posted 02-03-99 07:27 PM ET            

Legoean looked onto the endless mounds of scenery around him. The glory one was even having a little trouble. He continued to go ahead though, He believed that he could solve the mystery of the raiders. The question that has puzzled him for a long time. He was not just going to wait around in the Hand of God outpost and wait for the raiders when they felt like attacking. He wanted answers now.

The rover slowed down when he reached the former Raider camp. Legoean felt odd about the whole experience of returning to a place when he saw solders die in front of him. Now all that he had to live for it was the destruction of a small base. He knew in his heart that it might not even be the right base. He could have killed helpless civilians trying to save their families life by fighting.

posted 02-03-99 08:22 PM ET            

Albanese pulled up at Canaltown, a small encampment consisting of several self-contained tents, a portable utilities core, an extra lab car from an exploratrain, and a lot of scattered equipment. Currently some fourteen engineers and scientists inhabited the tent town. Tony exited the rover and called out on the common band: "Hello, anyone here?"

"Howya doin', bunky?" came the reply from Sidney Markum, the PKs leading archeaologist, who stepped out from behind a storage container.

Albanese waved. "Doin' great, Sid. Any progress?"

"None. Most of the crew is down at the nearest lock. Wanta go?"

"Do I ever!"

Markum climbed into the rover's passenger seat and the two Pennsylvanians [Markum a Pittsburghian, Albanese a Philadelphian] drove down to lock number four.

There Albanese encounter alien technology for the first time in his life. He stared in awe at the dark, engimatic, obsidian-like material from which the locks were made [little did he now that thousands of kilometers away, Sara Croft was doing the same at her obelisk.]

"No clues as to how to make this work?" Albanese asked.

"We've yet to find any obvious controls, even though there are glyphs all over the place. We have a couple of things we want to try. We working on some sonic and chomatic frequency alternators."

"Flashlights and sound sources that change colors and sound emissions?"

"Yeah. Ya know, ya got a knack for deflating scientific language." Markum sighed. "We're hoping that perhaps the aliens used color or sound to control these things. It an off-chance sorta things, but hey."

posted 02-03-99 10:13 PM ET            

The office of Head Supervisor of R&D1 departments.

Joseph Zlydev look at the youngman in front of him with mild dissatisfaction.
"Such a fine talent, yet so foolish. Love is a truly disruptive force." Zlydev thought silently to himself.

He knew what this was about from reading Chen Yang's profiles, Chen's fiancee died on Earth during a suspected Spartan bombing.
"And now he sign up for the mission to get revenge." Zlydev mutters to himself.

Chen stood in front of Zlydev silently, it appears that he either did not hear Zlydev's comments or he didn't care for it. No one seems to be able to read Chen's thoughts except for Ren and the now deceased Li.

Zlydev finally looked up to Chen and opened his mouth:
"You're a fine talent, Chen. But I also realize that I cannot keep you here, your heart is crying out for revenge, I can hear it."

Chen does not respond to these words, no one knows if he agree or disagree with them.

Letting out a long sigh, Zlydev continued: "I will file your info to Chairman Yang, he have the finally say in the matter. But I did give my recommendations."

Looking Chen directly in the eye Zlydev says with a voice full of emotion that Chen was almost caught off guard; "You better come back alive and continue our work on it."

Chen silently gives a salute to Zlydev, turn around and left. But his eyes give him away.
Those were eyes capable of speaking for anything.

Zlydev watched until Chen had fully left his view and then returned to fill out the information for Chairman Yang.

Sorry for a short post, I will elaborate on some details in a later post.

posted 02-04-99 03:45 PM ET            

It seemed seemed to be years for legoean. almost every day their was some sort of interigation pressed on him. He was feed food that was unknown to him.

He was in a bunker that was sureal to him. It was an underground dome. A marvel of engeenering. it was made of some sort of mineral that bouced scaner readings. It seemed to him that they had a manufactoring technoligy.

He esitmated that thier were 500 to 1000 people liveing in one dome. The solders claim that part of it was a landing pod. but they were relincant to give away even that information.

They call themselves the CSAC (Confederated States of Alpha Cenauri). A government based on the idea of small goverments. They wanted to protect agaisnsed Tyranny. They had wanted to get away from the over powering governments of earth. so their elite members signed on for the voyage. then they planned to get what was left of them and bring them to alpha centauri.

He also remembered about the horrible interogation. They wanted to know every thing about the "obelisk" and it's defences. Then the next day they told me that they took it over and killed all of them solders who didn't surrender. But Legoean didn't belive them for a moment.

posted 02-04-99 07:27 PM ET            

In an attached file, you'll find details on an archeological expedition of ours. It's hit some snags, and we'd like to include the Beleiver's archeologist, Sara Croft.. Contact the Beleiver gov't and ask that Croft be allowed to join our investigation for at least a couple of decurns. I don't have to you to use your head in how you do it. To be blunt, we need her. Get her.

Best Regards,

posted 02-04-99 07:39 PM ET            

Legoean was escorted by 2 gaurds to one of the many rooms in the hallway. The officer open the door and told Legoean to go in. Legoean looked Into to well lighted room with anticapation of yet another Interogation.

"come in" an almost friendly voice called.

Legoean steped into to square room. he then spoted a man in the corner of the room. Legoean walked over to the desk.

"You are being relised but on one condition. You bring this to Sister Miriam."
the man slid a datadisk over the table.

"And, what is this for?" legoean asked catously?

"Information we have gathered on the planet as a taken of good will."

"But you attacked thier base I was Incharge of?"

"That Obelisk holds many more secrets than any of you know. For example, we one that we found 3 miles away to power this entire base. But thier is also so much we do not know."

"Then why not talk to the belivers?"

"You would not have under stood. We were studying the obelisk you call Hand of God to try a cross refrence of the 2 obelisk in order to unlock more of the secrets."

"We still would have talked."

"The more Military aspect of us thinks that any one who is not one of us should be killed. I wished to leave but they will not let me leave."

"Why was i not killed then?"

"I tried very hard to have your life saved and succeded. Good luck to you. You will be returened to the area in witch you were found. It appers you solders have compleatly secured the base."

"Thank you" Legoean turned and walked out to the rover that was to take him home.

posted 02-05-99 05:19 PM ET            

Sister Sara sat at her desk commlink skimming the datadisk that Brother Legoean had delivered to camp. He looked to be in pretty bad shape from his ordeal when he finally drove into camp so she had pulled rank and ordered him to report to sickbay. The doctor there had said that he was going to be OK, but what he needed most were rest, liquids and food. Because of the torture some emergency spiritual healing was also in order.

posted 02-08-99 05:10 PM ET            

Howarth Ubeya, lead architect En route to Industry Sector Primary Accomodantions, The Labyrinth

Howarth sighed and reclined back in his seat, allowing his tired shoulders a moment's rest.
Riding the shuttle tube was one of his greatest pleasures, those few minutes every day he could lose himself in thought, satisfied that even as he relaxed in the empty cabin, he was still at work: his body heading efficiently from one destination to the next, while his mind relaxed and enjoyed a moment's freedom. True freedom, unconstrained by dreams or committments or plans or worries.

Howarth smiled, and basked in the warm glow of his inner self; hard working, conscientious, able. He cared. And he had the freedom to make those cares a reality. Every curve, every wall, every twist or corner or crevice was an oppotunity to make life simpler, better, easier for his fellow beings. And he had the freedom to explore that oppotunity.

It was getting better, too, he noted. Not like the first few months, trapped alone on the soil of this evil, alien planet, surrounded by inhospitable terrain with a will of its own. Those first few months, the discipline had been almost too much, especially for him. Indeed, he had envied the workers, with their picks and shovels, doing mechanical work the hard way, stroke by stroke, while he sat and thought and drew and pictured and planned. Every moment under pressure to finish and begin the next task, yet knowing that a single mistake would take those same workers thousands of strokes to correct. Yang had been hard on him, Zlydev had been hard on him, PLANET had been hard on him. But he had come through. The sccomodations, the factory, the farms, everything had come together properly. Production was soaring ahead. There was even talk of plans for research and schools and, rumour aside, even holidays! A day to celebrate their fall to planet!

Howarth's smile widened, wondering if any of the hierachy would ever have thought of that.
Was it a sign they had perhaps made contact with the other survivors, trading ideas that had become lost and foreign to them in the short time since their arrival? He shook his head. Holidays were a powerful idea - especially celebrations. And powerful ideas held sway even within the Labyrinth. Once proposed, no matter how subtle the announcement, they made themselves happen. Time was all they needed.

Howarth allowed a wry smile to pass his lips as he considered this - yet time was never available when needed. It played tricks on itself. It seemed generations since he taken a day off work - enough time to talk
and play and rest without guilt. Suspended animation did that to you: despite everything, your body knew how long it had really been. It should have seemed little more than a year, maybe two years, since he had stood on the shores of Capetown and said goodbye to the sand and the surf. But it felt like an eternity had passed - an eternity of life in the Human Hive.

He chuckled. Who had first called it that? One of the airborn explorers, perhaps, in those early days when they still had enough equipment to conduct such surveys. No matter. It seemed appropriate enough, anyway. "We have left the Earth to be ruled by insects," he recalled Yang saying, "where we ourselves had failed. Now we will become the insects." An odd sentiment, he reflected, and he suddenly imagined Yang, scuttling about with four arms and huge mandibles. Perhaps the chairman himself had invented the name...

He blinked. The shuttle had slowed to a crawl, preparing to stop and allow his entry into this new sector of the Hive. The specifications rose within him, unbidden. Specialist living areas for workers in each Sector, cutting transport time and allowing workers to remain on call at all hours of the day. Industry first, small compartments for the working drones and areas for dispensing the chemicial stimulant/suppressants that allowed them to work twelve hours non-stop. He almost winced as a sudden wave of design changes, construction requests, plans and ideas washed his quiet reverie away like sand castles on the beach. This was important.

But... other things were important too. And as one thought remained behind: '...cutting transport time...', Howarth Ubeya frowned, remembering the early days, thinking how much he had grown to need this time to himself. He paused. Efficiency was the goal of the Hive, but there were other efficiencies than just pure time and energy. There was, well...

"Human Efficiency" he muttered quietly to himself. "The need to stop and think, to communicate, to let the self induge in itself for a moment. Even an insect needs its down time."

Howarth stepped out on the makeshift platform as the shuttle doors slide open. He saw the icy darkness of Planet lit up by the lights of the construction teams, hard at work in the depths below. Not for the first time, he felt an icy chill through his bones - this was his home now, this tiny colony clinging desperately to life in the barren, icy wastes of Planet. The was no escape, would never be. There was only work, and his fellow man to attend to.

posted 02-08-99 06:59 PM ET            

Captain Dorian Mariot, assistant head of External Monitoring Sector
The Hornets Nest

Dorian looked down from the sheaf of papers on his desk. An unpleasant frown crossed his face. "Fire it up" he sighed, half absentmindedly. And knew at the same time that burning paper was an offense that even he could be arrested for. Paper - the Hive's only resource for stealthy communication. Impossible to hack, easy to conceal, and always genuine. He smiled. The art of forgery - the real art - was one of many skills that had been left behind by the flight of the Unity. He wondered at the motives of the project leaders, sending a legion of scientists and doctors and explorers and engineers to this new planet. And him, and Yang, and somehow the spartans. It seemed like sending a pack of wolves to guard the sheep.

Dorian leaned back in his desk, surveying the room. He had a desk, more space than could possibly be needed by a junior assistant to the so far untried and unnecessary External Monitoring Sector, he also had level 4 access to the Internal Monitoring database (marked by the black and green badge imbeddened in the casing of his desklink), and, pride of place in the room, his leather punching bag. He didn't know why he had arranged it like that - he just always did. It had made him a champion, found him friends, beaten enemies and probably damn near saved his life when you thought about it.

"Hard at work, are we?" came a voice from behind. Dorian swung around on his chair and stood up, one fearsome, fluid motion, a style he prided himself on. The impressive figure of Hazel August, his unofficial second in command, leant against the doorway. He stood up, his dark eyes locking onto her deep, impossibly sharp stare. He moved to speak.

"You've got sixteen hours left before we move out," she said sweetly, interrupting him before he could begin, "and despite your good looks, I'm afraid staring at this wall isn't going to achieve much by way of results, is it?"

Her hypnotic gaze moved away, scanning the rest of him before returning to meet his frown. "Well?" she asked, her heavy german accent accentuating the sarcasm. "Mr secret director of covert operations? What did you want?"

Dorian paused slightly, then spoke. "I was just thinking," he said. He waved his hand over the pile of papers on his desk, then picked up a particular sheet and gestured at it. "The UoP doesn't strike me as a particularly difficult target, really. How much of this is actually going to be really necessary?"

She boggled slightly, stepping forward and staring at him. "This is a highly sensitive operation we're talking about isn't it? Anything that goes wrong could bury us in the minds of the other factions forever. There can be NO mistakes."

Hazel waved an arm dramatically. "What did you think, we could just creep in, get captured, appeal to our diplomats, 'Sorry, bad element in our rogue intelligence department, please let us go'. This is different! We have to win properly!"

Dorian looked down, scanning the paper again. He hesitated, the first signs of concern in his voice. "No. I think there's too much planning. It doesn't go like this. Something always comes up..."

"This is EXACTLY how it goes!" she shouted. "Plan, prepare, execute." She bobbed in time to the words. "Get in, do it, get out."

Dorian scowled. "No. Something always goes wrong. There's never enough intelligence to get everything right..." He shrugged, uncertain of how to make his point. "But..."

"Maybe for you," she said calmly. "But this isn't a three month excursion in the field, eating rats tails or whatever it was. This is a house job."

"Yeah, and that's the problem," said Dorian, rallying. "We don't have enough information yet. The UoP could be..."

"Oh, we know the UoP", she cut in, nodding her head. "They're scientists. Sloppy, untrained personal who can be easily exploited. But hi-tech systems we couldn't crack with a wrecking ball. Excellent physical security countered by poor mental security. The way to the UoP is through the people. And," she winked and smiled now, "you can always plan for people. Trust me."

Dorian stared at Hazel, unsure of where he had been beaten but firmly convinced he had somehow lost another arguement to the German woman. She was getting quicker, too. He felt like kicking something.

posted 02-08-99 08:28 PM ET            

Jeremy Borodino was browsing through the library of the Garland Musuem. "Eastern Afica: From European Colonization to the Birth of Victoria." Might be interesting. He began leafing through book as he shuffled over to one of the reading areas. Not watching where he was going, he ran straight into �

"Oh, Dorian! Pardon me. I wasn't watching."

"I'm fine, Jerim. How does this fine lunday find you?"

"Quite well, save a higher than normal incidence of absent-mindedness. What are you here for?"

"Here for? I work here."

"Since when does the august Justice Kildare work as a librarian?"

"Life in the legal field is a bit dull right now. The most recent case was two decurns ago: some petty theft. So for right now the court is in reccess. Justice Mazzarese is in Poseidon, working at the fleetyards. Justice Gomez's working up in Falconbridge. The rest of us have found odd jobs around Hope, and mine is here. I'm working as an indexer right now."

"Sounds like fun" he replied wryly.

"'Tis. 'Tis. You should consider it, Jerim," she responded, ignoring his humor.

posted 02-10-99 06:59 PM ET            

The Nicosia docked at Betelguese Landing, where a dock had been hastily constucted for her. BL, as the camp was known, was little more than a replica of Canaltown, a temporary settlement not meant to house more than twenty at a time. Pravin and Pria Lal were the first to disembark, restored after their several-decurn vacation. They boarded the inter-settlement explora-train, which had stopped by BL on its way to Mintaka Point; partly to resupply the small station, but mostly to pick up the Commissioner. Jamison watched from the main deck of the Nicosia, disappointed that the canal had not yet been deciphered for use, wishing that he could have entertained the Commissioner a while longer.

posted 02-10-99 06:59 PM ET            

Jean-Luc Maartens strolled through El Mercado. His eyes wandered from sight to sight; he drank in the scenery surrounding him. He spotted his destination: a store on the outer edges of the bazaar. "Rainbow House" the sign above side the door.

"Bon jour, Nara." Jean-Luc Maartens called out in greeting.

"Ahh, Jean-Luc." The elderly Asian woman smiled. "Good morning. What can I do for you?"

As he approached her counter, he pulled out a tattered sheet of paper. He began to read: "I need goldenrod, mauve, olive, burnt sienna, sunglow, carnation, hunter green, charcoal, and wisteria. To start."

"That's quite an order. I'll see what I can do." She began to mix paints, occasionally running them through a micro-spectrometer to check hues and chromas. Jean-Luc browsed through her pre-mixed wares, selecting a few colors, mostly in the red band.

"How is your painting going?' She asked as she worked.

"Quite well, quite well. I've been painting all over the place, but mostly out in Coolidge lately."

"Coolidge is a wonderful part of town, with all those gardens, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it's not the gardens I'm painting."

"Oh?"

"No." He smiled. "I'm painting the people."

"Good luck. It's good to have an artist to sell to. All these pratical painters are driving me crazy. The have no vision." She emphasized the last word.

posted 02-10-99 07:55 PM ET            

Legoean slowly stood up from the work table Sister Tandi had Constucted in the Armory dome. He looked at the Electro Magnet he had been playing with. He Bought one from a Sly fellow from the Papparazi. Legoean was doing some test of the obelisk him self while Sister Sara was In new Jerusalam.

Remembering about the way the Comm. systems use 1/10th lest power he wonderedexaticle how the energy could be Harnessed the way the RCSA had acomplished. Picking up the Device he put on his E-Suit and walked out the Air lock. As he then headed for the obelisk dome.

He walked into the dome closing the door and removeing the E-suit. slowly going down into the excavation pit. he looked at the magnificant obelisk. When he was right next to the Obelisk, He turned on the electromagnet.

posted 02-11-99 04:21 PM ET            

Brother Greg was doing three things at once: viewing the latest 3-D models of mindworm venom molecules, reading Brother Johnny's reports on mindworm physiology and life cycles, and listening to a recording of Sister Sara's preliminary analysis of the two obelisks. Brother Greg knew a lot about how psychotropic drugs affected human perceptions.

"This venom should not have affected Johnny in the way he said it did." Observed Greg into his lab-recorder. "The chemical properties of the venom at the dose received would ordinarily have caused only a relaxed, euphoric affect. The intense hallucinations must have come from some other source. Probably something from within Brother Johnny's Native American memories, or from outside."

Brother Greg paused to look at Sister Sara's aerial photo that showed the relationship of the two obelisks. Something like a flashbulb went off in his brain. "Huh!?" Greg shook his head and reached for the bottle of Sister Cecilia's Wild Wildcat Straight Kentucky Bourbon that he kept in his lower left-hand desk drawer. He had just finished his self-medication with medicinal spirits when Brother Johnny walked into the lab.

"Brother Greg, I'm glad you're here." Said Johnny as nervously paced in front of Greg's desk. "I have been thinking about the visions I had after the mindworm sting. I can't get the feeling out of my head that spirit beings were trying to talk to me just as they did during my vision quests on earth."

Brother Greg surprised Johnny by saying, "I might just know what you mean. I did a lot of work with the Aborigines and they were always traveling in the dreamtime. What do you think we should do?"

"I want to take another taste of venom, only this time I will prepare myself properly." Was Johnny's astonishing request as he absently picked up the aerial photo.

"I can't let you do that Johnny. It's too dangerous. I would be unethical and irresponsible if I allowed it." Was Greg's firm reply.

"This is a picture from my vision." Murmured Johnny as he held up the photo of the obelisks.

(I can repost Brother Johnny's vision is anyone wants to see it again.)

posted 02-16-99 01:32 AM ET            

Edmond Tehicimon, master of Hive explorations
Somewhere in the wilds of planet

ET strode quickly out of the tent into the mist laden morning, followed hurriedly by two other men, his underlings for this trip - exploration of the northwestern vale of Hive territory. As he walked, he held a large, half unrolled piece of paper before him, trying to get his bearings on the sketchy map his second in command had provided for him.

"Dammit! This isn't the way to do things..." he muttered under his breath. "This total lack of ability on your part really disturbs me, Con. I'm not surprised your people never made it to India, making maps like this. Geez."

"What the hell are you talking about?" replied Con, ET's greek second in command. "What the hell's India got to do with the price of fish here? And what did you expect, huh? Give me these crap tools, a few sheets of paper, I'm a pipeline engineer for godssake!"

"That's why your here," ET replied. He stopped and proferred the map to con. "I thought drilling holes in the ground required you to be able to be able to read a map and a compass at least. Look at these mountains. Did you see these last week? Did you?"

"Of course I bloody did! What's the matter with you - been driving around with your eyes closed? No wonder we're bloody lost!"

"Then explain why this mountain is twice as high as it was on Tuesday. And how come there seems to be twice as many peaks along this ridge?"

"Let me see that," snapped Con. He stared at the map, disputing the evidence with his eyes. His shoulders saged. "What the hey... how did... oh christ - I see. But surely... Oh. Well, sh.."

ET quickly interrupted. "Yeah, and that's enough of that, too. Little language discipline would do you good, even out here. And you can earn the right to swear by learning to read a scale. And how to copy two charts onto one. And..."

The third member of the group, a lanky, tight lipped asian, spoke for the first time. "Excuse me, but does any of this make us less lost? Chairman Yang sets very strict guidelines for our operations..."

Edmond Tehicimon replied angrily, "Yes, and I've told you the I.M.S can go flame itself before getting involved in my stuff. If you ignorant bastards tell me when to finish one more time I swear I'm going to join the UoP..."

"Advisor! That will be reported!"

"Bite me." ET strode away angrily towards his dirt trike, roughly pulling the map maker Con with him. He spoke as they walked. "Any idea at all where we are?" he whispered.

Con stopped, looking at the map. The I.M.S began to stroll slowly towards them, following. "If all this is wrong, then," Con pointed, "these shouldn't be there and what we can see here should be..." He looked up and continued walking through the fog, heading around the trike.

"Yep. The floodplains," said ET, finishing the thought. "Good work, son. You'll get there yet."

Con bristled slightly. "Thanks. And maybe then you'll forgive me for my grandparents moving to Australia, too."

ET peered closely at his second in command. "Yes, I see," he said finally. "I apologise..."

Con turned and pointed. "Holy Christ!"

It hung before them, floating seemingly on the breeze. Not more than a meter long, a white, gentley swimming snake shape. It paused, hovering before them, watching, thinking - evaluating.

Struck by fear and curiousity, they cautiously stepped forward, watching the snake shape intently. The mind worm had an amazing feeling of power about it - an unimaginable presence that distracted from everything else around it, making itself the sole focus. Intriged, Con slowly moved forward, reaching out...

An explosive concussion shattered the silence. Edmond turned, his nerves scattered by the blast, and saw the watchman standing on the far side of the trike, bracing a smoking barrel against his forearm. He turned back as the mind worm struck at Con, wounded and desperate, as another shot blasted from the barrel of the I.M.S informant's hand held artillery.

Con jerked back as the mind worm exploded before him. The Greek staggered slightly, bleeding at the wrist from the shrapnel, before turning round and collapsing, a large blue star rapidly spreading across his right shoulder. ET caught him as he fell, feeling Con's grip almost pierce his arm. The eyes of his second in command were wide open and staring madly ahead, as he convulsed rapidly, before slumping forward against the master explorer.

More worm shapes appeared ahead in the mist, swarming towards them. Rapid shots rang out, destroying the snake forms in an hale of white bone and blood, their pressurised bodies exploding as the shots impacted around them. Edmond looked around widly, seeing others of his crew hurriedly taking up arms, firing blindly into the now billowing mist. He shouted for them to stop. A worm exploded beside him, showering him with pieces. He felt the body of his second gently shaking against him, before breaking into major convusions again. The force of shellfire and the weight of Con knocked him to the ground, just as another worm passed overhead, heading for the watchman.

He jumped to a crouch, looking over the nose of the trike as the watchman was brought down by two, now three, now four of the tiny worms, his screams of agony filling the air. Other worms raced by, almost ignoring him and Con in their run to get to the remaining guards.

He stood, letting the limp body fall to the ground, helplessly watching his crew fall to the swarming mindworms. His had fell to his belt, finding only empty space. He had forgotten his weapon! Stupid thing, it only caused trouble. Damn the watchman!

He whirled around madly, seeing some of the smaller shapes now floating towards him. He looked around, seeing no help from his fallen teammates, and raced towards the trike. A motor sounded in the distance, across the far side of the camp. Someone else had had the same idea.

More worms turned towards him as he ran for the sealed protection of the trike cockpit. "Moving as it they can read my mind!" he thought, and felt a chill pass through him. He reached the trike and jumped inside, slamming the hatch shut - almost. A small mindworm had made it halfway through and was now caught in the seal between the hatch and hull! Edmond threshed around, holding the hatch shut, desperately looking for something to kill the trapped worm with.

He grabbed the pilot's helmet, swung around madly and smashed the worm with the helmet. Panic gripped him. The creature was iron hard! Again and again he hit it, battering the mindworm senseless. He jerked the hatch open slightly and knocked it out onto the ground.

He slammed the hatch closed and fell back into the seat as another mind worm surged forward, striking the plexiglass of the cockpit in its rush to bite him. It shuddered with the impact, slumped, and fell away as he gunned the engines, his finger finding the trigger on the joystick.

A solid burst of shredder fire from the trike's twin cannons blew away everything ahead of it, and it raced forward, expelling a mountain of smoke from the engines. Further bursts of gunfire sounded from across the camp, their source invisible in the fog. And dangerous.

Edmond Tehicimon raced away into the open of the flood plains, heart pounding, his camp destroyed, his crew slaughtered. One trigger happy Yang worshipping pychopath had brought this upon them.

Someone was going to pay.

posted 02-17-99 04:56 PM ET            

Brother Rahjiv and Sister Sara enter the Believer militia office together after yet another briefing of the Ecumenical Council, their arms full of maps, photos, and sheaves of data on the alien obelisks. They dumped the materials on a convenient desk and sat down in near exhaustion.

"Rahjiv, if you tell me you don't have a bottle of scotch hidden in a drawer somewhere around here, then we can call off this beautiful friendship right now." Sighed Sister Sara as she kicked off her field boots and propped her feet up. Brother Rahjiv was already uncorking a bottle of "Bobby Burns' Best" as she spoke.

"Here you go, Sister. Mind if I join you?" replied Rahjiv as he poured the drinks. "Those Deacons really gave us a working over this time. I think these alien artifacts scare them."

"If I knew more they would probably scare me too." Mused Sister Sara as she sipped her drink appreciatively. "BTW, Rahjiv, I glad to hear that Brother Legoean has recovered. He went through hell out there and I don't think his contributions to this project and the safety of all of us has been recognized by the "higher ups" yet. Just thank him again for me, will you?"

"I'll pass the word on. He said some good things about you too. I don't think he expected an egghead to be such a crack shot with a blast rifle with so many bad guys running around. Let's hope we can keep the peace with the Raiders. I hear that Sister Miriam is going to send out some missionaries to try to convert them to join us. I hope to god that they succeed."

"Bless all of them. So I get an assignment to the Peacekeepers. Ha, I can't wait to get to Hope and visit the Garland Museum. I don't know how Borodino got some of that stuff off earth, but he always had a pretty shady reputation around the fine arts and antiquities markets."

"I'll bet you won't miss a chance to visit some of the restaurants and the I Club too while you are there. Don't have too good a time and forget to come back." Joked Rahjiv. "Now, what can you tell me about this Sidney Markum? You knew him on earth, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, I know old "Sin City" Sid. I reviewed his Sun City South Africa Paleolithic project for the U.N. back in '58. He's an absolutely tops field man, but he was always weak on theory. I wonder what kind of trouble he has got himself in this time. His troubles usually involve vice cops or divorce lawyers not other archaeologists, unless they are young and female, of course. And don't ever play poker with that man. I nearly lost my plane ticket back to Cairo to him."

posted 02-17-99 07:44 PM ET            

Advisor Mary Chase, master of Medical/Agricultural Sector
Her office
The Laybrinth

Mary Chase sat alone in the dark, pouring over a green screen readout shown by her desklink. She read thoroughly, frequently cross-checking items of interest with the other resources she had available to her - the vast scope of information held in the Labyrinth data networks. Yet despite her unhurried demeanour, the occasional flash of worry or panic would cross her face, as she turned away from the screen, holding her head in her hands and slowly shaking her head, her feelings divided between despair and disbelief - with a touch of anger.

She had to get this right! This was her responsibility; it was her job to defend the Hive against these mindless, horrific ideas. And she could - as head of Medical Sector there was no-one better qualified. Biochemistry - she had that on her side, knowledge and resources that no-one else in the whole of the Hive could possibily compete with. But the sheer naked ideaology of the project shocked her to the core, and THAT was where she sensed the danger of her situation.

Mary sighed as she wearily scrolled back to the top of the file. She read the words that had caused her such terror before:

"HUMAN RESPONSE-SUPPRESSION PROGRAM" - Alpha phase.

By Jospeh Zlydev and Sasha Tarant.

Authorisation LEVEL 5 access only.
Report any and all access violations immediately.

Terror. That was the only way she could describe the feeling that gripped her when she had received the file this morning. Not the instant, heart pounding sensation of primal fear, but the cold, dreadful realisation that what she was looking at spelled the slow, certain death of everything she had ever loved.

She read the title again. 'Human response-suppression program'. In those words she could see the future - writ large, in dark and bloody letters, the fate of all civilisation - or the brief epithet on the cold gravestone of the Human Hive.

There was no way back, no dodging this - she had to fight it, to prove to the council that she represented that this way lead to certain disaster - the death of all they held dear.

Would that work? Could the idealogues be convinced that this would end up destroying them - or would even that threat be enough? She buried her face in her hands again. No. She needed something better - a crack in their faith to be levered open. She paused in refection. Faith would carry a true believer to the grave, without complaint or questioning. To win, and live, she had to break their faith in this idea.

She had the entire history of her race on her side. Humankind had always succeeded, had always survived against tremedous odds. It was in the genome. To accept a situation and make the best of it? 'Haven't we always done that?' she wondered.

posted 02-19-99 07:54 PM ET            

Brother Johnny had long since constructed a ceremonial sweat lodge adjacent to the Believers' Militia training area floor. Many of the militia members had now adopted Brother Johnny's practice of performing a sweat bath ritual to relax their bodies, refresh their minds and realign themselves with the spiritual balance of being. It also helped to further bond the militia members together.

This time Brother Johnny was by himself in the low fabric dome that enclosed a crib of glowing hot rocks. Brother Johnny sang and prayed, occasionally taking a wooden dipper and splashing some pure water on the rocks releasing another cloud of sweltering steam as he clutched his medicine bag of sacred corn pollen close to his chest. His four-day fast was nearly over. At that time he would go to Sister Miriam and talk with her once more about the meaning of his visions. This time he would convince her to order Brother Greg to give him some of the mind worm venom. Brother Johnny knew that there was a teaming spirit world on Chiron, he could feel it all around. However, the only time he felt that he could have communicated with it was when he nearly died from a mind worm attack.

posted 02-22-99 10:15 PM ET            

The paparazzi were back in town. Poseidon town, that is. Arsinio's band of the factionless had landed in their shuttle late in the evening of the previous night. And the trading had begun.

The Peacekeeper's frontier economy -- a mixture of barter, lassiz-faire free market, socialism, and all other systems possible -- was especially beloved by the factionless. It allowed them total freedom of trade and many more trading partners than were available elsewhere: individuals, co-ops, corporations, the government� All in all, a very good thing for a caravan of traders.

At the moment, Mayor Kokirii was haggling with Arsinio. "I can give you twenty-eight kilograms of salt and seventy dekaliters of carbon dioxide [at STP], but that's about all."

"For a pharmacological synthesizer and ten kilos of comp grade silicon? Please. You'd have to up the CO2 to a full kiloliter and add a kilogram of wheat seed." Arsinio provided.

"Wheat seed? This isn't Demeter. I can't spare any of that. How about three standard bales of guncotton? We just got a shipment in from Falconbridge."

"How do you think we got here? We already have all the guncotton we'll need. Say ten kilograms of peppers?"

"Eight. No more."

"Agreed."

posted 02-23-99 09:23 PM ET            

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

The air was chilly. To save on energy, Hope's dome was not heated very much, and the wintery temperatures of the deadly outside atmosphere had seeped into the city.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

Seiji Yamanaka was jogging through the streets and trails of Hope, to keep in shape for his courier's job.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

Over the Pax River on the Lionshead Bridge into the Mercado, dodging the shoppers and mechants.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

A waved greeting to the painter Maartens, busy sketching along Fisher's Quay.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

Upstream along Thant Way to the Ramshead Bridge.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

Along the verdant shores of the Upper Basin -- the reservoir from which Pax emanted.

In. Ahhhhh. Out. Whooooo.

posted 02-25-99 03:54 PM ET            

Brother Rahjiv watched the members of one of the militia combat teams prepare themselves for a sweat-bath from his small office. They were horsing around after another strenuous workout eager for the soothing serenity of the smothering heat. With the return of something like tranquility around the Hand Of God outpost Brother Rahjiv had been able to return to another important project: the development of a wind generated energy source for the Believers. His work had just gotten a boost with the tensile data on the new composites from Sister Cecilia and the preliminary global weather models downloaded from the Peacekeepers'satellite array.

posted 02-25-99 05:03 PM ET            

Pravin Lal sipped his tea. It had a great calming influence on him. The stress of this job! Give him ten surgeries a day and it would not compare to this! And it had only, what, twelve days now, since he had been back to work? He and Pria had needed the time to � to get to know each other again.

An indicator on his comp screen began to flash. An incoming message. From Canaltown. Hmmm. The Beleiver scientist had arrived several days ago. He opened the message. It turned out not to be directed to him, especially; rather it was address to the whole Board of Councilors. Louis Mbala, the Board's duty clerk, had forwarded it to him.

posted 02-25-99 09:16 PM ET            

Chairman Shenji-Yang
Inner Sanctum, The Labyrinth

Shenji-Yang looked up, waking from his meditation with cat like sharpness. It did not last long. He felt a sudden wave of nausea rise up and hit him, almost choking him despite his self control. The drug was wearing off, but it's effects still held - for the moment. He glanced at the glowing red digits of the time piece next to him, counted the time he had been awake.

36 hours. He smiled. He looked at his hands, opening the palms and carefully flexing the fingers. No pain - the nerve endings were clear and responded naturally. This was good.

He stood up, slowly and carefully, being very sure to disguise any possible signs of weakness. Even when alone, the self discipline must not be relaxed, he reminded himself - for it is the discipline of the whole. He felt dizzy, but the patterns he had memorized flowed naturally through his mind, a river of thought his weary cerebrum needed only to channel in the right direction.

He began the movements as he always did, slowly, in the Tai'Chi style. His body moved effortlessly from one motion to the next, and his conscious mind noted the extra precision with which his body moved. The unbearable concentration of his early training had been replaced with something else now - a subconsciousness that drained his awareness into itself. Yes, he was definitely moving much more smoothly this time, and the effects of his long meditation were almost undetectable. The power! Such wonderful improvement so soon! He must congratulate those responsible.

The movement patterns came to an end, and, despite his tiredness, elation soared in Yang's heart. He stalked across to the chamber door, and paused before it, listening. Satisfied with what he heard, he opened the door, entering the outer sanctum, where his two advisors waited.

"Sasha, Joseph! I must congratulate you on your efforts. You may proceed."

The two blearly eyed scientists looked up from where they were, half comprehencing the chairman's sudden entry and announcement. he younger of the two allowed a brief smile to cross his face.

"With all haste, chairman," he replied. The older stopped him.

"No. After this it would be dangerous for any of to do anything without a good day's sleep. Chairman, you will of course permit us this luxury?"

Yang smiled to himself, seeing the slumping shoulders of his scientific advisor. Sasha, his junior, he noted, was at least willing to hide his tiredness, even at the old man's expense. But he felt the ache in his bones once again, and had to stiffle a shudder as his body cycled the last of the drug out of its system.

"Yes, Jospeh, of course I will permit it. Make your rest and I will see you both tommorrow. In the mean time, we must find other ways to amuse ourselves."

The two scietists nodded, leaving the inner sanctum at a wearly trudge. The Chairman smiled once more, enjoying the moment - a probable turning point in the future of man, he noted.

posted 03-05-99 04:16 PM ET            

Sister Tammy Burbank had just returned from an exhausting three-day voyage on the Gaian's ocean-going research tri-maran "Albatross." The crew of 5 had been examining a newly discovered bed of sea-fungus making an inventory of Chiron species that inhabited it and its environs. A sudden squall had surprised them and battered them all the way back to Gaia's Landing. The mission had been fascinating. They had discovered, not only Chiron equivalents of small crabs, shrimp, jellyfish, and small pisces-oids, but also water adapted versions of the mind worms. Fortunately, they did not seem to have the same level of psi-power as their landlubber cousins. Dr. Emily Birchfield-Smith was waiting for her when she had returned to the labs to drop off her samples and specimens.

"Oh, there you are Tammy. We were starting to worry about you. That storm temporarily knocked out our communications and the boat was overdue. Well, I have some news from New Jerusalem. They have asked that you return."

Sister Tammy wasn't surprised by the recall and she felt a brief pang of sadness at the thought of leaving her friends and collogues among the Stepdaughters. However, the image of Brother Johnny Chee leapt into her mind along with the anticipated pleasure of being with him again and she knew that she was going home.

"Thank you Emily. Thank you for everything. I know you were expecting me to join you here, but the Believers are still my family and they need me more than you do. Please understand?"

posted 03-07-99 08:45 AM ET            

The Ministry of Extra-Factional Affairs had taken residence in the Garland Musuem. The supposed reason was that since the Ministry was as yet fairly lacking in business, it would remove itself from the Government Building so as to free up space for other parts of the busy buearacracy. The real reason? Only Minister Borodino knew for sure, but it did make it harder for the Councilors to drop by announced and easier for him to access the faction's primary informational center.

"Good evening, Lord Darnley."

"Good evening, Minister." Xavier sighed silently at Borodino's continually insisted-upon formality. Darnley knew that it was a game his boss played, but it was still bloody irratating.

"Nothing new, I trust?"

"Not that I know of, but I just arrived. My shift today was in agrodome 4."

The two continued shop-talk and small-talk for awhile, discussing, among other things, the Beleiver archeologist [Jerim was surprised that his British subordinate had never met Dr. Croft, one of the leading British archeologist of the twentifirst century] and the upcoming arrival of Beleiver personnel to aid in the construction of "Noah's Ark", as the ship was nicknamed, for now, in the PK governmental records.

posted 03-08-99 06:27 PM ET            

Brother Rahjiv was walking from the Comm Center (Centre) to his office on the new "people mover" rolling sidewalk. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. He had just gotten word that Sister Tammy Burbank was on her way back from the Gaians. They had all been afraid that she was going to stay. Her newfound expertise on Chiron sea ecology would be invaluable on any upcoming Believer ocean voyage. Brother Legoean had been training the Delta Squad in seamanship and they were about ready to set up to something bigger than the boats they had been using in the aquaculture estuary. The Council had given permission to exchange the refined chemicals to the Peacekeepers in exchange for a sea-worthy hull. Some additional negotiations would be needed, but there didn't seem to be deal breaker.

The only problem was the fabrication of some of the parts for the wind propulsion system. The Believers did not have the capacity to either manufacture the titanium alloys needed or to mill the many precision parts. He knew that the UoP had these capacities, but would they deal with the Believers?

posted 03-09-99 09:29 PM ET            

The waters of Basin Three, sheltered as they were by the obsidion-like cliffs on either side of the Canal, were smooth as glass, mared only by the wake of the small rowboat. The boat, nameless, carried Sister Croft, Commander Jamison, and Ensign Norman [the Nicosia's helmsman -- he had also been part of Borodino's security team during the MOU negiotiations]. Albanese had developed a new set of omni-directional chromatic alternators, and Basin Three, located midway point of the Canal, both in terms of length and height, seemed as good a place as any to try them out.

"Ensign?"

"Yes, Sister?"

"Do you our posistion?"

"Almost. I need four sats to get a CPS lock. I got three right now, but a fourth should be coming over the horiz�. There it is. Got our co-ords."

"Mark 'em." Jamison ordered. The chain of command in this situation was iffy, but since Croft had proved a bit tempermental lately [Jamison didn�t blame her -- Albanese and Markum were boisterious people, and the rest of the staff on the Canal Project were these strange types who viewed camp-living as fun -- all in all, not the people he enjoyed associating with either, but he /needed/ this canal], he mostly let her give the orders, taking a posistion much like an exec. He had thoroughly thought this out; she, not being military, probably had even fathomed what his acqueisence meant. Plus, she /was/ a guest.

"Got it sir."

"Commander, drop anchor."

"Got it, Sister." He did so. "Which ODCA should we try first?"

"Might as well go in order. What is this? Delta-series?"

"No. We're on to the Epsilons now. We have eight of them here."

"Ok. Set up Epsilon-One."

They set up the ODCA on an elevated stand created for it, donned their protective goggles, and activated the device.

<PURPLE, GREEN, PURPLE, RED>

Nothing. "Ok. Epsilon-Two."

<PURPLE, GREEN, PURPLE, BLUE>
Nothing. Epsilons Three, Four, and Five came and went. Nothing.

Sara sighed. This was so frustrating! But Markum did have a good idea here: given the apparent lack of control apparatus, the most likely mechanism was EM radition. And their was that strange recurring glyph of an arch over a triangle, which one of Albanese's people had intrepeted as a rainbow over a prism. But still.

"Epsilon Six."

<PURPLE, GREEN, RED, BLUE>

There was a hum of machinery. Slowly the lock's gate, only twenty meters in front of them creaked open. The water began rushing out, down into the approach to Basin Four. Their tiny craft was caught in the current and fell nearly eight vertical meters down onto the next level. Croft hit her head against the ODCA stand and passed out�.

[Four hours later]

Light. Bright light. Ouch. My head!

"She's coming around."

"Where� " She croaked.

"Shh. You need your rest. You were in an accident." The camp's medic told her.

The memory of the afternoon came flooding back. She tried to sit up in earnest concern. She failed, wilting from the pain. "How are Norman and Jamison?"

"They are both fine. In fact, here comes the commander now."

Jamison entered the tent which had been converted into an infirmary. His left arm was in a sling and his head was bandaged, but at least he was mobile.

"What happened?" She asked before he could inquire about her.

"Well, we finally got a response. Not quite the response we hoped for, but a response none-the-less. OCDA Epsilon-Six had the proper sequence of lights for Lock Three. Unfortunately, we lost the device and our CPS record in the fall. We don�t know exactly where we were -- heck, we don't even know if that's important. The boat is also out of commission for a while. But we did it! Well, part of it�" His voiced trailed off.

posted 03-10-99 12:32 AM ET         

Ensign BadBreath: There's enough nerd potential here to fill up a space cruiser.

posted 03-12-99 04:06 PM ET            

Brother Eru slowly walked through the galleries of the Garland Museum admiring the art treasures on display. He was on his way to a meeting with Jeremy Borodino, Minister of Extra-Factional Affairs, to present the Believes' latest counter offer for the construction of a sea-going hull for the Bodhisattva project. This offer promised five 1,000 liter bladders of petrol every 100 days for five Chiron years. The bladders would be transported either by way of the Paparazzi or one of the infrequent shuttle flights between Hope and New Jerusalem.

"What a waste of valuable fuel!" grumbled Brother Eru for the sake of the hidden eavesdropping devices.

Brother Eru took his time in front of the Impressionists. He planned on being late for the meeting, just late enough to annoy the Minister but not too late to be blatantly insulting. Brother Eru liked it here in Hope. It was so much better than the austere communal primitiveness of New Jerusalem. If there was one thing that Brother Eru loved as much as Sister Miriam, it was his own comfort. Checking his commset he nodded and strolled in the direction of Borodino's large and well appointed office. When he finally entered the office Borodino's beautiful assistant, Cindy, greeted him. Funny, she always reminded Brother Eru of the portraits that Brother Greg Treestock kept in his rooms and office.

"Hello Cindy, oh dear, it seems I'm a little late for my meeting. I do hope the Minister will still see me. I have some good news for him." Said Eru in his most charming voice. With a warm looking smile but an unmistakable cool look Cindy motioned Brother Eru to an uncomfortable chair.

posted 03-14-99 09:07 PM ET            

"Good afternoon, Commissioner."

"Oh. Greetings, Jeremy. How are you this fine day?"

"Quite well, thank you, sir."

The air in Lal's private garden smelled refreshingly pure, permeated by a noble fragrance. Lal was digging in the dirt, his fingers molding the rich earth arround the base of a newly planted rose bush. Borodino stood, watching the Commissioner in his hobby.

"Pria let you in?'

"Yes. How are you?"

"Relaxed. Gardening releases tension. Hand me that bag of fertilizer caplets.'

"Here you go."

Lal began to insert the caplets into the ground.

"So what brings you here? You rarely visit my home."

"It's about the negotiations over the Beleiver ship. Azardo visited my office today and offered near the amounts of petrol we asked for. The cost of shuttle fuel, he said, kept them from meeting our proposed price."

Lal stood up, having completed tending to the bush. He motioned for Jerim to walk with him along the stone path.

"Sounds like a reasonable objection.'

"It used to be a reasonable objection. But now that the Sroka-Weber processor is complete, shuttle fuel is hardly a problem. I counter-offered to supply the requisite shuttle fuel if they'd increase the amount of petrol in the deal to our originally specified amount, about ten percent higher."

"Jerim, you shouldn't create policy on your own. Any offer like that should have cycled through the Board first, or at least through me."

"Sir, the Board will support the offer."

"You are correct, Jerim; all except Takahashi. But you will be marginalizing her. You know that she has been calling for a more powerful legislature as it is. You were the one who warned me about the potential evils of a weakened executive, with lessons drawn from your Articles of Confederation. You shouldn't strengthen her posistion by overstepping your bounds as minister. You are supposed to implement policy, not create it."

Borodino was taken aback by the rebuke. "You are right, of course. I should not have sprung this upon our government without contacting you first. But he was there, and I felt that he needed something to take to his government. It really was an attempt at an olive branch, sir. You've read Baker's report; there are still a lot of high-ranking officials there who believe that we were connected to the communications fiasco. I thought by offering to supply the shuttle fuel, this whole thing would go better. The Beleivers were already upset about having to ask us for the boat in the first place."

They reached a small pool at the end of the path. Koi swam their graceful dance in the shallow waters. Lal stared at the ballet unfolding before his eyes for a while before answering.

"What was the consul's reponse?"

"He said that he would take our offer to his government and left."

posted 03-17-99 03:52 PM ET            

The two engineers were siting in one of the University's advanced design facilities drinking testing fine example of Believer craftsmanship.

"Holy cow (only he didn't say cow) Don, this is the best bourbon that Sister Cecilia has let us have yet. They must really want these parts in a bad way." Whispered Abernathy after his first sip of the golden nectar.

"Right you are, Abe. This stuff could bust a planet. Which reminds me, we had better send the vodka up to Zakharov right away or he'll be down here looking for it and getting into things that he really doesn't want to know about." Breathed Donovan as a warm glow emanated from his stomach and soon engulfed his brain.

"What should we do with Rahjiv's plans then, Don? It won't take us long to knock them out and the alloy specifications are about as cheap to produce as glass."

"Go ahead and make them. But first run a review of his design and see if we can learn anything and log in any possible improvements. This is a chance to win some brownie points with the Believers. You know we could use some good will from them after that broadcast debacle. They still think we were somehow involved. Maybe this will get them off our case."

posted 03-18-99 04:07 PM ET            

The last few days had seen a flurry of activity. Sister Sara had finally been released from the infirmary, albeit with a large head bandage, and had to play catch up with the Peacekeeper team's efforts to keep the locks working on the alien canal system. Jamison and Albanese were jubilant with their progress, even though no one had a clue how the thing actually work, but that was typical of those guys.

Sister Sara had learned everything she could about the alien technology with the resources at hand and had made arrangements to leave as soon as possible. However, "the boys" as she collectively thought of them, wanted to celebrate and give her a going away party. Her "party" was very much like every night in camp: dinner of MREs, poker and drinking. However, in her honor, they acutely heated up the some of the servings to make a passable casserole and constructed a "cake" out of dry brownies and icing. Sister Sara's contribution was a couple of bottles of Sister Cecilia's Old Wildcat bourbon. The unexpected booze had its desired affect, the Peacekeeper crew really loosened up and Sister Sara was able to record several interesting dissertations concerning the secret politics, policy and plans of the Peacekeepers. When the second bottle was empty and "the boys" suggested a game of strip poke. Sister Sara politely declined stuck a transmission dot on the bottom of her chair and left to pack and go to bed. She was neither surprised, nor disappointed, that not one of the happy campers was able to rouse himself in the morning to see her off.

posted 03-23-99 04:37 PM ET            

Brother Legoean had argued long and hard in order to gain permission for this extended training mission. It was only with the support of Brother Rahjiv that the Council had approved his plan. Brother Legoean was taking the responsibility for the seamanship training very seriously. If Delta Squad was going to sail the new ship "Bodhisattva" the 5000 kms from Hope to New Jerusalem they would have to be seasoned sailors before they set foot on board.

Fortunately, the PeaceKeeper Planet weather modelers at Hope had forecast a period of relatively calm winds so Brother Legoean had requisitioned four small boats and sailed north up the eastern coast of Hudson's Bay. Each boat in the small flotilla had a small pressurized cabin that allowed two people to prepare a meal and sleep without the their e-suits. The other four crew members were "outside" tending to sailing, navigation and scientific observations. It had been a physical challenge but surprisingly uneventful trip. The passage had been a rapid one with a constant wind blowing from the west. The ambient temperature was dropping as they traveled farther north, but the insulation of the e-suits kept the crews comfortable. Their destination was a large sheltered harbor officially designated Botany Bay.

After four days on the small boats everyone was ready to make landfall. Alpha Squad had flown ahead and set up a base camp for them that was now referred to as Sydney. The camp promised hot water, beds, fresh foods and standing room. As the flotilla tacked around the last headland, Mohammed's Point, the crews were favored with a number of beautiful sights. Botany Bay was surrounded by snow capped mountains. To the north a small glacier wound its way down a valley and depositing its dirty ice into the bay in the form of low icebergs. To the east fiords cut into the mountain face with dozens of cataracts and waterfalls pouring melt-water. The south shore, where their camp was suppose to be located, was made up of broad sandy beaches giving way to a belt of sand dunes and then a stunted forest of gun cotton trees.

posted 03-23-99 09:01 PM ET            

The warrior knew not of his fate:
His prowess guiled his confidence.
This battled day he'd consecrate --
Fate heard his prayers as dissonance.

When Eris sounded Ares' horn
The hero plunged into the fray.
Into death's realm his foes were born,
When with his sword he them did slay.

Into the center of the pack
He charged in search of greater foe
And spied a titan to attack,
A villian soon to be his woe.

With weapon high he rushed his prey
And nearly struck a crushing blow.
Transcendent soul in jar of clay,
Was loosed when rival laid him low.

The day's wick burns towards its end.
Lord Death mocks Hades' newest clown:
Hero, as Fortune did intend,
Leads all on whom Nike did frown."

posted 03-31-99 04:01 PM ET            

Brother Haruhiro had been on a reconnaissance patrol outside of base camp Sydney just getting his land legs back after the long voyage north from New Jerusalem. He had been enjoying the wonderful surroundings even though his scouting instincts and training were on full alert. When he saw the footsteps in the sand he dropped and froze. The proximity detectors and polarizes instantly changed the surface of his enviro-suit to match the background and he seemed to melt into the sand. He tapped his commlink once and sent a prearranged code to base indicating that he was tracking an unidentified contact.

Feeling a little like Robinson Crusoe Brother Haruhiro set off on a route that paralleled the trail. He wanted to keep it under observation and not be discovered by his quarry. He followed the trail across the first ridges of active flowing dunes and into the older ridges that were now being stabilized by a spreading sticky mat of colonizing bacteria. Further on Brother Haruhiro could see where the first stunted patches of xenofungus clung to sheltered pockets of semi-cemented dune faces.

posted 04-01-99 08:47 AM ET            

"Here she comes!" came Private Sung's voice of the 'com.

A pale brown microrover was barreling down Sakhalin Crevice. Behind it, but over the horizon, swarmed a great mass of mindworms.

A decurn ago, a bio-sensor in Gelardi Canyon had picked up unusual lifesigns -- mindworm lifesigns. Ever since, sensors throughout the region around Vulcan's Forge had been spotting this same boil. Vulcan Forge's garrison had been planning on this eventuality and had prepared an ambush. The trap was about to be sprung.

"Call out!" Came the order from Sgt. Norman.

"Flame One, in posistion."

"Flame Two, in posistion."

"Shredder One, in posistion."

"Shredder Two, in posistion."

"Shredder Three, in posistion."

"Recon One, in posistion."

"Recon Two, in posistion."

"Aux, in posistion. That's all of us, sir." Norman's brow wrinkled. Only five weapon stations to take down a boil. At least it was a small one.

"Corporol Genet will be past target zone, in five, four, three, two, one, zero�"

The mindworm boil was now at the outer edges of their weapon range.

posted 04-03-99 04:40 PM ET            

The Narmonov Expedition was on its way home. They had covered nearly ten thousand kilometers on their journey. Now weaving their way through Falconwood, they were nearing the next outpost on their homebound itinerary: Falconbridge.

For the first time since Beleiver territory, they had a path to follow. It was quite strange, after decurns of off-road travel. It was also strange for the CNS signals to be coming from ahead, instead of just behind. Civilization, such as existed on Chiron, was nearing.

They rolled past the last bend in the road and came into Falconbridge. Each Peacekeeper city had a different air about it, from Hope's psuedo-settled ways to Kulkulkan's rough mining-town antics, and Falconbridge was no exception. A small outpost, really, with only twenty-four permanent residents, it struck Ryan St. John as much like the Welsh villages of his childhood: independent, quirky, and only semi-civilized.

The garage bay doors opened, and San Martin piloted the bulky explora-train into the bay; to the surprise of all, it fit. The doors closed, and air cycled into the bay. The crew of the Expedition rushed out of the train's cars as fast as possible, glad to leave them behind, if only for a little while. It had seemed especially cramped in them for the past few days.

posted 04-06-99 03:32 PM ET            

It had been two days since Brother Haruhiro had encountered the hermit at his improvised underground shelter and brought him to Sydney Camp. He had shown no surprise when Brother Haruhiro had entered his airlock and rashly confronted the frail-looking wildly bearded man in the tattered e-suit. Nor had he resisted when Haruhiro lead him to Sydney. In fact, he had been totally passive and nearly mute his entire time with the Believers.

The militia corpsman had given the hermit, and that's how everyone referred to him with the implied religious connotation, a thorough medical examination and pronounced him not only healthy but also extremely fit. His mental health, on the other hand, seemed to be in bad shape. The corpsman speculated that his condition was either caused by prolonged isolation, the accumulated neurological numbing affects of mind worm exposure [the 3M (mind worm mind melt]), or, most likely, a combination of both. The retinal scans they took of him could not matched with the U.N.S. Unity's personnel roster so his identity was still a mystery. All they could get out of him was what they took to be a mantra: mikiatron mikiatron mikiatron mikiatron.
The Believers called him Brother Lazarus, Brother Lazarus Long.

posted 04-08-99 03:42 PM ET            

Brother Legoean did not bother and try to hide his anger as he stared at the four militiamen standing at attention before him. They had been the midnight guard team and each one carried a deep bruise on their neck over their cardioid arteries.

"Alright Brother Haruhiro, give me the bad news. What's missing besides our esteemed guest, Brother Lazarus." Barked the militia leader.

Brother Haruhiro was still groggy from the surprise blow he received while Sydney Camp's grounds. One minute he was outside the supply dome and the next moment it was four hours later and he was flat on his back in the infirmary.

"Brother Legoean, sir, we are missing one metric ton of rations, two fuel cells, our five spare e-suits, two shredder pistols and a blast rifle. Oh, yes, one of the boats is gone too, sir." Haruhiro knew that this was bad, this was very bad. Brother Legoean blinked once in surprise at the extent of the theft. He audibly ground his teeth and swallowed hard before speaking.

"Are you telling me that one old hermit overpowered four of my, supposedly, highly trained people, stole tons of our supplies, loaded them into a boat and sailed into the sunrise disappearing into thin air in just under two hours? Is that what I am suppose to report to Brother Rahjiv and Sister Miriam? And I suppose the good news is that no one was seriously injured. You are going to wish you were dead before I'm through with your training. What do you say to that you mind worm maggots."

"Sir, thank you, Sir." They responded in unison not actually sounding as though they that meant what they just said.

"I am going to make sure that this militia never forgets the name of Brother Lazarus Long." Swore Brother Legoean.

posted 04-08-99 11:50 PM ET            

"There it is." The flight controller said to Alisa Sung, pointing to a blip on the radar screen. He opened up a comm channel to the shuttle.

"Shuttle 001, you are cleared for landing at Mintaka's LS. Flight vector 281."

The pilot's voice came back. "Roger. Vectoring 281. By the way, Damir, this shuttle's has a name now, the Aristotle."

"Gotcha, Aristotle. That you 'Dre?"

"Yessir." Came back the Russian-accented voice.

On the shuttle, Borodino was finishing up his briefing materials on Mintaka Point. The base had an interesting history; many of its materials, including its radar dome, had come from a Unity supply pod found nearby. The base, located mainly inside centaurite column, housed thirty-one permenant residents, whose main activities revolved around the Point's metereological station, hydroponics bays, and still-under-construction naval facilities. The last of these was Borodino's supposed motive for visiting the base, for the Nicosia would dock here before setting off into the Orion Channel and thence to the Oceanus Australus. But that wouldn't be for another two days. For now, he looked forward to meeting the base's mayor and hunting down Albanese before he went galavanting off to whatever his next project was.

posted 04-11-99 09:26 PM ET            

"Commissioner?" The voice came over Pravin's intercomm.

"Yes, Amanda?"

"Mr. Roberts is here to see you."

"Send him in."

The door to Lal's office opened, and Kevin Roberts, his chief of staff, strode in. "Good morning, Commissioner."

"Good morning, Kevin. What's on the agenda today?"

Roberts punched up something on his padd. "No ministerial appoinments -- unless you wish to make one?" He looked up at this boss. Lal shook his head.

"Did Jeremy make it to Mintaka?"

"Yes, the Aristotle sent word of its safe arrival. Next, the Voltaire has reached Vulcan; Dr. Kennicott sent a prelimenary report based on his first few examinations of the so-called 'planet-pearls.' Nothing conclusive -- the text should be in your 'in' file."

"The Board will be questioning Dr. MacIntire tommorrow -- it's a general questioning, nothing special."

"Councilor Takahashi will continue to play senior contrarian?"

"Possibly. I think she'd more likely be for this. Even though she didn't join Skye's Gaian's, she does have something of a green streak to her, so she should like an improved recycling program."

"A Board session that might be run with general unanimity of support for a proposal? I don't know who I'll survive that. I'm not much for change, you know.

Kevin ignored Lal's wry humor; Pravin wondered if he'd ever get a smile from his chief of staff. "Professor Gelaradi has asked for an appointment this afternoon; she wants to start a marine species introduction program, something like the Arbor Project up around Falconbridge. She wants to set it up at Mintaka."

"Busy place these days�" Lal interjected.

"That's it on the governing side. Here," Roberts handed Lal a sheet of paper, "is your med schedule for the next four days."

posted 04-12-99 10:01 PM ET            

"Minister, you wished to see me?"

"Ah, yes, Commander Jamison. Please, have a seat." They were in Borodino's temporary quarters -- a fairly spartan [lowercase] affair: a single bed, a desk, a table, and two chairs formed the bulk of the furnishings, along with an under-equiped kitchenette. "Tea?"

"No, thank you, sir." Jamison wondered why the Minister had called for him as Jeremy poured himself a cup.

"I'm glad that you've had safe passage thus far, Commander, and I congratulate you on your part in the solving of the canal conundrum."

"It was a minor part, sir."

"Tony says otherwise." He paused. "Commander, I asked you here for a personal reason." Jamison struggled to keep his face from showing his surprise; his eyebrows, however, betrayed him. "A gift, actually." Borodino got up, pulled a book out of his travel-bag, and handed it to the Blue Watch officer. The psuedo-leather cover proclaimed in faux-gold engraved letters "Chiron's Skies: A Navigator's Guide".

"Thank you, sir."

"I assume you know the old-school style of navigation? The pre-electronic way -- by the stars?"

"Of course." He was nearly insulted.

"Well, here is a source for doing it on Planet. I based it off an old US Navy handbook -- been working on it since soon after planetfall."

"You did this yourself, sir?"

"Yes. My bachelor's degree is in astronomy, and I spent my youth in Maine, a sailing state if e'er there was one. The book should prove useful should contact with the CPS system be lost."

"Thank you, sir. I am honored. I was not aware that we were publishing books."

"A small printing shop just opened in the Garibaldi sector. Calls itself the Guttenberg. I am the first, among the faction if not the planet, to have a book published here. Anyway, I have another gift for you, this one not from me."

"Oh?"

Borodino pulled out a small, wooden case and handed it to Jamison. "Open it." Jamison did so and revealed a brass sextant.

"This looks antique!"

"It is. From the nineteenth century. I believe it was his great-great-grandfather's, a British admiral."

"Whose great-great-grandfather?"

posted 04-15-99 09:51 PM ET            

From: Keiko Takahashi, Councilor and Minister of Agriculture
To: All Councilors and Ministers
Re: Agricultural Labor
Date: 001/40.6

I would like to call a session of the Board of Councilors for tommorrow at 1410.

The purpose of the meeting would be to raise the minimum number of hours each citizen must spend working in public agriculture from four hours per decurn to six hours per decurn.