The Cyborg Messiah, Old SF Novel

[SumDood]

This is one of my old SF novels back from 1994. It represents how I wrote back then. I won't put the entire novel in right now - it has thirty chapters. But I'll cut and paste a chapter every once in a while in reply to this topic.

I don't think this work was too bad. Of course, at the time I wasn't actually sober too often when I was writing, so my judgement may have been a bit impaired.

I sent out letters of solicitation to a variety of publishing houses in an attempt to get this novel published. I even considered self publication (as if I had the money for that). But in the end I discovered that it was best just to finish college and wait until I found another opportunity. Now I'm thinking about getting back into writing again, although this time I don't know if I'll write SF or Fantasy. I'm seriously considering contemporary fiction. I know, it sounds boring, but it doesn't have to be. It's about people, and their lives, and how they interact with each other. It's about relationships, and it's about characterization. And I think it's what I need to get into more than just the technology or the magic.

If you read this novel, I think you'll find that the relationships between the characters is a bit weak. This is where I suffered a bit, and it's something I've learned a lot about in the past few years. I think my future work will show that.

Anyway, enjoy...

[SumDood]

PROLOGUE

From high planetary orbit the shadow of a great dreadnought flashed down through a rich thick atmosphere and crawled across the mountains, lakes and forests of a beautiful green world. The huge vessel was a dark malevolent citadel of metal and plastic, an oppressive force, circling the periphery of this fresh vibrant orb like a confident predator stalking its prey.

The smooth easy grace with which the black ship silently drifted over the planet belayed its enormous mass, made it seem small and insignificant when compared to the size of the object which it orbited. On a cosmic scale it was, but to the people of the small fertile world below, the vessel was the hand of a mighty giant. A gloved fist that had been expected for many years.

Within the vessel the Pure Ones were planning their assault in conjunction with the aid of this planets corporate rulers. These mercenaries had come a long way to quell a rebellion. They were anxious for the fighting to begin.
Chain 3 of Graylin Unit was meeting in a vast staging area where they were preparing to board their drop ships for transport to the surface. The five Circles of Omegan infantry making up the Chain stood at attention before the Huntmaster as he gave them his pre-departure benediction.

Each of the five circles was composed of ten muscular gray skinned men dressed in black Vandinium transit armor, a high tech chain mesh. Only their forearms and faces remained bare. These were the Holy Warriors of the Khoa, the Omegans. Genetically engineered by the E.P.M. corporation they held within them a capacity for destruction more powerful than any infantry in recorded history. To control these cyborg slaves their corporate owners had gone to great lengths.

Behind the robed Huntmaster was the holy pyre of Khoa, its white flames burning brightly and mixed with occasional flickers of red and orange. The Omegans stood rigid on the shiny black floor of the hanger, patient and filled with the discipline of their religion. The Huntmaster knew they would stand like this until the end of time were they required to do so. He prided himself on the sharpness of these warriors, the tip of the sword that enabled the E.P.M. corporation to maintain its edge in the field of weapons technology. The respect and fear their enemies felt for them was well deserved.

"Holy warriors of Khoa," he began. "Once more we call upon you who have been created by the Khoa as the defenders of the faith to descend into the realms of deviance and defiance. Once more we, the Pure Ones, ask that you go into the jaws of the serpent so that the flames of the Khoa might one day burn clean. Will you go?" he bellowed.

As one the Chain intoned, "We are the defenders of the faith. We are the Omega to all who claim separateness from the Khoa. To the will of the Khoa alone shall we listen. Who commands us?"

"I, Huntmaster of the third chain as appointed by the Khoa that encompasses us all, Command you." said the robed leader. He waved his arms out to indicate the planet below them and exclaimed with ecstatic vigor, "Go forth and destroy all that claims individuality. Descend upon the world below and kill all those who drain the strength of the Khoa by their false beliefs. You are the Khoa, I am the Khoa, and they are the Khoa. Through Unity we shall prevail against the weak who have deviated. Their weakness is our weakness and their poison must be burned from our body so that we may survive."

"Deviation from the Khoa is impure," the warriors replied as one. "Impurity must be purged by passage through the holy fire of judgment to insure the survival of the Khoa. We shall obey your command."

The Huntmaster smiled from under his cowl and dropped his arms.
"So be it."





CHAPTER ONE



Two centuries before the colonization of Vargas, the planet had not been the lush green forest world it was today.

Vargas had first been discovered by a deep space seed probe sent out by the Mellagoshyn corporation during an era of expansion. A time in which many such probes were dispatched by those corporations interested in long term galactic investments.

These wandering computerized explorers had been dispatched with many diverse tools, including sensors and artificially intelligent programming that was possessed of its own motivational instinct. These inorganic "minds" had been given the capacity to enhance the environmental conditions on the surface of any suitable world they found. The majority of the tools necessary for this consisted of finally crafted biological systems developed by corporations that specialized in genetic sculpting. Lethal to almost all non-Terran flora and fauna, this bio-material was programmed and sold to the other companies in the Corporate Coalition under the same legal obligations and restrictions as a weapon of mass destruction. The Coalition was careful to insure that none of these seeding devices were misused.

After landing on a planet meeting the criteria it had been programmed to search for, the probe sent out a beacon that registered the seeded worlds as possible future claims. Unfortunately these beacons could also be detected by other interested investors, and it was up to the corporations who had dispatched the probe to determine whether or not the world in question was truly worth the considerable effort to colonize, thereby giving them full legal possession of it. By agreement, a world was not a possession until at least 100,000 company personnel loyal to the petitioning corporation, requested recognition as a full division. The Corporate Coalition regulated and recorded the ownership of worlds, and in cases of dispute they determined the outcome, often by the largest bribe.

The Coalition was a kind of mediate for the Mega Corporations that owned and ran the known galaxy. It had begun on a trading world colonized by a large number of diverse investors, but over time it had come to be considered neutral ground. Eventually it had developed into a galactic bank as well as a central meeting place for Corporate Administrators, Representatives, and Stock Holders. The Coalition mainly consisted of a group of Ambassadors serving the interests of their various companies. By mutual agreement these representatives forged galactic laws that were obeyed under threat of embargo by the other members of the Coalition. As embargo was the only weapon in the Coalitions arsenal, it was weak and occasionally its laws were bent or broken, but for the most part the corporations heeded their agreements. Bribery and espionage were far more lucrative than unsanctioned military action, and in the end, it was the bottom line that concerned them.

Vargas had been one of the worlds that the Mellagoshyn corporation had determined to be worth the effort of colonization. It was a rim world, not on the galactic rim but on the edge of the galactic territory that had been colonized by mankind thus far. The seed probe that had discovered it had found a planet with a viable atmosphere, a favorable rotation, and exceptionally propitious climate. It had immediately settled down to do its work.

There had been native flora on the planet, certainly not the first time that alien life had been discovered, but as usual it hadn't been anything of interest. A small ecosystem of anaerobic bacteria, plankton, fungus, lichen and tiny one celled animals had been spread diversly across the globe.

Where living material like this came from was a matter of much conjecture and debate amongst the scientific community. No one believed life just "developed" spontaneously on its own, but for all the theory and research, the Coalition Archives had yet to record any indisputable evidence that could explain this phenomenon. Many living worlds such as this had been found. They were not rare.

As per its programming the Mellagoshyn seed ship had dispersed its terrestrial flora across the planet. Genetically engineered to grow and multiply at accelerated rates the Terran designed plants quickly took over.

The alien ecosystem on Vargas either adapted to the new life or failed and died. If any complications were developed due to compatibility errors between the two life forms, it was unrecorded.

By the time human colonists arrived two hundred years later the planet was coated in a lush green growth of forests and a variety of other plants usable in construction and farming.

The colonization of worlds had become an art form frequently practiced by the human race and the huge colony ships that carried the Mellagoshyn pioneers to Vargas had been prepared with everything they needed. Frozen stock allowed the colonists to readily produce animals and to prevent the corruption of their own small gene pool. Pre-fab construction material and modular equipment got the colony on its feet quickly. Their first and most important project was the erection of the townships from which they could proceed in their efforts to farm and cultivate the land.

Tracts of forest were cleared and the wood garnered from them was used as housing. Log cabins were the standard habitat at first, though these earthy domiciles did not lack in the amenities of civilization. The knowledge required to design plumbing and electrical components from raw materials was a standard in all colonization packages and Vargas was no exception. Foundries, mines and automated machining plants were among the first business built, and the most important. Industrialization was the key to a successful civilization and this planet had ample raw material from which to begin. The colonists worked hard and they prospered.

Within less than a century the planet had brought itself up from a pioneer world to a successful modern colony. When the supply and trade vessels came on their fifty year cycle the colony needed less and less and gave more and more each time. It wasn't long before only the most technical of equipment was needed from their mother corporation.

It might seem that the lack of faster than light travel would make it impossible for realistic trade to exist in the galactic community but the fact that faster than light communications was possible made the exchange of information the main form of commerce. Material goods were still traded, but only the most valuable of goods were considered worth the effort.

Colonial administrations strove to enhance their standing in the galactic market by developing new ideas and technologies. In exchange they were then able to purchase the technology they needed from the other divisions and companies. The Mellagoshyn Corporations Vargas division had been very successful on this front.

The current C.E.O. of the division was a man in ill health and was motivated to push Vargas toward development of anything that could be traded for the medical technology needed to keep him alive. As a result Vargan scientists had designed and sold the patents for many technological advances. New holographic display systems, advanced pulp processing methods, nutritional chemical supplements that had the same effect on food as salt but none of the ill effects, and a blood replacement chemical that could be stored in dehydrated form as a powder. They also designed a paint-like thermal coating for starships that could be used to convert absorbed heat of great intensity into a usable energy form, and could be produced at much lower cost than the thermal field systems currently used for that purpose.

It was just this type of independence that made the stockholders in the Mellagoshyn corporation worried.

History showed them that colonies such as this one had an unacceptable percentage of failure due to rebellion and revolution among the colonists who no longer felt constrained by the power of the corporation that had spawned them. In situations such as this there were few options available since the corporations still lacked the ability to send military troops to trouble spots fast enough to do any good. By the time they arrived the damage would have been done and a rebel government well established. When that happened the entire planetary population was eliminated, usually at great expense to the mother company who was forced to write off its investment.

One of the options the Mellagoshyn stockholders had that could possibly allow them to gain a profit before rebellion occurred was to use the colony in a planned gamble, a venture against a fellow corporation from which they had something to gain.

The Endura Preggan and March corporation had technology Mellagoshya wanted, but they were unwilling to sell it. The Mellagoshyn executives saw a way to get what they wanted from E.P.M. without risking anything that was not already at risk.

Vargas.

The devious nature of man had found yet another way of plotting the destruction of his own kind. For the corporate Lords the motto, if I can't have it all then nobody will have it, was a saying considered honorable and lucrative. Among the rich who had inherited control of this new frontier no rules existed but their own.

And they intended to keep it that way.


-------------------------


The middle aged officer appeared imposing in the stance he had taken, a statuesque apparition planted firmly between a moss covered granite rock outcropping and a staggered row of thick leafy trees. The officer had climbed up the wide grassy slope of this hill for a better view and now he stood with his arms on the hips of his green combat armor, looking down with an air of command to survey the small camp his people had just finished constructing.

It wasn't much, only a cluster of inflatable dome shelters surrounded by a perimeter of shield emitters, but it was all they really needed.

The virtual display in his helmet gave him an infrared view, as well as the standard visual spectrum, allowing him to see that the camps infrared signature matched the background heat sufficiently to indicate that the shield emitters were doing their job. In addition to providing protection the shields also absorbed any ambient thermal radiation and matched the camps emissions to the thermal background rendering it effectively invisible to infrared detection.

There was no air support in the camp. The Smirk wing attached to his chain had stayed in orbit according to their usual procedure. The vehicles were equipped with A.R.C., Atmospheric Reentry Capability, and when he needed their assistance he would simply call for it. They could be down on the planet and providing ground support in less than fifteen minutes.

As for sensors, the Tquezz with the rest of Graylin unit was parked in gyrosynchronos orbit over the camps position. A better vantage point could not be had and anything they saw was immediately reported to him.

His name was Gannon Kern, officially commissioned as Major Kern in the service of the E.P.M. corporate mercenary fleet. He was 12 years into his company contract now, more than half finished with the 20 years he needed for retirement. Of course, none of the time he'd spent in cold sleep traveling between corporate colonies counted, only those years actually awake and on duty.

He'd been at the rank of Major for six of the past twelve years and there was little chance of a promotion. The Chain of command onboard Tquezz for the landing teams was maxed out and there were five other Majors looking for promotion to Colonel. Their current Colonel had only just recently reached that rank, and his commission still had 48 years in it.

The real reason for Major Kerns dissatisfaction, however, was from the fact that their Units previous corporate Attaché had been replaced with a new and younger executive who's personality and attitude grated on him, made him want to request a transfer, even with all the penalties that would be connected to such a request.

Life in the mercenary fleet was hard enough without adding personality conflicts on top of it. There were a lot of sacrifices made. No family remained for them to go back to. Everyone on their homeworlds that could have remembered them was either dead or ancient by now. But there were good things too.

He thought about the men of his Chain resting in the camp below him. To them he was known as the Huntmaster and, despite the fact that they were corporate slaves controlled by cult like theological programming, he felt a loyalty to them, a responsibility toward their safety. Even an emotional attachment. When they performed well he was proud, and when they didn't, well... they always did. They'd never lost a battle for him yet and they probably never would. Death was something they did not fear. No infantry officer could ever hope to command troops more loyal and obedient than his Omegan cyberslaves.

No... he had no regrets. The last twelve waking years had been successful ones. Filled with the glory of battle and the inevitable downtime thrashing that he and his fellow officers always enjoyed afterwards. Good times and bad, but always, they were times spent together as a Unit. The camaraderie and fellowship made the sacrifices worth while, and then of course there was the final payoff. Retirement benefits for a corporate mercenary officer were excellent. He could settle down and live the good life. Maybe even start his own family.

Climbing carefully down the hill toward camp he became aware of a bothersome itch developing on the back of his left shoulder. It Irritated him that after hundreds of years of weapons development the Corporation still couldn't produce combat armor that was completely comfortable. He did his best to ignore it. If he were an Omegan he could have simply shut off the nerves generating the sensation. He envied them that ability, they didn't have to feel anything they didn't want to.

Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be an Omegan. Believing without doubt that you were part of a universal intelligence that encompassed all living beings and that life was merely a facet of that intelligence. You'd never need to fear death, after all, death would only mean a return to the original essence of life from which you had come in the first place. Indeed, there were times when he got so wrapped up in his role as the Huntmaster that he actually found himself believing the intricately designed theology. Maybe he even secretly wished it was the truth. Maybe it was. Who could say?

Passing through the perimeter defense he came to the dome where the Guide for the second circle of his chain had set up shop. He pushed the access plate and waited for the airlock to cycle open.

He wanted to talk to this guide because it had come to his attention that the C.E.O. of this planet had been just a little too anxious to keep them out of the northern areas of this continental sub section. It was something he wanted to check out. Loose ends made him nervous.

Vargas was not owned by E.P.M. It was a Mellagoshyn colony, and that Corporation had paid a great deal to E.P.M. for the privilege of mercenary assistance in wiping out the rebellion that had started here.

But why go to all that trouble for an agricultural colony? he wondered. Was there something going on in the northern sector of this continent that made this planet more valuable than it appeared? Sure, it was a pretty world, and a rare find. It wasn't very often that a planet naturally matched conditions so close to the environmental ideal that it required no terraforming. But it's distance from the center of galactic trade greatly subtracted from those benefits.

What then, he wondered, made this world valuable enough for the Mellagoshyn Corporation to go to all the trouble of hiring E.P.M. mercenaries just to make certain that rebel forces, developed from within their own society, were destroyed before they could gain enough strength to threaten the Planetary Administration? Why couldn't they handle it themselves and, if not, why didn't they just abandon the planet and cut their losses? It would certainly have been a lot cheaper.

This was a mystery he felt worth exploring and, since the units new Attaché appeared to be either too inept or too raw to figure out that this information was important, it was obviously up to him to do the digging.

Entering the domes airlock the Major was hit with a momentary blast of U.V. that annihilated any bacteria that might have stuck to his armor. Through the inner seal he found the Guide of Circle two diligently studying a holographic map of the surrounding terrain. Making plans for the coming assault.

The Lieutenant rose immediately when he saw whom it was that had entered his shelter.

He bowed. "The Guide of the Second Circle shows honor to you Huntmaster. How may I serve?"

Major Kern pulled off his helmet and waved his hand. "You can dispense with the Guide act Cranson. These domes are soundproof, the men can't hear you so just talk straight."

"Uh... yes Sir. But, isn't it standard policy to follow theological guidelines when on the ground with the Omegans?"

"Sure it is, but no one ever follows it. Relax Lieutenant, I realize this is your first time actually on a ground team, live and learn."

The Major sat heavily on a folding fiberplast chair and looked at the map the Lieutenant had been studying. Holding his hand over the devices neural input, he engaged the linear zoom control and pulled the view back to show a larger portion of the continent. Noting a small container of macadamia flavored pellet rations on the table, he collected a handful and leaned back to examine hologram.

To the east were the cities of Caravan, Luxly, New Tarsus, and the capital city of Wendalright. To the west was an extensive salt water ocean and to the north there were mountains and forests, basically uninhabited. The southern sector they were restricted to was mainly composed of small farming towns.

Overall the planetary population was quite large for a colony that had been installed just a few centuries ago, but then Mellagoshya was known to promote large families amongst their employees. The larger the population the larger the consumer base, and that was good. Especially for a small corporation like this one that was still far behind many of in competitors in salable technologies. Amongst the galactic corporations, promoting Free Traders from within the company was usually considered distasteful, simply for the independence it tended to generate throughout the colonists. On this world, however, it had been allowed because of the revenue it generated for the company in tariffs and taxes.

The Vargan administration had obviously sacrificed monopolized control over its internal economy for increased independence from outside trade. This wasn't surprising, considering their distance from the industrial colonies and established trade lanes, but it was dangerous without maintaining a strong militia of true loyalists. Obviously the militia here had been corrupted, and could easily be a large part of the problem.

"What do you think?" he asked the Lieutenant. Then he gestured toward the map. "A tactical assessment."

"I'm not sure what to think Sir. It looks like a standard operation. There are a lot of little towns and villages where there will undoubtedly be rebels hiding, but if we've got authority for indiscriminate termination I don't think they'll be a problem. It'd be a real bitch if we had to separate dissidents from loyalists."

"True," nodded Kern. "Innocent civilians are always getting in the way in that type of operation, but we never accept restrictions like that and Mellagoshya knows it. They've reported complete evacuation of everyone not suspected of rebel involvement. Anything left is cannon fodder. Our main concern is that the rebels have set up small underground bases in the outback. Those will be the targets for the Omegans. The towns will be up to the Smirk squadrons to deal with. A few quarks and they're history."

"Yes Sir."

"Have you studied the northern area beyond our jurisdiction?" asked the Major.

"Uh... no Sir. I wasn't really worried about those sectors since we can't do anything there anyway."

"Well, keep this order between you and me, but I want you to send a combat model up there to check it out."

"You're sure Sir? If the Attaché finds out she's going to be looking to siphon somebody's brain with a straw."

"Don't worry about her Cranson. She's the Colonels problem. It's important that we find out if there are any rebels up there. Just because the Mellagoshyn Administration on this planet says the area's clean doesn't mean it is and I don't need an battalion of well armed infantry dropping in for dinner when we haven't set the table.

According to the data that Vargas Administration has released to us this rebellion started when a division of the local defense force defected in an attempted coup. That means we're going to have to deal with some possibly well armed individuals. If they have spies in the planetary Administration, which I'd bet my teeth on, they probably know what territory we've been restricted to. That's why we've got to check out the northern sectors."

"I understand Sir. You've got my support. I'll send in..." the Lieutenant picked up a data slate and scrolled through it quickly. "4471A. He's configured for assault. You want this strictly recon or you want search and destroy?"

"Search and destroy. I don't want any of the men getting the idea that it's alright to let deviants live. Wouldn't sit well with their religion at all."

"No problem sir. I used 4471A on our last hunt. He was the one we dropped into that shopping mall on Sylvan 4." The Lieutenant laughed somewhat sadistically at the thought. "He Rode that infiltration pod down through the atmosphere like a @&*%ing meteorite and came out fighting like all hell. Killed 97% of his targets. I sure would have liked to have seen their faces when he smashed through three stories of concrete and steel and then came out of the pod. Those poor bastards probably their pants. He did a damn fine job Sir. I'm sure you can count on him to do just as good a job on this mission."

The Major nodded, crunching on a mouthful of nuts. It was always the same. The men and women who served in combat operations, they always seemed to go through the same stages of adjustment. First they were shocked at the violence and death. The horror of watching people blown away and seeing mothers crying over their dead children, men crying over the bodies of their wives, wives doing the same. Destroyed cities, devastated worlds. The horror built up quickly and the successful soldiers were forced to laugh it off and joke about it to keep themselves sane.

Then they reached the stage where they took delight in demonstrating to others how tough they'd become by making macabre, sometimes obscene references to the destruction, like a puppy who'd just become a dog, yipping and nipping with the others in the pack over the rights to a fresh kill. The stage Cranson was at right now.

To him human life had become so devalued and his heart had been hardened so thoroughly that he truly felt nothing. A sort of numb uncaring existence without any true emotion. Life became a game with no rules.

Eventually, if he lived, thought the Major, he'll reach my stage. Contemplation over the value of life. Wondering if it's worth anything. Wondering what all this was for and what it was all about. Death looses it's meaning, gets tangled up with life, and you find yourself examining your own past and trying to find something of worth in it. You struggled on living because there was nothing else you could do. You learned to live for tomorrow because today was just another day of . You learned to believe in hope because it's all there was.

When you reached that stage it was time to retire.

"Yeah, I'm sure your man will do just fine." he told the Lieutenant. "We'll start the assault at 0:300 ship time. You might as well get some rest. It's going to be a busy day tomorrow."

"Yes Sir."

The Major sealed his helmet back in place and exited the dome. He decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea if he got some rest himself.

He was feeling pretty depressed. Maybe because this world was so beautiful and he was here to kill it. A dark shadow, an angel of death. He found himself wanting to get this mission over quickly so he could think about that transfer request. Back on Tquezz where he could sleep the cold dreamless sleep of hibernation until it was time to retire.

Begging for a transfer wasn't something he wanted to do, but that new Attaché, if she made this assignment into a fiasco he wasn't going to take it sitting down. He doubted the four other Majors or the Colonel would either.

Mutiny was the farthest thing from his mind, but there were other ways of keeping corporate executives in line.

Politics sucked, he thought miserably.

It was a disease that never went away.

[SumDood]

CHAPTER TWO



There were nine of them in all, each wearing ablative ethyrium armor, and each carrying a military style energy rifle. The weapons were slung over their shoulders. They might as well have been stored in a box for the speed it would take to ready them for use, a very untactical habit.

The nine had marched single file through the forest for 2.7 kilometers now. It had taken them almost a half an hour. Their grumbling, complaining and noisy method of thrashing through any brush in their paths made them incredibly easy to keep track of.

He had followed stealthily, observing.

When he'd first decided to follow them he'd been concerned that they would have the means to detect him, but he'd spotted the device for such things and noted that it was not in use. It was slung over the back of one of the hunters, a primitive looking male who was sweating profusely and obviously in poor physical condition.

He thought it strange that whoever was in charge of this group had not forced the tired hunter to pay attention to the device he carried. Their leader must have little concern that an enemy might be nearby, or perhaps he was merely overconfident. That trait was common in those who deviated.

Their lack of discipline was also a deviant trait. He found it contemptible.

During their march the nine of them had been keeping a varied dispersion of eight to ten meters. However, now that they had apparently stopped to rest, they'd foolishly grouped themselves together in a rocky clearing surrounded by tall conifers and bushy vines.

He'd followed them out of curiosity thinking that perhaps they were heading back toward their lair but, over the past 27 minutes of observation, he'd come to the conclusion that they were just beginning their hunt. Since they were deviants the purpose of their hunt would be the corruption of others. He could not tolerate or understand such blatant disregard for the Khoa. There was only one possible response to it and he was growing bored with this group anyway. It was time to seek other prey.

The blazing pulse beams of plasma energy he released upon them through the cybernetic cannons mounted on his forearms cut easily through their armor. On contact with the energy the surprised deviants literally exploded into smoking chunks of carbonized muscle tissue and charred bone.

In his mind, status scans indicated an automatic increase in adrenaline and acetylcholine. He felt the chemical boost kick in and rode the high, welcoming it, letting it enhance his bloodlust.

Multitasking as many variables as he could he went for a sensory overload, it was a kind of game he'd developed, seeing how much awareness he could envelope at one time. Testing himself to discover how much multiple input his mind could handle. So far he'd never found a limit.

His attack was so fast they didn't even have time to scream, let alone scramble to ready the weapons they had slung over their shoulders.

Counters kept track of the dead for him as the aural detection scans of the nine deviants faded from what was his internal tactical display system. The Omegans called the display system the eyes of the mind. They had no knowledge of the incredible technology that made it possible, to them it was a gift of the Khoa.

The purging of the deviants was complete less than a second from when it had begun but the chemical high remained. He was wired.

As usual his organic systems had reacted a thousand times slower than his cybernetic ones and now the after effects of this attack would include a time consuming process of filtration as his liver and kidneys went through the task of purging the combat reaction enhancers from his blood stream. Consciously he was aware this but he had other names for it.

The original genetic designers of the Omega system considered it a pity that those enhancers couldn't simply be allowed to stay in the system and provide constant stimulation but that would be dangerous and they knew it. Keeping the brain at chemically heightened rates of speed for an extended period of time meant eventual burn out, and burnout for an Omegan was not something they could allow to occur under any conditions.

It would be like giving a psychotic the keys to an armory.

Looking around the carnage, and stepping out from his position behind the trees, Omegan 4471A noticed that the needles of the conifers he'd used as concealment were burning with a snapping sizzling sound. The upper branches on the other side of the clearing had also caught fire from the temperature of the plasma beams when the pulses had impacted their targets.

This wasn't unexpected considering the power behind the holy fire he had released. The problem was he had no quick way of putting out a blaze such as this by himself, not with so many of the taller branches burning, and left unchecked it could easily develop into a major blaze destroying many of the trees.

He felt sympathy for the trees. They were part of the Khoa as well, though an unthinking part, and they had no control over the weaving of fate that had brought this burning heat to their dry parched bodies. He respected their naturally pure state of oneness with the Khoa, it was a desirable condition and one which he found enviable in many ways. He hoped that they would not be forced to early judgment because of the purging he had been constrained to perform on the deviants. Perhaps he could aid them in some way.

Mentally 4471A began the ritual of communion, cycling his prayers and breaking them down into the basic language of life. The prayer was a short one, by requirement, and he packed the chant before sending it, a single note vibrating soundlessly into the sky.

In the vibrations of the prayer he gave his current location, number of deviants eliminated, and the fact that a fire was in progress. If the Huntmaster felt that they were worthy of deliverance he would most likely send a silver angel to breathe on the trees with a tongue of ice.

Having passed on his information, and eased his conscience, Omegan 4471A left the area to continue his search for enemies of the Khoa. He hoped that he could find deviants that would provide more of a challenge. This group had been far too easy.

As he wandered alone through the forest his mind contemplated and analyzed the purging he had just finished. He thought of the deviants and wondered about them. They were a subject that he often found himself pondering on his hunts. It seemed strange to him that anyone should deviate from the Khoa. How could they deny themselves to themselves and then fight against themselves to retain the desolation of separateness from the Khoa? Why should any desire separateness when it only meant more extensive dissolution when the time of judgment arrived? The Khoa would certainly not keep the memory of part of itself that denied its own existence would it? What purpose would such a memory serve?

Thankfully the deviation percentage on this colony was a small one and shouldn't take more than a week to completely purge. One Chain of holy warriors and three Wings of the Pure Ones silver angels seemed more than enough. Overall, Omegan 4471A felt very optimistic about this hunt. But then, he reminded himself, it might just be the post combat high.

Personal satisfaction and overestimation of capability were the first steps to deviation and failure. It was engraved on the very stones surrounding the holy pyre, and he knew that he would do well to keep it in mind.

He remembered his Circles Guide explaining that the deviants of this world preferred to dwell underground because they believed that it provided them with some protection from the eyes of the Khoa. What foolishness. Did they not realize that their eyes were the Khoa's eyes as well?

Retrieving a geological survey map, out of the store of knowledge he'd been blessed with by his Guide, he moved the information from his well of wisdom and placed it on one of his minds eyes where he could examine it.

He noted that the ridge line he was on extended north some four hundred kilometers. Several feeder streams appeared to be generated at a location not far from his current position. If these deviants were dwelling in natural caverns then the feeder streams would be a good place for him to start searching.

At an even pace he headed northwest toward where the streams first showed on his map.



-------------------------------------------------



Looking at the tactical dispatch panel Dr. Kamarand carefully concealed his excitement as he verified that the bio-sensors on one of the patrols he'd sent out as bait two days prior had not given an update for several minutes. It was first squad, second platoon. Their patrol area was very near the base perimeter and the death of the squad, for that was what this undoubtedly indicated, held the unmistakable signs of assault by an Omegan. Only the E.P.M. Corporations genetically engineered cyborg infantry could have moved into position this quietly and killed this quickly.

Ernst Kamarand was one of the few living people who knew from experience what E.P.M.s Omegans were capable of. This attack was something he'd expected, something he'd been waiting for.

The corporal in charge of the dispatch panel watched nervously as the doctor checked first squads record tapes.

"Hmm..." muttered Kamarand, more to himself than to the corporal. "It looks like they all went off line at almost the same instant."

"That's why I called you sir. I figured if they all went at once that maybe it was a glitch in the system. Or at least I... I was hoping"

"It's possible," said the doctor, rubbing his beard thoughtfully and considering something else entirely. "But extremely doubtful. Better contact the colonel."

The corporal nodded and reached for the comm-link with a shaking hand.

Distracted by the possibility that he might have a shot at getting near the completion of a life time goal the Doctor almost failed to notice the note of depression and shock in the Corporals voice and body language. When he did pick up on it, and realized it could lead to problems later, he immediately took action to repress it. After all, he was a Psychoanalyst first, despite the fact that he was in command here.

"They knew the risk Corporal. They knew they were bait. Get adjusted to it, this is war and people are going to die."

"I know sir, it's just that... the whole squad!?"

"The enemy we're fighting against is lethal soldier. Deadlier by far than anything ever evolved by natural methods. First squad did not die for nothing. Their death gives us a chance to learn about this enemy so that we can discover a way to destroy them."

"Yes sir. I understand. It is the Concomitant Creed."

"That's right Corporal," said the Doctor, glad that the soldier had remembered what had been drilled into him during basic training. "The first line of the Creed; Know thy enemy. Never forget it."

"Yes sir."

He'll be alright, thought the Doctor. But he made a mental note to prescribe some mild tranquilizers for the enlisted men in the platoon attached to the base. They'd be having nightmares about this and they were going to need their sleep. If his plan worked out the next few weeks could get hectic.

Five minutes later the doctor had the transmission transferred from the dispatch station to a secured line in his office and was in a private conversation with Colonel Westen, leader of the "rebellion" on Vargis.

"This one looks probable Colonel," said Dr. Kamarand after he had explained what had happened to the patrol. "I want your permission to go ahead with a capture attempt. The Omegan's got to be alone and he's in the perfect area for it. We couldn't have hoped for a better opportunity."

"So you've finally lost it," said the Colonel, looking calmly at the doctor from his vid screen. "I wondered how long it would take you to become totally detached from reality, you lasted twelve years, not too bad Doctor." Then the Colonels expression changed to one of anger. "There isn't even supposed to be any mercenary activity in your area! And I can't afford to take chances with unplanned attempts just because you're bored. We're playing a dangerous game here. When we make our move we've got to be completely prepared."

Kamarand lowered his head and tried, quite successfully, to look unjustly criticized. "Colonel, we are prepared. We've been preparing for this ever since the merc fleet was hired. You didn't think we'd be able to just invite one in for tea did you? 'Would you like sugar with that? and, oh, by the way, we need to dissect you.' That's not going to work Colonel, and I'm not a clairvoyant. Despite my research into their tactics I no idea where Graylin unit's going to have their cyberslaves from minute to minute. We have to take a risk, there's no way around it, and the best time to take a risk is when the odds are good. Right now the odds are extremely favorable, and I doubt they'll get much better."

The Colonel shook his head negatively. "Look Doctor. I'm going to capture one of these Omegans in the southern quadrant and have him shipped up to your end. Like we planned. Snatching one in the same area as the lab is stupid. As soon as the E.P.M. Execs in charge of the Graylin unit realize there isn't a corpse they're going to know we've got it and then they're going to kill everything and everyone they have to to get it back. Omegan cyberslaves are state of the art, classified technology, and the E.P.M. Execs aren't idiots. It would only be a matter of time before they started going over probable scenarios, including the possibility that this rebellion was set up to snag some of their techno systems for ourselves. I don't want to give them any excuses for getting closer to the truth than they already are. If we screw this up it could lead to a war between our corporation and E.P.M. and that would be a war we'd lose. You know it and I know it. Now stick to the companies plan or I'll have you boxing Norio's in a D-Mark sugar factory."

"I see," said the Doctor, sighing in resignation. "Well I'm grateful to know your position on this Colonel, and I really appreciate your advice. I most certainly would have made a dangerous mistake if I hadn't consulted you on this."

The Colonels expression grew tighter as he leaned forward and stared rather seriously into the camera on his end. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Kamarand... don't @&*% with me. I know that tone, you always sound like this before you go and play maverick. Well this time we can't afford it. I'm not giving you advice I'm giving you an order."

"Colonel please... I'm in complete understanding of your feelings. If you don't want to take advantage of this opportunity, an opportunity that I might add has literally fallen into our laps, I will concede to your wishes. That doesn't mean that I don't think you're making a poor decision, but I won't act without your authority. You have my word on it."

"I don't know whether I should believe you or not Doctor. Others in this Administration may have forgotten about the incident you pulled on Kochab, trying to bribe corporate executives into letting you continue dead-end research, but I haven't. Your standing in the scientific community is on shaky ground already, don't make your military reputation fall in the @&*%ter as well."

Running the fingers of his right hand through his thinning blond hair the Colonel wondered why in the hell Admiral Keller had been crazy enough to put Kamarand in charge of the research portion of this project in the first place. The man was, quite simply, irresponsible and a rogue. "Just think about your loyalties before you do anything," he told the Doctor. "You have your orders, and if you screw this up I'll make sure you're tried for treason."

"No need for threats Colonel."

"You know me better than that Doctor. I'll talk to you again in twenty one hours. Sooner if I bag a rabbit."

"Understood sir."

The Colonel nodded and the screen went blank.

Excellently done, the Doctor complemented himself. Sometimes it wasn't easy being an actor, getting all the nuances and expressions just right, but he'd had years of practice and decades of experience in the way people thought. When everything boiled down to it, life was nothing more than an act anyway, the only question was; who were people acting for and why? Once he'd found that out it was only a matter of pushing the right buttons. Reaction followed action, patterns developed and the goal was achieved. It sounded simple but it never was. That's why when it worked the way it was supposed to it was such a thrill.

The Doctor quickly achieved communications with another person. The face of a young lieutenant appeared on the screen. He looked fresh and strong, a hard charger without a lot of brains to mess with his loyalties. Men like this came out of the Mellagoshyn Fleet Academy assembled like clockwork, but their naivety seldom lasted past their first command. Lt. Yasech had been instructed by his superiors to follow the orders of Doctor Kamarand. He took those instructions seriously.

"Lt. Yasech here, how can I help you Doctor?"

"Give me a report on first squad, second platoon."

"I've just been going over that. Bio-readings all ceased within 0.8 seconds. Radio scans indicate that a scrambled pulse transmission was beamed from that location approximately four seconds later. Target; Graylin unit surveillance satellite. Tactical programs confirm at a high percentage that E.P.M. troops are involved and, In an overall search pattern for rebel forces, this would be a likely place to start looking. We knew they'd try this if the C.E.O. was pushy enough about them staying out of the northern sectors. It was just a matter of time."

"Yes, of course, but remember you're not supposed to have that information so please be careful about who you mention it around. What is your determination on the attack?"

"Obviously an ambush Sir. The scrambled communication contained the crypto signature commonly used by cyberslaves. I'd say there is a 90% chance that it's one of the E.P.M. Omegans who did the killing. Just between you and me I'm willing to guarantee it."

"My opinion exactly Lieutenant. I've just been in contact with Vector Command and Col. Westen. They've given us the go-ahead for a capture attempt. Take the trank team and set up a trap. Try and lead him to you but be very careful. Use the cryogenic system like I suggested"

"Understood Sir. I'll get right on it."

"And Lieutenant?"

"Yes Sir."

"Keep a tight lip about this. When you get the slave to base don't let anyone know what you've got. I'm not implying that we've got leaks but I don't want to take any chances. Just get him to the lab and put him in one of the stasis tubes."

"No problem Sir."

"Good luck then," said the Doctor, cutting the link and transferring to yet another transmission line.

After a small delay the face of a beautiful young brunette woman appeared on his screen, her long dark hair soft and shiny. Her eyes were black and seemed to pierce the video image, boring right through the two dimensional display. Everything about her seemed to express raw sensuality.

Doctor Kamarand ignored it. He was an elderly man and through the experience of his years he'd learned to resist the sexual impulses often used by members of the female gender to control their male counterparts. Some would call it 'jaded'. It was a good thing too, for this particular woman would most certainly have taken his heart in his younger years, and a distraction such as that was not one he could not afford right now.

"Hello Doctor," she said in an icy tone. "What can I do for you?"

"You sound real pleased to hear from me Doctor Teritson. I'm not interrupting a pet project I hope. A package may soon be arriving in the lab. I want you to get your team ready for a complete medical probe and have them standing by."

"Is this the package you've been waiting for?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

"That remains to be seen," said Kamarand. "But let's assume that it is. You know what to do doctor, we've discussed this matter before. Use the schematics purchased by our agents on Brecha to remove anything lethal. And also, I want you and your team isolated when you're finished until such a time as I've had a chance to debrief you."

She let out a deep breath and rolled her eyes. Her irreverence toward security procedures showing plainly on her face.

"If you insist," she said with an unmistakable trace of sarcasm in her voice.

"I insist very strongly."

"I thought you would."

She ran a manicured finger across her forehead, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. The subconscious innocence of the movement seemed almost erotically hypnotic. "You mentioned the probability of self-destruct devices in your original report. Are you personally going to be present during the operation?"

"Yes. I'll be their as soon as the package arrives."

She nodded. "Alright then, I guess if you're willing to risk getting killed it would be impolite of me not to do the same."

"Impolite," he chuckled. "Thank you Doctor," and he cut the link.

Leaning back in his chair he examined his own fingernails and decided that he could use a manicure himself. Nothing to do about it now though, and as a psychoanalyst he had less need for clean fingers than a surgeon.

Hunching over his keyboard he got to work on a cover story. Eventually Colonel Westen was going to get suspicious, but by then the job would be done and it would be far too late for any action to be taken against him if everything went properly. The Admiral would see to that.

It was all part of the game.

[SumDood]

CHAPTER THREE


It had been 20.65 hours, more than a day in Vargis time, since his purging of the nine Deviant hunters and 4471A had spent the night roaming through the forest, looking for any infrared heat signatures that might indicate venting systems for an underground Deviant lair. So far he had found nothing.

During the night he'd also received enlightenment from his Guide telling him that the fire had been dealt with. It pleased him to know that the trees had been saved.

During the short communion with his guide there had been no modifications of his orders to search and destroy. In the general update to them all he'd learned that several other Omegans from his Chain had encountered and purged many deviant clusters to the south, but so far it appeared that he was the only one to have engaged the enemy in the northern area.

It did not occur to him that he might be the only one in that area. There was no reason for him to.

The hunt went on.

From the small butt pack strapped to his harness he withdrew bar of ebercot and quickly devoured it. This was only the second day of his hunt and he had enough of the nutrient rich bars remaining for sixteen days, far more than he needed. Water was plentiful here so the Chain had not been issued canteens.

In six days he would be required to return to the camp so that he could sleep and be reassigned. That gave him only 114 hours to locate and purge any deviants in this area and he swore upon the word of Khoa that he would succeed. This planet was being ravaged by a disease, a spirit of decay that was spreading corruption among the Pure Ones of this land and, in so doing, it was sapping strength from the unity of the Khoa.

It had to be stopped.

The sound of a distant explosion suddenly drew his attention. Analyzing the sonic wave pattern through his store of knowledge he came up with several possible types of explosives that could match. All of them were chemical based and that suited him fine. Chemical weapons were something that he could handle with a minimum of effort.

Triangulation of the echoes that bounced through the mountains placed the explosion at the end of a canyon not far ahead of him. He decided to loop around so that he would be above the explosion near the canyons edge, that way he'd be able to get a good view down at the area without walking immediately into it.

It did not occur to him to wonder why the explosions had gone off at this time. He had no reason to think that anything was wrong. Deviants were obviously in this area and Deviants were notoriously violent. They were known to frequently turn on one another and often fired their weapons for no discernible reason. The logic behind this defied him, as did most Deviant motives. Neither he, nor any of his brothers, had ever understood the need for alienation from the Khoa. They only knew it had to end.

Moving stealthily through the trees he found himself suddenly confronted by a large humanoid form covered in camouflage painted armor plate, and mounted with energy weapons that took the place of its hands. There was no indication of life on the mental eye that displayed such things which was why he hadn't detected this creature earlier. He decided to assume that it was a machine of some type, probably placed here by deviants to guard the area. That too was a common Deviant practice.

Not wanting to give it the opportunity to attack he took the initiative and allowed his reflexes to do their job.

Muscles on his right and left forearms slide aside and his cybernetic plasma cannons jutted out as the flesh split at the points it was programmed to. Targeting systems tracked and fired on the humanoid form in the space of a microsecond.

Blazing white plasma fragmented and splashed over the target, mostly deflected by its armor. The deflection was not without a price however. Huge smoking holes were apparent in the metal/ceramic plates that covered the machine and the force of the blast had knocked it backward several steps.

Omegan 4471A pressed his advantage and fired several more pulses into it, concentrating his aim on the locations that had already been hit and breached.

It exploded without warning.

Reflexive defense systems activated his positronic force field, but even so 4471A was thrown some twenty meters through the trees by the force of the blast. Several trunks of the enormous conifers shattered as he crashed through the, and following immediately behind him came a cloud of superheated gas and fire which burst through the trees and instantly ignited the forest in a thirty meter radius of the initial blast point.

4471A found himself kneeling on the ground amidst a pile of burning timber, surrounded by a raging inferno. Not a good position to be in. Only by the will of Khoa had he survived. The Khoa obviously had need of him for such a miraculous manipulation of reality. He placed that thought on hold and determined to contemplate it later.

There was nothing left of the deviants machine, of that much he was certain. To have caused an explosion as destructive as this it must have been powered by a tremendous amount of energy. It was an evil weapon that could only have been conceived of in the mind of a deviant.

Instinctive involuntary reactions shot huge amounts of norephdrine, choline, and adrenaline through his organic sub systems. Time slowed to a crawl and everything around him now seemed to glow with unnatural coloring as his normally diffracted mind dilated to a pinpoint focus.

He had to escape this blaze, and he needed to kill something very badly. It was an animal reaction but one that had been refined and perfected through genetic manipulation and psychological programming. There was no shock factor involved, no weakness or tunnel vision. Only the most effective of instinctive reactions had been retained by the Molecular Biologists at the E.P.M. corporate labs. When E.P.M. had created the Omegans they had fully intended to design a living breathing weapon. They had not failed in that task.

The Vandinium transit armor 4471A was wearing now protected him from the worst of the fire. His positronic defense field had been depleted of energy and their capacitors would require a minimum of fifteen minutes to recharge. Until that time he had only the transit armor as protection.

When he had at last managed to scramble clear of the flames he had suffered second and third degree burns on his arms, face and several portions of his body where the armor had conducted the heat to his skin. Every shred of hair on his scalp had been burned away but there was no pain from the burns. A gestalt in his mind had been built as a switch to turn off autonomic pain sensors. The Omegans called it Madokii, another of their many gifts from the Khoa.

Moving swiftly west he came to the conclusion that he'd best get out of this area and sing a prayer to his Guide. He'd obviously stumbled into some type of deviant nest, perhaps a firing range or testing ground for their weapons of corruption. The explosions he'd detected prior to attacking the machine could not have been generated by the machine, and therefore logic dictated that there were still more Deviants nearby.

Several minutes past and he left the blaze behind him. Approaching a dense stand of conifers he halted, suddenly wary.

To the east of his current azimuth, he saw seven distinct life form readings in one of his minds eyes. They didn't appear to be moving. He desperately wanted to rush in and attack but for some reason he sensed something was wrong and he couldn't shake the feeling. This was a situation he'd never been in before. He found himself grinding his teeth together, chemical over stimulation was beginning to set in. To attack or not to attack, he couldn't decide.

Entering the state of communion he composed and sang a quick prayer to his Guide giving his location and status. Only then did Omegan 4471A realize that he was somehow being blocked from his Guide and the Huntmaster. They could not hear his prayers.

Rage begin to burn through him.



--------------------------------------------


Lieutenant Yasech was livid with anger. This had not gone at all as he had planned.

"Sgt. Tainyr," he screamed into his comm link. "I want a cryo pack on that fire and I want it yesterday understand?"

"Working on it sir," came a crackling static filled voice.

Yasech almost gave the Sergeant both barrels, "working on it" wasn't good enough, but instead he just shook his head in disgust and moved away from the mouth of the cavern where he'd gone to get a better signal. The parity filter they were using to transmit through the scrambler they had on the Omegan was just barely able to give them intelligible communication through the haze of radio interference.

They had to get that fire out. The mercenary ship wouldn't be able to miss an infrared emission of that intensity from orbit. If they happened to determine it worthy of investigating the security of the entire base would be compromised and it would be his fault. The sheer magnitude of that possibility filled him with horror.

Back in the amber illumination of the cavern he sat down at his scanner consul and watched the display screen.

These men had better get their @&*% together, he thought absently. He'd had no idea that a single infantryman could pack enough power to take down a combat drone. Sure, there were weapons that could do the job, but armament that size took time to aim and combat drones had a high reaction speed. According to the tracking report this one hadn't even had a chance to spot its target before its armor had been breached, and the casing to its proton engine destroyed.

He'd heard that cyberslaves were tough, he'd seen reports of what they could do, but how could anything be that fast? How were his men supposed to take it on? What was he going to tell Kamarand if they failed?

With a deep breath the Lieutenant shook off all doubt and paid attention to the display. His plan could still work, all he needed was a little luck. It was too bad they didn't teach classes in luck at the Company Academy.

A yellow fail safe switch on the upper left of his panel tempted him but he decided against it. Flipping that switch would activate the remote injectors his soldiers wore and fire Herculoid into their bloodstream temporarily boosting their strength. The Lieutenant realized however that strength alone wasn't going to help his men with what they were up against. No... it was best that they kept calm. Right now this was a waiting game. They just couldn't afford to wait very long.



-----------------------------------------------



Overwhelmed by the need to kill, natural amphetamines and combat reaction enhancers swarming through his bloodstream like an irresistible poison, Omegan 4471A made his decision and began moving toward the seven life forms in his minds eye. It was probably an irrational decision, probably an untactical one, but in his current condition he wasn't feeling rational and couldn't have cared less about tactics. All he wanted to do was kill. These deviants had somehow separated him from his brothers and from the guidance of the Huntmaster. They had corrupted the very air, blocking the song of unity, and for such a blatant sin against nature they would face judgment now. Perhaps in their next lives they would feel less antagonism toward their fellow beings, but in this life they were good only to feed the worms.

Among the Omegans, the state 4471A was now in was known as battle rage, a berserker fury that blinded them to their disadvantages and enabled them to do things above and beyond those of their human opponents. To the bioengineers and psychological techs who'd designed the cyberslaves it was called Extreme Psychotic Hyper stimulation.

In combat this state was effective and deadly, but at the moment it was an obvious handicap, a flaw that had not been anticipated.

Running at high speed through the forest 4471A rapidly approached the Deviants position as it appeared in his minds eye. Trees blurred by as he weaved between them. This would be an all out slaughter. He would kill them with no restraint, using every power at his command to completely overcome any defenses they might have. As it had been before on other worlds, so it would be on this one. Order would be restored. Deviation would be purged.

Even through the haze of the battle rage he realized that without his protective field any weapons they carried were likely to do at least some damage to his physical body. The best option was to move quickly, and to give the deviants as hard a target as possible.

He could feel his heart rate climbing. Inside his body specialized organs were releasing stored oxygen and a score of various chemicals all designed to enhance his effectiveness in the battle. All of this was known to him but none of it was thought of in technical terms. His memories and knowledge were cloaked in the religion of Khoa. His terms were defined by his faith.

Breaking into an open clearing, he lunged forward, weaving and dodging. Before him was a slope topped by a cluster of boulders behind which the deviants had taken cover. Roaring with savage fury he did his best to jump from the edge of the clearing to the rocks but it was too far. Before he landed he realized he wasn't going to make to the safety of the rocks so he sprayed the granite with his cannons in an effort to provide a covering fire.

"NOW!" someone screamed from behind the rocks, and something made a loud popping sound in the clearing over which the Omegan was jumping.

Wind whistled around the gray skinned warrior as an implosion sucked him downward, out of the air and onto the ground. He fired away at the rocks but the unexpected suction spoiled his aim and several of the pulses went wild, streaking into the sky. He felt his body grow severely cold as he hit the ground and in one of his minds eyes, the one that kept track of external conditions, he saw the temperature drop sharply. Drop lower than it was possible for anything to survive.

What was happening?

Numb, frozen, the flesh of his legs refused to obey his commands, refused to move. He dug his fingers into the forest floor, scrambling through the dry brittle needles for a purchase, but his grey skin had changed to an icy ashen color. The muscles of his arms and hands spasmed for a second, then stopped.

On the ground beneath him some type of flat metallic device had been uncovered. Buried wires led away from the object, he could now see their magnetic traces below the dirt despite their insulation. Unpowered, the wires had been invisible to him. They ran up to the rocks.

The temperature continued to drop and his eyes froze solid. Everything disappeared into blackness.

He had failed in his promise to the Khoa. He had failed the Huntmaster. There could be no redemption for a Defender such as himself who carried to the Khoa a memory of defeat.

He would be forced to live again.



---------------------------------------------------------



"Yes!" bellowed Lt. Yasech. He triumphantly slammed his fist down on the control panel's slide out desktop as he viewed the reports coming from his squad at the capture point. They had done it. They had captured an E.P.M. cyberslave.

He quickly flipped a switch that connected him to the bases land line and alerted Doctor Kamarand.

"Success Sir!" he exclaimed as soon as the Doctors face appeared on the flatscreen. "We've got one!"

Kamarand appeared unsurprised and allowed himself a cursory smile for the benefit of the Lieutenant. He had never had any doubts, but then he had always had the benefit of foresight far beyond that of anyone else. Unenhanced humans, he found, seldom thought ahead very effectively. "Excellent job." he told the grinning militia officer. "I will inform Dr. Teritson's team to report to the lab. Have the subject delivered there immediately, but keep him fully frozen until then Lieutenant. Under no circumstances is he to be allowed to thaw."

"Absolutely Sir!" Yasech stated emphatically. "Considering what he did to one of our combat drones I can guarantee you that I won't be taking any chances."

"Guarantees are unnecessary Lieutenant. I'm confident you'll take the necessary precautions. Now hurry. You know what's at stake here as well as I do."

"Yes Sir." he nodded, and the screen went blank.

Oh yes, he knew what the stakes were, he thought to himself. The stakes were freedom or death, and perhaps they would have freedom. The sucessful completion of this phase in their operation made their continued existence a lot more hopeful. Perhaps Kamarand's plan might actually work, unless, of course, that E.P.M. warship had pinpointed them, in which case all bets were off.

He moved swiftly to the mouth of the cave and relayed the Doctors orders to his men.

[SumDood]

CHAPTER FOUR


Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

The steady monotone chime of the comm-link achieved what it had been made for, gaining the attention of its owner, unfortunatly it did so at the expense of a splitting headache.

Sheets fluttered and something thunked down on the floor next to the bed. It was followed by a stiffled groan.

Monica Teritson, Dr Teritson to most of the people in this godforsaken cave she'd gotten herself stationed to, was not pleased. Leaning across the mattress she slapped the reciever button by the side of her bunk and peered down at the tiny flatscreen. She was highly irritated that someone would be waking her at this time of the morning. Especially since she'd ordered the facilities overwatch to give her some privacy, and hold all incomeing calls until morning.

The figure on the screen was Dr. Kamarand, Manager of the research facility. He must have over-ridden her privacy command. Monica sighed impatiently. He was calling about the surgical report, no doubt..

She and her team had just spent the last twelve hours analyzing the strange cyborg he'd brought in. He must have found something in her report that he wanted to discuss immediatly and, as tired as she was, she couldn't think of any face she'd rather not be seeing just now.

Besides, there was something about Kamarand that disturbed her.

He was normally one of those few people that she could totally tune into. Soul mates, she called them, but that didn't mean that she necessarily liked him or prefered his company. Only that she could feel what he felt, and understand his surface thoughts. It was like empathy, with a little on the side.

Monica had possessed this strange talent for as long as she could remember, but there were very few of these "soul mates" and, because of this, the ability had not been as much of a boon as it might seem. A member of her surgical team, a boy named Yeneth, was similar in the fact that she could tune into him and hear his thoughts as well, but there were actually very few people this worked with. She didn't understand how the ability operated, or where it had come from. There seemed to be no explanation for it, so she kept it's existence to herself. It was her secret. Her ace in the hole.

But because it didn't always work, she couldn never rely on it.

The really odd thing was: lately Kamarand had been getting more difficult to tune in to. His thoughts were growing fainter, as if he were somehow blocking her sensitivity. Trying to keep her out of his mind.

She had heard enough of his thoughts, though, to know that he was far more intelligent and forward thinking than anyone she'd ever known or heard of. The genius's of the past were mere shadows to him, and he knew it. He was an egomaniac, and justified in being so. This fact, however, did not make him any more comfortable for Monica to deal with. Or for anyone, really.

The image on the screen showed that Kamarand was currently transmitting from his office. Monica could tell by the shelf of holographic sculptures behind him. He was an avid collector and owned replicas of some of the more classical works. Odd pieces depicting ancient art from old earth. She saw no beauty in them and couldn't understand how anyone could possibly have developed such bad taste.

"Good Morning Dr. Teritson," stated Kamarand in his usual businesslike manner. "I see you're sleeping alone tonight, my condolences. I've just been reading your report on the surgery. Very interesting. You and your team did an excellent job You have my gratitude and appreciation."

"You wouldn't have had to read the report if you'd been there."

He held up his hands. "Sorry about that, I'm afraid I had little choice. There were impending problems that had to be dealt with."

"Right." she said, unconvinced. "You just didn't want to risk getting killed. I can understand that, you don't need to deny it. You're in charge here, and you can do what you want."

Kamarand smiled roguishly and shook a finger at her. "It had nothing to do with fear but I must admit that I find your attitude very... charming. You're wasteing your talents as a surgeon, you're too good at pissing people off. Maybe you should have gone into management.

As for my not being there. Let's just say there was a hot military issue I had to deal with. You wouldn't believe how thick headed some of our Mellogoshyn Fleet officials can be."

"Oh yes I would. I was married to one."

"Yes, of course, but did you know him?"

"My family arranged the marrige. It was a mistake and it's a part of my life I'd rather not discuss. But you didn't call me for a counciling session at 3:40 in the morning Doctor. What's on your mind?"

"Discrepancies. I found some of the information in your report very... shall we say... imaginative?"

"Imaginative." she snapped indignantly.

"If you think I'm imagining things you ought to go down to the lab and see for yourself. We've got tissue samples growing that should be dead, we've got two stasis containers holding micronized cybernetic components of unknown composition, and several of the organs in his chest are still unidentified. O'Neil says his genetic template is close to human, but close is a long way from there. Electron scan indicates that his D.N.A. and R.N.A. were intentionally transmutted prior to cell division, meaning that he was probably grown in a cloneing tank. The genetic alterations may have been done all at once, or they may have been done gradually during the initial hours of embryonic growth.

The Genetic matrix was obviously designed to allow acceptance of synthetic material in certain body locations which is how whoever engineered this guy got around the problem of rejection. With an immuno system as active as his, the t-cells would have rejected any non-recognizable matter quite dramatically, but the body locations intentionally programmed into his genes will accept cybernetic material designed for implantation without the system flagging it as foriegn matter.

This isn't some unfortunate man wired to the neck with hardskin Dr. Kamarand. He was made to be a cyborg."

"And he's alive?"

"It's going to take more than being frozen to kill this guy. Every cell in his body seems to have a will of its own. He's got a regeneration factor beyond anything I've ever seen. It's incredible. I wouldn't even call that lymphocytic crap floating through his blood "t-cells and b-cells," they're more like "sharks and piranhas."

"Please continue with less flamboyant terminology if you would."

She sighed wearily and rubbed her eyes.

"Well. When we first got to him he had third degree burns over most of his arms and face, in addition to first and second degree burns over everything that had been covered by that black armor he was wearing. His scalp was pretty badly burned up too but, by the time we were four hours into our scans, the burns had healed completely. In the neural dampning field we're using that shouldn't even be possible. Internal operation of his cell structure seems to be somehow immune to it, either that or it just operates so fast that the dampner couldn't slow it down much. Organic substances shouldn't respond that way but we've detected no indication of nano-tech machinery. He may be a cyborg but he's mostly organic. It's kind of hard to describe. I'd guess that he was made to be modular, sort of like a delivery system or something. That's what Prescott thinks."

Dr. Kamarand nodded sagely and stroked his beard. "I had suspected as much. E.P.M. has achieved technological advances in the field of genetic engineering far beyond that of our own corporation's. Thier obsession with it far outweighs our own small interest. They have been willing to freely manipulate human stock, something most of the other corporate stockholders in the Coalition view with extreme distaste.

Tell me. What of the cyborg's self destruct devices? Were they difficult to remove?"

"There were quite a few and I can't really be certain we got all of them out. The nastiest one was part of his energy transfer system. He's strung through with some kind of bio-electric fibers, and it appears that from the way he's wired he could easily create a feedback loop and fry himself to cinders. Prescott says all it would take is switching the power output regulators which, by the way, are also organic.

As crazy as it sounds I think this guy must have concious control over most of his autonomic functions. It's the only way he could regulate and balance all this stuff, and use it at his own volition. His brain's practically melded together with a severly complicated looking computer system. Yeneth could only manage to disable it's beacon transmitter, but he didn't dare try disconnecting it.

Maybe the computer has taken the place of his autonomic nervous system. I can't be sure until he's awake. Hell, maybe the personality's in the computer and the organics are all secondary. Anything's possible."

"What about the weapons?" he asked. "They weren't organic."

"No they weren't and as to the exact specs on them you'll have to read Prescotts' report, I'm a surgeon not a weapons tech. I don't suppose you'd consider telling me where you got this guy and what's going on?"

"Not at the moment. How much of the subject is left intact?"

"We only removed the two systems that were obviously weapons, as per your orders. There were only two obvious weapons and they were embedded in his forearms, locations with skin programmed to split open on a cellular level to facilitate the use of the weapons inside. Some kind of micronized plasma emitter according to Prescott. They were no problem to remove and considering how fast he regenerates I'd say he's probably ready to get up and run a marathon by now. Intact just isn't the word for it."

"Yes, well he won't be going anywhere as long as he's contained in the neural dampning field."

"You're sure about that?" she asked.

"Not totally, but I doubt he'll be able to regain motor control unless we let him and other measures will be taken before that occurs."

"So what are you going to do with him?"

The aging psychoanalyst leaned back, laced his fingers together, and smiled cryptically. "We'll just have to wait until tommorrow to decide that. Right now I'm satisfied just to have one of these cyborgs where I can get at it. You can't know how long I've waited for the opportunity to get inside the head of one and find out what type of mentality E.P.M.'s programmed them with. This will confirm or deny a lot of things for me." He lowered his voice. "Things I need to know. Suspicions."

A feeling of dread washed over her when she heard this, images of an assassin running loose in the facility. "Doctor, that man may look like a human but he's not. He's a killing machine. Please don't try moving him into your search unit until I'm there to make sure he stays unconcious while you do it."

"I assure you, Dr. Teritson," he stated sourly. "I will take whatever measures I believe necessary. Let's not forget who was placed in charge of this project."

"In other words you'll do whatever you want."

He let out a deep breath and looked at his desk for a moment. When he looked up his face expressed compassion, sympathy, emotions she did not expect from him. Emotions that she could no longer be certain if he actually felt.

"Monica, you're young and might not understand what I'm about to say, but I see a great deal of myself in you and I want to give you some advice. You were transferred to this facility because you have a bad habit getting emotionally involved with your patients. You feel empathy toward them and disagree openly with some of the practices our Corporation uses to conduct its medical research. Frankly I admire your nerve but Company Management takes a dim view of people who don't follow policy. Believe me, I know."

"I've never broken company rules... " she started.

He waved his hand. "I've seen your record so we both know that isn't true. Just hear me out. You've might not realize it but you've got an opportunity here. One that serves your own views better than you might expect. How many corporations in colonized space do you think are trying to keep up with current advances in military technology?"

"I don't know. All of them I guess."

"You guess quite correctly. And how many people do you think died or had their lives ruined in the medical experiments needed to create that soldier we have in our lab right now? Fifty? A hundred? A thousand?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know the answer either but I do know that we've been trying for the past decade to develop similar weapons and have sacrificed thousands of prisoners and unborn children in an effort to come up with a workable cyberslave. You now have the power to stop that."

"Me?" she exclaimed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the data you've just accumulated in your analysis of our guest. That information is invaluable. Any corporation in known space would pay billions of credits for it because whoever has that genetic matrix isn't going to have to spend the trillions of credits necessary to fund the research and development. R&D that would also require them to sacrifice the lives of thousands of their own people. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I understand better than you think Doctor. You may have caught me half asleep but I'm wide awake now and if you think you can fool me into believing that I'm saving lives by helping to create a weapon you're losing whatever small grip on reality you had. No offense."

"No, no," he sighed. "You're not looking at the whole picture. Has history taught you nothing? Haven't you ever heard of the balance of power? Weapons don't get used if mutual destruction is assured but right now E.P.M. is the only one with the weapons. No human army can stand against these cyborgs."

She was about to answer but stopped. She suddenly realized that argueing with him wasn't going to do her any good. He was obsessed with the idea of using this cyborg to create weapons. Someone in the company must have somehow convinced him that it was a noble idea. Or maybe there was a big pay off in it for him somewhere. "I... I think that I need some time to think about this."

"Of course. I just don't want to see you make the same mistake I made when I was young and naive. You can't oppose the company to its face, they'll give you the worst job assignments and anything you do of merit will be credited to someone else. Everytime you come up with an idea that works, every time you perform a surgery that saves a life, you'll recieve nothing for it. Some bootlicking executive will get the credit. Trust me on this. Think about what I've said but, in the mean time, I'll expect you to continue your research."

"My job has never been dependent on my personal feelings," she flared. "I'm loyal to the company and I'll follow my orders regardless of how I feel about them."

"Of course you will Doctor, and I have an important meeting coming up tommorrow with the board of inquiries on the conduct of myself and my personnel, I'll be sure to mention that to them. I'm sure they'll find it interesting in light of your past record. Now get some sleep, we've a lot of work to do in the morning. Oh, and tell Mr. Crane I hope he didn't hurt his hip too badly."

The screen went blank. She swore at it.

A head popped up from the other side of the bed.

"Is he off the line?" whisperd a male voice.

"Yes," she muttered disgustedly. "You can get up now."

Cheif Facilities Tech Damon Crane pushed himself off the floor and back into the small bunk he'd been shareing with Monica Teritson. At the sound of the comm-link he'd tossed the sheets and hidden out of the camera's pickup. She'd told him when he'd snuck in here that she was under orders to stay away from all other base personnel until she was debriefed by Kamarand and he hadn't wanted to get her into trouble.

How he'd figured out Damon was in the room she didn't have a clue, but she knew how Kamarand was. He'd probably caluculated the odds and considered them lucrative enough to make a statement, just to remind her what he was capable of.

Putting a hand on her shoulder Damon leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck. "Kamarand can be a real @&*% sometimes, eh?"

"No kidding." she replied absently. "I think that egotistical bastard's trying to mess with my head."

Messeing with heads is what the old man does best, thought Monica. Every person in the facility, including the military attatchment, had been required to come to him for psychological counciling. It was supposed to be a security measure, but sometimes she wondered if he didn't do it just because he enjoyed digging into peoples brains. That search unit of his was a nightmare. No one knew what went on when they were in it, all memory of those sessions were wipped away and no one could refuse the counciling. It was company policy.

"He had a point though." said Damon. "I mean about the balance of power and all that."

"I suppose. At least we now have an idea what's going on. They didn't tell me anything when they assigned me out here other than that it was a research project and that I ought to be thankfull for being lucky enough to be chosen for it. I understand that Kamarand requested most of the personel here himself. Now we know what we were sent out here to do. We just have to figure out why."

"You think that cyborg thing is the reason for all this?" asked Damon.

"He has to be. Kamarand said he came from E.P.M. Our Company must have captured or bought him on one of the other colonies and brought him out here for covert analysis."

"Well then the Company got what it wanted. I know the E.P.M. Corporation is heavily into genetic research and weapons development but aren't they also the ones who hire out mercenaries?"

She nodded. "I think so. You know... if this cyborg belongs to them then they're probably searching for it. I wonder what colony the Company got it on and what the circumstances were. I'd hate to think that there are any of these things running loose on Vargis. Slave soldiers... I wonder if there's some way we can find out what's really going on."

Damon shrugged. He didn't care what the Company did as long as they left him alone. He was, however, interested in something else he'd overheard. "I was kinda surprised when you said you used to be married to a Mellagoshyn officer. What, uh... happened?"

Monica thought about it and came to the conclusion that those particular portions of her past were not something she was ready to share with Damon yet. She hadn't known him long enough, maybe he was just another sexual fling in an attempt to gain some control in her life, maybe he was more. She hadn't decided.

She rolled over and propped herself up on an elbow, allowing the sight of her perfect bare breasts to effectively wipe the question from his mind. "I think I need your help." she told him with a slight pout of her lips.

Raising his eyebrows, but not moving his eyes, Damon asked, "anything in specific?"

She smiled impishly. "Ever do anything illegal?"

[SumDood]

CHAPTER FIVE



In planetary orbit onboard Tqezz, the E.P.M. mercenary transport vessel, a meeting of the Graylin Unit Command had been in progress for the past hour and a half.

The meeting was held near the fore section of the great vessel, where the Units cyberslave infantry were forbidden access. To the slaves this was the realm of the Pure Ones whom they had been created to protect. They had no desire to disturb the perfect communion the Pure Ones were experiencing in that most holy of places. They had been taught to believe that the essence of the Khoa was strongest there and that the Pure Ones merged their beings in that place, combining their lives with that of the Khoa and loosing the vestiges of their individuality. This state of harmony was seen as close to perfection as a seperate being could attain and the disturbance of it was seen as an abomination. Even the thought of commiting such a blasphemy brought unbearable feelings of guilt and sin. None of them would ever venture there unrequested.

In actuallity it was the crew quarters and command section of the vessel where the humans onboard managed the massive ships systems and took care of the day to day drudgery of accomplishing whatever mission the Tqezz had been assigned to. There was nothing mystical or heavenly about it.

The room where the meeting was held was a large cylindrical chamber surrounded by white curving walls. In the center was a round table, engraven at the borders with golden scrollwork. The top of the table was emblazoned with their companies mercenary logo: an ancient bird of terran myth called the wivvern, holding a planet in one of its curved talons, and a brand of white fire in the other.

The Captain, the Executive Attache, the Colonel in charge of the Omegan Chains, and the Squadron Commander in charge of the Smirk Wings sat around the table listening patiently. The discussion was primarily meant to be a briefing on the first assault against the rebels inhabiting Vargas but there were few present who did not retain ulterior motives.

Up until this point Major Kern had done most of the talking, going over the tactical results of his Chains assualt on the southern area of the continent where the Mellagoshyn planetary C.E.O., one Lord Eko Vito, had directed them to focus their attacks. Kern wasn't actually present in the room. His communication was being transmitted up from his base camp on Vargas, but he might as well have been there. His image was being projected as a moving hologram standing to one side of the table.

Likewise, to him, the illusion of being in the board room filled his perceptions due to the linkage circlet adorning his head. He sat quietly in his small shelter dirtside, locked safely within the inflatable dome, while onboard the ship he contiued to give his report.

The Captain of the Tqezz sat calmly and considered the Major's words with care and interest. Across the table from the Captain, in the position of highest authority, sat the Executive Attache to the Corporate Board. She appeared to be just as calm as the Captain, but inside she was wound up and ready to jump on any discrepancy.

New and untested the Corporate Attache was anxious to establish her domination over these men. Her training had taught her that this was something required of her. Something that had to be done quickly, before they had a chance to test her, and feel out her weaknesses. If she didn't subdue them properly they'd walk all over her in the future. That was something she wasn't capable of tolerating in the least. If necessary, she would crush their belligerence, and they would serve her without question.

Of course, this view she had taken wasn't necessarily true, these men were seasoned professionals, but it was what she'd been taught as the child of a stockholder. She was an aristocrat, and they were little better than proles. Her uncle had taught her that her bloodline gave her superiority over those of lesser birth and she had believed him. They would recognize and respect this or they would suffer. It was the way things had always been and the way they were supposed to be.

"And that's about it," finished the hologram of Major Kern, "We've had no problems finding and eliminating rebels in the southern areas. Other than the fact that they have a great deal of Mellagoshyn military equipment, they don't pose much of a threat to our ground forces. After all, no matter what type of weapons they've got, they're still only human."

"I'm not concerned with your opinions Major," snapped the Attaché. She had had enough of this man and his drum beating military mind. If she'd been a tiger her claws and fangs would be clearly visible. "What's our success to loss ratio?" she demanded.

The Major took a deep breath, restraining himself. No military officer liked being talked down to, especially one of the Majors rank and experience, but in this case the savvy vetran had no choice but to smile and take it. Graylin Unit was owned by the E.P.M. Corporation and as far as this ship was concerned, so many light years from company control, the Executive Attache was E.P.M.

"Our current estimates show approximatly 3172 enemy dead." he told her. "We've currently got two K.I.A.s and one M.I.A."

"And do you feel those are acceptable losses?" she asked.

"I don't find any losses acceptable Madam, but I do find them inevitable. We haven't done badly considering what we're up against."

"But you said it yourself Major, They're only human. Against our cyberslaves these rebels should be nothing more than a mild irritation. I see nothing to indicate you've encountered more than a token force of armed individuals. For the most part your Chain has been slaughtering farmers and cattle herders. Wheat for the scythe."

"Trust me Ma'am. They can screw you up if there's enough of them."

She pointed her stylus at him and shook it to emphasize her words as she spoke. "I don't want to hear anymore excuses Major, those slaves cost twelve million credits each. You don't make enough to replace one. You're efficiency rateings had damn well better improve."

"Pardon me Madam Attache," interupted the Captain with his usual optomistic flourish. "But it seems to me that 3172 to 3 is doing pretty good."

The others around the table laughed but the Attache gave him an icy glare. Interupt her? And while she was discipling another officer would he? Perhaps they all needed a reminder of how things really were. There was a bottom line and she was here to protect it.

She spoke to the Captain with clipped restraint, emphasizing his rank. "Perhaps it would help you to understand my position, Captain, if you would consider how much the rebel forces down there paid for each of their soldiers in comparrison to what we paid for ours."

She then turned to look at Colonel Mactavish, the commanding officer of the Omegan landing teams.

"I have no doubt that you came to this meeting with the full intentions of requesting my permission to send in more Omegans. Can you justify that request in terms of monetary value? Remember Colonel, we're a business not a charity. We're being paid to fight this war, we've got to keep the overhead down."

The Colonel and the Major both looked suprised. They had not expected the Attache to be quite this sharp, but it wasn't something they were likely to forget in the future. She was new to them. She'd been assigned to this ship at their last docking station and this was the first time she'd been with them on an assualt mission.

"One Chain isn't enough Madam," said Major Kern, drawing her attention back from the Colonel. "Fifty Omegans against thousands of enemy infantry and mechanized war machines is a good way to gamble but a poor way to run a war. Our first assault was intended to test the waters and see what kind of opposition we were up against. Now we know."

"The only thing I'm aware of Major," she stated with another shake of her stylus, "is that you've lost three men due to stupidity and now you want to rectify that mistake by dragging the rest of the Unit into it. In business you don't solve a problem by throwing money at it. You go to the source."

Major Kern sighed and shook his head sadly. She might be sharp in some areas, but when it came to tactics she was as dense as neutronium.

"I think I can clairify what Major Kern is try to say Ma'am." said Colonel Mactavish slowly and carefully as if he were talking to a belligerent child. "The more troops you send down the less casualties you'll have in the long run because they'll have more support and get these scum crushed that much quicker. Sending in more is not going to risk more, it's going to save more."

"What about sending in another wing of Smirks?" she asked. "They're highly effective in this type of situation, at least according to my statistics, and they're much cheaper than a Chain of Omegans."

"I don't know what statistics you're thinking of Madam," said the Squadron Commander. "But our primary purpose, our best purpose, is providing air cover and fire support. We're virtually useless when it comes to getting down and dirty. We can't clear buildings, we can only destroy them, which is what we've been doing. Historically ground targets require infantry... to take them and hold them. That's what the Omegans were made for. We make the mess, they clean it up."

Cynthia Rasbeerasyn, the Attache, looked at the Squadron Commander, noticing him perhaps for the first time, and decided that his argument might actually hold some merit.

"Historically," she mused, stareing vacantly at the Officer with her hand on her chin. "It's funny that you should use that particular expression Commander... Eckerson isn't it? Normally I'd remind you that, while history may teach us lessons of value, there is greater value in adaptability to change. However, in this case I believe you've made a valid point. Air power alone can't win this little war for us."

"Does that mean you'll consider allowing us the use of another Chain?" Major Kern asked dryly. She disgusted him beyond his ability to contemplate, and having to listen to her ramble on about military history (as if she knew enough to lecture them on the subject) made him want to projectile vomit. If she could read his mind right now, thought the Major, he wouldn't need to worry about transfer requests, he'd be looking at a court martial and out the wrong side of a transmutation chamber.

"Perhaps Major. I will consider it. Now about this M.I.A. I was under the impression that it was impossible for an Omegan to become an M.I.A. due to the Automatic Data Accumulation Core. If I understand correctly the cybercomp, melded to the slaves brain, records everything he see's and hears and transmits it back to us. We should know exactly where he is and what he's doing, but we don't. So what happened?"

Oh @&*%, thought the Major. Doomsday approacheth me.

He cleared his throat and accessed the virtual data linkage attatched to his computer dirtside. Information from his personality analysis programs regarding the most effective way to talk to the Attache became available, and he frowned at the small listing of options. Very little was going to change her rotten attitude.

This particular question had been expected, but even so there was nothing he could say that would alter the blame, and he braced himself for the inevitable repercussion. The bitch was going to be downloading a stream of kioatsy when she found out what he'd done.

"The M.I.A. was designated 4471A," reported the Major. "An assualt model equipped with the standard weaponry. His last known location was sector 32. His last download to the A.D.A.C. main had shown his encounter with a rebel patrol of nine infantrymen equiped with energy rifles. They were all eliminated and he moved on to continue his mission. That was the last we heard of him."

"That doesn't answer my question Major. And why is his locator beacon silent? And if he was killed why didn't his Automatic Data Accumulation Core transmit its information posthumously?"

At this point Colonel Mactavish decided to intervine. He'd long ago made it his practice to know everything possible about the details of the Omegan bio-system and was confident that he could answer the Attache's question better than Kern. Besides, of all the problems they were dealing with, this one was his biggest concern and he had determined to bring it to the attention of everyone present. They didn't yet realize the ramifications behind a captured cyberslave but he would make certain they did. Unfortunatly, in doing so he was going to make things even worse for Major Kern, but that was life. Maybe if he was real lucky the Attache wouldn't figure out where sector 32 was. So far it seemed to have gone over her head.

"Madam," the Colonel interupted. "The A.D.A.C. system of our M.I.A. may well be functioning as it was designed. I believe it lies within the realm of probability that this particular warrior may have been captured.

If he had been killed the A.D.A.C. would still have transmitted the pre-demise tactical data. Since this information was not recieved it can only mean one of two things. Either the cause of death was so severe that the A.D.A.C. transmitter was destroyed, or he was captured and the transmission is being negated by a mirrored signal. "Jammed," as it is more commonly called."

"If they're jamming him then that infers that they know about the A.D.A.C. transmitter." Cynthia formulated slowly. A deep feeling of distress was beginning to rise up inside her as she realized what Colonel Mactavish was saying. In fact, she found herself imagining some very dismal possiblities. This was not good.

"True," agreed the Colonel. "But not just the A.D.A.C. transmitter. To capture one of our slaves they would also need to know their weaknesses and what they're suseptable to." said the Colonel. "Remember that traitor we caught selling classified data on Brecha? I think we might now know who bought it."

"What are they suseptable to?" She asked.

He shrugged. "The same things a human is. Extreme heat will burn them but that wouldn't do any good if they wanted to capture one. Extreme cold on the other hand... Our slaves have chemical properties that would allow them to survive being completely frozen under certain conditions. We use similar techniques to hibernate them during our long trips between worlds. It's nearly the same process as our own suspension systems, but with the Omegans we've taken into account their inherent survivability and modified their hybernators to be more effective."

"So you're saying they could've frozen one of our slaves with a cryo pack or something similar and captured him?" asked the Captain.

The Attache cut in. "What about the um... force field. I thought it was supposed to protect them from things like that."

"It wouldn't if it were depleted of energy." said the Colonel. "I'm only versed in the theory behind the miniturized positronic fields but I know they operate similar to standard shipboard defense screens and, as you know, the capacitors require time to build up a charge sufficient to project the field. It the soldier took a heavy enough hit, say a couple of sustained particle beam pulses or a powerful explosion, it could have emptied his capacitors and left him temporarily vulnerable."

"Excuse me Sir." said Major Kern. "But for this to actually have happened the attackers would have had to have planned it. You don't think a bunch of rebels would have been that well organized do you?"

"From your reports they seem pretty organized so far." replied Colonel Mactavish. "Pretty well armed too I might add. Seems strange doesn't it?"

"I want that M.I.A. back." stated the Attache with decided conviction. "Find out all you can about the circumstances under which he was lost Major Kern. He's one of your soldiers and I'm holding you personally responsible for his recovery. There's only one reason they would try to capture an Omegan intact."

Kern straightend up immediatly, maybe he was going to get out of this with his skin after all. "Of course Ma'am. I already have two infiltrator class Omegans scouting the area. I should know the precise location of 4471A's disappearance in a couple of hours."

Colonel Mactavish nodded in agreement with the Attache's decision. "I would like to prepare Chain 2 for an attack on the location the M.I.A. is being held Madam. With your permission I can assure you that we'll get that soldier back dead or alive and make certain that any and all information they've gained about the Omegan combat system is destroyed."

The Attache paused in thought. She realized that she'd somehow been manuvered into a position that required her to send in more infantrymen, something she'd been doing her best to avoid. Unfortunatly she saw no other recourse.

From the appearance of things the rebels had deliberatly set a trap to capture one of their cyberslaves. It would look extremely bad on her record if it turned out that she were responsible for having lost the vital secrets of their technical composition. The Executive Board would probably have her fileing paperwork on some uninhabitable domeworld for the rest of her natural life. She silently swore to herself that if that was the case she'd be taking this group of obstinant military freaks with her. Damn her uncle for shoving her into this position anyway!

"Very well Colonel. Prepare Chain 2 for immediate departure. Send them in as soon as Major Kern can supply you with the exact coordinates. I'm giving you a free hand in this, your orders are very simple. Find the rebels who took the M.I.A. and destroy them. Make certain that nothing remains. And get that Omegan back!"

Mactavish smiled. "You have my guarantee Madam."

"Your guarantee is unecessary Colonel. I have your future and I'm quite certain that will be enough. This meeting is now adjourned. Get working."



-------------------------------------------------



It had been only minutes after the meeting had ended that the Colonel had established a tight beam laser link from the Tquezz to Gannon Kerns camp on Vargas. There was an unspoken agreement between the two officers that they could not trust their Attache, and so it was important that they discuss the ramifications of this assualt without her knowledge.

This method of communication was a privilage of the Commander in charge of the Omegan landing teams. It was meant for emergency use only but, since it was the only form of communication from the ship to the planet that could not be monitored by others on board the Tquezz, it ended up getting used occasionally for transmissions between members of the ground forces when they wanted to speak privately.

"Well Gan, despite all good sense it looks like we've managed to put our balls on the line again." said Mactavish. "I can already feel the squeeze."

"I wonder if she'll insist on burning me or if she'll consider letting me transfer out under penalty?" asked Major Kern.

"She'll probably push it all the way to a court martial for both of us," answered Mactavish. "And that's the way I'd prefer it anyway. When the General sees the computer records on this operation it's going to be obvious how incompitent she's been. I told her from the outset that we needed to look into the northern areas regardless of what the Vargas C.E.O. said and she acted like I was trying to shave her legs with a backhoe. Probably thought I was looking to undermine here authority or some @&*%. She's paranoid as all hell."

"Yeah, she's a hot head alright. I appreciated your support up there Mac, if that bitch could read a map she'd have already figured out I've stepped over our boundaries and who knows what she'd do then. We might not even be getting this shot."

"Hey, there wasn't much else I could do. We both know you had to recon sector 32, you did exactly what you were supposed to. The C.E.O. of this rock wouldn't have ordered us to stay south if he didn't want to protect that base up there. Mellagoshya's hiding something that they don't want us to know about and loosing one of our men makes for an excellent excuse to get in there and find out what's going on. It's just unfortunate that we don't have our old Attache, he would have taken advantage of this in a heart beat. But now we've got to bull@&*% our way into doing the job right."

Kern pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. Their old Attache would certainly not have put up with this. He'd have had the Vargas C.E.O. on his knees by now begging to explain why he'd set boundaries to the south when there was an active base to the north, and in so doing he'd have found out what Mellagoshya was hiding up there.

"I just wish we had thawed out Chain One or Chain Four instead of Chain Two." said Kern. "Now I've got to team up with Ceerex and you know the two of us don't work all that well together. The man's bloodthirsty."

Ceerex had never reached that stage where you started getting sick of killing, thought Kern. He'd gone straight from being shocked by it all to downright enjoyment of it. He seemed to get a kick out of watching people suffer and inflicting pain. On top of that he was unpredictable.

"I realize he's a little cocky," said Mactavish. "But under the circumstances we need someone like that. I tried to explain it the best I could in the meeting and I think even the Attache understood me. We can't afford to allow the secrets of the Omega system to fall out of our hands. The micronized energy manipulators alone are enough to turn the technology of a little corporation like Mellagoshya into a serious commercial threat, and imagine what would happen if they sold that technology to a major corporation like Sethwright or Anaris? We'd find ourselves fighting against ground forces as strong as our own. We could actually loose our monopoly on the mercenary trade and it makes up about ten percent of E.P.M. business. Do you think the company's going to be lenient on the people who were responsible for that?"

"No. I understand what you're saying Mac, and I can deal with Ceerex knowing how important it is we kick butt here. I just don't like his attitude. You remember how he was after we put down those strikers on the Kanasta 6 mining colony. He spent an entire day getting drunk and watching recordings of the assault, laughing all the while. He couldn't understand why Denaka and I didn't find watching a bunch of unarmed civilians getting blown away in the streets very funny. He thought it was hillarious. Personally I think the guy's a little sick."

The Colonel shrugged. "Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. It doesn't matter, you'll be working with him anyway so you'd better learn to deal with it. You really shouldn't complain you know. I have to spend all my time up here with the Attache, how'd you like to deal with her every day?"

Kern gave him a weak smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right, that's why I'm the Colonel."

Kern chuckled at that. "So when does Ceerex drop?"

"They're getting ready right now. As soon as you're in position I'll have him come down behind you and then move in to your east so you can combine your Chains for the assualt. You going to lead this one yourself Gan?"

"Yeah. The men are already on their way in. I'm going to take the hover sled out there when they get within 20 klicks of the objective."

The Colonel nodded. "I'll let you get busy then. Be careful."

"You better believe it! I'm getting too short for this @&*%."

Mactavish laughed. "You've still got eight years of this Gan. It ain't over until your holding those retirement papers in your hot sweaty hand.

The smile on Kerns face dissapeared. "Yeah... I know."

"Hey, you'd think I'd killed your dog or something. It isn't so bad being an officer in the fleet is it? There are worse lives you could have led. Just think about it. If you hadn't joined up you'd probably be dead by now. Fifty three years in the freezers lets you live in the future. Enjoy it."

"Oh, it's not the fleet that bugs me, it's the changes. You know. Like our new Attache. VonEckler wouldn't have screwed with us like this new bitch is. I kind of miss the old man."

"That's the worst part." agreed Mactavish. "Loosing your friends when they retire, or get out, or die. It's all the same. I'll probably miss you when you get out too, but It won't stop me from keeping this unit from being the best in the fleet. I won't let it."

"I wouldn't expect any less." said Kern, though he knew Graylin Unit was far from the best in the fleet. "You're a lifer Mac, you'll be a General someday if you keep at it."

Dream on.

"Keep the faith." said Mactavish.

"That's what I tell my men Mac. Keep the faith."

They signed off.