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                     The Insectoid Invasion

By Steve Gordon, All rights reserved. Feel free to
save this at any time in your hard drive (click on "file" on your
browser, then "save as" to save it locally), so you can finish
reading it at your leisure.


First Forward

From the log of War Admiral Norman North, Commander, 7th
fleet:

I always blamed myself for letting it happen.
      But in reality, it was society's fault. Society, our
society, which had rotted to the very core.
      I had roused them once before, to face the menace which
now threatened to utterly wipe us out as a free society. But
when a chance came for peace, any chance, no matter how
unrealistic, no matter how risky, they grasped it in an
unbreakable bear hug, and there was nothing I or anyone could
do to separate them from it. For our society not only had
lost the will to fight, but even worse, had lost even the
will to enable us, the warrior class, to defend it.
Our advancements in technology had regretfully eliminated the
need for workers. Rohelpers took over what little that still
needed to be done manually, and most citizens became a
passive bunch of consumers, interested only in consumption,
focused on their next vid, their next meal, their next bit of
entertainment. And war was inconvenient for them, not because
they had to fight it (most of them didn't), but the prospect
of conflict threatened to distract them from their all-
important pursuit of pleasure. So when the enemy proposed
their deceitful peace, they didn't have to make much of an
effort to deceive us.
      And now we've lost everything, and almost everyone. I
keep thinking there was something I could have done,
something I should have done. Maybe I could have saved us all
by staging a coup and taking over, before the armistice was
signed and the ambush had taken place. Maybe. And if I had,
maybe I and my sailors would be sitting in some brig, waiting
for the enemy to come and take over from our current
jailors.... Or maybe we would have saved the day.
      Now, we'll never know. All we can be concerned with is
saving the tiny group of humanity that's left, keeping our
task force together long enough to regroup and one day
reclaim what's ours. But the memory of what "might have been"
continues to and always will be with me, wherever I go.


Second Forward

      Finally, there would be peace.
      Humanity had been in conflict with the Insectoids for
nearly 20 years. They had appeared out of nowhere--giant,
seven feet tall intelligent insects bent on conquering the
human race. And, for a time, with their flood of destroyers,
cruisers, and battleships, it appeared they would win. It was
only at the decisive battle of Trajinar, three years earlier,
that the Alliance fleet under the command of War Admiral
Norman North had turned the tide and decisively crushed the
Insectoid fleet.
      After that, battles became skirmishes, skirmishes
became hit and run raids, and then the Insectoids ceased
their attacks altogether. They had contacted one of the
Alliance's most respected ministers, Lawrence Mitterand, and
sued for peace.
      And peace there would be. After a year of slow but
steady negotiation, Mitterand had worked out a peace
agreement that both sides could agree to.
      League President Hov Marshall looked out from the
bridge of his mighty flagship the Augustus at the rest of the
fleet. He shielded his eyes from the powerful glare of
Vitalics' brilliant sun as he started at the assembled ships.
Nearly the entire League fleet was here for the armistice
with the Insectoids. The League was the dominant partner in
the Alliance; the junior partner, the June Directorate, had
chosen not to participate in the armistice, but had agreed to
abide by the terms of the ceasefire.
      Well, Marshall wasn't going to let the Directorate
spoil things.
      "Ze Insectoid fleet is here," said Mitterand, standing
by his side. "Finally, ve will have ze peace," he said in his
old westeuro accent.
      "Admiral Peterson, order the fleet to a halt," Marshall said
as he eyed the approaching Insectoid Fleet.
      "Fleet command: hold here," said the Admiral over the
central comm.
      The Insectoid fleet maintained a healthy distance from
the League fleet. Only four of their larger ships slowly
moved towards the League Fleet, each moving towards a
different part of the fleet.
      "Admiral, I'm getting some weird readings from those
ships," said a bridge crewer. "The scanners seem to say that
they have some kind of unstable cargo."
      "Cargo? What kind of cargo?"
      At that moment external ports opened on the giant
ships, which rapidly spat out a series of oval objects which
speeded towards the densely packed League fleet. As they
closed on the fleet these spheres started to detonate,
casting a fine mist over the League fleet.
      "Power drain!" cried a crewer. "All systems are down!"
cried another.
      "What's going on?" said Marshall.
      "Ve must continue ze peace process," said Mitterand,
almost mechanically. "Ve need ze peace like ve need ze air."
      And it was at that moment that the Insectoids attacked.
      Still staying well clear of the League fleet and the
mist that enveloped, the Insectoid ship launched a massive
wave of missiles. The tail section of the missile exhausts
cut out as they entered the misty area, but inertia caused
them to continue moving forward.
      Peterson eyed the missiles streaking towards them.
"Raise shields! Activate anti missile lasers!"
      "We can't sir, we've lost all power except emergency
batteries!" said one of the crewers, frantically turning
switches on and off again.
      The Augustus was rocked as a missile hit it amidships,
causing everyone on the bridge to stumble momentarily. Other
missiles slammed into other ships of the fleet, all of which
were helpless and dead in space. Several of the destroyers,
not large enough to survive a direct impact, burst into
pieces.
      "What's going on here?" said Marshall. "This was
supposed to be an armistice!"
      "All ships to battlestations, repel attackers!" Admiral
Peterson shouted into the hectic fleetcom channel. But with
so many voices over the comm he couldn't make himself heard.
Not that it mattered; most of the fleet was disabled, as dead
as museum pieces.
      The Insectoids launched a second wave.
      "Ve must continue ze peace process," said Mitterand
mechanically.
      Marshall, almost out of his mind, grabbed Mitterand by
the shirt. "What are you talking about? They're blowing us to
pieces!"
      Another set of missiles slammed into the fleet. This
time a number of cruisers were seriously damaged, several of
them critically. One blew up just starboard of the Augustia,
creating a white flash which shook the flagship.
      "Ve must continue ze peace process," said Mitterand.
      "Stop saying that!" Marshall shrieked, shaking
Mitterand and slapping him hard in the face. What happened
next surprised him even more.
      Mitterand's face came off, revealing wiring and
circuitry underneath, with sparkling orbs for eyes.
      Marshall reflexively let go, just as another missile
slammed into the Augustus, causing him to stumble. "What...
are you?"
      Moving very quickly, Mitterand grabbed Marshall and
started to throttle him. "Peace begets peace begets peace" he
said, squeezing Marshall's neck in a crushing grip. There was
a crack of broken bones and Marshall was tossed across the
bridge. General Peterson reached for his sidearm...
      Just as another missile slammed into the bridge. The
Augustus was one of the most heavily armored ships in the
fleet, but it wasn't intended to operate without shields, and
without shields it couldn't survive more than a few direct
hits.
      The missile blew up much of the forward decks,
incinerating the bridge crew instantly. The survivors in the
interior sections didn't last much longer either. Missiles
from a succeeding wave crashed into the engine section,
detonating the fuel supply and creating a miniature sun in
the space where the Augustus stood.
      This scene was repeated throughout the entire fleet.
One after another League ships turned into fireballs, their
crews helpless to do anything to defend themselves or even
fleet. Within a few minutes, the rest of the fleet was
destroyed. So complete was the destruction that there were
almost no survivors. Of the 362 ships in the League fleet,
only 8 managed to escape the immediate battle. Three of those
were quickly hunted down and destroyed; one light cruiser
managed to go to ground and her crew joined the planetbound
resistance on Whenfor; one destroyer managed to link up with
members of the surviving fleet, a battle cruiser and a fast
attack destroyer became blockade runners until they were
hunted down and destroyed, and one battleship, whose story is
told elsewhere, escaped into deep space.
      But for all intents and purposes the bulk of the
League fleet ceased to exist in a matter of minutes, leaving
all the League worlds open to domination by the Insectoids.
      There would be peace all right, but the peace of the
subjugated, the peace of the master and the slave; peace, but
on the Insectoids' terms, and humanity, what elements that
survived, would fare very, very poorly.


Chapter 1: Attack at Hunt's World

Two weeks earlier...

         "It's utter foolishness!" said War Admiral Norman
North.
      "Watch your tongue, Admiral!" countered Admiral Gubar
Peterson, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff for the
League of United Worlds. He was addressing a fellow admiral,
the legendary Norman North. There were precious few War (four
star) Admirals in the League, and although North's permanent
rank was Victory Admiral (five star), he had given up that
rank to return to active duty in the field. Regardless of his
rank, Peterson was technically the top Navy man, and expected
proper behavior from all his sailors--even the great Norman
North, the hero of Trajinar.
      "I still think it's foolish," said North stubbornly, as
if he didn't fear anything Peterson could do to him.
      "This is a decision of the civilian hierarchy, and we
report to them, not the other way around," said Peterson.
"Are you saying you are going to go against the orders of our
civilian authorities?"
      North avoided this obvious trap. "No, of course not,
sir." He was already aware of the number of resignations, a
number of them forced, over the issue. Some of the best fleet
captains and admirals of the line had already resigned in
protest; but North was not ready to take that route. That
wasn't his way.
      Peterson relaxed slightly. "Very well then. You're
entitled to have your own personal opinion about peace with
the Insectoids, but keep that opinion to yourself. Now, let's
talk about your next assignment." Having taken North down a
notch, he felt inclined to be a bit more generous. "I'm
prepared to give you some latitude. Where would you like your
fleet to be located?"
      North felt his mouth drop open. "I had assumed that I
would go to Vitalics with the rest of the fleet for the
signing of the armistice."
      "That's not wise, War Admiral. You yourself pointed out
the folly of putting the entire fleet all in one place,
leaving our planets undefended. The League President has
agreed with your line of thought in this matter. That's why
he's permitting you and your fleet to stay behind."
      "Meaning he doesn't want me anywhere near Vitalics
during the signing."
      "That's another way of putting it," said Peterson,
allowing himself a grin. "But I'm prepared to give you some
latitude in your positioning."
      "Latitude?"
      "You can base your fleet anywhere you like... as long
as it's not within 10 lightyears of Vitalics."
      "I see," said North. He turned to a star map, as if
thinking, then pointed to a star, "Hunt."
      "The Hunt system?" Peterson looked surprised, both at
the speed of North's response and his selection. "I would've
thought you would've chosen a system 10.1 lightyears from
Vitalics, or stationed yourself here on August."
      "Hunt will do fine, sir. What forces are under my
command?"
      "Here's a readout," said Peterson, handing him a
datapad. North took a look at it, and bit his lip. 42 ships.
About 10% of the fleet. It was almost an insult for a War
Admiral to be commanding such a small force. Well, at least
he still had the Glory, his flagship, and a fair mix of top
of the line and current ships. It would have to do. Peterson
was looking at his face to see his reaction, but North forced
himself to give a blank expression. "Very well, sir. If
you'll excuse me?"

      The Glory was an old Command Carrier, one of only four
such ships still in existence. But old shouldn't be confused
with feeble; although over 300 years old, every part of the
Glory except her armor and her bulkheads had been stripped
out and replaced several times with upgrades and new
components. The Glory was one of those very rare and
 expensive combinations of a battleship and a fleet carrier.
On the bottom the ship was pure carrier: it had two launching
and landing bays capable of holding six squadrons of fighters
plus a wide variety of support and transport craft. The Glory
currently carried a complement of five squadrons of old but
proven assault Wildcats and one squadron of even older
Defender heavy bombers. Although both classes of fighters had
been in service for over 100 years, the Glory carried a
mixture of type 145-D and 150-B Wildcats and type 78-J
Defenders, among the most modern versions of these fighters
in the fleet.
The top of the Glory was pure battleship, featuring three
sets of massive 34 inch laser cannon turrets, side mounted
missile launchers, a 22 inch turret in the rear, and a number
of small caliber anti-fighter armament. While no longer state
of the art compared with the most modern battleships, the
Glory could go toe to toe against nearly any ship in the
fleet except the most modern superbattleships and
dreadnaughts.
In short, the Glory had the teeth of a battleship and the
carrying capacity of a carrier. That combination, however,
made the Command Carrier line tremendously expensive, which
explains why they were discontinued after only eight models,
in favor of regular carriers and battleships.
North's shuttle, accompanied by his standard fighter escort,
landed in the forward landing bay. His executive officers,
Captain Roger Dulin, skipper of the Glory, and Commander
Stacy Wren, his first officer, were waiting for him in his
ready room.
"Ridiculous!" were Dulin's first words.
      "Obviously a trap," said Wren. "Why else would they
want to meet at Vitalics?"
      "Admiral Peterson said that they considered that
neutral territory," said North.
      "And it's just a coincidence they chose a meeting place
where electromagnetic interference would prevent any
communication outside of the system?" said Wren.
       "Mitterand said with the entire fleet there we'd have
nothing to fear," said North hollowly. Even he didn't pretend
to believe what he was saying.
       "Mitterand is a traitor!" said Wren savagely.
       "Commander-"
       "Or at least a dupe," said Dulin. "It doesn't matter
which. What are we going to do?"
       "Do, Captain?" North raised his eyebrows. "Our orders
are to go to Hunt's world and stay put."
       "We've got to stop them," said Dulin. "They'll ambush
the fleet."
       North frowned. "Assuming you're right, how do you
propose we stop them? Admiral Peterson is leaving even as we
speak, and the bulk of the fleet is already on its way to
Vitalics."
       "We could catch up to them at top speed before they get
there," said Wren.
       "And then what?" said North. "Tell them they're going
into an ambush, of which I have no proof of? And when the
admirals and civilian leaders who are traveling with them
tell them to disregard my orders, what then?"
       "Tell them not to obey their admirals, if necessary,"
said Wren. "War Admiral, you've saved us countless times. We
all owe you for Trajinar. The fleet will follow you."
       North self consciously fingered the silver eagles on
the collar of his light blue uniform. "So you're telling me
to stage a coup, to overthrow the elected leaders of the
League and their military leadership. Do you realize what
you're saying?"
       "If it has to be done to save us, yes!" cried Wren.
       North turned to Dulin. "And you, Captain? What are your
views on this?"
       "I... I think the fleet will listen to you, sir," said
Dulin.
       "You realize you're talking about mutiny," said North.
"The penalty for which is still capital punishment." He
paused, as if he were also fighting a battle with himself.
"All right. Let's take your thought experiment a step
further. What if we make our big announcement and some ships
don't go along? Do we fire on them?"
       Dulin was silent.
       "Do we shoot at our own sailors? For that matter, what
if the majority of the fleet doesn't go along? We'll be
vastly outnumbered and outgunned. Are you prepared to be
vaporized for mutiny, along with all the other ship captains
and senior officers in this fleet?" North asked.
       Dulin, choked up, tried to make a sound but nothing
came out.
       North slowly paced back and forth on the carpeting.
"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about doing
something like this too. But it's too risky. Even if we're
right, without proof we might not be able to persuade the
fleet. And just remember, we may not be right; it's been
almost a year since the last skirmish; the Insectoids may
really be suing for peace.
       "You don't believe that!" said Wren.
       North shook his head. "You're right, I don't. But I'm
not certain. And as long as I'm not certain, and an
'intervention' on our part is risky at best, I'm not going to
act. Remember that most of the fleet is going there; if there
is an ambush being planned, the Insectoids will have to be
strong enough to take out our entire fleet at once. Maybe
they won't be foolish enough to try; maybe if they try,
they'll fail."
      "At the very least we should go to Vitalics too."
      North shook his head. "We'd be risking court martial
when we got into sensor range. And with only 40 odd ships
under my direct command, I'm not sure we could make a
difference."
      He sighed. "This isn't an easy decision. But I'm not
going to overthrow an elected government unless I'm certain
they're wrong, and I'm not.... And even if I were, I'm not
nearly sure we'd be successful."
      "So what do we do now?"
      "We go to Hunt's world... and we wait," said North.


      The Glory and its accompanying fleet came into orbit
around the moon orbiting Hunt's World. Formerly a pioneering
world, Hunt had over the centuries gradually evolved into a
center of industry and capital and was now the main "money
world" in the League. Because of its importance to the
financial industry, Hunt's World had a series of
battlestations in high orbit around the planet, brimming with
weaponry and a full assortment of starfighters.
      But, oddly enough, North hadn't stationed his fleet in
proximity of the battlestations; instead, much of the fleet
were in orbit around Hunt's moon, too far to get support from
the weaponry on the battlestations, if needed.
      "It's been eight hours," Commander Wren fumed. "Eight
hours since the armistice convened.
      "Patience, Commander," said North, sitting in his
command chair which was set just behind Captain Dulin's. "I'm
sure we'll be hearing something soon." He touched the silver
eagles on his collar below his four stars, his only sign of
restlessness.
      "How long does it take them to sign a piece of paper?"
Wren fumed.
      North gave her a mild look but said nothing.
      "Sir, we're getting an incoming communication," said
the comm officer, working the receiver. "It's faint, but I
think it's from the fleet. We can only get audio."
      A few seconds later there was a hissing sound and then,
"--under attack. This is Captain Tirako of the Cruiser
Impulse. We are under attack by a fleet of Insectoid ships-"
      North's voice was immediate, but it was also calm.
"Captain Tirako, this is War Admiral Norman North of the
Glory. What happened to the fleet?"
      "...fleet... destroyed. All destroyed. Glory, they're
firing again!" There was an explosion, then a crackle, and
the line went dead.
      "Captain, I'm picking up a fleet of Insectoid ships at
extreme range, closing rapidly," said the scanner officer.
      For a moment, the bridge was incredibly silent.
      "I think we have our answer," said North, very slowly,
in a very soft voice, as if he had difficulty speaking. He
looked grimmer than Wren had ever seen him.
      "Battle Stations."
      The attacking fleet was not, of course, the same one
that had conducted the ambush at Vitalics; Vitalics, still
days away, was too far away. Instead, this smaller Insectoid
fleet had started out several days before the Vitalics ambush
occurred, timing their arrival to come just after the
Vitalics rendezvous had taken place.
      "I'm reading 78 combat ships,' said the scanner
officer. "12 battleships, 14 battlecruisers, 27 cruisers, the
rest an assortment of smaller ships."
      "They knew exactly where we were," North muttered, his
heart sinking as he stared at the line of massive battleships
on the screen. The Insectoids had a two to one advantage in
ships, but probably a three to one advantage in weapons;
while the Insectoids had 12 battleships and 14
battlecruisers, North's fleet had only the Glory, and a
pocket battleship, the Blue Luna, and four battlecruisers.
The rest were standard cruisers and other combat vessels. It
would be a tough fight, and everyone knew it. Normally,
North's cruisers wouldn't stand a chance against Insectoid
battleships. But North had a few surprises planned that would
help even the odds, if everything worked as planned.
North raised his voice, "Only 78 ships? They must be feeling
overconfident." He touched a button on his console to open a
channel to interfleet. "This is the War Admiral. By now you
have heard of the destruction of the main part of our fleet.
I won't deceive you with some public relations doubletalk and
say that everything will be fine."
"But I will say that whatever has happened to the main fleet,
we are still alive and the Insectoids haven't won until
they've beaten us. We've defeated the Insectoids before and
we will again, as long as we continue to be a coherent combat
force. That's why it's vital we win this encounter with a
minimum of losses. There will be time for grieving later. For
now I expect you all to give your best. Prepare to conform to
the attack plan Hunt 1 exactly as we rehearsed it. Good luck.
North out."
      The previous silence was replaced by a babble of voices
as bridge officers readied their stations for combat.

      The Insectoid Admiral, a junior Queen, was puzzled. She
had expected North's forces to be stationed in high orbit
around Hunt, to take advantage of the defenses afforded by
the battlestations. She had been prepared to conduct a
standoff attack with missiles to destroy the battlestations
first. Instead North had his forces strung out around Hunt's
moon, where the battlestation weapons wouldn't be effective
and where even the battlestation's fighters would take
several minutes to engage. The Insectoids had fought Norman
North too long to underestimate him, and yet the Insectoids
still couldn't see what North was trying to achieve or why he
would take such an obviously inferior defensive stance.
      The Admiral studied the scanner interface. It was a
pity they didn't have the same suppression equipment they
used at Vitalics; but there had been barely enough there to
get the job done there. Well, they'd have to conduct this
battle more conventionally. Either way, the result would be
the same.
      "Order the attack," the Admiral ordered.
      The Insectoid attack fleet closed in a narrow
formation. During their first attack they intended to punch
through the human fleet, currently in low orbit. Then, while
their formation was disrupted, the Insectoids would engage
the enemy one-on-one until they were all destroyed. The
Insectoid Admiral had competed with others to have the honor
of destroying the great Norman North. She wondered what kind
of honor the Queen would bestow upon her when she brought the
Queen his head.
      Her attention snapped back to the present as her fleet
plowed through the human fleet, firing madly at their ships.
The human shields were holding up, but so were those of the
Insectoid ships. The Insectoids, having gone past the human
fleet and between it and Hunt's moon, started to brake, and
turn, and...
      Brilliant beams of light shot up from the surface of
Hunt's moon, impacting on several of the Insectoid ships. The
Insectoid Admiral turned her scanners to the moon and saw,
for the first time, that portable laser batteries had been
set up on the surface. Where had they come from?
      She had no time to wonder, because even as those laser
batteries opened fire, dozens if not hundreds of fighters
were streaming out of hidden caves beneath the moon's
surface. Where were all those fighters coming from? North's
fleet didn't have nearly that many fighters, according to the
intelligence reports. Then the Admiral immediately figured it
out: they must have been moved from their births in the
battlestation to the moon. When had this been done?
      And then explosions started to come on a new front; as
the Insectoid fleet braked and turned, heading away from the
moon, some of them slammed into mines! The Insectoid Admiral
checked her short range scanner. There were a thick layer of
mines between the human fleet and the moon. How had the
humans known that they would arrive at this exact spot?
      North's fleet closed on the Insectoid ships, which
continued to be pounded by surface fire and, a few moments
later, by squadrons of 145-B and even more nimble150-D
Wildcats streaming out of the surface. The Insectoid Admiral,
realizing that being sandwiched by North's fleet on one side
and the moon's laser emplacements and fighters on the other
was a recipe for disaster, ordered her fleet to break off and
cut through the line of North's ships to get to the relative
safety of open space.
      But in doing so the fleeing Insectoid ships lost their
carefully planned formation and bearings and became open
targets for North's fleet. North's cruiser groups raked them
with fire as they passed. A number of Insectoid ships also
slammed into mines on their way out, causing heavy damage.
      When the Insectoid ships cleared the mine field and
steered out of range of the moon's guns they moved to reform
into their original squadrons, but War Admiral North's fleet
gave them no quarter.
      By the time the Insectoid fleet had moved off and
reformed, while still under constant attack from North's
fleet, 37 ships had either been destroyed or heavily damaged,
including five of the battleships and seven of the
battlecruisers, and North's fleet hadn't lost a single ship.
But if the two fleets were now roughly even in size the
Insectoid fleet was still more powerful, its battleships and
battlecruisers capable of outgunning any ship in North's
fleet in a one-on-one battle, except perhaps for the Glory.
      But it wasn't simply to be a ship to ship battle.
Fighters, nearly 300 of them, swarmed up from the moons
surface, attacking key Insectoid battle groups.
      One fighter attacking a capital ship can almost be
ignored. Three or four fighters attacking a capital ship is
an irritant. But 20 fighters armed with heavy rockets can
make short work of a cruiser or even a larger capital ship. A
number of them were converted Defender heavy bombers with
several payloads of ordinance.
      North's fleet was careful to only engage the Insectoid
battlegroups already under heavy attack from the fighters.
Whenever one of the Insectoid battlegroups not under fighter
attack tried to engage North's fleet, his ships carefully
maneuvered out of the way to try to keep the besieged
Insectoid fleet groups between them and the ones not under
fighter attack. In fact, at any given moment half of North's
fleet refused to engage, simply playing cat and mouse with
battleships and battlecruisers not under fighter attack.
      The fighters did quick work, not waiting to destroy
Insectoid ships but rather halting attacks when they had
achieved heavy damage, and moved in groups of 20 and 30 to
attack the next ship.
      "Engage them!" cried the Insectoid Admiral. In their
rush to get here they hadn't brought any fighters of their
own, but the Insectoid Admiral thought that their
overwhelming number of capital ships would even out that
advantage. Then again, the Insectoid Admiral hadn't expected
to face 300 heavily armed fighters, more than triple the
number normally assigned to the Glory.
      "We can't," said an Insectoid officer. "They keep
running from us!"
But as the number of undamaged Insectoid ships dwindled down
to 25, the bulk of North's fleet did turn and engage the
Insectoids, even those not currently under fighter attack. A
cruiser couldn't take on a battlecruiser, one to one, but
three of them could. The Glory directly engaged one of the
two remaining Insectoid battleships, while the pocket
battleship Blue Luna, in the company of a destroyer squadron,
engaged the other. The Insectoid fleet struck out at the
human ships, damaging a number of them, but the momentum was
on North's side.
      When the number of Insectoid ships remaining dropped to
less than 20, the Insectoid Admiral gave the order to
retreat.
      "Pursue and destroy!" cried North from the bridge of
the Glory. The fleet pounded the Insectoids as they
retreated, following them to the edge of the system and
disabling or destroying four more of their ships. At the
system's edge North called the fleet back to deal with the
surviving damaged Insectoid ships who were trying to limp
from the field.
      The fleet opened fire on the damaged Insectoid ships on
orders from the Glory. Captain Dulin didn't ask War Admiral
North if he wanted them to rescue any Insectoid survivors,
and War Admiral North, grim faced, said nothing. After the
slaughter at Vitalics, no one was in the mood to take
prisoners.
      When it was all over Admiral North assessed the damage.
Seven ships, three cruisers and four destroyers had been
destroyed or heavily damaged. The rest of the fleet had
suffered light damage, except for one cruiser whose engines
had been knocked out.
      "Transfer the survivors from these seven ships aboard
our battlecruiser group," commanded North. "The cruiser with
the damaged drive section, the Larata, how long before it can
be made spaceworthy?"
      "Our techs think two hours," said Captain Dulin.
      North calculated how long it would take them to get the
fighters back onboard. "We leave in one hour," said North.
"If they can make it spaceworthy by then, they can accompany
us; if not, they can play catchup."
      "Where are we going in such a hurry, sir?" Dulin asked.
      "June," said North. June was the Capital of the June
Directorate, the junior coalition partner in the Alliance
with the League. Now that the League fleet, except for
North's battlegroup, was largely destroyed, the Directorate's
fleet was the only other allied fleet left. It was smaller
than the League fleet, but their ships were technologically
advanced and their navy had a solid reputation as capable
fighters.
      "Get me Admiral Zarat of the June Directorate fleet,"
North said.
      There was a pause and the holographic display crackled
but remained otherwise silent. "We can't, sir, there's some
interference."
      "Jamming," said North. "They could already be under
attack." He resisted the urge to order their immediate
departure. If they left now, they'd have to leave most of the
fighters behind.
      The Glory was officially rated to carry six squadrons
of fighters but to help carry the additional fighters from
the Hunt battlestations would now be carrying eight. In
addition, each surviving ship would also be carrying a
handful of fighters in their hanger bays. All said and done
the fleet could now carry 200 fighters. The local Hunt
military authority wasn't thrilled to lose half of its
fighter support, but North pulled rank and gave them no
choice.
      "Get those fighters aboard as quickly as possible,"
said North, looking at his chronometer and privately fuming.
Time was so precious!
      Well, there was still one thing he could do. "Get me
Command General Tenor Markov, commander, ground forces on
August, Sarney Sarittenden Central Command HQ." A Command
General was a three star general, the highest practical rank
in the ground forces. Although there was theoretically one
higher rank, that of War General, that rank was generally
unfilled and reserved for great war heroes. Currently, only
the head of the joint chiefs held that rank, and that was
currently an Admiral, Ruber Peterson. Who was almost
certainly dead.
      The comm officer opened a line to August.
      August. The capital of the Alliance.
      North's hands figited as he wondered if communications
had been jammed there too. Which could only mean the attack
had already begun there as well.
      But after a few tense moments the screen crackled and
Markov's face filled his holocommunicator.
      "War Admiral," he said curtly. A loud babble of voices
could be heard in the background on Markov's end.
      "You've heard the news," said North, referring to the
transmission from the ship that briefly escaped the ambush at
Vitalics.
      "We did. Was the entire fleet really destroyed?"
      "We have no way of knowing without going and taking a
look," said North. "But if we haven't heard from anyone else
by now, it's a safe bet that there aren't entire battlegroups
in silent running."
      "The entire fleet," said Markov, trying to wrap his
mind around it. "And the President, and the Vice President,
and the joint chiefs... all gone..." He paused a moment, as
if lost in thought, then snapped back into reality. "And your
battlegroup?"
      North checked the scrambler controls. They flashed
green. He looked up at Markov. "We had a little ambush of our
own, but we're fine. We have only 34 ships left, so there's
not much we can do."
      "Understood. What do you recommend?"
      "The Insectoids will be coming," said North. "Your
orbital defenses will not be able to hold out long. My
suggestion is that you abandon your military headquarters and
disperse your troops and prepare for ground assault. Your
best strategy, if there is any best strategy, is protracted
guerrilla warfare to wear the enemy down."
      Markov's face showed that the implications of this were
slowly sinking in. "Protracted? How long is protracted?"
      North lowered his voice, though he knew the entire
bridge crew could still hear him. "We're about to go into
battle again, General." Picking his words carefully, he said,
"I don't know when, or if, we'll be able to communicate
again. I suggest you wipe your command files and-"
      "Just a moment!" a third voice intervened, splitting
into their two-way communication. The face of Defense
Minister Novacan appeared. "Admiral North, where are you
going?"
      "Into battle, sir," said North, picking his words
carefully. Scrambler or no, this communication could be
tapped and deciphered, with the right access codes. With the
President, Vice President, JCS, and most of the cabinet at
Vitalics, only Novacan had been left behind to mind affairs
on August.
      "Battle where? Admiral, I order you to return to August
to secure the defense of our homeworld!"
      "Minister, our small fleet will be no match for the
overwhelming force the Insectoids will throw at us-"
      "You're not paid to think, Admiral!" Novacan snapped.
"I'm issuing a direct order for you to return immediately!"
      North paused a moment. "No." he said. It was obvious to
everyone on the bridge that he omitted the "sir".
      "No? No what?"
      "No, we're not returning."
      "Admiral North, you are relieved of command! Captain
Dulin!"
      "Sir?" said Dulin, stepping forward promptly.
      "You are to take command of the fleet and return to
August immediately."
      "No sir!" said Dulin, just as promptly.
      "This is treason! You'll be vaporized for this!"
      "No," said North slowly. "What you and your
administration have done is treason. You have lowered our
guard and cost the lives of thousands of loyal sailors whose
only fault was following your orders. We will no longer
listen to yours." He turned as if to terminate connections.
      "Where are you taking your fleet? Are you going to run
away? Coward!" Novacan spat.
      North turned back, murder in his eyes. "Yes, I'm a
coward," he said slowly. "I've been giving the subject a lot
of thought lately. I'm a coward for not arresting you, the
President, and the Joint Chiefs when I had the chance. I'm a
coward for not taking power when I should have. I was afraid
of taking action. This is the result of my inaction. My
inaction" He repeated it, for emphasis. "I don't know if
we'll survive this, but if, by some miracle we do, I won't
make the same mistake twice," he said, his voice deadly grim.
"Goodbye, Minister, and try to take a kinder tone with your
new Insectoid masters."
      He terminated communications. The bridge crew was
speechless. North turned to Wren. "Are the fighters aboard
yet?" he said quietly.
      "Another few minutes, sir."
      "Is the League network still up?"
      The comm officer checked, then nodded. "For the most
part." The Insectoids hadn't yet gotten the chance to disrupt
the League-wide communication network.
      "Activate the League wide network. Use our priority
military code."
      "Online."
      North took a deep breath. He would now be addressing
the senior military, political and administrative leaders and
staff throughout the League. "This is War Admiral Norman
North. A few hours ago, it appears that most if not all of
the League fleet sent to the Vitalics armistice was destroyed
in an ambush. As President Marshall unwisely sent nearly the
entire fleet to Vitalics, we are now left open and
defenseless to an Insectoid invasion."
      He paused for a moment to let this sink in.
      "The Insectoids will be coming, in some worlds in a
matter of hours, and others in a few days. Worlds on the
outskirts of the League may be lucky enough to have a few
weeks, but they will come, sooner or later. This is a
terrible time for the League; we have been led to defeat by
the naivete and incompetence of our leaders."
      "But ultimately we are the ones at fault, we, through
our complacency and nearsightedness and preoccupation with
consumption and pleasure, who elected the Marshall and his
cronies on their unrealistic "peace now" plank. President
Marshall is no longer around to pay for his mistakes, but we
are. I have spent most of my adult life fighting to defend
what we hold so dear, and now we are about to lose it."
      "To those of you who still value freedom, who are still
willing to fight for it, I call on you to rise up and resist.
Form small, mobile tactical groups. Harass the Insectoids and
make them pay for their occupation. Sabotage Insectoid
installations and kill as many Insectoids as you can. It will
be a long and difficult fight, but eventually we can make the
price of occupation too expensive for them to pay."
      "As for myself, as long as I am alive the Insectoids
have not fully conquered the fleet. Never forget that as you
fight on the ground I will be here, in space, fighting for
you as well. Mark my words: someday we will meet again, and
the next time we do, we will regain our hard-won freedom
once again."
      "This is War Admiral Norman North, signing off. Good
luck to all of you."
      If the bridge had been merely stunned by North's
communication with Defense Minister Novacan, they were
overwhelmed by North's message to the League. It was one
thing to know that they had been defeated; to hear it from
North's lips, however, gave it a new weight and reality that
was only now sinking in.
      Dulin moved closer to North's command chair. "Ah, sir,
do you think it was really wise to blame the people for
this?" he said, in a low voice.
      "Wise?" said North, raising an eyebrow. "I don't care.
They're responsible. I've fought my entire life for these
people, and look at them! Most of them are parasites simply
living off their rohelpers and holopics, and haven't worked a
day in their lives. They voted for Marshall because war was
"inconvenient" and peace was the easy thing. Our rise in
technology and productivity was supposed to make life easier,
but when it reached the point when technology enabled the
population to stop working and simply seek out pleasure, it
set a moral decay in place. Quite frankly I'm tired of people
who have no interest in defending themselves. I signed on to
defend people, not spineless jellyfish, and that's what our
society has become. When the Insectoids arrive, many of them
will learn what hardship is like for the first time. Many of
the survivors, that is," said North, his tone so angry and
bitter that Dulin almost didn't recognize it. But then he
addressed Dulin directly, and that legendary calm was back.
"Are the fighters aboard yet?"
      Dulin distracted, quickly turned to check his board.
"Uh, Yes sir. And I'm showing temporary repairs to the
cruiser have been completed as well."
      "Compliment the repair crew on their fine work," said
North unemotionally. "Let's get under way. Set course for
June, maximum speed."


Chapter 2: The Brief Battle for June

      Admiral Whyold Zarat was the soldier in charge of the
Directorate's fleet defenses.
      North's opinion of the League's civilian leadership was
only slightly lower than Admiral Zarat's opinion of the
Directorate's civilian leadership. Until one year ago the
Directorate, the junior partner in the Alliance with the
League, was under the brilliant leadership of Steven Quick.
Quick, who was technically brilliant, had founded the
Directorate and ran it as an enlightened dictatorship for as
long as Zarat could remember.
Quick took over from the previous corrupt and inefficient
bureaucrats and created a model of government that even the
League, which had a traditional disdain for dictatorships,
found so admirable that they sent their people over to study
how their bureaucracy worked. Quick also built up and
modernized the Directorate fleet and made it a vibrant
partner in its coalition with the League, especially during
the early years of the war against the Insectoids.
But all that changed a year ago when Quick's ship blew up
under what could only be termed suspicious circumstances.
Quick's handpicked successor, Administrator (now Director)
Tel Kalin immediately took over, and quickly made a mess of
things.
First there was the explosion of the reactor at the enormous
military base on Tentus IV. Somehow a chain reaction started
which vaporized the base. The result: 20,000 sailors and
their families dead, 20 ships lost. It was a tremendous blow
to fleet morale. Kalin made things worse by pinning the blame
on several of the Directorate's most distinguished Admirals,
forcing a number of them into retirement before their time,
even though most of them had nothing to do with the accident
on Tentus.
Then as part of a "modernization" program Kalin retired
fifteen perfectly capable ships of the line before their
replacements were made ready. In fact, since Kalin had taken
over, Zarat hadn't seen a single replacement ship come off
the assembly lines. There were "problems in production" he
was told.
Then the final straw came two months ago when a drive
explosion on one of the newest class of battlecruisers forced
all ten of those battlecruisers out of service for
"inspection". Despite repeated inquiries, Zarat had had no
word on when he was going to get those ships back either.
So there he was commander of a once mighty fleet of a little
more than 100 ships, now down to a demoralized group of 55
ships, all because of the incompetence of their leadership.
There was already talk in the ranks about getting rid of
Kalin and putting a new leadership in place, a military
leadership, and if the situation didn't improve soon, Zarat
might be forced to take sides. Kalin's predecessor, Quick,
had been a civilian, but he had shown by example that he knew
how to run the military. Kalin didn't have that touch.
Currently the fleet was stationed in orbit around June, the
capital of the Directorate. Well, at least Kalin had had the
good sense not to agree to send the fleet to this ridiculous
armistice the League had agreed to with the Insectoids. Zarat
knew it would be a trap; the only question in his mind is how
many League ships would survive the trap. There had been no
word from the League fleet since the meeting at Vitalics had
begun, several hours earlier.
"Admiral, I'm getting a communication from Director Kalin,
for your eyes only," said a crewer.
Kalin entered his ready room, and keyed in a code. A hologram
of the Director appeared in front of his desk.
      "Admiral, you're there. Good. Prepare the fleet for
attack."
      "Attack, sir?" From the Insectoids? How could they
attack this far into their territory without being detected?
      "The Insectoids are about to attack June," said Kalin.
      How did Kalin know this? "Sir?"
      "We haven't much time. The Insectoid fleet will
outnumber and outgun your fleet by at least two to one. Your
orders are to engage them in one pass only."
      "One pass only?" This was only getting more confusing.
"And then what?"
      "Disengage and make for open space. Head out and stay
alive as long as possible."
"You would ask us to abandon June after a show of no more
than a token resistance!" Despite his dislike for Kalin,
Zarat was prepared to obey reasonable orders. But this wasn't
a reasonable order, not by a long shot. He should leave the
Directorate open to invasion? For a moment Zarat started to
think that maybe Kalin wasn't merely incompetent; perhaps he
was actually a traitor. That would explain the weakening of
the fleet.
      "I realize these orders are hard for you to accept. And
I also realize that circumstances have forced us to have a
rocky relationship."
"Nothing you can say will make me abandon the Directorate.
Sir." said Zarat stonily.
Kalin paused, checking something. "This conversation is
scrambled. If you stay and fight your fleet will eventually
be destroyed. And it's important for your fleet to survive."
"What is the sense of surviving if we're not going to be able
to defend our planets?"
      Kalin lowered his voice. "I was told, if you resisted
this order... I was told to tell you to trust me, I know what
I'm doing."
      Told? Who tells the First Director to do anything? And
then the words struck home. "Trust me, I know what I'm
doing." There was only one person in the galaxy who had used
that line frequently, when talking to Zarat.
Suddenly, an incredible thought burst into Zarat's mind.
Kalin, watching the transformation of his face, nodded. "I
see you understand. But you are to tell NO ONE about this
conversation, not even your most senior officers." He then
proceeded to give Zarat a series of secret instructions that
he needed to commit to memory, and also provided him with
three names.
"Understood," said Zarat, when he was done. "Director? Will
this really work out?"
Kalin sighed. "In the short run.... no. But at least this way
we'll have a chance of restoring what we're about to lose."
Zarat swallowed. Well, at least he knew the truth. "What
about you, sir, will you need evacuation?"
"Don't worry about me, Admiral, just take your fleet to
safety. Kalin out."
Zarat sat alone for a moment. Then he activated ship-to-ship.
"I need to speak to the following three officers, alone.
Secured channel." He called for the names of three
communications officers on three different ships.

When Zarat returned to the bridge he said, "Prepare for
battle."
"Battle? Against whom?" said an aide.
"Admiral! A large number of enemy ships are showing on our
scopes!" cried the scanner officer. Suddenly, the ship was on
alert.
       Zarat didn't even ask a single question about the size
or composition of the enemy. Instead, he simply said,
"Prepare to conduct a single pass. Then set course out of the
system."
       "We're just leaving?" said an aide, stunned.
       "Follow my orders!" Zarat barked.
       "Where will we set course?" the aide asked.
       Zarat considered for a moment. Kalin had told him to
set course for deep space. And yet... War Admiral North's
League fleet was at Hunt's World. That was only a stone's
throw from June. Suddenly, it all made sense. Zarat had
wondered why North had stationed the fleet at Hunt;
strategically, it made no sense. But now he realized why;
Hunt was the League world nearest to June! North had intended
to join forces all along. If he survived whatever the
Insectoids had planned for him, Zarat was sure he would send
his ships to June. In fact, he might even be on the way there
now.
      Zarat checked the long range comm. The Insectoids were
jamming all frequencies. But it all made sense.
      "Once we get clear we'll set a course for Hunt." Once
they linked up with North's forces, then they would head out
into deep space.
      The Insectoid fleet, 70 ships strong, came blazing into
the June system. The June orbital defense stations opened
fire, and the Directorate Fleet raced out to engage the
Insectoid fleet. But after a few brief seconds of laser fire,
the Directorate fleet whipped right past them! The Insectoids
braked and turned in a leisurely fashion, confident that the
Directorate Fleet would turn back and meet them.
      But the Directorate fleet kept going... all was going
according to plan, until they reached the edge of the June
system, where they ran into the rearguard, 22 Insectoid heavy
cruisers.

      The command chamber on the Insectoid flagship was
filled with holographic displays showing the movements of the
Insectoid fleet across League and Directorate space. Hive
Queen Zsst watched the screens with satisfaction, flexing her
many arms and tendrils as she chittered softly to herself.
She was so distracted that she almost didn't notice the
hooded creature enter her chambers. Almost. It was
impossible not to notice the curtain of fear that descended
everywhere the went.
      "All goes well," says Zsst. "The human fleet at
Vitalics was completely wiped out."
      "I know," said the hooded creature. "But what of Norman
North's fleet, or the Directorate fleet?"
      "Mere mopping up operations," said Zsst dismissively,
waving one of her arms. "Their fleets are small and
inconsequential."
      "Then how did Norman North's 'small and
inconsequential' fleet defeat the much larger one you sent
against it?"
      "What? How do you know this? I have yet to hear
reports-"
      "Norman North is alive, and his fleet is intact," said
the hooded creature. A hint of green peeked out from under
the hood. "And as you know from personal experience, while
Norman North is alive, he is a threat. Dispatch three more
fleets to find and intercept him."
      "I will," said Zsst. "But we will have to try and
project where he will go."
      "I have already provided this information to the
Admirals of your fleet. I launched them on their mission ten
minutes ago."
      "You gave orders to my fleet!" thundered Zsst.
      "To be fair, they thought the orders came from you,"
said the creature, undisturbed.
      "Watch your step, Baracki," said Zsst. "One day you may
go too far."
      Baracki stepped closer to Zsst, saying nothing. Zsst
became noticably uncomfortable, and suddenly flinched as if
struck, and pulled back.
      "We shall see," said Baracki.

       "Any word from June?" said North, pacing back and forth
in the command area on the bridge.
       "There's still jamming in place," said Commander Wren.
"We're about halfway there; there's only about four more
hours to go. Almost there."
"It's very fortuitous that we happened to be so near June in
the first place," Captain Dulin remarked.
       North made no response.
       "Sir, picking up ships, on the scanner!"
       "Battle stations!" said North. Then, over the klaxons,
"Identify!"
       ".... 51 ships... They're Directorate ships, sir, all
of them. Looks like they've been in a fight...."
       "We should be able to punch through the interference
locally. Get me Admiral Zarat."
       The holographic field shimmered and a Directorate naval
officer dressed in white appeared. "This is Captain Alada of
the Directorate Flagship June Defender."
       "Where is Admiral Zarat?"
       "Admiral Zarat is dead, War Admiral," said Captain
Alada. "I count only 34 ships on your end. Where is the rest
of your fleet?"
       "All destroyed." said North.
       "All destroyed?" Alada looked stunned. "At Vitalics?"
       "At Vitalics," North confirmed. "I commanded only a
small portion of the fleet, and we took some losses when we
were ambushed at Hunt's Moon. We came here to help as soon as
we could."
       "Appreciated, Admiral, but we're quite all right. We
only lost four ships in the attack on June."
       "How did you escape with such light loses?" said North,
frowning.
       "We didn't engage the first wave and immediately headed
out system. It was only when we ran into the backup group
that we took losses; that's when a missile struck the bridge
and killed Admiral Zarat-"
       "Didn't engage the first wave? Why not?"
       "Admiral's orders. Or rather, orders he received from
June."
       "Really," said North. His frown only grew deeper. "What
else were your orders?"
       "I'm not sure. Admiral Zarat received them orally in
private during a conversation with Director Kalin. All he
told me was that we were to link up with you at Hunt's Moon.
Beyond that, I don't know what his plans were."
       "I see." North was silent for a moment, hands clasped
tightly behind his back, as he paced back and forth a moment.
       "War Admiral? We have to act," said Alada.
       "What? Yes," said North, snapping out of it. "I suggest
we travel to Orotis, where we can get resupplied-"
       "Orotis is on the far end of the League."
       "Precisely. It's probable that the Insectoids won't
have gotten that far yet."
       "We have imminent reports of an invasion of Jarja,"
said Alada. "Twenty two transports, with only ten escort
ships. We could take them easily."
       "What about the fleet following you?" North said.
       "We have no indications we've been followed; they're
probably just as happy that they've chased us away from
June."
       "Assuming you're correct, how do you know there's not a
secondary escort fleet following a safe distance behind the
Jarja attack force?"
       "War Admiral, you're being too cautious-"
       "I tend to get that way when 90% of my fleet gets
destroyed. We are the only effective fighting force left in
the Alliance."
       "And what would you have us do with this fighting
force? Run away?"
       North drummed his fingers on his console. "We don't
know the disposition and location of the enemy force. We
don't know exactly how they destroyed the fleet at Vitalics.
They may have some new weapon or kind of ship we have yet to
see. I don't favor rushing in when we're the only attack
force left."
       "Well, I have a different interpretation."
       "What about your orders?"
       "I don't know what my orders were beyond this point,
and transmissions in and out of June are being jammed."
Alada's holoimage faced North directly. "We're going in. Are
you coming with us?"
       North shook his head.
       "Then we'll just have to do it on our own. I hope you
decide to take a stand somewhere, Admiral," said Alada. He
made a motion, and his image faded.
       "What are we going to do?" Captain Dulin asked. "Are we
going to assist them?"
       North stared off into space.
       He shook his head, mostly to himself. "The fools," said
North. "The poor, bloody fools."

      The Insectoid fleet burst into the Jarja system
unopposed. Jarja II was a medium sized colony world that
didn't have any ground or orbital defenses. The other planets
in the system were uninhabited. The Insectoid fleet had just
reached Jarja IV when the Directorate fleet under Captain
Alada caught up to it. The Insectoid escort ships immediately
peeled off and engaged Alada's forces, but they were
outnumbered.
      The Directorate fleet blasted through the escorts, and
in a few short minutes wiped them out. The fleet turned to
chase the Insectoid transports, when all of a sudden, a
massive Insectoid attack fleet pounced on them--twenty
battleships, twelve battlecruisers, thirty four cruisers, and
thirty destroyers.
      Suddenly, the hunters became the hunted. A number of
Directorate ships were instantly vaporized by the superior
firepower.
      "Evade, evade!" cried Alada into the intrafleet
comlink. The fleet started to turn and desperately speed
away, but the Insectoids were in hot pursuit. Alada's
battlecruiser tried to turn about, but was hit by
simultaneous multiple torpedo attacks, and was blown to bits.
      On a nearby battlecruiser, an officer reported to the
fleet's next ranking officer, Captain Bennett. "Captain
Alada's ship has just been destroyed!"
      Suddenly, a hologram appeared on Bennett's bridge, and
the bridge of every other Directorate ship. "Attention,
Directorate forces. Proceed immediately to these
coordinates," said the very familiar figure in a light blue
uniform with four stars and silver eagles on his collar,
pointing to a set of figures on a holographic display.
      It was War Admiral Norman North!
      "Admiral!' said Bennett, shocked. "My name is War
Captain Michael Bennett, I'm in command-"
      "No time. Follow my instructions. It's your only
chance," said North. He appeared to check an indicator on a
console out of holoview. "If you want to live, you'd better
hurry."
      "Instruct all ships to hone in on those coordinates,"
said Bennett. "Scanners, do you pick up North's fleet?"
      "Negative," said the scanner officer. Then, "Captain,
these coordinates will have us going through the far side of
the Jarja asteroid belt!"
      Of course! North's fleet must be waiting in the belt to
ambush the Insectoids. The Directorate fleet followed the
main path through the asteroid belt set out by the
coordinates provided by North. But when they reached the belt
and were inside it, Bennett still couldn't pick up any sign
of North's fleet hiding in the belt. Where were they?
      On the other side of the Asteroid belt, the Command
Carrier Glory and the rest of the League fleet was at rest,
waiting.
      "They've just safely past the second group, sir,"
Commander Wren reported.
      "Very well," said North. "Activate the mines."
      The Insectoid fleet sped across the narrow channel as
mines exploded around them. Because the path through the
asteroid field was so narrow, there was no way for them to
avoid the explosions. After several ships in the lead were
hit by explosions and destroyed, the Insectoid fleet skidded
to a halt and tried to reverse course. Several of them
couldn't stop in time, and rammed into each other.
      "They're going to take the long way around, but it
won't take them too long" said North, speaking
holographically on Bennett's bridge. "Are all your ships
capable of top speed?"
      Bennett checked a damage report. "No. Four of them have
drive damage."
      "Scuttle them and take the crews aboard."
      Bennett opened his mouth to protest.
      "And quickly," said North. "That is, if you want to
live. We'll be here for another 20 minutes to provide you
with covering fire. Then we're leaving; any ships that want
to come with us, can come; the rest stay behind," he said,
bluntly. Once again, he was giving the orders.


Chapter 3: The Fall of August

      "Our occupation forces have made landings on several
League and Directorate worlds. So far, we have faced little
resistance," said an aide.
      "Excellent," said Queen Zsst, smacking her mandibles.
      "Don't be so proud of yourself yet," said Baracki. "You
haven't landed on June. You haven't landed on August. And
Grafton will be especially difficult to take."
      "Once we get past their orbital defenses, June and
August will be easy pickings," said Zsst dismissively,
referring to the capitals of the Directorate and the Alliance
respectively. "Their civilian population, by all reports, are
weak and sheeplike."
      "But they have military ground forces as well," said
Baracki. "And what of Grafton?"
      "I have dispatched my best insect troopers to take all
three worlds. Not to worry, my friend," said Queen Zsst. "In
a few hours our troops will land. And in a few hours after
that we will begin to process every human pest on those
planets."

      August.
The capital of the League of United Worlds, and the united
Alliance between the League and the June Directorate.
It was a brilliant gem so perfect, so habitable, that it
actually required little or no terraforming when it had been
first settled, over 1000 years earlier. Unfortunately, once
August became the capital of the League, the bureaucrats
settled in, and began covering the western continent with
layers upon layers of metasteel and plastics and synthetic
materials and tunnels and buildings and travel strips. It
wasn't until nearly half the western continent, including
once pristine forests and rugged mountains, was covered with
offices for bureaucrats and accompanying lobbyists and other
parasites, that the League actually did a smart thing; they
declared the eastern continent off-limits to development. And
to this day the eastern continent is largely uninhabited, one
of the largest national parks in the galaxy, visited by
millions of tourists a year but rigorously kept undeveloped.
Bureaucrats and politicians who felt trapped by the metal
walls of the western continent became regular visitors to the
natural valleys and mountain ranges of the eastern continent.
Meanwhile, back on the western continent, development
continued unchecked for centuries, and nearly three quarters
of the continent was now encased in steel towers and tunnels.
Only on the periphery of the western continent did farmland
and less developed areas still exist.
The capital of August, and from which all power derived, was
Sarney Sarittenden. Sarney Sarittenden was a collection of
ornately designed towers and buildings, all made of an odd,
glittering metal that defied precise description. Sometime
one could look at the metal, and it would be a silver color;
at other times, the metal would take on the colors of the
rainbow. Although most of Sarney Sarittenden was enclosed, in
the heart of the grand plaza was the outdoor throne plaza,
where important ceremonies of state were held.

High above Sarney Sarittenden in orbit around August were a
series of advanced battlestations, as well as a civilian
transit station and a military shipyard.
The military shipyard was almost totally abandoned. Almost.
All the external berths on the shipyard were empty. But that
doesn't mean the shipyard was entirely empty. Captain Robert
Hollister tapped the stationwide intercom in the now
abandoned admiral's office. "Nautilus crew, report to the
ship! Prepare for immediate launch!" He signed off and turned
to the Admiral's computer screen, typing in a few keys....
A few minutes later Hollister entered the crowded bridge of
the Nautilus. "We thought you weren't going to make it, sir,"
said the XO.
"I had to purge the memory banks of all information relating
to the Nautilus. We can't let it fall into the hands of the
Insectoids," said Hollister. "What's our status?" he asked,
settling into his command chair.
"Navigation, shields, and ship systems operational."
"And the cloak?"
The cloak.
The Nautilus was an experimental ship, the League's very
first ship that could travel cloaked, totally undetected by
other ships. The Nautilus was modeled after the old water
navy submarines, with a long, slender, oval shaped hull that
had only a small projection at the top. It was a "dual
torpedo" ship, meaning it could fire energy torpedoes from
the single launcher at its forward tip, or a metal homing
torpedo from its limited stored supply. As a prototype, the
ship had a limited capacity and operating range; most of its
cramped interior was taken up with machinery used to maintain
the cloak.
      In its first field test the cloak had operated for
nearly twenty minutes without fading, after which it became
visible. The technicians thought they had figured out what
went wrong; now was the time to put it to the test.
      "Open the external bay doors," Hollister commanded.
      The external doors to the internal bay slowly opened.
      The view of the outside was not encouraging. An entire
Insectoid fleet was approaching.
      "Is the cloak ready?" Hollister said.
      "A few more minutes," said the XO.
      The Insectoid fleet entered the range of the orbiting
battlestations. They launched a wave of missiles and opened
fire with lasers. The battlestations responded.
      Hollister watched the battle quietly from his vantage
point, powerless to intervene. So far the Insectoids were
ignoring the spacedock, but that couldn't be expected to last
very long.
      "We're not even sure that it will work," said the XO.
"The latest repairs to the cloak haven't been tested."
The sounds of explosions around them grew louder as the
nearby battlestations absorbed the punishment the battleships
were lashing out at them. Several of the Insectoid
battleships seemed to orient on them, their enormous turrets
pointed, it seemed, directly at their ship.
      "We'll find out very quickly if it works," said
Hollister. The Insectoid battleships loomed closer, getting
so close that Hollister could almost see inside the turrets
of their gunports. "We need that cloak!"
      "Ready!" cried the XO, checking a display. "But if this
doesn't work..."
      "Attention all hands," said Hollister. "Prepare to
dive. Dive dive dive!" This nomenclature had been imposed by
Hollister. Technically the cloak made the Nautilus disappear
or "submerge" from the visible spectrum, and Hollister, with
his historical romanticism of the ancient waterborne
counterparts, had insisted on using this terminology for
cloaking. Fortunately, the admiral hadn't found out.
      "Diving!" said the XO. There was a hum and the lights
subtly changed color.
      "Are we cloaked?" Hollister asked.
      "I think so," said the XO.
      "You think so?"
      "At least, that's what the instruments are saying,"
said the XO.
      Hollister gulped. "Thrusters: all head."
      The Nautilus slowly worked its way out of its internal
bay. There, ahead of them less than a mile away, was the
looming image of an Insectoid battleship. They were in direct
line of its enormous turrets. They were so close that they
could see the black insides of those deadly weapons. If they
were going to attack, it would be over almost instantly...
      The Nautilus exited the bay, slowly moving into space.
As it flew directly in line of the Insectoid battleship
Hollister was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was
holding his breath. When cloaked the ship wasn't even
shielded; all it would take would be one volley....
      The ship passed the front line of Insectoid
battleships. A ragged cheer went up from the crew of the sub.
      "Rear view image," Hollister said. The image shifted to
the orbiting stations behind them.
      Most of them were in pieces or convulsed with
explosions. The cheering immediately died down. The stations
had fallen; August was defenseless.
      "What... what do we do now?" the XO asked.
      If they decloaked and joined the battle, they might get
a shot or two off; but the Insectoids would quickly destroy
them. The Nautilus had been designed for surveilance, and
quick strikes at isolated targets; not general fleet
engagements.
      "I really don't know," said Hollister.

      "Levi! Levi!"
      Levi Esherkol, former chief technology specialist for
the supersecret spy organization known as "The Agency", and
now the owner of a concessionaire restaurant in Entry
National Park on the eastern continent of August, hummed a
simple tune to himself as he stirred some meat in a pan.
      Levi had spent much of his adult life working for the
Agency, designing miniaturized devices for use by its agents.
He had branched out from electronics into computers, biology,
chemistry, and other fields. Levi had no formal education;
but he could just pick up a subject, and, if he were
interested, learn it quickly. After a number of years of
service, he retired to do the one thing he really wanted to
do: run a restaurant. The Agency occasionally persuaded him
to come out of retirement to do discrete jobs for them, when
the need was vital; after one particular important
assignment, the Agency, very much in his debt, gave him the
one thing he always wanted: a concession to operate the only
restaurant in Entry National Park. The rest of the continent,
except for the guesting area on the western tip, was totally,
totally undeveloped forests and mountains.
Levi stabbed a sizzling piece of meat with a fork as if to
sample it when his wife, Mindy, entered the basement where he
had been working.
      "Levi, it's happened, turn on the holonews," she said,
turning on an ancient dusty device in the corner of the room.
      "Eh?" said Levi, sampling a bit of the meat. An
excellent cattle mutation, very flavorful, he realized. But
it needed a bit more pepper.
      The holographic announcer appeared in their basement.
"-even as we speak our orbital battlestations are under
attack. General Markov has declared martial law and ordered
all civilians to stay in their homes-"
      "Levi, the Insects are coming, what are we going to
do?"
      Levi motioned for her to come over. "Keep stirring for
about five minutes more under low flame"
      "That's it! You want me to cook your food! Levi, what
else can we do?"
      " Add another pinch of pepper, about two minutes in."
He said, reaching for his jacket.
      Even as she grabbed the stirring fork she said, "Levi,
where are you going?"
      "I have to take quick trip to Western continent," said
Levi, in his trademark old easteuro accent.
      "Levi, it's too dangerous! What are you going for?"
      "I need go shopping for some meat," explained Esherkol.

      Clifford Croft was not having a good day. He was one of
the top spies in the Agency (one of the Eight to have the
highest Level-One designation), and he couldn't even get paid
on time! He had just spent the morning arguing with the
paymaster that no, in fact his account wasn't credited with
his monthly payment. The paymaster insisted that his
department had transferred the credit. Finally, when Croft
gave him the access codes to look up his private account, and
the paymaster saw that he hadn't been paid, what did he do?
He said he'd "look into it!"
      "Look into it!" Croft muttered, mostly to himself. He
had saved the Alliance from destruction countless times; he
had been the first agent to infiltrate the Happy Worlds and
return to tell about it; he had prevented assassinations,
toppled governments, and kept countless billions safe and
secure; and they wouldn't even pay him his measly salary for
it.
      "How can this day get any worse?" Croft grumbled.
      He was about to find out. There was a hooting alarm
sound, and a speaker blared. "Condition 44! All agents,
report to the nearest conference room immediately! On the
double."
      Condition 44? What was that? Probably someone's laundry
caught fire in the saniray. Croft thumbed his datapad as he
idly walked to the conference room down the hall. He ignored
the other people rushing around him as he thumbed through his
seldom-used Agency handbook database.
      "Condition 42... listening devices on premises...
Condition 43... intruder on agency ground... Condition 44...'
Croft almost dropped the pad. "Invasion."
      The particular conference room Croft entered was
packed; on the video monitor the current Director, old
Stanton himself, was already speaking. "-tracking has picked
up a large Insectoid fleet on the outskirts of the August
system. Nearly the entire fleet has been ambushed and
destroyed at Vitalics-"
      The murmurring in the room grew to a nervous buzz,
making it difficult to hear Stanton.
      "-August is about to be imminently invaded. We must
assume that our headquarters here is either insecure or won't
be secure for much longer. We are purging our databases as we
speak; you are all to go to ground and operate in small
combat cells. Each cell will have one contact with an
adjacent or higher cell. Although you may receive orders from
above, you are to act semi-autonomously in small groups to
harass the enemy, as well as gathering intelligence and
commit acts of espionage and sabotage when you can."
      Stanton took a deep breath. "It's not an easy thing to
say that we're about to be conquered. In all our years of
defending the Alliance August has never been conquered. That
bastard pacifist President Marshall led us into this trap. If
by chance he or that traitor Mitterand survived the
rendezvous at Vitalics and they return to August, your to
drop everything and code 9 them on sight." Code 9--that was
one code Croft was quite familiar with.
      "I wish you luck. I won't say this occupation will be
easy, but many of you have been in more difficult situations
before. Make them pay for this occupation. Each time you blow
up one of their installations or kill one of those insects
brings us one day closer to the time they'll decide it's too
costly to occupy us and decide to pack up and leave. Remember
they can only win if we let them."
"Your cell partners are listed on the boards, which will be
wiped in 30 minutes. Good luck." His image faded.
      Stunned would be an understatement. "How are we to
survive?" "I'm an analyst, not a secret agent!" "They'll pick
us off one by one." "We're spies, not a fighting force."
      A blaster shot rang out. The babble of voices quieted.
Croft lowered his smoking blaster as plaster dropped from the
ceiling. "That's better," said Croft, now that the crowd was
paying attention to him.
      "Now, before you start writing your epitaphs, remember
it's not over yet. Granted, things don't look good. But we
haven't heard from War Admiral North's fleet. If anyone was
following the military ops report, they'd know that they
weren't at Vitalics. And we haven't heard from the
Directorate fleet. They weren't at Vitalics either. If
they've survived, it's not over."
      "And what if they were destroyed as well?" said a voice
from the back of the room.
      "Then we fight to regain our freedom ourselves. That's
what we've been doing all our lives, haven't we?" said Croft.
"The only difference is that we've been carrying the fight to
the enemy on other worlds. Now they're carrying the fight to
us. If we show courage, resolve, and less stupidity than they
do, we can get through this. Now go to the supply rooms and
strip them of every last bit of field gear. Don't even think
of using any established frequency, any network, any
safehouse after today; the Insectoids may already have spies
here who know about them. The only communication will be
through the cell network. Stanton's a dumb political
appointee who doesn't know a comlink from a comtag, but he
was right about one thing: they can only win if we let them.
Good luck," he said, hefting his blaster as he left the room,
and trying to be braver then he sounded.

With the orbiting battlestations nothing more exploding
pieces scattered across the skyscape, the Insectoid battle
transports moved in, flanked by their powerful battleships
and other capital ships.
      Because every square inch of the central part of the
western continent was studded with buildings and
infrastructure, there were relatively few places that the
Insectoids could safely land.
      Therefore, it was not entirely unexpected when the
first wave touched down on the tarmac at Sarney Sarittenden
Spaceport ("Triple S" to the locals). The huge landing craft
opened up their bellies to disgorge their large troop
transports and landing vehicles while Insectoid fighters
flying overhead provided cover. Individual columns of
Insectoid troopers emerged, giant seven feet tall creatures
brandishing wicked looking laser rifles.
      Command General Tenor Markov, commander of League
forces on Sarney, and, by extension, on August, stared out at
the landing craft through electrobinoculars from his vantage
point inside one of the spaceport's lounges. There weren't
many ground troops stationed on August--after all, in the
heart of the League, with its mighty fleet and orbiting
battlestations to protect it, invasion was never thought of
as a realistic possibility.
      But the impossible had suddenly become reality, and
Markov had used the time afforded him by War Admiral North's
warning to best advantage.
      "Ground troops, attack.... now!" he said, speaking into
his comlink.
      Troops sprang out of hiding and opened fire, cutting
down some of the Insectoid troopers. Their laser fire merely
bounced off the troop transports, and the Insectoids on foot
took cover behind them as they slowly rolled forward.
      "Gravitators, move in!" Markov had only a single
platoon of gravitator troops under his command, soldiers with
anti-grav packs who could bounce in and over the scene. 45
troops zoomed into battle from the air, picking off Insectoid
troopers hiding behind the ground transports.
      "Battle tanks, engage!"
      The snouts of concealed battle tanks emerged from
hangers all around the field. One of them let go with a burst
of laser fire that turned an Insectoid troop transport into
scrap metal.

      High in orbit Admiral Bzt watched the landings on the
holoscope.
      "We have strong resistance at the Sarney Sarittenden
field and the two military fields here and here," said an
aide, indicating a point on the holograph.
      "Resistance? These humans were supposed to be as
passive as sheep!" Bzt spat. "Order our fighters to engage
the ground forces. And unleash the beasts."

      The circling fighters started to make dive attacks,
scoring direct hits on the hangers the battletanks were
hidden in. The battletanks weren't in direct line of sight of
the fighters, but the hangers were easy targets. The
Insectoids destroyed one hanger with a series of cluster
bombs; several others were lasered and exploded under the
combined attacks, forcing the surviving battletanks out into
the open, where they were easier targets.
      General Markov had several anti aircraft units set up,
and they downed several Insectoid fighters, until the
Insectoids focused their fire on them, knocking them out.
Markov gritted his teeth as he saw battletank after
battletank knocked out; without air support, the situation
was grim.
      But at least the troops were dug in; the fighters tried
to make strafing runs, but the troops were too well dispersed
in deep, protected trenches around the spaceport.
      But then another Insectoid transport landed, and when
its doors opened, a series of nightmares from a zoo emerged.
Giant insects--bees, wasps, mosquitos, and others Markov
couldn't identify, each one as large as a ground car. They
were all on leashes held by their Insectoid masters. In the
distance Markov heard them bark a command, then the
Insectoids dropped their leashes; he heard another barked
command, and the giant insects flew forward.
      The troops saw them coming, but they came so rapidly,
there wasn't much they could do about it. Several of the bees
and wasps were shot down, in flight, dripping green fluid as
they hit the ground; but many more reached the trenches where
the troopers were, and the next thing Markov heard were the
screams of his men over the radio.
"Aaaaah!" one screamed as a giant stinger was implanted his
chest, killing him. Another tried to resist a giant mosquito
with his hands, but was pinned down as the monster stuck a
giant tube in his neck and rapidly drained his blood. A giant
warrior ant snapped the neck of another trooper.
      Markov saw his troops couldn't last long going hand to
hand. "Recall! This is the recall order. Retreat, full
retreat! Gravitator platoon, cover the troops in the
trenches!"
A few of the gravitator troop, who had taken the fewest
casualties, swooped down from above and raked the giant
insects with blaster fire, buying the surviving ground troops
time to disengage. Some of the giant insects took flight to
chase the gravitator troops, forcing a number of them to pull
back.

      The image of the fleeing troops could be clearly seen
on the Insectoid holoscope. "The landing area has been
secured,' said the aide.
      "Excellent," said Admiral Bzt. "Commence the landing of
the assimilators. Begin the processing of the human animals
immediately."

      Large, oval shaped vehicles rumbled down the streets
and causeways of August, flanked by Insectoid troopers.
Screaming civilians ran in opposite directions, but were met
on other streets by more of the oval shaped vehicles The
shadows of Insectoid fighters and attack ships buzzed
overhead.
      Sandra Layata, an unemployed pleasure seeker, like most
of the population of August, screamed as she saw an Insectoid
vehicle approaching. She tried to duck down a sidestreet,
only to be stopped by a large, looming shadow above her. She
heard a loud, buzzing sound and saw giant flapping wings
supporting a yellow and gold body. Giant multiplexed eyes
stared down at her as the monster descended.
      Running back out of the alley, Sandra ran right into
the laser rifles of the Insectoid troopers.

      "This way, this way," they said through their
translation devices. In reality they were making "buzz buzz"
sounds, but the glowing device around their necks spoke in a
dull female tone.
      Layata and a line of frightened civilians were herded
up a ramp into the belly of one of the oval shaped vehicles.
Then the processing began.
      They were herded into narrow corridors on the vehicle.
The humans were warned to close their eyes just seconds
before a spray of an unidentified liquid that smelled like
pungent lemon came out from walls on their left and right.
When the spray stopped Layata opened her eyes to see how
drenched her clothes had gotten and was surprised to find her
clothes in pieces. A water hose sprayed down on her from the
ceiling and the remaining bits of her clothes fell into a
vent or drain on the floor.
      Then the examination began. She was grabbed by the
throat and strapped to a semi-horizontal table while she was
poked and prodded with alien instruments. Something stabbed
her arm and she felt blood being withdrawn. She tried to
scream but a living hose snaked into her mouth and she felt
something slimy feeling around her throat. She felt small,
snakey things entering other parts of her body and tried to
scream again, but it was cut off before it began, as the hose
in her mouth stiffened. Even her eyes weren't left alone as a
small screen descended to her bound head, showing different
twinkling images. A monitor watched her eye movements as the
images on the screen moved around. A sensor attached to her
head monitored brainwaves while pictures of familiar objects-
-ground cars, buildings, ships, shoes--flashed across the
screen.
Then all the hoses withdrew and the screen cleared away from
Layata's face, and the living machines around her clicked as
they evaluated her. She had this opportunity to turn her head
left and right to see two other people bound to tables just
like she was. The one on her left was an old man, and the one
on her right was a young, strapping youth, both as nude as
she was. Layata didn't have time to feel modest about her
nudity because she was still in shock.
      Suddenly she heard a voice from the table on her right.
"Designation: harvester labor." A device came out of a wall
and sealed a green collar around the young man's throat. He
screamed in pain as it was sealed. But Layata's attention was
distracted by the man on the table to her right.
      "Designation: Useless. Recycle." The arms descended
from the ceiling, and swish! swish! Swish! the old man was
instantly dismembered, the table titled so his parts rolled
into a bin.
      Layata screamed, so she almost didn't hear the voice
when it spoke from her table. "Designation: Genetic
experimentation."
      A collar was wrapped around her neck; it burned as it
was sealed, but Layata was already screaming at that point.
      When the processed humans emerged from the other end of
the vehicle they were clad in tight green leafy clothing.
Most bore the green collars of agricultural workers or the
blue collars of factory workers. Sandra Layata, however, was
wearing a purple collar, and was hustled off the vehicle by
two Insectoid guards, who took her to a waiting shuttle.

Chapter 4: Enter the Silencer
From the Log of War Admiral Norman North,
Commander, Combined Alliance Fleet:

We're nearly four days out of Jarja and the shock still
hasn't worn off. We had a combined fleet service yesterday,
for everyone lost at Vitalics, for the League sailors who
died at Hunt's moon, and for the Directorate sailors who were
lost at June and Jarja. But it hasn't quite sunk in
emotionally that all our friends who we've served with for
years are gone. We know it, intellectually, but since we
didn't see most of them die at Vitalics, I think everyone is
holding out hope that somehow, some of them survived. To
think that men I served with for decades, even centuries, are
just gone, dead, is too difficult to deal with.
      The bridge goes silent whenever we receive a
transmission. We keep hoping we'll hear from other surviving
warships. But of course we never do; even if one or two
warships did survive, they would be much wiser to maintain
radio silence; that would prolong, at least for a time, their
survival in now-occupied League and Directorate space.
      We are getting transmissions, but they are disturbing
ones. We're getting images of planets being conquered, of
giant ships setting down in our cities, chasing civilians
down, herding others to whatever the Insectoids have in store
for them.
      At that point the transmission from a planet under
attack is usually shut down as the Insectoids take control of
the transmission facilities. But then the Insectoids start
transmitting again, and they show disturbing pictures.
      Humans in collars, whipped and beaten by the
Insectoids, forced to provide slave labor. One particular
scene burned into my memory.
      A young woman, digging with a metal instrument in the
ground. Something she did upset the Insectoid overseer. Maybe
she wasn't working fast enough. Or maybe she was doing
nothing wrong at all.
      The Insectoid stood over her, its arms twitching, and
it gargled for a second, as if bringing up something through
it throat. Then it vomited, spitting a pink liquid onto the
woman. She shrieked, fell to the ground, and started to
tremble with fear. Obviously, the liquid was having some kind
of effect on her neurological system. A man, seeing what was
done to her, rushed up to the Insectoid, yelling, "What are
you doing to her?"
      The Insectoid just cackled, and lifted the man in its
many arms, and then the arms moved swiftly, and the man was
decapitated--his arms, legs, and head.
      Hardened bridge officers wept when they saw this
broadcast; and from then on I ordered the comm officer to
screen what was being relayed over the general comm.
      Why are they broadcasting such atrocities? Don't they
realize that they will just make us fight harder? Perhaps
they intend for it to be demoralizing. Which brings us to
another problem.
      Many of us, in fact nearly all of us still have
relatives on our home worlds. Thank goodness we haven't seen
any of them in these broadcasts. But we know that they have
almost certainly been drafted into forced labor, or worse.
What of our families? Will we ever hear from them again? Are
they still alive? And do they even know that we are still
alive? Probably not.
      It was with these black thoughts that I listened to
Commander Wren give our status report. Seventeen Directorate
ships were lost in a matter of minutes at Jarja. That means
34 of their ships, and 35 of ours. 69 ships left to face the
massive onslaught of the Insectoid fleet.
      We have enough fuel, ammunition, and supplies to reach
Orotis, our outermost shipyard on the far edge of League
space. I expect that the Insectoids may anticipate our move
and send forces to meet us there; but I'm gambling we can get
there first and resupply as best we can.
      What we can do from there is unclear. One option is to
start hit and run raids, splitting into small groups of ships
and launching guerrilla warfare attacks against the
Insectoids. But guerrilla warfare only works when you have a
lot of guerrillas, and a lot of places to hide. There are
only so many habitable worlds in the Alliance, and we only
have 69 ships. It's my feeling that sooner or later massive
Insectoid fleets would hunt us down and destroy us. We might
do some damage in the short run, but eventually they would
destroy us.
      If hit and run isn't an option, then what is? I'm a
soldier, trained in conventional naval combat. I was trained
to fight fleets against fleets. But a fleet of 69 ships can't
defeat a fleet of hundreds of Insectoid ships... unless we
have an advantage. That's part of the reason we're heading
for Orotis; that may be the first step in finding ourselves
an advantage we can use against the Insectoids.
      Just a little under three more weeks to Orotis.

*************************************************************
*******
"Admiral Bzt reports the landings on August are proceeding
apace," said Queen Zsst. "And we have reports of only
scattered resistance to our landings on other planets. We are
beginning to set up reproduction farms and hive factories on
all of them."
      "You are on schedule," said Baracki approvingly from
under his hood. "But what about Grafton?"
      "Our assault on Grafton II is to start within the
hour," said Zsst. "I have assigned our very best battle
troops there. I know how important that planet is, and how
difficult the resistance will be."

      But if the Queen really knew how difficult the
resistance would be on Grafton II, she would have at least
quadrupled the size of her invasion force, and even that
would've been no guarantee of success.
      Grafton II occupied no strategic location in space; it
had no important military bases; it had no vital minerals; it
wasn't even a formal member of the Directorate or the League.
What it did have was very, very good gunfighters.
      After hundreds of years scientists still hadn't quite
analyzed what it was, but SOMETHING on Grafton speeded up the
reflexes, making its inhabitants extraordinarily quick. This
made manual tasks and skills requiring dexterity much easier
to accomplish; foremost among those, however, was
gunfighting.
      Grafton produced the most sought after soldiers,
bodyguards, and killers in the galaxy. They simply could
operate much more quickly than anyone else.
      For hundreds of years scientists tried to determine
just what it was that speeded up the reflexes. It seems that
anyone who spent a few years on Grafton gained increased
dexterity. But once a Graftonite left the planet, his
reflexes started to dull; if he had only been on Grafton for
a few years, he would lose his abilities in months; if he had
been there for decades, he would lose his abilities gradually
over several years.
      That's why Graftonites were so reluctant to leave home
and when they did so it was for short periods, when they were
highly compensated for it. Scientists tried to figure out
what speeded up their resources--they tried eating large
amounts of Grafton food off-planet, but that didn't work;
they tried drinking large amounts of Grafton rainwater, but
that didn't work; they tried breathing large amounts of
Grafton air, but that didn't work. If it was something in the
food, or the water, or the air, somehow taking it off-planet
nullified its effects.
      The effects of Grafton on its population didn't go
unnoticed to the Insectoids. They were confident that in time
they could isolate whatever was speeding up reflexes and
instill this ability into all their Insectoid troopers; but
for now they wanted to conquer the planet and set up breeding
farms so at least new generations of Insectoid troopers breed
locally would have this ability.
      That meant that Grafton had to be conquered, not
destroyed. Without a space force of its own it would be easy
enough to bombard the planet from orbit, but because the
population was dispersed (besides the capital and two other
smaller cities, most of the population was spread out over
the countryside), this would have to be done the hard way, by
ground assault.
      That's why Queen Zsst had allocated 4 brigades of her
most fearsome Insectoid troopers, complete with two companies
of giant insect beasts, to take the major population areas.
Zsst expected some resistance at first, but once they had
driven the humans out of the major population areas, she
suspected the humans would be content to be left alone in the
countryside. For now, Zsst didn't need the whole planet;
hunting every human down over the sparsely populated surface
area of the planet would be impractical; for now all she
needed was just a large enough area for the breeding farms.
Later, when they had enough of the new enhanced warriors,
they could be sent on training missions to hunt and destroy
the remaining humans.
      Zsst gave the orders for the landings to begin....

      "For the last time, I'm not interested," said the man
in blue in a dull tone.
      He had a name, once; actually, he had several names.
But the one that stuck with him over time was related to his
profession.
      He was one of the best gunfighters, even on Grafton II.
And his name was the Silencer.
      "But the Insectoids are attacking the League!" said his
chief of staff.
      "Are they attacking this house?"
      "Not yet..."
      "Are they on the grounds?"
      "Well, no..."
      "Has anyone offered to pay me to fight the buggers?"
      "No..."
      "Then let'm eat cake."
      After several hundred years of fighting, and killing,
the Silencer was weary of it all. He turned his chair around
to face the window. They had just finished decorating the
house, and Annie had finally gotten the landscaping done
exactly the way she liked it--with short, green bushes,
alternating line by line with exotic, multi-colored flowers.
      "But they're attacking Grafton!"
      "As long as they don't enter my estate, they're welcome
to the rest of the planet," said the Silencer generously.
      "But how will your wife get thru the blockade--"
      "Annie's not back for three days. I expect things will
be sorted out by then, one way or another," said the
Silencer. If he had to, he'd go up in his ship and meet her
transport himself.
      Annie was his wife. For several hundred years he
thought he'd never find a woman who'd make him feel anything
other than the utter calmness he always carried with him. But
then he met Annie, Annie Oakley. Not the name she was born
with, of course, any more than his was the Silencer. But
that's who she was now, one of the fastest female gunfighters
in the Alliance.
      "Sir!' said a servant. "I'm getting a faint
transmission from your wife over the central comm unit.
Please hurry!"
      The Silencer suddenly came alive, leaping over his desk
and pressing the enable button on the comm unit.
      "John?" came her voice in a very staticy picture.
"We're under attack. I don't know how long we have-"
      "Annie!" The Silencer yelled, raising his voice.
      The transmission broke up.
      "Annie!" The Silencer screamed again, smashing his hand
against the wall near the console, creating a fist sized
dent.
      His chief of staff bent down to pick up some plaster
from the rug. When he stood up he started to say, "Sir, will
you be needing your ship-", but he was speaking to empty air.

      The Silencer didn't think anything of the naval
blockade the Insectoids had established around Grafton--a
bunch of capital ships and four squadrons of fighters. He
didn't even bother to fire back when his fighter came under
attack. But he was a Graftonite, and he adjusted his course
and speed almost before the laser bolts hit; and not one of
them came within 200 feet of his tiny, darting ship.
      Within moments he had passed the command ship on the
perimeter and was gone.
      Two and a half days of steady flying got him to the
point where he calculated the convoy, four cargo ships and
the passenger transport, were flying. He had no trouble
finding the coordinates.
      But when he got there all he saw was a field of debris.

      Admiral Tstss stood on the bridge of her command ship.
"Opposition?" she inquired.
      "No ships, no orbiting stations. Only one fighter
eluded our blockade."
       That sounded like a fine record of interdiction. "How
many tried to breach the blockade?"
       "...only one, sir."
       Admiral Tstss's alien features looked surprise.
Normally, the human animals tried to flee when they could.
Perhaps the Graftonites had no ships to evacuate with.
       "Very well. Land the first brigade."
       Troop transports peeled off from the Insectoid fleet
and orbit and slowly entered Grafton's atmosphere, escorted
by a ring of Insectoid fighters.
       What they didn't count on was the Graftonite middle
guard.
       Most planets that had defenses usually had orbiting
battlestations, orbital fighters, ground to orbit artillery,
or a combination of the three. The Graftonites, knowing that
on their own with their limited resources they could never
build defenses strong enough to prevent their planet from
being attacked, didn't bother with any of these.
       Instead, what they did was build cheap, atmospheric
fighters by the hundreds. Since these fighters didn't have to
be spaceworthy, they were much more inexpensive to construct
than conventional fighters. But in armament and
maneuverability they were just as impressive as regular
spacefaring fighters--in fact, more so, since their pilots
were all Graftonites, with superior reflexes.
       The first attack force lost three ships before they
realized what hit them. Two hundred fighters lifted off from
the surface in unison and swamped the descending transports
and Insectoid fighters. The Insectoid escorts tried to fire
back, but they were quickly destroyed.
       "What? Totally destroyed! How?" Admiral Tstss demanded
to know.
       "Fighters, from the surface."
       "Target the airfields they launched from!"
       There was a moment while the scanners were in play.
"Sir, as far as we can tell, there were no fields they were
launched from. These are vertical lift fighters that are
scattered all over the countryside. They could lift from
anywhere--a field, a barn, a road--anywhere. And when they're
grounded they probably keep them under camouflage!"
       Admiral Tstss twitched. "Signal the entire fleet. We're
going in again."
"Admiral, we only have two squadrons of fighters left to
defend the remaining transports. Are you sure?"
'All capital ships are going in-atmosphere to cover the
remaining transports on the way down," Tstss ordered. "What
can 100 of those little fighters do to us?"
All 27 ships in Admiral Tstss's task force started to descend
into the planet's atmosphere. There were ten heavy transports
filled with several brigades of troops, and 17 capital ships,
ranging from three destroyers to two battleships, one of the
Tstss's flagship.
The ships slowly entered the atmosphere. As they entered the
middle layers, the sensor being called out, "Attackers, on
their way!"
"How many?"
There were a pause. "1000... 1,500... 1,800... over 2,000!"
"Activate anti-fighter lasers!" Tstss ordered.
The Graftonite fighters swarmed over the descending fleet.
The battleships and heavy cruisers tried to use their bulk to
defend the transports, but the fighters darted through the
smallest spaces between ships to hit the troop transports,
using not just lasers but missiles and heavy rockets.
Tstss's laser batteries scored several hits, but most of the
fighters were too fast and too elusive to be hit by capital
ship laser fire.
One by one the transports were hit and caught fire. Damage to
the capital ships was minimal; Tstss's battleship was too
heavily armored and shielded to be damaged by laser fire, or
even small missile impacts; but some of the smaller ships
didn't fare as well--one of the frigates blew up, scattering
pieces that hit the other ship. A destroyer lost it's drive
and went crashing into the planet.
When they had gotten halfway to the surface Tstss realized it
was hopeless. They had already lost seven transports and
there was no way the remaining three would survive.
"Retreat to orbit!" she ordered.
The remaining three transports were destroyed long before
they reached orbit, and then the fighters turned on Tstss's
battleship, scoring hits and minor breaches. By the time they
reached orbit all the smaller ships--destroyers, frigates,
and troop transports--were gone. 25,000 fighting being had
been destroyed, and the enemy had taken almost no casualties.
"Inform the fleet of our situation and signal for
reinforcements," said Tstss. At a minimum, of course, he
would be relieved of command; probably her wings would be
plucked and her would be beheaded in disgrace as well. Tstss
sat back limply in her command chair to await her fate.

Admiral Tstss's fate was decided a lot more quickly than she
thought. She had expected reinforcements, and her
replacement, to arrive in a week; but it was only a little
over two days before her command ended.
"Human fighter approaching, from outside our perimeter."
What did it matter? Tstss's command was over. Let the fighter
go where it wanted. Tstss didn't have any fighters left to
intercept it anyway.
"Admiral?"
"Let it go," she said wearily.
"But Admiral, it's headed straight for us!"
"What?" Tstss sat up in her chair for the first time in two
days. The fighter was indeed heading straight for her
command ship. Was it attempting a suicide run? A fighter that
small?
"Activate laser guns," said Tstss.
       Shots from the lasers never came near the bobbing and
weaving ship, even as it got closer to his command ship. It
looked like it was about to ram, and then... it disappeared
off the screens altogether.
       "Where did it go?" Tstss asked. Even if a ship that
small had rammed them, they should have felt something.
       "Sir... It's in our landing bay!"
       What? "It crashed in the landing bay?" Was it a suicide
attacker? If so, why hadn't they felt the impact?
       "Sir, it landed in the landing bay!"
       They were being boarded? By a one-man ship? "Security
to the landing bay!"
       Tstss waited impatiently while several minutes went by.
"Well?"
      "Security isn't reporting in from the landing bay,"
said her aide. "In fact, I can't get anybody to report from
the landing bay."
      "Get me a vid of the landing bay."
      Tstss stared at the image of the single seat fighters.
The cockpit was open, and the fighter was empty. What about
his security beings? He panned down, and saw the bodies. More
than 10 of them.
      "Security alert! We have intruders aboard!" said Tstss.
"How many humans can that ship hold?"
      "I think... only one, sir.". Then, "Sir, we have
reports of gunfire in Section 4!"
      "Send more security!"
      "Now we're getting reports of gunfire on Section 3!"
      Tstss turned on that section's monitor. He saw one man
in blue, calmly blasting away. His troopers fired at the man,
but he always seemed to dodge out of the way. His shots, by
contrast, never missed. Who was this man? What did he want?
Then Tstss realized where he was going. To the bridge. Here.
      Tstss turned to the two burly bridge guards. "Burn
anything that comes through that door!" The guards turned
their rifles on the doors.
      They didn't have to wait long. The door opened, a
blaster hand darted in, the doorway was raked with fire, and
just as suddenly the blaster hand was gone.
      Then, in a move almost too quick to see, someone rolled
into the room as quick as a flash. The figure flashed its gun
once, twice, and both guards fell; then the gun flashed
several more times, and everything in the room was still.
      Tstss looked around. Everyone in the room was dead now
except her, and the intruder in blue.
      "You the guy in charge?" the man asked casually.
      "Who are you?" Tstss asked, the translator around his
neck interpreting for her.
      "You the bug in charge?" the man asked.
      "I am Admiral Tstss," Tstss said. No reason not to
admit it anymore.
      "Who is your immediate superior, and where can I find
him?"
      Tstss remained silent.
      The Silencer burned a hole through one of Tstss's
walking legs. She hollered in pain.
      "Who is your immediate superior, and where can I find
it?"
      Admiral Tstss's leg started to leak green fluid. She
started to feel faint, but, fearing even more pain, she said,
"Admiral Bzt..."
      "Where can I find her?"
      "August..." Tstss looked up at the Silencer. "Why are
you doing this...?"
      "You killed my wife," said the Silencer. And in the
second it took for him to raise his laser and pull the
trigger, Tstss wondered, since her force had inflicted
virtually no casualties on Grafton, what this human was
talking about....


Chapter 5: An Interrupted Lunch on August

Despite the enormity of the League's defeat at Vitalics, a
very small number of ships had managed to escape, and of
those few, one or two actually managed to make their way back
into the heart of League space (which quickly was becoming
occupied territory). One of those few was the battlecruiser
Argon, under the command of Captain Hu. For several days they
had been evading Insectoid patrols, making their way deeper
and deeper into League space. But wherever they went it
seemed that the Insectoids weren't far behind.
      Hu was looking for an even match, where his ship could
take on one or perhaps two smaller Insectoid ships. But most
of the Insectoid ships they had encountered on extreme
scanner range were large groups that the Argon would have no
chance against. But then, after a few days of abortive
engagements, a single blip showed up on the scanners; it
seemed the Argon was finally going to get its chance.
      "Contact!' said the scanner officer. "One ship, small
contact, destroyer sized."
      "Close for battle, maximum speed!" At this point Hu,
throwing caution to the wind, almost didn't care if it were a
trap. They had been running for several days now and the
weight of their disgrace at Vitalics hung heavy on his
shoulders.
      "Scanning...." Then, almost incredulously. "It's one of
ours, sir. A fast attack destroyer!"
      "Hail them!"
      In seconds a friendly face appeared on the screen.
      "Captain Presta, of the Swordflash," said their
captain. It turned out that the Swordflash had been one of
the handful of ships assigned to barrier patrol along the rim
of League space. When they had heard the news of what
happened at Vitalitcs they rushed back to August to find it
already occupied by a large Insectoid fleet. The Swordflash
had barely escaped unscathed. Now they were roaming around,
looking for smaller opportunities for attack much like the
Argon was.
      "We're happy to see a friendly face," said Presta. "We
didn't know anyone survived Vitalics. Were there any other
ships...?"
      Hu shook his head. "A few managed to escape, but most
were hunted down. I think we should use this opportunity to
join forces," he said, quickly changing the subject.
      Hu agreed, and they quickly conferenced to settle on
their first target.

      While they were planning on their first target, the
subship Nautilus was making its first strike.
      "Steady... steady..." said Captain Hollister. "Range?"
      "Five miles, and closing," said navigation.
      The Nautilus was closing on two Insectoid transport
ships escorted by a destroyer. The Nautilus was bearing down
on the destroyer first, since it would be the main threat.
      "Two miles, and closing."
      "Cut velocity by 50%."
"One mile, and closing... One half mile... one quarter
mile...."
"Prepare to surface... now!"
"Surface, surface!" cried the XO, as a klaxon sounded. An
outside observer would've seen      a shimmering effect as
the ship slowly surfaced into the visible spectrum, a few
hundred feet behind the destroyer.
Alarms yammered on the Insectoid ship as the Nautilus was
picked up on their scanners. Insectoids scrambled to their
battle stations-
"Fire!"
Two energy torpedoes hit the destroyer amid ships at point
blank range. The Insectoids hadn't even had the chance to
raise their shields. The well placed shots detonated the
ship's energy core, and in seconds the ship exploded into a
fireball.
"Emergency power! Hard astern!" cried Hollister, gripping a
railing as the ship desperately turned about to avoid the
miniature supernova in front of them. The screens flared
bright, white light for a moment, and there was a shudder as
the shockwave hit, and then all was quiet.
"Damage report!"
"... small hull rupture on deck 2, must be a piece of
debris," said the XO. "The cloak is temporarily offline.
Now that the warship was destroyed, that wasn't so crucial.
Probably some of the exterior lining used by the cloak had
been damaged. Well, that could be replaced. Hollister,
blinking away the rapidly diminishing white circles in front
of his eyes from the explosion, stared at the two unarmed
merchant ships slowly trying to get away. The rest would be a
mopping up operation.

The corporal eyed the target in the rangefinder. It was an
administrative building on the edge of the August spaceport.
The Insectoids had converted it into a barracks for one of
their warrior platoons. The corporal, lying on his belly in a
now deserted building across the street, grumbled, "I don't
get it."
The sergeant, lying next to him, said, "Don't ask me."
"We're invaded and there are swarms of these things coming
down all over the place," said the corporal. "And what does
the general tell us to do. Attack an arsenal? Commit acts of
sabotage? Ambush a convoy?"
      "No," the corporal continued. "We're to attack a
barracks unit. Around lunchtime. Their lunchtime. We're to
get the body of an Insectoid who's just started to eat lunch.
And we're also to capture the rest of his uneaten lunch. I
mean, what sort of crazyness is that? No wonder we got
invaded."
"If you think that's crazy, what did you think of that weird
looking guy standing next to the General during the
briefing?" said the Sergeant.
"You mean, the guy wearing the hood, mask, and long cape?
Very inconspicuous," said the corporal. "Must be some sort of
higher-up in the resistance who needs to keep his identity a
secret."
"Either that, or a nut," opined the Sergeant. He saw a flash
to his right. "That's the signal. Let's do it."
General Markov's troops assaulted the edge of the spaceport
from three sides. Most of the Insectoid troops had dispersed
throughout the city, leaving only a company on defensive
duty. And half of those were eating lunch now.
Two of Markov's companies pinned down the defenders while the
third moving, penetrating the barracks and shooting their way
in. The corporal reached the entrance to the barracks and
ducked his head through the door. A split second after he
pulled his head back, a barrage of laser fire blasted where
his head had been.
"Lunchtime, eh?" said the corporal. "I hope they like their
eggs scrambled," he added, as he tossed a grenade in and hit
the ground.
After the resulting explosion, and a moment of silence, the
corporal and his squad darted into the barracks, one by one.
Insect bodies oozing green blood could be found everywhere.
"Let's take that one, it's bound to be lighter," said the
corporal, pointing to an Insectoid corpse on the ground that
was missing its lower half.
"They want an intact corpse, one that was clearly eating,"
said the sergeant. He pointed to another that lay sprawled
over its food. "Take that one, lads!"
It took four of them just to carry it out of the barracks.
The Insectoids were really heavy. As his men carried the body
out, the sergeant scooped up the contents of a meal tray and
put it in a plastic bag he had brought with him. Then he
followed his men out, all the while ducking the fierce laser
crossfire.
      A few minutes later the attackers faded away. The
Insectoid officer was a little surprised that they hadn't
tried to penetrate more deeply into the spaceport--none of
their ships or cargos were harmed. It concluded, incorrectly,
that the attack had been repulsed successfully.

      They were met at the rendezvous point by a strange
looking fellow whose features were hidden by a mask, a cape,
and a hood. He supervised the body being loaded onto a
gravlifter and took the lunch bag from the sergeant. "Good,
is very good," he said. Then, before he left, he handed a bag
to the sergeant. "For your men." And then he was gone.
      The sergeant slowly opened up the bag, not knowing what
to expect. Inside the irresistible aroma of soft, crispy
rolls struck him like a brick. The taste, if possible, was
even more delicious; each soldier got half a roll, wishing
for more; when the lieutenant heard about it, he pulled rank
to get some too.
      As they were eating, they noticed a shuttle taking off
from an adjacent building. It hugged the building tops as it
sped off, trying to stay below enemy sensors. "I don't know
who that guy was," said the sergeant. "But he sure was one
good cook!"

*************************************************************
**********
The Insectoids roamed the cities in brigades, and as they
covered more ground the brigades broke up into battalions,
the battalions into companies, the companies into platoons,
and finally the platoons into squads.
      One element of one such squad happened to wander into
the quarters of one of August's few extraterrestrials,
Professor Capybara.
      He wasn't a professor, and he wasn't a capybara, but
that's what everyone called him, partially because he looked
almost exactly like a capybara--beige, strawlike fur, four
legs with webbed toes, and the flat, wide snout of a real
capybara--and partially because he wore what looked like
spectacles (but weren't) on the end of his snout.
      Whatever the reality of it, he didn't mind being called
that, and no one really seemed to know what his or his race's
real name was, so everyone called him Professor Capybara. He
was one of the very first non-humanoid lifeforms encountered
in the galaxy, and, fortunately, he had turned out to be a
friendly one. Vague on his origins and the location of his
race, it was unclear if he was one of a kind, or part of a
race of billions.
       But to most high officials he granted an audience to,
he was simply Professor Capybara, speaking in a low,
reassuring voice, making little "tweatle tweatle" sounds as
he talked.
       An Insectoid trooper entered the passageway into
Professor Capybara's study, where the good Professor was
curled up with a good data pad on his couch. A small pile of
peanuts lay by him. As the Insectoid watched the Professor
absentmindedly put one in his mouth, making loud munch-much
sounds as his jaws moved horizontally.
       The Insectoid paused for a moment, as if trying to
digest what it saw there. Then it made a loud buzzing noise,
the equivalent of, "Hey, come here!" to its mates.
       Two other Insectoid troopers, rifles on guard, quickly
joined in. The Professor, as if not hearing, didn't even
bother to look up, but continued chewing. He liked peanuts
that had been exposed to open air for a number of days; they
were softer, chewier, tastier too.
       "You!" barked the first Insectoid, speaking through its
translator now.
       Professor Capybara looked up, looking mild-mannered
through his spectacles that weren't really spectacles.
       "What are one of you doing here?" said the Insectoid,
as if a capybara wearing spectacles was the last thing it
expected to find in a living room on August.
       "Reading [tweatle]," said the Professor.
       The Insectoids their rifles. "I will get a great reward
for your capture," said the first Insectoid. Reward indeed!
It might even get an award from the governor-general herself,
or, perhaps, even permission to breed.
       Professor Capybara sighed, putting down his datapad, as
the troopers approached.
       A series of inhuman screams could be heard coming from
the room. Then, just as suddenly, they cut off. The rest of
the Insectoid squad, patrolling nearby, rushed into the
study.
       Three Insectoid bodies were splattered against the
walls of the study, crushed so severly that gallons of green
blood oozed out from them, dripping on the finely tailored
carpet.
       Of the Capybara, there was no sign.


Chapter 6: The Log of the Subship Nautilus

Captain's Log, 57 days after I-Day
LWS Nautilus
Captain Robert Hollister, Commanding.

We've been on our own for nearly two months now. After
hulling those two Insectoid cargo vessels, we EVA'ed a team
to look over the damage we took from the explosion of the
Insectoid warship. We repaired the sensor webbing over the
hull and quickly made repairs. The cloaked seemed to work
fine after that--we say "seemed to" because we no way of
knowing for sure whether and how well its working. But our
hull is very sensitive to damage--any damage to the hull
necessarily damages the cloak, since the cloak requires an
intact sensor web around the ship in order to operate
effectively.
      The first engagement taught us a number of tricks and
tactics, foremost of which was not to get closer than a half
mile to our target--too close, and the sub gets damaged by
the resulting explosion. We don't much have shielding to
protect us like a regular warship. Since then we've made two
more attacks that have been very successful. First we took
out a lone supply ship enroute to the Whenfor system; then,
several days later, we took out another escort ship and two
medium sized transports.
      Crew morale is good, under the circumstances, but no
one can forget that we're locked in this metal alloy crypt
for the indefinite future. By its very nature the Nautilus is
crowded; most of the space on the ship is taken up by the
prototype generator. Our shields are practically non-
existent, and our sole weaponry consists of a "dual" torpedo
launcher; capable of launching both guided missiles, and
energy torpedoes. We have only eight of the former, and
they're invaluable; unlike energy torpedoes, which have to be
fired in direct line to an unmoving target, guided missiles
can follow and track.
      The crew is holding up well, but there is simply no
personal space on board this ship; we have to rotate and
share bunks, and in fact we had to lay out some air
mattresses on the floor of the torpedo room. The prototype is
rated for a crew of 72; we left spacedock with a crew of 64,
but it's still crowded. Even eating must be done in shifts,
as our tiny mess hall can only hold 15 (crowded) or 20 (very
crowded) at a time.
      And that gets to one of our problems: food. The
Nautilus is certainly not large enough to have hydroponic
farms, though we do have a standard oxygen regenerator; that
means that we must put down periodically for food, and,
eventually, fuel. As nearly the entire Alliance has been
occupied, getting resupply is hazardous, at best. With our
food stores already down 25%, I've set a course for one of
our remote resupply stations on Karis; perhaps the Insectoids
haven't reached there yet.

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

      "There it is, sir," said the scanner officer,
magnifying the image on the viewscreen.
      "Lifesigns?"
      "None."
      As it should be. The satellite was fully automated, in
orbit around a lifeless rock. But it had defense systems of
its own, defense systems that could only be deactivated if
the proper code was transmitted. As of yet, however,
Hollister wasn't quite ready to transmit the code. Not yet.
      "The planet?"
      "No signs of life."
      Hollister nodded.
      "We're in effective weapons range of the station,"
announced the XO.
      "Status?"
      "No change."
      Good. That meant the cloak was functioning normally.
      "Transmit the signal," said Hollister.
      The Nautilus transmitted the proper IFF code. The
station sent an immediate response, and powered down its
defensive systems.
      "Shall we surface, sir?"
      Hollister paused. When they surfaced, they would become
vulnerable. But if there were a trap here, he couldn't see
what it was. He nodded fractionally.
      "All hands, surface! Surface, surface, surface!" A
klaxon sounded, the lighting brightened and there was a small
shudder as the cloaking field disengaged and the Nautilus
reemerged into the visible spectrum.
      "Maneuver us into docking-"
      At that moment there was motion on the viewscreen. A
ship, coming up from the planet's surface.
      "An Insectoid ship!" cried the con officer, checking
the readings.
      "Class?"
      Con checked the readings. "Heavy cruiser... no, a
battlecruiser!"
      "Dive!" cried Hollister immediately.
      "Dive, dive dive dive!" cried the XO. There was a pause
that seemed to last for an eternity. And then, the lights
dimmed, and the proper indicators glowed green.
      "Course reset, 114 mark two, full power!" Hollister
snapped. He didn't want to be anywhere near their last
visible position when that heavy cruiser reached orbit.
Indeed, the cruiser was streaking directly towards their
former position, but as it got closer it slowed, then
stopped.
      "Probably not sure what to do," the XO chuckled.
      The heavy cruiser released a barrage of sudden weapon's
fire, surging first in one direction, then another.
      "They're firing blind," said the XO. An energy bolt
streaked not far from them, parallel to the stern. "Sir,
shall we set course?"
      "No," said Hollister.
      "No?" said the XO. "Sir, if you're thinking of taking
that on..."
      "We can't let it go. If we do, we won't have the
advantage of surprise anymore," said Hollister. "Right now
they don't even know that we, this ship, this technology,
even exists. But that ship saw us submerge out of the visible
spectrum. Once they report back to their home base, they'll
start an intensive search for us."
      "But they're bound to find out about us sooner or
later," said the XO.
      "Better later, than sooner," said Hollister. "Con, do a
passive scan of that ship. Look for weak spots."
      "Aye sir."
      "Sir, we've taken out destroyers and light escorts
only," said the XO. "Ships that can be taken out in one shot.
If we strike that battlecruiser and don't take it out in the
first shot, we've had it."
      "Perhaps," said Hollister, eyeing the battlecruiser. It
had stopped firing now, and was moving in slowly expanding
circles relative to its present position--a standard search
pattern. But they would undoubtedly get weary of that soon,
and leave to report their findings. Time was running out. He
turned to Con. "Any luck?"
       Con activated a three dimensional representation of the
Insectoid battlecruiser. Using a remote pointer he said, "If
we hit them here, in their engine section, that should cause
an explosion."
       "Surely it can't be that easy," said the XO.
       "Like everything else, it's armored," said Con. "But
two or three torpedoes, at close range, should be able to do
it."
       "We can only generate two energy torpedoes at a time,"
said the XO. "What if they aren't enough?"
       "We can instantly switch over to the hard missile
torpedoes," said Hollister. "Weapons, how long does it take
to switch the dual use launcher mode?"
       "Five seconds."
       "That should be sufficient," said Hollister. "Con!
Maneuver us under the enemy ship and into firing position. I
want to be exactly a half mile, no more, no less, when we
fire. Weapons! Lock onto the vulnerable part of their ship.
If we hit the wrong area, this whole exercise will be worse
than useless."
       The Nautilus maneuvered into position. The Insectoid
ship was much faster than the subship, but was moving slowly
in its own search pattern.
       "In position," said the Con officer.
       "Weapons: lock on target, and prepare to switchover to
metal torpedoes."
       "Aye."
       "Drop cloak... .now!"
       "Surface, surface, surface!" cried the XO, over the
yammering of the klaxon.
       The Nautilus surfaced out of subspace, behind and under
the Insectoid battlecruiser. A few seconds past as energy
from the cloaking field was transferred to the torpedo
generator. During this time the subship showed up on the
Insectoid scanners; information was conveyed to the senior
Insectoid officers, controls were activated, the ship started
to turn..."
       "Fire!" cried Hollister.
First one and then two energy torpedoes spat out of the
Nautilus, striking the Insectoid ship precisely in its
engineering section. There was a miniature explosion which
flung the battlecruiser backwards... but still leaving its
engineering section in direct view.
       "Switch over to metal torpedoes," said Hollister.
One... two... three... four... five.... "What's happening?"
       "It's not working, sir!" said the weapons officer. He
rapidly depressed a button. "It's jammed! It won't convert
over!"
       "Prepare to dive," said Hollister promptly.
       The Insectoid ship had regained attitude control and
was now turning to face the Nautilus. Hollister could see
miniature explosions and debris trailing from the bottom of
the ship, but it still seemed functional.
       "Dive dive dive!" said the XO.
       The klaxon sounded again, but the lights didn't dim.
"Are we cloaked?" Hollister asked.
      The cloak officer checked a panel. "No!"
      "What's wrong?" said Hollister. The Insectoid ship had
almost completed its turn. In seconds its primary weapons
would be in direct line of site of the Nautilus.
      "I... don't know," said the cloak officer. He slammed
his console in frustration. "It should be working, but it
isn't!"
      "Helm! Keep us out of position of the topside of their
ship!" said Hollister. Most of the battlecruisers weaponry
was on the topside.
      "Too late!" cried an officer, as several beams lashed
out of one of the Insectoid's laser cannons. Three of them
just barely missed the ship, but a fourth struck the Nautilus
squarely amidships, cutting through the hull and blasting its
way out the other side.
      Hollister and the rest of the bridge crew were thrown
to the deck as the ship heaved and started spinning.
Painfully, he worked his way over to navigation. He held on
to the console for dear life as the ship spun about, tossing
the crew across the chamber like rag dolls. Gripping the
console with one firm arm, he rapidly tapped on the controls.
      The Nautilus stopped spinning. But the Insectoid
battlecruiser was right on top of them, all its guns trained
on them. A voice came through the communicator, punctuated by
the sqeaks of the Insectoid language as it came through their
translator.
      "Human ship. Surrender," it rasped.
      Hollister looked at the looming ship on the screen. Of
course they would want to take the Nautilus intact, if only
to learn about its cloaking technology. Well, that wasn't
going to happen. Not as long as he was captain. He checked
engines, weapons, navigation... it was all down now, except
for thrusters. A power line must've been hit.
      There was only one thing left to do. Hollister opened
access to the main computer under emergency power. He
prepared to key in the self-destruct mechanism. The
battlecruiser loomed closer. Good. Maybe they could take the
Insectoids with them.
      As he prepared to key in the sequence, there was a
brilliant flash on the viewscreen, and Hollister was thrown
back, and hit his head against the railing, and that was all
he remembered for a while.

*******************************
*****************
Captain's Log, 61 days after I-Day
LWS Nautilus
Captain Robert Hollister, Commanding.

We're alive, so I suppose that counts for something. Taking
on that battlecruiser was a miscalculation on my part, for
which I take full responsibility. The Nautilus was a
prototype, its systems untested in battle, its crew untrained
in its capabilities and foibles. It was certainly never meant
to operate alone, on its own, as we are doing.
      Let me try as best I can to reconstruct what happened
during our encounter with the battlecruiser. We had hit its
engine section, twice, but that only seemed to slow it down.
It hit us with a laser cannon that impaled the ship in
sections 9 and 10 between decks 6 and 7. The ship was
spinning, helpless. I managed to restore attitude control,
but we had no power for most of the ship's systems.
      The battlecruiser closed with us, demanding our
surrender. I moved to activate the self-destruct, but then
there was a flash, and I was knocked out. What actually
happened, we think, was that the Insectoid ship blew up. We
damaged but didn't destroy their engine section; while their
ship was still operational, our attack seems to have caused a
buildup in their engines that caused an overload.
      And just in time, too. The explosion threw our ship
clear without much additional damage; but the hulling of our
ship was another matter. Eight crewmen dead at their
stations. They were all in the depressurized areas. Nearly
all of us have scrapes and bruises and concussions, but we're
ok. The funerals were a solemn, and only a brief respite from
our frantic attempts to repair the ship.
      The chief said we were lucky that no "critical areas"
were hulled; we patched up the hull plating using supplies
from the space station. We replaced the exterior sensor
webbing from stores, but used up nearly all our remaining
supply in the process. The only good news, if there is any
good news, is that we were able to take on all the food
supplies we'll need for the next few months and some key
spare parts.
      But it was a tense time; we hung here for three days,
waiting for the Insectoids to show up. I had repair crews
working 24 hours a day to get us going again; if we had been
caught here, without the cloak, we would've been an easy
target.
      Now the cloak is functioning again, as is navigation
and weapons. We figured out what malfunctioned; when we tried
to turn the torpedo assembly "off" so rapidly after firing,
it jammed in place. Not only could we not switch to metal
torpedoes, but energy was still being drawn into the
assembly, making it impossible to get the critical mass we
needed to cloak. A bitter lesson for us all.


*******************************
*****************
Captain's Log, 158 days after I-Day
LWS Nautilus
Captain Robert Hollister, Commanding.

We've had some better luck lately, having successfully
conducted four ambushes. But we're starting to get the
Insectoids' attention, and they're making things tougher for
us.
      We plugged another unescorted cargo ship a few weeks
ago. Then we attacked two small convoys, each guarded by a
small escort ship. After that we started noticing the first
of the changes. Suddenly, convoys have gotten larger, and
aren't traveling without escorts anymore; and the escorts
consist of at least two or even three ships. We spied around
for a while, trying to find convoys with only one escort, but
after a week of furtively spying around, we couldn't find
any.
      So we had to make a decision whether to stop operations
entirely, or take on a convoy which had two escort ships.
Although the decision was mine, I held a meeting of the
senior officers in the wardroom. At first opinion ran against
continuing. After all, it's one thing to take one warship by
surprise, but two at the same time would be difficult, if not
impossible. If we went to ground, we'd have to destroy or
hide the ship somewhere.
      But then we started thinking exactly what that would
mean. We couldn't go to an inhabited human colony, because
all of them would undoubtedly be under the iron heel of the
Insectoids. We'd have to settle on an uninhabited world and
become homesteaders, trying to grow crops and simply survive.

      That settled it for my crew; we're soldiers and
spacemen, not farmers. We decided to take the risk.
      And, the first time, it paid off. We found a convoy of
eight ships--four cargo ships, two troop transports, and two
destroyers. We surfaced under one, blew it up, and
immediately cloaked again before the second could turn its
guns to bear on us. Then the second started searching for us,
and we waited, biding our time, until we could get a clear
shot at its unprotected areas. We surfaced, blasted it... and
then started our leisurely hunt for the others.
      But we can't always count on it working. If we fail to
immediately destroy the first warship we attack and we're
forced to cloak again, one destroyer could hug in close to
protect the other, making further attack impossible. In fact,
if the two destroyers had been close to each other when we
attacked, we wouldn't have been able to carry this tactic
out. Sooner or later, they're either going to use this
defensive tactic or increase the number of escorts in a way
that will make it impossible for us to continue. We're doing
the best we can with one prototype that wasn't meant to be in
combat, certainly not acting on its own without support.


*******************************
*****************
Captain's Log, 250 days after I-Day
LWS Nautilus
Captain Robert Hollister, Commanding.

Despite a run of successful attacks, our morale has been
flagging and we are starting to run low on some critical
parts; most crucially, we only have two metal torpedoes left,
which will force us to rely nearly exclusively on energy
torpedoes, which consume ship's power and take time to
generate. Being "on" all the time has taken a toll on the
crew too. Oh, we could see that we were causing damage to the
enemy, but being trapped in this very confining ship day in
and day out was difficult for the crew. Unlike a regular
warship, most of the interior of the Nautilus is taken up
with equipment for the cloak; we were just fortunate that
none of that irreplaceable equipment was hulled when we took
on that battlecruiser several months ago.
      But all that changed last week. We were getting in
position to attack another convoy, four cargo vessels
escorted by two destroyers. We had maneuvered under one of
them, and I was just about to give the order to fire, when
all of a sudden, the destroyer accelerated away from us. For
a panicky moment we thought we had been detected, but we
could quickly see that both destroyers were heading away from
us, and at top speed.
      At that point we had to decide what to do. We could
surface into the visible spectrum and take out the four cargo
ships; there were no other warships in the area, and they
would be easy pickings.
      Or... we could follow the destroyers. What had caused
them to take off so suddenly? If they had detected us, they
would've turned to attack. Therefore, there must've been
something else calling their attention. Something important.
      I felt we needed to find out what that was. So, with
the greatest reluctance, I ordered navigation to follow the
destroyers at top speed. We could've stopped and hunted the
other four ships, but in addition to taking valuable time, it
would've alerted the destroyers to our presence in the area.
The destroyers were faster than us, but they traveled on a
straight line, and their destination wasn't far away, merely
two solar systems away. When we caught up with them we found
an amazing sight: a battle with Alliance warships.
      An Alliance deep space cruiser was mixing it up with a
damaged Insectoid light cruiser. An Alliance fast attack
destroyer was chasing down survivors of a convoy. Fragments
of another Insectoid destroyer were spread across space.
      The Alliance ships had just about finished off the
Insectoid light cruiser when the two destroyers arrived. The
two destroyers immediately lined up on the fast attack
destroyer and started engaging it two on one. The deep space
cruiser turned to assist but it had suffered some damage in
battle, slowing it up.
      We were still too far away to get an effective shot
with energy torpedoes; at this range, the Insectoids would
easily be able to dodge them before they arrived. But our
metal torpedoes had a homing capability.
      "Ready metal torpedo," I said.
      "Metal? At this range? They'll shoot it down before it
gets there," said the XO.
      "Not if they don't notice it," I said. "I'm gambling
they're too busy with that Alliance fast attack destroyer.
Also, since we don't need power to generate a metal torpedo,
we don't even have to surface to do it. Weapons: target one
torpedo for each destroyer."
      "Targeted."
      "Fire!'
      Away went our last metal torpedoes. It would be a long,
long time before we were ever resupplied with those again.
But how often could we come to the assistance of an Alliance
warship? We hadn't even known that there were other surviving
Alliance warships, besides us.
      As it turned out the destroyers were so intent on
attacking the fast attack destroyer that they didn't notice,
not until it was too late. One of the destroyers tried to
fire a beam from its aft section at the incoming torpedo at
the last minute, but it missed. Each ship was hit in their
aft sections, disabling one and seriously damaging another.
This gave the fast attack destroyer and the arriving deep
space cruiser the advantage it needed to quickly wipe out the
new attackers.
      "Open a channel," I ordered. "This is Captain Robert
Hollister of the Nautilus. Identify yourselves."
      Their responses came in. Captain Hu of the Alliance
deep space cruiser Argon, Captain Irwi Presta of the fast
attack destroyer Swordflash.
      "But where are you? We can't get a fix on your ship,"
said Captain Presta.
      "We'll show you," I said, giving the command to
surface.
      From their open commlines we heard the gasps of
surprise from both ships.

      We set a rendezvous a few hundred thousand miles away
and prepared to dock with each others' ships so we could meet
and plan strategy. Well, not just meet and plan strategy; our
crew hadn't seen another human being in more than eight
months, and their crews were in the same position. Once we
had retreated to a safer location we conducted a docking
operation. The Argon, by far the largest of the three ships,
set up an open galley amidships, and all non-essential crew
were granted leave; except for those on bridge watch or
conducting tours of the ship.
      The first question that we all had for each other was
the same: had we seen any other surviving ships? The answer
was no.
      "They were all wiped out at Vitalics," said Captain Hu.
"We escaped, but we didn't see any other ship get away; not
that we were in a good position to track survivors; we were
fleeing with a large Insectoid fleet at our rear for days."
      "We were one of the few ships on barrier patrol on the
rim of Alliance space," said Presta. "There were maybe 9 or
10 other ships in a similar position, but we haven't heard
back from them."
      "So the fleet is destroyed," I said. I pretty much knew
this, of course, but getting confirmation of it was another
matter.
      "Not necessarily," said Hu. "We've been hearing
persistent rumors that the Glory is still out and about."
      "War Admiral North's personal ship? Wasn't he at
Vitalics?" I asked.
      "No. We're not sure what happened to whatever forces
he's commanded; at least, we haven't run into them. Likewise
for the Directorate fleet; no word on them either."
      "But Directorate space is occupied by the Insectoids
as well, so we can't presume that many of their ships
survived either," said Presta.
      "So we're in a tight bind," I muttered.
      "Not the way I look at it," said Presta. "You're the
best news that's happened to us in months. We've been raiding
convoys just as you have for the past few months. But unlike
you we couldn't sniff out a situation first to see how well
armed a convoy was. There have been several times we've
simply gone in to take a look, and been chased out by
battlecruisers and battleships."
      "Our problem has been the opposite," I said. "We can go
anywhere, but once we surface, we're very vulnerable to
attack."
      "Then it's obvious that we should join forces."
      And that's just what we decided to do. The Nautilus was
tasked with scouting out potential targets for attack; if we
found a suitable target, we would send a tightbeam signal
back to the Argon and the Swordflash; and once they had
engaged the enemy and kept them busy, we would surface and
take them from behind. So we hoped.
      But first we took a break, a pause from the combat.
After retreating for so long it was good to see other humans
free and alive, fighting the Insectoids, especially members
of the fleet, whom we had thought had all been lost at
Vitalics.
      We took on some additional supplies from the Argon; as
a Deep Space Cruiser, they had the most developed hydroponics
labs, and they helped augment our stores of food. We also
took what spare parts we could, but the Argon didn't have
much to give, and most of our needs were incompatible. The
Nautilus, as a custom prototype, wasn't very compatible with
standard fleet stores. But we did what we could.


*******************************
*****************
Captain's Log, 521 days after I-Day
LWS Nautilus
Captain Robert Hollister, Commanding

We've had a number of successes operating as a combined
force, and it's got me worried. For the past year we've been
successfully ambushing small Insectoid convoys, groups of
ships with not more than two or three small fighting escort
vessels.
      Here's how it would typically work: first the Nautilus
would locate a convoy of ships on our passive scanners. Then
we would go in for a closer look. If we found too many
warships in escort, we would slink away. But if the convoy
was only lightly guarded, we would send a single tightbeam
signal back to the fleet--the fleet being the Argon and the
Swordflash. They would come streaking in and take on one or
two of the heavies. Once they were engaged, we would surface
from behind and blast away in an unprotected area.
      In that fashion we've attacked and completely destroyed
twelve convoys in the past eleven months. Our sensors
reported that some of those convoy ships we blew up were
clearly carrying munitions; and others were carrying troops
and material for their occupation forces. While we're
certainly not stunting their overall war effort, we must at
least be hampering them in a number of areas--preventing
reenforcements from arriving, preventing troops from being
resupplied, and the like.
      But still we can't see the effect of our offensive on
the front lines, on our occupied worlds. It's one thing to
know intellectually that we're having an effect; it's another
to actually see it happening.
      One thing that we have noticed happening is that
convoys are growing larger and are more and more likely to be
escorted by larger number of escorts. Evidently the
Insectoids don't have enough warships to provide adequate
protection to all their supply ships. But surely they must
know what's happening. We've spotted increased patrols in the
area, presumably on the prowl for our raiders. But with the
Nautilus on the job, we always see them before they see us.
      At least, as long as we can keep the Nautilus
operational.

      "What's your status?" asked Hu.
      "Our cloak is currently operating within accepted
parameters," I said. "But that's only at the moment. That
system drain we happened off of Grafton nearly forced us to
drop cloak. And that's the third time it's happened this
month."
      "Any idea what's wrong?"
      I shook my head. "My crew was trained, or at least
partially trained, to maintain the equipment. We're not the
designers. Perhaps, if we had one of them with us, they could
find out the root cause of the problem." But the designers of
the Nautilus were almost certainly under Insectoid occupation
on August. "My best guess? That juryrigging we've been doing
isn't holding up. As individual parts fail we've been trying
to replace them as best we can with spare parts from the
Argon, but our technologies aren't fully compatible. It's
amazing, I think, that we've been able to keep things going
as long as we have."
      "How much risk are we facing?" This was from Captain
Presta of the fast attack destroyer Swordflash.
      "Impossible to say. Theoretically, our cloak could drop
at any time," I said.
      "Do you want to withdraw from the field?" Hu said,
voicing what we had all been thinking. "You could stay in the
rear, acting as logistical support...."
      I shook my head. "My men and I are determined not to
spend the rest of the war as a cloaked vacation ship. Morale
isn't great now, but imagine what it would be if we were
simply sitting around and doing nothing, day after day?"
      "There's another alternative," said Presta. "You could
go to ground."
      I nodded. "And spend the rest of our life as pastoral
farmers on some uncharted world, hoping the Insectoids won't
arrive one day and put control collars on all of us. Captain,
we're not farmers, we're naval officers. As long as our ship
as the power to move, we're going to stay active."
      "Very well," said Presta. "For what it's worth, I would
have felt the same way as you."
      "On to present business," said Hu. "I suggest we lay
another strike at Whenfor. We haven't launched an attack
there in a while...."

*************************************************************
*********
The actions of the raiders hadn't gone unnoticed by the
Insectoids. On her command ship in orbit around August, Queen
Zsst said to one of her aide things, "Report on the status of
the Grafton campaign."
      "Our forces are holding on to a two mile by two mile
enclosure in the western coast of the central continent,"
reported the aide thing.
      "Still only that beachhead?"
      Actually, it was quite an achievement. After several
more disastrous attempts to land on Grafton, the Insectoids
had established a mighty battlefleet, and send many of their
ships down towards the eastern coast of the continent; when
the Graftonite fighters rose up to meet them, the real
invasion force landed in the sparsely inhabited western coast
of the continent. The real invasion force still encountered
resistance, but less than before, as many of their fighters
had been drawn eastwards; and 40% of the first wave of troop
transports actually landed and managed to disembark. They
hurriedly set up their anti-aircraft units, and set up a
defense for the second and third wave to land with additional
anti-aircraft units, for the Graftonite pilots attacked
furiously once they discovered the landing. But after five
waves of anti-aircraft units had been set up, the Graftonite
planes, with strong support from Insectoid spaceships, had
been driven back.
      That only changed the nature of the combat; the
Graftonites weren't content to let the Insectoids establish a
beachhead, however small, anywhere on their planet; and
infiltrators came by the night, sometimes in one's and two's,
and sometimes in overwhelming force; and the Insectoid
compound had to be reinforced against constant attacks, and
they learned to fear the night. The Graftonites were so quick
that one of them could shoot four sentries before they could
raise their rifles; so there had to be eight dedicated guards
at every post, and even that wasn't enough. Still, despite
tremendous losses, the Insectoids were holding what they had.
      But the Queen wasn't satisfied. "What of the effect of
the shipment of warrior beasts we sent?"
      "Destroyed enroute in a raider attack last week."
      "Destroyed before they even got there?" Zsst thundered.
"Those were 200 of our best fighting things. Do you realize
how hard it is to breed those effectively!" She emitted a
faint buzzing sound and started to flap her wings in place
menacingly. "I want a full report on these raiders."
      It was presented almost instantly by the aide thing,
who started to fear for its wings.
      Zsst bizzed angrily. "Look at all these ship losses! I
was told these raiders were nothing but a minor annoyance!
Why wasn't I told about the extend of their actions! Get me
my intelligence officer!"
      The intelligence officer, another Insectoid like the
others, but with larger eyes and bigger antenna than most
other Insectoids, appeared before the Queen.
      "What is the meaning of this?" said Zsst, waving the
report with one of her arms.
      It was a credit to the intelligence officer that it
didn't need to ask what the Queen was referring to. "We
thought it was a minor matter, not worthy of your attention,
my Queen-"
      "When we lose 47 cargo ships and troop transports and
27 warships, that makes it worthy of my attention. Who are
these raiders? What is your intelligence on them?"
      "We're not certain; so far, there have been no
surviving eyewitnesses; the enemy makes certain to thoroughly
destroy whatever they choose to attack. However, we've
analyzed debris from the destroyed vessels and found the
weaponry used on them consistent with those used by Alliance
cruisers and their destroyers. From the looks of the numbers
and kinds of hits on our ships, I'd expect we're dealing with
a single cruiser, and two or possibly three Alliance
destroyers."
      "If the attack force is so small, why have there never
been any survivors?"
      "We're not sure. Another odd thing; many of the torpedo
hits seem to have been fired at point blank range."
      "Point blank? How could they get that close to make
such an attack?"
      "Insufficient data. A further odd item to report: many
of those torpedo hits came from behind, or in vulnerable
sections of the ship. It's as if our ships stood very still
and waited for the enemy to come in and take the first shot."
       Queen Zsst twizzled one of her antenna. "How do you
account for this?"
       "We're not sure," said the intelligence officer. "There
were rumors that the Alliance was at work on a jitter drive-"
       "Jitter drive?"
       "A drive that lets a ship travel a relatively short
distance in a very quick period of time, and then come to a
near or complete dead stop. In essence, the ship would make a
great leap at one moment, and at the next be in a completely
different location."
       "So they could be leaping in from several solar systems
away?"
       "No, our intelligence speculates that this drive would
only work over very short distances; but it could've been
enough to let the humans get a first strike in."
       "How come our intelligence never reported that the
human ships were outfitted with this drive?"
       "The humans have had prototypes of this technology for
some time, but never seem to have employed it, for whatever
reason," said the intelligence officer.
       "And what are you doing now to locate these errant
ships?"
       "We've laid traps along the major shipping lanes,
waiting for the enemy to attack."
       "And have they?"
       "No," said the officer. "They seem to have some ability
to detect where we're laying our traps. We're not sure how."
       "Having some trouble?" came a whispering voice.
       A shudder went through the intelligence officer as the
robed and hooded figure entered the room. Only the tip of a
dark greenish nose and the occasional flash of a rectangular
pink tongue could be seen as it talked.
       "We are dealing with raiders, Baracki," said the Queen.
       "Not very well, so it seems," said Baracki. "You have
lost over 50 ships so far, have you not?"
       Zsst turned to her intelligence officer. "Have you-"
       "Do not waste your time, Zsst," said Baracki. "I do not
need your underlings to tell me how the war is going. You
seem incapable of dealing with this minor irritant. Perhaps
we had chosen wrongly in selecting you."
       Zsst gave a quick glance at her intelligence officer,
to see if he had any reaction. It was one thing for Baracki
to speak to her like this, but in front of one of her
subjects! "We can handle it," Zsst said, through gritted
mandibles.
       "And we will help," said Baracki.
       We? Thought Zsst. This was the first time Baracki had
ever made mention of more than one of his kind.
       Baracki waved a hand forward and another robed and
hooded figure stepped forward. "Meet one of my assistants,
Rugani. He will help you deal with this small problem."
       Zsst opened her mouth to protest, then thought better
of it. "What will you require?"
       "One modest fleet should be sufficient."
       "Where should they be deployed?" Zsst asked. According
to her reports, they had elements of five fleets spread out
looking for these ships. What could one more fleet do?
      "Leave it to Rugani." Both figures quickly left the
Queen's chamber.
      The Queen glared at her intelligence officer. "Speak of
this to no one."
      And then she got really worried.
*************************************************************
*********

Admiral Eze, another Junior Queen, stared with trepidation at
the hooded figure on its bridge. Eze had never seem one of
THEM before... although she had heard rumors. All Eze knew
was that it was ordered to give its full cooperation.
      "What are your instructions," said Eze in a neutral
voice, trying to hide the feeling of terror building within
her.
      "Take us to these coordinates," said Rugani, rasping
out a set of numerical coordinates.
      Admiral Eze's fleet launched immediately.

      When they arrived, a few hundred million miles outside
the Capertown system, Eze checked the scanners. Nothing.
Perhaps they had arrived early. But it was all so
preposterous because how could this creature know where the
raiders were?
      "We have arrived," said Eze pointedly, to the silent
figure standing on the bridge.
      "All stop."
      Eze waved an arm. "All stop" said a subordinate. The
fleet stopped.
      "And now?" Eze said, after another moment.
      The figure in the hood seemed to be looking about for
something. But Eze got the feeling that it wasn't looking on
the bridge.
      There was another moment of silence. Then... "No," said
Rugani. "Not here."
      If they weren't here, why had they come here? Eze
wondered. But Eze wisely kept silent.
      Rugani issued another set of coordinates. "Inform me
when we arrive," the creature said simply, as it left the
bridge.

      They kept this up for nearly two weeks, stopping at
four different locations. Always, the result was the same.
Rugani would concentrate, or enter some sort of trance for a
moment, and then shake his head.
      Eze's crew was openly scornful of Rugani by now. After
the most recent attempt, it proved too much for the navigator
to keep silent. He buzzed jeerfully and said, clearly
sarcastically, "And where shall we set course for next?"
      Rugani looked up at the navigator, who gasped as it saw
Rugani's face for the first time. Rugani made the slightest
of gestures with his right hand, and the navigator's head
jerked back, making a loud snapping sound and then a
different sound altogether as the navigator's lifeless body
slumped to the deck.
      Rugani turned towards Eze, but his face was obscured.
      Eze, waiting in silence, could only hold his breath.
In a calm, cultured voice, Rugani said, "Have your next
navigator set course for...."
      And then they hit on it. They were just inside the
Whenfor system. Eze called the fleet to a stop. Rugani was
silent for a moment. And then... "This is it," he said
softly.
      "What?" said Eze, sitting up. She hadn't expected this.
      "The raiders will be here... in 25 of your hours," said
Rugani, speaking slowly as if he were concentrating. "There
will be a deep space cruiser, a fast attack destroyer,
and.... and...." he seemed to pause.
      "And?" said Eze, not, for the moment, questioning the
source of this information.
      "Something else," said Rugani simply. "I suggest you
make ready, and move the special ship I ordered you to
prepare into position. Is it ready?" he asked, the dark edge
of threat in its voice.
      "As you instructed," said Eze, with only the faintest
of tremors in her voice. "The battlecruiser's outer hull has
been modified, and the sensor ghost generators have been
installed."
      "Then let us send the rest of the fleet into the cover
of the nearby gas giant, and let us wait," said Rugani.


*******************************
*****************
Captain's Log, 543 days after I-Day
LWS Nautilus
Captain Robert Hollister, Commanding

We've arrived at the Whenfor system. We had hit them several
months ago on the outskirts of the system as they were
ferrying in more troops and supplies, and we felt it was time
to hit them again here. When we entered the system, however,
we noticed only a single ship, a large transport of some
kind, slowly plying its way past one of Whenfor's gas giants
towards the only inhabitable planet in the Whenfor system.
Rumor had it that there was a lot of fighting going on down
there; our people were giving the occupation forces a hard
time. We must stop that transport!
      And yet... it was odd of the Insectoids to send one
ship, alone, without any escort. Could it be that this one
ship was dispatched in such a hurry that no escort had been
available? Or could it be another trap?
We had detected several of those, lone merchantmen plying the
starways, while a fleet of attack ships hung back. But we
could detect no attack ships here. And yet it still bothered
me that one ship should be travelling alone.
      I should've listened to my instincts and called off the
attack. But to resist the opportunity to attack an unguarded
troopship, if that's what it really was, was too strong to
resist.
      So, to be cautious, I took us closer, nearing the
target as it course tangented off of the gas giant. The
Nautilus, never very speedy, especially under cloak, was
still faster than the slow troop transport. As we closed on
it our passive scanner provided more information.
      It really was a troop transport, a large one, jammed
packed with several thousand troopers. The Insectoids would
never use such a juicy target as bait. I launched the
tightbeam signal back to the rest of the fleet. The Argon and
the Swordflash raced in at top speed and were on our passive
scanners within a few moments.
      Funny, though, the transport hadn't changed direction
or speed, or tried to call for help. And yet our ships must
surely be on its scanners by now... I felt a sudden stab in
my stomach. Something was very, very wrong.
      But we couldn't call off the attack now. To do so we'd
have to send a general transmission; even if we didn't
surface, the Insectoid ship would know there was a cloaked
ship around, and report this to their headquarters. The best
we could do was to be in position to fire on the transport in
case it showed any hidden surprises. I had the ship maneuver
around to its underside as we got closer.
      I frowned as I saw its hull up close. There was
something odd about that hull...several pieces of the hull
seemed very modern, very new, compared to the material that
composed the rest of the hull.
      At that moment the Argon and the Swordflash streaked
into range, and several things happened at once.
      Pieces of metal dropped off the troopship's hull,
revealing gaping gun turrets. In a matter of seconds our
stodgy troop transport had turned into a sleek battlecruiser.
And on our scopes an entire fleet of Insectoid ships emerged
from the cover of the nearby gas giant and were streaking
towards us at top speed. In seconds they would be on us.
      "It's a trap!" I said, just as the battlecruiser opened
fire. It's opening volley caught the Argon amidships, sending
the ship tumbling. The Swordflash soared into the battle,
firing several torpedoes.
      "Lock onto their engine section! Prepare to surface!" I
yelled.
      "But sir, that fleet will be on us in seconds-" said my
XO.
      "Surface!" I said, hitting the button myself.
      The Nautilus surfaced into the visible spectrum.
      "Fire!' I yelled.
      Three energy torpedoes streaked out of the ship, two of
them hitting squarely into the battlecruiser's engineering
section. One of them was absorbed by the ship's shields, but
the second went through, and there was an explosion as the
battlecruiser's engines flickered and it slowly started to
tumble.
      I quickly checked a nav reading, then activated the
ship to ship comm. "Argon! Swordflash! Set course, 114 by 129
by 224."
      I turned to the XO. "Prepare to dive."
      "Sir, it will take 60 seconds for our cloak to
recharge."
      I watched the Insectoid fleet that was almost upon us.
"Helm; get us out of here!"
      The Nautilus was slowly turning about when we saw the
Argon and the Swordflash streak above us. The Argon was hit
but its mobility didn't seem impaired. They both seemed
agreeable to heading to another of Whenfor's nearby gas
giants where we might be able to hide in safety.
      But the Insectoid fleet was launching missiles, several
of them at each of us, and they would be in laser range in
seconds.
      I watched three missiles closing on us. "Range?"
      "700 miles and closing."
       "Cloak?"
       "40 more seconds!"
       And we didn't even have any anti-missile capabilities.
       "Navigation?"
       "We're heading away at top speed. But we'll only gain a
few seconds, those missiles are much faster than we are!"
       "400 miles and closing."
       "Cloak?"
       "20 seconds."
       "Push it to the limit," I said. I licked my lips. It
was going to be very, very close. The cloaking process took a
few seconds; how "cloaked" would we have to be to throw off
the missiles? The enemy fleet would know what they were
dealing with after this encounter, but at that moment if we
could merely survive I'd call it a victory.
       I could see the missiles on the viewscreen as they
streaked towards us.
       "100 miles."
       "Cloak?"
       "....two... one... Cloaking!"
       "Dive dive dive!" cried the XO as the klaxon sounded.
       The Nautilus started to fade from the visible spectrum.
The lead missile closed on us, 30 miles, 20 miles, 10
miles...
       "Hard to starboard!" I ordered. I grabbed the railing
as the ship lurched to the side... and the missiles passed by
the space we had just been occupying.
       "Status!" I cried as I climbed back into my command
chair.
       "The cloak is operating within normal parameters," said
the cloak officer.
       "Head us towards the other gas giant, top speed. What
kind of lead do the Swordflash and the Argon have on us?"
       "The Swordflash is nearly one million miles ahead of
us, and is under pursuit."
       "And the Argon?"
       The sensor officer adjusted the viewscreen, and the
picture held it all. The Argon was dead in space; one of
those missiles that had been launched at it had scored a
lucky hit on its engines. The lead ships of the Insectoid
fleet were coming into range. The Argon turned and opened
fire with its forward batteries, carving into the hull of a
light cruiser.
       But then the other frontline ships opened fire, seven
in all, one after another, and in seconds there was a
brilliant explosion, and the Argon was gone. I shielded my
eyes momentarily from the glare, and one of the crew cried
out involuntarily.
       I paused, stunned for a minute, then said, "Continue
course to rendezvous with the Swordflash. Report on movements
of the Insectoid fleet."
       The sensor officer brought me up to speed. Most of the
Insectoid ships were in hot pursuit of the Swordflash.
Sensors showed the Swordflash had taken a hit amidships
Interestingly, a number of other Insectoid ships were engaged
in a classic search pattern around the scene of their wounded
battlecruiser. Evidently, they were looking for the Nautilus.
       Well, we were a secret no longer, but the Insectoids
would still have to find us.
       Suddenly, a broadcast appeared on our screen. It was
Captain Presta. "Hollister; if you're receiving this, please
don't respond. There's no reason to give away your location.
We've taken some serious damage here; our reactor is going to
go critical at any time. We don't have a lot of options. We
suggest you take your ship to safety. I want to thank you for
the hospitality of your ship; I especially enjoyed the food
and mess hall entertainment you provided. Good luck to you,
Presta out."
       I sat in the stillness of silence for some time, as our
ship continued to head towards the gas giant.
       "Course, sir?" asked navigation.
       "Maintain present heading," I said.
       "The Swordflash has just made it to the giant and is
entering the upper atmosphere, but the Insectoids are
pursuing," said the sensor officer.
       "Did your sensors record any reactor damage to the
Swordflash?" I asked.
       "Not specifically; but that missile hit was near their
reactor, so it's very possible," said the sensor officer.
       "So that part of the message was true," I murmurred.
       "What do you mean, sir?" asked the XO.
       "Didn't it strike you as odd that in the man's parting
message he took the time to thank us for our food and
hospitality?"
       "It did seem kind of odd, but I thought that, under
stress, he was just trying to send a graceful last message,"
said the XO.
       "Or maybe he's trying to send a message of another
kind," I said. "Punch up the files on this gas giant; Whenfor
IV, isn't it? I want to see everything there is to know about
it."
       Data filled my screens. "Eleven moons, atmosphere
mostly helium, nitrogen... wait a minute. What are the names
of those moons?" I scrolled down the list, and then smiled.
"Viola."
       "What?"
       I raised my voice. "Ensign Lane, what instrument did
you use to entertain our guests five weeks ago in the mess
hall?"
       Lane looked as if he were being tested. "My... violin,
sir...."
       "Thank you." I turned. "Navigation: set course for
Viola."
       "Sir, Viola's course is currently skimming the outer
edge of that gas cloud. It will be difficult to navigate and
obscure our sensors."
       "Let's hope so," I said.
       As we approached the edge of the gas cloud we could see
that the Insectoid ships were furiously searching for the
Swordflash. We slowly approached Viola, which was partially
obscured by the upper atmosphere of the gas giant, and
reached it without incident.
       But there was nothing there. Had the Swordflash been
destroyed? We made one orbit around the moon, then two, then
three, then four... and then the Swordflash showed up.
       We surfaced, on the side of the moon that was obscured
by the atmosphere, close to the Swordflash. They saw us, and
we saw them, but we still made no signal. Silently we aligned
so that we could dock. It was only then, as we were arranging
to get our ships parallel to each other, that I could see how
bad the damage was.
      Presta hadn't been lying; he had extensive damage in
his reactor section.
      The sensor officer caught my eye. "Sir, our passive
scanners are showing that his reactor is increasingly
unstable. If it blows..."
      "Noted. Get everyone on board as quickly as possible as
soon as the hatch opens."
      It took a small eternity for the ships to dock, another
small eternity before the connecting hatch opened, and then
the crew of the Swordflash stormed through. They knew the
clock was ticking, and many of them had been waiting at their
airlock to get through as quickly as possible. Some of them
were carrying wounded, and one of those I recognized, First
Officer Jones.
      "Jones, where's Presta?" I said, only glancing briefly
at his arm in a sling.
      "He's looking for survivors with a search team in the
damaged areas. We estimate we have about 3 minutes left on
the reactor. He says that if he's not there in two...."
      I wanted to go through the corridor to join the search
on the Swordflash but the corridor was still packed with
crewmembers trying to rush into the Nautilus. For a moment I
wondered if we could even fit everyone inside the Nautilus.
Did we have enough passageway for people to fit, even if
everyone was standing? Would we have to turn people away?
Should I close the hatches in less than two minutes and
disengage?
The two minutes came and went as the remaining crewmembers
who had been clustered at the airlock passed through. Then
there was silence. We were running out of time!
      I called the bridge on the con. "Let me know the
instant the cruiser's reactor goes critical."
      "Sir, it's critical right now!"
      I bit my lip. "Prepare to close-"
      At that moment Presta and several crewmembers came
running down the airlock corridor, saving me from making a
difficult position. They were half carrying, half dragging
several of the wounded.
      I helped pull them through, and sealed the hatch.
"Navigation! Get us away from here!"
      The Nautilus disengaged and slowly pulled away. A
moment later, just as I was reaching the bridge, we were
rocked off our feet by a tremendous explosion that shook us.
We didn't know it at the time, but a piece of metal from the
Swordflash's hull streaked across ours, scratching the
delicate sensor webbing in place.
      "Take us out of here! Prepare to cloak!" I cried.
      The Nautilus emerged from the upper atmosphere of
Whenfor IV. Immediately, five Insectoid ships zeroed in on
our position.
      "Dive!" I cried.
      "Dive dive dive!"
      The Nautilus dived out of the visible spectrum. But as
soon as we had done that, the lights changed color again. We
were surfacing!
      "What's going on?" I cried.
      "It looks like one of the sensor inhibitor relays have
burned out under the stress-"
      "Fix it, quickly!" I said. I checked the sensors. The
first ship would be in weapons range in just under two
minutes. "Navigation; orient us away from the lead ship! Top
speed!"
      As always, the Nautilus was much slower than the
pursuing ships. But our velocity away from our pursuers
should buy us a few extra seconds.
      "Cloak?" I said.
      "Working on it," said the cloak officer. "I'm trying to
bypass the burned out sections-"
      I watched the approaching ship on the screens. "Can't
you replace them?"
      "No time," said the officer.
      "They're almost in lockon range!' said the sensor
officer.
      "Now!" said the cloak officer.
      "Dive dive dive!" said the XO.
      The Nautilus dived into subspace again. I immediately
changed course, just as a laser beam lanced out in the area
where we just were.
      "That was too close," said the XO.
      All was silent for a moment, and then I noticed that
the pursuing ships, instead of starting a circular search
pattern, were continuing on. In fact, they were going in the
same general direction as we were-
      One of them lanced out with a laser burst. It struck
several meters off our bow.
      "Evasive!" I cried, grabbing the railing as I turned to
the Cloak officer. "What's going on?"
      "The cloak is operating-"
      "-Within normal parameters. I know, but then why did
they shoot?"
      "Maybe they're guessing," said the Cloak officer, who
seemed to be guessing himself.
      "There's one way to find out." I changed course again,
this time in a new direction. The Insectoids continued along
their old course for nearly a minute. But then they turned,
and headed directly towards us.
      "Are we cloaked or aren't we?" I asked, my perspiration
soaked uniform getting another rinse cycle.
      "The cloak... wait! There's a leak in the sensor web...
no it's fine... wait, there is it again," said the Cloak
officer. "There's an intermittent leak in the sensor web.
This isn't related to our previous problem. We must have been
hit by a chunk of debris from the Swordflash explosion. It
must have scrapped against some of our sensor webbing, not
enough to deactivate it entirely, but enough to give an
intermittent reading."
      "Meaning?"
      "Every 10 to 15 seconds we seem to be generating a 8
foot by two foot radar signature. It's small, and it winks
out, but it's enough for them to follow."
      In other words, a small piece of us was blinking in and
out of the visible spectrum. I immediately set course to
return to the gas giant, and for the next 10 minutes we
played the most dangerous game of cat and mouse I've been
involved in.
      The Nautilus showed up on their scanners every 10 or 15
seconds; every 20 seconds we changed course, tacking this way
and that, but always heading closer and closer to the gas
giant. Once we got inside there, if we got inside there, we'd
be safe.
      The Insectoids pursued us closely, firing lasers at our
last reported positions, and then, speculating, firing at our
next suspected position. Every time I ordered a course change
I had to outguess our opponents; they had only to guess my
course change once, and the game would be over.
      Lasers streaked by us but never touched us. We weren't
coherent long enough for a missile to lock onto us. But then
one of the biggies, a battlecruiser, I think, launched a
missile in our direction.
      "It's a multiyield warhead!" cried the sensor officer.
      "Full speed ahead!" I cried. We were at the outer edges
of the atmosphere now. It would be a race against time.
      We plunged into the atmosphere, the warhead following
us less than a minute behind our position. But since they
couldn't know which direction we would go in the atmosphere,
they were forced to detonate.
      The explosion tossed me from my chair, and I looked at
a bulkhead in horror as I heard it creak under pressure....

      "It's been nearly an hour," Admiral Eze remarked.
      Rugani said nothing.
      "The warhead probably got them."
      Rugani didn't comment.
      "We haven't found any debris, but that's
understandable, in the proximity of such a gravity well."
      Rugani put a hand to an ear inside his hood, as if
listening to something for a moment. Then he straightened up.
"I'm being called away. But your raider problem has been
largely solved. Station ships at a discrete distance to watch
for the ship if it emerges."
      Eze looked at the viewscreen. "For how long?" it asked,
turning back to Rugani
      But Rugani was already gone.

      "Status report," I said, staring at the colors of
Whenfor IV's atmosphere on the viewscreen. It looked like
pink fog, almost.
      "Repair teams are EVA-ing to repair the sensor webbing.
and crews are working on the inside to shore up bulkheads two
and fourteen. Repairs on the Cloaks and other affected
systems continue."
      I nodded, and turned to Captain Presta. "Once we get
the cloak fixed, we'll be able to escape."
      "Escape to where? With only one, overcrowded ship, what
kind of opposition can we mount?" he asked.
      "I don't know," I said. "And I don't think the ship can
take much more of this. We may have to set down somewhere
after all.... for now, however, we're out of action."


Chapter 7: A Cook Takes Action

      "We are encountering minor, scattered resistance, but
all essential facilities are firmly in our hands" said an
aide.
      "Good," said Queen Zsst, studying the latest reports.
Good; as ordered, her units were taking root everywhere but
the grounds of the capital itself, Sarney Sarittenden. Now
was the time to do something she had waited years for.
"Gunner! Lock weapons on Sarney Sarittenden. Lock all
missiles and energy torpedoes!"
       "Weapons... locked...."
       Her intelligence being spoke up. "Queen, don't you
think we should wait until we examine-"
       "I have waited for this moment for over 20 years.
Destroy the human capital now. FIRE!"
       Missiles spat out of the Queen's flagship, missiles big
enough to destroy a cruiser with one hit. They sped down into
the atmosphere, on an ark that would prevent them from
burning up before impact. They sped down, and hit...
precisely on the Throne Plaza itself, ground zero. There was
a tremendous explosion, and a fireball filled their screens;
and that fireball was amplified by other fireballs, and more
missiles struck.
       Queen Zsst watched with satisfaction. Finally, after
all these years, the symbol of the Alliance had been
destroyed. Her satisfaction, however, was short lived, as the
explosions cleared, and she saw... the towers and spires of
Sarney Sarittenden... without a scratch on them!
       How could this be? "Fire energy torpedoes!" the Queen
cried.
       They fired, slamming into the planet more quickly than
the missiles. More fireballs filled the screen; some of it
washed over onto the immediate area around Sarney
Sarittenden; but when the explosions died down, she saw the
impossible; the buildings weren't even scratched. Some of the
civilian buildings on the border of Sarney had been leveled
by the attack; but all the structures in Sarney itself were
untouched. How was this possible?
       "You fool!"
       The Queen jerked her head up to see Baraki entering.
Her mandibles chittered a bit.
       "What are you doing?" said Baraki.
       "We are destroying the symbol of the human resistance,"
said Queen Zsst.
       "You are meddling in things you DO NOT understand,"
said Baraki. "Cease this immediately!"
       The Queen really had no choice; she couldn't have
destroyed the place even if she had wanted to. But how had it
survived such a devastating attack?
       "What do you know about this place?"
       "That is not for you to ask," Baraki snapped. The Queen
recoiled; she hadn't seem him this angry before. He stomped
out without saying a word.

All was quiet in the chamber for a moment, except the hum of
electrical control panels. But then, there came an
announcement from an underling.
      "Queen, we are picking up a beacon from the surface!"
stated a comm insect.
      "A beacon?" said Zsst. "I thought all communications
facilities were in our hands."
      "We thought so; this must be a small portable
generator."
      "Who can they possibly be hailing? Track their
transmission!"
      "The beacon is hailing... us!" said the comm insect.
      "Us! From a human? What's it saying?"
      "Indeterminate, but it's definitely directed at us"
said the comm insect, listening to the pulsing sound. "That's
it, the same thing, over and over."
      "Sounds like a trap," said an aide.
      "Probably," said the Queen. "Where is it coming from?"
      "The eastern continent."
      "I thought the eastern continent was unpopulated?"
      "That's what we were told. There are certainly no large
scale dwelling or industrial structures there."
      The Queen considered. "Send a full combat team to
investigate."

      "Levi! Levi!"
      Levi Esherkol, finicking with meat on the grill, at
first didn't hear her. But then he did hear the engines of
the attack transport touching down near his home. In the
quarry, probably.
      "Levi! The monsters are here!" shrieked Mindy. She ran
inside, a look of fright on her features.
      "Oh, all right," said Levi, putting down his apron.
      "Levi, what do we do?" she said, trembling.
      Levi pointed to the range. "Keep flipping them every
five minutes. When they start to turn black on the outsides,
turn down the temperature." He scooped up a bowl of something
and headed out the door.

      A squad of seven foot tall warrior units were already
disembarked from their ship. Their weapons were scanning,
bobbing all about, but several of them turned to face Levi as
he approached, openly carrying the bowl, but no other
weapons, in his hands.
      The human was unarmed. Civilian. Therefore capture, not
anhiliation, was in order. For now.
      "Human. You will service us," one of them said through
its flashing translator device, It pointed its gun barrel at
Levi with one arm and lifted him painfully by his throat with
another. A third arm reached up and secured a control collar
around Levi's throat, which sealed with a click.
      "Oh, uh, yes," croaked Levi, rasping through his sore
throat as he dangled painfully in the air. Then he was
cruelly dropped to the ground. As he dropped he barely
managed to avoid dropping the bowl he carried.
      "Report to the transport for reassignment-" said the
Insectoid, stopping in midsentence. For it had started
sniffing. The aroma coming from the bowl was strong, very
strong...for an Insectoid, that is. A human wouldn't have
noticed the smell, but the concoction in the bowl was
designed to give off a very appealing smell. Appealing for
Insectoids, that is.
      "What... is that?" came the harsh but flat voice
through the translator.
      "This?" said Levi, looking at the bowl of brown goo as
if noticing it for the first time. "Just some insect food. I
entomologist, I study insects and I just going to feed...
say, you descended from insects, no? I suppose you might to
give it a try...?"
      Normally, there was no way the Insectoid was going to
accept food from a human; it could, after all, be poisoned.
But the smell was so overpowering... for a human, it was the
equivalent to the smell of steaks, frying over a charcoal
grill, with a smattering of hickory chips to give it that
special smell... but the scent was even more overpowering for
the Insectoids, who were even more sensitive to smells than
humans.
      The Insectoid called over one of its junior hatchlings.
"Try this," it ordered.
The junior hatching did, without needing to be prompted
again; it liked the irresistible smell too. When the
hatchling took a tentative taste, and then another, and then
another, it wasn't long before the entire squad was digging
out of the bowl and licking the sides of it.
      "I have some more of it in house" said Levi. He paused,
as if considering something. "You know, it's shame I going to
be common slave. I make very good food for insects, no?"

       Queen Zsst, in her ship in orbit around August, dipped
one of her claws into the bowl again. "It is good," she
hissed. "Very good, in fact. Very well, bring it in."
       Levi Esherkol, wearing a collar and manacles around his
hand, was brought into her command chamber, looking mighty
small and alone as he was flanked by seven foot tall
Insectoid guards. He was actually only the second human to
get this far; the first, Mitterand, hadn't fared very well.
       "I am told, human, that you made this food that is
pleasing to us," rasped the Queen.
       "That? Oh, that was nothing," said Levi, with a shrug.
"A quick snack. With the proper tools and equipment, I could
do much better."
       "What do you mean?" the Queen asked.
       "Well, it's a science, see? At least, for humans it
is," said Levi. "Tell you what; you give me access to a lab,
and I can cook up some food you'll really like!"
       The Queen buzzed for a moment. She didn't think humans
had any other uses besides manual labor, but she had never
met the likes of Levi Esherkol before. If the human could
produce pleasing food, why not? She could always terminate
him if she grew bored or displeased. "Very well," said the
Queen, raising an arm to dismiss him.
       "Ah, just one minute," said Levi. "You haven't heard my
conditions."
       "Conditions?" said the Queen, standing up in her high
chair, towering over the poor Levi.
       "Requests, then," said Levi, taking a step back, and
trembling.
       The Queen sat down, hiding her amusement. "State them."
       "One: that you leave my wife out of this. You will need
her on our farm, on August, to produce much of the food I
will need to prepare for you."
       The Queen nodded. That seemed reasonable enough.
"Continue."
       "Two: That I have a fully stocked lab, and one or two
of your... associates to experiment on."
       The human would of course be closely watched. But
experiment, on an Insectoid?
       "To test new recipes, I mean," said Levi hastily. "I
wouldn't want you to try a new recipe until I had tested it
on your underlings, right? If I didn't, I might come up with
something you might not like, and what would happen to me
then?"
       "You would be executed," said the Queen. She shifted
about, appearing to grow bored.
      "Final condition!" said Levi, sensing her restlessness.
"Leave the Eastern continent free from development."
      "Development?"
      "You know, mining, manufacturing-"
      "Unacceptable," said the Queen flatly.
      "Well," said Levi, swallowing hard, "How about just
protecting two or three locations from development?"
      "Name them."
      Levi gave her the name and spacial locations of a
certain rock formation, a certain forest, a certain
waterfalls, and two other locations.
      "I will consider your requests," said the Queen. Levi
opened his mouth to say something more, but she cut him off,
"Take him away." And he was dragged off.
      "Shall I have the human executed?" said an underling.
      "No," said the Queen. "It amuses me. But first scan the
locations the human seeks to have off-limit for development.
Look in particular for any signs of hidden human
installations. Then report back to me."

      The report came back a few hours later. Orbital scans,
arial overflights, and even landings by ground troops had
found nothing suspicious in any of those locations--simply
varied arrangements of trees, rocks, and water.
      "These humans are strange," said the Queen. "Tell the
human his terms are accepted. We will see how long it proves
amusing...."

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

From the Log of War Admiral Norman North,
Commander, Combined Alliance Fleet:
Two weeks after Vitalics.

We stopped to catch our breath, and found it to almost be our
undoing.
      My original plan was to head directly      for Orotis.
But then three of our ships started to develop engine
trouble, and Danmark II was almost directly in our flight
path. Captain Bennett, speaking for the Directorate fleet
(replacing the late Captain Alada, whose ship perished at
Jarja), suggested we stop there to make emergency repairs--
two of the limping ships were his.
      Actually, "suggested" may not be the right word. Even
from the very beginning of the Alliance between the League
and the Directorate, there's always been some tension when a
Directorate commander had to take orders from a League
officer, or vice-versa. There have even been rare occasions
where each have gone their own way due to "creative
differences" over battle strategy.
      But we can't afford to have creative differences now.
There are too few of us left. Bennett obviously respects me,
and he didn't state his suggestion as a demand, but I still
sense he's not fully ready to buckle down and take orders
from the senior Alliance commander. Unfortunately, that could
be our undoing.
      A week ago I would've let him go his own way and do as
he would. But there are too few of us left now. No longer
will I passively sit by and let things unravel. I've already
seen the terrible price we've paid for our inaction. My
inaction.
      Bennet's suggestion does have some merit. I don't want
to leave any ships behind, and those three ships have
valuable sailors on it. We could evacuate the damaged ships,
but with our shipyards out of commission each ship is
priceless, irreplacable. Nevertheless a rest stop does give
the enemy more of an opportunity to catch up with us, even
though we have no indication that we've been pursued. Logic
suggests that the Insectoids are too caught up swallowing the
sheer size of their latest acquisition to go after us, but we
can't afford to take chances. Despite my concerns, however, I
have authorized a quick stop, and even my own officers concur
with Bennett's suggestion to drop out at Danmark II.
      Nevertheless, if there comes a point where I have to
relieve Bennett of command to save them all, even if I have
to arrest him, even if I have to court martial him, even if I
have to execute him, I'd do it, in an instant. Never again
will I sit passively. Never again.

*************************************************************
*********
The fleet was still decelerating into orbit when they
received a transmission from Governor Delapan of Danmark II.
"Admiral! I knew the fleet would save us! We heard the worst-
"
      "The worst is true," said North. "What you see before
you is all that's left of the fleet."
      "All?" Delapan frowned. "You mean, all that's left of
the sector fleet?"
      "All that's left of all the fleets. All of them," said
North. "And I'm sure our would-be conquerers aren't far
behind us."
      "The entire fleet," said Delapan, stunned. He took a
few moments to digest this. "Well, it's good you've arrived.
Please take up defensive positions around-"
      "You misunderstand, Governor," said North. "We're on
our way out of this region of space entirely."
      "But... you can't just leave us defenseless!"
      "I'm afraid we have no choice," said North.
      "I order you to assume defensive positions around our
planet," said Delapan. "You are military, and are bound to
obey the orders of civilian authorities-"
      "-no longer," said North bluntly. He knew that even
under normal circumstances that the Fleet wasn't answerable
to planetary governors. But he wanted to drive the point
home. "I'm declaring this entire sector under martial law.
Our crews are coming down to take on supplies; we also want
all available merchant spacers to be made ready to join our
convoy-"
      "You can't just give orders!"
      "I can," said North. "My troops are coming down armed.
If anyone resists or hinders us, they will be shot."
      "What! I won't permit-"
      "We have your transmission zone pinpointed," said
North. "If you incite rebellion or attempt to issue orders
contrary to ours, we will flatten your administrative area
with a proximity missile."
      "What... why...."
      "Politician. Dissembler. Traitor," North spat. "You're
all the same. Because of your kind, we've lost everything. If
you want to make yourself useful, start working on your
surrender speech for your new masters, who should be along
soon. End transmission!"
      The silence on the bridge was deafening. The crew had
never heard North be this... visceral before, even when
dealing with the enemy. His anger with the civilian
authorities was intense, but it was only magnified and
exacerbated by his anger with himself.
      Commander Dulin looked worried but said nothing.
Lieutenant Commander Wren cleared her throat, and said, "Sir,
don't you think-"
      North glared at her, and she fell silent. Wren turned
away.
And then, in a voice almost too low for anyone to hear, he
muttered, "Not again. I won't let it happen again."

      Transports and shuttles from the fleet touched down at
the main spaceport. And it was a madhouse. Word had gotten
out about the fleet's landing, and the approach of the
Insectoid forces, and mobs rushed the spaceport, hoping to
escape. Everyone wanted to get aboard the few merchant ships
left that were being conscripted to join the fleet.
      Major Fortran, commander of the Glory's marine
battalion, bit his lip. The word going around was that North
had given him strict "shoot to kill" orders; Fortran, who had
received the orders face to face, knew that this was only a
slight exaggeration. North had authorized him to use
restraint if possible, but to "take all measures necessary"
to ensure the cargo was obtained. Fortran's men were on guard
at the spaceport perimeter, holding back the crowds, while
the regular navy people took on supplies and made the
remaining civilian spacers ready.
      The screaming crowd surged, and one of the perimeter
security fences buckled, and fell. The crowd pushed forward
towards the thin line of League Marines. Fortran could hear
over his command monitor the corporal in charge of that
section of the cordon frantically calling his platoon leader
for instructions.
      "Sir, sir, what do we do?" said the Corporal, as the
crowd surged forward. He was waiting, almost fearfully, for
that dreaded instruction, "WFC", weapons-free clearance, a
fancy way of giving permission to fire into the crowd.
      But before the platoon leader could respond Fortran
broke into the command circuit. "Warning shots first! Fire
rounds, over their heads!"
      His men fired a series of laser volleys over the
crowd's head. The crowd screamed, pulling back. Fortran
barely had time to exhale before the next hot spot demanded
his attention. When had they ever gotten so desperate as to
be at the point of firing on their own people?

      "The reports are coming in; there isn't very much
available in the way of supplies at the spaceport, except for
fuel, and seven civilian and merchant spacers" said Commander
Dulin. "Perhaps if we went farther inland...."
      "Too dangerous. Not enough time," said North, looking
into the air.
      "Sir, three of those ships are passenger ships, and
even the merchant ships can take on some passengers," said
Dulin meaningfully.
      North continued to stare into oblivion. "Millions of
people, and we get to choose the handful that get saved. But
are we really saving them? We're going on a journey that none
may return from. Maybe they'd be better off where they are."
      "Sir?"
      North waved a hand dismissively. "Tell ground control
that once everything is loaded to take some passengers
aboard. But that should be the final task, and only after all
the cargo is loaded aboard. There will be a stampede once the
word gets out. What progress is there on the repairs?"
      Suddenly, the alert klaxons blared.
      "Report!' said North.
      "An Insectoid fleet is entering the system."
      "Composition!"
      "...14 ships, four scouts, five destroyers, five
cruisers, four light, one standard class."
      "Battle stations!" said North. "Jam their frequencies!
I don't want any message getting through!"
      The battle was brief but fatal--for the Insectoids.
Even North's small fleet outgunned the small attack probe.
The Insectoids lost three destroyers and two light cruisers
in the first engagement. Deciding they had had enough, they
turned tail and ran... right into the arms of the vanguard
force North had purposely positioned behind them.
      When all was said and done the Insectoid battle group
was destroyed, but two of North's cruisers were damaged, one
beyond immediate repair.
      "Evacuate the heavily damaged one," said North. "And
the other ship?"
      "Damaged, but spaceworthy," said Wren.
      "What about the three ships that were undergoing
repairs to their drive units?"
      "One has been repaired. Repairs are pending on the
other two."
      "Tell them they have one hour to make repairs. If they
can't make their ships reach at least 90% of fleet flank
speed, evacuate their ships and scuttle them."
      "An hour?" said Dulin.
      North swiveled his command chair to face Dulin. "We
can't be certain they didn't get a message off before we
engaged them. Also, this combat probe is bound to be missed.
Those are my orders."

*************************************************************
**********
From the Log of War Admiral Norman North,
Commander, Combined Alliance Fleet:
Three weeks After Vitalics

We're just a few hours out from Orotis. I suppose I should
feel a small sense of victory that we've made it this far
without further losses. I say "should" because I don't;
there's no joy in making a hasty retreat. Basically, we're
retreating out of Alliance space at top speed, and so far no
Insectoid ships have come so far so quickly to catch us
running with our tails between our legs.
      Which brings me to the subject of what we do next. Some
of my officers have begun floating the idea of hanging out
here, at the rim, and conducting hit and run raids on the
Insectoids, when they come out this far. But if guerrilla
warfare won't work in the core of our homeworlds, it will
hardly work much better here. We'd have some successes in the
beginning, but sooner or later the Insectoids, with an
overwhelming number of ships, would hunt us down and destroy
us. Guerrilla warfare only works when you have a secure base
of operations to retreat to and get resupply from; very
shortly we will have neither.
      I've been giving the matter of what to do next a lot of
thought. There are really only two ways to have any realistic
chance of destroy the Insectoids. First, we could build more
ships. But that could take years, and the first thing the
Insectoids will do is to destroy or occupy all our shipyards.
      That just leaves one other possibility. If we can't get
the numbers we need to take back our homeworlds, the only
other way a fleet this size could defeat the enemy is if we
had superior technology. And that, I'm afraid, will require
us to leave Alliance space altogether. It's risky; for one
thing, we won't have any established means of resupply when
we're gone. And it will mean leaving everything that we know.
Outside of our fleet, we may never see another human face
again, if ever. But we need to go into the uncharted regions
if we're to find what we're looking for.
      For it isn't by chance that I selected Orotis as our
final destination inside of Alliance space. The University of
Orotis is known Alliance-wide for a certain field of study
that will be vital to us in our search. The study of
historical xenology. The study of the Chent.

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

The remnants of the Alliance Fleet successfully made it into
orbit around Orotis without further incident. North split up
his fleet, sending portions of it out on barrier patrol
around the outskirts of the system while his main force took
up position above the planet.
The governor of Orotis, though hardly pleased by the turn of
events, was more willing to be cooperative than the governor
of Danmark II, and offered his assistance in the resupply
effort. Orotis, while hardly a major hub by the standards of
the core worlds, was one of the largest trading areas on the
fringe. Eighteen merchant ships were in orbit or on the
ground when the fleet arrived, and all agreed to form a
convoy along with the ships that joined their fleet at
Danmark II. The merchant skippers figured, correctly that
they'd get better protection if they joined with North's
fleet, though if they knew that they were to undergo a
journey that might last years or even decades, they might've
had second thoughts.
While the resupply efforts were underway, North took a
military shuttle down to the University of Orotis. Dulin and
Wren had tried to veto his decision, but he was adamant; but
he did agree to take a platoon of Major Fortran's men, most
of whom touched down on an accompanying assault transport.
As Orotis didn't have its own landing facilities, North made
a splash as he landed on the front lawn of the sprawling
campus. North slowly plodded across the campus, flanked by
the security platoon, oblivious to the curious onlookers. He
knew exactly where he was going; he had downloaded this
information before leaving the Glory: the Department of
Historical Xenoscience.
North found the faculty members and research scholars waiting
for him. "Good, gentlemen, I see you received my message," he
said calmly. "As many of you may know, my name is War Admiral
Norman North. I command what's left of the Alliance fleet."
There was a small murmur in the room.
"The Insectoids will be coming here soon, perhaps in several
days, or even several hours."
"What are you going to do?" said the head of the department,
Professor Stevenson.
"There's not much we can do," said North. "Nearly all the
fleet was destroyed. That's why I've come to you gentlemen.
You're going to help me defeat the Insectoids."
Shocked glances.
"That's right. We're preparing accommodations for you and
your senior researchers on the Glory. We're taking you all on
a little trip."
"Trip? Where?" They asked.
"To find the Chent."
      The Chent. An extremely technological advanced older
race that had existed hundreds of thousands if not millions
of years before mankind. Thought to be long extinct, some of
their works had survived--a few artifacts here and there, a
few scattered monuments on distant worlds.
      "The Chent are gone," said Stevenson
      "True, Professor," said North. "But not their works."
He lowered his voice, but still spoke loudly enough to be
heard. "The situation is grim. We no longer have the numbers
to defeat the Insectoids. Our chance, our only chance, is to
find some piece of Chent technology we can use to destroy the
Insectoids. That's why I need you people. You've made some
good progress in deciphering the Chent monuments. You can
help us locate other Chent sites, and maybe even point us in
the right direction of where to go."
      "Researchers have been searching for Chent artifacts
for centuries, and most have turned up little or nothing,"
said Stevenson. "What makes you think we'll fare any better?"
      "We have no choice," said North. "If we stay here,
we'll be destroyed; if we dance around the sector, we'll only
be postponing the inevitable. This is our only chance. If it
will take time, spent it with me. I'll see it through with
you, if you come with us."
      A researcher said, "This could take decades, or
longer."
      "Yes."
      "Our colleagues on August or June are really more
knowledgable in this area and maybe they-"
      "Your colleagues on August and June are already being
fitted with Insectoid control collars and are now slaves of
the Insectoids. Do you really want to be in their company
right now?"
      Stevenson said, "Let me have some time to talk it over
with my people."
      North shook his head. "I'm sorry, but we have no time.
The Insectoids could be here at any time. We'll only have a
few minutes warning before they reach in-system, which won't
be enough time to evacuate you and your staff."
      "Admiral, I think we need to vote-"
      North shook his head again. "You don't understand; I'm
not asking you to accompany me; I'm telling you. I offered an
explanation out of courtesy. Lieutenant!"
      "Sir." The platoon leader stepped forward.
      "Allow these men to gather any papers or files they
need. But they're not to leave the building, and I want them
boarded on your assault transport within the hour. If they
resist, carry them. If they run, stun them and carry them."
      "An hour!" said Stevenson. "But what about our
families? Our-"
      North's face softened ever so slightly. "Call them. If
they want to come, we'll make room for them. Just be honest
with them--we're going away for a long, long time, and
there's no telling when we'll be coming back." Turning on his
heel, he marched backed to the shuttle in the company of two
marines. Much as he wanted to supervise the evacuation of the
scientists, events were moving too quickly, and he didn't
want to be caught on the ground when the Insectoids arrived.
      "Glory," he simply told the shuttle pilot, as he
strapped himself in.

      His concerns seemed justified when the shuttle, on
final approach to the Glory, was relayed a proximity alert
from the bridge.
      "How many of them are there," North asked, stiffening
immediately. His mind was racing; could they evacuate the
scientists in time? How had they gotten here so quickly? If
the attackers were only another small combat probe, maybe
they could repell them....
      "Just a moment," said Wren, studying the data being
relayed from their out-system pickets. "Just one... it's one
of ours, Admiral! A fast attack destroyer, the Suny Blue!
Wait... I'm getting a relayed message...."
      "What is it?" North asked, straining to listen over the
sounds of the shuttle landing in the bay. With a scrape and a
small bump the shuttle touched down securely in the hanger.
      "The Suny Blue was assigned to Armistice duty at
Vitalics," said Wren, her voice filled with awe.

      One hour later the Captain of the Suny Blue, Tens
Zender, was standing at attention in North's command office,
just off the main bridge.
      "At ease, Captain," said North. He gestured for Zender
to sit down. "We didn't know that anyone survived the ambush
at Vitalics. Did any other ships get away?"
      Zender swallowed. "No sir, not that we saw. But it was
quite a hectic situation."
      "I imagine," said North. He gazed cooly at Zender. "I'm
very interested to hear how you got away. I'm even more
interested to know how you found us."
      "Found you, sir? We didn't even know any elements of
the fleet had survived," said Zender. "Once we escaped we
realized that most of the fleet was probably destroyed. We
were pursued by Insectoids ships in the area around the core
worlds, and barely managed to escape. Finally we decided that
our only chance for survival was to make for the fringe
worlds. I guess you came to the same conclusion."
      North nodded. "But how did you survive Vitalics? What
happened at Vitalics?"
      "Well, sir, I'm not really sure." Zender swallowed
again, and got a pained look on his face as he tried to
recall unpleasant events. "The Insectoids sent ships forward
to meet us. They weren't military ships--actually, they
looked more like cargo ships. The ships launched these round,
spherical objects, a lot of them."
       "What kind of objects?"
       Zender shook his head. "We don't know. But when these
objects got near us they exploded, spreading a fine mist. It
took down the shields, weapons, and power systems for most of
the fleet. Then they started launching wave after wave of
rocket attacks at us. It was a slaughter."
       North's hands grasped his chair more tightly, but
otherwise betrayed no reaction. "And how did you escape?"
       "We were on the very edge of the formation. One of the
battleships got wise that something is wrong and opened fire
on the ship heading closest to us. The Insectoid ship wasn't
destroyed, but it was damaged enough so it stopped launching
globes at us."
       "Did any other ships fire back?"
       "Not that I could see."
       "What battleship was this? Did you see what happened to
this battleship?"
       "I don't know," said Zender. "Once we heard reports of
power failures throughout the fleet, we knew we had to steer
clear of the mist field, which we were mighty close to. When
we saw what was happening to the fleet, we knew there wasn't
much we could do... so we escaped. Or tried to escape. We
were hunted for several days by several battle groups. They
got a few potshots at my ship before we managed to get out of
range, but they kept up the chase. We managed to evade them,
hiding out in an asteroid field for several days. After we
got out, we knew we'd have to escape, so we headed out here."
       "And did you see or hear of any other ships escaping
from Vitalics?" said North. "If you were clear of the field,
perhaps others were as well."
       "Perhaps one or two," said Zender. "But if there were,
we didn't see them."
       "Hm." North drummed his fingers on his desk. "And they
were simply destroying the fleet, not taking any prisoners."
       "Not that we saw," said Zender quietly.
       North's face grew grave. "A lot of good men died that
day, Captain. And I served with a lot of them for a long
time."
       "Yes sir," said Zender. "Sir? What do we do now?"
       "Return to your ship," said North. "Naturally, you'll
join our fleet. We're going on a little journey. You'll get
details on that soon. Dismissed." As Zender turned to go,
North hit a button on his command console. "Captain Dulin?
Please report to my ready room."
Dulin entered a few seconds later. "Sir?"
"Have a tech team go over Captain Zender's ship from stem to
stern."
"What should they be looking for?"
"Anything out of the ordinary. Tracking devices. Anything.
Then have sickbay do a thorough medical scan on our Captain
and his senior officers. Have them look specifically for any
signs of medical tampering."
       "You suspect a trap?"
       "Unlikely, but possible," said North. "I believe the
young man is telling the truth. But I still find it hard to
believe that anyone got out of Vitalics alive." He told Dulin
what Zender had relayed to him. "I wonder who that battleship
captain was and what happened to him."
      "His ship would've been vastly outnumbered; he was
probably destroyed, along with the rest."
      "Probably," said North. "When you're done with my
little errands, call all senior captains to a meeting in the
briefing room in two hours. It's time we got moving."

      The briefing room was packed when North arrived,
several minutes late. Normally he insisted on punctuality for
all under his command, including himself, but he had just
been on the line with the medical staff, and received a
preliminary report from his tech team. Zender, it appears,
was in the clear.
      "Gentlemen," said North, gazing at the assembled
Captains. Every senior captain was there, mostly Command
Captains but a sprinkling of War Captains as well. Most
senior captains were in charge of the larger ships, the heavy
cruisers and the battlecruisers, but several captains in
charge of destroyer battle groups were present as well. Also
present were North's senior staff--Dulin, Wren, and Colonel
Robert Dey, commander of the Glory's starfighter squadrons.
North noticed that all the white uniformed Directorate
captains sat on one side of the room with Captain Bennett,
who had been second in command to the late Captain Alada,
while all of North's light-blue uniformed League sailors sat
on the other side. That would have to change.
      North quickly related Captain Zender's story. A hushed
silence fell on the crowd.
      "What kind of a weapon could render our fleet
defenseless?"
      "We don't know yet what kind of a weapon it is, but we
know its effect," said North. "It makes ships defenseless. If
we stick around here, we're just giving the Insectoids an
invitation to try it out on us."
      "No one is proposing that we stay here," said Bennett.
"What do you propose, War Admiral?"
      North slowly walked around the room, staring at
different faces in the crowd, both Directorate and League
officers, as he spoke. "We know now that this battle won't be
won by sheer force of numbers. In the past we have won
victories even when we've been outnumbered, but never by
margins of five or ten to one, never when the enemy is as
technologically advanced or more advanced than we are."
      "Therefore if we cannot win by numbers, we must prevail
by utilizing superior technology. We have to develop new
weapons that will let our little pocket fleet destroy the
Insectoids."
      "How do we develop this new technology?" said one of
the captains, Captain Harkness, of the second largest ship in
North's fleet, the pocket battleship Blue Luna. He was a
crusty old officer, but very reliable; and as Captain of the
Blue Luna, he was technically third-in-command of the fleet,
should anything happen to North and Dulin. North frowned
inwardly; with the combination of the two fleets, he would
have to give some serious rethinking to the chain of command.
But not now.
      "Perhaps 'develop' was a poor choice of words," said
North. "We're not going to develop this technology, we're
going to find it."
      "Where do we find it?" Someone else asked.
      "Out there," said North, pointing out the viewport.
"Out among the stars. Among the Chent." He paused to let this
sink in. "All of us know from the bits and pieces of Chent
technology we've discovered that they were vastly superior to
what we've developed now. If we can uncover an abandoned
Chent base, or even the remnants of one of their ancient
cities, we may be able to harness enough of their technology
to help us defeat the Insectoids."
      "The galaxy is a big place," said Bennett. "We could
search for centuries and not find anything."
      "I've recruited a bit of help," said North. "Leading
researchers on the Chent from the University of Orotis have
patriotically decided to sign up and join our efforts to
search for the Chent. I'm not saying it will be easy, and it
will take time, but I think it's our only chance."
      "But if we leave human space, how will we be
resupplied?" one of the captains wanted to know.
      "We won't be," said North. "Your ships already have the
ability to grow a limited supply of your own food. We will be
augmenting this ability with hydroponics equipment that we're
bringing up from Orotis. We can plant gardens in our cargo
bays and on the civilian ships which are joining us."
      "And what of spare parts, and fuel?"
      "We have an ample supply of spare parts at present,
but we will have to improvise," said North. "As for fuel, we
can adapt our collectors to run on plasma from any nearby
sun."
      "Plasma!" said one of the Captains. "Even if you get
that to work, we won't be very fuel efficient; and we'll have
to constantly be refueling."
      "Not constantly," said North. "More frequently, yes."
      "And what if it takes us a century of looking to find
what we're looking for--that means another century just to
get back to Alliance space!" said another. "The farther out
we go, the longer it will take us to return."
      "I never said it would be easy, and there's no
guarantees. But it's our only choice," said North.
      "What if we stay here, and start a hit and run
operation? We can't destroy them, but we can sting them, wear
them down," said another.
      North shook his head. "Guerrilla tactics work where you
have a network of friendlies who can resupply you and give
you sanctuary for repairs and refueling; we don't, or won't,
for very long. Sooner or later, they'd find us and destroy
us."
      Bennett said. "War Admiral, I hear what you're saying,
but you're asking a lot. You're basically asking us to leave
mankind behind, and perhaps never to see our people again for
years, if ever again in our lifetimes.... It's a lot to ask."
North looked at the assembled officers. "Most of you know me,
if not personally, from fighting side by side in battle, then
from the legends of what I've accomplished. For hundreds of
years I've fought to keep the Alliance safe. You know what
I've accomplished, what I've achieved, despite sometimes
overwhelming odds. I'm asking you to trust me again, now; and
to join me, not as League sailors, or Directorate sailors,
but as one group. Alliance sailors. Only by sticking together
can we survive. Otherwise, by this time next year we'll all
either be wearing Insectoid slave collars, or we'll simply be
dead. I'm offering you an alternative to this certainty. Now
who will stand with me?"
At that moment North's stern face looked as if it had been
chiseled from stone. He stared at the assembled officers like
a searchlight staring out at the darkness. Wherever he gazed
confusion, and fear, was replaced by confidence, and
resolution.
North's officers stood up, almost as one, and declared
themselves for him. But he knew they would. The Directorate
officers, however were seated, each looking at the other, as
if waiting for an unspoken signal.
"I don't like your plan," said Captain Bennett slowly. "But
you warned us against going to Jarja; and if we had listened
to you, this room might be a good fuller than it is now. You
saved us then, just as you saved us before and undoubtedly
will do so again. I know your history, War Admiral, just as I
know you, and while I say I have doubts about your plan, I
have no doubts about you. Where you lead, I will follow."
And then Bennett' men stood up as one, and declared
themselves for North. And after that day, though sailors knew
if in the past they had belonged to the Directorate, or the
League, they simply called themselves soldiers of the
Alliance now, and War Admiral Norman North was their leader.
That didn't mean there would never be factionalism or
disagreements again, but at that moment, they were more
united than they ever had been.

      It was two days later before outlying warning beacons,
dispatched far beyond the edges of the Orotis system, sounded
the alarm; a fleet of Insectoids ships, some 104 ships
strong, was on its way. Although information on the
composition of the attack force was sketchy, it was composed
of at least 60 capital ships. This was no small combat probe.
      Immediately, transshipments from the planet ceased; the
fleet formed the formations that North had worked out with
Dulin and Bennett; and the fleet was made spaceworthy within
an hour. There was a last minute crush of people trying to
reach the civilian ships; but only a tiny number could be
taken, and then only after they agreed to maintain the
hydroponic farms on the spacers that were appropriated by the
fleet. As the ships accelerated away from the planet, there
was more than one teary eye as the image of Orotis, the last
human outpost they would ever hope to see, shrunk from a
round oval into a shiny dot in the sky... and then it was
gone.
      When the Insectoid fleet arrived in-system twelve hours
later, there was nothing to greet them but Orotis itself and
empty space, no trace of North, or the rest of the fleet,
which were long gone, in search of a slender chance and a
wild hope.


Chapter 8
The Silencer Comes to August

The Insectoids in patrol around August tracked the small
fighter that streaked past their orbital blockade; but though
they trained their lasers on it, it was too quick for them,
streaking in-atmosphere even as their orbital fighters set
course to engage it.
      Landing was another matter; once it set down, they
would quickly locate and destroy it. Then a decision was made
not to destroy but to capture and interrogate the pilot. The
Insectoids wanted more information about this individual who
could slip through their net so easily.
The fighter settled in a clearing near a set of low hills on
the outskirts of the Capital city, in a small (and very rare)
public spot: a city park. But the ship's landing also
attracted the attention of others.
      "See that?" said Croft, squinting with his
electrobinoculars.
      "See what?" said Gantry, one of the Agency members he
had teamed up with.
      "A fighter. Looks like it landed a bit to the west."
      "How do we know it wasn't an Insectoid ship?" asked
another Agency team member named Jena.
      Croft shook his head. "It looked like one of ours."
Hoisting up his backpack, he said, "Let's go."
      Gantry groaned. "But today is Sniper Monday!" Gantry
was the "caddie"; he was in charge of lugging the special
rifles in their protective carrying case.
      "We can shoot some Insectoids later. Someone might need
our help."
      "The place will probably be crawling with Insectoids.
Since when do we help people?" said another teammember,
Corren.
      Croft took a breath. "All right, we're not going to
help whoever's there; we're going to find out what the pilot
knows. Once we finish interrogating him we can turn him over
to the Insectoids, satisfied?"
      It was funny what a difference a few weeks of
scavenging could make. Most of the population of August had
been interned in forced labor camps. But a few scavengers and
resistance fighters survived. Some of them were soldiers, and
others were Agency teams, like the one Croft led. As he was
widely known to be one of the Eight, his leadership of the
group was never questioned, even if his decisions constantly
were.

      They tried as best they could to hurry, but they also
had to evade Insectoid patrols. But when they arrived at the
park it seemed the Insectoids had gotten there first. In the
distance they saw the fighter, the exhaust still smoking, as
it lay neatly parked by a lake, and the faint images of
Insectoids in the distance. The Insectoids didn't seemg to be
moving.
      "Neat landing," Gantry commented, peering at the ship
in the dim light. "Whoever did that must've been one great
pilot, even with repulsarlifts."
      But then as they cautiously snuck closer they saw
another detail... the Insectoids they had seen from the
distance were all lying on the ground, unmoving. In fact the
lawn around the ship was oozing with green, coming from their
bodies. Dead bodies. All dead, at least 20 of them. What had
happened here?
      The ship was a one-seater, maybe a two seater at most.
Could one or two people have gunned so many Insectoids down?
      And then Croft saw the figure, leaning against the side
of his ship, whistling a sad tune, his hand reflexively
drawing, holstering, and redrawing his gun at a rapid pace.
      "Is this a crazy man?" Gantry hissed, as Croft and the
others peered at the guy through the bushes.
      Croft, realizing the sound of his voice might carry,
hit the ground, pushing Gantry down as Croft motioned him to
be silent. But the warning almost came too late; right after
they dropped, an energy bolt scored right where Gantry had
been standing.
      "I... see... you...." came the voice, as it stopped
whistling and started humming. That voice sounded familiar,
kind of.
      Croft raised his electrobinoculars, as he lay prone on
the ground. Then Croft caught the guy square in his visual
sites... and caught the end of the man's pistol, pointing
straight at his binoculars. "Wait!" Croft yelled at the top
of his voice.
      The man didn't fire, so it must have worked.
      "We're human!" Croft yelled again.
      The man seemed to know it from the start, but he
wanted to give them a hard time. "Prove it," he said.
      Croft slowly started to get up, but Gantry pulled on
me. "Croft, he's obviously mad!"
      "Oh, most definitely mad," Croft said. "But probably
not at us." He realized that the man could have shot them
dead several times by now, even at this distance.
      Croft stood up, with my hands raised, and he saw the
man that Croft now expected to see.
      The Silencer.

The man had his gun drawn and pointed at Croft. "Croft?" he
said, lowering it a few inches.
       Croft nodded. "Can I lower my hands now?"
       The Silencer nodded. "You can tell your guys in the
bushes there, there, and there..." he pointed with his
pistol, "To relax. They are with you, right?"
       Croft nodded again.
       They approached his ship. "How did you get here?"
Gantry asked.
The Silencer made a deprecating expression on his face and
pointed to his ship.
       "I mean, who are you? What are you doing here?" Gantry
asked.
       "No time for that," said Croft. "We've got to get you
out of here, it's not safe-"
       The gun whirled out of the Silencer's holster and two
bolts were fired. On the far side of the lake, two
approaching Insectoids fell to the ground, one of them
screeching as it was shot.
       "I know, it's not safe," said the Silencer. Then,
purely as an afterthought, "You'd better go."
       "If you stay here more and more will come, and they'll
kill you," said Croft.
       "I know," said the Silencer, standing his ground. He
slowly turned his head, looking for potential targets.
       "What's this all about?" said Croft. "You don't usually
kill unless you're paid for it." Then, looking at the
Silencer's face, and thinking about his actions, he
understood. "Where's Annie?" he asked.
       The Silencer's face was granite. "They killed her,
Clifford."
       A squad of Insectoids burst into view. Croft's people
raised their weapons, but before they could fire, it was all
over. The Silencer momentarily lowered his weapon.
       "This isn't the answer, John," Croft said. "Sooner or
later they'll come at you with armored vehicles, or shoot you
from the air."
       "Yes."
       "Don't you want to live?"
       "No," said the Silencer. Then, uncharacteristically, he
added, "I just want to kill as many of these creatures as I
can."
       "That's not what Annie would've wanted," said Croft.
That got him a glare, and for a moment, Croft felt a wave of
fear. He licked his lips, and tried a different tact. "These
Insectoids didn't kill Annie, John. It's their leaders,
they're the ones who gave the orders."
       "I know, I killed one of them," said the Silencer. "I'd
like to get some of the others, but they're too well
protected in orbit." The Silencer's gun shot out again, and
two more Insectoids fell. In the distance the sound of a
motorized vehicle could be heard. Time was running out.
       "But some of them are on August! And working with us,
we can help you get them!" said Croft.
       For the first time, Croft felt that something that he
was saying to the Silencer was finally having some effect.
       Several mechanized vehicles broke into the clearing on
the other side of the lake. They were brimming with troops.
       "That will take time," said the Silencer.
       "In the meantime, you can kill some Insectoids with us,
have some fun, paint the town... you can kill more if you
come with us and live, than if you simply stay here and get
shot."
       "I don't know," said the Silencer. "I think I can kill
an awful lot more before the get me."
       "Come with us, you'll kill even more in the long run!"
       The Silencer considered, as the vehicles closed into
effective range.
       "Promise?"
       "Promise!"
       When the Insectoid groundtracks cleared the far side of
the lake, all they found was an abandoned fighter. One of the
Insectoid troopers, inspecting the cockpit, found a stick
pressed against one of the controls. He removed the stick...
and the ship exploded, taking two of the groundtracks and
more than a dozen Insectoids with it.
       When the sound of the explosion carried a quarter mile
to the south, a small smile broke out on the Silencer's lips.
But only for a moment.


*************************************************************
*****
From the personal log of Clifford Croft, one month after the
invasion of August:

We brought the Silencer back to one of our hideouts in
August. If you're an outsider reading this (how did you crack
my code?) you may wonder what I mean by that. Where on
August? Well, since August, the western continent, is
basically one big city, we just refer to it all as August
(except for Sarney, of course). Oh, there are still some
farms in the outlying provinces, and the entire eastern
continent is undeveloped (mental note to self: whatever
happened to Levi?). But, to put it simply, August is August.
      I've kept a log in the past, but this time it has a
special meaning to me. We're slowly getting picked off one by
one, and chances are that we won't survive much longer.
There's no air cavalry waiting to come over the horizon to
save us. Our fleet has been destroyed and we're trapped here,
on our own.
      If you know anything about me or my past, you may think
that this situation should be familiar to me. After all, I've
spent most of my life as an infiltrator, hiding around in a
society that would imprison or execute me (or worse) if they
got their hands on me. While that's true, this is different.
Whenever I went on a mission, I always knew there was a home,
somewhere, where I could go in safety once the mission is
over. Only now there is no safe home to return to, and there
will be no end to the mission. This occupation could last
dozens of years, or hundreds of years, or longer. Our only
hope is to try to wear the Insectoids down, and it's a slim
hope. We can hurt the Insectoids, but there are only a few
Agency teams out there, and in the big scheme of things we
can't stop an army; that's not what we were trained for.
      The Silencer has been plenty quiet since we brought him
in. Preston and the others think it's because of his grief
over Annie. Only I, who have known the Silencer for a long
time, know better--the Silencer ALWAYS keeps to himself. Even
I, who counts himself as one of the Silencer's best friends
(if he ever had any), could rarely get much of a conversation
out of him. I wonder if Annie ever got him to talk?
      Anyhow, we have to continue to stay active. But each
time we go out on a mission there's a chance that one (or
more) of us won't come back. We lost Fletch last week and
Dorim the week before. We're down to seven agency operatives
in this group... seven and the Silencer.

      "Good mooooorning, August!" I boomed, entering the
common room, giving a strategic toe to the forms lying on
makeshift bedding of foam packing.
      I was met with groans from the half-dead. I had
appointed myself morale officer; I was keenly aware that
without morale, or at least some agitation, this bunch would
become little more useful than an unruly mob.
      "Go away," said Jena, covering her head with a pillow.
      "Good morning!" I boomed again. "The sun is shining,
the birds are chirping-"
      "We're on sublevel 17a, and we don't know or care
whether there's sunlight on the surface," said Gantry.
      "And there hasn't been a bird seen on the western
continent in decades," Jena added, moaning slightly as she
woke up some more.
      Good. At least I was getting their attention. "It's
time to start our day! While Preston here serves you a
delicious breakfast of protein concentrate and distilled
water, it's time to consult our favorite fortune telling
device, the activity planner!"
      I turned to indicate a giant black wheel behind me,
part of a stabilizer from an Insectoid shuttle. We had
liberated the stabilizer covertly from a shuttle parked at
the Sarney Sarittenden spaceport, confident that our theft
wouldn't be discovered until the shuttle was used again.
(Sure enough, the very next day when the shuttle was next
used, there was a loud explosion at the spaceport and a
smoking hole in the ground not far from where the shuttle had
been).
       The wheel was divided up into a number of sectors, each
of which had a word painted along the edge, such as
"SNIPER", "ASSASSINATION", and "ESPIONAGE", "SPYING, "SEARCH
FOR PROFESSOR CAPYBARA" (where did he go?), and "SHOPPING"
were written. A giant pointer (actually, the burned rifle
barrel of an Insectoid gun) was in the middle of the wheel,
where it could be conveniently spun.
       After several weeks of going on the same missions, over
and over, we had decided to introduce some variety by making
a game out of it. Well, ok, actually it had been my idea. But
things had gotten so boring through repetition.
"Who would like the honor of spinning the wheel today?"
       I was met by groans in response.
       "Very well," I said, taking that as permission to spin
myself. I took a grip on the pointer, and gave a wild spin.
       The pointer spun around and around, only slowing down a
bit after three laps. It really started to run out of energy
around the "Professor Capybara", leading me to believe that
we were destined to spend another fruitless day searching for
that spectacled rodent, but then the pointer landed on
"INTELLIGENCE GATHERING".
       "Well well well," I said. "And so our agenda is set."
       More groans.
       And so today became Intelligence Gathering Tuesday.
Actually, we didn't end up gathering that much intelligence
about the Insectoids; but we did learn a lot about the
Silencer.

       While doing a routine reconnaisance (last Thursday
being Recon Thursday), we noticed some unusual activity
coming in and out one of the tall skyscrapers just a few
blocks away from our hideout (once we came out on the
surface).
       We entered an adjacent building across the street that
was empty and took the elevator up a few floors. Then we
looked across the way at the other building; and, seeing no
activity, we went up a few floors more.
       On the 44th floor we saw it, through the windows across
the way. It looked like some sort of Insectoid command post,
with consoles set up throughout the floor that were manned by
Insectoid technicians. Crouching down on the floor, we caught
the images through our electrobinoculars.
       "If we can sneak in and climb up to the 43rd floor, we
might be able to tap into an access cable on the 44th and get
into their network," I said. "The only tricky part will be
getting into the stairwell, but maybe if we try going
underground...."
       "Unacceptable."
       I turned around to see the Silencer. It was always
surprising just to hear him speak.
       "But that's the safest way-"
       "How many Insectoids will die this way?" the Silencer
asked.
       I considered. "Well, if we're lucky there might be one
or two in the stairwell."
      "Unacceptable," said the Silencer.
      "Listen, Silencer, or whatever you call yourself," said
Jena. "You may have a deathwish, but some of us here want to
remain alive for a while longer. If you want to go in through
the front, guns blazing, by all means. But otherwise keep
quiet and follow our lead."
      A muscle twitched in the Silencer's cheek. I held my
breath. The Silencer was not one to bait. But he simply
stared at Jena, with a cold, deadly stare. She matched his
gaze for a moment, then she looked suddenly away, looking
flustered.
      "Right," I said. "To the stairwell."
      We took the elevator down to the ground floor and then
I turned to head to the stairwell leading down under the
planet surface. But when I reached the entrance to the
underground, I turned around and noticed something.
      The Silencer was gone.
      We ran to the entrance of the building, giving us an
unobstructed view of the Silencer walking calmly to the
building across the street. Four Insectoid troopers were on
guard, all armed with laser rifles. They watched the Silencer
as he walked up to them. Maybe they didn't shoot him on sight
because his gun was holstered; or maybe they didn't shoot
because the sight of this single, grim human slowly walking
to them was not like anything they had ever seen. Humans
cowering in fear? Yes. Humans running away from them? Yes?
Even humans firing on them? Yes. But a single human walking
up to them? No.
      Either way, they all had the sense to at least point
their rifles at him when he got close. "Halt!" one of them
said through its glowing translator device, located on its
chest. "What are you doing here, human?"
      "I'm here to steal information from your command center
upstairs," said the Silencer.
      This took a second or two to penetrate. During that
time the wind howled, a glint of sunlight glistened off the
Silencer's eyes, and a note of alarm planted itself in the
minds of the Insectoids. They raised their rifles ever
slightly, fingers tightening about their triggers....
      And in that split second there was a streak of motion
and three, no, four discharges. All Croft saw, from across
the street, was a blaze of motion, the light of blaster fire,
and then, when he blinked again, the Silencer's gun was back
in its holster, and four Insectoids were slumped on the
ground.
      Croft and his operatives cautiously ran up to the
Silencer. There seemed to be no other immediate resistance.
      "Why did you do that for?" he asked.
      The Silencer shrugged microscopically. "She invited me
to go in with guns blazing," he said, indicating Jena.
      We went inside. There were two more guards at
reception, but they barely had time to see us, much less
react, before a blaster bolt aimed to each sent them crashing
to the ground.
      "Are you going to let us do any of the firing?" Croft
inquired.
      "If you're quick enough," said the Silencer.
      "I saw you shoot three bolts," said Gantry. "What was
the third for, did you miss?"
      The Silencer nodded to the ceiling, where the blasted
remains of a vidmonitor hung. "If I got it quick enough, they
may just think it's a malfunction."
      "And if you didn't?"
      "Then they'll be waiting for us."
      We entered the elevator, after first checking to see
that there were no monitors in there. The Silencer pressed a
button, and up we went....

      When the elevator doors opened, two Insectoids who were
waiting at the entrance to the elevator sprayed the interior
with laser fire the minute the doors opened. After a few
seconds of spraying the elevator they stopped firing,
realizing something.
      The elevator was empty.
      They turned to look at each other, and at that moment
the Silencer and I dropped from the top hatch of the
elevator. Before they could realize what was happening, they
were dead.
      The Silencer took five steps out of the elevator, which
was sufficient to put most of the floor in his view. He fired
nonstop, a blaster in each hand, while our operatives emerged
from the stairwell and opened fire as well.
      In a matter of seconds almost two dozen Insectoids were
dead. The Silencer walked calmly down the rows of consoles,
shooting occasionally; he didn't seem the slightest bit
concerned about stray guards or technicians who might be
hiding.
      In moments it was over. I went over to what looked like
a database interface terminal, but was dismayed when I saw a
ragged blaster hole through the control circuits. "Now we'll
never be able to log in!" I said. I turned to the Silencer,
who had walked silently behind me. "Look what you've done!"
      The Silencer looked past my shoulder, and inspected the
jagged hole. "That's not from my shooting," he said, as if he
could tell.
      "This is what we get for the guns blazing strategy,"
said Jena, glaring at the Silencer. I sensed those two might
have some trouble getting along.
      The Silencer shrugged. "If you didn't want the
equipment damaged, you should've left all the shooting to
me."
      "You?" said Preston. "Against two or three dozen
Insectoids?"
      "Yes," said the Silencer simply.
      Intelligence Gathering Tuesday ended on a sour note.

      The next morning we spun the wheel, and it turned out
to be Sniper Wednesday. That was good. That's something we
could all share and enjoy together, including the Silencer.
But as we gathered for our mission I introduced the Silencer
to another team tradition.
      "Place your bets," I said, pointing to a board which
bore all our names (and the Silencer's, newly added to the
board).
      "I'll bet one ration on the Silencer," said Gantry.
      "I'll bet a ration on the Silencer too," said Preston.
      "What is this?" said the Silencer.
      I cleared my throat. "We have a competition, a gambling
bet, to see who will come back from a dangerous mission. We
each bet on the teammember we think is likeliest to survive
that particular day; if they win, they get an extra half-
ration."
      But then everyone made it clear they were voting for
the same person--the Silencer. His tactics might have been
only short of insane, but everyone had seen his Graftonite
reflexes in action.
      Since everyone was betting on the same guy, we couldn't
really wager effectively, so we had to cancel this aspect of
our gaming. Well, at least we still had the activity wheel to
play with. And today the activity wheel said we were going
snipering, and that cheered me up a bit.
      I think sniping was everyone's favorite activity on the
wheel. I know that everyone was already bored with searching
for Professor Capybara (should we remove him from the
wheel?), and most of the other sort of commando operations we
performed were starting to get monotonous from repetition.
      But sniping, that would be real fun. No one ever got
bored of sniping. We were going to have a great time.
      I couldn't have been more wrong.

Preston fetched the rifles, and Jena brought the cammo tarp,
all rolled up in a tight bundle. It was as if we were going
on an outing, or on a picnic. Well we were going on an outing
all right, but the outing we had in mind was a half mile off
the surface of the planet!
      We took the elevators up to the roof of one of the
tallest buildings on August, the Regulation Building, and
Preston unpacked the equipment while Jena spread out the
cammo tarp and the rest of us started looking off the
rooftop--north, south, east, west, to find the best view. The
winds whipped by us and the hot morning sun shined down on
us.
      "A squad down the block to the west," said one
operative.
      "A command post backed up by heavy armor on the east,"
said another.
      "A few stragglers on the south."
      "A troop convoy on the north."
      "A troop convoy, perfect!" I said. "Just what the
sniper ordered! Preston?"
      Preston finished unpacking and assembling three agency
laser sniper rifles with special long range scopes. Only the
scopes weren't the only thing special about these rifles. The
laser projector inside produced a special kind of light not
viewable in the visible spectrum. The problem with most
sniper lasers is that after the first or second shot the path
of the laser bolt would give away the sniper's location. But
since the beam was invisible, the sniper's location could
remain hidden for longer periods of time, especially if the
sniper was shooting from long distances.
      We had had merry times sniping all over August the past
few weeks, picking off Insectoids troopers, watching the rest
scurry away on their malformed legs. It was great fun,
really, and this time shouldn't have been different.
      We only had three rifles, and the customary fight broke
out about who would get to snipe first.
      "Hey!" I said. "We're running out of time. That troop
convoy is on the move. The Silencer will take one, Preston
will take another, and I'll take the third."
      "Hey! You got to shoot first last time!"
      "When you're one of the Eight, you'll get to decide who
shoots first," I said. "Now get under cover. We all got down
under the cammo tarp, so that only our heads stuck out. It
was a little bit hot under it, but well worth it; the cammo
tarp automatically assumed the color of the surrounding
rooftop, protecting us from prying eyes, if any came up this
high.
      I located an Insectoid trooper on the scope, a driver
of one of the vehicles. I started to squeeze the trigger.
"Ready... Aim...."
      And suddenly, in my sights, the trooper jerked
backwards, and the vehicle skidded to the side and rammed a
building. Someone must have fired first. And I didn't need to
guess who.
      After that it was a veritable shooting gallery, where
we attempted to pick off all the targets who were now
scurrying across the thoroughfares. Although they could see
the approximate direction of attack, they had no way of
spotting our exact location, nearly a half mile away.
      Gantry mumbled something about wanting a turn and I
knew that it was about time to switch. Before I could start
dealing with the problem of how to persuade the Silencer to
let someone else take a turn with his rifle, I heard a dull
rumbling which pushed all other thoughts out of my mind.
      I knew what that sound was. "Cease fire!" I hissed.
"And get your heads and rifles under the tarp!" Everyone did,
just before an ascending flying fortress appeared above the
top of the building.
      At least, it was the Insectoid equivalent of a flying
fortress, a heavily armed gravitator platform, about 10 feet
wide and 40 feet long, with heavy guns mounted on it every
few feet, each manned by an Insectoid trooper. I peered out
at the gravitator through a tiny hole at the end of the cammo
tarp.
      The gravitator hung in the air above us for a few
seconds. Could it have located us so quickly? I thought not.
And yet the gravitator hung there. I suddenly felt a shiver
down our spine. The rooftop should appear empty to them, but
if they detected us... we would be easy targets.
      "Jena," I hissed. "Can this thing withstand heat scans
and infrared?"
      She paused a moment. "I think so," she said.
      It was at that moment that she shifted an arm to
scratch her nose, and the thought immediately flashed through
my head: motion detectors. But the thought came almost too
late.
      Somehow the Silencer was already up and running even as
the first laser bolt singed the tarp. Did an unknown hunter's
instinct protect him? Or would that be a prey's instinct?
      I didn't have much time to think philosophically about
it, as I and everyone else was running for the stairs that
would take us all the roof. Laser fire burst thick around us
and we all ran for it without even trying to fire back; well,
almost all of us; the Silencer, reaching the stairwell first,
was on bent knee, rapidly firing several potshots, before a
returning volley forced him inside.
      We dashed down the single flight of stairs which took
us to the elevator shaft. I noticed that some of us were
missing but didn't have time to count faces because a deep,
deep rumbling sound could be heard, a rumbling so deep that
it shook the stairwell. We couldn't see it at the time, but
later hypothesized that a spaceship, a cruiser, maybe, had
snuck up against the building. And a cruiser's lasers could
demolish a civilian building in seconds.
      "Jump!" I said unnecessarily, leaping into the open
shaft, as I was followed by my companions. A few seconds into
our fall the top levels of the building were turned into a
fireball as turbolasers blasted the area. The concussion from
the shock almost pushed Preston into a wall, but he steadied
himself, straightening his descent. We continued to fall,
trying to outrun the flames above us.
      It was just a few moments later that we saw explosions
again, but this time even closer; this time the Insectoids
were blasting a giant hole in the middle of the building,
just a few dozen feet above where we were falling seconds
earlier. They were methodically destroying the building!
Would we get to the bottom before they destroyed the entire
structure?
      I watched the ground below steadily approached. While
we couldn't increase our speed of descent, it was time to
start worrying about decreasing our speed. The buildings
generators were located in the basement, but if feedback or
the shockwave from the explosion knocked them out....
      The bottom closed quickly and I eyed the rapidly
approaching ground with horror. And then, just as I thought
that it wasn't going to kick in, I felt myself suddenly
braking rapidly. In seconds I landed gently on my feet.
      All elevators on August were powered by gravitational
fields and projected force beams; all we did was disable the
elevator car and put the shaft in test mode. This was SOP
whenever we needed a quick getaway from a rooftop.
      We quickly slunk back to one of our hideaways, but I
didn't have to wait until we got there to count the missing:
Jena, and two of our other operatives. Three people dead on
what should have been one of our least dangerous missions!
      "They were expecting us," I said, gritting my teeth.
      "Expecting us, how?" said Gantry. "Do you think one of
us-"
      "Gantry, I picked the building at the last minute," I
said. "No, they were expecting us because we always did the
same thing. Sniping from a tall rooftop. Do the same thing
enough times and they'll prepare for it. There are only a
finite number of rooftops that have a commanding view over
the city. It's probably taken them several tries to catch us
like this," I fumed. I blamed myself, personally; this was
supposed to be a fun distraction, from the normal life and
death missions we went on. Instead, we had our worst
casualties yet.
      "Did anyone see any of the others?" I asked.
      No one said anything. Then Gantry gulped.
      "Gantry?"
      Gantry shook his head.
      "What?"
      "As... as I got out of the cammo tarp, for a moment, I
passed over Jena's body, just for an instant," he said.
"She... had a burning hole in her forehead."
      I didn't say anything else. There were only four of us
left now, five if you counted the Silencer. I wondered what
he was thinking. He didn't volunteer any thoughts.
      Suddenly, the who-will-survive sweepstakes didn't seem
so funny anymore. The next morning, the board containing our
names was gone.

Chapter 9
Fire & Applause

From the personal log of Clifford Croft, five months after
the invasion:

We took it easy for a while after that. But taking it easy
isn't easy; just sitting there, doing nothing, drives all of
us stir crazy. Even the Silencer. I can see it in his eyes.
He just sits there, quickdrawing, and reholstering,
quickdrawing and reholstering, over and over again.
      It must have irritated Jenkins, one of our surviving
operatives, for he looked at the Silencer and opened his
mouth, as if to ask him to stop. But the Silencer gave him a
cold stare, and Jenkins simply closed his mouth and looked
away.
      After a few days we had to go out, if only to go
shopping. Our food supplies were limited, and we had to
periodically raid storage centers for more. The storage
centers and the routes leading to them were often guarded by
the Insectoids, of course.
      We sneaked across one of the underground stripways.
August had as many as 50 interior levels in some areas, and
each level stretched for miles, much to our advantage. The
Insectoids didn't have the trooper force to station soldiers
on all levels. But they did have frequent patrols; it wasn't
often we could sneak from one area to another without at
least seeing a patrol. I tried to crack into the city's
internal security system to see where the patrols were, but
while I could break into the system, I couldn't figure out
how to access and target the scanners. The system had been
designed to be used by police bureaucrats, and so far I had
been unable to crack the very unfriendly user interface.
I thought I had the route to the nearest storage area
memorized, but we must have turned a wrong corner, because
suddenly we were in unfamiliar territory. Keep in mind that
it was very easy to get lost in an underground this size;
but at least, in earlier times, there would be people
travelling through that one could get directions from, or
electronic wall panels to consult. Now the underground was
virtually empty, as most people had been rounded up and the
few that hadn't been were in hiding. The only one to ask
directions of were the patrols, and somehow I didn't think
they'd be very forthcoming.
      We heard a patrol coming our way and we quickly ducked
into a side passage.
      Wrong turn again. It was a dead end.
      We heard the clop clop of the Insectoid feet coming our
way. It sounded like a LOT of them. Some of their patrols had
only two or three of them, but this sounded like at least a
dozen. And in seconds they would turn the corner and see us.
      We all had our weapons out, even the Silencer. I
suppose with the Silencer with us we shouldn't worry, but we
were boxed in a narrow corridor, and it would be difficult
for the Insectoids to miss us. Unless the Silencer could get
them all first. Could he?
      We never found out because the Insectoids stopped, just
short of turning the corner. I heard them buzzing to each
other in their own language, but had no idea what they were
saying. Then, one of them made a loud buzzing sound, a
warning sound, and I heard sudden movement, and then the
corridor lit up. That's right, it lit up, as if there were a
fire in it. But we heard no explosion, we just saw the lights
of a fire, and the screams of the Insectoids. One of them,
screaming rapidly, turned the corner and ran towards us. We
could see it was on fire and desperately trying to rub
against the wall to put the flames out. It came close to us
and fell to the ground just feet from the Silencer, who still
hadn't fired a shot. I think, for once, that he had been as
surprised as we were.
      Then there was silence and the fires died down.
      "That's about all of them," I heard a high pitched,
almost little-girl voice say.
      And then I heard a clapping sound, also around the
corner, as if someone had offered applause.
      My people gripped their guns more tightly. But for me,
fear evolved into cautious recognition. "Stay here," I
hissed. I didn't want any misunderstandings.
      I slowly edged my way around the corner, to see charred
bodies under a low flame, and an expressionless young woman
with reddish hair looking at me. Even as she stared I noticed
her hair turning back to blonde.
      "Sally?" I said.
      "Who are you?" she said, peering in the gloom. "Come
forward slowly, or I'll use you to create some light."
      "No need," I said quickly, putting my hands where she
could see them.
      "Oh," said Sally, when I came closer. "It's you," she
said, sounding disappointed.
      "Croft!" Clap! "Croft!" Clap!
      I turned around and knew who I would see before I saw
him. The Clapper. Robert Clerk. A powerful telekenetic. But
we just called him The Clapper.
      "It's ok," I called, raising my voice slightly.
My people came around the corner, gripping their guns.
Preston, I think, knew who they were, but Gentry and Jenkins
probably didn't, and I'm sure the Silencer hadn't met their
acquaintance.
      "People, meet Sally Ravanal, aka Red Sally, and Robert
Clerk, aka the Clapper."
      Clap! Clap! Clap!
      Gentry and Jenkins looked at me quizzically, as if more
explanation was needed.
      "They're high level operatives from Gamma Section," I
said. "She's a top level pyrotechnic, and he's a middling
range telekenetic."
      "Telekenetic!" Clap! "Telekenetic!" Clap!
      "Who has a tendency to clap," I said. "What are you two
doing here? I thought the Agency shipped you people out
before the invaders arrived?"
      Gamma section contained all the Agency's mentalics; a
hasty, but correct decision had been made to ship them out
before the occupation took hold; they were too valuable to
waste in street fighting. What were these two still doing
here?
      "I decided to stay and fight," said the Clapper
nervously. He clapped twice.
      Red Sally gave him a look.
      "We decided to stay," said the Clapper.
      Red Sally gave him another look, a more dangerous one.
      The Clapper gulped. "She decided to stay," he said, in
a small voice.
      "Why?" I asked. "You were ordered-"
      "I'm not going to let myself get kicked off my home
planet because of a bunch of giant mosquitos," said Red
Sally. "I decided to stay and fight."
      "And you?" I said, turning to the Clapper.
      "She... she told me to stay," he said, nodding his
head.
      "I see."
      "I hate to interrupt this reunion, but we're asking for
trouble if we stick around here," said Preston.
      We beat a hasty retreat back to our base.

       It was really good to have some of the Gammas on our
side. But the flip side is that they were undisciplined,
especially Red Sally. The first night they had problems
falling asleep, due to the Clapper, and were rudely awoken
early in the morning, due to Red Sally.
       It all started after dinner, when we were getting ready
for bed. The Clapper, eyeing the foam packaging we had laid
out for him, started to clap nervously, slowly. It was a clap
every ten seconds or so, but it was still frequent enough to
get our attention.
       "Doesn't he have any way of turning that off?" Preston
asked.
       Red Sally said, "Believe me, I've been resisting
burning his hands off for ages."
       I said, "He only claps when he's nervous, or upset, or
fearful, or...."
       "Or what?"
       "Or if he's bored, or if the weather isn't right," I
added. I went to the Clapper. "What's wrong?"
       "Nothing," he said, vigorously nodding his head.
       "C'mon, I see you're clapping... tell Clifford what's
bothering you...."
       "Bedding..." he said, nodding his head slowly as he
studiously avoided eye contact.
       "What about it? You have to realize we don't have real
beds here-"
       "Bedding!" he shrieked.
       Everyone looked up for a moment.
       "Lower your voice," I said. "Do you want to attract a
patrol?" Our little hideaway, formerly a spacious utility
closet, was fairly remote from the major passageway, but loud
voices could still be heard from it.
       "Bedding," he said, softly. "Bedding in the corner of
the room, I'm used to my bedding in the corner of the room."
       "Your bedding is in the corner of the room."
       ".... the corner of the room closest to the door,
closet to the door, it has to be in the corner closest to the
door..."
       I looked around. The Silencer was lying on a pile of
bedding in the corner closest to the door. I didn't think
he'd appreciate doing a public service for the rest of us by
moving.
       "What difference does it make? A corner's a corner," I
said. Then I remembered how he didn't like the shape of our
drinking glasses at dinner, and had spent most of the dinner
slowly clapping about that. I shuddered; was he going to do
this all night?
      "Corner closest to door," he said dully, slowly
clapping in pace.
      I sighed and went over to the Silencer. His eyes were
closed, but it seems unlikely he was asleep. When I crouched
down by him, his eyes immediately flew open, and I saw the
muscles in his right arm jump minutely. He looked at me with
irritation, as if weighing whether I'd be worth a blaster
bolt.
      I cleared my throat. "Um, John, I was wondering if I
could ask you a small favor."
      The Silencer continued to look irritated. He wasn't
going to make this easy for me.
      "The Clapper... he's used to sleeping in this corner."
      The Silencer glared at me.
      "I mean no, obviously, he's never slept in this corner
before, but in his previous hideout, he always slept in the
corner closest to the door. It's a nervous habit, see? So I
was wondering if you'd mind trading places with him."
      The Silencer said nothing.
      "John? Would you be willing to move? To help the
group?"
      The Silencer considered for a moment. Then he spoke a
word, the only word he would say that night. "No," he said,
closing his eyes.
      "John? John?" I said. I decided against shaking him.
Obviously, this discussion was over.
      "Sorry, I tried," I said, seeing the disappointment in
the Clapper's face.
      We settled down for the night. I tried to ignore the
periodic clapping sound. 1... 2... 3.. 4... 5... 6... 7..
8... 9... 10... Clap. 1... 2... 3.. 4... 5... 6... 7.. 8...
9... 10... Clap.
      This went on for several minutes. Then I heard a sudden
rustling around me, and a startled squeal. Instantly I opened
my eyes, instinctively grabbing my gun.
      The Silencer was bent over the Clapper, but before I
could move forward the Silencer moved away, and I could see
the Clapper, hands outstretched, bound securely together in
several loops with a sturdy piece of wire. The Clapper looked
astonished, as if no one had ever done this to him before.
      I turned back to the Silencer to say something, but he
was already on his back, his eyes closed.

       We were awakened early the next morning by a pungent
smell; no, actually, it was a burning smell. My eyelids
slowly fluttered open to find Red Sally, her blonde hair now
a reddish brown, slowly burning one of the legs of our dining
table. A stream of smoking was rising out of the foot of the
table as it slowly burned under her constant attentions. A
flame came out of one of her fingers, pointed at the leg,
burning the wood but somehow not her fingers.
       "Hey, what're you doing?" I asked getting up. "Stop
that."
       "Some hideout this is," said Red Sally. "You've got
nothing to burn."
       "We need that table," I said, stamping out the flames
with my boot.
      "I was only going to burn a few inches. It's like a
muscle; I need to keep practicing it, or I lose it," Sally
said.
      "Uh huh." By now everyone was up. We had a quick
breakfast (after putting a bit of foam under the burned leg
so it would line up with the other legs), but not before
Gantry untied the Clapper.
      "My hands hurt!" he said, looking accusingly at the
Silencer as he massaged his hands, which had red lines on
them from the cord. He clapped once, tentatively.
      "I see they still work," said the Silencer dryly.

      After breakfast we spun the wheel again, to see what we
would do that way.
      "It's a lousy idea, to let random chance decide what to
do," the Silencer remarked.
      "What do you care?" I countered, sensitive to criticism
of the wheel. "Whatever option it settles on, it will almost
certainly involve killing Insectoids."
      Clap! "Let me do it! Can I turn the wheel? Can I? Can
I?"
      "All right," I said, glad that at least someone was
getting into the spirit of things. I stepped aside so the
Clapper could turn the pointer.
      The Clapper didn't move forward, and he didn't touch
the pointer. He concentrated, staring at it, and the pointer
started turning on its own. It spun, around and around,
around and around, every few revolutions getting another
mental push to keep it going.
      "Uh, the purpose of the pointer is defeated if it
doesn't stop somewhere," I told the Clapper.
      "Oh." Immediately, the pointer came to a dead stop,
then moved two quadrants forward, and then stopped
permanently.
      "Somehow I don't think this was exactly a random
selection," I said, looking at the pointer. It was pointing
to "SABOTAGE".
      "Sabotage!" Clap clap clap! "Sabotage!" Clap clap clap!

      I used a pointer to indicate sections of a video
schematic of the warehouse grounds. "This is one of the
Insectoid's main ammo dumps in the city. We could go in
shooting again, as I'm sure is popular in some circles, but
that could set off the dump prematurely."
      "Not if I do all the firing," said the Silencer.
      "Even if you do all the firing," I said. "There are
Insectoids barracks here, here, and.... here. If the alert is
raised and they start firing, they may hit the ammo dump. No,
this requires a bit of sneakiness. There's an underground
service crawlway that leads into the warehouse here. We go in
through there, plant a few of our homemade bombs, crawl out,
and boom! We detonate. Any questions?"
      The Silencer raised a hand.
      "Do we get to kill anyone?"
      "I presume all three barracks of troopers will be wiped
out in the explosion," I said. "Any other questions?"
      The Silencer raised a hand again. "Let me rephrase; do
we get to shoot anyone?"
      "There's always that chance," I said. "Other
questions?"
      "Do I get to light anything on fire?" said Red Sally.
      "Absolutely not! Not in the warehouse," I said. "If you
do, that will be the last fire you ever light."
      "What about this crawlway?" Preston asked. "Do they
know about it? Isn't it sure to be guarded, or boobytrapped?"
      "It most certainly is boobytrapped," I said, having
done the preliminary survey myself. "That's where my hero
comes in," I put an arm around the Clapper.
      "Not to touch!" he squealed, moving away. Clap Clap.

      We crawled through the access tunnel. It was a five man
job--myself, the Silencer, Red Sally, the Clapper, and
Gantry. We sent Preston and Jenkins out on a shopping trip,
to get some more food.
      We moved through the narrow space on our elbows and
knees. I moved silently, as did Gantry and the Silencer. But
Red Sally and the Clapper were as loud as a drumset as they
banged their elbows and knees against the floor.
      "Quiet!" I hissed. "We're coming up to a guard post
ahead. There's a grill in the floor of the corridor above us
that connects directly to this tunnel. If they hear us, these
thin walls won't protect us from laser fire."
      We moved at a slower pace to permit Red Sally and the
Clapper to move more quietly. First I passed under the grate;
looking up for a moment, I saw a shadow over it, and heard a
buzz buzz sound. If they looked down...
      Gantry followed next, followed by Red Sally, followed
by the Clapper and then the Silencer.
      When the Clapper was under the grate he froze,
trembled, and stopped moving. I could see his two shaking
hands moving closer together... if he clapped, we were dead.
I maneuvered past Gantry and Red Sally to try to motion him
forward, but he ignored me, staring at his shaking hands,
moving closer... and closer....
      The Silencer chose that moment to spin around silently
in the tunnel, and he gave the Clapper a great kick in the
buttocks, sliding him several feet down the passage. I barely
had the sense of mind to put my hand over his mouth as he
tumbled into me.
      The buzzing sound stopped, and we could see the shadows
above us shifting. We kept dead silent for a moment. Had we
been discovered?
      Another moment, still silent. Perhaps they were being
silent because they thought they heard something, but were
not sure and was trying to hear more.
      Another moment. And then, the shadows shifted again,
and the buzzing sound resumed.
      I exhaled silently, unaware I had been holding my
breath.
      We proceeded without incident down another hundred
yards of passageway, where a field of glowing blue bars
blocked our way.
      "An alarm," I whispered.
      "Do you have equipment to neutralize it?" Gantry
whispered.
      "Yes," I said, pointing to the Clapper.
      "Me?" said the Clapper.
      "See that button in the wall, behind the blue bars?"
      The Clapper squinted. "No."
       "Look more closely."
       "I don't see anything in front of the blue bars."
       "Look behind the blue bars."
       "Oh.." Pause. "I don't see anything, except for that
button."
       "Press it," I said.
       The Clapper concentrated, and I saw the button push
inwards. The blue bars barring our way disappeared. "Very
good. Take two claps out of petty cash."
       The Clapper moved to clap, but I was quicker, grabbing
them first and holding them immobile. "Not until after the
mission is over. This warehouse is teaming with Insectoids
and is a clapping-free zone, understand?"
       The Clapper nodded.
       I opened the grate leading to the surface, my gun drawn
as I pulled myself up and out of the tunnel. I looked around.
We were surrounded by crates of munitions. Good.. I
cautiously slunk around, noticing the guard positions. There
were guards posted on the northern and eastern exits to the
room, but they were in fixed posts. They shouldn't bother us.
Of more serious concern were the warehouse workers, loading,
unloading, and moving about. If one of them should come our
way...
       I set the Silencer to watch while Gantry planted the
bombs. It would only take two or three to ignite the
explosives here and blow the entire city block up. Meanwhile
I was quietly opening up containers, taking out things that
looked useful, and handing them to the Clapper, who held a
sack that I quickly thrust into his hands. It turned out to
be a strategic move, because it also inhibited his urge to
clap.
       Gantry, being the consummate professional he was,
finished placing the explosives in under a minute, hiding
them underneath things so they wouldn't be discovered until
they were too late. I, however, was still picking out useful
items from this demolitions supermarket.
       "Croft," he hissed, hearing footsteps.
       I stopped what I was doing and ducked down, but it was
too late. An Insectoid worker, wearing a hardhat of some
sort, came around the corner, staring at a datapad. It looked
up, was about to buzz-
       And a bolt from the Silencer's blaster caught it in the
mouth; it dropped wordlessly.
       I looked at the Silencer, stunned; the blaster bolt
hadn't made but the tiniest of burping sounds. Then I saw the
attachment on the end of his blaster.
       The Silencer was using a silencer.
       I nodded fractionally, scooped up a few more
containers, put them in the Clapper's sack, and we started
for the hole which led to the tunnel. The timers were set for
8 minutes, and we had already used up at least one of
those...
       The Clapper and Gantry popped into the tunnel. I was
about to go next when we heard a klaxon. An alarm had
sounded!
       Above us on the catwalk we heard an angry buzz, and saw
an Insectoid trooper standing next to an alarm button.
Grabbing its weapon, it fired down on us.
       Fortunately for us, and everyone in the warehouse, it
struck a piece of empty floor, just inches from one of the
munitions boxes.
      Red Sally was in action in an instant, using just a
gaze to light the Insectoid on fire. Screaming, in an
instant, it fell over the railing, right onto a heavy
munitions crate! The minute it burned through the whole thing
would explode!
      "Into the hole! Quickly!" I yelled now, above the
klaxon. We jumped in, me, the Silencer, and Red Sally.
      We started crawling as rapidly as we could. There was
no telling when that flaming Insectoid corpse would detonate
the munitions. One thing was fore sure: we didn't have eight
minutes to get to safety.
      We crawled as rapidly as possible, and made good
progress for a minute or two. I could see our exit from the
tunnel up ahead, and I knew we just might possibly make it...
      And then the explosion came, one which shook us against
the walls of the tunnel, and I could suddenly feel a
tremendous heat rising behind us...
      Looking back, I saw a fireball rushing at us down the
tunnel. It would reach us in seconds, before we could reach
the exit. Instinctively I closed my eyes for a second, but
quickly opened them again, which is a good thing, or else I
might've missed what happened next.
      The fires were almost on us when Red Sally, who was
last in our procession, send forth a powerful flameburst of
her own. It smacked against the advancing firewave, slowing
it, slowing it, holding it, and then, pushing it back
slightly, then holding it.
Red Sally, gasping with perspiration and looking exhausted,
whispered, "Hurry... can't... hold it long..."
      We scampered out of the tunnel, me dragging Red Sally,
who never left eye contact with the firewall behind us. As I
dragged her into the light I noticed her normally blonde hair
was now a bright, bright red; in fact, it was now even warm
to the touch.
      We stopped for a moment in the corridor, even though it
was dangerous, merely because we needed Sally some time to
get on her feet. The Silencer stood with a gun in each hand,
each pointed in opposite directions down the corridor. After
a moment she nodded and stood up, a little unsteady. But she
was able to keep up with us as we made our way home.

      We all congratulated Sally; after all, she had saved
our lives. But she wasn't happy.
      "I didn't get to burn any of THEM," she said.
      "You burned one of them," I remarked.
      She made a dismissive sound and turned away. Her hair,
already blonde again, was still wet with perspiration as she
laid down on her foam stuffing and dropped off.
      "She must be really exhausted," Gantry remarked.
      "Oh, all she needs is some rest," I said. "She'll be up
and igniting flammables again in no time."
      I looked around, and only then noticed something was
wrong. Preston and Jenkins were missing.
      They should have been back before we were. I had sent
them shopping for some food.
      "Preston and Jenkins are overdue," I said.
      "Most of you non-Graftonites are slow," the Silencer
shrugged.
      "I think something's happened to them."
       "Let's give it a little more time," said Gantry. "Let's
give it another hour or two before we start looking for
them."
       I nodded, feeling a bit alone. If Preston and Jenkins
had been caught or killed, that would leave Gantry as the
last agency agent left, besides me.
       It turned out that Gantry was right to insist we wait,
because several minutes later, Preston, breathing heavily,
stomped through the entrance to the large maintenance closet
that was our home.
       "Need help," he gasped, as if he had been running hard.
       "Slow down," I said. "Take a few deep breaths. What's
happened? Where's Jenkins?"
       "An Insectoid patrol," said Preston. "After we got the
food, we had to run, and we got separated. I got lost. I've
spent the past few hours just trying to figure my way out. If
Jenkins is still out there, he's lost too."
       I knew what it meant to be lost. With fifty dark,
underground levels with corridors that all looked alike
stretching for hundreds of miles in every direction, it was
very easy to get lost. Even before the occupation, of course,
it was common for people to get lost in the underground, but
back then there was always someone around to ask directions
of, and the electronic wallmaps were functioning. Neither of
which was the case now. The corridors were empty, operating
on low, auxiliary lighting. The only people who came through
those tunnels now were the occasional scavenger, or, more
likely, Insectoid patrols.
       I grabbed my blaster. "Then we'll have to go looking
for him. Where was your last known position?"
       "Level 32, Section 85, subsection 2," said Preston.
       "Let's go." Red Sally would stay behind to rest, but
the Clapper, Gantry, and Preston got up and headed towards
our exit. But I noticed as I headed to the door that the
Silencer was staying put. "You coming?"
       "No," said the Silencer. "You could search for days
down there and not find him. It's a fool's errand. He's
probably already dead by now."
       "All right," I said. "If you don't want to come to save
Jenkins, then maybe you'll want to come with us to find some
food." Preston hadn't come back with his pack; he must have
dumped it to travel faster. "We have almost no food left:
that's why we sent them out, remember?" I knew which buttons
to push.
       The Silencer nodded. That made sense. "But I'm not
spending more than a minimum of time on this useless chase,"
he warned.
       "Noted," I said, sighing.
       The Clapper clapped nervously in anticipation as we
trooped out.
       It was some team we were building here.

Chapter 10:
Jenkins is Found,
But No One Is Grateful

From the personal log of Clifford Croft:

We went through the dark corridors slowly, alert to every
sound--the drip drip of water, the scurrying of rats, the
distant sounds of footsteps. We were expert enough by now to
be able to tell the sounds of Insectoid footfalls from human
ones, but none of the ones we heard were human. They were
all the creepy scurry-scurry scraping sounds of Insectoid
patrols.
       Whenever the sounds of one came close, we stopped and
stood absolutely still, hoping it would pass us by. With so
many corridors it was unlikely they would stumble onto us.
That's why in most cases, standing absolutely still until the
sound grew distant, was the smartest thing to do. Still,
there was always the chance that they would come across our
particular corridor...
       We searched for an hour, and then two, and I couldn't
help but notice that the Silencer was showing signs of
impatience, drawing and holstering his blaster in rapid
succession, as if he were playing with a toy he was eager to
use. Perhaps on one of us...?
I turned to Preston, "We've searched the entire area in this
section of level 32. Are you sure this is where you got
lost?"
       "Well, partially," said Preston. "But we were also on
levels 30 and 31, and that was hours ago. Who knows where he
may be now?"
       I didn't turn around to see the inevitable look from
the Silencer. Even I knew that there had to come a limit to
this search. Jenkins was lost, or captured or dead, and there
was nothing we could do about it. If he was merely lost, and
he found his way out, then there was some hope-"
       "Who knows where he may be now," said a high-pitched
voice, imitating what Preston had just said in a mocking way.
       The Silencer's guns were out of their holsters so
quickly that I hadn't see them drawn. But the blasters bobbed
this way and that, unsure where to point. The Clapper clapped
three times, despite the metal block I had given him to hold.
       "Yes, much shoot everything that moves--is the Agency
way," affirmed the high-pitched voice, obviously
sarcastically.
       I peered ahead in the darkness. There was a discarded
piece of machinery in the corridor. Whoever or whatever was
speaking seemed to be behind that device.
       "Come out," I said, my own weapon drawn. "We won't
shoot you."
       "Promise not to hurt, yes, the ones gripping guns
tightly always promise....."
       Suddenly that voice sounded familiar. It should have
sounded familiar earlier, but with all the tension, and the
unfamiliarity of their surroundings, my mind had drawn a
blank. But another one of the Gammas? What was this, mutant
reunion week? I holstered my gun. "You can come out now,
Mongo."
       A head suddenly darted above the machinery. When it saw
us, it paused a moment, and then slunk forward. This being,
undoubtedly human, was like no human any of them had ever see
before. He had dark, straight hair that went down over his
forehead and wide dark eyes. Even in this poor light they
could see he had incredibly pale skin, as if he had never
been exposed to sunlight, and he was incredibly thin, as if
he were only bits and pieces of muscle and bone. He
cautiously skulked over to them, pacing slowly, moving his
head this way and that, like some animal checking out his new
surroundings.
      "You can relax," I told the Silencer, who didn't lower
his gun. "This one's a friend."
      "A friend, yes, we put friends in confinement, that's
what friends do," said Mongo.
      "So I heard," I said. "What did you steal this time?"
      "Steal? Yes, they say Mongo steals. Mongo looks at
bits, and pieces, and shiny things, and just touches them,
small things that no one misses, and they say Mongo steals-"
      "What did you steal?" I asked again, patiently.
      "A landing bay power energy converter," said Mongo.
      "That's not a small thing that no one misses," I
commented, wondering how he had been able to make off with
such a large object. Well, evidently he hadn't.
      "So they put him in jail, Mongo they put in jail, with
all hardened criminals. Do they take into account all Mongo
has done for Alliance? Do they remember all times Mongo has
saved Alliance, from very very bad enemies? No. Do they say,
'Thank you Mongo, thank you for saving dear sweet lives on
August?'. No. Do they say, Do they say, 'Mongo, you have
done a small bad thing, but you have saved Alliance, many,
many times, we are grateful?' No! It is only, 'Mongo, you are
bad, we do not need you right now, you go to confinement.'"
"It was the ninth or tenth time you had been caught," I said.
"You couldn't expect the Agency to intervene on your behalf
forever." Another thought crossed my mind. "How did you get
out?"
      "Insect peoples stream out of the sky, invading. Do
kindly guards say, 'Bad Insect people coming. They will make
you slaves, or kill you. We should free you now before we run
off'? No, guards think nothing of prisoners, they just run
away. But Mongo knew that forcefields relied on military
generators that were about to be hit-"
      "About to be hit?" said Gantry. "How did you know they
were about to be hit?"
      "So polites, Agency peoples, always interrupting, very
good reputation-"
      "Get on with the story," I said.
      "Force field go off, we escape. Alien peoples come
everywhere, but they don't see Mongo, no, Mongo knows all the
places to hide. Mongo knows; Mongo likes tunnels!"
      Gantry got impatient. "Very good, but we're looking
for-"
      "Jenkins, must find Jenkins," said Mongo. "Mongo knows.
You can find your Jenkins, must find Jenkins, two levels down
and on section across--at least you will find him there. May
not find him yet there."
      "What does he mean, will find him there?" Gantry said.
"Croft, you know this...."
      "Agency operative," I said. "Gantry, I've had more
contact with the Gammas than you have. Meet Mongo, an off-
again and on-again Agency operative, whose specialty is
precognition."
      "Precognition! That means he can see-"
      "Sometimes," I said. "But predictions are often vague,
and open to several interpretations-"
      "Complains, all they do is complains-"
      "And in addition as you can see he's very high-
maintenance with an attitude to match-"
      "Attitude? Mongo just told you where to find your
Jenkins. What attitude would you call that, Clifford Croft?"
      The Silencer growled, "We've spent enough time in this
open hallway. I feel like stationary target. You, creature,
take us to Jenkins!"
      Mongo sat still for a moment, then started to buff his
nails. "What if I choose not to-"
There was an explosion of chipped wall pieces and ferrrosteel
as the wall around Mongo exploded with blaster fire. The
Silencer had used one of his blasters with the silencer on
it, but in the absolute stillness of the underground Croft
was afraid that the sound would still carry. The Clapper
cringed and clapped three times to add to the noise.
      Mongo, his life threatened, immediately turned over a
new leaf. "Mongo help! Mongo help!"
      "Very good," said the Silencer.
      "But you don't want to go to find your friend," said
Mongo. He moved closer, coming out of the gloom. He looked at
the Silencer and a look of recognition came to his eyes. "You
shoot me with your right hand; how did you do that?" he said,
looking at the Silencer's right hand and then his arm up to
his shoulder.
      "What did you mean?" asked the Silencer, showing one of
his rare emotions, curiousity.
      Mongo hastily turned away, muttering, "Sorry... not
yet, not yet."
      "What do you mean, we shouldn't go after Jenkins," said
Croft, also curious but trying to steer things back to more
pressing topics.
      "Alien peoples around," said Mongo. "Or they might be,
or will be, or could be."
      "What do you mean, might, will, could?" said Gantry.
"Which is it?"
      Mongo looked at Gantry like he was an idiot. "Many
futures, some happen, some not. And some futures that happen,
may happen sooner, may happen later, often hard to tell.
Many flashes, all undated, hard to sort through." He
shuttered, then blinked, as if he had just received another
one. "You too," he muttered, looking at Gantry.
      I spoke one-on-one with Mongo briefly to pin him down
on Jenkins' exact location--two levels down, subsection C,
corridor 22, Room 15a, a deserted classroom. That's where he
may be/have been/will be. Mongo told me that there are or
would be patrols in the area looking for him. If we were
lucky, we would get there before the patrols.
      "You might get there before them," said Mongo, "But you
will not get out before seeing them. And this one," he looked
at Gantry with his big dark eyes, "will die."
      Gantry didn't look pleased with the news of his
impending death. "I'm not going down there," he said
immediately.
      "Are you sure?" I asked Mongo.
      "Mongo never sure. Mongo unreliable, Mongo high
maintenance-"
      "Are you sure," I said again, putting more aggression
in my tone.
      Mongo took a step closer to Gantry. He peered closely
at Gantry through half shut eyes for a moment.
      "Well?" I said, after a moment.
      "Mongo wrong," said Mongo. "He dies later, in another
place. Mongo apologizes for the mistake."
      Gantry looked extremely agitated.
      "Relax," I said. "What Mongo sees doesn't necessarily
occur. It's not a death warrant."
      But Gantry had a question, "How far can you... see into
the future?"
      Mongo shrugged, as if he had never considered the
question before. "Weeks... months... Mongo not sure. Mongo no
longer under warranty."
      "All right, if we've finished with that morale booster,
I vote we go after Jenkins," I said.
      "He said the level is swarming with them," said
Preston, speaking for the first time.
      "So much the better," said the Silencer.

      Mongo took us down two levels to the appropriate
section, offering us running commentary every step of the way
describing how ungrateful we were and how underappreciated he
was. I had dealt with this behavior many times before and
over time had been able to unconsciously screen it out, but I
could tell from the expressions of the others that they
weren't handling it as well. As we got close to the location
where Jenkins was reported to be, or would be, we heard the
scrape-scraping of an Insectoid patrol. We flattened against
a wall in shadow, and three junctions ahead of us heard the
chittering sound of their troopers speaking in their hissing,
clicking and buzzing language.
      And then we actually saw them, three junctions ahead of
us. A patrol passing by, crossing perpendicular to us.
      We stood silently against the wall, our weapons drawn,
pointing, aiming... could they see us, in the dark? They said
their vision was better than hours...
      The patrol passed. I heard Preston clear his throat as
if to say something, but the clicking sounds hadn't declined;
they had only increased.
      A second patrol passed by, only two junctions ahead of
us. We ducked behind some falling debris and peered out. The
Insectoids seemed to turn their heads this way and that; they
couldn't be more than 20 or 30 feet away. Click, click,
buzz...
      We watched, one by one, at the last of the patrol
passed out of our line of sight, and indeed stood still for a
minute later until the click click buzz receded.
      "I thought you said we wouldn't encounter them until
after we found Jenkins," Preston whispered.
      I preemptively cut off Mongo's reply about
ungratefulness. "He's not always as accurate as a weather
stat, Preston. Come on."
      Cautiously we slunk to the appointed corridor. Mongo's
eyes turned this way and that in the gloom. Was he really
navigating according to a memory, or rather a vision of the
future?
      Mongo stopped and pointed to a door ahead of us. Guns
raised, we pried it opened and cautiously peered in. It
looked like a dark, empty classroom. Maybe Jenkins wasn't
here yet (or maybe Mongo was wrong). But if he were here, in
hiding, he might shoot us before he realized-I saw a flash of
something being raised in a corner, behind a desk, and
hissed, "Jenkins!"
      The blaster, it was clearly a blaster, held but didn't
fire. "Croft? Is that you?" he hissed back.
       "Are you on a last name basis with any Insectoids?" I
said, gesturing for the rest of the gang to follow me in.
       "How did you find me?" said Jenkins, getting up from
behind a desk.
       I introduced Mongo. "But detailed explanations can wait
later," I said. "I can't help but notice the heavy pack on
your back; while rescuing you is reward enough, may I presume
it's filled with food?"
       Jenkins nodded.
       "Good." I turned to Mongo. "You said we'd encounter
them on the way out; would we be safer if we hunkered down
here and waited?"
       Mongo shrugged.
       "What does that mean?" Gantry demanded.
       "Mongo not know. Starting out now may be worse, or
better, or no difference."
       "You're useless," Gantry snorted.
       "Mongo remember you say that."
       I groaned. We'd be hearing about that remark for a
while.
       "Ok, I vote we get going," I said. I didn't relish
hanging around in this gloomy abandoned place unless we have
to. "Any other suggestions?"
       There were none.
       We prepared to get going. But before we left I took the
Clapper aside. "You know what to do if we encounter an
Insectoid patrol, right?"
       The Clapper looked confused.
       "That's what I thought. You may have thought I took you
along just for comic relief, but you actually have an
additional purpose," I said. "If we're attacked and forced to
fight, I want you to use your power against the Insectoids."
       "You want me to lift them in the air?" Nervously. Clap
clap.
       "Push them over! Knock them out! Anything to put a few
out of commission."
       "My power doesn't work that way." Clap clap.
       "Make it work that way," I said, clapping my own hands
twice. Clap clap. "Get it?"
       The Clapper nodded.
       We didn't find trouble when we left that classroom.
       Trouble found us.
       Almost immediately we were bracketed by two patrols,
coming down opposite sides of the hallway. It was either the
worst run of bad luck we had had in a while or somehow they
had been expecting us. The Silencer's guns were out and
firing, one pointed down the north end of the hallway and one
pointed towards the south. Laser and blaster bolts were
flying everywhere.
       "Retreat!" I yelled, dashing back into the classroom.
The others quickly followed, taking positions behind desks
and pointing their guns straight at the door. No one had been
shot, I think, and we all took deep breaths as we stared at
the partially opened door.
       The first Insectoid tried to rush in and was gunned
down by three shots; so was the second, and the third, and
then the fourth. And then they stopped, showing that even the
Insectoids have a modicum of intelligence. We heard them
clicking and buzzing outside.
       "A standoff," said Preston, breathing heavily.
      "Anyone hit?" I asked, glancing around to identify
everyone visually, but not taking my eyes off the door for
more than a second at a time. No one responded, which meant
either no one was hit or whoever was hit wasn't in a
condition to reply. If I had had my wits I would've had
everyone sound off, but on second thought that would've
informed the Insectoids exactly how many of us there were, so
maybe that wouldn't have been such a good idea after all.
      I saw that the Silencer, Preston, and Gantry had their
guns drawn and pointed at the door; I couldn't see Preston
from my current position. Confident that we were as well
protected for the moment as we were going to be, I took the
luxury of looking around again. As I remembered from our
first stay, the room had only one exit, the door we came in.
Or did it? I peered in the gloom....
      "Humans," came an artificial sounding voice through an
Insectoid translator. "Humans, we have no wish to harm you."
Click click buzz.
      "You have a funny way of showing it," said Preston.
      "Surrender, we will not dismember, will not hurt," said
the flat, insincere sounding voice.
      I crawled my way to the opposite corner of the room.
Yes, there was a vent there! Trying to act as quietly as
possible I pulled on the metal grating...
      "We have called for reinforcements, there is no
escape...."
      With a wrenching sound the grating came off. The
Insectoids must have sensed that something was going on, for
there was a scurry of activity outside the partially opened
door. But no one came in.
      I motioned with my hands to get everyone's attention.
They saw what I was doing and one by one started to crawl to
my position. The vent looked dark and uninviting but at that
moment our options were pretty limited.
      At that moment, however, the dimly lit room lit up with
a flash, and an explosion blew the door in and a good piece
of the wall around it.
      The Insectoids came streaming in, and, momentarily
stunned, we didn't respond.
      Except for the Silencer, that is. He hesitated only a
split second before opening fire with both blasters while in
a crouched positions; if he could've had weapons mounted on
his feet I bet he would've fired with those as well.
      The Insectoids opened fire but the ones in the front
ranks fell immediately and the other ones were forced to
search for cover, hiding behind desks in their end of the
room. But some of those desks started to push against the
Insectoids; one by one they were being crushed against the
walls, emitting inhuman shrieks as green liquid squirted from
their exoskeletons. The Clapper looked weary as he glared at
the desks, one by one, causing them to smash into the
Insectoids.
      In seconds it was over. The remaining Insectoids fled
out the large hole they had created, and we had restored the
impasse, for the moment.
      Then we heard that the buzz buzzing of the few outside
being accompanied by the click clicking of farther off
sounds, getting closer.
      It must be those reinforcements.
      "Quick! In here!" I hissed, climbing in. It was a
narrow squeeze, but that was a good thing; the Insectoids
wouldn't be able to follow us in here. The only trick would
be to get far enough down the vent to be out of direct
weapon's fire range from the classroom. If an Insectoid
should simply stick his weapon into the vent and fire....
      That and other cheery thoughts sustained me as I
wiggled on hands and knees down the vent as fast as I could.
Thankfully it turned to the right after less than a minute of
flight, indicating we'd be out of site of the classroom entry
point. I could only hope that everyone followed me behind.
      The vent was totally dark; I only felt my way by touch.
If the vent should constrict and get too small to continue, I
would be at the end of a small, narrow tunnel, with a half
dozen or so of my companions jammed up behind me, trapping me
completely....
Adrenalin kept me going, and thankfully none of these fears
materialized before I saw a dimly lit exit to my right as the
tunnel branched. I avoided that one, figuring it was too
close to our entry point, and kept going. The great thing
about our escape was that I was fairly sure the Insectoids
had no idea where this vent was; maybe they could punch up
the plans for this area, but by the time they did and figured
out where this vent was on their map we'd be long gone. Even
people who were experts in level management had trouble
figuring out maps of the tunnels of August!
      After twenty minutes of steady movement and turning
down possibilities to leave the vent system, I finally turned
right on a likely exit, figuring we had put enough distance
between us and our pursuers. The others exited behind me, one
by one, huffing and puffing, all except the Silencer, who I
was beginning to suspect wasn't remotely human.
      We caught our breaths, and I did a count and was
relieved to see that everyone was still with us. As well as
the foodpack that Jenkins had been carrying. Good man! It
must have been tough for him to lug that through the narrow
crawl spaces.
      We cautiously peered out of the room we were in, some
sort of abandoned living quarters, into the gloomy corridors
around us. They were empty, though in the faint distance I
thought I could hear a scraping sound.
      Now we faced a different problem; we were lost.
      It wasn't a laughing matter; conceivably, in the dark,
we could be lost down here for days, in which time we could
pick up another patrol.
      We lucked out when we found a stairwell which had the
level number on it. We were one level higher than when we
started, but we still didn't know what section or block we
were in. Well, at least we could return to our level; our
current hideout was on level 15. Maybe once we returned to
our level things would look familiar. Of course, level 15
extended for miles in every direction. Such was the
subterranian sprawl of August.
      We climbed in silence and without incident. When we
once thought we heard some activity on the stairwell below
us, as if someone had opened the door to the stairwell, we
all froze instantly, at the same time, for a moment. Then,
after a moment's silence, the door slammed shut, and we
waited another moment. When there was no further noise we
cautiously started our ascent again.
We came out on a junction on level 15 that looked vaguely
familiar to me. "That way, I think," I said, pointing one
way.
       "No, I think it's the other way," said Jenkins,
pointing in the opposite direction.
       Gantry offered a third opinion for another direction.
       The Silencer didn't offer any opinion, and Mongo had no
flashes of insight. So we compromised by going a few blocks
in each of our directions and looking to see if anything was
familiar. Nothing did.
       Then I remembered my electrocompass. Like many planets,
August had a strong magnetic pull from its north pole. The
compass might not work this far down, but then again it
might....
       The compass didn't move for a moment, and then I shook
it; then it moved slowly, lazily. Ok, we had been going
north.
       Which was right. Because I remember that Preston had
taken us south to look for Jenkins.
       We traveled along this route for another 10 minutes and
then things started to clearly look familiar to all of us--
the burn marks on that wall, the faded sign on that door,
etc. And in minutes we were home, safe and secure in our
maintenance closet.
       "That was simple enough," I said. "What's for dinner?"


Chapter 11: Liberating The Farm

From the personal log of Clifford Croft, nine months after
the Invasion of August:

       Of course, nothing was that simple, especially when it
came to living with Mongo. While he was an invaluable asset
when used against the enemy, he tended to create dissension
among allies. And I'm not just talking about his tendencies
to steal; no, he created worse problems than that.
Immediately after dinner, he started up again with his
predictions about the deaths of members of the team.
       "It seems to me that if we had stayed put for a few
minutes, we would've avoided both patrols," said Gantry,
giving Mongo a purposeful glare.
       "Yes, yes, blame Mongo, Mongo always at fault," said
Mongo. "Always get angry at Mongo, yes. Mongo not the one to
tell you to go there. You ask, you ask for help, 'Where find
friend'? And Mongo, Mongo give you exact direction, even
guide you there. But Mongo say, 'Danger. Danger if go there
to get friend. Mongo risk life to guide you, but danger.' And
this is thanks Mongo gets."
       The Clapper clapped twice.
       "Mongo thanks you," said Mongo, erroneously taking it
as a sign of gratitude.
       "What else can you tell us about the future?" Gantry
asked.
       "You mean your death?" said Mongo innocently. "Mongo
see in future that you are very, very, concerned about your
death. You blame Mongo unfairly for warning you-"
       "That's enough!" I said. "Mongo gets occasional flashes
about the future, but they're not always right, and they are
always fragmented. He's good as a warning sign, and useful as
an ally, but we shouldn't be setting our clocks, or our
lives, by his predictions."
      "I want to know more," said Gantry. "What are the
circumstances of my death? Do you see death for any of us?"
      "Death, yes, see death, very unsafe business you are
in, is no surprise," said Mongo sullenly. "See death for
you," he said, pointing a bony finger at Gantry. "And you,
and you and you, and maybe you," he said, pointing at
Jenkins, Preston, the Silencer, and at me.
      "Under what circumstances? When?" Gantry demanded.
      Mongo was silent.
      Gantry grabbed him by the shoulders, and started
shaking him. "Talk!"
      Mongo started to sob and weep as he pitied himself. I
pried Gantry away. "He doesn't work that way."
      "Well make him!"
      "Mongo gets flashes, insights, concerning himself and
people around him, but that's all," I said. "Imagine if you
were constantly bombarded with flashes of insight, visions of
future events, but each vision wasn't longer than a second or
two long, and all were disconnected. Would you be able to
piece together what they were all about? Would you be able to
keep yourself from going mad?"
      It was at that moment that they understood. In a stroke
they understood why Mongo was what he was.
      But my defense of Mongo had an unintended side effect.
"Mongo not mad." I heard grudgingly behind me.
      "No, of course not," I said. "But experiencing what
you're experiencing has to be stressful on you."
      "Yes, stressful, very stressful," muttered Mongo. "Made
worse when not appreciated."
      Preston asked, "How do you..."
      "Mongo not know. Agency not know. Top scientists of
Gamma Section not know. Together, know very little. All that
is known is that Mongo is not appreciated."
      "I'm glad we had this little get-to-know-you session,"
I said. "And before any of you start planning for your
funerals, remember that what Mongo sees is at best what might
happen. Only your overworrying will cause it to happen. On no
less than two previous occasions Mongo claimed to have
"foreseen" my end, and I'm still here."
      Mongo muttered something unintelligable and retreated
to the corner with the bedding I had prepared for him. He
wouldn't make friends easily.
      I put him next to the Clapper and Red Sally; they had
known each other previously from their time together in Gamma
Section. But I made the mistake of moving the Clapper's
bedding to make space for Mongo's, and that started a whole
round of discussion and accusation . The Clapper was used to
sleeping against that wall, the Clapper didn't want to
complain but wasn't comfortable-
      I cut it off almost before it began, moving the
Clapper's bedding back where it was and switching Red Sally's
bedding (she didn't care where she slept, as long as she
slept in something flammable), with Mongo's. But that started
a line of complaints from Mongo about how dispensible he felt
and how his feelings weren't being considered.
      I screened out the noise from that corner of the room
and turned to Preston. "How're we doing?"
      "We got enough supplies for a few days, but we won't
 last more than four or five days, especially not with this
new mouth to feed."
      So Preston resented him too. "This new mouth led us
directly to Jenkins, and will save our lives four or five
more times before the month is out," I said. "He's
irritating, but he's more valuable than a squad of Jump
Troopers." Speaking of them, I wonder what had become of the
Jump Troopers, the elite mechanized planetary paratroopers?
Wiped out in the initial Insectoid attack, I supposed.
      "We'll need more food soon," said Preston. "It seems
they're stepping up patrols in this sector. We should
probably search farther afield for other supplies."
      "Good. You take Jenkins and Gantry and scout around to
see what you can find tomorrow. I'll take the Silencer, the
Clapper, Red Sally and Mongo to scout around on the surface."
      "Splitting us up?"
      "There are enough of us to form two teams," I said.
"And yes, I'm conscious of the fact that I'm keeping the
Agency people separate from the Gammas. You just need to
build up some more tolerance for them."
      "Where are you going?"
      "I spotted a hive last week on the surface. They're
starting to sprout up everywhere. I want to see what's going
on inside one of them."

       Buildings all over August were being selectively
demolished and replaced by large, multi-level hive like
structures. So far I had never seen the inside of one of
them, a lapse in intelligence info that I intended to remedy
the very next day. Usually it was safer to go around at
night, especially on the surface, but I wanted to be able to
see what I was looking at; most of my critical gear,
including my infragoggles, had been left behind at the Agency
in my haste to depart.
       My team slunk around on the surface, moving from
building to building. The Insectoids were starting to build
up their forces on August, but the city, covering almost the
entire Western continent, was just so big, that it would be
some time before they could fill every nook and cranny of it.
Certain areas like the capital, at Sarney Sarittenden, which
the Insectoids had taken over as their command, was simply
swarming with Insectoids, but most of the city only had
sporadic patrols.
       I had noticed a hive going up on the edge of this
sector, and we went and checked it out from a building across
the street. We noticed a steady stream of ground transports
loading and unloading equipment and people. Lots of people,
streaming in and out.
       "Wonder what's going on?" I said. The Clapper clapped
twice.
       "Let's go in and burn something and find out," said Red
Sally, starting to get out of the squatting position.
       I pushed her down and said, "No. This requires a bit
more finesse. The only ones who can get into that building
are the Insectoids and their human slaves. Therefore, I'll
have to dress for the part."
I took a control collar out of my backpack; several weeks ago
I had retrieved it off a deceased prisoner who had been shot
in the back; I had cut it off, made sure it was thoroughly
deactivated, and then made superficial repairs to allow me to
snap it on and off my neck. I put it on now and disgarded my
backpack and weapons, except for a small blaster I put in my
ankle holster, under my trousers. While some of the slaves
were wearing the green uniforms of the Insectoids, others
were wearing their own tattered clothing. My clothes were
almost as tattered and dirty as the human slaves; the only
problem is that I probably looked a bit more well fed than
they were. Well, nothing I could do about that.
      "So you're going to play spy," said Sally disgustedly,
curling her lip. "Why did you bother bringing us along?"
      Clap clap.
      "I may have a harder time getting out than I do getting
in; I'll need you to create a diversion if I'm forced to run
for it," I said. "Think you're up to it?"
      The Silencer drew his guns; Sally's hair turned a
slight pink; the Clapper put his hands together; and Mongo
put his finger to the wind.
      "Wish me luck," I sighed.
      The trick about infiltrating a group is to make it look
like you were always part of it. If I simply walked across
the street and attempted to join the slave procession, the
Insectoid guards would notice something funny. So I slunk
from position to position, moving steadily closer into
danger, until finally only one guard separated me from the
prisoners streaming in and out. I held a rock in my hand,
which I used to good effect, tossing it far in the opposite
direction; it hit the ground with a clink!, causing the
Insectoid to look at the noise; when he turned back, he
didn't notice one more prisoner moving among the bunch.
Mission accomplished.
I have to add parenthetically that this sort of thing isn't
very difficult for me; as a Level One Agency Operative, one
of the Eight, I'm a top-notch infiltrator, and have
infiltrated far more controlled societies than this. But it
was good to see that a few months of guerrilla combat hadn't
made me lose my touch. I followed the line of prisoners
shuffling into the hive.
      My eyes had to adjust going inside because there was an
eerie green light everywhere. We went up several levels,
depositing boxes of equipment and supplies here and there,
and I could see immediately what this was: a manufacturing
facility. So at least some if not all of the hives were
manufacturing plants. They were using our resources and our
labor to help fuel their war machine.
      Once we had delivered the supplies we were herded back
outside to waiting vehicles. "Where are they taking us?" I
hissed to a young woman ahead of me in line.
      She looked surprised, as if I should already know. She
said nothing.
      We were getting close to the vehicles. Time was running
out. "Where?" I whispered.
      "Back to the labor camp," she whispered, glancing this
way and that, as if talking was forbidden.
      Indeed it must have been, because two Insectoid guards
closed on us and struck us with the butts of their rifles,
sending us to the ground.
      "Get up," one of them grated through its translator
matrix.
      Wincing through the pain I realized I was actually
grateful for the chance to reach down so I could palm my
hidden blaster. As I got up I showed my appreciation, first
by vaporizing the thorax of the Insectoid who had hit me, and
then blasting the other one, and then in rapid succession two
more behind him.
      "Run!" I yelled, taking my own advice. Prisoners, at
first unsure what was happening, started to run off.
      There were other guards further ahead in line and they
started to open fire, hitting some of the fleeing prisoners.
But then they themselves were under attack; I didn't have
time to observe it at close hand, but I think the Silencer
shot several immediately, picking them out effortlessly
though the crowd of screaming and fleeing humans. Red Sally
caused one to spontaneously combust, and the Clapper hit one
of them with its own rifle butt.
      In all the confusion a good number of the prisoners
escaped, though the guards were quickly reenforced,
preventing the bulk of the prisoners from getting free.
      "See how easy that was?" I said, when I had rejoined
the group.

      "We should destroy this factory," said Preston, over
lunch back at the maintenance closet.
      "A good idea, if we had some heavy ammo," I said.
      "We still have some of the explosives left."
      "The only problem being that we have to plant it inside
the factory," I said. "No, I have a much more pressing target
in mind." I paused. "The work camp. There are prisoners who
need freeing"
      "We don't even know where it is," said Preston.
      "But those transports go there," I said. "It will be a
simple matter to trace them."
      "They're bound to be guarded."
      "I hope so," said the Silencer, making this one of the
rare times he chose to speak.

      "This operation will proceed in several stages, or
steps," I said. "Step one involves the Silencer." We stood a
block away and around the corner from the factory we had
visited the previous day. Security there had been doubled;
but that didn't concern us.
      "See that lone Insectoid guard there, younder, a few
hundred feet away?" I said, pointing to a dot in the
distance. "I need you to kill him neatly, in one shot, where
it won't show."
      The Silencer snorted, as if he were still waiting for a
real challenge; and he took up his laser rifle (with a
silencer fitted to the end of it), and, after a moment's
hesitation, fired. The Insectoid dropped like a sack of
potatoes.
      We ran over to the Insectoid body and then the Silencer
and I dragged it to the next intersection. It wasn't fun
touching the thing, but I had thoughtfully prepared gloves.
Once we arrived at the intersection I saw an Insectoid
transport approaching. Right on schedule.
      I motioned everyone back to the safety of the area just
around the corner, then I gave the thumbs up to the Clapper.
      He gave me a thumbs up back, with an idiotic expression
on his face.
      I looked at the Insectoid body. It wasn't moving.
      I turned back to the Clapper. "Now!" I hissed.
      The Clapper cringed.
      The body suddenly stood upright, as if pulled by
strings.
      "Good," I said. "Now make it waver back and forth, back
and forth a bit."
      The body started to waver, then swing, back and forth,
as if it were drunk.
      "Good, good."
      The approaching transport saw the Insectoid standing in
the middle of the road, swaying back and forth; something was
obviously wrong. The transport stopped short of the guard,
and one of the Insectoids got out of the driver's section.
      The guard fell to the ground, dead, the instant it's
tendril left the transport. The driver, seeing something was
amiss, moved to reactivate the transport with its tendrils,
but a sudden bolt eliminated the driver as well.
      We raced around the back, saw it opening up to reveal
two guards and a load of human prisoners. The Silencer got
one and I got the other; the only thanks we received for our
efforts were a series of shrieks from the prisoners.
      "All off, last stop!" I yelled. "Ladies and Gentlemen,
I apologize for this unscheduled stopover, but your guards
are experiencing technical difficulties."
      The prisoners stared at me with a mixture of shock and
incredulity on their faces.
      "You're free!" I yelled. "Get out NOW!"
      The prisoners streamed out of the truck.
      "Now we have a transport," I said. I spoke into my com.
"Step two: Preston, go."
      Preston, lying prone in a building just above and
almost across from the factory, had one of the parked
transports in the scopes of his weapon which was poking just
outside of the hole in the glass he had cut. He depressed the
firing stud, and a tiny transmitter lodged itself in the side
of the transport.
      The transport obliged us by giving us several minutes
to collect Preston and Gantry before getting underway. Step
three was the pursuit. We followed it at a cautious pace, but
never letting it get too far ahead; the metal walls and
canyons of August made it difficult to use a tracer
effectively at any distance.
      The transport went south for more than two hours, and
we followed. It only slowed when it reached a less developed
district, one of the few districts left open for farmland.
      For although August imported most of its food, it still
keep some of its land open for farming. Were the Insectoids
still tilling the land, or were they using it for other
purposes?
      We parked a safe distance away and surveyed the
perimeter. There was a wire fence around the edge, and
sentries patrolling. It was obviously a civilian internment
camp.
      I looked at the Silencer, and he nodded. By unspoken
agreement, we agreed that this was an operation that would
best be carried out at nightfall. I spread the word to
Preston and the others.
      While we waited we counted guards and studied security
measures through electrobinoculars. Not too bad--we counted
only a dozen guards, though there could be more in a barracks
structure along the edge of the perimeter. The barracks were
outside the internment area, where it was safe from attack
from the prisoners, but that would give us easy access to it.
It would be the first to be attacked.
      But I was forced to bite my lip the rest of the day as
I watched how the prisoners were treated. They were forced to
work the land, growing oddly shaped green vegetables I had
never seen before--presumably food for the Insectoids. But
the Insectoids were cruel, using whips or their sharp
tendrils to assault prisoners who they felt weren't working
hard enough.
      One prisoner even had the teremity to collapse with
exhaustion for a moment when he felt a guard wasn't looking;
but within seconds he was eclipsed by a seven foot tall
shadow. The prisoner trembled with fright, and the Insectoid
vomited some pink goo on him; and then the prisoner started
laughing hysterically, so hard that it looked painful, and
then the Insectoid vomited some identical looking pink goo,
and the prisoner started crying. There must be something in
whatever the Insectoid was vomiting that directly worked on
the brain.
      A few of the Insectoids gathered to watch the spectacle
for a few moments, buzz buzzing to themselves as they
obviously enjoyed it. Then an overseer called out, and one of
the Insectoids ended their fun, by dismembering the prisoner!
Swish swish and his arms were cut off; it was so quick that
the prisoner couldn't even scream. Then swish swish his legs
went off, and then he did scream, but only for a few seconds,
for then his head went next.
      The other prisoners nearby started to scream, but their
screams were cut off as the Insectoids turned their attention
on them; and then all was silent, as their horror was checked
by their fear.
      I raised my rifle in anger.
      Preston saw what I was about to do and moved to stop
me. "No Croft, we need to wait-"
      But I aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger. There
was a "swwit!" and the Insectoid who had dismembered the
prisoner scratched a slight sore on its body cavity.
      I indicated the tracking sensor, and the blip this
Insectoid now generated.
      "Why did you do that?" Preston whispered.
      "That one's mine," I said calmly.

      When nightfall came we moved, first closing on the
barracks. It never occurred to the Insectoids to guard from
outside attacks, this far out of the center of the city. We
showed them the error of their ways.
      Gantry, Jenkins, and Red Sally burst into the barracks,
the first two opening fire, the third sending forth a sheet
of flame. The fire was so hot that it almost singed even her,
as her face beaded with sweat and her hair turned a dull red.
They shot and burned everything that moved in that barracks,
and took them completely by surprise.
      But the noise alerted the sentries on the outside, and
that's where I and the Silencer moved into action. The
Silencer picked off guards left and right in the darkness,
and I shot purposefully, each of us using infrared scopes
(something I had been fortunate enough to liberate from a
military armory). When it came time to shoot the target who
had dismembered the prisoner I shot carefully, aiming low.
      The Insectoids must have seen the flashes from our
muzzles, but they were still confused and were dying more
quickly than they could respond. In a matter of moments the
area was clear. The five of us had slaughtered nearly three
dozen of the enemy; chalk that up to careful planning and the
advantage of surprise.
      We moved cautiously into the camp, alert for any guards
we might have missed. I walked calmly to what I knew I would
find, a certain buzzing, clicking Insectoid who was down on
the ground grabbing one of its lower limbs in pain. It tried
to reach for its gun when it saw me, but I kicked it away. I
looked around for a second and picked up a jagged piece of
metal. That would do.
      I started to hack off the monster's tendrils, one by
one, pausing to listen to it shriek each time. Then I cut off
its lower limbs, causing it to shriek louder. Finally, after
a pause, I cut off its head.
      There was sudden silence. Then I turned around, feeling
rather than seeing the Silencer standing behind me. He looked
at me expressionlessly, and then moved on.

      We gathered up the prisoners and told them they were
free. Most were too weak to start on an extended run, so
first we gathered what food there was and distributed it
among them.
      "Break up and head in different directions," I said.
"There are several ground tranports here, at least half of
you should be able to make your escape that way. Just avoid
the transport parked over the ridge, that's our own ticket
home"
      "Thank you, oh thank you," said a man, who, like the
rest, was thin and emaciated. "You don't know how beastly
they were too us!"
      "I have some idea," I said dryly, remembering what I
had observed earlier that day.
      "Is there any way we can thank you?" said the man. "I
don't even know your names!"
      Reflex, and my training, prevented me from divulging
this otherwise useless fact. "Your thanks is enough," I said.
I turned to Red Sally. "Red? You have enough juice left for
another flame?"
      Red Sally snorted. "I'm barely warmed up."
      "It looks like the Insectoids were growing some food
here; I think it would be nice if you torched the place," I
said. "Just wait a few minutes for the prisoners to disperse.
The flames might attract unwanted attention."
      It was still early in the night; we actually gave the
prisoners an hour to disperse and make their way away from
the internment camp. Chances are that few of them would
survive on their own, but at least we were giving them that
chance. I had Gantry sitting in the front seat of our vehicle
to make sure it wasn't appropriated.
      When Sally was ready she took a deep breath, and sent a
long spurt of flame into rows and rows of the greenish
whatevers the Insectoids were growing. In just a few minutes
there were rows and rows of fires on the farm. The Insectoids
wouldn't be harvesting any of their alien lettuce from this
farm.
      "Let's go," I said.
      We piled into the back of the transport and headed on
our way. I mentally started to wonder if we could park the
transport somewhere in the capitol, it could be useful. The
transport also had some supplies, sacks and boxes in the
corner, that would merit inspection later.
      We returned to the capital without incident. I can only
wonder at the reaction of the Insectoids when the next set of
ground transports arrived at the farm to find all their
soldiers dead and the place in flames.
      We put the transport in an underground garage. I bit my
lip; out in the open here, it would probably be stolen or
vandalized quickly. Well, nothing we could do about that for
now.
      As we walked back to our hideaway the Silencer suddenly
raised his hand and stopped for a moment.
      "What is it?" I asked.
      The Silencer shook his head and stood still for a
moment. "Probably nothing. At least, not close by. Continue."
      We made our way back to the maintenance closet; I
strained to hear the sounds of an Insectoid patrol, but heard
nothing.

      We planned quite a celebratory dinner that night,
though I don't know how we could manage it when the only
supplies we had were liquid starch (hardens when cooked),
canned meat strips, and a few other items. I was preparing to
do the cooking myself, basking in the glow of happy
conversation in the crowd--even the Silencer was letting
himself be talked to, which was quite a good sign, for him.
For once we had accomplished something positive and could see
the effect of it, and that made us feel good. And what's
more, we had done it without any casualties.
      "Very (clap clap) good work, Mr. Silencer," said the
Clapper.
      The Silencer stiffened, looked away, and reached for
his gun. The Clapper shrank back. The room was suddenly
silent.
      "Hear that?" said the Silencer, in a whisper.
      I strained, I didn't hear anything. I started to speak,
when I DID hear something.
      Tap tap tap.
      We waited, another moment, and then it grew louder.
      Knock knock knock.
      Someone was knocking on the door to our maintenance
closet.
      Chances are it wasn't the Insectoids; they usually
didn't knock before coming in. Even scavengers wouldn't go
around politely knocking on doors. But everyone who knew
about their homebase was already inside; so this meant that
we had been discovered by someone, or something.
      Weapons drawn, we cautiously approached the exit to the
maintenance closet. We had installed a locally powered
cryptic lock and created passkeys for everyone inside, so the
only way they could get through would be to burn or blast
their way in.
      The Silencer positioned himself on one side of the
door, and I and Gantry and Preston and Jenkins took positions
from other angles to give ourselves clear lines of sight to
the door.
      Knock knock knock. The knocking was louder, more
insistent now. Who could it be? Could this be some Insectoid
trap to lure us outside?
      The Silencer looked to me, and I nodded. He palmed the
door's control, and pulled back instantly as the door came
unlatched. A tiny crack opened to the outside.
      Something reached forward and slowly pulled the door
open. In the dark corridor we could make out the shape; a
thin, emaciated person in rags.
      "Oooh!" said the man, seeing the outlines of our
weapons. "Don't shoot!"
      "Put your hands up!" I barked. "Come in! Slowly!"
      As the man came into the light I saw he was unarmed. It
was the same man who had effusively thanked me at the farm.
      But the farm was hundreds of miles to the south; how
did he get here?
      Preston checked the corridor; it didn't seem like there
was anyone else there.
      We shut the door and started the interrogation.

      His name was George Sashay and he had been a
professional visual artist, before the invasion. The
Insectoids evaluated him at one of their processing centers
and found he was best suited for manual labor. He had been
working at the farm for several months when we liberated him,
earlier that day. When all the prisoners were escaping, he
made his way to our vehicle and snuck in the back while
Gantry wasn't watching; it was there that he hid in one of
the boxes until we returned.
      He quietly followed us back to our home.
      "Wait a minute," I said. "How did you follow us? I
didn't see or hear you."
      "I did," said the Silencer.
      "I followed a bit behind you," said Sashay.
      "Then if you weren't in visual sight of us, how do you
know where we turned off to go into the maintenance closet?"
I asked.
      "Oh, that was easy," said Sashay. "I simply looked at
all the footprints in the dust. They all lead here."
      I blinked, feeling like a fool. Could we have really
left such an obvious trail for our pursuers to find? But the
corridors were very dimly lit; one would have to really be
looking for such a thing to find them. And this was no expert
tracker. Could his story really be true?
      "I tend to notice such things, dust I mean," said
Sashay. "Remember, I'm an artist."
      "That leaves one question: why?" I asked.
      "Well, I didn't see much of a future following the
others," said Sashay. "But look at you, you're well-fed
paramilitaries, obviously survivor types. I figured I would
join your group."
      I frowned, but said nothing. I pointed to Jenkins and
snapped my fingers; he watched the prisoner while we went to
the other corner of the room to confer.
      "It's far-fetched at best," said Gantry. "I don't
believe an ordinary civilian could have tracked us like he
did."
      "Don't underestimate the survival instinct," said
Preston. "I'm suspicious too, but what other explanation
could there be? That he's a plant, from the Insectoids? In
that case, they would've had to know that we were going to
hit their farm, and no one knew that."
      "Good point," I said. "What I think may be more likely
is that he was the camp spy, working for the Insectoids to
spy on the other prisoners. When he saw us, he saw a chance
to get a big bounty by turning us in."
       "But if he wanted to turn us in, he had already located
us," said Preston. "He didn't have to knock on the door to
get our attention."
       "He said he located us," I said. "Maybe he wasn't sure
we were in here."
       "So you think he's a spy?" the Silencer asked.
       "Not necessarily," I said. "I'm just trying to think
out all the possibilities." I looked at the emaciated figure
sitting quietly in the corner under Gantry's watchful stare.
Maybe, on the other hand, he just wanted to survive.
       But maybe we didn't have to guess. I whistled for
Mongo, and he came scampering over. "Mongo! What do you get
on that fellow?"
       Mongo stared at Sashay with crinkly eyes for a moment.
"Cook," he said at last.
       "What?"
       "Cooks. If you keep him, will cook for you."
       "We don't care about that," I said. "Will he betray
us?"
       Mongo concentrated again. "Don't see betrayal; but
doesn't mean doesn't happen. In some future he cooks foods
for you." He licked his lips. "If you going to kill him, have
him cook dinner, first."
       "Doesn't sound dangerous to me," said Preston.
       "Are you thinking of keeping him?" the Silencer asked
me, as if we were talking about a new pet.
       "Why not?" I asked.
       "What skills can he bring to the group?" the Silencer
asked. "Can he shoot a gun, or start fires with his mind?"
       "Probably not," I admitted, seeing where this was
going.
       "Then he goes," said the Silencer.
       "Why?"
       "He consumes food but contributes nothing," said the
Silencer. "This isn't a ten star hotel. Every time we go out
to hunt for food we risk our lives. We shouldn't have to do
it for freeloaders."
       "I see your point," I said, and I did. "How about we
keep him here overnight, give him a meal, and send him on his
way?"
       "That raises another problem," said the Silencer, his
voice grim. "He knows our location. Even if he's not a spy,
if he gets caught and interrogated by the Insectoids, he can
give our location away."
       "Well, we had talked about establishing a new hideout,"
I said, not liking where this conversation was going.
       "Which we haven't yet done, and once we do, we planned
to use only when we were in imminent danger of discovery,"
said Preston, slowly seeing things the Silencer's way. He
turned to the Silencer. "What are you suggesting?"
       "I can make it quick and painless," said the Silencer
calmly.
       "I say we burn him!" said Red Sally, speaking for the
first time.
       "Burn me!" said Sashay, picking up on this. "But I can
be of great use to you!"
       "What can you do, paperweight?" said the Silencer.
"Have you ever fired a blaster before in your life?"
      "Well, no," said Sashay, rapidly casting about. "What
about them," he said, indicating Mongo and the Clapper. "They
don't look like gunfighters!"
      "They have other skills," said the Silencer.
      Sashay looked about wildly as he rapidly tried to think
of a way to save his life. "Well so do I!"
      "You? What can you do, paperweight?"
      "I can cook! Better than any of you, I'll bet!"
      "That's hardly an essential skill," said the Silencer
humorlessly.
      Sashay was silent for a moment, thinking wildly. The
Silencer let it go on for a few moments, then he took a step
forward.
      "Wait!" said Sashay. "I can paint!"
      "Also hardly an essential skillset," said the Silencer,
reaching for him.
      "Wait!" said Sashay again, holding out his bony arm. "I
can help you conceal yourself better!"
      The Silencer lowered his arm. "What do you mean?"
      Sashay licked his lips nervously. "Well, I already told
you about the footprints, you can clear the dust there
yourself. But what about your door?"
      "What about it?"
      "The absence of any dust may also attract unwanted
visitors. I can make you safer by hiding your door."
      "How?"
      "Get me some plastiform and some metalic paint and I
can put a fascade over your door that will make it look like
ordinary wall," said Sashay. "It will peel back every time
you open it, but look like regular wall to anyone passing by
when it's closed."
      The Silencer stood, considering. "That might be
somewhat helpful, if we could get the materials, and if you
could accomplish it. But that's only one task; what could you
do to earn your keep after that?"
      "The transport," I said, picking up on the idea. "He
could help us disguise the transport, hide it behind an
artificial wall of his, maybe." I turned to the Silencer.
"You know, if he's as good as he says, we could really use a
disguise and camouflage expert."
      The Silencer considered for a moment. Then, to the
relief of Sashay, he slowly nodded. "All right, Paperweight.
You show us what you can do."

      The Paperweight, as he was called, started with dinner.
And by all accounts everyone was quite satisfied. Somehow the
Paperweight took what few ordinary ingredients we had and
used the cooking range to make a quite enjoyable meal. I
think in retrospect everyone was glad that we didn't banish
or kill him, at least not before dinner.


Chapter 12: Desperate Raid On Sarney Sarittenden

From the journal of Clifford Croft, ten months after the
invasion of August:

      Sashay, or the Paperweight, as the Silencer and the
others took to calling him, was as good as his word. The next
day I led an expedition to locate the materials he needed;
and he got to work immediately, creating a camouflaged
version of the door that would look like the wall around it.
But once the task was done, e.g. once the door looked like
the wall, the Paperweight wasn't artistically satisfied; he
kept wanting to dab little colors here or there to make it
look more realistic. I managed to pull him away from that and
get started on a bigger project, building an artificial but
real looking wall around the ground transport we had stolen.
      I didn't think it was possible, but when he was done,
several days later, he had colored and molded plastiform
around it so it looked like a real wall. The plastiform could
be easily unwrapped from the very end where it met the real
wall, if you knew where to look; and if you knocked on it,
you'd get a hollow sound; but under any but the closest of
inspections it would look real.
      The Paperweight's cooking continued to earn our
appreciation. I think his culinary talents, combined with the
fine job he did on the door and the wall covering the
transport, muted any sentiment to get rid of him. The only
problem with the Paperweight was that he was, well, a bit
irritating.
      He always insisted on painting us; he would sit there
with an easel, when we returned from a mission and were just
trying to relax, and he would paint us. Preston or Gantry
would get annoyed and turn away; Jenkins would just ignore
him, as I did; but the Silencer got him to stop painting his
portrait by shooting one of Sashay's creations in progress,
when Sashay was right behind it. To this day I'm not sure how
he managed to get an angle where he could shoot the painting
without also shooting Sashay.
      Similarly Sashay stopped painting Red Sally when one of
his paintings burst into flames as he drew it. Only the
Clapper and Mongo actively cooperated with his efforts,
posing while making exaggerated facial expressions. In fact
Mongo hung up the atrocious portraits of himself all over the
place and complained that Sashay wasn't painting enough of
him.
      But Sashay wasn't the only one causing problems; Red
Sally keeps lighting fires, sometimes burning things we
needed. She keeps bugging us to go shopping for objects that
were fire-resistant but not totally inflammable, saying she
needed a "challenge". We tried once or twice to let her cook
our dinners, under Sashay's direction, but she always went
overboard and burned things. But the worst incident happened
one night when she had a nightmare and started to burn her
blanket. I, who was on watch, immediately ran over to her,
shook her awake, and snuffed out the flames.
      "Does this happen often?" I had asked.
      "Occupational hazard," said Sally, glaring at me. She
always glared. I think she was angry with me for not letting
her start as many fires as she might like.
      I know the Silencer was angry; he was always hopping
mad that we weren't spending every minute of every day
shooting Insectoids. He's still burning up inside about what
they did to Annie; I'm not sure how he's going to work it
out. Maybe he won't.
      We're still trying to work things out with the Clapper,
who claps for any reason or no reason at all. If his bed
isn't in the right place, or his dinner dish is out of
alignment, he'll start clapping. We've tried tying his hands
together, but that's not a practical solution; I found some
soft gloves for him, but that only muffles the clapping sound
slightly. The only thing we were able to do was to stop him
from clapping at night--I say we, but it was the Silencer who
did it, using something I euphemistically call "aversion
therapy".
      And then there's Mongo. He still complains how
underappreciated he is, but actually I do appreciate him.
We're outnumbered and outgunned and we need every advantage
we can get. He's not always accurate in his visions but he's
saved my life more than once in the past and I'm glad to have
him with us. I just wish I could get him to shut up sometimes
about how ungrateful we all are.
      As for us, myself, Preston, Gantry, and Jenkins, the
remainder of the agency cell that was set up several months
ago, we don't say much, for what is there to say? I think our
morale suffered because we didn't have a sense of progress.
Sure, we were hitting the enemy here and there, but we didn't
see results that were changing our situation. In our years
with the agency we were used to short, discrete assignments
with clear end goals measured in days or weeks. We had
already been at this for months and there was no end in
sight. No amount of sabotage we could do on our own would end
the Insectoid occupation, and all we had to look forward to
was uncounted years of further resistance and life of rats
living in a maintenance closet.
      I think we all felt that underlying unhappiness, and
that was the setting for our feelings and actions on the days
we lost both Gantry and Jenkins, the first on a recon patrol,
and the second only a day later, on a hunt for food.
      Gantry and Preston were scouting the area, looking for
potential targets--an essential task because we had to locate
targets before we could attack them. It was a dangerous task,
because they could stumble into an enemy patrol or trap at
any time. And that's exactly what happened. Preston escaped
in a firefight, but he says he saw Gantry shot dead.
      I initially blamed myself, as the senior agent,
wondering if I should have sent teams larger than two; but
even I, in my grief, knew better. Scouting teams by their
very nature had to be small in number; their defense lay in
their ability to avoid detection, not to fight, so the larger
the team, the more likely they were to be discovered, which
is why scouting teams always had to be as few in number as
possible.
      No, chalk it up to weariness on the part of Gantry
and/or Preston, or just plain bad luck, but he was gone. And
if that wasn't bad enough, the following next day, when we
were foraging for food, we lost Jenkins.
      Food was getting more and more scarce--August survived
by having food imported from other worlds, and that was no
longer happening. The Insectoids, maybe, were growing small
amounts of food for their captives, though we never saw any
evidence of this on our attack at the farm; more likely they
were doing what we were doing, which is raiding warehouses of
food. But those warehouses were running out of food, rapidly,
forcing us to venture farther and farther a field to search
for food.
      The Insectoids, having a good idea that food storage
areas were being raided by scavengers and resistance units,
put guards on the storage areas they were able to locate and
identify, and stepped up patrols in the area. That made
hunting for food a losing proposition. As time went on, we
had to spend more and more time searching for food, and we
were more and more likely to be caught.
      That's what happened when we found ourselves in a
firefight after we went looking for food one day in one of
the underground storage areas. The entrance to the storage
area, a giant one block by one block facility on level 37,
was under guard by the Insectoids; but we tried to use a
laser torch to cut our way into a back wall.
      What we didn't anticipate was how quickly the
Insectoids would come around the backside of the perimeter
looking for us; they must have either implanted sensors in
the wall or actively been scanning for energy signatures.
Because before we had cut through one side of the wall we
were attacked from both sides of the corridor in a crossfire.
      We at least had some warning that they were coming,
because we could hear their buzzing sounds as they
approached; so we ducked into an alcove opposite the wall we
had been cutting into before the first shot was fired.
      But then the firing did begin, from both sides. The
Silencer and I popped around the corner, firing sporadically
for a second before pulling back, but with the unfriendly
fire coming from two ways this was very dangerous at best.
But then I felt something hot near me, and Red Sally brushed
by me, sending a ball of fire down one end of the corridor
for a split second before pulling back; then she was poking
out in the other direction, sending a flaming ball in that
direction as well. We heard harsh screams and for a moment
the firing stopped.
      "Now!" I cried, jumping into the corridor. The Silencer
and the others followed, and we opened fire on the survivors.
We started running forward down the corridor, the Silencer
and I firing ahead of us, and Preston and the others firing
behind us. If they had been at full strength they could
easily had cut us down, but most of the ones still living
were busy fanning down the flames.
      I reached the corner first, firing all along, and it
took me a few seconds to stop when I saw there were no longer
any movement among the bodies; only smoking, charred remains.
We turned the corner, taking us out of the line of fire, and
it was then as I counted noses I noticed Jenkins was missing.
      Meanwhile, we heard loud buzzing sounds coming from
down the corridor. Reenforcements were arriving.
      I looked at Preston for a split second, and we were in
agreement; no Agency man gets left behind.
      We turned back into the corridor we had just left, and
could see a stirring mass at the far end as fresh
reenforcements were making their way past the charred lines
of the first wave. We didn't have to go far, just about 25
feet, before we found Jenkins, face down.
      Preston laid down a covering fire while I reached down
to check for a pulse. While I was doing so I saw the gaping
hole in his chest; he had been hit from behind while we had
been retreating. And there was no pulse. He was gone.
      I was up and sprinting out of there in a second, and
Preston was following; blaster bolts streaked around us, most
of them coming from behind us, but some of them coming from
ahead of us! The Silencer was giving us covering support,
carefully firing around our fleeing forms to attack our
attackers. Only the Silencer could fire down a crowded, dark
corridor in split second intervals to hit targets 70 or 80
feet away without hitting us.
      We rounded the corner, breathing heavily; and I looked
at the Silencer and Preston, to make sure they were ok.
Preston was winded but was fine; the Silencer looked totally
unfazed. I nodded fractionally to thank him, and we took off,
quickly getting out of there.

      We managed to evade our pursuers and get back to
maintenance closet. We had lost two operatives in two days,
Gentry and Jenkins, and we had lost the two of them on what
should have been very routine missions. And what was worse
was that we didn't get any food. In other words, we'd have
to go out again and risk our lives again if we wanted to eat.
      But no one wanted to eat right now. We were all upset,
and no one more than me. I hadn't been close to Gantry or
Jenkins, but I had seen a progressive pattern over the past
nine months, as, one by one, Agency operatives were picked
up. Only Preston and I were left. The others--the Silencer,
Red Sally, the Clapper--all had special abilities that might
enable them to survive. But Preston and I were just ordinary
men, and, sooner or later, our number was bound to come up.
      From his facial expression I could tell that Preston
was thinking the same thing. We were stuck in a losing
proposition, and top Agency operatives were smart enough not
to just sit around and wait for the end to come.
      "Maybe we should move on," said Preston, saying what we
all were thinking.
      "Where?" I asked.
      "One of the outer provinces," said Preston. "The
concentration of Insectoid troops may be lower there."
      "Yes," I said, following this line of thought. "And
let's just say we find some place in the outer provinces.
What do we do then?"
      "Establish a new hideout, find food...."
      "And what do we do all day when we're not finding
food?" I said. "There will be no targets to hit out there,
will there?"
      Preston shook his head.
      I raised my voice. "We all have our own reasons for
staying this close to the center of things, just a few miles
out from Sarney Sarittenden. Because that's where all the
targets of opportunity are. Because this is where we need to
be to hurt the enemy. We can go to the fringes, and maybe
have a peaceful life for a few years, until they expand out
there.. but is that what we want? Preston, how do you plan to
spend the next five, or ten years? What hobbies will you take
up to pass the time? Modeling plastic? Painting?"
      Preston averted his gaze.
      "We stayed here to fight, because that's what we do," I
said. "Sitting around and doing nothing but existing might be
fine for most of the sheep that passes for civilians around
here, but not us. If we could be happy sitting idly by we'd
never have joined the Agency. You and I both know that."
      "Then what do you suggest?" Preston said. "We stay here
and get picked off while going shopping for liquid starch?"
      "I don't know," I said.
      "There's another option," said the Silencer, speaking
for the first time. "We can attack the governor-general's
office in Sarney Sarittenden."
       "Sarney Sarittenden?" said Preston. "That has to be the
most tightly guarded place on August! We'd never get in."
       "No," I said suddenly. "I know a way, at least, I think
I do."
       "We'll be killed before we get close to the governor
general."
       "It would be nice to get the governor general," said
the Silencer. "But even if we don't, all the senior
occupation officials are located there. We could wipe out a
large number of them."
       "This is madness," said Preston.
       "We're not having an impact," said the Silencer, as if
he were reading my thoughts. "Oh, we're an inconvenience; we
can snipe at an outpost here, take out a small factory there,
free a group of prisoners somewhere else. I'm sure our
activities get mentioned on some report that some midlevel
insect reviews. But we're not inconveniencing their leaders;
indeed, we're probably not even a blip on their scopes. I say
we make them aware of us."
       I swallowed, thinking about this. I had a strong sense
of self-preservation, which was telling me to run, to go to
the outer provinces and hide. But I knew that once the fear
wore off, the restlessness would set in, and I would come
back. And if I was going to be killed for something, I wanted
to die fighting for something more substantial than shopping
for liquid starch.
       Assassination had never been my favorite line of work,
but I had done my share in my time. The nature of the
assignment--going in quickly, getting the job done, and
getting out--appealed to me, because it reminded me of past
assignments I had done. Of course, in a real assassination
job I would have spent days if not weeks researching the
target; what we were talking about doing now was more of a
semi-unplanned raid than an assassination, in the hopes of
nabbing the top Insects.
       Maybe it was my desperation, or maybe it was my anger
over the loss of Jenkins and Gantry, but it made sense to me.
I looked up; everyone was looking at me, and I wondered how
much time had passed while I was caught up in self-thought.
Slowly, I nodded.
       The Silencer nodded back. Red Sally was next--and why
shouldn't she? This was a chance to make her enemies burn.
And then the Clapper, who nodded reluctantly after Red Sally
glared at him. Good, he had some backbone. Or maybe he was
just more afraid of Big Red than he was of the Insectoids.
       I turned to Preston. He shook his head, paced back and
forth for a moment in the far corner of the room, then came
back and nodded.
       We were united on this.

        "I know of a secret way into Sarney Sarittenden," I
said.
      "How do you know it's still a secret to the
Insectoids?" Preston asked.
      "I don't," I said. "We'll have to find out, tomorrow
evening."
      "No," said a weak voice.
      We all turned. It was Mongo. In all our discussions we
assumed that the Paperweight and Mongo, who were obvious
noncombatants, wouldn't accompany us, and so had
unconsciously screened them out of our deliberations.
      "No, not to go at night," said Mongo.
      "What do you mean?" Preston asked. "Why shouldn't we?"
      "Go, go in morning," said Mongo. "Tomorrow morning, or
maybe next morning after that."
      "Why?" Preston asked again. "If we go tomorrow morning,
it will be safe?"
      "No, not safe!" said Mongo.
      "Then what does it matter when we go?" he asked.
      Mongo concentrated a moment, as if he were trying to
get the images straight in his head, or trying to summon up
the patience to deal with Preston, I'm not sure which. "Not
safe at all! See images of bad, bad ends for all of you. Many
possible bad ends! But many more bad ends if you go at night;
if you go in two mornings from now, much better, is chance
that some of you may survives, fewer bad ends, even a few
good ones."
      "Well, since we'll be indoors, I don't think it really
matters if it's day or night outside," I said. "But would it
be better if we go tomorrow morning, or two mornings from
now? You aren't being clear."
      "Not clear, not clear at all! Yes, they say to Mongo,
'be clear about future, tell exactly what will happen and
when, and fetch me tea so I can read about it in daily
newscast'. But Mongo not work that way; hard to say, see many
possibilities. Not sure if morning better, or two mornings."
      "Then we'll go tomorrow morning," I said. "We don't
have enough food to last more than one more day, and I'd
rather get shot on this mission than on a shopping trip." If
we survived, a tall if, we would worry about food again
afterwards.
      Mongo looked uneasy but said nothing.
      "What about me?" said Sashay.
      "You want to come too?" Preston asked.
      "No!" said Sashay. "As my dear departed wife once said,
don't put your finger in a boiling pot! But what's going to
happen to me if you're killed?"
      "You'll have fewer people to cook for," said the
Silencer, lying back and closing his eyes. Sleep was an easy
thing for him, even before a mission like this. Or maybe the
thought of what was to come made him sleep more easily?
      I went over to the Paperweight. "Look, if we don't
return in a few hours, go to the transport. You know where it
is. Drive by night out of the city; if you're lucky, you'll
come to a sparsely populated area out of the provinces."
      "And if I'm not lucky?"
      "Take Mongo with you," I said. "He'll help."
      "O no! You will not get poor Mongo on some d-diiirty
farm," he said. "If Agency spies foolishly get themselves
killed, Mongo knows what to do."
      "Really? What does Mongo do?"
      "Mongo was taking care of himself for many, many months
before being captured by Agency men," said Mongo. "Mongo
knows places that are safe, yes, very safe. Before you took
Mongo, Mongo was never seen or shot at by enemy. Mongo live a
lot longer on his own."
      "I don't seem to recall capturing you, or forcing you
to stay against your will," I said. "You're free to leave at
any time."
      "Ungrateful Agency peoples need Mongo's help." A bony
finger pointed accusingly at me. "Croft himself says so."
      "So I did," I sighed.
      "Mongo gets no appreciation, but Mongo helps."
      "You're a regular philanthropist," I sighed, lying back
in my bedding. I nodded to Preston, who was taking the first
watch. Tomorrow was going to be some day.

      I didn't think I would sleep at all that night; I spent
the first part of the night going over options in my mind,
sep1 how we would get into Sarney, and how we would get out. I
resolved to think out as much of the plan of action as
possible. I knew the layout of Sarney Sarittenden, but had no
information on what had been done inside by the Insectoids or
what parts of it they occupied. Chances are their highest
officials would be located in the Chamber of Leaders or the
central control room. We might not get the governor-general,
but perhaps we could kill some of his senior aides before we
were taken down.
      My thoughts turned morose as I reflected on the larger
issues. How had we come to this? I had spent several hundred
years of my life defending the Alliance and its predecessors;
governments had come and gone, but I had always been
defending August, always been defending our people. And all
of a sudden, because of the gullibility of our political
leaders, we had allowed our defenses to drop, had allowed our
forces to be ambushed, and humanity was now paying the price
for that. The sickness went deeper than a handful of
political leaders; it was the fault of the people who elected
them. They had lost the will to fight, or to even let our
warrior class fight for them; they were more consumed with
the latest vids, the latest fashions, the latest tastes, they
had no room or interest in their lives for an unattractive
war; they considered even news of it to be an uncouth
disruption of their aesthetic pursuits. It was that attitude
that had elected the present administration, and that
attitude that had caused the downfall of the Alliance.
      Most of the citizenry who had been so concerned about
their next vid were now more concerned about their next meal,
if and when it was coming as they labored under the yoke of
Insectoid oppression. If we ever survived this great
disaster, I wonder if the populace will learn something of
hardship from this and the need to have a strong self-
defense, or if the lessons learned during this time will
simply be forgotten after a few years of restorative self-
indulgent pleasures....

      I awoke in the morning, with the Silencer shaking me;
he had relieved Preston, allowing me to sleep the entire
night. I looked up questioningly at him and he said, "It
might have been your last sleep. You might as well have
enjoyed it."
      I got up and prepared our gear. Mongo was still
watching us with wide-eyes, as if something were really
bothering him. "Not the right morning... not the right
one..." he muttered, watching us make our preparations.
      "What?" I asked Mongo. "So tomorrow morning is better,
after all?" Inwardly I groaned; now that our decision had
been made, I didn't want to delay this another day.
      Mongo watched me holding my equipment, and looked at
the others, as if he were trying to match this scene with
images in his mind. "Not the right day," he muttered again.
      And then Red Sally cracked open the door and peered out
into the gloomy corridor. Mongo's head jerked around;
immediately he said, "That's right, that's very correct."
      I had been about to tell the others to scrub the
mission, when I turned back to Mongo, and saw what he was
looking at. "What? Now it's the right day, just because Big
Red was the one to open the door?"
      "This is the morning where she opens the door, opens
the door, opens the door," Mongo repeated. "Probably is right
morning. Must be right morning."
      "Does that mean we come back alive?" Preston asked.
      Mongo shook his head. "Chance you may come back; see
many different images. Some you die, others you captured, a
few you escape. But if you go another time, only see same
kinds of images, all of you, dead, shot, killed."
      "A few chances that we escape?" I said. "Well, that's
the most encouraging news I've heard in a while. Are we
ready?"
      We turned to go. I made my goodbyes to Sashay as the
others filed out. But before I left, Mongo grabbed my arm and
rapidly whispered in my ear.
      "What did he say?" Preston asked, as we trooped down
the corridor.
      "He said, our only chance to survive is if we cross
paths with big nose." I frowned, as if part of me knew what
that meant, but couldn't quite translate it into recognition.

      I was pretty familiar with Sarney Sarittenden, the
capital of August, and, by extension, the capital of the
League and the Alliance, though in recent times that didn't
count for much. When I say I was familiar with the place, I
was not so familiar that I really understood what Sarney was
about, but familiar enough that I knew that there was
something unusual about the place. It was built of an odd,
gently glowing metal that defied description, and unusual
things were known to happen there. Even the exact origin of
Sarney Sarittenden was a mystery, for we didn't have the
materials to build such a structure. It seems likely that it
had been built by aliens, though how or why and for what
reason was unsure. I had had my own experiences with Sarney,
and let's just say that there was more to the place than it
seemed.
      Sarney Sarittenden connected seamlessly to the rest of
August, its polished, glowing metal extending several levels
down below the surface; but all the entrances to Sarney were
above ground, on the surface; there had never been one
underground--at least, not one known to the public.
      But I knew one.
      We descended into the tunnels directly adjacent to
Sarney. Insectoid patrols were more frequent here; after all,
we were close to the seat of power. But even the Insectoids
couldn't be everywhere, and we inched forward, moving slowly
and carefully, stopping when we heard the patrols. It took
two hours of slow but steady progress before we got there,
but we arrived undetected (so I hoped).
      "There" was actually an empty storeroom, right up
against the side of Sarney itself, relatively high up in
level 4. Formerly the home of some sector of the bureaucracy,
it was abandoned now. I looked over at the smooth wall along
one side, feeling it with my hands.
       "What are you doing?" Preston asked.
       What was I doing? I wasn't really sure. I stopped,
looking at the wall. I was in the right place, I think.
       "Haven't you been here before?" Preston asked.
       "Yes, but usually leaving, not coming in," I said,
trying to remember.
       "That makes a difference?" Preston asked, not
understanding.
       "Here it does," I said, finally remembering. I fished a
hand scanner out of my backpack, and slowly passed it along
the wall. Slowly... yes! Several contact points on the wall
surface, invisible to the naked eye. I gauged their location
on the scanner, and then tapped the appropriate code.
       A section of the wall slid open, revealing a gently
glowing passageway beyond.
       "Gentlemen... Sarney Sarittenden."
       In one bold stroke, we had gotten in without a battle,
past companies and companies of Insectoid troopers. While I
didn't claim to know much about Sarney Sarittenden, I
certainly knew more than the Insectoids.
       We entered the passageway cautiously but without
incident; my scanner showed no detection devices or traps
waiting for us. As we entered the entrance sealed behind us,
leaving no sign on either end of an exit there.
       I pointed to the door ahead of us. "We are on the 7th
level of Sarney, I think. The Chamber of Leaders is on Level
1, and the control room is on level 4; both are in the
central rotunda, one above the other. Normally, I would take
one of the central access stairs, but they're sure to be
guarded."
       "What's the alternative?" said Preston.
       "There another stairwell on the side, but that will
require a longer walk through corridors, and a greater
likelihood we'll encounter opposition."
       I looked at their faces. They obviously had no idea
what to do. If I were doing this mission right, I would've
gone in with camo tarps, slunk around, explored the place,
and planned and plotted for days. This mission was being done
on the fly, with no intelligence gathering or planning
beforehand.
       I would have to decide for them. I resisted the urge to
go the most direct route, guns blazing. We'd try the
circuitous way.
       Cautiously, we made our way out of the chamber. I saw
the broad, gleaming hallways of Sarney around us, the gentle
hum of its mighty power, but no Insectoids. I could hear a
faint buzzing in the distance; they were around us, but not
too close.
       We started off, myself and the Silencer in the lead,
Preston in the middle, the Clapper and Red Sally bringing up
the rear. We encountered two Insectoids around a bend in the
corridor, but got the drop on them, with silenced guns; they
weren't even armed, which was a good sign. Chances are that
this far in there were only posted guards, not ones roaming
on patrol. We just had to make sure that none of the
Insectoids we encountered survived long enough to raise an
alarm.
      We reached the side stairwell, started climbing. As we
climbed we encountered an Insectoid coming down the stairs;
we shot him before it had a chance to buzz. We reached level
four without incident and started making our way to the
central dome, the capital rotunda. Traffic was heavier here,
and we shot several more along the way. One of them gave off
a scream as it was shot, causing the Silencer to lightning
quick fire off another shot to decapitate it.
      We waited a tense moment to see if anyone or anything
would come running. But nothing happened. So far this was
very easy. Perhaps too easy? But if this was a trap, how
could they have known that we were coming? No, it simply
must be that we were too far inside to encounter much in the
way of armed opposition. Ironically, this might be a safer
mission than shopping for food!
      We snuck into the outer section of the rotunda. On
level four there was an outer circular area that circled the
control room, with entrances at every major compass
direction. We could see two guards posted at every entrance.
Aiming around curved walls, we shot them, two at a time. Our
guns were silenced, but even silenced guns create some noise;
however, the combined buzz and sounds of electronic equipment
from control dampened anything but a very sharp noise.
      We picked off a second set of guards, then a third,
then the fourth; skipping past an entryway each time to move
to our next target. Now all that remained to do was to
assault the control room itself.
      I peered inside, just a for a moment. From my
constricted viewpoint I saw a handful of Insectoids buzzing
as they studied their consoles. Good. This was probably the
governor-general's command center. I made a signal with my
hand, and my team dispersed
      I took the north entrance; the Silencer took the south;
Preston took the east; and Red Sally and the Clapper took the
West. When I had given them enough time to get into position
I withdrew a demo charge from my pack, which was already set
for 5 second detonation. I whispered into my com, "Ready....
set... now!"
      Pushing the activation switch, I lobbed it into the
control room and then retreated into the outer area and
flattened my back against the wall, while the others did the
same from their entrances.
      There was a loud explosion that shook the ground. And
then we went running in, guns blazing. The room was, or had
been packed with several dozen technicians, functionaries,
and guards. There were only a dozen or so left who were
uninjured, and they quickly recovered from their shock to
reach for their weapons as we entered.
      But we were quicker, blasting everything that moved and
much that didn't; consoles, equipment, live Insectoids, dead
Insectoids, spraying the bodies with blaster fire. Red Sally
flamed a guard who was trying to sneak up on her from behind.
      In moments it was all over, and the Insectoid's center
of control on August was smashed. For a moment we stared
around us at the destruction we had caused. I don't think
anyone had believed that we would get this far, certainly not
this easily. I let everyone enjoy a few moments of
satisfaction. This was for Gantry and Jenkins, and all the
other Agency operatives we had lost. This was something that
wouldn't just be a blip in the governor-general's report.
      The governor-general. It was probably on level one, in
the Chamber of Leaders. Dare we press our luck and...?
      It was at that moment that an alarm sounded, and I knew
our attack had been discovered, and that we wouldn't stand a
chance of getting to the governor-general.
      It was only many, many years later that I discovered
that (a) our attack didn't trigger the alarm, (b) that the
governor-general wasn't waiting for us in the Chamber of
Leaders, and (c) we had almost bagged ourselves a much, much
bigger target than the governor-general.

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

      Queen Zsst, leader of the Insectoid invasion fleet, sat
in the Chamber of Leaders on level one, surrounded by
carnage. The walls were splattered with green circulatory
fluid; her guards were all mashed into crumpled, flattened
forms on the ground, except those that were flattened against
the wall; and her aides chittered nervously in the nest
around her, afraid to show their mandibles.
      And for good reason. The Queen had been pressing the
alarm button for several minutes before the first wave of
guards came in. She vented her range on them in her harshest
buzzing tone, a tone that signified pending discorporation.
"An alien simply walked in here, liquidated my guard, and
could easily have liquidated me! What do you have to say
about your security!"
      The captain of the guard was terrified, but stammered
something.
      "Where is the governor-general? Where is the captain of
my security?" The guard stammered something about a failure
to communicate with central control, but the Queen cut him
off.
      "If you value your existence, find out where they are,
and find and kill this alien before it escapes!"
      The captain of the guard was so eager to get out of her
presence that he never thought to ask the Queen what this
alien looked like. But then, it didn't really matter; all
humans tended to look alike.

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

We started to run down the stairwell, but heard heavy
marching sounds below us. I could see several squads of
Insectoid troopers marching up towards us. We ran as quickly
as we could, but we were never going to make it back to the
level seven stairwell before they reached us.
      So we got out at level five, just one level down, and
kept running. The Insectoids were only a few seconds behind
us. They weren't quite as fast as we were, but I heard a loud
buzzing sound, and saw something catching up with us--a large
killer bee. It's buzzing was loud enough to blank out most
other noise, and it cast a shadow as it closed on Red Sally
and the Clapper, who were in the rear.
      The Silencer fired a round of quick shots at it as we
continued to run, but that only stung it slightly, causing it
to flinch; then Red Sally let loose, and she burned it in
mid-air, and the flaming beast hit a wall with a whoomph! and
it almost exploded with embers as it hit the ground.
      We kept running, looking for a main stairwell, which we
unfortunately found--complete with more Insectoids, just
coming up out of it. We quickly reversed course, but couldn't
do that for very long before running into our original
pursuers, so we took the only alternative we could, down a
side corridor... which led to a dead end.
      Which could be that quite literally for us. We were
trapped.
      As the first wave of Insectoids came around the bend we
blasted them, and the second wave, and the third; but there
were too many of them, and blaster bolts were flying
everywhere. We all crouched down or lay prone to try to
present less of a target, but we had absolutely no cover in
the corridor, and while the Silencer was blasting away with
his two blasters, a bolt struck his right arm, and the pain
must have been so intense because he cried out and
involuntarily dropped the blaster in his right hand.
      But more Insectoids were rounding the bend and the
Silencer forced himself, through gritted teeth, to keep
firing with his left hand; if we gave them even a second to
target us as they came around the bend, we were dead.
      The bodies kept piling up, but the Insectoids kept
coming; they must have been throwing an entire company of
Insectoids at us. Red Sally send burst after burst of flame
at them, but they kept coming; the Clapper kept pushing them
back, or pushing them against each other, but they kept
coming; Preston and the Silencer and I kept firing like
madman, but they still kept coming.
And finally Red Sally sent out a giant sheet of flame, which
engulfed the attackers and forced others out of sight around
the bend to draw back, and she cried out, and fell to the
ground, her bright red hair actually steaming.
      And for a moment, there was silence. Then I heard the
unmistakable buzz-buzz around the bend. They were still
there. Massing for another attack. Without taking my eyes off
the corridor for more than a second at a time I cast glances
at everyone else. Preston and the Clapper seemed to be ok.
The Silencer was in obvious pain, bleeding from his arm, but
he said nothing. Red Sally lay unmoving on the ground. Had
that last effort killed her?
      Then I saw some slight movement in her arms and legs.
No.
      The buzzing sound around the bend grew louder.
Reenforcements must be massing for a quick rush to overwhelm
us.
      "This is it," said Preston, trying to keep a grip on
his weapon despite his sweaty palms. I wanted to say
something reassuring, but for once I was at a loss for words.
I looked at the Silencer. This was the way he wanted it to
end; now that Annie was dead he didn't care what happened to
him, as long as he managed to kill some Insectoids as well.
Red Sally, with her fierce hatred of the enemy, probably
wouldn't have had it any other way. And the Clapper? Well, he
was always scared, whatever the circumstances.
      And me? Now, in my last few seconds, I regretted my
foolishness, regretted letting my emotions run away with me,
to lead me into making such a hasty and unplanned attack. If
only I had listened to Mongo... I actually chuckled slightly,
which I hastily turned into a cough, as the Silencer glared
at me.
      The buzzing sound grew louder, and we could see shadows
of Insectoids massing around the bend. They were getting
ready to attack. And then, improbably, I found a second
reason to laugh.
      "What's so funny?" said Preston, in a loud whisper.
      "Now I'll never know what Mongo meant about the guy
with the big nose," I said, regretfully.
      The buzzing sound was very loud now, and we prepared
ourselves for the attack. Suddenly there were a group of
inhuman screams, screeches, more like, and we could the
shadows, being tossed about like rag dolls, jumping this way
and that. There were more screams, and several bodies were
actually tossed around the bend--flattened, lifeless husks,
we could see immediately; they had been pulvarized by some
very powerful force.
      And then the screaming stopped. The shadows were gone,
and so was the buzzing sound.
      I looked at Preston and the Silencer. What was going on
here?
      And then, because it was absolutely silent, we heard a
gentle pad-pad, tap-tap down the corridor, and we saw the
shadow of a large, four legged creature, much like a big dog,
with a large, flat, rectangular snout.
      And then an extremely unlikely thing happened:
Professor Capybara came around the bend.


Chapter 13: A Most Unexpected Capybara

I'm certain my jaw dropped; I think Professor Capybara was
just about the last being I expected to see in an Insectoid
stronghold. His brown, straw-like hair, webbed feet, box
shaped nose, and dark black eyes were just as I remembered;
he was even wearing his trademark spectacles (which weren't
really spectacles, but another piece of technology entirely).
      I started to tell everyone not to fire, but everyone
had the good sense to lower their weapons slightly; they saw
what had been done to the Insectoid attackers. Did Professor
Capybara do that? How did he do that? To our knowledge the
Professor was unarmed and an extremely peaceful being.
      "Clifford, (tweatle tweatle) how unexpected to see
you," said the Professor, in that sing-song voice of his.
      "I could say the same," I said, still stunned. "What
are you doing here?"
      "I was on the way out and I sensed the commotion these
beastly creatures were creating," said the Professor.
      Sensed? Not heard, but sensed? But more immediately:
"What do you mean, on the way out? What were you doing in the
heart of Sarney Sarittenden in the first place?"
      "Dropping by for a chat (tweatle tweatle). We must
hurry, Clifford, they will be summoning reinforcements."
      We got to our feet and made our way around the bend,
with Professor Capybara in the lead. It was there we saw the
pile of bodies, dead, crushed, and splattered against the
wall and floors.
      "Did you..."
      "They were very rude," said the Professor, trotting
along at a good pace. "I merely asked them to step aside. If
they had showed proper manners (tweatle tweatle) they would
not be leaking as they are now."
      I hoped I was always polite to the Professor; I gave
this some thought as I automatically started to turn back
towards the stairwell.
      "No, not that one," said the Professor. "Just a little
farther". He trotted to an apparently smooth portion of the
glowing wall and tapped it twice with his snout. A panel slid
open, revealing a room filled with humming machinery... and a
hidden stairwell leading down!
The panel closed behind us as the last of us filed in. "I
assume you made your way in through level 7," said the
Professor conversationally, as if giving a tour of the hidden
recesses of Sarney was an everyday occurence.
This shook me out of my stunned silence. "Yes," I said. "But
what are you doing here? I looked for you, after the
invasion, but you were gone-"
      "I just needed to gather a few more notes in the
field," said the Professor.
      Field notes? Field notes about what? I started to
speak, but the Professor said, "Quietly now; we're on level
7, but you may encounter some resistance."
      We emerged on level 7 out of a featureless wall panel,
just a few dozen feet from our entry point. We made our way
down to the corridor; I saw two Insectoids, who Preston and I
shot. But buzzing sounds in the distance suddenly grew
louder.
      "Hurry," said the Professor, tapping the appropriate
panel. We all ran into the room, and the Professor entered
with us, shutting the door behind us.
      Professor Capybara turned to me. "I believe you know
how to get out from here."
      I nodded. But then I caught the implication. "Aren't
you coming with us?"
      "No, Clifford," said the Professor. "I need to use the
facilities here."
      Facilities? What was the Professor talking about? Could
he just walk around Sarney with ease? But, evidently, he
could. As he pad-padded towards the doorway I said, "Wait!
Why don't we meetup, later?"
      The Professor shook his head sadly and looked at me as
if I were a somewhat retarded pupil. "I'm going home,
Clifford."
      Home? As far we knew, the Professor was one of a kind;
if there were a planet of the Capybaras, we sure didn't know
about it.
      "Wait!" I said, getting my wits about me. This was all
happening too quickly, but I was starting to catch up. "If
there are more of you, perhaps you can talk to your people,
get them to help us in our war against the Insectoids."
      "I'm sorry, Clifford, but we don't work that way," said
the Professor. He tweatled almost apologetically.
      "What I mean is, you don't have to fight yourselves; if
you could even give us materials, supplies, weapons-"
      The Professor looked at me through his spectacles. "I
really regret what's happened to your people, Clifford. But
much as I'm fond of your species, I cannot intervene; my only
role is to study, and report." He turned away, for the last
time.
      "Will we ever meet again?" I asked, half chokingly. I
had grown very fond of my four legged friend.
      Professor Capybara paused, as if he were considering,
and he flexed one of his webbed feet. A small cramp, maybe.
"Perhaps," he said, opening the door, and he was gone. As the
door slid shut behind him we heard insane screams in the
corridor and a splat of green circulatory fluid streak across
our view before the panel slid shut.
      Preston and I exchanged glances. I think in that short
exchange I learned more about Professor Capybara than all the
xenobiologists had in several decades. But our conversation
also raised more questions than answers.
      I noticed the Silencer was bleeding rather profusely
and he looked faint; I dug out some bandages from my backpack
and set about binding the wound. It ran the length of his
upper arm and shoulder, and looked to be about two inches
deep in length. Nasty. The Silencer tried not to cry out in
pain as I bandaged it, but he grit his teeth and looked very
uncomfortable.
      "We'll see what we can do for you when we get back," I
said quietly.
      We made our exit and reentered the tunnels around
Sarney. The Insectoids didn't seem to realize that we had
made our escape this way, and had not yet set up any special
alerts. While we had to dodge a routine patrol or two, we
made our way back to maintenance closet without further
incident.

      Sashay's eyes were round when he saw us bringing in the
bleeding Silencer, who by now had lost so much blood that he
was having trouble walking. But Mongo only looked at his
right arm and muttered knowingly.
      "I guess you don't have to ask us how it went," said
Preston sardonically.
      "You are alive," said Mongo. "Mongo tell you best time,
and you come back alive. Why so unhappies?"
      "You could have mentioned that the one with the long
nose wasn't human."
      "Did not ask. Many questions you do not ask Mongo, such
as 'How are you today, Mongo? What is new with you, eh?'"
      The Silencer groaned. "Somebody shut him up," said
Preston, referring to Mongo.
      I looked at the Silencer; he was bleeding through his
bandages. He needed medical attention. Well, that was easy
enough; all we would need was a doctor, a hospital, and
medical equipment. All doctors were probably scattered among
workfarms across August; locating one of them would be like
finding a needle in a haystack.
      But equipment and hospitals....? There was a chance
they were simply deserted, abandoned. Surely scavengers
would've picked through them, but there was a chance there
could be some medical equipment left. As a field operative I
had been given basic medical training; if I could get a
cauterizer, I might be able to stop the bleeding.
      "I'm going out to look for medical supplies," I said.
      "It's bound to be risky," said Preston. "They're all
stirred up now."
      "The Silencer isn't going to make it if I don't," I
said. I licked my lips. "You stay here and watch over him."
      "Are you sure?" said Preston, offering to come.
      I could tell he had experienced enough shock for one
day. I nodded.
      Clap clap. "I'll go."
      I turned to the Clapper. "No offense, but this
operation requires stealth."
      "I can help (clap clap)."
      I was about to turn him down, gently, when I noticed
Mongo looking at me, with those great big eyes, giving me one
of his "you'll be sorry" expressions if I said what I was
about to say. Or was I just imagining it?
      "All right," I relented.

       The first two hospitals we checked out had been
thoroughly scavenged; in one of them, even the sheets on the
beds were gone. The second had been destroyed by fire. Time
was pressing when we arrived at our third prospect, and I was
surprised to find that it was quite unabandoned.
       And concerned; it was buzzing with activity, literally.
We snuck in through an air vent, and saw Insectoids buzzing
around... experimenting on humans. They were strapped to
surgical tables, being injected by very alien looking
machines, or having implants added to their body. Most of
them appeared to be sedated but there were a few moans from
those that weren't.
       I grew sick to my stomach, and retreated back farther
in the vent where the Clapper was waiting. He saw my
expression, and reached up with his hands-
       "No!" I hissed almost silently, grabbing them and
holding them together. "One round of applause is all it will
take to get us strapped down in the operating room too."
       Mentally I started to calculate if I could take them,
if I could burst out, gun blazing, and try to save some of
these people. But I had no idea what kind of firepower there
was in this hospital; the last time I had participated in an
unplanned mission, I had almost been slaughtered in a
deadend. Besides, every minute I delayed increased the
likelihood that the Silencer would bleed to death.
       I searched some of the other avenues offered by the
vents, and found one leading into a storeroom, just off one
of the surgical chambers. Supplies were scattered all over
the floor, but it didn't look like the Insectoids had made a
concerted effort to destroy or take the items here. Keeping
one eye on the open door, I scrambled around, looking for
what I could find, trying to be as silent as possible. I
located some more bandages, and sedatives, and put them in my
backpack. I kept searching, aware of the buzzing sound in the
next room. I really needed a cauterizer. I rapidly glanced
through the row of shelves, didn't see one. Then, on a small
table just opposite the doorway, I saw what looked like a
handheld model sitting on a bench. I couldn't tell for sure
unless I got close... but it was right in view of the open
doorway.
       I peered ever so slightly into the doorway. There were
a number of Insectoids performing their ghastly procedures,
but several of them were faced in this general direction.
They'd definitely notice me grabbing something from the
bench.
       I thought for a long, hard moment; the Silencer was
running out of time! Then I went back to the vent, and
silently gestured for the Clapper to come down into the room.
Actually I lowered him gently on the ground, to prevent him
from making any noise; he looked down on the ground with
anticipation as first his toes and then his feet touched
down, as I lowered him by his belt. I motioned him forward,
almost to the point of the doorway, and pointed to the object
on the bench.
      The Clapper raised his hands nervously to clap; I
grabbed his hands, shook my head vigorously, and pointed to
the object again.
      The Clapper nodded. The object started to move, making
a slight scraping sound on the table. I winced and the object
lifted, and suddenly dashed into the Clappers hand. It was a
cauterizer.
      We heard an odd tenor change to the buzzing, and the
sound of movement; I quickly motioned for the Clapper to hide
behind the ends of one of the shelves; and so did I, tightly
gripping my blaster.
      An Insectoid entered the room. It stood there for a
moment, buzzing. I stood with my blaster, peering though a
tiny obscure angle to see it standing there. It looked this
way and that. And then it left the room entirely.

      We made our way back into the vent and out of the
hospital without incident. I tried to sprint as much as
possible but had to slow down to let the Clapper keep up.
Finally, we had almost reached the turnoff to the corridor
where the maintenance closet was located when I saw it; an
Insectoid standing guard at that junction.
      Had they discovered our hideout? Very possible. Or it
could just be a general sweep to try and catch resistance
members. But it seemed quite a coincidence that a guard would
be stationed there.
      But I had to find out if the hideout had been
discovered. The Silencer could still be bleeding to death
inside. I thought for a long moment. I could kill this
Insectoid easily enough, but there could be an entire platoon
around the corner. Even if there weren't, the death of an
Insectoid right almost outside our hiding place would create
unwanted attention in this area.
      I thought for a moment. Time was running out for the
Silencer; what could I do? And then, for some reason, I
thought of Mongo. He had seemed to hint that the Clapper
would be useful on this mission. He had already proven his
value once. Maybe he could help again.
      I pulled the Clapper forward, and whispered something
to him. He nodded.
      A piece of debris just past the Insectoid lifted itself
up and clanged against the wall. The Insectoid, suddenly
stirring from immobility, started marching down the corridor
to investigate. When it was out of site we raced to the
junction to try and reach the turnoff before it returned. I
was conscious of the fact that we could be running right into
the hands of a full platoon of Insectoids, but we needed to
take the risk.
      The corridor, our corridor, was empty; I raced down to
the entrance, accessed the lock and peeled back the door. As
the Clapper scampered in I cast a glance back to be sure the
Insectoid hadn't returned and spotted us; then I ran in and
shut the door as quietly and quickly as possible.... to find
myself facing Preston's blaster.
      "Sorry," he said, lowering it. "They've been milling
about out there for hours. I think our little raid got them
really stirred up."
      "How's the Silencer?" I said, suddenly spotting his
inert body and fearing the worst.
      "Not good," said Preston.
      The Silencer moaned as I reached over for him, and I
saw he was bleeding onto the ground. The first thing I did
was give him a sedative to knock him out. Then I took out the
cauterizer. In my haste I hadn't even tested to see if it
worked, or still had power. But I flicked the activation
switch and was rewarded with a small glow on the tip.
      Surgery isn't one of my favorite tasks, and it was
about as unpleasant for me as it was for the Silencer, but in
a few minutes it was done. He jerked a bit from the obvious
pain even when he was unconscious, and I had to give him
another shot to keep him knocked out. When it was done I had
stopped the bleeding; but the question is, had I stopped it
in time? What the Silencer needed was a transfusion, but we
had no way to get him one.
      For the first time in what felt like years I slumped
into a corner, and immediately sank into unconsciousness.

*************************************************************
*******
       "There is no sign of the alien who invaded my sanctum;
no sign of the humans who attacked the control center and
killed the senior watchers, and no knowledge of how they got
in our out; is this correct, commander?" Queen Zsst asked.
       The commander, actually the deputy commander of the
Sarney garrison, couldn't help but tremble. Both the
governor-general and the commander of the garrison had been
unlucky enough not to be in the control room at the time the
humans had attacked; at least if they had, their endings
could have been quick and relatively painless; instead, both
their dismembered corpses were hanging just feet away from
the Queen's thrown, a very poignant statement about her
unhappiness with palace security.
       "We do have some more information about the creature
who attacked you," said the commander, sweating profusely.
"It was a-"
       "I know what it was! Don't you think I recognize one of
those when I see it!" The Queen snapped. "And it shouldn't
have been here! Is there anything else useful you have to
say?" She stressed the word useful. If the commander had
nothing useful to impart...
       "We also have video on the human attackers," said the
commander.
       "Not enough to show how they got in or out," the Queen
noted.
       "They disappeared somewhere on level 7," said the
commander. "My men are still searching, but the structure of
this place prevents effective-" he broke off, seeing the
expression on the Queen's face, seeing her tendril start to
lift, as if to motion her bodyguard to move forward and set
another example. Ever since the last attack she had four
heavily armed squads located inside her chambers, and several
more platoons scattered throughout the whole of Sarney
Sarittenden.
       "We have the identities of the human attackers!" The
commander blurted.
       The Queen lowered her tendril, for a moment. "Go on."
"One of them has been identified as the same Graftonite who
stormed our ship orbiting Grafton and slaughtered the crew.
He has been identified as "The Silencer" and is reputed to be
one of their fiercest warriors."
      A Graftonite. The Queen shuddered; wasn't there
supposed to be a blockade in effect? Even their intense
efforts to invade and pacify the populace had so far been
stymied by strong resistance on the ground; so far all they
had managed to do was occupy and fortify a small, four square
mile area that was under almost constant attack.
      "And the other?"
      "His name is Clifford Croft, he's a level one operative
with the Agency-"
      "I thought we had located and killed all the top agency
operatives!" the Queen roared.
      "Apparently not. They may have formed an alliance with
the creature that attacked you in an effort to destabilize
our pacification program."
      The Queen considered this possibility. If so, that
would be very, very disturbing.
      "Then we must prevent such an alliance from being
cemented. Bring me the heads of this Graftonite and Agency
man. Bring me their heads within two planetary revolutions,
or I will have yours," said the Queen.
*************************************************************
*******

      I got up and stretched my very sore muscles; the whole
previous day seemed like a bad dream. Then, remembering, I
rushed over to the Silencer. He was lying on the ground, but
his eyes were open and he was conscious.
      "How're you feeling?" I asked.
      "Awful," said the Silencer. He didn't look very good.
His face was very pale.
      "You lost a lot of blood," I said. "Most people
wouldn't have lasted as long as you did." I looked around.
"You should eat something to replenish your strength."
      "Preston gave me the last of the food before he left,"
the Silencer whispered.
      "Left?" I looked around. Red Sally and Sashay were gone
too, but Mongo and the Clapper were there.
      "He goes several hours ago," said Mongo. "Asks Mongo if
bugs still waiting outside, but Mongo not know everything, so
finally he goes out."
      "And were the bugs still outside?"
      "Mongo not hear sounds of weapons fire, so Mongo thinks
not," said Mongo. Then, as an afterthought, "But Mongo always
criticized for being wrong, Mongo not want to try to make
guesses."
      Clap clap.
      The door was opening and this was the Clapper's way of
getting my attention. My weapon was already drawn and pointed
but it was only Preston and Co., and they were carrying big
packages of something.
      "Food!" said Sashay. "We stopped off at the most lovely
storehouse-"
      "That's a lot of food you got there," I said. "Where
did you get it?"
      "We located a new supplyhouse on Level 48, just one
sector over," said Preston.
      "How did you get past the Insectoid guards?"
      "No guards," said Preston. "Looks like they haven't
discovered the place yet. We should go back there tonight and
take what we can before they do."
      "Um," I said absentmindedly. Somewhere inside alarm
bells were going off, but I wasn't sure why. I looked at
Mongo, our most reliable indicator, and he was frowning too,
but he also looked puzzled. In other words, something was
bothering him too, but he wasn' t quite sure what it was
either.
      "Are you sure you weren't followed on your way back?" I
said.
      "Croft," said Preston, in a very disgusted tone. "I'm
not an amateur."
      I sat back against a wall while Sashay went through the
food and began preparing dinner. While he worked he started
taking out the food from their containers and transferring
them to smaller bags.
      "What're you doing?" I asked.
      "Many of these foods get stale when they're stored in
opened containers for longer periods; I'm transferring them
to smaller baggies to keep them fresh," said Sashay. "As my
dearly departed wife used to say, don't put all your eggs in
one stasis bin."
      The Paperweight turned momentary to attend to the
cooking food, then returned to his task. He emptied a large
container of cereal into several smaller ones, but something
caught his eye at the bottom of the box, and he tittered
hysterically.
      "What's so amusing?" I said, stepping forward. For some
reason I was infused with a sense of urgency. Maybe I was
just jumpy; but all my instincts said that something was
wrong here.
      The Paperweight held up a shiny piece of metal. "Look,
it comes with a prize! I didn't realize they still did these
kinds of promotions--"
      "Let me see that," I said. I grabbed it from him,
ignoring his hurt expression, but I only needed a few seconds
to look at it.... until I rapidly threw it to the ground and
grinded it under my heel.
      "Everyone up," I said, loudly clapping my hand.
"They've discovered us! We've got to move, now!"
      "What?" said Preston.
      I stood inches from Preston's face. "They bugged the
food, you idiot!" I turned to everyone else. "Out, out! Now!
No, don't wait to pack everything else, just take essential
weapons; I want everyone out of here in the next 60 seconds,
and DON'T TOUCH THE FOOD! Preston, help the Silencer up NOW!"
      I quickly gathered our most essential equipment, and
madly packed them into two bags, one of which I kept and the
other I gave to the Clapper; I told Red Sally to check the
door and to see if they were coming.
      I had destroyed that transmitter, but there were bound
to be others in those cartons they had brought back. This
wasn't some random sweep by the Insectoids; they were
expending a tremendous amount of labor and energy to find us.
      Big Red opened the door a crack. "Clear," she said, as
far as she could see. Which was about 20 feet.
      We had made it to the first junction before we heard
the buzzing sound, distant, but closing; we ran down another
corridor, and only I hung back, behind a corner, to see
several long columns of Insectoids trotting down the
corridor, the ones in the lead consulting a scanner of some
sort.
      I crept quietly around the corner and caught up with
the others. We stopped to catch our breath in an abandoned
room in the next sector. We had to proceed slowly because
Preston and Sashay had to half-carry, half-pull the Silencer,
who was in no condition to walk. But even this area wouldn't
be safe for long, as the Insectoids widened their search.
      What do we do now? was the unspoken question. We had
talked many times about locating and equipping a second
hideout, but that had always taken second priority to
missions to gather food or raid Insectoid facilities. And now
we were out in the cold with little more than the clothes on
our backs, a wounded man among us and not a crumb of food.
      I looked around at faces as grim as mine. Well, we'd
just have to start from scratch, picking a place to settle
in, at least temporarily, until we could find something full-
time. "Maybe we can find something in Sector 5 of Level 40,
at least temporarily," I said.
      "No, not go there," said Mongo. "You go to naaasty
level 40 on your own. Mongo goes his own way."
      "Where will you go?" I asked.
      "Clifford Croft forgets that Mongo survive a loooong
time before they find Mongo. They think, they may think
'Mongo waiting in hallways for months, waiting for Agency
peoples to come and save him'; but no, Mongo has his own
hideaway, nice, safe place where bugs don't go."
      "Is it far? Can you take us there?"
      "Not too far, no, not too far at all, can take you,"
said Mongo. But then, considering, "If Mongo takes you, will
you be grateful?"
      "Yes," I said, barely containing my annoyance. "Yes,
we'll be very, very grateful."

      Mongo had a very different definition of "not far" than
I did; we had marched about for almost an hour before we
found ourselves in an industrial section of level 14, sector
22, a huge chamber filled with pipes. I could just barely
make out the dim shapes of large vats across the room. Mongo
went for a medium sized pipe and turned a hatch to open it.
      I peered inside; it was dark, and it smelled of...
something. "You can't be serious," I said, wondering how we
could drag the Silencer inside. "Isn't there another way?"
      "No, no other way. Not far! Not far!"
      No longer relying on Mongo's prediction of distances, I
told the others to wait there while I followed Mongo in. Who
knows what we'd find on the other end, or how far the pipe
would go?
      It was dark, and the stench only grew in intensity as
we crawled onwards. But the distance was relatively short;
after just 50 feet, the pipe opened up into a large,
enclosed, spherical area. Mongo groped around in the darkness
and turned something on which I saw to be a haphazardly
mounted light bar.
      We were inside a sealed vat! The stench was almost
overpowering, and I recognized it. Gauche. Dried up gauche,
the flavored coffee favored by a large percentage of
Augustans (and many off-worlders). Unfortunately, I was one
of the few who wasn't a fan, and the smell of it was awful.
       But when I looked around I saw bedding, ripped up
papers, and several cartons of something. I went over to
them, and Mongo instinctively moved to intercept me, and then
stopped himself when I gave him a warning glance. I saw why
when I opened them up.
       Food! But where had Mongo gotten all this food? One box
contained chocolate bars. The second box contained chocolate
bars. The third box.... it was all chocolate bars. He must
have raided convenience stands. Had he eaten nothing but
chocolate bars for months on end?
       Mongo must have seen the expression on his face,
because he smacked his lips and said, "Good food, yes! Very
tasty. Mongo not have much, but Mongo share, yes, Mongo share
with good Agency friends."
       I looked around doubtfully. It wasn't much, the place
was as filthy as a rat's cage, and it smelled bad, but Mongo
had used this place for months to avoid the Insectoid
patrols, so it was probably secure.
       "How do you get ventilation?"
       "Ventilation?" Mongo asked, as if I had used an
unfamiliar word. Then, frowning, he said, "Leave entrance to
pipe open sometimes. But dangerous, very dangerous, can show
bugs where Mongo is."
       "Hm," I said, looking up. Well, we could always burn a
few small and discrete holes in the sides to get some
ventilation; at least we wouldn't asphyxiate ourselves. I
nodded, making the decision.
       The only problem was how to get the Silencer through
the pipe. There was no way he could crawl on his own; he was
so weak now that he had to be carried everywhere. We couldn't
pull him by his arms, not without causing him tremendous
pain.
       It was Sashay of all people who figured it out. First
Sashay entered the pipe backwards; then he had us put the
Silencer in the pipe legs first, and then Sashay pulled on
the Silencer's legs while crawling backwards. The Silencer,
semi-conscious, moaned slightly in discomfort but endured it.
       When we had all crawled through the pipe I immediately
braced myself for the objections.
       "You can't be serious," said Preston, pulling his shirt
up to his nose to act as a filter against the stench.
       "This place stinks!' said Red Sally, her blonde hair
acquiring just the slightest tinge of violet in the poor
light.
       "Look how dirty it is! You can't expect us to live like
animals," said Sashay.
       "Like animals, yes, that's how they see us," said
Mongo. Oh oh, we had hurt his feelings. "Nice Agency peoples
want to live like civilized peoples; way out of pipe is that
way."
       "He's got a point," I said. "This isn't perfect, but we
need a safe place to hide, at least for a while, and this may
be the ticket. Does anyone else has a better hiding place to
suggest, and is he or she willing to carry the Silencer
there?"
       I received the silence I expected.

*************************************************************
*******
      "-We took DNA sampling which shows that the ones called
Silencer and Clifford Croft were in the closet only minutes
before we got there," said the deputy commander, trembling
silently as he held up a sample tab. The deputy commander
knew his two days were up.
      "So you're saying that you missed them by minutes, and
that's the success you have come to report," said Queen Zsst,
as if she were summarizing.
      "We were very close! I'm sure if we just had a little
more time-"
      "Return to your post," said the Queen, interrupting.
      The deputy commander, surprised, saluted, and turned to
go.
      "Not that way," said the Queen, as two of her
bodyguards came up behind and around the deputy commander.
"That one," she said, pressing a button which lowered a hook
near the bodies of the garrision commander and the governor
general.
      Queen Zsst watched dispassionately as her bodyguard
started to ritually dismember her former deputy commander,
who was screaming even before the first limb was removed. She
summoned the newly appointed garrison commander, and it
stepped forward, trying to ignore the now much louder screams
coming just several feet to the right.
      The Queen summoned a viewscreen image of Clifford Croft
and the Silencer, taken from their internal records. "Find
Croft. Now!" said the Queen.
      The commander looked surprised but said nothing and
saluted, turning away. A smart being; it might go far.
      Baracki chose that moment to enter her chambers. He
gazed for a moment at the partially dismembered deputy
commander, and then turned away, as if bored him, as if he
had long since become desensitized to such a thing. But who
knew what really went on underneath that hood? Baracki
approached the Queen. Gesturing to her dismembered officers,
he commented, "Doing a little redecorating?"
      "A minor matter," said the Queen. "Nothing we can't
handle."
      "I'm not so sure," said Baracki. "I got a good look at
the 'redecorating' of the control area on level four.
Perhaps..." His words were cut off by his gaze, which settled
on the image of Clifford Croft. "This one is known to us! He
has meddled in our affairs before." He gave a dark hiss.
      "It is only one being, and we are hunting for him,"
said the Queen. "A minor irritant," she said, hiding her rage
from Baracki.
      "Let us hope you do not suffer any further "minor
irritants" in your command center," said Baracki. "I would
hate to think that my confidence in you had been misplaced."
And he strode out of the chamber, leaving a trail of fear in
his wake.


Chapter 14: New Allies

From the personal log of Clifford Croft, 1 year and eight
months

I never imagined (or simply wasn't at all sure) that I would
survive long enough to write another entry almost one year
after our near-fatal attack on Sarney Sarittenden. But I
have.
      The first few days after the raid were touch and go,
especially for the Silencer. He lay unmoving for two days,
and we almost thought he was dead; but then he moaned, and
sat up, and from then on got slowly stronger. Within a few
days he could stand up unassisted; within a week he was
walking around; and within a few weeks he was more or less
back to his old strength.
      But the injury to his arm was not so easily healed. He
had a deep, black-reddish wound along his upper arm and part
of his shoulder, and had no apparent control of his right
arm. He tried to train it, forcing himself to lift first
light and then heavier objects with his right arm, and soon
regained some strength there. But he must have had some nerve
damage, for his arm would jump or tremble at odd times, even
if he wasn't using it. When he was asleep, it was not
uncommon to see his arm jerk about as if he were having a
nightmare. Maybe he was.
      That effectively meant his ability to shoot with his
right hand was gone; although the Silencer assured us that he
was "almost as good" a shot with his left hand. Almost as
good was still several times better and faster than the rest
of us, so I think we're still grateful to have him with us.
      Our first task was to find a new hideout. I didn't want
to hurt Mongo's feelings, but we didn't want to live in a vat
forever. After much searching, and consideration of different
possibilities, we found one, in an abandoned factory. We
found a large block of machinery that we could hollow out and
fix up. We fixed it up and equipped it under my direction; it
was to have a minimum of three entrances and exits, to give
us several avenues of escape; and it was to be equipped with
a security system that also had a self-destruct mechanism
tied to a block of explosives. If we ever had to abandon our
base again, next time we could leave the Insectoids something
to remember us by.
      The next step was to equip our new headquarters. I had
had some time to think in Mongo's vat, and I realized that
searching for food in warehouses was a losing proposition.
The warehouses were running of supplies, and most of them
were baited traps guarded by the Insectoids. If we couldn't
get food, we'd have to make our own.
      So we raided some garden supply depots (a rarity on
August, but at least they were unguarded), as well as a few
outlying farms for supplies. We got the seeds for some thirty
day potatoes, and quick growing rice as well as a few other
vegetables. We even got some meat seeds, the bioengeered
group that grew what looked and tasted like meat. Well, they
tasted somewhat like meat, with a kind of tangy corn flavor.
It wasn't top-notch sirloin from a carefully bioengineered
white steer, but it was better than nothing.
      But before we could eat we had to set up the hydroponic
garden and the hotlamps (run on a portable generator) in our
new hideout. That meant we had to eat nothing but chocolate
bars for a month; in fact, we ran out just after a week, and
had to raid other convenience counters for more chocolate
bars. By the end of a month we were quite, quite sick of
chocolate; and when the first of our grubby little potatoes
came out of the ground, we greedily devoured them. After that
we laid out more space for our garden, and soon evened out
the supply and demand problem--though, with limited space, we
always had to ration food.
      We even made an attempt to live normal lives. When the
Clapper told us that Red Sally's birthday was coming, Sashay
somehow managed to put together a cake. I'll never forget the
moment when she put her face close to the cake and blew on
the candles. The minute she blew on them they all lit up. I
wonder what kind of wish she made.
      We even got her a present, of sort; I had located a
military target dummy, used for testing explosive and high-
caliber ammunition. It was flame resistant, and that gave
Sally hours of pleasure as she slowly burned little pieces of
it off in her spare time. It took her two days just to slowly
burn the head off, and I think she really enjoyed this
present; she would sit in a corner, a flame sprouting from
her finger, grinning as she flamed pieces of the thing.
      Sashay took up painting again, and tried to paint each
of us; he would hang the results on the walls, along with
other decorations he would find or make. The Silencer even
let Sashay do a painting of him, when we told him how Sashay
had dragged him through the pipe. But only one painting, the
Silencer insisted; and sure enough, when the Paperweight
attempted to test the Silencer on this point, starting a
second painting, the Silencer shot the painting in progress
with his good hand.
      The Silencer practiced quickdraws and aiming with his
left hand, to improve his proficiency (if that was at all
possible), and he also worked with his right hand; sometimes
he could draw his gun with it and hold it steady, but often
his arm would jump when he drew the gun, or tremble when he
tried to aim.
      The Clapper didn't seem to do much on his own. He just
stuck around Red Sally and watched her burn things.
      And Preston and I? I think we were just glad to be
alive. But having survived the initial invasion, there was
more to do. The first task I put us to was preparing a
secondary hideout, in case our new base of operations was
discovered. I had the unenviable task of explaining to Mongo
why we couldn't use his vat as a backup base, that we were
"saving it" as an ultimate backup in case our secondary
hideouts were discovered.
      Then I issued unusual orders--I told the Silencer,
Preston, Red Sally, and the Clapper, to find and equip a
backup hideout of their own, while I, the Paperweight, and
Mongo would prepare a backup base of operations on our own.
Under no circumstances, I stressed, was one group to tell the
other group where their hideout was. The Clapper, Sashay,
Mongo, and Red Sally looked puzzled with these instructions,
but complied. Those who were experienced enough to understand
my instructions knew why I issued them; and those that
weren't needn't be worried by... unpleasant contingencies.
      A turning point of sorts came two months after our
attack on Sarney, when we had finished building up our
hideout. It was a bit hot inside from the light of the heat
lamps in the gardening area, but otherwise reasonably
comfortable. We were sitting around, not really doing very
much, when Preston said what was on all our minds.
      "So, what do we do now?"
      I understood his question immediately. We had built up
our base, and we had nothing to do--in fact, our little farm
was going so well, that we didn't even need to go out to hunt
for food anymore. Aside from some trips for gardening
supplies, we could stay inside our little hideout almost
indefinitely.
       If we were simple machines that could be turned on and
off, that could be an acceptable solutions. But we were
humans, restless humans; even the Clapper wanted to go out
and cause trouble (it must have been Red Sally's influence).
I tried to make excuses. I said, "What about the Silencer? Is
he up to-"
       Two guns came into being, mere inches from my face. The
one on the right wavered a little, but both pointed at me. "I
guess that answers that."
       "We could start small," said Preston. "There's an
Insectoid checkpoint two levels up-"
       And that's how we started, small. But we planned our
missions carefully. And in another difference, we traveled
mostly though the ventilation system, to reduce the chances
of getting caught. We painstakingly mapped all the vents in
the area and used them for travel, to reduce the amount of
time we'd have to wander around the corridors where we could
run into an Insectoid patrol. The Silencer was well enough to
permit him to crawl again using both arms.
       We went on a few missions, always being careful to
check out our targets first, always being careful not to
strike too close to our home base of operations so we
wouldn't draw attention to ourselves. And we did this for a
few months, achieving some measure of success. By success I
mean that we managed to inflict harm on the Insectoids; we
weren't crippling their occupation, but we were hurting them,
and, most importantly, we weren't taking any casualties in
return. Better planning and coordination were paying off.
       We had a string of minor successes over the next few
months, and then, unexpectedly, we had a mission go wrong.
Preston and Sashay were on a recon mission, to look for new
targets of opportunity, when Sashay got caught.
       I know, I know it sounds crazy that we would send the
Paperweight out on military missions. But the alternative for
him was to stay in our hideout 25 hours a day, seven days a
week. He could, and did, get stir crazy. I couldn't afford to
give him an armed escort just to take a walk outside; it was
much too dangerous. So he volunteered to go on missions with
us. I figured that recons were less dangerous, relatively
speaking, than direct assaults; and as Sashay refused to
touch a blaster, this was all he was really good for.
       But he and Preston got separated on a recon mission,
and Sashay stepped on something that gave away his position,
and the Insectoids pounced on him quickly. In a way maybe it
was good he was unarmed; if he had been armed, he might have
been identified as a rebel and executed on the spot. I think
the Insectoids thought he was probably an escaped laborer,
and they merely took him away
       "Who will take over his cooking duties?" the Silencer
asked.
       "I hated his food," spat Red Sally.
       "Aren't we going to try and rescue him?" Preston asked.
Perhaps he felt responsible for his abduction.
       "We don't even know where he is," I said reasonably.
       "But I know where he is," said Preston. "I saw them
take him to their outpost on the surface, block 14-24 section
2."
      "He may not be there anymore," I said. "And it's bound
to be heavily defended."
      "There are only about 15-20 of them," said Preston.
      "And there are only 4 combatants among us," I said.
      "If he talks, we'll have to abandon this hideout," said
Preston.
      "Ummm... you've got something there." While we had
secondary hideouts, I wasn't too eager to uproot and abandon
what we had. I turned to the Silencer. "What do you think?"
      "Seems like a lot of work for a Paperweight," said the
Silencer.
      "He did pull you through the pipe," I said.
      "I did let him draw a painting of me," said the
Silencer. "That makes us even."
      "He also spotted the bug the Insectoids planted in the
food," I said. "If he hadn't noticed it, we all would've been
caught or killed."
      "He's a noncombatant, and contributes little outside of
the dinner table," said the Silencer. "I also find his
painting and decorating habits annoying."
      "All right, then," I gave an exaggerated sigh. "I guess
we'll just have to pick up and move to a new hideout. It's a
pity, though.... I guess you're not up to it anyway."
      The Silencer gave me a cold, deadly look.
      "I mean, you've been able to handle the minor
skirmishes pretty well, but this would be considerably more
of a challenge; after all, we haven't gone up against this
many Insectoids since our raid on Sarney. And, with your
injured arm, it's no shame..."
      Two guns were out and pointed at my face. Neither of
them wavered.
      "Your crude attempt at manipulation isn't worth
commenting on," said the Silencer. "If you want to go and
kill more Insectoids, cut the psycho-crap and just say so."
      I checked my blaster charge, and holstered my weapon.
"Saddle up, gang."

      We moved through the ruins on the surface cautiously,
heading towards the Insectoid encampment. It was some sort of
checkpoint or outpost, but given the darkness there could be
more of them than Preston reported. When we got close enough,
about a half block away, I peered at the location through
electrobinoculars. There were guards standing outside a
small, hastily constructed guard building that had been built
on the sidewalk and over part of the street. There were only
a handful of guards outside, but that building could easily
contain two dozen more. And there, sitting on the sidewalk
under guard, was the Paperweight, looking glum. He seemed to
be sitting there awaiting transport.
      As if on cue, a ground car zoomed to a halt near the
encampment, containing four more Insectoids. As if on cue
another group of Insectoids came out of the building, making
for almost two dozen Insectoids on site. I could see where
this was leading; once Sashay was in the ground car, we'd
never be able to trace him.
      But could we take on two dozen, or more, Insectoids?
      I passed the electrobinoculars around, and the
expression spread from face to face; there was nothing we
could do for Sashay. I was preparing to herd our group home
and my back was to the outpost, and so I missed the very
beginning of the battle.
      But I certainly heard it, hearing the unmistakable
cackle of blaster fire. Multiple blaster fire, which my
trained ear said was coming from League weaponry. What was
this?
      Wresting the electrobinoculars away from the Clapper,
who was tapping unconvincingly on it, I saw what was
happening. The Insectoid outpost was under attack from
several different sides! It was unclear who the attackers
were, but if they were against the Insectoids, they were
almost certainly on our side.
      We joined the attackers, haphazardly running down the
block to engage the Insectoids who were busy responding to
blaster fire from all sides. The Paperweight had
instinctively hit the ground when the shooting started, which
may have saved his life, with all the blaster fire whizzing
around. As we closed on the center of the firefight I saw the
attackers, all undeniably human, many wearing the green
uniforms of regular Alliance army units.
      In seconds it was all over; every Insectoid was down,
and green was running on the streets. Sashay, covered with a
streak of green, sat up, looking a bit ill. The newcomers
eyed us as cautiously as I did them, and their guns were now
pointed at us. "Halt!" one of them cried. "Identify
yourself."
      "We're here to pick him up," I said, slowly lowering my
weapon as I indicated Sashay. "Very fortunate you happened to
be around. My name is Clifford Croft."
      Their leader approached. He gave me a looking over, and
then looked at Red Sally and the others more curiously. He
must have thought we were scavengers, or escaped prisoners.
He made a hand motion, and his men lowered their weapons
      "My name is Captain Sklam, of the armed forces of the
Alliance," he said. "How long have you been on the run?"
      "On the run?" snorted Red Sally. "We've been hitting
the Insectoids for months!"
      "Really?" said Captain Sklam. "The six of you?"
      "We were the ones who raided Sarney Sarittenden, what
have you done lately!" Red Sally countered.
      "You?" said Captain Sklam. "I had heard rumors that
Sarney had been attacked... but I think it's hardly possible
that a bunch of stragglers..."
      I could see that credibility was going to be an
important stumbling block, so I decided to break cover and
say, "I'm a level one Agency operative."
      There was a murmur among his men. "One of the Eight," I
heard more than one say. Maybe it wasn't wise to admit in
public, but I needed to get through to them.
      "And I'm a fire surprise," said Sally, sending a
spectacular sheet of flame shooting out of her fingertips
into the evening sky.
      The soldiers took a few steps as they were stunned.
      "And I'm a Clapper!" said the Clapper, clapping as
Sklam's blaster was pulled from its holster by an invisible
force and then holstered again.
      "And Mongo not anything," said Mongo, with big eyes.
And then, "You will have grape juice and liquid starch for
dinner tonight."
      "Ah, that's enough," I said hastily. I hadn't intended
to put everyone's skills on display.
      "I can see there's more to you then it seems," said
Sklam. "I think I should take you back to see the General."
      General? Had a significant portion of our military
survived, after all these months? I started to hope against
hope.
      "But we'll have to blindfold you, for security reasons,
you understand," said Sklam.
      I nodded, understanding the necessity of it. In fact,
the only one who put up a fight was Mongo.
      "No, no," said Mongo.
      "Mongo, it's necessary," I said, rather anxious now to
get off the street. The Insectoids would be coming to
investigate, soon.
      "They will let Mongo trip and fall down the last five
steps."
      "No, of course they won't," I said.
      "Our men will guide you carefully," said Sklam. "You
have my word."
      Mongo looked unconvinced, but dutifully let himself be
blindfolded. We started marching for some time, at least 30
or 40 minutes, during which time we went underground and down
eight levels--at least I could count the number of stairwells
we went down. We passed through several more corridors, and
then, right before we reached our destination, we walked down
a short flight of five steps. A few second later I heard a
"eee...upppp!" behind me and the sounds of someone falling
down the stairs, and then Mongo's voice screaming and
cursing, and then, from one of Sklam's men, "Oh... sorry
about that."
      When our blindfolds were lifted, we found ourselves in
a large office; a sandy haired man in a general's uniform was
sitting behind a desk, and we were flanked by armed guards.
      "So, you are our mysterious visitors," said the
general. "The preliminary action report I received indicated
that you have some rather unusual abilities."
      "We demonstrated them to get your attention," I said.
"I'd love to speak further about it... in private."
      The general considered. We had been disarmed, but there
were seven of us, and one of him. "Why don't my men and your
men wait outside and we'll talk one-on-one?"
      I nodded, instantly agreeing.
      Once everyone left we immediately made introductions.
His name was General Tenor Markov and he had been commander
of security at Sarney Sarittenden when the Insectoids first
attacked. His men had put up a show of resistance when the
Insectoids first landed, but were forced to pull back and
stage a guerrilla warfare operation over the past year and a
half.
      I explained who I and our people were, and Markov
looked surprised. "I had only heard rumors of an existence
of--what do you call it? The Gamma Section? But the things
your people were seen to have done--telekenesis,
pyrotechnics--were undeniable."
      "It was not my intention to give a personal
demonstration to a large audience," I said. "Our strength
rests in secrecy. But yours lies in numbers. May I ask how
large your resistance is?"
      The General, now comfortable with my story, gave more
details. He had gathered 350 troopers, almost a battalion
sized force, and they had been conducting raids as frequently
as they could. Because of their size they could engage what
we considered larger enemy groupings, like the checkpoint
that was destroyed tonight, but they still couldn't stand up
against the mass of the Insectoid occupation force.
      "Are you working with other allied forces?"
      Markov shook his head sadly. "We've had no other
contact with other forces. At the time of the invasion there
were at least 50,000 soldiers on August; I can only guess
that they're either dead, or imprisoned, or scavenging just
to survive. Of course, August is so big, there's always the
chance that other resistance forces could be operating
without our knowing about it. You're the first top-level
Agency man we've seen come through here."
      "You've seen other Agency people?" I said, hoping
against hope.
      "We came across two field agents last year; but
haven't seen or heard from any others since," said Markov.
Seeing my expression, he added, "Of course, not all of them
would hasten to identify themselves to us. You people are
survivor types, I'm sure there must be more of you still
around."
      "Hm," I said, my gears turning rapidly. "How do you
avoid detection?"
      "We have a large underground area here, but most exit
points are sealed off and the rest are carefully hidden,"
said Markov. "We only go out in groups and we make sure to
collect our dead and wounded."
      "Still, in an organization as big as this, you're bound
to be discovered sometime..."
      "We have contingency plans," said Markov, :"But it's
difficult to constantly move around over 300 soldiers and
support staff. Our numbers are actually around 500, as we've
taken on civilians to support our efforts." He looked at me
appraisingly. "We could certainly use people with your
obvious skills. Would you like to join forces with us?"
      I told him I'd have to take that subject to my people.
He nodded, and then spoke into his comm, ordering us to be
released and to have our weapons returned. We had
established a certain level of trust.
We sat in a large, busy cafeteria, marveling at all the well-
fed, relatively well dressed and high morale soldiers and
civilians around us.
"I had no idea this kind of resistance was going on, less
than two miles from us," Preston marveled.
      "August is a big city," I said. "The General has asked
us to join him. What do you think?"
      "Is nice here!" said the Clapper, dropping his spoon to
clap twice. "And food good!" We were, for the first time in
months, eating something that wasn't potatoes, rice, carrots,
or artificially grown meat.
      "We can get more action and combat here," said Sally.
      "I don't like it," said the Silencer, slowly spooning
food into his mouth with his left hand.
      "Why not?" I asked.
      "Too big. Too many people," said the Silencer.
      "I get that feeling too," said Preston. "How can a
place this big avoid getting discovered by the Insectoids?"
      "They've done it so far," I pointed out. Secretly, I
was torn. It would be so much easier just to be part of the
group, to give up our hand-to-mouth existence, to be able to
strike at larger targets with less individual risk to
ourselves. At the same time I felt uneasy being in such a
large group, as if that just made us a bigger and more
prominent target to be stepped on. I turned to Mongo. "What
do you think?"
      "Yes, food good, very good," said Mongo, gobbling up
his portion as if he hadn't eaten in a week. "But stay? No,
cannot stay, no, not stay."
      "Why not?" I asked.
      "Big place may or may not be discovered," said Mongo.
      "What do you mean, may or may not?"
      "Depends on hooded man," said Mongo. "If big bugs send
hooded man, place becomes discovered. But... big bugs may not
send hooded man, in which case soldiers move on own before
being discovered."
      I considered warning Markov. But what could I say? That
Mongo could see into the future, and in some future that may
or may not happen at some unspecified time they would be
discovered, and because of that risk he needed to pick up and
move his operations....? No, I couldn't go to him with that,
not unless I had something more concrete.
      We agreed that we would go on some joint missions with
the soldiers but not formally move in with them. The only
catch is that the General would need to allow us to let us
leave knowing the location of his hideout. I spoke with him
again and he agreed, stating that he trusted me, and that
only caused me greater alarm. He had never met me before an
hour ago, and now he was trusting me, and my team, with the
location of his secret base. Even if we didn't actively
betray him, if we were caught and interrogated, the
Insectoids would get the location from us easily.
      And then everything became clear: the General was a
military man. He wasn't skilled in conducting a cloak and
dagger guerrilla war; he was accustomed to large scale
attacks that didn't require secrecy like an Agency
infiltration did. Sooner or later, I realized, he and his men
would be discovered.

Chapter 15: Disaster

From the personal log of Clifford Croft, one year and eleven
months after the Invasion of August.

      We've gone on a number of raids with the General's men,
each seemingly more successful than the last. We've raided
supply depots that contained prized munitions, convoys where
we were given the precise time, locations, and routes of, and
even the location of one of their top secret breeding vat
installations. The Insectoids have established breeding vats
on August to grow troopers more rapidly. That meant that
destroying those vats are our top priority, but naturally the
location of these vats are the most closely guarded of their
secrets.
      So the question is, where is Markov getting his
information from? And how is he so successful in staying
hidden? More and more things weren't adding up. I tried to
confront him.
      "Have you managed to tap into the Insectoid information
network?"
      No, said the general.
      "Do you have some form of electronic surveilance on the
Insectoids?"
      The general shook his head again.
      "Do you have an Insectoid traitor who's giving you
information?" I asked, thinking it most unlikely.
      The general shook his head again.
      "Then how are you getting precise information about
their military assets?" I asked.
      The General sighed. "You know, Clifford, if I were to
tell anyone, it would be you. But this was a secret that I
specifically was entrusted with. It's the biggest secret of
our organization; even my senior aides don't know.
Unfortunately, because of it's sensitive nature, I can't
reveal it to you. It's bigger than all of us; our
organization may fail, but my source of information is more
important than all of us, and can't be allowed to be
discovered. It's our most important asset in the war effort."
      And that's all he would say on the subject. Meanwhile
my wheels were spinning rapidly; if it wasn't electronic
intel, and it wasn't an Insectoid traitor, what else could it
be? That was what was bothering me the most.

*************************************************************
********
The thing that bothered Queen Zsst the most was the attack on
the breeding farm.
      "5000 combat units destroyed!" she raged. "This is yet
another large scale operation just miles from this building,
and you still cannot locate the rebels!"
      The commander of security for Sarney and it's immediate
environs trembled; it had just been appointed to its post a
few weeks ago after the liquidation of its predecessor.
"The rebels were an annoyance when they destroyed an
occasional stockpile or industrial facility," said Queen
Zsst. "But this is a new level of assault and cannot be
tolerated. There were at least 200 of these vermin in the
last attack; why can you not track them down?"
      The commander said, "We have conducted level to level
scans but cannot find any trace of them. If they are located
nearby, it's almost as if they know how we scan and how to
defeat our scanning devices."
      The Queen considered. Liquidating this fool wouldn't
yield any better results than the past few liquidations of
recent months. Perhaps, now, it was time to ask for help.
      She was about to press the button on her console to
summon him when he came in. It was almost as if he had
somehow anticipated her request; but that wasn't possible,
was it?
      A trail of fear blazed the way for Baracki, and the
Insectoids consciously moved out of the way as he entered the
Chamber of Leaders.
      "I understand you have a problem," he said simply.
*************************************************************
********

      Several more days passed. I noticed we seemed to be
having an easier time making our way from Markov's hideout to
our own; it was as if the Insectoid patrols had been drawn
back for a reason, as if they had been reassigned, or... were
massing for some operation we were not yet aware of.
      I had sent Preston over to Markov to report my
observations, and Sashay had accompanied him in order to pick
up some supplies. In return for our help in the raids, Markov
had supplied us with food to supplement our own supplies. We
had enough for our own needs, but it was nice to have some
variety in our diets. Markov's men had come not just to
respect but to admire our abilities; after the first joint
operation where Red Sally set a dozen Insectoids on fire, his
soldiers could hardly fail to be awed. When the Clapper sent
an Insectoid slamming into a bunch of his companions on
guard, causing them all to fall helplessly to the ground, I
think they were also impressed. And of course they had all
heard of the Silencer--he was famous across the Alliance.
Even when limited to shooting with his left hand, he was a
faster and more accurate shot than any of the soldiers in on
our raids.
      I sat, quietly reflecting, when all of a sudden Mongo,
who had been sleeping, started tossing and turning, going
"no.... no.... no... no!" and then he bolted upright,
dripping of sweat all over.
      "What is it?" I cried.
      Mongo started shaking all over, his thin frame
trembling.
      "What? What is it?" I had never before seen him like
this.
      "Death," he whispered. "Much death... and fear."
      I didn't need him to say another word. I could figure
out the rest. Markov's group was about to be discovered.
      And I had sent Preston and the Paperweight over to
Markov's encampment. I might just have signed their death
warrant.
      I got my weapons, and gestured to the others. "They
only have a 20 minute head start. There may still be time to
save them." It was about a thirty minute journey to their
hideout.
      "No!" said Mongo, grabbing at my ankles. "Do not go! Do
not go!"
      "Do you see my death?" I asked calmly.
      Mongo looked around, at me, Red Sally, the Clapper, and
the Silencer. "Death, much death," he whispered.
      I considered. It was one thing not to undertake a
mission, or take a risk, because of one of Mongo's warnings.
But to simply give up on Preston and the Paperweight simply
on Mongo's say-so didn't sit well with me. Mongo wasn't 100%
accurate and couldn't fully predict and control the future.
      "Are you coming?" I said, my face grim. The Silencer
and Red Sally wordlessly made their way to the exit. The
Clapper procrastinated for a moment, his hands clapping
anxiously, then he nodded and followed.
      Mongo followed us out, which surprised me. He was going
into combat with us? But as soon as we came to the first
junction he turned off, heading in another direction. I said
nothing; he was under no obligation to follow us, and wasn't
a combatant. But if he didn't want to come, why didn't he
simply stay behind at our hideout?

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

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