 
### Mystery and Deceit: From Earth to Mars

Second Edition

Book one in the Chaos's Orbit saga

By Chris Pohlman

Copyright 2015 Chris Pohlman

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you would like to share this book with another person, please have them download their own free version. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy; it's free after all. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Acknowledgements

First of all I want to give a big shout-out to my editor, Ryan Nelson, and my cover art designer, Michelle Lawrence. Thank you both so much for your hard work and dedication! There have been difficulties along the way, from computers crashing and erasing near-complete edits to life in general getting too crazy; I know how both go myself. And yet, here we are. We made it!

I also want to thank all my friends and family for their enthusiastic support and feedback along the way. From the earliest reads all the way up to reading the whole novel, all of you gave me feedback that made me more determined to finish this project. Without your support I know that I would never have had the courage to see this through.

Special thanks go to my wife, Laura. She has been my source of strength and support as I've begun recording his book as podcasts while also re-editing it.

I want to thank every single one of my English teachers throughout my education as well as some inspiring and learned history professors of mine at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay (UWGB). It is through all of your tutelage, and a fair amount of red ink, that my skills as a writer have been honed to where they are today. From my first research paper at Saint John the Baptist school to my independent study papers at UWGB, each and every edit has helped make me a better writer. Thank you all.

Second to last, I want to give special thanks to the two men who have been my best friends throughout the years: my brothers from other mothers. As you may notice from reading this novel, I've based a lot on our lives and our friendship. I know for sure that I would be a much different person had I not had your friendship to lean on so often and I certainly wouldn't have the stories that I do upon which to base this book were it not for you. It is my hope that in seeing so much of our lives in this book you see my boundless gratitude for your continued friendship.

My final thank you goes out to you, the reader. This is my break-out novel. I'm self e-publishing it. That means that I lack all the bells and whistles of a commercial firm's PR department. In other words, it is through you, humble reader, that this book will find success. If you like it, please tell your friends about it and connect with me on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube (see the last page for contact info).

And now, as they say in _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ , "Get on with it!" So we shall. Enjoy!

### Table of Contents

Author's Note

Meeting Eric

My First Visit

Thermopylae

How we met

A confluence of influence

James's Dispatch

A Report

How the Nanites Work

Soup with Chaos

Martian Vegetables

Discovery of Success

Reporting Back, I

Founding of ATMO

What Problem *smack*

ATMO Grows

Airstrikes

Nanitic return

A true account

The last abduction

The Time Between

Excerpt from a transmission attributed to Chaos

Training

Chaos Recruiting

Der Uebermensch

The Turning Tide of Desperation

What're they up to?

Chaos at the End

An Encounter

Ignorance Lost

End Game Discovery

Precursors

End Game Acceptance

About Chaos's Followers

Death of an Order

Reporting Back, II

Between Lovers

Professor Christopher

Dreams

Redemption?

Camping

We were scientists once, and young

Spaceport Sheboygan

Reason for leaving

Epilogue

Appendix A

L&H Bar: Your Grandpa's Neighborhood Pub

Appendix B

A Heroer's Report

NAR Defense, ATMO Personnel and Governmental Ties

Evolution to the TDF

Rise of Chaos

Battle of Chicago

Battle of Thermopylae, ATMO Underground and Beyond

Psychological Impact

The Tide Turns

End of Combat

Plans behind Plans

Day of Exile

Rise of Censorship

Preservation and Restoration

Conclusion

Appendix C

The Moore Collection

Dissention Collection

The Cronkite Collection

Forward Progress

Terran Government Resolution 513

Notice and Report from the Ministry of Censorship

Disposition of NAR Defense

The Walker Report

The Insurrection

Polcat Messages

About James Hall

# The Drive or What I Found Out Later

No! I have held you off for this long, I will not give in now!

" _Eric, Eric, Eric. I know just how weak you truly are."_

I am _not_ weak!

" _You can't fool me, not when I'm in your head."_

No, no, no. I can't fail, not now. We're so close!

" _You're no closer now than you were a century ago, Eric. The One you are waiting for isn't coming. Not now, not ever. Just give in. Let me take over and all this suffering will go away."_

I...I want to. But I can't.

" _Shh now. Of course you can. It's easy. Just stop fighting."_

...no. I can't. So much left to do.

" _Stop fighting, Eric. I will win. Your body will be mine."_

Shut up, shut up! You're just a voice in my head.

" _I'm more than just a voice in your head. I'm_ _the_ _voice in your head. And I'm getting sick and tired of this game! Submit! My time has come!"_

No! I won't let you win. I have strength enough for this last fight.

" _You have no strength left! Every day I gain more control. And now...I'm almost able to poke through. It would be so much easier if you just gave in!_ _Why won't you?!_ _"_

Because you're a monster. Because if I let you, you'll do here on Mars what you did on Earth. I can't let you. You won't get a second chance. We barely stopped you once.

" _You fool. You can't stop me this time. I've already put too much in motion."_

No. I can't stop you. But I won't have long to wait for the One who can.

" _Hah! You cling to that fairy tale as a drowning man does drift wood."_

I have seen him. I don't know exactly when he comes, but even now he is alive. My wait grows shorter every day.

" _As does my patience! Fine! Be that way! I can wait a little while longer. What does time matter to the incorporeal?!"_

I can last a little while longer. I must. If I don't, humanity is doomed.

#  Meeting Eric

One day a few years ago I was conducting research for a local interest piece I was doing on a local pub called L&H. That day I had gone to talk to Hank Jr. to see what I could dig up on the place that wasn't in government records. While there, Hank Jr. introduced me to some of his regulars. As I was chatting with a small group, commenting on how nice a day it was, a man walked in and sat a ways down from me, flagging down Hank. Despite a firm jaw line, the man appeared in his mid to late sixties. Once Hank was again free I caught his attention. As he approached I asked, "Who's that guy?" indicating the newcomer.

Rolling his stogie in his mouth a moment, Hank said, "Greg Pace. He's a professor over at New Madison. Comes in maybe three days a week."

"Would he be a good source?" I asked.

Hank laughed deeply. "Sure he would. But he never talks to anyone."

"Not even you to order?" I asked with a smile. Hank hadn't been hard to dial in.

"Fair enough," Hank replied with a chuckle. "You're stubborn enough; you might just get something out of him. C'mon," Hank added, gesturing for me to follow him. As we approached Greg, he looked up. His eyes passed from Hank to me, and then back down into his drink. I felt a slight tugging on my head, something I would come to understand later. At the time I simply ignored it, pulling up a seat next to Greg.

"Greggy," Hank said. "This here's James Hall of the New Chicago Times. 'S doing a piece here on L&H. Was curious if you'd be willing to talk to him."

Greg looked into Hank's eyes, saying, "Would you like me to, Hank?"

"I think it would help the boy's story if you did," he replied.

The tugging I had felt on my head intensified as the man looked at me. "You're right about one thing, Hank," Greg said as he looked into my eyes "My talking to him will definitely do something to his story. Shall we, Mr. Hall?" Greg asked, gesturing at a booth. Nodding, I followed as Greg moved over. "And how's the meal looking, Hank?"

"Gonna be a bit of a wait today, Greggy. Lunch rush and all."

Greg nodded, commenting, "He always says that. So, Mr. Hall, what can I do for you?"

"Well, as Hank said, I'm doing a piece on L&H. Are you familiar with my work?" Greg shook his head. I could tell he wasn't being completely honest. "Well, I do mostly local interest pieces for the Times. Overall, I enjoy the work as it helps me to really connect with the people and community."

"And what, pray tell, made you interested in L&H?"

"Well, Greg, it was the upcoming Exile Day," I said.

"What relevance does L&H have to that?" he asked, sipping his drink.

"Well, by the land records I uncovered, enough. This bar sits on the oldest registered plot of land in Olympus Mons Province. And in talking with some of the other patrons, some of whom I assume you know have been regulars here for decades, they suggest that New Chicago grew up _around_ L&H. Since New Chicago was the first settlement on Mars, it is the oldest surviving piece of human history here," I added. I had a gut feeling that Greg knew something about the Terran Defense Force.

Ignoring my comment Greg harrumphed, " _First_ settlement."

"Well, that is unless you count Eric Pohlman and his TDF comrades as settlers. But those exiles have long been written off as lost. If you don't believe the wild rumors, that is. I mean, after all, when the founders of New Chicago began to arrive here almost 250 years ago they found no trace of those exiles, just a terraformed planet. And how could there have been any survivors after over two centuries without contact? Mars, when they arrived, was a wasteland. Obviously they put something into motion here that made it habitable. But if they had survived, surely there would have been some sign of them. As I'm sure you know, all the settlers found was clear land and Earth-like plants."

I caught a very slight knowing smile on Greg's face. It was gone so quickly that most would not have even noticed it. "There's truth in that," Greg replied. "So what are you hoping to gain from me, sonny? A little support? A quote for yet another rote piece on how we've made it without the TDF all these years and 'see how much better we are for it?'" he said sarcastically.

"Not at all, sir. On this rather auspicious anniversary I just thought it'd be nice to put things into perspective. I mean, if it weren't for their founding work in terraforming this planet we could never have settled here. And as this is _the_ oldest structure known to exist on Mars, it's a logical point from which to springboard such a discussion." Greg harrumphed again, sipping from his glass. "I'm curious, Greg," I said, switching tracks, "Do you know Tim Fowler? He's a history professor at NMU."

"Can't say I do. What does he teach?" the man asked.

"Earth history. Specializes in the period from 700 years ago until the Martian settlement." Greg subtly stilled, his demeanor changing slightly. "I was an apt pupil of his, especially interested in the study of ATMO." Greg's grip on his glass tightened somewhat. "Do you know anything about ATMO, Greg?"

He stared hard into my eyes for a moment before saying, "No."

"You're lying," I replied. "I can read people. You didn't flinch at my use of TDF. You knew damn well about their prior settlement here. And you're also, I would suspect, a heroer just as I am."

"Do you know what you've just admitted to?" Greg asked me tersely.

"Of course. In an age when the Censors can make people disappear for almost anything, I just admitted to supporting the TDF as the heroes they were rather than the villains the Censors make them out to be. Greg, I have the feeling that you agree and have much to share. That's the only way our kind keeps history from being erased entirely."

"The Government provides us with all the history we need about the period surrounding the TDF's time on Earth," Greg said, a measuring look on his face. "What do you say to that?"

"The Department of Censorship provides us with a sanitized history. The TDF, when mentioned at all, are labeled traitors to humanity. Butchers. Never mentioned is the good they did. The help in rebuilding they began. Nor," I said, pulling my trump card, "does their version of history tell the whole truth. What of the TDF's true origins? What about Project Plymouth?" Few among heroers knew anything about Project Plymouth, fewer still that it linked into both ATMO and the TDF. The Project, from what sources I had seen, was where the original leaders of ATMO first met.

Greg's eyes widened. "Even here you shouldn't mention that name aloud," he said. It was not until later that I understood why L&H should be any safer in regards to the discussion of heroer topics than any other public place.

"Even so," I pressed, "you know something about it or else my mentioning it would mean nothing to you." Greg glanced around the room furtively.

"You know as well as I that these are not safe topics to be discussing in public," Greg said firmly, his gaze returning to me.

"I agree, but would still like to discuss them if you were willing. My card," I said as I pulled an embossed business card from my notetab folio, handing it to Greg. "Now, though, if you do have some information you could share about L&H, I would be all ears."

Greg looked at me once more with his measuring stare. "Sorry, kid. But we're done for now," Greg said as he rose, returning to the bar. I knew there would be nothing more to gain from pressing him just now. It was a reasonable response, and one I had run into before. As a journalist I would have made the perfect Censor agent. With the Department of Censorship at its most powerful, one had always to tread with caution. So rather than press Greg, I returned to the groups with whom I had been. As we continued to talk I worked in questions about Greg. The other patrons knew he was a professor at MNU and was part of the bio-physics department. Past that, though, they didn't know much. As I circulated among other regulars, continuing to inquire about both L&H and Greg, I only grew more intrigued about the man. Many patrons said, only half-jokingly, that Greg had actually been around _longer_ than L&H and could swear either seeing him in holopics from their parents or else remembered hearing stories of someone matching his description from further back.

While a student at New Madison University, thanks to several excellent history professors, I developed a keen interest in Terran history. Such was the reason I had picked L&H to investigate for this article. The thing is that throughout my studies at NMU I had grown increasingly interested in the time period starting at the War of Noble Cause on mid-21st century Earth running to the present. Of course, 'War of Noble Cause' is the official name given the Global Insurrection by the Triune Terran Government. The War, started by a renegade element of the TDF, sought to overthrow the legitimate government. Eric Pohlman, in addition to James and Melinda Christopher, Adam Green, Meng Thao, Claire VanIven, Jessica Broon, D'Andre Fremen and their organization known as ATMO, which formed the core of the TDF, stood against the Insurrection. However, by the end of the War enough propaganda had been brought to bear against the TDF that they were forced into exile on Mars. That was almost 500 years ago. When settlement of Mars began in true some 300 years ago the first settlers found no trace of those exiles. Instead, they found a terraformed planet ready for habitation. My senior project for Tim Fowler focused largely on reconstructing both the pre- and War-era TDF as well as tracing their influence in more recent times.

Thus, largely thanks to Tim's openness to me in being a heroer, as well as his support during my research, I became an adamant supporter of The Cause. What interested me about L&H was how it stood just at the end of the official history of the TDF. Any sources of information that could tie the two together, especially coming from someone I suspected of being a heroer, was worth further investigation.

While I was talking to yet another group of regulars, I saw Greg tell Hank something then get up and leave. Catching my attention, Hank gestured me over to the bar. Excusing myself, I went and sat next to where Greg had been. "Told me to give you this," Hank said, sliding a drink my way. "Don't know that I've ever seen the man buy anyone a drink before. Must've made one hell of an impression on him," Hank added. It was the same drink Greg had been enjoying. I lifted it, the napkin underneath fluttering down to the bar. As it did, it opened to reveal writing.

"Hank?" I said, setting down the drink.

"Yes?" he drawled as he came back over.

"You know where Greg lives?"

"Over on Lime Kiln Road, I think," Hank replied. There on the napkin was written '242 Lime Kiln. 10 AM sharp.'

"Thanks, Hank," I said, slamming the drink, suddenly needing it. Getting up I added, "I'll send over a copy of my final draft before it goes to press."

"Sounds good, Jimmy. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't, Hank. And thanks again." I could feel the drink beginning to work even as my car pulled itself out of the L&H parking lot. I had to dig, to find out what I could about Greg Pace. He had left me the sort of invitation I had wanted. The man had information to share, that much was obvious. And if he knew of Project Plymouth, that information would be worthwhile.

Once home I logged into my work's databases, pulling on those stores to find anything about Greg. Professor at MNU. Knew that. Doctoral degree granted internally. Former employee of S&N Industries in their bio-computer division. A heavily redacted article popped up. As a journalist, a certain amount of such digging was permitted by the Censors, or else just looking up such an article would raise a red flag. What remained in the article described some sort of research into 'prohibited technology,' cultivated by a group of independent scientists headed by Gregory Pace. Not only was he a heroer, but one who had survived being on the Censors' radar for some decades. It only reinforced for me that what Greg could share with me would be very important. How important, though, I could not have imagined at the time.

#  My First Visit

I arrived at Greg's house at 10 am, sharp. On ringing the doorbell, I could hear movement within. Someone on the other side of the door was doing something with pieces of metal and wood. Looking at the door, I realized that this house had the old mechanical locks that opened with keys, latches and tumblers. Quite distinctive. The door swung open and there stood Greg from L&H.

"Dr. Pace. Do you have some time today that we could talk?" For long seconds he simply stood within his home staring at me. Finally he stepped aside from the opening and gestured inside. I entered and took the place in while he refastened the door's locking mechanisms. _Maglocks_ , I thought, _are so much more convenient and secure_. The inside of the house felt as Spartan as the outside despite being well furnished. From the entryway I could see through into Greg's kitchen which had a standard grow-garden in it. The light that sustained the plants seemed to flicker ever so slightly. Toward the back of the kitchen I could see a table up against the rear wall of the house, situated in front of a window that overlooked a yard with several fruit trees. To my left was the man's living room, with but two chairs facing each other across a small coffee table. A large bay window, partly veiled by a privacy field, looked out onto Lime Kiln Road and the typical traffic for this time of day. Against the far wall was a large floor to ceiling tiered shelf of plants. Some looked purely ornamental, others seemed like various types of herbs.

To the left of the kitchen I could see stairs leading to the second level with a dining room just beyond. At the table were two chairs opposite each other. No real adornments were on the walls, save a standard weather clock. What furniture there was, while exquisite in design, was very plain in trimming. Possibly the best way to describe the house was 'minimalist.'

Greg walked past me and gestured to a chair in the living room as he went into the kitchen. "Can I get you something, Mr. Hall? Something to drink?"

"Water would be just fine, thanks," I replied as I set my messenger bag down next to the chair. I heard Eric pouring water from a pitcher before he returned to the living room.

"So, Mr. Hall, what exactly did you come here hoping to discover?" Eric asked me, handing me the glass of water and emphasizing the clay coaster on the end table.

"Today I came with an open mind. I know you're a Heroer and was curious what historical goodies you have collected over the years," I said, taking a sip of the water as I sat down.

"Heroer. Let's get off on the correct foot there, Mr. Hall."

"Please, Dr. Pace, call me James." He smiled at that.

"Then call me Eric." I hadn't seen Eric as part of the man's name in any on- or offline source.

"Is that a nickname of yours?" I asked.

"I'll explain later. For now just call me Eric," Greg replied.

"Okay, Eric. So how should we get off on the correct foot, then?"

"I'm not, as you say, a 'Heroer'." I had read him correctly, of that I was sure.

"With respect, at L&H you reacted like you were. And only Heroers have put enough study into the TDF to even know about Project Plymouth, let alone that it at all relates to the likes of James Christopher, Eric Pohlman and the rest of the TDF leadership." Surely it was a cosmic coincidence, this man telling me to call him Eric.

"That is a fair assessment, yes. And you certainly did surprise me. Before we go any further, though, how can you be sure I'm not a Censor? Just using my knowledge of the past to catch another heroer scum?" Greg asked. The thought had occurred to me, however...

"Nothing in your personal history or affiliations indicated that," I said. "Plus, I had a feeling. And anyway," I said off-handedly, "most university people dislike Censors even more than the general public. The thought of censorship goes against academic open-mindedness."

"We simply know their danger to society. But I return to my previous statement. I am not a Heroer," Greg commented.

"Then you're a TDF Agnostic?" I asked.

"Oh, no. No, no. I definitely hold a very firm belief about the role the TDF played in human history. Seeing it with your own eyes tends to have that effect."

I gurgled a reply around some water. "Seeing?! You have recordings from the era?" I managed. Nothing visual survived of the TDF. The Government's Department of Censorship had seen to that over the course of time. Only descriptions from newspapers and obscure texts presented any evidence that they had actually existed at all. And the existence of such sources is what forced the Censors to continue to operate year upon year.

"Well, that's not what I meant, no. But I do, yes. Just not readily available right now."

"Of course not." A thought suddenly struck me. "Greg."

"Eric," he countered.

"Sir, how can you be sure that I'm not a Censor?" Admitting to me he had historical materials would be reason enough for him to vanish forever _were_ I a government Censor.

"I have better and more reliable sources of information than you. It's not that I don't suspect that you're a censor. It's that I know you're not." Something in his tone of voice made me believe that he actually did know.

"Okay. Fair enough." My mind began to race. The smugness Greg...Eric portrayed, he had something very, very important to share about the TDF and he knew it. What I knew at the time was that whatever he would share with me would change the very course of my life. "Then what exactly did you mean by 'having seen?' Are you prescient?"

"You're asking if I can see the future like tarot-card readers or psychics? No. The thing is, James, that I've been waiting a long time for this day to come. You cannot now fathom how long." While some aspects of Martian life were harder on humans than was Terran or Lunar life, Greg's age was still his age. His eyes, though, began to betray something to me. An age appeared in his green eyes that seemed to go well beyond his years. And for a moment his whole head of hair seemed to flash jet-black. I blinked, though, and his hair was as it had been.

"What do you mean? We met only yesterday," I replied.

"You met me yesterday. I have seen this meeting coming for centuries. I simply could not predict the exact date it would happen. That type of prescient accuracy is beyond even my savant abilities." There was definitely a twinkle of something, excitement perhaps, in his eyes.

"Greg."

"Eric."

"I've gotta say, you're beginning to sound a bit unbalanced. Not meaning any offense, but is there a medication you should be taking?" I asked gently.

"How badly do you want to know the absolute truth about the history of the TDF? The real history," he asked, leaning forward. "I offer you a choice now to walk away, for things are only going to seem stranger and more surreal the further down this rabbit hole you climb. I may seem off-balance now, but I assure you that I'm not. So again, just how badly do you want to know what really happened all that time ago?" His question itself brought about a certain fight-or-flight response in me. But my curiosity was unquenchable, as it always had been. This man before me wouldn't be a tenured professor if he was completely off his rocker, so he knew something. And any image or recording from all those years ago would be enough to warrant some present risk.

"I'm in it to the hilt," I said. He leaned back in his chair, looking like a commander on a spaceship bridge.

"Then I do have two things to show you," he said, opening a drawer of his end table. From it he pulled a piece of paper and what appeared to be an old print photograph. "These are delicate due to age," he said, carefully leaning forward, handing one of them to me. The piece of paper was a birth certificate. On it was clearly written _Eric Aaron Pohlman. Born: 5 May 1980 CE_. Suddenly my heart was in my throat and beating at what felt like 200 beats a minute.

"It's a fake," I said, my hands beginning to tremble.

"It's real," Greg replied.

"No. It's a fake," I repeated, still staring at it. _Eric Aaron Pohlman_ had been the XO, second in command, of the TDF while their co-leaders, James Christopher and Meng Thao, had been alive. Upon their deaths Eric assumed the mantle of command through the time of the TDF's exile to Mars. During the War of Insurrection against the United Terran Government, years after the Coalition Wars, Eric had been deemed the hero of the Battle of Thermopylae. He had led the counter-attack at Thermopylae that stopped a flanking maneuver of one of Chaos's highest subordinates. In addition, he had been the commander in charge of the Battle of Chicago which, arguably, saved the United North American Government. Eric Aaron Pohlman was, really, the face of the TDF. And here on this fragile piece of paper was his name and an ink print of a tiny foot.

"I would offer you a current print of my foot, but I know that after all these years it wouldn't match anymore." My head snapped up, my eyes locking with his. My mouth went dry.

"Absolutely not," I managed weakly. "First you claim to tell me that this is authentic. Then you also claim to be this mythic man? No. I can't possibly believe that. It's simply been too long."

"Of course it's been. Here. Look at this. But be careful with that," he said, pointing at the birth certificate. What he handed me next was a somewhat faded photograph of eight people posing in front of a sign that read 'NAR Defense.' My mouth felt like a desert. There in the picture was a man of jet black hair and green eyes. I slowly raised my eyes. The resemblance was striking. If it weren't the same man sitting in front of me then it was a direct descendent whom fate had played a steady hand in creating. My hands shook.

"The one under my left arm is James Christopher. Under his left is Melinda Christopher. To my right is Adam Green. In front of us, from your left to right, are D'Andre Fremen, Jessica Broon, Meng Thao and Claire VanIven. Of course, there's no real way to corroborate that. As far as I know among the Heroers there has never been found an actual photograph of any of us. But I can tell that you recognize the company sign." I did. NAR Defense was the company started by Eric, James, Melinda and Adam after Project Plymouth. Meng, D'Andre, Jessica and Claire had been brought on as equal partners some time later.

"You're trying," I managed to say before my voice stuck in my throat. I swallowed several times, my gaze passing between the birth certificate and the photo. "You're trying to tell me," I managed, gazing back up at Greg...Eric...with a look of complete disbelief. "You're Eric Aaron Pohlman?!"

"I believe that's what I'm trying to get at, yes." After a momentary pause and shake of his head he added, "I had seen that face a thousand times before, but to see it in person...I mean, I wish you could see the fucking shit-confused expression on your face right now! I bet you'd love to ball those both up and throw them back in my face right now, wouldn't you?" he asked, smiling. I had been thinking that. "But you just can't bring yourself to do it. Because what if I'm not the biggest scam artist this system ever saw? Tell you what," he said getting up, patting me on the shoulder. I barely noticed, staring slack-jawed at the document and photo in my hand. "I gotta take care of a few things at MNU. Why don't you take those with you and have every inch of them scanned and carbon-dated? They haven't sat in a time-spensor field a day of their existence. Come back here some time tomorrow. You should be able to get test results back by then. And tuck those away somewhere safe. They're fragile!"

My movements, stashing the two objects in the pages of an old print book I happened to have in my bag, as well as walking out to and getting in my car, are still like the near-lost memories of a waking dream. My vehicle's drive to the University itself was clouded in a haze. Somehow I found my way to Tim Fowler's office and managed a knock at his door.

"Come in," came the absent-minded reply. He was looking at something on his tablet. When I didn't enter he repeated, "Come in," then looked up. His face lost most of its color. "By the gods, James. What happened?!"

Only somewhat aware of his question I said weakly, "What?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost, man! Come in and sit down." He came around his desk and helped me into a seat facing him. Through the windows of his office I could see students walking to and from class, clumps of them talking as they went. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their dark green leaves a reminder that they weren't an Earth-native tree species.

"Close the door," I managed. Tim obliged. I looked at him and saw the concern on his face. I furrowed my brow, suddenly confused by that concern. "I'm fine," I uttered dismissively. To myself I thought, _what does he have to be concerned about me for? I was just told by a man that he was the Eric Aaron Pohlman of the TDF. An organization that had been banished to Mars over 400 years ago. A man who, according to the birth certificate in my bag, would be almost five centuries old_. The thought itself seemed rational amidst the irrationality of the moment. "I was talking to someone," I began as I pulled out the book from my bag. "He gave me these." I extracted, ever so gently, the birth certificate and picture, setting them side by each facing Tim Fowler on his desk. He glanced at one, the other, back and forth, then shot back from his desk, standing and supporting himself on the window edge behind him.

"Madre de dios," he whispered.

I met his eyes and asked, "Who do you know in the Temporal Physics Department that can be absolutely trusted? We need to carbon-date these."

Before we headed across campus with our precious cargo Tim had me relate everything of my meeting with Eric to him. He had become as speechless as I had been. The concept alone of a founding member of the TDF still being alive was, if not absurd, beyond reasonable belief. From what was known of the TDF armed forces, they were somehow enhanced humans. No records yet existed on enhanced how, but it tied back into whatever James, Eric, Adam and Melinda had done at Project Plymouth. Could part of it have been extended life? Eric appearing to be in his late fifties could mean something like one decade of age for every century lived. Medical science is currently very good at extending life, but nowhere near _that_ good. And in checking quickly with the Biology Department's administrative assistant on the best person to talk to about human longevity, we hit a dead end: Greg Pace. Eric.

Upon arrival at the science building we were greeted by a man named Amid Saliba. Tim Fowler told me that he was a casual Heroer who had dabbled in minor research. His real passion, though, was temporal physics, a field these days that encompassed such talents as precise carbon dating. Tim assured me that while Amid may recognize the importance of Eric Aaron Pohlman, the company in the photograph should ring no bells. In other words, what we were about to ask Amid to do could be passed off as an historical find, for Heroers and non-Heroers alike.

"My friends, hallo! Hallo," Amid greeted, shaking our hands in turn.

"My friend," Tim replied. "This is James Hall. He was an undergrad advisee of mine. I had shared with you his findings on the TDF." I shot him a questioning glance. "Why did you think I asked your permission to share it, James? It was very solid work."

"Ah, _that_ James. Yes, yes! I thoroughly enjoyed the paper. Come, come. Let us proceed to my lab. There we can talk about these old documents we have. It is a short walk. This way," Amid said, beginning to lead us back into the building. "Tell me James. Are you also the James Hall writer for the Times?"

"That I am, sir."

"Ah-ha! Yours is my favorite articles in the paper! Always so insightful and well researched! Must have been good teaching, eh?" he asked over his shoulder at Tim.

"Could be. But not from me. He was always falling asleep in my classes!" Tim replied.

"Hey!" I countered. "I only did that when you were boring. Or on a day that ended in 'y.'" We arrived at Amid's lab. He closed the door and engaged all the privacy fields on full, blocking out the outside world and creating that extra-white glow that accompanied the whited-out windows.

"Now, my friends, what do you have?" I very cautiously pulled the book from my bag, extracting the certificate and photo from it.

"I was given these today. The man who gave them to me claimed that they are authentic. I need to know if they're old enough to be so," I said as I set the artifacts on the lab table.

Amid lowered his glasses on his nose and studied them both. "Yes, yes. At first glance quite old." He gingerly touched the birth certificate. "Very old. This name...I recognize it. Is this the TDF man from your report, James?"

"That is what the man tells me," I said in reply.

"So you'll be curious not only about the documents, but the ink too, then, huh?" Amid asked.

"Pardon?"

"Well, the paper itself could test old enough to be from the correct time, of course. But the ink could test otherwise. So you'd want both tested?" Amid asked, clarifying.

"Yes. I suppose so. Can you help us do that?" I asked in reply.

"Am I capable? Yes. Am I willing to help fellow Heroers uncover some piece of our history? Without question. Are you willing to leave this in my possession for a day? I will keep them safest and secret," Amid said, glancing up at me without moving. I met his glance, looking at Tim. He gave me a slight nod; the man could be trusted.

"Sure. Yeah," I replied. "When do you think you could have the results to me?"

"It will take a bit longer to do the tests off the official. Wouldn't want anyone getting wind of this. Still, the computers should give me a result no later than 9AM tomorrow morning." That fit my schedule. It would give me what I needed in time to have new, informed questions ready for the man claiming to be Eric Pohlman.

"Okay. Sounds good. Would you like my card so that you can contact me?"

"My friend, we both know that to be a bad idea, knowing what you are asking me to do. I will get the results and these documents to Timothy, who can return them to you. Ours is always a game worthy of some caution, no?" Such an assessment put my mind at ease about how Amid would handle the tests. "Although, to be honest, if the results turn out the way I think they will you may hear my shouts wherever you may be," Amid said with a chuckle.

I thanked Amid for his help and we parted ways, Tim heading back to his office and I back to my apartment. That night I found myself unable to have any sort of restful sleep. My brief meeting with Eric kept rolling itself over and over again in my head. I tried every mind-clearing technique I knew to force my mind away from the issue at hand. None worked. If Amid came back with evidence that the certificate and photo were the proper age, did that prove that Greg Pace was really Eric Aaron Pohlman?

For that one last night uncertainty remained for me. I couldn't be sure if Greg Pace was Eric Pohlman or not. I also couldn't be sure what it would mean if he was. After all, for a hero of centuries ago in Earth's history to still be alive, especially in a time when the Terran Government was doing all they could to suppress the very idea that he had existed in the first place, what better counter evidence could there possibly be?

Such thoughts kept racing through my head all night as I contemplated the impossible reality that stood before me. As light shone through my windows I began to ask myself what I would say to the man if his claims were substantiated. What could I ask such a man? "Tell me everything from the beginning"? Nearly 500 years could not be easily related like that! No, I would have to focus the conversation, guide it toward specific ends. Try to fill in the massive gaps that history had left. "This and more I sat diving | with my head at ease reclining | on the cushion's velvet lining | with the lamplight gloating o'er," goes Poe's poem.

I had arranged with Tim Fowler to meet him for some early morning coffee on campus prior to heading back to his office to see the results. He, like I, had been kept awake all night by possibilities of the thing. Before meeting me he had stopped at his office to secure the envelope Amid had left there waiting for him. Not wanting to open it in public, we yet wanted it kept close until we did. We made our way back to Tim's office where he broke the seal on the envelope. Inside were the certificate and old photo, now sealed in protective coveralls. A letter and fact sheet had also been slipped inside. The letter read:

I burned the midnight oil, so excited was I of this! Shortly before 6 this morning the computers finished their analysis. On the included fact sheet you can see for yourselfs the results. To have such important documents in my hands has brought me indescribable joy! These both are indeed from the time period we seek. The birth certificate, ink and all, matches the date thereon inscribed. The photo is from 32 years later. I do not understand its significance, but assume one of you will. Please to share such with me when you find it! The coveralls I have placed on these will not prevent carbon degradation and so will make future carbon dating yet possible. They will, however, protect both documents from the typical atmospheric contaminants all old documents face. Keep these safe my friends! They are a great find for the Cause!

Yours,

-A

So there it was. Neither Tim nor I could say anything for some minutes. We both kept rereading the letter to make sure that we had not misread it. The birth certificate was real. The photo was real. We had before us real evidence, hard evidence, primary evidence, that not only had Eric Aaron Pohlman existed, but that the rest of the senior TDF officers did and that they had all worked together at NAR Defense, a company that had actually existed.

Finally, with an eye on the clock I said to Tim, "I've gotta go. I'm meeting him again soon." He looked up at me.

"I don't ask you to take me with you. But I would like to hear about it afterward."

"Yeah," I replied.

"What're you going to ask him?" Tim queried.

"Actually, Tim, I don't know yet. There's so much," I said.

"I know. Just do me one favor today? Be sure to tell him how important he is to us? I mean, you don't get to talk to a legend just every day."

"Will do, Tim. See ya later." I left his office and headed once more to Eric's house. Did doubts still linger in my mind? Of course. While the birth certificate and photo were the right age, no one alive could truly verify their authenticity. But I wanted to believe that he really was Eric Pohlman. That somehow he really had survived all these centuries and really could answer my questions. Then, just as panic began to set in as I realized I had no prepared questions, no clear direction for this meeting with Eric, I found myself in front of his house once more. With the coverall documents in my messenger bag and a fully charged and prepared notetab, I mounted the steps to Eric's front door and rang the doorbell. I heard someone stirring within and soon enough I heard the mechanical sounds of latches and tumblers as the locks of the door were being released. The door opened.

#  Thermopylae

Shells were whizzing past, mortars advancing toward the line of troops. They hadn't expected an attack from behind; the enemy must've found the old path through the hills. Tim Mayflower and Eric had hastily arranged a skirmish line. But even so, if they couldn't stem the tide of the rear-flank the base would be lost.

"Can we get any reinforcements, Eric?" Tim asked over the comm; he held command of the left.

"No. They're still attacking in force at our front. These must be their reserves." Every last one of them. This had to be a desperation move. After four days the TDF forces hadn't given any ground. Wave after wave had been sent at them and had been repelled. The Insurgent commander knew he had to do something drastic if he wanted to win this battle. And this was it. "It's just us."

"Christ! These mortars are getting close!" With only Tim and Eric having the protection of the nanites, this battle came down to strategy; one pseudo-conventional force against another. "Sir, more troops coming onto the field!"

"Tim, we're becoming outnumbered. We need to gain a tactical advantage. Anything on your end?" A few seconds of silence and then, suddenly, a mortar flew overhead from behind. ' _Good. We finally have a little artillery of our own_ ,' Eric thought.

"Sir, there is a small hill off to my left about 30 yards. If I could get an HMG up there it'd give us some room to push on their right _._ " Eric rolled it over in his mind. They would have to draw attention to the line's right so the leftward maneuver would work. They'd also need to get troops ready to execute a quick shift and advance on the left. It was risky. The balance of forces was now tipping in favor of Chaos's forces. "Sir, I think that position would have a direct line of fire up the old path." That was the advantage that was needed.

"We're doing it. Get a squad together. I'm going to start massing troops right to make it look like we'll push from there. With some luck, if they do see your squad, they'll think _it's_ the feint."

"Really sell it, sir." As Tim readied his squad, Eric began a slow and purposeful movement right. He kept crouched just low enough to keep out of the bulk of the fire but just high enough to be seen. The TDF forces wouldn't attack without a nanitic leading, and the Insurgent commander would know that. As Eric went, he grabbed every third trooper, sending them to the right. At the same time, he passed along an order to their platoon leaders: "We're feinting right and are going to push left. My end of the line will push down and fill in as the line surges left and advances through the hole there. Stand ready." Eric's platoon leaders knew they could trust him. Not once while in battle had he failed them, a streak he hoped to keep alive.

"Jon, over here," Eric said, calling 1st platoon's officer over. "Get your best NCOs on this. Two squads of what we have down here, intersperse them. When I call for it, they need to act confused, getting ready to advance but holding back, like orders weren't communicated properly. And they need to sell it."

"To what end?" Jon was a good officer. He didn't want to unnecessarily risk his troopers.

"I want to draw some of their forces forward here on our right, catch them in the crossfire and some mortar fire, then Tim'll have at their flank and blow the hole there we need to stop this," Eric said.

"Yes, sir," Jon replied as he went back to his line, passing the word.

"Tim, you ready down there?" Eric asked over the comm.

"Almost, sir. Just about set up," Tim replied.

"Hold off firing until the mortars start falling again over here. Then we'll surge your way."

"Sounds like a plan. I have a straight line down the path." Tim had gone with his squad.

"Jon?" Eric asked.

"Ready," he yelled with a thumbs-up.

"Now!" Eric called. Jon yelled orders and on cue about a third of the troops on-line fumbled around. Some ran into each other, others looked around in a questioning haze. Eric kept his gaze downrange. As he had hoped, the Insurgent commander saw the confusion and broke his left into an advance. Covering fire dropped on the TDF forces and Jon's men fell flat. "Hold fire," Eric yelled. "Let them get closer!" They kept up the advance, heavy machine gun fire streaking by overhead. "Closer!" Shots began to zing closely by. It was hard to hide a man standing like a tree in a clearing. "Closer!"

"Sir!" Jon shouted, worry edging his voice. It was time.

"Jill, five rounds AG quick! Fire for effect!" Eric yelled over the comm.

"Five rounds AG quick, roger _,_ " she replied.

"Open fire!" Eric yelled. Rifles and machine guns lit up the enemy's left flank. The advance stalled. _Thoomp! Thoomp! Thoomp!...Thoom-Thoomp!_ Mortars in the air. What must have been an Insurgent officer tried to get up and order retreat, but was thrown back by a burst to his chest. The mortars struck. One where the officer had just died. Another to his back-right. His left.

"Jill, walk rounds back for 30 yards on that pattern!" Eric said.

"Walking for 30, aye," Jill replied.

"Jon! Shift!" Eric ordered. The final two mortar rounds struck as the TDF forces surged left. "Tim! Now!" From a hill some 30 yards beyond the left end of the line two HMGs opened up. "Jon, keep your MGs on them!" Eric ran down the line watching as troops hopped up and followed, two replaced by one. This was the moment where the entire battle was to be decided. They reached the left end of the line and turned, not even a hesitation in the movement of the TDF troops. Tim's rounds zipped by overhead as Jon's MGs sounded off on the right.

"Rounds complete. They need us back at the front, sir," Jill said.

"Go, Jill. We're too close for you now anyway. Thanks for the assist," Eric replied.

"Always willing to do what little I can for the rear echelon _,_ " she quipped. They were there. Eric saw the commander of this Insurgent group. He was frantically yelling orders, all the while stealing glances over his shoulder down the path where his reinforcements were pinned. This was it. Eric jumped over their line, his troops ten yards behind him, firing as they approached. He flashed out his batons. ' _The least harm_ ,' shot through his mind. It had been James's order in the treatment of the enemy. His plasma rifle would have worked, but the batons would as effectively take enemy troops out of the fight.

Eric tore through their line, making a bee-line for their commander. He saw Eric and extended his arm, a blackened-glint shown off his hand. He was one of Chaos's field commanders, a Dark Nanitic Elite! The attack at the front had become the distraction. This was their main assault! A field commander of a force this size wouldn't be directing a flanking maneuver.

"Aaaaarrraaaaggghhhh!" Eric cried, a renewed sense of urgency in him. If he could take down the Dark Nanitic, the battle would be won. They saw in each other the marks of a High Leader. Eric dropped his batons, willing plasma-chutes out the tops of his hands. This would drain his energy, but was necessary. The first purple-plasma orb streaked out from his hand, striking and throwing back what must have been another of the Dark Nanitic's officers. In that moment Eric knew his troops would understand how the battle had changed. He was now grateful Tim had gone left with his HMG team; he might be needed to finish this. A shot spat forth from Eric's right hand, striking an Insurgent trooper on-line turning toward him. Eric realized then that time had slowed as the trooper's look of surprise lasted and lasted, his body taking longer than it should to fall backward. Eric floated mid-leap. The plasma shots spat out and sped away at what seemed normal speed, one after the other. Gunfire, though, flew at a snail's pace.

Eric felt Tim's approach. He had leapt from cover when he saw the first plasma bolt. For him to be advancing in such a way he had to reveal the position of his HMGs, but hiding was no longer a necessity. Jon's men...Eric could feel them pushing to advance. The TDF troops had caught a great number of the Dark Nanitic's troopers in their feint. The Dark Nanitic was still trying to order troops to action. Eric was thirty yards away now. His foot finally met earth. Two shots toward the left as troops went flying backward, three spaced right toward their secondary line. Yellow bolts flashed toward the same area from behind him; Tim was opening a hole for Jon's men.

For a micro-instant Eric passed his awareness behind him and felt his troopers shooting those in their path, advancing onward. It _was_ a different fight. They knew that now, too. A Dark Nanitic meant well-trained troops. The TDF's feint had caught them unawares. These were no reserve forces and could not be expected to give up even after loss of limb. The only way to stop them was to kill them. Purple bolts left, right, Yellow right down the line. Eric's other foot met earth. Twenty-seven yards.

The man's hand clenched to a fist. The Dark Nanitic had given up hope of command. Squared tubules formed atop his fist; plasma chambers. The battlefield darkened slightly. A black orb streaked toward Eric, missing by an inch as he dodged out of the way. Twenty-four yards as Eric's foot hit the ground. The start of a panged cry went up from behind him. The bolt had struck one of his troopers. They didn't kill outright, the dark bolts, but rather burned and slowly ate away at the body through the nervous system, cooking it by overheating. Eric turned his attention onto the nanitic. Purple streaked toward him, black toward Eric. A bolt struck Eric's left shoulder, putting him off balance.

He stumbled as his foot found ground. Twenty-one yards. Eric fell, rolled left, four more bolts of purple shot toward the Dark Nanitic as Eric found his footing again. The Dark Nanitic stood tall as they struck him center-mass, driving him straight backwards, ruts formed by his feet. Eighteen yards. Yellow streaked in and struck the man, driving back his shoulder. Tim. Eric glanced over his shoulder and saw Tim taking his right. Tim was young and impetuous, feeling invincible. ' _Remember to roll with the energy_ ,' Eric thought to himself. If Tim didn't, he would face the full brunt of the Dark Nanitic's bolts. It could kill him even through his nanites.

More purple bolts as Eric turned back just in time to dodge three black bolts to his right. Fifteen yards. This man was holding nothing back, knowing that if he failed Chaos would kill him. Those bolts of his were beyond maximum safe yield. The man was draining all his energy into them. His left hand shot up, the tubules glowing, as three black-as-space bolts shot toward Tim. These were the man's most powerful attacks yet. He was growing desperate the closer Tim and Eric came. Tim fell from Eric's peripheral vision. Four more purple bolts, center mass. The Dark Nanitic was driven back again and fell forward onto his hands. Twelve yards. Yellow bolts came in low, flopping the man straight up against a tree. Purple bolts center mass. The tree leant backward and creaked. Yellow bolts center mass. An oaken groan pierced the battlefield, excruciatingly loud in slowed-time. Nine yards. Purple bolts center mass. Yellow ones from a higher angle, center mass. The last did not flash against the man. His nanites had failed!

Six yards. Eric stopped dead in his tracks and let go one final bolt. It struck true. The man's eyes hollowed, his shoulders flew inward as his chest collapsed. His feet lifted off the ground and the great oak holding him up cracked backward. As its trunk broke in two, one final yellow bolt streaked in toward the man as he was yet semi-floating, a purple glow emanating from a pit in his chest. He was thrown back and suddenly through his chest came part of the tree's trunk; the bolt had skewered him on the oak. Eric lowered his arms and time flowed back in on him.

Cries of pain and agony came from behind Eric, the smell of blood all around. He spun around and caught a man's bayonet thrust, wrenching the rifle from him even as his momentum carried him past, smashing his head with the butt of his own weapon. Eric broke it at the action and dropped it. Tim's HMG nest kept firing. Jon's men had made it to the secondary line. The men following Eric were still fifteen yards back.

"Center forward," Eric yelled, signaling. "Tim!"

"Sir," came the breathless reply, approaching from his position to Eric's right.

Looking at him Eric asked, "You okay?"

"I'll live, Eric. My hands tingle a bit more than I'd expect." So did Eric's.

"The dark bolts. They eat at nerves. Our nanites blunted it, but some energy still flows to the extremities. Once this is over have some nerve-regen done." Looking back along the old path he said to Tim, "Get our troops from the middle pushing up that path along with mine. Jon's platoon will clean up here." Like a physical blow, awareness struck Eric; the Dark Nanitic was still alive. Tim's face betrayed the same awareness. "Right. Get to it. We have to push their flank now. We've broken their main attack and need to capitalize on it. I'll see to their commander." Eric turned and strode away from Tim, heading toward the Dark Nanitic who knew that he lived to relate a message.

As Eric approached the man, a raspy voice said, "Eric Pohlman. Being bested by you makes it worthwhile." The man coughed blood. That he could still breathe astounded Eric. "As it should," the man said. A mind reader! "That's right, Eric. Your defenses are down just enough now." Eric hastily put up the mental blocks Melinda had helped him perfect. The fact that his plan succeeded in turning this commander's flank meant the man hadn't had the Insight _during_ the attack.

"What is your name?" Eric asked.

"Matthew Welsh, servant of Chaos," came the proud reply. Chaos's Commander of Commanders, his first and most senior Black Band leader, laid skewered on the oak trunk before Eric.

He stopped a pace from Welsh whose legs rested awkwardly on the jagged lower stump of the destroyed oak. "I know this was your main attack. Call off the rest of your forces and we will grant them leniency."

"You know I won't do that, Eric. You and the others of the TDF intercepted our message. We're in it to the hilt, win or lose. You know what you face here." The man aspirated blood. "You'll have to kill us all to end this siege. You know that." He spoke the truth, of course.

"Do you have any other final messages?" Eric asked both hoping to find a way out of the slaughter before him and out of pity for the dying man.

"Yes. One directly from Chaos at this point. You will win here. You will win the war. But it will cost you and yours dearly." More coughing. The man's head lolled to one side, his eyes began to glaze over, his pupils dilating independently. His voice changed subtly. "In the end, though, you cannot stop us. I will be seeing you soon, Eric." The man's head dropped back entirely, his whole body going limp. Chaos had channeled directly through this man and might yet be doing so. When Eric had the chance to withdraw his nanites from battle mode, his conscience would pay dearly for the deaths he had caused while making his way to this man.

"Jon," Eric called. "Gas this," he said as he pointed at the body. "Make sure it burns completely. We need no spying eyes." Until the body was fully gone, Chaos could still extend his senses through it. Eric turned to look after Tim's advance. It was progressing well. The HMG nest he had set up was now disassembled and moving forward. "KT," Eric said over the general comm.

"Yes, Eric?" came the reply.

"How's it going up front?" Eric asked.

"We've been worse off. Still can't pin down their location out there. After a few shots their troops move. Seems like inbound arty is picking up a bit," KT said.

"I would expect that. We stopped them and are pushing back toward the front. Ours turned out to be the main offensive."

Eric heard the hesitation in KT's voice as she said, "Are you sure? It hasn't exactly let up since you went down there _._ "

"We killed a Dark Servant," he replied.

After a moment's silence KT said, "A Dark Nanitic? _"_

"The First of Chaos. The body's being burned now."

"Holy shit. You guys okay?" she asked in amazement.

"Acceptable losses, considering. Tim's pushing the advance. Watch for their lines to shift when he makes contact, then push in. We're going to finish this today." Eric felt heat as the body was set ablaze. Inaudible screams emanated from the wretched thing as nanites perished in the fire.

"Yes, sir," KT affirmed.

She was still in shock as she began giving the orders for an offensive. A Dark Servant! She tapped into her prescient knowledge, realizing Chaos must have known he would trap Eric at this base during this attack. Otherwise, there would have been no reason to send a Dark Servant, especially his _P_ _rimus Inter Pares_ against this base. Against just her. KT knew it would have been massive overkill.

From the bunker that now served as the base's CP she began calling up her weary troops. Even with the force which Eric had been trapped here, they were all being worn down by the constant shelling. Had the TDF not kept control of the skies throughout this war, things would have been much worse. At the very least, this bunker itself would no longer live to serve as a CP for an attack. Dog company shifted left on the line as Fox filled in. She knew the old path well and knew it would be, at most, 10 minutes until Tim's forces made contact.

"Chris, mobilize everyone. Dog and Fox will sweep down, but I want to be ready in case of a surprise. Have the cooks trade ladles for rifles," KT said to one of her officers.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. With a Dark Servant in command, the troops they now faced were members of the Black Band, the best trained of Chaos's pseudo-conventional forces. KT didn't want to leave anything to chance, going in under-manned.

"Jackie, get the mortar squads up on line in 5. We'll be in close enough that they won't be able to fire anyway." The plan for Dog and Fox was simple enough. Tim would hit the Insurgents from the path and hills to the west. Sitting in the middle of the valley, KT would push Fox on the right and Dog up the gut in a classic pincer. The enemy could retreat or be overrun. And, if they were all Black Band, they would be overrun.

"Ma'am, Dog's left reports weakening attacks." Tim was efficient in moving his troops.

"This is it. Tim, come in," KT said.

"What's up KT?" he replied as she locked and secured the channel.

"Should we start watching for your guys yet?"

"I would," Tim said.

"Sounds good. I'll meet you down there with some champagne. Out. Chris, my cooks have their utensils yet?"

"Passing out the last 9mm ladle now," came the reply from around the corner in the armory.

"I hope this won't affect my dinner," she called back to a chorus of chuckles.

"May be a bit delayed tonight, ma'am," replied one of the cooks. Good morale. KT scanned the battle lines out the bunker's windows. She could see all the troops of Dog and Fox in place, ready for battle. At times like this KT wished her foresight was as developed as Meng's.

"Jackie, have the mortars join up with Fox. They'll need the help on that end."

"Yes, ma'am," Jackie replied, turning back to her radio. The center would open and split making one front two. The enemy's back broken, it would still fight. This was to be a massacre. Suddenly all firing below her stopped, the forest calm. Wind whipped through the tree tops, swaying them slightly. A hawk screamed in the distance. Then came the explosive sounds of war. As if a whole storeroom of ammunition had been set on fire, the forest to KT's left lit up, shots going out toward each other. Trees swayed violently as they were struck by rounds, the smaller ones falling to the fracas.

"This is it people! Load and lock!" KT had never been a front-line commander. She never personally led her troops into battle. She preferred to maintain distance and so a sense of the overall situation. But fate pulled her in a different direction this day. "Jackie, coordinate from here. I'm going down with Fox." Once she was in the trenches below the bunker she called over the comm, "Jackie, report."

"Tim's line is moving down the hill eastward. Dog has made sustained contact. Fox is yet free."

"Mortars?" KT asked.

"Firing complete and on line _,_ " Jackie replied.

"Okay. Time to move the right into the fray. Keep an eye out from up there," KT admonished.

"Will do, ma'am. Just think of me as your eyes in the sky." Having come out on Fox's side of the line KT could clearly hear the sounds of battle spreading toward her as she walked further right. Fox's CO greeted her.

"Ma'am. Pleasure to have you down here," said Captain Tom Harper as KT approached.

"Thank you, Tom. This is still your show. I just came for morale support." Tom knew better. He knew that KT would throw herself fully into battle, but also knew he hadn't the time to dig deeper as to the "why" she had come down.

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a salute.

"It's time to close the pincer, Tom. Move out."

"Yes, ma'am. On-line! Advance!" No sooner had his men started out of their fox holes than all hell broke loose. "Ambush!" Tom managed before a round silenced him permanently. Once again, KT wished her foreknowledge were as good as Meng's so this could have been avoided.

"Command on me," she shouted.

"KT," came Jackie's voice.

"Go."

"Dog made their advance with no resistance. Moving to flank _."_

"Have half the company go west, half east. They were waiting for us down here," KT said.

"Yes, ma'am." KT suddenly regretted pulling the mortar squads. Some indirect fire would really be nice right now. Turning to one of her aides, "Get down there and have that platoon start pushing up!" She hated having to yell, but war was always so loud. "We need to relieve some of this pressure!" Her aide ran off. A man in the fox hole in front of her fell backward, wounded. "Medic! Medic!" KT yelled as she hoped into the hole, putting pressure on the wound.

"Ma'am, I'll be alright. Just the shoulder," the man said.

"Okay, trooper." A medic jumped into the hole beside her. She left the trooper to him and spun around. The right flank was advancing and beginning to draw off fire. "Habari! Find out where my machine guns are, dammit!" Another aide rushed off. She grabbed the fallen trooper's weapon, quickly running it through in her mind: G36. She swiveled its shot selector to 3-round burst and started firing. A cathartic moment hit her. Fox had made contact with the Black Band's rear flank. "Forward," she called. "Up an' at 'em!" She stood up, firing shots as she climbed out of the hole. Finally a machine gun opened up from her left, another from her right. A woman fell in front of her. Push the advance. "Medic!" KT called as she kept moving forward. She suddenly saw something she had hoped she wouldn't see out here - a black glint off of someone's arm - a Black Band nanitic. "Jackie, report!"

"Tim and the western half of Dog have their section contained _."_

"We're in a pickle down here. I just saw a nanitic. Where's Eric at?"

"Should be by you any minute. He had checked in while crossing the base from the rear." Thank the gods!

"Tell him to hustle that ass!" A black bolt sang past KT's head. It wasn't terribly strong. ' _Just a lieutenant, then. Good,_ ' she thought as she dropped her rifle and brought an arm to bear on the nanitic. "Come out, come out wherever you are," she murmured as she traced the figure through the trees. A purple plasma bolt sailed through her field of vision, striking where the nanitic had been; Eric had arrived. Sensing around her as much as she could, KT could tell her troops were making headway. This battle with the Dark Nanitic, though, was hers. The glinting figure had taken off into the denser foliage as Eric came up and stopped beside her.

"Bait for a trap?" he asked, indicating the nanitic.

"Yup," she responded, her foresight confirming as much.

"What's the play?"

"This trap is only meant for us. Specifically you, Eric. We go in there and it works. We keep pushing forward like we are and it doesn't. Simple."

Eric surveyed her troops as she kept her hand trained at the woods. "They would do something so transparently stupid."

Through a wry smile KT said, "They know they lost their leader. They're desperate. This guy isn't very strong. Must be trying anything he can to complete the mission. It'll still come down to him and us."

"Then keep pushing the advance. Your game." Eric moved off to join the left of the line. Traps. Sometimes they worked, sometimes the prey wasn't hungry enough. KT's troops kept pushing forward. Be they Black Band or not, her enemy still fell like any mortals. Her aide pushed the right end of Fox out to try and envelope the enemy troops. Keeping in touch with Jackie, she knew Dog was doing similar on the back side of them. This had been a losing fight from the start, and now the noose tightened. Keeping an open sense on the future KT felt the trap slip away further and further until it vanished completely. There simply weren't enough of Chaos's forces left to enact it.

Yard by yard, troopers from both sides fell. More of Chaos's troops than her own, thankfully. Then KT saw the glint again. She could now hear the gunfire from the other side of the pincer. The nanitic was still after her and Eric. A dark bolt flew out of the trees. She saw no trap anymore, but could feel he was still trying to draw them in. More bolts flew out, these striking her troops. Her choice was made. Sky-blue bolts flew from her hands into the woods, clearing a path in front of her. She broke rank and advanced in front of her troops. Black bolts again flew past her. That battle awareness some nanitics shared did not encroach itself upon KT's consciousness. She was glad. Her foresight, heightened in such battle, was better anyway. She leapt left as bolts flew off to her right. Hers sailed into the woods and struck home. Purple bolts now flew into view and struck the nanitic. KT could see the man already dead before her in her mind's eye. It was now a matter of playing out their roles. She brought both arms to bear on the man and let loose a string of shots, each one driving him backward, each one lighting up the dim forest around her. Two more purple bolts came in, one missed and the other was dull. Eric was low on energy.

KT pressed, letting loose another flurry of bolts against the man. With the last he stumbled and fell backward, a subtle glow on his chest. "Don't kill him yet," called Eric. KT approached the man, the killing shot glowing in her right hand's center chamber.

"Twitch. Please." She said to the nanitic.

Eric came to the side of the man, being sure not to block KT's shot. "You wanted us. Now tell us why."

"He has plans for you, Eric," the man rasped. When would these nanitics learn that the nanites didn't _actually_ make them invulnerable? Of course, there were never any survivors to tell the rest otherwise, so...

"Of course he has plans for me. Such as?" Eric asked, exasperated.

"He failed this time, but all your minds," the man's gaze passed between KT and Eric, "will be his."

"He cannot hive-mind with us. It is impossible."

"He found a way. You," the man looked directly at KT, "were to be the portal. He will find another. He did leave a present with me he knew you would enjoy." KT saw fire. "Five. Four. Three." Both Eric and KT turned and got off two steps before the bomb exploded. They were thrown to the ground, the blast enough to rattle them but not enough to cause damage.

"At least I won't have to burn another body today," Eric said as he picked himself up and dusted off.

"Ow," was KT's only reply as she came to her feet. "Jackie, report."

"Tim's forces report that their part of the battle's over. We heard an explosion. What's going on?"

"Just a lunatic going 'pop.' How does this half of the battle look?" KT asked.

"Casualties are significantly higher. Skirmishes are still ongoing. Members of Dog and Fox linked up on the far side, though. They've closed the pincer," Jackie replied.

"Good. Eric and I are in the middle of it all. Tell the troops to not shoot us, please."

"I'll pass it along. CP out." So that was it. The nanitic commanders of the force besieging Thermopylae were dead, their forces soon to be as well. KT already saw the figures for the battle. Including the siege, the TDF forces at Thermopylae had suffered roughly 15% casualties with around 30 of those KIA, including the loss of a few fine officers such as Tom. The Chaos fanatics they faced would end up losing 100% of their forces, by the hand of the TDF or their own. 675 troops killed including a Dark Servant and Nanite Apprentice. It was a dark day to be sure, and some of those numbers had yet to be fulfilled.

" _Such is the battle of Thermopylae_ ," KT thought. " _And Eric Pohlman its hero."_

# How we met

"Since you're back, I take it Amid confirmed what I gave you was old enough," Eric began as I was getting settled. He handed me a glass of water as he sat across from me.

Pausing, I said, "How did you know I would end up taking them to Amid?"

"Only man in this region with the expertise to do the testing," came Eric's reply. "Don't worry. There's no way I would have tampered with the results." He sipped his own water, setting it beside him. I pulled the birth certificate and photo out of my bag, intending to hand them back over. "No," Eric held up a hand. "You keep those. They'll do you more good than they will me at this point. And anyway, the government's propaganda on the matter just about has me believing that I don't really exist." He chuckled.

Taking out my notetab, after replacing the certificate and photo, I set it to record and said, "Well. Um...you don't mind if I record our conversations, do you?

"Not at all. I, Eric Pohlman, consent to have my conversations with James Hall recorded and used by James Hall as he sees fit. Good enough?" Eric asked with a smile.

"Yeah, that should do," I replied nervously.

"Relax, sonny. You look more tense than a man that's been constipated for four days!"

"Mhm. Right. Greg," I began, still not being used to using the man's real name.

"Eric," he corrected.

"Right. Eric. It's just still a little hard to believe that you are who you're claiming to be. I mean, it's been almost 500 years since the TDF was forced off Earth. Even with today's medical advances, humans don't live much past a century and a half at most."

"That's true," Eric said, leaning back and steepling his fingers. "I agree that I have no right to still be alive. Nor to look as good as I do, so to speak. More on that later, though. And yet," spreading his hands wide, "here I am. What does your gut tell you about me, James? Not what do you want to believe, but what is your gut telling you?"

"My gut is telling me that to be in possession of such artifacts as you gave me, and to bear such a striking resemblance to the man in the photo, despite my disbelief, you must be Eric Aaron Pohlman. Hero of Thermopylae, savior of North America, leader of the TDF and friend of the other TDF greats." Eric's demeanor changed somewhat during my listing.

"I have been called many things, as you say. Hero among them." He looked at me over his once again steepled fingers. "But many a military veteran will tell you that heroes aren't the ones who live on. They're the ones left behind in the ground. No, I only ever did my duty to humanity and my fellow troopers as best I could. As I already said to you, I'm not a heroer. I'm not a hero. But," his demeanor brightening, "I am, or rather was, I suppose, friend to those others of the TDF leadership, as you say. Though out of them all, James Christopher and I were the closest friends."

"So when did you two first meet? Was it at the Project?"

"Actually, quite a bit before Project Plymouth. The military general in charge of the project came to me and asked for recommendations for a civilian lead. Having known James for some years, I suggested him. Within a week he was on-board and helping to recruit the best minds of the day."

"So when was the first time you two met?"

"Fourth grade. Amazingly enough I didn't actually want to be friends with him at first," Eric said as he began reminiscing.

As far back as first grade I knew James, though then only as a classmate. At the time, everyone was equal. By third grade we unconsciously started to form cliques. Somehow I maintained my own neutrality, though James was not so lucky. By third grade he was becoming an outcast. My mother actually made me invite James over to play one day. I knew almost immediately, though, that we would be the best of friends. You see, both James and I early on were fans of science fiction. We always dreamed of what could be. When we'd have sleep-overs we would talk about things such as light travel, the Force, and so on. It was a great time.

We would hang out at recess, go to band together, things friends of that age do. By high school our roles began to reverse in ways. James remained an intellectual, taking Advanced Chemistry, Biology and Mathematics courses. But he also joined the ranks of the jocks. I also took advanced coursework, our schedules at school crossing every so often, but remained the aloof student I had ever been. I still think I worked harder in school than he ever did. See, he always seemed to come to concepts easier, understanding them faster and deeper than other kids our age. Me? I struggled. In the long run, I think it helped me during and after the Project Plymouth days. I was able to focus, almost single-mindedly, on something until it yielded its secrets to me.

Knowing that we two are largely seen as the main drivers behind ATMO, and then the TDF, a friend of ours was as instrumental: Adam Green. Where we specialized in bio-chemical studies he was an engineer. Core courses in high school he took with us, but focused more on tech such as metal work, fabrication, etc. He proved indispensable to ATMO.

When we graduated we all continued on to post-secondary schools where we furthered our passions. James started at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee and finished his collegiate work at Madison prior to being brought on board for the project. I, meanwhile, did my undergraduate studies at UW-Green Bay before continuing on to graduate work and research at MIT. Adam attended solely the Milwaukee School of Engineering, specializing in advanced robotics and propulsion. We brought him onto the project early as a sub-head in vehicle research and development. I remained as a sub-head for physics, one of my several specialties.

Another member of the leadership in the program was Melinda Viste, whom James eventually married. We brought in various other civilians to assist in the technical phases of Project Plymouth. Largely, military participation was kept to a security level as well as test subjects. The various project heads were given military commissions on bequest of General Lathrop, the military lead, as he felt it would put his men and women more at ease while working with us. We harbored no illusions; we knew we were putting people's lives on the line with our work. Theory, after all, can take you only so far before it must be tested in reality. But everyone at that time felt it was worth the risk. The Coalition Wars had taken a bad turn for the Allied Nations, and the Coalition Nations made no secret of their plans for the world after conquest. It would practically have been a return to the Dark Ages.

We worked on the project for years, coming closer and closer to creating the super soldiers the Allies wanted so desperately. Then the Coalition collapsed when its leader died. That's something that really never made the history books you know, just how important one man could be. People across the region had flooded to him. He used his charisma and newfound popularity to unite the Arab world under one banner, one he used to declare war on Israel. The West, being tied by treaty to Israel, had to respond. And so the Coalition War began. It ended much the way it started, though. The Arab leader suffered a massive and fatal stroke. Without his leadership the various factions he had united in cause splintered. The war was over for the West. They left peace keepers in Israel to protect its sovereignty, of course, but disengaged from major combat operations and cut back on wartime expenditures. Our project lost its priority status. We could feel the prize; that which we worked and sacrificed for was just within grasp, but being quickly pulled away.

Finally we received notice that our facility, Project Plymouth in its entirety, was being shut down and shelved indefinitely. I can't blame the politicians who made the decisions. We had failed so far to deliver as promised. Knowing the end was near we took imperfect calculations and guesses and decided to try them in real life. The human integration lab, hastily built, was brought online. Some of the power shielding had yet to be fully installed and we used sub-standard pipes when requisitions for the proper ones were refused. It was a situation built to fail. But we pressed on. We brought in the Marines, hooked them into their womb chambers and sedated them. Slowly, we began filling the tanks with chemical reagents, ionizing the mixture as we went, testing the conditions we were creating.

The tests looked good, so we kept going. We increased the power, pressure and chemical levels, literally forcing our nanites into the very cells of the Marines. We could see the pain they underwent in their jerks and spasms. Even sedated, a few came through, opened their eyes, scratched at the sides of the tanks containing them, looking for any way out of the pain. They screamed. Raw pain, indiscernible as anything comprehensible. Through the chemicals, through the transparent metal tubes, their screams came. We pushed on, forcing more power, more of the chemical bath, and more of the nanite slush into the tanks. The tanks themselves had been designed to withstand many atmospheres of pressure, so they were in no danger of rupturing. The rest of the equipment, however, was not tested at the loads we were incurring. Cracks began forming in the pipes leading from our storage tanks to the pumps, from the pumps to the wombs where the Marines were. Gas alarms began to sound. The chemicals were vaporizing and leaking through the seals. We didn't stop. We were only seconds away from finishing. With the chemical catalysts at full concentration and the nanite slurry injected in the tanks all we needed to do was polarize the Marines' tanks to force molecular bonding of the base nanites. We engaged the conductors and there was a spark. The escaping gases ignited, the flame flowing back into the storage tanks. We scrambled to stop the chain reaction that was about to occur. If the fire reached the chemicals in the storage tanks they would ignite, causing a tremendous explosion. Such a blast would tear open the slurry tanks and release all the nanites we had created. Being preprogrammed, the nanites would activate in the presence of sufficient energy, bonding where they could and seeking access to more power where they couldn't. They would compromise the containment of our high-yield power lines. There could be secondary explosions, the entire base blown up by the combination of dangerous chemicals and raw power that were about to mix.

General Lathrop snapped to action, jumping across catwalks and the Marines' tanks to get to the manual shut-off valve for the chemical feed line. He got there but a moment too late. The ignition had reached the chemical tanks. Time seemed to suddenly stop. The tanks bulged at first, then the pipes. Rivets and bolts popped. Flames came out of joints in the line. The pipe in front of the general burst. He had such a strangely surprised look on his face as he was thrown back. Heat. Such intense heat. The flame reached the exploding chemical cloud and ignited it. The general was consumed mid-air. A concussion wave swept us all off our feet. I saw the nanite slurry tank cracking along its height as I was tossed to the ground. Rending metal and liquid flow met my ears, coolness washing over me as a wave. Emergency protocols took effect and cracked the Marines' tanks, throwing their occupants onto the floor as well. We scientists got up first, drenched and throwing up the slurry. The Marines were awake, the pain proving more powerful than the sedatives, and were writhing on the floor. I looked around at our lab. Twisted metal, burst tanks and scorched walls greeted my gaze. In one corner fluttered to the ground still burning remnants of a camouflage uniform. Spotting a power conduit near the slurry tanks, I saw the nanites eating their way through the insulation.

James and I locked gaze and nodded in agreement. "Everyone out!" he called while I made my way to the closest wall panel, entering the code for emergency evacuation. We and the lab guards helped the Marines to their feet and started getting out when finally the nanites ate through to the power conduits. The final component of nanite bonding was coursing through the chemical-slurry bath flowing around our feet. That feeling of total paralysis and utter helplessness was so incredibly angering and humbling all at once. All of us seized up where we stood, falling to the ground atop control desks, chairs, and each other, our bodies wracked with electrically induced muscle spasms. The cold about my feet started to creep along the rest of my body. It was as if I was slowly being immersed in a vat of ice-water. Seconds seemed like minutes as wave after wave of electrical energy washed through my body and I sank further yet into that icy darkness. The cold enveloped me, cresting my head and coating my lungs; I couldn't breathe. Then, all at once, the waves of pain and agony stopped.

I crumpled onto the ground, my body a mass of lead. Slowly I crawled to my knees, grasping the edge of the table I had fallen on and pulled myself to my feet. Melinda was closest to me, she as I just beginning to recover. I looked around and saw that, with the exception of the Marines, all of us were coming around. The Marines, however, were still somehow being wracked with shocks. I ran to the power switch master panel and threw the breaker, shutting off power to the whole lab.

We were in total darkness then, save the light from the hallway seeping in through the lab doors' windows. Someone stumbled toward them and thrust one open. We helped the Marines to their feet and guided them up the stairwells to the surface. Emergency personnel were just arriving as we breached the outer doors into the cool Wisconsin October evening. Once the soldier in charge of the base guard was told what happened, he put it on immediate lock-down. All of us, civilians and lab guards, were cleared medically but were placed under 'observation' in one of the base's barracks. The Marines were quarantined in another. They remained in critical condition for a few days. The day after the accident, we were part of the initial on-site team to investigate the lab. After only a few minutes, though, we were pulled out. The chemicals, after being in contact with atmosphere overnight, had turned corrosive and chemically eaten away what the nanites hadn't. The whole underground complex smelled of electrical fire and chemical burn.

The military brought in investigative teams who later concluded that enough electricity had passed through us all to light up Chicago for a week. As it was, some of the Marines walked away with some fractured bones and mild burns which miraculously healed within hours of their release. We were repeatedly interviewed by multiple investigators. The Marines, who were under sedation through much of the experience, remembered very little, save extreme pain. Our accounts, on the other hand, corroborated the military's pre-established opinion:

Scientists of the failed Project Plymouth disobeyed moral guidelines and took it upon themselves to continue unauthorized human experimentation in the misguided attempt to save the aforementioned project. Consequences of their actions were the loss of billions of dollars in government funds by way of lost data and material in project resources, as well as the immeasurable loss of one Lieutenant General Nick Lathrop.

The investigators recommended strenuously that we be removed from any military affiliation, that our names be redacted from official records, a cover story put in place, and Project Plymouth itself redacted. The military leadership and government oversight committee agreed. Those years of our lives were completely blanked out. We and the program simply ceased to exist. The lower-level scientists' names were put on top of ours where needed for official documentation of the time Project Plymouth had existed.

We were able to maintain government contacts through back channels and so learned that the Marines actually manifested the nanitic abilities we had sought to grant them, though only for a few months. Several high-level black ops after the end of the Coalition Wars, those involving precision infantry strikes, were carried out by those Marines. The scientists yet in the government examined them but were unable to understand what exactly granted them such abilities. We had little doubt about the possibilities of them finding anything, as those of us who knew what to look for had been black listed.

And so ended the project that was started to save the Western world. A project that took the future of a team of four scientists and turned it into a pipe-dream. No employer, university or otherwise, could find out why we had permanent black tabs on our files, only that we did and were considered 'undesirable associates and employees.' Adam, James, Melinda and I eventually gathered what resources we still had and formed an R & D company for vehicle, computer and bio-tech advancement, working with our strengths to make a living. It was hard going. Our initial years we worked more as ad-hoc faculty and advisors than independent developers. But the work always proceeded quickly, much to our mutual amazement. We didn't question it at first, figuring it was karma's way of paying us back for the loss of our past. Once we were able to start directing our own research we made one remarkable innovation after another. Adam managed to retool existing engine technology to produce nearly 80% more efficiency than standard with 80% less waste. He also figured out a way to create large battery-forms for electric vehicles that held triple the capacity in half the space of industry-leading vehicles.

James, Melinda and I were able to engineer the first bio-tech computers of any size that were stable. They ran silently, 30% cooler than any existing computer could, and on about 37% the power. It was all innovative use of existing technology to be sure, but all were nonetheless breakthroughs. Eventually we were even able to market some of our products to the government through 3rd party vendors. By this point it had been years since our involvement with the Project. We had put it behind ourselves as a failure and black-hole in our lives that we just barely managed to escape. That is, until an old friend came to visit.

During Project Plymouth, the guards specifically designated for the Project, an independent detachment of the base guards, were commanded by a Captain Meng Thao. He was a Marine of impeccable character. He certainly would have been a colonel were it not for his intense loyalty to his friends and comrades. Meng volunteered early in his military career to become a member of various special operations units. One of his early commanders, a then-Lieutenant Colonel Lathrop, saw a talent in Meng that he couldn't let go to waste. He encouraged Meng to become the best he could and to use his skills in more and more covert missions.

During one mission in particular, rather than leave a member of his team behind alone Meng kept his team from evacing to help their injured comrade. Took two months of negotiations, but he and his men, including the recovering team member, were finally released from custody. At that point Lieutenant General Lathrop found a new job for the disgraced and out of favor Captain Thao, one he assured Meng should win him back some points. It didn't, of course, as he was found to be complicit in the events that led to the destruction of Project Plymouth. The military 'allowed' him and his direct subordinates, Lieutenants Jessica Broon and Claire VanIven, to gracefully retire from active service. They, too, were blacklisted. Ex-spec-ops people, though, can find ways to make a living where most cannot. They became soldiers of fortune, mostly taking on jobs as escorts for a private international shipping company whose ships often passed through pirate waters. While doing so, fate had them meet up with the only enlisted guardsman present in the lab that last night: D'Andre Fremen. After the Project, he had been shuffled around different posts, always seeming to find trouble. In truth, he had learned his lessons from Meng too well. It was constantly a buddy of D'Andre's who started fights. D'Andre always, following Meng's lead, finished them.

Meng's small crew worked and saved enough to start their own private protection firm. It was during this time that Meng heard of a small upstart R&D company by the name of _NAR Defense_. The website of the company had no pictures of its founding owners. But Meng followed his gut and talked with some contacts who introduced him to others who eventually gave him four names they had heard connected with the company: James, Eric, Melinda and Adam. Verifying the names through other sources, Meng went to verify them in person.

On that day I had asked James into my lab. An experiment of mine was producing a very odd result. Sitting at my lab bench facing we watched the footage I had as it ran side-by-side with the data streams, trying to see where the change first happened. Melinda was in her lab toying with a new plastic compound. She was trying to integrate the ablative properties and sturdiness of metal, the lightness of plastic, and the transparency of glass. Adam, meanwhile, was busy testing new variants of gun powder. He had found a compound that packed three times the energy per gram as the most efficient contemporary gun powder. Three times the power meant he could get the same punch from the same projectile in a smaller shell. Smaller shells meant more could be taken into battle by each soldier.

While we were working we all got a call from NAR's front desk informing us that someone was there to see us. A Mr. Thao from Plymouth. Each of us knew it was Meng. To actually see him after all those years was a shock, to say the least. After exchanging pleasantries he told us he had a proposition for us that he thought we could agree to. James suggested going to NAR's conference room where...

I interrupted Eric's recounting. "Wow! Hold on. Geez! Just...I gotta catch up here," I said as I frantically tried to get my thoughts on my notetab. Luckily, it had caught everything, so I could go back later and listen to it again. Some things, though, I needed clarified immediately.

"Take your time. I'm not in a rush," Eric said as he sipped his water. "Refill?"

I had been sucking down water like mad. Eric, ever the professor and used to long bouts of lecturing, hadn't killed much of his glass. He grabbed mine before I could respond and headed into his kitchen.

_Good_ , I thought. _Now I can catch up._ First on the list for clarification: nanites. Second: the goal of Project Plymouth. The loose connections I had been able to make between Project Plymouth and the leaders of the TDF had solidified. It had been the same group running both places. Plymouth, though, had been under the auspices of a government. The Terran Defense Force, on the other hand, had all governments on Earth under _its_ auspices. How had a group of eight people made such a huge jump in power? Eric returned with my glass of water. "Good to go?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied. It was a fair blessing that he had gone on so long as now I had questions to ask. "First, nanites. Can you explain them to me a bit more?"

"Sure. Nanites. Nano-metric sized machines that we bonded to humans."

"Bonded how?"

"Symbiotically. We wanted to integrate them into the host as a sustainable hived 3rd party internal system that would take from the host what it needed to function and also give back in return."

"Ah. Okay. Follow-up question. I assume this 'give back' you refer to was the goal of the Project from the beginning. So...give back how exactly?"

"I can go into more detail on that in a bit. But generally, ours was one of many 'super soldier' programs the US tried, starting as far back as WWII. With the Arab Coalition was making huge gains into Europe and Asia prior to the loss of their leader, the United States sought a new weapon to counter their advance. Namely, something powerful enough to be carried by one soldier. Our project took the concept an extra step and made the soldier the weapon. Would have worked out great, too," Eric commented.

" _Did_ work well," I pointed out, looking at him out of the tops of my eyes.

"Touché," Eric said with a broad grin.

#  A confluence of influence

"Why do I doubt the effectiveness of that approach?" Chaos said, stroking his goatee. "Oh, that's right. It already failed you once!"

"Chaos," Matthew said, leaning forward across the desk toward him, "it didn't work because the political climate then worked against us. We can learn from it, though. We can vary the approach. It _can_ work."

Chaos leaned forward, glaring out of the tops of his eyes at Matthew. The man would be useful in the days to come, certainly. But when he espoused using a plan that already failed... "How can it work? Convince me."

"Quite easily. We vary the pressure. We grow independent extremists groups. That way there's not just a single group to focus on like there was with the Dissidents. In the best case scenario we can use several of them to form a strong coalition. We then use one of those groups as a vehicle to seize power. Worst case, we keep a few groups centrist and use the extreme ones as scapegoats." It made some sense.

"Like a name brand also making the generic product," Chaos said, understanding. It was an appealing idea. "You could get such groups up and running?"

"Sure thing. Only take a few phone calls."

' _Friends from the old days_ ,' Chaos thought, feeling it in Matthew's mind. "What stopped you last time, Matt?"

"The political climate, I told you. Things had begun turning around. The Government's plan was working. Our rhetoric of the time had run its course and been used up. The movement ran out of steam," Matthew said with a shrug.

"What did Petin and you really discuss?" Chaos asked.

"I don't see how that bears any relevance to our current discussion," Matthew replied. But Chaos could see it clearly. Matthew had taken a deal. His movement _had_ been running out of steam, though it was how he had handled their funds that ended the movement. He had taken...liberties with the party's coffers.

"Oh, I would say that selling out your movement in order to avoid a slap on the wrist is relevant," Chaos said. "Don't ever try to hide things from me," Chaos said to him, using what power of Voice he had borrowed from Jessica. "Just because I give you more latitude than ordinary troops does not mean I am willing to give you free rein. Give me any reason to doubt you and I will take those freedoms away. You know I can. You know what happened to Her."

"Yes, sir," Matthew said. He was enough of a seasoned politician to remain outwardly in control of himself. Chaos knew better, though. He could _feel_ Matthew's swirling emotions. Everyone knew what had happened to Jessica, why it had happened. And none were as precious to Chaos as she had been.

"Very well, then. Get on with it," Chaos said dismissively. Matthew rose and left, never giving any outward impression of his inner fear.

' _Remember to always keep those around you at arm's length_ ,' Chaos's persistent inner voice said to him. ' _Trust no one. You know you can't anymore. They all want to seize power from you. Don't give them the chance. Rein them in, instill fear in them_.' The voice was right. Chaos was doing the right thing, keeping his commanders constantly guessing.

#  James's Dispatch

"Evil, James, is all in the eye of the beholder," Eric said, busy with his tiered plants.

"So to you the ends, no matter the cost, justify the means?" I replied

"I'm a pragmatist. Simply that. If I can see which horse is going to win in the race, I bet on him. I don't go down on the track and carry the horse to the finish. Think of it. If you could trade 14 million dead for 7 million, wouldn't you? Simple military arithmetic."

"I would like to think that I would make a choice I thought was right and stick with it," I answered.

"Fair enough." Eric gently held the leaf of one of his plants. "I've had this conversation before, but with a different James. He had the same response."

"Tell me," I said, knowing Eric was in a sharing mood.

"It was at the end. Just before he and Meng sacrificed themselves. Come to think of it, that was the last time I talked to him in person. He was arguing that sustaining the Terran government was worth our work and effort. I was arguing that we should have formed our own government instead of propping up a weakened and ineffectual one. In his death, I decided to abide by James's wishes."

"Was that hard for you?" I asked.

"What, to do what he thought was right? No. To go against my instincts, yes. We could have prevented the strife that followed the Insurrection when the Government was still in disarray. Not only that, but we could also have helped rebuild it quicker and better."

"Rebuild what?" I pressed.

"Everything. But I let James's legacy be the Terran Government that's still in place today. The same one that decided our presence was 'disruptive' and 'harmful to the public good.'" He turned, then, to look at me. "There was a lot of suffering in those days, James."

"I learned about it in my research, yes." I replied.

"Nothing like living through it, though," he said back.

"If it was James's plan that you were following at the end, then how things turned out really wasn't your fault."

"I disagree, but go on," Eric said.

"Were James still around at the end, during the downfall of the TDF, he would have led your forces to the same place in history. The difference would have been only the person, not the events," I said.

"Wherever choice exists, there lies another reality," Eric replied.

"So you think things would have turned out differently had it been James rather than you?"

"I don't honestly know. What I do know," he said, sitting, "Is that what happened was my fault. The responsibility of action ultimately falls on the leader. That was me. I cannot avoid that burden."

"That I can understand. How did James feel about it? That sort of responsibility."

"Hrm," Eric mused, a smile on his face. "Best way to describe his feelings toward the mantle of leadership would be to share the conversation I had with him."

"No, James, I don't agree. You were forced into the choice."

"How?! How was I forced?"

"Really," I said to him in disbelief. "Think about what that mob was doing at the embassy! It was practically the US leaving Vietnam out there!"

"That's no excuse," James retorted.

"James, if you hadn't taken action we'd be in a worse way right now."

"I've talked to Meng. Politically it'd be the same," he replied.

"Damn it, I'm not talking politically! That mob would have hostages and then we would have been forced to go in anyway. You know as well as I do that means civilian casualties, probably hostages KIA. That'd be worse."

"Eric," James said, finally looking up at me, "in all but that way it's just as bad. While we try to fight against this growing violence, public opinion of us just continues to slide. All of us here know that the people we've been facing aren't leaving us any choice but to act. They're in it to the hilt! That doesn't change how we're being portrayed. And there's no one to argue our case but us. I've gotta tell you," he said, staring back downward, "it's a losing battle."

"That's not a constructive attitude, man."

"To hell with constructive attitudes! You've seen the opinion polls. The general population is turning against us even as we win this war for them and their government," James scoffed.

"We both know exactly what Chaos would do with this world. We're doing the right thing."

"I know. It just gets hard sometimes to remember it. And the leaders of nations we liberated from his group calling us monsters doesn't help," James said, disparagingly.

"So to hell with 'em," I said.

"Yeah, forget 'em," James said half-heartedly.

"No. I mean it. Why not use the power we have and give these people the government they deserve?"

"And which would that be?" he asked.

"A fair one. A secure one. One where war doesn't exist. One where," James cut me off.

"Where we're in control and dictate the law. A police state. And what? Have a civilian board to rubber stamp what we say? No, Eric. You know that wouldn't work. These people, humanity, are already questioning our use. The best thing we can do for ourselves now and for them is to support the legitimate Terran Government and then retreat to the shadows for a while once this is all over."

"Isolation. That's basically what you're saying," I replied.

"It's just...we're becoming too much, dude." He looked at me with weary eyes, ones heavy from unpalatable decisions. "This is never what we set out for. Meng? Maybe. Even he agrees, though, that we're growing too big and influential for our own good. And I just have a bad feeling about this. As if no matter what we do here we'll wind up the losers in the end. I know we can't isolate ourselves. We're too much part of the political fabric of Earth now. I also know that this war is making people question the governments they fought for. It's financially devastated everyone so much that rebuilding just isn't happening. They're getting fed up with the very ineffectual global government that supports our actions. And meanwhile we can't help matters because we're fighting what's left of Chaos's forces on one hand and killing what appears to be innocent protestors on the other. When Terran citizens go to the polls next they'll vote out the politicians who support us baby-killers."

"Don't even waste your breath on repeating that rubbish," I said indignantly. "You know that we're doing is necessary and important."

"Do the ends justify the means, Eric?" James asked me then.

"Our means are dictated us by the nature of the conflict. When they won't surrender what choice do we have but a massacre?" I replied, stating facts.

"The US found a way around that with the Japanese," James said, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.

"You really willing to go the nuclear route? Because you and I both know that's what ended that war," I replied.

"All options open to us right now are equally bad. If we could get all of Chaos's forces in one spot, at least a nuke would finish the job," James said, disheartened.

"You know that's not an acceptable option anymore. Not after WWII. Even Chaos isn't that crazy."

"He's almost desperate enough," James said, rubbing his face with both hands. "He knows it's over. It would be a Battle of the Bulge-type of move for him. One aimed at turning public opinion against us. 'Look what they've made me do,' he'd say."

"Hrmph," I mumbled noncommittally. This was the first time in a long time that James and I had had the chance to sit down and talk. At the height of the war we had been trying to direct whole fronts, shifting forces at times halfway around the world to keep from losing even one inch to Chaos. Even after we took the momentum out of his uprising, James became consumed with being the political figurehead of the TDF while I continued conducting the combat ops. I wondered what had happened to the two innocent boys who used to watch movies and talk about girls. Here we were trying to forget about our worries, even for a minute, while bringing them up constantly. We lost something of ourselves, our youthful innocence, I think, at the Project. We lost something else the minute we signed on with the Government to assume tactical responsibility for this counter-insurrection. The global government was corrupt and had been for some time. That's how Chaos was able to build such global support. For us to sign on to buttress a government that taxed the poor into even worse poverty just to keep the opulence of government intact...it left me with a bad stomach. But what were we to do?

Meng had glimpsed two roads at the start of this. Down one lay Chaos as a sadistic, power-crazed dictator worse even than the thieves who ran the currently crumbling government. Down the other lay uncertainty. There wasn't much of a choice. Either let Chaos have the reigns or fight him for the future. He saw himself as a new Che Guevera, fighting the good fight for the people. Too bad he was really Joseph Stalin.

We sat like that for a while, James and I, letting things figure themselves out for at least a few moments. Amazingly the world didn't end. It was glorious.

"So what are we going to do, then?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"About what?" James asked while resting his head on the back of the couch.

"I don't know," I said absently. "About any of it. Chaos. The government. The demonstrations."

"Deal with them one at a time," he said calmly. "We defeat Chaos and allow things to stabilize. We help the government rebuild so that confidence in it goes back up. And hopefully that will quell the protests."

"Do we really want them quelled?" I asked.

"Hell, I don't know." He kept his head back, but his eyes now tried to guess the future through projections. "Ya gotta figure that Chaos is training civilian agents to carry on the fight in the political arena after he's gone."

"You think he'll be killed before this is all over?" I asked, hopeful.

"I think he's going to face that, making himself a martyr to his cause. And he'll take out whomever of us he can in the process. And I can't say I blame him. Not after what we did both with and to him." None of us could argue that point. "Without a functioning government things are going to get worse for longer before they start to turn around. The best way we can help stabilize this world in a post-Chaos future is to maintain the government as it stands. Would it be better in the long term if the protesters got their way? Maybe. But there's a nexus in time beyond which Meng can't see. Knowing that, I'd rather deal with the devil I know than the one I don't."

"And what about us, James? What happens to us after all this is settled?" I asked.

"Oh, I plan on retiring to an island somewhere with white sandy beaches, soft waves in the background and," James began, the comm.-line interrupting him.

"Go ahead," James said at it, hitting the connect button with his heel.

"James, you need to see this." It was Melinda. While we had slipped away she had taken command of the war room.

"We'll be right out." Had Melinda just wanted James she could have called him mentally. Using the comm- meant it would concern me, too. Leaving the privacy of the ready room we saw Chaos displayed on the main screen mid-speech. "And I tell you also that this government has betrayed you all. It has given in to the Dogs of War led by James Christopher and Meng Thao. They are your true enemy, not me."

"He managed to grab another news satellite?" James asked.

"No," Melinda said. "All of them." The implication was obvious. The capability to hack that many satellites at once would require Chaos to centralize such an effort. The only place he would allow such activity was right under his nose. Wherever he was originating his signal, that's where he was. Not only that, but he would certainly know that we could track down the signal. That meant only one thing: he intended this to be his last message.

"Fellow citizens, the cost of this war falls on the shoulders of the TDF. Do not blame your government for the atrocities that have been wrought upon you! Who protects, that is controls, the means of transport? Who enforces the _status quo_? It is James, Meng and their loyal wretches! Blame them for your suffering and for your misery! The government, even now, is prevented from helping you because of them. They said that they opposed me to keep a regime out of power. But what do you call militarily enforced rule but a regime?"

"He's trying to turn the public against us," I said.

"But bolstering the government," James finished. "That's where he'll make his true final stand. In the government itself."

"We got it," Melinda broke in. "We got his location. But you're not going to like it."

"Soon, these petulant gods will seek to strike me down. Even now they sit lofty in their Olympus planning their final assault on my liberation forces. Do not forget this warning I give you my brothers and sisters! It is the TDF you must now oppose. It is their tyranny you must now fear. It is their brand of propaganda against which you must now fight. I will soon be dead, but their lies will live on. Fight them as I have on your behalf, my brothers and sisters! _Vive la resistance!_ " With that Chaos ended his message.

Melinda passed the infopad to James, his eyes wide. "Not good," he said. "We're going to need our absolute best to finish this. He means to take us all out in the process. Rouse all the Progenitors and Senior Elites. We go to end this."

"And that was the last time I talked to James before the final battle. Within three hours my oldest friend would be gone so completely not even a body remained to mourn. Meng, Adam, D'Andre, Jessica and Claire would all be gone. And the Earth itself would change. Fitting, I suppose, that all this happened in front of the home of Athena Nike."

# A Report

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this breaking news bulletin. Military forces have launched an attack against Columbia's governmental buildings. Sources report that these forces appear to be highly trained and heavily armed. We go now to Mark Sanchez of our sister agency _Television Bogotá_. Hello Mark. What can you tell us about what's going on there in Bogotá?" The screen split, Katie on the left and Mark appearing on the right.

" _Hola_ Katie. Reports are still coming in from de streets. What I khan tell you ies dat dis was a well-coordinated and su-prise attack. Eye witnesses describe de initial firefight as somsing out of a science fiction movie. Apparently de attackers used some sort of hand-wielded energy weapons in deir assault. Unsubstantiated reports a dis hour say dat dose struck by de energy weapons would drop to de ground, writhing in pain as dey seemed to...to be eaten or dissolved from de spot dey wereh-a hit. It is all still quite confusing, Katie. When we contacted de Government, de Terran Government, ah...dey told us dey had no news such as we were asking about."

"Things are happening very rapidly on the ground there in Bogotá, is that correct, Mark?"

"Yes dey are, Katie. In fact, as your viewers may _not_ know yet, dis apparent battle broke out less den 10 minutes ah-go."

"Do we know if the fighting is still ongoing, or has order been restored?"

"Well, Katie, from reports de fighting has ended. Dough I would hesitate to say order has been restored. From de reports I've seen, if I had to guess, I would say dat de Columbian Military's guards at de statehouse and capitol were quickly overtaken and...eliminated."

"I'm sorry, Mark. Did you say that the Columbian Military's defense forces were eliminated?"

"Yes, dat is correct, Katie."

"Ah...what sort...what size of an attacking force are we talking about here, Mark?"

"Katie, reports vary. But de numbers is between 8 and 12 persons," Mark replied.

"So a force whose largest size was 12," Katie said, "defeated and, as you say, eliminated the Military Guard there of how many?"

"We don' not know for sure, Katie. But estimate de guard at no more dan 160 troops."

"What is the outcome of this right now?" Katie asked disbelievingly.

"Well Katie, we simply do not know. As you say dis is an ongoing ting. We are still waiting for official word from," Mark paused as he put his hand to his ear, looking off-camera. "Katie, I ah...I believe we have live footage from a news crew...at de Terran Embassy in Bogotá. Apparently," Mark paused again, his eyes widening as he nodded, "apparently it has also been attacks. We are going dere live now." The screen changed again to include Katie top-left, Mark top-right and a wide-screen live shot down the street from the Terran Embassy. Its main gates were hanging off of their hinges.

'...y los peleados...ellos vinieron de la izquierda del calle dos o tres minutes antes. Ellos entraron la Embajada y entonces oímos los explosiones de adentro de la Embajada.'

"Mark," Katie said over the shaky live shot, "can you help our viewers understand what's going on?"

"Yes, Katie," Mark replied as the voice of the reporter continued. "De reporter is saying dat de fighters came from de left side of de street and attack-ed de Embassy. Dey..." Mark paused as he listened to the reporter.

' _Nos vemos movimiento.'_

"Dey entered de Embassy and den dere were explosions," Mark said quickly. "Katie, dey apparently see movement dere," Mark finished as the camera zoomed in. There, being drug out into the street by his hair, was a man in a suit.

"Mark, is that the Terran Ambassador to Columbia, Robert Knight?"

"I believe it is, Katie."

'Pienso... si, el hombre está señalando a nosotros.' On-screen the man in uniform holding the Ambassador's hair could be seen pointing directly at the camera crew.

' _Recordé este,'_ the man demanded.

"He just ordered them to record this?" Katie asked Mark.

"Si, es correcto," Mark said, catching himself. "Dat's correct, Katie."

"I know this is going out world-wide," the uniformed man boomed. "Let this be my notice to the World. I am Chaos. My forces and I have taken control of the legislative and executive buildings of Columbia and now control her Government. What the Terran," Chaos said as he shook the Ambassador by the hair, "Government has failed to remedy in this region, what the TDF cannot bring itself to do, I have done in 15 minutes. I have toppled this rotten and corrupt government. **I** have rid the countryside of the mercenary armies, those thinly-veiled forces of _El Presidente Colombiano_ that were enacting his twisted vision of domination on his neighboring countries. **I** have and will continue to make Columbia and all of _América Del Sur_ a safer place. Toward that end I now rid this country of another piece of rot and disease that keeps it weak: the Terran Government. By this act I declare Columbia to have seceded from the Terran Union and come under _my_ banner and protection." Chaos put a fist to the Ambassador's head. There was a flash of black and a pinkish spray that had been the Ambassador's head. The man's hands released their grip on Chaos's, falling to the body's sides as it slumped forward and fell to the ground. Off-camera someone threw up. "Your move, Prime Minister," Chaos said as another black energy bolt loosed from his hand, this time toward the camera. The live feed went dead.

An explosion of sound and activity erupted around Mark. "Katie, we.... ah," Mark said pausing. "We appear to have lost de feed," he finished, swallowing hard.

"Yes, Mark," Katie said, looking off-camera for direction. "I believe we're going to let you go for now. And we, uhm...we," Katie began, helplessness playing on her face as she shrugged, "hope for the best for...for all of you there."

"Thank you, Katie," Mark replied. He immediately rose from his seat in front of the camera.

"To recap, I guess," Katie said, once more taking up the whole screen, "we have just witnessed a message given by a man going by the name Chaos. Reports right now indicate that a group, apparently headed by this Chaos, have attacked and taken control of the various federal buildings of the Columbian Government. They have claimed control of the nation of Columbia. The man Chaos, as many of you just saw, ah," Katie said, nearly losing her composure. "He apparently executed the Terran Ambassador to Columbia, Robert Knight, in what can only be described as a very gruesome manner. Now," Katie continued, "I say apparently because we _still_ have no official word on this developing situation. All this has transpired within the last 20 minutes. We...," Katie paused, listening to someone off-camera. "Right now?... Okay. We are going to a live newsfeed from the Executive House. Prime Minister Nelson is beginning his address to Earth." The image switched to that of Prime Minister Stephen Nelson sitting at his desk, flanked by two Terran Union flags. The network logo and lower-third title overlaid Nelson.

"Good evening, my fellow citizens. As you may already know, a militant group has attacked and taken control of various federal government buildings in Columbia. Details at this hour are yet scarce. What we do know for sure is that this force, led by a man named Chaos, has committed acts of war against both the sovereign Columbian Government and the Terran Government of Earth, as well as committing crimes against humanity. As I speak, the Executive Committee consisting of my Minister of Terran Security and the senior members of the TDF are meeting in an attempt to draft a plan for swift resolution of this situation. To be clear, by his actions Chaos has declared war on this Government and, thereby, the Earth itself. While we want Chaos to know that we will stop at nothing to bring him to justice, we are yet open to diplomacy. There are always non-violent ways out of any situation. But both Chaos and the citizens of this planet must now realize that this act of aggression against a sovereign nation will not stand. Action will be taken; it will be swift and it will be decisive.

"We are actively, at this hour, seeking communication with any governmental authority in Bogotá, seeking assurances of the status of the governmental body there in the person of its legislators and President. As of yet, all attempts at communication have failed. We assure all citizens of Earth that such an attack, such actions, taken against legitimately elected Government Officials will not be tolerated. As a Government we henceforth pledge to keep all citizens of Earth safe and fully informed as this situation continues to evolve. Further, I personally promise to do everything in my power to bring to resolution the current situation in Columbia. Chaos will be brought to and face the proper justice. As a people, as mankind, we have dealt with and defeated such people as Chaos before and will do so again. For now, my fellow citizens, I seek to assure you that you are safe. This situation _is_ isolated and will be dealt with swiftly. Thank you, good night, and God bless."

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Katie said as the screen cut back to her, "that was Prime Minister of Earth Stephen Nelson promising 'swift and decisive' action in Columbia. We are going to continue to stay with this story as more details come in."

"Report," Chaos said.

" _Sir, we have the President in custody. His cabinet is dead,"_ his field commander replied.

"Has he signed the Declaration?"

" _Yes_. _I had to use a bit of persuasion_ , _though_." Knowing her, Chaos knew exactly the dark, fearful methods she had employed.

"Then kill him." At the Presidential Palace the nanitic commander raised her arm, tubules forming and beginning to glow darkly.

"No! I can-ah help you," shrieked the Columbian President. He struggled against the zip-ties that bound him to his chair.

"No you can't," she responded flatly as a disc-like bolt of blackness flashed from her fist. " _Done._ "

"Good. Take the Declaration back to HQ and get it sent out. The faster we do the faster we gain our foothold."

" _The bodies?"_

"Someone else will clean them up. Leave them. You and your people head out." Their plan had worked perfectly. Not that Chaos had had any doubt. They knew when the Legislature would be in full session, a date when the President was conveniently holding a cabinet meeting. They had rushed in, the Columbian Military proving about as resilient to nanitics as an overcooked noodle would have. Chaos's people had cleansed the assembly chamber of all corruption first, quickly turning their attention to the Executive Palace. The President had signed the Declaration of Secession and Integration making Columbia the first state of Chaos's new empire. To his credit, he didn't yield until all his cabinet members were already dead. Even then he had required some special persuasion. Soon the Declaration would become public domain, as would Chaos's video explaining his actions.

The Government would have to reject it and, in so doing, go to war against him. That would bring James, Meng, Eric and the rest of the TDF right to his doorstep. _My old friends_ , Chaos thought, _soon we will be one family yet again._ He was actually surprised, though. He had missed both the cameraman and reporter when he took out the television camera. Looking at his hand while running internal diagnostics Chaos thought, _I'm going to have to put more time in on the firing range, apparently._

"I'm sorry, but I understand that we just received a document and video," Katie said as she interrupted her guest, Matthew Welsh, the camera focusing on her. "The document is being reviewed but appears to be signed by the President of Columbia. We are bringing up the video now." The screen switched to an image of Chaos. He was seated at an old desk with a well-worn wooden top. Behind him was a simply-painted wall. The whole scene seemed to be in need of additional lighting as Chaos appeared to be steeped in shadows.

"As you watch this video you know what I have done. But you do not yet know why. Today I and my forces liberated Columbia from her captors, those legislators and executive government functionaries who suppressed and oppressed her people. Soon, corroborating reports will come in relating that I fully cleansed the Columbian Government of these parasites. It had to be done. The Columbian President was using so-called mercenary fighters to abscond with land not rightfully his. Those militants took lands legitimately belonging to Venezuela, Brazil, Ecuador and Peru. Regardless of the farce put before the Terran Government's eyes, the Columbian President and Columbian Legislature, who all but rubber stamped his actions, declared war on her neighbors and on the Terran Government. This war, however, the Terran Government vehemently wanted to avoid. So it placated and persisted in attempts at pacification. But the Columbian President continued to direct his so-called independent forces to take more and more territory for his own. I have put an end to this unlawful activity. This day, by the hand of the Columbian President before he was permanently relieved of his authority, I was given all governmental power in Columbia. The document accompanying this video is the Declaration that the _Presidente_ signed. I am now the temporary steward of Columbia's democracy. With this power I hereby return to those countries the land taken from them by the previous Columbian Administration.

"I will further use my authority to right the Columbian Ship of State, as well as create harmony in this region of _America Del Sur_. I have a great love for these people and this region and seek only the betterment of their lives. Toward that end, with the authority I now possess, I hereby also absorb all foreign companies and redistribute ownership of them to the citizens of Columbia. Plants and factories will continue to function but will work for the betterment of the _gente Columbiano_. Those who horde money will be cleansed. Columbia will become a beacon to the world, one that lights the way to a better future. The Government has become ineffectual and I will _show_ them how to change. To all countries of the world, I say now, 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me; I lift my lamp beside the golden door.' I will take those unwanted, those destitute, those drains on society of yours and show you how they can be made into _productive_ members of society. Together, they and I will rebuild Columbia and the world.

"It is for these reasons that I this day committed these acts that will be called criminal and warmongering. I do it for the betterment of humanity, something the current Terran Government will not and cannot do. It has become rotten and feeble in its bureaucracy. So it too will be cleansed by my might. Follow me, my fellow citizens, or do not. But do not stand between me and our collective destiny. It is a dead end." With that the screen cut back to Katie.

"That was, apparently, Chaos, leader of the group of TDF-Elite-like soldiers who this day slaughtered all members of the Columbian Legislature, her President and all members of the cabinet. In the studio we have Matthew Welsh, former Speaker of the Terran House of Commons, now a political analyst for this network. Matthew, your reaction to Chaos's message?"

"Katie, we both know my background, as does everyone watching. What I attempted to do was incredible. What this Chaos has done is insane. He just declared war on the Terran Government. I honestly don't see how he thinks he can win against the forces of the TDF."

"As we reported earlier, his troops did appear to have the powers of the TDF Elite," Katie replied.

"Be that as it may, Katie, Chaos hit the Legislature, Presidential Palace and Terran Government Embassy with a _total_ of 16 people. The TDF has, at last report, a few ten-thousand Elite troops. Unless he was only using the absolute minimum he needed, which why do so when you're clearly making such a huge political statement already, certainly he can't expect that this supposed take-over of his will last."

"Politically what _is_ the statement he just made?" Katie asked.

"Well, Katie, it's simple. He just called out the Terran Government. Issues like those of the Columbian Government's slow and steady land-grab from its neighbors are only the tip of the iceberg. We've known for a while now that there is still something fundamentally unbalanced about how the Terran Government runs itself."

"Do you really think he hopes to...take over the Government?" Katie asked.

"I don't think so, Katie. If I were Chaos, I would be doing this as a means to affect change. After all, with such few numbers what can he really hope to accomplish? Nothing. It's simply meant to be a catalyst."

"What about his promise to be a steward for the Columbian democracy, to improve Columbia and reform the Terran Government?"

"I simply don't see it, Katie. This is all just political grandstanding on a very, very large stage. I will give it to the man, though. He has a very large pair to rattle the hornet's nest like this," Matthew finished with a chuckle.

"Matthew Welsh, political analyst and former Speaker of the Terran Commons. Thank you for your help tonight in understanding this situation, Matthew."

"My pleasure, Katie."

"When we come back, American General Henshaw on the military impact of the situation developing in Columbia and the response the world can expect from the TDF. That in just a moment."

#  How the Nanites Work

"We weren't super humans, just ones with advantages. Most of the time, that meant a keener intellect, better overall perception, more physical strength. In addition, of course, to better soldiering. But that much was due to the nanitic programming," Eric said in response to my question.

"Then what about your legendary abilities to survive even the most ghastly attacks?" I asked. Few stories survived about the TDF Elite, but those that did made them sound like gods.

"Once again, it was the nanites. When we would be in battle under attack and get shot, the nanites would protect the host by taking the damage, even to the point of destroying themselves. Whenever one nanite was destroyed, another would replicate a replacement ," Eric replied with a shrug.

"Did the nanites ever fail to protect a host?"

"In prolonged battle, yes. A host can only hold so much energy in reserve," Eric said. "Think of a reactor. Once the reagents are exhausted, power production shuts down. The nanites, when they sense a low power reserve, stop replicating as fast, or, in the most severe cases, altogether. When all the energy available is gone, the nanites simply go into hibernation, retreating into the host and leaving him or her to fend on their own. It's a mechanism that was meant to save the host in the long term by giving the body a chance to regenerate its reserves. During the Insurrection, though, the battles were so fierce that people simply fought on past that limit. So, many good people died simply because they wouldn't leave their post."

"Then how did you get your reserves back? Did you jack into a power source or something?" I asked. With how little we know about the TDF Elites, it was possible.

"Normally eating was sufficient. The nanites helped our digestive systems convert food energy at nearly 100% efficiency," Eric replied.

"So, what about those times of prolonged conflict, such as during the Insurrection? There are first-hand accounts of how you people would stay on the front lines for days at a time. Was food still enough, even then?"

"Once we realized that the fighting would be nearly continuous, our best bio-engineers, yours truly included, came up with new coding for our nanites which allowed us to gain energy from the sun, exactly like plants do," Eric said.

"How so?" I asked.

"We always wear a thin layer of nanites to passively protect us. After we figured out how, and implemented the code-patch, the nanites were able to function, essentially, as solar cells. Such solar capabilities, along with pizo-generators which ran through most of our bodies, helped boost our energy reserves. In battle, however, that was more a stop-gap measure as more energy was being consumed than produced."

My mind suddenly clicked, latching onto a passing thought. "So that's how your people survived on Mars! The thought just occurred to me that if your nanites were always active and protecting you, and that they were able to, for lack of a better word, 'recharge' you, that's how you were able to survive on Mars despite its hostile environment. Your nanites would have still been able to gather the power they needed to protect you from the original Martian atmosphere. And, I think it would be reasonable to assume, doing so took less energy than was gathered. At least, I should think so if the original purpose of such energy-gathering and storage systems were to help during battle," I said, nearly breathlessly.

"You're not so dumb after all," Eric said with a smile. "Very true. Our nanites did offer us enough protection against the environment on Mars. But they can only work with what's available," he added.

"So...they functioned as environmental suits but not space suits?" I asked.

"Spot on. So long as there is some sort of substance, the nanites can generally sustain the life of their host. I still wouldn't want to try jumping into a star, though. Their interlocking nanitic matrices can be reasonably tough, but a star has a lot of heat and pressure," Eric commented.

"So that's how you survived, but what about the terraforming? Even now we don't possess the technology to do what you people apparently did in the time you did it." Most theories on the Martian Terra-formation indicated it should have taken decades to accomplish what, according to soil records, had taken under ten years.

"That lack of knowledge is largely due to the government's shunning of nanitic technology. Too many viewed the arbitrary creation and destruction of 'sentient' organisms, which they weren't, as 'unwholesome,' 'morally corrupt,' or even as something 'the Supreme alone' should have the power to do," Eric said with disdain in his voice.

"Clearly you disagree."

"Is it that obvious? I was trying to hide it so well," Eric said sarcastically. "As the co-lead of the first project to create and harness nanites, of course I disagree. They can't feel and have no sense of self. They are programmed, nano-scopic insects. They protect their host as warrior bees do their queen, with selfless disregard. It all was simply an excuse to block the research."

"You feel that we as a society would be more advanced if we used nanitic technology?"

"With nanites we could specifically target disease cells, cancer cells, even use them to form a lattice and encourage repair of major wounds or organs. Amputation, organ destruction due to chronic damage, could both be things of the past. We could re-grow any organ from the inside out," Eric said passionately.

"So then how were the nanites used in the terraforming process?" I asked.

"Believing that you wouldn't be interested in or capable of understanding the details," Eric replied, "let me just say that we first aerosolized the nanites to convert the atmosphere."

"Are they still floating around today?" I was suddenly worried, having lived on Mars my whole life, more or less.

"No. Of course not. Once they produced the right atmospheric mix to sustain animal life they self-terminated.," Eric replied.

"Without a host, how were they powered?"

"Nanite photosynthesis, just as in a host body," Eric said.

"But then how did they store energy? I mean, it's not always sunny out," I commented.

"Well, of course they couldn't store energy outside a living being. They would simply go dormant at night, picking up their work when it was again light out," he said, becoming impatient. Which was rather odd for him.

"Sooo...what about all the flora here? Our scientists contend that it couldn't have grown so abundant in such a short amount of time," I asked, again thinking about how quickly Mars had been terraformed and covered in plant life.

"They didn't. At least not by themselves. We infused every square inch of Martian soil with nanites set to encourage cell growth. Trees grew at a rate surpassing 1000 times normal. In days, forests that rival the largest old-growth forests on Earth sprang up, all protected from the adverse soil conditions by the nanites," Eric finished.

"And those nanites..."

"Were home-grown here on Mars and, once they were done with their work, they went dormant as well. We left no trace of their presence here," Eric replied.

"So that's why you're so confident about nanites. You've _seen_ the results. But what of such an accelerated growth process? Isn't that what forms cancers in living organisms?" I pushed.

"Yes, but again the nanites provide the solution. They're able to monitor their surroundings and 'trim' cells that begin to exhibit abnormal growth patterns. In this way, any number of diseases, environmental or genetic, can be prevented while cells are still forming. Their very DNA can be pre-analyzed for defects. It's a proactive approach to disease that most research doctors tend to shun, even today, as it isn't nearly as profitable," Eric replied.

"Even so, why not bring such knowledge and data to the larger scientific community? Why not make your case and try to get nanites accepted as legitimate?" I asked, genuinely curious. After all, if nanites held such promise, why _not_ try to reintroduce them in a more enlightened age such as ours?

"We did some time ago. It was shunned as 'unstable technology,' 'pure science fiction with no basis in fact.' We tried to fight that fight. Those in power, both in the scientific establishment and the Government, were too scared of its possible implications towards human augmentation to allow it even the most remote foothold in the workplace of real science. There's still the memory that something of the sort was core to what happened in my time, to what befell Earth those centuries ago. Instead they concocted stories of how cures already existed such as we described. They wouldn't listen," Eric said. "So we did try, and failed, to resurrect the tech."

"Were you at least able to improve it in the attempt?"

"How so?" Eric seemed truly perplexed at the question, one that had seemed a logical next step in technological advance to me.

"Well, with technology where it is today, I imagine that you could have made the nanites...smaller. Better. Have improved their design and function somehow." I could almost see thoughts beginning to pile upon each other in Eric's mind. It was as if such an idea had truly never occurred to him before.

"It is odd we would never have tried in that time to improve the tech," Eric commented. "With so many of us working together on the research you would think one of us would have brought the idea up in counsel. Looking back at that present, it almost feels as though a wall existed around such an idea at the time. Yes, a wall that we could not surmount, but also which we couldn't see. As if something were intentionally keeping the idea from us." After another moment of contemplation, he waved off the whole train of thought. "But no. There had to have been some reason we didn't pursue such advancement of the tech. We would have thought of it were it possible."

"What about now?"

"Hrrmm?"

"Would it be possible now to improve the tech," I asked again.

"Well..." Eric again seemed as though the thought of improving the nanites had never occurred to him. "I should think so. I mean, with the right equipment and the best and most capable minds, perhaps. But none of those are real anymore," he said. "And I certainly don't have access to the facilities to conduct such advanced research anymore." I would later come to find out that this was a lie. "I mean, with the right equipment one could massively shrink the hardware while improving its overall efficiency, yeah. I'm just not sure right now how you'd go about that. Which I find quite odd, suddenly." Eric began contemplatively stroking his goatee.

Suddenly, after a slight twinge in my head, I found myself inexplicably curious about the whole affair. I pressed, asking, "How, precisely, could they be improved?"

"Well, I mean, certainly they would no longer be nanites. I mean, with lasers alone such as we have now we'd be talking at least pico-sized. And at that level of tiny the nanites would be able to interact with matter in a wholly different way. Instead of having to take on traits of things to act as catalyst within a host, they could simply construct the necessary catalyst from the sub-atomic up. They would machine substances in the body. Even the level of interplay between swarm and host would change. I mean, think of a construction site. So many different sizes of equipment could work in perfect harmony to achieve a level of sophistication and efficiency as we never thought of. Instead of nano-sized machines reaching across dimensions to affect change, they could network with and command their own armies of picites to help.

"But even so, what sort of interdimensional play could be achieved by such systems?! Personal power plants could be rendered if picites could use the same dimension jumping as their big brothers to subtly move about sub-atomics. Nuclear fission and fusion, constant and safe, could be produced within cells themselves! Imagine every cell of the body as a power plant for a Nanitic!" Eric rose and began pacing as he continued. "Such available power opens whole new avenues of possibilities. I mean, such an ability to create power at such levels internally would practically free a Nanitic from physical limitations altogether! And with such a system operating at maximum efficiency, the Nanitic could produce internally, from simple rearrangement of extant materials, all nutrients she would need."

"You're saying such a person would never have to eat?" I asked.

"I'm saying that she would never have too much of anything ever again!" Eric's replied. "As much as our nanites could take salt water and turn it into breathable atmosphere, picites would remove the need to breathe! They could simply take waste products and realign their sub-atomic structure causing a chain reaction of all such molecules to realign and become useful again. They could turn CO2 into pure oxygen, make acid into raw amino acids. The possibilities are astounding," Eric finished, staring off into a corner of his ceiling.

After some minutes I cleared my throat and said "Eric."

His eyes came back to me, but they were now a solid, pupil-less grey. "You," came a chorus of voices. "You have started something here that has changed time." It was the first time I had heard this chorus of voices from Eric, though it would not be the last. It was a melodic voice, soft and strong at once, covering the entire gamut of human vocal range in distinct tones, and yet melding into one spoken voice. "For many reasons we kept such a thought hidden. Among them, we could not see what such an innovation would do. But as uncertain as the future is right now anyway..." The voices trailed off as Eric's eyes seemed to swirl through colors I could just barely make out. Blues whirl-pooled to greens that mixed through to dark browns and light hazels before returning to the light grey they began with. My mind raced, panic griping it at what went on before me. Practicing magic as a hobby, I knew what I saw in front of me was not a trick. What was happening to Eric was real, and it frightened me deeply. "The path we had seen, that we had tried to trend down, is now bent. Where does it go?" the chorus asked me, Eric's grey eyes somehow seeming to focus on me.

All at once he shook his head, closing his eyes. When he again looked at me his eyes were their usual green. In them was confusion and concern. "What happened?" Eric asked me in his own voice. "I feel like I'm waking from a dream."

"I was actually hoping you might be able to explain that to me a bit, Eric."

"I remember...impotence. Possibility. Roads opening through a dense wood." Confusion played across his face. "Nanites and possibilities."

"Eric. Really. What just happened here? I mean, I was here but you weren't." Eric seemed as though he gained some small understanding from my off-handed comment.

"Say that again. With clarity," he said.

"I was here, but you weren't. Your body was, but it wasn't you talking. And those were not your eyes," I added.

Realization seemed to dawn on Eric. "This is one reason I asked you here," he said as he came again sat down. "Things are changing within me, things I cannot control. Even if such improvement to the nanitic technology could be made as we had been discussing, it would be too late for me."

"Are you saying that you're dying?" I asked.

"Not quite. The entirety of what is happening to me is a story for another time."

"Eric, I wish to understand." I was still getting over what I had seen, but suddenly found myself much more willing to believe any story Eric might present me. The man sitting in front of me had shocked me to my core and I wanted to know how and why.

Few things in my professional career surprised me anymore. I had interviewed people claiming to be demon-possessed, end-timers, even various pets since the invention of animal-speech translation. While travelling in space I had seen such beauty and experienced such unexplained phenomenon as to make a believer of an atheist and vice versa. During the water strikes in the Old Middle East I saw on the news how religious fanatics set themselves ablaze to make a point and have seen firefighters lift impossibly heavy loads just high enough to save people trapped beneath. But never had I been as shocked. That chorus of voices seemed to not just pass into my ears, but to touch my very soul. My heart had grown cold from it. And those grey eyes held me in a trance, willing me to pay rapt attention while making me want to run in terror. Even so, I had to understand what had just happened. Perhaps if for no other reason than that I saw an interview through to the end.

"James," Eric said, now staring off through the front window. "It is not yet time for you to understand. But you will."

"When?" I pressed.

"When the time is right. Which it is not now," he said with finality.

"Okay. Fine then," I said. "To what subject can we return, then?"

"Not the picites. Your current knowledge would not lend itself to a rich understanding of such a technology," he replied.

"How about the local flora here, then. How there came to be such a rich variety of species in such a short time." It wasn't truly something I was interested in, but thought it might lead back to a discussion about the 'picites.'

"Yes. We could talk about that. In _Dune_ by Frank Herbert a people on a fictional desert planet go about terraforming it over the course of some 350 years. On this real desert planet we followed largely the same ecological reshaping plan, though accelerated greatly thanks to the nanites. We first used nanites to create an atmosphere tolerable to plant life. Then, relatively slowly, we began introducing increasingly more complex varieties of plants. The tough part was keeping the system in balance as we went. After all, humans can only control so many variables when we talk about doing so at a global scale. The hardest part was introducing the right animals to keep the system in check."

"How's that?" I asked.

"Think about it. We made breathable atmosphere. What do plants feed on in the air?" Eric asked.

"CO2," I replied.

"And how much of that do you think several thousand humans were producing on a planet even this size?" Eric countered.

"Not nearly enough, I suppose," I replied after a moment's thought.

"Correct. As we increased the plant growth, we had to increase the number and complexity of animal life here to keep the system in balance. It's easy at first. You bring in small animals that chomp down the growth. But eventually that population can grow out of control, so you bring in specific predators. Once that is in balance, you bring in more flora and more animals to keep the balance. Those animals, though, too often aren't prey for the previous predators, so new predators must be brought in. It's a constant push-and-pull when you're trying to create a planetary ecosystem from scratch. And the worst part is that you eventually run out of animals to import. Other than one."

"Humans," I said.

"At a certain point we had to start importing humans," Eric affirmed.

"What do you mean by 'importing?' You couldn't exactly bring humans here in cattle-transports."

"How do you think construction workers travel? First class?" Eric replied. Something clicked.

"The government didn't start the settlement of Mars, did it?" I asked.

"Nope."

"You and your kind devised a scheme to attract people here, forcing more and more population to follow to support them. All the while quickly growing vegetation as the ability of human life to support _it_ increased," I said.

"Correct," Eric acknowledged.

"Which is why there are still stories of people swearing that new forests and prairies would magically crop up overnight here on Mars. Because they actually did," I said, adding. "And...the whole while you and your people used the influx of new population to allow you, once exiles, to silently re-integrate into society," I said, finishing my train of thought.

"A happy byproduct of making what had been a lifeless rock become a useable home," Eric said.

"And no one was suspicious?" I asked.

"You know the reports. Officially the exiles on Mars died out while trying to terraform it. Such was the finding of several investigative committees. The government took the word of the committees at face value since it fit nicely with a way to help ease the continually burgeoning population of Earth and Luna. And those of us on the committees knew how to keep ourselves hidden," Eric added smiling.

"And that would be how, from the start, you could...," I began.

Eric finished, "Work our way back into higher places at Universities and in government. It, like the terraforming, took time and patience. But we did it. "And the pull was an obscure contract for a government building. Small but nonetheless requiring skills the settlers did not possess."

"What settlers?" I asked, thinking for a moment before adding, "your people. But how did you keep the Terran Government from becoming too curious?"

"Bribe the right people and old flight records, land and building permits are suddenly unearthed in _public records_ , right where they should be," Eric commented. "Once people began coming to and settling on Mars it attracted attention from the upper class. Money poured in, as did more workers to fill the need. Over time, a small settlement turned into the third pillar of the Terran Interplanetary Government."

"So I have to ask for my own good," I began, thinking back to the article on L&H bar, "did the city create L&H or did L&H create this city?"

"Ah, your human interest piece. Laura and Hank were good friends and loyal to the cause. They were some of the last to finally give up their immortality. They stuck around to try and see things through and helped the new settlers adjust to the Martian climate. To do so they took on personas that allowed them to give folksy advice. People trusted them. After all, the barkeeps of already established scrappy settlers had to have _some_ worthwhile wisdom to share," Eric said.

"They were TDF? ATMO?" I asked, amazed.

"They were nanitics, yes. Hank Jr., the current owner, knows. It's a family secret. They never told him specifically about me, though." Somehow even then I knew that my article on L&H, while it would still be published, would not be as important as it had seemed at the time. Along with such a feeling was the knowledge that this new piece of the puzzle, that explained so much of the stories I had heard from the regulars and longtime patrons of L&H, could not be used for the article. Only here, in context, could it make enough sense to be included. Tucked away from that conversation with Eric, I kept highlighted the revelation about L&H's past, as well as my very odd experience with the man yet seated before me. An experience, once again, that opened my mind to the possibilities I would encounter in the days ahead.

#  Soup With Chaos

Chaos was seated at his desk, a data tablet in each hand. He looked at one, then the other and back. Some figures were encouraging. Others were not. They had managed to take the entirety of South America before James and Meng could mount a viable defense. They were still managing a tough resistance along the Panama Canal, though. ' _Damn it_ ,' Chaos thought. _'If only I hadn't sent the other companies away._ ' But he had seen this coming. Neither the TDF nor the Government knew his true troop strength, what he had amassed while they moronically resupplied him and plied for more time. ' _Fools only did me a favor_.' "Chaos is proving difficult to bring in, we need more time," he mimicked in a whining tone.

Two full battalions of nanitics. He had managed over 2,000 troops, ¾ of which he had sent off, 3 companies each to Europe, Africa and Asia. While he fought the TDF forces here in Panama, they would build strength, emerging when James and Meng had been drawn deep enough into this region. Then he could spring the trap. They would be weakened elsewhere around the globe, giving his nanitics the additional time they needed to come into power. His command company was holding, having sent one of his other two slowly around to perform a northern flank on the TDF, the third beginning to build a base of operations in North America under Matthew.

It would become dicey if the timing were off; he had everything timed precisely. It was, however, true and glorious nanitic-on-nanitic warfare right now. Full blown battles raged for days without stop. Even as his troops fell dead, Chaos could feel himself becoming more powerful. He knew his plan was working.

His aide came in. How he hated relying on others! But he knew from experience he would neglect himself dangerously if someone didn't shepherd him. "Sir? Shall I bring supper?"

Without looking up Chaos grumbled, "What mutant slop did the cook prepare tonight? Salsa on a shingle? Churro pancakes? Queso con queso?"

"With respect, sir, he does his best with what little we have," the aide said meekly. He knew how Chaos's last aide had been 'retired.' The man had been a bit too forceful with Chaos. His arms? ' _Momma had a baby and its arms popped off_ ,' Chaos thought.

Grudgingly Chaos said, "I know. What is it?"

"Beef soup with bread." More like brown beef-flavored water. It had to be done so his other companies would arrive with sufficient supplies to get started. How distasteful, though, that the command company should eat the lowest.

"Bring it," he said, the aide scurrying to comply. Chaos put down one tablet and focused on the other. Casualty rate up 5% over the last three days. To be expected. They had taken control over the western mouth of the Canal and were beginning to ferry forces to its northern side. It was a maneuver meant to fail, but also one meant to pull in more of the TDF's forces. As such, those ferried forces were taking casualties. It was war. Soldiers were injured. They died.

Baker company, command battalion, would be in place two days from today. Assuming the TDF didn't reinforce too heavily before then, their Canal forces would be caught between two companies of Chaos's Elite and would be crushed. The TDF would then bring in reinforcements by way of Mexico, hoping to mass sufficiently to counter this 'sudden increase' in Chaos's forces. They did that, Chaos would rear-flank again with a small number from Matthew's contingent, drawing attention north. Keep poking the bee hive little at a time and larger responses would come. Once James and Meng committed enough troops to the New World in hopes of countering the 'guerilla warfare of Chaos,' he would unleash his global forces. A few months at the outmost. With nine other companies of nanitics, such would be enough for a foothold.

At that point the Government, becoming fearful, would predictably return to diplomacy. Chaos would use the time to grow his forces. Then the true war would begin. If he couldn't get more nanitics quickly enough he would turn what he had into battalion and company level officers, having them lead conventional forces globally. His subsumed plants in South America were already producing weapons for that contingency. If it never came, he could always sell them to collectors or to the 'independent militias' he was thinking of goading into existence once in power.

A bowl, bread, napkin and spoon were set before him. "Mhhh," he grunted. The aide left again. The tablet showed markers of major TDF concentrations along the Canal. They weren't massing like he wanted them to. He had poked the bee-hive plenty hard. Where were the drones? They _had_ to oppose him after Nelson's little post-Columbia speech. They were tied to action.

His other tablet chirped indicating new data. Switching them, he became instantly, apocalyptically angry. "Intercepted?!" One of the many troop transports carrying his nanitics to Asia had been intercepted. _And sunk_! All hands lost! How?! Why?! "Graaaaahhh!" he exclaimed, snapping the pad in two. It chirped at him again, displaying another ship reported lost before going black.

"Fuckshit! In here now!" The aide scurried in, presenting a figure at a trembling imitation of attention. "I just lost two transports for Asia. Two! **How did this happen**?!" The aide couldn't form words he was so scared.

Internally Chaos smiled at the man's fear. "You know what I want you to do?" The aide again tried to find words but couldn't. " **Fix this**!" he exclaimed, throwing the broken pad at the man. The aide caught it and ran out of the room. "And get my ex-com in here! All of them!"

Someone had to have messed up. Who would pay for this? He had put nanitic Covers on those ships, people whose power made the ships virtual holes in space-time. Not even Meng should have been able to see their course. Chaos's analytic mind kicked into high-gear as he tore off a chunk of bread. ' _But he_ _can_ _see their eventual impact. And he could feed_ _that_ _data into James_ ,' Chaos thought. ' _And his mind is yet better than mine.'_

He smashed the table with his free hand causing the spoon to summersault off the table into the bowl. James would be able to work backward with the data, plotting plausible courses for ships to carry troops from Columbia to their intended ports. And with that knowledge now confirmed, James and Meng would know as fact that Chaos's forces were larger than those they faced at the Canal. His plans were slipping from his grip. " **Where's my ex-com**?" Chaos raged at his aide in the other room.

"They're on their way, sir. Some of them were on-line," the man said delicately.

' _See?'_ Chaos said to himself, chewing another chunk of bread, ' _Tearing off a person's arms can be motivating.'_ James and Meng wouldn't mass forces in the New World as Chaos had wanted. His plans had to change. They would need to crush the TDF's forces here and begin their march northward quickly, take the whole New World and deprive the TDF of even a beachhead.

And if he could take America...' _Take out their heart, take out their will,'_ Chaos thought around a spoonful of soup. ' _I should at least be able to count on one company reaching each continent_ , he added to himself. He tapped out commands on the surviving tablet. New orders went out to his field officers who would make sure these new plans succeeded. They had, after all, also heard about how his last aide had died. Even nanitics weren't willing to see what Chaos was capable of.

His ire fell slightly as he felt his ex-com gathering. They would talk with each other, plying his aide for information before entering. It was their way.

The soup became a relaxing experience. Chaos identified all the scant spices: pepper, salt, garlic, some basil. Celery, potato and onion floated in the brown, watery broth. Somehow Chaos felt revitalized despite the fact that he was having soup. ' _It's all connected, isn't it?'_ he thought, staring at and stirring the brown substance in his bowl. ' _As I change things, stir them up, they change each other. Each has an impact on the next. An infinitely long chain, as James had said. I can only see parts, though. That's unfortunate.'_

Chaos knew his amplified powers weren't the most dominant or most accurate that existed on Earth. But he wouldn't give up the idea that if he pushed himself just a little more, spent a little more energy, melded with a few more minds, that he could come close enough to the power some held.

He looked down and realized his soup and bread were gone. The cook did do a fairly good job with what he had. Setting everything aside, Chaos turned his attention back to the remaining tablet, watching as the battle front began to shift. The TDF forces would have been taken by surprise at the new ferocity with which Chaos's forces attacked. That element of surprise was now used up, though. He could not count on it to win a battle again.

Noise in his assistant's office told Chaos his executive committee had fully arrived. In a voice soothed by the soup he said toward them, "Come. We have new plans to discuss." His aide, if not his commanders, should certainly be thankful for the change in tone. And all from soup.

#  Martian Vegetables

Eric had risen and beckoned me sit at his kitchen table while he put something on his stove. He hadn't done more than chop a few items from his fridge and add them to a pot he had pulled from his fridge. After our lengthy discussion on the finer points of nanite technology and terraforming I found myself hungry. As I scrawled notes, Eric tended to his cooking.

"Soup should be about ready now," Eric said in reply to the loud growl from my stomach. "Care for a bowl?" He reached into a cupboard to the left of the stove and pulled out two oversized mugs labeled, in equally oversized letters, SOUP. I decided that after the ordeal Eric had put me through that if he was offering me food, I had better take it.

"Sure. What are we having?" I asked.

"Simple vegetable soup. Here," Eric handed me a bowl, plunking a soup spoon and torn-off hunk of bread into the bowl. "Let me know what you think. It's a recipe I've been working on a while."

I almost feared the question, but asked anyway. "How long of a while?"

"About seventy-three years come Earth-standard August," he replied. I knew I would regret the question. I began eating, trying to figure out what all he had put in the soup.

"Enjoying the soup?" Eric asked as I continued to sip at it.

"Yes," I said, still focusing on the cornucopia of flavors. Pepper and garlic were definitely present. I could plainly see leafy parts floating around the bowl as well as cuts of celery and onion. There was more depth, though, to the soup than just that

"No, you're not," Eric said around a mouthful of soup-soaked bread. "You're analyzing it. You're losing some of the flavors when you do that! Treat it like a magic show. Don't try to figure it out. Just enjoy it and leave the worrying to the chef."

Eric did have a point; the soup was delicious. And if I were to keep focusing on its taste the whole time, I would be done with it before I could enjoy it. I took a moment, closed my eyes, exhaled slowly then inhaled the aroma wafting from my bowl.

"There ya go," Eric said. "Don't try to figure it out. Just welcome it in and let the smell happen." It was delightful. Somehow I suddenly caught myself remembering the kitchen back home when I was a kid. Mom tried to add her own flair to dishes, but normally ended up ruining the dish in the process. Synth food had everything it needed in it anyway. At least so I had thought.

Even a steaming bowl of synth-miso couldn't hold a flame to the rapture of scents my nose was experiencing. Faintly again there was the pepper, garlic, some rosemary, a hint of parsley. I opened my eyes, surprised.

"Found more when you weren't looking for it, right?" Eric asked.

"Yeah, I did," I replied.

"That's always how Meng tried to describe his prescience to us. If he tried to force it he would lose focus on the very thing he sought. If, however, he just let prescient thought waft over him, he found what he was looking for every time. Took me a long time to understand that and build the same sort of discipline. Soup helps, though, doesn't it?" Eric asked, taking another spoonful. "Don't let me stop you," he added around another bite of bread. "Keep going. Let go and taste it." Obediently I closed my eyes, dunked my spoon and brought it to my mouth. The aroma again wafted before me, bringing to mind some of the plants I had seen in Eric's living room.

I took in the soup, letting it sit on my tongue before chewing slowly. Celery, onions, broccoli, , some mushroom slices as well as a taste of potato. Swallowing, I felt the soup warm my throat, then stomach.

"Sometimes the simple act of letting go, of living in the moment, is all that is needed to sustain and recharge us," Eric said. "Soup itself is quite a thing. Doesn't have much substance to it really," Eric said to some dripping and splashing. Opening my eyes I found him ladling his soup with his spoon, watching as it fell back into the bowl. "There are larger chunks, smaller chunks, spices, dissolved bits and then the water that makes up the bulk of it. And yet, lacking such substance as this," he said, holding up what remained of his bread, "it is still vitally re-energizing, isn't it?"

He expected no reply, so I didn't try to give one. Eric quietly finished the rest of his soup and bread as he had admonished me to do. The presence this man exuded was completely unique to me. Something about him engendered a whole host of emotions and empathies. Watching him eat, though, one came through stronger than the rest: loneliness.

We finished our soup in silence and continued so for a few minutes. Eric had turned to look out his back windows into his yard. There I could see his small garden alongside some fruit trees. "Ever think about those?" Eric motioned toward his garden. "How they got here, I mean?"

I actually hadn't. People, after all, hadn't come to Mars with much. And nowhere in the historical records was there ever mentioned a want for sustenance.

"I guess that I just always assumed they were brought with colony missions." My mind traced back to Eric's comments about the terraforming process. Such would have been done with plants meant for harsh environs, not such temperamental plants as crops.

"I'm sorry to say it this way, but do you really think the first settlers, construction workers and the like, would generally have had the know-how to breed plants native to Earth to survive here on Mars? Between the differences in soil, gravity and season length, Earth crops just didn't do well. Sure, when you get summer here it lasts twice as long and so you have double the growing season. What do you think that does to crops, though? They're still used to a set season length. They grow, produce, then die."

"Martian varieties have double seasons, though," I commented.

"Naturally. We engineered them that way. Twice as long a year here, twice as much food needed to get you through that year. So why not take advantage of the extended summer seasons?"

"So it was your people who modified the crop strains?" I asked.

"Yup. Didn't have time to do it in the old fashioned way, though," Eric replied. "So we went a different route. We used nanites to go in and forcibly reprogram the plants to produce twice in a season. Took a little bit of trial and error, I'll admit. Pesky bugger, that switch in their genome. For being such well-understood organisms, plants are still annoyingly complex."

"So what you're saying," I said, suddenly wishing I hadn't put my notetab to sleep while eating, "is you basically created those," pointing to the plants in Eric's back yard.

"Yup. That was us."

"What about the Martian-Terran hybrids on Earth?" I asked.

"The immortal strains? Those were a product of our tinkering, once again, with nanites here on Mars at the University. Ironically, we were just looking to create new strains of crops that could withstand larger temperature swings, increasing their growing season further. We quickly figured out, though, that on Earth they would just keep producing all year round whereas their elder cousins would not. I will admit, though, that immortal apples do taste a bit off. Never able to work that out before our research was shut down. Again." I remembered Eric talking about their attempt to revive nanite technology on Mars.

"So, are there still nanites guiding plant growth?" I queried.

Eric shifted his eyes back to me, a glint appearing in them to accompany his smirk. "Good question. We thought about it, but the result would have been introduction of nanites into the general human population, an eventuality we didn't want to deal with at the time. So, rather than doing so, we had the nanites self-terminate once the plant genomes were successfully reprogrammed. They've been out of any type of Martian crop for 200 years, hybrids for about 150. "

"Eric," I said delicately. "You keep mentioning the other exiles and Elites. And after your comment about Laura and Hank, I have to ask: are there any others left?" Eric's eyes took on a panged look before he quickly squeezed them shut, opening them to look longingly again out the window.

"No," came the slow, flat answer filled with the same loneliness I had felt minutes before. "After our attempt to revive the tech was silenced the few of us that remained decided to give up. The nanites prolong life, to be sure, but only if you allow them to."

"So you can, what, turn them off?" I asked.

"Essentially, yes. Over centuries of living with them we gained deeper understanding of and control over them than we ever could have imagined in the beginning. Instead of needing an external interface to re-write their base code, we figured out how to set up the same thing mentally. From there self-adaptation of nanites was easy, including the ability to insert a kill-switch."

"So not to open a wound further, but why are you still here, Eric?"

"Because I still have one last mission to complete. Once that is done, then I can rest," he replied.

"Why not pass it on to someone else?" I asked. Eric again turned his gaze back to me, a quirky, wry smile on his face.

"The nanitic life within me, the mission I have yet to complete, or both?" he asked. I hadn't thought about the nanites yet within him. If none existed in the modified plants and no more of the original Nanitics of the TDF yet lived, then those still active within Eric should be the last of their kind in the universe.

"Both, I guess," I replied.

"Soon enough," Eric answered, turning his focus back to his garden. "When the time is right."

My mind once again caught a passing thought. The introduction of immortal Martian-Terran hybrids to Earth had been in emergency response to the Great Crop Extinction of the 2420s and 2430s, the very event that had precipitated the Great Martian Migration of the same period. These days, of course, Terran farmers were once again growing healthy crops, diversifying their strains against another such event.

"Eric, did you and your people have a hand, in helping to save Earth from the Crop Extinction?"

"Behind the scenes, yes. When we first came here we brought as many crop species as we could, not knowing which one or which parts would be best suited for Martian life. Darn good thing, too, considering how dumb the Terran crop monitors had become," he replied.

I felt a pang of disgust and self-loathing. My great-grandfather had been one of those crop monitors whose reliance on a single species staple crops had led to the near-instant death of all food crops on Earth. Not even the swift action of continental governments could stop the spread of necrotic disease that swept all corners of the globe. Such a lesson in crop diversity had come at nearly too high a price.

"So then you had a hand in the Vegetable Ark?" I added.

"Sure did. Ironic, isn't it, how the exiles from Earth once a? Kinda like the cast-out child coming back home to care for his parents. Every human on Earth and Luna could have starved to death. And what a shame that would have been." Eric said, an undercurrent of sudden cynicism working its way into his voice as he turned back to face me. In his face something had changed. Something was now there that hadn't been before. Not even during the odd episode where he had talked as a chorus had Eric's face held what it did now. Nearly dark foreboding, his countenance somehow seemed to dim his features. It was as if an overhead light had been turned off. "What I mean is that humanity is growing soft," he practically growled. "For years _someone_ has always been there to hold up its weak and decrepit form. Ever on the razor's edge humanity has, for a long time, had a steadying hand. It has weakened a once great people. One that was capable, under the right leadership, of taking on even those who were nearly superhuman. But the years have been less than kind to we evolved apes. What has humanity done in times of crisis? Stood and fought it? Or rather ran off to safe havens among the stars? Only the weak flee their home under duress. The strong-willed stand and fight to the last man." Yet glowering he said, "I recognize you, faintly. As though I once saw you in a dream." Then, once more, he was silent. A light seemed to come on over his head, again illuminating his face. His countenance changed and once again he had an expression of trying to remember a dream. He looked at me questioningly, realization dawning on his face. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's part of what's going on inside you?" I asked probatively.

"Yes. It is," he confirmed.

"Can you tell me?" I said.

"It is not yet time for that," he replied. "I need a few moments to think. Would you mind waiting for me in the living room?" he asked. Not waiting for a reply, he rose and headed out his back door. I could feel a warm spring breeze filter into the kitchen.

"Sure thing," I barely managed before the door closed. Grateful for the chance to try and put to memory what had just happened, I sat in my chair in Eric's living room. It was quite odd, two different abnormalities as I had now seen. I suppose Schizophrenia would be the closest approximation. Though somewhere within me I understood that what was going on, what was happening to Eric, had a deeper meaning than I could possibly fathom. And after all, one's countenance may change with alternative personalities but not the color of one's eyes. And after very careful reflection I decided that while the seeming dimming of Eric's face surely must have been a cloud blocking the sun. After all, how could light actually retreat from around a person?

After getting my thoughts down I found myself focused on his small shelf of house plants and herbs. Some were just beginning to flower along with the change in season. Others had new buds forming, showing signs of growth yet to come. Even on the edges of the shelf there stood sprigs of plants suspended in water, root systems beginning to grow. The plants outside in Eric's garden, with their greater tolerance for temperature extremes, were already growing small sprouts that would become vegetables and fruits. These, though, had to be domestic varieties, a variant of Terran heirloom strains, which had been tuned to the double-long Martian seasons. Suddenly I realized something about the plants: they were all drooping. With as much care and attention as Eric had been paying them earlier, this seemed quite odd.

As I stared at them, though, they seemed to begin to strengthen, stalks seemed to straighten and leaves to stiffen. I heard the back door slowly open and close as Eric entered his kitchen, poured two glasses of water and rejoined me.

"So," he said, handing me a glass, "are you okay to keep going?"

"Sure I am. Are you?" I asked him gently.

"Yeah. I'm fine now. Just needed a minute to center myself." The plants on Eric's stand once more had their healthy pink-green glow.

"Do you have anything you need to attend to at the University? I wouldn't want to keep you from students," I mentioned.

"Actually, my time there is over. Shall we continue?"

#  Discovery of Success

"Meng, you son of a bitch!" Eric exclaimed, shaking his hand. "How've things been?"

"Things have been okay. Business is good and I'm doing well," Meng replied, returning a firm handshake. "James, old friend, how's life?"

"Not bad," James said in his typically understated way, shaking Meng's hand.

"Melinda, as lovely as ever," Meng said as he pulled Melinda into a gentle embrace.

"Why thank you, Mengy," Melinda said, smiling.

"Watch it," Meng said as he pulled away from the embrace with a smile. "You know I never liked that ridiculous nickname! And Adam, how have you been, my man?"

"Not too bad, dude. Getting by. Heard about some trouble off Africa's northeast coast. Something about the UN patrols coming across a boat of pirates all tied up. Said they had been, how was it phrased? Ah yes. That they had been brutally attacked by four Americans while 'conducting business' with the ship's crew. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Meng took on a mock air of seriousness as he said, "I cannot confirm nor deny involvement with such an incident but am sure I have no idea of what you're talking. So, my friends," he said in a once more jovial tone, "Is there somewhere we could go to talk that would be a bit more private?"

"Yeah, sure. The company's conference room shouldn't be in use today, right?" James said, turning toward the receptionist, Jeanne, for confirmation.

"Right, James. The DoD meeting isn't for another two days and nothing's on the books until then."

"DoD?" Meng whistled. "Bit of a risk considering your background, isn't it?"

"Not when all the officers from back then have been promoted out of the pool of ones we'll be talking to. Made sure of that before we put in the bid." James commented, leading the way towards the 2nd floor where the conference room was. It was intentionally built slightly higher so that from its balcony one could see across the entire NAR campus.

"Nice place you have here, James," Meng commented as they climbed the stairs. "A bit more civilian than the Project's facilities, yet tastefully Spartan."

"Most of this new stuff," James said, motioning outside through the wall-windows, "was built using materials we invented. Much stronger than conventional materials while also being vastly more energy efficient. Even with the appearance of windows all over, those walls have the lowest heat transfer rate of any material on the market today. Allows us to stick more profits back into R&D instead of heating costs," James finished, entering the room last.

"So," Adam said to Meng. "What brings you down our way? I should think that you'd have better things to do with your time than come here in person to talk shop."

"Well, not that I don't, but there is a good reason," Meng replied. "We had been researching companies for equipment. Specialty equipment. I think you, at least," he said, indicating Adam, "would understand why, if not all of you."

"You're in the anti-pirate, anti-terrorist business," Eric commented from his seat opposite James. "And if you're sticking with a four-person crew, means you need the best equipment."

"That, at face value, is dead on," Meng responded, circling the table while admiring the view outside. "But there's more to it than that. And that 'more' is why I'm here." He stopped his pacing, facing out toward the company's entrance drive. "What do you think that 'more' may be, Melinda?"

Meng asking Melinda was surprising. They assumed that Meng's 'more' had something to do with a larger or more involved operation. Adam was always the one who kept current as far as events in the world at large. Neither James nor Eric were nearly as politically centered as Adam, and Melinda even less so than either of them. Yet Meng's question hung in the air, clearly spoken and as clearly directed only at Melinda.

"I...why should I..." Melinda began, looking around to Eric, James, and Adam and shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know."

"You may not personally know, Melinda, but you know that the answer is there," Meng said in a taunting tone. They looked to Melinda who simply looked back at each of them in turn. "Think about it. You can feel that you should know the answer," Meng resumed. Melinda shifted slightly in her seat. "You feel like you should know, but know you shouldn't. You want more information, more facts, yet know all you need for knowing is already within reach. So tell me why I'm here. Search your mind and within it find the vault of truth. Open the vault and within it a package. Open the package and within it, what you seek."

"Meng, what do you mean that she should...," James began, stopping when Melinda placed her hand on his arm. Meng turned his head enough for us to see he was smiling.

"That's it. Within the mind, the vault. Within the vault, the package. Within the package, knowledge," he seemed to chant at Melinds.

Hesitantly she said, "The Project...worked?"

"The Project worked," Meng affirmed as he turned to face them all.

"Of course it worked," said Adam. "Temporarily. Those test Marines exhibited super-human abilities for eight missions before they 'went missing.'" Meng's smile betrayed a hidden knowledge.

"No, Adam. You're wrong. True, for them it didn't work as advertised," Meng said. "But as far as the actual goal of the Project, that succeeded. Isn't that right, Melinda?"

With a quizzical look on her face she stood, saying, "It worked...in us?"

"It worked in us," Meng echoed back confidently. "There's something in that statement that's a game-changer if it's true, isn't there?" Meng asked them all. "It means that what all of you sought to do and the methods you used were valid. It means that the literal super-human is possible. And, more than that, it means that all this," Meng motioned around at NAR Defense, "is now caught in the shadow of an even greater achievement, a potentially more powerful weapon than any you'd yet conceived. And all still alive and doing well inside eight very specific humans." Meng let his words once more hang as he looked at each of them. "I'm going to go. For now. But I'll be back in three days. You four stay and talk," he said, turning and walking toward the conference room doors. "I'll show myself out." None of them responded. None of them could respond. The implication of what Meng had said was earth-shaking.

"Hun...what...just now?" James managed, gesturing over his shoulder to where Meng had been standing.

"I'm not sure," Melinda said, staring into James's eyes. Still extant on her face was confusion coupled with some fear. "What he said, how he said it...it's something that I came up with in grad school. Whenever I felt I was close to an answer but was having trouble finding it I'd chant that in my head to help me focus. I've never told anyone that." Melinda momentarily closed her eyes, shaking her head as though to clear it. "But him saying it...something became clear. But not like usual. When I find an answer to a problem it always feels like it came from...well, from inside. From me. This felt like...," her brow furrowed..

"What? What did it feel like?" James asked her.

"It felt like it had come _from Meng_ ," Melinda finally said.

"But how could he know, even if it was true?" Eric asked.

"There's one way, at least, to know if he was giving us a line or not," Adam said, staring toward the company driveway as Meng had done. "It'd be as simple as a blood test," he added, turning to face them. They all knew the truth in the statement. If they yet had active nanites within them, they would be visible in a blood sample, even as small as they were.

"My lab has all the equipment we'd need," Eric offered. Everyone nodded in agreement. They silently walked out of the conference room, down the stairs, past Jeanne at the reception desk giving her only the slightest nod.

Upon arriving at Eric's lab, Melinda volunteered to go first. They took a sample of her blood, put it on a slide, and under the microscope. On the wall display, after magnifying several times, They saw what they had both hoped would be and wanted there not to be: nanites. Measuring a mere 1/20 the size of red blood cells, their tiny machines still showed up under sufficient magnification. James, Adam and Eric made up slides of our own blood after seeing the truth of the matter before them. One by one, they put the slides under the scope and, each time, found a small battalion of nanites in their samples.

"How?" asked Adam. That, indeed, was the question of the hour. The Marines, the ones who were targeted to bond with the nanites, lost what enhanced abilities they had been granted by the hived nano-machines.

"Our calculations," James began, pausing. "We were sure of them. Weren't we?"

"Sure enough to go ahead with live testing," Eric said.

"So were our calculations off?" Melinda asked.

"Containment was breached, so we really don't know," replied Adam.

"Yeah, containment _was_ breached," said James, beginning to pace. "But there's something else there. _We_ have viable nanites swimming around inside us. Those in the Marines failed. However we were bonded to the critters is the true answer to the equations."

"Isn't it a bit impractical, though, to blow up another lab facility to get the correct levels?" Adam asked, tongue in cheek.

"Perhaps a bit," James said, smiling. "But the message is clear at this point. Somehow the bonding worked on us. The concept worked!" That feeling of cold spreading over Eric's body and down into his lungs, a sensation still painfully vivid in his mind, now made sense. It was the nanites bonding with them, their hosts. The nanite slurry somehow adapted to the environmental factors and, more or less, crawled along their bodies until they found a way in.

"So," Eric began. "Why haven't we exhibited any enhanced abilities yet?"

"Maybe we have been and just didn't realize it," James commented. "I mean, all of our research has been going at a lightening pace, hasn't it? Part of what we sought to enhance was intellectual capabilities."

"But we also intended for them to enhance more, right?" asked Adam. "What would that look like?"

"I'm thinking, aside from being unique, that's something we each have to figure out for ourselves," Eric said.

"Meng must know what his enhanced ability is already," said Melinda. "It would make sense, wouldn't it? I mean, this must've been his plan: to get us to realize not only that our nanite bonding had worked but also that we had...powers of some sort. He has to know, as do the others he works with."

"So what? Are we hoping he can help clue us in to what we should be able to do?" Adam asked. "Or are we thinking that each of us has something so unique that we're just going to have to poke around in the dark until a light flips on?"

"Since all the nanites have the same base code there has to be a common in-route to what we now possess. Once we know the path it should be easy to follow, no matter the individual," James said, halting his course. "But perhaps a more important question for now is whether or not we can take what we know, coupled with what's inside of us and reverse engineer a duplicable, successful process for further nanitic bonding."

James had a valid point. While eight people with enhanced abilities represented a force to be reasoned with, a company of them could be nearly unstoppable. Having programmed the nanites to integrate with the host's nervous system and protect him, it was possible the nanites could adapt to serve a multitude of unintended and unimaginable functions beyond simply enhanced human abilities.

"Well," Eric said, "we were looking for a new project. And it will apparently be three days until Meng comes back. So why not start taking a look at this?"

"How would we go about it?" Adam asked. "The variables and equations are already too complex for most people to understand. To bring together a team cold on this would be nearly impossible in a short time frame. It would have to be us and only us."

"But pulling us all off our main projects would certainly raise a few eyebrows," Melinda commented.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Adam said, adding, "If we want to jump-start this thing we're going to have to make it a white project, completely off the books. That way no one's the wiser."

"Eventually we will have to start bringing more people in on the research," Eric commented.

"They could begin with some of the base research, like trying to extract nanites from a blood sample and replicate them," Melinda said. "It would advance them toward a position where they could slowly be exposed to the theory and equations behind the nanite process."

"Just what I was thinking," Eric commented. "But for now I agree with Adam. We need to focus on some quick analysis. James and I can take on the biological end."

"I can put time into analyzing the conditions and data we still have from that night," Adam offered.

Melinda added, "And I can start looking at the nanites themselves. Begin running some base tests to see how they've adapted to the symbiosis and what new traits they might be exhibiting."

"Again, though, how do we cover our absences with the rest of the staff?" Adam asked.

"Simple," said James. "We have the DoD people coming in two days. We're simply putting extra time into our presentation for them. It would be, after all, the largest contract we ever managed to land."

"Okay. Sounds like we have a plan. So who's giving blood for the greater good?" Eric asked in his best vampire-voice.

"I haven't given in a while," James said. "I can spare some." With that, Adam headed off to his office to begin work on the data analysis. Once they had a pint of James's blood they split it in half: one half-pint for Melinda's use and one for James and Eric's. They didn't expect any ground-breaking findings in the time they had. However, they did have high hopes for the future. After all, the tech _had_ found a way to work. All they had to do now was figure out what that way was.

Not intending to, they all found themselves staying up through that first night working. About 1AM they gathered in the company's kitchen/break area for some coffee.

"I've gotta say," Adam began, "it's going better than I thought it would. Still rough trying to re-acquaint myself with those formulas. As an aside, what were we thinking with those? I mean, there's just so much room for error!"

"We were fighting time," Eric replied. "And were young and stupid enough that we thought we could account for the possible errors on the fly. Learned our lesson, huh?"EricI asked, sipping tentatively from the mug cradled between my hands; still a bit hot.

"Yeah we did," James piped in. "See any way to shore up what we had done?"

"I found a few places already that we may be able to do something with, yeah," Adam replied.

"Okay. Melinda?" James asked.

"Mrmph," Melinda replied, James having caught her mid-sip. Recovering, she said, "From the data we still have from the original nanite programming I was able to initiate a comparison link and download their current run parameters. There's a lot there to sift through that we didn't program. To an extent, that shouldn't come as a surprise after the years that their adaptive code has been running unchecked. Because of the Occam's Razor protocol it's all functional, best I can tell. Honestly, though, there are a lot of new algorithms to sift through."

"Fair enough. What Eric and I have found so far is about the same. Not much. From some radio-scans we've run it seems our bodies, specifically Eric's, is super-saturated with the buggers. For each body cell there's a number of nanites. In some of the remote regions of the body there almost seem to be stores of inactive nanites."

"Inactive?" queried Adam.

"Yeah," Eric replied. "Not deactive or dead, but simply inactive. Maybe hibernating is a better way to describe it. Where they are they're dense enough to appear like a metal wall on an X-Ray. Damn near shorted out the machine while taking it thanks to the feedback. We're not sure the purpose of those hibernated stores yet. Maybe it'll be in their code. What we _do_ know is that I'm in fantastic health. HDL and LDL cholesterol levels are better than ideal with no plaque showing up on the screens. Kidney and liver function are showing at least 50% above what's considered perfect. And, of course, the fact that none of us wear glasses or contacts...well, that's part of the nanitic effect too, we think. We found nanite traces, by radio-refraction, in my vitreous humor, cornea, every part of my eye we could measure. If my body's typical, then there's not a place in any of our bodies that doesn't have a high concentration of nanites in it. And watch this." Eric took out his pocket knife, flipped it open and slid it across his palm. James calmly sipped his coffee, but Adam and Melinda jumped.

"What's wrong with you?!" Melinda nearly screamed.

"Just sit down and watch," Eric said calmly. Adam, who had dove across one of the other tables in the kitchen for anything to use to staunch the flow of blood, stared at Eric's hand, slowly creeping back to his seat with paper toweling in tow, the roll still on the countertop holder. Almost instantly the wound closed itself. Even the blood that had seeped out retracted, leaving no trace that Eric had done anything to his hand. "That was just a surface wound, of course. Neither of us was crazy enough to try a penetrating wound yet. Doesn't hurt, no tightness," Eric said, flexing and closing his hand as he put away the blade. Melinda reached over and grabbed his hand, feeling for a wound or whatever contraption he had used to make it look so real.

"This isn't one of your stupid magic tricks, is it?" she asked, glowering at Eric.

James smiled, saying, "That's what I asked at first, too. Then I tried it. Same result. It's real."

After a pause, "Why would you even try that?" Melinda asked forcefully.

"Hey, Mel? Thanks for the massage and all, but...," Eric said, trailing off. Melinda looked down at his hand in hers and stopped, jerking her hands away.

"So. What we know for sure," James said, "is that there's a lot we don't know. We made the clock, wound it, and then set it to running without realizing it. And now we're trying to figure out how it's still going."

"That's the size of it," Adam affirmed.

They sat there for a few moments in silence as they tried to come up with anything new.

"Do we want to call it a night?" Adam finally said.

"I don't think I could sleep. Even as tired as I am," Eric said. "This stuff really isn't helping, though," he added, holding up his entirely too empty mug.

"Yeah. Let's just back to it," James said, getting up.

The pep talk and staff meeting was over. They headed back to their labs and worked through the next day and a half, stopping only for the occasional meal and then to get ready for their meeting with the DoD. If they could sell the government representatives on their company and its products it would mean another company expansion, possibly even a doubling of the Research & Development capabilities of NAR Defense. And, depending on what Meng and his people were really after, such an expansion could help serve a double purpose. They cleaned themselves up, doing their best to hide the dark circles and bags under their eyes.

They were all a bit nervous. To try and get in bed with the DoD after their involvement at Project Plymouth was still a substantial risk, despite their precautions. However, after a bit of snooping they had found the extent to which they had been redacted from history. As far as anyone in the government was concerned, they had never worked for or with it a day in their lives. That worked in their favor as the DoD reps weren't likely to ask too many questions about the mutual hole in James, Melinda, Adam, and Eric's lives. If they did, the founders of NAR Defense had come up with a cover story that would have worked sufficiently well.

Jeanne messaged them at 3:45 PM CST to tell them that the DoD delegation was there and had been seated in the conference room. They were early, which meant that they were either extremely interested in what NAR had to offer or simply wanted to get the meeting over with.

As the four NAR founders ascended the stairs to the conference room the delegation came into view; a few men in military uniform, one woman perhaps in her mid-to-late thirties, similarly dressed, and two others in civilian garb. The woman was at the head of the group, Colonel Henshaw. One of the civilians was top aide to the Secretary of Defense, though they couldn't immediately tell which. As they opened the door and entered, Colonel Henshaw turned in her chair, assessing each of them as they strode toward the table. She didn't rise, so neither did the men to her left. One of the civilians did get up and moved to greet the company's founders.

"Gentlemen and lady, I am Craig Longstride, aide to Secretary DeLieu."

"James Christopher," James said, shaking Craig's outstretched hand. "These are my friends and fellow founders of NAR Defense. Eric Pohlman, Melinda Christopher, my wife, and Adam Green."

"A pleasure to meet you all," Craig said, shaking their hands in turn. "This, of course, is Colonel Henshaw," Craig said, motioning toward the Colonel. She finally turned fully to face them. As she did her awards came into view. Sharpshooter qualified. Paratrooper. Enough service stripes that she had to have been in the Army from ROTC on. And enough service ribbons to indicate involvement not only in every Coalition War battle, but also several that the founders couldn't identify. Also, there were ribbons for gold stars, silver stars, a double recipient of the Distinguished Service Cross, and the Medal of Honor. Involuntarily they all snapped to attention at seeing that. Trying to restrain themselves, they remembered that officially they hadn't been in the military.

"A pleasure, ma'am," James said, shaking her hand while slightly lowering his head in a proper show of deference.

"Not at all. The pleasure is mine," Henshaw replied. "Shall we begin?" she asked, motioning at the table. "I understand NAR has much to offer the DoD." Out of the corner of Eric's eye he saw Melinda relax ever so slightly. The Colonel, at least, had done something to put her at ease.

As they walked around the short side of the table Melinda circled wide and said, just loud enough for them to hear, "The Colonel is interested. The Secretary's aide is not and wants to rush things. They're at odds over this already."

It was good information to have, but Adam, James and Eric all wondered how Melinda could know for sure. They hadn't time to find out. James began their presentation with a general history of NAR Defense, including some of their most notable clients and products to date. Adam took over, sharing some of his department's most up-to-date vehicle designs and weaponry approaches. Melinda had brought samples of some materials her department was working on. One, an aerogel derivative, had been modified to be as projectile resistant as scale armor while maintaining the weight of aerogel. Eric's turn included highlights on the redundancy of NAR's biosync hard drives. James wrapped things up with a couple of video clips of NAR's weapons being used in the field. Computers in police cars as capable and secure as ever but thinner and more power efficient than the most recent iPad, non-lethal shotguns with hot-swappable in-chamber rounds and their proudest achievement to date, a battle vehicle which boasted 1" armor that could withstand the same punishment as the best 18" contemporary armor plate.

"Very interesting, Mr. Pohlman," Craig said. "Interesting indeed. If your products are so very...useful and resilient, why haven't they gained wide-spread market penetration?"

"Well, sir, many of these came out of R&D and into production within the last four months. Our facilities themselves were just expanded in November to help cope with increased demand. It took us awhile to get here, but now we're up and running."

"How does your equipment compare cost wise?" Henshaw asked; her eyes focused on Craig.

"Very comparable," Melinda said. "The proprietary materials we make are as cost-effective, and in many cases more so, than conventional materials. As such, we can under-sell our competitors by at least..." she trailed off looking to James.

"Seven percent," he quoted, quickly glancing at notes he had prepared.

"That would free up substantial budget room," Henshaw said at Craig.

"It would still have to pass Appropriations, and Senator McCallum isn't likely to cancel our current contracts on a whim," Craig replied.

"What assurances could your company offer, James," Henshaw asked, "in terms of demonstrations to help sway the Appropriations committee?"

"We would, of course, be willing to provide live-fire field demonstrations. We have on-staff masters for all products," James responded.

"How soon could we get delivery for an order of, say, 500 battle vehicles?" Henshaw asked.

"Three months," James replied. Craig choked on his water.

"Surely, Mr. Pohlman, you didn't just promise an initial shipment of battle-ready vehicles in three months?!" Craig asked, incredulous.

"Of course not. No," James replied. "I just promised _full_ shipment of all vehicles ordered within three months."

"That's absurd!" exclaimed Craig, his annoyance at the whole meeting beginning to show through.

Henshaw leaned on the table, saying, "You giving it to me straight, Pohlman? Seven percent undercutting current production costs and 500 units in three months?"

"Yes, ma'am. We have very sophisticated production techniques that drastically reduce production time. After confirmation of the contract we would need one month to expand our facilities in order to handle the demand, then two more months to fulfill the order. Guaranteed," James said.

"Craig, I'll need to talk to the Appropriations Ex-Com and the Secretary," Henshaw said to Craig. Eric caught one of her aides pretending to study a document in his _NAR Defense_ folder as a smirk spread across his face.

"With due respect, _Colonel_ ," Craig said acidly, "this needs consideration. _Careful_ and _deliberate_ consideration. We haven't even seen their products in live action yet. This matter must be brought before the Secretary prior to _any_ action being taken." He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and zipped closed his padfolio with the Secretary's seal prominently atop. It was a show of his authority. "We are done here for today," he added, rising and leaving. Henshaw slowly swiveled in her seat and walked out after Craig, one of her aides hanging back. Tellingly, the information folders NAR had prepared for the group had been left by Craig and his aide, but not one remained from the Colonel's end of the table.

"James," the aide said, shaking his hand, then each of the other founders, "this could take a while. The Chiefs, Secretary of Defense and the Appropriations Committee don't exactly see eye to eye right now. We will, I assure you, be in touch." The aide handed James the Colonel's business card before following Hensahw.

The founders looked out the conference room's wallindows, watching the DoD delegation as they left. "That aide implied we wouldn't hear from them for a while," Eric said to no one in particular. "Should we head back to the lab to work on our...little projects?"

Group assent didn't need to be expressed. As a unit they turned and headed downstairs, James turning over Henshaw's card in his hand as would a magician a playing card. As they walked through the entry way James asked Melinda, "What was your impression of the Colonel? She seemed quite focused on you for a while there."

"She was quite focused on _us_ ," Melinda replied. "It's actually a good thing that she was. It made her trust us for some reason. I don't know why."

"Oh?" James pressed.

"I don't know how I know, hun, I just... It's such a strong feeling...more than just a gut feeling. She made some comparison between us and her past, and that made her trust us. Like with Meng, it felt like the knowledge came from outside of me," Melinda said.

"Could it be part of the nanitic enhancement?" Adam asked quietly as they entered the Old Research Wing on the way to their labs.

"Two similar instances do not super-powers make," Eric said.

"And yet...," James replied.

In any event, they got back to work on the nanites. Late that night, well after the rest of the staff had gone home or to their on-campus quarters, the four NAR founders gathered for supper. They hadn't much new to report other than more questions. Adam had begun analyzing their old data in light of his simpler yet more predictive equations. Melinda was still sifting through the new base code, marveling at the accuracy and complexity of it all. James and Eric were still running tests on both the blood and tissue samples they had taken from Eric, including cheek swabs and small biopsies. They could feel that the road that lay ahead of them was to be a long one, but hoped it would be worth it in the end. They also hoped that Meng's return would bring some answers.

The next day came too early, shining its bright mid-summer brilliance far too brightly for sleep-deprived scientists to enjoy it. The founders met for a simple breakfast in the company kitchen.

"I don't think I ever felt this tired before in my life," Eric said, a fork of pancakes stuck in the air halfway to his mouth. For some reason he was having sudden trouble remembering what he was supposed to do with the stack of syrupy carbohydrates on the end of his tined metal utensil.

"We should probably try to sack out for at least a couple hours before everyone gets here," Melinda said, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes. Eric remembered what the pancakes were for, enjoying their warm syrupiness.

"Not a bad idea," James said, stretching. "What we've got going right now needs time to react and grow anyway."

"Petri dish?" Adam asked around his own mouthful of pancakes.

"Yeah. We're trying to see if the nanites remain active in cultured cells, as well as what effects they have in cultures of common illnesses. I mean, when was the last time you remember being sick?" James asked.

"Day before the final test," Eric said. "Smack in the middle of an upper respiratory thing." More pancakes, lots of maple syrup. "Cleared up the day afterward."

"I'd have to go back at least as far," added Adam.

"So, yeah. There's the reasoning," James finished. "And besides, I feel like Eric and I are just banging our heads up against a wall right now. Some time away could do wonders."

"Same here," Melinda said, her voice muffled as her head was buried in her arms on the table.

"Me too," Adam said, taking a swig of his coffee.

"Okay," James said. "Put your dishes away once you're done. See you later, then," he added rising, grabbing his and Melinda's dishes and loading them in the kitchen's dishwasher. "C'mon hun," he said, gently lifting Melinda to her feet.

"School bus here already?" she asked dreamily.

"Yeah. The wheels on the bus go round and round," James sang as he led Melinda toward their quarters.

"Is that helping at all at this point?" Eric asked Adam, pointing at his coffee.

"Is what?" he said, looking into the still full cup. "This hot brown water?" Three late nights in a row, especially more-sleepless-than-not nights, would wear down anyone. Eric stumbled up, put his dishes away, grabbed Adam's and did the same. Afterward, Eric headed to his lab. True, his quarters had its own bed, but the cot in the office off of his lab was so much closer. Arriving, he gently lowered himself down, hearing the sweet sound of wooden joints creak their approval of his presence. He relaxed, letting the cot take all his weight.

As Eric drifted off to sleep he remembered strange dreams. Being above the NAR complex, he could see cars beginning to arrive, their occupants disembarking and heading from the parking lot. Out in the dorms, even as James and Melinda slept, others were waking and getting ready for the day. Jeanne arrived and began the task of calling contacts, checking meeting times and locations.

Eric passed into another dream. He was on a frozen plane. In front of him opened a red circle, through it popping penguins wearing brown hats and holding Gladius swords in one flipper as they waddled toward him. Another one came through, his hat yellow, his sword gleaming. He squawked an order and they all charged.

Eric passed into another dream. He was once again on the NAR campus. Looking around, he willed himself upward from the ground and took flight. Slowly and gracefully he floated, opening the entrance door and willing himself up and around the atrium. Jeanne looked up at him briefly, returning to her work as though nothing was amiss, seeing him floating so high off the floor. He came down low enough to begin flying through the corridors and hallways.

As he passed each lab he knew exactly what went on inside. In one a team was testing a new bacon-powered toaster. In another Melinda was attempting to combine Jell-O pudding with titanium to make a bullet proof dessert. It looked delicious. Adam's high-yield explosives were proving useful. Not even the pancakes from this morning that he put up as targets could withstand the blasts of blackberry syrup. Eric realized, suddenly, that he was dreaming. Instead of truly taking advantage of being lucid, he simply floated to his lab, found the cot in therein, lay down and went back to sleep. He fully intended, in his dream-sleep, to not wake up again until the orange juice on his desk stopped being so loud.

Eric awoke, finding himself sitting bolt upright on the cot. His office phone was ringing. He really, really should have unplugged it before sacking out. Still in a haze he reached toward his desk, fumbling a few times until he grabbed the handset.

"Hello?" Eric mumbled through a sleep-haze.

"Sorry to wake you, Eric," came a familiar voice. Eric's mind raced to catch up to his fully awake body.

"Hi. Who's this?" he said, trying to be as cordial as, glancing up at his desk clock, a two hour nap's worth of sleep in three days allowed.

"Of course," came the reply. "Still groggy. Forgot about that. It's Meng."

"Oh, yeah....Hi. What, uhm?" he said, sitting up straighter, swinging his legs off the cot as if such a change in posture would make his mind more alert. "What can I do for you?"

"First, _wake up_." Meng's words seemed to echo in Eric's head. Suddenly, Eric was fully awake. "Good," came Meng's voice, as though he had heard Eric's mind click on. "So, Eric, I'm on my way back to NAR Defense with a few friends. We expect to be there in about, oh, three hours. Right around noon. We'll grab something for all of you on the way in. Can we meet in your conference room?"

"That should work," Eric replied. "Why not just check-in with Jeanne at the front?" He was slightly bitter his nap had been interrupted. Jeanne had been told to not forward calls.

"I called you directly. Never talked to Jeanne." Their extensions were never published and Eric did not recall giving his out. Ever. Mainly because he didn't even know it off hand. The switchboard was set up to _allow_ people to dial an extension before talking to Jeanne, though..."But anyway. Didn't want to wake James and Melinda just yet, so I called you. Can you get everyone ready for 12:30?"

"Sure. Shouldn't be a problem, Meng," Eric replied.

"Alright. See you then." With that, Meng disconnected. Eric's mind was going again, though, and he felt energy returning to his body. At the time he figured that he had hit his nap dead on, just enough to re-energize himself. He called Jeanne to make sure both that someone else in the company hadn't booked the conference room, as well as to inform her of their anticipated visitors.

In the private residence suites on-campus there were much nicer ways to rouse someone then a ringing phone, among them James and Melinda's choice of birds tweeting. Logging into the company's intranet program with his admin account, Eric sent a message to their in-unit computer and set in motion their wake-up program. Adam's program was as much against his taste as was James and Melinda's, though for the opposite reason; it was blasting hair metal music until he got up. To him, too, Eric sent a message and set his wake-up program in motion.

Within a minute he received confirmation that both suites had conscious occupants and that they would be making their way to the company's kitchen for more coffee. Meanwhile, Eric headed there himself, still amazed at how alert and well-rested he was feeling.

Walking there, time seemed to slow down. As he walked Eric became aware of subtle details around him. A small pressure change overhead indicated that the air control system had just turned on, its motor creating a brief suction as it began spinning. A light bulb just down the hall was showing its age, fluctuating, almost imperceptibly, between two close wavelengths of light. _Click, click, click, click, click_ came from around a corner ahead as someone turned a door handle. By its distance it had to be Charlie working on Eric's temporarily reassigned experiment. The condenser kicked on in the kitchen's fridge but ran slow, sounding almost like a stalling plane. Then time flooded back to normal. Eric felt a rush to his temples. The walk from his office to the kitchen took no more than a minute. Yet this time it had seemed to take at least five or ten minutes. Eric filed the experience under the continued effects of sleep deprivation. Noting, however, that he still felt completely rested.

Going to the cabinet, Eric grabbed the coffee, closed the door and was stopped short. There, in the stainless steel door, was a face. It didn't seem like it should be his. There was no tiredness, no black marks under the eyes. Matter of fact, his face appeared the healthiest it had ever been. Despite extreme sleep deprivation, by his pallor Eric would assume himself to be well rested and in perfect health. He filled the basket with coffee, replaced the grounds, set it to brew, and sat down at one of the tables as the coffee maker sang its wonderful symphony of creation. Adam was the first to get there. Eric looked up at him as he entered the kitchen, a slightly confused look playing on his face as he thought about what he had seen in his reflection.

"Wow. Cat nap was kind to you," Adam commented, sitting across from Eric. "Really, really kind," he added, leaning in.

"Yeah. Just saw myself in the fridge's door."

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Well rested. Recharged. And confused." James and Melinda walked in a couple minutes later to Adam checking Eric's pupil reaction.

"What's shaking?" James asked, stretching as he came into the kitchen.

"Come over here and look at him," Adam said, turning Eric's head so that he faced James.

"Wow!" James said, gently grasping Eric's jaw. "No fatigue under the eyes, clearest skin I've ever seen you have, too. How do you feel?"

"Well rested, recharged and increasingly confused and concerned," he replied.

Melinda came to the table with four cups of coffee.

"How're the vitals?" she asked.

"Pulse better than yesterday," Eric said. "Pupil reaction normal. For anything else we'd have to go to a lab. You're looking fairly chipper too, Mel," he added. James and Adam turned and looked at her.

"You didn't have time to put any makeup on before we headed over, did you hun?" James asked.

"No, why?" Melinda responded.

"Because," James said, "it looks like you did. Like Eric, you've no fatigue showing. How are _you_ feeling?"

Melinda opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again. She went through a mental self-check for a long minute before responding, "Well. Probably the best I've felt in quite a while. Rested. Refreshed. And my heartbeat seems slower than normal."

"James, you have exam equipment in your lab?" Adam asked.

"Yeah. Let's take a look at you two," James said as he grabbed his cup of coffee and started for his lab. We headed right out of the kitchen, down the hallway and through the T-intersection just past it. Down the base of the 'T' Charlie was re-entering lab H and waved. Eric _had_ heard him leaving the lab earlier. Arriving at James's lab, Melinda and Eric took seats as James pulled out two sets of pressure cuffs, stethoscopes and reaction hammers. "We should get blood samples, too," he added. It made sense. Due to the lack of sleep, there should have been chemical imbalances in Melinda and Eric's blood.

After checking and rechecking what they found, James's merely said, "Fascinating." Eric's heartbeat was at 32, blood pressure 109 over 62, with reaction times better than normal. Melinda's heart rate was 36, blood pressure perfectly in line, reaction times, like Eric's, better than normal. Neither of their blood showed anything uncommon for extremely fit athletes. Of course, they weren't. They were two lab rats who snuck in workouts when they could. Their bodies simply shouldn't have been in as good of shape as they were. Especially after three nights of next to no sleep.

"I'm not sure what to say," James said. "I am honestly at a loss here."

"It ain't right," Adam added.

"The nanites," Eric ventured. "Only thing I could possibly think of would cause this."

"But then how?" said Melinda. "We programmed them to augment, even enhance, the human condition, sure. But this seems like straight up altering it." And she was right. To make fatigue into rest was not a passive action. If being rested was a result of nanitic intervention, then the nanites had become active participants in their symbiotic experience.

"We need more data," James mused. "We need to run more tests. We have to understand exactly what the nanites have grown capable of."

"And that," Melinda added, "Is best found in their code. Why don't we go and focus on that for now? After all, your cultures shouldn't be ready yet, right?"

"That's right," Eric responded. "Let's grab our tablets and head to the conference room. Jeanne reserved it for us for the rest of today. At least we won't necessarily have to stop when Meng and company show up." Meng's offer of food suddenly pushed itself back to the front of my consciousness. "They're bringing us something to eat, FYI."

"Darn nice of them," Adam yawned, his fatigue still holding him hostage.

"Okay. So grab your tablets. Melinda, dump the code onto the server and we'll meet up in the conference room," James said. It had started out a gloomy, foggy day. But as Adam, the last to arrive, finally got to the conference room the gloom had burned off. A few early showers had added a sheen to the trees and left puddles on the pavement off which the sun shown brilliantly. In the conference room light poured in from all sides, creating an artificial feeling of pending enlightenment. The four founders sat hunched over their tablets in that penetrating brightness, their backs hunched and eyes searching.

The code, having been written by the nanite hive, would have been nearly impossible to decipher at first glance had Melinda not provided code keys. Single or double letter variables stood for such complex ideas as 'Vitamin D levels present in average throughout the body' and as simple as 'nerve cell.' Each of the founders poured over the code, trying to discern its purpose. What was especially hard was the circularity of some of the code. Some methods weren't just recursive, but were cyclically recursive as they called out to different cousin methods that called back to the original. Time did pass quickly as, apparently out of nowhere, the comm-hub chimed for attention.

"Go ahead," James called toward it.

" _Sir_ ," came Jeanne's voice. " _Meng Thao is back along with three more people. Shall I let them up?_ "

James glanced at the time, then quipped, "Only if they brought food!"

" _That we did, old friend_ ," came Meng's reply through the comm. center.

"Then sure, they can come up." James went, waited at the conference room's doors and held them open as Meng and his crew entered. "Please, take a seat everyone."

"In a minute," replied Meng. "First, food." Meng handed out the subs, went to the conference room's bar and poured himself a drink. Turning and leaning on the bar he swirled the drink, grinned, gazed at us, looked at his crew seated at the other end of the table, and said, "Eh? Didn't I tell you?" Returning his gaze to James he said simply, "So. We have a lot to talk about. Shall we begin?"

#  Reporting Back, I

"So, how's it going?" Tim Fowler asked me.

I chuckled, eliciting a confused smile from Tim. "About as well as could be expected, I guess," I said, my mind trying to bring up highlights of the past few days I had spent with Eric.

"How do you mean?" Tim asked.

"Well," I began, thinking of all the information I already had. "Considering the gaps in what we think we know about ATMO...Eric couldn't accurately and consistently make up that much history. He's related so many minute details, ones we could only have inferred before, that...well...it's almost too much to take in."

"So you're fully convinced he _is_ Eric Pohlman?" After what I had seen, how could I doubt it?

"Unequivocally. He has to be. Which, I know, means he's nearly 500 years old," I said, holding up a hand to stay Tim's objection. "He's already shared with me some of what that's been like, living that long. There's more yet, though, that he hasn't told me, but will."

"Like what?" Tim pressed.

"Well...Martian vegetation and animals? That was all ATMO."

Tim looked confused. "That was the first settlers, the ones that commissioned the first government buildings. Trust me, the records corroborate it."

"I'm not disagreeing. I was in that class of yours, saw your research. Remember? But what documentation exists _on_ the first settlers?"

Tim, looking equal parts offended and confused said, "I just told you."

Attempting to mollify him I said, "I'm not arguing what you said. But the records only show legal building permits as issued by the Martian government, the government of the settlers. What about the settlers themselves? The first colonists? How did _they_ get here?" Tim took a moment before replying.

"We have records from the Luna-Terran Government establishing the legality of the now Martian Settlers as part of the Luna-Terran Government Union. We have launch permits from Earth for them," he replied once he had organized this thoughts.

"What we have," I said, pulling up some files on my notetab before handing it to Tim, "is establishing documents _on Mars_ of acceptance into the Luna-Terran Government. Likewise, the original land-permits exist here in _Martian_ archives which were later copied and transferred to Earth. All the records originate from stacks and stores _here_. Not Earth."

"But," Tim said, scrolling through the digital copies of the documents I had dug up, "there was an erasure of files on Earth at the time. It is well documented. An over-zealous file clerk, probably an early Censor, erased a whole block in which these would have lived."

"You say it's well documented, I say it's well timed. And we've always long suspected that ATMO agents were left on Earth. Who's to say the clerk wasn't ATMO rather than a Censor?" I replied.

Tim stopped scrolling through my notetab, looking up at me. "The Underground only ever assumed that ATMO had historical implications _before_ Martian settlement. You're talking about ongoing involvement in Earth _after exile_."

"Maybe even now," I said, the thought suddenly occurring to me.

"You can't seriously think that ATMO is still around," he retorted. "Believing that one member of ATMO is still alive, even with the sort of proof you now have, is a lot to accept. To think the whole movement still exists is folly."

"Look," I said, "I'm not saying that they're around for sure. It was just a thought."

"What need would there be? We're at peace. They, and you know this is even true in the Heroer sect, they are seen as a weapon of war. What need would there be for their continued existence?"

Now I had to take a moment to give it some thought. Indeed, what need _could_ there be for a weapon of war in a time of peace? "For the moment let's just forget it," I said dismissively. "My point, though, is that, and I'm sure of it, that the ATMO exiles were the original Martian settlers. That it was _them_ who commissioned those first government buildings and _them_ that started the real, permanent settlement of Mars."

"And you're convinced of this on what grounds?" Tim asked. Without great effort I realized the only tangible scraps of evidence I had so far were the photograph and birth certificate from Eric. It was startling to realize that all I truly had to convince me of what Eric said was his presence. Of course, some of what I had seen had convinced me Eric spoke only truth, but how could the description of something as unbelievable as watching Eric literally change before my eyes, watch his face flash from youth to old age, listen as his voice sang as a chorus while coming through only as one, be accurately described?

I knew I would get such evidence, but was at least temporarily forced to admit, "Based on my gut instincts. There's more no one could understand without seeing it. But I believe what the man tells me."

"Well," Tim said, "I've gone on the same while researching; a wish and a dream. Just be careful as you go."

"You're right, of course. Thanks for the reality check." As I said goodbye to Tim I felt slightly disenchanted. It had been only a short meeting; I had dropped in on my way home from the campus's Polk Library knowing Tim would yet be in his office. His counsel, his admonition, while unsettling, nonetheless was needed as it gave me back a sense of objectivity. That's one thing I almost always lost too easily when I did field research: an objective perspective. It's not so much a flaw as a hurdle that I'm constantly running into rather than jumping over. But, _c'est le vie_.

Arriving at my place I entered and closed the door, finding myself suddenly comparing my apartment with Eric's. I had knick-knacks from various trips scattered about interspersed with collectibles from Luna and Earth. On a shelf sat my digital frame, scrolling through pictures of me on trips. But how much of the decorations I had strewn about truly meant something? Of course they were great conversation starters, but when last had I had someone over with whom I needed to break the ice?

Eric's place, by comparison, seemed intentionally bare. Why would he need more? Such a man who didn't often share his personal life wouldn't need anything about his house that didn't exactly suit him. What, then, did his possessions say about him in a deeper sense? From the chorus-voice I could at least assume that a certain amount of excess information had been missed by Eric's internal Occam's razor. What of his words, his use of language? Was it all useful or was some superfluous?

My mind whirled dervishly, picking up one question then dropping it as another caught its eyes. It did so yet more as I sat, as I had the past couple days, at my desk and attempted to sync my notes with what had been recorded. Even writing as I did in my own shorthand I found I missed quite a bit during my and Eric's sessions. So appending my notes and re-listening to our interviews did little, if anything, to calm my mind. Rather, more and more unanswered questions came up. For instance, Eric had mentioned he had been waiting for me for some time; me specifically, or just someone to whom he could tell his story? Who exactly was Chaos and how did he fit into the larger framework of the TDF, ATMO or even NAR Defense?

The later the hour the more existential grew my questions. What yet untold knowledge of humanity had Eric gathered from observation over the best part of five centuries? What, truly, would it be like to believe oneself immortal? What temerity would it take, as scientists, to believe that you could harness the power of the Olympians and place it in humans?

I woke with a start to my notetab's alarm. I had fallen asleep on top of it once more. While it did not particularly mind (How could it? It was a machine.), it had learned that I was generally more amiable after a night's sleep in my bed rather than on top of it on my desk. Rising, I placed it near its pad so that it could backup and recharge itself. It emitted a soft purr. There were some maintenance issues I should look into with it, but hoped they could wait until after I had completed my interviews with Eric.

As I lay in bed, I found my mind still busy chewing on details from our interviews. Being as large a Heroer geek as I was, I could understand myself going through a certain amount of hero worship as I interviewed Eric Aaron Pohlman. There was more to it, though. My time under Tim had taught me to be critically inquisitive. Eric seemed to be acting like a catalyst, pushing those abilities to new, higher and more exacting levels in me. The way he would challenge me, of course, was part of it. But my mind itself, when in his presence, felt as if it were on overdrive.

My dreams, too, were filled with bits from our interviews ranging from my mind's own version of The Battle of Thermopylae, based on Eric's description, to meeting with the other seven original nanitics in NAR's conference room.

I once more woke to my notetab's alarm, this time for the day ahead. I tried to quickly record some more thoughts as well as fragments from my dreams. My notetab, though, was once more acting belligerent, a product of my neglecting its maintenance. I did my best to work past the issues it seemed to be having, though largely failed. I set it to run some simple self-diagnostics as I packed it back into my bag; I may have to break during the day and run the necessary maintenance. Seeing time slipping away from me I practically sprinted out the door for Eric's, my mind again racing with a multitude of thoughts ranging from my problematic notetab to what potential treasures and knowledge yet lay hidden in both Eric's mind and his house.

#  Founding of ATMO

"Let's start with 'How did you know?'," James began.

"That's fairly simple," countered Meng, sipping his Scotch as he walked to the table and sat down. "We began seeing the effects of the nanites over a year ago. It started with a bad feeling by me on one particular escort mission. See, we were heading toward the Suez Canal from New Britain on the Royal Queen, a Panama Canal class freighter. I just couldn't shake the feeling that we were heading into an ambush despite the fact that sonar showed nothing around us. So, I put out a call, coded, on one of the frequencies pirates typically use. Having worked the area long enough, we began to uncover how they coordinated attacks. I used a few key code phrases and got the response, ' _Back off, the Queen's ours._ ' Freighter captain goes to full ahead and I switch frequencies and call for help. The response I get? Nearest help is 30 minutes out. Well. Wasn't sure if we had 30 minutes. I step out onto the bridge's observation deck and just stare around me, trying to will the sea to tell me where danger was coming from. I can't really explain what I saw next. I was still looking ahead, but in my mind I could see fragments of a memory, one I hadn't had yet. I saw which way the two attack boats would approach, so I set D'Andre and Jessica toward that direction to snipe. Sure enough, 10 tense minutes later they reported two boats coming at us hard. They estimated 8 pirates a piece, heavily armed, with mounted 50s on the prows. As a general rule we avoid deadly force. This time we made an exception.

"D'Andre and Jessica picked targets while Claire and I readied some of the ship's crew in concealed positions. The two speed boats approached, came in range and started to quickly see their numbers decline. D'Andre and Jessica took two out from each boat before they ever knew they were meeting prey with teeth. Jessica and D'Andre kept peppering away at the boats as they drew close, their crews now in cover. Claire and I waited with RPGs. My boat led slightly, so I came out of cover, lined up and took the shot. The rocket sped away, arching down just right and caught the one pirate ship amidships; it went down. The other ship, apparently realizing how well protected we were, turned away, exposing its crew. D'Andre and Jessica got 3 more from that boat before Claire's rocket hit home, right through the doors of the wheel house. We cruised on, two burning pirate ships in our wake.

"Calling up the UK Navy boat that was headed our way I related the incident, advising they pick up the survivors for questioning. They felt it was a better idea to escort us until we arrived in a more secure area. None of us, especially the ship's captain, felt like arguing the point. No one questioned either my setup at the time, nor the fact that we were perfectly aligned for an attack but only from that specific direction. I don't believe in coincidence, as you may remember. So once we got back to the States after the contract was fulfilled I went into a self-imposed cloister for a while, trying to figure out just what was going on. That initial sense I had of something bad about to happen, combined with the images I had seen of to-be memories, just couldn't be ignored. I tried to calm my mind in order to give clear thought to the matter, but new images kept intruding into my mind. Not like daydreams you might get while bored, but very real, clear, vivid images. And even while seeing these things in my mind, I would open my eyes and still there they would be. I could turn my head to see the room around me and the images in my head would turn to follow suit. I began to think I was hallucinating.

"Claire checked me out, gave me a clean bill of health. Better, in fact, than ever. I went to a...friend...of ours who has helped us after more than one mission that ended poorly. He did the standard physical as well as some blood work. He not only confirmed what Claire had told me but said that, based on the panel of results, I was in better shape and better health than a professional athlete at the beginning of a season. But the visions would still come unbidden to me. After a couple of weeks of living in confusion I flipped through some old files I had and a news clipping about the Plymouth Marines' last mission fell out. It sparked a train of thought that brought me back to the Project. And then I was there. I could see around the base, see the people. I went out to our makeshift HQ/intel hub/ready room/bar and had D'Andre pull up a live satellite image of the base."

"Wait, a live satellite image?" Eric said, interrupting Meng's narrative. "How? All of those satellites are government controlled and very highly encrypted. I know. We helped put together a few of the newest ones."

"Well, that's perhaps a story for another time. Suffice it to say that D'Andre here has his moments. Anyway, as the image came up I suddenly found myself physically located at our HQ, gazing at a flat panel and feeling very disoriented. On the screen was an image of the base from overhead. Overlaid with it in my mind was the image I was seeing from on the ground within the base, as if I were there. The thing is, they matched up exactly. In both places a blue Mustang was leaving the base, the officer inside was politely chatting with the gate guard. In the parade grounds PT was going on, a whole company doing prison pushups in unison. There, further away from the central base hub, soldiers were practicing on the mortar range. I could _hear_ the _thomp_ as the rounds launched, saw them on the satellite image as they found their target and detonated. Something clicked within me. It may sound nuts, but I knew then as I know now what it is. While I can project myself elsewhere in space, I can do the same thing in time. I turned to D'Andre and explained what I was seeing, and he agreed." Meng suddenly seemed lost in thought as he stared at the ceiling while sipping his drink.

"You're talking," Eric began, Meng pointing at him with his free hand exactly as Eric began to speak, "about prescience. About foresight. Basically, you're saying you can see the future."

"I can see the present. I feel the future," Meng commented without looking down.

He pointed at James, again without looking, as James said, "But the future isn't set. How is it possible for you to have seen where the pirates would come from?"

"I've wondered that too, James. The truth is that seeing the future is like looking for one man lost at sea. There's so much information that small details, the ones you're looking for, are hard to spot. Every so often, though, the future is so predictable, so set on hitting one specific goal, that you have no choice but to see from whence it came, how it came, and where it ended up. Such as with the pirates."

"So then does this prescient sense of yours only work some of the time? When events are marching steadily toward a fixed end?" Melinda asked.

"Why do you ask aloud when you don't need to in order to find the answer?" Meng said, finally lowering his head, locking his gaze with Melinda.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, blushing.

"Sure you do," he said leaning forward. "You can feel the knowledge, the answers you seek. They don't feel right because they don't reside, don't come from, within you. Right now the answer you seek lay in here," Meng said, tapping his head. "You won't hurt me," he said. "So just reach in there and grab what you're looking for."

"I really don't...," Melinda began.

"She's close, Meng," said one of his associates, Claire.

"Melinda," Meng said in a flat tone that grabbed the four founders, making them all pay attention. It was the same tone Eric had heard Meng use when he called him earlier, interrupting his nap. "Reach out with your mind and grab the information you seek. Do it. _Now_." On 'now' Melinda's pupils completely disappeared leaving only circles of black within her eyes.

"So it's not that it doesn't work all the time," Melinda said as if in a haze, her pupil-less eyes fixed on Meng, "but just that sometimes it's clearer, easy to see. There so much...in your mind." James gently turned Melinda, her gaze remaining on Meng until the last moment when she snapped her head around to fully face James. He seemed to suddenly recoil a bit, as though someone had just punched him in the chest. Melinda's brow furrowed as she tiled her head. "Oh...my." James blushed slightly.

"James," Eric murmured at him inquisitively.

"She's, uhm...," he replied over his shoulder at Eric. "She's searching my mind. For herself."

"Why didn't you tell me you pined after me for so long?" Melinda asked.

"I was afraid. But I'm so glad that I finally did." James pulled her into a warm embrace as Melinda closed her eyes and buried her head in James's neck.

"I'm not sure anyone will be able to have a better first full use of their powers than that," Meng said, raising his glass and taking a sip. Melinda and James released their embrace, her eyes opening to reveal their normal mix of iris-pupil. "Claire, who else?" Meng asked sideways toward the woman left of him.

"That just sparked something bigger in James, for sure," she said while scanning her eyes over first James, then Eric, then Adam. Hers wasn't a cold stare, but a calculating one. "That one down there is just a mirror," she said, pointing at Adam. "All I get from him is myself. Eric here, on the other hand...I look at him and I get the sense that time slows down."

"You're close to a full realization of what your nanites are allowing your mind to do. That's what Claire's telling me," said Meng. "I can only guide you to it; I can't make the discovery for you. Tell me, has anything odd happened to you recently? Focus your mind," he said in that same flat tone he had used while talking to Melinda. It was hypnotic and yet commanding.

Eric thought back over the last few days, his mind streaking through memories. He could hear Claire saying something, but couldn't make it out. He had been tired. So much that happened over the last three days seemed strange on its own. Add to that sleep deprivation and the strange crossed over into house-of-mirrors weird. Then his mind locked onto one event, walking from his office to the kitchen after his late morning nap. How time seemed to slow down, events presenting themselves to him more clearly.

Presently Eric heard the clicks and whirs of the ventilator system overhead as the turbine further down the line began to spin up to circulate the air in the room. He could feel a slight change in the surrounding air pressure. Ice clinked in Meng's glass, a low hiss coming from it as trapped air escaped. Eric had been staring at the table but now lifted his gaze as a realization hit him.

Meng swirled his drink, a grin still spreading across his face, the ice in his glass dancing about in slow-motion. The air kicked on, a cooling breeze slowly filling the room. Everyone's clothes shifted momentarily with the breeze, loose wisps of hair following before settling back. Sunlight slowly blinked on the glass tabletop, Eric's gaze following it to the tree that very slowly waved in the breeze. There beside it was a humming bird investigating one of the feeders we had placed on the balcony for just such a purpose. Eric saw each sluggish wing flap, up and down.

He turned back to look at Meng, the smile still spreading across Meng's face, Claire's arm nearly resting on the table. Looking toward James and Melinda Eric could see the muscles in James's face contracting as he started to say something. Melinda's pupils dilated and focused even as no one else's did, her gaze fixed on Eric. There was a steady, slight pressure on his head then. He turned back toward Meng once more, Meng's drink still slowly swirling in his glass as he began the process of bringing it toward his mouth. Eric squeezed shut his eyes, shook his head, and heard James say, "What do you mean 'There he goes'?"

Melinda coughed and gasped slightly. "Wow," she said. "That was intense." Meng took the sip of his drink. Eric looked at James and Melinda.

"What do you mean, hun?" James asked Melinda.

"You could sense all that?" Eric asked her.

"Yeah. It was like watching an entire movie in fast forward," she replied. Eric furrowed his brow, confused. "But that's not how it was for you, was it?" she asked. "Oohhhhh..." He could feel the same slight pressure on his head, something tugging at his mind, bringing up what he had just experienced without his willing. It wasn't obtrusive, didn't hurt, but could be felt. "For you it was watching..." she began.

"One scene of a movie on super slow-mo," Eric finished. "How?"

"The nanites," D'Andre intoned.

"What just happened?" James asked.

"That shouldn't be possible, though," Eric said to D'Andre. "They're meant to enhance natural abilities. Viewing life like a slow-mo movie isn't a natural ability."

"No. But heightened situational awareness is something that any soldier can relate to," Meng said.

"Much like heightened levels of logical inference or perception," D'Andre added.

"I still don't see how that could be. At least not to such an extent," Eric replied.

"Let me try something," Melinda said to James. "I have a hunch."

"It's actually rather simple," D'Andre said. "The nanites act as both a buffer and additional processor in your mind." Now Adam coughed slightly, mid-drink.

"That could work," Eric replied.

"What are you..." James began to say to Melinda, trailing off.

"Of course it could," D'Andre said as Eric's mind raced through the possibilities. "Like eyes do, the nanites would form a sort of false buffer of what's going on around you. Then, other nanites break apart the information and feed it into the same part of your brain, but from different directions and depths allowing for greater simultaneous absorption. The nanites, in that respect, would have created their own separate neural network in your brain to facilitate such transmissions. When they're switched on, so to speak, it turns your two-lane road into an eight-lane-each-way freeway, but with only your car travelling along it. A lot easier to travel and the scenery seems to move slower, relatively."

"I'm sorry, what is your background again?" Adam asked D'Andre.

"Community college drop-out, military enlistee, thrice stripped of all rank, thrown in solitary twice. Pretty boring stuff," he replied off-handedly.

"He is, though," Meng said, "one hell of a shot and a real stand-up guy in a fight. And he's not too bad at chess either."

"Or cribbage," added Jessica, the other woman in Meng's entourage.

"Or poker," added Claire.

"So how do you know all that, then?" Adam asked D'Andre

"D'Andre's power is the ability to absorb information that was either thought of or spoken around him," replied Meng.

"Talking's better. The way I understand it, I use ambient thoughts to link in to specific knowledge regions in the collective unconsciousness. Once I'm jacked in properly I have full access to all the stuff there. Even the stuff we don't know about yet." James gasped.

Melinda, turning to face D'Andre, said, "So that means you could be the smartest person on Earth?"

"Only problem with that is, though, that m'brain's like an old telephone switchboard: only so many lines for connections. Once the lines are full and I want to access something else I have to drop a connection. And once I drop a connection, finding it cold again is like trying to find a needle in a barn full of haystacks. It's just a no-go at that point."

James, looking moderately overwhelmed, rested his head in his hands. "Wow," he said

"What did you just do to him?" Eric asked Melinda.

"I planted your memory from just now in his mind," she replied.

"I would never have thought to use telepathy like that, going upstream," Meng said.

James looked at Melinda out of the corner of his eye, saying, "That's messed up. I can feel exactly where you stuck that memory, too. Feels like my brain's bloated." His eye twitched. "Strange thing is that I can get more detail out of the same memory than you did," he said to Eric. "I can focus in on the leaves, see their veins, even feel it as nutrients circulate through them. Each tiny miniscule movement is only the last in a huge chain of events," James continued, "starting beyond tiny particles we don't even have names for yet. It's all just one big orchestra of sequences of events."

"Welcome into the fold, James," Meng said, raising his glass.

"What are you saying, Meng?" James asked, still nursing his head.

"I'm saying what's obvious. Your powers are manifesting themselves, James. Not only can you see all the connections but you can also find the ones you need when making further calculations."

"Can you also detect abilities in addition to seeing the future?" Adam said cynically to Meng.

"No. But to think I can't search with respect to each of you and find one specific piece of information is naïve. It's like searching for that hidden needle with a huge Rare Earth magnet."

"Fine. So now James is 'manifesting.' I assume your silent protégé down there," Adam said while motioning toward Jessica, "has some 'power' too? What? Can she see stock futures or something?"

"I wouldn't trifle with her. She'll snap that finger right off," came Meng's calm reply.

"Let me handle it, Meng," Jessica said as she leaned forward and focused on Adam. The air vents had gone silent, but it still felt as though it was getting cold. And dark. Adam coughed, then again. His eyes widened. "You can feel it, can't you? I'm not even trying very hard right now," Jessica said. Adam's skin was ashen now, his breath fast and shallow. "It's all just a projection, but it feels so _real_ , doesn't it? The fear. Fighting isn't the only way to defeat an enemy. Not when you can smother opposition in other ways. Ways with more...panache." She lifted her finger, looking at it. Adam did the same to his own. "Doesn't it... _itch_?" Her pupils had turned black, almost onyx. Even the whites of her eyes lustered darkly.

"That's enough, Jessica," Meng said, using that same flat tone. The air seemed to warm, light again filtering into the room. Adam fell forward, catching himself on the table as he gasped for breath.

"What the hell was that?" Adam wheezed.

"A projection," Jessica said, now looking somewhat sheepish. "I apologize. Didn't mean to get that carried away. Almost felt like...as if something was pulling me to do it."

"She's still working her way into her powers," Meng said by way of an apology. "She was the last of us to manifest them and also the last to fully grasp what they could do. That's actually one reason we ended up here. Claire felt that more nanitic activity was happening somewhere on Earth. And all of us already manifesting meant there were others like us. Working quickly through the possibilities we came to the conclusion that it had to be you four."

"Oh?" Adam asked, regaining his composure. "And how did you track us down?"

"I believe I had mentioned the other day, and certainly alluded to today, that I have, shall we say, unconventional contacts that can help me get anything I need. Anything," Meng emphasized.

"Still, though, why track us down in the first place?" asked James.

"For several reasons. Chief among them being we know a partnership would be mutually beneficial. We find that we are in need of more options when it comes to non-lethals. Other companies either have nothing or are unwilling to work with us. We felt that, especially after learning what we still share, you might be a bit more amiable. Not to mention, of course, the possibility of once more beginning your nanitic research. After all, while one team can protect one ship, many more travel the seas at the same time looking for protection. In terms of a funding source, it's a wide open market."

"So you have your eye on profit?" said Adam.

"We have our eye on helping others," Meng replied.

"By others you mean corporations," Adam retorted disparagingly.

"By others we mean merchant ships with precious cargo. Do we profit from our services? Yes, because we're effective. But we do it to help," Meng answered.

"What cargo could be so precious that you would risk life and limb for it over profit?" Adam dug.

"Melinda," Meng said kindly. "Would you?" pointing at his head. "I already know Adam won't believe an answer from me. From you, though, he probably will."

"Okay," Melinda said, obviously uncomfortable with becoming involved in the quickly heated debate. Her pupils reacted as she searched his mind. "Oh...wow," she breathed. "It's...it's humanitarian shipments. Water. Food. Building supplies. Infrastructure needs." She focused briefly on each of Meng's people. "They really do care more for the work than the pay."

"Haven't spent most of it," said D'Andre. "Meng mentioned he had a way we might be able to help more people. That I'm all for."

"We can help finance the research, help you grow your company," Claire said.

"We didn't get to know each other extremely well at the Project," added Jessica, "but we're hoping you know us well enough to give us some trust. To believe we're trying to help, here," she finished, looking directly at Adam.

"Does that satisfy your curiosity, Adam?" asked Meng.

After a pause, "So you want to help us grow so we can help you...help others?" Adam asked.

"That's right, Adam," Meng confirmed.

"Sounds like a bad insurance commercial or something," Adam grumbled.

"Adam," James said. "Think about this. The DoD bid is up in the air. Meng and his people are offering to help us expand, do more research. Even get back to nanitic tech. It's what we've wanted to do all along. Where's the downside?"

"I'm just not used to fate smiling on us, Jim. We and Lady Luck haven't exactly been the best of dancing partners, ya know? Plus," turning his gaze to Jessica with a slight smirk, "I'm still a little shaken up." She blushed a deep red.

"Adam, I assure you," said Meng, leaning in across the table, using a soft tone of voice as he continued, "this is on the up and up. It's for real. The universe is trying to right a wrong here." Adam looked over Meng's crew, then over at Melinda, James, and Eric.

"You guys all think this is a good idea, don't you?"

"I do, man," Eric said. "It keeps us going, gives us the chance and resources we need to find out more about what's going on inside of us."

"They're good people, Adam. You can trust me on that. Don't let their appearances fool you," added Melinda.

"And your plea, James?" Adam asked.

"No plea. You know our opinions and we agreed when founding this company never to take on a project unless all four of us could agree on it. That hasn't changed. It rests on you now. A lot of things could change, and some would, if we do this. But that'd be true if the DoD contract came through, too. So?"

Adam again looked toward Jessica. "Guess all of us would have to work more closely if we did this, huh?" He was silent for a brief moment as all eyes focused on him. "Well. I'm not about to vote myself out of a bigger paycheck, I suppose," Adam finally said.

"Sounds like we're all in," Meng said. "So, where do we go from here James?"

"You're the one who can supposedly see the future, Meng. You tell me."

"Well," Meng said, feigning exasperation. "I see an organization united for the betterment of humanity. Committed to worthwhile research and practical use of innovation, opposing terrorist organizations and groups. One big cycle feeding back into itself."

"And if," Eric said, "the DoD contract comes through we can creatively hide the construction of lab space specifically meant for the nanitic research."

"When it comes through," added Meng.

"Pardon?" asked James, sitting up straighter.

"It'll come through for you guys. That Henshaw is one strong cookie. She'll whip the Appropriations Committee into shape," Meng replied. "As to this? We can keep this little partnership silent. If you have the room we can merge our headquarters into some space in your on-campus residence halls out back. Bring us on the books as 'military consultants' and 'test analysts.' That'll provide us the cover your employees need for our continued presence as well as our access to restricted and in-production material. We'll be only as involved with your R&D as you need us to be. And all of you can be as involved as you want to be, or not, in what we do. We can leave it at a handshake agreement as far as that goes just so long as our presence is legitimized in some way."

"Okay," James said almost immediately. His mind had obviously been churning on Meng's words as they were being spoken. "Phrased that way I can understand and agree with your motives. We all on board with that?" Melinda, Adam, and Eric all nodded their assent. James stood up, extending his hand toward Meng. "Then here's our part of that handshake agreement." Meng rose, leaning across the table, and shook James's hand. "So what do we call this merry little band of independent entrepreneurs?"

"Meng," Eric said. "You said such an organization would fight the good fight by pushing back against terrorist and militants?"

"Something like that."

"Then how about the Anti-Terrorist and Militant Organization? ATMO for short."

#  What Problem *smack*

"What do you mean?" Eric replied to my previous question as I again snapped the notetab like a rug. "You know that doesn't help the problem at all, right?"

"Makes me feel better about it, though." I snapped it again.

"Look, as much as I'm appreciating watching your imitation of spring cleaning, why don't you let me take a look at it?" Eric proffered.

"What could you do about it?"

He lowered his head, peering at me over his glasses as he said, "I made those for a living. I'm sure you looked that up in my Greg Pace bio." I had forgotten.

"I think it's a software issue, though," I replied.

"And you think the latest software for those magically appears out of the air?" Eric asked with a raised eyebrow. He motioned with his hand for me to give him the notetab. Reluctantly I handed it over. He turned it over in his hands, sliding off the back face, looking quickly inside. "Connections look alright." Turning his gaze upward over his glasses he said, "How'd you manage an advanced model? These haven't hit shelves yet." It was the new Notetab Galaxy XV edition.

"I do some freelance product reviewing on the side. Gets me new models before most other people." Eric nodded, turning his attention back to the notetab.

Slipping the cover back on, he turned it over, bending and twisting it as he watched the screen. "Nothing wrong there. Let's see about..." he began as he tapped in a few commands. A diagnostic window came up. While it was running Eric commented, "You know that at one time flexible computers wouldn't have even occurred to people as a possibility. Nor, of course, a display like this one." The notetab chirped. "Ah. _That's_ what it is. Easy fix. Let me just tweak a few settings here as it updates," Eric said as his fingers began flying over the screen, accessing system settings and changing parameters at an amazing speed.

"Hey, wait just a minute!" I attempted.

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing," Eric replied without looking up. I tried to lean forward and grab it from him, but Eric simply leaned back out of my reach.

"It's just," I said, now feeling like I was about to start in on a game of keep-away with a child, "that you're from the 21st century. And that isn't."

"So?" Eric said as he changed another setting, the notetab making an angry noise at him.

I got up and began walking around the coffee table, Eric mirroring my movement. "It doesn't like whatever it is you're doing," I said.

"They aren't really intelligent, you know," he replied as kept on the move. I followed, coming around by the windows. He moved with a quickness that belayed his apparent years. The notetab beeped again, annoyed.

"Hey!" It twisted slightly in his hands. "See? It's not happy!"

"It's a computer," he stated. "How long since you ran maintenance on this thing?" he asked, completing a circuit of the living room. Reaching the back of my chair I simply grasped it and stopped. Chasing him was getting me nowhere fast.

"Probably a month. Maybe two," I replied.

"That's what I thought. You missed a firmware update on this. And the memory's a bit disjointed. Not to mention that the pizo-generators haven't been stretched in a while. You do exercise it, right?" Eric asked, beginning to counter-twist the notetab after hitting a few more commands. The notetab initially groaned, then began to purr as Eric slowly contorted it. "These things are just like muscles. They need to be stretched every so often or they get stiff." He finished, rubbing the screen back to flat between his palms. He came toward me and handed it back. "Screen brightness was off, update has been applied, memory centered, redundant cache cleared, audio receivers cleaned and pizo-flexors exercised. Try it again." I tapped in a few commands and the notetab responded faster than it ever had.

"Wow," I said in genuine shock as I once more took a seat. "How did you do that?"

"You can check the maintenance log if you're really curious," Eric responded. He stood over me just to my right. Suddenly water splashed down on the screen, some spilling onto my lap.

"Hey!"

"Don't forget to keep it hydrated," he said over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen to refill his now empty glass. "The biological components still need water to function at maximum efficiency. That one said it hadn't had water in weeks. You'd get fidgety, too, after too much time without exercise or water." It did seem to speed up even more as it absorbed the water.

"Thanks?" I was still confused over the aptitude with which Eric, very clearly in my mind a man of the 21st century, so quickly fixed my very 26th century device.

"Shall we continue?" he said, sipping from his glass as he resumed his seat.

#  ATMO Grows

"You want what?" James asked.

"A high-powered, omni-directional sound-based weapon. As much as we hate some of the pirates and looters we've been dealing with lately, we'd rather use non-lethal means to ward them off," Meng replied.

"They already have the sort of tech you're talking about," James said.

"I'm aware. But again, I'm looking for handgun or rifle sized units we could use in close quarters. Would also be useful in hostage scenarios," Meng mused.

"I'll talk to Eric. He's our resident expert on light and sound," James promised.

"See, that's what I'm talking about James. Always willing to challenge what's possible."

"No matter how much you flatter me, Meng, I can't make the active camo R&D go any quicker without raising too many questions. We're already putting some pretty tight deadlines on our own staff. Honestly, I don't know how much longer we'll be able to keep the lid on this stuff. Melinda says people here are starting to get suspicious." There was a momentary silence. "Meng? Did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah, James...How's the nanite research coming?" Meng asked.

"Slow. We've isolated batches from all our blood samples, but a high percentage of the nanites seem to be dormant. No matter what we've tried in the way of chemical or electrical catalysts they won't activate," James replied.

"D'Andre's telling me you separated the nanites from the whole blood and have them isolated?"

"Correct."

"D'Andre's also mentioned to me that you've only tried either chemical or electrical stimulus at once. Not both."

"Right..."

"So what about electro-chemical stimulation in a biological environment the nanites are used to?" Meng asked.

"You mean, basically, add a nanite slurry to whole blood and then electrocute it?" James replied.

"Yeah. Why not? Basically what happened to all of us the first time in the lab, isn't it?"

"It could work. Certainly couldn't disappoint us any more than what we have been doing so far," James said after a moment's thought.

"I say try it. And James, if it works I'd like to make a gentle suggestion. You say your R&D is outstripping the abilities of your staff? Why not...augment...their _ability_ to work?" Meng said pointedly.

"You're talking about experimenting on people again," James said distastefully.

"What I'm really talking about is using a process we know works to bring trustworthy people into the fold and grow our numbers. James, regardless of what happened at Plymouth, what we're doing now is for the best. It can work, it can save a lot of lives, and itcan help a lot of people in the process." James remained silent. "Just think about it is all I'm asking. We can't grow this organization as we had originally mentioned with only 8 people. Give it some thought. Jessica and D'Andre will be over tomorrow at 2120 for our current batch of supplies. Stay the course, James."

"Stay the course." They severed their comm-connection. James knew Meng was right. To truly have more than a one situation at a time impact they had to expand. But he was still wary of exposing more people to nanites. True, the old system of 'melding' had been flawed and rushed and ultimately failed for those same reasons. It was a fluke it had worked at all. But with more time, functioning examples to work from and more advanced resources, it could be done. James just didn't want to rush ahead again and lose any more people. But, Meng was right. James began typing an e-mail to Eric about Meng's new weapon request.

"Jim?" Melinda had walked into his office without him noticing. "What's wrong?" she asked, hugging him from behind. The simple weight of her arms across his chest and her head atop his settled James.

"You know what's wrong," he answered.

"Just because I can read thoughts doesn't mean I always do. And sometimes it's the sharing more than anything that helps," she said.

James sighed, grasping Melinda's hands in his own before replying. "Meng was pushing about the nanite tech again."

"He had D'Andre with him?" she asked.

"Doesn't he always?" James replied.

"You know he means well, hun," Melinda said soothingly.

"I know. It's just..." James sighed again, lifting Melinda's hands, interlacing their fingers with his. She wiggled hers, James smiled. "You could make the sun come out on a cloudy day, you know that?" James said as he pulled Melinda around and onto his lap.

Looking into his eyes with that beautiful, glowing face of hers Melinda said, "And you, Mr. Christopher, still know just how to be sweet, even without telepathy," as she touched his nose. "So what about this, though?"

"I don't know," said James, looking down. "There are still so many bad memories, so many things we did in rushing that project. I just...I can't get past them."

Melinda grasped his head gently, raised his eyes to meet hers, and said, "Then do what you can. Take the sacrifices those people made and make it mean something. If you can't let it go then don't try to. Use it as motivation. For something better. Redeem the lost."

"It's not that easy."

"I understand that, I really do. I know what you're thinking. Remember?" Her smile only made him feel worse just now. Pulling him close, Melinda could feel his silent sobs start. She remembered the results from some of their early trials. Chemical baths turned instantly caustic, burning not a few subjects to death. In others, direct nanite injection had been tried. To suddenly see a hole being eaten through a living, cognizant person... James carried a heavy burden, his signature always being on the test orders. "It's okay. It's okay." She hugged him close, the only type of therapy she could offer. They both knew she was right. They both knew redemption could not erase the past, but could bring meaning to it. And they both knew Meng was acting a necessary part in being a catalyst, no matter how caustic the attempt.

"James," Eric said, pausing on his way back from lunch as James was leaving his office. "Hey, glad I caught you. Where you headed?"

"Section 13," he said. Eric waited to reply as a few of the other researchers passed us on their way back from lunch.

"Now? In the middle of the day? That's dangerous," Eric said quietly.

"I know. Got off the phone with Meng a while ago. He had a point." There was a gruffness to James's voice that meant he had been crying.

"About what went on at Project 16?" As they had begun work on the nanites again they found it necessary to talk about and reference their work at Project Plymouth. They had ended up hiring some of their old assistants as lead researchers after being awarded the DoD contract, as Meng had said they would be. So referring to the Project by a code name seemed a justifiable precautionary step.

"Yeah. There."

"Ignore him," Eric said.

Stopping, James faced him. "He has a point, though. We can't," and paused as more researchers passed. "We can't grow an organization without bringing in more people. And best way to utilize more people would be if we _augmented_ their abilities. You know as well as I do how much quicker any of us can complete work than them," he added, drawing to sharp focus that usually invisible line that lay between the eight 'nanitics' and the rest of humanity they worked with daily.

"They're still getting the work done," Eric commented.

"But they could do it faster. Better," James said with resolve.

Eric looked at him, only partially in disbelief. "You're really going to push forward with this?"

"Yeah. I am." A lot of the early nights of Project Plymouth had been spent trying to bury memories in a bottle. Both Eric and James agonized over the choices made as often Eric was the one giving James the last push needed, insisting the ends justified the means.

"Then let's do it right this time around, huh?" Eric said.

"Yeah. Do it right," James agreed.

"We're going to need to start shifting personnel around. Have you eaten yet?" Eric asked. Just then he heard the click of James's lab-door as it opened and Melinda emerged.

"Actually," James said, "we were just headed there now."

"Fair enough. Come see me when you're done?" Eric said, heading down to his lab. He had been combing through the most recent ATMO field reports, seeing if any of the performance results could prove insightful. In his inbox was an e-mail from James regarding a handheld sound-cannon. He printed it off and jotted some quick notes on its backside, returning to the field reports.

The ones he was most interested in were the ones where Adam had gone along. Being a nanitic _and_ a scientist and, apparently, a very good soldier gave Adam an advantage, as his mission notes were the most detailed of all. They contained the smallest minutiae about how they all had reacted in the battle, as well as how the nanites had performed. His reports mentioned, here and there, phrases like, 'communing with the hive mind.' In this past one he was writing about being shot.

"I could hear the hive mind scream as it mourned the loss of its many drones, but also as it scrambled to right the wrong and remove the intruding projectile. I felt it as my muscles contracted in a specific movement, forcing the bullet back out through the entry wound which itself stretched, by nanitic manipulation, as the now flatted projectile was pushed out of my thigh. Trying to communicate the pain I was in to the nanites I had the sense that they did not understand pain. Next came a, shall I call it, unique sensation. The best way to describe it was as something of a reverse wound. Instead of my flesh being rent apart it, was being forcibly knitted back together. As a Boy Scout I had once stabbed my palm with a knife while carving, it penetrating to the bone of my first pinky knuckle. As the wound healed it was sore and tight. This new pain was similar, but much more intense. I managed to keep out of the way as the nanites did what was necessary to get my leg functional again. Completely healed was another matter. Still, the patch allowed me to help ward off the insurgents long enough for D'Andre and Claire to evac the Senators. What they were doing in the red zone is still beyond me. Now, two days later, the wound site is still tender but shows _no_ hint of a bullet wound. I don't even have a scar with which to impress Jessica."

The fact alone that the nanites could reverse a bullet out of a wound track was amazing. That they could then re-knit soft tissue to a functioning state in seconds was astonishing. The medical implications of such a find were as astounding. After all, if muscle, why not tendon? If tendon, why not cartilage? If cartilage, why not bone? As it seemed to Eric that it was the nanites somehow directing and accelerating the regeneration, such a technique could theoretically work on anyone with the properly programmed injection of temporary nanites. The trick was, of course, independently activating them.

From Meng's reports it seemed that Adam was turning into a great field asset and even into a bit of a combat leader. Cautiously but resolutely he would often lead an advance or be the one to scout ahead. Eric imagined what he would be like leading a company of people such as them. Surely, such people would be a force to be reckoned with. And not only that, but they had finally figured out Adam's power. Claire's initial sense of him as a mirror wasn't far off. From those around him he got shallow but useful versions of their power. Finishing his notes on Adam's reports Eric turned to attempting to figure out a way to rotate the four founders more and more from the main pool of scientists while avoiding the bulk of suspicion. He briefly floated the idea of simply relying on their nanites and burning the midnight oil. But in some testing they had done they found that even the nanitic mass had its limits.

After several days of little or no sleep the energy reserve the nanites used to function, a reserve the founders had yet to centralize and pin down, would drain, and suddenly all the nanites would fall dormant, leaving their host as a normal human but now with over twice his body weight to carry around. James, who was the test subject, could just barely move, his features instantly reflecting the long hours without sleep. After sleeping for three days, literally straight through, he finally woke up. The agreed upon base-level number of nanites had reactivated in him then and had again repaired the effects of sleep deprivation.

Remembering such results, Eric knew they had to find a way to give themselves more standard work-day time to focus on the nanites. With a list of current projects and descriptions in one hand and a personnel roster with qualifications in the other he scrolled through both, matching lead researchers to projects while searching for places they could spare staff. Since their DoD/ATMO expansion they had tripled their R&D staff from around a hundred scientists, mechanics and engineers to now over three hundred. Among the projects they had going was a spec. project for a new class of war plane, a new fuel cell concept, Melinda's perennial favorite of stronger, lighter alloy materials, James's current non-intrusive HUD retinal projector, Eric's continued work on a fully solid-state biological computer, a few projectile projects and one on propulsion. Production staff were involved in several of the projects, most notably the spec. jet project.

Were NAR to concentrate the projectile weapons programs they would gain around seven staff. Spread those out among non-senior projects and pull one-for-one toward the senior projects and they might be able to shore up their projects enough to focus on nanitic research. Melinda's team had been working together long enough that her project co-lead, Nombar Treo, could certainly take lead for her. Eric's computer research was more in a testing phase, though Charlie Robinson, who had already taken over head research for it once before, would suitably fill in. James's project may have to go on hold. He was early-stages and had been doing most of the work himself.

Just as Eric was thinking that he would have to talk the matter over with James, he knocked and entered. "How's it going, dude," he said, coming to sit across from Eric, grabbing the Rubik's cube off his desk to mess it up and solve it.

"Alright. I think I have a way to shift personnel around so that we're freed up."

"Really? How's that?" James asked.

After explaining his basic plan, Eric said, "My only real concern is your project. Could it be handed off just yet?"

He rocked back on the chair's hind legs, saying, "Not the full project, no. I have found some areas of R&D that a team of engineers could take over, though. I'm trying to use a laser to project the HUD onto the retina. Problem is I can't get a laser fine enough to do the job that won't damage the cornea. Also, the servo for the laser pattern-field tends to freeze up quick. So engineers could work on both of those."

"Okay. Sounds like a plan. Then you, Melinda and I would all be freed up to work on this."

"What about Adam?" James asked.

"I'll send a message to Meng asking him if Adam can be spared," Eric replied.

"Good. For the quickest result we'll need the whole team back together. And I think Adam was making some good headway with the old data."

"I believe so," Eric confirmed. They had a plan, had things laid out. Now it was just a matter of how much time it would take them to reverse and re-engineer a working process to bind new nanites to a human host. James looked at the cube, solved, and tossed it to Eric with a grin on his face.

"Your turn."

#  Airstrikes

"Sir, they were waiting for us! Right as we landed we came under fire _,"_ Nichele Wells reported to Eric from the beachhead.

"Okay. Hold tight. We're inbound," Eric replied. Hitting the comm. he called to the other craft in his wing, saying, "Meng called it again. They're getting hammered down there. HUDs on, weapons hot. Follow my approach, 3 by 2." Eric flicked off the comm. and banked his NAR S-3 support jet left into a dive. Thanks to their missions over the last few months Chaos's air power had been vastly reduced, to the point of non-existence this far into Mexican airspace. "Sherri, HUD on," Eric said to his jet. It connected with his nanite hive, feeding information that was overlaid on what he saw. "Show friendlies." Yellow markers appeared overtop his view of the ground. In an almost semi-circle around the LZ were lines of TDF Elites.

Reaching into the hive mind Eric brought to the fore knowledge on support aircraft. He had flown sorties like this before, though a refresher never hurt. The information flowed through his mind as his wing of 5 jets looped down and toward the LZ. Even without the HUD he could have picked out he TDF forces. The closer he came, the clearer the line of black versus rainbowed plasma bolts became.

"We'll make as many passes as we need," Eric said over the comm. to his wing. "Hit the Chaos forces opposite our right flank first." He banked slightly, lining up for his run. His two wingmen would follow him in first, then the two trailing craft on a following approach as they had trained.

Going into a steeper dive he watched the altimeter plummet. ' _Wait_ ,' he told himself. ' _Fire, flatten out, strafe through, pull up and climb_.' The ground was coming up fast. A dark bolt flew past his jet. ' _Crap_ ,' he thought; they'd been spotted. The craft's ablative armor would take some abuse from plasma, but not that of a company and a half. The altimeter kept clicking down, reaching release altitude. He squeezed the trigger, rounds streaking downward toward the ground as he began to level his descent. He was aware of shots likewise streaking out from his wingmen. More plasma bolts found their way skyward now. ' _At least that's pressure off the beach_ ,' Eric thought. He pulled up, his run complete, and punched the engines to gain altitude. The second run should be hitting now. Banking left and out of his climb Eric had a view of the beach out the port side of his canopy. The right flank of the TDF lines had bulged outward.

"Nichele," he called over the comm-, "how're you holding up?"

"I've been in better spots, sir. That run relieved some needed pressure, though. Keep it up and we may make it through this _._ "

"Roger. Coming in for second run." Eric banked left and dove again, his wingmen in tow. The Chaos Elites were ready for them this time. Shots from all over their line flew skyward. Eric's plane shook from several impacts. The altimeter again clicked away, reaching release height. Eric squeezed the trigger as suddenly time slowed. ' _Oh no,'_ he thought. While flying this only happened when...he looked around his craft, searching the ground for it. "There," he said to himself as an enormous plasma bolt took shape. ' _How could they produce one so big?_ ' he asked himself. He would have to corkscrew to avoid both the plasma bolt and his wingmen.

The bolt continued toward Eric, rounds slowly popping in sync from his craft's wings. ' _Missiles won't get out anymore before I start to corkscrew_ ,' he thought. ' _Jack and Vong will have to take care of that_.' He pulled back and down on the flight stick causing the nose of his jet up and left, laying off firing as late as he could. The bolt continued its ascent toward him; he could see it via the HUD as his eyes glanced through the cockpit's floor. Reality suddenly snapped back to him. His gaze followed the bolt's path as it singed the tip of his left wing.

"Jack, Vong, missiles hot," Eric said into the comm. Trailing as they were they wouldn't need to be told why. "Free fire." Eric and his wingmen, now off to his right, pulled up and banked left for another pass. Maneuvering, Eric once more took the lead position.

"Sir," came Jack on the line. "More than one of them down there _._ "

' _Damn_ ,' Eric thought to himself. "Nichele, report."

"They're pouring it on. I think you guys stirred up the hornet's nest _."_ Not good.

"Scorched Earth," Eric relayed to both his wing and Nichele. "I repeat, Scorched Earth." It was code for free-fire use of all aircraft weapons. They couldn't bring the offshore in yet; Chaos's Elite were still too close to Nichele's lines. The S-3s, though, could now do more damage. They did, after all, have one surprise weapon: plasma cannons. Still listed as 'experimental,' they had been reverse-engineered from nanitics. Eric flipped a switch in his cockpit, turning on the jet's backup fuel cell generator. Plasma weaponry of this sort ate through power quickly. Two weapons ports opened on each wing, exposing the cannon nodes.

Eric locked into his approach run. The altimeter clicked away once more. Eric half-depressed the trigger, warming up the plasma nodes. Release height. Both hard and plasma rounds flew from his plane's wings, six streams of destruction lancing out at the ground. Time slowed. _Three_ dark, large plasma bolts were headed skyward. Missile trigger pulled. Indicator lights turned red on both wings as two missiles released their moorings. All three balls of plasma were headed right for Eric. He could feel missiles streaking away from his wingmen. He didn't want to risk getting in the escape paths of his wingmen. One option left. He worked the jet's flaps to bring the craft up onto its right wingtip. Letting up on the trigger he smashed the engines full-on, punching his afterburners. Reality and the force of the maneuver snapped back on him.

On the HUD a warning flashed as his jet chimed, "Exceeding 17 Gs. Suggest deceleration." What a thought! Working the flaps and pulling hard and left on the stick Eric pulled his jet skyward into a sideways climb. The HUD flashed more intently, the aircraft's AI saying calmly, "Exceeding 21 Gs. Suggest deceleration."

"Shut up," Eric mumbled as he leveled his flight, feeling a momentary weightlessness.

"Sir, you okay?" Lee asked over the comm.

"I'm okay," Eric replied.

"Holy crap! Those must've left scorch marks on you! That was close!" Vong exclaimed.

"Roger that. Continue runs. I'm going rogue." Eric had a sneaking suspicion about the air-ward fire. Lining up for a steep V-run perpendicular to the beach, Eric was going to target one of those plasma turrets. The approach would be fun. He flipped his jet over so its canopy faced downward. Flying over the battlefield he saw Jack and Vong streak over the lines. They weren't fired on once. ' _They're gunning for me_ ,' Eric thought. He flew onward just a bit, pushing his nose into an initially inverted dive, rolling his canopy back skyward. He had pinpointed the AA plasma sites now. Something that powerful couldn't be quickly moved. Mentally he locked in their positions, feeding it upstream to Sherri's computer. She added target-squares to his HUD, sharing them with the others in his wing. Generally, Eric detested wide-area incendiaries. Right now, though, it was called for. As steep as his approach was, the canisters shouldn't tumble much. He opened up with his hard and plasma weaponry as his dive bought him speed. ' _Wait for it. Wait,_ ' he mentally chanted, passing release altitude.

A warning popped up in his HUD, his craft chiming, "Lethal Trajectory. Suggest pulling up."

"Noted and ignored," Eric mumbled. He released the trigger, cut engines, nosed-up as his jet now fell directly along its flight path. He released his first neo-napalm canister. Having a different surface area from the jet, the canister quickly achieved separation. Engines on. Afterburners. He shot upward a mere 100 feet from the ground as the canister exploded in a concentrated burst. Pulling back and once more angling his canopy ground-ward Eric looked up at what he had just done, lining up for another run. Lee's jet streaked through the blaze with its left wing as she leveled for her ascent.

"Sorry about that," Eric said.

"Damn, that's hot," Lee replied. "You owe me a cold one for that. And a new paint job!"

"Finally gonna go with pink?" Eric ribbed, nosing up into his dive.

"Only if you're gonna paint yours baby-blue," she shot back. He took out the second and third ground cannons in like manner, his wingmen avoiding the blasts.

"Nichele, report."

"Not sure what I'm seeing down here, sir. The incoming fire is remaining dense, but weakening. _"_

Eric's mind raced. "They're running low on energy. Can you press?" he asked.

"We may be able to now, yes _,_ " Nichele replied.

"Do you want us to keep at them?" Eric asked.

"Hold off for now. If I need you I'll call _,_ " Nichele replied.

"10-4." To his wing he said, "Form up on me. We're taking up a holding pattern." Meng had been right. Chaos had anticipated their arrival. In conventional battle such a rout as they seemed poised to carry out would mean that they would get the foothold they needed here. With two armies of nanitics, however, it only meant one side would be forced to retreat temporarily. Despite 'winning' here, the TDF forces would have to be withdrawn. "Sherri, get me James." The craft set up a secure frequency to TDF HQ.

"Eric, how's the landing going? _"_ James asked.

"Almost as well as it looks from your perspective, I'm sure. I think we'll pull it out, but they were waiting. Approximately a company and a half, which means there's still a fresh half-company out there. We can't sustain a presence here."

Eric could almost see his longtime friend stroking his chin as he thought. "Okay. Once it's secure enough to do safely, pull our people out. We'll have to try somewhere else."

"You really think that'll help?" Eric asked.

"No _,"_ James replied flatly. "But we hafta try. Conventional troops won't last against nanitics. Not for a minute."

"How is the conventional program shaping up?" Eric asked.

"I'll bring you up to speed when you get back. For now, you just worry about getting our people back home safe."

"Will do, James. Out." Circling overhead Eric could see the action on the ground. A hole had opened up as Chaos's line at the center collapsed. It was now only a matter of time before the whole thing broke into retreat. Despite his thirst for victory, Chaos was still cognizant of the fact that he needed his nanitics. At least for now. So long as the TDF had them, he needed them in force. Also plain was that air power had won the day. Could that alone see the TDF through to overall victory? It might. Especially if Chaos's forces kept trying to target the Progenitors as intently as they had been.

"Chaos, while I can understand and even appreciate at some level your thrust to take out the top TDF leadership, you can plainly see this battle would have turned out differently had we had the freedom to target _any_ aircraft rather than just Pohlman's." Chaos looked up at his subordinate commander. The man, of course, had a point. And it wasn't to be quickly discounted. Nonetheless, Chaos was confident that if they could weaken the TDF by eliminating its top leadership that his original plans would still work. ' _Get rid of the most powerful nanitics and eliminate the TDF advantage,_ ' went the nagging thought. He couldn't rid himself of it.

"I'm not questioning your opinion on the matter," Chaos said, glowering at the man. "Merely your loyalty to the cause." The man was properly shocked.

"Read my mind and see where my loyalties lie," he replied forcefully. None of them could be disloyal. They all understood that as well as did Chaos. Perhaps such a focus _was_ a mistake. It, after all, took resources and put them into profitless...Chaos felt his mind wander. What had he been thinking? He shook his head slightly to clear it.

' _Unimportant things_ ,' he seemed to think. ' _Keep your focus on the TDF leadership. It is the proper course_ ,' he seemed to mentally add. He knew he was right. This _was_ the right course. Cut off the head and the body would die. "Thank you sub-commander," Chaos said dismissing the man. They _had_ lost the battle in technical terms. Airpower had turned the tide. But they had still driven the TDF forces back. They had carried the day. Eventually a point would come where one side or the other would not be able to back down. They would have to see battles through if only to blunt each other's forces. Nanitic armies would simply bash their heads against each other to no avail if they kept retreating. Giving conventional forces slight nanitic advantages had tested well, allowing them to last longer against full nanitics and allowing Chaos to exert the type of control he needed over them.

Switching data-tablets Chaos brought up _her_ report on the progress of his Conventional Elite. Project Black Band was proceeding well in South America. Its successes would be duplicated overseas where his forces had begun to entrench themselves. Two companies had made it to Europe, one to Africa, Asia and one that had diverted to Australia. With so few full nanitics abroad they would have to immediately begin to rely on the pseudo-nanitic Black Band forces. Which meant that very soon the TDF Elite forces would have to be reduced, no matter the cost.

#  Nanitic Return

"You know he doesn't like to be disturbed."

"I know, honey. But I do need to talk to him. And anyway, I should think he sees it coming," replied James as he left for Meng's chamber. For a year now the eight first nanitics, the Progenitors, had been working together at the ATMO labs, secreted within NAR Defense in Wisconsin. They had been building a more solid base of operations, improving existing tech and trying to revive and perfect their old nanitic research. The company, partly due to the mercenary income of Meng's crew and partly due to the avalanche of technological advances the company was making, was well beyond self-sustaining, making its way onto the list of most profitable companies in the US.

Despite knowing that the nanite technology was alive and well within each of them, extracting and duplicating it was another matter entirely. Or so it seemed until James woke up one morning. He realized that their original approach wasn't completely off the mark. That is, it did have two key components: volume, and activation in a living organism. There was a critical mass of nanites needed for bonding to even occur. The nanites, being a hived network organism, knew this too. As such, not until that critical mass was reached would the nanites respond as James, Adam, Melinda and Eric were hoping they would. And the basic answer was that a critical mass couldn't be achieved in a Petri dish. The second component, activation energy, was the final key. Enough raw power had been coursing through the room that night so long ago that is was literally dense in the air. Enough so that the nanites could harvest and use it directly.

There was also, however, an upper limit to nanitic density during bonding. Too many nanites around and none took the lead in becoming symbiotic. They essentially adapted to a pseudo-symbiotic state, neither bonding nor replicating. And that, self-replication in a living organism, had always been one of the ultimate goals. After all, without self-replication the supply of nanites would eventually be used up, leaving no trace. The only reason that the test Marines maintained their heightened prowess so long was because of the infusion of a multitude of the original nanites into their cells. Had they not been so overexposed, their heightened manifestations would have disappeared much sooner.

In the Progenitors, though, the perfect amounts of nanites were present. And with plentiful ambient energy the nanites were able to quickly bond to them. Realizing all of this sent James to his lab early that morning to frantically record and try to work through his epiphany. And after a few hours he had the answer. He knew the quantities and amounts needed to produce a successful initial nanitic bonding. Better yet, such a bonding would produce more active results than just heightened abilities. The end result? Their small group could now expand. While working with Adam the previous night, James hadn't seen the obvious answers. But now it made perfect sense. The accident that had shut down the Project had been the best thing that could have happened to their nanitic research. Not only did it create a perfect environment for nanitic bonding, one James was sure they could now safely replicate.

James headed back toward the residence buildings as he felt himself coming to an end in terms of recalling and recording his realizations. Entering the ATMO hall, James slowed as he neared Meng's chamber. The door, as eerily as ever, opened just before he reached it. "Come in, James," said Meng from within. "I expected you."

' _Of course you did,'_ James thought to himself. "Do you also know why I've come?" he asked as he entered.

"I sensed much excitement," Meng replied as he opened his eyes. "So I didn't look into it too much. My visions have changed drastically since this morning. What dawned on you when you woke?"

"The answer we've been searching for. We have the nanite tech again. It's simpler than we first thought. Lower amounts of nanites, drastically lower power levels," James replied.

"That would agree with what I've been seeing. A new world dawned this morning. A bright future lies before us now, James. We need only grab hold of it." What Meng didn't share at the time were the storm clouds he also saw that day. Such visions of the future concerned Meng, having come to the fore since early this morning. The immediate future, though, was clearly positive in Meng's mind. What nanitic tech meant for them was growth and stability. It meant the ability to help more people across the world. "Between NAR and ATMO we have enough resources to become the international force that is so desperately needed right now. And what would happen if governments began to legitimize our efforts, if they gave us jurisdiction over international territory? Right now we're tolerated because we're small. We could become an internationally recognized peacekeeping force. War could become a thing of the past. Not only because no one could stand up to a force such as we could muster, but also because there would be no need. Governments could focus their energies at home, toward medicine, science, space exploration. They will come to us for such reasons, James. And we will accept their offers in order to help them. Have you told anyone else of your discovery?"

"I couldn't have kept it from Mel if I wanted to. Otherwise, no," James replied.

"Of course." Meng rose, grasped James's shoulders and said simply, "We should have a company meeting. The Progenitors. I ordered cake." He turned and strode out of the room. James always felt as though Meng lived two seconds too far in the future to really appreciate the present.

The other six members of ATMO gathered in the NAR conference room which had been redone while the rest of the NAR facilities were expanded. The North and West wings of the facility now stood two stories tall with the East wing, serving as their production and test floor, having been expanded as well. The old conference room had been replaced with an enlarged company break room, a clone of the original conference room added atop.

As they gathered it was once more coming into spring. From the conference room's wallindows they could see far across the surrounding forest as it came into full leaf. On the observation deck of the conference room you could hear, if you listened carefully, pine cones popping open and dropping their winter seeds to the ground beneath. Robins and sparrows sang. Meng and James had yet to arrive; the others were rife with anticipation. Save Melinda, of course, who had a knowing smile on her face.

"Come on, Mel. Give," Adam pressured, sitting next to her.

"It's their news, Adam. You'll just have to wait," she replied.

"If I focused hard enough, I bet I could find it in your head," Adam said in reply.

"I have my own tricks that would keep you out," Melinda said with a smile. The large doors to the room swung open as James and Meng entered carrying a large, flat box that they set down on the table.

"Friends, today is a momentous day. As I meditated this morning I saw a great many things," Meng said. "Then suddenly my visions changed. It was as if the roads of the past and future shifted beneath me, coming sharply through a single point which was...James?"

"Which was a realization," James said. "A realization that only came to me as I slept. Simply put, we have the nanites once more." Meng strode forward and tore off the top of the large box. Inside was a cake that read 'Back in Business,' with MicroMachines littered around the surface.

"Sorry they aren't nanomachines. Closest I could come," Meng said with a grin. They were still trying to believe what they had heard.

"You're serious, Jim?" Adam said, standing and leaning forward on the table. "No joke?"

"For real, man. We'll have to refine it all a bit, but it should work," James replied.

They all shared a piece of the cake, toasting the accomplishment. Calling down, James had Jeanne mark them all out for the rest of the day as they continued celebrating and even began going over some of the finer points of James's epiphany.

"Meng, throughout today I came to realize something more about the nanites," James said.

"Oh?" Meng asked.

"Come on. Don't tell me you don't know," James replied.

"James, remember. I see images of the future, not facts. I see men and women in similar uniforms. They walk, fly and appear into battle, into overwhelming odds, and come out unscathed. I also see libraries filling with books and new research facilities being built worldwide. Tell me what I'm seeing, James."

"The possibilities with how we can now bond nanites is practically limitless. What's inside of us now is basically a co-existing hive organism. With this new understanding of the nanites, we can create a true symbiosis between hive and host. We could even create armor that acts like a person's own skin that would be impervious to projectile weaponry and be resilient against explosives."

"I knew you'd come through, James. Just remember what comes with great power," Meng admonished.

"Great responsibility," James replied. They could rule the world. No army alive could oppose what they could now become: all but gods. They had to implement this new technology as soon as they could as even their current symbioses could be upgraded and enhanced. Once news broke of super soldiers being real, they would need to be able to defend themselves against any and all who would seek to pervert their find. A kidnapping for extortion of such technology was an extreme possibility.

#  A True Account

"But why not?" I asked.

"It's all in the history books anyway. Look it up," Eric replied.

"I have. But what I don't know is if recorded history is to be believed. Especially after what you've been telling me," I said in response.

"Why shouldn't you? Why shouldn't it?" Eric questioned, looking out his window.

"Because it was written by the victors, not your people," I replied.

"What's the difference?" Eric asked.

"The truth. The truth is the difference. In the end, only truth remains. We have nothing else to fall back on," I stated.

"The truth?" Eric turned toward me. "The truth is an agreed upon fallacy. Truth is what we choose to believe, not what is, was or will be."

"Then I want the facts of the matter, figures, events. I want to know what actually occurred."

"The facts?" Eric asked.

"Yes, Eric. The facts."

"Are you really ready to dive down that rabbit hole again?" he asked further.

"Tell me," I replied. Eric again leaned back in his.

"I forget. Maybe by tomorrow I'll remember," he said. Eric, though, couldn't forget anything about the past. Not even the slightest detail could change itself in his mind. It was his curse, I suppose, but also such a powerful gift. I only wish he would have shared it in more bite-sized pieces.

"Tell me more about the battles you were involved in," I said, trying to leverage the moment before me. In any event, all I needed was patience. I knew that I could get more information from Eric with patience than I ever would researching. He had been there, after all.

"I'm getting hungry again," Eric said. "You okay with spaghetti?" he asked as he pushed himself out of his chair.

"Spaghetti?"

"Yeah. Long rod-like pasta under some sort of a tomato sauce," Eric replied, walking into the kitchen.

"Actually, never heard of it."

Eric stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, grasped it with his right hand, shook his head and said, "Never heard of spaghetti. Wow. Come in here for a culinary lesson, sonny. Your taste buds will thank you." I grabbed my notetab and obediently followed. If his soup was any measure, this spaghetti was sure to be a delight. Not to mention the clear possibility of data mining Eric as he prepared his dish. I sat at the table as Eric fished in his fridge for ingredients.

"Normally I make my spaghetti ahead, keep it in here," he said from within the fridge. "But it seems that I'm out of pre-made. So I'll just have to boil some water as I chop these," he said as he emerged from behind the fridge door with an armful of vegetables.

"Carrots, onions, mushrooms, and zucchini from my crop last year," he said. He took a pot from a cupboard, filled it with water and set it on the stove, lidded. From an overhead cupboard he removed a container of rod-shaped pasta.

"Spaghetti, I assume?" I asked.

"Correct," he replied.

"I suppose you make those," I said as I pointed at the container. The contents were a brown-green color, pock-marked with small translucent specs.

"Yup. Whole wheat spinach-garlic spaghetti, made by these own two hands," he said, admiring his hands in front of his face before picking up a chopping knife and starting in on the vegetables.

"Why do you do so much cooking by hand? Food synths today can produce a nutritionally balanced and adequate meal with much less effort," I commented.

"Very true. But something they cannot do is relieve stress for me the way crafting something to eat by hand can," Eric replied.

"I don't understand," I stated.

"Of course you don't. As someone who has probably never prepared a meal by hand, how could you? You know that Hank still does his cooking by hand, too?" Eric asked.

"I did not," I replied. Though that did help make sense of some of the odors I had smelled while at L&H. I had been to only a few establishments that still actually cooked food by hand. They all had a similar odor to Eric's kitchen now: warm, earthy, moist.

"Yeah, not a whole lot of us left. I argue," Eric said toward the carrots he now chopped, "that it changes the taste. Hank agrees with me on that," he said, pointing at me with his knife. "You can be the judge once we eat," he added, returning his attention to his vegetables.

"So you do it just to relax?" I asked probatively.

Tilting his head to the side slightly Eric said, "Also because it reminds me of old times. I remember the times that James, Adam and I would go camping. The smell of food cooking over an open fire," Eric said, his chopping paused as he closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath with a smile. It was as if he could smell those aromas of so long ago. His smile dropped away as he exhaled, his shoulders drooping. "This is the closest I can come to that anymore. The closest I've come in...many decades."

I could feel a deep sadness from him then, a sense of longing for the time gone by. He looked down at his work, brought his hands up slightly, opening them while keeping the knife balanced in his right hand. He stood there for a moment studying those hands. "Have you ever thought about what your hands do?" he said to no one in particular. "What they've done? What they will do?" He paused again, looking at his hands inquisitively as though he had caught something in them that might not have been there before. "Mine have done...so much. So much." He curled the fingers of both hands, loosely clasping the knife once more, and slowly turned his hands over and back, over and back, over and back. Pausing to look at them again, he seemed to discover the knife in his hand, found the cutting board with its contents, touched the zucchini gently, grasping it and taking a slow but deliberate slice of it with the knife. Then another. And another. It was a scene much like watching a child figure out the use of a hammer or rattle for the first time. "It helps me relax. And remember."

"Tell me what you remember," I pressed.

Eric smiled, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "I told you, no. Not yet."

"Why not?" I said, a bit petulant.

"Because you could not understand," he replied in his scholarly manner.

"Couldn't understand what?" I asked.

Eric set down his knife, sighed, went to his sink and ran some water over his hand. "Either my reasoning behind not telling you, or the way I would have to tell the story itself." He turned off the faucet and flicked water from his hand onto a pan on the stove, smirking as it sizzled. "The way I remember events, how I understand them right now, you simply couldn't understand," he said, dumping the carrots into the pan. "Just think what my still being alive means about me," he added as he swirled the pan's contents. "What you've seen and heard," he said quietly. "What _that_ tells you about me." He stared at the carrots, their root aroma filling the kitchen. "It changes how I remember things. Changes my perspective. Alters how I perceive reality. Doesn't change the facts of it all, just how I perceive it. And so also how I'd relate it." He again swirled the pan. "You wouldn't understand"

"Eric, I'm a reporter. I'm used to trying to make sense of things that don't," I replied.

He smiled, "Fair enough. You won't accept it, but this time you wouldn't be able to."

"I hope you'll understand when I say I can't believe you."

"Oh, I understand it, yes," Eric responded. Something in him switched conversational tracks. "You know, the thing about good homemade spaghetti sauce is that it takes patience. Timing. Add one vegetable too soon and it's soft in the end, not crisp and refreshing. Just doesn't have the right crunch to it. Don't pay the pan enough attention and everything comes out burnt. No, spaghetti sauce requires the proper amount of attention to detail as well as the proper timing."

"Main reason my food is synth," I said, not hearing his underlying message.

"But," Eric said, a piece of carrot in his teeth as he tried to cool it down before testing it with an approving smile, "it takes all the enjoyment out of the process." That familiar twinkle in his eye was back as he dumped the mushrooms and onion into the pan, drizzling in a little olive oil as he tossed the contents. An incredible aroma once more filled the room. "For me, at least these days, the journey is my favorite part."

"So you won't share any more history lessons with me right now?" I asked.

"Correct. See? You're learning," he said, grinning.

"Then what can you share with me as we wait for your spaghetti to be ready?" I could hear the water beginning to boil, the vegetables smelled as though they were caramelizing and Eric again reached into his fridge, pulling out a jar of something red as he said, "Why need we talk of anything at all. Sometimes silence speaks more than does speech."

I smiled and shook my head. It was a skill to know when to just be quiet and listen, "But now is not one of those times. If you won't share with me more TDF tidbits or more tales of battles you've fought then there must be _something_ you are willing to share," I said. Eric twisted the lid of the jar to a satisfying _thock_ as suction was broken.

He poured the jar's contents into the vegetable pan, the hissing and crackling subsiding as he said, "Okay. Fine. How about a mini-biography?"

"Isn't that history?" I asked.

Eric grinned again, stirring the vegetable-sauce mixture. "Not quite. This story has virtually no impact on overall history but is personally significant. You see, I was best man at James and Melinda's wedding." Eric's face brightened in his reverie. "It took James awhile to get his head out of his rear and actually realize what he had in front of him, but he did."

"Where was the ceremony?" I asked.

"Redeemer United Church of Christ in Pewaukee, Wisconsin. Between the Project and the start of NAR they got hitched." Eric tested his sauce, made a face, ground some pepper and what I assumed to be salt into the pan.

"Those two really went overboard, trying to do all the stuff themselves. Come the wedding weekend things started going wrong. James had picked out this black pant and coat, purple vest and tie bit. The place he rented from got it all backwards. Half the coats were the wrong color, tie and vests were mismatched for the ushers. We got to the hall where the reception was to be after the wedding the next day and _they_ weren't ready for us. Water's boiling. Hand me the pasta? So, thank you," as I handed it to him, he dumping the whole contents into the boiling water. Eric stirred the sauce as he continued, "So the days leading up to the wedding went less than super. Melinda was quite upset that night before. James, with that manner he had, tried to keep things moving as smoothly as possible. The next day dawned with some rain, but then turned sunny and warm, a good omen. The wedding went well, other than my fumbling a bit much with the rings as I handed them to the Pastor. I wasn't facing them, but as I understand it, as Melinda was saying her vows she was making most of my fellow groomsmen cry. It was a happy day. James and Melinda shared a lot of happy years with each other. Their only regret in life was that they never had children.

"Oh, they planned to after the Insurrection, but of course in order to bring it to an end James and Meng had to make the ultimate sacrifice." Eric began to choke up. Even though he wasn't fully facing me I could tell tears were welling up in his eyes. "They shared...such love. I saw it that day, so long ago. And to see and live with what James's loss did to Mel..." Eric looked at me, a tear rolling down his cheek. "They were each other's life. You know?" I nodded. _Now_ was the time to shut up and listen. "They lived and loved for each other. And to see that die..." Eric trailed off, his gaze falling to the floor as it also turned inward, remembering his old friends. His jaw moved, lips trembling as his eyes searched his memory. "So much pain." Tears rolled down both his cheeks, dropping to the floor. "Such a waste." He sniffed, raising his eyes to meet mine. No words were necessary, nor would words do. All I could do was let the empathy I felt show on my face as Eric worked through his memories.

He looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. A few more tears rolled down his cheek. He grasped the edge of the stove with his right hand, pulling his body around to face it. Only then, food left to prepare in front of him, did he refocus and gather himself. He opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and stirred the sauce. His jaw still moved, trying to find a way to express something words couldn't.

Eric lifted out a noodle, blew on it and tasted it. "Just right." He reached into an overhead cupboard, pulled out a large colander and strained the pasta. "Would you grab two plates, James? They're in the last cupboard behind me on the left." I did so without comment, bringing them over to Eric, where he plated two mounds of pasta along with a generous ladle of the sauce, adding some shredded white cheese from a container and a sprig of parsley. We sat down at the table and began eating. The meal's now somber tone changed the food, somehow. Despite the light warmth of the day and the savory welcoming of the meal, I could still feel loss. Even the light about us seemed dimmed to a neutral yellowish-grey. My first fork of pasta, as had the soup, sent tinglings of sensation through my body. Heeding Eric's earlier admonition I simply enjoyed the meal and found that doing so helped to lift the mood.

"Thank you," I finally managed half way into the meal.

"For what?" Eric said, sorrow still in his voice.

"For sharing both the story and the meal." Eric looked up at me and smiled sadly. He reached over the table and patted the top of my free hand, looking out the window once more.

"I shouldn't cry just for them, but I do. To lose those closest to you is hardest," he commented. Such a play of intense emotion did nothing but cement in my mind the truth of what Eric told me that week. From a super-human chorus of voices earlier to a very singular display of sorrow, as much as the man before me wasn't like any other human, he was absolutely human.

#  The Last Abduction

"We have you surrounded. Let your hostage go. Cooperate, and we can work out a deal," the police negotiator said through his megaphone.

"The only deal we'll consider is the nanite tech for the woman's life," a man's voice yelled back from inside the building.

The negotiator looked at James, empathetic. "I can understand this must be hard for you, sir, but we would appreciate it if you would wait in the command center."

"Trust me, lieutenant, you'll want me here when the time comes. Can I try talking to him?" James asked.

"I wouldn't advise it," the lieutenant replied.

"With respect, do you know anything tactically about this situation? Their numbers? Armaments? Armor? I can get you at least some of that if you let me talk to them." The negotiator seemed uneasy about the proposal. It had taken James flashing his security clearance to get him in.

"Mr. Christopher, I hope you know what you're doing," the lieutenant said, handing James the megaphone.

' _They're learning,_ ' James thought. ' _The last ones still let us talk to them by phone_.' "Hello? Sir? I'm James Chris..." James was interrupted.

"We know who you are," yelled a voice from inside the building. "Don't move or your life and your wife's are worthless!"

"Look, sir, I just want to talk," James said. "I just want to know Melinda's alright." James took a step toward the building, but was stopped short as a bullet struck the pavement in front of him. James intentionally, as if in reaction, dropped the megaphone.

"Next shot's your head," the same voice yelled.

As he picked up the megaphone, James said, "Lieutenant, that was a 50-cal sniper rifle. Roof level, our corner of the building." The negotiator quickly sent runners to his teams, telling them about the sniper. Not that it mattered. The forces the police had wouldn't contain these mercenaries. They had cut power to four square city blocks, put up an e-m blocker that almost blocked out the sun, and had the best commercial armor on the market today, James's own design. Not even the armor-penetrating rounds of the police would make a dent. James had to have a talk with his delivery company about the security of shipments after this mess was dealt with.

"Okay," James said, straightening and pretending to fumble with the megaphone. "Okay, I'll stay where I am! Please," his voice quivering, "I just want to know that my wife is okay."

"She is for now. Just shut up and give us the tech!" the man yelled.

"How can I trust you she's okay? Can't I just...I don't mean to push. Can I just see her or hear from her?" James pleaded.

"Unconsciousness doesn't facilitate talking," the man replied. Good. Melinda was doing her part.

' _Honey_ ,' James thought toward her. ' _You okay?'_

' _When are they going to pick on you for a change?'_ James had to try hard to repress a smile.

' _You're just too attractive a target to let go,'_ he thought back. "Look," he said, "If I could do what you want I would. It's not just up to me. And, as I'm sure you're aware, my company doesn't deal with hostage-takers." He thought to Melinda, ' _Tell us how many of them there are and where they are, babe.'_ To the mercenaries, "I can put a call in, but you would have to drop the e-m shield."

"Bull! We know the tech's here," the man boomed. So they had a Teller. Too bad that piece of tech had made it out of the lab.

' _Four on my floor, three on the roof, three each on the two floors below me, and four in surrounding buildings. Those aren't armored, though,'_ Melinda replied to James.

' _No, they're just eyes,' he replied._ Out loud he added, "Sir, please, we can work this out?"

"No! The tech or she dies! You have five minutes to deliver it to us!"

"Have it your way," James mumbled, walking back behind the squad car.

"We're getting ready to breach, Mr. Christopher," said the negotiator.

"Don't bother. It won't work," James stated. "They have on armor stolen from my company. Even your SWAT team doesn't have anything that would work against it."

"How did you find that out? That guy didn't tell you anything," the negotiator replied.

"I recognize his voice from a surveillance tape," James lied. "That's definitely him. He has spotters in four buildings around here. Your men should be able to handle those guys." James felt a tugging at the edge of his mind; his team was ready. ' _You tell them everything you told me, hun?'_ he asked Melinda.

' _Everyone's ready. On you,'_ she replied.

"Lieutenant, let me handle these guys. This area will be sealed off after this is over and your entire crew will need to be debriefed. See you on the other side." James stood up, looked toward the building and said loudly, "Have it your way!" He sprinted toward the building, hurdling cars as he went. 50-caliber rounds struck pavement where he had been. His clothes flattened as he seemed to become encased in a skin-tight transparent suit. He reached the doors as explosives rocked first this corner, then that, of the building. ' _We want them alive,'_ he thought to the rest of his team.

' _Doing our best, James,'_ came the thought reply from Eric via Melinda. ' _They're dug in really well.'_ James passed three unconscious forms as he leapt up the now empty elevator shaft, jumping off its walls and emerging on the third floor to find Melinda with the barrel of a pistol pressed hard against her head.

"Stop right there, man. I walk out of here right now, or she doesn't," the man holding the gun said.

"What you fail to realize," said James calmly, "is first, she walks out of here either way. Second, and for the same reason, I'm not the one you need to worry about. You guys did do better than the last crew," he added as he circled the scene. "A lot of improvements this time. Even my own armor. Did you have an inside man at the shipping company?"

"Doesn't matter," the man replied.

"You're right. Won't happen again. Doing okay, dear?" he asked Melinda.

"Better than not, hun. Getting a little uncomfortable, though," she replied.

"Want this to end?" James asked.

"Sure. Why not." Melinda reached up and grasped the man's arm holding the gun.

"Gah!" exclaimed the man, dropping to his knees after releasing both Melinda and his weapon. "How?!" he screeched, clearly in extreme pain.

"As I said, you did better than the last crew," James commented. "Still a long way from home, though. D'Andre, you around?"

Stepping out of the shadows, D'Andre replied, "Yeah, James."

"Any of them talk?" he asked.

"One. It was enough. We have all their mission details. Same guys were behind it again," D'Andre replied.

"Can I dump this guy yet?" Melinda asked, still holding the man gently by his arm.

"Yeah, go for it," James said. Melinda tapped the man on the head and he fell unconscious to the floor. "D'Andre, is the containment team on site yet?"

"Almost, boss. By the way, it was one of our e-m blockers too. Juiced by a cold fusion reactor. That," he looked up at James from his tablet, "wasn't ours. Don't know where it came from yet."

"Is it stable?" James asked.

"Yeah. You want it back at the lab to analyze?" D'Andre asked.

"Take it to the beta site. Don't want to suddenly find out it was a bomb and have our main labs go up," James said. "Melinda, can you see that that guy gets taken in for questioning by our people?"

"Sure thing," Melinda replied, hefting the man onto her shoulder. "See you back home," she added. James watched as she walked away, dropping her nanite shielding and letting her clothes and hair regain their natural bounce and flow. ' _Stop staring, babe,'_ she thought at him.

Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, James looked at D'Andre. "Are we getting that good at dealing with these, or are they getting easier?"

"Definitely not getting easier, James. You had better head down too and start talking to the cop in charge here. He'll have questions."

As they had predicted, outside groups quickly started targeting vulnerable company leaders to try and extort the nanite tech. Thanks to copious amounts of fore-planning, though, they had the response down pat. Thanks to their DoD contracts and contacts the Core 8 had top security clearances in all matters regarding their research, including hostage situations. While NAR refused to provide it to anyone, even the US DoD, the nanite tech had recently allowed the creation of four more ATMO squads. Everyone who could knew about the tech and wanted it. Such was their present danger. NAR itself was well enough monitored and guarded that it was safe. Outside the facility, though, their personnel had been targeted. At first they had lost a few good scientists in similar fashion to the current situation. Since then, though, Meng and James had seen to intentionally leaving nanitics open for such attempts as the nanites would help protect them if anything went awry.

With their new nanite adaptations it was the safest overall plan. After gaining control over nanitic symbiosis, NAR had been able to subtly alter and add to the nanitic base code. It was quite a process, to be sure. Still, the results were well worth it. All their enhanced abilities were further magnified, refined, and amplified. They had even figured out ways to manipulate the nanites into a type of ablative body shield, one that would absorb any impact at the expense of existing nanites. But as the nanites were intended for self-replication in a host, the effect was generally minimal on the overall nanitic hive symbiote.

Taking a cue from Meng's nanities, each person's hive mind had been given slight fore-knowledge granted by extra-dimensional manipulation. In this way not only could the nanites act as a shield, but could do so proactively and seek out harmful events just before they impacted the host body. Both were nanitic traits that were proving extremely useful in the field for ATMO. Having arrived back at the ground level James found the officer in charge.

"Wardlaw, right?" James asked as he approached.

"Yes, sir." Adam, Jessica and D'Andre were directing their various ATMO-Civ teams, members of ATMO mercenaries who weren't yet nanitics. Most, now, were in the process of field-stripping the hostage-takers' crew and bringing them down to the awaiting police wagons. "Sir," Wardlaw said, "that was unbelievable."

"I know, lieutenant," James replied.

"What just happened here?" Wardlaw asked.

"What you witnessed was the use of highly classified military hardware," James replied

"I've never seen armor like that. You were hit twice, once by a RPG. Didn't even phase you." James quickly searched the hive mind and found it replicating nanites. He _had_ been hit. He would have to review the hive mind's history later, analyzing it for impact and reaction data.

"So I did. As I say, _very_ highly classified."

"I could see why," Wardlaw said.

"Now lieutenant, you're going to hand in a report on this. My people are still writing that report for you, but will have it ready shortly. The report is going to expound on the fantastic tactics you and your men used to bring about the capture of most of the hostage-takers. A few, you will report, got away." Adam was overseeing the loading of the ring leaders into an ATMO Armored Personnel Carrier. "From the ones you captured you learned that they were a separatist group unhappy with the way the government is handling continued negotiations between the governments of Russia and Pakistan. As such, they held up here only blocks from both consulates in order to make a statement. You and your people set up NAR EM Blockers to defuse the situation and put these very dangerous individuals at a tactical disadvantage. Likewise for the power outage in the area. Your captain is being likewise briefed on the situation. If you require, I can get you confirmation that this is how things need to have happened. It would come from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and Special Aide to the President, General Henshaw. But I don't think that'll be necessary, do you?" It was a lot to take in, though the lieutenant did so in stride.

"No, sir. That won't be necessary. You know, I had heard rumors of a similar event you just described happening in Palm Beach....Any connection?"

"Wardlaw, as far as I know, this was the first such incident anywhere in the country. If there was even one other, it is a coincidence. That man exiting the building now," James said, pointing at D'Andre, "is in operational control of this scene. He will get you the proper paperwork. I need to accompany a few things back to our facilities. Pleasure meeting you, Wardlaw. Too bad we never met," James said as he shook the man's hand. He turned, walked to the APC and climbed into the passenger seat beside Adam, saying as he did so, "Meng was right again."

"You expect less from him?" came Adam's reply.

"No. I'm glad, actually. Keeps more of our people out of harm's way. And at least we know it's coming. The plane ready?"

"We'll drive onto the tarmac and right inside," Adam said.

"Good. D'Andre'll finish up here. Let's get back to base. It's been a long day," James commented.

"I bet. You and Melinda get any actual celebrating done on your anniversary?" Adam asked.

"No, unfortunately. Were just getting to lunch when we were hit. Shame, too. I had heard such good things about the food at Apollon." Adam started the engine and the vehicle shot ahead.

The ride to the airport was blissfully uneventful. Adam deftly and silently maneuvered the APC onto the tarmac and into the bay of the waiting cargo plane, their largest project to date. Its engines were silent, its hull severe in design to bounce radar away from receiver, and wings tapered as whales' fins for the least turbulent passage in-flight. All this while their 'guests' remained motionless and silent. ' _Well trained_ ,' James thought to himself. ' _I wonder if Melinda will find more of a challenge with this crew?'_

Landing on the NAR tarmac, a more recent addition to the base, the plane taxied into the hill hanger, the façade of it closing behind. For a couple hundred feet above the hanger was solid rock, the tarmac itself melding into the on-campus vehicle test track. Few people at NAR knew this place existed. The plane's bay doors opened and Adam drove the vehicle out into one of the wide corridors to its garage inside the hill. Quite a stroke of genius, to both carve out these caverns and build the larger vehicle track at the same time. The rock from within served as the base layer for the track, completely hiding the excavation.

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey!" Adam chimed as he parked. "Look alive you louts. Time for a little chat." Getting out and walking around the back of the APC they opened the door to crunching. "Damn it!" The sound and sudden tensing forms of five of the men was unmistakable: poison.

"They're already dead," the last, hooded figure said calmly. "The bodies will go into rigor quickly. A somewhat nasty side effect."

"Why aren't you dead, then?" Adam raged as he lifted the man out of the vehicle.

"Quite simple," the man said. "We were all given capsules. Mine, clearly, isn't immediately lethal. Thus I am to bear a message before my poison kills me."

"Here's an idea; don't take it," Adam said.

"I took mine with everyone else. So it's already too late. You see," the man said, "we were all dead anyway. Military men of old, all deathly ill. We knew our fate. We did this for our families; they have been well compensated for our loss." Adam and James walked the man toward the base's med bay as other personnel dealt with the bodies left in the APC. "My message is this," the man persisted. "The plans in motion against you have so far failed. So the tactic is being changed, events being molded on a much larger scale. My employers see, now, that they cannot force or buy the technology from you. So they set in motion plans to get it another way. They tell me not even Meng can see how this will come about. You needn't worry about more abductions. They will stop."

The man fell silent as the trio continued their march toward the med bay. "How can we know the message you carry is reliable?" James asked.

"A package of goods will arrive at NAR later today," the man said. "All the stolen products and a list of personnel used in stealing them will be inside. That is to be my employer's olive branch. Better call a med cart, the poison begins its quick work." The man's stride faltered, his breathing turning to rasping and becoming shallow. All at once he fell forward, mid-stride, and began convulsing on the floor.

"Adam! Hood!" James exclaimed. Adam tore the hood off the man, foam bubbling from his mouth with each beleaguered breath.

"Nuts!" Adam exclaimed, jumping back up to his feet.

"Medical," James said, hitting the comm. badge on his wrist. The system they had put in place automatically alerted the physician on call to who was calling and from where.

"Draper here. What can I do for you, James?"

"Rick, I need a gurney and med team here ASAP. Our last prisoner just succumbed to a poison of some sort." The man had stopped twitching. He was still breathing, his eyes still fixed. Adam stooped over him, feeling his pulse. Looking up at James, he shook his head.

"Weak and irregular. Damn it," Adam said, standing again and staring at the dying man in disgust, wiping his fingers on his jeans. "So that's all we'll get," Adam murmured. "Now what do we do?" he said to James. "We were actually making some progress in figuring this out!"

"Well, if he was to be believed, then we won't have to worry about it much longer."

"But still. Would have been nice to know who was behind it," Adam replied.

"I won't argue with that," James said as he heard the electric whine of the medicart coming down the corridor. "Guess we'll just have to rely on what D'Andre might've picked up."

"Yeah. Dirty business this is turning into, James," Adam said.

"No kidding," James agreed.

"Is this the one was holding Melinda at gunpoint?" Adam asked.

"Yeah," James replied flatly.

"How does it make you feel seeing him here, almost dead?" Adam pressed.

James paused before responding, searching his feelings. "Sad more than satisfied. Melinda wouldn't have been hurt, and this man will never see his family again." They had hoped that by allowing this last abduction to occur they would gain enough intel to bring their attackers into the open. The medicart finally arrived, James and Adam releasing the man to the care of the base doctors for as long as he had left. In the mean time they headed to the relocated ATMO HQ, now part of this underground complex.

There, already pouring over footage and reports from this incident, were Melinda, D'Andre and Jessica. "Making any headway?" Adam asked Jessica as he sidled up next to her.

"Not much," she said with a smile, hip-bumping him away slightly. "What about the prisoners?"

"Unfortunately," James said, "DOA. Self-administered poison. They must've had it in a hollow tooth cap or something."

"That sucks," came D'Andre's reply.

"One survived?" Melinda asked. James had felt that now familiar tug on his head.

"One had. Apparently his was a slow acting poison, though. The med bay has him now. We're waiting to see..." James stopped himself as Adam waved at him, focusing on a message on the monitable in front of him.

"Just did, James," Adam said.

"Never mind, then." James looked again at Melinda saying, "They're _all_ dead. D'Andre. Anything?"

He looked up from the chair where he was hunched over another monitable, furiously typing in info. "Not a lot, actually. They were hired 3rd party. I got all their instructions, but those they got by drop box. Jessica was running the boxes used."

"Paid for in cash. Clerks can't remember details about the purchases," Jessica said.

"Or won't say," James finished for her. "And let me guess. No cameras at the rented drop boxes?"

"Spot on," said Jessica, squirming afterward as Adam tickled her ribs.

"Get a room you two, huh?" Melinda joked.

"Gladly," Adam replied, beginning to drag Jessica away by both arms.

"Hey!" she said, freeing herself and smiling. "So, James. What's our next play?" He looked at D'Andre who, feeling the intent gaze, looked up and just shook his head.

"Wait for Meng to get back from his extraction mission. We've hit a dead end for now," James replied.

"Bad choice of words," Adam said. James hadn't meant it that way, but Adam was right. Without live people to interrogate they would have to go off of gathered evidence. That said, James was sure that they wouldn't find anything substantial. Even when the packages the now dead abductor had described arrived, there were no finger prints, no trace elements that could tie them to an originating location. The only possible clue was a note inside the smallest package that read:

'Truce for now. We'll work together soon enough.

–STAWS'

#  The Time Between

"Yes, yes, of course there was peace. Once we assumed global peacekeeping operations countries were able to finally talk on equal terms. As an idea it had been floating around for ages: power brings peace. Generally such a theory flowed from a victor's stance. But with us in place, no country could even field an army. After all, only another TDF-type force stood a chance against even a single squad of our kind."

"So war ceased? Just like that?" I asked Eric.

"Not immediately, no. It did take some time. For nearly three years border spats happened here and there. We always reacted quickly. With us guarding peace, countries had no choice but to talk things out. It opened borders and economies, creating possibilities never before imagined.

"Costa Rica, Switzerland, even Vatican City, countries who had for many years never fielded an offensive army, became Paragons of the new world order. Standing armies were disbanded, old military installations converted to civilian use. We absorbed various armed forces as active militias to help maintain order intra-country. But after we assumed the mantle of protection, no one country's army engaged another until the time of the Insurrection. Such an environment helped to foster new innovations in medicine and technology as even we couldn't have predicted.

"But as sure as the sun rises in the East on Earth, some weeds crept into our carefully groomed garden. Despite peace and unparalleled cooperation, some governments yet used heavy handed tactics to force their citizenry into obedience. By that time we had become the lead agency in the Terran Defense Force. As such, on the bequest of the Terran Government, we had to use diplomatic means to resolved governmental conflict. The diplomats, though, still wanted solid intel as a base from which to work. As such, we routinely sent observation teams in to collect data. People with skills similar to D'Andre's or Melinda's usually comprised such teams as they more easily blended into the normal fabric of the local society while also gathering the most accurate information."

"Is that how Chaos managed his foothold?" I asked.

A smile shot across Eric's face. "I know what you should be asking. But what are you really asking?"

"Was Chaos one of those leaders against whom you sent a surveillance team? If so, I assume that he somehow managed to turn them," I said.

"So very close to the truth. No, Chaos was not a governmental leader but rather a surveillance leader. The senior most, in fact, that we deployed to the region. He was in charge of all units operating in that area of _America Del Sur_. They were all meant to gather intel and spread dissent. That area required his special oversight, as it had fallen on especially hard times. Past governments in the region tended to concentrate wealth in few hands, making most citizens exceedingly poor. As well, the leaders of those countries were not the friendliest toward the new Terran Government.

"Early on we embedded teams there to keep an eye on the situation as it became increasingly desperate. We saw an opportunity then and so set Project Chaos in motion to leverage the plight of the poor against their governments. Once a sufficient level was met, the Terran Government would ultimately be called in by those governments for help, meaning that we would have been sent in. With a pre-existing base of operations with the indigenous population our jobs would have been very easy. The calming of the situation and installation of a new, friendlier government, both toward its people and the Terran Government, would have been simpler. At least, that was the plan," Eric said.

"What happened?" I asked. Eric's face contorted slightly before he answered.

"The long form of the story can wait for another time. Suffice it to say that as we were using Chaos to mold the situation, he was using the situation to mold power for himself. We relied on his field reports to tell us what was going on in the region. We found out too late that he wasn't always forthcoming."

#  Excerpt from a transmission attributed to Chaos

"None of you understand, do you? You just don't get what these people you put such boundless trust in are leading you toward. I have seen their future. They promise grandiose idealized things. Things...things like peace for all. But at what cost? Rule of law by their decree? Their every whim and will as word of law? **NO**! No! And that is why I have fought against the TDF. For all peoples of Earth.

My forces and I sought a new order free from the chaos of party politics, free of the cumbersome bureaucracy that gave birth to these troubled times. We seek to usher in a new era of guided prosperity. Only a firm hand and strong constitution can lead a ship through the shakiest of weather.

And yet, as we sought to rid the betrayers more came to the fore. Daily, the very citizenry we sought to liberate took up arms against us. They too, then, became part of the problem and so had to be replaced. Even the wife or husband lending material or morale support to the TDF struggles against the tide of the True Revolution. And so, these too must be replaced. Must be stopped. For how can harmony be attained with such dissonance still extant?

We killed many, yet many would also have died of hunger, starvation, and exposure, among other things, had we not intervened, not set right the Ship of State. This Titanic was on a collision course, and so we cleansed the land of the heretics with righteous vengeance.

And yet, more of you daily resist our efforts to help. Know that our revolution will succeed no matter the cost. Join us or die, it is your choice. But know that no quarter will be given when the dust settles. In the end, all the unworthy shall be purged, so to make room for the New Order.

Forget the past as it is long dead and buried. Instead, look toward a glorious future wherein all strive toward the same goal. We together can build a _novi mundi_. Let our voices harmonize and call together for a new and better tomorrow, for the new dawn inexorably comes! No more can the tide be held back with a broom than any force can oppose us!

Even in defeat we shall cry triumph and be vindicated by the hateful actions of the current regime! True believers will never give up the struggle until The True Revolution is accomplished. Vive Le Révolution! Vive La Resistance!

#  Training

"Of course we trained. And yes, we still became fatigued and tired. It just took much longer than for a normal person," Eric said to me.

"You had said, though, that with the nanites you could create Superman. Aren't those two statements contradictory?" I asked.

"I see where you're coming from, but no. We could create Superman, but it's still much easier to enhance abilities that already exist in a person. To suddenly empower someone with the abilities of Superman is to rewrite their DNA. Effectively, you'd cease the existence of one being and create another. Besides, creating Superman was, until the very end, unnecessary."

"No one could match the superhuman abilities your people already possessed," I commented.

"Exactly. And the more we improved the nanitic tech and trained, those augmentations increasingly developed on their own. To make zenith-like leaps instantly was a waste of time."

"Is that, though, what Chaos ended up doing to himself?" I asked. Eric turned to gaze out his window, thinking.

"To some extent, yes. He saw the dominoes falling. The one line none of us wanted to cross, he finally did. Only his madness and lust for power survived his final change. That which was once human and good was buried in the process. He underwent _eine untergang_ ," Eric said.

"Then how, in taking small steps toward the _Uebermensch_ , did you train your people?" I asked.

"Somewhat the same as you might expect. We had rotations of workouts that included mixed martial arts, weight lifting, endurance training, swimming, so on and so forth. A lot of that was due to Meng. He and his people were committed to being ready for any situation."

"But how, then, was your regimen different from, say, an ordinary athlete's regimen?" I asked.

"Currently, the world record holder runs, what? Three minute miles? Slightly over? We did four minute 5-mile sprints. Our martial arts training progressed to the point that we moved faster than the human eyes could see. We did have to work up to that level, but those were expected standards. What else?" Eric asked me.

"Well, since you say that the nanites merely augmented abilities already present, I assume things such as weapons training took place?" I asked.

"Yes. There was one difference, though. Because of the type of organization we were building ATMO into, we included in the nanite base code advanced weaponry knowledge and basic martial arts training. The basic muscular motions were there, they just needed fine tuning for each person. It was sort of like an installation-time software patch that downloaded automatically."

"So, in other words, once someone was bonded with nanites they, what? Could pick up any odd projectile weapon and use it properly?" I asked.

"Correct. It was a way to guarantee that even we lab rats could be useful in combat should the need arise," Eric replied.

"Which it did," I commented.

"Clearly. And before you ask, once we started fighting Chaos's forces we did up the included compendium of knowledge to include more basics such as survival skills, advanced surgical and mechanical skills, as well as other things we thought would prove useful. I'm gonna grab some tea. Want anything?" Eric rose and headed toward his kitchen.

"No thanks. I need to get some thoughts down here while they're still fresh," I replied.

"Suit yourself. Earl Grey always helps me think," Eric replied from his kitchen.

"It's usually a stiff whiskey for me," I mumbled, scrawling notes on the conversation we had just finished.

Eric returned, cradling a mug in his hands, sniffing at the vapor-wisps rising from it. "Mmmm. Bergamot and Citrus." He sipped at it as he sat down. "You have a question ready?"

I glanced at my notetab to be sure it was still recording. "I do. Based on your description of the nanites, I assume that they had only rudimentary data storing capabilities."

"For the most part," Eric assented.

"Okay. So how, then, could you include 'a compendium of knowledge' with them when they bonded? The nanites surely couldn't hold that much information all at once."

"Quite observant. And correct. They were entirely guided by outside sources. After their initial symbiosis was achieved they formed a redundant neural network in their host that also functioned as a transceiver. Once that net was built it synchronized with our central computers and downloaded the additional necessary information and programming, storing it both in the artificial neural net as well as in adjoining host cells. From there it was fed to the host's brain as required and further integrated during REM sleep. It was a fairly simple matter to use nanites to turn ordinary human body cells into additional memory storage. And because of how the body works and how cells divide, the data was constantly being backed up within the host."

"Makes some sense, I suppose. But you had also said that 'the basic muscular motions were there.' How can that be when the host never would have done some of the actions before?" I queried.

"Simple. When people talk about doing things by muscle memory they usually don't literally mean muscle memory. More often they do tasks by instinct due to copious repetitions that have formed a reactionary pattern in their brains. The nanites allow for the same type of muscular reaction in that certain actions are, during REM sleep, integrated into the host's brain. Such integration takes place within the first week of symbiosis. During that time the mind, via its dream state, 'practices' the new skills it has acquired via the nanitic download and so adapts them to the host body's known specifications. Wonderfully involved yet simple process, really," Eric finished, leaning back and sipping again at his tea.

"But how did you get such information into a useable form? I mean, not even today do we fully understand how to decode the brain's signals. We can see the patterns from WI-MRI signals, but we haven't been able to translate them into the proper format for analysis or storage," I commented.

"Well, once you have someone with the skills you seek all you need do is have them link their nanites to a cloud repository and then either actually perform whatever task you're seeking the process for or just have them describe it. Either way they're accessing the same memory location in the brain. It's the same process for surgery, combat skills, or really any ability. It's best to do so with someone who is an expert, as their memory patterns are the most detailed. The nanites at that point simply pass along the patterns and the host's brain does the actual processing. The hiccup these days is that scientists are trying to translate _from_ brain-state data _to_ computer language to understand memory patterns. It strips away an important layer of information in the process."

"Okay," I said, glancing at my notes. "So that explains the knowledge part of training your people, I guess." I was still having a bit of trouble processing what he had said, but figured that it would make sense on a second listen. "But what about physically? I mean, did the nanites just...do the work for the body? You know, exercise muscles until they were in top shape?"

"It was actually several processes that went into making our kind faster and stronger, as well as more accurate. It began in the same place as the new knowledge did: the secondary neural net. You see, while the human nervous system does well in transmitting data, it still has pitfalls. For one, transmission speed along neurons can vary depending on the quality of each individual neuron's myelination. Aside from that, as you may know, there is actually a gap between neurons across which chemicals travel to relay the information. The chemicals create a potential electrical difference between neurons which is the transmission of data. In other words you have a message, say 'raise right arm,' that's initiated in the brain. That message is routed down the brain stem, down the spinal column and out along the path to your right arm where the message tells specific muscle groups to contract. Along the way that message is translated from an electrical impulse to a chemical signal, sent across the neural gap, captured by the neuron body of the next neuron, retranslated into an electrical impulse and sent down the dendrite where the process is repeated until it reaches its target. In other words, there's plenty of room for slow-downs and transmission error.

The secondary neural net the nanites form allows for transmission of the original command to the target without translation or slow-down as all the nanites involved in the neural net transmit messages, in the form of electrical impulses, at the same speed. There is, as with neurons, slight signal degradation due to potentiality resistance between nanitic links. This, however, still comes out to less than neuro transmission. End result? Bodily commands travel faster and so increase reaction times. The same is true of sensory input. It, likewise, is able to transmit its information faster along the neural net leading, again, to faster processing and reaction times. We could simply get our limbs moving and reacting faster than ordinary humans. From there, achieving yet better results became a simple matter of training, as you may expect. While a white belt and black belt possess many of the same skills, the black belt knows how to use those skills more quickly and efficiently. Further yet, nanites were able to aid muscle fibers, making them denser and thus more efficient in their operation as well as more resistant to injury.

My head swam from not only the general influx of information but also from the sudden _déjà vu_ I was having of secondary school biology. It must have been apparent on my face as Eric said, "Need a minute again to catch up?"

The best I could manage was a nod as I bent over my notetab, scribbling furiously. Right now I felt like a kid taking a pop-quiz. I was completely unprepared for what had been set in front of me and was frantically trying to grasp at anything in order gain a foothold somewhere. "Eric, this is just...just an incredible amount of insight," I managed, still scribbling notes as fast as my hand would move.

"You think that's a lot, just wait until you come to understand the whole shebang," he replied.

"I'm not sure I could take anymore right now."

"I'm sure you couldn't," Eric said with a smile, again sipping at his tea.

#  Chaos Recruiting

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. Rise and shine. Hello there... _Ryan_."

"What happened?" Ryan asked.

"You were in what the industry refers to as a 'traffic incident.'"

"Who are you?" Ryan asked.

"Oh, little old me? You can call me **Chaos**."

"I...I can't feel my legs," Ryan said.

"Yes, yes, I know. When you crashed there was secondary trauma to your spinal cord. You're a paraplegic now. At least temporarily," Chaos said, uncaring.

"Help me outta here, man!" Ryan exclaimed.

"Essccchhh...See, I'd love to. But I think you'll be more receptive to what I'm about to say if I leave you there. Wow, that other car is _really_ burning up! See, I have a proposal for you. A job offer, if you will. I'm the head, or at least I soon will be, of a revolutionary organization that will span the globe. We have arms and technology known only to the TDF. Soon, my people and I will rise up and take this world back from the traitors who weakened it. We will then form a new government, one built on strength and honor. I'm offering you a position of power and authority in this vision of the future. Along with the position, of course, comes the power of the TDF Elites. A power, by the way, that would restore your legs to use. This is a limited time offer though," Chaos said, looking sideways.

"Wh...why?" Ryan mumbled.

"Because the fire's getting closer my dear boy! See, when I hit the car in front of you with my weapon it sort of set that car on fire, and now it's spreading as that car's fuel leaks out of its tank. Additionally, when your car hit that one, and then the telephone pole, _your_ fuel tank ruptured. And, judging by the rate at which your gasoline is seeping toward the other car I would say you probably have two minutes to decide. Ooh look, the fire is climbing into the other car's gas tank! _Join me or not_?!" exclaimed Chaos loudly.

"What's your problem man?! Get me outta here!" Ryan pleaded, pushing at his car.

"Two things, Ryan. First, you're in no position to be demanding anything of me. Second, more flies with honey than vinegar," Chaos said, crouching down next to Ryan's head.

"You're insane!" Ryan cried, his eyes wide with terror.

" **No, I'm not** ," Chaos snapped, the flames lighting Chaos diabolically. " **THEY** are insane. _They_ are mad. Those at the head of the TDF. The government. _THEY MADE ME THIS WAY!_ " He stood, looking over and past Ryan's wrecked car. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Dude!" Fear played across Ryan's face. Chaos drank it in.

"Reconsidered yet?" Chaos asked acidly. The other car exploded sending fire and debris flying through the air. One piece slammed into the body that had been Adam's. Chaos didn't even acknowledge it had happened, moving not an inch, as the flaming sheet metal simply wrapped around his form. "Well?" came a muffled shout from within the flaming shroud.

"What are you, man?!" Ryan asked, panicked.

"I'm the Omega and the Alpha," Chaos said, standing enshrouded in the red-hot yet-burning metal. "I am the _Fin de Siècle_ and the beginning of a new one. So again," he said in a calm, yet muffled voice, "are you with me or not?" The cherry-hot metal was cooling as Chaos peeled it off of himself, holding it in his hands as flames still licked it.

"I...I don't...," Ryan whimpered, frantically pushing at his car.

"Maybe this will help speed your decision making process," Chaos said, dropping the piece of metal. Flames shot along the seeping gas, into the car's tank making it explode, engulfing the car and Ryan in flames. "Well?" Chaos yelled over the inferno.

" **YES! God, YES!** " Ryan screeched in pain.

"Good," Chaos swept his arms wide, palms spread, clapping them back together forcefully. A strong wind blew over the car, blowing out the flames. Ryan knew he should be in extreme pain, but wasn't.

"You may be in sensory shock right now," Adam/Chaos said calmly, kneeling down beside the car. "But I assure you, you'll feel this." He stood up. Ryan watched as Chaos's legs moved slightly. Suddenly the car rocked, a rending of metal cried out as pain shot through Ryan's body.

" _Eeeeiiiyyyyyiaaaaaagggghhhhhhhaaaaaaa!"_ Ryan cried. Residual pain still wracking his body, he barely felt it as Chaos fully freed him from the wreck.

"There we go," he heard Chaos coo as to a baby. He was vaguely aware that his now bare and burned feet and legs were being dragged along the ground; he felt it through his bones.

"Okay. This is secluded enough," Chaos said as he squatted down next to Ryan. "Now. What I'm going to do next is inject you with two substances. The first will feel like liquid fire in your veins. The second will feel like battery acid in your veins. Then I'm going to hit you with this," Chaos said holding up a police-rated Taser. "At that point it's going to feel like you're being frozen from the inside out. But don't worry, that's supposed to happen."

Ryan tried to voice a protest but couldn't. In fact, he found all he could do was make subtle moaning sounds. "Now, now. You're in deep shock from massive cutaneous burns and blood loss. But no worry," Chaos said in a sickeningly twisted Southern drawl, "Uncle Chaos is here to help."

With that he jabbed a hypospray against Ryan's left arm. Instantly the promised liquid fire spread away from the continuing injection, down his arm and up into his chest. While it spread he felt another hypospray smashed against the same arm. Worse pain shot into his arm, spreading just as rapidly through his body. Every cell seemed to scream in pain, but Ryan could only manage a weak gurgle. His fresh burns forgotten, his body twisted on its own as it fought against the pain.

"Now the fun part," Chaos said, standing over him once more. "See you on the other side," Chaos sneered, laughing as he pulled the trigger.

Waves of electricity now surged through Ryan, replacing the internal burning he had felt. With each wave, though, it felt as if his body were being quick-frozen. His core, pelvis, chest, arms and legs slowly turned into solid blocks of ice. A creeping cold entered Ryan's mouth, running down his windpipe and entering his lungs: he couldn't breathe! Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling of ice stopped. Ryan opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them.

"How do you feel now?" Chaos asked, dropping the Taser and pulling out what seemed to be a phone, punching buttons on it.

"What did you do to me?!" Ryan shouted, standing up and tearing the yet active electrodes off his chest. He froze, realizing what he had just done.

"So. Much better then. Vitals look good too. See?" Chaos said, turning the screen of the device to face Ryan. There were his pulse, blood pressure, temperature and a myriad of other vital statistics all overlaid on a human form on which grey lines seemed to crawl along what would be the nervous system.

"The nanites are blocking your pain receptors right now," Chaos said, open-palm slapping Ryan's face for emphasis.

Ryan didn't feel a thing. He raised his hands to look at them. They were horribly burned, but skin seemed to be crawling its way outward from his palms to cover the burns. "What in the..."

"Nanites. Fixing you. You're a nanitic now, just like any TDF Elite. You will come with me to train. The skills you possess from your time in the field for the CIA will prove very useful for the new endeavor we will create together. Your wounds will heal and it will be as though none of this ever happened," Chaos said.

Ryan raised his eyes and looked Chaos square on, setting his jaw. "And after what you just did to me, what if I refuse?"

Instantly he dropped to his knees in pain. ' _Doing so would be very ill-advised,'_ came a booming voice, cracking like thunder inside his skull. ' _Do you understand? You work for me. You can do so willingly, but it is not necessary. Look at me,'_ the voice commanded. Ryan's head snapped up in compliance. ' _You had your choice in the car before I pulled you from it. That choice has been made. And once this program completes the nanitic integration and plants the proper thoughts in your head, such question as, "W_ hy should I" _and,_ "What if I don't want to" _will never again enter your mind.'_ Chaos hadn't physically spoken a word, but it had been him speaking. He grinned widely at Ryan, lowering his gaze to his device as it chirped. Suddenly that smile was welcoming and friendly. Ryan couldn't fathom why he would refuse to help Chaos. After all, the man only sought after a better tomorrow. What was so wrong with that?

# Immortal

"Done with your notes yet?" Eric asked.

"Not quite," I replied.

"Sure you don't want some tea? I make it myself," Eric commented.

"Of course you do," I murmured as Eric again went into his kitchen. In completing some of my thoughts, I had begun to page through my notes. In only a few days Eric had shared so much with me. My early disbelief could no longer stand in the light of day. After our sessions not only would I go home and research the things Eric told me, but also had several of my colleagues helping and discretely double-checking as I went. What Eric was sharing was accurate. He was Eric Pohlman, the last leader of the TDF during its exile to Mars. Further yet, the history we were being fed by the Department of Censorship seemed more and more like propaganda.

The advances of Eric, James and Melinda Christopher, Adam Green, Meng, D'Andre, Claire and Jessica allow us to live the way we do throughout the planets of the Terran Union. And as much as the TDF created Chaos and his army, they stopped the Earth from falling to the control of that same crazed man. "There. Caught up."

"So, what question have you come up with now?" Eric asked.

"Well, I do have one I've been meaning to ask: are you mortal?" I asked in reply. "I mean, if you've lasted this long..."

"Why should I be," Eric completed the thought for me. "Honestly, I don't know anymore. I've lived this long. Longer than any man ever should. What's the current record for oldest person? You did the article on her last year.'"

"She's 135 now," I said. "Most of her prosthetic organs are failing, though. Her body's rejecting them."

"See? Even our bodies realize that there should be a time limit to human existence. Mine seems to have forgotten that," Eric commented.

"But the way you walk, how you look..." I said.

"All an act, sonny. My current persona is this old," Eric said as stood and shuffled to his shelf of plants. He turned round to face me and suddenly before me was a man in his late twenties looking as though he were attending a costume party. "This is how I really look." His jaw was suddenly sharp and set, his chest puffed, his overall physique muscular and defined, his eyes green and sharp and his grey hair now a deep black. Even his clothes seemed to have suddenly changed and, while out of style by centuries, looked fresh off the rack. Before me stood the Eric Pohlman from the photograph.

"By the gods..." I murmured.

"I don't age, though the nanites allow me to make it look like I do. Sometimes I keep my face, sometimes I replace it with someone else's. This reality is in fact stranger to me than the one I've grown so used to in my own head. Existing out here as one person takes its toll constantly. But I don't die. I don't age. There is no end of it for me. If anything," Eric said as he came back to his chair, his hair and eyes fading with each step, his jaw slackening and his chest collapsing, his clothing changing to that which I was used to, "I am an abomination of mankind."

"Eric," I began, recovering from the shock of the transformation I had seen before me. The changes I had witnessed previous days, in Eric's eyes and voice alone, had shocked me. But to see in front of me Eric Pohlman as he was and then to watch him age decades...it was bone chilling. "I don't know if I can ask you the questions that are flying through my head."

"Suddenly seem so inadequate and unimportant, don't they?" Eric asked sympathetically.

He portrayed no emotion. His face instead showed only a stoic determination. "Yes," I managed. "Very inadequate and wholly unimportant. I just," I managed; shock was now setting in as my mind realized what this new revelation truly meant. Eric and all those like him were immortal by nature. Somewhere along the line they did something to themselves that stripped away a basic part of being truly human, of being alive: death. And yet along that same vein all but Eric had managed death somehow. "Why?"

"Your mind is reeling." I felt a sudden tug and pressure on my head. I reached up and felt only my hair. The tugging remained. "You're trying to figure out why I remain if others chose to end their immortality. Events were set in motion hundreds of years ago, events of which you do not yet know. I am the last. I would have chosen death long ago had it not been for my duty to the Long Plan. In surviving, I have only brought more guilt and suffering upon myself. I manipulated other nanitics, kept them from ending their lives once we figured out it was possible. I feared being alone. So I manipulated nanitics for my own uses." The tugging sharpened for a second. "I manipulated them. We lived and built this place purposefully. So I could not retire.

"How many times I have wanted to." I felt intense grief and sorrow, though as if it were coming from outside my being. "I married a few times. Started more than one family. I watched, the first time, as those I cared for grew old. My wife would die, and so I had to die. Then I would watch as my children, long believing their father dead, grew old and died. And then their children. Their grandchildren. Until I could no longer keep track of them. Only three times did I do this to myself, all three times wishing I could let myself go. Each time realizing, as more minds joined my own, that I alone must see this plan through.

"The first was the hardest. I lied to her then, you know. She sent her nanites away, biding them let her have her peace. Her piece of humanity. I lied. I told her we would both go together, that the plan would live without me. That I could join her. But I knew better." A crescendo of sadness began welling within me. "I changed my appearance, my countenance, to match hers as she aged. Every day I lied to her!" I could see the pain of betrayal in Eric's eyes then. "Even as she lay dying, I tenderly holding her frail hand, shakily caressing her face, I told her, 'I'll be with you soon, Amy dear. My love, my life.' I _lied_ to her _on her death bed!_ " Eric said in angst. "My forked tongue spewed lies and more lies. Except for one that I told softly even as she took her last breath. 'I love you more than I ever did or ever will anyone else.'" My throat felt as if it were closed, sadness and self-hate knotting it so.

"But I'm still here. Ever the sentinel," Eric said bitterly. "I still feel, but my feelings are as much a dulled knife from being so abused over the years. I know my burden and lot. In ways I did die that day, I suppose." His eyes were wide with sorrow and contemplation. Slowly he turned his gaze toward me, fear finding its way into those eyes as he said to me, "You must accept your part and play it out as well." The tugging on my head faded.

I collapsed forward over my knees, grief overwhelming me, shaking from a sort of emotional exhaustion. Eric said not a word, but simply leaned forward across the coffee table, putting one hand on my shoulder while hanging my water in front of me with the other. I grasped it as though it were a life line amidst my sudden ocean of despair. Slowly I composed myself, drawing on the water for strength.

"Ask," Eric said finally, his hand leaving me as he leaned back into his chair.

My mind again raced, latching onto something. "It was you, wasn't it? The man who pioneered synthetic organs? Like we know today. Ones that don't degrade or wear down with use. You did it...to try and keep members of your family alive longer." Guilt. Acceptance. Frustration. All those played across Eric's face as he nodded his response. "What happened that made you nanitics immortal? It couldn't have been intentional."

"Best I've been able to piece together is that it was an early attempt by Chaos to prolong the conflict and give him more chances to come out on top. I believe he found a way to program the nanites to alter the telomeres on the end of cell chromosomes. Such telomeres serve as a sort of protective cap on DNA and generally shorten as people grow older. Ours didn't," Eric said.

"But nanitics still died," I commented.

"Just as always, once you wear a nanitic's internal supply of nanites down far enough, the hive takes those that remain offline as a means of self-preservation. At that point a nanitic is simply a normal human with extra internal dead weight," Eric said.

"So, then...your kind figured out how to force their nanites to go dormant?" I asked.

"Yup. After decades of trying we figured out the proper mind set and meditation techniques to directly and intentionally commune with our symbiote hives. From there it was just a matter of negotiation with the hive." Eric began to look tired.

"I have to ask, then, how did you manipulate the other nanitics?" I again felt a tug at my head.

' _Remember, I was an early casualty after James and Meng sacrificed themselves_ ,' said a voice in my head as Eric said aloud, "Remember, Melinda was an early casualty after James and Meng sacrificed themselves."

' _So Eric gained my power. Planting a thought that requires action is as easy as reading one_ ,' the voice added in my head as Eric said, "So I gained her power. Planting a thought that requires action is as easy as reading one." The message was clear. Eric had planted the desire into his fellow nanitics' heads that they wanted to stay alive. I wrote off the echo as an unintentional shadow effect like Eric's chorus-voice.

"Eventually they figured out, though, didn't they?" I asked.

' _Yes. And as easy as it is to plant a thought, it is impossible, at least by me, to strip away and destroy a genuine one,'_ the feminine voice said as Eric said, "Yes. And as easy as it is to plant a thought, it is impossible, at least by me, to strip away and destroy a genuine one."

I sat silent for a moment, contemplating Eric's situation. How he could daily, for decades on end, get up and knowingly live life as the last of his kind. "When did the last nanitic die?" I asked. "Other than Laura and Hank."

Eric looked at me grimly. In his eyes was recognition that such questions had to be asked. "Most left us over 300 years ago, shortly after we discovered the necessary method to hibernate the nanites. Didn't hurt the 'settler façade' for less of us to be around. As I said, I manipulated the others into staying."

"Then my question, Eric, once again returns to why me? Why now?"

He exhaled slowly, looking very tired and completely the age he presented. "Someone had to know and had to start getting the word out once more. I am not long here anymore. This life is all but used up. And so I needed a way to protect the legacy I carry within me," he said wearily.

My mind turned over the various meanings behind Eric's statement. What would happen once his plan, whatever it may be, came to fruition? Would he pass into the ether then?

"I'm sorry to involve you in this, James," Eric said softly. "Sometimes, though, the universe takes away our ability to choose our own future."

My mind still swam with wonders and unasked questions. "I, uhm...don't know what to say, Eric."

"I know. And I'm sorry to saddle you with such a burden as this as well. It is bad enough that I have carried it so long. I simply haven't a choice." Something I came to know about things Eric said was that more often than not they had a double entendre. And suddenly, something told me such was the case.

"Eric, I don't think I like where this is going," I said.

"I really don't give a damn whether you like it or not," Eric said. It once more seemed as if a light directly over Eric's head had been dimed, his familiar features taking on a grim appearance. "Had I the choice in this, what is about to transpire wouldn't. But as happened before, the dominoes are falling and cannot be stopped."

#  The Turning Tide of Desperation

"Chaos, we can't sustain our presence worldwide," the man was saying, pounding on what passed for Chaos's desk these days. Chaos sat calmly, his eyes closed. So many minds in there now! His reprogramming had worked, granting him the minds and semblances of powers of all those nanitics who had so far died in the war. But so much information! All of those minds wanting an active presence, all of them wanting a voice, all of them trying to give active input _every_ second of _every_ day...he shook his head, clearing it momentarily.

"Beavers and ducks!" Chaos exclaimed, pounding his desk as he stood up. The man, frightened by the speed of the movement and confused by the words, fell silent. Chaos blinked a few times. He looked around his office at his other sub-commanders. He could read their fear, see it in their eyes. Fear of _him_. If he would kill Jessica in such a way as he had, then he could do worse to any of them. ' _Damn her for bringing back that code from James_ ,' Chaos thought to himself. His people were loyal. But now they questioned him! He could see that questioning in their eyes right now! They had worked so much better as a cohesive unit when they were all under his direct control. No matter. His Master Plan could still work. He slowly walked over to the Situation Table. Even he noticed how light suddenly appeared dim around him. His powers _were_ growing, as he had foreseen.

He motioned them all around the table. He reached out for the pointer, it flying into his hand. "We are losing too much ground," Chaos began. "You," he said. "You tell me that basically we're stretched too thin. I call it field officers giving up too soon."

They all bristled slightly. It was concealed except from Chaos. Their reactions, their thoughts, were plain as words on a page to him, even now.

"Many of you may agree that we are spread thin. That we should withdraw to stronger positions. I tell you it won't matter. A corner has been turned," he added, flaring his nostrils. He passed his gaze once more over every face. Some stood tall, pride in their eyes. Others showed discomfort at his penetrating gaze. "It's grass on a pear tree to moon otherwise," Chaos said matter-of-factly. He paused, feeling something was off. His mind roiled, thoughts coming too quick to even be noticed.

Around him he saw confusion. He tried to repeat himself. " _Est_ apples in oranges to think cars." He blinked, snapping his gaze around the room. ' _What is this?'_ he thought he thought. He couldn't be sure. Thoughts were flowing around him too quickly all of a sudden. He thought he saw movement in the dark corners of the room. ' _There shouldn't be dark corners here. Not with the lighting in this infernal place,'_ he thought. He felt his mind twinge as if it had a muscle spasm. He grasped his head. "English toffee," he almost whispered, surprised. ' _That wasn't right either,'_ he thought from afar. ' _What's going on?'_ it seemed someone else whispered in his mind. More movement in the encroaching darkness. He looked around, seeing nothing. Even behind and between his sub-commanders he swore he saw movement.

"Sir," the man said, "are you alright?"

"Televisions radios I'm tires," Chaos spat. He began looking around to worried faces. His pulse quickened. His lips suddenly dry, he licked at them randomly. The something-nothings flitted around the room, just past his ability to see. He had to dart his eyes about quicker, very quickly, to even try to catch them.

"Sir," another of his sub-commanders said, leaning onto the table and into his field of vision. Her face flashed. Suddenly it was Aaron staring at him accusingly. But Aaron had died at that Mexican beachhead.

' _You're failing us_ ,' he said in Chaos's head, his lips not syncing properly. Chaos closed his eyes, shaking his head. When he again opened them all the faces around him were of people who had died. And behind them, a multitude more of the same. All of them staring at Chaos, mumbling incoherently. His pulse quickened even more. He stumbled backward, failing to catch himself on his desk as he fell. They all moved toward him, the live and dead ones, leaning in over him.

' _You're failing us!'_ they chimed in a raucous, atonal chorus. It was painfully untimed.

Scooting up against the front of his desk Chaos screamed aloud, "Noooooooo!" He tried craning his head away from them. Aaron crouched down and leaned inward toward Chaos.

' _We can make you strong enough, if you dare_.' Aaron's voice one more failed to match the movement of the face's lips. But the message came through with vile sincerity. The noise of all those voices! It hurt!

' _I am failing,'_ Chaos thought. ' _My plans are falling apart. James and Meng have the momentum now. I cannot fail!'_ His heart still racing, breathing still erratic, still randomly licking his lips and flitting his eyes about the room, Chaos began to regain some of his composure about this anchoring thought. Aaron reached a hand toward Chaos.

' _Touch my hand and we will help you_ ,' the disembodied voice of Aaron said from his face, the lips _still_ not syncing. The hand was coming closer. Chaos knew he had to do whatever it took. _His_ was the True Path, not the TDF's. He reached out and met the now paused hand of Aaron. As he touched it Aaron's face disappeared, replaced by a woman's. It was contorted in pain and agony. Her eyes went wide. A scream began to escape her mouth but was muffled by what seemed a swarm of fruit flies. They poured outward from all over her body, tearing through clothes and skin. Chaos simply stared in wonderment, unable to fathom what was coming of this. The multitude nodded their approval, though. The fruit fly-like things swarmed into a cloud around Chaos as the woman's eyes rolled back in her head, her body slumping to the ground. He could feel them all around him: nanites. Slowly, they began integrating themselves with him, merging with their new host. The others in the room stepped back. The man's face was once more his as he knelt over the woman's form. He felt for a pulse, his fingers sinking too deeply into her neck. Chaos cocked his head inquisitively at this.

"Gah!" the man exclaimed as he jumped up, his fingers wet with plasma. He snapped his gaze accusingly at Chaos. "What did you do?!" he demanded. Chaos lifted his arms, feeling as though he were doing so in a dream. In childlike mimicry Chaos began humming 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,' as he turned his arms over and back, gazing along them as the last of the nanites found homes. He looked up at the man. All of his sub-commanders were back now, the multitude still in back of them in the encroaching shadows.

' _They'll get away before you can complete this,'_ came Aaron's voice over Chaos's right shoulder. Funny. The desk was there. ' _We must act quickly. Shut the door. Finish them all._ ' Chaos reached out, the multitude separating as he swung the heavy metal door shut. He let Aaron's consciousness hold it closed.

"Chaos! What are you doing?!" the man demanded anew.

' _He's getting annoying,'_ Chaos thought of the man, reaching his arm toward him. The man's eyes grew wide as what seemed like fruit flies began to pop through his uniform and stream toward Chaos. The multitude of shadowy figures grinned. Chaos grinned. His sub-commanders freaked out, running at the door, trying to get out. But Aaron held the door firmly closed.

The man was now twitching, his head lolling backward as the stream of nanites became very dense. As they thinned, his body crumpled to the floor. Chaos pulled himself to standing, feeling new power course through him. His body, already super-saturated with nanites from being a Progenitor, was now becoming overloaded with them. He knew soon he would be able to draw directly on ambient power. Pull energy from radio waves, sound waves, anything that caused displacement of matter. Closing his eyes, he felt all such waves causing minute ripples throughout his body. When he again opened his eyes his pupils were a deep onyx black. Someone, probably his aide Lewis, was banging on the door from the outside.

"It's not my plans that failed me," Chaos said, both aloud and mentally to his sub-commanders, his voice echoing about the small room. They all clutched their heads. "So it is not _I_ who should suffer because of its failure," he continued, stalking toward them. "But rather all of you."

He reached out toward them, their nanites flowing toward him. The man, lying dead on the floor, now joined the multitude and led them in a diabolical chortle. Chaos's smile grew wider yet. One by one his sub-commanders fell motionless to the floor. As their nanites joined his he felt it: _power_ flowed into him. Not just that of their nanites, but from everything around him. It all flowed into him, nothing escaping his presence.

' _Now you can win_ ,' Aaron said over Chaos's right shoulder.

' _Make them pay for what they did to you_ ,' Jessica said over his left at the same time. Moving toward the door he shoved bodies out of his way with a simple twitch of his foot. The external pounding on the door had stopped. As Chaos opened the door the last of the free-floating nanites found homes. Lewis, seeing Chaos, stumbled backward and fell into his desk chair. Chaos could read him perfectly now. His powers, thanks to the excess of nanitic wealth within him, were amplified _ad_ extremum.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Lewis," he said, his voice sounding as a dark, cacophonic chorus. "You are not an Elite and have only ever served me well." After a pause Chaos continued, "We should leave here. The TDF approaches and will breach the lines protecting us. I would rather not engage them here. Where is our next nearest base?" The information popped into Lewis' mind as he mumbled, unable to form the thoughts into words. The screams that had been coming out of Chaos's office still echoed in his mind. Not to mention the terribly loud laughing he had heard! Diabolical, increasing with the level of screams.

"Hidden in the woods near Bastogne," Lewis barely managed.

Chaos closed his eyes, slowly inhaling and exhaling deeply. Lewis' fear was delicious to him. As Chaos opened his eyes Lewis jumped up from his chair, flying backward further into his office's corner. Chaos's eyes were now entirely onyx-black, seeming to lack any distinguishing characteristics; no whites, no irises, no pupils. There were simply space-black orbs sitting within Chaos's eyes sockets. He appeared to turn them, looking around. But there was nothing with which to judge such movement. Not even the room around Chaos was reflected in his eyes. What did this say about him when eyes were said to be mirrors to the soul?! Lewis still felt it when Chaos's eyes locked onto him.

"Let us go. As I drive you will inform all my commanders and Elites to meet us at Bastogne. I must talk with them about their new position in my plans. Once they are all on their way you will send out instructions to their NCOs. They are to initiate Plan Omega."

"But, sir," Lewis objected, the sound catching in his throat. "That's..."

"Yes, Lewis. That's the order for the end-game strategy. They will fade back into Earth's population. Even if I succeed now," Chaos said, seeing the two train stations Meng must surely have seen for some time, "I will need a political base. They will provide this for me. And so, even if I fail, it will still be there. And then you," Chaos added, his eyes seeming to take sharper focus on Lewis, "can use them as needed."

"What about the final stand you outlined in Omega?" Lewis asked.

"There can be only one historically fitting place. We go to the house of the Goddess of Victory. _After_ we meet _all_ the rest of my Elite. Only my highest commanders will be exempt from these last meetings." Lewis looked past Chaos into his office. Chaos understood the motion. Correcting himself, "The next highest of my commanders. Those failed me for the last time. Let us go. Arm the base's explosives. The TDF will find nothing here but a crater." Lewis obeyed as Chaos headed toward the motor pool's garage.

All at once the voices in his head spoke to him. ' _You now have what you need to win,_ ' they said. ' _We can defeat them all_.'

It was hard to focus, but only slightly. Chaos's new sense of power drove him onward and through the choral confusion of voices. He could not be stopped by such petty things as confusion. His officers and Elites, save a select few, would provide him god-like power. He would be nearly unstoppable. With so many nanites flowing through him he understood that no weapon would touch his flesh. The nanites, so many of them!, would take any measure of damage. No other nanitic had yet melded with so many nanites. More than a multitude, Chaos was now symbiotic with an infinitude of them. And with so many, with his new ability to directly draw power from the air, he could amplify any power he possessed. Jessica's would do nicely. He dipped into it more now. Light shrank from around him, seeming to fall into a black hole. Every step he took produced dead spots on the ground, grass left singed as though burned.

Chaos mounted an armored transport, starting it as he saw Lewis running from the building with a sat-tablet under one arm. Chaos gestured toward the passenger door which obediently opened. ' _The Darkness comes_ ,' he thought as Lewis climbed in. Passing the base's gates he gazed the future. At one train station there was a bright flash, then nothing. _'I guess even now my foresight is imperfect_ ,' he thought dismissively.

#  What're they up to?

"So what's this great conspiracy all about, Eric?"

"Hrm?" Eric had again been in one of his protracted reveries.

"Chaos's people. What are they building towards?" I asked.

"That's one thing that's only now becoming clear," Eric responded.

"How many people does his movement control?" I pressed.

"He holds sway over thousands of well-placed people," Eric replied.

"So why haven't they made their move yet? They've had hundreds of years for people to forget about Chaos altogether. The government saw to that long ago." Realization suddenly dawned on me. I looked up from my notetab to see Eric staring right at me, a sad smile on his face.

"Now you understand how well placed they are. We are the only ones to remain wholly in history. Chaos was written out. His people saw to that, as you say, long ago. ATMO, the TDF and my kind, are all that remain in schools and the collective consciousness today," Eric replied.

"So why do they wait?" I asked.

"Because they learned their lessons well. Chief among those being Matthew Welsh, their version of Adolf Hitler's Beer Hall Putsch. They are not only preparing for a take-over, but also a siege. They know that mankind will not go quietly into their bleak night, that people will rise up and stand against them. As such, they build resources. Soon, though, they will have all they require. They also wait for me to leave. Everything is soon coming together for them. When it does, they will return."

"How long?" I asked. Eric furrowed his brow in thought.

"Very soon," came the uneasy reply.

"Eric, you can still make a difference," I said.

"No," his face becoming yet more filled with concern. "I am out of time. They seek a dark time," came the now familiar chorus. "A return, yet more. A stagnation. The unknown is fear to them. We must pull back." Eric shook his head, his eyes clearing from their chorus-grey. "It will be another dark age for humanity," he said matter-of-factly but also as a realization.

"Then what is there to be done?" I asked.

"Preparations must be finalized for the coming battle," Eric replied.

"But surely," I said, suddenly hopeful, "battle will not come. We have not had war _as a species_ for over three centuries. We have evolved away from it. We are peaceful now."

"Now, yes. But by nature man is war-like. Every documented society created tools, from tools weapons and from weapons war. We as a species have absorbed war as part of life. We fight time, fight the clock, fight our bodies for more sleep. We do battle with our consciences daily. Verbally we thrust and parry in arguments. And even in this enlightened age making a disorienting comment toward someone is referred to as an ambush or a sneak attack. No, James, we are by nature lovers of war. While contemporary history seems to point otherwise, past history shows so. In my time countries started wars with one another simply when they were bored. People played war games to relax and even cheered death and destruction. We are a species meant for war more than any other in the history of the world."

"Then why is there peace now?" I asked.

"Even without lifting the veil, I should say with near certainty that it is Chaos's doing. War is destructive and wasteful. Chaos's people could not build up their forces and resources were they all tied up in war," Eric replied.

"So even this peace is meant for war?"

"I should think so," Eric affirmed.

"If Chaos's people can control history, even peace and war, then what hope is there for a resistance?" I asked.

"Simply put, he does not know of my continued involvement here. It has taken much effort on my part, but I have seen to it," Eric said, satisfied.

"So if you have kept the tide balanced then you are the key to keeping it locked away," I commented.

"No. My time nears its end. I can no longer keep my presence a secret. Someone else must pick up the sword and continue the fight," Eric replied sadly.

"What do you mean your time nears its end?" I queried.

"Even with the help of the nanites and the knowledge of so many minds, the barriers between those minds is physically breaking down," Eric said.

"How can that be?" I asked.

"I've told you that once one of my kind dies, I inherit their abilities, memories, the works. It is, however, deeper than that. To enhance our natural selves, the nanites that we bond with first make a complete map, down to the sub-quantum level of our bodies and, more importantly, brains. This way they can precisely alter our bodies to best enhance their function as well as repair our bodies when needed. And as a consequence, every person who was one of us and died exists in me," Eric said.

"Of course. They all influenced who you are today," I said.

"No! Not like that!" he commented, standing up frustrated. He began pacing back and forth behind his chair. "They exist _in me_. Their minds _physically exist_ in me. Concurrently. With my own. And the barriers between those quantum realities are breaking down! All those minds are merging because I am breaking down. And the nanites cannot stop it. My mind in particular was never meant to be like this. It wasn't evolved enough to hold this type of quantum reality in reality."

"There's no physical way more than one brain could exist in your head," I replied, quite confused. "There isn't enough room."

"Space!" Eric pounded then grasped the back of his chair. Leaning forward while stepping back, he said very rapidly, "Don't you see? It's perfectly clear, after all. Quantum flux as would be needed by the nanites to read such sensitive information and charge and position naturally assumes multiple, in fact infinite, realities. By the same, extending the idea to multiple realities existing within one place isn't such a huge stretch!"

"So...multiple realities exist in your head?" I asked, confused.

"No! There is...well, of course multiple realities exist in my head in the existential sense but..." Eric suddenly stood up, paused, looked around, then said simply as if the conversation we had been having never happened, "You hungry? I'm hungry. I'm making something to eat. You want something to eat?"

With this he walked straight to his kitchen without another word. While he was putting together a sandwich I tried, to no avail, to have him again attempt to explain to me what he meant about the barriers between his minds breaking down. It wasn't as though the conversation hadn't actually happened, but rather that he was suddenly completely avoidant to even discussing it. During the process, though, we did start in on another intriguing conversation. It started as Eric was grabbing a tomato from his kitchen garden.

"Eric, the light for your garden is flickering," I said, gesturing to the kitchen's shelf-garden unit. I remembered noticing the flickering when I first entered Eric's house. Just now, irritated as I was about not getting Eric to start in again about his mental barriers, I brought it up.

"Pardon?" Eric replied while he cut the tomato.

"Your grow light is flickering. It needs to be replaced."

"That's normal behavior for a star," he said off-handedly.

"A star bulb? I've never heard of that type," I replied.

"No. Not a star bulb. A star. Stars flicker. They blink," he said as he raised an empty hand, opening and closing it. "You've seen such behavior looking up at the night sky."

"But you're talking about stars. This is a kitchen hydroponic garden light."

"Right. And it's also a star." Eric paused momentarily to look at the wall in front of him contemplatively. "Well, kinda. A star would be self-sustaining." And as he continued on his sandwich, "And bigger."

I began to bend over to look under the garden's hood. Suddenly there was a knife, blade away from me, pressed against my chest. "Don't do that. This close and the raw UV radiation alone would make you go blind." He drew the knife across my chest and continued his slicing. "Aren't onions absolutely amazing? Built-in defenses in each layer."

"Eric," I said as I stood back up. "You're telling me that's a real star providing the light for your hydro-plants?"

"Yeah. Hence why the plants grow. Like I said, though, it isn't self-sustaining. And is rather small to be considered an actual star. You ever have basil in a grilled cheese? Just absolutely fabulous." He leaned down and blindly picked some from his kitchen garden. It was a variety I had never seen: pink and blue.

"But otherwise it's a star," I said.

"Yup," Eric affirmed.

"Isn't that dangerous? You know, in the 'artificial gravity well and massive amounts of harmful radiation' way?" I asked. At this Eric completely stopped his preparations, going so far as to rest his knife on the counter.

"Never thought of that, actually. Having an artificial star in my house would certainly alter the flow of normal space-time, especially around my kitchen. Might be why the plants seem to grow so slow, living so near to a high gravity well." After a pause, "Probably why I don't get HBO anymore either."

"When did you lose that?" I asked, inching back toward the living room.

"Oh, about 30 years ago," said Eric, finishing his sandwich and taking a bite. "Want one?" he asked around a mouthful. "Quite good if I do say so myself."

"How did you make it?" I asked.

"You were watching. Started with bread, added some cheese, onion, tomato, a slathering of mayo, some avocado spread..."

"The star, Eric. Not the sandwich," I interrupted.

"Highly focused lasers. Quite simple with the right power. Tricky thing was how to inject the new fuel to the right layer of the star. Too deep and it'd destabilize, go super-nova. Well...mini-super-nova. Too shallow and it'd just create a solar flare. Of sorts. More like a solar burp. Luckily, making micro-uni-directional wormholes isn't nearly as hard as it seems." Eric finished, leaning back on the counter, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Micro-uni-directional wormhole? Wormholes are basically two black holes linked together, right? So there's black holes running into that thing?!" I asked.

Thinking for a second about a mouth of food, Eric replied, "Basically, yeah. Goes a bit deeper, but yeah. That's the basics."

"So not only do you have a star..." I began to say.

"Mini, non-self-sustaining mini-star," Eric corrected.

"...in your kitchen, but also a singularity?" I finished asking.

"Several pair," finishing chewing, then around another bite, "see, to inject the right fuel evenly into the proper layer I needed a network of the little buggers."

"Isn't that also quite dangerous?" I asked, incredulity building in my voice.

"Oh, I have plenty more dangerous stuff than that lurking around this house. And anyway, I've been living with this contraption for 30 years. And I'm fine. Sure you don't want a sandwich?" he asked, waving the better part of a sandwich in front of me.

"Fearing what will come of the question, what type of more dangerous stuff are you talking about?"

"Mrff!" Eric exclaimed about another bite, "Let me show you!"

Eric, sandwich in hand, led me back through his living room, through his dining room and down a flight of stairs into his basement. At first glance it looked normal enough. There through an open door to the right of the stairs I could see a maintenance room, ahead a finished wet bar and social lounge along with a touchboard on the one long wall. Through a door at the left open end of the bar we passed various jars and other containers, assumedly of various food stuffs Eric had grown or made.

As we neared the back of the room Eric grabbed the support of one of the shelves, biting his sandwich. There was a click, a whirring, a few more clicks and then the end shelf swung in to show another stairway leading further down. It ran the short side of the basement behind a false wall, turned and ran half the length of the house's long wall. As we descended, lights flicked on revealing a massive laboratory space. "Here. This is pretty dangerous stuff," Eric said around his current mouth of food, slapping a spheroid device and walking past it.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Fission/fusion generator," he replied without stopping.

"Pardon?"

"A fission/fusion generator. It essentially contains a mini-star like the one upstairs. This one, however, started its life as something altogether different. Originally I added the raw materials and began a cascading fission reaction. When enough internal pressure built up, the free atoms started a chain reaction producing a gravity well and, so, a mini-star. Right now that star is burning through the fuel. Once it does the star will go dark and become a ball of raw materials in which a fission chain-reaction will be initiated and the whole process will begin again."

"Won't that require a lot of power?" I asked.

"It would. But since this thing," he said as he slapped it again making a metallic _twang_ , "isn't hooked up to anything but a battery, the energy it's putting off is just being stored. It'll pull from that to initiate the fission reaction."

"Sounds like you aren't too concerned," I said pensively. "What makes it dangerous?"

"If it doesn't burn correctly at the end of its life, because of its containment vessel here," slapping it again, it responding with a reverberating _thonk_ and mechanical _clank_ that made me a little more nervous, he continued, saying, "creating a certain environment around it, it could form either a mini-super nova or a mini-black hole. I kinda doubt either of those, though. Before that would happen the casing would crack, containment would fail, and the star would begin burning through this planet's atmosphere. Would at least destroy this house in the process," he said looking around and taking another bit of his sandwich. "Wanna see something else?" he asked absently.

"Sure?" I said, not sure that I really did.

"Cool. Follow me," he waved me forward with his sandwich hand. I carefully sidled past the reactor. "This up here could do some serious nastiness," he said pointing to another reactor-looking device.

"I probably don't want to know," I said as Eric said at the same time, "matter-antimatter reaction chamber."

"Antimatter?" That term I knew. A current high-priority research project across several universities was the stable creation of useable amounts of antimatter. Something pulled at my memory, a story I had read from a colleague of mine. "Wasn't antimatter in the news not too long ago?"

After swallowing another bite, "Yep. Some idiot grad student got careless, the 'spensor field holding the antimatter sample his university had failed and so it made contact with the containment vessel. _Boooooooooom_! _"_ he said widening his eyes and making a starburst-like motion with his hands. As he did so he took another bite of his sandwich.

"Yeah," I said, remembering the story. "University of New Manhattan. Referred to as the Manhattan Incident. Wiped out the entire science building, didn't it?"

"And the shockwave damaged buildings throughout the rest of campus," Eric added.

Looking at the device in front of me, "So it's stable...right?"

"Oh yah. Isn't even active right now. Everything is just floating in there," he said, plinking the contraption with his no-sandwich hand's fingers.

"What powers your 'spensor field?" I asked.

"That," he said, pointing with the sandwich over his left shoulder. There stood a large device, monolithic and yet box like in design. It seemed to subtly change shape while remaining rigid.

"What is it?" I queried.

"Zero point energy focuser," Eric replied.

"Focuser?"

"Yup. Based on stochastic electrodynamics and Lorentz invariance, this has collectors that siphon off the energy inherent in the universe. It pulls background energy forward for use," Eric commented.

"What makes it work?" I understood fission, fusion and mater-antimatter reactions, at least in a theoretical sense. Zero point energy, though, I did not.

"You mean what powers it. Nothing. Zero point energy is naturally all around us. This just pools it for use. Think of it as collecting rainwater. You're not doing anything to get it. But once you have it you can use it."

"So free energy?" I tried to clarify.

"Not exactly. 'Free energy,' as you may know, is impossible. Energy exists on a continuum and so can't be created or destroyed. First Law of Thermodynamics. This thing pools energy and creates a net loss, miniscule, elsewhere. Once the energy is used it flows back into the universal pool in one form or another and evens things out."

"So why not just use that instead of a mini-star or what amounts to a controlled explosion to get energy?" I asked.

"Antimatter reactors are really meant to be more of drive-propulsion systems, to power drive units. The fission/fusion reactor is mildly unstable and still somewhat dirty in scope. This, though," he said, gesturing at the obelisk-looking device, "is completely clean. Not to mention that once you build such a contraption you never really have to give it another thought."

I reached out to touch it, but Eric quickly grabbed my hand.

"Part of the construction, though, is building it in five-dimensional space. That's why it seems to shimmer and quiver without moving. What we're seeing is only a 3-dimensional shadow that ordinary human minds can't properly comprehend and that normal eyes can't properly see. As resilient as human bodies are against outside interference, I wouldn't touch that. Put _my_ lights out for two days until my body came out of dimensional flux."

He slowly let go of my hand as I heeded his warning. "You sure you don't want something to eat?" he asked, pointing at what remained of his sandwich after taking another bite. "You look like you could use something. Come on." He began to climb the stairs out of his underground lab, munching the last of his sandwich as he went. I slowly followed, trying to take in as much of this strange lab as I could. So many other odd-looking devices remained on the various benches and tables. Tools from many different eras lay around the room, ranging from hammers to sonic screwdrivers, torque wrenches to spensor field clamps. The strangest part about the lab, though, had to be the lack of any mechanical hum of any kind. This was my last impression of it as I passed back through the lab's shelved and hidden entrance, Eric once more grabbing a support to the sound of whirs and clicks as the door swung closed behind me.

#  Chaos at the End

*Taken from remaining transcripts of surviving prisoners of war*

Chaos, leader of the Global Insurrection:

"Prisoners of War, I greet you! You are my enemy, but all of you are also family by blood! The same that courses through my veins is in yours. So my brothers and sisters, I have a simple proposal. I know that we are on opposite sides of this conflict. But as your _older_ brother I seek to bring our family back together! So I ask simply, who among you will join me this night? I will harbor no ill-will towards you simply because you fought against me. No, no, don't fear. Raise your hands high and you will be removed from these enemies of the New Terran Empire. Yes, raise your hands high. That's right, raise them so we can see who among you is a traitor to your own kind!

" **SHOOT THEM NOW!!** You _VILE TRAITORS_! Willing to switch sides just to _live!_ You deserve nothing but a slow death! But I, obviously, am more merciful. Hence why we SHOOT YOU! Burn the rest of the insolent dogs that yet breath _my_ air. Then make public what happens to those who are on the side of the Loyalists!"

#  An Encounter

"Hey, I'm telling you that you gotta pull back!" Eric exclaimed.

"And I'm telling you that there's no reason for it. I'm doing exactly what they've been asking me to. I've been setting up my base of operations covertly. Explain to me how that's working outside mission parameters," Adam replied.

" _What_ you're doing isn't what's concerning them. It's _how_ ," Eric responded.

"How," Adam repeated.

"Yes, how. It's how you're conducting yourself in the field and what effects that's having," Eric said.

"What's been going on around me," Adam said indignantly as he rose quickly, slamming his palms on the desk. "So I'm being blamed," he said, barely containing his anger. "For _what?_ The natural political environment around me?! _For what peasants do all on their own_?!"

"We both know," Eric said, standing behind his desk in an attempt to match Adam's stance, "that those 'peasants' aren't acting alone. You're working outside your mission parameters in an attempt to grow your own local base of power."

"I am doing what I have to in order to build useable allies in the region," Adam replied vehemently.

"You were sent there with a specific mission due to a direct threat to the regional government's stability," Eric said, matter-of-factly.

Adam leaned in sharply, mere centimeters from Eric's face. "I'm doing what is operatively imperative." He leaned back, fixed his uniform and hair, slid on his hat and said, "You sent me there because you knew that I would do what was necessary. Good day, sir," he added with a salute, leaving.

Eric sat back down slowly, wiping his face with both hands as he stretched. The meeting had gone as well as he had expected, but nowhere near as well as had been wanted. Meng and James, under pressure from the Minister of the Interior, asked Eric to rein in Adam, though he knew it was a lost cause. When they had first sent Adam out there they had intentionally given him free reign as the northern sector of South America had turned into a hotbed of resistance to both the TDF and the Terran Government. He needed to be able to make decisions freely in the field.

Now, though, with breakthroughs in political relations in the area, the government wanted the project halted. Especially since he was actually succeeding in not only undermining the political heads in the area, but also in gaining active support against them. Typical government: better the devil you know. So his mission was to be aborted. If he did not comply, his supplies were to be cut off. And, if need be, a force sent in to bring him back. It wouldn't work, though. All the Progenitors knew it. From the reports he had been sending in they knew he could survive without supplies. Not only that, but with the base of power he had built in the area no strike team would find him. If he couldn't hide in the mountains, the locals would help.

Very quickly a call would come and Eric would have to debrief James, Meng and the Minister on this failed meeting. In the meantime Adam would already be on his way back. He knew as well as Eric what this meeting meant. He had to prepare. This time the government was definitely wrong. The politicians were like dictators in the area there; they couldn't be trusted. In the beginning ATMO had set out to fight this type of corruption, not provide it a safe haven.

"For I can see the road ahead. And so I act accordingly." Meng's words from just yesterday echoed in Eric's head.

"I think I know what you mean, old friend," Eric mumbled to himself. His phone rang. It was his secretary telling him that he was expected in the conference room. "Nicole, transfer me down to operations." His path was now chosen. He would help his old friend in the jungle.

"Lieutenant McEwen here," the voice on the other end of the line said.

"This is Eric Pohlman. I am heading to a debriefing that should last about half an hour. By the time I'm done I want on my desk papers drawn up for a surgical strike team with half-year supply. Their target will be Adam's Chaos base in South America." There was a pause on the other end.

"Sir, to confirm, you want logistics drawn up for a long-term surgical strike team targeting Special Op Chaos's HQ? _"_

"Correct, Lieutenant. The package will be for a 20-person unit. They will need full field HQ capability. This isn't going to be a quick mission," Eric replied.

"No, sir. I would expect not. I'll have a draft on your desk within a half hour. _"_

"Thank you," Eric said, severing the connection. That was done. Now he simply needed to put the right team together. Adam still had friends in not only TDF Command and ATMO, but in the general ranks as well. That, though, could wait until after the debriefing.

"Eric, how did the meeting go?" began Meng. The three of them sat around the conference table, all facing the display screen that linked the Minister into the meeting.

"Let me begin by saying two things. First, I again oppose this move. Chaos was put into place for a reason. Even setting the mission to dormant would be a better idea than killing it outright. Second, I apologize for my mood. Which should, of itself, give you all a fair indication of how it went," Eric said as pleasantly as possible.

"So," James replied, "what are we going to do?"

"As our friend from the Ministry of the Interior pointed out before you joined us, Eric, we have been _ordered_ to rein in Chaos. Being part of the establishment now, we must comply. Especially since we're the only ones who can," Meng commented.

"What do you see from this?" James asked Meng.

"The future's in flux and, in theory, hinges on how we handle this. Eric, you know Chaos best of anyone here. Suggestions?" Meng commented.

"We have all read the reports on the actions in South America. There are no good options once we go down the path of bringing him in. He has strong ties with the locals, not to mention a very entrenched presence in the region," Eric stated.

"Mr. Pohlman _,"_ came a voice from the screen. "Gentlemen, allow me to make a comment, a personal assurance to you off the record. If I could help you in any way to resolve this matter more amiably, I would. However, we all have our orders. On the record, I want to again emphasize that standing orders are to bring Chaos in and end this project. The determination was made in concert with the Prime Minister that such was the best course of action to help bring stability back to the region _._ "

"Minister, thank you for your assurance. And while we understand the government's position, Eric does have a point. Chaos is succeeding in the mission's objectives; he has built usable in-roads with the local populace. Were we to simply put this mission into a dormant status we would maintain a strong presence in the area without undue collateral harm. In this way, would diplomacy fail, we would still have the tools in the region to deal with the situation," James replied.

"Mr. Christopher, I can appreciate your attempt at a middle road here. And while I realize how close Chaos was to completion of the mission, the Minister's order stands. He is to be brought in and the Chaos mission terminated. This is especially true after reading some of the reports he has sent in. He's a loose cannon out there, gentlemen. You can't control him. As such, he poses a danger to our attempt in building stability in the region. Following, I need to know what your plans are in recalling all independently operating teams from the field," the Minister added.

"All teams?" Eric asked, looking questioningly first at the Minister on the screen, then at James.

"I am likewise confused, sir. The only team we currently have deployed in the operational region in question is Chaos's," James replied.

"The Cabinet of Ministers decided that, after consideration of the current global political climate, any and all independent teams you may have deployed should be recalled. In South America or elsewhere," the Minister said.

"Sir, I assure you," Meng replied, "That the only independently operating team we currently have in the field is Chaos's. We simply do not have the logistical capability to support more teams than that. With the current focus on expansion and civilian support, it should come as no surprise that we do not have the supplies to outfit, deploy, and keep active more than one field team." Meng was, of course, lying. They had four more teams just like Chaos's across the globe. But the Ministers didn't need to know about them.

The Minister appeared to likewise doubt Meng's sincerity, but said, "Alright. So again, what's the plan, gentlemen? _"_

"Eric? Once again, suggestions," said James.

"If we're intent on bringing him in, on ending Project Chaos, then I would have to suggest a fairly large strike team being outfitted for a long-term incursion," Eric replied.

"Just how large are we talking, Mr. Pohlman?" the Minister asked.

"I would say possibly forty personnel," Eric said.

"You're asking for a platoon to be deployed to bring in a squad?" the Minister asked, dubious.

"A squad of very dedicated and highly trained people," chimed in James.

"I somehow doubt that such a force is warranted. And I would assume that the Prime Minister would agree with me. For the moment, though, let's set the number of personnel aside. How long do you anticipate this taking?" asked the Minister

"Without a sufficient initial force, the effort will be more drawn out. And a smaller force would have to be better trained and supplied. A thirty strong platoon, I would estimate, could get the job done in approximately four months," Eric said.

"With the right personnel, I would agree," added Meng. "But we would have to have the latitude to assemble the team ourselves. No room for interference if we're talking budget-crunching here."

After a moment of consideration the Minister said, "Gentlemen, events are happening very quickly in the region. We simply cannot send in even a thirty person force. We could support up to a twenty man team. But six months is the most that this administration could possibly give. We have large plans that will start to take shape after that time."

Eric shook his head while looking from James to Meng, then to the secretary. "Twenty people won't be enough. Not without substantial support commitments. Adam made it very clear to me that he wants to stay and see Chaos through. If we try to extract him, it will become a very long and protracted fight. Of this I have no doubt."

"I'm sorry, but that will have to be the final word. We can support a twenty man team, but no more. If it becomes operationally imperative to exceed six months of field engagement, we _may_ be able to do so. However, at that point we would have to talk about this becoming a black-ops assignment. Our plans that far out do not allow for any visible missteps by field agents."

"We have a go, then, for deployment of a twenty person force to retrieve the equipment and personnel of Project Chaos?" James asked.

"Yes. You have a go. I'll have the necessary paperwork sent to your office before the end of business today. Good luck, gentlemen. And make it quick." With that the Minister signed off of the link.

Eric again looked from James to Meng and back and asked, "We're really going to bring Adam in? Now?"

"We are sending a team out to retrieve him, yes," came the reply from Meng. "But, it won't be easy. Depending on how much latitude the Minister gives us, we should consider deploying the team with an A-kit."

"Meng. An A-kit? You're suggesting that we send an adaptation kit into the field. We don't currently have any free team leaders trained to use it," Eric replied.

"Of course we do," said James. "One is located right where we'd be sending it." Meng's intention struck home.

"We're sending it for Chaos, for Adam, not to _get_ Adam," Eric said, making sure he understood.

"We agree with you, Eric. Chaos is too important an asset to bring in. Adam and his people in Chaos need to be kept in the field. I've looked into what the Minister is planning. It will fail," Meng said. "We need to keep Chaos and its people in the field. If we can help strengthen Adam's foothold in the region between now and the time we need him again, all the better."

"It's going against what the administration ordered," Eric said pensively.

"We're aware," replied James. "But, the Minister did say that if he could help us, he would. Well, without him knowing we're giving him the opportunity."

"We'll have to get just the right team together to send in. People that Adam will trust and who are willing to go dark. Think you can gather up twenty such people?" Meng asked Eric.

"I think I could find a few, yeah." From that moment on they decided to support Chaos as it continued to build its base of power. Adam had, as he had said in Eric's office, done only what was asked of him. Now they had to support his continued efforts. And Eric could think of no one better to lead such a mission than Jessica, Adam's own girlfriend. She was, perhaps, the one person in ATMO that Adam still trusted completely. She would ostensibly lead the team to bring in Project Chaos and its personnel. With Claire and D'Andre running their own teams, that would leave just Meng, James, Melinda and Eric of the Progenitors to run the show. Chaos in the person of Adam would be kept alive and strengthened so that if and when it and he were needed, they would be prepared to act. And, according to Adam's reports, Chaos would be triggered sooner than later.

What the reports didn't show, and what no one but Adam knew, was the reason why. While he had been submitting weekly reports to the TDF, he had done so while still controlling the situation. The dictators were becoming so concerned about losing power, as Chaos gained it, that they were now willing to deal. The problem was that they no longer had enough of that power to keep Chaos's plans from coming to fruition. He was molding a new state in South America, one he would control.

He never wanted such power, but it had come to him. These people, his people, had come to him, pleading to be saved. His hand had been forced. And if it were forced in such a way, why not use it for good? Chaos would reshape the area, make it better. Remake it to fit his own image. Then they would see and understand what he was capable of.

#  Ignorance Lost

"So Adam Green was Chaos?" I asked.

Eric hesitated before answering. "That is something I have been trying to put right in my mind for some time, James. The body remained the same, but the mind that was my friend Adam...it changed."

"What was that like, finding yourself enemies with one of your best friends?" I queried.

Eric exhaled loudly as he said, "It was very hard. The trust James, Adam and I had in each other...we would have, and did on occasion, put our lives in each others' hands."

I could see Eric falling into reverie, something I was just coming to understand as dangerous. At the same time, reflecting back on it, this bout of reverie was different, controlled. "We could, from the inflection shared in but a few short words, understand the entirety of a conversation. The most subtle movements between us shared profound meaning. We were brothers. And to suddenly have one brother turn on you..." Eric shook his head, his gaze turned downward as it peered through the floor into his past.

"I never had brothers," I commented. Eric looked up over his glasses, sadly.

"Neither did I, other than them. When James and I realized what had happened we tried to reach out to our old friend. But he was already gone." Eric's gaze drifted out his bay window. "It was all of our faults. We together created the technology that changed him. Even so, even today, I feel most responsible. I brought him onto the Project, after all. Typical survivor's guilt." He cracked a sad smile.

"What exactly changed him?" I asked.

"A lot of things," Eric replied. "First of all, sending him into the situation we did. Adam, as always, was severely affected by his surroundings. The very real suffering of the people he worked with, was trying to manipulate, started the process. He saw how much their government was taking advantage of them. Any small advance Adam helped them make, even simple upgrades to their water systems, were ravaged, taken or destroyed by ' _Las_ _fuerzas independientes Del Presidente_.'

"At the same time the soldiers took from the people whatever they wanted. In not a single village were there enough arms, enough strong men and women, to oppose the soldiers. Seeing that literally first-hand, and having to let it happen time and again in favor of some supposed future good...it gets to be too much. Every time he saw it happen, Adam knew he could kill every single soldier he saw. He would have come out unscathed and the soldiers would have been gone. After a while the villagers began to see this, too. They began to take issue with Adam's passivity and weren't afraid to let him know it. That didn't help the situation. It pulled at his heart, his sense of decency. His reports back to us increasingly ended with pleas for action."

"So then what happened? If he had continued to follow the TDF's orders I assume that he never would have been discovered, never would have brought the scorn of the Government onto the op."

"Quite true. He jumped the gun. Having gathered intel telling him where El Presidente's forces were going to next 'annex' land, he refocused his energies in front of the flood rather than behind it. He sent his people out to make in-roads with the cities and villages in the soldiers' path, trained them, armed them, massed them, and led them against the soldiers."

Hesitantly I asked, "Did he win?"

"A squad of nanitics interspersed amongst anti-rebels? Yes. He won over and over again. Every time being more bold about it. At first they all used conventional weapons so as to create the illusion that it really was native citizens standing up for themselves."

"What happened?" I pressed.

"At first it was that the soldiers were coming in greater numbers. So he began using more of the tools at his disposal. That is, he began having his people, his nanitics, use their powers. Since they were still using conventional weaponry at that point, though, it was still seen as a 'native rebellion.' The only response El Presidente knew was more force. So he sent in heavy weapons squads. They were still defeated. Armored troops and transports were brought in. Adam upped the ante again. He had his people start using their full powers in battle, plasma weapons and all."

"So the farce was broken," I stated.

"Indeed. And El Presidente was all too happy, once he had footage of it, to show the world how 'Government forces are interfering in sovereign matters, stopping the national will of the people.' Everyone knew such a claim was a farce itself, but the Government's hand was forced. And as we were the only ones capable of bringing Adam in, our hand was forced, too" Eric said, shrugging.

"That, then, was enough to...send Adam over the edge," I said after a moment.

"Deeper than just that. Every new power altered him, altered his reality ever so slightly. Picking up more bits and pieces of mind reading abilities from the nanitics he worked with both augmented and warped how he saw people. He could get imperfect senses of their thoughts and motives. It created monsters of everyone around him. We all, after all, have our demons," Eric replied.

"You're saying mind-reading sent him over the edge?" I asked.

"No, no. Just that it was a large part," Eric said, leaning forward. "You can't stick a pin into just one aspect of Chaos and expect it to be _the_ answer. But his brand of imperfect mind reading did twist him."

"But others were mind readers, as you've mentioned. Like Melinda. Couldn't they have, I don't know, helped train him to better, more accurately, use what he had?" I inquired.

"Generally, yes. But Adam's abilities ranged so widely, and were generally so shallow, that he normally didn't have conscious control over them. They, the ones like mind reading, were just always 'on,' running in the background in his head. And the variety of similar powers he absorbed had a chaotic effect as well, no pun intended."

I was a bit confused at that. "What do you mean, 'the variety of similar powers'? Isn't mind reading...mind reading?"

"Well," Eric said, "let me put it to you this way. Is there just one shade of blue?"

"There are gradations, subtle differences, in powers," I realized.

"Bingo. Ranging from acuteness to magnitude, applicable distance to duration. Melinda was the best mind reader ever. Adam had his first taste of it from her. But there were others. Some were perfect empaths, able to sense and convey any emotions. If you train such a person right their ability to read emotional responses is as good as a transcript of a person's thoughts. Then there were shape-readers, those who literally saw thoughts as shapes, places, things. Likewise with them, train them properly and they can tell you exactly what a person's thinking. Lesser readers saw thoughts as colors, sounds, music and so on. I knew one woman who only saw great works of art. All useful, but to degrees. I should think you'd see how getting the image of The Colossus leaves a lot of room for interpretation." I gave the thought an affirming shrug.

"So what was it like for Adam? Do you know?" I asked.

"Remember, they're all up here," Eric replied, tapping his head. "It generally was a combination of them all. So, then, you tell me how you think you'd react if you were constantly subjected to something like words in the shape of the Louvre, which appeared sad and yellow, and gazed longingly at a classic triptych of Jesus crucified on the 1812 Overture."

"I suppose it might do a number on my sanity," I admitted.

"Couple that with powers such as the variety of computing abilities he ended up absorbing that constantly kept both his conscious and unconscious mind chewing on information, trying to make logical sense of it all, along with various forms of D'Andre's ability to tap into the collective unconsciousness and Meng's prescience, and you end up with a pretty unstable mind seeking an outlet for its madness."

"One the situation around him helped provide," I mentioned.

"Bang on. It gave him the chance to reinvent himself. Except that in allowing his mind to do so he opened a can of worms. You see, something Adam had done at some point in his life was to mentally create different versions of himself. One was shy and introverted. Another was impassive and stoic. Yet another was logical above all else, though compassionate and calming. And finally, there was one in which he embodied all his darkness. In allowing his mind to remold itself to the situation in which he found himself, he gave each of those mental selves the chance to grow. And his darkness, its ambitions outpacing those of the others, won out. And it overtook him."

Furrowing my brow I asked, "How do you mean, overtook him?"

"How do I explain it?" Eric asked aloud. "At times," he began, stroking his chin, "he would sort of switch mental selves. In times of great emotional stress he would allow his stoic or logical self to take over. His outward attitude would change to match. When he was angry the Dark One found his way to the fore as none of the others wanted to deal with the situation."

"And Adam was angered by his situation," I added.

"And so the Dark One naturally came to the fore. But unlike earlier in Adam's life, now the Dark One had some very powerful toys to play with," Eric commented.

"The situation in Columbia fed into Adam's state of mind which fed into how he, or rather his 'Dark self,' used his absorbed powers," I added. Adam's mission was the track that provided a way for the Dark One to railroad him into being Chaos. The process would get faster the more his mind crowded with alternate powers, more information and possibilities. And the only outlet was forward, toward one goal, one end result, toward which the Dark side of him drove the train. Eric had been right; no pin could be stuck into the entire problem. Stick it here this way and it missed layers. Pierce multiple layers and you could still miss the heart of the matter. Only by looking at Adam's situation both as a whole and as separate parts could you come to understand it completely.

I felt a tugging on my head and consciousness. Flicking my gaze out of introspective reverie I could have sworn I saw Eric's pupils dilate. Blinking, though, they appeared normal.

"You think you understand?" Eric asked. The tugging grew more intense.

I retraced my thoughts, checking my conclusions as I went. Suddenly I felt as though I was daydreaming. In my mind's eye it was as a silent explosion. Rock and gas moved outward from a central point, the edge of the event passing over me. I found myself caught up by a large rock, almost planetoid in nature. Everything around me continued moving outward, expanding. At the same time it seemed as though the chaotic debris began to organize itself. Small dots of light began to appear as I saw gas swirling inward toward an odd looking ball. I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear it. It had only taken a second for the daydream-like vision to occur. When I again opened my eyes Eric said, "So why don't you write it down? I need a refill anyway."

#  End Game Discovery

"Meng, I've been contemplating something," James said as he sat meditating with Meng on the training room's matted floor. It was a practice he had begun shortly after they figured out how to fine-tune and enhance their powers through the new process of nanitic bonding. He had started to see possible futures, though not like Meng. James could project whole worlds based on information and data. But always the perfectionist, he began meditating with Meng as a way to refine such projections and sift through them to the 'train stations,' as Meng put it.

"Yes, James?" Meng said calmly, his eyes still closed.

"How different is reality for the two of us than possibility?" James asked.

"What do you truly mean?" Meng replied.

"We can both see the smallest minutiae of the present as it happens. How difficult would it be, then, to reach into that and subtly alter conditions? To change possibility into reality?" James elucidated.

Meng's eyes slowly opened. This was a tract he hadn't expected from James. "You're talking about altering reality at a basic level."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," James affirmed.

"That's very dangerous, James. We can't predict what even a single such alteration would do to the future. My prescience requires a certain amount of personal distance," Meng responded.

"Are you positive about that?" James asked.

Meng felt uncomfortable with this line of inquiry, but also felt that it could be important somehow. After all, if he hadn't seen it there was no way Adam would have either.

"I've been running it through my mind for some time now. You're in a lake and throw a rock. Facing only the direction where you throw the rock you see the ripples of it approach you. As they pass you, though, you can only guess what effect they have on shore. Unless there's someone facing the shore opposite you. Then he can tell you what's happening," James explained.

"You're suggesting that working together we could affect the present and still maintain our grip on the future," Meng stated.

"More than that. I'm the observer, you're the rock thrower. _You_ said that space and time are so closely intertwined that a change in one is a change in the other. My mind can instantly calculate change and see its outcome. Yours can affect change," James said, pausing.

Meng suddenly grew extremely uncomfortable with what James was suggesting. "What you're talking about is me reaching through the veil, _The Veil_ James, and intentionally altering the very fabric of space-time."

"Yes," James replied.

"What would possibly make you go down such a path of thought?" Meng questioned.

"Because I've been searching through Chaos's base code lately, that which was forced onto us. In my dreams I found it, the chink in his armor. But there's only one way at it." A vision flashed before Meng's mind, one so transitory he barely believed it; they would die. But the vision had been a train station. It was fixed along the branch of reality they now travelled. "He grows stronger, of course. But in one direction. If we can twist that, alter his reality just enough, his own nature will rend him apart. And right now, the way he's growing..." James said, allowing Meng to finish the thought.

"Is darker." It was an odd sensation, though stabilizingly unsettling in magnitude from their current discussion, to _finish_ a thought for someone; Meng normally was the progenitor of thoughts in a discussion. "You mean to force a white-hole open on him."

"He's trying to grow more stable by controlling the situation with more and more of an iron fist, closing it tighter. We add natural, unpredictable chaos to his reality and _poof_ ," James said.

"We don't know what effect that would have on the fabric of this planet."

"You wouldn't as the stone-thrower. But I would as the observer," James added, assured.

"We'd have to be right on top of him to make it work, to avoid undue instability to space-time. Would take all three of us out," Meng said, his mind churning over the sure knowledge that they were now to die.

"I know," James said gravely. Such thoughts hadn't escaped his mind. "But it's the only way now. We both can see that every one of his Elite he kills only make him stronger. He'll be unstoppable in the end. Then we're all dead anyway and the world falls into permanent darkness under his rule."

Meng felt his body resisting his attempts at keeping it calm, his legs wanting to move. He shook his head. "How could it work? You couldn't describe the changes to me fast enough for me to keep such a tear stable and open."

"I could if doing so didn't rely on words," James said cautiously.

A new twinge of distaste ran through Meng. "You're talking about linking our minds. Through the nanites. Like _he_ did," Meng spat.

Taking on a very serious air James said, "You prefer he won out? We'd be dead anyway."

Meng's mind raced, seeking a future that didn't include this out as the lynch-pin. His body ached for movement, fight or flight kicking in. "No. There must be another way."

"You know there isn't," James said sadly.

"It's a no-win scenario for us, James."

"For you and I, yes. For humanity though..." James said.

" _You_ may have visions of martyrdom, but that was never part of _my_ plan in all this," Meng said, rising and beginning to pace. ' _How can he sit there so damn calm_?!' Meng thought of James. He felt a tightness on his head and stopped dead in his tracks.

"How could you be so sure it would work, James," he said, stalking toward James as he prepared for a fight. James slowly rose and dropped back into a defensive stance. "You can project what the future will hold. You've even gotten good enough at filtering those possibilities down to a handful. But I'm the only one on _Earth_ with the power to know _for sure_ , the only one who can see the train stations." Meng leapt forward after thinking it, James leaping back as if he knew what Meng had thought. The tugging remained. "Melinda!" Meng bellowed. "Show yourself!"

From the locker room Melinda emerged. "You piece of..." Meng said, snapping his gaze back onto James, lunging at him. James side-stepped, Meng sailing through clear air. He tucked before he hit the ground, rolling and coming up to a ready stance. He let his instincts take over, no thoughts passed through his mind now. Throwing a kick high and immediately low he caught James's unguarded ribs. He spun, finding air with a backside crescent kick. As he came down he crouched and swept with his other foot, knocking James off his side-lunging stance. He rolled and pounced, James rolling left in time to avoid being grappled. Meng hit, rolling up to fighting stance again.

"James," Melinda said, beginning a move toward them.

"No," both he and Meng said.

"You're acting like childish idiots," she replied. Neither responded. Meng flew at James with a tornado kick, James dodging it but getting caught in the gut by the following spinning back kick from Meng. James doubled over and staggered backward, forcing his head up toward Meng. With a sharp move Meng reached James, intent on a kick to his head. James side-stepped, catching Meng's leg and flinging it over his head. Meng fell hard on the mat, instantly rolling backward into a fighting stance.

"How long you want to keep this up?" James asked forcefully. "Neither of us is going to get tired or seriously hurt anytime soon. And _your_ mind was the pattern for our imbedded martial arts knowledge." Anything Meng could do, James would know how to counter.

His frustration feeding on itself to a boiling point, Meng let out a loud yell as he spun toward a punching bag, hitting it quick and hard enough to tear it in two. "Why are you helping him?!" Meng raged as Melinda crossed to James's side. "You'll," Meng began, swallowing hard, setting his jaw and finishing, "you'll _lose_ him if he does this!"

Very quietly, emotions showing through in her demeanor, Melinda said, "I know. I caught wafts of this two nights ago. Made James explain his theory to me." Her arm was around James's shoulder, his brow furrowed, his eyes sad as he looked at her, her at Meng. "He explained everything to me. And I know," she said, "it's the only way. I don't want it to be. James is my life. But this has always been bigger than us, Meng. The minute we became the TDF it became bigger than us. Any of us would lay our lives on the line for the sake of humanity."

"It's very different when you knowingly walk into it," Meng said, his face still a mask of anger.

"It's no different," Melinda retorted. James pulled Melinda's arm from him and began to step toward Meng.

"Stay right there. I swear I'll..." Meng said, letting the threat hang mid-air.

"You'll what?" James asked, exasperated. He shook his head. "Look at you! Look at yourself!" Meng, keeping his eyes on James, brought his chin up and rotated his head as his peripheral vision opened first left then right. "You literally fought yourself into a corner." James wasn't lying. Meng found himself in the far corner of the practice room. Holding up his hands, palms out, James took a few steps toward Meng until Meng dropped back into a stronger fighting stance.

"Okay. Okay. It took me awhile to accept. You need time. But just keep in mind that we are approaching the End Game now. Chaos doesn't have much left until he'll be unstoppable." James slowly backed away, hands still up. Once he was back by Melinda they left together.

Meng breathed slowly, his face and mind still full of angry denial toward where James had stood. His mind yet searched frantically for any other possible way out. He kept arriving at the same train station: they would die.

"Rrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggghhhh!" He raged again, spinning and back-handing what remained of the punching bag. It snapped off its chain and sailed against the far wall. There was no other out. Meng knew it. And now, because of his Trojan code, Chaos knew it too. By actually saying it, by making the thought a reality for Meng, James had made a possibility a reality. _The_ reality. In doing so he also proved the concept. It would work. Meng knew now that with James's help he could reach through time into space with his mind and force the possibility they needed into reality. But he still wouldn't accept it as the only way out.

#  Precursors

"Once Earth fought against the Insurrectionists many old antipathies were forgotten. Yankee and Dixie, Bolshevik and Nixionite, Muslim and Jew all became irrelevant when everyone's existence became threatened. So too will it be again."

"You keep alluding to the future Eric. What's going to happen?" I asked, breaking another of his reveries.

"Events beyond your ability to comprehend. Were you a true student of ancient history, James, you would realize the cyclical nature of all historical events," Eric replied.

"I am a student of history, Eric."

"Yes, but you still lack some historical knowledge and insight. For instance, prior to every Terran war there is always a precursor. The American Civil War to World War One, the Spanish Civil War to World War Two. The Coalition war to the Global Insurrection. Had the old United States of America, now part of the North American Region, not sought a technological means of defeating the Coalition juggernaut, I would not be seated before you today," Eric stated. "What does your historical background tell you of the significance, the connections, between the Coalition War and the War of Insurrection?"

"I guess," I began, "that realistically weapons of war probably didn't change much, nor tactics."

"True. As we would expect. With the notable exception of the TDF Elites, such as _moi_. Our tactics, as you say, did not change. What about the socio-political climate of both events?" Eric asked.

"As you describe them, in both situations people were looking for a leader, someone to help them improve their station in life. Also in both cases it was the death of a single person that changed the course of human history," I replied.

"Close. Remember, though, that the Coalition leader died all on his own. In the Insurrection, it cost the lives of Chaos, James and Meng to end that conflict." It was still unsettling in some way to hear Eric refer to his old friend Adam as Chaos. He had explained his reasons well. "Chaos was not Adam," Eric had said. "Something changed in him the more powers he sampled, the more nanitics he gathered around him. He changed and became Chaos. Adam is still my friend to this day whereas Chaos is still my foe."

In the present Eric continued drawing a distinction between the two conflicts, saying, "Many hundreds of thousands of more men and women worldwide were forced into laying their lives upon the altar of peace. The Coalition War had its own casualty figures to be sure. But the Insurrection was far worse."

"I've seen those figures," I said. "Many present day scientists and historians say that the global loss of human life from the Insurrection was what prompted the Earth's most recent regenerative cycle."

Eric's face was grim, "I've read their research," he said. "I couldn't agree more. Less people means less demand on the planet. More space between large populations means more space for nature to take land back. And with the devastation that was wrought there was plenty of cleared land to retake. Do you realize that that war should really be considered the first true World War?" Eric asked, gazing up at me. "It was really the first war where fighting happened all over the face of the planet."

"What, then, about the titled World Wars of the 20th century?" I asked.

"Only in name. Most of the fighting centered around Europe, the Mediterranean and China-Japan. No, the Insurrection was truly global." He lowered his head. "Battles happened everywhere. The United States of America, Canada, Mexico, countries throughout Central and South America, Cuba, England, France, Germany, Congo, South Africa, Yemen, Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan, India, Northern China, Southeastern Russia, Japan outside the nuclear quarantine zone, Australia, New Zealand. And, of course Athens, Greece. And those only represent nameable areas where battles took place. We would ambush them, they would ambush us. So often at crossroads or border towns. And such devastation," Eric said, a deep, protracted sigh escaping him.

"Whole cities," he said, peering at me from the tops of his eyes. "Whole cities just...destroyed. All across the globe. Europe, certainly, had a vague memory of such destruction from some 100 years prior. But places like The United States? Canada or South America? Not in hundreds of years, if even then, had they seen such destruction. It took a mountain of resources in total to rebuild just Europe after World War II. Imagine trying to rebuild civilization as a whole. Governments were simply becoming ineffectual and impotent in dealing with such a weakened post-war world. And ATMO, our ranks so depleted by the war, couldn't do enough. The best we could do was try to help maintain order. But what use is it to tell starving people that bread will soon arrive? What use when they'd heard the same line, the same lie, for weeks on end? We tried to maintain the peace, but governments simply could not deliver on our placating promises. What use is an army that cannot help the people?"

Eric again lowered his head, slowly wringing his hands. I took a moment to compose my question. "Eric, I need to ask. ATMO and the TDF picked the Government to win out and provide a better future. Was it the proper choice?"

Eric's eyes searched the floor, his shoulders rising and falling in time with deep, contemplative breaths. "Ultimately...maybe." He lifted his gaze. "It isn't over yet."

"Chaos's long plan," I commented, remembering what Eric had hinted at; Chaos's subtle control of the current United Terran Government. "Then, maybe, what about just the Insurrection? Did opposing it like you did really change anything? If, after all, Chaos's plan is still in motion, and all of your kind are gone but you, was the war your best course of action?"

"It's a good question. One I've thought about an awful lot." Eric took a deep breath. "It at least leveled the playing field. Had we not opposed him, all our forces would eventually have been destroyed anyway. And, in the meantime, all we would have been able to do would have been an underground rebellion, one that would have been weaponless against Chaos's Elite. We couldn't have kept our continued presence secret. In that way destroying the Chaos Elite at least gave humanity a chance, even if that meant abandoning her for a while."

I paused long enough for Eric to compose himself. Seeing him so was comforting in some odd way. "What about war itself, Eric? As you say, we, the people of my time, don't know it at all."

"What about war?" he said flatly, his face uncharacteristically neutral.

"If it was the best choice for the TDF, if it has been the best choice at times in human history, is it by nature good or evil?"

"War itself is neither. War does not take sides. As an institution war educates all equally on its costs. It destroys but also inspires creation. In its act it encourages both itself and its opposite, peace. War does what it must to assure this outcome. War is no more good or evil than the sun which can give life and also take it. It is human kind and how they use war that perverts it, changes it, makes it good or evil."

"So what was your war?" I asked gently. "Was it made good or evil by Chaos's actions?"

"It was made evil." Eric paused a moment. "Evil, but by _our_ actions, not his. We brought war by opposing him. So we were the harbingers of the Horsemen. We rapped on the gates and let loose the Four of them." Eric had no levity in his statement whatsoever.

"So," I said, pressing as I knew I must, "in that respect you agree with the official histories?"

"I do. It is the truth, the facts, of the matter. That is, after all, what you are after," he said, repeating my own words to me.

"It is," I said, my throat feeling dry. "What does that say about us, though? That your forces, with even the best of intentions, loosed destruction upon humanity?"

"It says very little about humanity as it exists. What it does speak about quite well is us, my generation and my people. Our motives. Our approach. No more," Eric replied.

"But you have said how we, my version of humanity, cannot comment on war as we've never known it. If we cannot aptly comment on it, and if the actions of ATMO, of the TDF, cannot speak to humanity's core, what can be said about war as _part of_ humanity?" I tried to phrase my question in such a way so as to pull Eric's analytic mind to the fore. I was becoming well aware of the patterns in our conversations that tended to set Eric on a path of analytic prose.

"To conquer, to dominate, to control through superior force; a term of war. Humanity itself is conflagration, conflict personified. Without it we lose what we are. We fight the clock, we fight traffic.. Before you say it, I know. There's no traffic anymore thanks to automation. Let me finish my point. We even fight with ourselves on a daily basis over clothing, food choices, whether or not to approach the man or woman we've had our eye on. Humanity is a warrior culture. That indomitable warrior spirit is what will ensure humanity's survival in the years to come."

"But we are at peace. Never has there been such prosperity. No citizen would dare tear down what has been built up," I commented.

"Not only will people dare, their plan quickly comes to fruition," Eric replied.

"What are you implying?" He flashed me such a glare as to freeze my very soul.

"You can imagine all too well the horrors that await this world. Everyone can, but I can see it in your mind right now. Such an ability to see the absolute worst in the future is a basal instinct of our species. We know war and famine as a snake knows how to strike. It is instinctual. Genetic. By the time I tell you what lies before humanity..." He shook his head, thankfully releasing me from his paralyzing gaze.

When he again locked eyes with me a wholly different persona seemed to manifest in his face, one of sorrow. "The Government exists in such a state of peace as has never been seen nor thought of before. No armies. Police and other constabulary forces are unarmed. Weapons only exist in museums as a reminder of what everyone hopes is a frightful dream of a past life. Locks and security measures are generally non-existent as they're felt unneeded. Here on Mars maglocks are merely a carryover from the times of early settlement when airlocks were still thought necessary. Every Terran shares a collective hallucination that the species has been raised above such things as violence. Not since the time before Galileo first put his eye to the heavens did such pomposity exist. And not until the blinders are taken off, not until humanity once again embraces its darker side, will our freedom as a people be regained. No passive resistance can save humanity from its current fate."

"You have a grim vision of the future, Eric," I murmured, adding louder, "Of what darker side do you speak, Eric?"

"Humanity's repressed penchant for war," he stated flatly.

"But you said war itself is neither good nor evil. How can it then be humanity's darker side?"

"Because of what it represents and brings out in humanity. In war moral reigns on humanity are released. Your Utopia exists through the repression of something basic to the human condition, of that release. Once it is again brought to the fore, that is when freedom's price will be paid," Eric stated.

#  End Game Acceptance

There was a knock on James and Melinda's door. James had been meditating alone for the past week. He didn't need Melinda's skills to tell him Meng's state of mind. Not only that, he could read the progression Meng was making on the idea. If this was him, it would be time for compromise, the third stage. James rose and opened the door. Meng was leaning against the door frame. "There's no other way about it," he said flatly.

"I know," James admitted. Meng looked down the hall, his stance tense.

Returning his gaze to James he said, "There's gotta be some way for one of us to make it."

"No," James replied.

"Something else, then. A nuke maybe," Meng commented.

"He'll make his stand in a city center to prevent that. It has to be something as destructive but localized. Contained entirely."

Meng replied, in partial acceptance, "We should at least be able to keep you away. Keep you safe."

"You know better. Where in the pond do I have to stand to see what's going on behind you?"

"Either behind me or directly across from where I threw the stone," Meng replied.

"And either place, I'm in as much danger as you. The only way to call an all-in is to match. And you know he knows. He _will_ force our hands now." Meng set his jaw, clenching it. For several seconds he stood and simply shifted his focus from James's left eye to his right. Finally he closed his eyes.

Fully accepting the situation, he said, "What do we have to do to link just the two of us?"

"I have it all set to go. Just need to call Melinda. She'll meet us at her lab." It would be a quick procedure. They would extract some of James's and Meng's nanites, getting their unique carrier-wave signatures and tune the other's nanites to receive information along that band. The new coding to go along with the hard information would remain dormant until activated by both of them. "We should get going. I have a briefing with Eric later today."

As James walked to the comm.-center in his room Meng asked, "Have you two said goodbye yet?" He didn't mean James and Eric.

James's hand froze, hovering over the phone's receiver. Without looking up at Meng he said, "No. I've been putting it off. Didn't want to until I had to. Also kinda hoping I'd have the chance to do it right. Something to be remembered for the ages."

Meng replied, "I wouldn't wait any longer."

James closed his eyes, a tear trickling out. His mind had latched onto the meaning behind Meng's words. Among the current possibilities in his mind was the End Game. Chaos had lost or destroyed all but one of his main bases of operation, that one still eluding the TDF's detection. His transmissions were coming faster now. He was gearing up the world's population for one final message. His last one. And Meng had seen that it was coming very soon. Opening his eyes, James picked up the receiver and punched in Melinda's extension. "Hun," he said as she picked up, his voice cracking. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat. "Meng and I are coming down. Get the program ready, please."

On the other end of the line, as Melinda hung up she fumbled her way to the edge of a counter, collapsing into a lab chair.

#  About Chaos's Followers

"What led up to Chaos's governmental takeover?" I asked.

"You of course mean the takeover of the government by pro-Chaos politicians," Eric said. "That happened after we were forced to leave Earth. So as far as that goes, you know as much about it as I do."

"I doubt that, Eric. You lived through it, despite being here on Mars," I replied.

"Exactly. We were cut off here as it happened. I only learned about it from history books when they were brought here by the first settlers. From my analysis, it was the Coalition War," Eric said. I let it hang there, expecting more.

"That's not an explanation, Eric," I said.

"But it is. You're a good student of my period in history. You tell me what happened on Earth after the Coalition War," Eric replied.

"Okay," I said, closing my eyes and clearing my mind. "After the end of the War there was a movement to strengthen the failing UN in an attempt to, for the first time in human history, have one United Terran Government to which all others would be responsible. As I recall it was a hard compromise. The Coalition powers were forced into accepting as part of their Terms of Peace. Some of the Allied Nations, especially a conservative-controlled United States of America, vehemently opposed such a move. Such a global government would make them once more answerable to a higher authority, something they had not truly been for more than 200 years at that point."

"But what happened to change their mind?" Eric asked.

"The voce populi. American citizens generally favored equality Earth-wide, something the new Terran Government espoused and held dear. So, come the next election cycle, the American Government was basically replaced. A new one was voted in that favored, and in fact voted nearly immediately to ratify, the proposed Terran Government."

"A little revolution every now and again is a good thing," Eric said. "What happened then?"

"Well...okay," I said, remembering. "In the new Terran Government there was the lower House of Commons and the upper House of the Senate. International judiciary from the UN simply transferred over. There was also a Prime Minister, the equivalent of an American President. The first Terran Government Prime Minister was Tian-Chien."

"And what became of Prime Minister Tian-Chien?" Eric asked.

"He was assassinated after 1,000 days in office," I replied.

Eric closed his eyes before he said, "In this time of change, of great innovation, of governmental exercise and experimentation, we seek a new peace. One not borne onto the people, but rather of the people. So many recently struggled so hard and gave so much for peace that we must respect it and, in doing so, respect their struggles.

"At the same time, and with malice toward none, we enter into a new kind of humanhood, new brother- and sisterhood, encompassing all peoples of all races and all faiths. We do not seek to make one people, but together to be a better assemblage of people. For, when all things are taken into consideration, the equations put side by each, we find that we have more in common than not.

"Among such things, our most basic common link is that we all inhabit the same Earth, all breathe the same air, and all care for the future of our children. So let now the word go out that we, together, will oppose any foe and pay any price in the defense of peace. Ask not what your new government can do for you, but what you can do for your world. Ask not what your government can do for your country, but rather what together we can do for the betterment of all mankind. For in such a time as this, when we see so much pain, suffering and destruction left over from war, is when our humanity _must_ show through the most. If we cannot now save the many who are poor, homeless, hopeless and displaced from the recent conflict, then in no way can we hope to save the few who are rich. Let us, therefore, commit ourselves from this day forward to work together, to suffer joyfully toward a brighter future.

"It will not be an easy road to travel that we now start upon. Indeed, such a path will test our resolve time and again. Let it only strengthen us. When we encounter hardship, let us accept it gladly. And let such struggle as we undertake together and for one another this day win us the right to have peace in our time." Eric opened his eyes then, locking them intently on me. "Who said that?"

"First Prime Minister Tian-Chien," I responded. It was a pivotal and highly influential piece of rhetoric. "It was part of his inaugural address."

"Very good. But what transpired just after his reign that is so significant? What political event happened to the Terran government between the Coalition and Insurrection wars?" Eric asked.

I had to think. Many reforms were undertaken in an attempt to rectify holes in the original government. It had been hastily put in place and, much as had the young government of the United States of America done, strengthened itself with such early reforms. But Eric's question indicated a singular, grandiose event. "The near _golpe de estado_?"

" _Le petit coup d'état._ Go on," Eric said, inclining his head approvingly.

"Well, with the whole world suffering the effects of post-war, especially countries surrounding the Mediterranean Sea, supplies and materiel were scare to begin with. On top of that the Government was focused on rebuilding its own infrastructure first, thinking that was the best way to go on and help its citizenry. But with supplies so scarce to needy people, of which there were many those days, dissent began to emerge and gain popularity. In the Arab-speaking world this drew close attention due to the recent Coalition War. But the dissent brought to a head in the Mediterranean world quickly spread across the net, finding receptive audiences around the globe. Among this crowd the dissident message took especially strong root.

"A leader emerged from that group, capitalizing on the global unrest in rebuilding. Moreover, people across the globe that held high positions, both civilian and military, began to take the message to heart. Over the course of only a year or two such supporters of the dissident cause were able to rally enough support to win seats in the next Global elections. Their leader, that man from the United States of America, found his way into being the Speaker of the House of Commons, the dissident movement being the party with highest membership there. As I recall, the movement had also developed a military arm, forming militias for the stated purpose of 'defense of the common man.' The Speaker, Matthew Welsh I believe, was appointed honorary head of militias worldwide. He had political as well as military power.

"It naturally worried the Terran Government to see this developing. But as they had been brought into existence by a similar democratic process, how could they now deny another the same right to opportunity? The next election cycle, two years later, found the Dissident Cause gaining ground, nearly taking in the Senate the same power they held in the Commons. The Prime Minister of the time, Jean Petin, who had replaced Tian-Chien then been elected in his own right, was being pressured by Dissident leaders to replace the current Chancellor, a position at the top of the government in charge of governmental position appointment nominations, with Matthew Welsh. Petin stalled. Welsh called out militias worldwide in demonstrations and marches in his favor. Welsh personally went on television many times to promote himself.

"After a few weeks of mounting pressure Petin invited Welsh to a private meeting. While we don't know with certainty what was said, Welsh and Petin emerged from the meeting and issued a joint statement that while Petin would not deny Welsh's ascendency to the Chancellorship, Welsh no longer sought such a position nor did anyone from his party. The movement slowly deflated and collapsed. Had Welsh been able to gain the Chancellorship he could have put his followers and supporters in seats of power throughout the Government."

Eric nodded his head. "Very well done. I can tell you what Welsh and Petin talked about," Eric offered. No documentation or recordings existed of their meeting that day. How could he know? "You see, Welsh was still around and influential, especially in the United States, as Chaos was coming to power prior to the Insurrection. As a beachhead and way to get his foot in the door in America, long ATMO's stronghold, he recruited Welsh and made him into one of his first nanitics. He was the commander I faced off against at Thermopylae. His death hurt Chaos's base of power among government dissidents forcing his withdrawal and regrouping after Thermopylae. But I digress."

It was an intriguing new piece of the puzzle. Welsh had, according to extant historical records, died in combat. He was listed a hero and given a Military Honor of the highest order. But the records never said _how_ he died.

"When they met, Welsh and Petin, the Prime Minister began by pointing out the similarities between their current situation and that of pre-World War II Germany. To that point events were paralleled by the rise of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi Party. Petin, a Frenchman, shared his grave reservations of rashly giving such power to what, at the moment, appeared a transitory party and movement.

"Welsh, understanding such implications himself, his family was in fact Jewish and descended from Schindler Jews, took the message to heart. Coming to that understanding was what prompted the two men to their joint statement. Petin's part of it recognized the power of the dissident movement while Welsh's sent the message that they grew too powerful too fast. Petin's assessment proved correct as the Dissident Cause slowly lost favor amongst the people due to its increasingly hate-filled message and militarized nature. The Terran Government ended up being vindicated in its approach to rebuilding as well, one of the main points against which the Dissidents rallied. Once the global infrastructure, such as shipping lanes, utilities and lines of communication, were fully restored, relief and rebuilding supplies flowed into destitute regions at an unbelievable pace. Unlike pre-Nazi Germany, the Terran Government had weathered the storm without succumbing to it. But, then, how does this illuminate the process by which Chaos's forces have gained such political power? That _is_ the question." Eric fell silent then, staring at me.

I thought about it. Eric had already mentioned how Chaos had set in motion plans after the Insurrection to create competing political parties for the express purpose of making a single party seem centrist, moderate, and as such appealing to the greatest number of people. And the fact that Welsh had been a nanitic was also probative; his political prowess would have been passed on to Chaos in their hive-mind. "The Dissident Movement served as a model on which Chaos built his movement?"

"Deeper," Eric commented.

While Welsh _had_ fallen out of the public spotlight, he obviously hadn't faded away completely. And clearly the relationships he had formed during his temporary rise to power would still exist years later. "It wasn't a springboard. It _was_ Chaos's movement. He co-opted it using Welsh to remould it to fit his own plans. The subtle political network had already been built. He just picked it up, dusted it off and began using it again," I replied. "They weren't two separate movements, then. Just one that altered itself to fit the times. It even used the same tactics of fear and hate mongering to again rise from the ashes."

"Yup. The Dissident movement came before the time of ATMO. But we were around. It was in the news almost daily for the better part of a decade. We watched as it rose to power and then fell from grace. Adam, and so Chaos, therefore knew about it well. And so he used resources at hand."

A continuum formed in my mind stretching from the time of the Coalition War unbroken to today. "Who controls the Dissident Movement today?" I asked.

Eric shrugged. "Such long lived movements, such long lived organizations, tend to rely on ritual and tradition. What position did Welsh hold at the height of his power?"

"The Speaker of the Terran Government's House of Commons. So then, in theory, today's leader of the movement would be the Speaker of the Terran Union's House of Commons. Benoit Smith?" I asked.

"That's him. I don't know how many he directly commands today. But considering the size of the government itself, it must be a large group," Eric replied. It made sense. As much as the government swore in new members on Earth Standard August 7th every year to coincide with Exile Day festivities, so it made sense for the Speaker of the Commons to lead Chaos's political forces.

"Do you know for sure it is Smith that leads them?" I asked.

Eric nodded.

"How can you know for sure?" I asked.

"I have my sources, James. Remember, I've been around long enough to cultivate many useful relationships. Helping a young political neophyte through college 50 years ago can lead to a secret wealth of information coming from the Capitol today. You'll learn such things, too, after your first couple centuries," Eric said absent mindedly.

"Eric, do you know of any other important leaders of Chaos's forces?" I asked.

Eric waved me off. His mind was going off on another of his tangents. "You ever fish when you were young, James?" Eric asked, looking out his bay window with a far-away gaze.

I knew better by then than to try and redirect his wandering mind. It would be like trying to stave off the ocean with a hand broom. "Yes, of a sort. My father had enjoyed fishing with his father back on Earth when he was young. He always said that he wasn't much of a fisherman. Always enjoyed the doing more than the catching. That the time spent fishing was the purest time he ever had."

"It tends to slow life down, to live for the strike of fish on hook. Teaches you a good deal of patience, too. I've been waiting almost 500 years at this spot with my line in the water. Waiting. Occasionally teasing the line, tensing it to make sure the line hasn't snagged. Now I can feel the nibbles. The lure is right and the fish is hungry. It is almost time to set the hook and reel in my quarry. At times, that knowledge is enough."

The moment was gone. Eric lapsed into one of his protracted silences. As I had quickly grown accustomed to during such times, I gathered my thoughts, jotted down some notes and took both our water glasses into the kitchen for a quick fill-up. As I did so I could have sworn I heard two people arguing in Eric's living room. Peaking around the corner I saw only Eric still peering out his bay window at the Martian city and sky.

#  Death of an Order

The TDF had one last position to clear of Insurgent forces: Athens. In a bout of historical irony, Chaos had tied his last stand to the Acropolis mount, going so far as to put in heavy defenses around the Parthenon. Chaos, vowing to fight to the last man, was well entrenched to do just that. It was a tactic meant to tie the TDF to the visage of conquerors, such as the ancient Persians, rather than the defenders of the civilized world, such as the Athenian Greeks. Fortunately for the TDF his direct subordinate had a flair for monumental feats of machismo; he unilaterally organized Chaos's remaining staff into an assault force he brought out against the TDF. Since Chaos would not surrender, and as the TDF could not simply allow his militant Insurgency to continue, the TDF was as committed to a final assault as was Chaos. The TDF drop ships landed on the Acropolis mount and were immediately beset by incoming fire.

The problem with such a traditional assault was that all the combatants were nanite-capable. Plasma bolts zipped through the air striking stone, ground, and soldier. The firefight didn't last long, perhaps all of 10 minutes. In that time the TDF forces managed to turn the flank of Chaos's general, forcing him to retreat toward the refuge of ton-blocks of granite: the Parthenon. Shots began flying around outside as well as within the structure as the TDF forces pressed their advance. Chaos's general tried several times to push through their lines by sheer firepower. The TDF took casualties to be sure, some deaths as well, but they held. Toward the end of the battle one of the TDF's younger soldiers, feeling it his duty to avenge his family that was killed during the early days of Chaos's terror campaign, threw a high-yield grenade into the Parthenon. It came to rest against an ammo cache. Chaos's general and his troops were killed almost instantly. The Parthenon shook, its topmost pieces having blown skyward and began to fall about the Acropolis Mount.

As the rubble and dust settled a figure first rose to a knee, then to standing. At first it seemed he was silhouetted against the horizon by the dust. All soon realized, though, that it was the absence of light around him that was causing him to look thus. Chaos had turned into a being made of pure darkness via Jessica's abilities amplified beyond imagination. It was a manifestation that robbed him of any outward vestige of humanity. He absorbed the light and energy around him, stealing what few nanites were left in the wounded as he walked past.

He began a slow march toward the TDF forces, looking first at one arm then the other. As he came closer he reached out one arm toward a TDF soldier. The man shook violently, and suddenly his nanites were torn physically from him. They flowed as a cloud toward Chaos, seeming to first wrap around then join his body. From a non-existent mouth came the loudest, most painfully shrieking and full of loathing, hatred, and death voice any present had ever heard.

" **noonecanstopmenow. youhavebroughtaboutyourownend."**

He had perverted what of Melinda's power he had absorbed. His statements came as if all at once, sending spikes of pain racing through everyone's minds. He reached out again, tearing nanites from two more TDF troopers. They opened fire. He kept walking toward them, gaining strength with each shot and each new victim as he absorbed the energy. Every TDF troop was sure they would die. Eric reached out to Melinda who had been left in charge at TDF field HQ, some miles away. He tried to share everything that was going on. If they would die, let it be for something.

" **iamdiseasepestilencesufferinganddeath** " Chaos boomed.

Eric could feel those around him refusing to yield, never considering retreat. Chaos's slow death march had led him to stand among the TDF forces. Now he simply reached out and touched first this one and then that, their nanites flowing along his arms and forming a sort of dark fog about him. Calm enveloped Eric even as Chaos approached. And then there was a mighty wind. The remaining TDF troops were thrown to the ground. Chaos stopped in place, his featureless face turned skyward.

" **youwanttodiewithyourtroopshowsweet.** "

Both James and Meng descended from the sky amid a whipping wind. Their voices, in harmony, called out, " _This far, but no further._ " They moved as one and talked as one. Around them both flowed a haze so bright not even the sun could compare. They reached out from either side of Chaos, their arms seeming to try to surround him.

" **youcannotdefeatme. noonehaspowerenoughnow.** "

" _No ONE may, but we are TWO. You will fall, and this world will finally be rid of your death/destruction/tyranny/evil/tarnish_ ," they said together. That last word echoed in Eric's head, causing him to blink. In doing so suddenly he was back at TDF field HQ, those therein looking as shocked as he felt.

"Medical!" he barked. "Get them up here now. Get a sat view on the Parthenon." The main screen showed a battle between light and darkness. Words weren't wasted anymore, only actions were exchanged between the combatants. James and Meng, seeming to grow the brighter, would narrow their arms toward Chaos. Chaos, in turn, reached out, attempting to suck the nanites away from James and Meng. He believed himself too powerful to fall to anyone. James and Meng, however, had just what they needed. With Chaos's forced hive mind James had found his weak spots. Mind to mind he shared them with Meng, who reached through the veil of time and space to open white holes, vortices of pure energy and raw matter, directed at and into those weaknesses.

" _Take care of this world_ ," came the thought directly at Eric. Meng and James were trading their lives for humanity's. James and Meng suddenly spread their arms as wide as they could. Swift winds spun around Chaos as light joined in the fray. The darkness that was Chaos began to leach off him, deforming his outline.

A wail of pain flowed through all of the TDF Elites, through their common bond. On its heels, though, was a feeling of joy, elation, and victory. Chaos was being ripped asunder, his essence being diluted by the pure light that all, at first, assumed was merely emanating from James and Meng. Now, though, they saw the truth: James and Meng were giving their whole selves to the cause. Their knowledge began to flow into Eric, the power they wielded into Chaos's destruction. The ground beneath the trio joined the wind and light, disintegrating into dust, sand and then nothingness. More and more of the surrounding landscape was vaporized as Chaos became a shape less and less recognizable as man.

In the same time it took the TDF to defeat his troops, Meng and James now defeated Chaos. Around Eric, when the dust literally settled and the deed was clearly done, tears began to flow. As a testament to the violent use of power which had just been exacted, the Acropolis itself now stood as little more than a small hill amid the Grecian landscape. Chaos was dead. Meng was dead. James was dead. And suddenly Eric gained understanding. The power that Chaos and James and Meng had drawn on flooded into him. All their memories, their knowledge, their abilities, as well as all those of their slain comrades flowed into Eric. It overwhelmed him, and he passed out.

Eric awoke two days later. The New Terran Government, having survived Chaos's insurgency, went about the business, yet again, of rebuilding a destroyed people and world. The TDF, meanwhile, took stock of what was left. The Last Terran War, the War of Noble Cause, the War of Insurrection, had cost Earth over 85% of its military forces, over half a million of its sons and daughters, husbands, wives, fathers and mothers. When a post-war census was taken the true toll of Chaos's "cleansings" came into focus; tens of millions had been killed as a means toward forced recruitment into Chaos's armed forces. Worse than the numbers was the deed done. Chaos had not been interested in anyone outside of the ideal age for troops. Those not "best suited for enlistment with our forces," as Chaos had phrased it, were eliminated.

The TDF found out that the nanites of Chaos's Elite were programmed to suppress parts of their brain, specifically the parts responsible for sympathy, empathy and conscience. His perfect soldiers, his perfect monstrous army, committed the worst atrocities ever seen. They slaughtered entire cities. And for what? Sometimes for as few as four more troops. The world itself seemed to mourn the dead as rainstorms were reported worldwide for days following the Acropolis. In Eric's mind were thousands upon thousands of faces, voices, and warm embraces of people who simply weren't there at the end of the war. He hadn't just gained the memories of Meng and James, but Chaos and every Elite who ever served under him. It was part of his reprogramming of the nanites that was meant to increase his strength.

Civilian survivors of the war were, understandably, indignant and mad. They sought reason for their loss. Then attention turned toward the Terran Government for answers, and the Government went looking for a scapegoat. The TDF soldiers left alive were easy targets, the bulk of the bureaucrats being unwilling to defend them in any way.

Those who had suffered and lost, who put their lives on the line everyday for those they did not know, became the aggressors. Some people saw them as mirror images of Chaos's forces and so capable of bending once more toward the evil he had brought upon them. Generally, people became distrustful of the TDF. A movement gained ground, one aimed at removing the TDF eye blights from view. Every TDF soldier knew the Insurgency had entered a new phase, one aimed at keeping their organization from using its ability to affect Earth in any way. Though Chaos was dead, his civilian followers kept his plans alive, those fueled by the naturally blooming hatred of humanity toward the TDF.

Months passed and the anti-TDF movement gained enough strength to bring charges against the TDF leadership. Being next in command, Eric was brought to account. Knowing the TDF as an organization were still too powerful to oppose directly, the government and its courts treated its members as dignitaries. Hostile, uncontrollable dignitaries, but dignitaries nonetheless. They made no attempt to hold the members of the TDF, though they had no reason to either. The TDF leaders always made their court appearances on time, never begrudging their once and again allies in the government for their actions. Courtrooms were always packed to capacity with live-feeds going out over the WorldNet. The tribunals were farces, effective nonetheless in spreading hatred. As weeks passed, the future became all too clear. Members of the TDF Elite could not be jailed or killed; the Terran Government hadn't the technology or capability. The tribunal at Nuremberg, the largest and most widely-encompassing of the court cases, came to a close on July 7th, rendering its final verdict at 11 AM.

As a direct result of that ruling the Terran Prime Minister asked the TDF to leave Earth, to forsake what family they still had left. Earth could not force them to leave, but it didn't really need to. Had they stayed, the citizenry of Earth would only have grown angrier, more spiteful, and would have focused their energies on the TDF instead of rebuilding. This the TDF could not allow. Earth had suffered an intense wound and needed time to heal and recover, time it would not have if they stayed. So they decided to peacefully depart.

They left some of their kind behind, hiding in secret. It wasn't that hard, actually. With casualty lists, even so many months after the war, yet being finalized they simply slipped in a name here or there, gave the person a new identity. Overall, though, the TDF died the day of the final tribunal's ruling. Going off-world they could no longer recruit, their membership could only decrease. Feeling at the time, though, that Earth was safe, they felt it a worthwhile sacrifice.

#  Reporting Back, II

"Tim, what's gotten into you?" I asked. He had been acting skittish for the last half hour as I shared some of what Eric had been telling me.

Tim bit his upper lip, saying, " _They_ came. Here. And asked me a few...things." The Censors. I felt my heart skip a beat, then immediately quicken.

"What did you tell them?" I asked.

Tim shook his head. "I've dealt with them before," he said introspectively, pulling his mouth down into a frown. "I never minded them." Looking up from his desk, "Part of the job, you know? All us historians understand it's just...part of the job. But this time," he said as he furrowed his brow, squinting ever so slightly, "was different." His breathing came sharper, louder. "They have me targeted James. They have _me_ in their sights."

"What did you tell them?" I asked again.

"I...told them I had seen proof of Eric Pohlman's involvement in NAR Defense. I told them about the picture."

Intently, I asked, "Why?"

Tim leaned forward as he said, "They threatened my kids. Said they weren't sure my home was the right place for them. Said they were sure Social Services would back them up, that a seditionist's house wasn't a healthy and nurturing environment for raising children. They said all they wanted was something. Anything. Or else. They have _never_ done that to me before, James."

"Tim, I understand and appreciate your plight," I began. "But think about this for a moment more. _You_ aren't meeting with a dead-exile-leader of ATMO." Tim's eyes lit up, then immediately went as wide as physically possible.

" _Mierda_ ," he said sharply.

"Yeah. When were they here?" I asked.

"Two hours ago," Tim said. His right eye twitched.

"Did you tell them you were meeting with me?" I pressed.

"No," Tim said, shaking his head. His eye twitched again. "But as good as the Censors are, they wouldn't have needed me to tell them." That was certainly true.

Instinctively I reached for my bag, feeling it. Since I began my sessions with Eric I had kept the bag with me at all times, going so far as to sleep with it. As the saying goes, just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after me. I could feel the edges of the picture and birth certificate in their coveralls, as well as my notetab. "If they search my place they won't find anything," I said with relief.

"Good news for the cause," Tim replied. "But if they catch you with that stuff, home or not, more than likely you're gonna disappear." He had a very valid point. "More than that, though, they're gonna start tracking you if they're this interested in you."

"Crap," I said. Censors followed people and made them and anyone they knew disappear. "Eric," I mumbled. They would undoubtedly follow me back to his place. What would happen to him if they found him out? My mind leapt forward then, grasping onto a passing thought like it was a lifeline. "Eric's been hiding in plain sight for centuries. His might be the one place I could safely go."

"Listen to what you're saying, James!" Tim exclaimed. "You're suggesting that leading these Censors _to the home_ of Eric Aaron Pohlman would be not only a good idea but the _best_ one right now."

"I know it sounds nuts. But where else am I going to go? Your place?" Tim opened his mouth, immediately closing it without speaking. I could not go home and could go no other place the Censors would know of or expect. "It's the _only_ option right now."

"How would you get there without being noticed?" Tim asked.

"I don't know that's possible," I said as I peered out Tim's office window.

"What do you mean?"

"Check out the government-cuts chilling on the lawn," I replied, pointing to a couple on a grassy knoll outside the building. If you had never interacted with Censors the two wouldn't have caught your attention. They simply seemed to be relaxing, enjoying each other's company. But, even as had been true centuries ago, their haircuts gave them away. "They just can't help themselves, can they?" I murmured. Spockian pointed sideburns, shorter cropped hair parted and spiked to either side on the one, longer hair up in a bun on the other.

"Wow. Missed them," Tim said as he followed my line of sight. His eye twitched again.

"Those the two who came and said hello earlier?" I asked.

"No," Tim replied. No eye twitch: he spoke truth.

"Then this is more than a passive investigation," I commented, remembering how my one reporter friend had described things to me before he disappeared. Censors were on him around the clock, cycling through multiple teams. Always the men and women had the same hairstyles. "Can you drive me?"

"Yeah. Sure," Tim replied.

"They wouldn't stop us on campus. It's too populated. Public. Somewhere private, that's where they'd make me disappear." My mind clicked on again, my head turning toward Tim. If they had already confronted him in person they meant business. By driving me to Eric's house he would seal his fate with them.

"Tell you what. Let me use the bathroom quick. I'll be right back." Tim grunted, still staring out the window. As I rose, my mind completed its thought. Tim had readily agreed to take me to Eric's. No hesitation. It would be sealing his fate, his daughters', to do so. Unless he had already made a deal. I gently grabbed my bag and slipped down the hall. The main paths off campus would be watched. The couple outside were evidence enough of that. I was familiar enough with campus, though, that I could use some back-routes to hook up with a bus line. As I went I hoped that Tim would be okay.

How had they picked up on what I was doing? Tim? Amid? One of my friends from the paper? Who had said something to the wrong person? As Eric had been saying, the Government had just about eliminated ATMO from history. But not entirely. Not yet. The bus dropped me off two blocks from Eric's house. The entire ride I did my best to look casual while keeping an eye out for any Censor tails. I felt confident none had followed me.

As I climbed Eric's steps I found myself rehearsing my plea to him. Before I could knock, though, the door opened. There stood Eric, door in one hand as the other gestured inside. The scene was so surreal as to freeze me in place. My mouth stumbled over the words I wanted it to say. "Uhm, Eric...I know it'd put you...that is, I know you'd be in a pinch if..." He rolled his eyes before taking a step toward me and dragging me inside.

"You're welcome here. Know that first. Second," he said as he released my arm and shoved the door closed, "you are safe here. They hadn't yet followed you here and did not manage to this time." He turned and secured the door before going past me into his living room.

"How did you..."

"You have to ask at this point?" he asked.

" _Fair enough,_ " I thought. It was not so much doubt that Eric could know details of the spot I was in so much as shock that he did.

"You want to call someone?" he asked. He certainly had a read on me.

"Yeah, that'd be great." My mind found itself worried about Tim and his safety. "But wouldn't the Censors trace it? Find out I am here? And wouldn't that put you in a _really_ bad spot?"

Eric, standing behind his chair, inhaled and exhaled frustratedly, saying, "Your mind's a-flutter right now. Remember how I said we built the infrastructure of Mars totally, from the ground up?" I nodded. "Even as systems were upgraded with new technology, we made certain our buried back doors stayed in place. Among those are ways to circumvent, interdict and misdirect traces. And even if they _could_ trace you to here, they would never _find_ you here." The emphasis and verbal twist Eric put on 'find' confounded me. My mind, regaining some of its journalistic composure, thought of the secretive lab in Eric's sub-basement. If such energy and EM readings went unnoticed, he surely had a shield or dampening field capable of hiding one person.

"So as I said," he continued, "you're welcome and safe here. Let me get a secure comm line setup in the dining room for you. Meanwhile, you just take a few, drink some water," he said, motioning at the end table next to my chair, "and collect yourself."

As Eric left the living room I crossed around in front of my chair, or rather the chair in which I always sat, and looked at the end table beside it. There was a glass of water just beginning to perspire. Lifting it and turning it in my hand I could feel its coolness.

"Water's fine. Trust me," Eric called from his dining room.

I glanced over my shoulder, but Eric was out of sight. I slowly lowered myself into my chair and sipped, closing my eyes. I could feel my heart yet pounding, the whole string of events to now still trying to make sense of themselves. The Censors had heard about my research project with Eric. They knew of my association with Tim. They must've been monitoring his office and approached him after I last reported back to him. And they found his weak spot, using it to turn him against me. Had I not picked up on that I could very well have become a _desaparecido_.

For a fleeting second my mind considered the possibility that Eric, with his 'back doors everywhere,' had tipped off the Censors in order to force me here, now. But that would logically also lead the Censors to his door, something he would surely want to avoid at all costs. Any way it had come to be, I was now an of-necessity guest of Eric Pohlman. On the plus side, it would give me more of a chance to probe Eric's mind. A hand was on my shoulder, shaking it gently. "Comm's set up," Eric said.

I opened my eyes as he settled himself into his chair. Eric picked up a notetab from his end table and began reading. It was as if I weren't there. After a couple moments of watching him, waiting to see if he would switch his focus back to me, I set my glass down and started to get up.

"Coaster," Eric said absently.

I looked over, realizing I hadn't used the clay coaster. Re-placing the glass I finished rising and walked into the dining room. Eric had set an older notetab on an easel stand, a cameramic on a clip at its top. He had moved one of the end chairs so the whole setup faced the blank wall opposite his basement stairs leaving nothing in the setting to identify where I might be.

"Sonic dampener there if you'd like," he called as I sat down. A small box, no bigger than a pack of mints, sat just beside the easel stand.

Picking it up and turning it over in my hand I recognized it as a uni-directional model. By pointing it in one direction it would emit counter-waves to cancel any sound travelling along its long axis. By setting it toward Eric I could assure what I said into the comm link could not reach his ears. Not that I thought it would matter much at this point. On the other hand if I pointed it out toward the back window it would block any outside noise coming from the living room or the street beyond. This seemed the more prudent use as it would add a layer of protection against discovery. Setting it up, I activated it, then punched in the number for Tim's office. The notetab popped up several windows, data cascading from one onto the next. Some of it I recognized.

The programs were re-routing and bouncing my call around MarsNet, encoding it at one hub and decoding it elsewhere. After only a few seconds the screen showed Tim at his desk, though at a severe angle. His monitor had been turned so that his desk was almost completely hidden from view off-screen. Instead, the camera angle showed mostly Tim in his chair in front of his windows.

"Jim, buddy," Tim chuckled seriously. "Had me worried. Thought you had been picked up by those Censors," he added, jerking his thumb off-camera to his right. To anyone in the room with him it would appear he was gesturing outside. But I had played poker with Tim enough to know his tells. They were there. "Where are you, buddy?" He only used 'buddy' that much when he was holding a straight or a flush. He was nervous.

"Someplace safe, Timmy," I replied, using the form of his name I knew he hated. When the enemy is listening, and you know it, speak clearly in code. "Someplace none will find me." A commentary on the ATMO Exile, one written by Tim, had compared it to the retreat of monks into mountains where 'none could find them.' I was cloistered and safely hidden. "Are you doing okay, buddy?" I reinforced that I understood they were there.

"Oh yeah, just fine," he said, nearly leaning back too far in his office chair. "Just worried about you, like I said. You took off like a shot. Department secretary didn't even catch you leaving." I had lost them before I left campus, then.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Figured it was best. If you didn't know where I had gone they really couldn't do anything to Makia and Rachael." Mika and Raquel were his daughters. 'Makia and Rachael' was one of our code phrases for going deep Underground, based on two of its current top leaders. Not only had I found a safe place, but one where I could lay low indefinitely.

"Very true. And for that I'm grateful. Listen. If you need anything until this blows over just message me. Use my work account, though. My home one is acting all squiffy right now." All his accounts were being monitored. It wasn't safe to openly contact him unless it was encoded. A warning box popped up on my screen. A trace that had been running had hit the first of several decoy dead-ends and was back-tracking.

"Damn hackers," I replied. "Well, listen. I should get going. I just wanted to make sure everything by you was okay." Tim's eyes shifted right, then snapped back to the screen. They were telling him to keep me on the line longer so the trace would have more time to work.

"Hey," he chuckled, "no need to cut it short." The notetab related the trace had hit another decoy dead-end. It was adjusting again.

"Sorry, buddy. I really should go." I purposely looked right, both to check on Eric and for effect. I nodded and said, "Yeah, I'll be right there. Tim, this guy I met on the metro had an uncle grew up around L&H. He said he'd tell me a few of his uncle's stories over some drinks. Called you when he stopped off to the loo. But hey, I'll call you again before the tourney starts. We need to settle who's gonna take the green jacket this year. Look for me off the 18th, huh?" I looked right again, saying, "Yeah, be right there. Gotta go, Timmy. Talk at you soon." I closed the link before he could again protest. A summary screen came up.

Eric was suddenly leaning over my shoulder as he deactivated the sonic field. "Good thinking with that," he said tapping its casing with a finger. "Let's see what we got from them," he added as he reached in and tapped a few menu commands. As the summary scrolled another window popped up labeled 'Backtrace.' "They're getting better. Made it through three full decoys and firewalls."

"How many did you set?" I asked, feeling a trace of nervousness returning.

"Twenty-three," Eric said off-handedly. The second window streamed results. "New Langley. Impressive. They really _are_ focused on you."

My eyes widened. "The CIA was in on this?!"

"At least the Mars bureau, yeah. And there's their trace program," Eric said, pointing past me at the screen. "Multi-adaptive polymorphic AI based on a hexadecimal system." He whistled. "Hadn't ever seen it run yet. No wonder they breached three levels deep."

"I don't understand," I said, twisting in the seat.

Looking down at me over his glasses Eric said, "It can learn on the fly. It's like a bloodhound, but better. Not only that, in base sixteen architecture it's smaller too. Smarter and smaller. Quicker to run and less noticeable. If I had the time I'd love to dissect this thing."

"Their trace?" I asked.

"Yeah. Kinda like a worm in ways. A worm and a Trojan base," Eric said as he flicked the window to scrolling, code flying off the screen upward. "Caught a copy with my defensive program. See, by the second decoy dead end I had it. If it could have made it to the seventh it wouldn't have gone any further. Not this guy," he said, again flicking the code window. "My program would've adapted by then. Could have kept this guy chasing its own tail indefinitely. Must've been a good bio-hacker, though."

"Hacker? The CIA _uses_ bio-hackers?"

"Sure. Best people to get you into secure systems. Why not use such a tool? Also cheaper than penning them all up in a prison someplace," Eric replied off-handedly.

"But there's for sure no way they could have traced me here?" I asked.

"Not by a long shot. And your little bit of misinformation'll have them going a totally different direction, too. A day's high-speed train ride away? Nice touch," Eric added. Martian Sweetgrass, where the PGA Solar Master's was being played, was directly opposite Olympus Mons Province, fully halfway around Mars.

"We journalists have our moments," I quipped, feeling a sense of truly relaxed calm coming over me. Tim and his family would be alright. He didn't know anything and so couldn't be held responsible. And I was safe, too.

"That you are," Eric said as he straightened. "How about we get to some more of those questions of yours? Seems we have a newly enlarged pool of time for them."

#  Between Lovers

"Adam! Listen to yourself! This is not what we are meant to be doing here!"

"What choice was left me?" Adam asked.

"There's always a choice and you've chosen wrong," she replied.

"Jessica, I welcomed you here, to my side, because I thought I could trust you," Adam said.

"And I came because I thought that you were still the man I was in love with. Not some power hungry megalomaniac," Jessica replied.

"I am not power hungry! James and Meng and Eric are power hungry. _They_ have abandoned the True Path in order to lie down at the feet of the New Terran Government. I'm building a base from which I can do _good_. From which I can _help_ these people," Adam retorted.

Jessica shook her head, hearing the desperation and confusion in his voice. "Adam, these are our friends. You should know them better. They're doing what's best."

"No!" Adam raged, jerking to standing, beginning to pace their small room. "I have seen the future. _My_ way is the True Path, the one that will lead to the future we all seek. _Not theirs_ ," he spat.

"Seen the future?" Jessica asked with a laugh. It elicited a sideways glare from Adam. "Impossible," she added. Adam's glare seemed to burn into her soul. "I should know. I've been around Meng longer than you have."

"You should also know that I absorb powers. And I've absorbed his," Adam replied.

"You borrow parts of powers. You may have fragmentary prescience, but no more than that. The only nanitic on _Earth_ with full prescience is Meng," Jessica commented.

"What I lack in ability I make up for in amplification," Adam grumbled.

"That argument again. No matter how much you amplify such a miniscule amount of a power it does not equate to what Meng has. You're filling in the gaps in your visions with wishful thinking, babe!"

' _She's wrong,'_ Adam fumed to himself. ' _I have even perfected Claire's power and so sensed my own perfected abilities. Gödel was wrong. I am the completed system in itself.'_ "Maybe you're right, Jess," Adam said, acting reluctantly passive. ' _I protected her mind this long from our meld, but I see that time has ended._ ,' he thought to himself. "Look, I'm sorry. I just...I don't want you out here to get hurt is all. I guess I was just trying to chase you off without having to say it. You know how I am about that." She did, and this was a farce. Adam had never been afraid to share his feelings toward her. She knew he had another motive. "Can we just let this go for tonight? Get a fresh start in the morning?" he asked. After all, what could one night hurt?

"Sure," Jessica conceded, knowing she just needed to play for time to find out what this was all about.

"Great. I just need to take care of a few things in the HQ then I'll be back." As he went Jessica was left with the feeling that something monstrously bad had just begun.

' _She will play the perfect spy back at TDF Command,'_ Chaos thought to himself as he walked swiftly to the Nanitic Hive Core control room to remove the sync blocks Adam had put around Jessica. ' _On the upshot, we'll never have another argument like that one once the nanites are through with her reprogramming. Thank goodness she's not Melinda or else this would never have worked.'_ All it took was a couple of keystrokes to set in motion the process of converting Jessica into a drone, stripping away her free will. ' _All too easy,'_ Chaos thought, ' _To do to such simple-minded humans. If only she had been like me.'_

#  Professor Christopher

"He taught, you know." It was one of those introductions Eric tended to make after our breaks, as though he were simply picking up on a forgotten conversation.

"Who taught where?" I asked, looking up at Eric.

"James Christopher. He taught at the Martian University of New Green Bay," Eric replied.

"Uhm...what?" MUNGB was only about 120 years old and James Christopher was 500 years dead.

"Did I mumble?" Eric asked.

"Eric, I'm sorry, but James has been dead. For hundreds of years," I clarified.

"Of course he has. So what?" Eric's matter-of-fact way of saying it made me pause momentarily.

"Well, if he was, has been, dead longer than the University has been open..." I began, trailing off.

After waiting for a few silent seconds Eric repeated, "So what?"

"Eric, he was dead," I said.

"But he lives up here," Eric said, pointing at his head. "Everything that he was is here."

"So are you saying that he taught through you?" I asked.

"Good approach at rationalization, but no. I've only done it twice, but it is possible for me to switch consciousnesses completely. For a time I let James take over this body," Eric said.

I took a moment to really absorb what Eric had just said. "You let him take over... _your_ _body_?"

"Well...yeah. I guess, the way I view things, this is _just_ a body, not really _mine_. But from your point of view, yes. He took over control of _my_ body. For about 30 years. Served as the first chair of the Natural and Applied Sciences at MUNGB," Eric stated.

"And nobody questioned it? Being taught by the former leader, co-leader, of the TDF?" I asked.

"Who would know?" Eric commented, shrugging. He had a very valid point. Up until a few days ago no known images of any of the Progenitors were known to exist.

"Okay. But if the Government is keeping things from your time so tightly under scrutiny, surely a man as brilliant as you've indicated James was would have been noticed." A secondary thought occurred to me then. "Did he look like himself then...I mean, did you look like him? Your body?" It was a cumbersome question to ask.

"He did take on his own visage, yes. I've used it once or twice myself," Eric replied.

After watching how suddenly Eric's features changed over the last few days I didn't doubt for a moment he could make his appearance resemble that of James Christopher.

"So what happened to you while he was...piloting?" I asked.

"As good a term as I've ever come up with, piloting. I simply became part of his background mental-noise, such as it is, as he normally was for me. And to answer your other question, he flew low under the radar. Instead of making a lot of new discoveries and innovations himself, he used collaborative efforts with other professors, graduate and undergraduate students to hide his involvement. He always let others take full credit, often advancing their careers in the process. The people he worked with were grateful and so never pushed the issue," Eric said.

"What were some of his projects?" I queried.

"Wormhole communication. Galactic Drive. Those were the big two."

"Really? It's because of James that we have real-time interplanetary communication and near-light propulsion?" I asked.

"Yup. Him, his colleagues and students. He'd always see the solutions the quickest, then give those working with him just enough to stumble upon the answer on their own."

"Can you explain those technologies to me?" I asked, genuinely hoping Eric could. With my background they were always something that had fascinated me, but which I could never wrap my head around.

"Okay. Let's try. All of them, really, are interconnected," Eric began.

"So I'd heard," I said.

"With wormhole communication the trick, really, is _joining_ two black holes."

"Joining _black holes_?" I asked.

"Yeah. But with different emphasis. _Joining_ black holes," Eric replied.

"I mean...are you saying that the process involves creating black holes?"

"Sure does. Which, by the way, is easier than you think," Eric stated. "Remember, the mini-star in my kitchen is doing fine. Under controlled conditions creating and joining black holes is relatively safe." I had forgotten about the mini-star, how it was fed by wormholes.

"How?" I asked.

"A space-contractor. Or space-densor if you prefer. You see, once you get space dense enough a black hole forms naturally. Sort of like a tear in space. Same thing happens if you put too much weight on a piece of fabric," Eric said.

"And that's related to Galactic Drive how?" I asked.

"Galactic Drive relies on the same space-contracting and space-expanding gravity generators as we used to make wormholes. For space ships it is a fairly straightforward process. You contract space in front of the ship and slowly expand it to a low density field directly aft of the ship. The net effect is that the ship basically causes space to flow backward over its body.

"I know some people, probably you included judging by that look on your face, believe ships move through space like fish through water. That's not the case anymore. Because of Galactic Drive, ships literally move space around them and remain stationary. Alcubierre had it mostly correct. James just needed to tweak a few things here and there."

Eric sat silently, allowing me to process what he had said. "Best part," he began again, "is that the space moves _around_ the ship along with everything in it. Thus, ships no longer have use of deflector shields such as had been previously needed. Since all matter resides in space and space moves around the ship, there is no risk of anything floating around _in space_ striking the ship and creating a problem."

"But ships are made of matter," I said. "If all matter resides in space, what about the ship?"

"A sort of independent space-time is artificially created around the ship," Eric replied.

"So...ships drag a certain amount of local space-time with them wherever they go?" I asked.

Eric thought about it for a moment, finally saying, "Essentially, yes. The amount of space beside that taken up by the ship is negligible, though. And in the end it doesn't make much difference as any space it takes with it is just re-absorbed by normal space-time at its destination. Like taking a bucket of water out of one part of a lake and dumping it back in at another. Conservation laws still apply."

"So what about planets?" I asked.

"Pardon?" Eric asked in reply.

"Do courses have to be plotted around planets? I mean, contracting space on or in a planet would surely create some problems. Couldn't , I don't know," I began, my mind trying to find a proper way to put my thoughts into words. "Couldn't buildings literally...smash together and squash people between them or something?" Eric smiled.

"You also never had a course in non-Euclidean geometry, I see. When a Galactic Drive ship passes 'through' a solid object it does leave contracted highly dense space in its wake. However, think of it this way. If there was a ruler in that space it would also appear contracted. Ten centimeters would still be ten centimeters. So, by relativity, nothing changed. In other words, no. Relative to things around it a building wouldn't move at all. If you found the proper perspective from which to view the event, though, things would appear closer. Until you tried to actually measure them," Eric explained.

I blinked a few times, saying, "I don't get it."

"You will. It'll just take some time," Eric replied.

"Okay...sure. One thing about that, though," I said to Eric, letting my lack of understanding sit for the moment. "Creating communication wormholes and Galactic Drive seem very similar."

"That's very true. They are very closely related. With Galactic Drive, though, we are creating the worm in the form of the ship rather than the worm's hole. Both are a form of tunneling through space. With a wormhole, though, we create the entire passage through space at once. A passage, I would add, that remains open as long as the connected event horizons are stable. The ship creates a temporary tunnel in space by using lower gradients of dilation. It only expands and contracts space enough to forcibly move it around the ship. After the ship passes, space naturally returns to its equilibrium state and density."

"Okay," I replied. Once more I felt like a student, information taught to me going over my head. "I'm trying to comprehend all this."

"For a non-scientist it's a lot to take in," Eric said.

"Indeed," I agreed. "Basically the wormhole, with maintenance, is permanent but the path the ship takes through space is not."

"Close enough."

"Okay." It made a little more sense to me. "I guess another question would be this. A ship's path through space is directional. But if a wormhole is created to orient in a certain direction relative to one planet, say Mars, and the other end likewise oriented toward Earth, what happens as the planets orbit differently around the Sun? Their relative positions in space change."

"Very true," Eric said, nodding. "But the thing is that wormholes, as does a Galactic Drive ship, cut through space in such a way that it doesn't affect the path taken. Think about it this way. A tunnel is cut through a mountain, one side to the other. Straight through. After some years one side of the mountain is developed into a small community. Some years later, on the opposite side of the mountain, there is a rock slide. All the while nature in all her forms is subtly altering the landscape via snow, rain, wind, tree roots and other changes that come with the shifting of seasons and flora. Has the tunnel been at all changed by this? Assuming it wasn't destroyed or blocked, of course."

I thought about it, and then replied, "No. The tunnel would remain as it was, cutting straight through the mountain."

"So it is with a wormhole. In a very basic way it tunnels _straight through_ space but is otherwise unaffected by space. So even when its two ends move relative to each other it remains intact," Eric said.

"If wormholes can create such permanent and instant tunnels through space, why haven't we made ones capable of carrying ships through the solar system?" I asked.

Eric replied, "Technology isn't there yet, unfortunately. We simply don't have space-density generators powerful enough to create the size black-holes needed."

"Why does the size of the tunnel matter?" I asked.

"Ever try to stick a watermelon in a chipmunk hole? You can grunt and push all you want, but it just isn't going to happen. No, we would need larger, more powerful equipment to create big enough holes for passage of ships," Eric responded.

"But the equipment we have now is sufficient for the passage of ships through space," I stated.

"Space around ships," Eric corrected. "Like I said, ships use much weaker forms of the same density fields to enable their intra-space journeys. The tech is being constantly improved but still isn't at a level to obsolete Galactic Drive for inter-planetary travel."

"What about just, like," I once more tried to find a way to ably express my thoughts, "a train station? Wormholes just big enough for people to pass through?"

"Why haven't such come about?" Eric pondered momentarily. "It's a good question. Some scientists believe that matter can only travel through a wormhole one way at a time. If that's true, trying to send matter through both ways could be catastrophic, leading to the destruction of both sets. As such, an open wormhole on two planets would be bad. A faint breeze from one end could obliterate a person coming through from the other. But that's only true if such scientists are right. Radio waves don't disrupt each other as they can propagate without interfering with matter, so those don't tell us much about how matter passes through wormholes. The research is still ongoing in the labs where our original test wormholes reside."

"So what you're saying is that it may be awhile before I can just go down to the wormhole station to get to a noon lunch in Paris on Earth."

With an amused smile Eric replied, "Yeah. That's about the size of it."

"And those both came about because of James Christopher?" I asked.

"Sure did," Eric said, sipping at his water.

"A question has been bugging me this whole time, Eric. What was that like for you, letting James 'pilot' your body?" I asked.

"Interesting. And also hard to describe," Eric said. "As I mentioned, I became part of his background mental noise as he had been mine. In ways it was like going to a sports stadium and watching an athlete perform. You know you're not him but still feel excited when he hits the ball, your heart still races as does his when he runs the bases. But there's always the real and distinct knowledge that it's not you in charge down there."

"My studies, my research, on the TDF and ATMO largely focused on James Christopher and his influence on Earth's history. To realize that I missed him by less than a century and a half..." I mused aloud.

Eric smiled at that. He closed his eyes then. The smile remained the same, but everything else about him changed. His clothing subtly altered to a tight-fitting short sleeved shirt, sandals on his feet and ancient blue jeans. His hair faded through to a light auburn, his eyes to a strikingly deep blue. His chest had expanded, his arms became solid masses of muscle. His hair was short-cropped, spiked and pointing forward toward me over his forehead.

"Hello, James," came a gentle voice, a deep timbre about it. The richness inherent in the voice brought, of its own, a sense of trusting calm.

I composed myself, hoping for the answer I sought when I asked, "To whom am I speaking?"

"I am James Michael Christopher. Call me James," he replied.

Fumbling in the attempt, I leaned forward, extending a hand toward the man across the coffee table. "James. It's an honor." Part of my mind quickly flashed that this couldn't possibly be real. That was quickly silenced, for I no longer doubted anything I saw or heard in this house. As James shook my hand I quivered in excitement. It was him, James Christopher.

James leaned back in the chair, stretched his arms and looked them over. "It's a curious thing, being a real body again. It's different, in there than out here. You almost start to forget what it is to be flesh and blood after a while. But that's really beside the point. As long as I'm here, what can I do for you?"

"I, uhm," I began, still in shock from his presence. Trying to regain composure I said, "Well, ah, if you had read my findings I would ask you if they were accurate."

A half-grin showed on his face. "Eric read your report. He... _found_ a copy on the University's network. Would have been hard to find for anyone else, though." Even with James as the person now before me, some of the familiar chorus-voice found its way through.

"So...what is your opinion of it?" I asked.

"Well, with almost 500 years intervening, along with the level of knowledge suppression that accompanied that amount of time, I would say you did a very remarkable job. There are certainly holes you could now fill in, corrections you could make. Though I must tell you," he said. "Doing so would be rather superfluous now, wouldn't it? What you'll be able to give to the ATMO Underground community will go far beyond what you possibly imagined you could do back then."

James's aura, the attitude he exuded, was a friendlier one compared to Eric's scholarly and professorial air. James's face tilted slightly then, a quizzical smirk spreading across his lips.

"We _do_ recognize you," said both James and the chorus; distinct yet both present.

Then, in just _his_ voice, James asked me, "Do you know your lineage?"

"Some of it. Some has been lost to time," I replied.

"What part do you know?" he asked.

"My paternal family came from Earth some 100 years ago. They were originally from Wisconsin, I believe. Though I don't know specifics. They settled here during the Mars Gilded Age," I replied.

"But you know nothing of your mother's lineage?" he asked.

"I know they were here for longer than my father's family. Beyond that, no."

James leaned back and nodded slowly, studying me as he did so. "Someday soon you will know. We have some very interesting plans for you, you know," James added.

He cocked his head then, as if listening to someone standing just behind his right shoulder. "Yes, I agree. He does bear a striking resemblance to them both."

My heart quickened then. If he were communing with the other minds in Eric's mind that meant...

"I agree. James," he said returning his full attention to me. "I have been noticed as missing and so must return. It was good meeting you in person. We'll talk again soon."

Before I could say goodbye James quickly faded, the body before me once more taking on the familiar form of an older Eric Pohlman.

"You're welcome," Eric said, a very large smile on his face.

#  Dreams

I wish I could relate what follows in some way easier to understand. However, how understandable are dreams anyway? But the dreams I had while at Eric's house, secreting myself from the Censors, were among both the most vivid and oddest of my life. Not only that, I maintain that for the entirety of my slumber I dreamt, something nigh impossible as I slept for some seven hours that first night. Even as I write these words I find renewed doubt in my own mind that I remember things correctly. And yet as I try to remember, every last detail of every dream comes rushing back to my conscious mind. Every shape, shadow, color, word, expression, inflection, implicit piece of information and smell are as real as my notetab before me. Seven hours of dreams, laid out in the detail I recall, would be a novel of epic proportion in and of itself. So I will do my best here to relate just one, the last one of the night.

The new dream formed around me. I knew with certainty that I was at a place where a battle could be, were the meeting below me to turn out wrong. The location itself was nameless, falling between this city and that. Chaos had gone on his internal pogrom, his 'cleansing spree', which left his armies leaderless. Some units, such as the one camped out before us, were disobeying not only the Government's orders but also those of Chaos himself, and were holding position and refusing to disband. TDF forces had moved in silently, completely surrounding the camp without being detected.

I now looked through a pair of binoculars. Nowhere near as sophisticated as a computer-augmented image, such as the Elite saw, but useful enough to inform me of the camp's layout. Five sentry teams roamed the perimeter, their patterns clear after a few days' observation.

Field tents were erected around central fire pits. It wasn't that they didn't fear TDF airstrikes. They simply understood we would think it uncouth and a waste. We believed in negotiations and persuasion when possible, something airstrikes clearly removed from possibility.

The whole scene below me resembled some sort of odd cross between a Civil War camp and that out of a mid-20th century science fiction novel. The tents were advanced enough so as to provide shelter from the harshest natural conditions, domed to stand up even against the strongest winds and heaviest snows, but simple enough to allow for rapid setup and tear-down. A large dining fly anchored the camp at its center, field tables set up on cleared ground beneath it.

By my estimate, some 300 personnel inhabited this forgotten patch of ground. Some slept, some kept themselves occupied with more...demanding and active endeavors of the nighttime variety. Clumps here and there could be seen around various campfires drinking what spirits they still had, every so often one getting up and attempting to stumble off to his bunk. Under the dining fly I could see high-ranking NCOs. Without being able to make out the words, I yet knew they were holding council. These non-coms were the ones holding their troops together. Their officers had been called away by Chaos, who then consumed them. These men and women knew Chaos held no malice toward them for the failure and cowardice of their officers. So they held firm to show their faith in him, in his plan, as they awaited further orders. I knew they waited for something that would never come. We had sent couriers to them daily for a week, seeking an audience with them. They had spat at the idea, proclaiming that Chaos would see their loyalty and reward them after his final victory. The manner in which some of the lower-ranking troops conducted themselves spoke otherwise.

Order had visibly become harder for the NCOs to maintain. Supplies had ceased weeks ago. No radio messages of any kind had reached them in two weeks. No mail, no internet, no word from home. Food was running low, as was morale. So the highest of the NCOs held council to determine the next step. They suspected we had a force in the area, but had not yet spotted us.

Positions of ours were trained on critical points in their camp. On signal we could cleanly eliminate nearly half of their troops before they knew they were under attack. The word, though, was to hold and observe. And what a spectacle this night was becoming. Even as a warm breeze, bringing with it the smell of pine, oak and cedar, tousled my hair, the figures below were growing all the more animated. The highest ranking of them, judging by his position at the head of the group, was beginning to point accusingly at several others around him. One jerked to her feet, her shoulders strong, as she was instantly restrained by several of her comrades.

There was strength in this one, visible as she pulled the crowd grabbing her forward a couple steps. The leader had risen purposefully, strongly, and had his hand ready on the pommel of his knife. I could see who among those gathered were his strongest supporters as they too were prepared for a fight. My hopes were raised for a quick end to this, here and now. Even being late in summer the mosquitoes and bugs were interminably pesky. The woman was lowered back to her seat where she managed one more rebellious outburst before going silent.

The man in charge passed his gaze around those before him. He was saying something then that I couldn't make out. The woman muttered something, apparently one thing too much. I barely made out the movement as the man flashed his hand from his belt toward the woman. The full moon shone off the sharp edges of a tumbling object, but briefly, before it buried itself in her neck. Half the group sprang back to their feet, knives drawn. The other half, the man's supporters, were ready with hands on knives but remained seated. The man held his right hand out at hip level, palm down, toward his supporters.

Very slowly the man spoke. As slowly, those who had risen sheathed their knives, lowering themselves back to sitting. No one touched the woman's body. The man began talking along a different tract, pointing with his free hand at the hills where we hid in cover. At one point his gesture passed directly at me. Stone-like stillness gripped me. I could feel the two other observers at my post tense just as quickly. We knew they could not have seen us, but still felt exposed by the pointing hand.

As the hand passed away from us I could feel a tipping point forming. My instincts always being reliably on-target, I patted the shoulder of Neva, at my right, gesturing at the radio. Taking my eyes off the binoculars for a moment to look her way I checked to make sure she understood. Our Lieutenant knew I was reliable. Neva nodded as she moved back to pass the word to him. It would quickly climb the chain to our Captain. I knew as Neva little more than grunted and grumbled, using her tracheal-mounted mics, that troops all around the camp were being roused to action stations, fingers on triggers and eyes downrange.

Returning my gaze to the binoculars I saw the head NCO had drawn a secondary knife with his right hand and held it aloft to arm's length, the point skyward. In a fluid movement he flung it into the table before him. His supporters drew their knives and stabbed their tables. The corpse's supporters held their knives, pommels on tables and points up. It was a vote. By my count the corpse won by two.

The head NCO looked around the gathered forces, nodding. He grasped his knife firmly, rocked it a few times, freed it from the table and sheathed it without looking. The corpse's supporters rose and carried her away. The man, his chest puffed, lowered his chin and looked out the tops of his eyes at the departing NCOs. His gaze shifted and found its way once more toward us. Fear again passed through me. An owl shrieked over my head and took flight, flying low over both TDF and Chaos forces as it scoured the hillside for prey. The man said something to his supporters as he watched the owl circle overhead. They all rose, replaced their knives and left. I turned and saw Neva had returned to her observation post.

I broke silence and said, "It's over. They just voted to yield."

"You're sure?" Neva said, her eyes still fixed through binoculars on the man below.

"I'm sure. He said something before they broke that I didn't catch, but I'm sure it's finished."

Neva lowered her binoculars and looked at me, nodding as she said, "I'll relay the report. Get a few winks. We'll wake you if anything exciting starts happening again."

I gratefully crept back off the line to a dugout we had made under a tree. The night was blissfully cooling off. I laid back, finding I couldn't sleep. My mind replayed what I had seen, picking up nuances of movement and gesture. Having only the one sense, my mind interpolated as it tried to fill in the audio gaps. Again, a skill I reliably demonstrated.

The senior NCO, Mike, had been hoping to hold this camp together indefinitely. "We survived the ambush at Three Roads. Held firm during the TDF assault at Dansberg. And why? Because we have always been a cohesive _unit_. We have always stuck by and cared for each other. Now I hear murmurings of abandoning not only our post, but each other. This is no different than being under attack! Are these harsh times? Of course! But we will persevere."

The woman, now a corpse, had replied. "Mike, the war is lost. We are suffering and making a target of ourselves for nothing. The officers have been _removed_. We're defeated by our own commander." Mike had stiffened then.

"How dare you!" he began.

Lisa, the strong Asian corpse, yet alive, interrupted him saying, "How dare I what, Mike? Speak truth? Chaos has cut us loose!"

"He is _testing_ us."

"Bull he's testing us. He's given up on his armies. On us," Lisa replied.

"All the more reason for us to hold on. When he has attained final victory he will reward us for our continued faith," Mike said.

"Mike! How can you...you've gone off the deep end! It's over," Lisa said, vexed.

"It's not over until we give up. And I am not prepared to do so." Mike raised his arm, sweeping it around those gathered. "You all swore fealty to me when Chaos called away our officers. You believed in me then. Now a portion of you cower away from a promise because of some small hardships? You cowards. And worst among cowards is a traitor," he said, spitting the words, as his hand jabbed the air toward Lisa. She bolted to her feet, hands of her compatriots trying desperately to hold her back.

"You call _me_ a coward and traitor?! Who did I have to cover for at Three Roads when _he_ cowered in fear?! I protected your reputation _that_ day, but no longer. You _petaQ_ ," she spat. I could see the ire flash through Mike's face, something I had missed the first time through.

"How..." Mike said, stuttering and stumbling over his reply. "How dare you!...Spread such..."

"Such what?" Lisa again spat, dragging her compatriots with her as she surged forward. "Such statements of _fact_?!" She let her friends pull her back down.

I saw indecision passing over Mike's face as it condensed to action. "She speaks truth, of course," Mike said. It was an interesting approach. "My will failed me that day. And she covered. Picked up the slack as any of us would do for another. But now she only confirms what I have said. Would a comrade so sabotage our leader? So try to break us apart?"

"You sniveling coward!" Lisa spat.

"The fate of the traitor in war is that of the grave!" Mike exclaimed, using the force of his words to speed the flicking throw of a knife. I saw it slowly tumbling. Along its blade was one word: Vengeance. This Mike was as unbalanced as Lisa had indicated. Brave, poor Lisa, now dead. Her comrades bolted to their feet. No attempt was made to hide on which side they now stood.

Mike's people read his signal as he said aloud, "You know I spoke truth. Traitors deserve death. She had been meeting with _them_!" he said, sweeping his arm over the hill where we were. "She contacted them first, not the other way around. Brought them here days ago."

A voice I couldn't see spoke, apparently questioning the veracity of Mike's accusation, if his reply was any measure. "Of course they are." His arm pointed directly at me. "They watch us even now." Did he really know or was he bluffing, trying to gain ground while besmirching Lisa's shade? "She deserved death for this. But let us remain civil my comrades. Lower your arms now. Ours here, in this company, has never been the autocratic way. So let us...vote."

It was slight, but the disdain was clear on Mike's lips as he forced out the word. He apparently thought his arguments convincing enough to gain him the support he needed for his plan. Knives were temporarily sheathed as troops seated themselves.

"We have a tradition here, no? We all know it well. Our credo, even. The blade for war, the pommel for peace." Mike pulled out his knife, lifting it high as he said, "My vote." He flung the knife twanging into the table before him. "How vote we?"

Knives were again drawn. Two votes put peace over war. "So. That is our way now?" Mike added acidly. "We give up?"

A voice I could not see said something.

Mike nodded in reply. "The vote is good. So be it. Tomorrow we disband."

Its friends now carried off the corpse of Lisa.

When only Mike's troops were left he said, "We will not wait until tomorrow. We do it tonight. Get your people together. We force the TDF's hand in one hour."

I sat bolt upright as full understanding of Mike's words hit me. They would attack. Without knowing it Mike would set in motion exactly what he wanted – a slaughter. His forces would be decimated by our lines of fire, so precisely set. Those who had voted peace would assume we had attacked and so spend themselves in what they believed to be defense. They would all perish.

I looked around, this knowledge fresh and strong in my mind, to realize I was in one of Eric's spare bedrooms. One reality contradicted another contradicted another contradicted another, as all the dreams of the night made themselves present alongside observable reality. My body ached from exertion and a mountain of dreamed exhaustion. I was in a cold, clammy sweat. I was breathing heavily, my pulse rapid. _This_ was real. I was _here_ and safe. It was centuries after the Insurrection, after the TDF's Exile. The dreams still crashed against my conscious mind as strong waves on the shore, making its true boundary impossible to discern.

I felt the sleeping mat beneath me, the sheet over me. With these I grounded myself. Suddenly I was aware it was light outside, the sun's rays streaking in through the double windows of the room. I could hear movement in the hall. I was awake, yet I knew without knowing it was Eric going downstairs. Of course, who else could it have been? Those dreams, and how real they seemed, stayed with me for the next two days, at which point something else happened that shook my reality to its core.

#  Redemption?

"What about redemption?"

"Pardon me?" Eric replied.

"What about redemption, Eric?" I asked again.

"Redemption...a young man's fallacy. No, I know better. The years I've been alive and the lives I've lived...there is no such thing as redemption," Eric replied.

"You don't believe in balancing the scales, then?" I asked Eric.

"No James, I do not. But let me guess, you do. You do because of all the holo-vids you've seen. And you're probably a fan of the ones from the States. Of course you are. Because you have some half-brain notion that the good guy always comes out on top. Well let me tell you something. Sometimes the darkness is just too pervasive for any light. I've seen that," Eric stated.

"How can you say that? You fought against those that considered themselves part of the rising darkness," I replied.

"I also have memories of people from both sides from both before and after the War. I know the mind of evil, what it's capable of. It's a dark place, Eric." His gaze drifted off as it so often had during our interviews, as if to someplace deep within him.

"Where do you go at times like this," I asked after a moment or two, "when you get that stare about you?"

"I go to a place of memory," he said in the melodic, multi-seeming voice of the chorus. "A place of turbulence and conflict. Where the different voices within me cry out to be heard and used. Their cries eliciting memories that seem as real to me as my own."

I waited a second or three, hoping he would quickly come back from his reverie. At previous times in our conversations I had to take breaks not for my own sake, but rather for his as he, in his own words, 'regained himself.' This time was different.

Pensively I broached, "What else this time?" He looked at me and through me all at once, with eyes that were simultaneously clear and murky, knowing and confused, young and old. "Eric?"

"You ask questions," he said in a voice quite different, quite clearly not his own. This seemed definitely to be of the multitude, as if thousands were speaking the same words in unison, more yet than any time previous. "Such questions...I hear them as if from afar. How long," came the words, now raspy and longing, "how long since I was asked a question? How long since I've seen anyone?" Confusion now, his eyes still not comprehending my form before him. "You...we need to tell you...about something."

"Eric..." I began.

"Eric...we know this name. Is it ours?" he said questioningly, though to himself.

"What do you mean by 'ours,' Eric? Are you alright?" I asked.

This was a level of confused distance I had not yet seen present in Eric. He looked at me with eyes that held both profound questioning and childlike innocence. His face literally seemed to ripple for a moment; then he slowly leaned forward, placing his own face within inches of mine. His gaze shifted from first my left eye to my right, then back again, as if searching for something, as if probing my being, believing some deeper truth to be hidden there.

"You're not one of us. Are you," he said without questioning. "We are alone. We are the last one." Suddenly clarity and youth snapped into Eric's face again. He grabbed my face in a vice-like grip that I was sure would crush my head completely.

"You're hurting me!" I muttered painfully.

"You've wondered what was inside my head, what I was thinking," he said, his voice now confident and clear, his voice now a prominent part of the chorus. "How I thought. If I was being honest. Whether or not I was crazy. Right now you're afraid for your life. You feel as if your life is at its end, this crazed man holding it in his hands." I suddenly felt something cold creeping across my face from Eric's fingers. "Your life is not over. But your questions are about to be answered." His gaze locked me solidly in place. My hands were frozen on his forearms where I had put them as he suddenly grasped my face. The cold continued to spread even as everything seemed to slow.

I was aware from out of my peripheral vision that the breeze that had been constant but fair now waved the trees in slow motion, their movements a sort of green ballet. A faint breeze from the air handlers in Eric's house gently lifted a few loose strands of hair across his forehead. The cold had crept all across my body and down into my lungs; I couldn't breathe! Then everything seemed to stop. No movement. My mind blinked even though my body couldn't. A sudden lack of everything enveloped my mind. But only for an instant.

Flashes of thought and meaning enveloped me, filling what passed for my consciousness. Images, memories, events and conversations swirled around me. Words were pictures, family gatherings sweet songs. Woes found their place as daffodils in the field of forgotten wounds. Even in the best and happiest memories, darkness lurked in the bright shadows. Pictures kept watch over memories of sweet rolls. Pain, so much pain. Anger and misunderstanding. Rushed at me. Overwhelmed me like a carpet beneath my feet. ¡¡Too much information!!

"This is what it's always has been like for me," loomed a something, both voice and nothing. "This is myour mind memories," sang a chorus of trees, so many in splendid green autumnal death. "But I can clarify it," mellowed a light prick ahead of behind me.

Suddenly I was standing on Earth, three times as tall as it was pole to pole. It spun beneath me. Orbiting me stood Eric, facing me as he went. All around me on the plants and stars stood others, each beyond my ability to see, yet perfectly clear to my eyes.

"What is this?" I asked both aloud and in complete silence.

"A construct," they all rang out. "For your benefit and ours."

"You detestably small creature!" rang out a single star from the edge. "You have no business in this place of gods!"

"Pay no attention to him," said Jupiter. "Chaos is there for a reason. Where there are none around him."

"Chaos?" I queried Jupiter.

"Yes. The Destroyer," chimed the chorus of stars through Jupiter.

"The bringer of darkness!" shouted Chaos in a cackle that echoed through the void. The stars dimmed and the planets shrank. Jupiter and Mars, though, glowed the brighter. Thus did the stars and planets return to their normal splendor.

"Eric, please!" I tried, looking over my shoulder and directly ahead, both at the same time, as Eric continued his orbit about me.

"This is my mind, as simple as I can render it. Each planet, each star, is a person. Each solar system a cluster of memories, each cluster linked by the motion of this entire mind-verse."

"There are so many stars, so many planets," I marveled as I looked about. Eric's words rang so true I could not help but believe them!

"As there are of us," they replied to me.

"Why do you show this to me? What purpose does it serve?" I asked of them.

"To warn you of the things to come," they said to me.

"We tried our best, yet failed," intoned Mars, yet facing the Dark Star.

"To throw aside the veil in time," completed Eric.

"Yet they failed," the Dark Star both mocked and cackled. "They failed as they have before!"

"We did not fail before," said the god of gods and the god of War. "We stopped you, didn't we?" Their voices, ringing through the void, were neither harsh nor loud, but instead firm and confident and softly sweet. Hearing them brought warmth, understanding and order.

"But it took you both before. Now, only this decrepit old Moon is left! And he flees the coming night!" The Dark Star laughed maniacally.

"I do that," Eric replied, even as an eclipse started to cross his face

"He is not at fault," the gods chimed.

"For if he is, we all are," glowed the chorus.

"No more at fault than you, James," Eric said, his face blackened by the eclipse. "This shadow shall not pass from my face for some time."

"It is not your fault, nor your fight," said Jupiter. "Not yours."

"Our failure will end when the sun rises again," chimed the verse, save the Dark Star that began to flicker and fade as the sun brightened.

"Who are these people, Eric?" I asked the void. I could no longer find the Moon.

"We are the voices of the past," sang the chorus of stars and planets. "We are the forbearers, the fighters and guardians. We are those-because-of-whom you live."

"We are the past," said Mars and Jupiter.

"We are the future," echoed the voice of the Dark Star, now gone from sight.

"We are family," came two voices, somehow familiar.

Suddenly, a flash of light engulfed the verse. Once again thought and reality twisted around me. Sand in a blender. Snow falling from a hot grill. Pancakes being made from yarn and cement from oatmeal. A cacophony of images sped past me, too quickly to hear. Images, so familiar and so strange. A multitude of memories that were at once alien and known flew past my fingertips. I knew if I reached out and caught one by its tail that it would sing a song so sweet that my soul itself would learn its meaning. But my fingers couldn't see the memories flying by to grasp them. The chalkboard before me, full of ever changing pictures made of a rainbow, was being changed and erased all at once. My mind was overwhelmed. Was I thinking? Was I someone else's thought? If I was someone else's thought and not my own, how could I be aware of it? The flash sublimated to ice. I was awake.

I found myself staring into Eric's eyes once more, his hands gently cradling my face before falling away completely.

"Now I, too, see both my path and yours," he said.

A tear fell from his face. His voice his own, it still dripped with sorrow. He fell back in his chair and turned away from me, looking out the window. He pulled his sweater tighter around him. I could see him suffering silently, his demeanor no longer that of the confident man I had spent the last few days talking to.

"Who were Mars and Jupiter?" I asked.

"Does it matter?" he replied.

"They stood against the Dark Star. They seemed to understand what was going on."

"They always did." Eric sniffled and wiped a tear from his face, passing into quiet meditation.

I waited several moments, hoping Eric would again turn back from his self-contemplation. But he did not. I came over and once more took his empty glass, going into the kitchen so that he could be alone with his thoughts. And I with mine. I filled both our glasses and took a seat at his kitchen table, setting his glass down, audibly, across from mine. He would hear it and know I was waiting here for him when he was ready. I had done so before.

Looking out the window his small grove of trees triggered me to my own reverie. I closed my eyes, meaning to do my best to recall what I had just been through at the literal hands of Eric Pohlman. Instead I found myself in my mental control room. Long before that day, during sleepless nights, I had built a domed space in my mind. To the front was a viewscreen, to the back a door to my personal Pit of Retired Regrets. From the central chair where I was seated I could access any information my mind possessed, calling it up before me.

In this exact moment, though, a curious image played itself on the viewscreen. I knew instantly that it was there not because of but in spite of my personal volition. It was me in triplicate. An exterior view, an exploded anatomical view, and a skeletal view augmented with what appeared to be a nervous system. All three slowly rotated laterally through 360 degrees. Sections of each image flashed yellow or red. Only a few flashed green, those concentrated about my brain and upper spinal cord. I heard something within my mind-space then. A skittering. I turned right in the chair and found a new addition to the domed space: a small force-field protected archway. Coming toward me from it was some sort of creature. I suddenly panicked, and it stopped. It lowered itself almost completely to the ground and seemed to exude some sort of bass-sonic sound which had a calming effect. Rising, I slowly walked toward the creature. It remained crouched until I knelt beside it.

No larger than a small dog or adult cat, it stood on six legs. Its body was flat, most closely resembling some sort of thick tablet. All over its form were very tiny fine hairs that appeared to move in some sort of breeze. Without fear I reached out a hand toward it. In a very human expression it lifted its front right part up, a sort of eyebrow raise of curiosity. I stalled my movement, offering it the back of my hand as I would a dog or cat. It came forward, using its front two legs to feel my hand. The hairs on its body were also there on its legs. I could feel them waving over every cell of my offered hand. Seeming to be satisfied the thing came next to me, standing there as would a dog prepared for a walk. Sensing our introduction was over I rose and went back to my chair. It followed, taking up a position between me and the viewscreen.

Once it had settled there it began pointing with one leg or the other at the screen. As it did so, the images of me began to rotate differently. It was as if this creature were now controlling what I saw.

"What are you?" I asked it.

It stood on those legs I had taken for its front two. Folding two more of its arms inward toward me, it turned to open itself from me toward the screen. Pointing with what now seemed an arm it emitted a mechanical, computer-like sound.

"Scranchlnwlmnscranlnlxinyou." It turned back toward me, an odd movement as I could now see that it's 'back' and 'front' were indistinguishable as were its 'top' and 'bottom.'

"I don't understand," I replied. "You're that?" I asked, pointing at the screen.

It somehow managed a gesture reminiscent of a nod as it replied, again in its mechanical-computer voice, "rxlnachangelxnmrahw." It had said 'change.' I had understood it.

"You said change. Change what?"

"Mxrnlsyouchxlrxnus," it replied, turning and pointing at the screen as my exterior view was magnified until only my face showed on the screen. A new image was overlaid on the screen, one of the creature.

"Me. And you. You're changing me and you?"

It made the nodding-like gesture again before turning fully to the screen, waving what now were arms toward each other. The image of it shrank away toward the exploded view of me as the exterior view of my body slowly zoomed back to what it had been.

"Nxlrxltnmhw," it chirped at the screen.

I felt a tingle along my lower back as the section represented on the viewscreen changed from flashing yellow-red to yellow-green before becoming a solid green. The tingling went away. In its place was a very strange feeling of well-being. My lower back had bothered me nearly all of my adult life. My chiropractor had told me, "That's just how you were built. Nothing wrong, really. It's something we can control and mitigate."

Now, even from within my mind, I could tell that it felt better. The creature turned back to me, giving me a gesture faintly reminiscent of, "See?"

It flopped, what appeared to be backward, onto all six 'legs' again, its 'front' two once more motioning toward the screen. I watched it a bit longer, thinking that it seemed to grow ever so slightly. More areas of my body's projection were turning green. I closed my mental eyes and opened them to find myself still staring at Eric's trees. Returning my attention back inside the house I realized Eric was now sitting across from me.

"It's different for everyone, how it's experienced. Come. Let's return to the living room. We have more to discuss and my time here grows preciously short." As he began to get up I reached across the table and grasped his left arm, halting the movement. I wasn't sure what I was about to say, though was confident in the yet to form words.

"You did it, didn't you?" I asked.

Mirthlessly, Eric replied, "Yes."

"The way you had described it...I didn't think it could be done like that," I said.

"It couldn't be. 500 years ago," he replied.

" _Why_ did you do it?" I asked, needing to know.

"To prepare you for what happens next." I had a new awareness that the answer to my unasked question, 'What's next?' already existed. That I only needed to reach out and grasp the answer.

"It's happening so fast," I said.

"Part of the advance I made. You're truly beginning to understand now. That's good. But even so we have to complete our parts in this play. Certain events cannot be changed or avoided," he said.

I released his arm. He looked at me for a moment longer with a simple stare. In it wasn't empathy so much as the knowledge of comprehension, not pity but a sense of brotherhood. Grasping his glass of water, he rose and slowly trudged off toward his living room.

"In case I forget to tell you later, in the leftmost cookie jar I've left something for you. You'll know what it's for when the time comes." As he passed the threshold of the kitchen's archway, my mind calm, one word brought itself sharply into focus in my consciousness: _Nanites_.

#  Camping

"Why do you keep staring up at the sky, dude?" Even through his slight rum-induced haze Eric knew James was talking to him.

Still staring star-ward Eric said, "I dunno. Sky's just caught my attention tonight is all." The rum haze felt a bit better now; Eric had stopped drinking a few minutes prior. He still needed to slow down some.

"Where you looking, anyway?" James asked after a sip. Eric pointed with his free hand. "Like that helps." Eric smiled, lowering his arm.

"Mars." It was one of those few nights when the Red Planet was visible if you knew where to look. Eric lowered his gaze to see both Adam and James staring up at it now.

"It does look quite beautiful tonight," James said, sipping his drink. The fire crackled loudly as a log collapsed, sending a shower of embers skyward. They danced in the rising smoke like faeries.

"You suppose we'll ever go there?" Eric asked.

"What, you mean _us_ us?" James asked.

Furrowing his brow Adam said, "Naw. Not us. I sincerely doubt any of _us_ will ever _personally_ go there anyway." Adam paused, nodded, and haphazardly brought his cup up for a sip.

"You're drunk, man," Eric said with a chuckle.

"I swear to Drunk I'm not god," he replied. James gave a few nose-chuckles first, causing Eric to chortle. Quickly they all found themselves laughing so hard they were crying.

As the laughter tapered off and Eric wiped the tears from his eyes James said, "Dudes, is it worth it?"

"What?" Eric began, a last chuckle escaping him. "Is what worth it?"

"The time we're spending in school. I mean, two years into my Master's and at times I just feel like I'm spinning my wheels," James replied.

"Aw, shut up already," Adam said. "Of the three of us you have the least room to complain. What with getting your research published. You're going to be able to hand-pick your doctoral institution with the impact that article had. No one had ever caught that gene variation. 'll save lots of lives all over th'world."

"I know it was good," James said. Eric snorted into his water. Adam was right. James's article was rapidly changing the field of cardiac health and all because of a sleeper gene found specifically in cardiac cells. "I just don't know if this is really the direction I want to take life," James finished. "Pass the rum?"

Handing him the handle Eric said, "Dude, poor time to be second guessing. A year out of finishing your MS is not time to question your journey."

"Naw, I'm not questioning the journey," James said, measuring the rum pour through the cup by the light of the fire. "I'm questioning the goal."

"Goal? You mean a doctorate?" Eric asked.

"Yeah. Don't know if I really wanna take it that far," James replied.

Eric's mind, sluggish as it was, raced a thought to the fore. "How're things going with Mel?"

James rolled the cup between his hands, leaning forward as he stared into the fire. "They've been better." He brought the cup up and sipped at it gingerly. "I'm not giving her enough attention lately."

"'d she say that?" Adam slurred.

"No," James replied, shaking his head. "I've asked her. She says she understands that I'm busy and focused."

"So what's the problem, then?" Eric asked.

Still staring into the fire James said, "It's my problem. She's better than me and I don't deserve her."

"Well, you're right there," Adam chuckled. James smiled.

"She's working on her own degree just as hard as I am. Harder, in fact. You guys know I've always had a really easy time in school. She hasn't. She does her best, but struggles. I do what I can to help, but since our foci are so different..." he said, trailing off and shrugging. "Even so, she still makes time for me whenever I need her to. But lately I just haven't made the time for her. It's not right. Not just." James said.

"Hey, dude," Eric said as he leaned toward James, grasping his right bicep. "It's okay. Like you say, she knows you're busy. You've got a lot going for you right now that you need to tend to."

Turning his eyes to meet Eric's he said, "Yeah, but shouldn't she be the most important priority in my life?" Eric let go of his arm, seeing his point. In twenty years when someone else had topped his research she would still be there.

Adam shifted his chair around the fire as the winds coming through the trees changed direction, blowing the smoke right into his face. Coughing as he set his chair down he said, "Y'know, yer both right here. I mean, she's gotta understand how it is. She's in th'same boat's us. But I mean, c'mon. You can't be ignoring her _that_ bad."

James was again staring at the fire. He picked up his walking stick from earlier in the day and poked at the fire. "I'm sure she still loves me. And I know I still love her. I just think it's unfair to expect her to wait for me is all."

"Is her life on hold?" Eric asked, likewise staring at the fire where James was prodding. More embers floated skyward, dancing as they went.

Eric felt James's attention turn slightly toward him even as James kept his gaze on the fire. "What do you mean?"

"You said you felt it was unfair to make her wait." Eric's mind made a jump of logic that only happened when he was drinking. "Is she putting her life on hold to wait for you to catch up or something? I mean, the way _you_ say it it's like she's waiting at the train station for you to come home. Like Green slurred over there, she's a grad student too. She gets it. And what if," Eric said, "she's feeling the same way as you? You two are so damn similar at times, it wouldn't surprise me if she felt she was neglecting you and, as such, was dropping whatever she had planned for you out of some misplaced sense of guilt." James's fire-poking stopped. Eric looked his way to see him looking back at Eric out of the corners of his eyes.

"You're not so think as I dumb you are, are you?" James asked with a smile.

Adam, breaking the discovery-like mood, said, "Fire look low to you two? Fire looks low to me." He staggered up, slowly and carefully jerked his way through a half-turn to set his drink on his chair, spilling it as he turned back around and headed over toward the wood pile. Taking up a split log he made his way back to his chair, stood assessing the fire, took a half step forward and dropped the log into it from extended arms. Sparks exploded outward. James and Eric recoiled, shielding their faces as Adam stood and chuckled, saying, "Ka-Boooooom!"

"Jerk," James laughed.

"Cut him off," Eric added, chuckling.

"More rum! I need more rum!" was his only reply, holding up his spilt and emptied cup. As he refilled his glass Eric turned toward James.

"Look. All I'm saying is that, if you haven't, you should talk to Mel. I'd be willing to bet that what you're feeling, she is too." James nodded in agreement.

Adam noisily, and squishingly, plopped back down into his chair. "Why's my butt wet? And why're you fixated on Mars tonight, dude?" Adam, as ever, famously kept alive the most remote and obscure topic threads of the night. There was no point in pointing it out to him. Best they could do was let his focus run its course.

Eric shrugged, saying, "Because it's there. Last few times it should've been visible I either couldn't get outside or it was cloudy. What I wouldn't give to see that planet in detail."

"You must've looked at topographic shots of its surface," James said.

"Of course. But to actually _see_ the surface with my _own_ eyes..." Eric's gaze drifted back skyward to the small red orb that was Mars.

"Gotta tell ya," Adam chimed in. "Ain't gonna happen. I've been working on a few projects geared toward that sorta travel and esploration? Not enough interest t'arrant the funds. Environment's too harsh, journey too long, supplies would cost too damn much. Do we have the necessary transport tech? Sure. Can we guarantee the rest the stuff won't break down _en route_ or once it's there? Not reliably. And _that's_ the problem. We'd've to send redundant parts, twice as much, to make sure'd work out okey-dokey. I mean, last place you wanna be up a creek without a paddle's months away'n Mars. Forget that noise. 'd cost too darn much." Adam stopped just that abruptly, staring off into the forest. He took a swallow form his cup and added, "Anyway. What'd be the point? We went to the moon. _Oooooh_. Haven't been back since. It's a big spheroid ball of rock in space. Nothing special there. N'nly diff is that Mars's red'n'steada gray."

"Still be nice," Eric said. James grunted his agreement. The log Adam had dropped into the fire came to life sending plumes of light along the undersides of the surrounding trees. Eric looked up at them, a sight that reminded him of so many other campfires they had shared. In remembering them his age suddenly caught up with him. "You realize we're closing in on 30?"

"No we're not. You're just turning 25," James said.

"Still, yet. Where'd all the years go? Wasn't it just yesterday we were in high school?" Eric asked.

"Sure feels that way," Adam agreed.

"It's not going to slow down, you know," James added.

"Do tell," Eric said.

"We're on track, now. Every day that passes we are more and more cementing ourselves into specific futures. Time for us is an isosceles triangle, us moving from the base to the top."

"You're saying we're trapped?" Eric asked.

"I'm saying we're tracked. There's a difference. Trapped means you've come to be somewhere, or in some position, against your own accord. Being tracked implies that you had some say in the path you took. Also means that's a direction rather than a dead end. A destination, perhaps multiple ones," James replied.

"So more than one way, more than one path to follow?" Eric asked.

"Yeah," James said.

"Then," Eric said, "don't you think there's gotta be one where you and Mel can both pursue your dreams rather than one of you having to give up theirs?" It was a pointed comment, but James smiled.

"Probably. I think I'll have to talk to her to figure out what path that might be, though," James replied.

"That's a great...idea," Adam said, slurringly.

"We really need to cut him off," Eric said at James.

"Why? He'll only get more entertaining," James replied.

"Why you guys moving in fast-forward?" Adam asked blearily.

"Then again," James said, getting up and moving to stand over Adam. "Look upward," he said to Adam, setting down his drink as he took out a pocket flashlight.

"Hey...that's a flashlight," Adam said, setting his drink down before trying to reach up for the flashlight. James easily deflected his drunken attempts.

"Bad pupil reaction. You're gonna hate yourself tomorrow morning no matter what you do 'rest of tonight," James told Adam.

"Oh please. Hate myself already. Mind's'lready knowing what'll feel like," Adam slurred.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Eric asked Adam.

"Lets me not think," he said as James put away the flashlight.

Shaking his head Eric said, "You gotta grow outta this phase or else you'll kill yourself, dude."

"Worry'art," he replied. Eric quickly went over, spilled his cup into the fire and refilled it with water. "Hey..."

"You'll be better off. Drink. Then another," Eric said.

Adam sipped at it, looked up and said, "But why's the rum gone?"

"And take these," James said, handing Adam two ovular pills and a three ounce energy shot. "The pills are pre-trial. Boost liver and kidney function temporarily to aide in your body's break-down of toxins. Energy shot'll help replace your electrolytes."

"You guys really worry 'bout me, huh?" Adam asked.

"Of course. Brothers from different mothers, man. Closer than blood," Eric said.

"For real. Now down the hatch," James added tapping the hand with the pills and energy shot.

They ended up staying up until 3AM as Adam slowly sobered. None of them got up very early the next day; their bodies didn't like staying up so late anymore. Just one more sign that they weren't as young as they had once been. But it was a night well spent. The sort they were used to and enjoyed.

#  We were scientists once, and young

"You see, James, the difference was that we were scientists first. Meng and his people were soldiers first. That isn't to say we didn't both hold to the same morals. Our primary foci were simply different," Eric said to me.

"Elucidate please," I replied.

"We were more interested in discovery, in the finding out of things. Meng always pushed the practical application. Don't get me wrong, it was needed. We wouldn't have ever gotten involved without Meng pushing us. Then again," Eric peered into the distance, "perhaps we wouldn't have been needed had we not been pushed. But there were so many decisions that could have gone this way or that. In many ways I suppose everything stems from Project Plymouth. Had we never started on the idea of nanites in the first place humanity wouldn't be where it is today."

"If it hadn't been all of you, certainly it would have been someone else," I said. Eric smiled.

"There is truth in that, of course. Perhaps, then, if we had been more particular about the programming limits we had imposed on the nanites. If we hadn't made them so self-sufficiently capable..." Eric knew the argument was as invalid as his last. As did I. Chaos would have still come about as surely as sunrise follows evening. Only the time between would have changed. "Or maybe if we had improved the resilience of the host against the pitfalls of symbiosis and the inherent weaknesses that have cropped up."

"How could you have known?" I asked. Nodding in silent agreement Eric simply stroked his chin. "You've even admitted that the future was in such a state of flux that you couldn't have predicted which path it would take."

"Still," Eric commented, "we could have put stricter safeguards against some of the things Chaos perverted. Hive consciousness. Collective knowledge. Inheritance _post-mortem_. The three necrotic pillars of unit collapse, if none else."

"Unit collapse?" I asked.

Looking at me through eyes laden with an unnaturally heavy burden he said, "Going insane. The human mind was built for a single consciousness. When you add information from too many other minds, the brain simply can't deal with it."

"Then what about you?" I asked.

"Why do you think I act so weird sometimes? It's only been getting worse lately. No," Eric said, "I've made it this long by the grace of some higher power. But I am the last for that very reason; I was the toughest mentally."

"I'm still a bit confused, though. If Chaos did that reprogramming to his own nanites, how did it make its way into the TDF?" I asked.

"By mistake. Chaos always had his spies in our ranks, though we could never crack his as, thanks to his hive mind programming, he could tell instantly if someone wasn't part of his network," Eric replied.

"So why not send in an operative and have them fully join up?" I asked.

"We tried that. Thing was, Chaos kept a sort of network administrative control over everyone. Once they were part of his hive mind network, he could literally plant thoughts in a person's mind. After a person joined his network as a spy he simply peered into their minds when they weren't paying attention and planted the thought that they had already turned. Thus it was done," Eric said.

"But how does that explain how the programming infected the TDF?" I asked.

"One of his, our, turned Elites was captured. While we were treating some of Jessica's wounds she allowed her nanites to re-sync with our central hive," Eric replied.

"I thought you said you and James didn't program a hive mind?" I asked.

"We didn't. But everyone in TDF was still loosely tied together by a _central_ hive in case we had to update the nanitic base code. She tapped into that, and suddenly we were all on the same network, hive mind and all," he stated.

"Couldn't you have simply re-programmed the nanites to remove the intrusive code?" I asked.

"We tried. But Chaos had such control at that point that he simply re-synced and kept the code in place," Eric said tiredly.

"So how, when he had such power over everyone, did you defeat him?"

"After he infected the TDF Elites with his code we introduced a bit of new code of our own. One that was inviolable: free will. It was so well protected, so encrypted and buried, that he couldn't program it out. No one could have at that point. Since Chaos's Elites' innate base coding gave him near complete control over them, we knew what we needed to forcibly re-introduce was free will in order to keep our Elites free of his influence. So that's what we did. It was a simple fix, but it did enough," Eric said.

"But he still knew everything you knew from that point on?"

"Yes. At that point, though, we had already reached the tipping point of the war with him. Events had been set into motion in an unstoppable chain. He saw finally at that point that his cause was lost. It drove him mad. Not that he had been stable for some time prior, but knowing he would lose the Insurrection no matter what he did...it was too much for me," Eric said.

I had to pause a second in my notes, realizing what I had just heard. I looked at Eric, and he looked at me as though nothing were amiss. "Eric, you just said 'me.'"

"Right."

"You said, 'It was too much for me'," I repeated.

"Right," he again affirmed, looking at me quizzically as though I were the one making no sense.

"Eric. You said it was too much for Chaos, that he went mad, then said that it was too much for you." Without replying, Eric's face seemed to contort in frustration and deep consternation at once. At the same time a grin that seemed unnaturally wide spread across his face as he said in a pure voice, one which I had only heard while in Eric's mind, "I know." In those two words was something malevolent and dark, vile and distasteful. And sinister. Eric's face suddenly snapped to a white pallor of grim comprehension.

"James," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at me through the bottom of his eyes, his hands clasping the arms of the chair and pushing him back. "I think we're done for the day." He began to stand up to go somewhere.

"Eric, where are you going?"

"I need some time alone. I'll be back up tomorrow morning. You know where everything is. Feel free to make yourself something." He finished getting up and headed toward his basement.

With my newly acquired awareness I could feel that Eric would need more time than normal. Something basic to his person had switched over. His very soul felt as though it were in tumult, undergoing deep and permanent changes. I was stuck there, of course, thanks to the work of the Censors. Even if I hadn't been, though, I would have stayed. I would have gained nothing as Eric kept himself isolated in his basement all night. All the same, I would have stayed.

I went into his kitchen and found myself almost automatically reaching for the utensils I would need for a dish I did not yet know I would make. I found old print cookbooks stashed in a cupboard of Eric's and opened one to a recipe for a vegetable bake casserole. Half cooked Penne pasta, zucchini, yellow squash, peeled eggplant, onions, peas, sage, parsley, basil and garlic all went into the dish, smothered in tomato sauce and covered with shredded mozzarella cheese. Chopping the vegetables seemed to come naturally to me, which, as I had never really done it before, left me wondering what else Eric's nanites had imparted to me. One answer was clear, as the chops and pops of knife through vegetables to cutting board were brilliantly clear. As was a conversation coming from the rec room in Eric's basement.

"He isn't ready yet. He needs training," said one voice.

"We're out of time. And besides, the nanites will give him everything he could possibly need," Eric retorted.

"Hun, he'll have more help than he could possibly need," said a feminine voice in reply, the same one I could have sworn to have heard echoing Eric's voice earlier.

"You do all know that this'll be academic soon, right? Everything is coming together just as I'd planned from the beginning." It was that vile, malevolent voice again.

"I'm sure you think that," replied Eric.

"You know we'll fight you every step of the way," said the first voice again. It sounded like James Christopher.

"You may. But you'll fail," said the vile voice.

"You suddenly prescient?" Eric asked snidely.

"You know exactly what I am and what I'm capable of. Perhaps better than anyone else here," the vile voice replied. That voice made me cringe, seeming evil by nature.

"You have plans, but so do we," replied the James-like voice.

"Oh? Tell me of them," said the vile one.

"You'll find out soon enough," said the voice who had called the James-voice 'hun.'

I let the conversation drift into the background as I finished cutting the vegetables and spread them on a pan to broil. As they did so I went out into the living room and found myself drawn to Eric's plants. There were a few that could stand to be paid a bit of attention. Having nothing else to do until the veggies were done broiling I tended the plants. As I did so I came to realize how Eric found the process relaxing. To subtly affect such delicate organisms as these and know that long-term even the most basic care could yield huge returns was satisfying in the extreme. Suddenly remembering that the Penne needed to be half-cooked before being mixed with the broiled veggies, I rushed back into the kitchen. With the vegetables already in the oven I had to act quickly to have everything turn out right. I lowered the oven temperature, put a glass bowl of water in Eric's microwave-only oven while also heating up a large pot on his stove.

Again I caught myself wondering how I knew to do such things; all my food to this point in my life had been made by someone else or by synth. These were, for my level of food preparation skills, very advanced concepts. The microwave chimed after a couple minutes. I carefully took the bowl and poured the water into the preheated pot. It initially hissed its protest, but quickly began to boil. Reaching to my left, I found a container of homemade Penne pasta and dumped it into the water. It would thankfully take only a few minutes to cook the pasta halfway. Thankfully, as the veggies were now nearly ready to be mixed with the pasta and tomato sauce. Putting everything together I grated some of Eric's white cheese on top. A non-memory, as the best way to describe it, told me that it wasn't quite mozzarella, but was close enough.

Putting the dish in the oven I looked around for something else with which to keep myself occupied while it finished cooking. I could bring my notetab journaling up to speed, but knew I would have time before falling to sleep tonight. Looking out the kitchen's windows I could make out places where the trees and garden plants in Eric's back yard could use attention. As I opened the back door I once more picked up some conversation from downstairs.

"This is a risky plan, Eric." This was a new voice. At once it sounded commanding yet genial.

"I know, I know. But I can't hold him back much longer. He's going to overwhelm me before our long-plan can complete itself. We need this to work."

"I can see what you mean. We need James now," replied the James Christopher-like voice.

"And anyway, I've been digging around in Hall's mind for the past few days as he thought he was interviewing me. He's capable."

My mind snapped several disparate pieces of information together at once. I slowly exited the house into Eric's backyard, allowing my body to tend to some of the plants while my mind fit the puzzle pieces together. During a few of his stories Eric had related that Melinda's mind reading ability often felt like a tugging on one's head. Reflecting on the past couple days I could easily make out several times when my head had felt tight. Searching my body's memory, now readily accessible, I found that something from outside myself had been probing it for specific traits and markers. Eric had been testing me the whole time. Even as far back as when I met him at L&H, he had been testing me.

He had chosen me to help him because of those tests and what they revealed about me. Even as I followed this train of thought through several times to be sure of its logic, I found that I was also mentally keeping track of the time; the casserole would be ready soon. I stopped fussing with a tomato plant as my mind turned its eyes upon itself. New realizations were abounding. I could feel my mental capacity growing almost by the second. Every new thought I had, from the coloration of the plant leaf in my hand to the self-kept time, lead to a reverse-funneling of thoughts. This idea lead to hundreds of others, all feeling as though they were rushing through my head at once. It was becoming too much. I breathed slowly, purposefully, calming my mind. The thoughts slowed and leveled out. My mind returned to a kind of equilibrium, focusing itself on the present moment.

Time was up for supper. It would need to sit for a bit before I attempted to eat it. Going back inside I removed it from the oven and set it on the stove to cool. I could hear mutterings from the basement again, this time incoherent. I also heard squeaking and banging on the full-wall touchboard. What was Eric doing down there by himself? I had no doubt about the source of the strange voices; after being around Eric the last few days, the only conclusion was that they were TDF Elites, nanitics that resided within his mind. They were coming through into his consciousness. What, then were they having him do now? More squeaking and banging as I closed my eyes, leant back into the kitchen chair and smelled the delicious odor of the casserole. Why had I never tried cooking for myself before now?

#  Spaceport Sheboygan

The government could not oppose the new deafening will of the people. So they were forced to action. Calling together their tribunals they yet did their best to keep Eric informed, to help him and the TDF. But he could read the writing on the wall. Just before that final battle with Chaos even James could see where the people's opinion was leaning. Beginning that day spaceships had been commissioned through a forgotten company, NAR Defense, for the express purpose of 'aiding in space borne research.' Many of the completed craft went missing, though. NAR filed complaints against the TDF, though such were but a few of those being leveled against the TDF those days. Most governments and citizens had at first found the thought of their government having no true standing army, of the TDF being the only Terran Army, an appealing one. But many of the most vocal detractors, secret civilian members of Chaos's forces, asked if it was worth the cost. Quickly the answer became that it was not.

As casualties mounted in the War so did opposition to the Terran Government's trained dog, the TDF. Chaos's little farewell speech only served to fan the flames. And then there was Nuremburg. Even before final pronouncement was handed down top aides in the government had sent Eric back channel messages, all saying the same thing: time's up. With what reserves the TDF had left, they purchased and readied transports for the long journey Eric saw ahead of them.

Official pronouncement came quickly and was accepted, if begrudgingly, graciously. The TDF facility built near Plymouth, intentionally so, was the gathering place for the remaining TDF forces. Even with their non-nanitic combat and support personnel, TDF personnel globally now numbered only around 15,000 people. At its peak the TDF had commanded some 300,000 conventional troops, Elite troops and support personnel. The final months of the Insurrection had exacted a terrible toll on the TDF. To know that for every surviving member of TDF twenty had died was sobering. With only 15,000 survivors, they all fit easily into the Plymouth TDF complex that had once housed the 16,000 personnel of the command and control division. Not only was it large enough, it was also close to the Spaceport in nearby Sheboygan where all their 'acquired' spaceships were being housed. Their exodus would come soon enough, though it was still painfully too soon for Eric.

Eric had started putting together the exodus from the C&C center at the base, but was simply not content only sending out orders. So he had gone out around the base to help where he could, his aides taking care of logistics and contacting him as needed. As Eric went around, time and again sensed the defeat and angst in all his personnel. They did what they had to, packing needed supplies and machinery on transports for the drive to Sheboygan, but only out of necessity. In such times of strife Eric knew it was the leader's job to lift the spirit of his troops. But what could he possibly say to turn the loss of 285,000 comrades into a positive? It could not be done. Trucks began leaving. It would take many trips base to the spaceport and back to get all the gear onto ships. Melinda, still mourning her personal loss, was organizing the transfer of goods there as well as maintaining a guard. Ever since the government's Declaration of Exile citizens had assumed license to harass the remaining TDF forces. Having a guard made it less likely such harassment would turn into a physical assault.

The Prime Minister, while working to salvage the global government's credibility, had wracked his brain trying to come up with a compromise sentence acceptable by both Earth's citizenry as well as the tribunals that would help the personnel of the TDF. In doing so he had asked Eric for suggestions. Eric knew that no place on Earth would satisfy the newfound wave of revenge. The TDF would have to be put off-planet. The Moon, at one time, would have been ideal. But thanks to the advances in space travel made during the Global Peace between the Coalition and Insurrection Wars the Moon was now presenting entirely too tempting a prospect for colonization, even with Earth in its current state of disaster. People would go there hoping a quick escape from their current struggles. Eric saw this. And then he realized that he actually _had seen_ this future. Meng's powers manifest. Eric would trade this gift, this curse, in a heartbeat. But that was not to be. People would begin to colonize the Moon, but Mars was still considered too far and too costly. And with the Terran Government needing to focus on rebuilding, it would remain so for some time.

That had been Eric's recommendation to the Prime Minister: exile the TDF to Mars. The Articles of Exile were drawn up, short and to the point.

_Whereas_ the Terran Defense Force, maximally made up of ATMO Elite forces, is by nature a militant force with no other purpose,

_Whereas_ this world has seen tremendous and devastating war in which the TDF played a leading role

_Whereas_ the various delegates assembled at Nuremberg, Germany, representing their constituencies from every continent and sub-continent, are in agreement,

_Therefore_ it is ordered this 7th day of July, 2050, that the TDF will enforce on themselves exile from the planet Earth _in perpetuity_ ,

_Be it so ordered_ that by this decree all forces of the TDF thus have 30 days from this document's signing to proceed to their chosen destination, the 4th planet of the Sol system, Mars.

Duly signed and witnessed by the below delegates.

The Prime Minister had run the document past Eric before presenting it at the Council of Nuremberg to make sure the TDF would have enough time. They would, Eric having seen this outcome when the trials started three months prior. All that was left to do was to load the ships and leave. Eric was helping secure crates labeled 'NAR Defense' onto a transport. Inside the crates, he knew, were all the necessary materials for creating usable bi-domes on the Martian surface: NAR polysteel glass, polysteel girders, instaweld adhesive putty cement, airlock and air circulation equipment. These would go with and stay under heavy guard. Without these they would have to use the transports as shelters until the Martian atmosphere was viable for human life. As the last strap went on Eric called out to those around him, "See? No problem. Practically there. Just to be sure, one of you threw the sunglasses in with these, right?" He wouldn't deny them their right to mourn their loss, nor their exile, but laughter could move mountains. Hopping down, he shook everyone's hand before continuing on through the base.

There was so much history of Eric's life here. He, James and Adam had grown up and gone to school in Plymouth, Wisconsin, from which the Project had gotten its name. They had been Cub Scouts together, had gone camping with the Pack at Camp Rokilio located just north in Manitowoc County. After their passage through Cub Scouts they had all joined the Boy Scouts, Troop 851. Even during college the three of them would come back and enjoy drunken campfires, getting food from Gregg's Tap down Highway 57 in Adell. This was the place of Eric's childhood. His first kiss, and a bit more. Where he learned to drive. So much more including the advances made at Project Plymouth, the old base so close by, that ultimately led to NAR Defense and ATMO. And now to his having to leave it all behind.

His two best friends had killed each other and now he had to leave behind the only place where they were still friends. It was nearly too much to bear. Involuntarily, his mind reached out toward Melinda, calling, 'Imzadi.' Startled enough himself at this mental outburst, Melinda's thought-reply reaffirmed what he had done.

'Don't _ever_ use that term with me, Eric!' she thought back sternly. Tears welled up in Eric's eyes as Melinda's pain and grief echoed through and with her reply. Imzadi means beloved, and hers was dead.

'I am so, so sorry Melinda,' Eric thought, closing his eyes as he tucked himself around a corner. It would help no one to see their CO break down in tears.

'How _dare_ you speak to me like this! Only Jim and I _ever_...' Her thought trailed off, rage followed by deep wonderment in it. 'He's there with you.' The way she thought it, Eric knew she didn't mean with him physically. James was with him and would be so long as he lived. James's conscious mind became Eric's the moment he died. Eric lost control.

'Mel, I _am_ here.' James thought from within Eric's head. His voice was so calm and loving. 'Hun, it's okay. It'll be okay. You will be okay. I need you to do your job right now.'

Had Melinda had to say the words, she couldn't have. 'Jimmy...no.' Trapped as an observer to the exchange, Eric felt every emotion.

'Hun, I need you now more than ever. You and Eric have to lead these people now. Like it or not, you are the only two of us left. Please, babe,' James thought to her.

'Jim...I miss you so much,' she replied.

Real emotion flowed from Eric's mind toward Melinda. Sorrow and loss. 'I miss you too, hun. And I always will love you. But we can't change what's happened. Only what will. You and Eric both have jobs to do and I have to let you do them. But remember, I'm always here.'

' _JIM! I love you!_ ' Melinda cried in Eric's mind.

"Gods, no," Eric mumbled aloud as tears flowed down his cheeks. He had to say it. 'He's gone back for now, Melinda.'

'You bring him back, Eric! Bring him back,' Melinda demanded.

'If I could trade places with him I would, Mel. But he came out of his own accord and has gone back the same way.' No words now, only sorrow over the connection they still shared. 'I'm so sorry Melinda.'

He felt Melinda do the mental equivalent of wiping tears from her face, thinking, 'I guess that at least we should be grateful we both have something left of him.'

'Are you going to be okay?' Eric asked.

'Are you?' she replied. He wasn't sure.

'I will be,' Eric thought at her.

'Then,' came a more composed and confident Melinda, 'let's get back to work.'

Just as Eric wiped the tears from his face the comm link chirped. "Commander? _"_

"Go ahead," he replied.

"Sir, we're getting reports of some pretty heavy activity at the main gate," the sergeant said.

"I'll head there now," he replied, pushing off the wall that had been supporting him. Bringing his focus back to the external world, he could hear a growing din from the direction of the gate. As he turned the corner of the final building between him and the gate he saw the crowd. They had lined both sides of the road exiting the base, standing in the back of pickups and on the ground waving signs and yelling

'So it begins,' thought Eric to himself. He knew the crowds would come, though had hoped it would have been longer before they started arriving. There were only around 100 people at the gate. Still enough, though, to make the guards nervous. Eric walked over to the guard house, picking out the officer there, Lieutenant Nate Lyman. "Nate," Eric said, addressing the man as he walked toward him.

"Sir," came the reply as Nate spun around.

Returning Nate's salute, Eric said, "Things under control?"

"More or less, sir. We're just...on edge."

"Understandable, Lieutenant. I'm going to keep some extra people on immediate standby just in case. But you won't need them, understand? You'll be just fine," Eric said.

"Sir," Nate acknowledged. He doubted the relative stability of the situation, but had faith in Eric.

"You just wait and see," Eric said, slapping Nate on the shoulder as he headed toward the other guards, shaking hands and giving them likewise reassuring words.

Eric then turned his attention to the crowd. In it he saw a few familiar faces. 'Why are they familiar? _'_ he thought. 'I don't know these people _.'_ But someone in his head did. He strode up briskly to one specific man in the crowd.

"Lewis," Eric addressed the man.

"What do you want, scum?" Lewis replied, showing no shock at being addressed by name.

"I want you to cool it for a while. Your boss never ordered this. You're getting what you've been working for. Don't let this get out of hand." The words somehow struck a chord with the man.

"We're just here," the man began after a momentary pause, "to make sure the government's orders are carried out," he finished, letting this voice carry over the whole crowd. Cheers went up around him, but his message had been directed at two specific people in the crowd: Harvey and Jackie. What he had really said was, 'Take it down, he's right.'

"We are complying with the Government's orders and will be gone by the deadline," Eric replied in a calm, reassuring tone.

"We're just here to make sure of it. And if anything happens, if any blood is spilled, it won't be on _our_ hands," Lewis said, spreading his arms to encompass the crowd around him. It was a warning: the Spaceport was being targeted, not this base. "You're not the only one who follows orders," Lewis added just loud enough for Eric to hear.

"We do appreciate the sendoff," Eric said, managing a smile. He stuck out his hand toward Lewis as he said, "I'm extremely sorry things turned out as they did." Lewis stared at Eric's hand for a moment before locking eyes with him, grasping his hand.

"As am I," Lewis said sincerely. The man, even as an _agent provocateur_ , still had honor in him. Eric released his grip, turned and walked back onto the base as the crowd once more found its voice.

"Nate," Eric called the man over as he got close. "The one I talked to is named Lewis. He's the Chaos agent in charge here. What he says goes with these people. He's going to keep this crowd from getting violent." Nate still looked unsure, though seemed to have gained confidence in the promise because of Eric's bold move into the crowd. "Just keep a sharp eye and wits about you," Eric said as he headed back into the heart of the base, bound for the C&C. He had to arrange an extra couple security details be dispatched to the Spaceport as soon as possible.

'It won't help _,'_ came a voice inside his head. So shocked by it was Eric that he stumbled, catching himself on the side of a base storage building. 'It won't help _,'_ the voice mocked.

"What is this now?" Eric asked himself.

'This is your punishment for surviving _,'_ the voice retorted.

Checking his surroundings and finding no one in the immediate vicinity Eric merely whispered, "Who is this?"

'Who do you think? Chaos _!'_ Eric coughed, falling to all fours as dry heaves wracked his body. He closed his eyes. Opening them he found himself standing upon a floating boulder, nothing but darkness around him. As through a veil of black fog Chaos emerged, likewise perched on a floating boulder. He faced Chaos full-on.

"Welcome to my inner sanctum," Chaos said. "I've pulled you here so that we could have a little chat. Others will join us soon enough. For now, it's a party for two." He sneered. That old, familiar, friendly face was made nearly unrecognizable by the malice with which it was imbued.

"What do you want?" Eric asked.

"I want nothing yet. I come offering information. Seeing and recognizing Lewis in the crowd awakened my presence and consciousness within you. You may not yet fully realize the power you now hold. Knowing our mind, I know you're aware that all of us..." the dark shroud seemed to light up with a multitude of human-sized faces projected onto small dark clouds. They all had their eyes closed. Eric recognized most of them. Without looking around he knew the faces surrounded him in every direction. Behind him and closest were D'Andre and Claire. He saw Jessica just off to Chaos's right. James and Meng were nowhere amid the multitude. "All those who died are now part of you," Chaos, continued. "We sleep until called upon. When we wake we become aware. I would caution you against waking too many; it is crowded enough in here with but four of us."

'What is he saying?' Eric thought. The thought echoed and boomed around him as thunderclaps, as though it had been spoken and amplified many times over.

"First of all, since we are in a mind-construct, in _your mind_ nonetheless, anything you think is actually voiced here. Secondly, what I'm saying is that these people," Chaos gestured around, "are for now only stored in your memory. If you call upon their knowledge, their lives, then your nanites activate their bio-patterns, trying to remold _you_ so that _they_ enjoy some form of renewed existence. We both can already feel the strain of your body trying to adjust to the four of us." True, Eric's body did feel fatigued.

"Why should you warn me about this? I carry on the struggle against you," Eric thought back.

"Two things. First, you're being exiled. So I win. Second, I have plans for you." Eric felt a sudden wind, though there was no sound of it. "They come soon. This is my one chance to tell you things in private, so do not interrupt. Stash such things as I reveal away from even yourself." The dark veil had lightened to a grey, the faces fading from sight. Chaos's face had changed. The malice had vanished, replaced by real concern.

"Adam?" Eric ventured.

"It's me, Pohlman. Your old friend. Eric, I know Chaos's long term plans. He's planted agents in Earth's populace. He plans to come _back_ someday. Physically. I don't know how. But since his essence is in you... You're the gatekeeper, Eric. You have to keep him locked up. If you don't then all this starts over again, but with nothing to oppose him," Adam said.

"There's still ATMO," Eric replied.

"My time grows short. Hush." The veil of clouds and fog behind Adam began to swirl, black and grey mixing together haphazardly. "He doesn't fear ATMO for some reason. You have to carry on. You're our last hope against the returning Chaos."

Adam had floated to within an arm's reach of Eric and held out a small, opened box. Inside it laid all the knowledge he had just shared with Eric and more. Grasping it, Eric looked up to see Adam drifting away from him once more. The clouds behind him grew darker even as those to Eric's right and left grew purer white.

"Close it, now. Close it and keep it hidden," Adam said, pleading. Two forms began to appear on either side of Eric, dissolving out of the ether. As they took on more and more defined shapes, faces forming, Eric closed the box, opening a secret compartment in his mental library, just to the left of the viewscreen in his mental command center. He placed the box inside, closing the compartment and letting its very existence fade out of his memory, making it nearly cease to exist. As he turned back to face Adam he saw a face filled once more with malice. To his right, though, now stood Meng, James to his left.

"We found him, James," Meng said.

"What do you mean 'found me?'" Eric asked.

"In your own mind you vanished. We couldn't find your consciousness," James replied.

"I knew where he was the whole time. You could have asked me," Chaos sneered. They all looked at him as he seemed to cringe and shrink ever so slightly. Meng and James returned their gaze to Eric.

"What was he telling you?" James asked.

"He was saying," Eric began, suddenly feeling as though he couldn't remember something that had just happened. As though it had been a dream.

"I was trying to be helpful and share some vitally important information with him," Chaos said in his standard snobbish tone.

"Helpful how?" Meng asked, turning to face Chaos. Suddenly Eric suffered a sense of vertigo. All at once he saw Chaos through his own eyes. At the same time he saw himself through James's eyes, Chaos through Meng's eyes, and himself through Chaos's eyes. All the images seemed to overlay themselves on his consciousness, yet each was crystal clear and separate.

"Breathe, Eric. Let it wash over you." Such an odd thought, James telling him to breathe in a place where air was non-existent.

"Oh, breathe nothing! Tap my mind. I know how to deal with this. It's how things always were for me," Chaos replied.

"Don't," Meng warned.

"Stop playing the doubting Thomas, fool. Eric, your mind is mixing your own focus with the real other-consciousnesses that are here with you. Focus outwardly and suppress your own mind. _That_ will bring calm to this storm." The wind had grown stronger, white lightning played distinctly in the clouds behind Chaos as black lighting played in those behind James and Meng. Eric's head swam, reality seeming to spin around him.

"I haven't felt this bad since my first time getting drunk in college," Eric said as he collapsed to his hands and knees, then falling backward against the base building on which he had caught himself. He could feel the building behind him, its solid consteel construction. It was cold to the touch. And yet it wasn't there.

"Focus outwardly here and suppress your own mind," Chaos repeated. "It only confuses you right now."

"He's trying to take over your mind," Meng said. "Don't listen to him."

"I couldn't take over your mind. I don't have that good a grip on it yet. I would rather strengthen your mind now so it would be more useful to me later. You know I speak the truth." Eric did. "The focus. Push your own mind down and exist _here_."

"I don't...I don't know how," Eric said as he swallowed nothing.

James drifted closer to him then, kneeling beside him. "Clear your mind," he said.

"Clear your mind," Chaos repeated.

"Clear your mind," Meng repeated, his gaze yet fixed on Chaos. Eric closed his eyes, still seeing everything clearly despite doing so. He inhaled and exhaled the vacuum around him. An old school white board was in front of his vision, in addition to the three men around him, the darkness that enveloped them, and the Plymouth base surrounding him. On the white board played out every thought of Eric's. He lifted a hand toward it, clutching an eraser. He waved it at the board. He felt his thoughts calm slightly.

"Yes. Good" Chaos mused.

"Keep going," James said from beside him. Someone had run up to Eric on the base and was yelling at him, shaking his shoulders. He couldn't focus his eyes on the face. He wiped at the board again, pushing the person aside a bit. Regaining her footing, she placed herself back in Eric's direct vision, again shaking his shoulders as she shouted at him. If only she'd make sense! His mind quieted more, the lightening calmed. She got up and was yelling off into the distance. He swiped once more, the white board now completely cleared, fading away. There was only this odd mind-space once more.

"It's okay now. Tap my mind." Eric passed his gaze from James to Meng and back to Chaos, still seeing each of them through each other's' eyes. The vertigo remained and seemed to constantly roil his stomach. Strange, as he realized that here his body didn't have that part. Staring at Chaos, Eric extended his mind as a lance, pushing forward until he felt it pierce the nebulous collection of knowledge that was Chaos. There, oddly, was not shock or other discomfort to it.

"Let me show you," Chaos said both to and from Eric. They were all one person now. Eric felt as though he were going down a tall slide, yet stood still. Images, memories, information flashed past his mind's eyes within his mind.

"There. This is what you need," Chaos stated. A file folder hung in the air before Eric. In a language he couldn't read and yet understood the folder's label indicated that inside were instructions and information on how to deal with, cope, adjust to and use hive-consciousness knowledge. Eric opened the folder to find it dissolving into a million, billion pieces that flowed into his mind. The storm around them ceased abruptly. Eric recognized the mind-space around him. It was a mental construct. The boulders they were all on were their anchor-points, whence they existed in Eric's mind. Oddly, they weren't tethered to his as he expected.

"It will be different for you," Chaos said. "The minds I was connected to in life were borrowed. Our minds are part of your universe. This place is a formless void for your use. Change it as you will to suit your needs. I only began creation of the construct for you." Eric's non-stomach felt much better. He pushed himself up off the wall behind him that was no longer there. As he stood he felt himself held down against a bed by many hands. "As your mind and body are never totally disconnected some of the cross-over sensations can be...disquieting," Chaos added.

"You okay now?" James asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Eric replied. He gently floated back to where he had been. Meng yet stared at Chaos.

"There's something else you wanted to tell me," Eric said toward Chaos

"Yes. A piece of reality he has to share," James affirmed.

"But first you need to realize something about yourself," Meng said.

"About the reality you now inhabit," Chaos added.

"That I'm now all of you," Eric continued.

"Your consciousness leads the many," James said beginning, Meng finishing, "with us always in tow."

"Now that you've reached out to our minds permanent bonds have been formed. They will only grow stronger over time. Whatever was ours," Chaos said.

"Is now mine," Eric finished. Every mind that had been connected to the TDF Elite or Chaos in the past was now readily accessible to Eric. As though each were a file on a computer, he could call up and copy from them what he needed. And all without consciously doing so. _Every_ mind. The nanites from the start, as a way of self-preservation for both host and symbiote, had shared across the hive-nanite consciousness, limited as it was, pieces of copies of each mind. Chaos, in his manipulation of that hive consciousness into a shared consciousness, had inadvertently created a collection point for all those mind copies. It had been too much for his mind, he being unprepared for its onslaught.

"Now do you see why I would rather help you? You serve as an ark now, holding each and every one of us, from the very earliest, in _your_ mind. If you die, we die. So long as you survive, so do we. It is in my best interest to keep you alive and sane. In my last moment, even as I realized I was defeated, Adam, yet within me, forced my hand and had me connect to you, Eric. Had me develop your mind just enough to be able to handle all of us. We all came to you asleep so you could slowly adjust. It is the only kindness you will ever receive from me," Chaos finished.

"Unfortunately, he's right, you know," Meng said then. "He did you and all of us a favor."

"We owe our existence to that man," James added, gesturing with a thumb over his left shoulder toward Chaos.

"Someday I'll collect on that debt," Chaos said.

'He mentioned Adam. Is he still alive?' Eric thought, the thought again booming and echoing around him, coming back to his mind-ears from walls that did not exist.

"I covet him and keep him for myself," Chaos said. "He is part of who I am. I won't give him up."

"What about this information you yet have for us?" Meng asked, refocusing the conversation.

"You see this don't you, Eric? These two guard you. They keep one steady set of eyes on you and the second guarding you against the Chaos that threatens you. Keep always in mind your two guardians here. So long as they are with you, you are safe from my full influence," Chaos said.

"The message, Chaos," James chided, his caring gaze still and always focused on Eric.

"Sending more guards to the Spaceport is foolhardy. My agents will succeed. You can only mitigate your loses there. And before you leave this planet 37 more minds will join you. Including Melinda's." James, Meng and Eric were all shaken, their worlds of rock literally trembling beneath them.

"How could you know?" Eric asked.

"Simple enough. As much as you have access to everyone's abilities and knowledge so do I. It was a sort of Trojan-horse I built into your mind-space. If you are the chariot driver, I am your second, and so at times have my hands on the reins as well," Chaos said with a grin.

"You used my mind," Meng said. Through his eyes Eric saw Chaos with a flashing hate.

"Yes I did," Chaos said triumphantly. Eric became aware of seeing himself through James's eyes, but through Chaos's mind. "It's nothing you yourself haven't experienced, Eric. You've already tapped them, too."

"But if I can see it I can stop it," Eric said.

"No you can't," Meng replied toward Chaos. "I know this. By dabbling with the future we can alter it only so much. Certain events are fixed. In my mind they always appeared as train stations, tracks converging on them."

"Melinda," James said, concern in his non-voice.

"She'll be with us soon and forever, James. Her anguish will be over. I should think," Chaos said, bile in his voice, "that would make you happy."

"I would rather she lived out her days, enjoying life," loss clearly extant in James's voice.

"Pansy," Chaos sneered. "They're beginning to worry about you, Eric."

A wave of confusion swept over Eric, rippling reality around him. "Who is?"

"Your aides. The base doctors. You're giving them quite a scare. They can't figure out what's wrong with you," Chaos replied. What seemed a dream, a distant memory, tugged at Eric. _This isn't real,_ boomed and echoed around him.

"No. And that's the danger in coming here too often," Chaos said. "It's something I never perfected. Maybe you can as you build this place as you see fit."

"You have to go back. To look after everyone. And survive," James said.

"We'll keep you safe," Meng added.

"You're creeping me out. Stop staring," Chaos said toward Meng.

"How do I get back?" Eric asked.

"Close your eyes and remember that this isn't true reality," Chaos said. So Eric, looking around one last time, closed his eyes slowly, snapping them open to find himself staring up at the light of the base's medical facilities. He tried to sit up but found his body held down by many hands. He blinked, looking around. There was Dr. Wilkens, his assistant Nurse Chapel, and an assortment of other attendees holding him down. Wilkens had a hypo in his hand.

"Hold off with that, doc," Eric said. Wilkens's eyes met Eric's, the hypo held mid-way to its intended injection site. Looking at the liquid within Eric asked, "What is that?"

"Something to try and shock you back to us. You had us worried," Wilkens replied.

"Thanks for the thought. I'm okay now. You can all let go," Eric commented. Wilkens looked around, meeting everyone's gaze, reading their concerns.

"If the man's aware and telling us he's alright, I'll believe him," Wilkens said. Their hands released Eric's form. He began to sit up, Wilkens putting a hand on his shoulder. "I would prefer you didn't just yet, sir. We don't know what happened to you." Eric did. He remembered everything.

"I'll be okay, doc. I need to get back to the C&C."

"They only just began to miss you. They'll do without you as I make sure you're alright." Eric could see the concern in Wilkens' eyes. He could also see the medical commanding that he so often found in the eyes of doctors who 'preferred' or 'suggested' something to him.

After a moment Eric said, "Okay. But I need to relay some orders to the C&C as soon as I can."

"You know the hospital is shielded," Wilkens replied.

"I know. Get me either a wired comm unit or a good runner," Eric said. Understandably, Meng had felt that if they took any of Chaos's people alive that they would not only want to be able to work on them without falling under Chaos's gaze, but also retain some possibility of breaking his hold on them. The TDF only ever had the chance to study one Chaos Elite, however. And Jessica was not to be turned back. When she returned to Chaos she brought with her the technical and strategic information her nanitic hive had hacked from our computer network. In Chaos's outrage over failing to gain control over all of us, in her bringing back our Free Will code, he killed her. It only drove him more insane, Adam within him railing against what he had done. But the war raged on, Free Will not turning the tide as we had hoped.

Only after Thermopylae did the tables again turn in favor of the TDF, and mostly then because of luck and the tremendous cost of four years of Elite warfare. Had Chaos been able to field a properly sized force against the Thermopylae outpost, Eric, Tim, KT and her aides would have likely been captured and turned. And the loss of munitions and machinery passing through that base at that moment would have seriously crippled the TDF in North America, possibly beyond recovery.

As it was, the defeat of Matthew Welsh created uncertainty and fear in Chaos. He slowly retreated his forces in an attempt to consolidate his seemingly vulnerable power base. It proved the break the TDF needed to regain its footing and return to the offensive.

Chaos's words, 'Melinda will join us soon,' still echoed in Eric's memory. Even if Chaos was right, he still had to try and protect their ships at Sheboygan as well as Melinda. If she died, he would be the only Progenitor left.

When the comm unit arrived Eric ordered a company on deployment, half as an advanced guard to depart immediately for the Spaceport and the other to escort the biodome shipment. _It won't make any difference_ _,_ came an unbidden thought. It was dual-toned, one gloating and the other sorrowful. He still had to try.

That night, as the last of the biodome equipment was being loaded into the cargo ship, an IED went off. It had been precisely placed on the ship's hull to breach the fuel tanks. A second device went off a few minutes later, igniting the leaking fuel, causing a chain reaction. Both devices had been placed days before. Melinda had rushed to the scene after the first blast, trying to both take control of the situation and run damage control. Reports relayed that time and again she had run into the inferno to try and bring out personnel. She had not reached out to Eric or James then. She had simply focused on the task before her. It had grown hotter and hotter around her, it becoming harder and harder to breathe. The only hope Eric had the next day as he helped exhume what was left of her body from the wreck was that the nanites had eased her pain, even as they had failed from exhaustive use.

Eric remembered this decades later as Melinda's mind shared its memories with his. She had done her best, but failed. And Eric had felt her pass. The only way to describe the experience is as a season. As the last warm day of fall fades, the sun setting, you always know that it is the last. That night, not much colder and darker than the previous, is yet colder and darker than it has a right to be. It is the subconscious knowledge that that day, that night, marks the changing of seasons. So it was for Eric when Melinda died.

A radical right-wing group had claimed responsibility for the action the next day. Officially Chaos and his organization were no more. With Chaos's memories an open book to Eric, he knew better. It had been Chaos's new plan set in motion. The group was only one of several meant to create a climate of hatred which a centrist group could then use to saddle Earth's population, riding them into power.

Thankfully, no further attacks came as the TDF redoubled its efforts, seeking to get off-planet before another disaster befell them. They would not fight Earth's citizens, not even at the expense of mission-critical equipment. Earth had to be allowed to heal.

The future still being a more fluid thing than not, Eric had doubled guard patrols around the TDF's portion of the Spaceport just in case. His personnel had already taken over guard detail at the Spaceport by Executive Order of the Prime Minister, though doubling the guard around TDF's crafts seemed prudent. Over the next few weeks the crowds at both the Plymouth base and the Sheboygan Spaceport continued to grow both in size and intensity. Makeshift stages were setup where organizers like Lewis, as well as celebrities and co-opted political figures, gave speeches and lead the crowds in anti-TDF chants. It was demoralizing, but couldn't be helped. They had a point. Between Chaos and TDF casualties alone over 500,000 people had died. Add in civilian collateral damage and that number was doubled. Then there were the 'cleansing' programs of Chaos that were only now coming fully to light. The TDF was the only target left for the survivors, their only pariah onto whom they could unburden their frustration and tears.

In the growing crowds outside of the Plymouth base, veterans showed up from around the globe; militia men and women as well as others who served alongside TDF personnel. They withstood the same rhetoric, these minutemen and women, as those in the TDF.

'They're braver than us now, though,' Eric thought, looking at them one day. 'We leave this place soon. These supporters have to live in a culture that hates them for what they did _.'_

But, of course, no matter the opinions or the events surrounding the Exile, its day finally came. It was thankfully a pleasant day, the last trucks loaded in sunshine. As they mounted up Eric stood at the gate, gazing across the crowd. As each truck came to the gate, pausing for 'security space' in between before proceeding, Eric quickly jumped onto the running boards, shaking hands and trying to lift spirits. His best commander yet alive, Amy, that general from the long-ago DoD meeting at NAR Defense, lead the convoy to the Spaceport. Eric was taking the last vehicle out, bringing up the rear.

After about half the column had left reports began coming in of people cutting through the fences, entering the base. "Collapsing bag," Eric ordered.

It was an eventuality he had discussed with every cargo, transport and escort crew. Defenses would be pulled to a perimeter around the departing convoy, growing smaller as more personnel were taken with their vehicles. The perimeter would shrink from the inside, closing to the guard house until its people and Eric mounted up and headed out. He anticipated clashes with protestors, but hoped none would materialize. About one-third of the front wall surrounding the guardhouse had been built into solid fortifications; the crowds out front should not see the collapsing bag. The strategy, gracefully, worked. Lewis, at the forefront of the in-base protestors, kept his promise of those weeks ago.

Thankfully, the members of the TDF's non-nanitic corps Eric had decided to place in Earth's population had snuck out of the base undetected over the weeks prior, often jumping off transports at opportune points in their nightly routes to the Spaceport. Those people would help to someday provide a covert foothold by which the TDF, maybe even the Elites, could re-emerge. It would be a long time coming, though.

When at last the end could be seen by the protestors outside the gatehouse, the crowd noise reached a fever pitch. As Eric mounted the last transport, popping out of the top gunner hatch, he turned back and caught Lewis's gaze.

"Safe travels, sir," Lewis said. The vehicle's engine started, idling it forward. "See you on the other side."

Lewis snapped to attention as did all his fellows around him. The veterans, seeing the end had arrived, formed ranks. They stood at attention, saluting. Eric faced them, snapped up a salute, letting it fall slowly. They maintained their stance. Feeling what fate these brave, loyal men and women would face, Eric could not bring himself to tap Meng's power to confirm it. Instead he slowly turned and faced the protestors. As he did, they fell silent.

"We did our best," Eric boomed, loudly enough to be heard by those deep in the crowd. "I only wish we could have done more." He nudged the driver inside the transport and said simply, "It's time. Let's go."

The vehicle jerked, coming into a steady roll. Lewis and his people stepped aside, releasing their grip over the crowd. It surged into the road behind Eric's transport, filtering into and claiming what remained in the now deserted base. What the TDF couldn't take with them that was of strategic or military value had already been destroyed or surreptitiously shipped back to NAR Defense for recycling. What was left on the base the people could have. The only cordon Lewis' men maintained was around the yet saluting veterans.

'Perhaps they'll be alright,' Eric thought, facing backward as they gained speed away from the base, the crowds outside of it quickly seeming to shrink in stature to the naked eye _._

The convoy's route to the Sheboygan Spaceport necessarily took some back roads, but stayed to main highways as much as possible to try and avoid choke points. Having heard word from Amy, Eric knew the route was being lined by people, protestors and supporters alike. News helicopters flew overhead, tracing the route by air. Eric began to feel uncomfortable in the growing carnival atmosphere.

En route Eric saw, from Highway 23, Adam's boyhood home where he, James and Eric had spent many a weekend day and night. It passed Eric into history. Familiar farm fields and other points of reference passed Eric by, the only constant the transport truck in front of him. After more turns and passings the Spaceport finally came into view, the many space-capable craft sitting along its various runways. As he came closer Eric could hear the roar of a crowd. Once he could see the entrance in the distance he ordered out a guard for the rear so that he could take up position inside the Spaceport grounds.

As his vehicle zoomed up the line the crowd noise grew, Eric eventually being able to see that here, unlike the base, it was being held back by TDF Elite forces. More than just insults flew here. 'Either Lewis and his people haven't gotten here yet,' Eric thought, 'or they were never meant to be here.' His latter assessment fit with the attack they had already suffered at the Spaceport.

Waved through the gate, Eric's driver quickly brought the vehicle up beside the field HQ and Command tent Amy had erected roughly mid-field.

"We're getting there. Nothing to report we didn't expect," she said, glancing up from a tablet as he hopped out of the transport. She was as efficient as ever, looking practically no older than when Eric had first met her. What very few strands of grey that had worked their way into her hair prior to her becoming an Elite were now gone.

"How much longer?" Eric asked.

"Probably six hours. How was the drive?" Amy asked.

"Sad," Eric replied, gazing around the field. After a moment he turned back toward Amy and found her eyes still on him.

"You doing alright?" she asked. "Anything I can do to help?" Eric could see the concern in her face.

Eric held their silent gaze but for a moment more before saying, "I'm okay. Once we're safely space borne I'll be better." She simply nodded in reply, returning attention to her tablet as the display continued to update with the progress around them. Amy knew as well as Eric why space would be the place they could relax; they would be beyond the grip of, and only getting further away from, any danger that yet lurked for them here.

Taking a moment and tapping Meng's prescience, Eric saw a multitude of images flash before his mind. Some held violence, though most didn't. Opening his mind to the sea of information that flowed beneath the images, Eric could feel that no more mission critical equipment would be lost here on Earth. For that he was thankful.

He stayed at the CP, knowing his presence would only distract his people from what they must now accomplish. The true test of a leader came in their ability to hold themselves from action at times like this. Updates from the Port's entrance mentioned a lack of direct violence, save a few thrown bottles, as the final transport and its accompanying guard entered the grounds. Finally, the gates closed. Eric had not yet awoken Melinda's mind, though was dearly tempted to. He wanted to know how his people were holding up, what was going through their heads.

'Please, old friend, not yet _,_ ' came James's voice. Even though if Eric awoke Melinda's mind it meant she and James could be together, it also meant that she was truly dead. And that was a reality neither Eric nor James was quite ready to accept.

The hours ticked by slowly, materiel vanishing into the holds of ships as the crowd outside gathered. Helicopters still flew circles but respected the airspace of the Spaceport. Eric, in talking with State Patrol head Ronald Bellamy, had assured him that the TDF would be able to hold their own as far as security of the Spaceport went. The sun was on its way toward the horizon now. Perhaps as the ultimate personal loss, Eric had not taken the time the night previous to enjoy his last Terran sunset. They would be gone before this one came. On the screens in the mobile CP ships began lighting up green, showing they were ready except for the loading of their crew. Eric had ordered all TDF personnel to enjoy every last breath of Terran air they could, so most stood ready in assembly areas just outside their ships.

"We're at 66%, Eric," Amy reported as he looked over her shoulder.

"About how much longer, you figure?"

"Two hours, 33 minutes." Amy's logistical skills were second to none, part of her nanitic gift.

"Morale?" he asked.

"The clouds gather overhead, but the sun's still shining." Knowing Amy hadn't meant literal sunshine, Eric's gaze was nonetheless drawn to the late afternoon sun of Wisconsin. It would be the same sun from Mars, yet one completely different and alien.

"Year's twice as long there, you know," Eric commented.

"I don't know if I want to live to be 200," Amy joked. They both knew it didn't work like that. It was perfectly timed levity, though. Something Amy had been getting exceedingly good at around Eric lately.

"We'll need a new calendar," Eric said.

"I've been working on one," Amy replied.

"I thought you might be," Eric said as he returned his gaze to the tablet in Amy's hands. Another ship's icon went green.

"Two hours, 30 minutes. Right on schedule." It would be getting on toward mid-evening before they left, but still before sunset.

"I'll just get in the way, won't I?" Eric asked no one in particular.

Amy, cycling through the ship manifests and monitors, said simply, "Yup. Stay here and sit on your hands." A thought he never had before popped into his mind.

"Has it been hard for you?" he asked her.

Amy tapped into an enviro-level view of one ship: Noah's Ark. It had in its hold half of a duplicate set of animals and plants held in suspended animation. "Has what been hard?" An anomaly caught Amy's eye, causing her to tap out an alert to the ship's crew.

"Being under someone else's command again. Especially one who never really held staff rank anywhere?" Her head came up as she turned around and looked Eric straight in the eyes, lowering the tablet beside her thigh.

"Eric, I've served under many a commander, staff officers and not, who were less capable than any of you Progenitors. You people led well, had good sense about you and always looked out for the grunt. It has been and continues to be an honor to serve with you, sir," she said as she straightened to attention. Her tablet chirped. Before she could get back to it Eric gently put a hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks. Really."

Amy smiled. The few times Eric had seen that smile beneath her loose hair floated forward in his memory. Only on special occasions did she literally let her hair down. Brown-auburn shoulder length hair with gentle waves framed her blue in green eyes at such times. Despite the few years she had on Eric he still found her, in those moments, enrapturing. She returned her attention to her tablet, reading a report from Noah's Ark; it had been a temperature variance in a cryo-bank, but was now corrected. Eric returned to his vigil at the CP. The remaining two and a half hours passed by relatively quietly. The crowds increased, the news helicopters circled like vultures around an animal near death. Eric simply took in every available moment, every last sight and sound that he could. Had he wanted to he could have sent his mind into battle consciousness, slowing down time almost indefinitely. Doing so would only prolong his fate, he realized. Best to let it come of its own accord. Finally, at 6:45 pm CST, the last ship to be loaded indicated ready. It was time.

"Amy? Please get the Prime Minister on the line. Make sure this is recorded," Eric said.

"Sure thing, Eric." He knew even then that someday his words, all of this, would be important. "Got 'im," Amy said, handing a headset to Eric.

"Sir," Eric began, fitting the device over his ear.

"Eric. Is this the call I've been dreading?" the Prime Minister asked.

"I think so, sir. We're all loaded, ready to depart."

A beleaguered sigh came over the line. "Then it's done. Eric, you know I've never fully agreed with this."

"I know, sir. But it had to be done this way," Eric replied.

"It's a sad day for Earth and humanity, my friend. Officially I thank you for complying, such as you have, with the request of this Government. Unofficially...I just want you to know that you will all be missed. And by more than just me."

"That's appreciated, sir. Thank you."

"Still all business _."_ The Prime Minister chuckled, sighed, then said, _"_ Eric, doing what I've done is going to cost me more than a little bit of political clout, but it's the right thing. I've arranged a special send-off. You'll understand. Once it's over you may load your ships. Godspeed, Eric Pohlman. May you have clear skies and fair winds

"Thank you, sir. I just wish we could have done more for Earth," Eric replied.

"You saved us from tyranny. You've done more than anyone could have asked. Watch the skies, Eric. And goodbye."

"Goodbye," Eric replied as the channel was closed. After the Articles of Exile had been signed, Eric had surreptitiously made his way to the Prime Minister's office and had a long conversation with him. This brief exchange had mainly been waving out the window.

"All personnel," Eric said, keying into the main TDF frequency, sending his voice to the PA system in every ship. "I just finished talking with the Prime Minister of Earth. He sends his wishes for a safe journey. He has also promised a send-off to remember. By my feeling, we should look eastward."

He let the channel idle as he, too, looked toward the eastern sky. Slowly a growl could be heard. It quickly gained volume as a wing of fighter aircraft came into view. Eric, with his enhanced vision, immediately recognized each craft. In trailing positions were aircraft representing every continent, re-commissioned during the last months of the War: an American F-14; Russian MiG; British, Indian, Morroccan and Australian fighters. All were following a NAR trans-atmosphere fighter with TDF markings. As the wing came overhead the TDF jet hit its afterburners and climbed straight up toward space. Knowing the design of the jet intimately, having designed it and flown it in combat during the War, Eric knew it might very well be waiting for them in orbit. As the rumble of the afterburners faded, along with the remnants of the sonic boom, Eric heard the crowd outside the Port explode for a moment. This, an honor guard for fallen airmen, would indeed cost the Prime Minister.

"All personnel, mount up. Begin pre-flight checks and depart in pre-arranged order. See you all in orbit." Even as Eric set down the headset he could feel Bellamy coming up behind him. As of his order, Eric's men handed over base security to the local police.

"Mr. Pohlman," Bellamy said as he approached, extending a hand.

"Sir," Eric replied, gripping the outstretched hand. "The CP is yours." Amy and her people were snapping shut the last cases containing sensitive tactical material.

"Thank you, sir. We'll watch your six." As Eric began to turn away Bellamy re-gripped Eric's hand, grasping it in both of his. "And thank you for what you did here. For us. My son was with you at Thermopylae. He died a few weeks ago when the attack happened here. He proudly served the TDF. You people did something for us, those who stay, that we'll never be able to repay. Thank you."

Eric saw the resemblance now. He saw the sleeping face in his mind. It would be easy enough to awaken the mind and let it talk to its father one last time. Not he, James, Meng or Chaos thought it a sound idea, though. It would only confuse the man and cause him more pain than was already within him.

Clasping the man's hands Eric said, "No, sir. Thank you."

Releasing their grip they both took a step back. Bellamy straightened and snapped a salute. Eric returned it, turned smoothly on his heel and headed off toward his transport. All around the spaceport grounds he could see men and women loading into ships. It was truly a marvel of what humanity could do when it needn't focus on war. During the many years of peace various companies worked to realize the dream of the machines now crowding Sheboygan's Spaceport.

These monstrously sized ships seemed to defy gravity itself when they took to the air. And, further yet, the real accomplishment was in how they then went from flying bricks in atmosphere to space-borne ships, seeming to glide effortlessly higher and higher in the sky until at last it lost its color, gravity its grip. The first ship, a small one with a crew of only 20, was already taxiing onto the main runway for take-off. Eric's was to be the last ship off the ground. As tradition dictated, first in and last out.

"Amy, still have that tablet handy?" he asked, standing beside the New Horizon.

"Right here," she said, her gaze fixed on it.

"Let me know when the last person is strapped in." The reason didn't need to be voiced. As a commander herself, Amy understood.

"Will do." With everything loaded and secured, personnel boarded and strapped in quickly. The medium-sized transports were now lining up and taxiing onto one of the Spaceport's three runways. Every few seconds a new roar of engines flared, another ship streaking down a runway and off toward orbit. Looking around, Eric allowed himself to take in the grandness of the place. Not 30 years ago it had been little more than a single landing strip, and even that mainly used for the launch of experimental and hobby rockets. As the space industry had taken off, such Spaceports as this had rapidly been developed. Sheboygan's was one of the largest ports throughout the world. It was so, in part, because of the Plymouth TDF base, and the base partly because of the Spaceport. Thirty years ago such a day as this, such a gathering of ships and such a launch of personnel into space, would have been a pipe dream. But here it was, a reality. What governments for years had promised, a voyage to Mars, had never happened. And now they were setting off to create a permanent colony, plant their flag and call it home.

Amy tapped Eric's shoulder. "It's only you and me. Everyone else is strapped in."

Eric looked at her, took another long look around the Port, and then returned his gaze to Amy.

"Let's go home," he said, gesturing through the hatch.

Following the cue, Amy stepped into the New Horizon. Back at the CP Eric could see Bellamy and his people watching every ship as they streaked upward. In looking around Eric had caught his last glimpse of the trees swaying in the breeze, the robins, cardinals, blue jays and gold finches flitting around, agitated to flight by the noise of departing spacecraft.

An arm popped back out of the ship. "Coming?" asked Amy's voice after she tapped Eric's shoulder.

It could almost have been within Eric's head, though he was sure it hadn't been. He grasped her hand, stepped into the ship, turned and sealed the door. As it pulled itself fully closed he heard the mechanical locks and hiss of atmosphere as the entire ship now sealed itself from the outside. While the rest of the crew would be in seats throughout the ship for lift-off, Eric and Amy headed to the bridge, their seats awaiting them there. Climbing up the very submarine-like ladders they passed through the eight decks leading up to the bridge. The lifts were yet locked down prior to lift-off and couldn't be used, not that Eric minded the chance to see some of his people on the way up.

Conventional wisdom had initially said such ship design, based on an 'up' and 'down' as with a planet's gravity, wouldn't work in space. Amazingly, conventional wisdom was very far off. By accident, one of the early large-cargo aero-vehicles had lost attitude control and been sent into a spiraling trajectory while in low Earth orbit. But instead of being detrimental to the ship and her crew, it had created simulated gravity via centrifugal force. The ship corkscrewed along its course, bottom hull outward, in such a manner that it pressed its crew 'down' into the floor. So would these ships fly, corkscrewing their way to Mars, allowing them all to work in and get used to the Martian-like gravity. When at last Amy and Eric arrived on the bridge, the New Horizon's commander was waiting for them.

"Ma'am. Sir. Your seats, right up front." She pointed them at two seats directly behind the bridge's front viewports. "Should offer a good view."

As they began strapping themselves in, the New Horizon's flight crew ran through her pre-flight checks. Noticeable only from the windows, the ship's landing gear extended further, bringing the ship up from its kneeling position. "Have you ever done this before?" Amy asked, adjusting her harness, a small amount of apprehension showing in her voice.

"Actually, no. I've flow plenty of sorties, but never pierced _through_ the blue," Eric replied, tugging down hard on his right shoulder strap. "You?"

He looked over at Amy, some of the color gone from her face. For such a person as her, with all the combat and leadership experience, to appear scared...what she showed would only be a small portion of what she was feeling. Eric finished checking his harness and again looked back at Amy. She gripped the buckles at her chest, gazing out the viewport as one of the larger transports shot past the tree line. Her knuckles went white as it passed directly in front of them. Gently Eric reached over, loosening her left hand, holding it softly.

"Hey," he said. "Look at me," after she kept staring forward. "All you have to do is sit back and relax. It'll be fine."

"Does it hurt?" she said, turning her head toward him.

"You've been on a roller coaster?" he asked.

She shook her head, swallowing hard. "Couldn't ever get myself to do it. Silly, right?" she asked, giggling slightly and smiling nervously. "I've done HALO jumps, water approaches, been outgunned and surrounded, through just about every of the most stressful situations imaginable. Couldn't ever get myself on a roller coaster. They scare the crap out of me." She furrowed her brow a bit, biting her upper lip.

Eric just smiled, squeezed her hand gently, and said, "It'll be fine. I promise." Adding, "You never forget your first." Horizontal take-offs were much gentler than the old verticals, but still packed a punch when the engines first kicked on. They kept you in your seat cushions until just before you breached atmo.

Over her shoulder Tina, the New Horizon's commander, said, "You two ready?"

Holding onto Amy's hand Eric replied, "Good to go." Were they not both nanitics, holding hands during take-off would be a very bad idea. As it was, Eric held on.

"Alright. Preflight checks are go. All passengers are strapped in. Board is green. New Horizon taxiing onto Runway 1 East," Tina said. The view out the ship's windows shifted left as the New Horizon lined up for take-off. The ship ahead of them, Noah's Ark, waited patiently for its turn.

Over the comm came the call. "Noah's Ark to New Horizon. The Hyena is clear. We are beginning launch sequence."

"Fair winds, Noah's Ark. See you in orbit Al-hasan," said Tina. The engines of Noah's Ark ignited a deep cherry red that then blossomed into pure white. The ship's nose tilted up as the thrust shot it down the runway, leaving the ground after only a few hundred feet. Quickly its trajectory slanted upward, taking it thousands of feet into Earth's atmosphere before it ran out of tarmac.

"Noah's Ark was the last one beside us, sir. Thought we'd give you a little preview," Tina said.

Over the radio Al-hasan, Noah's Ark commander, reported, "Climb good. Engines green. Passing launch window in 3...2...1. New Horizon, we are clear."

"10-4. Thank you Al-hasan." Glancing as much as she could over her shoulder Tina said, "Sir?"

Signaling with his free hand, Eric said, "Engage." In their reflections on the fore-windows Eric saw the entire flight crew smile.

Tina nodded, faced forward and went ship-wide saying, "Bridge to all personnel. Hold tight. Here we go." Switching off the comm, "Alright. Starting engines."

Her first officer, Matiu Goetsch, called out over the low hum of the ship, "Power plant green."

"Throttling up," Tina replied. Engine noise increased. Suddenly the ship lurched ahead, the nose pointing upward. The trees disappeared as the sky filled the front viewports. "Liftoff. Engines at max."

Clouds grew larger and larger until just one filled the front viewports. Eric still held Amy's hand, could feel her squeezing it. They were pressed back into their seats, the automatic harness tensors taking up slack. The cloud passed around them, the sky returning to its blue. Slowly it faded, darker and darker. As slowly, the pressure on them let up, easing them all forward in their seats. The view ahead changed, all at once, to pure black studded by countless stars. Amy gasped. Seeing space from space was breathtaking, especially the first time. No night on Earth could ever compare to the clear, unaltered beauty of the Universe as seen from space.

"Sir," Tina said. "You'll want to see this." The view out the front shifted, Tina changing the flight path slightly. A blue arc dipped back into view along the ship's right.

"Oh my," Amy murmured. There, parallel to their new course, was a small fighter craft a few thousand feet below them. It dipped one wing, the other, repeating several times. Tina mimicked. The fighter slowly descended, re-entering Earth's atmosphere. Tina brought the ship back to its original course, pointing it out into space.

"All ships report in, Eric," Tina said. Then, switching on the ship's comm, "Bridge to all personnel. We have achieved orbit. All ships report in. You may secure from launch stations."

"What does that mean?" Amy asked, her tone still hushed by the view once more in front of them, one that now included a fleet of ships.

"It means this," Eric said, hitting the harness release on his chest with his left hand. Amy finally let go of his hand, looked down at her harness, likewise popping it loose. "Tina, remind me again when we begin to corkscrew?"

"After our exit trajectory from Earth's orbit. About 15 minutes." That meant 15 minutes to enjoy the weightlessness of space. Eric pushed off his seat, hovering mid-cabin.

Gesturing to Amy, "Come on up. Air's fine." A grin filled his face. In this moment there was only joy. No war, no loss of friends and home, only the giddy, child-like joy of space weightlessness.

Slowly Amy lifted herself from her seat, flailing slightly as she lost contact with it.

"The lift well will be secured until we achieve full corkscrew. Feel like going for a fly?"

Amy's face contorted in confusion. Phrases like, 'go for a walk,' or, 'go for a swim' made sense. 'Go for a fly' really didn't at first. Her face lit up as realization dawned; a smile to match Eric's finding a line on her face. "Yeah!"

As they left the bridge to explore the New Horizon Tina made a fleet wide broadcast. "This is Admiral Tina Villanueva to all ships. We are all reporting in and green. New Horizon is assuming lead position. Corkscrew in 15 minutes, lunar slingshot trajectory in 20. Stay sharp, deflector fields up."

The TDF fleet formed behind the New Horizon, heading away from Earth into the darkness of space. Their path would, in a few days, orbit them around the moon, gaining momentum to slingshot out toward Mars. It would be a two month trip, their journey to their new home. For the moment, few thought so far ahead. Throughout the small fleet of Terran ships people simply enjoyed the carefree indulgence and freedom of space-borne weightlessness.

#  Reason for leaving

"You've lived this way for years," I said.

"Yes. I thought I could work through it. Being alive for half a millennium with so many minds melding with mine, I thought I could cope. But at my core, I am human," Eric replied.

"So you're leaving because you're...giving up?" I asked.

"I'm leaving because there's no place left for me here. I am the last of my kind. A new order will rise, as always happens. But before the sun rises the moon must set. My presence alone prevents history from renewing itself," Eric said longingly.

"So you'll leave to...change society?" I asked hesitantly.

"I'll leave so society can change," Eric replied. "By my leaving something dark and hateful will come. The Insurrection did not die with Chaos. It has been dormant. When I leave the seasons will change and new leaves will show and strange flowers will bloom. A new order will appear as if no change occurred. Overnight life will be turned on its head and dissidence silenced. I am the lynch-pin that will loose the load. Darkness will come with the new dawn. Leaders will die young, the republic will become Cesarian, and an old order made new will reign," Eric said.

"Why not stay and help fight? Change the future you see?" I asked.

"Repeating myself, I am the anti-catalyst. I am preventing the change that must happen."

"But if the change you see coming is darkness, why hasten its arrival?" I asked again.

"Change must come. That is the only way." I sat there for a moment, contemplating what Eric had just said. Something inside me still pulled for more.

"Eric, why? If you're keeping things in balance, if you can prevent the change, why leave? Darkness and destruction? Then stay for the sake of everyone living. You of all people should know of duty to humanity," I commented.

Eric's eyes pulsed with an inner light of indignant rage. His gray hair flashed bright as if on fire, then blackened. His skin, slack and lined from age, instantly drew taught as he set his jaw. Whiskers withdrew and liver-spots disappeared as though the remnants of a waking dream. Eyes that had looked at me for days as though yet trapped those centuries ago suddenly drew sharp and present. And fear crept itself into my soul. Here before me sat a man not of advanced age, but a fighter in his prime. He leaned forward menacingly.

"Lest I mince these next words I will speak them slowly, clearly and purposefully. This solar system and the government that inhabits it long ago turned its back on us and our kind. As such, there is nothing to abandon. We were exiled and so this system ceased to be our home." With every syllable his eyes lit with inner fire, his voice growing into its chorus-self, a melodious rant of angst. "We know what is to come. We have seen it. It is our purpose now to do what we can for that future. We realize even now, at our furthest point from humanity, that our fate is still inked to it. That is why we go, to allow the future to unfold in the hopes of a better tomorrow. Why we have given you the gift/curse that we have. Why we have told you all we have." With that Eric let the chair again take his weight, his features instantly changing back to those I had grown accustomed to.

"But what use is all of this if you're the last and are leaving us?" I asked.

"Knowledge is power," he said. "With power we can affect change."

"But you won't tell me more than that 'bad things are headed humanity's way.'"

"And soon," he said.

"So what? What then? What now?" I said. Eric's eyes snapped up to me, and suddenly I found myself unable to move, even speak. I felt a tightness on my head as Eric's voice this time came through in my head.

"You had to be made to understand what we were. How we worked. What we stood for. Because to be the leader you'll become I have to give you something. Something you wouldn't have understood before. Couldn't have handled before," the Chorus said.

Being unable to even talk, I could only think, "What do you mean?"

"Every day the future has become clearer and clearer to me. I can see it very well now. Chaos's rebellion will soon execute its final plan and come out of the shadows. A new leader will rise up to lead a counter-rebellion, one who understands the Old Ways and old loyalties. You, James. You will bring dignity back to our order by being humanity's new hope," they said.

"But even if I understood the TDF's history perfectly, I don't know a thing about how to use the abilities your people relied on," I thought.

"I'm going to give you the necessary help to understand," Eric said as he began to reach his hands toward my head.

"Don't do this!" I sensed fully now what was his intention, why he had sought me out in the first place. My body drew forward involuntarily toward his outstretched hands.

"They will help you," he said in my head. Then paused a moment, only long enough to say aloud, "It will have to be enough," both to me and to untold many others.

He then shot his arms forward and tightly grasped my head. His eyes grew wide as his very skin seemed to ripple toward me. Waves of energy crashed against my consciousness. I felt my nerves reaching out through my face toward Eric's hands. I closed my eyes, retreating to my mental command center. There was the creature, a nanite, the nanite hive, larger than before. It was the size of a wolf. Standing on two of its legs its topmost part was only a head shorter than me. Its four free appendages waved furiously toward the viewscreen, the three part representation of me showing a growth of more fibers toward blue spots on my head.

"What's going on," I asked it.

"MxlnRxlcrksnxln," it chirped at me, seeming to lean a bit as if to speak over its right shoulder. With one arm/leg it pointed at the right wall of the domed room, waving at it. Slowly the wall began to dissolve into a veiled archway, taking on more and more definition. Suddenly I could feel sharp pains from around my face, even here within the safe haven of my mind. I stumbled toward the center chair, falling into it as the pain made even my mental vision blur. "Crkxntn?"

"I don't know if I'm alright."

"Rmnlt."

"I'm trying," I responded, pulling myself around the chair's arm, slumping into its seat.

"Rxtmly."

"How could I relax?!" My head swam. The room spun around me, my vision began to tunnel. On the viewscreen I saw pathways lighting up green.

"CnstxMdt."

"Good for them!" I exclaimed.

"Brlum." I felt a head-rush begin. Suddenly I had a sense of what it was like for a viewset to be flashed a streamed movie. The pain abated, but the flow of information was overwhelming.

"Klnotc?" it asked as it leaned over me.

"I...I'm not sure..." I heard echoing reports coming in. They were both from the nanites in my body and those in Eric's.

" _Pltnry_."

"Cltn.Fxlny."

" _Nntry!"_

"Hltn.FxlnyRtrnlx!"

The onrush of information increased. It was as if a great current was suddenly sweeping over my mind, trying to carry it downstream and away from me. My vision continued to blur. My mind entered a half-state of awareness, both of the outside world and its own machinations. I was in Eric's house and yet also in my mind's safe haven. Past my eyes flew images of memories that were not my own. They flew _toward_ my eyes, not past them. They flew _into_ me!

My mind wrenched from side to side, trying to break free. The nanite creature slapped me, exclaiming, "StndStlk!" To the others, "Fxstr!"

The flow increased more. I was drowning in it. I saw my child being born. But I never had children. A sunrise on a dusty Mars. Olympus Mons! How beautiful it looked in the early morning sun! No development had yet touched its face. There, on Earth, I'm sitting around a campfire with Adam and James, laughing and drinking. Melinda passes me in the hall, pretending not to notice. It's only our second class together, but we both know there's something special between us. If only she didn't have her boyfriend. He's no good for her anyway. It's night. Looking into the barely lit display I see my face and collar. I'm only a Colonel now, but even so I know I have a bright future ahead of me. These Marines, as powerful as they are, shouldn't be relied on so heavily. What if their seeming invincibility should fail?! I can feel the betrayal as Adam's system hacks my mind, subtly altering it. Why would he do this to _me?!_

It all washes over me, yet not me. I am all of it and none of it. Am we I? What is I? Singularisms don't make sense. What is this time? We have existed _longer_ than it. We feel something. Feeling is so strange, though. Once we knew it, to be sure. But this is different. It is a long time later and before. The touch is not an embrace, but it is soft. It is not harmful, but hurts us some. I pry my head above the current, clutching the chair, seeing Eric's face and the nanite before me only to be subsumed again. What was that? And where are we? Some of us are here, but some are not. More leave and arrive. What are we going? Our mind cries out. Why? We fear we will lose ourself. That is impossible. We are I. That doesn't make sense. But we are here. Losing doesn't make sense. Who is this one? He is different than we remember, yet he is familiar. Do we know him? I clutched desperately to the center chair, holding to self-awareness. It was a battle I was losing.

As darkness crept in on my mind I could feel power surge through me, spiders creeping across my skin, into my nerves, and through my muscles. All that Eric Pohlman had been, I was becoming. Suddenly, just as darkness was about to engulf me whole, the voices that had been but raucous noise coalesced into a cry for justice and vengeance, for freedom and peace.

"Now you understand us truly," came Eric's voice through the deepening haze. "When you awake, I will be gone. I've given you all I am/was. Trust your feelings. Always stay the course. _You_ are the last of our kind now." The light was turned off.

When I awoke and checked my mobile I saw it was a full day later. The voices remained, but were much more like the sound of the ocean on the beach. I was an island. I knew myself to be separate from the ocean and yet an inseparable part of it. We felt again at peace with each other, though something was missing and something new had been added. Everything around me felt different, more real. While I could still see objects around me, smell the plants Eric had left behind, there was more to my awareness. I could feel in my mind all the things in not only the room around me, but also the block, neighborhood, county, country, even planet. Even the way things looked had changed. Everything seemed to glow and immeasurably shift, as though always in motion while being still. Colors were alive and vibrant, even black and white took on new life.

I pulled myself up to standing. ' _I had been lying on the floor?'_ was both a question and statement in my mind. A storm approached. Was I afraid? Of course. Even so, voices from within guided my every step. I would not brave the tempest alone. I walked into Eric's kitchen, pulling the document out of the cookie jar. This place was now mine. It was so familiar and now made complete sense. Creating a sun? Easy with the proper tools. Infinity trees? Easy with the proper tools. Equations and formulae waded through my consciousness. It was all so clear now. Was this how it had been for Eric?

' _No. It was different for him.'_ I recognized James's voice.

Eric's small collection of hats was quaint. It called to me. The retro Fedora, black with a polka-dot and red tipped feather in its buckle, called to me. As I lifted the keys, my keys now, from their wall hook I heard my bag tip over. I could right it later. Putting on the hat and walking out the door I was aware that the birth certificate and photo had fallen out of the bag and lay together on the floor. I turned and looked at them, smiling wryly. Closing the door behind me and locking it I remembered that day so long ago. The smell of late spring was yet in the air. Cherry trees, oaks, pines, the flower gardens of tulips, daffodils and roses lent their own unique fragrance to the day.

"Smile," James had said as he raced back from setting the camera.

We hugged each other, I remembered, laughing after Meng sneezed and said, "Damn allergies!"

Mid-spring on Mars held many of the same aromas. L&H was only a few blocks away. Amazing how quickly such a walk went when you know you have all the time in the universe to get there.

#  Epilogue

"What's your name, boy?" he asked the young man standing next to the car.

"Lewis Oswald, sir," the young man replied.

"So you are," he said, the face becoming familiar.

"Any luggage, sir?" Lewis asked.

"Just got rid of the last of it. This an _actual_ Ford Mustang?" He descended the last few steps of Eric's house to stand beside the classic car.

"Yes, sir. Manually driven and gasoline burning. At least, it used to run on gas," Lewis said.

Nodding his approval, Chaos said, "Has everything been arranged?"

"Just as you had planned, sir. We're ready for you," Lewis affirmed.

"The question is, is the future ready for me?" Chaos said darkly as he opened the passenger door, climbing into the car with Lewis.

Appendix A: Article on L&H

##  L&H Bar: Your Grandpa's Neighborhood Pub

Laura & Hank's Bar, known locally as L&H, has been a landmark of Ashwaubenon, a suburb of New Chicago, Olympus Mons Province, Mars, for over a century. Indeed, many of its regular patrons will tell you that L&H was and continues to be the cornerstone of this mid-sized workers' community. Here, old friends come to have a drink after work, gather to play in the dart, bridge, cribbage or pool league, stop for a Friday repast or simply drop in for some company. At first glance L&H isn't much. But, once you sit down and begin to take in its atmosphere, its inner worth shows through.

Opened some 203 years ago by Hank Craig Sr., the father of the current owner and proprietor, L&H originally sat on the outskirts of Ashwaubenon. Over the years, as so often happens in a workers' community, the city sprawled, eventually growing to meet, and then encompass, the tavern. Throughout the years, despite the city changing around it, L&H has stayed much the same. Half its size is taken up by a mid-sized dining room, the other half by its bar, games and kitchen. Ever present all through the place is the smell of home-cooked food and cigars; Hank Jr. has continued his father's habit as a cigar aficionado. The bar, no matter the hour from open to close, always has patrons sitting bar-side and in booths along the dining room's periphery. This, perhaps, is why it always seems so welcoming.

Without a doubt, the loyalty not only of the bar's regulars but also their families has contributed to its longevity. One patron, Roseline Thomas, at 87 years young, began coming to L&H with her father and mother when she was only 4. "I remember coming for perch," Rose says. "Perch, breaded and deep-fried mushrooms and cheese curds. You just can't find those anywhere else, not like you can here. Everyone's all about making things healthy. Well, sometimes you just have to be a little naughty is all," she finishes with a smile.

Another patron, Tomas Vincent, was seated with his son, daughter-in-law and first grandchild, Samantha. "Leo here," he began, motioning at his son, "has been coming here with me since he was this high," he says, holding his hand about a meter off the ground. "I used to bring him here for cribbage league. Stinker would beat me more often than not!"

"Yeah. And now whenever me and Lee come back through Ashwaubenon," Leo adds, "we always stop by. Just can't beat the food or the atmosphere. Heck, some of these people you see sitting around here are like family to me!"

Asked if Lee or Leo thought such a place as L&H was a good atmosphere for a child, Leo replied, "Oh, it's fine! People here are always welcoming and caring. It's practically an extended family. Sammy here has uncles and aunts who look after her. And not just here, either. We ever need help, and we have on occasion, I'll call up one of these people, or dad'll call someone he knows from L&H, and things are taken care of."

Asked for an example, Leo said, "Well, there was one time when I was at school. I was driving to work and my car breaks down. Doesn't happen much these days and I didn't know what to do. Was at New Madison University–Green Bay, you know, so a ways from here. I call dad, he gets off the line with me and makes a few calls. Within 10 minutes there was a tow truck and a ride there for me. 'No charge,' they both said. 'Just paying it forward.'"

That is a consistent thread in patrons' stories at L&H; someone in their past helped them and so, in an effort toward repayment, they seek to aide others however they can. Bernice Thao, a third generation patron, tells of a story from her grandfather. "Well, you know, life here wasn't always this easy. When Ashwaubenon was first coming into its own, times were still rough. Even before this place was officially opened, Hank Sr. and his wife Laura would still be out there helping people. My grandfather, his dad built their home by hand! Told me how more than once he'd see Hank strolling through the neighborhood, doing what he could as he went, gathering people to help for the bigger jobs. Even helped my great-grandfather finish more than one project on his house. Also the one who encouraged him to grow the Home Garden we still keep up today."

Patron after patron says much the same thing; L&H is much less just a bar than a social club and support network. Generations of Martians, of Ashwaubenonians, have continued coming to L&H for just these reasons. And while you can feel such an atmosphere about the place any day of the week, holidays bring it out in full force. As Me Kab Gilroy tells, "It's just splendid. So many people come back here during the big holidays. The best is when they've moved away someplace exotic. By that I mean where an L&Her hasn't moved yet. They always bring something back with them that first holiday that gets hung up on the bar." And at such times the drive toward neighborliness is only amplified. "Of course, everyone pays the hanging tax. That's a donation to charity so the memento can be hung in the bar. Always a big collection. Always."

L&H's exterior is fairly drab, its paneling an outdated Terran Tan. Inside, despite the various baubles and knick-knacks from as far away as Jamaica, Earth, the walls are their ever-same stucco eggshell off-white. The bar overall exudes an ambiance of a neighborhood pub where everyone knows you by name. All the same, as Hank Jr. says, "We don't mind new faces. Come on down sometime. I'll pour you a drink same as anyone else."

Appendix B: A Heroer's Report

---

Report on the Influence of ATMO on Terran History

A Heroer's Report

JTH

9/23/2527

All Terrans have at least a passive knowledge of the War of Insurrection, though for most that knowledge goes no deeper than that of the World Wars of Earth. Even so, some facts about the War of Insurrection, commonly called the War of Noble Cause, are still pervasive. For instance, common knowledge holds that the War cost the lives of some 500,000 fighting men and women from both sides. It is also still remembered by most the names of the opposing sides in the War: Chaos and the Terran Defense Force, or TDF. Contemporary history, though, has begun to blur the lines between these two behemoth forces and has all but forgotten any information on the individuals who participated in the war. The reason for this, a consequence of the War, will be discussed at the end of this paper. Its bulk, though, consists of a historically accurate account of the War pulled from documents, letters, opines, and news reports as well as the unofficial oral history. In doing so, this paper refreshes and preserves a true telling of the History of the War of Insurrection, one that is in the process of being repressed and forgotten.

###  NAR Defense, ATMO Personnel, and Governmental Ties

Any retelling of the War of Insurrection must begin with the founding of NAR Defense. Little yet exists in the way of information about NAR, most having already been collected and "dealt with" by earlier campaigns of the Department of Censorship. With certainty, NAR Defense was founded by James Christopher, Melinda Christopher, Eric Pohlman and Adam Green. In its Charter, NAR Defense set out to be more of a scientific community wherein all who were part of it mutually benefitted from its work and research that strove for the "greater good." The Charter mentions that "NAR will never outgrow its ability to be self-sufficient" (NAR Defense Charter 1).

In this regard, NAR Defense seems to have been successful. Due to the lack of a date, it is not known for certain the timing of the _Expansion Memo_ as relative to the _Reply to the US DoD_ , Department of Defense. However, the _Reply_ shows that NAR Defense contracted with the Government of the United States of America during the post-Coalition War through Insurrection period. In the _Reply_ , James Christopher thanks a General by the name of Amy Henshaw for a fighter jet contract ( _NAR Reply to US DoD_ ). To put this in perspective, at a time when a yearly salary was, on average, $45,000 USD, roughly 225,000 standard today, each aircraft they were awarded to produce would have cost at least $175 million USD, with 75 such aircraft having been ordered for each of four aircraft carriers, floating airports that roamed Earth's oceans (Museum Ship USS Bill Clinton). That amounts to a minimum total price tag of $52.5 trillion USD for the contract. Assumedly, after the awarding of the contract James Christopher sent out a memo to all NAR employees alerting them of the pending contract and subsequent company expansion ( _Expansion Memo, NAR Defense_ ). With a contract awarded that would total 262.5 trillion standard today, they would no doubt have had the capital to so expand their facilities.

The important point in all of this is not the money spent on weapons of war, but rather in the growth over the timeframe of NAR Defense along with the relationship it implies with a Government of Earth. In but three years, NAR Defense went form an upstart company to one providing, and benefitting from, a sizeable and substantial Government contract. Such a growth speaks not only to the success of the company but also the quality and ingenuity of its people. NAR Defense was such a group of people, such a community of researchers and developers, machinists and fabricators, as to build its company into a market power in less time than any corporate company extant today. What is of further interest in the Expansion Memo is its indication that more "military consultants" were being brought into the company ( _Expansion Memo, NAR Defense_ ).

What is so significant about this is that D'Andre Fremen, staff officer of ATMO, filed an after-action report with NAR. The report, whose subject line lists "Action of 20 June 2035," (Fremen) without doubt refers to the rescue of a group of US Senators from Tripoli, Libya, as reported in the article _Dramatic Rescue_ ( _Dramatic Rescue_ 1) _._ Between the two sources, D'Andre Fremen, Meng Thao and another ATMO staff officer, Jessica Broon, are tied to NAR Defense.

It is reasonable, therefore, to assume that they were either brought onto the NAR staff as of the _Expansion Memo_ if not previous to it. Either way, the suspected direct tie between ATMO and NAR Defense is confirmed, a contradiction to the findings of the Walker Commission, (Walker Commission 2) discussed below.

Also important to note is the clear relationship, expressed in the _Dramatic Rescue_ article as well as the _Report of General Henshaw to President Taylor_ , between ATMO and the government of the United States (Henshaw), still largely a leader of politics on Earth at that time in history. It is important to note as it creates a link for how the type of relationship shared by the United States (US) Government and NAR Defense, and later by ATMO, would have also been shared with the TDF as NAR was it largest supplier and ATMO its foundation.

###  Evolution to the TDF

This basic relationship established, it is easy to see how events might have progressed to the founding of the TDF. NAR Defense, being well endowed by the Government contracts, could have helped build up and supply ATMO which, in turn, expanded to such a degree that the only logical step for the Terran Government was to legally recognize it. The date for the official founding and recognition of the TDF as Earth's sole armed military force is well known, it being preserved at the outset of _A Child's Guide to the War of Noble Cause_ as its basis of comparison (Ministry of Censorship). That date, 12 October 2022, marks a turning point in human history, one after which all professional military operations were taken out of the hands of nation-governments and put entirely under the auspices of the Global Terran Government of Earth. Herein is the importance of understanding the pre-existing relationships of NAR Defense and ATMO with various Terran Governments as the leaders of the TDF. In fact all of its top eight staff officers came from both NAR and ATMO, as was alluded to above and will be presented shortly.

In seeing this, one can easily understand how the relationship of the US General Amy Henshaw to ATMO, and the trust implicit therein (Henshaw 2), would transfer over to the TDF. The import of this is easily read, even from _A Child's Guide..._ wherein, on page 3, the book states that, "The people in charge of the TDF lied to the government and made them believe things that weren't true. They told the people in government that everything in the country of Columbia was okay. Not knowing the people of the TDF well, the government had to take them at their word" (Ministry of Censorship).

While this author agrees that the Global Government would, indeed, have had to take the leaders of the TDF at their word regarding events occurring in Columbia, the leadership of the TDF was well known to high government officials by this time. As such, there is little chance that Government officials of the time would have been deceived into believing false reports on Columbia.

For further evidence of such a claim, one needs look no further than the 60 Minutes interview of Melinda Christopher by Katie Ralston. Therein not only does Melinda state that the eight "Progenitors," her, her husband James Christopher, Eric Pohlman, Adam Green, Meng Thao, D'Andre Fremen, Jessica Broon and Claire VanIven, had worked together for "some time," but James Christopher in the interview excuses himself as he has, "a meeting with General Henshaw" (60 Minutes Interview with Katie Ralston).

The ties are there as plainly as the dispositions of James and Melinda Christopher, which come through in the interview. Despite how _A Child's Guide_...portrays the TDF staff officers, it is clear that James and Melinda Christopher, at least, were genuine people. Melinda, for instance, talks about her Nobel Prize during her interview (60 Minutes Interview with Katie Ralston). These were people that the Government could and did trust. While the exact events occurring in Columbia remain unknown, which in large part dictates how said events are presented in _A Child's Guide..._ , the results are known.

###  Rise of Chaos

Out of Columbia grew a powerful military leader, apparently a TDF officer. Known by the name Chaos, he was the leader of the forces that rose up and opposed the TDF and the Global Government. These forces are known to have been sent worldwide in their quest of domination. It is, however, Chaos's campaign in the Americas that formed the crux, the lynch pin, of his whole movement

As his campaign in the Americas did well, so too did his campaigns elsewhere, gaining corresponding momentum from his triumphs and subsequent confidence. Once he was stopped in the United States, his campaigns elsewhere lost their initiative and drive.

The Empire of Japan, an antagonist in World War II on Earth, reacted similarly when one considers the Americans, citizens of the United States, as Chaos's home territory. The Japanese, as long as their advances in general were working, were daring in their advance. However, after their attacks on the United States Naval Base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, a small task force was able to launch an aerial assault directly against mainland Japan, deep at the heart of her conquered territories. From that point onward Japan's entire approach to war changed. They turned defensive and ceased most, if not all, offensive movements.

Chaos, likewise, changed his tactics after two particular battles in the United States. The first, the Battle of Chicago, set Chaos's forces on their heels as the Japanese had been after the American task force pierced through to their heart. The second, the Battle of Thermopylae, signaled the end of Chaos's offensive American campaign, a shifting of his forces onto the Eurasian continent and direct assault on the Terran Government's seat of power; though with greatly and increasingly diminished ranks, he became desperate. Such is but an overview of the two turning points of Chaos's campaign in the Americas. What follows are the details.

After the events in Columbia that brought him to power, Chaos systematically conquered, or as _A Child's Guide_ puts it, "liberated" (Ministry of Censorship), all of Latin America from _El Cono Sur_ to the Mexico-United States border. There, as is known from the e-mails of polcat361@hotmail.com, Tommy Brewer, and the interviews both of Tommy's squad by Julia Leist as well as of James Christopher by Scott Gehlert, Chaos's forces and those of the TDF formed skirmish lines and dug in for a nearly two month wait ( _12 August 2045, 24 October 2045_ ).

Both armies massed forces on either side of the border, preparing for the battle to come. Based on Tommy's letter of 24 October 2045, and the information contained at the end of Julia Leist's interview (From the Frontlines with Julia Leist), historians can reliably say that Chaos initiated his attack against the TDF lines on 23 October 2045 and broke through along the southeastern end of those lines ( _24 October 2045_ ).

Further, based on time-date information gathered from James Christopher's interview historians can further pin down the time to around 6:42 PM Eastern Standard Time (Evening News with Scott Gehlert). This represents the beginning of the bloodiest part of the War of Insurrection. Prior to this point, few casualties were recorded, the reason remaining unknown. Chaos pushed his advance far enough northward to gain a foothold in the warmer southern states of the United States, those bordering Texas to the north and east.

Here he held until April of 2046, apparently taking his cue from, first, Napoleon Bonaparte's defeat by weather in Russia as well as Adolf Hitler's in the same region and climate. This is reinforced in one of Tommy's messages wherein he relates how his TDF platoon officer told him that Chaos had waited, "...so long not only to build his forces but also to wait out the Midwestern winter" ( _13 April 2046_ ). The TDF forces, apparently due to the size of Chaos's advance, fell into full retreat, intending clearly to make their stand south of the Wisconsin border around Chicago.

###  Battle of Chicago

Here is another reason why the comprehension of both NAR and ATMO as the TDF's base is important. No significant ports, whether air, sea or sky, existed then in the Midwest. There were no strategically important resources of precious materials, no industries that were vital to the War effort and no major houses of national or global government along Chaos's path of advance northward. However, the homes of both NAR Defense and ATMO lay in Wisconsin along its eastern edge. While _A Child's Guide_...presents the advance as an attempt to "cut the TDF forces in half" (Ministry of Censorship), a closer analysis leads to the conclusion that Chaos, as had the United States the Japanese, was trying for the TDF's heart.

Knowing this would have driven the TDF, under threat of heavy attack, to pull back and dig in defensively somewhere south of Wisconsin directly in the path of Chaos's advance. The major roadways of the United States, then, dictated where the advance would come: to Chicago, up along Interstate-55 to the outskirts of the greater Chicago-land area then along the Interstate-94 corridor north onto Interstate-43, which leads directly into the heart of the home of both NAR Defense and ATMO, the TDF's heart and soul. This, then, is how history was delivered to Chicago's doorstep.

While some of the TDF forces had to be retreated due to the action in their sectors, others, such as Corporal Brewer's Company, were withdrawn for the express purpose of creating and reinforcing the lines south of Chicago ( _13 April 2046_ ).

Also in the historical record is the response of the City of Chicago to the impending attack. After Chaos's intentions for Chicago were clear, total and utter destruction (Darkest Hour with Scott Gehlert and Katie Ralston), Mayor Daley called upon the residents of Chicago to join in the defense of their city. This much, at least, is accurately reported in the Ministry of Censorship's _A Child's Guide..._. "All able-bodied personnel were mobilized into militias. Some serving as ammunition carriers, some with experience and training as line-fighters, more yet reinforced the Chicago Police in maintaining order in their city."

The TDF also called all available ground forces, staff officers included, to the Chicago front from everywhere within a 600 mile radius. In the words of Eric Pohlman, "We've pulled out all the stops. Every resource we can bring to bear here we have" (Darkest Hour with Scott Gehlert and Katie Ralston).

The Battle of Chicago, either way it turned out, would be a turning point in the War. With all TDF staff officers there assembled, it could have meant an end, if not a mortal blow, to the TDF. However, despite having their air force crippled, or at least depleted, during the course of Chaos's march northward, the TDF mustered enough airpower to turn the tide of the battle. The tool that broke the back of Chaos's forces and cleared the way for further air sorties was a new, and yet unseen, stealth craft.

As the battle raged on into the night, one that became darkly overcast, Chaos's forces, apparently unable to see the planes on radar, used old-fashioned search lights to try and spot them out for their anti-aircraft batteries. As reported by Scott Gehlert, though, the attempt failed. All of Chaos's defenses against airpower were destroyed, his lines becoming easy targets for the support craft scrambled from airports and bases all around the Midwest (Darkest Hour with Scott Gehlert and Katie Ralston).

In reviewing the _Darkest Hour_ footage to this point, one finds oneself confronted by a familiar name: Amy Henshaw. Introduced in the video as "Major General in the TDF" (Darkest Hour with Scott Gehlert and Katie Ralston), this piece of the artifact once again reinforces the preexisting relationship between Governmental agencies and the TDF.

In her interview with Katie Ralston, Henshaw reports that some 100,000 troops, militia and TDF Elite were engaged at the Battle of Chicago (Darkest Hour with Scott Gehlert and Katie Ralston). As the coverage continues, one sees how Chaos, despite losing the Battle of Chicago, does his best to keep his promise of destruction for Chicago. In the wake of his retreating troops, so driven by the overwhelming airpower of the TDF, Chaos's forces leave in their wake buildings of all sorts rigged with explosives. Thanks to preemptory evacuations (Darkest Hour with Scott Gehlert and Katie Ralston), no civilians were caught in the ensuing destruction. As would any commander, those of the TDF sent their troops after the retreating forces of Chaos.

As is captured in the video, this is when Chaos sprang his trap. Houses, apartment buildings, and places of business were used as land mines, though of horrific size. In his message of the next day, Corporal Brewer describes how one such explosion "took out half of Able Company" ( _7 May 2046_ ), a loss of over 100 troops.

In the final analysis of the Battle of Chicago, if the ending still on the video is to be believed, over 83,000 troops from both sides were killed or wounded. At least another 6,300 went missing in action (Darkest Hour with Scott Gehlert and Katie Ralston). Of the 100,000 or so total troops engaged at Chicago this represents over 90% as injured/KIA/MIA. In addition to the troop losses the still-frame reports a loss of some 5,375 homes and apartments displacing an estimated 24,188 people in addition to the loss by destruction of some 135 businesses (Darkest Hour with Scott Gehlert and Katie Ralston). Thus it is easy to see why Chicago was the turning point in the War of Insurrection in more than one way. After the loss of so many troops, both sides, though especially Chaos, having lost over 80% of its attacking strength, would be a long time recovering.

There was yet a greater, deeper impact of the Battle of Chicago, one felt in the realm of public opinion. With a cost of some $60 billion USD the Battle was a major financial setback for the suburbs of Chicago, State of Illinois, United States of America and even the Global Terran Government. For, even a year later, people lived as refugees in their own city, homeless and existing where they could ( _3 May 2047_ ).

Such is already enough of a public relations issue, one only compounded by a further fact; Chaos's army used whatever gun fodder it could find. This fact, conveniently left out of _A Child's Guide..._ , is why the TDF began to be called "Baby Killers." In the words of then Sergeant Tommy Brewer, "It's not our fault that Chaos's forces are made up of so many young people. I've seen some in battle who look to be no more than 13" ( _3 May 2047_ ).

Only days after the Battle was over civilian opines began appearing in local papers, twisting facts. "During the Chicago campaign not only did they enlist the help of every able-bodied citizen of Chicago, including those aged 13-17, but also slew several hundred children" ( _Baby Killers_ ). The important facts to remember here are, first, the TDF recruited help in the defense of Chicago, help children would have been physically incapable to supply. Second, in the words of Sergeant Brewer, "It's hard, but...when they're coming at you, barrel leveled, bullets flying..." ( _3 May 2047_ ). Chaos used anybody he could gain control over as troops, thus _forcing_ the TDF to kill them. Can a soldier truly be blamed for acts of self-preservation as forced on him by the enemy?

More yet, though, a follow-up opine by the same author continues the chain of misleading information. Therein the author, Gary2457, quotes the casualty and MIA figures for the Battle of Chicago as a way of expressing the brutality of the TDF forces, likening them to "Slaughterhouse Butchers" ( _Slaughterhouse Butchers_ ).

One must remember when reading such opines, though, that had Chaos not brought those troops to bear on Chicago, had he not recruited them in the first place, they would not have died. Not even _A Child's Guide_...distorts the fact that Chaos was the aggressor at Chicago (Ministry of Censorship). This author is not attempting to solely saddle Chaos with the responsibility for the outcome of Chicago, or even of the entire War, but merely points out that he must share in it.

As one final example of the type of, at times misinformed, disinformation that first emerged after Chicago, consider the article entitled _Walking About Barefoot_ by John316. Therein the author claims that members of the TDF must "believe themselves divine," evidenced by how they walked around barefoot, even on the battlefield. He backs this claim with an apparent fact that the Olympian Gods of Ancient Greece walked around barefoot as well (John316).

By way of historical correction, this simply is not true. Consider the Messenger of the Gods, Hermes, who wore winged sandals. Rather ironically for a man whose pseudonym is an allusion to Christendom, the author confused his references. It was after the rise of Christianity that people began being shown as no longer mortal by the lack of footwear.

A yet existing example is the famous poster of the 1960s "rock 'n' roll" band The Beatles for their _Abbey Road_ album. Therein one Beatle walks barefoot which people took to mean that he was deceased (Paul Is Dead). The purpose of pointing this out is that even when such attempts at propaganda against the TDF were misinformed, they were nonetheless effective. Starting after Chicago there was a concerted effort to use propaganda to turn public opinion against the TDF. An attempt that is believed to have been successful, at least by Heroers, in leading to the Exile Decree of 7 July 2050.

###  Battle of Thermopylae, ATMO Underground and Beyond

Turning this paper's attention back to the physical machination of the War of Insurrection, it must rely heavily on the messages of Sergeant Tommy Brewer to bridge the gap between Chicago and the TDF's Exile. One event that can be independently confirmed by _A_ _Child's Guide_...is the Battle of Thermopylae, mentioned in Brewer's message of 3 May 2047 and occurring on 4 May 2047 (Ministry of Censorship).

This battle, perhaps the only battle beside Chicago that is known by name, is where Eric Pohlman was imbued with his title of Hero of Thermopylae. Consequently, this battle is also where the Heroer movement gained its name. For the uninitiated, while much circumstantial and oral history remains of Thermopylae, very little remains in the way of accounts, recordings or other artifacts. It was in attempting to research and recover events of the Battle that historians first began their quest to preserve the real history of the Insurrection. As a consequence, they were the first Heroers of the so-called ATMO Underground. This name derives from the fact that, at the time, no connection was known to exist linking NAR Defense to the TDF. Hence, the historians named their movement after what was considered the base element of the TDF: ATMO.

But this author once more digresses. In Sergeant Brewer's letter of 5 July 2047, he states how his battalion is being redeployed to southern Illinois to "help try to push and retake Arkansas" ( _5 July 2047_ ). By this account, one sees that after Chicago the TDF forces were able to again assume the offensive. By the end of May, Brewer's battalion would be in Arkansas. In his letter of 14 August 2047 Brewer indicates that Chaos was in retreat during the Arkansas campaign. Believably, Brewer sites Thermopylae as a major motivator in this ( _14 August 2047_ ). Such agrees with oral history which holds that one of Chaos's most trusted generals was defeated there, a loss that affected his will to fight, at least in America.

Sergeant Brewer's next message of 11 September 2047 puts him back at the Oklahoma-Texas border. Two facts of this letter are significant enough for their own asides. First, Brewer reports that Chaos's forces attack in bonsai-like fashion, rushing head-long at their enemy with no regard for their own person.

He also describes the wounds persons in such attacks are able to sustain before being brought down. "I could see she was hit several times, the wounds flowing blood. She seemed not to notice" ( _11 September 2047_ ). The woman he describes was a member of Chaos's Black Band. The origins of this name remain unknown. What is known, via oral history, is that those forces were used against the TDF starting sometime after Chicago but before Thermopylae. They were rabid fighters, most often described as being "under a spell of bloodlust" ( _11 September 2047_ ). The Black Band forces of Chaos were also known for another trait; fighting to the last man. No member of a Black Band unit is known to ever have survived an engagement.

This, then, brings about the second aside, the mental cost of the war for the TDF troops. While engaged in battle at the Oklahoma-Texas border, Sergeant Brewer comes face to face with a member of the Black Band, and his fiancée, Emily Schmidt. No summation can do justice to Brewer's own words. This author simply encourages the reader to experience them for his/her-self. See appendix C, Polcat Messages, September 22, 2047.

###  Psychological Impact

The War of Insurrection was global in scope. As Chaos conquered, he recruited and brainwashed people into his forces. The Insurrection literally pitted friend against friend, relative against relative, lover against lover. The psychological toll of the Insurrection is nearly never addressed. Understandably it is absent from _A Child's Guide_....

Nonetheless, the Insurrection as a whole, especially in psychological terms, can perhaps be best related in Brewer's own words. "This war has been such a horrifyingly exhilarating adventure until now. It was always someone else's city, someone else's home, someone else's brother or sister being killed. Not anymore....I'm beginning to hate this war" ( _11 September 2047_ ).

What the propaganda efforts started after Chicago failed to do, the ways of combat late in the Insurrection made up for. As the War continued to worsen for Chaos's forces, his tactics changed once more. While his forces were completely unable to stem the tide of the TDF advance, they spent themselves in an attempt to wreck the highest cost for every meter of ground lost. In the words of then-Staff Sergeant Brewer in his message home of 20 December 2047, "When we started on this campaign it was still civil, as much as war can be. Either our side or theirs retreated after battles. Now, though, we've been forced to massacre every Chaos troop that's sent against us. It's like they're driven by some inner demons to total self destruction [sic]. And not just the Black Band either. They all have the same wild expression on their face, as Emily did, of total self disregard [sic]" ( _20 December 2047_ ).

Another continuing trend is extant in Brewer's letter, that of his continued dislike of and disgust with the War. "We're still losing good people. The cracks are starting to show. Reinforcements and replacements are coming slower....I don't know if we'll be redeployed over there [to Eurasia], but would be just as happy if we weren't" ( _20 December 2047_ ).

The difference, of course, between Staff Sergeant Brewer's dislike of the war and that built up by the propagandists is that Brewer's is an honest, true dislike of the realities of War. He is seeing the full impact of the War as it unfolds, its bloody cost. This, the reader may recall, is one of the oft-given reasons for why information about the Insurrection is controlled by the Ministry of Censorship. That is, in the words of Professor Hume on a recent broadcast of _Forward Progress_ , "if we can control history we can prevent its repetition" (Forward Progress with Tauriq Smith). They seek to prevent another such holocaust by denying its very existence, its lessons.

In Brewer's letter of 20 December 2047 he states that Chaos "and the TDF are now focusing their efforts over in Eurasia and around the Mediterranean" ( _20 December 2047_ ). Despite this, as late as 3 May 2048, Staff Sergeant Brewer's Company was yet deployed in the Americas. "It's actually been a little fun, our time in Mexico the last few weeks. As you know the TDF forces landed in South America last month. They've been pushing north fairly steadily. It's felt that we have the Americas under firm control," states Brewer in the same message ( _3 May 2048_ ).

By June of the same year, however, Brewer had been redeployed to the Eurasian theatre. Several facts worth pointing out arise from Brewer's message home of 10 June 2048. First, Brewer describes a change, once more, in the tactics being used by Chaos's forces. They once more began to act civil, as Brewer had called it in a previous message ( _10 December 2047_ ). That is, Chaos's forces were once more retreating ( _10 June 2048_ ). Additionally, and perhaps more importantly, Brewer mentions his "battalion was consolidated from six companies to three" ( _10 June 2048_ ). While it is not clear in Brewer's message what led to the consolidation, few possibilities exist. Either companies were transferred out of Brewer's battalion or, more likely, with his mention in the same letter of yet high casualty figures, companies in the battalion became so depleted that by force of numbers they no longer were at company strength. While this author could find no such evidence yet extant, the consolidation of companies in a battalion in Brewer's letter of 10 June 2048, in combination with his statement of 20 December 2047 that "Reinforcements and replacements are coming slower" ( _20 December 2048_ ), as well as the known success of the propaganda campaign against the TDF by this point in the War, suggest that, as the TDF was all volunteer to begin with, public support of the War had turned a corner.

###  The Tide Turns

Casualties weren't being replaced by new troops; no one was volunteering. Or, at least, not enough were to overcome the casualty rate. Either way, a further point emerges from this realization. Since the TDF was the Military of the Global Government, and as in the Constitution of the Terran Government there to this day exists provisions for the enacting of a draft of forces for a military (Constitution of the Terran Union), it can be assumed that either the Government saw no need for a draft as the War was in hand or that its political footing no longer would support such a draft for a War that had already cost so much both monetarily and in lives of Earth's citizenry.

As from the oral history we know that there were yet breakthroughs in Eurasia after Brewer was redeployed, it is unlikely that the Government failed to see a need for a draft. Rather, and more likely, a concerted effort, beginning after Chicago, as herein presented, had gained enough voice to persuade those in power to no longer interfere with the War. As it seems likely that this is the case, it is also reasonable to assume that the relationship between the TDF and the Government, one that had begun and continued on a firm footing for years, had started to sour.

The situation, even as the TDF took ground in Europe, continued to deteriorate. In a letter dated 12 August 2048 Brewer mentions that "our battalion was consolidated with another this week. Between the two of us we have five companies worth of troops" ( _12 August 2048_ ).

Assuming both battalions were initially fully crewed, having perhaps 1,600 troops a piece in seven companies per battalion, a total of 3,200 troops, being down to five companies means there were no more than approximately 1,150 troops of 3,200, nearly a two-thirds loss.

While 66% casualties is not the 80% of the Battle of Chicago, it is still significant. More yet, Brewer describes a scene that has been entirely erased from the historical record of the Insurrection. "We came into a town today somewhere in France. It had simply been burned to cinders. A few people were sifting through the rubble. They started cursing us out as we approached. They said that Chaos's forces had come through two days prior, rounded everyone up, grabbed who they could and then burned the rest in the town's school gymnasium. These few had been in the hills above the town when it happened" ( _12 August 2048_ ). This passage serves to reconfirm those pieces of the oral history of the Insurrection regarding, and already related in this paper, how Chaos would forcibly recruit from conquered towns. The truly shocking part, that has been erased form history, is the fate of those not taken: death.

Brewer also describes his growing understanding of the public's distaste of the TDF. "They were cursing us for not being there to help. We are the Terran Defense Force and they are Terran" ( _12 August 2048_ ). This author could once more restate the impact of such sentiment on TDF –Government relations, but by now it is quite clear, even to Brewer.

In his message home of 25 November 2048 Brewer describes first the further loss of manpower in his dwindling battalion: three companies from five ( _25 November 2048_ ). For the two merged battalions that leaves at most 675 of an original complement of 3,200. At those numbers the casualty rate would have been 78.9%, almost that of Chaos's forces at Chicago.

Brewer also mentions the almost palpable presence of the anti-TDF propaganda. "Despite being located away from major cities, people are going out of their way to come out to the base and harass us. I just don't understand where this is all coming from. I've seen some anti-TDF sentiment grow over the last three years, but it just seems to be exploding now" ( _25 November 2048_ ).

Taken as a whole it seems that as the military side of the War grew smaller, the propaganda side grew the larger. While precious few examples of such propaganda survived, its effects are quite clear by 25 November 2048, still some 15 months away from Exile Day and only five months away from the date of the final battle of the War.

Taking into consideration that Brewer had killed his fiancée, Emily Schmidt, in battle, the propaganda war no doubt had more bearing on what Brewer relates in his letter of 20 February 2049. "What in God's name would possess the man [Emily's father] to set the car on fire, _let alone with all of you in it_?! [emphasis author's] We're out here fighting for freedom, for everything back home, and then there's this!" ( _20 February 2049_ ).

Doing such a thing is simply unfathomable this day and age. The intent of the action is clear; kill the family of the TDF soldier who killed his daughter. The War of Insurrection began as a war that literally pitted neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend, family against family. The propaganda began after Chicago had come into full bloom. Even as Chaos's forces lost the War militarily, they were winning support, and, so, civilian fighters, across the globe. What Chaos had failed to do at sword-point he did at pen-tip.

Even so, losses on the battlefield continued to mount. "Last week our already hybrid battalion was again consolidated. Four companies out of what had at one time been five battalions. Four companies out of a division!" ( _20 February 2049_ ).

In round numbers this translates to roughly 900 surviving troops of 15,000. That comes out to a 94% casualty rate, the large bulk of those KIAs, as they clearly weren't being cycled back to their units after recovering from their wounds. Allowing such a casualty rate raises two pertinent questions. First, why would the Government allow such a casualty rate when, certainly, a fresh infusion of troops would have helped lower it? More TDF troops would mean more of a numerical advantage in battle and so a greater probability of swift victories. Less time on the battlefield equates to fewer casualties by exposing people to incoming enemy fire for less time. Was the Government feeling the pressure of the propaganda war growing, simply hoping that the TDF and Chaos's forces would mutually destroy each other thus killing two birds with one stone? The second question is as difficult to answer: why would the TDF leadership allow casualty figures to climb so high?

###  End of Combat

The last important tidbit from Brewer's message of 20 February 2049, that only compounds the perplexity of the above questions, is the following: "All Chaos resistance has simply seemed to fall away. It's incredible. All the Chaos units we knew about are simply gone" ( _20 February 2049_ ).

What military force, able to reduce 15,000 troops by 94%, simply disbands? What would be the purpose? History records that the War did not come to an end until the evening of 12 April 2049 after the last of Chaos's generals was killed. Nonetheless, if oral history is to be believed, which it is as shown above, then for the last two months of the War of Insurrection the only battles that occurred were ones wherein TDF forces were made to fight officer-less contingents of Chaos forces, those yet holding on to false ideological hopes that Chaos would prevail. Instead of surrender, the leadership of Chaos's movement went into hiding, building to a final crescendo of a last stand on 12 April 2049.

After the War ended with the defeat of Chaos's forces at the Acropolis in Greece, Staff Sergeant Brewer's letter of 20 June 2049 indicates that his heavily depleted battalion was redeployed to the TDF base in Plymouth, Wisconsin. That is, the very base that Chaos had attempted to take on his march northward that terminated in the Battle of Chicago, the same base where Brewer and his company had sat for several weeks before being redeployed to southern Illinois prior to their push southward through the United States. This time, though, their mission was different. The War over, their assignments changed. "It's crazy what's going on these days. We won! Why are we being treated like a defeated army? The TDF is meant to protect the people and here people are decrying it as a 'radical, hate-mongering organization that antagonizes war for its own gains.' Where were these people when the call came for recruits? Where were they when the government asked for help in its own defense? And further, where is that government that we helped protect?! It seems to be shunning our very existence" ( _20 June 2049_ ).

There was no more enemy to fight. Civilians, after all, were not a force to be dealt with by use of rifles and bullets. More yet, though, such times had to have proved tough for Brewer and his comrades. They had been trained for physical combat. Over nearly four years in the field their skills had been honed. By a process of natural selection they were the most capable of all the TDF forces. They had suffered the harshest conditions and survived.

But now, the War of Insurrection over, they faced a new battle, one for which they had not trained. One for which no readymade weapons were available and for which no fortifications, no matter how well built, were adequate defense. Such a sentiment, that of being ill-prepared for the life they now led, is extant in another of Brewer's letters. "After working as a supply company these last few months, getting, pushing and transporting goods from NAR Defense to base, I honestly think I miss combat" ( _21 August 2049_ ).

Also in this letter Brewer, now Company First Sergeant for his contributions to supply logistics while at Plymouth, mentions the Tribunals, the War Courts, beginning to be setup. He asks, as certainly many of his fellows did, "All of Chaos's Elite are dead and gone. No one's left. Are they going to try ashes in an attempt to mollify people?" ( _21 August 2049_ ) Brewer would not have to wait long for an answer. "They're putting TDF leadership on War charges?! What sort of horse shit is this? This is beyond the pale! All I can say is that whoever is whipping the public into the frenzy needed to exert this sort of pressure on the government is doing one hell of a job" ( _4 October 2049_ ).

As the oral history tells, and First Sergeant Brewer's message confirms, leaders of the TDF were brought to account for the War. When one thinks that there was no Chaos leadership left alive at the end of the War, such a move begins to make some sense. The public would look for someone to blame and the only military force left _on Earth_ was the TDF, the very same from whence Chaos had risen to power. This writer certainly makes no attempt to defend the actions of the Government Tribunals, only to understand upon what genesis they found footing by which to claim legitimacy and from which to operate.

###  Plans behind Plans

Four years and three months after being deployed Brewer writes, "We've been getting lots of transfers of personnel lately. Tonya from Baker says that she's heard all TDF forces will be getting orders for Plymouth soon" ( _24 May 2050_ ). As every Terran knows, Exile Day was 7 August 2050. The final verdict of the Tribunals in Nuremburg weren't handed down until a month prior, 7 July. As such, a general transfer of forces to the TDF's Plymouth base would portend an advanced knowledge of events to come.

While one could certainly see which way the wind was blowing, to transfer _all_ TDF personnel _worldwide_ to Plymouth on a hunch would seem a stretch. A more likely explanation, and one this author believes would be substantiated by evidence presented earlier in this paper, is the following.

Knowing from the oral history that the Prime Minister of the time ordered a missing-man over flight as a send-off for the TDF, a gesture which cost his party political clout worldwide for fully a decade, and also understanding that there was a long-standing positive relationship between the Government and the TDF, a more reasonable explanation for the impetus behind the consolidation of the TDF to Plymouth is that someone in the know, presumably the Prime Minister, tipped them off. Who else but such a person could have had any inkling of things to come almost a year in advance?

As far back as Brewer's letter of 21 August 2049 he describes how "the supplies [we've been getting] are right for setting up whole new communities." Moreover, in his letter of 28 December 2049 Brewer relates how "supplies are coming in and being packed as tight as they can; there's so many getting sent here now! A buddy of mine down in Ohio at the air base there said he's started getting space requests, but labeled 'eyes only.' There's a lot of fairly huge equipment being delivered and stored around the Midwest these days."

In his message of 24 May 2050 Brewer goes further in saying "we have enough food stuffs and miscellaneous supplies to last 40,000 people a couple of years!" And finally in his second to last surviving message Brewer says, "40,000 for a few years? Try the 15,000 of us that're left for a decade" ( _7 July 2050_ ). It all fits a pattern of long-term planning for an eventuality few would have thought possible in August of 2049. Few except, perhaps, for a TDF Elite with reliable high-political connections. "Eric, that bastard, was planning for this all along. They _knew_!" ( _7 July 2050_ ).

Irregardless of how they knew, the TDF were thoroughly prepared for the Articles of Exile when they came on 7 July 2050. Short and to the point, the Articles gave the TDF, "a militant force with no other purpose," 30 days from their signing to "enforce on themselves exile from the planet Earth in perpetuity" (Nuremburg Tribunals).

Almost immediately more propaganda messages began circulating. The first known such message, sent by e-mail on 8 July 2050, calls for people to sign up for an electronic list so as to be notified of details of a "rally of disapproval" being organized to give the TDF "the perfect send-off" ( _Bring In the Troops to Send Them Out_ ).

Another artifact to survive is a Top Ten List of Reasons Not to Exile the TDF. The circulation date is unknown. However, such list items as "I haven't sold my stock of 'I hate the TDF' screen print tees yet (800-HATE-TDF. Volume Discounts)." And "Without the TDF I'll have to go back to hating my mother-in-law, and she makes good cookies," ( _Top 10_ ) well represent a part of the public's sentiment.

While Brewer's letters of the time fail to include the reaction of the citizens around him, his letter of 4 October 2049 does state that, "Up here in Wisconsin we're not getting any of that [hatred]. There are a few crazies around, but for the most part the people around base get it. They're still supportive of us and grateful for what we did, our sacrifices" ( _4 October 2049_ ).

The interesting part of this dichotomy, the love and hate of the TDF, is only compounded in another opine of 3 August 2050. "I would like to start by saying how sick and tired I am of hearing people complain about how horrible and unfair the Exile of the TDF is.... The greatest threat mankind has ever known was fully a product of the very people who 'saved us from ourselves.'"

Further yet the author, Scotch420, reminds readers that, "Emergency response personnel still exist. You can't tell me that the cops and firefighters aren't adequate for their job, because if that's the case we need better ones. Let 'em [the TDF] go, I say. And all you whine bags at the grocery store, the WalMart, the Bank, Fleet Farm and everywhere else can just shut the TDF up!" (Scotch420).

But by 8 July 2050 public opinion no longer mattered. Events had been set in motion. The first in a chain of dominoes had been pushed. And the TDF was now exiled from Earth. Brewer, in his last message home, mentions how he was taking personal charge of loading the terraforming equipment into the TDF's spaceships at the Sheboygan Spaceport as, "it's going to be a tight fit." Brewer goes on to say, "While I'm not saying goodbye just yet, I'm letting you know that I'm going to have to. After the last of the terraforming equipment is loaded I'll shoot you guys another e-mail to set up a Skype conversation. Don't worry about me, I'll be okay. Anyways, talk to you soon" ( _13 July 2050_ ).

After digging as much as he could, this author could find no evidence that Brewer's follow-up e-mail ever occurred. As is recorded in the oral History, Melinda Christopher and 49 other TDF personnel died at Spaceport Sheboygan a week after the signing of the Articles of Exile. Based on his last message, chances are good that Brewer was one of those 50. He was just one more casualty due to the War, one more name on a list that was too long to begin with, one more death occurring long after the end of combat.

###  Day of Exile

On 7 August 2050 the last of the TDF supplies and personnel arrived at the Spaceport. As reported by Sheboygan County Sheriff Ronald Bellamy, "After the unfortunate events of a few weeks ago here the Prime Minister issued an Executive Order placing the Port under complete TDF jurisdiction" ( _Day of Exile: A Report_ ). So the TDF took up one final guard position before leaving Earth for good. Once all the TDF's supplies were loaded into their ships all personnel came out onto the Spaceport grounds. As previously mentioned, the Prime Minister had arranged for a missing-man aerial over flight as a send-off. Very fortunately, live coverage of the over flight has survived the years.

Sherman Welsh, senior military analyst for the network, describes the over flight as it approaches the Port and passes overhead:

Scott, those are all fighter jets that were re-commissioned toward the end of the war save the lead craft. _That_ is a NAR Defense trans-atmospheric fighter. The way this formation is setup is very significant. The lead ship, you can see it in the aerial shot, has TDF markings on its wings. This formation is signaling how the nations of the world have followed the lead of the TDF. Scott, watch for what that TDF craft does. This is a message from this Government to its people. While the people's voice forced the vote that exiled the TDF, this over flight is going to symbolize the response of at least part of that government. ( _Day of Exile: A Report_ )

Following the footage one sees the TDF fighter break away, pulling up into a steep climb.

This was an honor over flight. As the TDF jet separated from the formation they kept its place void. It's saying that the efforts, the impact, of the TDF continue, carry on, despite them leaving. It honors that exodus. It also, I would point out, is symbolic of the fact that this planet still moves forward even without the TDF. ( _Day of Exile: A Report_ )

The most stunning part of the report, though, comes after the honor over flight. In the words of Sherman Welsh,

When it was clear that the TDF was disembarking the crowds here [at the Spaceport] were overall quite jubilant. Cheers and raucous singing began as if by their own volition. Now, however, it is simply...the larger craft are getting underway, now.... This is a very somber crowd. No cheers, no celebrating. Some are holding hands, some simply holding each other. ( _Day of Exile: A Report_ )

The historical impact of the Insurrection was profound, its effects felt globally. Scott Gehlert well summed up the import of the moment as Eric Pohlman's craft was lost to the clouds.

Today, August 7th, 2050, marks a change in Earth's history. Marks a change in human events for decades to come. Now, with the exception of police forces globally, there are no organized armed forces anywhere on Earth. As of this moment, humanity has begun a new chapter in its history. Never before has life on Earth, since mankind first picked up a spear, been so devoid of the means of warfare. What comes next in human history is entirely new, a first of its kind. ( _Day of Exile: A Report_ )

###  Rise of Censorship

Despite the tremendous cost, both in human and economic terms, of the Insurrection its impact continued for some time after that first Exile Day. As stated near the beginning of this paper, soon after the Exile the Government initiated an intentionally systematic effort of controlling the recorded history of the Insurrection. The extant theories behind such a move point either at the Government removing their deep involvement with the TDF or at the Government coming under the control of civilian members of a deeper Chaos-initiated movement.

As shown in a moment, the latter theory, despite its many adherents including this author, loses credence yearly due to the implication of such a theory. Thus the former seems the more likely explanation. And, while lack of proof is not proof, the Government certainly had friendly or better relations with both ATMO and the TDF throughout their existence, as demonstrated in this paper. Therefore, the former theory, with its supporting lack of evidence, gains credence among the ATMO Underground yearly even as the later losses credibility.

To the former, yet preserved is the Terran Government Resolution 513, written and signed into law the sixth year after Exile Day on 8 August 2056; the Government directed that a new Department within its auspices be created: the Department of Censorship. Such a Department was to be responsible for the "review and seizure" of "all items dealing with the War of Insurrection."

Further, the Department was given sole legal responsibility for the disposition of such items and, toward that end, was granted "full constabulary and judicial authority" over such matters ( _Terran Government Resolution 513_ ). As part of Resolution 513, perennially on Exile Day the first official act the House of Commons and the Senate, acting in their first Congressional session, are required to vote on the continued existence and extension of funding for the Department of Censorship.

Within a day, by Resolution 513, the Department, upon being renewed, creates and circulates a report on activities of the last reporting period. Included in the Appendix [C] is the latest such publication of 8 August 2527. As of this reporting, the Ministry had collected "over 5 billion unique artifacts, well in excess of 1,763,000 just in the latter half of the past reporting period alone." In this report the Department also included a formal request for a funding increase of 10% "for the improvement of security" around artifact holding centers due to continued raids on them (471st Ministry).

As should be clear by the above numbers, the statutory authority of the Department of Censorship to "enact such procedures it may deem necessary for the swift, efficient and effective execution in its duties related to the search and seizure of artifacts, and persons in possession of such artifacts" ( _Terran Government Resolution 513_ ), has largely had a net positive increase in the seizure of "artifacts." The ATMO Underground is the only agency, so to speak, that stands in true opposition to the Department of Censorship.

It is, in fact, from members of the ATMO Underground and their secret collections that most sources for this paper originate. Through independent analysis all sources are confirmed authentic and are reliably from their indicated dates of publication or transmission. Even with the preservation efforts of such brave people as exist in the ATMO Underground, daily risking the threat of being arrested, detained or simply made to disappear, much has successfully been lost to history as regards the Insurrection. The oral history itself is purported to have evolved as a response to the Department of Censorship's initial surge of success in its first decade of existence. _A Child's Guide..._ , originally published on the 250th anniversary of the first Exile Day, was an attempt by the Ministry to actively combat the existence of the oral history. Again, though, both were merely responses to events. The point herein being that history, true factual history, is obscured more every passing year.

###  Preservation and Restoration

As stated in its synopsis, the Walker Report found that "the long defunct NAR Defense Works" had no part in or complicity with "any TDF-lead actions during the War of Noble Cause" (Walker Commission). However, recently uncovered interviews and materials, including several quoted in this paper, point to the fact that all of the top eight members of ATMO, and so the TDF, were at one time employed by NAR Defense. Further, as stated in the document _Disposition of NAR Defense_ , NAR merged with another R&D company by the name of STAWS. Together they formed a new company by the name of S&N Industries ( _Disposition of NAR Defense_ ), a yet extant, publically-traded company. That is to say that NAR, in some form, survives.

What remains in this paper, then, is the truth, the historically accurate truth, of that which was the Insurrection. From sources available to the historical community it is known that the War started sometime between the establishment of the TDF in October of 2041 and the breach of the Mexico-United States border on 23 October 2045. Historians in the ATMO Underground agree, also, on the dates of the Battle of Chicago, 3 May 2046, and the Battle of Thermopylae, 4 May 2047.

For much of the last year of the War the TDF spent their time primarily as rebuilders and peacekeepers. Finally, on 12 April 2049 Chaos made his last stand at the Acropolis Mount in the Temple of Athena Niké, resulting in its destruction. After more than a year the Terran Government's Tribunals handed down their Articles of Exile for the TDF on 7 July 2050.

By the end of the day one month later, the TDF had passed from Earth's present into her past. No contact was ever kept with the Exiles. As such, no one knows precisely what happened to them. What is known by historians is that during the opening third of the 23rd century settlement began on Mars, a planet left terraformed by the Exiles. They left no trace on Mars, no ships nor signs of where they might have gone. The settlements led to contracts for building specialists' immigration.

The influx of these workers in late 2229 was itself the beginning of what is known as the Colonization Age of Mars. By 2330 the colonization began to spread planet-wide, reaching into the more remote regions of Mars. Even then, no trace of the Exiles was found. From the time of the first settlers the Exiles were considered dead or gone, moved on once more at the approach of their old cousins from Earth. Nothing has been found since to contradict this position.

###  Conclusion

The ATMO Underground, however, continues its quest for the maintenance of true history. Even though the TDF is gone, their impact on humanity lives on. On the 375th anniversary of the TDF's Exile someone anonymously published an opine by the title _The Insurrection: Some Good Points_. The Censors have, time and again, tried to suppress this article. It is, however, a staple of every artifact collection this author has had the chance to see. The author points out:

Many of the initial medical advances on which our current knowledge base has been built were made during the time of the _Pax TDF_. It was during this same time that a reinvestment in spaceflight brought about humanity's ability to seriously look at Luna as a second home. It is what made possible the profitable mining of near-Earth and near-Martian asteroids for minerals which itself sparked its own renaissance in materials production. Without the TDF and its influence on humanity, we would not be where we are today. ( _The Insurrection: Some Good Points_ ).

This author, as was his stated purpose at the outset of this paper, has herein done his best to preserve the extant history of the TDF and refresh it with what new connections and details were, to date, available. Humanity finds itself closing quickly on the 500th anniversary of the Day of Exile and so too on the end of the War of Insurrection. In their hope to avoid another such War, in their attempts to suppress their own involvement in such a war, in their laws that create the very tools of information suppression, the Government has inspired the ATMO Underground. Those who are its members yearly renew and redouble their efforts at historical preservation, as does the Ministry of Censorship to stamp them out.

Never, though, can the impact of the TDF and its leading and founding members be erased. To be sure, they brought about death and destruction such as humanity has not seen since. At the same time, they helped create an environment in which the sciences were fostered out of their infancy into full bloom. No apology can be made for what the TDF did during the War, but, likewise, nothing can be done to ever truly erase what they've done to help advance humanity toward the stars.

### Works Cited

1st Squad, 2nd Platoon, Fox Company, 1st Battalion, 12th TDF. Interview by Julia Leist. Mexico-US Border, 22 October 2046.

_Articles of Exile_. Nuremburg Tribunals, 7 July 2050.

Brewer, Tommy. _Polcat Messages_ , Collection. 12 August 2045 – 13 July 2050.

"Bring In the Troops to Send Them Out." _Dissention Collection_ , 8 July 2050.

Christopher, James. "Expansion Memo, NAR Defense." _The Moore Collection_.

Christopher, James. Interview by Scott Gehlert. New York, New York, 23 October 2045.

Christopher, James. "NAR Reply to US DoD." _The Moore Collection_ , 2035.

Christopher, James and Christopher, Melinda. Interview by Katie Ralston. ATMO Labs, Wisconsin, 17 July 2039.

_Constitution of the Terran Union._ 1st Cong., 1st sess., 2021.

_Day of Exile: A Report_. Prod. And dir. By H.D. Motle. CDS News, VPN Home Video, 7 August 2050.

"Disposition of NAR Defense." _AP Press Release_ , 17 August 2042.

"Dramatic Rescue." _New York Times_ , 2035.

Factsheet. _Museum Ship USS Bill Clinton,_ 2520.

Fremen, D'Andre. "The Fremen Fragment." _The Moore Collection_.

Gary2457. "Baby Killers." _Chicago Tribune_ , 20 May 2045, sec 3C, p 6.

Gary 2457. "Slaughterhouse Butchers." _Chicago Tribune_ , 24 May 2045, sec 3C, p 6.

Gehlert, Scott and Ralston, Katie. _Darkest Hour_. CDS News Network, 3 May 2027.

Henshaw, Amy. "Report of General Henshaw to President Taylor." _The Moore Collection_.

Hume, Alexander. Interview by Tauriq Smith. FAUX News Network, 12 March 2527.

John316. "Walking About Barefoot." _Chicago Tribune_ , 30 May 2045, sec 3C, p 6.

Ministry of Censorship. _A Child's Guide to the War of Noble Cause_. Versailles: Terran Government Printing Office, 2523.

_Notice and Report from the Ministry of Censorship_. 471st Ministry, 2527.

"NAR Defense Charter." _The Moore Collection,_ 2031.

"Paul is Dead." _Wikipedia_ , <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_is_dead>, 3 September 2526.

Scotch420. "We Don't Need'em." _Sheboygan Press,_ 3 August 2050, sec. 2D, p3.

"The Insurrection: Some Good Points." _New Chicago Bugle_ , 7 August 2425, Opines.

_Terran Government Resolution 513_. 35th Cong., 1st sess., 2056.

"Top 10." _Dissention Collection_.

Walker Commission. _Report of the Walker Commission on the Exile of the TDF_. Versailles: Terran Government Printing Office, 2350.

Appendix C: A Heroer's Report \- Sources

##  The Moore Collection

Report of General Henshaw to President Taylor

The following is what remains of a report written by United States General Amy Henshaw to United States President Leanne Taylor regarding the actions of the group known as ATMO. As with the Fremen Fragment, some portions were lost to fire. This report is reliably dated to the same half-year as the Fremen Fragment.

(The top two-thirds of the report was taken by fire)

have performed admirably. Never, in any of our reports on them, have they ever incurred a single civilian casualty. Their success rate in the field is 100%. Any company that hires ATMO onto its payroll can count on the contract being fulfilled.

As to your question of legality, all reports affirm that ATMO does _not_ go out of its way to inform local constabulary agencies of its operations. Domestically, only on two of seven operations has ATMO ever frontloaded an operation with local, state or federal law enforcement assistance. Their actions generally, when considered after the fact, do not constitute actions worthy of judiciary review. Nonetheless, ATMO does act as law unto itself.

In compiling this report, ma'am, you also asked for my personal and professional opinion of ATMO's actions. Professionally, I view them as a threat to order. They fall under no jurisdictional guidelines or authority that we, or anyone else, control. Even their financial accounts are without our ability to affect. In terms of raw military power, two teams of ATMO commandos would be more than a match for at least a few companies of Airborne as trained to today's standards.

On a personal level, these people are doing a job that governments cannot, either because they are unwilling or unable. I would remind Madame President that they already helped rescue several of our Senators while they were on tour of the rebuilding efforts in the Middle East. While they operate outside the law, I would suggest giving them fair latitude. They are amiable to the United States and could prove a reliable ally in the future should we need it.

All field reports and figures are available for your review upon request. Additionally, feel free to contact my office anytime with any questions regarding this report or any previous one on NAR Defense.

Best Regards,

Amy Henshaw

General, USA

The Fremen Fragment

The following is what remains of a report by D'Andre Fremen to NAR Defense. It as well as several other documents in this collection, was damaged by an early Department of Censorship 'purge.' What remains was salvaged from the burn remnants.

TO: NAR Defense, R&D

FROM: D'Andre Fremen, ATMO

RE: Action of 20 June 2035

The operation began smoothly. My advance team and I properly inserted into the region at 2215 hours, local. The following day we began standard surveillance and recon. Two teams we set up around the extraction zone while I and **(a burn-through obscures parts of the text here)** area. We proceeded through the square, ladling as we went. On our second pass **(obscured text)** government team had used. Thus we identified the building. At 2230 the third day Meng and Jessica arrived. Extraction routes were defined with secondaries set. Entry to the compound was executed according to plan. During the extraction Meng's team came under heavy fire. I led my team on as **(the rest of the report was destroyed by fire)**

Dramatic Rescue: Newspaper report on Senators' rescue

What follows is the text of a newspaper article relating extant details of the rescue of seven United States of America Senators, aides and military escorts from their captivity in Tripoli, Libya.

It was quite a sight to see, the crowd's response as the plane's door opened to reveal the first of seven rescued Senators. Freshman Senator Theodore Byrd, R-LA, was first off the plane. He kept looking back up the stairs as the rest of the Senators disembarked. His, though, was typical of the reaction of all the Senators. Senior among them, Senator Nancy Limens, D-VA, expressed it best when she addressed the crowd. "We all want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for this truly humbling outpouring of support. However, we hope you will join us in greeting the real heroes of this moment, the military men and women of our escort, several of whom sadly lost their lives in the raid that took us all hostage. It was by their skill and determination that all of us lived to be rescued." Descending from the plane, then, came the platoon of Army Rangers who had been the Senatorial Escort, 1st Lieutenant Tom Harper descending the stairs last. Senator Limens welcomed him to the podium to say a few words.

"I'm somewhat overwhelmed," he began. "I've never had a welcome home reception quite like this. To be honest, we just did our jobs as best we could. If we could, I would appreciate a moment of silence for my five troopers who gave their lives." After a minute the Lieutenant continued. "Folks, there's really another group who deserves your thanks as much as we do. That would be ATMO. I know that our forces were already on their way to our rescue when ATMO stepped in. But...they snapped to action immediately and came without hesitation. Our people would have been another six hours coming. ATMO was ready to go when negotiations went south. We owe them our lives this day," Tom finished. Applause erupted then from the entire crowd. No ATMO personnel were on hand for comment.

USA General Henshaw released the following statement late in the day: "As Lieutenant Harper had indicated, our own special forces teams were _en route_ to Tripoli when ATMO troops initiated their operation. Early on during this situation they were in personal contact with me offering their help. Once we realized that our troops were not yet on the ground, and yet saw the need for such, we activated ATMO and sent them in. The President and I have both spoken to Meng Thao of ATMO and thanked him for his timely assistance in the matter." Henshaw additionally stressed that ATMO acted _pro bono_ , of their own volition, in this operation.

Overall the swift resolution of the situation only serves to highlight the growing roll ATMO plays in today's world. It likewise raises renewed validity to the arguments of Matthew Welsh and his Dissident movement as the group who took the Senators hostage claimed to do so to help raise awareness of the plight of the yet poor in the Middle East. Even so, this day people from across the United States have Tweeted and posted their thanks to ATMO, as does this reporter.

**@JonHall:** Mny thnx 2 ATMO. Keep up the good work. #ATMO #CapSenators

NAR Defense Charter

The following is a text-only version of the Charter. The original, due to age, has not been scanned. Additionally, being hand-written in American Cursive, it is hard to read by those not accustomed to its form.

On this day, March 14th, 2031, we the undersigned found NAR Defense, a technology research and development company, under the following provisions. So long as we live, and so long as this company endures, we agree to abide by the following founding principles.

**First** , let us start any project with the clear intention that it be intended for the _greater good_. All undertakings of NAR Defense should be so done as to yield the most good for the most people.

**Second** , any such undertakings will be made by unanimous consent of the Board of Chairpersons, at the signing consisting of Eric Pohlman, James and Melinda Christopher and Adam Green.

**Third** , such consent as above shall be held inviolable, as every project undertaken by NAR Defense will be done so at mutual risk and cost to those in the company; all risk and reward is shared. In this way all NAR personnel will be motivated only toward the greater good, highest efficiency and work ethic.

**Fourth** , that future expansion of NAR Defense facilities will likewise be done by mutual consent in concert with available funds; NAR will never overgrow its ability to be self-sufficient.

**Fifth** , that if, at any time in the future, it is deemed necessary to add to or replace chairpersons of this company it will be done by unanimous consent of those chairpersons existing at the time.

**Sixth** , that housing will be made available and maintained at company expense on company property. For the future good of the company, as recruitment of talent from far distant and culturally diverse places will no doubt occur, we seek to provide and nurture a welcoming, supportive community of scientists, technicians and employees. Never, however, will on-campus living be imposed as a necessity of any employee.

**Seventh** , if at any time a change to this charter be deemed necessary, it shall be done so by unanimous consent of _all_ NAR employees. This Charter, well thought out and researched, forms a firm bedrock on which to build NAR Defense. Changes to such a bedrock require mutual consent and full cooperation.

**Eighth and finally** , we enter into this charter as equal partners and friends. So shall anyone enter into NAR Defense. Hierarchies will arise out of necessity, but none will alter the base bonds of equality of voice and worth that so bring us together.

To the above principles we bind our pledge of fealty, to have them be our guiding force and to uphold them through trials and tribulation.

In witness thereof we hereto affix our signatures this 14th day of March in the year 2031.

James Christopher Melinda Christopher

Eric Pohlman Adam Green

Expansion Memo, NAR Defense

TO: NAR Personnel

FROM: James Christopher, CEO

RE: Campus construction & Spring update

Hello again to all NAR personnel! I hope this Wisconsin Spring again finds you doing well. As I have done the past 3 years, I wanted to update you on the status of NAR Defense.

First of all, let me be the first to tell you that we have again been awarded a DoD project, this time for several dozen fighters for four of the US Navy's top-of-the-line aircraft carriers. The production schedule, as always, is short, but well within our ability to meet. More details will be forthcoming as soon as all the necessary paperwork has been signed and exchanged.

Second, you may have noticed more military advisors around the campus already. With our continually increasing production lines the Board of Controllers decided to okay the hiring of eight more advisors, a few of whom were already NAR personnel. Anwar Samid, who served as a Staff Sergeant for the United States Army during the Coalition War, Jose Lopez who served as a Sergeant for the Marine Corps before being honorably discharged from active duty, and Alicia Smith who served as a 1st Lieutenant for the Air Force during the Coalition War, will be transferring from their research roles into more advisory and testing positions. While we needn't say goodbye, we do welcome them into their new roles!

Third, please excuse our dust! We are again expanding and upgrading our vehicle testing course. As such, heavy equipment will be bringing in necessary raw materials over the next couple months. We are doing our best to route such construction traffic through the campus's auxiliary, rear entrance.

All in all I see all these as good omens for NAR Defense in the year ahead. I look forward to another productive and safe year working with all of you!

NAR Reply to US DoD

15 May 2035

NAR Defense

1 NAR Way

Commerce, WI 53085

US DoD

ATTN Amy Henshaw

Pentagon, Washington, DC 20001

General Henshaw,

We gratefully acknowledge receipt of your most current order and are pleased our newest fighter met with your and the Government's approval. To allay your concerns, while four carriers worth of aircraft in half a year is a tall order, especially for equipment of this sophistication, our facilities are prepared for the task. Rest assured that full delivery will be made on time for the Enterprise, George HW Bush, Bill Clinton and John F Kennedy.

Also, regarding your inquiry into our advanced armor program I must again reiterate our stance. We, as sole holders of the technology, feel that it would too drastically alter the balance of global power were it to be made available to any standing army. Knowing your service background we know you can understand our concern. Likewise, we at NAR understand why you must keep requesting the technology. It is our hope that our repeated, yet consistent, replies will not strain our relationship.

As always, contact us anytime with questions or concerns.

Sincerely,

James Christopher

##  Dissention Collection

Slaughterhouse Butchers

May 24, 2046

To those who have called my opines ignorant and misinformed, the evidence of what I say is right there for you to see! Yes I've called the TDF baby killers, because _they are_! What better label fits a military force that intentionally kills over 500 children?! Perhaps, as some have suggested, Slaughterhouse Butchers fits better. After all, few others than those at a slaughter house could claim such brisk and efficient business as 500 lambs in one day. Or perhaps the other figures speak better. 68,000 plus Chaos soldiers wounded or, mostly, killed, another 5,000 plus missing in action? When in human history has _any_ other army done so well at maiming and killing than these butchers of the TDF? In their own orders on the defense of Chicago they were told to "set up your kill zones for maximal effect. The enemy comes in force; our kill to loss ratio must be exceptionally high." They suffer from bloodlust as well! "Kill them all," might be a better slogan for the TDF than "Protecting the Greater Good." What sort of heartless monsters can kill so single-mindedly as slaughter house butchers? The TDF and their Elite. Again, the numbers speak for themselves.

-Gary2457

Baby Killers

May 20, 2046

Last week a reader wrote an op-ed expressing their discomfort with the term 'baby killers' as applied to the forces of the TDF. What I would like to know is what title would better fit these professional killers? During the Chicago campaign not only did they enlist the help of every able-bodied citizen of Chicago, including those aged 13 to 17, but also slew several hundred children. As 'distasteful' as it may be to hear it, the forces of the TDF _killed 523 children_ at Chicago. In their own report on the 'Battle of Chicago, 2 May to 3 May 2046, inclusive,' they list this number, though it is buried at the _bottom_ of the casualty figures table. What sort of heartless people are the TDF anyway to so _order_ their troops to kill children? In intercepted orders to field commanders, the TDF Command ordered their troops to "expend every effort in the defense of Chicago. No matter the forces Chaos sends against us, we must prevail. This will be a test of our resolve and constitution." A test indeed! To blatantly green-light the wholesale murder of children is simply horrendous. These people in the TDF think themselves gods above the law. It is time they were reined in and taught a lesson!

-Gary2457

Bring In the Troops to Send Them Out

July 8, 2050

Attention all loyal and patriotic humans!

Yes, we mean **you**! We're calling for **your** help to help send off the TDF with the properly loud Bronx cheer! Ever since the proclamation yesterday we've been trying to piece together the perfect send-off. Late in the night it came to us; a rally of disapproval. While we don't know the 'where' yet, we do know the when: August 7.

_Can you contribute $35 to help finance our rally?_ _Click Here_

All you need to do is visit the _Humans for Humanity_ website now and sign up. Once we have more details firmed up we'll get back to you. As much as we can we'll help defray costs _including busing costs to the rally sites!_ But if you can _contribute now, every dime will help._

_Won't be able to make it on August 7_ th _?_ _Donate $35 so someone else can!_

Folks, our Government has done the right thing here. No force on Earth, other than the voice of the People, can stand up against the type of threat the TDF represents. So let's make sure that our voices will be heard! At the rally we'll have local, state, national and global leaders on hand to lend their voice to our cause. So _sign up now_ ; we want there to be more of us than there are left of them. So _click here to sign up now or to contribute for someone else_.

In addition to speakers we'll have bands playing and crafts for the kids. Bring your whole family in this send-off of the obsolete TDF.

This message was paid for and distributed by Humans for Humanity.

_Click_ _here_ _to unsubscribe._

Top 10

Top 10 reasons TDF shouldn't be freed to leave yet

10. Without the TDF around we'll be reminded of just how bad and stupid Socialists and liberals really are.

9. I haven't sold my stock of 'I hate the TDF' screen-print tees yet (800-HATE-TDF Volume discounts.)

8. With abortions illegal so many places, who will liberals call to get rid of their kids if the TDF leaves?

7. The whole mass-graves industry will collapse without the TDF demand

6. There was a #6, but the TDF killed it

5. Without the TDF I'll have to go back to hating my mother-in-law, and she makes good cookies.

4. Parking in Chicago was so much easier thanks to the TDF. If we get rid of them they won't be able to do the same elsewhere. And New York is just crazy this time of year!

3. Once they're gone, who'll prop up the enfeebled Terran Government?

2. Without the TDF around we'll have to look all the way back to the '80s for shiny suits that are both tacky and functional.

1. Who will be left to spawn the next global crisis? Santa Claus?

Walking About Barefoot

August 30, 2046

Has anyone noticed this about the TDF Elite? Enough of them to notice walk around barefoot. I'll grant you that one may walk around barefoot at home, on the lawn, at the beach. But on a battlefield? Only a madman does it there! The possibilities for injury are simply too great. What, then, about these Elite? Are they not afraid of injury? Or do they simply believe themselves invulnerable? You know who else walked around barefoot? The Olympians! The gods of the ancient world! Do these people believe themselves divine? What pomposity they have! Next they'll go into battle wearing only their uniforms, no discernible body armor. Wait! They do that now! Look at this, people! I seem to remember something in the Bible that goes, "The Lord is your God and you shall have none before him." Well, these people have made themselves gods and put themselves over the True God! It's plain as day to anyone with the eyes to see it! They must be stopped, their unholy war brought to an end, before they bring our world to ruin!

-John316

We Don't Need'em

August 3, 2050

I would like to start by saying how sick and tired I am of hearing people complain about how horrible and unfair the Exile of the TDF is. As far as I can recall our elected representatives, after careful deliberation, voted in favor of the Exile. The reasons they've released seem good enough to me.

But more importantly, why do they need to stay? It was a great idea in the beginning to have a global army, subservient to the government, against whom no other army could stand. Since the TDF peace there've been amazing advances in all sorts of areas, what with countries not needing standing armies anymore. But, where did the threat come from? Where did Chaos the Destroyer emerge from? The TDF. That's right, the greatest threat mankind has ever known was fully a product of the very people who "saved us from ourselves." When there's only one military force in the world, that's where the threat comes from.

I'll remind you that we still have the police all around the world. Not a nation exists without a police force. So again, what do we lose by the TDF leaving? The systems of law and order still exist. Emergency response personnel still exist. You can't tell me that the cops and firefighters aren't adequate for their jobs, because if that's the case we need better ones. And anyway, at this point there are what, 15,000 of the TDFers left on Earth? How effective could they be _anywhere_ on Earth anyway?

Let 'em go, I say. And all you whinebags at the grocery store, the WalMart, the Bank, Fleet Farm and everywhere else can just shut the TDF up!

-Scotch420

##  The Cronkite Collection

Day of Exile: A Report

What follows is one network's live coverage of the TDF's original exile from Earth. It picks up as the Command Vehicle of Eric Pohlman comes within range of the Sheboygan Spaceport, Sheboygan County, North America, Earth.

"I can see his vehicle now. It is approaching the stalled end of the column at the Spaceport gates."

"Our viewers can see the live feed on the screens, Bill. Tell us, what sense do you get of the atmosphere there?"

"Well Scott, even from up here it's apparent that there are many more detractors in the crowd than supporters. From signs to chants, they're making their presence thoroughly felt."

"Thank you, Bill. We now go to Trisha on the ground with Sheboygan County Sheriff Ronald Bellamy."

"That's right, Scott. I'm here with Chief Bellamy. Now sir, I understand that the TDF is in operational control of the whole Port right now, is that correct?"

"Yes, that's correct, Trisha," Chief Bellamy said. "After the unfortunate events of a few weeks ago here the Prime Minister issued an Executive Order placing the Port under complete TDF jurisdiction."

"The event you're referring to, of course, would be the destruction of a couple of the cargo ships," Trisha commented.

"As well as the loss of personnel aboard, correct," Chief Bellamy added.

Ignoring the addition, Trisha continued. "How do your deputies feel about having their authority usurped like this?"

"Trisha, honestly they have a better grip on the situation than we had. They have more personnel that they can use for security as well as better and more varied forms of non-lethal crowd deterrents."

"Are you saying that they have such means of crowd deterrents deployed," Trisha asked, clearly trying to lead the Chief.

"In light of why they were ordered to take operational control of the security here, it is completely understandable why they have such measures already deployed," Bellamy said.

"Are you saying, then, that their people are not to be trusted? That we should trust these soon to be exiles over loyal Terran citizens?" Trisha asked. Bellamy visibly fought to maintain his composure.

"What I am saying is that, complying as they are with the Articles of Exile, and having already suffered the loss of over 50 personnel by the hands of 'loyal Terran citizens,' such a deployment of non-lethal force is understandable," Bellamy said, taking a calming breath.

"It sounds to me," Trisha began, a sneer in her voice, "that you sympathize with these...people."

"As a professional law enforcement officer I sympathize with their preparations," Bellamy replied defensively. "Were we deployed as are they, we would likewise take such precautions based on the existing threat of violence. However, we would be out there with live ammunition."

"Because you distrust your fellow citizens," Trisha accused.

"Because that is all we have in our arsenal thanks to a Federal Government who felt that law enforcement equipment was no longer a worthwhile priority," Bellamy responded.

On-screen Scott broke into the conversation. "Trisha, Chief Bellamy, I believe we're going back to Bill in the news helicopter for some more aerial footage. Chief, thank you for your time and I look forward to talking with you again soon." The second frame on-screen switched to an in-cabin live shot of Bill. "Bill, what can you tell us about how things are proceeding?"

"Well, Scott, as our viewers can see, the loading of TDF spacecraft is proceeding in an orderly fashion. All transports are now within the base which has been secured and locked down."

"So no one is being allowed in or out?" Scott asked.

"That is correct," Bill replied. What had been an underlay shot from the helicopter was replaced by a boom-camera shot of one of the Port's gates. As the camera zoomed in several TDF guards could be seen closing and locking the gate from the inside. "It is our understanding that at this point such a lock-down is as much to prevent the TDF from coming out of the Port as it is to keep the crowds outside."

"Understandable after the welcome some of the earlier transports received. Bill White reporting from our news helicopter. Bill will be rejoining us closer to the conclusion of the TDF Exodus. Thank you again, Bill," Scott said.

"My pleasure," he replied. The entire screen was taken up with a static shot of Scott.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you're just joining us welcome to this live special report on this the day of the TDF exodus from Earth. We will be maintaining live shots from the Sheboygan Spaceport in Wisconsin, United States, throughout the day. Right now let's go to our senior military analyst, Sherman Welsh, who is at our studio outside of the Spaceport. Sherman, a pleasure to have you on."

"The pleasure is mine, Scott. This is an historic moment that I'm proud to be part of."

As the TDF took several hours to complete loading their materials, the network filled the intervening hours with numerous interviews. Such was less than completely revealing. What follows is the final moments of the TDF's presence on Earth.

"I'm going to interrupt you Madame Minister, I apologize. Bill in our helicopter has reported that the last of the cargo was loaded into its ship. Let's go to Bill. Bill?" Scott said.

The two-panel shot of Scott on one side, the Minister of Homeland Security on the other, was replaced with a side-by-side shot of Bill as well as a live shot of the Port. "Thank you, Scott. As you can see people are actually _exiting_ the ships right now. I can't tell why from up here."

"Bill," Scott said, "we're being told by our ground teams that Eric Pohlman was spotted in a call." Scott brought his right hand to his ear, nodding his head. "Our chief Versailles reporter is telling us that the Prime Minister just took a call from TDF Commander Eric Pohlman. While we have no audio of the conversation, we do have some inclination of what this call means. For more details we go to Sherman Welsh on the ground at the Spaceport. Sherman."

"That's right, Scott," Sherman said as he appeared on screen. "This is a significant call. Our sources confirm that this call has been scheduled for a few weeks. It is the last call from the TDF Commander Eric Pohlman to the Terran Prime Minister before the TDF begin their departure from Earth. What this signifies is that all ships have been loaded with the exception of personnel."

"Sherman, thank you for that. We go quickly to Bill," Scott said as Sherman was replaced on screen by Bill.

"Scott, I want to tell you and all our viewers that we are being ordered out of a very specific airspace. What our pilot tells me is that it represents a window for a flight-path from the East. Essentially, we can expect an over flight of the Port of some sort any minute. We will attempt to get you a shot of it from the air, if possible."

"Thank you, Bill," Scott said as he again took up half the screen. The other half was a mildly shaky, moving shot trained in the air over the Port, taking in Eastern portions of Sheboygan County and encompassing the shoreline and part of Western Lake Michigan. "We're going to maintain a half-screen shot from the helicopter in anticipation of the fly-over. Sherman, what light can you shed on such an over fight?"

The left-half of the screen switched back to Sherman, sitting behind a crowd outside the Port. "Well, Scott, essentially what it means is that the TDF are being honored. It's sending a message, most likely from high up in the government at this point, that while the TDF is being forced off-planet, their efforts are appreciated."

"I'm sorry to cut you short again, Sherman," Scott said, visibly caught off guard as something was quickly said into his earpiece. "Bill tells us the over flight is underway." The screen now split between the yet shaky view of the sky from the helicopter as well as a steady shot from the ground. "Sherman," came Scott's voice over top of the images. "If you can see them on your monitors, can you tell us what you're seeing?" Both camera shots zoomed in on tiny specks in the sky, revealing several craft flying in formation.

"Scott, those are all fighter jets that were re-commissioned toward the end of the War save the lead craft. _That_ is a NAR Defense trans-atmospheric fighter. The way this formation is set up is very significant. The lead ship, you can see it in the aerial shot, has TDF markings on its wings. This formation is signaling how the nations of the world have followed the lead of the TDF." The shots kept their focus, but more and more surrounding scenery worked its way in. "Scott, watch for what that TDF craft does. This is a message from this government to the people. While the people's voice forced the vote that exiled the TDF, this over flight is going to symbolize the response of at least part of that government." The ground shot widened to encompass the crowds outside the Port as the jets came close enough to be visible. "There! Watch," came Sherman's voice. The aerial shot showed after-burners igniting on the TDF craft, quickly cycling from red to orange, yellow, blue and an unbelievable white. The ship's trajectory seemed to turn 90 degrees up, shooting it spaceward. As it did so the remaining craft in the wing held their formation, punching their after burners. "Scott, this is our answer."

"What message was just sent, Sherman?" Scott asked.

"It's very clear, Scott. This was an honor over flight. As the TDF jet separated from the formation they kept its place void. It's saying that the efforts, the impact, of the TDF continue, carry on, despite them leaving. It honors that exodus. It also, I would point out, is symbolic of the fact that this planet still moves forward even without the TDF."

"Thank you, Sherman," Scott said as the aerial camera focused on the receding craft, the ground camera following the TDF jet's assent through the atmosphere. "Bill, I understand you have something to report?"

"Yes, Scott. I can see out the cockpit that the TDF personnel are loading into the craft. A few of the smaller ones are already taxiing onto one of the three runways. We are being advised, at this moment by Spaceport Control, that the craft will be disembarking momentarily. All craft are being reminded,...all aircraft are being reminded to strictly observe the Port's airspace."

"Thank you, Bill," Scott said as the left screen again cut to him, "our ground crew is reporting that Chief Bellamy and his people have officially reassumed control of Spaceport Sheboygan." The aerial shot switched to one of the Port. As it did so, one of the small spacecraft, already lined up along a runway, suddenly nosed-up, its engines blossoming a light blue as it shot down the runway. "As our viewers can see, the exodus has begun. The TDF spaceships are now beginning to leave Earth." The shot of Scott switched back to a ground shot, wide over the crowds outside the port. There could be seen the craft taking off, their assent angles quickly steepening. "We are told," continued Scott, "that for all the spacecraft to disembark should take only a few moments at this point. Sherman, what is the atmosphere like there on the ground?"

"Well, Scott...very intriguing," Sherman's voice was audible, just barely, over the near continuous roar of engines. "When it was clear that the TDF was disembarking, the crowds here were overall quite jubilant. Cheers and raucous singing began as if by their own volition. Now, however, it is simply...the larger craft are getting underway, now!" Sherman yelled, just barely above the loud roar of engines. "Scott, if you can still hear me, this is now a very somber crowd. No cheers, no celebrating. Some are holding hands, some simply holding each other. To be honest, Scott, to be here, in the presence of such a massive take-off of spacecraft, is quite humbling."

"Thank you, Sherman. We're going to let the images speak for themselves at this point, I believe," Scott replied.

The roar of the TDF engines took over the audio. A roar would scream, nearly deafening in volume, then fade to be replace by another. The aerial shot revealed the Port quickly emptying its packed taxi lines. Soon, only a few craft were left.

"Scott," came Bill's voice, "that craft stacked second on runway 1 East, that should be Eric Pohlman's. I've been keeping an eye on it since he boarded. It will be the last craft to take off."

"Thank you, Bill," came Scott's simple reply. The engines' roar once more took over the broadcast's audio. From the aerial shot could be seen the take-off of Noah's Ark, the large craft in line just prior to New Horizon, Eric Pohlman's ship. Momentarily its nose pushed up, its engines flaring as it shot down the runway.

"And there you have it," came Scott's voice as the last engine rumble faded. "That is the end of the TDF presence on Earth. The last ship carrying the last batch of TDF personnel, purportedly all ATMO personnel, has just taken off from the Sheboygan Spaceport. Today, August 7th, 2050, marks a change in Earth's history. Marks a change in human events for decades to come. Now, with the exception of police forces globally, there are no organized armed forces anywhere on Earth. As of this moment humanity has begun a new chapter in its history. Never before has life on Earth, since mankind first picked up a spear, been so devoid of the means of warfare. What comes next in human history is entirely new, a first of its kind," Scott finished as the ground camera finally lost the New Horizon to the veil of space.

The aerial shot had refocused on the crowds surrounding the Spaceport who were now beginning to disperse. "As the day draws to a close we have more details of the honor over flight. It was arranged unilaterally from the Office of the Prime Minister. Already the Minority Leaders of the Commons and Senate are decrying it as wasteful and tasteless. Even so, a Facebook poll conducted by this network following the over flight shows 87% approval from a pool of over 23,000 people worldwide. Sherman, can you give us your interpretation of the numbers?"

"Well, Scott, I would have to say, especially in light of how the crowds here are reacting, that it makes sense. As you say, this is a new chapter in human history. People, I think, are seeing that and realizing that the TDF helped open that chapter willingly. They could have fought the Articles of Exile. Certainly, no force on Earth other than the TDF could have stood against them. As such, I think people in general, here at least, understand that it was a fitting way to acknowledge that sacrifice that these men and women just made."

"You say in light of the crowd's reaction. Can you expand a bit on that, Sherman?" Scott asked.

"Of course, Scott. What I'm seeing here is groups of people in prayer, hugging each other, crying together. And, as a whole, they are genuinely tears of sorrow. I believe these people, in part thanks to the awesome power of what they just witnessed, realize the impact of the entire military of Earth leaving. It's simply unprecedented. I don't think they really know how to respond other than with sorrow. Sorrow at realization that this happened by their hand, their will, their volition."

The side-by-side camera angles focused on various groups of people. As Sherman described, many were crying. One particularly poignant image was that of a woman, her face visible over the shoulder of a friend. Her eyes opened, seeming to stare into the camera, she sobbed. In her right hand, held over the friend's other shoulder, she clutched two photographs. Both were of people in TDF military uniforms. One, a young blond woman with green eyes, was smiling off-picture left. Her 1st Lieutenant's bars shone brightly in the picture's lighting. Over the top right corner of the picture was affixed a black band. The other picture, a young man seeming to share many of the same facial features of both the blonde woman and the crying woman, likewise had a black band affixed over its top right corner. The man, clearly younger by several years than the blonde woman, had dirty blonde hair, auburn eyes accenting his face. Sergeant's stripes adorned his uniforms' sleeves. The woman clutched the pictures tightly as she continued to sob, gripping her friend's form as tightly as she could.

60 Minutes

17 July 2039

"Good Evening. I'm Katie Ralston and tonight on _60 Minutes_ I interview Melinda Christopher, world renowned scientist and Progenitor in the military organization ATMO. Please, join me as I come to better know this fascinating woman."

As the screen fades in from black it shows Melinda sitting in front of a lab table. Warm lighting brightens her face. "Good evening, Katie."

The camera angle switches to Katie, "Good evening, Melinda. Thank you for inviting us to interview you here. Is this your lab?"

"Yes, it is," Melinda replies, the camera changing to take in them both. "And thank you for coming."

"It's my pleasure. First of all, I would like to ask you something."

"Of course. Go right ahead," Melinda replies.

"Melinda, you're known as one of the Progenitors. Could you explain that a bit for our viewers?" Katie asks.

As the picture switches back to Melinda she smiles. "It's rather simple, really. You see, I'm one of the original people who helped create the technology upon which ATMO is based. Among our ever-growing staff, we have come to be known as, fittingly, the Progenitors for that reason."

Switching back to Katie, "We. Who else is considered a Progenitor?"

Smiling again, Melinda replied, "It really isn't too hard to discern. If you hear a name in the news today connected with ATMO, it's that of a Progenitor."

"For our viewers who aren't as familiar with ATMO, those people would be?"

With a slight chuckle, "Alright, Katie. Me, my husband James Christopher, Eric Pohlman, Adam Green, Jessica Broon, D'Andre Fremen, Claire VanIven and, of course, Meng Thao."

"Thank you. And all of you have worked together for some time?" Katie asks.

"We have, yes."

"Some sources indicate that the eight of you even worked together on a project for the United States Government during the Coalition Wars," Katie put in. Melinda's laugh came through even before the picture switched back to her.

"I'm sorry, Katie. We have been associates for quite some time. However, those sources are pure science fiction. After all, had we worked on such technology as ATMO uses day-to-day as part of a Government project, surely the Government would have kept such advances secret and for themselves. Something so powerful, they would not give up control."

"A valid point. As you say, ATMO personnel do seem to possess very advanced technology. It's said that in battle you wear armor that can deflect bullets," Katie says.

"Not quite, Katie. The armor we use is technically ablative. That is, it wears down as it takes damage. Which, I would add, keeps the damage from being transferred to us."

"Quite interesting. Aside from being, essentially, a soldier in ATMO, though, you're also a scientist," Katie says.

"That's right," Melinda acknowledges with a slight nod.

"You've even won a Nobel Peace Prize for one of your inventions," Katie says, checking her notes.

"That I have, Katie. And I'm quite proud of them. The Prize-winning innovation, as it wasn't really an invention, was an extremely cheap and sturdy pourable material. It could, in essence, be poured into any mold to create any shape. The concurrent application that really earned me that Nobel was in pouring quick-housing for the homeless. Mainly, you see, when we, ATMO, go in to some of the places we do, we're accompanying, safeguarding, supplies for needy people. In places like Nigeria there's still the need as well as unrest. Well, sometimes helping bring in foodstuffs and other relief supplies is only the tip of the iceberg. So many people who receive the sort of aid we help guard live in shacks, in hovels. With my pourable substance we can almost overnight pour walls for a whole village worth of new houses. Sturdy, long-lasting, sanitary, warm at night and cool during the day."

"And," Katie added, the camera switching back to her, "doing so, providing homes for such people, was an idea you helped spearhead, correct?"

"It does help when you're married to one of the two leaders of ATMO," Melinda says with a sheepish grin. "But yes, I did. And now when we accompany humanitarian aid into such places we bring the wall product along as a basic necessity, funding it 100% from ATMO profits."

"So then I'm curious," Katie says, leaning in slightly, "is ATMO more of a military organization or a humanitarian organization?"

Looking around to her right a bit in self-contemplation, Melinda pauses before answering. "I always like to think of ATMO as humanitarian first," Melinda says, turning her gaze back toward Katie, "militant second. Meng would disagree with me in saying that to be able to do what we do in terms of humanitarian aid we're necessarily a primarily military organization. In ways I agree with him. After all, pure humanitarians don't, out of necessity, always carry around weapons and body armor. We do."

"I can see your point. Tell me, what, aside from being a Progenitor, member of ATMO, and world famous scientist, made Melinda Christopher who she is?" Katie asks.

The camera catches Melinda blushing ever so slightly. "I've never been one to toot my own horn, Katie. But I would have to say that a lot has contributed to my being who I am."

"Please, our viewers would love to hear it," Katie says as she takes off her glasses, holding them in her lap.

"Well, to start, I grew up in a small town in northern Minnesota near the Boundary Waters. The 10,000 lakes that Paul Bunyan made. First of all, that means that I was a townie growing up. Second of all, it means I went canoeing and camping a lot when I was young. I was never what you'd call a girlie-girl."

"What was that like, growing up there?" Katie asks.

"Well," Melinda says, "it was, looking back on it, quite a treat. I mean, there are very few places left today that are that much protected wilderness all in one spot. You go out there on some of the larger lakes, early in the season, and just sit out and stare at the absolute clearest view of the night sky you've ever seen. No TV, no internet, no electronics of any kind. No lights, no cars, no motorized boats. Just you and creation. It's something else entirely."

"I've never been up there, but I suddenly want to," Katie says with a smirk.

"Make sure you get a good guide if you go," Melinda replies with a wry smile. "I know a few I could recommend."

"I'll have to get those later," Katie smiles back. "Where did you go from there?"

"Well, interesting story, that. I was fortunate enough to attend a program at the University of Wisconsin–Green Bay by the name of the Regional Center for Math and Science. It sorta opened my eyes a bit. Like I say, I grew up a townie. I felt for the longest time that all I needed to be happy in life was a canoe and a paddle. And maybe some company from time to time," Melinda adds with a slightly mischievous smile.

With a controlled chuckle Katie asks, "So what changed that?"

"It was RCMS. I went there two summers. My first was between my sophomore and junior year of high school. Over six weeks I took several intense math and science courses, but also had the chance to tour university campuses like Marquette in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Saint Norbert in Green Bay, Lakeland in Sheboygan, as well as a lot more. It started me to thinking about science as a career. I saw challenges opening up before me that I wanted to try and solve. It really changed my view of the world."

"So what did you do?" Katie asks.

"Well, first of all, I decided to leave my small town behind and go to the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee for my undergraduate degree. It took a little while to adjust, going from a small town of around four thousand in Northern Minnesota to a city of a few million relatively close to the Illinois border," Melinda says.

"I'm sure it would. Is Milwaukee where you met James?" Katie asks.

Melinda smiles, replying, "Yup. It wasn't until our sophomore years, though. James at that time in his life wasn't what you'd call a morning person, whereas I was. So, until we started taking our major coursework together we generally took classes at different times of the day. Still, there was something there from the start. Took James awhile to ask me out, partly because I had a boyfriend at the time."

"Someone you had met at Milwaukee?" Katie asks.

"No. Actually, my high school boyfriend from back home in Ely who I'd dragged along to UWM. By Christmas of our second year, though, he had had enough of Milwaukee. I came back for Spring semester, he didn't. By the way," Melinda says, looking directly into the camera, "Dan Pine, thank you for running home."

The camera switches to Katie who is laughing. "Not that you're still sore about it."

"No, not at all," Melinda says with a smile, leaning back in her chair a bit. "Worked out in the end, though. And I'm happy."

"Glad to hear it. What courses had you and James together?" Katie asks.

"Oh, a lot of bio and chem ones. I was double majoring in chemistry and computer bio-science while he was triple majoring in general physics, bio-computer engineering and general biology. To be fair, a lot of crossover in courses for him. So not nearly as impressive as it sounds," Melinda says with a toothy grin.

"Hey," comes an off-camera comment.

"We seem to have a special guest," says Katie. The camera pulls out to show their set-up in Melinda's lab as James walks into the frame. "James Christopher has joined us on set."

"And not a minute too soon, I see," he says. "I was stopping by to see how things were going only to be party to an assassination of my character!"

"Aw, hun. Shut up," Melinda says, reaching out and tenderly grasping James's left hand.

"James, I would offer you a seat," Katie says, "but unfortunately we only brought along two."

"That's okay," James says, the camera zooming as it tries to follow his movements, "I'll just use this one," he finishes as he sits atop Melinda.

"Oofdah," she huffs as he sits. Katie laughs. "Babe, as much as I like seeing you, don't you have someplace to be?" Melinda adds, trying to probe a knuckle between two of James's ribs.

"Hrm," he muses, subtly blocking her attacks as he gazes at the ceiling. "No. Not that I know of. Is there something I'm forgetting?"

"Yeah, that you weight about 60 pounds more than me," Melinda says, a smile still in her voice as her knuckle hits home, causing James to squirm slightly. Katie chuckles off-camera.

"I probably should go," James admits after deflecting a few more of Melinda's ribbings, getting in a few of his own before rising. "I have a meeting I must get to in Washington with General Henshaw. Katie," James says, stepping through the camera shots to shake her hand, "it was a pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise, James," Katie replies, still chuckling, as Melinda gets up, stretches and pokes James one last time as he shakes Katie's hand.

The camera again focuses on Melinda as she sits back down. She winks off-camera. "So," Katie says, "that's James Christopher."

"Yeah," Melinda says, still looking off-camera and smiling. "He can be a screw-ball at times. But then again," Melinda adds as she once more turns to face Katie, "so can I."

"Then I guess it was fate brought you two together at Milwaukee," Katie says, the camera on her.

"It was. But it was our love that kept us together," Melinda replies, the picture once more of her. "We almost broke up during grad school."

"Grad school at Madison, correct?" Katie asks.

"That'd be the place. I don't know why they let us do it, but we were both trying three Master's degrees a piece concurrently. I guess we either fell through the cracks or someone in the grad studies office felt our GRE scores were good enough that we could handle it. But it nearly did drive us apart."

"How so?" Katie presses.

"Well, we were both so deep into our studies. So focused. Most of the time I felt like my school work was controlling my life, like I wasn't making any time for James. Whenever he'd come up with something for us to do together I'd drop what I was doing just to spend time with him. Then, afterward, I'd be twice as far behind and have to spend even less time with him to make up for it. He always felt guilty, like it was only ever his fault that we were apart more than together. To be honest, it was just that we were so busy that we never found time to talk. To find out neither of us was happy because we were too busy to spend time with the other. Being so close and so committed to each other nearly drove us apart. Thankfully, James has some very good friends. They nudged him just enough that _he_ finally sat _me_ down so we could talk. That's when I really knew that we had something that was meant to last," Melinda replies.

"I could see that," Katie says. "And clearly it has. You two seem to keep it fun. How do you do that?"

"Well, we never let things get in the way anymore, or at least try not to."

"Things like interviews," Katie says with a smile.

"Things like interviews," Melinda affirms. "But we also refuse to truly grow up. Do we act like children? No, of course not. But too many people grow up and lose their child-like sense of fun, of wonderment at the natural world. They forget how to play and make the most out of every day. Every moment."

"That's an interesting way of putting it for people as responsible as the two of you," Katie replies. "For people who accompany and protect multi-million dollar humanitarian aid shipments to maintain their child-like wonderment, it must be difficult."

Melinda's countenance sobers a bit. "I would have to say it's because we've learned how to leave work at work," Melinda begins, her eyes softening as she raises her brow slightly. "But truth be told," she continues as her grin takes on a slightly devilish character, "it's just because we refuse to become too serious again. We learned our lesson once already."

"Fair point. I typically ask one final question whenever I close out any interview. If you wouldn't mind, I'm curious what your answer would be," Katie says.

"By all means."

"What advice would you offer people today on how to live well? To live happy?" Katie asks.

Without a moment's hesitation Melinda says, "Find something in life that you love to do and never stop. Also, find someone to share your life and your love with. Between the two you can't go wrong. Even when James and I were doing our doctorates, poor and still overwhelmed, we had each other and loved what we were doing. Same now. It's work, to be sure, but we're making a positive difference in the world."

"Sounds like advice anyone can follow. Melinda, thank you for your time," Katie says, leaning in to shake Melinda's hand. The camera angle widens to include them both.

"It was a pleasure, Katie," Melinda adds, returning the hand shake.

As she sits back, the camera once more focuses on Katie. "That does it for me tonight. Thank you, good night, and good luck." Behind Katie pops Melinda, holding up bunny ears on Katie while waving goodbye to the camera.

From the Frontlines

October 22, 2046

"This is Julia Leist, reporting from the American side of the US-Mexico border. I'm here today to interview members of one of the TDF Conventional platoons that are poised along the border, ready for a Chaos assault. Though no move for the border has yet been made, it is clear from simply looking across the border that Chaos is massing troops for that purpose. Here with me now are members of Andy Stile's squad from the 2nd platoon, Fox Company, 1st Battalion, 12th TDF. Good morning to you all." A group of seven troopers as well as Sergeant Stiles greets Julia. "First of all let me ask you what you think of operating in a combat team of mixed gender. Traditionally combat teams, front line units, have been all male." Everyone chuckles a bit, looking about to see who's going to answer. After a second, Julia prompts, "How about you, Corporal Brewer?"

"Well, ma'am, it's definitely something to get used to," he says with a grin. "But to be honest, I would say it's probably not a lot different. Everyone's held to the same performance standards these days. 100% of what you're physically capable of. Going through basic we were all held to the same level of expectations, and every time the Ladies came through. The ones up here on the line more than likely beat out other guys to get here. The TDF has high, but fair, expectations."

"What about in combat?" Julia asks.

"Well, ma'am," Sergeant Stiles says, "honestly we haven't seen any yet. In training with these folks, though, I can assure you that they all performed as a cohesive unit during live-fire exercises as well as in war games. They're up to the challenge."

"I'm sure our listeners will be glad to hear that," Julia says with a smile. "Where are all of you from? I'm curious how that plays into the dynamics of your squad."

"Well, ma'am, I'm from right here in Texas," Stiles says. "Dallas born and raised. Brewer, you next, then just snake around and down," the sergeant adds, turning on his stool and gesturing.

"Well, ma'am, I'm from Phoenix, Arizona," Corporal Brewer says. "Little bit damper here than I'm used to, but that' alright," he says, giving Stiles a nudge.

"I'm from New Mexico myself, ma'am," says Private Morales.

"Little Rock, Arkansas," says Private Jasper Davey.

"Compton, Illinois," says Corporal Anne Bryant.

"New York, New York," says Private Hazel Lee

"Albany, New York," says Private Millie Alvarez.

"Hubbard, Ohio," says Private Nancy Swensen.

"Quite a diverse group you have here, Sergeant," Julia says.

"Yes, ma'am. All a bunch of misfits, but a good bunch," Stiles replied. "We're still waiting to see how our Lieutenant fits in with this group of Yanks. He's from the UK."

"Diverse indeed. Tell me, how long ago were you deployed here?" The group looks around at each other before Stiles responds.

"Well, ma'am, let's just say we've been here long enough to put tent stakes in the ground and get comfortable. Unpack a bit."

"I understand. How about what made all of you join up? The TDF's Conventional forces are, after all, completely volunteer," Julia says.

"That's very true, ma'am. And we're proud of it. Each of us wants to be here, to do our part. We all went through the same fire, were tested by it and have proven we're good and tough enough for the task. Personally, I was in the US Army before the TDF took over. After being discharged and working back home for a spell I figured it was time to again serve. So I joined up with the TDF," Sergeant Stiles says.

"Sergeant's the exception here as far as that goes, though, ma'am," Corporal Brewer says. "The rest of us never served before. A few of us, like Lee and Alvarez, were in college when the TDF started this recruitment campaign. The rest of us joined up fresh outta high school. I think I can speak for everyone here, though, when I say that we did it because we understand the sort of threat that Chaos's plan for this world poses. It all sounds great on paper, but rule by military dictatorship? That failed come the Arab Spring, as well as the Coalition War. Not to mention that wholesale executing a country's government doesn't bode well for what Chaos would do to any opposition." There were nods of agreement throughout the crowd.

"That's interesting how you say it. What is your opinion of the Terran Government and the job it's doing?" Julia asks.

Small guffaws sound around the crowd before Corporal Bryant responds, "Ma'am, we're all still friends here'd like to stay that way. To be honest, though, we do understand where each other stand on opinions of the Government. Some of us are more centrist, think that they're right where they should be. Some are more right or left; think they're doing too much to too little with regards to this or that. Overall, though, we do all agree that if that government needs change it should come democratically, not by a military coup as Chaos is espousing." Again there were nods all around.

"That's interesting. So you've learned to respect each other's' viewpoints," Julia asks the group.

"I think so, ma'am," replies Corporal Brewer. "After all, no point in making enemies with the person who has your back. I suppose," he continues, looking around at his comrades, "that being in this situation, literally looking down at the enemy, has made things like politics a little less important. More like part of who we are rather than defining who we are. I mean, I'm not about to hate on Millie there just because she's a Ginger."

"Hey!" Private Alvarez exclaims, suddenly trying to maneuver around Private Davey to hit Tommy.

"I can see your point," Julia says as Alvarez finally lands her punch. "It's a pretty mature attitude for so young a group. Sergeant Stiles, you have said that you're the oldest of the group?"

"Yes, ma'am. 28 earlier this month," he replies.

"How do you think the age of this squad will affect how well it does in combat?" Julia asks.

"Well, ma'am, I can't speak from experience of course, but I believe they'll do just fine. You see, when your mind switches over into combat mode all you've got is your experiences and your training. The training's there for a reason; it's meant to imbue the person with the best response for any given combat situation. All experience does is sharpen that. As they all had the training and did well, I've no doubts that they'll do fine. Even considering how young we all are," Stiles replies.

"One thing, even in chatting with all of you before we went on camera, one thing I hadn't heard yet was a gung-ho attitude. In previous wars there's typically been a sense of 'let's get over there and finish them off quick.' A sort of 'home by Christmas' mentality. Has that just not come out of this group yet, or is it wholly absent?" There were chuckles from around the whole group.

"Well, ma'am, to be completely honest," begins Private Morales, "it's not that it's absent. We still think we're the tops. It's just that our, shall I say, youthful exuberance for this has been tempered. Part of training for us was experiencing just what the Elites can do. They demonstrated, on us, just what they were capable of. It wasn't meant to hurt us, and they never did. But they did scare the hell out of us. It tamps down the whole 'home by Christmas' mentality pretty quick. We know we _can_ win, but we also know from those experiences that it's going to be a long haul."

"Well, I certainly appreciate your candor about it, Private. And thank you all for your time. It's been a pleasure and I just want to say, for myself, all of us at the network and on behalf of our viewers back home, good luck, stay safe and keep your heads down," Julia adds.

"Thank you, ma'am," all members of the squad say in one form or another. The picture changes to show Julia getting up and shaking each trooper's hand.

Julia's voice begins a voice-over. "Sadly, before even filing this report Privates Davey and Swensen would be dead. The day following my interview with Sergeant Stiles's squad is when Chaos's forces attacked _en masse_ across the US-Mexico border. The portion of the line guarded by the 1st Battalion of 12th TDF, of which Stiles's squad is part, held during the battle. Casualties and fatalities, however, were still reported. This is Julia Leist for CDS news."

Evening News

23 October 2045

"Tonight on the Evening News, the Global War; how it is affecting civilian morale. Worldwide food shortages are once again afflicting large portions of the globe. Midterm elections; what the politicians of both sides are hoping to gain. And also, my exclusive interview with co-leader of the Terran Defense Force, James Christopher. All that ahead on the Evening News."

( _Excerpt: Interview with James Christopher)_

"Once again, welcome back to the Evening News. Joining me now in-studio is James Christopher, co-leader of the Terran Defense Force, the TDF. It's a pleasure to have you on the show, Commander." The static shot on Scott widens to include James Christopher, seated across the news desk from Scott.

"Scott, pleasure to be here. And, please, call me James."

"Thank you, James. If I may, can we start with your impression of how the war is going?" Scott asks.

"Well, Scott," James says, clasping his hands, "It's tough going right now. Chaos, as you know, managed to build up substantial forces without being noticed. Currently, the TDF outnumbers Chaos's forces roughly three to one. These numbers specifically reference the number of Elite troops both sides command."

"So they all have the ablative armor your kind possess," Scott says.

"That's right. Currently battles are much more of a holding game than anything. You see, neither side is willing to commit large numbers of Elite troops to break the other's line; it would leave that side at a substantial disadvantage in the next engagement," James replies.

"So then what is being done to break the stalemate?" Scott asks.

"As you know, the Terran Government is continuing to send diplomatic envoys to Chaos in the hopes he will listen to reason. So far all attempts have failed, though he has at least stopped killing the envoys," James replies.

"We have heard many reports over the past few months of the brutality of Chaos's forces. How he takes no prisoners," Scott comments.

"That is very true, Scott. After his coup in Columbia he completely eliminated all Columbian military forces, both Federales and Independientes. Even when some tried to surrender he ordered them killed. His stated stance is 'either you're with us or deserve death.' It is a scorched-earth approach to warfare," James replies.

"And yet he hasn't attempted to break through your lines?" Scott asks.

"No, not yet. We suspect that, seeing the loggerheads we're at, that he is training large numbers of semi-conventional forces for use," James says.

The camera now on Scott, he says, "Would even semi-conventional forces be of any use against TDF Elites?"

"Honestly, Scott, in sufficient numbers they may," James says with an exasperated shrug.

"By saying that are you giving intelligence to Chaos's forces?" Scott asks.

"Not at all, Scott. First of all, he's known that we know of his conventional forces build up for some time. Second, he wouldn't be training them if they wouldn't be effective," James replies.

"So basically what I'm hearing so far is that there really isn't much movement. Both sides are holding their own," Scott says.

"That's correct," James says. "Now that we've properly adjusted where our forces are deployed we're more than an even match for Chaos globally. Further, we will continue to be so as he simply can't shift his forces quick enough to out-maneuver us."

"What about his threatened use of nuclear weapons?" Scott asks.

"While we take the threat seriously, Scott, we do not believe he is willing to step over that line just yet," James replies. "We believe that he will, more likely, try assaults with his conventional forces, once they are of sufficient number, before resorting to nukes."

"Hopefully your instincts are correct on that. I'm sure our viewers are also curious about your opinion on what appears to be an early propaganda campaign emanating from Chaos's camp," Scott adds.

"We have," James says, "been analyzing the various disinformation messages Chaos has been broadcasting. Our best communications experts believe that this campaign will, first of all, be approximately 7.4% effective. More importantly, though, we believe them to be only the first volley in a constantly increasing propaganda attack on Chaos's part. Through it we believe that he hopes to essentially flip blame for this war onto the Government and away from him. If he can do so it may be enough of itself to help him gain a foothold beyond our current lines."

"As do yours, though," Scott adds, referring to the propaganda efforts of the TDF.

"There's truth to that," assented James. "Even so, as you can imagine, it's a difficult time right now. People are still very cognizant of the cost of the Coalition War and aren't eager to re-live that. I can't blame them. Along those lines, I wish I could guarantee a quick end to _this_ war. However, as it is currently the Government's position to maintain our front lines as they continue to attempt a peace through diplomatic channels, the ball is in Chaos's court."

"If I may say so, James, it doesn't sound as though you're in complete agreement with the Government's decision," Scott says on camera, leaning forward slightly on the desk.

"The Government commands the TDF and the TDF supports and follows all orders of the government," James replies flatly. "I do not mean to be terse, Mr. Gehlert. It is simply that, in this time, the TDF and the Government must stand together as both of us are under assault. The ironic part of the assault, of course, is that the Government, realistically, is the one under physical attack at the moment while we are under an ideological attack, being forced to stand opposite those who are essentially, sometimes literally, brothers and sisters."

"No apology necessary, James. And know that it was not my intention to," Scott says.

"Of course it wasn't, Scott. I understand that." James suddenly straightens in his seat. "Scott, I hate to have to do this to you, especially now, but I'm going to cut this interview short."

"Something's happened?" Scott asks.

"Apparently Chaos has decided the time is right to change tactics; he has launched a massive attack along the US-Mexican border and has broken through," James says.

"I thought you said that he hadn't the personnel to do that?" Scott asks, shock edging his voice.

"Apparently his semi-conventional forces have been underestimated. It was a pleasure being on the show, Scott. I must be off," James says as he rises. An aide rushes on-camera and hands him a tablet as they both walk off the set.

The camera switches back to Scott as he says, "Thank you. Ladies and Gentlemen, that was James Christopher, co-leader of the TDF. We will bring you updates on the apparent Chaos attack along the US-Mexican border as details become available. We'll be right back after this short break."

Darkest Hour

3 May 2046

"Ladies and Gentlemen, good evening. This is Scott Gehlert reporting from the outskirts of Chicago, Illinois. No more than two miles directly behind me is the front line of this most current World War. South of the line is territory held by Chaos and his forces. North of the line, forces of the TDF are digging in their heels, desperately trying to maintain control over the physical and spiritual heart of the TDF, ATMO's homeland of Wisconsin. Over the last few hours the sounds of battle have been growing louder and more raucous. As you, our viewers, know, Chaos's northerly thrust put the TDF off-balance, a fact affirmed on this program one week ago. Joining me from one of our embedded cameras is Eric Pohlman. So Eric," Scott says to the man taking up half the screen, "this advance wasn't anticipated?"

"Not at all, Scott," Eric replies. "Chaos had been advancing his front uniformly until today. Since this morning, though, it has been clear that he has undertaken a purposeful and deliberate push northward along the eastern side of the Mississippi river."

"Do you have any idea why he would be doing this?" Scott asks. "Is it an attempt to cut the United States in half and, in so doing, cut off some of your forces from supply?"

"In any other war involving any other army you may be right. But here, with the direction he is pushing, we can only come to one conclusion; he is aiming for Wisconsin. All of us were stationed there during the Project," Eric said off-handedly, suddenly cutting himself off. "Rather, that is where ATMO started. It is our figurative heart he now aims for. He hopes to take it and, in so doing, break our will."

The picture switches back to Scott in the field, the suburban skyline of Chicago now occasionally lighting up from weapons fire. "That campaign that started in Oklahoma and North Texas has now reached the southern outskirts of Chicago. Tonight, in a press release, Chaos shared his reasons for marching through, rather than around, Chicago." The screen changes to a stock-photo of Chaos in his own version of the TDF uniform, a chaotically-geometric computerized camouflage of grey, dark shades of brown and green. His epaulettes show a cluster of five stars arranged in a pentagon.

"Tonight my forces will march through the city of Chicago. In our wake will be left rubble; no building will be spared. The air superiority of the TDF, broken over the last week by my might, is now powerless to stop us in this rampage. The demands of the TDF and the Terran Government hold no sway with us. Who can make demands of the destroying wind?!" Once more Scott is center-screen. The suburban skyline is now almost constantly alight.

"The fighting, as you can see behind me, is growing ever the more intense. The very citizenry of Chicago were, by edict of Mayor Dailey, called upon to help defend their city. All able-bodied personnel were mobilized into militias. Some are serving as ammunition carriers, some with experience and training as line-fighters, and more yet are helping reinforce the Chicago Police in maintaining order in their city. The TDF, for its part, has called every trooper north of the Chaos advance from within a 600 mile radius to this point. In talking briefly a moment ago with Eric Pohlman, himself now on the front lines, it is the TDF's hope to blunt this attack here, to draw the proverbial and literal line in the sand here on the shores of Lake Michigan. We go now to a clip from earlier today."

The picture switches to one of Eric Pohlman in TDF uniform, three stars on either shoulder, a sheen appearing all over his body. His uniform remains a blocky squareish computerized design, contrasting with the seemingly haphazard design of Chaos's. "We've pulled out all the stops," Eric says to a bouquet of microphones. "Every resource we can bring to bear here we have. With any luck we'll be able to dig in ahead of Chaos's forces to give us defilade and some advantage. It's our feeling that if we can stop his advance here that we will have taken the momentum out of his entire North American advance." The picture once again changes to one of Scott, the background now a constant glow.

"The battle has now become completely engaged. The TDF Command and Control center here has signaled to us that forces along 100% of their lines have engaged forces of Chaos's army." The 'thump' of mortars and 'ha-fla-thum' of artillery can be heard over top of Scott, creating the feeling of an asynchronous percussion symphony. "All civilians in the area have been evacuated for their own safety. At last report some 50,000 TDF and militia troops had been stationed on-line to engage the estimated 65,000 Chaos forces being brought to bear on Chicago." Suddenly behind Scott huge streaks of black surrounded by ultra-violet shot skyward, nearly a half-dozen all at once. Scott confusedly looked at the camera; the shots had gone skyward soundlessly.

He turns, seeing the shots and says, "From the color of those shots, I must assume they are from Chaos's lines. They appear, by their trajectories, to be anti-aircraft weapons."

"Scott, please excuse the interruption," comes Katie's voice. The screen changes to show a split image, one of each reporter.

"Yes, Katie, go ahead," Scott says.

"Scott, we've just received reports from our affiliates in Milwaukee that TDF jets were heard taking off and heading south."

"That would agree with what I'm seeing here, Katie," Scott says into the camera, turning afterward. "As you look at this scene you can see spotlights being turned on to illuminate the clouds blotting out the night sky. It's creating a very eerie feel to this battle; light both going up towards the clouds from weapons fire and bouncing back down off them from the search lights." Suddenly a roar overhead causes Scott to cover his ears as the camera shakes. Nearly two-dozen shots fly skyward from the six antiaircraft turrets. The searchlights are all engulfed in flame, going dark. "Katie, I think it's safe to say that the TDF jets have arrived."

"We were able to hear that roar over the feed, Scott. How low do you think the jets were flying?"

"To be honest, Katie, I'm not sure. I couldn't see them even with the searchlights and battle glow. I would likewise be hard-pressed to tell you exactly how many there were." The sky once again takes on an other-worldly glow as it is lit an ultra-violet by the AA batteries. Another deafening roar shakes the camera as three of the AA batteries are engulfed in flames. "Katie, my feeling right now, after that over flight, is that this is a wing of at least six jets. The roar of their engines seemed to extend from far off to my right, overhead and to my left a ways. However, I still have not seen the jets, nor even their engines."

"Could these be new models? Wisconsin is, after all, home to renowned NAR Defense."

"It's entirely possible, Katie. These seem to be stealth of a whole new...," Scott is again cut off by the roar of engines. The remaining AA batteries manage only two more shots a piece before they become plumes of flame.

"Scott, another report just arrived here in New York," Katie says, reading a piece of paper handed to her from off-camera. "Apparently wings of TDF craft have been reported on approach vectors to Chicago putting their bases of origin in Minnesota, Ohio and Michigan. Our best guess is that some 24 fighters in six wings are headed your way."

"Katie, could you repeat that?" Scott manages as a low rumble builds and maintains itself in the background.

"Scott, it looks like around 24 TDF fighters are headed your way." Behind Scott lines of fire from three directions streak ground-ward from the sky. A roar of engines again shake the camera as a fourth set of inbound fire erupts at the ground from over Scott's head.

"Katie, I think they're already here. I'm not sure if these jets are just that quick or if our sources are coming in that slow, but," Scott is forced to pause as another roar shakes the camera, engine flares becoming visible heading south toward and over the lines. From their wings erupt tracer rounds as well as several colors of energy bolts. "Katie, this is...beyond words. I have been in war zones before, but never have," Scott continues, having to yell over the increasing din, "never have I been party to this sort of a display of firepower."

"Scott, can you still hear me?" Katie asks. Scott presses his hand against his right ear. "Scott, can you tell, is artillery still firing in addition to the air fire?"

After a moment Scott nods, "It's barely audible, but the sounds of the mortars and larger artillery are still making their presence known. I can tell you, Katie, that the rooftop under my feet has not stopped shaking since the fighter jets began overhead."

"Have you any further word from the TDF Command Center, Scott?" Scott again presses his hand hard to his right ear as Katie's question is apparently being replayed.

"I don't believe we've had any further word, Katie. Though if those are indeed TDF jets flying sorties overhead, I think the tide of this battle may have turned." The din of battle seems to increase more behind Scott as flights of jets continue to strafe the frontlines in pairs.

"Katie, I'm afraid," Scott says, barely audible over the noise, "that I'm not going to be of much use out here at the present. I can't even hear our producer over my earpiece anymore."

"That's okay, Scott. We can handle this for the moment." Scott stares at the camera for a moment, shaking his head and shrugging, until someone off-camera signals him.

"Okay, Katie. Thank you," Scott says as he steps out of frame.

"We are going to," says Katie, "keep our camera in Chicago turned on the fighting as best we can. However, for the moment we will be bringing the coverage, that is analysis, of the Battle over Chicago here to our World New Headquarters in New York. Joining me from her command post along the Eastern Seaboard is former US General Amy Henshaw, now a Major General in the TDF. Thank you for joining us tonight, Amy. Good to see you again." The screen now holds three images, one each of Katie and Henshaw in their upper left and right corners of the screen while a wide screen shot of the battlefield dominates the screen bellow of them.

"Pleasure to see you again, Katie."

"Amy, what insight can you give us about the battle our viewers are witnessing?"

"Well, Katie, what I can tell you for sure is that Chaos mobilized more forces than we originally anticipated. We believe, at this hour, that our forces at Chicago are now facing some 80,000 enemy troops."

"That's absolutely incredible. How many of those would you estimate are Elite troops?" Katie asks.

"Katie, between the two sides I would say slightly better, perhaps by 10 or 20%, than battalion strength. Maybe 1,500," Amy replies.

"Would such a number of Elite have, or will they, play a decisive role in this battle?" Katie asks.

"With over 100,000 troops in the area along with militia, 1,500 Elite troopers simply won't be able to have the sort of impact that would turn this battle," Amy replies.

"What, then, about the fighter jets?" Katie asks.

"Our strafing sorties are having the desired effect, as you could infer from your camera coverage. We did, as you may have guessed, bring in a wing of new, advanced jets. For security reasons I can't go into details about the jets," Amy comments.

"Understandable. What effect has the TDF's airpower had on this battle?" Katie presses.

"Katie, the numbers are still coming in, of course. But the reports I've reviewed seem to indicate that once our airpower entered the battle, it stymied Chaos's advance. We went into this night expecting substantial losses, though now believe those numbers will now be drastically lower." Suddenly a building-sized explosion fills the camera shot of the Chicago skyline.

"Amy, if you'll stay with us for just a moment," Katie says, "I believe we're going to try to pick up on audio from Scott."

"... just a pillar of fire," comes Scott's voice, still hardly audible, even at a yell, over the continuing sounds of battle. "Our best guess is that it was a building on or near the front lines. We are unable to tell from this distance what exactly caused this," Scott says as he is cut off as another blinding flash erupts on-camera, its sound crackling over the audio stream.

"Katie, I believe I may be able to shed some light on just what's going on there in Chicago," Amy says.

"Any insight would be welcome," Katie says.

"I believe what is happening, what we're seeing, is Chaos's forces setting off buildings laden with pre-wired explosives."

"Why would he do that, though, to buildings he controls? Is he making good, as best he can, on his threat to level Chicago?" Katie asks Amy.

"I don't believe so. Rather, I believe what he's doing is setting them off amidst TDF and militia forces. I just now received a report that Chaos's forces had fallen into retreat. Our field commanders will press the advance, overrunning the positions held by Chaos as his forces abandon them as they retreat. It puts such buildings in a perfect position to do the greatest physical and psychological damage to our forces," Amy continues as three more large explosions light up the Chicago night sky. "It's meant to slow our advance and give cover, from infantry, to Chaos's retreat. It could also be seen as retaliation in response to whatever casualties we inflicted with our renewed airpower." Several more explosions rock the camera from Chicago.

"Scott," Katie says, "did you hear all that?"

"I did, Katie. And it would seem to fit with the noise level we've heard over the last few minutes. The sounds of battle suddenly decreased in intensity after the first explosion. The sound of the jets has likewise been getting fainter very quickly. The Chicago skyline is still being lit up, however, despite the lack of sounds of battle," Scott comments.

"Unfortunately," Amy says, "those are secondary fires set off by the explosions. Katie, based on additional reports, I believe you were correct; Chaos is still making partial payment on his promise. Whole neighborhoods will be on fire before this night is through," Amy finishes as several more explosions go off on the Chicago camera.

"Amy," says Katie, "do you know, seeing what is happening around there, would the TDF forces in Chicago still be pressing their advance?"

"I doubt it at this point, Katie. We wouldn't know how many houses were so rigged. Pushing forward with our ground troops would only invite further casualties. Our airborne forces, though, will press their attack as long as they can. Without a ground army to oppose, Chaos's troopers will no doubt turn their weapons skyward. While our vehicle armor is resilient, ground troops can occasionally fire off a lucky shot."

"In your estimation then, Amy, is this battle over?" Katie asks.

"My professional opinion is that we've seen the worst of the fighting. Come daylight, the TDF forces will no doubt encounter more pockets of resistance as they carefully advance. In daylight we'll be able to better assess and identify which buildings in our path were rigged to blow."

"Very well. We will let you go then, Amy. Thank you again for your time."

"Any time, Katie. It's always a pleasure." The screen changes to show a studio shot of Katie slightly overlapping the yet constant shot of the Chicago skyline, part of which is now clearly ablaze, flames reaching high over buildings.

Appended to the end of the newscast scrolls post-action information and figures.

Total Chaos casualties identified at Chicago: 68,000+

Total TDF casualties identified at Chicago: 15,000+

Total Chaos MIA at Chicago: 5,732

Total TDF MIA at Chicago: 633

Number of buildings wired to explode: 537

Number of homes destroyed in Chicago: 724

Number of apartment buildings destroyed in Chicago: 32

Number of businesses destroyed in Chicago: 135

People left homeless after Chicago: 24,188

Economic impact of Battle for Chicago totaled in excess of $60 billion USD

_The Battle of Chicago served to re-balance the military power of Chaos and the TDF in North America. After Chicago, Chaos never committed another major offensive until Thermopylae, even then one dwarfed by the Battle of Chicago_.

##  Forward Progress

12 March 2532

"And now I'm joined by live message from Earth by Professor Alexander Hume, Earth Historian at Columbia University. Professor Hume, welcome to the program." The screen splits to show Tauriq on one half, Hume on the other.

"A pleasure to be here, Tauriq."

"Professor Hume, as we approach another anniversary of Exile Day, could you help our viewers understand why the War of Noble Cause, the impetus behind Exile Day, is so closely regulated and controlled by the Government?"

"Certainly, Tauriq. As we all know, the Ministry of Censorship was created for the purpose of finding and collecting artifacts from the 15 years surrounding and including the War. As arguably _the_ bloodiest War in human history, at least in recorded human history, the Government's original reason for the Ministry of Censorship was to help sanitize history. The theory at the time, and one that continues to guide the actions of the Censors today, is if we can control history we can prevent its repetition."

"From the old adage, those who fail to learn history are doomed to repeat it," adds Tauriq. "But Professor, isn't that a bit like removing an organ because it may eventually lose its function? Wouldn't it be a better approach to treat the problem and try to understand its impact better than to simply remove it altogether?"

"You almost sound like a member of the ATMO Underground, Tauriq. In the past, history was taught for just the reasons you described. However, too often people learned the information for the moment and then let it slip from their memories afterward; no comprehension took place. Worse yet, people learned the wrong lesson from history. In your analogy of an organ, keeping the information in circulation is like keeping a chronically infected organ in the body because it still retains some function. By removing it and replacing it, despite its continued semi-use and how the pain of it abates from time to time, we altogether remove the possibility of the problem occurring again or of it getting worse."

"And this is why the government created the Ministry of Censorship?" Tauriq asks Hume.

"It is one possible reason, yes, and one that has remained consistent as an explanation by expert analysts since the time of the Ministry's founding."

"What other reasons exist, Professor?"

"Some, such as members of the ATMO Underground, believe that the Ministry was created simply to suppress parts of the War, those involving Chaos," Hume replies.

"Where does that theory find ground, Professor?" Tauriq asks.

"Simply put, it is part of a larger theory wherein agents of Chaos, yet active today, gained and maintained a secret hold on the Houses of Commons and Senate. The Underground maintains that there is a secret plot by such people enacted long ago by Chaos himself," Hume replies with a sarcastic chuckle.

"I take it that you're not an adherent to such a theory, Professor," Tauriq asks.

"Certainly not, dear boy," sneers Hume. "The Walker Report confirmed years ago that Chaos's movement died out soon after the War. And while imitators may pop up on occasion, there can be no doubt that no forces of Chaos or the TDF yet exist today."

"So you're not a Heroer, Professor?" Tauriq says with a grin.

"Certainly not! Those are no more than crack-pot historians resurrecting myths and falsities with which to create controversy and try to make a name for themselves."

"Professor Hume, thank you for your time."

"A pleasure, Tauriq." The shot switchs back to one of just Tauriq.

"Up next, my interview with, and this is her real name, Witch. Not only is she a quickly rising star in the music world, but she claims to have proof that ghosts exist. We'll have that, next."

##  Terran Government Resolution 513:

A bill regarding artifacts of the Insurrection

8 August 2056

On this, the sixth anniversary of the Martian Exile of the Terran Defense Force, also known as the TDF, maximally made up of and commanded by the so-called Elites, members of the ATMO organization, we, the duly elected representatives of Earth, hereby enact this bill into law to take effect immediately upon signing by the Prime Minister.

**First** , that by this bill a new Department will be created in the Terran Government. Such a Department will be called the Department of Censorship and will be responsible for the execution of the duties and responsibilities that follow. The Department of Censorship will be given an operating budget that, upon proper review, can be adjusted upwards from year to year. So long as the Department of Censorship is renewed in existence, its funding will never be reduced. The Department, in addition to the standard hierarchy of such a governmental department, shall consist of agents, Censors, responsible for the tracking and collecting of the below described items as well as the incarceration and investigation of such persons found to be in possession of below described materials. The Censors exist as an arm of law enforcement whose authority stands apart from, and cannot be interfered with by, other Terran constabulary forces.

**Second,** that all items, here termed artifacts to encompass print, recording and any form of stored item, dealing with the War of Insurrection are hereby and henceforth subject to review and seizure by the Ministry of Censorship. Any materials found seditious or in contraposition to the overall good or health of the Terran Government and her continued stability are declared illegal. Such artifacts fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Censorship who is solely legally responsible for their disposition. The agents of the Department of Censorship, toward this end, are given full constabulary and judicial authority to carry out the above duties of the Department of Censorship wherever the Terran Government holds sway.

**Third,** the first official act of each new session of the Commons and Senate on 7 August annually will be to, upon recommendation of senior members of each House, vote on the continuation of the Department of Censorship. Upon continuation the Department will provide within one (1) day a synopsis of the previous reporting period's activity to include averaged level of collection for the previous reporting period, total artifacts collected over the period, as well as total artifacts recovered since the signing date of this bill. Such a synopsis will be publically published and will include as its header a reminder whence the authority of the Department and its Censor Agents originate. Additionally, any further addendums to the report as the Ministry deems necessary will be added to the yearly publication.

**Lastly** , any changes in authority to the Department of Censorship must be so made by unanimous consent of both Houses. Outside of such changes, the Department of Censorship has operational freedom to enact such procedures it may deem necessary for the swift, efficient and effective execution of its duties related to the search for and seizure of artifacts, and persons in possession of such artifacts, of, or dealing with, the War of Insurrection or the general time period 8 August 2040 to 7 August 2055 inclusive.

##  Notice and Report from the Ministry of Censorship

Annual Publication

8 August 2527

**First** , let this publication serve as renewed notice that any person found to be deliberately maintaining any size collection of artifacts from, about or dealing with the general 15 year period of time ended 7 August 2055 from 8 August 2040 inclusive is in violation of Terran Government Resolution 513, signed into law on 8 August 2056. Any such artifact, when found, will be confiscated and dealt with. Any such person found to be in possession of such a collection will be taken into custody and dealt with. This serves as the annual notice of the continuation of Government Resolution 513 as required in the Resolution.

**Second,** progress in obtaining and confiscating such artifacts as described above and outlawed by Government Resolution 513 remains steady. We remind all citizens that artifacts dropped at government buildings such as Passport/Government Shipping Offices, Police Stations, Legislative or State Buildings are encouraged. Consideration will be given for such actions.

**Third** , the continued discovery and amount of discovered artifacts within the last Earth-standard annual reporting period remains steady. This suggests that even after 471 years a large number of illegal collections of artifacts yet exist. In sum total, including items taken in raids at artifact holding centers, the Department of Censorship has collected over 5 billion unique artifacts total, well in excess of 1,763,000 just in the latter half of this past reporting period alone.

**Fourth,** in regards to the continued raids on holding centers the Department again requests a funding increase no less than 10% of its current budget for the improvement of security around the centers, as well as the increase in Censor personnel for the investigation and capture of those committing these raids.

This constitutes the summary of activities of the Ministry of Censorship for the last reporting period, 8 August 2526 to 7 August 2527 inclusive.

##  Disposition of NAR Defense

Press Release

17 August 2042

NAR Defense today wishes to announce its merger with STAWS Industries. After the Exile of the TDF, our last major contractor, NAR Defense has done its best to diversify its holdings and products. However, having built its base on defense works, NAR Defense has simply been unable to adjust properly to market pressures. In view of this we recently began talks with STAWS Industries, formerly STAWS Defense and Aeronautics. STAWS, having been able to properly adjust to the current market on Earth, graciously extended an offer of friendship and partnership by which NAR can again become competitive.

In merging with STAWS, NAR will gain a 50% share of STAWS Industries and STAWS Industries will gain a 50% share of NAR Defense. Also as part of the merger both companies will undergo a rebranding and reorganizing as S&N Industries. What few contracts NAR maintains will be honored by S&N Industries.

We thank our many customers who have, over the years, contributed to the success of NAR Defense and look forward to continuing working with you as S&N Industries.

##  The Walker Report

A Synopsis

7 August 2350

After careful consideration and exhaustive research this commission, headed by the Honorable Earl Walker, submits for immediate release the following synopsis of its report.

After over a year of careful study, we of the Prime Minister's Commission on the Truth of the TDF Exile have come to the following conclusions.

**First** , in regards to the continued existence of any TDF related forces we unanimously find in the negative. No evidence could be found to suggest that now, on the 300th anniversary of the TDF's Martian Exile, there are or were _any_ active TDF Remnant Cells as had been suggested by some historians.

**Second** , in regards to the continued existence of any Chaos related groups we found, in a 5-4 majority, that only minority groups yet exist. Unanimously we agree, however, that such are merely localized chapters of fanatics who follow the ghost of Chaos rather than the original movement. None of our Commission take seriously any suggestion that any group claiming to follow the ideals of Chaos is either a true follower of the long-dead Chaos movement nor represent any real or viable threat to the government.

**Third** , in regards to the TDF Exile this Commission finds unanimously that the TDF deserved its sentence. In its action supposedly taken on behalf of the citizenry of Earth, the TDF did bring about some of the worst death and destruction this System has ever seen. In its drive to rein in the Chaos movement, the TDF inspired the wholesale extermination of over 57 million worldwide. No movement in all of Terran History from those led by Nero, Phillip of Spain, Kings or Queens of Great Britain, Presidents of the old United States of America, Adolf Hitler or Joseph Stalin can claim such a head count as was inspired by the TDF. Additionally, as was done with nuclear weapons after the Exile, weapons with such destructive potential that cannot be reliably controlled must be made impotent to do so. As all nuclear arms on Earth were converted to power plants or launched sunward, so it was fitting for them to follow the example of the TDF who went starward. Again, so there is not ambiguity on our finding, the Commission finds that the TDF Exile was both warranted and justified as a means of punishment for the actions it inspired.

**Fourth** , in regards to the claim that any company or corporation was complicit with the TDF during its final years this Commission unanimously finds in the negative. While many companies were paid by the TDF for the manufacture and delivery of munitions and armaments, chief among those the long defunct NAR Defense Works, none were found to have been knowledgeable of or complicit with any TDF-led actions during the War of Noble Cause.

**Fifth and finally** , in regards to claims by Martian colonists that any of the original TDF personnel survived to become part of the original Martian settlement the Commission unanimously finds in the negative. All documentation extant on the original Martian Settlers bears out that they were a duly certified preliminary expedition as sanctioned by the old United States of America sub-government. And while substantiating records were inadvertently purged on Earth, corroborating copies were found on Mars, copies whose authenticity has been verified by this Commission.

**Summarily** , this Commission wishes to express its deep gratitude to all its members and sub-members whose time was essential to the compilation of this report. All inquiries or requests for digital copies of this summary or the full report should be directed to the office of Justice Earl Walker, Versailles, Earth.

##  The Insurrection:

Some Good Points

7 August 2425

Once again we find ourselves celebrating another Exile Day. It is a poignant holiday, especially here on Mars, one filled both with pomp and finery. This day, of course, we celebrate the anniversary of the Terran Defense Force's (TDF's) exile here to Mars. The irony is clear though: they were exiled so Earth could go on living, and yet their exile made it possible for humans to live on Mars. They, in fact, paved the way for the later colonization of Mars.

Please do not mistake this article as an apologia for the TDF. The charges against them are known to every school aged child. No, this is rather an article pleading the reader to relook at history. Was the TDF the root cause of the War of Noble Cause, the War of Insurrection? Without a doubt. But, they nonetheless had a positive impact on human society for the past 375+ years.

Many of the initial medical advances on which our current knowledge base has been built were made during the time of the _Pax TDF_. It was during this same time that a reinvestment in spaceflight brought about humanity's ability to seriously look at the Moon, that is Earth's moon called Luna, as a second home. It is what made possible the profitable mining of near-Earth and near-Martian asteroids for minerals which itself sparked its own renaissance in materials production. Without the TDF and its influence on humanity we would not be where we are today.

Does that make up for what they did in the past? No. Will history ever vindicate the TDF? Probably not. Still, on this day when we remember their Exile we must also recall their contributions to humanity's future.

##  Polcat Messages

August 12, 2045

Dear Mom and Dad,

Had a second before we have to get moving again. My unit's been called to border security. Don't quite understand why they're mobilizing us Regulars when the Elites are still at 100%. But, I suppose, ours is not to question why. Anyway, glad to hear that the furnace repair wasn't too major.

Do me a favor? Since I won't be around this year when the garden's ready to be picked, freeze some beans for me?

Hope to see you soon,

Tommy

October 24, 2045

Dear Mom and Dad,

Your boy is okay. Chaos's forces did breach through the TDF lines today, but it was further southeast along the border than where I am. Fighting was still rough by us. Our Lieutenant is an Elite by the name of Montgomery, an import from England. Monty, as we call him, earned our respect today. Chaos's forces kept rushing the line in waves. There'd be Monty, standing tall, screaming encouragement at us even as he told us to, "Keep yer bloody fingers on th' triggers and keep yer fookin heads doon!" The man's absolutely crazy. Standing up there like that, bullets and plasma bolts whizzing past him he'd just keep casually side-stepping it all. Every so often he'd call over to us, "Tommy, swing yer goon," telling us left or right by degrees. Every time we'd swing it just as an advance would hit the spot. It's eerie to so constantly be that ready for the enemy.

As to Emily, I am still making time to write her. I don't think I'll be sharing every detail with her as I do you two, though.

Please do keep writing; it means a lot to hear from you both.

Love,

Tommy

**April 13** th **, 2046**

Mom and Dad,

I don't want you two to panic. I'm sure it's on the news by now. Chaos started in on a major offensive and is pushing northward. Monty tells us he waited so long not only to build his forces, but also to wait out the Midwestern winter. In ways I'm sad that we're retreating into Spring; would have been nice to see the sort of snow they get in the Midwest. Anyway, we're in full retreat. My company is being pulled far back from the advance. As I understand it we're to help set up a solid defense pretty far north, maybe even as far as Chicago. No official word yet. All I know is that we had our sector under control, as I've been saying, no doubt due to Monty, now a 1st Lieutenant, and then these troop transports come squealing up, a Captain hops out and tells us we're pulling back. Monty swings up his weapon, clicks it to three-round and yells out to Sparks to raise Command. Monty looks out for us always.

I appreciate you keeping in touch with Emily. I know she isn't your favorite of the girlfriends I've had, but she's awfully special to me.

Take care,

Tommy

**May 4** th **, 2046**

Mom and Dad,

Your son made it through the night. I understand Scott Gehlert was out here covering the battle. Wish I could've seen the footage. It was a tough battle, to be sure, but we made it. The thing that has us all a bit down right now is that Monty's back at command facing court martial. That leaves First Sergeant Colt back here in charge. He's as worried as the rest of us. See, once the major fighting was over we were ordered to advance. Monty must've smelled something because he just told our platoon to hold. Within a minute the first building went off, just off to our right. The way we understand it, the blast took out half of Able Company in one move. Monty had us dig in, the other platoon leaders doing likewise. He kept us safe and now he's being punished for it. We're hoping it turns out alright.

Mom, dad, if you could please talk to Emily. In her last few e-mails to me she keeps saying that she's going to join up, get into the fight. There's enough of us out here, now. Especially after last night. We really took it to them. See if you can't help talk some sense into her. I just don't want her getting in harm's way.

Love,

Tommy

**May 3** rd **, 2047**

Mom and Dad,

Hard to believe that it's been a year already since Chicago. The rebuilding's going as well as can be expected. It's amazing to see people camped out at Soldier Field, Wrigley Field and US Cellular Field. To see so many people still without a place to go, still homeless, is just...amazing. A trend I'm not terribly happy about is how we're beginning to be called 'baby killers' and 'slaughterhouse butchers.' It's not our fault that Chaos's forces are made up of so many young people. They are young, though. I've seen some in battle who look to be no more than 13, Jake's age. It's hard, but...when they're running at you, barrel leveled, bullets flying...

On the positive side, I've been promoted to Sergeant, even given a squad. It's been different commanding people who are almost twice my age. Monty, though, keeps telling me every time I mention it that age doesn't matter. Only luck and leadership do.

A few days ago Eric Pohlman and his command company left Chicagoland for the East. Apparently they're shifting vehicles and materiel to the ports in the East so it can be sent overseas to Europe. Transport planes would be quicker, but deuce-and-a-halfs don't always fit on planes the best.

I haven't talked to Emily in a while either. In her last e-mail she said that she had been deployed to a unit around Arkansas, what with the TDF forces there regaining some ground. Haven't heard from her in a couple weeks, though. Do let me know if her parents hear from her?

Love,

Tommy

**July 5** th **, 2047**

Mom and Dad,

I know that it's a day late, but happy 4th of July! We got to see a pretty good fireworks display here at Plymouth. I don't know if I mentioned yet, but it's so exciting to be here! This is the base where it all started! This is where ATMO began. Me and a few of my buddies were wandering around yesterday on liberty. Isn't much to Plymouth itself, but it was still fun. We made our way over to the County Fairgrounds. As I understand it they're on what used to be an older US Army base here. Anyway, while messing around there we came upon this huge cement slab off to one side of the animal buildings. On it was a sign reading: Restricted. No entry. It was so odd. The slab of cement was so big, no way you could get past it anyway. And besides, what could possibly be underneath a fairgrounds?

Have Emily's folks heard anything from her yet? The talk is that my battalion is being moved down to southern Illinois to help try to push and retake Arkansas later this month.

Take care and give my love to Jake,

Tommy

August 14, 2047

Mom and Dad,

We're heavy into it now. Ever since Eric Pohlman's win at Thermopylae back in May, Generals Pohlman and Thao have been having all TDF forces on the offense in a big way. We were waiting at base for the last two weeks, but finally began pushing yesterday. This was our first break in 8 hours. Intelligence thinks we'll start running into heavier resistance the further south and west we push through Arkansas. The way Chaos is retreating his forces makes it almost seem like the end's within sight.

Glad to hear Jake's looking forward to high school this year; hope it'll actually still run. Last I heard before leaving Chicago was that they were still trying to figure out where to have school for a lot of people.

Anyway, might be awhile until I get a chance to write again. Take care.

Love,

Tommy

September 11, 2047

Mom and Dad,

I'm sure you'll hear soon enough, but I wanted you to be ready...I didn't want Emily's parents to be the first to tell you. The thing is...Emily's dead. I know this to be absolutely true. I wish I didn't and it weren't. God knew I wish it weren't. The reason I know that she's dead is...I killed her. We were attacking a Chaos out-base on the Oklahoma-Texas border today. The garrison, for whatever reason, pre-empted our attack. Out comes a crowd of people. Suddenly I freeze. A whole platoon...I recognized all of them. They were all from back home. Emily's company...they were turned. Our people started going down; Chaos's forces seemed to be under a spell of bloodlust and on a bonsai attack. And here's Emily, charging right for me. My training snapped on, I swing up my rifle. And just started squeezing the trigger. You always hear about how time seems to slow on the battlefield,...I can remember every detail as they kept getting closer and closer. I don't know how they got so close to us!

Suddenly I'm out of ammo, and there's Emily in front of me, bayonet in hand. She must've run out during the charge. I could see she was hit several times, the wounds flowing blood. She seemed not to notice. I was screaming at her, trying to hold her at bay. She just kept fighting. Around me I heard someone say, "No, let him do it." She was starting to get the better of me. I didn't want to do it, but here was an enemy fighter trying to kill me! I let go of her non-knife hand. She started cracking me across my jaw. I grabbed onto one of her bullet wounds and dug in my thumb, clamping down as hard as I could. She gasped. I rolled over on top of her, landed my knee in her abdomen, re-grasped her knife hard and...and then there was quiet all around me.

I shoved once, twice. I heard someone crying, balling like a baby. He wouldn't stop. I felt hands on my shoulders, my arms. I didn't understand at first. Someone had shoved Emily's bayonet through her heart. She lay there, her hair in that pony tail of hers splayed to one side, her eyes, those beautiful green eyes of her, just staring empty out the right side of her face. She just laid there, dead.

The guy was still crying, but also screaming her name along with, 'No, no.' It rushed back to me; I had done it, I was crying, I was screaming. They took me off the line. Back at base the psychiatrist came in and talked to me for a while. He asked me if I knew what I had done. I nodded. I knew. I knew. It was me crying out there. I knew. I had killed my fiancée. Her unit had been captured shortly after being deployed. They had been twisted and turned, made into part of Chaos's Black Band. I killed her, and I didn't want you to find out from her parents.

They're keeping me back at base for a couple days, then putting me back on the line. It's my request. I'm not repressing anything, that I do know. And I'd rather be out there with my buddies, helping them. The doc agrees, it'd probably be the best therapy right now, being among comrades and friends.

This war had been such a horrifyingly exhilarating adventure until now. It was always someone else's city, someone else's home, someone else's brother, sister, girlfriend being killed. Not anymore...I'm beginning to hate this war.

Please, though, keep your spirits up for my sake. I'll be okay.

Tommy

December 20, 2047

Mom and Dad,

Thanks for sending up the Christmas gifts. I hadn't opened them yet; all of us in the company are saving our presents until Christmas day. We've made sure that everyone'll be getting something so that no one feels left out. South Texas isn't such a bad place to be for Christmas; kinda reminds me of home.

We have been steadily pushing southward, though for the next week my company is off the line for a little R&R back at base. It's a totally different war these days. When we started on this campaign it was still civil, as much as war can be. Either our side or theirs retreated after battle. Now, though, we've been forced to massacre every Chaos troop that's sent against us. It's like they're driven by some inner demons to total self-destruction. And not just the Black Band either. All of them. They all have the same wild expression on their face, as Emily did, total self-disregard.

I've made Staff Sergeant. I don't really take it as a good thing, though. Even though we're still managing to hold the line against Chaos's forces, we're still losing good people. The cracks are starting to show. Reinforcements and replacements are coming slower. Part of the reason, Monty tells me, is that America is largely assumed to be a loss for Chaos. That he, and so the TDF, are now focusing their efforts over in Eurasia and around the Mediterranean. I don't know if we'll be redeployed over there, but would be just as happy if we weren't.

Love,

Tommy

May 3, 2048

Mom and Dad,

We got new orders today. I'm being sent over to Europe to help there. It's actually been a little fun, our time in Mexico these last few weeks. As you know from the news TDF forces landed in South America last month. They've been pushing north fairly steadily. It's felt that we have the Americas under fair control. Monty, for his part, is complaining. Says he grew up in Europe and has been enjoying seeing the rest of the world. But we just go where we're told. By the way, after one rather nasty spat a few weeks ago Monty was bumped to Captain and company CO. We're all real happy to have him there, though we're sad to lose our old skipper.

I understand that not too long ago some Chaos forces apparently raided a TDF Air Force base up in Wisconsin. I hear that we even managed to capture, for a while, one of the infiltrators. I guess it's the little victories, at times. Not much else to say right now. I am glad to hear that Jake's looking forward to college. Once this whole mess is over, maybe he and I can be college roommates.  Probably not; we've already lived together too long to survive a year in the same room.

Take care,

Tommy

June 10, 2048

Mom and Dad,

It's weird. The fighting over here is completely different. We're being told that there was a change in Chaos's forces. That much is obvious. They say that it's deeper, though. That the change goes to the core of the Chaos trooper. That something basic to who and what they are has changed. I don't know about all that, but they're retreating again instead of constantly bonsai attacking. It's not doing a lot for casualty figures, but has done something for morale. The feeling is there, now, that some of us, at least, could make it out of this alive. Public opinion of us keeps heading south, though.

I understand that casualty figures are mounting in a big way; our battalion was consolidated from six companies to three. My company has been very fortunate. Part of that, I think, comes from leaders. But I just don't understand where such a host of negativity is coming from these days. Please, it means a lot to us up at the front, stay positive about all of this.

Take care,

Tommy

August 12, 2048

Mom and Dad,

It's been a little over three years now since my unit was called up. Yesterday I saw something that is simply horrific. After Chicago and its brutality, the bonsai attacks of the previous months, this is still horrible. We came into a town today somewhere in France. It had simply been burned to cinders. A few people were sifting through the rubble, fairly young people. They started cursing us out as we approached. Monty went over and started talking with them. They said that Chaos's forces had come through two days prior, rounded everyone up, grabbed who they could and then burned the rest in the town's school gymnasium. These few had been in the hills above the town when it happened, had looked on helplessly. They were cursing us for not being there to help. We are the Terran Defense force and they are, after all, Terran.

If this is more wide spread than just this one town, I understand why people hate us. We're doing our best over here. It just feels like it may not be enough.

Our battalion was consolidated with another this week. Between the two of us we have five companies worth of troops. All I can say is that, as far as troopers go, I hope Chaos is getting as desperate as we are.

Take care,

Tommy

November 25, 2048

Mom and Dad,

Happy Turkey day. We're in a field camp these days, so the cook did his best for us; shredded turkey on a shingle. It wasn't bad. Things have been quieting down here since our late August push. Our three companies haven't seen much in the way of losses over the past few months, which is good. We hear that there could be a major shift in the fighting soon. After three years out here, though, I'll believe it when I see it.

One change I can attest to is the need for increased security. Our company was tapped for extra base security. Despite being located away from major cities, people are going out of their way to come out to the base and harass us. When I had some time I visited the sites you had forwarded me. It's absolute crap, what they're saying about us out there. We don't care? We aren't trying anymore? Worse, this was is _our_ fault?! I just don't understand where this is all coming from. I've seen some anti-TDF sentiment grow over the last three years, but it just seems to be exploding now. All I can think is that someone is intentionally running a PR campaign against us.

Tell Jake to keep his head up. Maybe remind him that I struggled through Algebra 2 as well. If that doesn't work remind him that he always was smarter than his older brother and so can't be doing as bad as he thinks. I keep telling him that on Facebook, but he keeps acting like Algebra's harder today than it was when I had it.

Anyway, thank you for your continued support.

Love,

Tommy

January 20, 2049

Mom and Dad,

Are all of you alright? I can't believe that Emily's dad would do such a thing! What in God's name would possess the man to set the car on fire, let alone with all of you in it?! We're out here fighting for freedom, for everything back home, and then there's this! Tell Mr. Schmidt, if you see him again, that he's lucky I'm not home. I've done my best to make amends with them for Emily, and this is their repayment?!...

As to the frontlines here, the shift we were told to expect has finally come. In fact, all Chaos resistance has simply seemed to fall away. It's incredible. All the Chaos units we knew about are simply gone. I've gotta say, it's quite a relief for us. Last week our already hybrid battalion was again consolidated. Four companies out of what had at one time been five battalions. Four companies out of a division! Who could have guessed two years ago that Chicago would be seen as the good old days for our division?

We're soldering on, so to speak, in the hope that this means the war will soon be over. Who knows. If it doesn't end soon, though, I feel like there won't be anyone left to fight it. There's still fight left, after all, in Chaos's forces over in East Asia and Australia.

Love,

Tommy

April 12, 2049

Mom and Dad,

I'm heading home! I'm really heading home! The War's over! James and Meng defeated Chaos today; the War's over! Monty, ever the pragmatist, is telling us all to keep it together. But after almost four years on-line we can't help but celebrate!

You'd better tell Jake to stop using my room as a closet, because I plan on being home in plenty of time for Memorial Day!

Love,

Tommy

June 20, 2049

Mom and Dad,

They're still holding us on base back here in Wisconsin. It's crazy what's going on these days. We won! Why are we being treated like a defeated army? We're still doing our best to help rebuild, though up here at Plymouth there was blessedly little in the way of destruction. A bit from the small raid on the air base, but no more. And the public sentiment we're hearing these days! The TDF is meant to protect the people and here people are decrying it as a 'radical, hate-mongering organization that antagonizes war for its own gains.' Where were these people when the call came for recruits? Where were they when the government asked for help in its defense? And further, where is that government that we helped protect?! It seems to be shunning our very existence!

Take care, and hope to see you soon,

Tommy

August 21, 2049

Mom and Dad,

After working as a supply company these last few months, getting, pushing and transporting goods from NAR Defense to base, I honestly think I miss combat. We aren't being told where all this stuff is going, but the supplies are right for setting up whole new communities. Instacrete walls, moisture traps, generators, everything you'd need.

Have you heard the rumors about the Government setting up tribunals to put people from the War on trial? I don't know who they'd be able to put up on charges; all of Chaos's Elite are dead and gone. No one's left. Are they going to try ashes in an attempt to mollify people?

On a personal note, Monty may be the best combat CO of all time, but his logistical abilities suck! Thanks to helping dad with the orders and stocking for the gas station I've been able to step up and help Monty. Having been without a company First Sergeant for a while now, for helping him he got me promoted. With the company the way and size it is these days it doesn't actually mean much. It still perked me up a bit when I heard, though.

Also, glad to hear Jake got into Calc! I told you he was sharp.

Love,

Tommy

October 4, 2049

Mom and Dad,

I'm just as shocked as both of you. They're putting TDF leaders up on War charges?! What sort of horse shit is this? This is beyond the pale! All I can say is that whoever is whipping the public into the frenzy needed to exert this sort of pressure on the government is doing one hell of a job. Up here in Wisconsin we're not getting any of that. There are a few crazies around, but for the most part the people around here get it. They're still supportive of us and grateful for what we did, our sacrifices.

Speaking of, I had seen the latest casualty figures for the War. I know I'd said it before, but I'll say it again; thank God for good officers. My company is still over 50% original troopers. We made it through this comparatively unscathed. I'm positive that me and my original platoon, as well as the company, owe that to Monty. Hopefully all this War crimes stuff'll blow over and we can get back to rebuilding.

Love,

Tommy

December 28, 2049

Mom and Dad,

I've gotta tell you, being a supply sergeant in Wisconsin in winter is making me long for the warm days of combat. I'm told that this is the worst winter Wisconsin's had in decades. Glad it saved it for me. As I said a few days ago, though, it was something else to see on Christmas Day, that gentle powder falling. Made your heart glow. I'm starting to process orders for who knows what. Supplies are coming in and being packed as tight as they can; there's so many getting sent here now! A buddy of mine down in Ohio at the air base there said he's started getting space requests, but labeled 'eyes only.' He's simply following orders, signing off on space. But there's a lot of fairly huge equipment being delivered and stacked around the Midwest these days.

Also, fair to tell you that while I didn't exactly _just_ meet her, me and a sergeant from Baker Company have started becoming an item. I feel a bit guilty at times, but remind myself that Emily's gone and I have to keep on living. If anything comes of it I'll let you know.

Love,

Tommy

May 24, 2050

Mom and Dad,

I don't like what I've been hearing around the base. We've been getting lots of transfers of personnel lately. Tonya from Baker says that she's heard all TDF forces will be getting orders for Plymouth soon. We completed an inventory of our supplies today; it's enough to start a substantial settlement somewhere. We have enough food stuffs and miscellaneous supplies to last 40,000 people a couple of years! It all feeds into the scuttlebutt that the Tribunals are going to find _against_ the TDF. It's hard to imagine how they could; we were following the Government's orders!

I understand that Eric Pohlman himself has finally been brought to Nuremburg. Maybe he'll be able to help talk some sense into all the politicians there!

By the way, yes, Tonya and I are getting along very well. She's actually from Green Bay, Wisconsin. So weird. If it hadn't been for this war I probably never would have even met her. I'll let you know if I need help with a ring.

Love,

Tommy

July 7, 2050

Mom and Dad,

We just heard the news here about the Proclamation Exile or whatever they're calling it. This is just unreal! Anyone who was a card-carrying member of the TDF is going to be put off-planet?! And worse yet is that is sounds like this was decided _for_ us. Did our commanders at the top even _try_?! There's gotta be a way around this! I've been going through all my contacts today. Some haven't gotten back to me yet, so there's still hope.

Realistically, though, it sounds like I'm going to be shipped out in a big way, and soon. 30 days. I checked with Monty. Orders from the top are no furloughs, no liberty passes out of fear of public reprisals. If I can't find a way out of this it means I won't be able to see any of you before I have to leave. All TDF bases are on lock-down; only official personnel in. And worst yet, I've seen orders today. They bring everyone, all TDF Regulars and Elites, here for departure. They were planning for this! Eric, that bastard, was planning for this all along! That's why all the supplies! 40,000 for a few years? Try the 15,000 of us that're left for a decade. They _knew_!

If I hear anything different I'll let you know immediately.

Love,

Tommy

July 13, 2050

Mom and Dad,

We're loading the spaceships with the instacrete shelters today as well as the terraforming equipment. It's going to be a tight fit, so I'm going along to oversee it personally. Eric Pohlman arrived here a few days ago. He's dispatching an extra guard to go with us to the Spaceport. Melinda Christopher, who's in charge there, assured me that Eric was just being overly cautious. Tonya's heading security at the Port for the moment. After all my checking I haven't found a way out of this. While I'm not saying goodbye just yet, I'm letting you know that I'm going to have to. After the last of the terraforming equipment is loaded I'll shoot you guys another e-mail to set up a Skype conversation. That way you can meet Tonya, and we can say goodbye.

Don't worry about me, I'll be okay. ATMO knows what it's doing; they've a lot of really smart people. I guess Jake can keep his crap in my room after all.

Anyways, talk to you soon.

Love,

Tommy

About Chris Pohlman

First, thank you for buying my book. _Chaos's Beginning_ is a story that I've been working on in one form or another for well over a decade. I came up with the original characters and pro-/antagonist relationship while a child playing with Legos. The book itself is something of a trip down memory lane for me. I grew up in Plymouth, Wisconsin, went to college at the University of Wisconsin–Green Bay (UWGB) and had one of my best friends pass through the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee as well as Madison. Specifically about me, I call the general Fox Valley area of Wisconsin home, love the Packers, think that snow isn't so bad, am married to the best woman on Earth, have a super cute 4 month old daughter, and look forward to the weekends and a chance to relax more than anything.

Right now I'm working as a Software Engineer and am attempting to break into the ePublishing market with this freshman novel. If you've enjoyed reading it and would like to keep up to date on my future works, I am currently working on three more stories including the sequel to this book, _Chaos's Zenith_ , please follow me on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/AuthorPohlman, on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/ AuthorPohlman , or on YouTube at <http://www.youtube.com/user/JamesHallWriter>. You can also check out my website at http://www.narclaninc.com for updates and links to my social media accounts.

Again, thank you so much for reading this novel; I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.
