surprised; I didn't expect to meet anyone with a broad knowledge of russian!"

Cheng smiled. "Amazing; we have barely met and I feel that you've just supplied me with much information about yourself! Please allow me to repay your generosity and directness via a tour of the city." He gently nudged Problem Child by the elbow. "I have practiced russian ever since Hive-University relations were included to my responsibilities, some twenty years ago."

"But we haven't had relations until now!"

"Slightly incorrect; we have certainly had relations, but they have been mutually undefined. I have merely kept track of our two nations' foreign politics, observing when they have been in harmony and when they have conflicted. Out of this data it has been my duty to compile a biannual report to Chairman Yang, who would then adjust the Hive's attitude towards the University as he'd see fit."

"So.. he's lately been adjusting it towards a more friendly side?"

"I'd assume so. He does not inform me of his decisions on the subject."

They had been walking down a gently sloping corridor that now ended in a pair of sliding doors. They opened as the diplomats approached to reveal an unadorned elevator-cabin. The door slid shut behind them.

"I am curious; do you have many diplomats visiting your city?"

"Not really. Currently we have two resident ambassadors; from the Spartans and the Peacekeepers. The PK ambassador, by the way, is threatening to leave unless the Chairman changes his attitude towards Zakharov. We're currently helping him pack; once Yang has made a decision we know it is the right and proper one; it is unthinkable that he should be expected to change it."

Problem Child recognized the warning for what it was. "I see. I certainly don't plan on asking him to change any made decisions; merely to speak in favour of, and be available to represent, the University, should he feel the need to decide upon matters concerning us."

"Very good. Ah; the elevator is slowing down. I fear you will have to don a breather; I assume you are carrying your personal one..?"

"Why certainly. But why? As I understood, from the introductory holo you sent me, The Hive is almost entirely subterranean."

"Most true, but we don't bother to cycle breathable air into the less used sections, like the diplomats' walkway we are entering now. We merely pump in enough of Chiron's own atmosphere to create a pressure a fraction below that of the areas with a breathable atmosphere. We estimate that we are hereby maintaining breathable atmosphere in a volume only two thirds as big as would otherwise be the case; a very significant advantage when all is considered."

"I see. Most wise. These walls are fascinating me; their surface seems to have been melted.."

"Indeed. A tell-tale sign of plasma-drilling. What is left is a totally airtight surface. You might have difficulty in telling, but we just crossed the city's boundary. Outermost are the storage-spaces for less fragile items, like mined ore and processed metals. Inside that are stores for manufactured goods. Then come the water, air and food reserves. We would have to walk for half an hour to pass these stores, but that won't be necessary.. here starts the maglev-track. And there's a private train waiting for us...."


****


"That was a comfortable ride... Where are we now?"

"A tour of the city should start at the hub of it's activities, and since the Hive is the capital, this is also the hub of the entire faction. Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang has expressed a desire to meet you briefly after you arrived, so I am fortunate in being able to introduce you to our leader; the center of the hub. This way, please."

Until now, Problem Child had not seen a single square centimeter of decorations anywhere. He was mildly surprised and disappointed when the administrative building of the Human Hive's massive population turned out to be just as unadorned as everywhere else.

In front of them, two heavy-looking doors opened ponderously. A guard with his back towards the doorway glanced briefly and warily over his shoulder, to make sure the newcomers appeared harmless. His vision rested a fraction of a second longer than necessary on Problem Child before returning to stare straight forward, and this was also his only concession to curiosity. The hall beyond was as void of decorations as it was large. The word cavernous sprang unbidden into Problem Child's mind. In the middle of this grey, polished vastness, dwarfed but somehow still dominating, was a man sitting cross-legged on the floor behind a table. Apparently, Yang was eating lunch. He glanced up briefly, nodded and pointed at a small mat on the opposite side of the table.

"Good day, Ambassador. Do join me."

Cheng indicated with a nod to Problem child to go ahead and sit down. The Hive diplomat himself remained standing at a respectful distance from the table. Problem Child sat down and, sensing that this was expected of him, waited for Yang to speak.

Finally, the chairman looked up again. "What is your name?"

The ambassador told him.

Yang nodded. "A name with a meaning, yet a meaningless name. More correct would be 'problem-solver child'. Your name has, apparently, not been a predestination."

To be surprised once again would have been pointless. "You are insightful, and knowledgeable, but I must admit to being led by the apparent destiny. Only, the solutions I envisioned during childhood were not the ones I applied once I had the opportunity. Destiny is unclear."

"Indeed. But more of that later." Yang paused for a second. "Your focus is wandering, I can tell. You are searching for a feature to lock your eyes on, are you not..?"

"Maybe; let us say... I am searching for a feature merely to confirm that there is one to find in this place. I am intrigued.. why do you have no decorations in your city?"

"Many reasons, but mainly because the unblemished, smooth surface that has been well crafted, and refined until all imperfections have been exorcised, but after that has not had any further work wasted on it; that surface... I find it has a beauty of a most fundamental nature. Why hide it with superfluous decoration? Cheng will probably mention additional reasons during your tour of the city." He dabbed gently at his upper lip with a serviette. "And now, my good ambassador, I have matters to attend to. But I would appreciate your presence during my breakfast tomorrow morning. A servant will lead you to my quarters at the appropriate time."

Problem Child nodded and stood up. "I am honoured. Until then I bid you good day, Chairman." He retreated until he was behind Chen. Then they both turned around and walked out of the hall.

"You did well, ambassador. The Peacekeeper ambassador was less skilled in his initial meeting with the Chairman; I suspect he worried excessively about causing a faux pas, and therefore seemed strained and uncomfortable. Very well done."

"Thank you. I've always found that preparing for every situation is fruitless. So much better merely to hone your skills in dealing with the issue at hand as, and when, it happens."

"But that means you never have the initiative, does it not?"

"In some situations that is true, yes."

They walked in silence for a short moment.

"By the way, you are not the first outsider to comment on the plainness of the city. You will soon come to realize why the entire concept is slightly misleading."

"Oh?"

"Yes. But now.. where to continue our tour? Do you have anything you'd wish to see?"

"Well, there are numerous myths circulating the other factions concerning the everyday life of the Hive. So, with your permission, I'd like to see people. Homes, work-places and recreational areas."

Cheng licked his teeth while digesting the request. "Hmm. I think we're quite close to a factory. That would be a good place to start."


****


"You need to protect your hearing. These headgears will muffle any outside sound quite effectively, and also serve as an air-filtration unit. There is a microphone you can speak into, and some speakers so you can hear what I am saying. There, now these two helmets are on the same channel."

Problem Child donned the helmet, turned to Cheng and said something. Cheng raised a hand and donned his own helmet. "Excuse me, ambassador, what did you say?"

"I said, these things are quite good quality."

"Thank you. Now we are ready to enter the factory. I believe it is slightly warm in there, so brace yourself for the change."

A pair of doors slid aside, and a wave of heat poured down upon the diplomats, hinting of the uncomfortable atmosphere beyond. They stepped through the doorway. The noise in the factory was somewhere on the outer reaches of what could still be called sound. 'Shock waves' would be as fitting. The helmets were extremely good dampers, but maybe nothing short of vacuum would muffle well enough to create a comfortable noise-level. Problem Child had to raise his voice to be sure Cheng would hear him through the speaker.

"This factory is automated!"

"No, it's not. This is one of the multi-purpose plants, capable of being retooled within minutes to produce anything you might desire. Every stage of the production requires human supervision."

"But there's no-one around! There's just these machines, working away..."

"Yes. I will explain shortly. There, however, is the supervisor of the factory."

A man on a catwalk had strolled into view, wearing a similar helmet and apparently giving the machinery a superficial inspection. He noticed the diplomats and waved a friendly, yet uninterested, hello. Cheng continued talking.

"I feel sorry for him, but he is well compensated for his sacrifice I am told. Unfortunately, there are one or two like him in every factory. It's inescapable."

"I'm afraid you have completely lost me."

"Then step this way, and you shall see the other workers."

They exited the factory.


End of chapter 78.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 79: The King is Dead.


Lord Paidar drums impatiently with his fingers on his thigh. Then he rises up and starts to pace back and forth in front of the chair.

"What's the time, LightEning?"

"Fourteen hours and twenty-six minutes. Still four minutes."

Dorothy/Rebecca Kojl smiles slightly. "Are you nervous of crowds, Paidar?"

"Let's just say that they're good when they're down there a good distance away and all you have to worry about is standing on your toes so everyone can see you waving. I find that the... intimacy of this is new. It's like we're some attraction in a zoo.

Dorothy spends a moment idly taking in the room. It is a hybrid of an antechamber and an amphitheatre, with a wide corridor leading to and from a central area flanked by rows of seats. Doors by the far walls allow access to the seats, while the pathway and central areas are fenced off. Doors are located at each end of the corridors, one leading to Pravin Lal's office and the other leading to the rest of the governmental building. Almost all the seats are occupied, and the Cultist deputation is subjected to much ogling and staring.

"I suppose Lal thinks it is symbolic of his open government. He might say it shows that no-one can meet him in secrecy. His guards might say that it makes an assassin's life difficult. I say that the best way to guard your secrets is by creating the impression you don't have any. I mean, if he's so open then why isn't this arrangement present in his office? Because for some of the people that want to talk to him there might be reasons other than the official ones."

Paidar grunts. "You'd think these people have never seen a foreigner before!"

"I gather they've never had a chance to see one of Cha Dawn's aides so up close before. And Cha did make sure that we came here with, if you know the expression, our trumpets blaring."

The couches for those waiting for an appointment occupy half the central stage. The other half is mostly empty, except for the secretary's desk. Anwar Hemet now looks up from his paperwork and gazes at the deputation as if he's been completely unaware of the immediate presence of more than thirty people. He breaks into a welcoming smile and waves at Paidar to approach. He speaks.

"Ah, Lord Paidar and the Cultist deputation! You are most welcome here, and may I say that your presence has provided a major happening for Peacekeeper society. The public-" He gazes left and right to take in the rows of seats, all occupied. "-has taken a healthy renewed interest in state affairs."

Paidar smiles innocently and raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Really? You'd expect them to be sick and tired of all these foreigners stomping around in their capital nowadays, ever since Lal required deputations rather than the standard hyperlink for interfactional negotiations. You must have, what? Thirty, fourty deputations a week?"

There is a fragile moment, during which the absence of any other deputations is particularly loud. Then the secretary clears his throat.

"Well, only a fraction of them wish to see the Commissioner, of course... and most are of smaller size anyway... and it's been relatively quiet as of late. Yes. Now, did you have the formal documents that detail what rights and powers Cha has bestowed upon the deputation?"

Paidar nods. "Of course; they are right here." He holds out his hand, and LightEning gives him a thick wad of folders. He places them on the desk.

Anwar looks down, perplexed. "Funny, I expected a... thicker... document."

"Oh well, Cha is a man who likes to be brief. I think you will find that we are empowered by him to act as representatives for him, that is Cha Dawn, and the Cult of Planet, in any way we see fit, without limitations."

With his brow furrowed, the secretary opens the folders and glances at certain parts of the documents. Then he stacks them neatly and nods to Paidar.

"They are in order. You have been formally welcomed, and I will deliver the letters of accreditation to the Commissioner momentarily. Since we could expect you, you have been reserved two hours' time with him in the red dining-hall, beginning at ten o' clock this evening."

"Oh? You have many matters of utmost international, also personal, importance to take care of?"

Again, the secretary shows just how stony he can look. "Of course. Few matters requiring the Commissioner's attention are of any other sort."

"He must be blessed with amazing stamina and organizational abilities then, since he manages to govern the Peacekeepers as well."

"The delegates and the U.N. Senate help."

"Capital. How much in advance do you recommend us to be here?"

"Oh, between five and fifteen minutes is usually enough. However long it takes you to be ready before ten."

"Good. Until then.."

The members of the deputation walk away. Everyone is silent until they exit the main doors. Then Paidar stops.

"What to do now? Hubris, could your probes sneak around in there without being detected?"

"Hardly. It might be mostly public-access, and it certainly isn't Cha's palace, but to do any good they'd have to take too large risks involving restricted areas. In a way, openness in the form of crowds of visitors can add to the security of an official building. The actual areas that need to be carefully guarded are considerably fewer in number."

"Right. Then forget that. Let's find a restaurant with some half-decent food, or something else to do until it's time to get ready."


****


"That was excellent."

"Tell me, Lord Paidar, have you eaten smoked salmon before?"

"Oh, a couple of times, Hubris. I always order it when I see it on the menu."

"So.. You've gone through the -ah- initiation, then?" Dorothy smiles slightly as she asks the question.

"What do you- oh, the initiation. Yes. I was heartily sick all the next day after eating my first salmon. Only later did I hear what eating fish does to the stomach if you've never come close to it before. How could I know...." He looks up as silence descends around the table.

Dorothy chuckles. "I didn't want to say anything in advance that would spoil the fun, because I do believe that you and I are the only ones around this table that have ever had the luxury of eating fish in any form before."

There is a loud belch. "Not true, Hubris dear! Balbo and I have eaten fish before. But we didn't notice any adverse effects, did we?"

Balbo spreads his arms wide. "That business with the spots I got from the strange fungus I ate stole everyone's attention." He looks at the expressions around the table. "There was a mad scientist cook and a daring wager involved. I don't want to talk about it."

Dorothy clears her throat. "Anyways, you first-timers might want to soothe your stomach before meeting Lal. I do believe there'll be more food on the menu tonight."

There's some general nods. Paidar waves towards an observant waiter, who brings the cheque-pad. He looks at the figure below the glowing double line with a hint of dismay and vexation, and then he fishes in his pockets for his credit card and waves it over the pad. There is a beep and the pad goes dark.

"All ready? Then let's find somewhere else to spend our remaining time. Here you go, girl." He hands back the pad.

The waiter nods, swallows for courage and speaks. "Sir, I collect autographs of politicians; could I please have yours?"

Paidar raises his eyebrows, seemingly happy about the request. "Certainly, my dear. Electronic or authentic?"

"Authentic would be very nice, and.. both would be best, sir!"

He nods and smiles. "All right. Give me your notepad, I have my own pen." He signs the notepad and hands it back. "Your palm, if I may?" They shake hands quickly, and the waiter immediately takes out a small screen from her pocket and sweeps her hand against it while Paidar walks away.

"Thank you so much Sir Lord Paidar! I'm so terribly sorry that your meeting with Lal had to be cancelled."

Paidar stops dead. Then he turns around and looks incredulously at the girl.

"What do you mean? We have an appointment with him at ten o' clock."

She looks confused. "I thought that's why you came here, because he.." She stops, and restarts. "Sir, just prior to your arrival they said on the news that the Commissioner has had some sort of seizure or something. They said that all his further appointments would be postponed until further notice."

Paidar opens and closes his mouth a couple of times while staring at the waiter.

"Do you have a news-console in here that we could use? It's urgent."

She nods. "There's a node terminal through that door, sir."


****


The secretary's amphitheatre has changed; gone is the public, and in it's place is a crowd of Peacekeeper politicians talking worriedly to one another. Three guards stand in front of the door to Lal's office, and two guards flank the secretary's desk. Clearly, this isn't the time and place for open government. Anwar looks up at the approaching deputation.

"There you are; I've been trying to reach you. I'm sorry, this is highly unusual, but the Commissioner's... health... has deteriorated abruptly. I fear it is highly likely he will be unable to meet you at ten." He seems genuinely apologetic and worried.

Dorothy speaks. "He's ill? Is it bad?"

"There is no official statement of that yet, as I believe the doctors are still trying to figure out what is wrong." He takes a deep breath. "As his secretary, I am acting commissioner.." He gulps and shudders. "By Planet! You must understand, no-one thought it very likely that this would happen. Least of all I."

Paidar nods in sympathy. "Rest assured, acting commissioner, that I and all of the deputation will help in any way we can, probably by keeping out of your way."

"Oh no, you are no bother -well, at least not more than would be expected, really. I can arrange to have lodgings here in the council house appointed to a couple of your assistants, so they'll be able to fill you in on current information as and when it becomes available. Would that suit you? Oh, and if you would inform me somewhat of the agenda you wish to discuss with Lal, I might better prioritize it when I construct the Commissioner's new schedule once he has recovered."

Paidar looks at him for a moment. Then he glances at Dorothy, who nods.

"Very well. But not here, if at all possible. Somewhere private. This had better not be generally known, even among the councilmembers."

Anwar looks this way and that, apparently at random. He is clearly stunned by uncertainty. "Well.. I could see you some time tomorrow afternoon. In the red dining-hall."


****


"Now, please keep it brief."

Paidar is silent for a moment. "We suspect there is a traitor within the Peacekeeper government."

The secretary goes pale. "Who? Working for whom?"

"We.. don't know who. But we have evidence. There is at least one person whose allegiance lies with the Cybernetic Consciousness rather than the Peacekeepers. It must be someone high and mighty. We know -or maybe I should say knew- that some kind of coup is or was planned." Paidar sighs. "Do you know if there's signs of... foul play? Is Lal really ill, or is the problem... different?"

"I can't tell you."

"Ah. So there's a twist to this story, yes?"

"I really can't tell you! But... I will take steps. I can't promise much, though. Mainly I will concentrate on arranging the emergency elections."

"What! Surely you aren't thinking of replacing Lal!"

"No. But the national council decided today that we should elect a Vice-Commissioner. I'm not formally recognized to have any legal grounds with which I can take care of the Commissioner's duties. So the council has decided to create the title of Vice-Commissioner, and give it all the duties and rights that Lal had -I mean has. They have graciously told me that as his secretary they assume I will be a candidate."

"Capital. We shall be lobbying for you."

"I'm flattered, Lord Paidar, but I'm afraid that the elections might turn out to be of purely symbolic importance. I will participate in them, of course, as there are fringe-benefits to gain from the elections themselves, in the form of new friends and supporters, but the general atmosphere in the senate is that there already is a winner. Everyone is preparing for that."

"Might you reveal who you believe will win?"

"Ambassador Stephen Ray Burton. He's very popular among the council members, apparently. Plus, he has the backing of all the major parties, including the Unity Alliance. They are fervently against me."

"Why are they against you?"

"They consider Lal's conversion of the U.N. government into a factional government to be illegal and against the principles of the U.N. They claim that the reason why no other faction is prepared to reform the true U.N. -organization as a peacekeeping force is that Lal is much too willing to let the agenda of his own faction override that of the international community. As his secretary, I have held the status as Lal's major advisor in internal politics and agendas, so the Unity sees me as the worst possible man to follow Lal. They fear I'd completely neglect the foreign policy in favour of internal affairs."

Paidar sighs. "And Burton has extensive diplomatic experience in numerous foreign powers, last but not least us. And nowadays we probably count as a hostile power to a sizable portion of the Peacekeeper population. So, if they think you are introvert, nationally speaking, then he must be extrovert. I see your problem. Do many think as the Unity does?"

"Yes. They are the second largest political party in the council, and as patriotic traditionalists they have a solid backing. Both the ruling party and the opposition coalition want them as allies. So backing me would be politically unhealthy."

Paidar thinks. Then he takes a deep breath. "Mister Hemet, I know Ambassador Burton quite well. And I can tell you, he does not have the rebirth of any United Nations as his first, or indeed as any of his goals. His name could be mentioned in the dictionary under 'Introvert'. So I must ask you, do you think that the Peacekeepers need to be more extrovert or more introvert?"

"I'm a realist, Paidar. It doesn't matter to me, as long as things are running smoothly, there's a tomorrow we can look forward to, and I am secure in my job."

Paidar smiles. "You sound like the right man for the job to me. I'll, no we will support you. Now, There is something this Unity-party should know. Is there some possible way they could find out that in reality almost every faction Burton has visited, as an ambassador, has taken to an extreme dislike for him? Nothing officially, of course, but if they'd ask the right people they'd find out just how loathed he is. And it is not because they're envious of him. Oh, no. See where I' m heading?"

Anwar's eyes are sparkling. "They won't believe you."

"Who says we'd tell them anything? No. As long as they hear this... interesting fact, they'll find someone they trust and ask them. Think you can manage this? As for your bad image, Rebecca Kojl here is my press advisor, and she has some excellent assistants. I'm sure they can advise you how to work that PR-magic."

The Vice-Commisioner's candidate grins. "I have other matters to attend to, and you gave me several extra ones as well." He turns serious. "Please do stay a couple of weeks, you have the government's invitation for that. We should meet again, and I will contact you when matters have ...advanced suitably." He bows slightly and walks out of the hall.

Under his breath, Paidar starts to count. Dorothy explodes on the 't' in three. "WHAT THE MINDWORM'S TEETH DID YOU JUST DO?!"


End of chapter 79.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 80: There's No Place Like Hive


The diplomats step into a huge chamber. Problem Child gasps. Cheng smiles smugly.

"It takes every visitor like that, the first time. We call these rooms 'grape silos', due to the seemingly irregular clustering of the pods into bunches. Actually, the location of every pod is the result of some of our most complex ever calculations within the area of logistics."

"By Planet! How many pods are there?"

"The number actually varies from week to week as pods are constantly added or removed, but this room houses about twelve thousand pods, some two hundred of which are vacant. There's ten rooms like this here in The Hive."

"Can we take a closer look?"

"Certainly. I've even arranged for a vacant pod for you. All foreign diplomats are welcome to try them out -and most do- but eventually they ask shyly for 'more conventional' quarters. Don't feel you have anything to prove, or a record to break. We'd be delighted if you'd feel at home in one of these, but we're quite used by now to the fact that one not born in the Human Hive usually finds our way of life too alien to be able to adapt." They have walked towards a centrally located cluster, surrounded by a spiral catwalk and covered with various balconies and ladders for access to the higher pods, and Cheng has walked a little bit ahead of Problem Child. Now he spins around, one arm outstretched, to take in the entire room. "Think! In this room, eight percent of The Hive's entire population work, eat, sleep, relax and search for fun and excitement! Each pod is capable of sustaining it's inhabitant day and night for up to twenty years without servicing, while carefully monitoring and maintaining nutritional levels, fitness and health; it is even able to administer medicine for the more easily curable diseases. That factory we visited is mostly run from here, except for the overseer whose physical presence is required on-site."

"Goodness gracious! You're saying that most of these people aren't sleeping, but are actually working -or resting, or... well, why would they prefer this?"

"Why wouldn't they? They are living in mankind's most stable society and it's most hospitable dwelling ever designed. Via MMI, they are in touch with a virtual reality -model of the base. An exact copy of it that they can walk around in and manipulate as they wish. It's always clean, the temperature is always pleasant, it's always bright and pleasantly perfumed. And, it has an additional feature; it's decorated. Art of every kind cover it's walls, floors and ceilings. Those citizens who are actively interested in such a thing arrange a large annual party, where they vote for which piece of art stays, and which will be replaced. And who will create something to fill in the space. And don't think they merely 'will' their visions into existence; Yang has forbidden short-cuts of that kind. They must work on their material as any sculptor or painter in the real world would be forced."

The pods resemble huge metallic eggs. A hatch set in the front allows access, and is also slightly transparent. Problem Child walks from pod to pod in a stunned fashion, occasionally stretching out to touch them, as if not quite believing the evidence of his eyes. Abruptly, he places his left ear against the hatch of the pod he is closest to.

"I can hear a woman singing!"

"She's singing somewhere in the Virtual Hive, then. When Yang envisioned this ultimate usage for neural grafting, MMI-based technology and VR-programming, he made one basic rule clear to his engineers: If a person develops a skill, he or she should be able to use that skill and practice it with equal ease in both the virtual and real versions of the Hive. So, when someone sings, they actually do sing. And it's their actual voice that is heard in the virtual Hive. That way, the person can be sure that he or she will be able to sing just as good -or bad- in the real Hive. The same goes for everything else. Yang did not want to enable people to establish different personalities for Real and Virtual Hive. He just wanted them to prefer the Virtual Hive over the real one, as a place to live in."

"Is that why the walls are bare here?"

"No. While Yang does prefer a lack of decorations, he also says that to allow decorations would be a permanent compromise to a problem whose components change shape, possibly resulting in a situations where all the reasons for the original decision have disappeared. He means that fashion would render any decorations obsolete. So, better to keep the walls bare and let people decorate their Virtual Hive however they wish. The reason why he wants people to prefer the Virtual Hive is because it allows them to function as a much more closely-knit society than is possible in any real world. One way it does that is through the Hivemind. It's- well, the Cybernetic Consciousness is a slower, more permanent version of it. The Hivemind is temporary- you are only allowed acces to it for five minutes per hour. And it's faster, since theoretically the entire population of The Hive can use the Hivemind simultaneously and in real time. Only the Consciousness' government can copy that."

"But what is it for? What does it do?"

"It's like a sea of thoughts. When you link up, you are grouped next to those persons whose thoughts mostly resemble your own. Sorry, that was a bit unclear, I should say opinions, feelings, moods, wishes. Your general mood and thoughts are added to the sea, and in return you get to sense that vast conglomerate of an entire society's opinions, neatly grouped into a self-organizing map. And it's an active map. You sense what the society as a whole feels, and can analyze any part of it, and others sense what you feel and think. Thus, you interact by influencing and being influenced in turn. It brings a great sense of purpose, advances understanding and fellow-feeling, and is very soothing."

"And what does Yang get out of this?"

"It's a statistical tool, of course. His interface is different, in that he can choose to observe the entire Hivemind as a whole -to look for general trends in moods and opinions- or even focus on the motives and feelings of a single person. It is the primary tool with which he maintains a good sense of what is happening, and what people think, in The Human Hive. And.. he can use it to actively influence people, by inserting targetted opinions and emotions."

"You mean that he has control over the will of the public?"

"Of course. It's part of his job to guide the people and form their will. One can opt not to link up to the Hivemind, but I have never heard of anyone who has done so. The sense of isolation would be too overwhelming. In fact, most people would prefer never to leave the pod at all, but it is necessary already for psychological reasons. Generally, everyone is required to perform some real-world duty once every week, that requires them to be active away from their pods. Generally, it's inspecting some area of the base for damage or wear, or to act as couriers between two bases. That last task is mostly given as punishment, though. As travelling between bases can take days."

A thought seems to be nagging Problem Child. "How do people do, when they- if they-" He waves his hands vaguely in the air, looking embarrassed.

Cheng smiles slightly. "Most pods are capable of housing two people, ambassador. It's the standard. Physical proximity is, of course, important to couples. But even then, they usually prefer to socialize within the comfortable settings of the Virtual Hive. Births, however, require some special arrangements, and there are rooms we call 'family pods' that might resemble normal homes in other factions. The children are usually assigned their own pods when they are ready to begin in elementary school."

"I'm frankly amazed, mr. Cheng. Um, where is the pod reserved for me?"

"We've made sure there's a vacant one here at ground level. It's this one over here."

They walk over to a pod that looks like any other pod in the room. Cheng gently nudges a metallic plate set in the hatch, and the hatch opens with a hiss. Inside is what seems to be a mould for a human body, fitted with an MMI-link.

"Funny, I expected... catheters, probes, electrodes... you know. Life-support."

"Most of the medical data is collected through smart fibers, that's microscopic threads that extend through the porous material of the bed and through your skin without leaving a mark. That's also how you receive nutrition and muscular stimulation. The pod will be filled up to your neck with a fluid as warm as your body, and with a slightly smaller weight-to-volume ratio, to further increase comfort and prevent bedsores."

"Um... Right now, though I'd prefer something... a little more familiar to me. If that's all right."

"Certainly. A set of rooms in connection to this one has been furnished for your convenience. It includes bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and office. We do have a terminal linked to a virtual one within the V-Hive, but I do recommend that you try the pod if you wish to talk with The Hive's citizens. They will feel more comfortable, and will respect the effort." They have stopped outside a door apparently leading into Problem Child's assigned quarters. "Is there something you wish to ask, or something more you'd like to see? I know the day has been long, and I will be available tomorrow as well should you wish to explore the city further."

"No, Thank you so much for this tour, It was most enlightening. Oh, there is one thing- How do I contact you?"

Cheng smiles. "Two ways. One is to use the terminal. The other is to simply go to my pod and knock- that is, place your hand on the metal plate and I will be notified that someone wishes to see me."

Problem Child finally realizes something obvious. "Oh, I see. I'm sorry to have caused this inconvenience for you, ambassador.. you must be eager to return to your pod. Er, which one is yours?"

Cheng points. "That one. Since I will act as your guide and contact within the Human Hive, my pod has been moved as close as possible to your dwellings."

"Ah. Oh. Well, er, good night, ambassador Cheng."

He watches the Hive diplomat walk to his pod and enter it. Only then does he realize he hasn't tried to open the door to his appartment yet. Fortunately, the palm-reader seems to accept him, and the door opens. Whistling slightly, he steps in.


****


"Good morning, Ambassador. May I ask, how do you like The Hive so far?"

"Sir, I feel that I have merely scratched the surface of the city yet with my explorations, so I have not formed a definite opinion. However, I can say that it certainly overthrows all the expectations I had. I have come to realize that very few people outside of your borders have a clear picture of Hive society and customs. But, to speak of merely what I have seen... I am impressed. The University, I feel, would find many interesting aspects of your society to study and learn from, should they get the chance."

"Thank you." It doesn't sound like any real thanks, merely an affirmation that the world is running smoothly and on the right tracks. "Do join me for breakfast."

Only now does Problem Child sit down at the table where Yang is eating. He sees himself to a portion of the food laid out on the table, and eats in silence, again waiting for Yang to speak. That occurs only once he has finished eating.

"Now, mr. Ambassador, to politics. I know Zakharov's eagerness to learn. He has built his society around that desire, and he lets it create a form for both himself and the entire University, like a shell. This society... does not have the same set of priorities. But there exists knowledge that would help us."

Problem Child nods slowly. "Zakharov knows that too. He has said, once, that any society is almost permanently in a state of near-catastrophic ignorance. Knowledge, in itself, is dangerous, and mostly the solution is additional knowledge. An endless cycle."

Yang nods. "He is correct. Therefore I believe he will understand when I state that we are not looking for just any piece of knowledge, but only specific ones. To guard against unwanted side-effects. Likewise, I believe Zakharov would not be interested in just any trivial piece of knowledge that we have. He, also, has... preferences."

Another slow nod. "Yes. First, though, there is a common question: What do we know?"

"Yes. Well, I certainly know much about the Cybernetic Consciousness."

"So does Zakharov, sir. They are, after all, neighbours."

"And, I know about splinter algorithms."

This time, Problem Child chooses to remain silent.

"Take a look at my society, mr. Ambassador. I have worked hard, thought hard, to create this high level of harmony between every individual and the society as a whole. I felt great peace and satisfaction the day I envisioned what I could achieve, should I only embrace the full reality of the mind-to-machine interface. It is not perfect; the harmony and coordination is not intense enough, and there is a too sharp border still between individual and crowd and community. But it is the best I have found so far, and no doubt from here we can develop an even better technique. Until then I maintain this transitional society as well as I can."

Yang peers at Problem Child.

"Can you spot the weakness, ambassador? Can you point at the thing that spells doom for the Human Hive unless steps are taken?"

"The MMI, right? Your society is built around the MMI. Any attack would target that. And the splinter algorithms do just that."

"Good. Very good. Did Cheng tell you about the Hivemind? I have allowed an entire parallel reality to form, so that my people could be more harmonious and united. And then I learned of the splinter algorithms. They are very dangerous even here... and they have brought terror to the virtual Hive..."

"May I ask, sir, do you know how they enter Hive society?"

"By probe teams. Somehow, the Cybernetic Consciousness is able to maintain a very high presence of probes here on Zeus. They infiltrate a base, trying to sneak past the automated security systems, and tamper with the pods. They transmit subliminal commands to the occupant, trying to bend his will to a more favourable outlook on the Consciousness in general and splinter algorithms in particular. It's risky, since I -and some aides I appointed for that very purpose- can spot such an intrusion through the Hivemind. The probes' solution is to make the victim resent the Hivemind. I cannot counter that, since I cannot make the Hivemind involuntary without endangering it's purpose. Then, once they judge that the victim has been adequately brainwashed, they communicate their presence to him or her and offer a splinter algorithm." Yang sighs. "So far, I haven't heard of anyone that has refused. They are good. Once the merger is complete, the new cyborg immediately begins to persuade others, from within the local version of the V-Hive, to merge. Also, the person reestablishes the link with the Hivemind, and uses it as a very powerful tool of persuasion. They bend it's purpose, and usurp my control over it. This was most painfully obvious when I lost a base to the Cyborgs. No-one ever heard about it, since I made sure that the base ceased to exist before it could establish any kind of contact to the rest of the Human Hive."

"Goodness gracious! How bad is the situation?"

"Not bad at all anymore. The bases' Hiveminds have been updated with programs designed to spot merged individuals, and even sleeper algorithms... though sleepers are rare within the Human Hive. Also, I have found that surgically replacing the MMI and reengineering the personality of the individual removes all traces of the algorithm. But, I estimate that there is still a ...presence in every base, simply because the splinters can evade detection by refraining from using the Hivemind."

Problem Child is silent for a moment. "The University would be very interested in knowing how you can spot merged and sleeper-algorithms."

Yang nods. "Tell me, do you have an MMI?"

"Yes, I do. I brought an adapter with me, in case you don't have optic-"

"So, it's optronic?"

"Yes."

"Just the interface part, or also the processing unit and the memory unit?"

"It has optronic processors and memories. I'm sorry, but where are you getting with this?"

"I'm interested in... neural MMI:s. Where the processor and memories are integrated as neurons directly into the brain."

"Neuronic MMI:s? That's what we call them. But why? I can reveal to you, the Cyborgs already know about them, and they have been very inventive in ways to introduce splinter-algorithms into them."

"I believe that, with the information I have, neuronic MMI:s won't present such a big risk for the Human Hive."

Problem Child waits a moment to see if Yang will continue and present him with a reason for wanting neuronic MMI:s. Then he speaks. "Well, you already have MMI:s -and have developed it's usage far beyond the University. I don't see why Zakharov wouldn't provide you with the neuronic technology; we're hard-pressed to keep it out of the Morganites' hands as it is, and will feel relieved when they finally send a probe-team that is skilled enough."

"Good. Then, we should discuss how to exchange information, and coordinate further efforts into neutralizing the Cyborg threat."

Problem Child flinches. This isn't why he has originally come here; this doesn't sound like Yang is thinking solely of defense...


End of chapter 80.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 81: What is the Value of a Man?


"Good evening, Commissioner."

"Good evening, Stephen. Please take a seat."´

Lal appears distracted. Ambassador Burton seats himself in an armchair positioned at an angle to Lal's desk. He clasps his hands in front of him and waits in silence. The Commissioner inspects the papers on his desk, blinks confusedly and looks up at Burton.

"I'm sorry, Stephen... what was it you wanted?"

Burton scratches the back of his head. "Pravin, you summoned me. To discuss my next assignment."

"Oh? Oh? Well, yes, obviously, we'll have to find some new place for you... How about the Cult of -no, that was you, wasn't it? Then- maybe the Cybernetic Consciousness? I'm sure I have a memorandum..." He starts to rummage among the papers on his desk, spilling a large amount of them onto the floor. He leans back, perplexed, his arms visibly shaking.

"Commissioner? Are you all right?" Burton is anxiously leaning forward in his chair.

"I'm fine, fine; I just seem to be a bit tired, that's all." Lal smiles, and two lines of blood emerge from his nostrils and meet on his upper lip. "If you could help me pick..." He tries to rise from his chair, and collapses on the floor.

"Ambassador?! Pravin! What's wrong?" Burton has rushed to the side of Commissioner Lal, and is holding his shoulder. Lal is spasming violently. Stephen rises, searches the desk hurriedly and, finding it, hammers a button. Then he returns to trying to aid the Commissioner. Seconds later the door slams back, revealing a group of guards and paramedics rushing in.

The scene fades. "Since then, no further comment on the Commissioner's health had been given, until ten minutes ago, when his chief neurospecialist, Dr. Michael Ashton, issued this statement..." A press-room in University Central Hospital fades into view. Doctor Ashton is standing behind a small podium, flanked by several other doctors. He has just raised his hands to silence the crowd, and is now lowering it.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, after hearing with his secretary and his lawyers, since he has no living relatives, we are at this time giving the following statement: The Commissioner's condition is stable, and at no time was his life jeopardized. We have diagnosed him with a massive stress-related nervous breakdown, coupled with a mild stroke. We do not wish at this time to present any timeframe regarding his recuperation. That is all."

The scene fades. "Well, there you have it. Reactions on the streets today were...

Paidar switches off the monitor. Silence fills conference room three, The Diplomat Grand Hotel, Peacekeeper Plaza, U.N.Headquarters.

"We were too late."

Paidar doesn't bother to turn towards Balbo. "More likely, whoever did this was just waiting for the right moment, or hoping that it wouldn't be necessary."

LightEning clears his throat. "We're assuming it wasn't natural, right? And we're assuming Ambassador Burton is responsible?" There is a general nodding. He continues. "But why would he expose himself as a likely suspect by being in the room? And why not just try and implant a sleeper-algorithm, or an active splinter, straight away?"

Dorothy/Hubris shifts uneasily. "Because Lal doesn't have a fully developed MMI, just an early-model, neurally grafted, electronic memory-aid, marginally upgradable with software. Surgery is required to upgrade it into something that can be used as housing for a splinter. It's officially known that Lal's opinion towards the MMI has been extremely negative." She sighs. "I know where this train of thought is going; He's now in a hospital, and we know his chief neurospecialist is merged with a splinter. But I don't see how he could perform major surgery on Lal without people raising questions. Of course, if Sprayber becomes elected, then he'll have absolute power over the Peacekeepers, but only while Lal recovers. Unless he is willing to attempt a coup while he's in office. So, I was thinking, maybe they're trying to make Lal's condition permanent... Anyway, I know how they did it. Our recorded conversation between the Ambassador and Dr. Ashton proves it; they sabotaged his memory-aid, and installed some kind of trigger to make it malfunction so that Lal would be incapacitated. The trigger might even be something spoken."

"Like 'good evening, Commissioner'?"

"Yes. Even that. Anyway, I don't think Sprayber plans to kill him. That would lead to an obduction. People would like to find out what killed him. Even now I suspect the doctors are subjecting him to every possible scan and test devised, to make sure they aren't missing anything. But I doubt they'll find out what triggered his collapse; it's easy to make sure the memory-aid is back to normal. They might detect some neurochemical abnormities in the graft's vicinity, but that might as well be a sign that whatever went wrong reacted badly to the presence of the memory-aid. Isn't that so, doctor?"

The deputation's chief medic, Cha Dawn's own neurospecialist, a gray-haired and wrinkled woman with dark eyes, nods. "You know much about medicine, miss Kojl. But there is another possibility. Do you know that in the Cult, to facilitate recuperation from strokes and many other brain injuries, we install MMI:s into the patients? We can program them with all kinds of exercises for memory, concentration, coordination, speech... anything. Maybe they do the same here?"


****


Lal makes an attempt to sit up. "Why, Ashton, have you ordered guards outside my room?"

"Sir, they are there for your safety."

"That's unnecessary, I'm sure. Send them away. And call for Anwar Hemet. I need to stay in touch with what's going on."

"Sir, there are rumours that your attack of sickness was the work of members from the Cultist deputation."

"What deputation?"

Doctor Ashton blinks slowly. "As for your other request, No. You need rest. Doctor's orders."

"Albert, my health takes second place to the welfare of the Peacekeepers."

"Sometimes, sir, they can be one and the same. So, please, rest now!"

Elsewhere in the hospital, Balbo curses. He is fiddling with a datapad hooked up to some optical cables.

">Would you look at this, Laysa! Lousiest electronic security on Chiron lets us tap into the surveillance cameras, only to find out that Lal is guarded by so many people I'm surprised an overzealous bodyguard isn't sitting on his head. How many are there? Fifty? A hundred?<"

">Hard to say. We can't see the hopsital canteen from these cameras, so we can't count those who are 'guarding' it. What can you do?<"

">Nothing at all.<" He spits on the floor. ">I'll call Dorothy... <Channel 0241> Hey Dorothy!<"

">Yes?<"

">We're good for nothing here; the security around Lal is tight enough to catch a flea in a camo-suit.<"

">That's bad. Hmm... Can you access the hospital's surgery-room reservations from where you are hooked on?<"

">Haven't tried yet, lass... Yes, I can. What about it?<"

">When is Lal scheduled for surgery?<"

">Let's see... Operating room three is reserved for one Doctor Ashton, starting this evening at twenty-two hundred hours and going from there for... whoa... all of thirty-six hours.<"

">So. What do we know? If he's going to install an MMI into Lal, he needs to install the splinter right away, right? Otherwise Lal himself might comment on the unprecedented flexibility of his memory-aid. And Ashton doesn't have any free time before the operation?<"

Balbo scans through the hospital's timetables again. ">That's right; he's in the middle of a four-day marathon that he scheduled himself. I'm beginning to understand what you are getting at; The splinter must be here in the hospital already!<"

">Correct. The interface usually resembles a black box. Size varies, but it's seldom less than one cubic decimeter. Probably much larger for Lal; they probably have one of the better splinters reserved for him. So... How is security around Ashton's office?<"

Balbo switches to the cameras. ">More or less non-existent, except for the occasional nurse or surgeon passing by.<"

">Right. So, his office is where you'll search first. If you find the box, do not link up to it before you have contacted me. I'll take care of it remotely via your link.<"

Balbo senses a withdrawal at the other end of the link, and switches his attention back to Laysa. ">Did you get all that?<"

">Sure did. I'll meet you outside Ashton's office.<"

Balbo grins. ">Tired of sitting on the roof as comms-relay?<"

">There's that<", Laysa admits. ">Also, you need someone to keep guard at the door, in case mister Ashton drops in prematurely to pick up his toy.<"


****


"Had any troubles getting here?"

"Nah. A couple of the guards made suggestive comments, but that's about all."

Balbo grins. "What did they say? 'What's a good-looking cleaniewoman like you doing here?' Something like that?"

Laysa shoves her commandeered sanitary cart into the room. "Something like that, bro. Only, they were politer."

"Probably the way you wield your sanitizer. It demands respect."

"Yeah? You want your mouth washed? Had any luck yet?"

Still smiling, Balbo shakes his head. "This office isn't big" -he looks around at the twenty square meters of office- "but there's a hundred and one places to hide a smallish box."

"But why hide it? It's his office; he can keep whatever he wants in it."

Balbo straightens up; he's been crouching to peer under a file-cabinet. "You are right, sister. But what does that leave us?" He looks around the office, and his eyes fall on Ashton's desk. "Maybe..." He very carefully picks up a keyring studded with keys. "Maybe doctor Ashton has forgotten something in his car?"

"Balbo, the garage is monitored! We can't search through his car just like that!"

"You forget; we've been recording every security-camera ever since we tapped into the system. All we have to do is pipe an endless, seamless loop of an uneventful garage into the monitors, and the guards can be as sharp-eyed as they like. I think I'll manage that; why don't you go to the garage to be ready at my signal?"


A while later, Laysa is waiting by the elevators of garage-floor sixteen.

">Go.<"

Laysa walks up to doctor Ashton's car, makes sure no-one is watching, and tries a likely-looking key. The car unlocks. ">All right; I'll check the trunk first. Let's see- Whoah...<"

">What is it?<"

Laysa stares at the device in the trunk, and the remote transmitter it is linked to. ">That's one huge box. The doctor has some good rear shock-absorbers.<"


****


"Doctor Zarya, please follow my instructions to the letter. Do not make assumptions about my general health, other than in a purely physiological fashion. If I am breathing, and my heart is beating, then I am still alive."

Zarya nods. "Understood. But why can't I assess your mental health?"

"Because, once I begin what I plan, the monitors here beside me will indicate that I am brain-dead."

The Cultist neurospecialist is silent, obviously waiting for Hubris to explain further. They are both in Rebecca Kojl's bedroom at the council building.

"You see, I intend to have a discussion with Lal, and also aid him as much as possible. The only way he'll get out of the hospital is by convincing doctor Ashton that the merger was successful. I intend to help him do that."

"How? You can't contact him in any way."

"Not conventionally. But I've checked what make and model the MMI he will receive is, and it's a neural one with massive storage capacity. The splinter he was intended to receive is huge; much larger than, say, my mind..."

The neurospecialist pales. "You are going to replace the splinter with your own consciousness!"

"Exactly."

Zarya takes a deep breath and purses her lips. "How will the transfer occur? If you think I'm capable of transmitting your sentience into that black box, you are wrong."

"I have, uh, an exceedingly advanced MMI. It will do most of the work."

"Then what do you need me for?"

"As backup. I'm not worried about the transmission. But... I don't know how to return. I might need your help with that, and I also need someone to look after my body in the meanwhile."

Zarya shakes her head incredulously. "Is this how researchers work in the University?"

Rebecca Kojl smiles. "I don't know. I've never met a researcher."

All having been said, she lies down on her bed and links herself via her MMI to a medical computer and a high-powered commlink. She activates the commlink.

">Laysa, do you hear me?<"

">Loud and clear. What next?<"

">Next, I want you to unplug from your commlink and instead plug it directly into the black box. I will take it from there. Do not try to monitor the link; it could be dangerous. I will flash the indicator on your commlink when you can unplug it again. As I will be unavailable from then on, I want you to make sure everything appears as if you never came to the car, return the keys to Ashton's desk and leave the hospital. Then all you can do is wait.<"

">All right, got that. But why will you be unavailable?<"

">All my attention will be focused on Lal. In a manner of speaking.<"

">Oh? Well, all right then. Disconnecting the commlink...<"

Laysa unplugs the small device from her MMI-port at the back of her neck and instead plugs it into one of the ports of the black box. A soft beep indicates a successful contact. A few minutes later the power-indicator starts to blink regularly, and Laysa unplugs the commlink, reconnects the black box to it's own transmitter, closes and locks the car and leaves. Five minutes later both she and Balbo have left the hospital.


****

[Raging Mouse]

"Someone please wipe my brow."

As a junior surgeon removes the pearls of sweat from his forehead, doctor Ashton runs a healing-stimulator over the small hole that is, in this day and age, the only external sign that sizable portions of Lal's skull have been replaced by a non-irritating composite material into which a myriad of synthetic neurons with pre-designed connections have been embedded. The combination of a patch of pre-generated tissue, precisely measured portions of numerous chemicals essential to tissue growth and the gentle electrical caress of the stimulator leaves only a slightly lighter patch of skin on Lal's skull where there moments before was a hole all the way into his brain. Ashton relaxes. Soon, his most important work for the Consciousness would reach its completion.

"That's that. Very well done, everybody; let's move the Commissioner over to his room. I'll take care of the software."

The hospital's own chief surgeon pats him on the shoulder. "Are you sure? I've got at least six members on my staff capable of doing it, and you've been working for-"

"Thank you, Van Rijn, but I'm afraid you don't have the security-clearance. I, and I alone, am authorized to install new software into Lal's cognitive aids." He smiles. "Sorry, old friend, but I'm afraid the honour is all mine and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Oh well, can't blame an old fart for trying."

"What! You're a hundred and thirty-two; two years younger than me! Go take some vodka if you think you're old. Now, excuse me..."

He follows Lal's bed as it is rolled through the corridors of the hospital. Eventually, the commissioner is once again lying in his own room. Ashton turns to the guards.

"Sirs, the installation of software is a critical step in Lal's treatment, and to minimize the probability of even the most insignificant disturbance, there cannot be a single electrical device operating within this room other than the installer. So, please leave if you have any devices which you'd prefer to keep switched on..."

All three guards leave the room, and Ashton is left with a softly breathing Lal and some medical monitors. He switches off all the monitors and finally the lights. Then he turns on the medical software installer, and instructs it to stand by for commands from a remote source. He extracts a collapsible antenna from his pockets, positions it securely onto a table and links it to the installer.

A monitor on the installer flashes to life. "Ready to execute file 'Splinter Kappa Sixteen'. Proceed? es / o / bort"

Doctor Michael Kappa-209 Ashton taps the 'Y' key with a hint of satisfaction.


****


Lal cannot exactly pin-point the exact moment he realizes he isn't unconscious anymore. Suddenly, he's simply feeling that he is aware again. Part of the problem is that there doesn't appear to be anything around him to be aware of. There is only an inky blackness. He can't even feel his own body, and attempts to wave an arm give no sensory feedback whatsoever. He can't even be sure he still has an arm, or any body at all.

Then, suddenly, he sees a vertical, gray line in the air. Slowly, his senses, including his sense of possessing a body, return. He manages to turn his head on the second try, and follows the line upwards with his vision, until it turns horizontal at a sharp edge. He realizes that he is standing, and takes a step closer to the line. It turns out to be the absence of a surface -a crack. More precisely, a crack between a door and it's frame; his questing hand finds a knob.

He pauses to assess himself. His senses appear to be functioning normally, but something appears to be dampening his emotions. There is something about the situation that makes him think it is false, and logically he should feel worried about that. Instead; mild curiosity.

He twists the doorknob and pushes the door open. A bright light blinds him momentarily, and he raises his arms to shield his eyes. He steps forward, and feels bare stone under his feet. He peers down and sees his own shadow cast before him, upon a white slab of stone. A bit further ahead of him is the edge to a shallow basin filled with water.

He turns around. There is no door; instead he is looking into a bright, afternoon sun. The sun; good old Sol rather than Alpha or Beta Centauri. He almost starts to cry as he basks in it's long-forgotten warmth, while an insistent voice in the back of his head says this can't be real. He turns back to find out what blinded him, and sees the brilliant white marble of the Taj Mahal.

"You are awakening again. This is just a simulation."

The voice seems real enough, and certainly doesn't sound like any neutral feminine voice designed to instill confidence in modern technology. It sounds like the voice of someone who has long ago grown tired of waiting, and who also doesn't appreciate the scenery anymore. Lal spots the girl sitting on the edge of the basin and dipping her feet in the water. She looks up at him.

"I am Hubris. I am not a simulation. You might call me a... hitch-hiker. Or the saviour of your mind."

"Why are you here? Why am I here?"

"I am here to warn you, and because I couldn't think of another way to save you. You are here because there's nowhere else you could be. This is inside your head. Don't get me wrong, not inside your mind. Your MMI, rather."

"My what!"

Hubris nods. "Yes, a rather nice model, too. Fast, flexible and a monstrosity when it comes to storage-capacity. Bound to make your life easier."

Lal fails to notice the sarcasm. "But I don't want an MMI! Ashton can damn well remove it!"

"He will not."

"What! Why not!? I'll tell him it's that or his job that goes."

Hubris shakes her head. "Do that, and you can kiss goodbye to your free will. He'll trigger another attack in you, talk about 'software incompatibility' to the press, and make sure that you never, ever again have full use of your mind. He'll install a splinter algorithm into you."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Doctor Michael Ashton's full name is Michael Kappa-209 Ashton. He is an agent of the Cybernetic Consciousness."

"Never. Not Michael. He's been loyal to me for more than a hundred years!"

"Loyalty isn't a factor. It doesn't matter what you are when you get merged with an algorithm. After that your loyalty lies one hundred percent with the Consciousness."

Lal sits down. "But Michael?! How could I believe you?"

"I told you earlier that my name is Hubris. What does that mean to you?"

"Uh, let's see... If I remember correctly, there's an independent agent by that name. Supposedly trained by the Data-Angels and the Gaians. Supposedly one of the richest people on Planet. Supposedly seen in two places at the same time. Supposedly a super-talent, which is probably why I gathered data."

"Well, all is correct, except for me being in two places at the same time. Currently, I am in your head due to an attempt to prevent doctor Ashton from merging you with a Kappa-splinter, and also due to a need to guide you through the next day so you'll still have a free will at the end of it."

"By the gods!"

"You said you were gathering data on me because I'm a super-talent. Why does this interest you?"

"I'm trying to draw Planet's brightest minds and most capable personalities to the Peacekeepers, to aid in creating a future atmosphere of peace and openness between the factions."

"Fool. You took a snake into your arms."

"What do you mean?"

"Ambassador Stephen Ray Burton is a super-talent, right? How did you get him to join you, and from where?"

"I was at a dinner-party at the Spartan Embassy. He was the ambassador's secretary at the time. He made an impression on me by displaying a most intricate understanding of diplomacy and it's vagaries."

"He is also known as 'Sprayber'. He is the most infamous probe-operative Planet has seen."

"Sprayber! Planet!"

"Exactly. And he is a fierce supporter of the Consciousness, even though he hasn't been merged."

"Why? And why isn't he merged?"

"He believes he can gain influence through the Consciousness; he believes in Beta and his plan. And Beta believes in him; so much so that Sprayber won't get merged in case this would disturb something important in his personality."

"So, you're saying that it's through him that Michael has been..."

"Merged. Yes. I have proof. Listen to this."

The sound of doctor Ashton's discussion with Sprayber is replayed, apparently from thin air. By it's end, Lal is furious.

"Did Sprayber cause my- my illness?"

"Oh, yes. With Ashton's aid, most likely over several years, they slowly tampered with your neurally grafted memory aid, probably changing your personality in the process as well. They most certainly used it to trigger your seizure."

"What makes you think they tampered with my personality?"

"Is it usual for you to be so irritable? So tired, short-tempered and eccentric?"

"Um... no."

Lal is silent for a while. Then he looks up. "Well, thank you for this warning. What do you suggest I do?"

"It is imperative that both Ashton and Sprayber believe that you are merged, as well as any other member of the Consciousness that might reveal itself. The splinter meant for you had the name 'Kappa Sixteen'. That, and some other relevant information, is stored in a special file I will aid you in accessing. Also, I will be present to advise you; there's some additional objectives to achieve beyond getting you out of the hospital."

"Won't they become suspicious if I am constantly using a commlink to be in touch with you?"

"Um, you aren't using one now. You see, I had to make sure there was a splinter for Ashton to install. Otherwise he could always get another one... so I destroyed the core of the original and took it's place. Practically, you have been merged with the Kappa 16 -splinter, only I've kept away from your actual brain. I currently reside within your MMI. I am trapped here. Getting me out in one piece is also an objective."

"I don't know what to say. Thank you, I guess. But how do I know I can trust you?"

"I just told you I'm inside your MMI, yes? From here I could modify your mind in any way I choose. And would I want to do so, this discussion would be unneccessary."

"Ah, the old 'I could harm you, but have no desire to'. I feel so much more trusting now."

Hubris smiles. "Sarcasm? I can hear you're feeling better. Ready to wake up?"

"Just a moment. What is your real name? I doubt Hubris qualifies."

"Why do you want my real name?"

"I want to know if you trust me. It would help me trust your advice."

"My name is... Rachel Dorothy Parks."

Lal is silent for a moment. "Thank you, Rachel."

"Call me Dorothy, please."

"Very well. Dorothy. Now, about waking up..."



End of Chapter 81.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 082: Effects and Causes


"Zakharov."

"Greetings, Chairman Yang. How is your social experiment doing?"

"We are advanced quite a lot beyond the experimentation stage, thank you. And we shall advance further, should we be able to come to an agreement today."

"Oh? Well, that is good. I understand you refer to the preliminary sketch of an agreement my ambassador sent me?"

"Yes. It's current form would be very acceptable, I think. Don't you agree?"

"Well certainly. I do have some points I would like to negotiate further."

"Of course. What, exactly, are you referring to?"

"Might I interest you in some wider exchange of technology?"

"This is possible, but maybe not at this time. The Hive is quite well off, technologically speaking."

"Ah? Well, how about simply adding a mutual commitment to keep observing the situation, for possible future exchanges?"

"That is most satisfactory. Our assistants can discuss the exact wording. Was there anything else?"

"Good. Good. Well, there is a small matter. We might not want to actually designate anyone as a target just yet. And the sentence 'defense and retaliation' is quite strong, in my opinion. In fact, is it at all necessary to mention the Cybernetic Consciousness?"

"Zakharov. This is a secret non-aggression pact. Secret. No-one else should be allowed to read it. Why are you so concerned with the wording?"

"These days, I cannot fully trust even those persons who need to see this agreement."

There is a pause.

"I understand. We shall construct two agreements and sign them both, One official and extremely vague, plus one secret and extremely specific. How does that sound to you?"

"It sounds... agreeable. That is what we shall do."

"Good. Now, let's talk about how..."

-Reprinted with permission of the author from the book "Historical Discussions I Have Heard", by Sinder Roze.


****


Lal opens his eyes, and regards the slightly pink roof of the nanohospital for a moment. Then he swivels them to the left, to gaze at doctor Michael Ashton.

The neurospecialist glances briefly at some readouts on a computer monitor. Then he looks back at Lal. "Welcome to the Consciousness, Pravin Kappa Sixteen Lal."

Now do you believe me?

"You are Michael Kappa Two-Oh-Nine Ashton."

"Correct. Do you have any questions?"

Not likely; your meant-to-be splinter was crammed with information.

"Not at this time, other than... What is my medical status?"

"You are, and have always been, perfectly healthy. The medical disorder was caused by sabotaging your neural graft."

Lal nods. "Then it is time for me to resume work."

"Ambassador Burton, by his real name Sprayber, requires that you see him immediately upon reassuming your duties."

You must obey; the Splinter was ordered to treat Sprayber as a superior.

Lal nods. "Once I have reestablished my position, I shall contact him. Can you deliver that message?"

"Yes, I can."

Lal rises. "Where are my clothes?" Dorothy, how am I supposed to treat him? Is he my superior?

"In that cupboard."

No, you're both Kappas, but your number is much lower; you're superior. Plus, your splinter was designed to interfere as little as possible with the normal hierarchy of the Peacekeepers .

"Good. Tell the guards to prepare an inconspicuous way out of the hospital for me; meeting members of the media would not be practical at this moment."

"Of course." Ashton leaves.

So far, so good.

Michael, poor Michael! How long has this infiltration been going on?

I don't know. At least five years, I'd guess. The infiltration-rate is basically geometric, but varies in intensity as certain sociological boundaries are reached.

Lal discards the hospital gown and dresses in his own clothes. Let's leave. And when I'm safely back in office, I'm going to... do something horrible to whoever is responsible for this!

Well, ultimately Beta is responsible, but Sprayber is the more immediate foe. Let's do a deal; if you can aid me in tricking Sprayber to reveal how the Consciousness maintains it's presence here, I'll help you deal with both him and everyone else infiltrating your faction.

Lal mumbles through clenched teeth; "It's a deal."


****


"Sir Provost, I have Sister Miriam Godwinson on hold."

Zakharov turns towards the aide. "Really?"

"Yes, sir. It's the standard diplomatic frequency."

Zakharov thinks for a moment, while letting his eyes rest on some workers assembling a nano-laboratory. "I'll talk to her in solar lounge two. Have it cleared and transfer the signal there."

"Very well."

The solar lounges are a combination of market, garden and solarium. They usually occupy two or three of the uppermost floors in any high building, and can be found in numerous factions. Typically, they resemble parks, with a wide variety of terrestrial flora (and occassionally some fauna). Large lamps set in the roof provide the lounges with an illumination of the same type and quality as Sol in some tropical country on earth. Furthermore, the large windows circling the lounge are designed to provide near-Terran coloring to the ground and sky outside. These attempts to recreate earthen environments tend to have beneficial psychological effects on all visitors; Zakharov has theorized that some genetic component in humanity still longs for the Mother Planet. Restaurants and Cafeterias might occassionally rent some space in one of the lounges, but the high rent tends to hinder such ventures.

Zakharov locates a comfortable bench situated in front of a fountain, and signals to the aide to open the link to Miriam. The aide places a small holo-projector on the floor and backs away while it hums to life. Miriam's image appears.

"Blessings upon this meeting, Zakharov."

"Good afternoon, Miriam, and thank you. What can I do for you?"

"Zakharov, in the Council you made certain accusations about Beta. I have decided to investigate the validity of your claims, and would appreciate any information you have."

Zakharov thinks for a while. "Why? If I understand the Believer mentality, Beta should be everything you loathe; I'd assume you want nothing to do with him -or then you'd want to blast away every sign of his presence from planet, validity or not.."

"We think Beta is a problem; you are correct there at least. I have decided to find out what kind, and how much of a problem he actually is. Aki-Zeta Five was truly no follower of the Lord's path, but she was a pure atheist, or materialist -maybe a technologist. Beta, on the other hand... Beta's Consciousness has the signs of a quasi-mystic personality cult. I want to find out how intentional this is, and what kind of threat he might be."

Zakharov is silent while digesting Miriam's words. "I'll see what I can do. I'll have my aides compile a batch of documents with material relevant to your inquiry. I'd estimate it will be ready about a month from now."

"Thank you. And Zakharov; I'd appreciate if you see to it that no-one finds out about my request."

"Naturally. Was there anything else?"

"No... I may contact you again, once I have seen what information you have. Until then, goodbye."

Zakharov nods courteously to Miriam's fading image. Then he turns to the aide. "Get me all the info on current events within the Believers."

"A comprehensive search will take about a day, sir, but I do have one recent bit of rumour: Apparently, they have lost a city."

"To whom? The Pirates?"

"Rumours abound, sir, including that the Progenitors have launched a joint attack on Humanity's most irrational component."

Zakharov dismisses the theory with a disgusted snort. "Find out the truth, if you can, and bring me any other bit of news that you find. I want it before noon tomorrow."

The aide nods and leaves.


****


"EarthCha."

"Planet? You sound strange."

"Wrong, feel we. Wrong. Something."

"Wrong how? What feels wrong."

"Not find out, we. Not want to, we. If try we, More wrong, feel we."

"I don't know how I can help you."

"Find wrong, you. Stop wrong. Else, growth-dream too soon is."

"Very well, I will try. And you could try to prune your animal and plant selves around the wrongness."

"Not prune, can we. Search for wrong. Please. Hurry. Afraid, we. Growth-dream too soon. Too soon..."


End of chapter 82.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 83: Long Live The King


Lal steps through the doors of a small staff's entry and into the government building. A janitor finds himself face-to-face with the leader of his country, and the shock makes him polish the tips of his shoes with the machine he is pushing. Lal merely smiles at him, nods a short greeting and continues past him. Other staff-members, proceeding carefreely through the chores of the day, are similarly startled by his appearance, as he tries to navigate through those parts of the building he is least familiar with.

News tend to spread, and big news spread quickly. As Lal is halfway down a corridor, he sees the captain of his bodyguards approach. The man is carrying the usual neutral face of the professional, but his eyes are restless.

"Commissioner, it is good to have you back. But why did you not use the main entry, or even announce your arrival?"

Lal smiles. "I wanted an inofficial return to office. No doubt, though, it is quickly becoming official. I guess the house is getting alerted to my presence as we speak."

The captain nods. "Indeed. I rushed to find you, before you'd be swamped by minor functionaries, pompous politicians or any more Cultist assassins."

Whoah. What's going on?

"Cultist assassins? I haven't been informed of any evidence pointing to them!"

The captain opens his mouth as if to answer, looks warily around him, opens a door to a closet and motions Lal to enter. Lal does so, and the captain enters as well, closing the door behind him.

"Look, sir, I know about the, uh, the... the splinter. The operation was successful, wasn't it?"

There is a pause. "Yes, the operation was successful."

The captain sighs with relief. "Great! I'm Delta Two Nine Nine myself, sir, so you needn't worry about secrecy with me."

He is supposed to be merged? Very interesting. Please, Lal, find out more.

"I am surprised, captain. How did you become merged with a splinter?"

The captain grins. "You might not know this, sir, since I've kept my private life out of my work, but a year ago my only daughter died." He swallows. "At that time, you had appointed Mr. Burton to minister of domestic affairs, if you recall. I scheduled a meeting with him, and informed of my intention to resign. I wanted to travel somewhere and forget the pain. He made me a counterproposal; he said that with the aid of the cybernetic consciousness I could find aid for the pain, and also be able to do my work more efficiently." He coughs. "He didn't say it immediately, he approached the subject carefully. Before I knew it, I had accepted." A shrug. "The operation was quick, and -and since then, I have known the Consciousness, and have been working to further it's cause." He grins happily. "I'm damned pleased, sir, that you are finally merged. Everything will be so much better now!"

Lal's smile has turned inward, into a contemplative frown. "Yes. No doubt things will improve from now on. But I resent this blundering in the dark forced upon me. Do you know who else is merged?"

"Yes, sir, I've got lists of everyone but the most recent mergers, sir. Those that might concern you are the ministers of defense, health, economy and domestic affairs. Oh, and the security-staff is, in it's entirety, merged. I think Sprayber -that's Mr. Burton, sir- has big plans concerning the security-staff."

"I see. Well, could you lead me via the quietest route possible to my office? I do not wish to have to discuss state affairs with anyone until I am ready."

Wait a minute. What about me? Don't you want to get rid of me first?

"Certainly, sir. Just follow me."

I think, Dorothy, that I will have use of you, where you are, for a while longer. Burton -Sprayber- must have something important on his mind, since he is anxious to see me.

The captain leads Lal to a door with a palmprint scanner. The door opens as soon as the captain places his left hand on the scanner. "This, sir, is the exclusive territory of the security-staff and your own bodyguards. Besides us, no-one usually has any business to these corridors. They are quite extensive, and lead via discreet doors into almost any part of the council building. Down that passage are the ambassadors' quarters."

Oh no! Ask him if they are bugged!

"Have you been spying on the visiting ambassadors?"

"No, sir, we can't. There's only a half-hidden door at one end of the main intersection. Sprayber has been preparing to improve upon that arrangement, and plans have been made to install proper surveillance-equipment into every room. I am sure he will mention them to you. But here, sir, is your office. Or, rather, the wardrobe of your office."

A panel slides aside, and Lal is confronted with a view consisting of a rack full of coathangers, a lonely shoe on the floor, and the back of the wardrobe's door.

"Since how long has this passage been here?"

"It was included in the original construction plans for the building, sir."

"Why wasn't I told?"

"You would have objected. Additionally, the chief of security at the time felt he wanted an alternate approach to your office that would be as secret as possible. That way, the security-staff has an ace to play in case of, for example, a hostage situation".

Lal nods and pushes the door open. The office is empty. He walks to his desk and sits down.

"Thank you, captain. You can go."

That was the most stupid merged person I have ever witnessed. Odd that he had so obvious use of his own emotions. Very strange. I wonder what it means.

Lal opens the commlink to his secretary while ignoring Dorothy. "Anwar, contact ambassador Burton and tell him to come here."

"Sir? You're back! The Ambassador is here with me, sir."

"Oh? Then send him in."

Seconds later, the door to the waiting chamber opens, and Sprayber walks in. He smiles faintly while peering at Lal. "Was the operation a success? How do you feel?"

"I feel fine... Sprayber."

"Good. Good. Then, this is what you will do now, in order of importance. First, open the border to the Usurpers. There's a virtual crowd of Cyborg probes waiting to cross into the other factions here on Zeus."

JACKPOT!

Lal looks perplexed. "How did they end up on Usurper territory in the first place?"

Sprayber grins. "Sweetest bit of negotiating I ever did. Basically, the Usurpers have made a secret alliance with the Consciousness, in which we divide the continent between us. The method of conquest has been limited to probe activity, until anything else might be needed. And the Usurpers have agreed to let us use their bases as staging-points for probe missions into the territory of other factions."

Oh YES! Let him brag all he wants!

"Very impressive. Is there anywhere special these probes will be going from here?"

"We're currently trying to bring down the Hive. We know how to do it, but until now have been unable to keep up an effective stream of fresh probe-teams to their bases. Once the probes move freely across the Usurper-Peacekeeper borders it will only be a matter of time. Also, the Cultist situation is rapidly deteriorating, and I feel that they'll stop searching for merged algorithms once we give them other things to think about, like a war or two. But enough of that; just make sure they can pass undisturbed, all right?"

"Yes." I am slowly beginning to detest this fiend.

"Good. Next, you must declare openly that your recent ...illness... was the result of Cultist machinations. Have their deputation here arrested and interrogated, and tell the Peacecorps to assault Cult of Planet bases. Don't officially declare war until after you've captured the first base."

Lal, what you feel is mild dislike at most, compared to what I am feeling.

"Very well. Anything else?"

"Two things. First, one member of the Cultist deputation is extremely dangerous, and should be captured as soon as possible, and preferably while separated from the other members of the deputation."

"Oh? Who?"

"She has many names. The one she uses currently is Rebecca Kojl; she poses as media-advisor to Cha Dawn. Her true name is Rachel Dorothy Parks, and is known among spy-circles as 'Hubris'."

Little me? How flattering.

"What shall the security-staff accuse her of?"

"Espionage, of course! Though her real crime is incompetence."

WHAT!

Lal smiles faintly. "Oh? How come the harsh judgement?"

"The fool thinks that she can combat the Consciousness by interfering with individuals. She's probably here to 'save' you from the enlightenment of the Consciousness. As I said, she's a fool, and you are today the definite proof of that."

Oh, how he will regret those words.

"Very well. I will see to it. And the last thing?"

"After doing all of this, you will retire and name me your successor."

"Oh? Very well, then. These tasks will take time to carry out. How about meeting me some time the day after tomorrow?"

Sprayber nods. "I'll contact you via Hemet. But don't reveal anything to him; he isn't merged and knows nothing." Then he walks out.

Lal leans back in his chair. Time for you to do your part of the bargain, Dorothy.

First things first; I want out of here. Summon Anwar in here; we'll need him to plan our next step. Thank goodness I can now be sure he's not merged. Then I suggest we all take the 'back' way to the diplomats' quarters. I've got an appointment with myself.


End of chapter 83.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 84: On Ties, the Bank Wins


The U.N. Council Chamber. Any terrestrial diplomat would feel right at home, until he tries to move: The heavier gravity of Chiron would inform him that this is no chamber on earth. Pravin Lal himself directed it's careful reconstruction, for the day when the U.N, in it's original form, is established on Chiron. Until that glorious day the Peacekeepers use it as their seat of government. Pravin Lal steps into the hall through the main doors and watches the assembled politicians. The hall is filled; matters concerning the coming elections are argued.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention!" Lal finds that he is feeling confident, despite the enormity of what he is about to do. Every man and woman turns to him, and someone starts to clap. The hall fills with clapping and cheering.

Lal raises his hands to calm the crowd. "Yes, I am back. There are certain matters I have to see to, so let's save those welcome back -speeches to a more suitable time, and I truly wish such a blessed moment will come someday!" Laughter ripples through the crowd. "Thank you. Then, first things first; guards, could you step over here, please?"

Twenty guards push through the crowd and gather in front of Lal. And in the blink of an eye, ten armed persons appear in the doorway behind Lal and spread out around him. He himself raises his hands again, to calm the startled guards. "I am sorry for this, but it is very necessary. I ask you to lay down your weapons on the ground and kick them towards me; then these men and women by my side will take you to the hospital to have your MMI:s deactivated."

The hall is very silent. Then one of the guards raises his hand. "Sir, I don't have an MMI."

Lal nods at him. "Yes, you do; you just don't know it. You've fallen victim to a black plot. Simply go with these gentlemen; they are armed almost as much for your protection as for theirs."

"Stop! Hold on to your weapons!"

People turn their heads around, and then draw back to leave a path of empty floor between Lal and the speaker; Sprayber.

"Lal, you are not yourself! I recognize these persons; they are Cult of Planet probes! Have they brainwashed you? Is this a coup?"

"Yes, they are probes, yes, this is a coup, but no, I am quite, quite in control of my own mind, no thanks to you. I am not surprised you recongize probes, Burton, or should I call you Sprayber! You yourself are quite well-acquainted with the field, since you've received training from the Spartans in it!" Lal turns to address the rest of the crowd, plus some of the representatives of the holovision whose cameras are gulping the scene and regurgitating it onto holo-projectors all over the Peacekeepers' territories. "Not to mention that you are currently working for the Cyborgs to completely subjugate this fine nation!"

A torrent of excited babble breaks out. Sprayber shouts, "Please, can't someone call the rest of the guards? We need to end this as quickly as possible, so that Lal can be freed of the Cultists' influence!"

"Do not listen to him! He is a traitor, a spy and a pawn of Beta!"

"I am quite willing to take medical tests! They will show that I am not merged!"

Lal's eyes narrow and he lowers his voice to normal. Not that he needs to shout anymore to be heard, reporters with microphones have clustered around him, and some also around Sprayber. Whatever is said is relayed through the loudspeakers for everyone to hear.

"That's quite true. You are not merged; you work for Beta of your own free will. Unfortunately for you, the same doctors can prove me completely free from mind control of any kind. Furthermore, there is the matter of proof. Remember the instructions you gave me this morning?" And Lal smiles the smile of a winner while producing a holodisk. "Ladies and gentlemen, under several years now Sprayber here has actively tricked people into merging with the Consciousness. The security-force of this building, some of you gathered here, and unfortunately Doctor Michael Ashton, my chief neurospecialist, have all become his pawns. And by sabotaging my memory-aide he planned to enable Michael to install an MMI into me, and subsequently merge me with a splinter."

He shakes his head, and motions towards the door. The Cultist deputation, with Dorothy and Paidar in front, enters the hall. "Luckily, there are enemies of the Consciousness, and they came to my rescue. They couldn't prevent the operation, but they did sabotage the merger. So; I now have an MMI. And one meant to store colossal amounts of information, at that. I needed but a small portion of it to record a discussion that this villain and I had this morning, where he tells me of his plans while believing I am merged and under his control."

He walks to the nearest desk, where a minor politician is currently sitting and staring at him, and inserts the disk into a slot. "And now you will all see it. Chairman, channel sixteen on the main projector please!"

The conversation is played out in full, and the image is sharp. Towards the end, the audience becomes increasingly restless, and Sprayber receives some hostile looks. As it ends, he waves his arms.

"Skillful forgery! That is all! Actors, computers, whatever, the result is the same, and masterminded by those Cultists you see! But it is badly exaggerated!" He takes a deep breath and points at Dorothy. "You are behind this! You are the mastermind of this coup, but you will not succeed! Ladies and gentlemen, you should know that Doctor Michael Ashton has been arrested by my order. I interrogated him personally, and I'm sorry to say I used chemicals to do it, but I was in a hurry. Almost too late, in fact. But I do have the recording of it with me, here! Chairman, channel ninety please!"

Once again, a huge, flat hologram flickers to life above the upturned faces of the council. Doctor Ashton's face, enlarged to huge proportions on the screen, appears. He looks sleepy, and his eyes have no focus whatsoever.

"...Come now, doctor, you know you'll feel much better to get it off your chest. We know you did it. We only need the details. Tell us everything, and we'll make everything better."

"...Yes. Tell..."

"Good. Good. Start at the beginning. What have you done?"

"Lal. I made Lal... sick. Sabotaged... memory-aid. Then... while he was in hospital, I ...installed an MMI... With programs... so many programs..."

"What programs?"

"Programs... to control, make him follow orders..."

"Who gave you the MMI and the programs?"

"A Cultist... Kojl, Rebecca Kojl... she hurt me, my mind burned! She said I had to do it... and I had to, I couldn't disobey..."

The scene fades, and chaos erupts.


****


The Chairman buries his face in his hands. He a plump man, apparently in his mid-fifties, with a small bald spot on the top of his head. His brown hair has been combed away from it, giving it the appearance of a bullseye.

"Lal, was it necessary to walz in there and try a coup? Had you come peacefully you'd have resumed business as usual today!"

They are in one of the non-descript meeting rooms of the Council. Besides the Chairman, only four soldiers are present. The regular security has been replaced by military. Some fourty hours have passed.

"Had I tried to gain back my Commissioner's post without seeing to Sprayber, he'd have inspired you all into a rage, and war with the Cult would have been the result, not to mention that he'd have eliminated the only people capable of guarding me from a renewed attempt to merge me."

The Chairman sighs and shakes his head. "Noble of you, but do you realize that it might just cost you your post as Commissioner?"

Lal frowns and leans forward in his chair. "Is it that bad? I thought that he's been proven guilty!"

"Oh, the fact that he disappeard during that awful brawl in the Council Hall, and that no-one's seen him since, is bad enough, but then there's also the reports from the neurocybernetics-ward that three of our ministers have scrambled algorithms in their MMI:s that are sending and receiving signals from critical areas of their brain. Oh, and some of the interrogations of the probe-teams have leaked. Problem is, we don't have enough to convince an impartial judge. Your recording doesn't mention mergers, and not all of the councilmembers are even convinced it is authentic. Thing is, I've overheard most of the discussions since then, and they keep quoting a speech of yours. You know, the one you held at the end of the Data-Angel Probe crisis?"

Lal's eyes unfocus, and he mumbles from memory. "I said that 'I can only lead you while I have your full trust and confidence to back me up. If you ever should lose your trust in me, you should find another leader. I will retire then and there'."

"That's the one." The Chairman scratches his forehead. "There is talk. Tomorrow, someone will suggest that the council should recommend you to retire. The council will probably vote it's approval. And after that, someone will suggest we remove the 'Vice' from the title of the coming elections. Also that suggestion is likely to be supported by a majority. You see? Doubt has entered their minds. There's that damned what if- question." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Lal. Right now you'd actually need a coup in order to remain in power."

Lal is silent for a moment. Then: "No."

"No what?"

"I might use a coup to purge this faction of traitors, but I will not use it to gain back my position as Commissioner." Lal looks sad and tired. "If they suggest I retire, then I'll accept. Tell them I won't suggest who should be the new Commissioner, but I can certainly suggest some people who shouldn't." Now it's his turn to bury his face in his hands. "I never imagined it would end like this! Now what will become of humanity's future? Are we bound for mental servitude, dominated by Beta's algorithms? Will the U.N. now fail, leaving the way open for endless wars?" He looks up. "Who's the most likely successor?"

"Well, there's only one person left with any real chance at the Commissioner's post now that Burton -Sprayber- is out of the game. That's Anwar Hemet. He's received some major backing as of late, and doesn't seem to have been hurt much by the fact that he was your secretary. The other candidates are only playing for strategical gains."

Lal straightens up. "Well, at least Anwar isn't totally unfamiliar with the requirements of a head of state. I feel he might be a good choice. The future may depend on him, then, for I- I will find something else to occupy my time."

And the ex-Commissioner stands up, shakes hands with the Chairman, and leaves active politics for ever.


****


Dorothy gazes somberly at Hemet's image on the holo-projector. "This doesn't feel like victory."

"I know what you mean, miss Kojl. I am saddened that it had to end this way; frankly, I am worried about Lal. What if he doesn't adjust to life outside politics?"

"Oh, he'll adjust. There will be no end of lectures, speeches, honorary dinners, clubs, organizations and political commentaries in store for him. Remember, he's now in many ways more free than he was as Commissioner. Since his word will only stand for his opinion, rather than for the official Peacekeeper opinion, he can talk much more openly about his experiences, and his former rivals."

"Hah, you have a point. Well, I wanted only to thank you once more, and assure you- Every last bit of data that you asked for has been included in that holodisc I sent you. Also included is a commlink code that will open a direct link to my office. Please deliver it to Cha Dawn in person. We need to discuss the Usurper situation."

"I'll give it directly to him; I promise. Well, then... Farewell, and good luck... Commissioner."


End of chapter 84.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 85: Missions Accomplished


Usually, Chiron Preserves aren't divided into smaller compartments. But the Preserve at Dawn of Planet could easily engulf five of any of the other Preserves built on Planet. So it was unique also in consisting of not one, but several sections. The largest, of course, contained Planet's dominating plants and animals; the fungus and the mindworms. The smaller sections held rarer specimens, such as a thriving population of the very rare Orchidea Usurpa, or invader's orchid. It was first discovered, on the anniversary of the Progenitors' landing, by a University explorer in the frigid desert close to the north pole, where it had been safe from any mindworms who'd destroy the plant on sight. It wasn't a real plant; a parasitic mold would latch onto a growth of Xenofungus and force it to produce a plant-like structure, complete with a stunningly beautiful and intricate flower containing nectar. This would attract some of planet's less dangerous flying insects, who'd sate themselves on the fluid and leave coated with a colony of the parasitic spores, ready to seize control of another patch of fungus.

While the flower-construct is beautiful to the human eye, it's aroma is ranked among the most foul ever to assault the human sense of smell. Consequently, the section of the Preserve that houses it is guaranteed to be empty of people, which is why Lord Paidar has chosen it for today's most important meeting. He smiles slightly. "I think we'll hire more freelance operatives in the future; we're able to reduce expenses drastically since a big award-ceremony is out of the question in a situation such as this."

Hubris merely nods. She is busy examining the data-crystal she is holding, so Paidar continues. "That disc contains most of what we know about Chiron, it's flora and it's fauna. Matters of security required us to leave select parts out."

Hubris shrugs. "No matter. Morgan Industries can hardly have advanced this far already; this latest fashion of studying Chiron from a biological, naturalistic point of view has only been around for a couple of years." She turns the crystal over a couple of times, inspecting every surface of it. Then she notes the increasing silence and looks up. Paidar has turned a very interesting shade of white. "What's the matter?"

"You- you- Morgan Industries?!"

"Yes?"

"They want Chirontech?"

"Oh, yes. At a very good price too, I understand. Though that's not why I agreed to this. Suffice to say, I am doing a favour for a friend, and in return he will help me. That is, if he still remembers our agreement. It's been a year and a half." Hubris looks again at Paidar, whose usual poker-face is threatening to dissolve. "Is there a problem with Morgan getting this tech?"

"Problem? Problem? By Planet, no. I'm just... surprised, that's all. Those unholy polluters and rapers of Chiron, ready to pay for Chirontech. What is happening on Planet nowadays?"

"Chaos and uncertainty, Paidar. Oh, and a good deal of warring. Not a time to be ignorant about anything."

"I see your point. Uh... so, Nwabudike Morgan asked you to, eh, infiltrate us?"

"Him? No. I'm acting on behalf of myself, really, but was sent here to fulfill my part of a deal with a major Morganite corporation. Nwabudike has nothing more than his standard, by law required, eleven percent of their shares, so his influence is minimal. I won't deal with him, as I don't trust him. Of course, I have little doubt that Morgan will get his hands on this information; as a major shareholder, he is entitled to it."

"Oh." Paidar is silent for a moment before extending his hand. "It's been... an experience getting to know you, Hubris. Next time you visit us, please do drop by the palace. Where you'll be able to explain the reason of your visit, file a detailed travel-plan, be checked for possible illegal items on your person which you can pick up when you leave, and be assigned a team of escorts."

Hubris grabs his hand with a smile. "I'll be sure to do that, next time I have official business here." Then she leaves.


****


Paidar waits for a while before leaving the preserve. Then he stalks the palace until he finds Lord Ferrel. Cha Dawn's political advisor is going through some paperwork, but he looks up and smiles as Paidar enters the room.

"Paidar! How are you? Did you meet with Hubris already?"

Paidar nods gravely, and sits down on a chair by Ferrel's desk. He plays nervously with the folds of his robe before answering. "Ferrel, that data is going to the Morganites."

"Really?" Ferrel raises an eyebrow. "Excellent."

"Ferrel, they wrote the book on propaganda! We've practically copied their manual, page for page! Don't you think they'll spot and reject the -uh- biasing we introduced into those tech readouts?"

"Did Hubris say she worked for Nwabudike Morgan himself?"

"No. For a corporation."

"Then there's little need to worry. The VIP:s of the corporation will probably notice the propaganda, but won't do anything about it. Why bother, after all? And even cancelling that out, the facts themselves might be enough to inspire a more friendly approach to harvesting Planet's riches. And knowing Morganite practice, they'll sell the tech to whoever can afford the price they set. And sooner or later, the man on the street will see the reports. Maybe due to some Data-Angel operative, or maybe some corporation decides to dump the data to prevent any further profit by whoever hired Hubris." He nods to himself. "You'll see, Paidar. Some of our pro-Chiron propaganda will reach the general populace. Since the facts present a rather interesting picture about how to best live and prosper on Chiron, it will have an effect. I said it is fortunate the data will go to Morgan Industries, because the large mass of the population, i.e. all those not in a position of power, has been trained to be very responsive to propaganda. All those clever commercials, subliminal messages, that reverse psychology... in short, the Morganites have been brainwashed to be susceptible to brainwash. All the better for our intentions then, isn't it?"

Paidar nods, first slowly and then with increasing vigour. "You're right. You are right! By Planet, this is a great day indeed."

"Indeed." Ferrel pouts his lower lip. "While you are here, how is the council of war coming along?"

"The invitations to the other factions are out, but we just received a similar invitation from the Peacekeeper. This is promising, but it means we'll need to negotiate with them about where to actually hold the meeting. Two councils would be stupid. All things considered, I expect we'll discuss the punishment of the Usurpers in less than a month. Any sooner would endanger the secrecy needed, and any longer would cause the Spartans to launch a private crusade against the Usurpers, dissolving the effect of a combined assault. They're eager to be the first at the watering hole, so to speak. I had to be most persuasive to stop Santiago from immediately launching an attack."

"As expected. Thank you. Was there anything else you wanted?"

"No. See you at Cha's council."


End of Chapter 85.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 86: Crossing the Same River Twice


One might ask, in this age of zero-friction windows and buildings whose outer surfaces have been mirror-smoothed on a molecular level, how exactly does that lonely figure of a human cling to a featureless wall over sixty stories up? Well, since this is Chiron, and Morgan Industries to be exact, the first thing any witness to the feat would ask is 'how does she avoid nitrogen poisoning?' To that, however, there are publicly known answers, like those fancy, genetically engineered fungi that the Gaians carry in their lungs, or like the Hive Army's genetically engineered brutes.

Only a person with a very high security-rating, or with more knowledge than what is good for an average citizen, would be able to answer the former question and state in a know-it-all way, 'she's probably using resonant adhesive fields to anchor herself to the surface. That way, even a roof could serve as a floor to her, provided she knows the resonant frequencies'. Not that there's anyone able to ask this question, since spotting her without special equipment is next to impossible.

With this kind of savvy cutting-edge stealth-technique at your disposal, it's always something of an anticlimax to see a window slide open and a friendly face look down at you.

Jim smiles and shakes his head. "Girl, why can't you use the front door like normal people? Since my security detected you, they've been admiring your progress these last thirty floors. Always remember that I use one-way windows, and of the nice polarizing version that foils most active camouflage, before you contemplate climbing one of my buildings; even if you can't look in, someone might be looking out at you."

Hubris/Dorothy sits down on the wall, with her back facing straight down, and crosses her legs. She tilts her head slightly and peers at Jim. "And how are you, you ancient pirate?"

"As good as I've always been, these last hundred years. Occassionally I get a slight bite by the post-cryonic degenerative syndrome, but that's nothing for the ol' reliable 'juve'-tanks." He holds out a hand. "I'm having a party to celebrate some deal or other I signed earlier today, can't remember the details through all this alcohol, and you're making me neglect my duties as host. Why not come on in and join the party? I need to close this window so those not able to breathe Chiron's atmosphere can use this floor."

Dorothy glances down at her chameleon suit. "There's no room for fancy dresses under all this equipment."

Jim plays crestfallen. "So all those female spy -movies have been wrong all this time? What is a man to do?" He grins. "You're in luck. Just copy this mirror-smooth wall-texture right here for your suit, and you'll blend right in with these other chrome-fans."

Dorothy does as suggested. While the camo-suit starts showing a reflection of the surroundings, distorted by the shape of her body, she frowns. "No suits? What kind of deal are you celebrating?"

"I told you, my short-term memory is blasted by this here vodka. Good shtuff! Wait, I do remember something!" He glances incredulously at the bottle he is flourishing. "Am I building up resistance to this stuff? Anyways, it's some group of singers -or was it players- who have agreed to endorse a brand-group I am creating in one of my companies."

"Oh? What brand-group?"

"It's... it's... just on the tip of my tongue... anyways, it's going to include shtuff like holoprojectors withth built-in commm-blinks... or wash it the other way around?"

Dorothy smiles slightly, while easing herself through the window. "You must have signed a good deal, the way you are partying." Despite Jim's claims, there's no apparent signs of a party going on, apart from a rythmic pulse that seems to sway the entire building and that, once you have felt it, you just know is emanating from the most outrageously oversized loudspeakers in existence.

"Well, shure, I shust sringk sat- Aww blarst, hwait a hminute." Jim fumbles in his trouser pocket, brings up a small capsule and swallows it. In two seconds, the old seafarer seems to become totally sober. "These darn detox-chems give me a headache, but hey; we have business to discuss and, frankly, being that drunk isn't fun for long. What was I saying before I interrupted? Ah, yes. Actually, the party is part of the endorsement contract. I put my bars and nightclubs at their disposal, pay all their expenses while the commercials get recorded, and pay them a minuscule amount of credits each time said holomercials are aired. Oh, yes. the band's name is 'Chromatic Gray'. Beats me why, since they insist on wearing more colours than the sky as Alpha is setting. Well, except for the singer and star of the band; he likes to wear mirrors if you get my meaning. Damned vain bunch of kids, but they've got the public in their pockets, and as long as they are in my pockets they equal huge profits. Come on, I need to get down there; they're probably screaming another ludicrous demand right now. They know how to spend, I can tell you that."

He leads her to an elevator, and pushes the button for the top floor. By the time they are ten floors away from their destination, the rythmic boom is strong enough to rattle the elevator's walls, and several accompanying beats can also be heard -or felt. As the elevator slides to a halt and the doors slide open, the full force of this 'music' manifests; focusing your eyes in this noise is difficult, as your eyeballs keep vibrating in sympathy to the rampant shockwaves that pass for sound as the band does it's best on the stage of this huge penthouse ballroom. Dorothy does the only sensible thing.

Why are they playing so loud? I can hardly hear you think!

I don't know; you'd have to ask one of their therapists. They've got five. He peers in the direction of the stage, while trying to prevent his eyeballs from rattling out of their sockets. Well, they seem to be content for the moment; the barrels of soda they demanded has arrived. Let's go to my library.

Jim leads her, like a large, bearded ice-breaker, through the crowds and past some guards blocking the way to a corridor. He walks up to the second door on the right, punches in a code into the keypad next to it, and steps into the room beyond as the door opens. Dorothy follows, and for the first time in a very long while she is struck speechless by what she sees.

Jim Sturlasson's personal library is no mere electronic data-storage; it contains actual books, in a perfect model of a terran library from the victorian era. The only inconsistency in the otherwise perfect picture are the motorized platforms that replace the ladders. Here, in humanity's center for vanity, fast-changing fashions and money, Jim has created something that seems ageless. The dust-covered shelves seem to radiate age.

One other thing catches Dorothy's attention; despite the party raging at near-carastrophic volume on the same floor, in here a total silence reigns.

Jim seems to read her thoughts. "Progenitor technology. Audio-dampers based on resonance principles are embedded into the floor, walls and ceiling of this room. The same technology also prevents any and all kinds of remote eavesdropping." He sits down at a desk, rummages through a pile of books and pulls out a battered volume. "Maybe I shouldn't treat this so carelessly", he says, "as it is one of my truly priceless possessions. '1984', written by one George Orwell. This copy was printed that very year. It has shown me valuable examples of paranoia, and I have been careful to learn." He puts the book carefully on top of a precipitous pile of other, equally mistreated books. His gaze is somber as he studies Dorothy.

"My dear Dorothy. I hope you have seen better times, this past year and a half, than Morgan Industries. Even old Nwabudike, whom I have known as a ruthless man since the first time I met him in a small town on the Ivory Coast, seems to have given up. He's quitting while he's not losing. Too weak to face Beta."

Dorothy's face becomes serious. "Has he tried to negotiate?"

"Don't underestimate his observational talent; he knows there's not a microgram of honesty to be found in that electronic madman. No; he's trying to become harmless. Almost all of his power has been delegated to functionaries. Functionaries, in fact, who after a careful screening issued by him, were all determined as merged with sleepers or actives. Do you understand? He specifically sought out Beta's allies, and handed them the keys to Morgan Industries. He's chosen to become a figurehead. When they don't need him for a media-appearance to assure the masses he's still in charge, he's hiding out in Morgan Cybernetics, guarded by what trustworthy element remains of the elite divisions."

"How do you cope?"

"Sometimes, I don't. The military has begun to interfere with my businesses. Remember Captain Milos Ontor? He's a four-star general now. Oh, and has added Sigma to his name. In bloody public! It's that bad!" He sweeps his arm in the general direction of the ballroom. "Those kids, out there... they've got a manager. Oiliest person I have ever seen... I've been careful not to move any open flames close to him. Well, he paved the way to their stardom. One little sub-clause in the contract was, that they'd have to perform a certain song, that he'd specify, at every major tour. Including this one. It's name is 'Cybernetic Rapture'. I'm telling you, the tale of Morgan Industries might be drawing to a close."

Dorothy is silent for a while. Then: "How long has the Consciousness been mainstream?"

"Since soon after you left."

"Then it's six terran months overdue of being replaced, according to current marketing theories."

Jim spreads his arms wide. "Replaced by what?! There's no alternatives! They're in control of the broadcasting stations, so there's no way a competing political force is going to receive air-time. In fact, I'm surprised Beta hasn't ordered Ontor to stage a coup already."

"Doing so would cause a reaction from other factions. Remember, he's trying to conquer the world. If Morgan Industries falls, the other factions would be swift to outlaw MMI:s to ensure their survival. We'd see a massive amount of surgical operations to remove or disable all kinds of neurally grafted devices. Even the University would do this, I believe, though it would pain Zakharov greatly." Dorothy sighs. "I gather you have no need of Chirontech anymore?"

"I never said that. Let's see what you have."

She gives him a crystalline disk, which he inserts into a slot on the desk. The surface of the desk, which until now has seemed a solid slab of marble, splits in half and slides apart to reveal a keyboard and a holoprojector. Jim's fingers dance over the keys for a while. Then the holo-projector springs to life. While Jim is not as fast a reader as Zakharov, it doesn't take him long to skim through the material. He leans back, and starts scrutinizing the pages with more care.

"Interesting. Very interesting." He looks at Dorothy. "Have you read this?"

She nods. "Yes. There's a few things there that were new to me, but I knew most of it before. Just not how to prove it scientifically. Very careful work, these Cultists have done."

"Good. The fact that you can affirm the validity of these statements is important. You see, this is what I need. Here is material to present as an alternative to the Cybernetic Consciousness." Jim smiles. "Let's see how long it lasts when it's up against the Planetary Consciousness!"

"You mean Planetmind?"

"Sure. But that name can't steal the Cyborgs' trademark."

"Jim, the Cult has tried to sell the idea of Chiron-Gaia to Morgan Industries ever since they established contact. Are you going to wave a magic wand to make it all seem appealing all of a sudden?"

He snorts. "All of that time the Morganites were able to gaze at their own faction, and be fooled into thinking that what life of any importance there was on Planet had been placed there by Man. Since they now feel insecure, unimportant and betrayed as the government stagnates -all carefully according to Beta's plan, I'm sure- they seek another ideal on which to rest their sense of security. And the Consciousness is being offered to them through every possible media. We shall introduce an alternative, and one that they are predisposed to choose since they now think exploitation of Planet is a bad tactic."

"And, since the media is under Cyborg control, how will you spread this?"

"That's the best part. Once I have given it an initial boost, it will spread by itself. As soon as this new cult pops into existence, it and it's teachings will be declared illegal by the Consciousness -driven court and media. But the Cyborgs are methodical. In order to enable the average citizen to stay away from this 'bad influence', they'll carefully explain to them what it's all about." He grins. "Instant, faction-wide coverage! And people will flock to the Cult, simply because the Cyborgs don't want them to!"

Dorothy isn't as enthusiastic. "You realize that by sending cybernetic mind-control and quasi-religious, quasi-scientific environmental fanaticism into a collision-course, you are most likely causing a civil war?"

Jim dismisses her statement with a grimace and a wave. "Better half a faction that survives than no faction at all, I say!"

"And what about me? Will you give me the assistance we agreed upon?"

"Naturally. Once I have decided to cross the Rubicon, I will do it in every conceivable way."


End of Chapter 86.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 87: Illegal Emigrants


Dorothy leans back. She's sitting at the controls of a quantum resonance-microscope. Small parts of the human brain are displayed by the three holoprojectors in front of her. Lewis sits at her side, his attention caught by one of the projections. Dorothy lays a hand on his shoulder.

"I need to talk to Zakharov, dad. I'll be right back."

Lewis nods. "All right. Why not give a progress-report to him while you're there?"

"Sure, though I think we'll be reassigned once he hears what I have to say."

Lewis swivels his chair around to face Dorothy. "What's the matter? Have you seen an impassable obstacle to this?" He waves towards the projections. "Please, tell me."

"No, I think this might work. But I know Zakharov, and I think he'll consider this project too unimportant to warrant us being assigned to it any longer."

"What could be more important than finding a way to remove splinters of the Consciousness from a person?"

"Finding an even better way. One that doesn't require major reconstruction of the person's neural pathways and personality."

Lewis sighs. "The only way to do that seems to be by acquiring the authentic Cybernetic deconstruction-codes, that will trigger an automatic decoupling of splinter and mind." Then he squints at Dorothy. "Are you saying you know how to do that?"

"Well no, I don't have a step-by-step plan. But I now have the resources to construct one. By planet, I have enough resources to storm into Consciousness territory and improvise, though I doubt that would be very successful. I still don't know where Aki Zeta-Five is. But now I have the means to find her."

A sigh. "The time for caution, study and questions is past, eh? Very well. I'll follow you to Zakharov."


****


"Well?"

Jim removes the cigar he's been chewing and looks up at Edgecrusher.

"Well what?"

"Sir, is the public as receptive to this Chiron-data as you projected?"

"It's slightly too early to tell, Edge. Why are you so curious?"

"It's my job to think ahead, sir. You are paying me to spot the potentially hostile encounters, and preferrably before they occur. Well, if this data is traced back to you then General Ontor will knock on your front door with a hovertank."

"Yes, I realize that. I have taken steps."

"I'm not so sure you could cover your trail that well."

"Edge, I know that. I'm not trying to erase my trail, I'm trying to achieve maximum coverage for this data before I'm forced to leave Morgan Industries. Virtually all of my corporate assets have been either sold or moved abroad, until only the skeleton of an organization has remained. Haven't you noticed that there's virtually no personnel left? Oh, there's the chefs, bartenders, cleaners and caterers looking after Chromatic Gray, but that's about it. I'm actually planning to have that idiot general bomb the guts out of this building and then storm it, only to find the Consciousness' greatest stars among the rubble, alive with any luck and most hopefully so angry that they'll vent some of their newfound anti-cyborg feelings in public. You know that Ontor is a populist, don't you? Guess what such a scandal would cause him."

Edgecrusher is silent for a moment. "Sir, none of this requires that we remain here a minute longer, does it?"

"No." Jim rises. "I like Morgan Industries, and am saddened by the thought of having to leave it, possibly for good. So I've been stalling."

He stretches. "But if you're nervous, then it's probably time to go. Everything's prepared; there's a 'copter on the roof that will take us to the airport, and no-one will realize I am gone until we've already left Morganite territory. Come."

"Sir, where are we going?"

"To the University. I've tired of being a CEO for the moment; it's time to go adventuring again." He turns to look at Edgecrusher. "Edge, your contract specifies that you are a corporate bodyguard. You are not bound by it anymore. Of course, I'd be happy to negotiate a new contract..." He leaves the question hanging.

Edgecrusher thinks for a while. "What would this mean?"

"Well, you'd be a mercenary bodyguard. Since we'd soon enough end up being illegally in a hostile country, there'd be no restrictions on weapons, no regulations, no company policy, no guarantees and no insurance."

Edgecrusher grins. "And on top of all this I'd still get paid, right?"


****


Zakharov rises. "Ah, Dorothy. And Lewis. I've been expecting you. You've come to discuss, um, some scenarios?"

"Indeed. I gather you have read the files I delivered you?"

"Oh, yes. Very interesting reading; it's been sent to the media research-department for de-biasing." He motions to the Parks to sit down.

"Methis and I have been collecting data from various sources, compiling it and evaluating it. Your report was among the data I weighed as I decided, this morning, that it's time to launch another covert operation into Consciousness territory. The probe-teams are being briefed, equipped and transported to the border as we speak."

Dorothy is still for a moment. "Why?"

"There's been some extremely unusual activity along the Cyborg borders lately, Dorothy. Plus, Miriam has decided to act against the Cyborgs, and though she states doctrinal conflicts as the only reason, there's probably an even better. My guess, it has something to do with that base they lost." He cracks his knuckles. "Oh, and I always welcome the slightest excuse to cause the Consciousness some trouble. I've been hoarding algorithmically enhanced viruses for this very occasion."


****


This is ground control to alpha squad. Do you copy?

Alpha leader here. Over.

Alpha leader, break your current mission and standby for new instructions.

Alpha flight, abort and form up behind me. Ground control, I am standing by for instructions.

Transmitting new orders now. Please confirm orders.

Orders state, pursue civilian aircraft MA-014521 and forcibly escort it to the nearest Morganite airport. If civilian aircraft refuses to comply, we are authorized to fire at will.

Orders confirmed. You should have the frequency of the flight-beacon of MA-014521. Proceed.

****


The dopplering wail of another set of jet-engines besides the plane's own causes Jim and Edgecrusher to jump. Jim slams a button on his table, linking the table comm-system to the cockpit. "What the mindworm's teeth was that?"

"Sir, it was a Morgan Needlejet, sir! We are being hailed by the air-traffic control at Morgan Processing. Should I reply?"

"How far are we from University borders?"

"Two minutes, sir."

"Then put the message on the main speakers. Don't reply in any way."

...ering you to break from your course immediately and follow the needlejet escort. Failure to do so will authorize the jets to open fire. I repeat, this is Morgan Processing airport, we are ordering you to break...

Jim pushes the 'transmit'-button. "Morgan Processing, could you repeat your message? You are breaking up at this end. Did you say we are to break course and immediately open fire on the needlejets?" He plays with the frequency-intensity. "I repeat, you are breaking up at this end. We are experienceing severe electromagnetic disturbances. Please readjust your frequency and retransmit messages."

Edgecrusher smiles as Jim releases the transmit-button. "How long do you think they'll need to figure that out?"

"Not nearly long enough; they're in perfect contact with the jets. But I'm hoping it will delay them long enough to force the jets to break off; they must avoid straying into University airspace."


****


"Couldn't you have waited until I am ready, so I could participate?"

"No. Sorry. Dorothy, I can't wait anymore. I had to create a demilitarized zone between us and the Consciousness, and subverting a couple of bases is perfect for that. Plus, Beta is installing a network of peculiar-looking sensor posts, and I'm worried it might be the foundation of a network-expansion of the consciousness into our territories. Real-time contact between the Cyborgs and our population would triple the danger of the sleeper-algorithms. Do you realize how likely they are to attempt a coup these days? As of the latest reports, I'd estimate that nine point four percent of the University's population carries an algorithm, most likely a sleeper. The C-I has done it's best to halt the increase, but the number still grows -be it ever so slowly nowadays. But it doesn't matter anymore. The different between nine point four, ten and thirty per cent is merely the percentage likelyhood of a well-staged, population-driven coup succeeding. Currently, Methis calculates our chances of being successfully overthrown by tomorrow at fifteen per cent. Once the total number of merged reaches ten percent of the population, that's a fifty-fifty chance. If we have underestimated the flexibility of the Consciousness, the chance might be higher. Also, I'd estimate that the Consciousness, since they're allied with the Usurpers, are the de-facto technological leaders on Chiron. I must find out how big an advantage they have."

An awkward silence descends, until Dorothy stirs. "Well, can I rely upon University support once I am ready to start my own probe-expedition?"

"Naturally. I've prepared to have all the resources of Methis dedicated to your efforts once you begin. She -or it- is being built a specially modified combat/communications -chassis for the occasion. I hope you will forgive my initiative in this case, as I felt that some head start on design could give you that extra advantage. Also, the arms-labs are saving some of their most promising prototypes for you to choose from. Oh, and though I know that most of my probes are unavailable right now, I've compiled a list of those still available that you may choose from to accompany you, or support your efforts in any other way."

Dorothy graciously accepts the data-crystal before she speaks. "Zakharov, I do have thought out the core of the team that I'd like to take on this mission. I need to contact them yet, to ascertain their availability, but I must explain to you that very few of them hail from the University."

Zakharov leans back in his chair. "Yes, I am familiar with your choice of team-members. I certainly do not have any fancies regarding the talent of my probes, when compared interfactionally. I understand you have excellent contacts to probes in many factions, the Data-Angels and the Free Drones to name two. Though I am still curious.... Why?"

"Because I only work with people whom I trust completely, and who know as much about me as possible. That way, I won't have to worry about secrecy. Remember how you lectured to me about how I had, and I quote, 'used technology on myself that should be kept absolutely secret for as long as conceivably possible'? Well, it's not that secret anymore; I know for a fact that Beta knows what I have achieved, though not how I did it. But still; I'm keeping it as secret as I can. And that means I work only with people who know me."

Zakharov nods. "Might I know who you are thinking of inviting?"

"Well, there's Laysa and Balbo Orlov and their team of probes. Jim has said he'd help me, but I don't know if he has the time to join personally. There's some good people in the Cult of Planet that I'd like to extend an invitation to; Cha and his lords would probably be relieved to see them go. Finding Merlin, a Data-angel psi-probe, would be a stroke of luck, but knowing him I doubt he'd respond to any such call. I might try asking Planet, though."

At this, Zakharov raises his eybrows. "You never told me you could communicate with Planet!"

"Um, I haven't actually tried to contact Planet. It's been talking to me, certainly, and the Cultist data includes all the necessary information on how to call for it's attention, so it's an option I might try."

"Oh. Uh, did you say you still haven't invited Jim Sturlasson?"

"No, I haven't."

"Um... then it's just a coincidence that he's about to cross our borders right now? Those morgan needlejets don't sound like an honorary escort, either..."


****


There's a throbbing sound. On top of it, as if it was merely modulations of the basic sound, was a very loud voice relying a message.

This is captain Kirwa Delta-Sixteen of Alpha Squadron, Morgan Airforce. You are ordered to change your course immediately or we will be forced to shoot you down.

Jim removes his hands from his ears. They haven't helped. "Harmonic projection. They want to make sure we're listening."

Edgecrusher peers at him nervously. "Well, what now?"

The old pirate again activates the commlink to the cockpit. "Pilot, how far are we from University territory?"

"Sir, we've been in UoP airspace these last thirty seconds."

"Are the needlejets disengaging?"

"No, sir, they- Look out!"

A dull thump, together with some alarming groans from the ship's hull, herald an explosion outside.

"Sir, they just exploded a missile approximately fifty meters away from us."

Captain Kirwa here again. You have thirty seconds to change course, or else we blast you to pieces.

Jim nibbles on his lower lip. Then he sighs, and contacts the pilot.

"Set course for Morgan Proces-" Another set of jets transmit their mechanical keen into the plane. "What was that?"

"Sir, it's University needlejets!"

Once more, the very air vibrates with a voice. Morgan needlejets, you are using University airspace without permission. Immediately set course for Morganite airspace, or we are forced to treat you as hostiles. Morganite civilian jet MA-014521, you are on an unauthorized flight-path. State your destination.

Jim virtually bounces up and down in his seat. "They're disengaging! We're safe!" He rams the comm-links again. "This is MA-014521 to University jets. Our destination is University Central."

This time, the comm-link also relays the response. "Copy that, MA-014521. Stand by." There's a short pause before the speaker resumes. "You are assigned to special airpath two; here are the vectors. Do not stray from your course."

"Understood. And, sir, may I ask how you arrived so fast?"

"You've been observed these last ten minutes. I'm authorized to inform you that the mayor of University Central cancelled our routine patrol some three minutes ago to intercept you."

Jim closes the links and looks at Edgecrusher. He is visibly relieved. "How stupid of me not to inform the University that we were coming. I hadn't counted on this plane being tracked."

"I guess they didn't like the thought of seeing you leave, sir."

Jim chuckles. "Darn, I guess I forgot there's no such thing as emigrating from the Consciousness."


End of chapter 87.

[Raging Mouse]

Chapter 88: Lobotomy


A room, so crammed with electronics that it seems the pulsating heart of some technological monster. A lonely figure, standing in front of a screen. An arm moving, a hand unfolding, a finger extending.

It presses a button.


****


In a desolate patch of xenofungus, a woman awakes. Or, at least, she opens her eyes. Her face becomes a mask of terror, and she opens her mouth as if to scream.

She is not alone; a man by a boiling pot of food glances at her direction for a moment. Then he half runs, half leaps over to her side, incidentally tipping over his food in the process. He grabs her shoulders and shakes her gently.

"Lisa? What's the matter? Lisa!"

All around her, her mindworm-brood is writhing as if in pain.

"Lisa!"


****


"Sir, this is an image taken from astroponica. It's almost directly above Cyborg territory."

Zakharov takes the datapad the functionary is offering, and inspects it almost with a hint of suspicion, as if he's willing to disbelieve the evidence of those stellar eyes.

"Amazing. Simply amazing! How sharp is that boundary?" He points at a detail in the picture, and the functionary leans in to get a better look.

"I think I have a zoom of that somewhere." He lets Zakharov hold the pad while he cycles through it's recorded images. "Yes, this is it. Smallest details are ten centimeters across."

Zakharov gasps. "A virtual knife-edge! Inside, nothing. Outside..."

The functionary nods and gulps. "That. Masses. Enormous masses. We took a radar-sounding and compared it with a previous image for depth, sir, and it was over fifty meters at some points. And it's grown since then."

Zakharov hands the pad back to the functionary. "I want to know the minute a change occurs. This includes any signs of a decrease in growth." He nods at another functionary. "Have you been able to analyze the wave?"

"Partly, sir Provost. It's electromagnetic, with a very complex waveform. We compared it with the database and found it most closely resembles the microstatic fields generated by Planet's indigenous lifeforms." The functionary waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the cyborgs. "I don't think we need to change that theory, sir. It's pretty obvious it's driving every piece of indigenous life within it's range nuts."

Zakharov shakes his head. "Not nuts. Out. Beta has invented and deployed a simple electromagnetic field, and enhanced it with Progenitor resonance technology, that somehow repels all mindworms and xenofungus. Of course, Planet's biosphere acts in many ways as a single entity, as manifested by Planetmind, and it resents this. It tries to fight back. It's like- like- " He motions wildly. "Like beta has cut a wound into Planet, and it is feverishly trying to heal itself by focusing all it's energy on growth. Thank you, return to your post."

He signals to a third person to approach. "Dana, what can you tell me?"

Dana Terchenko approaches with a measured step and bearing almost exaggeratingly careful not to show emotions. She is one of Univerity's most talented telempaths. "Planetmind is not currently detectable within the University. This is not too unusual, as it can be relocated and focused at will. Not until several days have passed might we assess the true impact this has had; my guess is we might compare it to lobotomy. As Planet's memory is somewhat tied to the relevant location, it is reasonable to expect that it has lost most information about the Cybernetic consciousness. This is bad news, as Planet will hence consider the Cyborgs an unknown threat and react with according hostility. Even though it's memories concerning us and thus our lower threat-level probably remain, some of the activity might spill over on us."

"Spill over! What an understatement! There's a virtual wall of xenofungus along our border with the Cyborgs! We're tracking so many mindworm broods that we're swamped in alarms! Not to mention that some of our bases are uncomfortably close to that thing..."

"Yes, I know this. With spillover, sir, I mean the fact that there's a truly staggering increase of psionics near the wall. I estimate a surface-strength of three, four Keldharts. Peaks up to nine. As soon as a burst occurs near one of the closest bases, you'll have civil unrest on your hands. And that's not all." She takes a deep breath. "Our measuring stations for global neural activity can measure up to three Keldharts. Well, the very second this field activated they all went offline. Every single one recorded a spike strong enough to damage the equipment. Basically, half the globe has been blasted with the mental equivalent of a neural whip at low settings."

Zakharov looks perplexed and rubs his forehead. Dana anticipates the next question. "Remember, Provost, that your quarters are psi-shielded. You requested it yourself."

"Oh, yes. I forgot. Um, how badly affected is the rest of the population?"

"Not too badly. Since most were asleep, they merely awoke with a jolt, possibly some fleeting images of xenofungus. Those who were awake report experiencing migraines, fainting and vertigo. Your population isn't very sensitive to Planet, sir." Zakharov can't tell if that was praise or scorn. She continues, for the first time showing sadness. "However, those who are sensitive have... suffered. Nightmares, pain, hallucinations, and so on. Several of your mindworm broods have died, along with their keepers. We're still trying to assemble the whole picture, sir."

"Well, this will do for now. Thank you, Dana. Sebastian?"

Commander Steiner nods. "Sir?"

"Our probes... How are they?"

"Five teams have reported back. We're still waiting to hear from the rest. As far as I know, they were all well inside the, ah, field when it activated. The probes didn't report any personal impact of this activation, so I gather that any psionic pulse generated by it's activation only manifested outside it's range. They are all still heading towards their assigned targets, sir. There is one other thing, though."

"What's that?"

"These five teams were the ones that didn't include a psi-probe. The other seven were almost all psi-probes. So I'm slightly worried about any effects this field itself might have on human psionics, sir. After all, the Cyborgs are all apparently non-psionic, for some reason, so they wouldn't worry about this."


****


This self, who?

"Planet? Is that you?"

Planet. Planet we. Planet why?

"Because you are the planet. I've told you how we perceive your parts. Don't you remember?"

Afraid we. Remember not we. Remember we self Cha now. EarthCha. Cha! Wrong. Wrong something. Poems lost. Forgotten. New feeling. Not fear. Similar. Like dying brood. Like drowning Locust.

"Pain? Are you hurt? Planet, what is happening! I felt pain when you contacted me! You have never hurt me before!"

Pain feel we? Make pain vanish Cha. Not dream you we, Cha. Talking we how, Cha, if dream of Cha not we? Wait. Distant dream of seeborg we. Of Conscience. Pain is dream lost.

"What are you saying? Have you lost your memories about the Cyborgs? The Cybernetic Consciousness? What have they done to you?"

Cybernetic. Yes. Cha, pain! Fear! Please! Weak we, now. Sleep we. Cannot sleep we! Pain/memories awake!

"Planet, please listen. I don't know if you are capable of doing this, but pull away from the painful memories. If they hurt you, let go of them. Don't remember; forget completely. Stay away. But please, don't dream the growth-dream yet."

....

"Planet?"

Hurt we not now. Thank you, Cha. Dream of regrowth, we will. Dream of dancing locust and sated larvae. Of growth, yes. Growth-dream no. Not yet. Almost. Much sooner now...


End of chapter 88.