

### Brothers By Numbers

Copyright 2013 S J Garrett

ISBN 978-0-9938672-4-8

Smashwords Edition

Published by S J Garrett at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For those who are not afraid to dream.

New Euro

So this was it. This was finally the much talked about day. The day that Dimitri had told me about so many times had come to pass – and that day was now!

"On that day, Mark you will become a man. From then on you will no longer be an innocent. You will see the world as it is – not through the eyes of a child who is dependent upon others, but through the eyes of a man who is capable of shaping his own destiny."

Today - my childhood was complete. And today – the real training - for a career in the New Euron National Service was about to begin.

And of course this was all true – because I like all good New Euron citizens followed a predetermined path through life. It was a structured life plan that had served our New Euron nation very well for generations. It consisted of three stages of approximately twenty years in length each, and I at eighteen years of age was about to begin the second. Should I please those on our local immortal council with my personal achievements and proven qualities of merit during my service as a practical unit in this upcoming second phase, I - just as all other New Eurons would be awarded with a period of remuneration lasting of no less than fifteen years until our final retirement.

This period of remuneration was somewhat like being sent to a heaven on Earth; not a single day would pass there where one would feel ill or suffer any pain or loss of wit. The only exception to the ultimate retiring of each practical unit was rare, but when the circumstances warranted it – it was the granting of immortality – for this to happen you would have to have found yourself in a position of great favor with all of the council of immortals – a feat that was accomplished as often as every couple of generations. To be adopted into an immortal position by the council usually entailed a post of governor of a new colony within the ever expanding New Euron Empire and of course - a timeless life.

Of late, the door to immortality seemed to be closing, though since it first became possible to become a timeless immortal – it was necessary that all candidates had to have had at least part of their original conception as one that entailed real people – something that was becoming less and less common or even possible today, but I and a handful of my classmates were members of an elite group of cryogenically stored embryos produced in a famous old Paris lab and then and there, subsequently lost for centuries until just eighteen years past – though we were not quite harvested from real people, we were quite special nonetheless, since many immortals had first started their life in that same old Paris lab. We were both admired and reviled by our peers at our former schools and I suppose soon that would become the case at the New Euron National Service Academy.

My former brethren have been dead for centuries, but still there were immortals out there with my numbers – at least I'd heard that this was so. It was my edge. At least that was what I thought, but I kept that to myself since most of the others found me and my series 'Three Thousand' friends to be - freaks. What made me a freak was something that couldn't even be seen unless I was undressed: I had a penis and I had something else that frightened them even more – I had an old style navel. This penis was ridiculed and was the cause of riotous laughter at times among a world of hermaphrodites for the most part, and the odd owner of a real vagina. What did it matter in a genderless world, anyways? But to be the holder of these old sex organs - and they were nonetheless, infertile - was still, - a monkey on my back.

The old-style navel brought both awe and respect from everyone, but for a few who were jealous or superstitious - I was bad luck, a demon from the past – no good would come from the likes of me. It was immaterial to them that my navel was only the result of some old technology. Deep down, at the very crux of it, I think it was just an unpleasant reminder to all that all of New Euron society that the new stock was becoming less and less human.

So here I stood – alone in a long queue of young humanity at a transport terminal. I was alone because we were all strangers. All of us were dressed the same and carrying identical duffel bags, but not a single face in the lot was familiar to me. Lonesome eyes seemed to dart all about for a familiar grin or an up-raised brow, but no one seemed to know anyone. And so it seemed that our first test as new cadets in the New Euron National Service was to deal with the loss of all old friends and their camaraderie.

As the minutes passed by, talk began between us at any rate. None of us had seen a transporter of such size before. There was speculation among some that it could hold hundreds of people and thousands of metric tons of cargo. It was quite an intimidating sight to behold for the first time – it was cigar-shaped, and had a metallic outer shell that was black in color but with a matte sheen. It was a hundred maybe a hundred and fifty meters long and I bet ten to fifteen meters high as well, and all along its fuselage man-doors and cargo-doors were opened. And as more time passed and we had come to realize how little we were in control of our immediate destinies; stress could be seen emerging through our numbers as people wiped sweaty palms on the backs of their trousers and brows furrowed with worry. For certain, some of us had seen matter transporters before, but none in this youthful group would have seen anything near this size. A matter transporter was a miracle of technology, but we all knew that accidents, miscalculations - minor or severe during their operation usually resulted in the certain unrecoverable loss of the machine, the crew and its cargo.

I could hear the faint clicking of heels in the distance coming from down the long hangar sized hall as four uniformed transporter attendants approached our group. Their entrance that began with a startling display of militaristic pageantry or should I say choreography with their clicking heels and swinging arms – all in unison, quickly disappeared as the four arranged us into two long queues, single file with gentle humor and kidding as only someone experienced with organizing hundreds on a daily basis might be able to do. Within minutes their silly jokes and hijinks had all of us feeling much more at ease with our situation.

The spokesman of the four gave a short oratory on the procedures for embarking and disembarking a New Euron matter transporter – the strapping-in of the passenger and the unstrapping of the passenger once the transport was complete. There were no emergency exits to discuss of course because there was no real need for them or even reason for them for that matter, because once the machine was committed there was no time – literally, for an evacuation because the travel period of the transporter was complete within seconds and on some trips: within milliseconds. Nonetheless, we were all reassured that in this transporter's five years of service there had never been any loss of life or harm come to any of its many payloads. And after ending on that rather positive footnote the chief transporter attendant added that there would be yet further mandatory instruction for all of us via a video simulation that would outline in more detail the routine and general procedures for the passengers of a New Euron matter transporter just before our boarding.

And just as they had said, we all watched a larger-than-life animation just a few meters before our boarding. The multidimensional demonstration illustrated the actual launch of the cigar-shaped transporter. Once it was fully loaded with its payload, the transporter would slowly rise up into the sky to about a kilometer or so and hover in a standby position for a minute or two. It was at this moment when in stand-by that the passengers and crews, compartment's atmosphere would be altered with the addition of a depressant to calm any anxiety that might occur among its crew and passengers during our rapid hyper-acceleration that immediately followed the standby position. Within a tiny fraction of a second into our craft's hyper-acceleration phase - all of its matter would be travelling many times the speed of light. Our matter would then re-gather in another hemisphere here on earth or even upon another planet or extraterrestrial colony. To the observer down below a short trail or aura would be visible in the sky directly above where the transporter would have once been hovering in standby and the same aura or short trail would re-occur wherever the transporter was about to arrive. At the end of the demonstration its narrator tried to impress upon the viewer the very significant nature of this technology; each crew member and passenger would effectively gain five or more seconds of life each time he or she embarked upon a typical inter-planetary trip. We could grow young – just like that!

Moments after the video simulation had ended, the two long queues began advancing into the open man-doors of the matter transporter. Each of us picked up our duffle bags and followed whoever was in front of them in an eerie silence. Each cadet seemed to instinctively look up into the sky above as they passed their man-door's threshold to perhaps behold the last familiar thing they might ever see.

Inside the transporter things were rather peculiar. There was only dim light inside that barely illuminated the floor. There appeared to be at least two decks devoted for holding passengers. In groups of five, an usher guided us along a main aisle and into enclosed stalls that lined the walls of the main aisle. Once we had entered a stall the usher helped strap each of us in with criss-cross styled harnesses onto upholstered human depressions in the stall's walls.

We then waited in this near darkness in anxiety for what seemed like an eternity for something to happen, when suddenly a porter reappeared at the entrance of our stall and gave us a thumbs-up and then quickly left to visit the next stall I suppose. I was sweating pretty heavily now and it was that nervous smelly kind that stung the nostrils. It was utterly claustrophobic in there and though it was so dark that I couldn't see the face of the cadet across from me or next to me, I could still sense the panic and stress of the others all around me. And at the moment I thought it might have become just too much to bear – the depressant was added to our atmosphere and suddenly – I was euphoric and ready for any adventure - or disaster. The dim lighting that barely illuminated the floor of the transporter grew dimmer until all was pitch black. I had not a worry. Even when I could feel the transporter jolt into acceleration – I could only smile and let out a giggle!

There was nothing to see. There was nothing to recall or tell. The whole experience had taken place in total darkness or near darkness. Only a few minutes of euphoria had passed when a clearly different porter wearing a different uniform entered our stall and began unstrapping our harnesses. We followed this new porter back down the main aisle to the transporter's exit and out into a waning daylight of another unmistakably new continent.

*****

Once outside of the transporter I quickly realized where my first assignment had taken me: I was in America. Centuries ago, it was called the new world and it became the birthplace of one of the greatest nations in history. In time they evolved into a band of gangsters who intimidated other weaker powers and took what they wanted from them, and as fate would eventually have its due, the great nation of gangsters and their allies were defeated quite decisively in the final fiery months of the greatest war on Earth. Most of the continent was a barren and scorched battlefield by the time the greatest conflict of man had come to its end. From those ashes of that giant battlefield: America, - the New Euron victors restored the New America to near twenty-second century or even twenty-first century amounts of foliage and ground cover! Today, the only inhabitants of this paradise were New Euron agricultural technicians, military personnel and a handful of bureaucrats to administer the place and of course: the infamous roaming Rebel outposts of the Republic.

It was a paradise. I had never seen so much green before – just meters from where our transporter had come to rest was wilderness - and for as far as the eye could see. It now being near dusk here, the whole pastoral vista was illuminated in the remaining red glow of our setting sun. A sight I think I'll always cherish.

The architectural design of the base here was such that no external part of the structure rose higher than three meters or so above ground level. All of the base's above-ground super-structure was expendable in the event that it came under serious attack. The greatest part of the base was safely situated deep underground and was spread out for hundreds of square kilometers down below. The base's atmosphere was kept under positive pressurization to keep contamination out and the environment inside was one that was closely controlled to resemble a moderate climate with a normal twenty-four hour lighting ambience.

Porters marched us at-ease and in no apparent order into the facility. There they had us assemble in a large auditorium, and then they bid us farewell and good luck in our training. Now, for the first time since we had left New Euro, real chatter could be heard amongst us. It seemed that the transporter experience had given us all a common experience to talk about I suppose.

A few minutes of typical new cadet camaraderie and hijinks passed by as we whiled some time away in the auditorium when eventually four National Service droids appeared at the auditorium exits and the room fell silent. One droid who evidently was the superior of the others barked out curt commands to the other three as they approached us. A roll-call by name and asset number was started and soon we were forming into four groups.

Three groups of thirty, each led by one of the lesser droids filed out of the auditorium. The fourth remaining group of just ten and of which I was included in remained for a moment in the auditorium in the company of the superior droid as the others vacated the auditorium. And then in a clatter, our droid was on the move with us following behind him and we too filed-out of the auditorium but into a different direction than the others who were now almost out of sight.

Our droid's name was Leon and he chattered nonstop about rules and procedures that we all had to follow precisely – and with no exceptions of course! And what was now taking place was just beginning to gel in my mind and my companions as well I suppose: we ten new recruits were to receive some kind of specialized training. Perhaps – officer training I pined momentarily. When I heard old Leon begin chattering about a close air-support training program, smiles and grins suddenly spread like a contagion among my group with this revelation, as we half ran and half walked after this hyperactive droid named Leon.

After a near two kilometer hike through the base we finally arrived at our new living quarters and no sooner had we dropped our duffle bags at our bunks, Leon began lecturing us about our new home's layout, our responsibilities to the New Euron National Service and of course our new daily routine. Once done with that he began distributing amongst us more information for us to read and become familiar with, and as soon as we could of course! It was at this moment that one of my companions managed to distract Leon from his well practiced orientation lecture and asked him why we ten were not moving through the ranks as would be the tradition?

Leon answered that we, meaning the one hundred of us, not just our ten – were the first newly commissioned infantry division to have been created in twenty years. And, we were also rumored to be the first of ten newly to be commissioned divisions to be completely on line within the next two years. There was a new Rebel uprising afoot and we were being prepared at an accelerated rate to deal with this new insurgent threat.

"You will have to be prepared for the battlefield in two months time and I will be your tutor for this first week."

*****

We put in mostly sixteen hour days into those eight weeks of basic training that focused on survival skills, combat skills and operating skills. It soon became abundantly clear as to why most New Euron service veterans never returned home to tell their tales of service in the New American theatre because if one served in the war against the Rebels, then once your tour was complete you were retired to a distant extraterrestrial colony. It was considered to be in the best interests of New Euron society and for our great nation's national security that in general, all personal accounts of any human rebellions were to be kept secret from the rest of its citizenry.

The Rebel forces that occupied parts of the New American continent called themselves: 'Freedom Fighters'. Their ranks were made up of indigenous American natives who had survived the wars that had literally erased most all of the life off of their continents. Additionally, some of their ranks were composed of New Eurons and they were made up of defectors, traitors and other criminal elements and now, recent rumors and intelligence information that had only now had come to light, indicated that outside aid was being provided by mutinous Republican colonies.

These suspicions of an imminent and powerful Rebel offensive had resulted in the commissioning of these new New Euron National Service divisions that I was now a part of. In just twenty-four months there would be one hundred thousand mechanized army infantry units or as we commonly referred to as miu's, prepared to battle the Rebels and restore the balance of power back to the central government of New Euro and Earth would be safe once more again. Our commander, General Joshua Taylor, who was rumored to be an up and coming candidate as an immortal council member himself had been unanimously appointed by the New Euron Council to take-on the task of eradicating these Rebel insurgents from wherever they had taken a foothold and in any manner he saw fit.

Thus, it was General Joshua Taylor's decision to beat back the Rebel insurgency with an almost solely infantry styled army. He felt that when dealing with cockroaches and this being a reference to previous attempts to eradicate the Rebels with biological and thermo-nuclear weapons and also by other more traditional counter-insurgency tactics that had been used in the past, and the Rebels' resiliency to those efforts that this more personal approach might be more effective in their ultimate eradication. The Rebels were nomadic and by all standards - experts in guerilla combat techniques and General Taylor felt that they would be best beaten with similar small units of New Euron mechanized commandos using the same withering guerilla styled combat tactics.

New Euron mechanized infantry units were not human at all; they were soulless killing machines with the dexterity and cunning of skilled human commandos. They could charge tirelessly upright or on all fours until they needed to be repaired or refueled. They were programmed to have a tireless hunger for killing. And by the thousands if they were made available in those quantities could they be distributed in minutes by transporter – grid like, all over the face of a continent. For each one thousand mechanized infantry units perhaps one hundred New Euron servicemen were needed for support on the battlefield as commanders, repairmen, transport and low atmosphere air-support.

My area of training was as a member of an air-support patrol unit. Presently, I was the crew of a 'stinger' which was a low-atmosphere, attack airship and patrol craft. I assisted a captain and I also operated the stinger's principle weapon which was a heat-ray battery. I came in the top of my class in marksmanship and in hand to hand combat, too. I had become really pleased with myself of late having outdone my personal best several times and my goal was that captain's seat.

A recent chance encounter and talk with General Taylor himself nonetheless, had me burning with optimism – I could almost taste that pending promotion to the rank of captain. When others relaxed; I studied and it was apparent in my metrics – I was going places and I could feel it! I knew it all. I knew the stinger from tip to stern, inside and out!

My first assignment of sorts was to accompany gunship captain Tom on routine reconnaissance patrols of the Great Lakes area. Tom and I had already been previously acquainted with one another from gunnery classes where he was one of the tutors. I'm sure that Tom was a man you could count on in a tough fix, but he was not outwardly ambitious or daring when it came to combat situations or even in advancing his position within the rank and file of the service. Nonetheless, Tom was so impressed with my marksmanship in gunnery practice back then that he referred to me as his 'Dead-Eye' and he had kidded with me too, that he would request me as his gunner when the big offensive began.

Personally, when the big offensive begins I want to have a captain's kit and - not the gunner's kit that I have now. Of all the New Euron National services the captain's kit was by far the most attractive. It was the sleekest and the tiny embossed wings at the temples struck awe in everyone – they represented freedom – tiny wings of freedom. Some captain's kits would allow an operator to literally operate any craft – stinger, heater or even a transporter! My kit would only allow me to pilot the stinger in an emergency – I was hundreds of flight hours away from acquiring a kit upgrade to a pilot trainee, but that hadn't stopped me from studying as far ahead as I could manage.

A mission like today's was gravy – very routine and we embarked on it with relaxed attitudes. It was going to be twelve hours of respite from the hectic activity back at the base. The stinger's program preformed most of the mission's operations automatically and the pilot and crew were more or less aboard for the ride. The program collected any data that it determined to be useful and if there was any need for the pilot and crew to intervene, such as a sighting of present enemy activity, it would alert us immediately. I had been on this mission more than a few times now and nothing ever happened. All that ever changed was the weather!

Today, we flew along for hours covering thousands of square kilometers while the stinger's program collected reconnaissance data that I'm sure never changed from one mission to the next. We maintained an altitude of approximately one hundred meters when cruising and when we approached military and natural resource installations the stinger would halve its altitude and circle once and then move on. Between these outposts were kilometers upon kilometers of nothing but forest and hinterland interrupted with blue ribbons of running rivers and the blue bodies of lakes. Here and there, perhaps a little bit of exposed white rock would appear.

Tom had to point out to me where once huge cities had stood only a century and a half ago. These areas looked scrubbier in their vegetation cover, but they were still nonetheless, a brilliant green in color. Tom said that if we landed down there and dug a hole with a shovel - that about a meter below the surface and maybe less in some places that we would find old crushed concrete and asphalt buried where the cities once stood.

When the reconstruction of America was first undertaken most of the land was a lifeless desert of concrete ruins and so it was decided then that much of the continent's surface would be simply razed, leveled, and then buried over with soil again. The soil was gathered from wherever it could be obtained, such as river basins and lake bottoms. Geologically speaking, nothing of this magnitude had happened to America since the last ice age and this time it was done by man himself – it took decades. This remarkable feat took almost thirty years using technology that had then only just been acquired in the development of the extraterrestrial colonies. It was hoped that the venture would have helped restore earth's atmosphere, but the overdevelopment of earth's low orbit over the centuries had a deleterious effect on the earth below. Trees for example were half or less as tall as they should be and the hoped for agricultural windfall never materialized. Plants do much poorer in a polluted haze and so the much needed oxygen that they produce just can't be produced in the quantities needed from plants which have such poor living conditions.

So as great as the advancements in engineering and bio-technology were at restoring plant and animal life to the Americas there was still an overwhelming amount of work still to be done.

"Politics and war - are the two steps backwards we have to take each time technology takes us one step forward," said a reflective Tom.

It all looked like a paradise to my young eyes. As stunted as they say it is – it was all natural and there was nothing natural about where I came from.

This craft that I've referred to as a stinger that Tom and I were operating on this mission today was a reasonably well armed war-machine. It was the close, air-to-surface support workhorse for the infantry down below. It had two fifty millimeter cannons positioned at tip and tail that were completely omnidirectional in coverage and were operated in tandem by a continuous tactical program that constantly analyzed all the variables on the battlefield and adapted its attacks and retreats with virtual-intuition and logic. Beneath the stinger and at about its mid-belly were two racks of 'fire and forget' air-to-air or air-to-surface missiles and they too, were operated by the ship's combat program. All these weapons however were only complimentary to the stinger's principle weapon which was a single, forward mounted, heat-ray battery. The heat-ray battery was the ship's solely human operated weapon aboard the stinger and I was its gunner today.

The stinger operated much like most other New Euron machinery: it functioned by program – independently when needed, but always in conjunction with other equipment or resources that may be available to it nearby. The captain or operator of a stinger however, could override maneuvers enacted by the combat programming and the two paired together were a very effective combination in real combat. Whereas, the combat program knew nothing of fear and was very aggressive; the human captain had the common sense to retreat or conserve fire power for instance.

The stinger acquired its name in part from its unique combat techniques. It behaved much like a wasp or hornet. It might hurtle itself forward in an attack maneuver or even hover in attack over its target and then just as suddenly, retreat from an enemy retaliation with great agility and speed – and then, counter attack again immediately after evading the enemy's reach. These sudden changes in inertia and acceleration put an immense strain on the stinger itself and its crew! In fact by design, the top speed for a stinger was achieved in reverse for retreating from a bold counter from an enemy. Often a gunner could only manage to hold onto his station and his lunch when a stinger made one of its characteristic retreating maneuvers. At high altitudes where the atmosphere was thinner a stinger could retreat at a thousand kilometers per hour in an effort to outrun an incoming attack that could also be attacking at near that same speed, too.

At about the half way or at about the turnaround point of our mission an alarm went off up in the cockpit of the stinger. Both Tom and I were on the mid-deck at the time and we both spilt coffee as we hurried back to our posts and as we hurried along you could feel the stinger begin to bank and change its course. Tom acknowledged the alarm and the stinger's program announced that we were presently in a high state of alert and that further instructions were forthcoming in one minute's time via an encoded message on the nature of our new mission.

Momentarily, the base's instructions followed by voice: "Captain and crew of reconnaissance mission Great Lakes June 10th. Remainder of reconnaissance mission: cancelled. Captain and crew: to assume combat-ready, immediately. Target ETA: twenty minutes. Captain: to refer to further forthcoming programming instructions. Good luck gentlemen."

The end of the announcement was followed by another alarm and this one was calling for captain and crew to suit-up for cabin depressurization. By the time I had climbed out of the battery's cockpit Tom was nearly suited-up already.

"Quickly Mark! This is really serious my boy! The cabin will depressurize in about one more minute!"

My fingers were racing instinctively like they had a mind of their own as my eyes raced all about the mid-deck following Tom's progress as he rushed from one panel to another prepping armaments and fire extinguishing systems for full combat. I was still fumbling with my headgear when Tom hopped up from his hands and knees where he had been checking the missile's hold; his face was red with anxiety.

"There are twenty-five damn heaters - minutes behind us!" said Tom brusquely from the side of a partly clenched mouth as he rushed by me on his way to the captain's cockpit above.

With the mention of the heaters I grabbed a sidearm from the gunner's locker and gave up adjusting my suit any further. In two leaps I was in the battery's cockpit and sealing the cockpit's fire hatch.

Heaters were one of the ultimate space and surface weapons in the New Euron military arsenal. They could be dispatched to anywhere on earth in minutes and for that matter anywhere within the New Euron's transporters reach. When they attacked they could raze in an inferno virtually everything on a planet's surface to a depth of about three meters. It was the same technology that was used to raze and level the ruins of the Americas. The debris spread from a large heat-ray battery strike could cover hundreds of square meters in all directions. These large heaters generally operated in groups of five, so they could cut large swaths of destruction across a target area. Just a single punch from a heater battery could transform a hill into a smoking crater.

I sat in my cockpit and shivered uncontrollably for several minutes until my suit heated up – my anxiety wasn't helping. At times like this, you think of everything you ever accomplished in life and worry about how it may all might suddenly change or end in just a few minutes. Beneath me, I could see through the armoured glass bubble that was my cockpit, a sea of green with blue tapestry running beneath my feet as the stinger sped as fast as it could only meters above the treed terrain and as hill and dale appeared our altitude followed suit; up and down, silently... with the exception of a slight whistle in the wind from the stinger's draft.

It all altered my state of consciousness somewhat. Think of it; everything in my life had just changed. Everything that had happened to me up till a few minutes ago was all a certainty – a logical path that everyone followed until you are called to war. The stinger appeared to have life of its own; panels were lit up that had I had only seen in demonstration. You could feel the machine's determination as it sped into combat; it was pursuing its own destiny.

I understood the combat computer's programming – it would follow through with its programming with all the determination and will of its programmer. The program knew nothing of fear and it was quite capable of suicidal combat maneuvers – only Tom, as its captain, could override a stinger's zeal to win the battlefield at any cost. These two – a program and the captain held my life in their power. I had the control of only the battery's operation.

"Mark, that's our target coming up on the horizon... You with me?"

"Yeah".

"In a few minutes we'll be over it... How's the battery? Is it fully operational? Cause we're going to need it".

"Yeah, everything has been checked and double-checked, Cap".

"If we get into a scrap, you're going to show me what you learned in gunnery class, huh"?

"I sure will, Cap."

Another alarm then sounded announcing our approach on the target. The stinger's speed dropped off and the craft began to climb in altitude for a better look at the target area. There was now virtually no noise from the craft's propellant just a very low whistle of air breaking over the stinger's hull. To the trained eye down below we'd be just a brown speck moving across the sky – there'd be no noise and no reflected light off the stinger's hull.

Down below, amid a large forested area surrounded by several small lakes and a connecting river; billows of thick black smoke rose from the target area and were blowing east.

"Mark, turn your number three monitor on... to its first channel!"

The first thing I noticed on the monitor was the unmistakable wreckage of a crashed stinger that was identical to the model Tom and I were in today. The heat-ray battery had been blown away from the fallen stinger's hull. And further along, I could see the wreckage of several burnt-out personnel carriers. And further still, the wreckage of yet another fallen stinger, but it was broken up into pieces scattered along a nearby river. By far, the greatest amount of smoke was coming from the wreckage of a transporter and one that was as large as I've ever seen since first coming into the New Euron National Service. It lay broken like an opened egg – all crushed along it's under belly and wide open across its middle where thick black smoke billowed out from this fissure.

Increasing the monitor's magnification, I could make out among the trees the bodies of our fallen infantry both human and machine. They were rudely dismembered and a vapor arose from the earth dampened by both their human and machine, body fluids. It became obvious that an enormous ambush – a slaughter had occurred here only recently.

I no sooner gave thought to that obvious conclusion when the battery suddenly came to attention for action at the sound of another alarm.

"Enemy installation ten kilometers north," announced the combat program.

Another alarm sounded and our stinger came to a full stop.

"Mark, there is some kind of sophisticated artillery to our north. That's what our current reconnaissance data indicates. We're to search here for survivors or enemy. The heaters are still just minutes behind us.... Now... Here we go..."

And we began dropping lower and lower into the target area below. Falling freely or more like gliding freely from our present altitude like this would certainly reveal our presence to those below us so I freely fired the battery in short bursts and at a close range. We were no longer on a reconnaissance mission; this was combat - stinger style. This was one of my most favorite activities in training; exercising the battery. It was such a feeling of empowerment whizzing around in circles in the bubble-like cockpit – obliterating anything real or imaginable in my sights.

"Mark, we're going to enter the target area from the east and take a little cover from that smoke cover and circle..."

There wasn't time to acknowledge the captain. Another alarm sounded and we were suddenly being hurtled backwards at maximum speed judging by the intense noise and vibration. I'd never heard a stinger make such a screeching noise. Two pairs of missiles were launched from each starboard and port missile holds beneath the stinger's underbelly. On my target finder I could see that three incoming artillery charges were pursuing our stinger. The best I could manage was to keep my hands clenched to the safety and the trigger on my heat-ray battery. My stomach twisted and churned violently and I thought I might either feint from light headiness or swallow my tongue in panic at the same moment!

Then suddenly, an intense fireball formed in front of us lighting up the cockpit and cabin many times brighter than the sunny daylight illumination that we were already in. An explosion then occurred that shook the 'zigging and zagging' stinger so violently that I could see debris fly off our hull. An intense heat filled the cockpit and I heard the remaining missiles being dumped as the stinger continued to hurtle backwards in retreat. A second explosion of similar intensity erupted and the stinger was now dodging vertically up and down in a feeble effort to defend itself from the third artillery charge.

And as fate would have it, we beat the third charge's range and it fell harmlessly into a lake below and exploded into a huge ball of steam. I could take no more and vomited a frothy- bile into my blast mask.

The stinger was now no longer flying level and I found myself supported or more like suspended by my seat's harness above the bottom of the battery's cockpit and the operator's panel. I vented the cockpit with atmosphere and removed my soiled mask.

By what was lit up on the cockpit's control panel and also by what was not lit up on the cockpit's panel; indications were that there was some significant damage to the craft. The skew of stinger was way-off and it appeared that we were still retreating though at a much slower speed. I unharnessed myself and tried to acknowledge some of the alarms and to get some of the battery's panel to respond to my adjustments, but it was all for not. It appeared that I had no communication with the captain and that we were without any navigation – by program or human. If this was the case, then the stinger without having someone or a program in control of the bridge, then by being pilotless: she would soon lose altitude and stall. I wondered for Tom's sake as I opened the battery's hatch to the mid-deck to investigate.

The mid-deck was quite smoky, but thankfully it appeared to be all intact. I found the hatch from mid deck to the bridge was still sealed; this was not a good sign – I was certain that Tom would have been at mid-deck by now if only to check on me. The safety mechanism on the hatch would not allow me to open it so I had to open the hatch manually. To my horror once I had thrown the hatch open - I found that I was looking at blue sky! Most of the forward section of the bridge was gone! What remained of the rest of the bridge was charred black. Cap's seat was still there, but only his torso was still strapped in. His head and extremities had been blown off by the blast – likely the first one I would imagine; it had seemed to have been the most powerful.

I felt weak and I fell back into the mid-deck's cabin and let out a pitiful and muted primeval sigh. There on the mid-deck, I collapsed into pitiful fetal ball on the cabin floor and sucked in air in huge great breaths partly because of the stinger's altitude but for the most part as a result of the shock of my first real combat.

And I shall always - remember how on that day I laid, more or less prostrate, looking up from that mid-deck cabin floor, staring through that opened hatch above me whilst that blue sky rushed by and a premature sunset of sorts began building off in the distance of that late afternoon light because now, our heaters had surely arrived. Good luck to them I thought to myself in resignation. They'll likely need to engage the enemy at a greater distance now, since an advance wave of New Euron stingers and infantry that I had been a part of were no match for the Rebel's artillery that day.

*******

It was only the memory of my Dimitri that brought me back to my senses. It was his glowing expressions of approval that I remembered from way back, when he was my mentor and I was in his charge; I showed him many times that I could excel where other students had failed. I got up and I got busy. I quickly rechecked all the still functioning instrumentation data once more so I could again reconsider all my options before the stinger's all but certain forthcoming stall.

The main computer was out and all communications were lost and the latter would leave me helplessly stranded from any help or rescue. I still had my kit and if I could land the crippled stinger safely I might get to review my predicament again.

I re-entered the battery cockpit; it was the only functioning control the stinger had left. I began overriding all the automatic control and bridge control to manual. I had to make only a few visits to the mid-deck cabin's panels, but after a few minutes of tinkering I had righted the stinger's skew and I was flying the machine by just a few wires. This was the beauty of a kit: with a kit anything you needed to know regarding your technology was there when you needed it. The kit doesn't tell you what to do, but it helps you recall everything you were ever taught academically or learned through experience.

I was going to attempt an emergency landing and I was going to wing it manually! There was no room for apprehension because to not attempt an emergency landing would only mean that there was going to be an uncontrolled crash shortly! The few classroom hours in navigation that I've had and the late nights of reading operating manuals... and my kit were all that I had going for me and that was going to have to be enough!

Down the stinger went as I assumed its control, stopping just a few meters over some white barked trees. It was relieving that the stinger, damaged as it was, that it could still hover with some stability. I hung myself outside an opened cockpit window and started clearing some tree branches away with my sidearm as best as I could.

It took a few minutes to make a clearing that I could lower the stinger into and I brought it down beneath the tree tops to about a half of a meter above the ground. While the stinger still hovered, I had to find timber and rocks to support the machine from below. It took a couple of hours of labor while fighting clouds of hungry insects to drag fallen timber from where ever I could find it and haul it over to the stinger. But I did it and I landed the better half of the battered stinger down onto the ground where I could perhaps make some repairs to it.

There was little daylight left after I was done powering the machine down and so by lamplight I surveyed the stinger's condition. The top of the stinger's hull was in the worst state; I would have to remove whatever was loose up there and try to weatherproof it. The stinger's mid-deck, the under-hull and the battery cockpit were all intact. I had a drive system of sorts, though in limp mode; no good for combat. I had a functioning heat-ray battery and its cockpit that I just might be able rig-up as a reliable means to pilot the stinger with. Imagine that: me a pilot finally. I was really not too impressed with the circumstances that had brought it all about, though. Perhaps, just maybe, at daybreak, I'd be able to begin my journey back to the base and safety.

At times through the night, I paused to rest for a few minutes and sometimes off in the distance I could see arrays of light beams come down from the heaters who would have been situated safely – thirty – perhaps even fifty kilometers above the enemy and firing down on them from their near-orbit positions. I figured their targets were less than one hundred kilometers north of my location. Too close really – friendly fire was more than just a possibility. The attacks occurred every hour or so and well into the early morning twilight. They kept me anxious and busy with haste, too.

*****

At dawn, things seemed to have quieted down north of here and I was finally done with my repairs. A thick mist hung just above the forest floor and I could smell smoke in the wind when it blew from the north. I sat in the stinger's cockpit; the machine was totally powered down to both help conserve power and to help prevent my detection by the Rebels who could for all I know be patrolling these skies now.

I could rest a little but I dared not sleep even though I was feeling more confident about my situation. If at all possible, I would stay awake until I was safe and back at my Great Lake's base. If I made it - a citation would certainly be in order. That's if I make it. In another half hour when I have a little more daylight, I'll aim the stinger south and fly just above the treetops. It'll be slow – for sure, but I should find safety before the end of the day.

When the sun was just high enough to give me some orientation to navigate with, I powered up the stinger, checked my repairs and raised her up to about ten feet or so above the treetops. It was a fiery sunrise, a crimson half ball; much redder than normal and probably because of the additional smoke and ozone in the air from the heater strikes. All last night, the sky was too smoke-filled and overcast to see a single star or even the moon for that matter.

That was my plan: to use the sun's path for direction as soon as conditions allowed it and I would set off at a meager sixty kilometers an hour south over the forest. If I were to fly higher I could go much faster, but I would also be easily detected electronically and I didn't want that because who knows who might find me and I'd be an easy mark in any air combat. If I had to deal with an enemy attack I would much rather take my chances with a land based attack.

I skimmed over the treetops for an hour or so, but found it distracting trying to navigate by the sun's position, negotiate the rolling landscape, and additionally keep an eye out for Rebel activity, so I stopped and retrieved an old magnetic compass from a survival kit stored in a locker on the mid-deck of the stinger. I figured that soon mid-day would be arriving and it would then become even more difficult to judge my direction with the sun near above me. I estimated that at my present progress, that in about eight hours I should be approaching the New Euron Pulp Mill's territories. The thousands of square kilometers of cultivated and empty harvested areas would be an easy enough landmark to find and between their many outposts and mills, some measure of safety should be found there.

By mid-day, I was becoming wary and I had an uneasy feeling about my situation because I had covered at least a few hundred kilometers in this southerly direction and I still had not seen any sign of the suspected counter attack that one would think should follow an attack like the one of yesterday. If only I had some of the reconnaissance programs or some means of communication, my situation would be so much better.

And when this worry had just about got the best of me, the terrain down below began to change. There was now, more rock and open spaces and I could see ahead and into the distance further. But there was to be no relief of anxiety because I spotted a thick billowing plume of black smoke and it appeared to becoming from the bed of a river valley that I was now presently following. It was my duty to investigate and I followed the east ridge of the valley towards the source of the black plume. As I closed-in on its source I thought I could hear the sound of moving machinery and explosions. I cautiously approached the next bend from just above the east side of the river valley and hovered.

What I saw was an incredible sight. Just ahead and beneath me were large numbers of mechanized infantry units both Rebel and New Euron and they were fully engaged in combat on the valley floor. I was astounded to see that the Rebels possessed mechanized infantry of such sophistication. The New Euron miu's were controlled and directed by human infantry commanders, but these Rebel miu's appeared to be unaccompanied by any human direction. The Rebels as far as I could tell even had the upper hand and were outflanking the more numerous but less effective contingent of New Euron infantry.

I felt alarm for my infantry brethren, but without the proper air-support as they were accustomed to having, they were going to be tactically handicapped. I suppose seeing how the Rebel artillery had easily dispatched our New Euron air-support yesterday that they were likely grounded or held back at a safe distance from where they were actually needed today.

Well, there was no question now in my mind about what needed to be done. I was going into battle! As fast as I could muster and low I figured. There were near a dozen large Rebel targets to choose from between armoured infantry carriers, some motorized artillery and other support vehicles, and most importantly, I had yet to see any air-support of either New Euron or Rebel ownership to worry about.

Surprise would be my advantage. With the flick of a switch I armed the heat-ray battery and sped into battle as aggressively as I could with the half of a stinger that I had left. My stomach groaned as I negotiated the tightest maneuvers that the stinger could manage and in no time I had obliterated two armoured personnel carriers before attracting any attention from the enemy as to what was happening to them. If only the stinger's two tandem cannons were still functioning I could have cleaned up the place with strafing.

After my initial pass I immediately began banking the stinger for its second pass only to be forced to fly evasively further downstream from some light surface to air volleys. Taking a chance I then flew 'high and wide', and then made a hard turn back towards the battlefield once again.

This pass I didn't hold back and I let the stinger's engines scream death down upon the valley – the noise must have been great and reverberating because of the white rock faces that enclosed the valley. My luck then ran out. I took at least two light, surface-to-air strikes at mid -deck and some of my cockpit bubble melted away from an additional Rebel heat-ray strike. I started losing power real fast and before too much smoke had filled the cockpit I bob-sledded the stinger upon its belly just a few kilometers upstream from the battle!

The smoke in the cockpit became thick and there was no working fire extinguishing systems to help out. I could see nothing in the cockpit and I quickly unharnessed myself and wormed about the confines of the cockpit - feeling for a way out. As fate would have it, I opened an escape hatch and fell into an open cavity beneath the stinger's hull and into a natural depression in the soil below.

I could now take a breath of air into my lungs, but I coughed and hacked on the acrid smoke that wafted and swirled all about me. A hole, just my size allowed me to clear the stinger from underneath before the machine became really overtaken with flames.

I found some cover – nothing more than a clump of trees that were nearby and I started taking a personal inventory. Firstly, I needed to see if I was intact – and fortunately I was. Secondly, I needed to know my options – I had a light sidearm and I had my personal grenade. I felt for both with my hands as I lay low. I felt light headed – maybe it was the smoke and I clutched the light grenade that hung about my neck and for the first time in my career I had to consider that in moments I may need to use it. Capture was to be avoided at all costs and if I so chose to use it – my head would be blown off and that would be a far better fate than to be captured, interrogated and recycled into the enemy war machine.

A few minutes later, I could see from my vantage point a team of Rebel miu's break through a stand of trees. They were a peculiar sight: their movement was accompanied by muted clicks and hisses. There was no communication by mouth between them; in fact there were no mouths to speak of. Some walked on all fours, low to the ground with weapons attached near their shoulders at the ready. Some stood up and despite the flames coming from the stinger's wreckage and began opening the hull by tearing it open with their upper appendages – looking for me I suppose. But for one \- none of these machines seemed to have a head or anything resembling a head for that matter – such as a set of eyes or sight sensors. So it seemed that the one with a flat, low profile head appeared to be in control of the others.

Once it was clear to them that the crew was missing from the crashed stinger they began to fan out and started searching the general area. It was becoming abundantly clear that I needed to make a decision immediately and I opened fire with my sidearm as the team of hissing, clicking Rebel miu's made their way into my general direction. The shots I made whether they hit their targets or not seemed to have little effect on the Rebel miu's who quickly surrounded my location and returned fire with precision and I was unconscious in seconds. After that, I can recall only some short intervals of semi-consciousness that were either accompanied with intense pain or an eerie numbness.

*****

The Republic

My next semi-lucid memory was of finding myself bound, hand and foot, in a semi-sitting position on the floor of a rocking Rebel personnel carrier. I had three other New Euron companions with me - all officers I believe and likely all of them miu infantry commanders. One was in poor shape with both legs mangled and 'tourniqued' and the other two were clearly corpses. In New Euro there were ways of making the dead talk – at least for a few days and I suppose it was no different with the Rebels.

Myself, I appeared to be still in one piece, but the right side of my face burned with pain. My bound hands prevented me from touching the wound to investigate its severity. Had my hands not been bound I don't think I would have had the strength or coordination to do so anyways. I felt very weak and I probably was drugged for security reasons. I, nonetheless, looked about the carrier's cabin and its crew. I noticed that they wore no standard uniform. Their fatigues were personalized and irregular. However, despite their 'ragtag' and miss-matched clothing they did seem well organized and well equipped with gear such as individual communications and quality sidearms. Interestingly, I noticed that many of them wore a personal light grenade that hung as a pendant from around their necks, just as I too did, at least up until my capture.

Across from me and my New Euron companions sat a young female Rebel trooper watching over us while petting a heavy heat-ray rifle that lay in her lap. She was bosomed, with long golden hair tied in a knot and had iridescent azure-blue eyes. Her complexion appeared to be naturally pale and mud and grime was smeared about her face. And until that moment I had never seen such a person - unless it was in pictures or video. In New Euro – all people, all our citizenry and our hybrids too, possessed tan skin, dark eyes and just the scant head of hair we came into the world with.

She appeared to be getting annoyed with my staring and got up on her feet and was about to give me a kick in the face – hence the burning pain I assume, when a senior officer who was grey haired and wearing a kit interrupted her intentions. She feigned an alarm alerting the senior officer that her prisoner was conscious.

He announced with a raised voice for all the crew's benefit, "So gentleman, I see our New Euron fly-boy is alive and well," he smiled.

"Could I have some water?" I asked.

He nodded to my keeper and she hesitated reluctantly to the implied order. I could see hatred in her eyes as she removed her personal water bottle from her waist and brought its opened lip to my mouth. I sipped roughly from the bottle's opening and thanked her when I was done. She told me to, "shut the fuck up" and scowled back at me as she returned to her seated position across from me.

I thought the water might help me feel less drowsy, but I remained in a stupor. I supported myself as best as I could for comfort in the rocking carrier. I could see at times the crew gesturing at me while speaking to one another; I suppose I was a good catch. The female guard remained civil and kicked me no more, but whenever she chose to focus on me it was an icy glare that looked through me. At some point in my travels with the Rebels that day it appeared that we had boarded a large transport and were delivered back to a base. There was no strapping in of the crew members – they just powered down their machine and sat motionless for the duration of a short alarm and that was it!

I was always told that the Rebels were nothing more than unsophisticated savages who used old technology and had backward ideas regarding reproduction. They were an immoral lot, so Dimitri had told me many times and were no better than gangsters. It was becoming apparent that there was much about the Rebels and their technology that had been kept secret from me. Was that not immoral? Was I cannon fodder? I felt betrayed. Within a few hours I shall be dead - and if it were not for this drugged stupor I was in, I'd be too petrified with fear to have such ideas.

*****

My cell was a spacious three by three meters in size – and it was just the right size for a good tussle and just like yesterday's melee I was hoping for it to happen again in ten minutes because according to an enunciator above my cell door I was to be fed and watered in ten minutes time and counting. I was going stir-crazy and besides the two goons who fed and watered me, I have spoke to no one of any authority for three days. I am entitled to an execution! This imprisonment was nothing more than a war crime!

I couldn't think straight anymore or even properly defend myself without my kit. Soon I'll be parts – I'll make it happen. In a few minutes I'll put up such an attack – with my teeth if I have too - to get them on with it. My head ached at the temples where my kit had once been attached. I've never had pain like this before and I've never been without a plan or a need that I couldn't satisfy - and they knew all this! I was a New Euron – I have perfect health and I have always had a purposeful life. This – imprisonment was worse than death!

A buzzer sounded and my moment was coming. The door opened and I leaped into action and then an electrical shock was administered to my body. I slapped the cell floor fruitlessly with an open hand in anger where I had crumpled from the shock.

"Look Mate – my partner and I have about ten different jobs and we don't want to be laid up on account of you! You silly bugger! Look up above the door there – you're a fucking zero!"

I could see what he was referring to because above the door on the enunciator was my asset number - and it was a zero. What else would an enemy prisoner be?

"I don't know about back in old New Euro – but around here zeros disappear and become parts for the better good if you know what I mean. If I can't work my ten jobs – I'm a dead man just like you. So how about you don't jump me and my partner every day we come in here to look after you? Huh? Yeah? Can't we all get along until whenever? What do you say Mate?"

His name was Theo and he was the first under-achiever that I had ever met. He would have become parts long ago in New Euro. He and his companion couldn't tell me much about my predicament; they didn't understand it much either. Normally they would have carried my body out of here in a bag two days ago. But everything had changed as far as routines went around their settlement since the new New Euron offensive had started three days ago. A virtual state of readiness had taken over their settlement and no time or energy was being wasted on anything as unimportant as a prisoner's final fate. And I was not alone; apparently there were dozens not just like me, but prisoners nonetheless, being held in a state of legal limbo until someone with authority made the time to disposition us.

I tried to question him on this new New Euron offensive – I thought it was a Rebel offensive.

"I don't know Mate. You know the saying – loose lips sinks ships." he chuckled as he threw a pail of water at the hole in the cell floor that served as a latrine.

*****

The following morning I awoke as I had for the past four days and studied the enunciator above my door as it counted up time and marked the days of the week. I was still a zero as a Rebel asset and that pleased me immensely. But my daily visit today with Theo and his companion was to be early this morning – just minutes from now. When you become use to such a simple routine you naturally wonder what might be the reason. Perhaps I'll have my wish and be executed.

The cell door opened and only Theo entered. He brought food with him, but not the usual pail of water.

"Morning Mate. You'll need to eat what you can quickly. The whole world is coming undone – it seems. How was your sleep? Glorious I hope?" - grinned Theo.

"What's happening?" I asked taking the tray of rations.

There appeared to be about half of what I was used to getting.

"The settlement is to come under attack at any time by New Euron Mercenaries, Mate. The local counsel is bringing war measures upon all of its citizens and - prisoners. They're going to empty the jails – the first time in decades. I'd never seen it happen before. We're all to be conscripted to fight and evacuate!"

"They can't make a prisoner of war fight... its unlawful!"

"I'm sure they'll be able to make that right with a bullet in your head Mate. It'll be the same for me. Mercenaries are the worst. What did my little settlement do - to deserve this? We've lived in peace for years here. Now, today – it's all come undone!" lamented Theo. "I have family! You know what that means Mate?"

I nodded yes sympathetically but I hadn't a clue. I came from a laboratory. My family was a series of numbers. The poor bastard anyways; he looked beside himself with worry.

"Eat up Mate. It could be your last. I'll be back shortly and we'll walk together like free men to our destinies."

There were only about a dozen able bodied prisoners and we walked unshackled through the busy settlement in a cue behind Theo at the head and with his partner at our tail. We were not to be transported to where we were needed because all the transports were being used in the evacuation; instead we were to be carried over land in a personnel carrier.

As we snaked through lanes of residences, shops and offices in the settlement we witnessed all kinds of drama; these Rebel people were terribly affected by the sour turn of events. It appeared only small electronic items, food, clothing and the like were permitted to be evacuated – there was no room for sentimental things such as pets or personal things. Many appeared to have just awoken from their beds by the alarm to evacuate immediately.

There were wailing children and sullen expressions on the Rebel faces wherever one looked. At times, things were hurled at our cue as we marched purposely along and curses were hollered our way.

"Leave these men alone. They've been conscripted by the counsel to do their duty!" declared Theo more than a few times as we needed to stop and maneuver around a blocked lane.

At one such stop a young Rebel child, apparently unattended, approached me, but at a safe distance of a meter or so I should add, and said to me, "You're a dirty New Euron aren't you?" and he grinned an impish smile.

"Why yes I am," I admitted.

"Are you going to die?"

"Perhaps – perhaps I'll die today for you."

"Okay," and is eyes widened a bit and off he went singing, "Push the button, pull the chain – out comes the chocolate choo-choo train!"

An exasperated Theo looked hard at me, "None of that Mate. Not on my watch. You're not to speak by mouth unless I ask you. Mum's the word – mouths shut tight!" and off we continued on our march.

The settlement that I was to help defend – illegally - was situated on an island off the west coast of North America. It was a nondescript piece of almost barren rock that no one but the Rebels had an interest in until now of course. The evacuees I assume were leaving Earth for an extraterrestrial colony somewhere and unnamed of course – so not to sink any ships. At the edge of the settlement we boarded the personnel carriers with some others who looked as unlucky as I and my fellow companions did.

The trip to the front line was relatively short seeing how it was an island that we would be defending. Apparently, an advance wave of New Euron Mercenaries had already arrived and they were raising some real havoc already with the poorly prepared Rebel defenders.

The smell of smoke entered the cabin of the rocking personnel carrier through the operators open hatch as we neared our destination. Most of the prisoners in my cabin wore faces lost in thought and reflection. Free men would be writing their last will and testaments and quick notes to their loved ones at this moment, but not my lot – we were unpaid mercenaries. We could fight and receive a noble death and I suppose when we become armed we can take our own lives, but there was going to be no retuning home for the likes of us.

They called it a trench, but it was more of an earthen moat that we were placed in. Behind us at our backs was a five meter high wall with high speed chain guns and light heat-ray batteries spaced out every twenty meters or so along its crest. When the Mercenary's Miu's try to rush the walls we were to clean up what the chain guns and heat-ray batteries behind us could not.

You did not want wrestle a miu, they were electric hydraulic machines who could rip you apart if they felt the need to conserve their ammunition for something more threatening. They'd just as soon run by you if they felt you were of little threat to them. For millennia, it seems that infantry had to do the real fighting; real air-support from near or far was always kept in check by layering defenses that could strike down any relevant attack from near space or air. Defenders could buy critical time to evacuate their citizens, but once the enemy's infantry has penetrated the defender's lines of defense – the end was pretty much a certainty.

Within eyesight, I could see just a handful of Rebel miu's present to help reinforce our numbers in the trench. Typically, a ratio of at least two human commanders to every ten or so miu's was required in a Rebel infantry unit team. Mercenaries - usually were fairly advanced technology comparatively to their more domestic counterparts; they were professionals. They didn't have human commanders; they used man-machine units to command their infantry and the whole 'lot of them' were then centrally controlled from a remote location. A mercenary man-machine unit was a fairly recent and disturbing technological development; simply put, they resembled a large crab of a shell that contained a cannibalized human eye and its optic nerve connected to electronic control module by bio-electronic technology. The crab-shell could walk independently on its own eight legs, or more often, it would climb up on to the shoulders of one of its infantry units and operate as the head of the a team for a group of them.

As one personnel carrier let us out into the bottom of the trench another approached and this one brought our gear. It was a real mix-mash of Rebel and captured New Euron light arms and body armour. One of our lot, who seemed the most sullen among us grabbed a personal light grenade of the pendant type – walked off and blew his head off – just like that with not a word spoken.

"That man has every right to do that!" shouted a Rebel commander who approached us with a quick stride after exiting from another personnel carrier that had just arrived. Ten heavily armed Rebel miu's followed him out of the carrier hissing and clicking as they went. He was waving a heavy side arm in a sling and was outfitted with a terrific amount of communication equipment that didn't seem to weigh him down at all. He was also the first patched member of the Republic armed forces I had seen – a real regular, not a militia-man like the rest of the Rebels I had come across. Emblazoned on the right arm of his uniform was a patch displaying a cluster of seven gold stars emblazoned upon a black shield.

"That man has every right to take his own life! You may all do the same – but we wish you would not! Every man's lot on earth today is about to change. Whether you are New Euron or a citizen of the Republic - the balance of power has been challenged and only the spilling of blood will make it right again! You are warriors and you've been given the choice to die as one! We will arm you and treat you as one of our own. We will be victorious – or we shall all die trying. The choice is yours. There are plenty of grenades to go round. Show me your – fight!" he bellowed as he continued further down the trench and then out of sight – and two more grenades then went off.

I looked at my grenade; it now hung as a pendant from around my neck where I had just placed it. It was likely taken from someone not lucky enough to have blown his head off. These grenades were light and could be counted on to kill oneself instantly and in such a way that one's brain could not be recycled into something useful for your enemy. Three of my group have chosen death rather than fight for the enemy. Part of me wanted to join them. Was that rational or irrational thinking? It was hard to think straight under such stress! As a New Euron I had little experience with making such personal choices, someone with more authority had always made my choices. Except for some politics, my enemy was as human as I. These man-machines and miu's that I was about to fight – they were not human at all.

So, I made my choice and began sorting through a heaping pile of body armour and soon some others followed.

"I like your style Mate. Make your choice light – miu's are fast and being able to dodge about is more important than the protection you'll get from the armour," piped in an outspoken prisoner who was obviously Rebel; he had ginger colored hair and a quick smile.

There were just seven of us now. The personnel carriers along with Theo and his companion were long gone on their way to somewhere considerably safer than where they had left us.

The trench was a good eight meters across. Behind us was a high defensive wall and in front of us was an uneven lower one. This lower wall though, as low as it was, was still - too high for us down below to see what was about to be coming over-the-top from the enemy's side. We'd be relying on the activity coming from our own heat-ray batteries and chain guns situated above and behind us to let us know when we were about to be attacked by a Mercenary charge.

Each of us had a powered pike. It seemed outrageous that such a primitive weapon could still be used over so many centuries. But it was the most effective method of fighting these machines in close quarters if you were made of flesh as we were.

The seven of us spread out at about three meters apart and donned our helmets and positioned our pikes at the ready for whatever was going to come down into our trench. It was unusually quiet except for some talk with our nearest neighbors.

"Son – you're new to this? Yes?" asked a fifty years or so old Rebel standing to my right.

He was tall, gaunt and weathered like he had been around trouble all his life.

"Yes - and what of it?"

"Don't let them corner you. You need to watch your back at all times. You see one with a head – you go for him with haste. The others will fall back without a leader. They'd rather not waste their fire power on flesh, but you corner one and they'll either rip you to pieces or blow a hole through you! They are programmed to target hard targets like our miu's, the carriers, the batteries and any command targets such as communications or our commanders. Run after them and once you touch one with your pike – blow a hole in the buggers!"

"Do we get evacuated?"

"By number if we are lucky enough. What's your number?"

"My asset number?"

"Yeah you silly bugger what else?"

"I'm a zero."

He looked back at me puzzled.

"You're having fun with an old man trying to help you out are you?"

"No. I'm a zero and I checked just this morning."

He took his helmet off and looked carefully back at me.

"I've never met a zero before. That's just - awesome! The fellas that just blew their heads off had numbers up in the hundreds. One was a murderer! I know you are New Euron, but that sounds rather harsh – a zero?"

Whistles blew through the air. Something was coming and we readied ourselves with firm footing.

"Godspeed to you Son!" shouted the Rebel over the din of whistles.

And then the Rebel heat-ray batteries and chain guns came to life in a fury. Dozens of Mercenary miu's came rushing down the opposing wall and into the trench. Some were obliterated into pieces and spray by the Rebel chain guns, some struggled without limbs at the bottom of the wall spewing hydraulic fluid for meters into the air and a few made it to the far wall of the trench for we pike men to deal with. They ran on all fours like the wind and with just a twist of their torso, they could fire back at us as. We lunged at them and put the blue flame to them with our pikes as best we could as they tried to scale the higher defensive wall behind us.

I saw none that seemed to have a head and in moments it appeared that this first wave of Mercenary miu's had all but been destroyed. I wiped hydraulic fluid from my face-shield and counted up the still standing – we were now just five. The whistles began blowing again indicating that another wave of mercenaries was coming and I could hear shouts from the top of the defensive wall for more pike men and another five slid down the wall and into the trench to reinforce us.

This time there were greater numbers of them and they came in two groups with the second group a headed miu appeared among them. I had no time to deal with him and I did worry about my back as I pursued two that were high up the defensive wall \- almost breaching its top. After dispatching the two with some help from a partner we slid back down into the trench just as the 'headed' miu and his team was finishing with the remainder of our fellow pike men. He and his team maneuvered around in the trench in concert, keeping the chain gun teams above near silent with their precision fire. I picked up a second pike from a fallen comrade's body and with no thought, just instinct, I hurled it a good ten meters through the air and into the crab-shelled body of the headed miu. He fell and his team closed in defensively all around him and stopped their fire momentarily on the chain guns and a second later they were all obliterated into spray and flying chunks by our chain guns.

The battle fell silent then and it was a very unnerving wait of probably just a few minutes, but I was pumped on adrenaline. There was just me and my ginger-haired friend left standing in the bottom of the trench. The silence was deafening.

"Have they left us?" asked the Rebel.

And we looked up above us for some indication from the top of the wall that we were to be reinforced before another wave of mercenaries came flooding into the trench. Instead we were given hand signals to retreat and climb the wall we had just been defending.

Apparently, the first line of defense had been breached further down the line and we were to immediately fall back to a second line – several kilometers back. Rebel chain guns and heat-ray batteries were being dismantled and moved in a fierce hurry into transports. My friend and I were invited as an afterthought ten minutes later to ride atop of a personnel carrier that was loaded to capacity inside.

It didn't look good. Rumor had it, that Mercenary heaters were waiting offshore for the second line to collapse and then they would be able to advance. The settlement was only fifty percent evacuated. We had to hold on. If the settlement could become eighty percent evacuated we would most likely become victorious because this kind of war was very much waged by the law of diminishing returns. As a target evacuated, it became less of a prize and not worth the expenditure of men and equipment – the battle would simply move on to somewhere else.

From atop the rocking carrier, I could sometimes get a good eyeful of the action taking place down the line and just north of here, as best that I could ascertain. Huge clouds of billowing smoke rose into the sky and I could see Rebel equipment abandoned or ruined, here and there, and packs of Mercenary miu's were running over the countryside pursuing the retreating Rebels. Between the two Rebel defensive lines were smart-mine, minefields that were only partially effective until the retreating rebel troops and equipment were safely behind the second line of defense. So haste was necessary even if it looked cowardly.

Upon our arrival at the new line of defense, my ginger haired friend and I were pressed back into pike man duty in a trench where most of the Mercenaries' attention was expected to be focused. We were not surprised; we knew who we were and why we were being placed here. We were placed here not only because this was the expected site of the next Mercenary attack, but because we were expendable and not expected to last to until our evacuation. Simply put; there was no hope for us.

The Rebel commander who had earlier cheered us on to fight was there and in the trench with us – right beside us and back in the thick of it. He certainly had the walk to match his talk.

"I have my eye on you - son. I wish I had a hundred more just like you. You have heart and courage. Where did you learn to hurl a spear like that? By God I wish that were me – hurling a spear into an enemy commander. Well done lad!" he cheered again in passing.

Whistles once again could be heard and I prayed that the heat-ray batteries and chain guns were at the ready behind me. Some enormous mines started going off and this time the Mercenary miu's were shrieking a wild war cry at one hundred and twenty, to maybe one hundred and thirty decibels in intensity.

There was a shout from above that was barely audible above the din, "Pike men, - take cover."

We retreated into cut-outs cut into the wall behind us. Mercenary mortar and fire filled the trench for a full minute. All my team managed to find safety, but I couldn't say the same for the rest of the pike men further down the trench.

We could not hear our whistles for the shrieking that followed, but the trench appeared to become overrun with Mercenary miu's following the mortar attack. Our own chain gun operators had to find cover from the mortar and our walls were now being breached and it was every man and machine for himself as the Rebels fought hand-to-hand in an effort to stave off the enemy onslaught.

I was overheating and sweating profusely as I stabbed, speared and dodged the enemy. It seemed like a nightmare as I sucked in air as fast as I could within the close confines of my helmet. And then, there was no helmet and acrid toxic air burned my sinuses and trachea, but I could not rest for a second because there was now no one to watch my back, just some Rebel miu's running about with exhausted munitions. Could they not pick up a pike and lend a hand?

And then, just like it was all a bad dream, I awoke, and I felt so weak.

Someone was carrying me over their shoulder like a sack or a bundle. I was alive and I had been recovered from the battlefield by the somewhat victorious, but nonetheless, victorious Rebels. Seventy percent evacuated, twenty-five percent lost and five percent recovered; those were the official statistics. The Mercenaries retreated and they would be well compensated, but I had my doubts about who was banking their payroll. Nothing seems to make any sense anymore.

*****

The Salvage Team

I had a new cell and above the door on the enunciator was my new asset number. It wasn't a zero anymore. It was seven sevens. The personal grenade that I had been allowed to wear around my neck on the battlefield was gone and it was the first conscious thing I remember doing – reaching for its presence.

My food had improved and the medical technicians who came to visit me several times a day seemed kind, but I remained in a locked cell that was smaller than my last one and in apparent isolation. The medical technicians were reluctant to answer any questions that didn't concern my health. All I knew was that I was somewhere else, and apparently a long ways away from whence I came.

On the third morning my enunciator above my cell door indicated that I would be leaving to go to some assigned duty. It raised my ire again. I had been cheated out of a dignified death in battle somehow. My new asset number of seven sevens was suspect. It could mean nothing, but it was certainly not coincidence to be given such a peculiar number. Back in New Euro, my asset number was much higher than that. I would be much happier being a zero because at least my final destiny would be more certain.

At about mid morning, just as the enunciator had indicated two Rebel guards came to collect me and led me away to my new post. I was to join a team of 'POWs' who were part of a salvage group. An 'easy-go' was how one of the guards described it. And I should be thankful that I wasn't cut up for parts because there had been a great calling for just that in regards to all of the prisoners he added.

I held my tongue and lectured myself quietly to first see what this opportunity might provide for as a means of escape if that was somehow possible. These prisoners – and chances were that most or all of them would be New Euron, they could have news concerning this recent Rebel uprising. The possibilities seemed intriguing.

In the end, I was both surprised and disappointed. I was to share common quarters with six other prisoners who were all New Euron, but none of them appeared to have any combat background. They were all clerks and housekeepers and one a maintenance hybrid. They were hardly soldiers, so then why was I being put with them?

I sat for another hour alone in this cell on a cot and watched the cell door's enunciator roll through the cell occupant's names and they were all feminine, but for me: Shelley, Sophie, Margaret, Emily, Renata, Tia and Mark. I was to join the salvage team on site by way of a transport that afternoon. A 'cock in the henhouse' chuckled one of the guards as he had closed the cell door behind me.

I had no problem with New Euron hermaphrodites. I got along with them rather well back in New Euro at the academy, but I was used to cadets – real servicemen rather than domestics. It was still going to be a pleasant change from the isolation cells that had been my home since my capture.

The salvage team was aboard a damaged near-orbit transport facility. It had only weeks till its controlled crash, back down on earth. There were several areas where these crashes were permitted, usually onto mesas and deserts, and once crashed, New Euron salvage enterprises would scour the same areas for valuable metals and such. In near-orbit these abandoned facilities were fair game to salvagers who were prepared to risk the possibility of a premature and uncontrolled crash to Earth as sometimes happens, and additionally you may also have to fight for the entitlement to the salvaging operation.

A small transport delivered me to the doomed orbiter and I wandered by hand-held light into the direction I was instructed to follow. The facility was massive and it must have taken huge amounts of energy to keep it up here when it was still a viable low-orbiter. There was some atmosphere, but little oxygen and you had to move slowly or you would feel lightheaded in a hurry. After a few minutes of walking I could see an enormous illuminated deck ahead of me. There seemed to be some human activity and it looked like a New Euron salvage team; everyone was the same height and stature.

"Hello," I shouted as I approached.

"Over here," called out one of the team in a commanding voice.

"I'm Mark and you are?"

"Sophie," she said.

She was a middle-aged New Euron – a femme, but not the pleasant to look at type. Her face, neck and arms were covered in decorative scars and tattoos.

"You look like you've been to war soldier."

"Why yes I have," and I tried to smile.

"Welcome to our salvage team."

"What do we look for here?"

"Sometimes we have a shopping list. Most of the time it's the usual precious metals wherever we might find them, and electronics – any kind of electronics."

There were five of them sitting around. No one seemed to be working diligently at anything. One was reclined and appeared to be having a nap.

"Have a seat soldier. Put your feet up. You don't have to worry about the war from up here."

"How do we get any work done? Do they care?"

"I rightly don't give a fuck as far as caring goes. As far as the work goes – we got Tia."

The others seemed amused with the smirking Sophie and the reclined one began to snore and was definitely asleep now.

"Tia, Tia," called Sophie who indicated with some body language that I should pay attention to an open maintenance duct a few meters away from us.

I could hear some noise coming from the opening and then I could see the struggling behind and lower extremities of a tiny deep-space maintenance hybrid. What a thing of real beauty – a femme of elegant and slight features. She was pulling a huge bundle of wiring out of the duct and it was demanding all her strength and concentration. And once it was out and onto the floor she raised her arms and stretched up victoriously.

"Bah Roo, Bah Roo," Tia trilled in a high pitched peal.

"Oh cut it out Bitch."

It's just a bundle of wire," complained another sitting New Euron femme, "By the way I'm Margaret – Mark."

I acknowledged her with a nod of my head.

"Look at this," said a surprised Sophie. "Somebody has got a 'hottie' for you."

"I knew it, I knew it – she's a man lover," giggled Margaret.

Tia seemed much taller when she stood upright and she walked about with her behind stuck out and wiggled it about as if a tail might have been removed from her in her early development. She walked careful circles about me and came in closer and closer with each revolution. She reached out and carefully touched my temple where my kit had been removed.

She had beautiful big brown eyes with each protected by two eyelids, one set transparent and the other opaque by design, but they were both wide open at the moment. She seemed to study me but said not a word.

"I bet you were a 'fly-boy', Mark. That's got to be it. She's never shown interest in anyone else before. "

I nodded.

"Damn. You got yourself a hybrid 'fly-girl', fella."

There was laughter from everyone and Tia smiled as big of a smile as I had ever seen.

*****

It was getting darker and noticeably much colder as the orbiting transport facility left the illumination of the sun. We bundled up and started collecting up what had been salvaged that day. In another orbit they would be transporting our team back to the base again.

I asked question after question about our whereabouts and our routine till I was told to stop asking. There would be plenty of time back in our quarters to talk, but nonetheless, I learned that the base that we were being kept at was located on Earth somewhere in the southern hemisphere and it was not a settlement; it was apparently a well defended military base.

This orbiter had perhaps a few weeks left before it would be scuttled into a controlled crash. Much of it already was uninhabitable for a lack of oxygen and asphyxiation was a real possibility if you were to wander beyond where you were told to work. I certainly was not going to escape from here.

Only Tia was comfortable in this kind of environment; she was designed for deep-space. She could live on a single breath of air for an hour if it was necessary and she could heat or cool her own body temperature far better than some spacesuits. But as suited for a possible escape as she was - she was also incapable of planning any intent to do so. Hybrids were service suppliers. They needed direction constantly and would take direction from virtually anyone.

She was technological marvel and a real beauty to the eye, but she had no soul as far as New Eurons were concerned. She was likely designed to be a part of a maintenance crew for a deep-space explorer and was likely once the actual property of some person or New Euron company.

The Rebels had no place for hybrids in their society either; they were pretty much outlawed. They were seldom tolerated in New Euro for that matter and were mostly limited to deep-space – far from civilization. Most hybrids had never set foot on real soil.

Following the last orbit we regrouped with our transport party on the orbiter and returned to the base. Rebel guards then returned us to our cell and after some awkwardness, I found myself bunking in the same corner as Tia and Renata: the outcasts from the remaining clique.

Renata had had an eye, some skin and facial bone harvested from her and likely for a Rebel in need. They had done a rather elegant job of it, but she was nonetheless disfigured by the surgery. I bet she was a fine looking New Euron at one time. Her mistake according to the others was not having disfigured herself enough like they had with primitive tattoos, piercings and scarring. She and Tia were the most timid of the six.

The members of the 'clique of four' were always flirting with one another and Sophie had the dominant role within the group. There was little privacy in the cell even though it was large – and silence fell over the room when it eventually became time for me to pass some water.

"I think I hear more than a tinkle ladies. I think we've got ourselves a real cock-man!"

Most New Eurons are a very sexually active lot. It's entertainment for them. They hadn't used sex for procreation for at least four centuries. Gender had become non-specific and inconsequential, in particular because most New Eurons were hermaphrodites. The clique in the salvage team had formed an almost polygamous relationship of femmes and a pseudo-male with Sophie at the head of it.

"I hope we are not going to be competing?" asked a coy Sophie from her corner after I returned to my bunk.

"How big is it?" someone giggled.

"You are never going to know."

"Are you always going to be on the job soldier?"

"Yes. It's my duty to escape."

"I heard that you were fighting for the Rebels," teased Sophie.

"And I've noticed that you and your friends have been salvaging for the Rebels. Anyways, I fought mercenaries."

"For the Rebels?"

"Yes. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time and there were other New Eurons fighting right next to me."

I then told them my story starting from when I became a new cadet in the New Euron National Service and ending with this last battle in a Rebel trench. They all seemed awestruck by it. I suppose because they being all non-combatants that perhaps they had never heard a real soldier describe battle in personal terms before; the story may have made less of an impression on them then say one from a fellow non-combatant. They were tearing up by the end of it. And for me - it felt mildly cathartic to tell my story because I had not really given much thought to it – I was either one very lucky New Euron soldier or I was a hero I suppose.

"Those sevens mean something Mark," said Margret referring to my new asset number. "You've caught the attention of the Republic."

"You're being safeguarded. This is the best prisoner duty there is here. They've never put soldiers in with us before. There's a reason for this. You wait and see," added Sophie.

Over the course of the next several hours before our rest, all of my cellmates told something of themselves. Sophie, Margaret, Shelly and Emily had all been in the New Euron National Service and were captured on a base that had not quite finished evacuating all their support staff before it was overtaken by Rebels more than a year ago. Domestics typically have low asset numbers in New Euro and thus they were long down the list for evacuation. Since their capture however, they all agreed that they had been treated reasonably well by the Rebels, at least so far.

Renata had the saddest story. She had had a good position in the office of a popular New Euron politician and diplomat, who the Rebels had determined to be a spy. After he had been executed she became the property of the Rebels and had been imprisoned for what she might know, for five years now. According to Renata her employer's only crime aside from being a political moderate was that he could not be bought.

There had never been any real means of preventing this current war as far as she was concerned - it had been planned for more than a decade by those who wielded the real-power and only immortal counselors could finance and engineer such a conflict. On the one hand it appeared that the settled territories that stretched for light years into space and their populations that now measured in the hundreds of billions and the taxes they paid were not enough for some immortals, but there was also a second school of thought according to her employer that felt what really was at the core of the conflict was that no one or even two central powers could manage as cohesive units any longer – they had become too big.

"As this conflict intensifies, I will certainly be retired for parts. It's already begun," she said matter-of-factly pointing to her missing eye and disfigured face. "And soon I will be no more."

It was a solemn fact to end the day with. We dimmed the lights in the cell. Sophie, Margaret, Shelley and Emily retired to their communal bed in the corner; it was four beds pushed together. Renata, Tia and I retired to our own beds across the room.

Renata lay on her side with her one eye wide-open, rapt in thought and staring at nothing. Tia had closed her inner eyelids which were pretty much transparent and calmly stared at me. She seemed content. I focused my sight on the ceiling and occasionally averted my eyes to Renata and Tia.

Across the room, what appeared to be a nightly orgy was taking place. There were soft moans and cooing and plenty of heavy breathing as covers got tossed and positions were changed. It brought to mind the many nights I had spent in dormitories back in New Euro where you were not family or part of a clique unless you were lovers. It was hard to be independent. It was lonely, but I had always felt more comfortable being alone – some of us however had no choice in the matter.

*****

The morning routine included bathing by shower with barely tepid water. New Eurons were all the same in so many ways, for instance they were the same height, and possessed the same skin and hair color. They were mostly hairless though and any body hair that one did have was celebrated and grown out in tuffs or woven into tiny braids. We had only the hair we were born with upon our heads and any more body hair that grew-in before our arrested puberty took place was a godsend to most because it helped differentiate you from all the others.

I needed to bathe, and since there was to be no privacy it was an experience I did not relish. Sophie, though a hermaphrodite had what looked to be a larger member than I. In the end we were all nice about it and the consensus was that I indeed, had a slightly larger member than Sophie though I was still to be pitied because I lacked a vagina. At least this lot was more accepting of me than the group back at the academy.

We revisited the doomed orbiter twice more before it was deemed to be too unstable for any further salvaging. They would however, attempt to control its crash to earth onto a friendly and uninhabited location down below and in the largest pieces possible. There was a real art to bringing a big orbiter down safely and into an area where salvagers could get to it. Much of it would be burned-up and be scattered into pieces over a relatively narrow band, but there was still value in whatever fell to earth and could be collected. Our salvage team spent a good deal of time working in areas just like that. The difficulty was that the New Euron National Service or some other Rebel salvage team would get to the rich crash sites first. Often we were salvaging what other salvagers had left behind and this was the safer and the preferred method for our little crew because we were often left unsupervised and thus, without any protection from other competing salvage teams.

Our next job was at a crash site or crash area that was used year round rather than seasonally as most other crash sites were. Sophie and the team hated these jobs the most because you never really knew what was going to come down from above or when. The air at these sites was frequently unfit to breathe because of airborne dust or 'chaff' as they called it and much of it was made up of toxic heavy metals. High spikes of ambient radiation were not uncommon in these areas where crashes were recent, too.

We were lucky I suppose because where ever the transport delivered us, it appeared to be in mid-spring and the spring rains would help keep the dust down. These were grasslands and the landscape was flat for as far as the eye could see and though I could see nothing salvageable within eyesight our information was that we should find some large craters just a few kilometers away. Tia was not going to be doing all the work this time and maybe that was another reason the team didn't care for this kind of work.

We fanned-out and began using metal detectors and hunted for precious metals and worked our way towards the craters that were still well off in the distance. As the hours elapsed it looked like we were only going to collect a few hundred kilos of metal and out of that just a few kilos of the good stuff for a day's work. The wind picked up in gusts occasionally and the windblown chaff burned the face with its metallic-like grit. You needed goggles to lift your head up much and see ahead if you were walking into the wind.

Spring was my most favorite time of year because of the flowers. There seemed to be acres and acres of yellow flowers here that grew close to the ground. They were hearty and their yellow color was almost florescent. If you held a bunch up - say just beneath your chin, your face would take on a yellow hue.

I held a bunch out to Tia in a bunch as a gift. She seemed pleased with the attention, but she was also perplexed by my actions.

"Look," I said, and I held the yellow flowers up beneath my chin.

She grinned as best as a hybrid can. It's hard for them. I don't think they understand it.

"Sophie," I shouted, and who was thirty meters or so away. "Do you know what kind of flowers these are? There must be millions of them," I added.

"I think they are called Dandelions. You can eat them if you want. But you might glow in the dark later," she laughed.

"Well they must have 'a lion of a heart' to live here – that's for sure."

A couple of hours before sunset which was about the time we wind-up for the day, Sophie started cussing and cursing.

"Those fucking assholes! They're fucking us again!"

Apparently our pick-up was going to be delayed by as many as eight to twelve hours because of a mass evacuation somewhere. All the Rebel transports were being used and until they were not needed for the evacuation we were to stay put and wait. We were not to camp near the craters and it was suggested that we not make a fire.

"There's got to be a million fucking coyotes out here!" complained Margaret when she heard the news.

And I had noticed them following us in twos and threes or so all day. They were not likely to bother us though, but it was going to get real cold. We made a camp and found some old composite panels and stood them up as best we could to make a lean-to to break the wind. Some of the equipment we had with us made heat so we were not in too bad of shape.

The consensus among the salvage team was that we were going to be left here to rot or be killed by New Euron mercenaries.

"Why would New Euron mercenaries bother with a bunch of New Euron prisoners?" I asked.

My comments didn't appear to lighten the team's mood any.

"At least it's not raining."

"Shh - don't you jinx us."

I toured our camp's perimeter one last time as the last of the daylight was about to disappear when I thought I saw some movement in the grass ahead of me. I froze. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was intuition, but something wasn't right. It moved again and I could hear the grass rustle a little. I peered closer and brought a lamp from out of my pocket and tried to illuminate the clump of knee high grass that I saw move twice now. There was something metallic there - about twenty-five centimeters across. It was round and crab shaped. It was a Mercenary man-machine! Much like the one I had speared back in the trenches.

Only half of its legs were working and it looked pretty battered up. At first, I wanted smash it till it stopped moving in its pathetic way. It was trying feebly to get away from me, but it wasn't getting too far with just four of its eight legs working. I stopped it with a sturdy stick I had found and I gave it a closer look. Know thy enemy – I had heard that one before, but I was really just plain curious.

It appeared to be not just weak – it was defenseless. If there were any miu's about it would have called for them a long time ago. This man-machine was on its last legs – near death it seemed. I picked it up and peered into its front or face. There was a lens that looked like it was covering an eyeball alright - staring right back at me. Is this what some of us become? It was unnerving – I could watch its pupil open and contract as I shone my pocket lamp into its lens.

I felt sad for it. We looked at each other – I wondered what it saw? It looked sad and weak to me – like it was ready to die. I wondered for a moment if it could cry? I'd seen that look in a sullen child's eye before. And then I wondered whose eye was this at one time – maybe it was a child's eye? So I put it on my shoulder just like a miu would do and its legs struggled, but they managed to attach themselves to the fabric in my jacket.

And off I went back to the salvage team who were huddled under the make shift lean-to. I bet this is a pretty good find for a salvage crew I reasoned.

It was bedlam. Every coyote for kilometers would have heard the screams.

"What the fuck is that!"

"Are you crazy?"

"Kill that fucking thing before it kills us!"

"I will not," I said. "This is salvage... It's defenseless. And it's almost dead. It can't hurt anyone."

"Not on my crew! Kill it! Or so help me!"

"Get it out of here!" and the lot of them were pointing for me to take it back to where it had come from. They were petrified. They didn't want to hear about its possible humanity.

I used my lamp and took it back to where I had found it, thinking that that might give it some comfort. I put it down and spent a few more minutes with it in the cold night air. I think it was very near death and I positioned it to give it a night-sky vantage, so it could look up into the stars and see from where it once came and then I left it to die or expire or whatever man-machines do at the end of their life.

I returned to the lean-to and received the cold-shoulder treatment for some time when finally, Tia spoke up and said that a third-party group, who were likely civilian contractors, were coming to pick us up before sunrise, hopefully. There would be no transport – we'd be flying - and that seemed interesting.

Shelley and Emily – Sophie's two favorites sat huddled, one on each side of Sophie under the lean-to. Margaret, Tia and Renata also sat in another cozy group beneath the make-shift shelter and I sat alone with my back exposed to the elements as they all continued to stare at me with a 'what-were-you-thinking' look on their faces.

"So help me, if that thing with its four broken legs or whatever comes crawling in here tonight you are going to be one sorry New Euron," said Sophie.

They all drifted off to sleep at once just like clockwork in a half hour or so and then it was just me and the hybrid – Tia. I figured that someone needed to stay awake - just in case, so it was I and then I must have drifted off.

I don't think I slept much – maybe twenty minutes, but when I awoke I felt a breath on my face.

"Tia."

She retreated from hovering close to my face. She had been examining the scars on my temples were my kit had been removed. There was no harm done, but nonetheless I awoke with a sudden start. I smiled back at her so not to make her feel like she had caused me harm or any alarm. It got me thinking though – I think I like the Mark without the kit more than the 'all business' Mark with the kit. Without the kit, I had more patience and I wasn't in so much of hurry all the time. When you have a kit – much of your thought process is done for you. I found that without the kit that I was becoming more intuitive when it came to making decisions or looking for solutions to problems.

Rebels seldom wore a permanent kit as the New Eurons do and we New Eurons always found that reluctance - to be 'at one' with that huge data base – which a kit could provide, as backwards and it was looked upon as a real Rebel weakness. Do we really need to be connected in that way all the time? As a human – am I that poorly designed that I need this corrective equipment to make me perform better?

Now, Tia on the other hand was a hybrid. What an add-on kit provided for me was integrated right into her and she could communicate almost intuitively with one of her own kind with very little speech. Hybrids were a biological technology – there were no electronic enhancements built into them – they were made up genetically of whatever useful animal attributes – physical or otherwise that could be found or created to make a specialized human. And there were those who I was beginning to agree with that thought that we are all hybrids of one kind or another, but then - we would be the minority. To the vast majority - hybrids were not nearly as human as the rest of us – so both Rebels and New Eurons gave them no status. The absolute self serving beauty of the whole hybrid scheme though, - was that every hybrid was bred to be timid and accommodating – thus they were the perfect slave.

*****

It was nearly dawn when we could finally make-out the approach of our air transport. The familiar under-carriage lights of an old stinger were sweeping the ground's surface just a kilometer or so before us looking for our camp. Sophie and her team got up and out of the lean-to and waved their arms about like they were adrift at sea, but I knew that that pilot would know precisely where to find us –we were never lost, but we had been abandoned for a time.

I wish I could say that the appearance of this old stinger made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but it did not. It was in poor condition and at least a decade old. Its armour and armaments had all been removed to turn it into a hauler of junk as far as I could ascertain.

The stinger circled about our camp once and then landed. We approached the old stinger and hauled our equipment and the day's salvage over to its cargo-hold door and two crewmen hopped out and came to greet us.

"Good morning – ladies and gents."

Dust was swirling up and around us, but I could see him; he appeared to be a Rebel – tall and hunched in the shoulders. He looked liked he had been flying for thirty years. His hair was grey and he had a thin unkempt matching beard. His partner was equally hunched and tall, but half of the elder one's age. He had nothing to say and tended to something that was coming loose from the under carriage of the stinger.

"One of you is New Euron, asset number seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven? Help me out here; I can see you are all New Eurons."

"That would be me," I volunteered.

"Well come with me. That'll be all - ah ladies," and he tipped his cap.

"Hey!" piped in Sophie. "I'm in charge here. He's part of my team. Wherever he's going? We're all coming along with him - Sunshine!"

"I'm only following my bill of lading - lady!"

"Hey! I'm no lady. I'm New Euron. And if he goes – we all go!"

I swear – I could see this guy's hair move from Sophie's breath because she was shouting so loud. Eyes were rolling amongst the salvage team and the stinger's crew. I volunteered to stay with them, but apparently that was not an option and I could be executed for refusing to go. In the end after some communication with the Rebel camp it was agreed that they would deliver us all back to the Rebel base. It would be a contravention of some prisoner of war rule to leave us alone at a time of conflict. I know if we were Rebels in New Euro they would have left us to rot in that almost desert.

His name was Bear and he used to be burlier at one time so he said and always unshaven by the looks of it, but he was sticking with his old made-up tag anyways. His crewman was a quiet fella who didn't seem too impressed with his cargo today, going by his nasty stares and in particular at Tia, but she would be used to that.

I told Bear that I had been a crewman and pilot of my own stinger just weeks ago and I think it both bothered him and impressed him at the same time that he had a New Euron stinger pilot aboard his stinger.

"Keep an eye on this one," he told his crewman before he headed towards the cockpit.

"I'd liked to leave them all behind."

"Well that's not going to pay the bills is it? Is that a hybrid?" Bear asked, pointing to Tia who was trying her best to be unnoticed where we all sat huddled against the mid-deck cabin walls. "She - equipment?"

"Yeah," we all answered in a chorus and he shook his head in contempt and went to the cockpit.

The stinger rose off the ground and accelerated to a cruising speed, but at only a few hundred meters up. It made for a rough ride and the machine was full of drafts. In minutes we were freezing, but we were also on our way to shelter and that had us in an upbeat frame of mind. The crewman sat in a make-shift seat just beneath the access to the upper-deck and cockpit. He wore a dirty but well insulated flight suit and had a sidearm with him now, and he sulked just as I had when I was the lonely crew of a stinger not too many weeks ago.

Anytime one of us spoke to one another the crewman's eyes would open wide and he would stare awkwardly at whoever until the conversation stopped. Bear came back into the mid-deck after a quarter of an hour had passed and threw some filthy tarps at us to help keep us warm.

"This isn't one of those fancy transporters folks – you'll have to make do," he said after tossing the tarps at us. "Relax boy. These aren't our kind, but they're no threat either. Why – a New Euron is nothing more than a Republican dressed up in a fancy suit of clothes. That's what I was taught," he smirked.

I watched as he progressed to each panel and made observations and adjustments to the stingers drive system. He was doing everything that his crewman should be doing.

"I bet you are pretty familiar with everything I'm doing here Mr. Sevens?"

"Yes sir I am."

"No secrets to steal from a twenty year old stinger then. What action have you seen?"

I told him about the battle defending the settlement on the northwest coast of America a few weeks ago and how I had fought the Mercenaries for the Rebel side.

"Why didn't you just blow your head off?"

The crewman was grinning and was clearly caught up in his captain's dialogue with me.

"I haven't changed my allegiance. They were Mercenary miu's attacking a settlement."

"I see. You are an odd one Mr. Seven, seven, seven – a principled New Euron. Anyhow – I got family that's alive because of those who fought and died defending that settlement. Thank you for your efforts."

The crewman now disappointed with his captain's tact reverted back to his sulking and shoe-gazing.

"I think if you all huddle beneath those tarpaulins - you should all be warm enough. Is that little hybrid cold blooded?"

"No – something like that, but not quite," I answered and Tia tried to disappear as best she could beneath the tarpaulin.

"She looks like a reptile," suggested the amused crewman noticing that Tia was uncomfortable with the attention.

"That's enough from you. We'll let these New Eurons be. Our ETA is one hour and fifty-five minutes or so," and Bear went back to his duties in the cockpit and probably for a nap, too.

We were not delivered directly to our usual home base, wherever that might have been because the Rebels had always kept its whereabouts a secret from us and so to, our whereabouts now, geographically speaking, were still a mystery. Sophie said they had been kept at the old base for several years, but she could only relate that to the cell that they had been kept in. Each day the salvage team was transported to wherever they had work to do and they could pretty much guess where that was most of the time, but their base where their cell was located for those years was assumed to be deep below the earth's surface somewhere because they had never seen the light of day during their stay there.

The new accommodations were not what we were used to and these Rebels didn't seem to care about our wellbeing near as much as those who we were used to. All non essential transporter travel was limited to food and supplies for the time being and our little salvage crew was a very low priority. We were told it could be a week or two before we might get back to the old base and perhaps – never.

We were restricted to a much smaller cell that was outfitted with only four berths for sleeping. Shelly and Emily took turns double bunking with Sophie. I was given my own berth. Tia didn't have a problem with sleeping on a cold floor, but within a few hours of the first night I found her curled up like a pet at the bottom of my berth - she gave off no heat however as one might expect from a human or animal even. I think hybrids being timid in personality are easily affected by any threat or change to their environment; she was uneasy here and I could sense it.

On our second morning, we found Renata to be missing. The Rebel attendant who brought our breakfast said that she knew nothing of what may have happened to Renata through the night. She probably didn't, but Tia said that she saw two Rebel soldiers come into the cell in the middle of the night and take her – meaning that she was carried unconscious by the two. Sophie was livid with Tia for not waking the others. Tia could only whisper back in her defense that she had tried, but no one would wake.

This was a common technique used in New Euro or anywhere else: a mild sedative is administered to a holding cell's air supply and those in the cell are anesthetized or – euthanized. Late in the afternoon of that day, Renata's asset number disappeared from the enunciator above our cell door and there were many tears.

We all retired early. Margaret now had her own berth. The team grieved for Renata and we talked about her fine manners and her New Euron stoicism in the face of adversity.

"Renata would be going to better place," said Margaret.

"Renata is being used for parts and we all know it!" cried Sophie. "Who will be next? Are any of us going to wake up tomorrow? I swear - if it's going to be like this. I'll be looking for the first good opportunity to go out fighting. This is bullshit!"

I liked the sound of that, but I wasn't going to stir that pot just yet. There were no love making sounds in the cell that night and I overheard a lot of heavy sighs and sniffles.

"What is war?" asked Tia in her diminutive way from where she was curled up at the end of my berth.

She caught me off guard. She spoke so little, but apparently she listened very well.

"It's when someone or some nation becomes more than just aggressive with another competitor. It can be hot and it can be cold. Right now Tia it's very hot between the New Eurons and the Rebels. Some who know more about it than I do, insist that the human race has always been at war because it is in our nature."

*****

We dearly missed our old home, as odd as that may sound coming from prisoners. The staff here was not nearly as congenial as those who we were used to at our past one and we could sense a more heightened disdain for New Eurons from our new keepers. Sophie did managed to get some conversation going between her and one of our guards and as best as we could ascertain, we were now located at a much larger facility than our former one. He also said that everyone's asset number was being reviewed and whether you were a prisoner or even if you were a Rebel officer there was the potential for an adjustment. He figured that our crew would be transported back to our old base as soon as possible because our keep was not budgeted for here.

The news that we may be returning to our old base was uplifting, but the additional possibility that we may be reconsidered as a desirable asset was still unsettling. The Rebel world besides their political dogma was as meritocratic in design as my New Euron one. If an asset number review was in order, you needed to be prepared for the possibility of a harsher assignment and a final retirement was a possibility in the case of prisoners because you might be considered to be an unnecessary burden.

After a few quiet evenings of mourning for Renata had passed, Sophie and company were back at it with their evening lovemaking sessions. The moaning and slurping noises that came from those three at bedtime had now become just a common ambient nighttime noise for the rest of us, and were no longer a distraction, and often we would simply talk about our day over the hermaphroditic din.

Tia was now becoming quite talkative at bedtime and she asked all kinds of questions of me concerning my experiences flying stingers and the places that I had visited. She confessed that she had never been to deep-space and that the ship that she was designed for had never got completed. She was a victim of politics and budget changes. She really had no idea politically speaking of what made the world go round. Having no ship to be attached to, so early in her life was an enormous setback to her and languishing here with a group of New Euron prisoners of war on a salvage team was a bitter fate for such an advanced hybrid.

"Tia – no ship for you - has become a good thing; that fate brought you here. You and I would never have got to have this friendship if not for that. It's serendipity – it means something."

I don't think she understood the simple metaphysics of the argument, but she liked being considered a friend.

"You are the first New Euron to call me a friend," and she smiled coyly.

Such affection from a hybrid was unnatural. She was the first hybrid I had met who could manage such an easy smile. I would be embarrassing her if I said it to her, but she was high technology - and theoretically the most evolved on the salvage team. If she was not such an esoteric model of hybrid and additionally, the fact that she had no practical experience she would not be here with this salvage team of New Euron prisoners. It was a sad waste of technology because she was designed to navigate the narrow maintenance-ducts of a deep-space craft in almost complete darkness, with little air and no heat - and here she was ripping out the same equipment that she was designed to operate and maintain.

I found it to be difficult to fall asleep since Renata's disappearance. For the first couple of nights I found that it would take me at least an hour to an hour and a half to drift off to sleep, so now I actually worked at staying awake for as long as possible. It was a slightly irrational ploy, - staying awake, because I had to have sleep and there would be no preventing the Rebels from doing the same again should they want to, anyhow. But Tia managed to see Renata's departure and if it were humanly possible I wanted to prevent any further abductions.

I'd exercise my brain during this quiet time and do my best to recall everything I might need to know in a hurry should I find myself in the cockpit of anything that could fly or transport itself. It was difficult to remember everything that I had learned without the aid of a kit, but every day I persevered and I'd review a procedure or a list of best-practices over and over in my head.

And that was how I drifted off to sleep for the last time with my New Euron salvage crew; I was reviewing the procedures to modify the 'nav' program on a stinger.

*****

The Immortal Cosmo

I did not awake in a lucid state. It appeared that I was still under the influence of sedatives. I was angry, but I had no energy to complain. I was as weak as a baby, but I began patting myself down as quickly as I could and took a quick inventory of my body. I didn't want to wake up like Renata did once and find that there were parts missing.

I wasn't in a cell, but I was still under protective custody. There was no enunciator above the door - there was however, a media center mounted up on one of the walls. I watched a Rebel news program for an hour until I finally had the energy to get up on my feet and operate it with the hope of finding out more about where I was. I had no idea as to where I was being kept for the past week or two, but now with the help of the media I knew exactly where I was now; I was on the Republic's Thirteenth Colony.

There were not thirteen colonies anymore; they numbered in the hundreds today, but the thirteenth one was huge and very famous. It was probably the most important Rebel capitol. The 'Thirteen Colonies' were an ambitious project that began several centuries ago. There was a long string of them that pretty much followed each other inline like ducklings behind Mother Earth in a solar orbit around the sun. They were globes much like earth and were constructed in layers like an onion or like the growth rings in a tree, but people didn't live on them; they lived in them.

Half a billion people lived here in the Thirteenth Colony and every one of them had a purposeful occupation which contributed to the colony and if not, - you were obliged to join the Republican National Service. The New Eurons had similar solar orbiters, some in this very orbit and many more in other star systems. It was always considered to be a poorer method of colonizing as opposed to finding a suitable planetary body somewhere that had some real gravity at least. An atmosphere that wasn't poisonous to breathe and hospitable living conditions that could support life on real 'terra firma' were just dreams, but for one spectacular exception: Nouveau Paris. So far, it was the only planet to be discovered in all of the explored reaches of the galaxy that human life could adapt to.

Nouveau Paris had become the new epicenter of humanity. And it was politically neutral, never to be polluted, and never to be militarized. Agriculture and education were the only two forms of commerce that were permitted on Nouveau Paris.

The planet was discovered centuries ago and found relatively easily, but nothing since, - and that's counting thousands of stars and their satellites that have been discovered since then have provided what the Earth once had to offer and what Nouveau Paris now can. And Nouveau Paris is not perfect; its core is quite active with tremors and volcanic activity. Its atmosphere has oxygen, but not quite enough for the likes of me though the agricultural revolution of the past century has done much to improve this.

It has two moons – one small and one much larger that supply enough axis-tilt to provide long and stable growing conditions over much of the planet. Its mass was about five percent smaller than Earth and thus the more indigenous inhabitants of Nouveau Paris, those who have lived there for generations are barrel-chested and quite strapping and tall in size compared to a New Euron.

The news of the day on the Thirteenth Colony was that a prominent immortal named Cosmo, who was also politically aligned with the Republic, was coming to the colony for a formal visit in just a few days time. His visit it appeared - had political ramifications - especially at a time like this with everyone on the brink of all-out war. It was certain that he was coming to help reassure the Rebels and their Republic that their fight with the New Eurons was a righteous one. It had been nearly a century since such a prominent immortal had come to visit the Thirteenth Colony.

I had heard of this immortal Cosmo before; he was a liberal, a gadfly and an outsider who always seemed to reappear at times of crisis for the Republic. Preparations for his visit were underway to ensure that the best of what the Thirteenth Colony had to offer the universe was on display for all and the visiting immortal to see. Anything unsightly was to be hidden or refreshed at all of the scheduled stops on his visit. There was to be a special gala held in his honor the evening before his departure back to wherever immortal beings live – heaven it was rumored.

*****

Three Rebel domestics entered my room. They brought food and fresh clothing. My ire and suspicions started getting the better of me and two of them looked fearfully back at me as they quickly departed. One remained.

"My name is Milka. Like you I am New Euron, but I was adopted by the Republic as a young child and have been a Republican citizen for as long as I can nearly remember. I'm a senior aide in the executive office of this Republic's Thirteenth Colony. I have an important assignment and you Mark are at the center of it. May I continue? Are you well?"

I looked incredulously back at her and took in her tanned skin, dark eyes and 'tell-tale' head of dark infant hair. It now crossed my mind that it would have likely been the wiser thing to have done if I had only blown my head off with my grenade in that trench when I had the choice a few weeks ago. I sighed.

"Please continue – Milka."

"The upcoming visit to the Thirteenth Colony by the immortal – Cosmo, is chiefly a personal indulgence on his part to meet – you."

"Me?"

"That is correct. You and your stellar - performance on the battlefield attracted a great deal of attention from those who inhabited the Vancouver Island settlement and also the many immortals aligned with our Republican alliance. If you were a, – as you might call us: a Rebel - you would be a celebrated national hero here."

"I considered myself then, as good as dead and I was not going to idly stand by while Rebel children were going to be butchered into man-machines by Mercenaries. New Eurons do possess some conscience. This meeting with the immortal Cosmo is frivolous. It is immoral. It is an abuse of power. A prisoner of war is not to be used by an enemy for purposes of propaganda."

"The immortal is not going to parade you around in front of the Republican media – he merely wants to have a private sitting with you – a talk. Cosmo is a great intellectual, a passionate patron of the arts and a humanitarian. When he sees a great demonstration of heart, he likes to investigate it personally. You have nothing to fear."

"I refuse!"

"You do not have that option. The immortal owns you. You've been kept in secure settings for weeks - on his behalf," and Milka sighed. "Do what is best – and you may be pleasantly surprised – that is my advice Mark."

"And when do I get to meet with this Rebel immortal?"

"At mid-day, two days from now."

"And what of my friends on the salvage crew?"

She looked at me curiously for a moment.

"You tell them that I am alive so they need not worry... and I will do this. They live in constant fear of butchery!"

"I will arrange for what you have asked. You will have many visitors in the coming hours to prepare and brief you for your interview with Cosmo. Take my advice New Euron: make a good impression with the immortal – it can only work in your favor," and she left my room – the door ajar.

I immediately changed my clothes for the civilian attire that they had brought me; no one wants to dress like a prisoner unless they have to. The fit was good and I should have been hungry, but I was eager to see what was outside the door that was now ajar.

Outside the doorway and standing at ease in a common corridor was a rather diminutive looking, young Rebel gentleman.

"Why - hello Mark. I'm to be your guide should you want to explore your surroundings. My name is Andrew. You can call me Andy. I prefer that. I can help you with virtually anything."

He was an effeminate little fellow and far too cheery about anything I asked him about.

"I bet New Euro has a lot more in common with what you'll find here in the Thirteenth Colony than you could have ever imagined. Life here is not much different as far as work and play goes. We would have to travel for several days by conventional transit to see any real sunlight though, and then it would probably kill us!" he laughed.

"The Thirteenth Colony is a totally enclosed eco-system as you probably already know. It is one of the oldest trailing solar orbiters. In our three hundred and four score years of history we've had two civil wars and both conflicts were fought over the orientation of the tilt of this orbiter. The power that sunlight has over us – hmm? If this were a proper planet there would be no changing the tilt of a planet, but an artificial orbiter, well that was something my forefathers just couldn't leave alone. The lower castes of this Republican colony occupy the colder areas of the orbiter and the higher castes the warmer. The lower castes obviously have less wealth and influence and the higher castes have more wealth and influence – and thus more sunlight. Well I bet you can figure it all out; a Republican world is a bit imperfect, but nonetheless, we like to think we can still determine our own destinies. Please - come for a walk. I'll show you the basics of getting around."

I obliged him. I hadn't walked freely anywhere for months now. The Rebel colony was laid out much like a New Euron colony or settlement. There were New Euron orbiters and some very large ones at that, but I had never the opportunity to visit one. Most New Euron colonies and settlements were located on real terra-firma – it could be on a planet or on a planetary moon. They too, were all enclosed eco-systems and the only real engineering headache was the local gravitational field; it had to be tolerable. Big orbiters such as these used enormous amounts of energy to synthesize gravity and it was done in zones. In some areas there was near zero gravity if none was needed for that space and in others it was minimal. In living quarters and public areas gravity was provided at quite tolerable amounts for the most part.

The population density at this colony was at least doubled to anything I could compare it to. Services, commerce, education, manufacturing and the endless amounts of infrastructure construction and repair went on around the clock. Your personal occupation set your circadian cycle here. The Thirteenth Colony never rested or slept and it was constantly growing larger and for three hundred and eighty years now. Even though colony was very similar to what I was familiar with back in New Euro, at this particular location, it appeared to be most definitely – upper caste, and not exactly what I could compare to my personal home which was more communal.

We navigated some generously sized hallways and corridors until we arrived at a transit site. Several minutes later we arrived at a commerce and business area. Until we arrived at this business area I had only seen a handful of people, but now I would think I was dealing with tens of thousands of people all within eyesight. There were towers that contained living quarters and work spaces that I judged to be hundreds of stories in height, but the real surface or ground level of this orbiter was actually the colony's outer-shell – these towers were more like pilings or structural tubes that supported kilometers and kilometers of more towers above and in turn for kilometers more beneath it. To call it a colony was an understatement because here people were living just like ants in a giant nest.

"You'll notice Mark - if you look around that New Eurons make up about ten percent of our population. They are both resented and envied by some members of the Republican majority, but the fact is though, that they are major contributors to our society. They are well educated, highly skilled and of little consequence to our health care budget. The worst that can be said about them, at least those that have chosen to live with us, is that they are ambitious and natural leaders – that doesn't sit so well with certain members of the Republican majority."

"It is my understanding that the citizenry here – these Rebels of the Thirteenth Colony - are also a competitive lot?"

"Yes. That is correct – we're strong believers in free market commerce. Incidentally, should you venture out on your own here, there is a certain amount of petty crime that you should be aware of. If you look closely enough about us you'll notice some petty criminal types and they are usually young and in small groups, that are presently studying us as we walk. You and I are new or out of place to them and thus vulnerable in their eyes, but not to worry today though, should there be any trouble, between your advanced combat skills and my status badge - they'll change their mind in a hurry."

"They won't bother you?"

"Not if they know what's good for them. We tolerate some civil disobedience – not like in your New Euron world. No world can be perfect – some of us have to be the disenfranchised – hmm?"

We sat on a bench in a noisy parkette and I tried not to look too overwhelmed. I had been locked up for months and I'd been away from this kind of environment for several years now. Etched into the seat near where my hand rest was a crude demonstration of a couple's devotion 'Kim and Angela Forever' encased in a heart. Andy watched me crane my neck back and squint up above.

"Is that?"

"Sunlight?" he finished my question. "Yes, it is what we call refined sunlight. It comes from the orbiter's surface many kilometers away by huge network of light-pipe."

"It's brighter than on Earth."

"Lucky you. You've been to Earth. I've never been there."

There were furry rodents running about. They raced across the concourse and climbed erratically up and down the walls of the towers.

"These small mammals?"

"Grey Squirrels. They've been added, and not too long ago to the eco-system here. Birds were tolerated here for the longest time, but they were far more of a menace to the public health than the squirrels. They're relaxing to watch and you can feed them by hand. It's rather therapeutic to interact with an animal, they say."

"What can you tell me about this visiting immortal: Cosmo?"

"Not much really. Never in my life have I heard tell of an immortal coming to visit here. It must concern this new outbreak of war. I'd say that he's putting himself in considerable danger coming to visit our colony. There are thousands of security officers looking for possible assassins or any insurgent activity as we speak. As a precaution only twenty-four hours of public notice was allowed to the media."

As our conversation continued, Andy and I both became aware of a mob of youth gathering about thirty meters away from us. They were not menacing and they actually appeared to be a quite cheerful lot. As the minutes went by the mob grew larger and into quite a big crowd. Two rather athletic ones were sparing with one another as if they had pikes. The mock combat became quite energetic and some of those in the crowd were whistling at us, or so it appeared.

"That's so curious Mark. They seem to know who you are."

At that moment, Andy received notice that I was needed back at my room and we were to return as soon as possible. We arose from our seat in the parkette and the mob followed, but at a safe distance behind us. I think it was Andy's uniform that attracted them, but one lone bold youth ran up to us. He was grinning from ear to ear in a big open smile and he swung an open hand out to me – and I slapped it because that's what I think he wanted.

"Victory – New Euron," he said, and then he and the mob stopped their progress after us.

"That really is so curious! I think this visit from Cosmo has the youth here in a state of hysteria. We are certainly not used to this kind of excitement. I thought his coming might boost the morale of the colony, but I wasn't expecting this much enthusiasm," said Andy as we hurried back to my quarters.

Back at my room, a small contingent of military personnel had gathered. I was to accompany them and then via the colony's transit, we were to make a short journey to a transporter station and then travel further still to a more secure location, or so I was told. Andy assured me that all was well and Milka was to meet me at the final more secure location. Who was I to argue, as Milka had said, it would be in my best interest to meet the immortal. It surprised me that not even Andy knew that I was to meet Cosmo and I didn't feel like volunteering that information. I thanked him for his assistance and apologized for my premature departure.

The military guard that accompanied me, commandeered an entire transit cabin and after a few quiet minutes in the transit-way we arrived at a busy transport station. At the transport station they picked up an additional six unit miu team and with only a few words spoken we were immediately prepped and then transported to a destination unknown, but likely still somewhere within the giant orbiter.

I don't think fifteen minutes passed since I had left my former quarters and now I was being greeted by Milka who was attired much more formally.

"Hello Mark. I take it that Andy was of some service to you?"

"Yes he was. We had a pleasant talk and he accompanied me on an interesting walk through a commerce area and park."

"Ah. But I know it was too short. Perhaps there will be a better opportunity for you to see more of what our Thirteenth Colony has to offer. Our immortal visitor has requested a visit with you well ahead of our intended schedule. He would like to meet you in about two hour's time. Are you feeling up to that? There should still be plenty of time to make it happen and any facilities you might need to freshen up before hand can be provided. You could have a short rest if you feel the need."

"I'd appreciate that Milka. Is there anything or anyway that I might prepare myself for what this immortal wants of me?"

"I'm not certain, but I suspect his conversation with you will concern your performance at the battle for the Vancouver Island Settlement. You were involved in defending that settlement from the attack by the mercenaries – were you not?"

"I suppose I was. But why could he possibly want to talk to me about it?"

"I suppose that's something that only you can find out Mark," she replied while raising a feigned curious eyebrow. "You are aware are you not, that your actions that day have become a media sensation here and throughout the Rebel Republic. Why, I bet they are talking about it in New Euro, too."

"Surely that's not what this is all about. I fought just like several others of my fellow comrades did, too. We were given a choice – a noble choice we all made I must admit, but I was simply the unfortunate one who did not get to die on the battlefield."

"Save all that self-depreciating modesty for your conversation with the immortal. I'm sure he will find it interesting."

You spend your life trying to make good choices. It's difficult for a soldier because most of your options are not made by personal choice but by command. I chose to defend some fleeing civilians, who were all: innocents. Some were school-children, others were caregivers and the like, and I chose to fight in battle where a soldier should be – defending what is right. No New Eurons came to rescue me when I was in need, and not that I expected such, but I nonetheless, will be called a traitor in New Euro for defending Rebel school-children from marauding New Euron mercenaries.

And these Rebels; they are no better. They offered me a noble death, but when fate would have it that I fought too well and survived; they conveniently turned me into a state propaganda tool. I shall have some lively discussion with this immortal on the subject that will be for certain. My blood boils!

*****

Two hours came and went and just as well because after two hours I was still angry. I watched the media coverage of this immortal Cosmo as he swaggered about here and there, receiving various Rebel Republic politicians and public dignitaries. He made no speeches and just as well because the usual ramifications of speeches by visiting foreign leaders always led to hard feelings caused by cultural gaffes and misunderstandings. But there was - a lot of waving and handshaking, and if we could read lips there was a considerable amount of dialogue between he and whoever he was greeting at times.

He was such a gadfly – such a character. He wore a navy blue cape no less and two coach dogs followed him wherever he walked. If he took a step – they took a step. Dog machines - I can only assume and they peered all around like bodyguards which I suppose is exactly what they were.

And his audience – wherever he went, wore such smiles – like they were smitten by the immortal's charisma and all the pageantry that seemed to precede and follow him wherever he went.

Well, soon enough he'll end up seeing me – a New Euron prisoner of war. A pretty rare thing I am between the personal grenades we New Eurons liked to carry around our necks and the Rebel market for human parts.

Another hour passed by when finally, Milka arrived at my quarters.

"Mark its time. The immortal – Cosmo will see you now. He has travelled far and his public duties for today are done. I think he wants to meet with you now before the day becomes too late."

"Very well," I said and I followed Milka down a corridor while walking behind her flowing formal outfit.

"I think you should have a good talk with Cosmo. He seems to be in good spirits and he has asked about you several times since arriving earlier today. I wish he was as excited to meet me as he is to meet you!"

She left me at a nondescript door with no visible guard to be seen. I operated the enunciator and a moment later the door opened.

It was an immense room and likely prepared just for this immortal's visit. Two man-machine coach dogs greeted me. They eyed me over intelligently and sniffed my groin. One walked off ahead and the other followed behind me as I followed the leader deeper into this huge room that was decorated opulently, like as for a king.

"My dear Mark - it's so good to finally meet with you. You and I may become good friends I think." laughed the immortal. "Come here. Have a seat." and he pointed to a long sofa sectional. "Please make yourself comfortable if that's possible. I know this is awkward for you or anyone else for that matter – meeting someone like me for the first time," he said while pointing about the room and at his rather regal attire.

'Hello Sir," I stammered.

"Good start Mark, but my name is Cosmo. I'm just a man much like you. I also happen to have had the good fortune to be more than five hundred years old though. I look good – yes?"

I nodded.

"If it appears that I'm reading your mind or finishing your sentences, it's only because I've had so much experience, so many conversations, so many thoughts and so many ideas that it's all become – so familiar. But in my five hundred years or so, I and my immortal friends have seen no one just like you before. You are a very capable soldier in the heat of battle. You had no chance of seeing the light of the next day, but you fought like a man who had only victory in mind. Amazing! We looked into your data and it was interesting, too. For instance – and you would not know this, – but you and I are brothers of sorts. We came from the same lab in Old Paris – and only a few numbers are we apart!"

And he laughed a hearty laugh.

"The thirty-four thousand series?"

"A very good vintage I assure you."

"My asset number?"

"Seven sevens means - you are mine."

"Yours?"

"Why of course your old number simply meant you were the property the New Euron National Service. It's a good thing I must say because there would have been a bidding war here in the Rebel Republic – say for your skin, if it were not for my intervention. Who wouldn't want to wear a dead war hero's skin? Hmm? Think about it."

"Am I a prisoner of war?"

"Technically now, I would say no. You are a casualty of war. If you were to return to New Euro, you would be executed. Not just because you committed a treasonous act, but because you know too much. You couldn't possibly be trusted. You've become jaded – disillusioned. A long time ago you'd be debriefed and retired if you were returned to your New Euron home. But today \- you might talk and say things like: the Rebels are men just like us, who would rather live in peace. A dangerous thought don't you think?

"War is technology's harness. How would humanity get to where it is now if it were not for our need to be competitive? If war - just disappeared and a peace broke out – why we would be gone within just a few peaceful generations. Since I can remember humanity has always required more resources and there has always been at least two teams competing for them. We fight to survive.

"I bet you find me quite distracting. I bet you wonder? What's this immortal up to? What's going to happen to me? Are his dogs going to eat me?" and he grinned.

"I do have a plan. It may very well be a proposal of sorts. But we'll not talk about it until we know each other much better. You are to be my guest and willingly I hope – for a time. And we shall see. Tomorrow, Mark we shall travel to Nouveau Paris. I travel with a large party. You'll make lots of friends. I assure you. I so, love Paris in the spring time!"

"The salvage crew I was with. Do you know if they are well?"

"The New Euron prisoners? Five New Euron hermaphrodites – four – I think now, and a hybrid? I can find out. How's tomorrow? You made some friends within those tight confines I bet. The Republic has taken on some serious damage at the hands of their New Euron competitors recently. There has been a lot of rationalization of resources here in the Republic, so there well being could be in jeopardy. Prepare yourself for some bad news soon on that matter I think."

"Nouveau Paris is it at war?"

"Still quite neutral, but it is becoming more isolated by the New Eurons. And it better stay that way. Neutral I mean. Our future depends on the health of that planet. Why, we've ruined Earth and Nouveau Paris is a brand new slate and nothing - absolutely nothing as palatable to human life has been found since. Quite remarkable really, I myself spent a hundred years looking for an alternative. Thousands of planets and satellites have been discovered and explored – and nothing we've found compares to our former Earth or even Nouveau Paris."

"Do you not worry for your own safety?"

"Should something happen to me – it is their worry that they do it right. I have many friends, many allies. If it did happen – I would not be the first immortal to fall by an assassin. My kind – we are more apt to take our own life. I – I myself have thought of it many times.

"In a mortal life – How many times do you get your heart broken? The stuffing knocked out of you? A few? A dozen times?"

He points to himself, "Thousands! An eternity of loved ones, things and people I have so dearly loved - have passed on in front of me. I live for new relationships; it keeps me human, but it so hurts. So many ends - ending – endlessly. Feel sorry for me yet? I'm rather pathetic I think."

And he winked.

"Enough about me. What about you – Mark? I see the scars about your temples. Do you miss your kit?"

"I do miss having a kit, but since going without one I have ideas that I would not have had time to entertain in the past. I feel less harried and less sharp I suppose because a quick answer doesn't seem to come from a data base – it comes from a gut feeling and a slow answer to something important, let's say, comes with all kinds of anxiety and second thoughts."

"Oh my, you have come along. Thinking for oneself, and reacting passionately. That's so terribly human. You know, when those kits were initially designed they were meant to be used only some of the time, not all of the time. You won't find a single citizen of the Republic who wears one – surgically attached as they do in New Euro. It's against their principles. A better idea I think. You know – you will live longer without one. They will literally burn you out."

"But, they give a clearer head."

"But never once will you have an independent thought for yourself. You're working for the New Euron National Service – night and day. They provide you with a clear head, but they have you not rest a minute more than needed. Your captors needed to get that homing beacon off your head, but at the same time they freed you from enslavement in a sense. So how's it feel to be you – the real you?"

"Mr. Cosmo I'm still a prisoner."

"We're going to work on that."

The immortal looked tired all of a sudden and a white pallor came over his face.

"I think that I should like to retire for the day, Mark. This room is yours for the night and I shall talk with you more tomorrow."

"Yes, good night sir," I said as I paid close attention to his unsteady rise to his feet and wobbly gait as he travelled across the room and then he collapsed to the floor in a clatter.

Cosmo the immortal was having a seizure on the great room's floor. I rushed to his aid, but the coach dogs would have nothing to do with me being even three meters from him as he convulsed frantically on the floor while making gurgling noises. The one dog placed its front paws beneath his master's head as a cushion for his bashing head - the other kept his eye on me.

I wondered - that surely medical technicians were on their way, but none arrived and there was no alarm given. As the convulsions and gurgling noises slowly abated into the odd shoulder roll and cough Cosmo got up onto his feet with the aid of the dogs and waved silently back at me as he departed from the room.

I was exhausted and hungry, but no one had given much thought about feeding the prisoner today and I suppose that was because I was no longer in the care of jailers. I found a ridiculously opulent 'bed thing' to rest upon and I thought about my friends of just a few days ago. I was not likely to see them again, but I did not want them to worry about me and I felt a real need to know that they were alright. The immortal was correct about one thing: there would be no returning to New Euro for this soldier. I wished I had a personal grenade.

*****

In the morning someone did bring me food.

When the immortal was travelling away from his home he made it a policy to never spend more than a night in any one place, so well before mid-day we were on our way to the planet Nouveau Paris that was really not that far away. Cosmo wanted me to see a traditional space flight without the use of a transporter. The Beagle was his personal ship and it was a technological marvel and a true deep-space spacecraft. Tia would be so pleased. It was as sleek as any deep-space spacecraft that I had seen pictures of. The ship itself could transport its crew and payload in mere seconds to greater distances and of course at much greater speeds than any conventional transporter that I was familiar with. It was a totally independent craft that needed no assistance from an external data base and it was almost totally self sufficient carrying its own supplies that could last a lifetime. In a craft such as this, one could travel to almost anywhere and to places so distant that they were without any names yet, and to places that you could only reference by how far away they were from some remote place that did have a name.

We circled the trailing solar satellite, the Thirteenth Colony once, and it was to the eye just a huge irregular shaped concrete blob with a light layer of cloud which was actually gas or atmosphere as I was told that was escaping from within it. If you paid close attention, you could see construction and maintenance machinery moving about on its surface, albeit from where the clouds of escaping atmosphere were thin enough to see through.

I'd been to space many times and every time there was nothing to see but concrete and steel. In space there were no windows. My stinger was an aircraft; it needed at least some atmosphere to fly and if I flew high enough I could see some curvature to the Earth's horizon from its cockpit. Now over my shoulder through a huge canopied window I could see an enormous blue and green ball that was Earth and which these orbiters were trailing. What a magnificent sight it was - humbling even.

I spent an hour or so, on the Beagle's observation deck and it seemed that I was left there alone to do just that. If Dimitri could only see this I thought. I thought of Dimitri because I felt like a young child for that hour rapt in a new life experience. The observation deck's window had a cover that moved like an eyelid about the window to block direct sunlight and anything else that might be of danger and when most of the view had disappeared I decided that I might venture further into the craft to find Cosmo and his crew.

"Hello there young Mark," called out Cosmo from a lower level, and I assume the ship's bridge, as I looked over from a higher sitting deck just above. He was dressed casually in loose clothing and wore unusual footwear that appeared to be made of animal hide.

"You stay there Mark. I shall be up to see you in just a moment." He had just one coach-dog with him and after speaking some more with a member of the crew he came up to the sitting-area to see me. The dog-machine sat between us.

"Sometimes Mark you look more like a young boy to me rather than the young man that you are. You are still in the bloom of youth lad. If I had your body I'd still feel like an old man. You can't cover up old."

"Last evening I saw you have a seizure. Are you well?" I asked.

"I am as well as almost ever!" he laughed. "You would think that eternal life is perfect – well it's most assuredly not. I first fell ill with epilepsy at about the time when I turned two hundred. It's not fatal of course because I'm still here. It's also quite a common annoyance for my other immortal brethren and so is depression as I have already alluded to."

"Your dog-machines are well programmed."

"Oh yes. Thank you. A good friend of mine had them made for me. They are similar to a man-machine, but they are a dog-machine as crazy as that sounds. Such things were very popular at one time."

I couldn't relate to what he was saying too well and I didn't want to inquire as to what and where the biological matter came from for this dog-machine.

"Your footwear?"

"Moccasins! These things are the greatest. They feel like heaven on your feet, but their origin is from Earth. They would have been still, quite a common type of footwear for wearing about in a domestic environment when you and I were conceived back in that old Paris lab.

"In an hour or two you and I will walk some of the same avenues of old Paris that now are part of Nouveau Paris today. Many of the old museums and art-houses of old Paris have all been moved or reconstructed in the capital of Nouveau Paris. The Louvre, the Eiffel tower, the Champs Elysees lined with its cafes and trimmed chestnut trees are all there - restored to the former glory of old Paris. It's one of my most favorite places to visit and I do as often as I can manage."

"My salvage crew?"

He looked closely at me, adjusted his seating and sighed.

"Please don't think that I am responsible for what has apparently happened, I have influence, but no real control over the Republic's internal matters. The two eldest New Eurons have been separated and reassigned to other duties as domestics, the hybrid as well as I understand and the two younger New Eurons – have been retired."

He studied my face with a good deal of concern, but in his quiet fashion he imparted volumes as I mulled over what he had just said. Sophie must be devastated – hermaphrodites are passionately dedicated lovers. Tia - a domestic? And Margaret, too.

"I shall leave you Mark till you can organize your thoughts," and Cosmo left and headed back down to the bridge of his ship.

I sat where I was and the coach dog, dog-machine or whatever he was, sat at my feet and mournfully stared back at me. Shelly and Emily were gone; gone to parts or whatever. The rest of us – were all separated. I'm sure poor Tia has no doubt what war is all about now. I knew it was not possible and it was a ridiculous notion, but I wanted to rescue them all. If I can find a way - I'll rescue my friends before they become parts for the Rebel Republic.

*****

Nouveau Paris

I had the freedom to walk all of the common areas of Cosmo's deep-space spacecraft. I found the crew's mess. I was fortunate too; I got to meet three hybrids who very similar to Tia. Two were very experienced deep-space maintenance technicians and the third was a trainee. They had the same scaly skin as Tia and had similar but not quite her same markings. They never uttered a word between themselves – they seemed to communicate with just their big expressive eyes. When I engaged them in conversation they were polite but not very talkative.

Cosmo's spacecraft was considered a warship because it did carry armaments and thus we could not land or orbit near the neutral planet of Nouveau Paris, so the last leg of our journey required that we shuttle to a low orbit transport station just above the creamy green - blue and ocher covered planet of Nouveau Paris down below us. There I was issued a passport and identified as Mark with the asset number of seven, sevens and not an eyebrow was raised as I identified myself as New Euron.

The station was a busy terminal for a lot more than the people who were coming and going – it also appeared to be giant hub for the movement of construction materials, food and water, and finished goods. I watched numerous transports materialize and dock at the station and I also observed as other transports departed and accelerated away from the station from a vantage point of a panoramic windowed observation deck area that also housed the Nouveau Paris's Customs area and that was just teaming with travelers at the time.

It now became apparent that I had become a part of a special celebrity entourage. I followed near the end of a party that Cosmo led and the media seemed to fawn and dote upon him. He appeared to adore the attention and he dramatically swung his cape about whenever he had such an opportunity to do so – and each time as if choreographed - those coach dogs would stop and sit all about him until his cape came to rest. I was more than pleased that the media gave him all of the attention and therefore left me alone. Hopefully, my popularity would be temporary and based upon some unattractive and grainy battlefield video that I - still had yet to see.

In a few minutes, I would experience what others could only dream about; a new world, a planet that was inhabitable and unpolluted. A world: where space junk wasn't being crashed onto its surface for salvaging. A world: where a tree could grow higher than your waist without being cut to pieces with airborne razors when the wind blew. A world: where you didn't have to live in a bunker or underground for your own safety.

I had spent most of my life on Earth and some of it on its orbiters and I loved it. Earth was home for me. To many New Eurons who knew no better, they would dread visiting the place. To me its special attraction was its gravitational field. It had its own personal magnetism in a sense and I was no different than any other New Euron – home was always defined to that original gravitational field that you grew up in, whether it was natural or manufactured it was what you became familiar with first.

My first impressions of Nouveau Paris include the simplest of things besides its obvious beauty. It was bright – really bright. The sky was blue, but nothing quite what you could call azure in color and it seemed paler in hue compared to an earthly sky. The atmosphere or air was thin, but intoxicating. It made you quite light-headed until you adapted to it. There was less oxygen – and you immediately felt the need not to exert yourself physically, but I was informed that this would pass in a few days or a week at most.

Even on the neutral planet of Nouveau Paris Cosmo varied his overnight lodgings to only one night at any one location. It wasn't difficult for him because he seemed to have no shortage of resources, friends and associates to call upon wherever and whenever they were needed. I had seen pictures of the capital of Nouveau Paris and it was impressive; where a conventional metropolitan area would have thousands of tall towers assembled tightly together like a honeycomb - Nouveau Paris was spread out for kilometers in all directions and no architecture, but for the reconstructed Eiffel tower itself rose above fifteen meters in height.

My personal interest in the planet concerned the aquatic life. The planet itself had little in the way of advanced terrestrial animal life forms, but its bodies of water were said to be teaming with giant schools of fish and other aquatic life forms. The capital of Nouveau Paris was situated on the shores of a great sea and sea level was where the best levels of oxygen could be found and deeper in land where the land rose well above sea level – there it was found to be far less inhabitable - even for the population that had lived on the planet for generations.

After passing through customs we boarded a reserved shuttle to fly down to the planet's surface. It was a mostly a utilitarian machine with few windows to look out from, but Cosmo often avoided traditional transports for his own security. We landed at a private villa that was located just a short distance from the capital.

I found myself perturbed at times following Cosmo and his entourage about because of their excesses. I was just a soldier who sometimes got a peak at how officers were accommodated, but immortals - they lived like kings. The villa too, that was situated on the rocky coast of a great sea was more palace than villa. I will hold my tongue though – this Cosmo has a plan for me and perhaps I might be able to aid my friends.

It troubled me, that I had been relinquished of any hope of returning to New Euro within a matter of just a few short months. I did not want to give up on these only friends that I had found since. Good soldiers should not be surrendering so easily, but this odd immortal he could become an enabler. I will get my chance at redemption – I could smell it in this foreign air.

*****

Cosmo's entourage was made up of disciplined support people who treated him and their duties with great deference. There was also a small number who tagged along for his entertainment and I was a part of that group who were herded about and fetched when required. There were also a fair number of local liaison types who were attached to Cosmo's party wherever he visited – immortals were invaluable allies to any colony's cause and their well being and safety were paramount. Most immortals would rarely visit or get involved in provincial politics; they chose to govern safely from a distance and this made Cosmo a valuable asset to those he allied himself with and a choice target for his enemies.

It was a young Nouveau Parisian colonist who befriended me soon after we arrived. I had spotted him following my progress wherever I walked or looked on that first day. I think my first impression was more or less correct that he was assigned to watch me. I could smell special-ops all over him, but he was still a likable enough fellow. Pierre shared with me that he had some New Euron heritage a few generations back and he did have the telltale tanned skin and brown eyes, but far too much hair. He was interested in my training and he was well aware that I was that special New Euron prisoner who was celebrated in the media for – and for at least a week now he commented.

I wasn't surprised at all when he shared with me that he had been top in his class in close-quarter combat. Cosmo trusted me, but I don't think anyone else attached to him did.

"Why did you not blow your 'ed' off with your fucking New Euron grenade?" he asked.

"I wanted to kill some New Euron mercenaries first. I'm certain there will be more opportunities to blow my head off. When the time is right I suppose," I answered sarcastically.

Pierre grinned a thin grin back at me.

"Monsieur Mark – you are a crazy New Euron."

"Yes I am."

We had meals in a great room outfitted as a dining-room to seat a hundred or so. Cosmo was present for only the evening meals. He sat with me on the second day for a few minutes to talk and he asked that I should venture into the capital with Pierre as my guide and additionally for my own security. He wanted me to see Paris by 'foot' as it should be seen.

"I want to hear about your impressions – if any. Venture as deeply as you want into the art houses, libraries, museums and universities of the capital. See the night life. We will be here for just a fortnight. I ask only that you and I one day visit that old lab that changed everything for humanity and it's that same lab that both you and I came from five hundred years ago."

I asked Pierre if it would be possible that I may see some of the now famous and aforementioned media footage that had been - the talk, for so many citizens of the Rebel Republic for months in some places now. He provided some footage that was more privy to the social-elite than the more processed footage that was provided for the general public to consume of late. None of the footage had been doctored in any way; it's just that the general release was produced for the Rebel war effort. It was common to record battles; senior officers fawned over them. Lessons were learned and tactics were altered and adapted to enhance the chances for a victory or correct a short-coming that brought about a loss.

The footage was not grainy, but it was distant however and recorded with the aid of wide-angle lenses from high vantage points well above the trench that I fought in. Pierre jumped from interval to interval of interest until he found the minute or so that I held back – all by myself - two units of elite New Euron mercenaries captained by man-machines commanders. The Rebel defensive had collapsed for kilometers on both flanks, but nothing was penetrating the portion of the line that I helped defend. I saw reinforcements being added to the trench after each wave of enemy miu attacks. You could hear the calls for more pike men.

"Here, Monsieur Mark – watch!"

I was all alone in the trench sparing with an elite Mercenary miu which had a commander – a man-machine commander perched on top of its shoulder - and seeking cover behind me - were Rebel miu's.

"You are defending our miu's – that is unprecedented! They are actually taking cover – behind you. They should be flanking you. They should be - in front of you – never should they be behind you. They are war machines programmed to fight without fear – and you have made them behave like cowards!"

"But those miu's were not under my command. I – had no control over their actions! Whoever was in command - was simply spending a less desirable asset."

"That is absolutely true. But the camera tells a different story in the media. The Republic had a limited victory – and a colorful hero to celebrate. For those who know no better – they see a man out-perform a programmed machine. Maybe – you might have the potential to become a great commander!"

"Maybe they would like to put an eye or two from, you know who, into a couple of man-machines?" I suggested.

"No. I think they want to know more about your passion. I'm pretty certain that is what interests Cosmo about you. You'll see my friend."

"And this is what the people of the Republic know of me? A heroic figure fighting for his life in a trench he can't escape from. It was a death sentence - an alternative to die fighting rather than being retired in his sleep later."

"No one who knows war will disagree with you Monsieur Mark. The people of the Republic are fed a doctored version of all the events that take place in the war to raise the people's morale - for political expediency. They wouldn't know your real plight in the trench. The further one is away from the possibility of being affected by war, the more insulated one is from its insanity. They just see a hero."

*****

The following morning Pierre and I visited the capital. Whereas the population of the Thirteenth colony was teeming with busy citizens who all had an immediate purpose, the civilian population of the Nouveau Paris capital were the opposite; they all appeared to be in some state of relaxation. No one and nothing seemed to move in a hurry. In the capital, most everyone was a student of something and when they were not in class they seemed to just enjoy the day.

Maybe it was the heavier gravitational field of the planet, maybe it was the thinner atmosphere and lower oxygen levels, but there was something about the place that set everything into a lower gear. People seemed friendly and spoke in a French pigeon style of talk. It seemed – well rather pretentious to me.

I felt faint at times while I walked with Pierre. He asked often if I needed a rest and assured me that the best way to overcome the lighter air was to walk and get some exercise – in a day or two all would be well, he would reiterate over and over again. Besides, he and everyone else I had talked to said that there was no better way to see the capital of Nouveau Paris than by foot.

I had seen pictures of it and I had seen it often in video, but I must say that though being centuries old, the Eiffel Tower was a rather elegant structure to see in person. We took an old cable-drawn trolley up to its main observation deck and looked-out for kilometers all around at what was a city of universities and art houses. The view was clear and there was not a hint of air pollution to detect.

Pierre pointed out opera houses and museums and other points of interest to me when there was an unobstructed view to behold through the heads and shoulders of the crowds of sightseers that surrounded us on the platform. One structure piqued my interest and I pointed back to it myself again; it had once been a tower that defended the city of old Paris - it was the Louvre.

"I should like to visit there, Pierre. Can we?"

"Why of course. Perhaps we shall eat first – say at a café – then the Louvre. Best seen on a full tummy," he grinned.

Old Paris was a city of bridges and the new capital of Nouveau Paris was not situated on a plain with a river running through it, so the new city's engineers built a canal that was fed from a fast-river located not too far away and the new tributary became aptly named the Seine which ran out to the nearby saltwater sea. So new bridges were built to span the new Seine - and very elegant ones at that, and they were built even though there was not the same need for the vehicular traffic as there would have been centuries ago.

"We could spend a week touring the Louvre and not see everything. What interests you Monsieur Mark?" asked Pierre as we ate lunch on a patio in front of a bistro.

"I don't know. I suppose a tour of the museum's highlights would be best. I could always return again on another day to see more."

"That's a good choice – there's a two hour tour. A travesty really if you consider all the masterpieces that will be overlooked, but as you say – there can always be another visit."

"Have you been there yourself?"

"You shame me Monsieur Mark. I live here with all these wonderful things that surround me, but I've only visited the Louvre a few times. Your immortal friend will be pleased that you have chosen to visit the Louvre on your first visit to the capital; I understand that he is a great admirer of fine art."

"Until a few days ago I had never met an immortal."

"I've still not met an immortal. You are far more fortunate than you realize Monsieur."

"I've met some men that have impressed me, though. That day I fought the Mercenaries back on Earth there was a Republican commander there that impressed me. It was he who pressed us into service. Do you know who I mean? He was quite a charismatic fellow."

"Was he tall, fifty-something or so, fair-haired and with a great moustache?"

"That's sounds like him."

"General Theo Thompson and also known as: 'Frontline Thompson'. He and his team were lost on that third wave. He fought in the same trench as you just a kilometer away. He would not ask anyone, not even a New Euron prisoner of war - to fight anywhere else but beside him. He was a hero."

I lowered my gaze and agreed with Pierre without anymore words said. The general looked to me that day as a man who had no fear of his destiny.

'Shall we go Monsieur Mark, and visit the Louvre. Is there anywhere else that you would like to visit tomorrow or the next chance we get?"

"I think I would like to visit your sea."

"Excellent, Monsieur Mark because I have a very good friend who can more than just take us for a walk along the shore. He is a marine biologist."

I smiled.

The Louvre was much more than what it was when it was - just a fortress, a jail and an art museum; it was now an institution that covered acres of land and was the home of a great university and had schools in almost all of the arts and sciences. It was just teeming with students and visitors, but Pierre and I managed to take in the ancient Egyptian antiquities exhibit and a great deal of art from the old golden age of the renaissance.

The hall that seemed to carry me away with intrigue contained a collection of Greco- Roman sculpture at one end and renaissance sculpture at the other. The 'Winged Nike' and the 'Venus de Milo' awestruck you as you entered and Michelangelo's two slaves hit you in the pit of the stomach as you exited.

The talent required to choose such iconic human shapes and then make them emote such feeling. And all this, with such primitive tools was positively mind-boggling to wrap your head around. It would have been such an incredibly different world back then, yet someone had the passion and insight to create such masterpieces.

The whole great room was made of stone and you could hear every sigh and whisper as some visitors became humbled, and as others visited in quiet piety as if they made daily pilgrimages to these halls. I felt a relationship immediately with these two slaves – why they were not much different than the rest of us: unimportant, under the control of others and ultimately impotent. And then - they were still something more- they were unfinished men emerging from stone – we should all be thankful that Michelangelo left them that way because now they have even more appeal and more mystery to those who see them.

I could not decide which statue I liked more, the 'Rebellious Slave' struggling as if he was fighting something more than just the restraints that were binding him or the "Dying Slave", a more elegant creature apparently giving-in and surrendering to his own struggle with feigned dignity. The visit to the Louvre stirred something in me that I hadn't felt before. I was not alone with my lofty ideas and it both frightened me and it also reassured me that there was something common in all of us that was always worth pursuing: a more meaningful life.

Pierre and I returned to the villa and he left me there for the night and he would return again to see me again in the morning. I spent my evening considering the art I had seen. There was just so much that I had taken in, but with only my eyes, yet it felt like having had a rich, heavy meal.

The following morning I awoke thinking of the two slaves like they were a part of me and not an hour went by afterwards without me thinking of them again. Is that what art was suppose to do – leave an impression on you that felt more like a possession?

My room's enunciator indicated that Cosmo wanted some time with me this evening, which was fine because Pierre had arranged for a visit to the sea for the two of us with his good friend for this afternoon. From being a cadet in the New Euron National Service and then to go directly into combat, and then to be taken prisoner and then put back into combat again and then onto a salvage team, and now, here I am under the wing of an immortal, touring Nouveau Paris – it's hard to fathom how it could have all happened. I should have been dead months ago, but instead I'm walking in the Louvre and through the streets of a paradise.

Pierre's friend Antoine was one of the happiest people that I had ever met. He loved Nouveau Paris and he loved his job as a marine biologist. He explained to me quickly what I had already knew from the early days of my education: that Nouveau Paris was much like what Earth would have been like four hundred million years ago. Much of the plant and animal life revolved around bodies of fresh and salt water. Winged insects and birds though they were mostly the flightless type were about. Mammal-like animals had not yet evolved and maybe they wouldn't, but the seas and inland lakes and rivers were teeming with fish and a huge variety of other aquatic life that was all new to our scientists.

"We've been here for two hundred years exploring the life on this planet and I bet I could still find a new species each week if I was so determined to do so," beamed Antoine.

We walked a mud beach as the tide was out and watched as the large swallowed the small that were not quick enough and in this case it was thousands of crabs.

"This is a common theme wherever we go – there is so much life consuming more life. It seems cruel at first, even peculiar, but that's what animals do. Yes? For instance Monsieur Mark – it would not be a good idea for you or I to venture even into even a meter of water here."

"We'd become dinner?"

"And very quickly."

We continued along the beach and into the general direction of a small marina where several aircraft of similar technology as my stinger were parked.

"Pierre tells me that you are staying with a visiting immortal."

"That's true."

"Please if you can - implore upon him that the neutrality of this planet needs to remain paramount. I and my associates feel that there may never be a paradise like this found again. It's priceless and humanity's future depends on the very careful development of this planet and we think - there's trouble brewing."

"Trouble?"

"An armament factory-ship has been recently stationed nearly at our doorstep. It's designed to be extremely mobile and it is neither a New Euron asset nor is it a Rebel Republic asset."

"Who owns it?"

"They are independents from deep-space. Mercenaries, - trying to upset the balance of power between the Rebel Republic and New Euro."

"We'll send them packing – back to where they came from."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. They seem to be pitting their two suitors against each other," sighed Antoine

"So these Mercenaries; who essentially are old Republican colonists and please correct me if I'm wrong - who have been gone for generations have come back here to upset the status quo of their former brethren."

" That would be correct or something close to that, but these deep-space troublemakers need only to make one ally and it looks like it could be the New Eurons, which is not good for the citizens of the Rebel Republic nor would it be good for Nouveau Paris."

"There is no war here?"

"Not yet there isn't - but it's all around us and though no one is admitting that Nouveau Paris's neutrality might be at stake, what other good reason would there be for bringing a fight so close to us? They most certainly have an agenda that includes this planet and they are most certainly not going to reveal it until it suits them. These are very dangerous times Monsieur Mark."

Everything seems to have become so politicized recently. Everyone is concerned about the future. For millennia, humanity was able to grow outward, but now it appears there is not enough room in the whole universe to contain this ambition. Why now – it appears that even cheerful optimists like Antoine have bought into war's hysteria.

"This will all be lost if the New Eurons and the deep-space Colonists have their way," said Antoine as he waved an arm out toward the sea's horizon. "They have drawings and I've seen them with inter-connected cities that cover all of the inhabitable land on Nouveau Paris. Their motivation is greed – the more cities, the more colonies... is the justification for more immortals!"

"Antoine – I'm sure Monsieur Mark understands. He's just an asset like you and I," piped in Pierre.

"You have to understand. I am a passionate man and I know that I'm speaking to another passionate man. Monsieur Mark is a hero among soldiers and I am willing to be a hero among scientists. I don't want to take up any more of Monsieur Mark's time with this talk – please let me show you what the seas of Nouveau Paris have to offer. They will speak up for themselves!"

Antoine, Pierre and I were the only passengers and crew aboard the adapted 'sea stinger' that had been converted into a research runabout of sorts. The former aircraft had been adapted to float if necessary upon the sea, but they normally travelled as a stinger would at any elevation over the water and could hover for hours on end if needed.

The shallows and sea-shelves were the only places where you could see the aquatic life easily. At times in these locations the warm-blue, aquamarine colored water would appear completely silver in color because of the schools of fish beneath were so thick in numbers. We glided down to about a two or three meters above the sea's surface, at just such an area and it looked as though you could walk along the water's surface upon the backs of these teeming schools of fish that weighed in at nearly sixty kilos each.

I looked back at Antoine in astonishment.

"Millions! – There are millions of them!" he said smiling with a wild seafarer's look in his eyes.

Never have I seen a more proud and beaming man as Antoine was that afternoon. The reflected sunlight cast from the sea's surface set him aglow like a renaissance sea-angel.

And so it was that after three days on the planet Nouveau Paris I had learned more about myself and this universe than I would ever have imagined. I had had serious doubts as to whether this visit was going to mean anything to me a few days ago, but now my soul felt reinvigorated like it had become enlightened. If a rich life was meant to be a struggle, well than I've had already plenty of struggle to bring meaning to it. And now, the real politics behind this war was now becoming apparent to me – it was greed.

I spent the remainder of the day pining for a way to right what was wrong. How could I rescue my friends? I could end up making their lives worse. What could I do to stop the destruction of Nouveau Paris? If that was even possible. What does this immortal want from me? Am I just an amusement?

I was so intoxicated with ideas that dinner had passed. I had spent hours at my room's window looking to the sea and the sun set. A knock came from the door and I answered it. It was Cosmo and as always he was accompanied by his two coach dogs.

"Please come in. Pardon me, but it seems peculiar that you would even want to knock. You are always welcome Cosmo."

"My young Mark our manners and the impressions we leave on people show our good intentions. I'm foremost a diplomat these days."

We both sat watching the darkening vista at the window.

"I've heard that you have been adventuresome these last few days. Please tell me of some of your impressions and I shall share with you some of what I've been up to."

"I saw some of the capital."

Cosmo's blue eyes were alight in interest.

"Go on."

"I visited the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre yesterday. The paintings, the artifacts – the sculpture – I seem to revisit them over and over in my head. They're haunting, but in a good way. I've already dreamt of revisiting those grand halls filled with three meter high paintings."

"I'm impressed. There's an interest in art in you. Tell me what impressed you most?"

"The two sculptures of Michelangelo - the two slaves. They almost – resonate," I stammered.

Cosmo grinned, "Tis a favorite room of mine, too. And those two slaves they do resonate. If I may ask, what do they mean to you?"

"Why they are an affirmation that a rich life should be a struggle," I replied without hesitation.

"That is very well put my friend. That is the most insightful thing I've heard since I arrived here on this visit. Hearing something like that makes my world go round. That is why art is so treasured – it brings the very best of humanity to the forefront. I wish I could tell you that I've had success with my visit to Nouveau Paris, but I have not. I cannot broker a peaceful coexistence between these parties."

Cosmo let out a long deep sigh.

"I am pleased that you have had this opportunity to see and experience this paradise – Nouveau Paris. We may be leaving here sooner than I had planned. "

"Trouble?"

"That's putting it mildly lad. I have been reduced to having names hurled at me; 'elitist', 'dilettante' to mention a few. Those who help watch my back have suggested that we leave here. Apparently, here - compromise is construed as something immoral to the ideologies of all the parties involved in this conflict. So, there is no peace to be brokered here at this time and I do not want to become the next casualty in the conflict. Tomorrow, I'll deliver a speech for the benefit of the media and try to put an optimistic spin on the situation and then off we'll go and 'head for the hills' as they used to say – find somewhere safe to hunker down till one of these parties sobers up or becomes defeated."

"Is this about the factory-ship?"

"That's right – and that is where all those shiny new Mercenary miu's you fought so valiantly against came from."

"Has no one thought of destroying it?"

"One has to find it first. It is said to be made up of five major pieces that can transport themselves, reassemble again and start manufacturing in just hours. I would imagine that it can defend itself too, but the fact that it can transport itself to virtually anywhere in space at anytime would make it - impossible to find. I understand it transports itself randomly every seventy-two hours. And don't think the Republic is not searching for it as we sit here and speak of it and I would suspect the same of the New Eurons, too."

"So, are these Mercenaries or deep-space Colonists organized? I've never heard of Colonists from deep-space – being aligned."

"Like as a political group? I suspect not as cohesively as the Republic or New Euro; they I suppose are mostly united by greed. It's more like the new world imposing its influence on the old world. You know I've lived long enough to have witnessed all this before and the outcome then was harrowing. The right thing to do then is the same now as what it was back then."

I raised an eyebrow.

"The right thing to do sometimes defies logic; you compromise or fight. At least if you compromise today, you live to fight another day! But, they will not listen."

With that, he got up and the two dogs, too.

"Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to visit an old home the two of us once shared – a lab in the capital that is now a museum. Put your hand out, Mark."

I reached my hand out and up to Cosmo from where I sat and he reached forth and touched the tip of my middle finger and it burned with pain for a second or two as our two fingers touched.

"Did you feel something, Mark?"

"Yeah?"

I pulled my hand back in a hurry and inspected it for some redness, but there didn't appear to be any evidence of the pain. It wasn't a static discharge; it was something I had never felt before.

"That was your mortality," and he left the room.

*****

The next morning just as Cosmo had indicated, he and I plus his security people and some of his immediate aides headed into the capital. We arrived at an old glass tower from many centuries ago and used the old cable-trams to visit various levels of the old building, and for the most part he and his party gave only cursory glances to the old equipment that was once used in 'old' New Euro to manufacture, via eugenics the people of the future.

It came to my attention, first subtly and then not so subtly that there were media people here who wanted to have a word with me and neither they nor I could get close enough to each other to do so. I was definitely in the lens of the media and I found myself uncomfortably smiling back at them. Apparently, once you were a member of a party cloistered around an immortal, only the immortal could speak publicly or in some cases, specific aides could speak for you on his behalf. I for some reason was now a person of great interest to the media, but not until today, and for the past four days that I had been here on Nouveau Paris no one had paid much attention to my presence, or so it had appeared to me.

At a cryogenic chilling facility, I was ushered up to the front and for the media's benefit I was posed beside Cosmo who was fully decked-out in a cape and other formal attire.

"Here," he said, "Both he and I were brothers by numbers some five hundred years ago."

Cosmo went on to become immortal and in that same time, I and some of my future fellow cadets of the New Euron National Service Academy languished for centuries, frozen in liquid nitrogen and lost in a clump of frost in this same facility.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here today, I present my younger brother – by numbers: Mark. Here, he and I spent the earliest moments of life together as newly fertilized embryos, though through fate, I am his elder by some five centuries. But I must tell you, I feel a kindred spirit between us.

"As you all must know by now, Mark's presence in this universe came to light to all of us rather dramatically at the battle for the Republic's Vancouver Island settlement on our old Earth. He demonstrated to all of us that men can still fight hand to hand and head to head – the most sophisticated of war machines and be victorious. Ladies and gentlemen, - men will determine the outcome of this present conflict and not the war machines of the deep-space Colonists' mercenaries!"

And so it was, that I was used further as means of propaganda for the Republic.

The real difference between the New Eurons and the Rebels was becoming a little clearer to me. When I reflect back at what it was to be New Euron, I suppose it was a life that had a much more unified sense of purpose and it was so, because for generations our population's persona had been shaped to have us all both co-operate together and to compete against other nations as a single unit; it was bred into us. New Eurons were big believers in becoming the very best at whatever they applied themselves to. These Rebels and their Republic had all the same technology as we New Eurons and they even had many New Eurons within their own ranks, but they were made up of too many different ideologies that were amalgamated together, but only out of necessity. These Rebels were as human as the New Eurons were, but they were not as single-minded as a single group should be. It surprised me that these deep-space Colonists would want to ally themselves with New Euro because to me they had more in common with the Rebel Republic. If I were a real New Euron, rather than the 'persona non-grata' that I now was, then I too would wonder the same.

Following our visit to the old lab, Cosmo visited again with the diplomats of all the aggrieved parties once more that afternoon, but while he negotiated, his people were already packing for his departure from Nouveau Paris. The die had already been cast; the present détente would soon end and the war would ultimately heat-up in intensity, too.

The whole excursion appeared to be a wasted effort on the part of the peacemakers as I observed it, but it simply wasn't yet time for peace said Cosmo that evening once he was safely aboard his personal spacecraft: the Beagle. If there was to be a return to war, I decided that I should volunteer myself to fight in it and I started considering the ways and means in how I might make that happen. I would return to the trenches if I was so asked, I thought. Perhaps, I could help train stinger-crews or pilot one myself, but then I began to worry again about Margaret, Tia and Sophie. Should the war heat-up in intensity, what would become of them? Would they be used for parts? Put into the trenches? Or would they simply become casualties?

I decided that I would ask Cosmo for his insight, to see what could be done because you just can't seem to rest your mind about people you've come to care about when a war is on. There's so much uncertainty in the air; you worry that they are worried. You feel overwhelmed with impotence, and being unable to do anything to alleviate this perceived suffering – it just wears you down.

We were safely aboard the Beagle, but we hadn't yet 'headed for the hills' as he had mentioned as his intentions two days earlier. Apparently, he was having the most difficult time with the deep-space Colonists and there were doubts that they would respect the neutrality of Nouveau Paris. Providing that the diplomatic team from the deep-space colonies remained at the bargaining table Cosmo felt that he should sit quietly on the sidelines and offer support if needed to the Republic. It troubled him that diplomats of the highest level from New Euro and the Republic were present, but the deep-space Colonists were presently only represented by much lower level aides. He suspected that this indicated a lack of sincerity on their part and not just the' logistics of distance' that they claimed were responsible for the lower-level aides who had been sent presently to represent the deep-space Colonist's concerns at the peace conference.

It didn't look good, and Cosmo half-wanted to start-out on the long journey to the deep-space colonies himself and speak with their real leadership. He felt that the deep-space Colonists were simply biding their time here, and it made him feel uncomfortable that the present détente between the parties seemed to be more in their interest, where they could continue with strengthening their presence militarily here and forgo any serious effort to bargain for peace.

*****

I found Cosmo alone, late into the evening in one of his many sitting-room locations.

"Cosmo, I'm going to presume that you may need my services less, now that we have left Nouveau Paris. And now, if I may? Ask, if I might visit with my old friends from the salvage team."

"Why Mark you have made an excellent 'poster-boy' for the Republic's war effort. And I should think that by now you may feel a little used. But, I'm not done with you. Our relationship has only begun. I'm not that kind of immortal to just cast off someone because it appears that I'm finished with them. I can assure you that the two members of your old team that are left – are well."

"Two?"

"Oh, of course, the hybrid makes three. Is this a social visit? Enlighten me, Mark?"

"I find myself worrying about them. They supported me and I them."

"You know. That hybrid could be purchased. We could restart her career right here," and he swung an arm about.

I was perplexed and he could see me wrinkle my brow.

"The hybrid is chattel – Mark. She can be purchased by you, should you desire that. You could have your own personal deep-space, hybrid technician. I can arrange all of that, but the spacecraft – you'll have to purchase that on your own," he laughed. "Your other two friends are the Republic's assets and I can do nothing about bringing them to safety if that's your concern, and I suspect it is."

"Can I fetch her myself – the hybrid I mean?"

"I think that can be arranged. You can become a diplomatic attaché for the immortal – Cosmo. I like that idea. My name is mud now in much of New Euro, and in some of the Republic presently, but I routinely have the need to send assignees here and there as personal interns to do diplomatic work on my behalf. I have a small team leaving to do work in the Republic in just a few days. Let me speak with my people who can better plan this than me. If we can't make a diplomat out of you, I bet you would make a marvelous security person."

*****

Assassin

Jebediah and Joyce were the two members of the diplomatic team that Cosmo had leaving in just a few days time for the Rebel Republic. They were not thrilled with the idea of having a third member added onto their team. They considered their work dangerous and didn't want my 'media face' following them about. It wouldn't be possible to conceal my identity from the Rebel authorities, but it was possible to disguise my appearance somewhat so I wouldn't attract too much unwanted attention from the media and general public. Cosmo insisted that they were probably much safer with me with them than without because of my star-power.

Nonetheless, I was to be given a head of thick dark hair that would make my former French attaché Pierre green with envy and my skin would be lightened, too. It did not matter to me - there was no place for vanity in my world because I am a goal-orientated person - a soldier- to me the means of acquiring a particular end are ultimately inconsequential.

Jebediah was the team leader and Joyce and I were to be his aides on the mission. Jebediah was the man I would have to look out for and up to if I were to see Tia again. He was a very clever diplomat, and a pleasant and an engaging character when he was on the job, but he was a miserable son of a bitch to get along with when he wasn't working according to Joyce. His next mission had become reduced to a shopping-trip for a nondescript hybrid and he was not amused.

"It a false détente," said Joyce, and I had heard this from many people by now.

"All sides are secretly strengthening their defenses and planning their strategies. It's the worst kind of waiting game because you know that when someone eventually blinks in this showdown absolutely anything could follow."

"But you and Jebediah must be in the know somewhat?"

"If Jebediah and I were in the know, we wouldn't make it back to this ship on such a mission – there would be an interrogation – and not the kind you live through to pick our brains of whatever we knew. So, no - Jebediah and I are not in the know and neither are you. And nor do we want to be."

The medical technician said that I should have hair for as much as a year. It would grow in rapidly at first and as the months passed the rate of hair growth would slowly ebb and I would then gradually return to my normal New Euron head of hair and it would be much the same for my new skin color, too. It all made little sense to me because the passport that I would be carrying, irregardless of my likeness shown on it would indicate exactly who I was.

It was a big surprise to me when I was asked to have a kit surgically reattached to my temples. This new kit was upgradeable and many times more sophisticated than the one that I had as a cadet back on New Euro. It was reasoned that if I didn't have a kit similar to the type being used by both Jebediah and Joyce then I might draw the suspicion of those that we'd rather avoid if possible. In the end it looked impressive, but it was hardly activated in that it only allowed me to operate household furniture and the like; I was pretty much a door opener.

I knew very little about the mission other than we were to deliver a secure data package and collect the same somewhere on the trailing orbiter: the Thirteenth Colony. The Thirteenth Colony was a major commercial center and Tia had been delivered to a hybrid reseller for us to collect before we were to leave and return to the Beagle. Both Jebediah and Joyce held citizenship status in the Republic and would be operating in the relative safety of a familiar environment; not me however.

Just hours before we were to leave for the Thirteenth Colony, Jebediah, for reasons unknown, changed the mission. We would now be operating as two groups of two rather than as a single group of three. Jebediah and another aide were to operate as another team and appear as a serious decoy because of intelligence advice that he had received from sources again unknown, that our mission was being carefully watched by the deep-space Colonists.

All diplomatic parties visiting any foreign planet, orbiter, settlement etc, needed to file an itinerary at the custom's gate of entry to a foreign state. The ridiculous diplomatic matter of shopping for a deep-space hybrid as Joyce and I were now conducting as a mission would not make us as likely suspects carrying an important data package, but the itinerary that Jebediah and his partner would be filing would look like a serious diplomatic mission. It seemed suspicious and too, cloak and dagger for me, but this was the kind of overkill that good diplomats practiced I reasoned.

My head was still sore from the surgery done just the day before and the beard and other body hair that was rapidly growing all over me had already put me in a sour mood. I was hitching a ride with these people as far as I was concerned and in the hope that I could get Tia out of there and safe aboard a real deep-space spacecraft. She'd be thrilled – I just know she would.

Passing through customs went smoothly and as planned we split into two groups. Joyce and I went directly to a contracted transport and in minutes we were a ten-minute walk to the hybrid reseller's location. I watched Joyce carefully; she spent a good deal of her time talking about nothing important and swung her head about, to and fro, as if it were a natural part of her carrying on a conversation, but actually, she was watching for any suspicious activity going on around us. She seemed to be in silent contact most of the time by kit with someone. My kit was pretty much inoperative accept for opening doors and such and I was not privy as to what she was at all times as we progressed to the reseller.

It was an industrial area of the orbiter that we had been transported to and the air was poor and stank. The gravity was light and there was not much light as we walked the narrow avenues that more resembled sewer pipes.

"This certainly isn't Paris Nouveau," I said.

"Hardly – and that's what makes it such a prize to the deep-space colonists."

I saw her reach into her collar and touch a personal grenade that I only now noticed was present. I've seen many a New Euron do the same over the years and the way in which she just did it indicated that she was nervous. Now, I was nervous; what was her kit telling her?

Thankfully, the pedestrian traffic began to pick up as we encountered a commerce area where we would find the reseller and Joyce slowed her pace. It looked like the first leg of our mission was going to turn-out well.

The signage for the reseller indicated that they had the finest hybrids in the Republic. I was purchasing a deep-space technician, but the most popular models were domestics that could be put to work doing anything which was unfortunate because the most popular models were far more human-like and were usually employed in the sex trade industry.

"You're going to get a real eyeful in here, Mark," said Joyce as we entered the facility's front gate.

There was security just inside the door just like everywhere you went on the Thirteenth Colony. Our documentation was checked and a manager came out from an office to greet us. We followed the lethargic fellow back into the depths of the facility and each door we passed through and there were many, required his personal security verification. The place seemed more like a prison then some of the lock-ups that Tia and I had stayed in only a few months ago.

I watched Joyce closely, patiently waiting for her to do the drop or exchange that was our mission and then it happened; someone stopped the lethargic manager for a moment to ask for directions and Joyce having heard a code word in the conversation did an electronic data transfer. As data transfers go and there were millions of them going on at any given second in an orbiter the size of this one and albeit most of them whether encrypted or not were only as secure as the latest technology would have it - but a tiny signal like this one - was not going to be intercepted unless someone within a few meters of the exchange was actively listening for it. I'd say that was as secure as one could get for a transfer, but we now no doubt were carrying data of some importance back to Cosmo.

"We've given your deep-space hybrid a good cleaning and ran her thorough a check list of tests. We typically give a domestic a year warranty and do all the repairs ourselves on site, but this hybrid is a rare one, if something happens - you might want to check out a veterinarian," said the grinning manager as he brought us into a dark sitting-room.

Joyce was paying no attention at all to what was going-on and seemed pretty preoccupied as we entered the room, but I had never seen a more pleased deep-space hybrid.

"Bah Roo," she cooed cheerfully - her eyes wide and frantic.

"You know this hybrid?"

"Yes and we have a place for her that suits just this sort of hybrid."

"Good. We see maybe one or two of this type a year. You need another, you let us know."

"Yeah."

And he handed me a leash. I suppose I looked confused.

"It's the law here. All hybrids must be leashed when in public places. Once you put her to work she won't need a leash. Incidentally, but I bet you know all this - this kind of hybrid can run like the wind through that narrow ductwork they use in deep-space spacecraft with little or no light and do one-eighties in a fifty centimeter duct – a truly amazing creature."

Joyce was starting to look impatient and after signing some paperwork it was just a matter of finding our way out of there again. Once outside of the reseller's gates, we started are way back to a nearby transport station, but not the same one and not by the same path of course. I'm sure that in time I'll understand all the reasoning for this cloak and dagger stuff, but right now I have to follow my partner and we proceeded along some pedestrian conduit that I wouldn't want to walk through during the slow hours of a late evening. There were a few passersby, but not too many; I would think that a route with more pedestrian traffic would be more ideal for this kind of thing.

And then there were was no one anywhere to be seen, but that didn't stop Joyce from swinging her head about, and she wasn't feigning conversation this time, she was concentrating on what her kit was telling her. Tia didn't seem to mind the leash at all; this was probably the most freedom she had had for several years and she seemed engrossed with every open pipe or flashing light we passed.

"We've got to pick-up our pace, Mark. Hurry! " she said through clenching teeth.

I looked to her first in surprise and as soon as we made eye contact – my kit synched with hers. We were in deep trouble. Contact with the other team had ceased. The decoys: Jebediah and his partner were missing – and assumed to have been destroyed. Behind us I could hear someone running and a lot faster than humanly possible. It was an assassin.

He was on top of us in a second and he tossed me aside like I was nothing and he immediately began attacking Joyce - and he was trying to wrench her head off. I hopped onto his back and applied a twentieth century style sleeper hold on him and held onto him for dear life.

He was a man-machine assassin. There wasn't a real bone in his body or I would have broken some then and there. I could feel the rigid composite tubing beneath his flesh twist and flex as he bucked and shook to break my hold. Tia leapt at him and tried to bite his leg, but he kicked her away.

A man-machine only needs air to speak and he was quite vocal – gurgling and growling as I kept my grip on him as he swung around, to and fro, bashing me on the conduit walls, but I've been trained: a man machine needs blood to get to his brain or he'll eventually drop. And he began to tire and grew weaker after a half minute or so and then he collapsed to the floor, but I kept my grip still – till he was completely motionless.

Tia was fine, but terrified. Joyce was in obvious medical distress, but she was alive and blood was running rather profusely down my back and neck from head wounds I had received from having my head being bashed into the conduit walls by the man-machine. I was going into shock; I could feel it. I was shutting-down, but then people started showing up, and lots of them – not the authorities like the police and emergency responders, but regular people. First it seemed like there were just a few who started caring for our injuries, but then there seemed to be dozens and then hundreds - who were blocking intersections and obscuring cameras. They carried us away from the danger and took us to a safe house.

We remained at the safe house for only fifteen minutes or so and then we were taken by stretcher to a nearby transport station. A health technician of high caliber had closed my wounds and had estimated for me that I had at least four fractured ribs, but no protrusions into the chest cavity. Joyce's neck had been broken, but they were optimistic that she would recover if she were moved to a trauma facility quickly. A young girl of thirteen or so cared for Tia and minded her leash; she smiled back at us reassuringly the whole time.

The transport delivered us directly to the colony's custom-office where a heavily armed security team escorted us onto the waiting Beagle. Cosmo was not his normal smiling self and he met us directly as we entered the craft. He had a stern look on his face and had only a few words with the colony's security people. We didn't take the scenic route to Nouveau Paris this time and I think Joyce was being cared for in the best trauma-facility, bar none, within a half hour.

My ribs would heal in a few days with treatment. There would be several months of recovery yet for Joyce; she was lucky to be alive. It took me hours to get much information from Tia about what she had been through during the past three months or so. She walked about the Beagle like she was in a dream and the looks that were exchanged between her and the resident hybrid deep-space technicians on Cosmo's spacecraft were like long staring contests, but apparently this was how these hybrids communicate with each other. It was the most unusual thing to watch; eye lids fluttering, pupils dilating and closing – you might think that they were reading each other's thoughts, but there was more going on.

Cosmo seemed to know more about Sophie and Margaret than Tia knew. If something was sad or unpleasant she didn't want to talk about it, but apparently a few nights after I disappeared, Shelly and Emily were abducted in the same way as I was; while they slept and by this time they had all taken to tying one another together with a fabric rope that they had fashioned from tearing up some bedding. In the end, the rope made no difference, but it helped them sleep I suppose.

The next morning Sophie became so inconsolable with the loss of both Emily and Shelly that she started setting fires and smashing the cell up in a fit of madness. The guards arrived shortly thereafter and from there on, Tia became separated from both Margaret and Sophie.

Tia asked me if I knew what had become of Shelley and Emily.

"It's not good," and I left it at that.

Tia had been on the Beagle less than one day and already she was following its crew of deep-space hybrids through the ducts of ship. They seemed to have a loose pecking order of one or two in charge and the remainder taking commands from those two. Tia was the newcomer in the group and it was like watching a child feeling-out a new playground, testing relationships and trying to fit in with the others.

Cosmo returned to the peace conference that was still ongoing on Nouveau Paris because it was what his enemies didn't want and after what had happened to his aides no one was going to say he was unwelcome even if that was the case. It wasn't until a few days after the assassin's attack that I got an opportunity to talk to Cosmo.

"Mark you did very well that afternoon without a side arm. That would have been a sorry man-machine had you a powered pike at hand I bet. How are your ribs?"

"They are still tender. Why did those people help us?"

"The shopkeepers, the school children and the rest? Well, I suppose they don't want a war to put it simply. Joyce was never going to get the real authorities there in time to help. So before the assassin was even upon you, a distress signal of sorts was sent to all interested citizens that were nearby. They came – by the hundreds - without weapons, leaving whatever important things they were doing because someone who wants peace for them needed help. When they realized who they were helping and I don't mean just yours truly, a real sense of unity and purpose took hold of the people on the Thirteenth Colony. It's done a lot to soften the hatred of all things New Euron in the Republic – there's a new 'bogeyman' and it's just sinking in."

"The deep-space Colonists?"

"The sole purpose of the assassins' attacks was meant to intimidate me. They attacked three of my own to prove that they can get to me if they want. I won't be baited by own idealism nor will I provide them with an easy target for their assassins. I have immortal friends and others, who are maybe or maybe not my friends, but they are all united in seeing that an immortal is not assassinated by greedy deep-space Colonists!"

"I saw that Joyce was wearing a personal grenade around her neck?"

"That was one of Jebediah's ideas of recent. Didn't help him though - both his head and that of his partner were removed by the assassins."

"They were not detonated?"

"There were no blast marks on their bodies."

"You need training to wear a personal grenade. Were their heads taken away?"

"Yes," sighed Cosmo.

"I suppose that's a major intelligence setback?"

"I should say so, but the real tragedy is that I loss two good people. The intelligence that was lost is secondary."

"Cosmo – if I could come up with a plan to destroy the Colonist's factory-ship would you be supportive? Would you help?"

"Mark if you are suggesting a suicide mission \- no. This is not the time. I'd be playing into their hand. They'd like that. The Republic or the New Eurons are the only ones that can risk escalating the crisis; they are the ones who have so much to lose."

"But it's been rightly suggested that it's the factory-ship's presence and its location that have upset the balance of power here? If it were gone or disabled, how long would it take them to replace it? A decade? More? Less?"

"Young Mark – a great deal of pressure has been applied onto yours truly to reveal where this ship is, but I can't find it. If I could, I would have promptly informed the Republic as to its whereabouts - without haste!"

"Well – I am a soldier and I do not have a plan as of yet, but I have some ideas that I would like to pursue. It is in my nature to prepare for all possible outcomes. May I return to the Republic as an employee of yours and meet with my former comrades?"

Cosmo was wearing a curious grin.

"Your enemies can have my brain if they can manage to do so, but it will have little of anything in real intelligence to aid them. I'm of little use to you right now. Am I not correct?"

"So, young Mark has a plan in the making? I should hope that we never need use of it, since whenever you become involved with matters – dramatic events seem to follow. So very well, you may return to the Republic to see your former comrades and research your ideas, but much of this will have to be done on your own as I am rather shorthanded these days. If I see the need to ask for you to return with short notice, I expect you to comply promptly."

I nodded my head in agreement.

"Do I need to remind you of your mortality?"

He held out his hand.

"No sir."

*****

I saw less and less of Tia as she became more and more involved with her training on the Beagle. It appeared that after a few days had passed that she had found her place among the other hybrid technicians and at times she had one or two more senior hybrids following her around. When we did spend time together she seemed awestruck with the body hair that had taken over me. I now pretty much had a full beard and you could run your hands through my head of dark black hair. She liked to touch it and I suppose she having no body hair of any kind was jealous or certainly mystified by its presence. I could just tolerate its presence and sometimes I didn't recognize my own reflection. It would help, I hoped.

I was briefed for hours on what to do, and what not to do as an employee of an inter-space diplomat before leaving on my own for the Republic. My kit had already located the whereabouts of both Sophie and Margaret, and Margaret because of her nearer proximity would be the first that I would visit. It was immensely relieving having Tia in a safe environment and out of harm's way – it was such a relief from the worry. I fully understood that I may not be well received by Sophie and Margaret and that there may be little that I can do personally to guard them from danger, but there would at least be some real closure now between us. And then, there were some questions that I wanted to ask the two of them about salvaging in general. One or the other should be able to help shed some light on the mystery of the business. Perhaps a return to the salvaging business might be in my future?

*****

My departure for the Republic was a little bumpy. Cosmo had yet another seizure that morning. I had seen him earlier and he greeted me as always; cheerfully and with some old archaic greeting he had just remembered or just created.

"Top of the morning to you - young fellow."

"Good morning Cosmo."

And minutes later I saw his tired body, limp with fatigue being reclined with the help of others onto a bed.

Then Tia who I hadn't seen much lately ambushed me.

"I've heard that you are going back there?"

"The Republic? Yes I have to Tia."

"Why?"

"To visit with Sophie and Margaret. I want them to know that I'm alive and well," I lied.

"They would know. They would have heard or seen you in the media. I did – before you came for me. You should not go back there Mark. The same men that tried to kill us will be after you. I know what war is. They'll want you dead."

And she paused. Hybrids can't cry, but they can look terribly mournful.

"When I'm not busy, when it's time for me to rest - I see that man-machine's face. I see the war in his face.

"I saw him struggle, and then fall when you fought him. Take me with you. I can help. I can learn to fight."

How does one console a hybrid? It shouldn't even be necessary, but then, this hybrid has been through so much.

"Tia. I'm a soldier. I know you know what that is. I have a job to do until this war is over. I have you and so many friends that I worry about. I have to stay busy at my work just like you or I feel that I'm not helping matters. I promise that I'll include you in my plans as much as I can in the future, but the Republic is no place for a hybrid. I'll be back in just a few days I hope, and I'll bring you news about Margaret and Sophie."

I had anticipated that Tia might become upset if I returned to the Republic, but I felt that if I could convince her that she was considered as a real person on my team then she might understand my position more clearly. I now had an opportunity to meet with Margaret and Sophie and if what just happened a few days ago hadn't occurred then as it did, I'd probably be light-years away from here by now. Seize the moment – Dimitri used to say.

I could carry no weapon while in the Republic. I would have freedom of movement, but I would likely be under a fair amount of scrutiny if not outright surveillance while visiting the Thirteenth Colony and that was where I would find Margaret in the employ of a Republic food service contractor. Most likely it was a poorer occupation than her former one of a salvager, but as a New Euron prisoner of war, most would still consider her new posting a fortunate one. There would be meals and lodging provided for her, but likely no pay. She would have very little freedom of movement allowed to her and this would make it difficult for me to speak with her, but I would try, nonetheless.

There were people located throughout the Republic that would provide whatever Cosmo desired, and I was to meet with some of them and see what could be done. I was told that some of these allied operatives had a great deal of influence and were well positioned in law enforcement, the military and all levels of government. A dean at a technical college no less would be enlisted to have me disappear within a busy student campus and once that was achieved, plans would be made for a meeting with Margaret.

Passing through customs went well and no one questioned my asset number; it almost appeared to me that they may have been expecting me. Not a soul otherwise seemed to pay attention to me; I had a huge head of hair now that I wore combed back into a thick black mane that I tied into a tail. I shaved all of my face save for my upper lip which was adorned with a dark black handlebar moustache. I looked like a healthy young student of a New Euron mix in heritage.

I could communicate with Cosmo and his support people directly with the use of my kit, but it wouldn't be secure, so I was given directions in advance as to how to find my way to one of the many college communities that supplied trade professionals for the Republic's Thirteenth Colony. All the Republic's upper schools and academies were named after early colonists or other prominent persons from the past. The college that I was to find my contact at was the Tesla School of Technology and I was to find my way to its library and wait.

It had only been a year since I had been a cadet in the New Euron National Service and before that I had spent several years in upper schools very much like this one. It felt awkward at first mixing with these people who were just a few years younger than I. One big difference here though, was the diversity in people. In the New Euron schools almost everyone was the same height; some slighter and some pudgier, but for the most part it was tan skin, brown eyes and sparse dark hair wherever one looked. The citizens of the Republic however, were a mosaic of shapes and sizes, hues and color. No one seemed to care that a young New Euron stranger was among them, in fact I noticed many who would have had been New Euron or a New Euron mix were present even among the faculty.

I spent a half hour or so at a media-desk in the library, and tried to familiarize myself with the recent news. Apparently, the détente between the warring factions was still in place and negotiations were continuing on Nouveau Paris. I found an article covering Cosmo's recent visit and the unfortunate loss of two of his diplomats a week ago; the republic's citizenry was warned to be vigilant and to report any suspicious persons or man-machine activities to the authorities.

I kept a wary eye out for suspicious persons myself and there was one face in particular that I had noticed several times now since I had arrived on the campus. She wasn't faculty as I was expecting, but then I was only told that the dean of men here would be engineering all of this and I didn't know what to expect or when I might meet up with him. I suppose she was a she, since she certainly wasn't a New Euron and most citizens of the Republic followed more gender specific roles. She was perhaps a few years younger than I and had a short practical head of sandy blonde hair. At any rate, it appeared that she was a student or pretending to be such.

And again, she suddenly appeared directly behind me just inches away from my back.

"That is my favorite immortal," she said pointing over my shoulder at the media I was perusing. "Has he resurfaced again?"

"I don't think so. Not of recent - anyways."

"It was horrible what happened to his two diplomats."

"I thought there were four?"

"You won't find any mention of that in the media – Mark?"

I nodded.

"Yours truly?"

"Mary. And welcome to Tesla."

The Tesla College of technology was a school which trained a variety of electrical technicians, technologists and engineers. Their graduates became constructors, maintenance persons and design people for big commercial and industrial concerns of near and deep-space facilities. It wasn't clear to me how this campus of electricians was going to help me meet Margaret at a Republican food manufacturing facility, but I decided to be patient; these people seemed to be both helpful and friendly.

Mary and I walked for a good twenty minutes or so through school and dormitory corridors and up and down staircases until anyone who might be following us, would surely be showing signs of exhaustion. When she seemed satisfied, we ducked in a doorway that looked like a hundred other dorm room entrances that we had passed by.

"Hello young man."

His name was Dennis and he had been the dean of the Tesla College of technology for nearly twenty years now. He had become politically active as a young man and was a senior executive member of a clandestine group called the 'Freedom Brotherhood'. Political associations and their agendas were always considered counterproductive in both New Euro and in the Republic. Men were judged as individuals and by their individual merits – group forming was forbidden, so even popular ideologies such as democracy and socialism were forced underground. The only justice that prevailed in society often was that which was provided by these secret organizations or by persons of privilege such as Cosmo for example.

"Hello to you, too. You have a marvelous school here. How many students?"

"On campus at anytime: ten thousand. Perhaps another hundred thousand of up graders per year can pass through here. So you can see how insignificant a new face such as yours is here with those kinds of numbers."

I nodded.

"Mark I can get you to within meters of this person of your interest – tomorrow. You may have to become a little creative on your own behalf to have a conversation with this person, but we can get you to her. I'm quite sure of that.

"They've done a remarkable job of changing your appearance. You still look as fit as a soldier, but they've softened that New Euron commando look you once sported. Of late, some of our most impressionable students here have shaved their heads to resemble you. You are quite the phenomenon with the youth of the Republic. Everyone wants a hero I think.

"So, tomorrow Mark you are an electrical apprentice and you will be visiting in the company of Mary here - the precise location where your person of interest works. Her asset number has her scheduled to be at work between seven a.m. and seven p.m. tomorrow at a contracted protein and dairy facility for the Republic Food Services. We'll provide you with the appropriate clothing and P.P.E. and as long as you know one end of a spanner from the other – it'll be a piece of cake."

Mary had a private dorm room prepared for me where I could wait safely until the next morning. Student dorms were notoriously small and drab, but she assured me that I wouldn't become too stir crazy because there would always be someone with me that I could have a conversation with until the mission was complete.

"What's he like?"

"Who? Cosmo?"

"Yeah ," asked Mary once we had arrived in my billet.

"Well, when he is in the media lens he behaves in a light manner and in his charming Cosmo style, but when not in the media lens he is a very serious fellow – rather stoic and he spends a good deal of time reflecting in thought. When you speak with him it's like talking with the most experienced elder that you can imagine."

"And he's five hundred years old?"

"That's what I'm told."

"Have you met any other immortals?"

"Only Cosmo."

"They are very mysterious aren't they?"

"Oh, for certain and Cosmo is suppose to be one of the oldest - going back to the very start of the immortals."

"I've heard – because you won't find any records on the matter that immortals don't live forever. In fact, Cosmo may be in his last few years or days perhaps, or so I've heard. Some of us think that this explains his passion for peace right now."

"I'm not aware of any health issues that he may have," I lied. "He's told me personally that some immortals have taken their own lives because of depression in the past. He said it's terribly depressing to watch friends and loved ones grow old and die.

"He intimated to me once on that matter, that he had learned to enjoy immortal life by meeting new people as often as possible and that it helped him immensely to do so. I think other immortals as you already noted become reclusive. Perhaps, it's from depression or perhaps it's the result of centuries of self-imposed alienation. They are after all – a select caste in society. Wouldn't we all eventually become disenchanted with life if we had no connection any more with the real - world?"

"I would still love to be an immortal."

"Why?"

"Because these deep-space Colonists despise them," said Mary tightening her lips into a serious frown.

"I think Cosmo would admire your passion."

And her smile returned once again.

*****

The following morning I headed out with Mary, as her electrical apprentice, to do some contracted maintenance work at a Republic food services facility that Margaret worked at as a laborer. With only a few exceptions it appeared that the very dregs at the bottom of the Republican society gravitated to work in the food service industry. Only the supervisors appeared to show any self esteem or personal pride in their demeanor and appearance. So it was by no accident that a prisoner of war had been pressed into service here. These people were slaves doing the work that no one else wanted.

Being a down day, whereby manufacturing had ceased for maintenance, Margaret was supposed to be on a team that was cleaning and disinfecting mechanical equipment used in the manufacture of food. I was only on the job in the vicinity of where Mary was to be found for a few minutes when I noticed someone lugging a hose about that had the familiar gait to her movement as Margaret had had.

"Margaret," I whispered.

She looked about among her co-workers for the source of her name being whispered, but they were all busy. I caught her attention nonetheless, and waved her over; it was obvious that she hadn't recognized me.

"Could you hold a light for us?" I asked her more directly and pointed to an open electrical panel.

"I suppose so."

Mary disappeared and I pretended to fix something within the panel.

"Margaret. It's Mark. I'm Mark."

Her eyes widened.

"Is that you – Mister Sevens?"

"Yes, yes – it's me."

"You have so much hair?"

"I need to be less conspicuous – that's why all the hair. Have you heard from Sophie?"

"No."

"I'm not sure if you know what has happened to me since we were all back on the salvage crew?"

"I – I think I do. You're now with the immortal Cosmo."

"That's right. And I think I can make life better for all of us Margaret, but I might need a little help from you and Sophie."

"I can't. I'm happy here believe it or not."

I looked at her. She still had that crooked smile that I remembered. She wasn't kidding though. They had gotten to her already.

"Margaret – all of this," and I pointed around to everything surrounding us, "is in danger."

"Honestly Mark, I'm alright with this - I have a good life here," she said tearing up a tiny bit.

Her heart wasn't in this and I had no right asking of anything from her.

"That's okay then Margaret. I'm going to see Sophie, too. Is there anything that you would like me to tell her?"

"Tell her I love her. I love all of you."

"I'll do that. You be careful."

"I will. I'll tell no one about this."

"Thanks. I'll let Sophie know you're well."

We smiled at each other and she passed the lamp back to me as I got up from one knee.

Margaret went back to the task of hosing down the machinery that she was cleaning and not an eyebrow had been raised. It lifted my spirit to see her once more, but she appeared to be more fragile now. Who am I to judge, but I think she wanted nothing more to do with her past.

"Did you have a good meeting Mark?"

"I suppose so, but I had hoped for more. I think I frightened her and I think they've gotten hold of her and briefed her as to what might happen to her should she ever have contact with me."

"They may not have had to. You're pretty intimidating to me – a hero several times over now. One of Cosmo's denizens and wherever you go things seem to happen. I'm awed by you and I'm also scared to death of what might happen to us at any moment."

"You and Dennis have done a very good job of keeping me undercover. I wish the two of you were in charge on my last visit."

Mary smiled and we finished up the job before disappearing back into the throngs of maintenance people who seemed to be everywhere in the facility.

Dennis had found another dorm room in a remote part of the campus for me to spend the following evening and night in. The room was more or less the same as the last one: tiny and claustrophobic. I suppose these rooms didn't need to be any larger because a student would normally spend most of his time in a shop, a lab, or a library and would likely only sleep and study back in his or hers' tiny room.

Mary had said her goodbyes to me earlier in the afternoon and I had thanked her for all her help. She however knew nothing about where Sophie might be or what was being arranged for me to see her. I would have to ask Dennis who was to visit me later in the evening.

*****

"Mark - there is a problem with Sophie."

I immediately thought that she might be dead; taken in her sleep like the others.

"Is she dead?"

"No, but she could be retired soon. Her status as a Republic asset has dropped dramatically since she was last incarcerated. We've got people who have been padding her metrics regularly, but she has become a handful to say the least."

'She's a prisoner of war – how can she be further incarcerated?"

"You know the game Mark. Did they ever refer to you as a prisoner of war when you were captured? Prisoners of war have rights, as an asset of the Republic you have none. If the media is correct – you were once a zero. I personally didn't think that was even possible."

"I was indeed a zero I assure you Dennis. What is Sophie?"

"She is in the low hundreds."

"Why so low?"

"Since the salvage crew that she was a part of was disbanded she has become anti-social; anti-social enough to be incarcerated with the criminally insane. The average stay in a facility for the criminally insane is about ninety days I hear, before they're retired and that's when times are good. Times are not so good now and realistically, Sophie may only have a week or two."

"But I need to see her."

"I'm sure you do, but she's locked up in a secure facility. I'm working on it and my people are working on it, but we need another day or two to figure some way to get you to her or better yet - get her out of there."

"What about Cosmo?"

"That would be a bad idea. He has as many enemies as he has friends."

"Where is this prison facility?"

"It's not here in the colony, but it's within a light transporter's range from what I understand."

"She's probably still on the same base that I was taken from."

"That's possible."

"Dennis, could you see if she is alone?"

"Like - in solitary?"

"And if so – could your people send her a message - say on her cell's enunciator display: that I am coming to see her?"

"It might be possible. You think that might make her behave herself?"

"I know its wishful thinking, and realistically, it'll take more than a few days to get her numbers up to the point where she could be moved to someplace less secure, but that's what I'm hoping."

"And how should we identify you without telling the whole world?"

"Mister Sevens, Doctor Sevens, Major Sevens anything like that should do it."

*****

Buried Alive

"Why does the welfare of this New Euron hermaphrodite have you so possessed?" asked Cosmo.

"She has unique knowledge of salvaging – the kind of knowledge that you can only gain from experience. I could spend days searching in vain for an answer in a data-base that she could tell me at once."

"Well give me a try."

"That factory-ship that we can't find requires a lot of resources to operate. It requires a lot of metal for instance. There are people who have the expertise and talent of finding those resources and supplying them to those who might in turn supply that factory-ship."

"Determine who the suppliers are and trace their supply routes back to the factory-ship? It's already been tried, my dear Mark."

"No. I want a small team to accompany a delivery of salvage to the factory-ship. The team will hide in the salvage."

"Are you out of your mind young Mark? And you and this Sophie are the team?"

"I need only Tia on the mission. I need Sophie for her knowledge of salvaging. It's too early to estimate how many team members or who, but it can't number more than a few."

Cosmo rubbed his head and averted his eyes from me.

"I won't try it until I know it's possible. I'll need some of your help, too. But first I need to talk to Sophie. She may know what kind of scrap is large enough to contain us and just what kind of salvage that might be considered most desirable to a factory-ship such as this one."

"Mark there are a ridiculous number of things that you have yet to consider. The logistics of such a plan are mind-boggling!"

"I have a plan Cosmo that just as you say, may or may not come together. The deep-space Colonists have a plan too, and in time they'll get what they want if we do nothing but wait. If we can immobilize this factory-ship of theirs then that will ultimately set their clock back."

"I like your insight Mark, but your plan is suicide. Time - is the ultimate weapon. It's used in sieges militarily and in filibusters politically. There are quite a few in New Euro and in the Republic who are seriously considering surrendering to these Colonists. They think that forty, fifty years of Colonist domination might ultimately be better than this war that beckons. Food for thought I say.

"I want you to continue with this meeting between you and this New Euron friend of yours. And who knows? Perhaps she may have some inside-insight on how the salvage business operates that could be useful. I would think it takes substantial amounts of metal to manufacture thousands of miu's. The supply of resources to this factory-ship might be worth revisiting. As far as your suicidal plan goes; you may plan and I'm sure that you will eventually come to the determination that it's impossible."

I suppose, I surprised Cosmo with my plan to smuggle myself aboard the factory- ship. As far as I was concerned my strength was my willingness to be a loose-cannon and these Colonists – they too, were using the same tactic; you can't win a battle by being polite and predictable.

Nonetheless, and predictably so, Cosmo proposed the next day that I should train myself further as a pilot and learn the 'ins and outs' of space travel. I think he felt that I needed a distraction and something to fill any idle time that I might have for dreaming up battle-plans for an attack on the Colonist's factory-ship. So I applied myself as best I could to the complexities of transport jumps and the conventional nautical systems of operating a spacecraft. I had the use of the Beagle and its expert crew to help me along.

Twice weekly, I checked-out Sophie's metrics and as I hoped after my message to her had arrived, her numbers did indeed, begin to rise again. I'm sure Dennis and his organization was helping too, by padding her numbers because within a few weeks or so she was out of the danger area and into the thousands once more as a Republican asset. There was however little progress in finding a means of meeting with her as of yet.

A few days before the arrival of more senior diplomats from the Federation of deep-space Colonists, the détente of just months was broken. I can't say that I was expecting it, but it certainly didn't seem coincidental that hostilities broke out just before the arrival of these upper level diplomats and there accompanying armada of battleships.

Overnight, the Thirteenth Colony was attacked and its inhabitants were now dealing with near zero-gravity and low atmospheric pressure throughout most of the giant orbiter. They were a hearty lot that lived in these orbiters and the attackers were repulsed and though the damages would prove costly to the local economy, these people were used to setbacks and some just as severe all of the time.

The worst of it however, was that it appeared that the attack on the Thirteenth Colony was merely just a distraction because Mercenary miu's were found to be encamped in large numbers in a mountainous region of Nouveau Paris shortly thereafter. No one would claim responsibility for the presence of the miu's which were strictly forbidden since Nouveau Paris was universally considered to be a neutral planet.

By treaty, New Euro and the Republic were legally entitled to enforce the neutrality of the planet, but initially the New Eurons showed little interest in forming a partnership with the Republic to rid Nouveau Paris of the miu insurgents. This display of distrust between New Euro and the Republic worked favorably for the deep-space Colonists' agenda of 'divide and conquer' and who coincidentally arrived shortly thereafter decrying complete ignorance of the mysterious attack on the Republic and the presence of miu's on Nouveau Paris. The outbreak of war again looked like a certainty and Cosmo had become inconsolably depressed; months of progress in peace negotiations had suddenly disappeared into a cloud of secrets and lies with two of the three parties now apparently playing the part of 'silly bugger'.

In the following days it was agreed between all three parties that a military liberation of Nouveau Paris would begin with the co-operation of both the Republic and the New Eurons and that the deep-space Colonists would abstain. Cosmo hoped, but was not too optimistic that this temporary union between the Republic and the New Eurons would work against the deep-space Colonists. I had difficulty trusting what any of the parties had to say, but I was united with the Republic in that the miu's whoever they were must be removed from Nouveau Paris and I immediately enlisted.

*****

The higher elevations of Nouveau Paris lacked sufficient amounts of oxygen to sustain humans and this would work in the favor of the encamped miu's and work against the Republic and New Euron forces because of the need for assisted breathing accommodations for the more traditional New Euron and Republican miu commanders. The Mercenaries likely had not a sole human in their numbers; they used the crab like man-machines to direct and command their miu's. The traditional forces of the New Eurons and the Republic used humans to direct and command their miu's and these commanders needed adequate amounts of oxygen in the atmosphere or the use of assisted breathing equipment.

The stinger I would pilot would be programmed to deal with the lighter atmosphere, but the mountainous geography was going to be challenging for an attacking stinger and in particular for retreating with any haste. A forward base was going to be required in order to supply the assisted breathing equipment and accommodations for our front line commanders and the first attack on the mercenary miu encampment was to be led by stingers and transported teams of Republican commando miu's. It was with great personal pleasure and some media attention that I volunteered to be part of the advanced wave. Cosmo was appalled.

The early reconnaissance reports were that the Mercenary miu's had no air support, but nonetheless, were well defended by anti-aeronautical weapons; someone was going to have to test them. And you know who was going to be one of the first! Dimitri would be so proud.

It was no easy feat to become a part of the first wave of attackers; there was a long queue of stinger pilots ahead of me who were not only qualified, but were also citizens of Nouveau Paris. The best I could negotiate was the second string in the first wave. Most thought that we were all suicidal, but if you were in our shoes you looked at it as being more homicidal: we wanted to kill miu's and their man-machine commanders.

A young Nouveau Parisian named Henri was my crew. He was two years my junior and passionate about removing the blight of Mercenary miu's from his planet. He would literally spit on the ground after hearing someone even mentioning the presence of the Mercenary miu's in the mountains. There were pictures of mangled miu's on the walls of his cockpit - some were burnt up by heaters, others were in bits and pieces from be shattered by chain guns. He and his friends even desecrated our stinger by painting the tail of a dragon curled up beneath its belly and just aft of the forward heater battery.

I could empathize with his hatred of the enemy; as far as most Nouveau Parisians were concerned - someone had invaded their heaven, but this zeal for vengeance was unprofessional and foolhardy. It was all I could manage sometimes; to keep Henri and his cohorts on an even keel.

After a week to become familiar with our equipment and company members, an uncommon union of former enemies was to begin the encirclement and advance on the Mercenary encampment in the mountainous terrain on the continent of Versailles on Nouveau Paris. There were to be no mixed crews or companies of New Eurons and Republicans; each had opted to command their own men and machines, but both groups vowed to make all plans together.

The first attempt at establishing a Republican base camp was a near disaster because the Mercenary encampment had the advantage of cloaking the positions of its heavy artillery and heaters beneath electronic camouflage, but we could not masque our equipment's locations quick enough. The result was a base camp was located too far from the front line to offer any accurate artillery support. The Republican infantry was going to have to rely on itself and the close air-support that the stingers could provide and it was going to be extremely close air-support because venturing above to any significant altitude would leave a stinger exposed to the well entrenched air defenses of the Mercenaries.

It was all shaping up into a very costly undertaking. You couldn't just blow them out of there with thermonuclear weapons as one would consider normally; the cost to the local pristine ecology would be devastating. Someone had put a lot of thought into this and it looked more like a demonstration of the deep-space Colonists' technology. All this equipment the Mercenaries had - was likely supplied by the Colonist's factory-ship that still had not been located.

From the south and west the New Euron's were mounting a mostly air based campaign and from the north and east the Republicans were waging a mostly infantry based campaign. No New Euron stingers returned from the first sortie that attempted to attack the encampment directly and one would think that news would temper the will to fight in my lot, but they were not to be contained, and on the morning after the Republican base camp had been established, Henri and I were prepping our stinger for just the same kind of direct attack on the entrenched Mercenary encampment.

The mission was attack and reconnaissance in nature; we were to find the enemy and relay his location to the base camp and any support behind us and then attack the enemy as best we could. There would be two waves of two groups of five stingers in each wave and Henri and I were in the first group of the second wave. Our stinger was outfitted with double the normal number of missiles and I had tweaked the stinger's drive system to accelerate in retreat without any restrictions – meaning that I could break the stinger up in retreat if I lost consciousness in doing so. I had learned lessons the hard way in the past that the best defense against these weapons was a hasty retreat when it was time to retreat. Henri didn't understand, but I was the pilot and I warned him that he'd become a busy gunner with me as his pilot.

Five minutes after the first wave left for the mountains my wave started the steep ascent to the mountains; foothills first and then the craggy inclines of jagged rock passed beneath us on our way up. The stinger's cabin was decompressed and assisted breathing was begun via our head gear. My kit was set at maximum sensitivity; the status of every gauge and indicator was alive in my head.

There were plenty of clouds all of a sudden, but the equipment adapted and I still kept a good visual for a good ten kilometers where there was open space and no rock and then suddenly we were above them and we began a gentle descent to an open valley that lead to some plateau. Alarms sounded and my group spread out and continued and we let the program take over; missiles were launched – no doubt targeting the same locations from where missiles were launched at us just seconds ago.

In a few more seconds all of my wave would likely be hurtling backwards as our defensive measures dealt with the attack that was bearing down on us.

The light show then started. Our stinger decided to accelerate high and in reverse at maximum speed. Debris from a collision or explosion rained down on us and Henri was screaming in pigeon French as the stinger's haul was beaten like a hammer by the falling debris.

"Hold your fire Henri, Hold your fire!"

You couldn't trust the instruments or the program when things got crazy – he could be firing at our own. The engines wound down and the retreat was successful. Time to take stock: the first wave was gone and there were just three left of the second wave counting my stinger. It wasn't a loss, it was business. Valuable data concerning the enemy's location and their defenses had been learned and no doubt they were licking some wounds that we had made on them.

The program decided that we should attack again. Henri began screaming French epithets again as the stinger accelerated into attack mode; in all likelihood, it was not going to retreat back to the base until it had exhausted its entire payload of air to surface missiles. It was clever this time. The three remaining stingers approached the target from three different directions simultaneously.

Missiles were emptied from beneath the belly of the stinger from a near vertical descent. The alarms then began just as before, followed by a slightly less furious light show. There was no retreat this time, but a fly through across the plateau.

"Henri, Henri... Strafe the floor of the plateau!"

There was no acknowledgement. I could see Mercenary equipment below me, but I had no present means of attacking it.

"Henri, Henri..."

There was still no response. I stopped the program and began a retreat. A judder started in the rear of the stinger and an alarm indicated that a fire was being extinguished in the stingers aft. I was going to have to land or crash and I chose the highest elevation I could manage in the mountains to attempt the former. I had to check on Henri and make repairs to the stinger if possible. I found a spot that looked like it was not in danger of becoming the subject of an avalanche.

The fire appeared to be relatively minor and was extinguished quickly. I opened the hatch to the gunner's cockpit and it looked undamaged, but Henri was bent over in his harness. I pulled his head back from my reach above him and his face was blue. It appeared that Henri had asphyxiated – likely from inhaling his own vomit after passing out. It can happen.

It was all that I could manage – was the dragging of the deceased Republican gunner from out of his cockpit \- he was dead weight. I tried to revive him, but it was futile – he hadn't a breath of air in more than five minutes by my estimation. I could sense trouble coming my way – my kit was reminding me, that in all likelihood, a team of Mercenary miu's were on their way to confirm my death.

I began the same process that I had done only a year ago back on Earth and started altering the stinger's control systems so it could be manually flown from the gunner's cockpit – it was my only real weapon now. It would take five to ten minutes to do so and I needed to find the source of the judder if I still had some time.

Once I had completed the alterations to the stinger's control systems I ventured outside to inspect its hull and try to find the source of the judder. It was at least negative twenty Celsius and windy. The helmet and face mask of the assisted breathing gear kept the cold off my face, but my hands were bare and I clumsily pulled them up my coat sleeves as best I could as I fought through near waist-deep snow and circled back to the stinger's aft. There was quite a bit of debris embedded in the hull's air manifolds and this I figured could be the source of the judder. I did as best I could at removing the pieces that appeared to be interfering with the stinger's operation. It was while I was in the midst of doing this when I heard the reports of fire of light-arms coming from about two hundred meters away.

They were the team of Mercenary miu's that I had been expecting and they were having some difficulty just as I was negotiating the deep snow. I hurried as fast as I could back to the stinger's cabin. I couldn't dodge their fire – it was just luck that they didn't pick me off, but once I was in that cockpit I raised the stinger up ten meters or so turned the heat-ray battery into their direction and silenced them in one big ball of steam.

Much of the judder had abated from the stinger's operation and I ventured to a position that I thought would give me a good view of the plateau down below where the Mercenaries had dug themselves in. I couldn't risk bringing the stinger any higher, so I let her hover just above ground and I leaped down into the snow and fought my way to good vantage point.

Down on the plateau below I could see the Mercenary encampment. It didn't look all that large; there were perhaps a hundred to a hundred and fifty miu's involved, but what did surprise me was that there happened to be ten drone type stinger craft at the ready. It looked to me that they were being held in reserve. This type of weapon wasn't of much use in fighting an air to air battle with a stinger such as mine; it was designed for close-support of miu's in the battlefield.

Nonetheless, they were a target that I could not forgo. It also appeared that the second wave of Republican stingers had been delayed or scrubbed. It was a guessing game as to what might be happening – there would be no communication with my commanders until this forward base of Mercenaries was near contained. A good soldier seizes the moment and if I can soften the enemy's response to the next attack then that is what I must do.

I returned to the stinger and checked the stinger's instruments for a general systems status and did a quick inventory of her remaining armaments. I had a fully charged heat-ray battery, a complete compliment of chain gun rounds, no missiles of any sort; the drive system could operate at about seventy percent with a slight judder and I had twenty hours of assisted breathing time left – maybe another twenty if I can keep Henri's gear at hand. I had very little to defend myself with, but I could attack. A few missiles would be nice, but this was war and we make do with the cards that we get dealt with in every battle.

I eased the stinger closer to the edge and I would wait until I was detected or for the next wave of the Republican attack to advance before I'd make my attack. I had deduced that If I could attack their rear while they busied themselves with an incoming Republican attack, I would have a much better chance at dealing some serious blows to their camp. I would wait. It seemed to be the wiser strategy – there was only one way home for me and that was through their camp.

I was nervous, but my kit kept me focused. I kept my hands fast to the stinger's helm and let the minutes tick-by as I studied the terrain down below and how I might best attack if I was found or if the Republic's second wave showed up. After a half hour had passed the camp came alive with activity. Was I found? No. A volley of missiles were launched into the same direction as the one that I and my team had come.

I counted out loud to ten and attacked. I wanted no judder so my heat-ray would be accurate. I sailed down upon them at just sixty percent of my maximum. Strafing the base as best as I could and landing several heat-ray strikes that resulted in great balls of steam and secondary explosions. I knew I would only get one shot at it and the alarms detailing incoming rounds filled the gunner's cockpit and I put the stinger back on program. Immediately, the stinger lurched up and backwards flying at whatever speed it could muster in reverse – zigging and zagging as best it could within the confines of the mountains. The judder was so severe that I thought my head was going to come off.

There was an explosion. The engines went silent and I spun with the gunner's cockpit like a top through the air as the stinger broke up and crashed. I never lost consciousness, but I had trouble seeing anything for a several minutes. By feeling out my surroundings it appeared that I was still within the gunner's cockpit, yet also contained in pitch black darkness. I could see nothing, there was zero power and no illumination whatsoever, but I was alive.

I found a lamp in a cargo pocket; and it did appear that I was within the stinger's cockpit, but buried deep under I don't know how many meters of snow. I opened one of several two-way hatchways in the gunner's bubble and tried digging some of the snow away, but there was no place to put it.

I could be buried under tons of it. I had nineteen hours of assisted breathing left and I don't know how many kilometers to travel, to get to somewhere where I can breathe without assistance. I activated my beacon. This wasn't to surrender; this was the only option. I'd be happy to be dug out of here by Mercenary miu's and then be executed – it would be a better fate than being buried alive.

I clutched my grenade and tried to rest; if I could sleep a little I would save some time on assisted breathing.

*****

I couldn't rest; my kit wouldn't let me. And it was in this absolute darkness of the buried cockpit that I could feel my grenade swinging about my neck. And it then occurred to me that the grenade pendant as it was sometimes referred as - was like a pendulum or to be more a precise a plumb-bob. It could tell me what was up and what was down if I continued digging. I had gloves, a lamp, and I could dig until I had nowhere else to stow the snow.

It got much colder inside the cockpit as I brought more and more snow into it. I crushed it and compressed it as much as I could to make room for as much as the cockpit might contain. I don't know if directly up was a good path to take, but it was a path that would eventually lead out of here, albeit as long as I had somewhere to stow what I excavated. There were some tough spots too, where I needed a sharp tool to break up icy sections. I tried my sidearm, but I quickly considered that to be a bad option because it might become more useful later if I can get myself out of this white tomb.

After about an hour into the digging, I had filled most of the cockpit with snow and in the tiny remaining empty space of the snow filled cockpit I further burdened my movement with survival gear that I had gathered up to keep with me just in case I did find a way out of here. And just when I was getting anxious about where I was going to stow more snow in the coming minutes, the snow-ceiling above me collapsed and I could finally see my freedom.

In minutes I was free of my snowy-tomb, but I now found myself much higher in the mountains than I would like to have been. How was I going to get down from here? How was the attack going? Would there be any rescue for the likes of me?

My training was to stay put and wait for a rescue, but I had only fifteen hours of assisted breathing left and it was freezing. My GPS indicated that by flight I was more than one hundred kilometers from the forward base and nearly the same from the Mercenaries' encampment. I wagered that if my beacon showed movement then maybe someone would be sent to come and pick me up sooner rather than later. Surely they would realize that I was alive and potentially low on time for assisted breathing.

I headed by foot as best I could into the direction that would become the closest to bisecting the air route of stingers coming from the Republican base to attack the Mercenaries.

It was slow going and the wind was fierce. The only good thing was that most of my progress was downhill; as long as I didn't slip and break my neck. When you are all alone and up against the worst of scenarios you think about all the people you ever cared about. The fact that people like Tia and Sophie were out of immediate danger made me feel consoled somehow.

You could be close to death, - but as long as there was someone out there somewhere that you could care about and who would remember you for the kind things you may have done for them in the past – that little life-line, that tiny human connection becomes so unbelievably important when you are frantic or suffering.

After a couple of hours of hiking, the cold was getting to me and I began looking for opportune places that might afford some shelter. One such place was a somewhat protected rock-face where with a little ingenuity I felt that I could attach a foil survival sheet to make an enclosure. I no sooner got the sheet of foil out when a red laser found me; the type of laser frequently used to locate a target, but it wasn't a weapon. Hovering fifty meters or so above me was a Republican medivac drone.

The medivac slowly approached. It came within three meters of my location and then lowered itself further until it was a half meter off the ground. My training was to allow it to identify me and synch with my kit. A door then opened and the voice of its remote operator instructed me to enter the medivac for rescue.

It had to be thirty degrees Celsius warmer inside the medivac and the relief from the rescue was almost overwhelming. My core body temperature was being examined. My blood pressure was being taken. A remote medical assistant began an interview to assess my immediate needs and had me inspect my fingers and toes for redness and by the time I had completed the interview the drone was landing at the forward base's hospital.

I was given a quick hot meal and then ushered into a debriefing room. They had received reconnaissance updates from my stinger up to the point of the attack that felled it. They even knew that Henri was in respiratory distress before I did. Once the stinger had been destroyed, they too, had considered me to be a loss in combat until my beacon had become activated.

The news of the battle was disappointing, but not unexpected. Perhaps fifty percent of the Mercenary's encampment's defenses were knocked out, but at an enormous loss to the Republican forces. The Republic's forward base was still well defended, but it was incapable of launching an offensive attack until it was resupplied. More than seventy-five percent of the resources sent into battle since the morning had been destroyed. It was not a good day for the Republic and no one had heard how the New Eurons had made out with their endeavors to neutralize another Mercenary encampment.

We would win, but at a great price. Tomorrow, the day after perhaps the Mercenary's forward encampment would fall and hopefully after that their base camp would soon follow. There was no way that they could be resupplied. It seemed a silly waste for the Mercenaries to have even put their miu's here except to prove a point perhaps. To me this whole Mercenary mission to encamp in the mountains of Versailles appeared to be nothing more than a demonstration of their technology.

Despite my complaints to the contrary I was informed that because of some minor frostbite to my hands that I was not to be involved in any of the missions planned for the next seventy-two hours. For me the battle to remove the encamped Mercenary miu's from the mountains of Versailles was over. In a few days the joint team of Republican and New Euron forces would be mopping up.

Joyce wanted to see me so I caught the next transport back to the capital and waited for my pick-up by the Beagle. I was idled for several hours in the customs office of Nouveau Paris and there was no hiding my presence from them – they all knew me now, I had become a frequent visitor to them. I was peppered with questions about the mission to remove the encamped miu's in the mountains and there were questions too, about Cosmo pertaining to his health. I couldn't talk about the battle out of policy because it was still ongoing, but I assured them that our troops were now in a favorable situation. I was at a loss about how to respond to the questions concerning Cosmo and I could only say that it was news to me that he may have health problems.

I could see representatives from the media hovering about just outside the customs office and I suppose it was now time for me to get a haircut because my cover was certainly blown. I was beginning to like my full head of hair – it had helped keep me warm while in the mountains or so it seemed. I mulled over what Joyce might have on her mind and I guessed that she must be recovering well if she is back at work for Cosmo.

The conversations that I overheard between members of the public were mostly dire with dread. Tempers were stirred easily with the mention of the deep-space Colonists and the sketchy relationship that they seemed to have with the Mercenaries.

Two customs officers escorted me out of there and into the general boarding area where Cosmo's Beagle had docked with the sole reason to collect me.

"Mark? Mark? Mark?" I must have heard that a hundred times as I walked with the two customs officers.

"How is the immortal Cosmo?"

"How goes the battle in the mountains?"

"Is it true you were shot down?

"We like your new look."

And so on.

A whistle was sounded as I boarded the Beagle. It was the first time that I had received such a reception and the crew were all present and saluted me as I was now considered to be an officer in the Republic's armed forces – a captain no less, who had seen battle. I could see Tia's familiar slight shape in line with her fellow technicians – she didn't bat an eye though - out of respect I suppose.

"Don't let it go to your head Mark," laughed Joyce who greeted me too, albeit with the assistance of medical equipment.

"How are you Joyce?"

"Well, I'm recovering. Three more weeks in this machine and then I can start some real therapy that should make me more independent. Come with me – there's much to talk about."

I followed Joyce and her machine's slow moving progress. I suppose it moved so slowly so as not to cause any jarring that might hinder the healing of her spine. She no longer required a hospital room for her care and had returned to her usual quarters on the Beagle.

"Is there something ailing Cosmo? He seems to be absent?"

Joyce wore a frown and bit her lower lip.

"He's away right now."

"And?"

"He needs rest. I know it sounds odd, but the man is five hundred years old."

"The media say he's not well."

"As everyone ages they all fall ill at times and with appropriate attention they become better."

I looked at her dumbfounded.

"He's on the mend. I assure you. He's gone to where immortals go when they need to restore themselves. As ridiculous and mysterious as that sounds – where and what they do there is not something that we are privy to. The Beagle will be called upon when he is ready to reappear."

"Do they travel in time?"

"Don't ask me. I have only known him for ten years – proportionately, that's like a month in his life."

"I've seen him have seizures?"

"Yes, and please keep that in confidence. Mark, Cosmo has left me instructions and I'll be attending to his affairs while he his away. He has brought me up to date with his affairs concerning you. He wants you to continue to pursue your plans, but only in an investigative manner. I personally think they are highly questionable, but he, nonetheless, feels you should pursue your ideas just in case.

"Just in case?"

"Just in case they may become realized. And also: Your old associate Sophie has become a project for many of us. You still need to see her?"

"Yes. Has her status improved?"

"No. It hasn't improved of late - she was slated for retirement a week ago. We intervened on her behalf and a lot of eyebrows have been raised as a result of that. We're presently trying to get her repatriated to New Euro – that's one of our tactics at present. Did you know? That in her youth she was decorated for meritorious duty in an elite New Euron commando unit and that is why she wasn't retired years ago."

"I did wonder. She has such a nasty disposition. I would never have guessed that she was military – she never demonstrated any discipline. I thought of her as just a spirited domestic. Though she did take charge of that little salvage team."

"Well she's been a real rounder in her incarceration since you last talked to her, I can assure you."

"I really have to see her. I left her a message no less that I would."

"I'll do my best. You should get a haircut - that mess is very unbecoming of an officer."

"Yes," I agreed and I became suddenly distant with Joyce and preoccupied with the matter of Sophie's history.

*****

Mercury Smith

The Beagle seemed empty without Cosmo; wherever you went or looked on the ship a feeling of incompleteness was present. At the doorway to Cosmo's quarters his lead man-machine dog: Hercules and number two: Samson too, sat standing guard and awaiting their master's return. Anyone who approached that level of the ship and dared to make eye contact with Hercules was greeted with a raised eyebrow and a curled lip. I needed to pass by Cosmo's quarters often to get to my own quarters and I felt the penetrating stare of Hercules each time I passed until one mid day he approached me in the corridor – sniffed my groin and began licking my hand affectionately.

I guess he was a lonely dog-machine and used to having a master. Dogs were a frivolous luxury to most New Eurons; we didn't hate pets, we just felt that they were unnecessary. As a few more days past, Hercules began following me around the Beagle.

"That dog has good choice of character," remarked the chief engineer with a child-like smile.

He and Joyce were conferring about travel matters on the bridge and they watched in amusement as Hercules followed behind me as I entered the bridge, too.

"You and Cosmo are supposed to be brothers. Brothers by numbers? He thinks you're family! Do you remember Cosmo's speech in the capital?" asked Joyce suggesting that Hercules found something akin to Cosmo in me.

"I don't know what to do with a dog."

"Why you pet him and tell him he's a good dog, but don't expect me to try that. That one would take my arm off if I came near him," answered the chief engineer.

I gently tapped Hercules on the top of his head with my hand and scratched him about the side of his face as I had seen Cosmo do many times and Hercules seemed to approve.

"I think you got a friend Mark. I think he likes your New Euron ways," added Joyce.

Hercules didn't quite behave the same with me as he did with Cosmo; with Cosmo, Hercules led as much as he could by anticipating where his master Cosmo was going. In my case, Hercules simply followed me around. Once, late in the day, Tia, Hercules and I sat in the observation deck and watched the stars. We were a long way away from anything too bright and thus the deck needed no shade. We had the entire one hundred and eighty degree vista to take in. Tia and I were in awe, but Hercules could only let out a tiny weepy whimper and I suppose he was reminded then and there of his missing master. I too, wondered where Cosmo was and how he was doing.

And apparently, not just the media were curious about Cosmo's wellbeing and whereabouts; so were the deep-space Colonists. An entire fleet of deep-space Colonist's battle cruisers and supply ships surrounded the Beagle by surprise early the next day and insisted on a personal visit with whoever was present on the Beagle. I'd never seen anything like it; the space for thousands of kilometers all around us was filled with these stationary giants and busy little maintenance and service ships that shuttled between them.

I was roused from my bed by an anxious crew member and directed to rush to the Beagle's bridge as the ship was at maximum alert. The little Beagle was armed with a powerful punch which is why I suppose the Colonists came to visit with their entire fleet at hand. Joyce was just finishing an electronic conference with a Colonist communications officer when I arrived at the bridge.

"What's happening Joyce? What can I do?"

"We are about to have a diplomatic visit from the most senior deep-space Colonist leader. I'll speak softly with them and you can be my big stick."

Joyce forced a smile to show confidence and barked quick orders to her crew who all went in different directions in a hurry.

"I take it that you can fight on empty stomach with a moment's notice, Mark."

"For you Joyce – anything."

She was relying on the support of her machine less and less each day, but diplomatically speaking – it gave her a huge size advantage. Whoever was going to be going toe to toe with her in a few minutes was going to be intimidated by her and her demonstrated will to survive.

"Who is he? Who is this man?"

"He is known as Mercury – Mercury Smith. He is from a family that have been deep-space Colonists for ten lifetimes and in his colony they color their skin – red for blood and a yellow umber for gold. So if you don't feel his distinctive miserable vibe firstly when he arrives in a few minutes then you'll know him by his color – or colors.

"He is a warrior?"

"Yes he is. And Mark I need you at my side – he is a very intimidating man. He'll respect you, but I will answer his questions and you should speak with him only if he asks you directly and I give you my approval"

"You're the diplomat, I understand Joyce."

The meeting was for the most part to take place on the Beagle's observation deck so all could feel comfortable and be plainly seen by their support. The dogs - both Hercules and Samson began barking and growling loudly and in the most fierce manner that I have had heard come from any animal, as soon as the diplomatic party arrived. Anyone who wasn't important diplomatically departed into all directions as three most unusual people were guided by the Beagle's first officer into the observation deck.

One – very slight and no larger than Tia was the most diminutive security person I had ever seen. As a rule I never judge a foe by its size, for I myself am not that large in stature. I studied the specimen and quickly determined that she or he was either man-machine or a hybrid since its skin was quite unnatural and seemed to change hues in response to the barking of the dogs that were now being silenced by the closing of the bulkheads of the Beagle's living quarters.

The other two were both human – one an assistant or a secretary perhaps, the other was the deep-space Colonist's ambassador – the infamous Mercury Smith. His face was light in coloring as most men of the Republic were, but the rest of his skin appeared to be colored decoratively in hues of amber and deep red. The hand he pathetically offered Joyce was red with gold fingernails.

The secretary for deep-space Colonist ambassador was first to speak.

"You are receiving the attendance of a senior ambassador representing more than one thousand united deep-space colonies: Ambassador Mercury Smith. Here today, and mindful of the still standing accord of détente between all the aggrieved parties. "

"Welcome to the Beagle Ambassador Smith."

"Mercury – please. And I'll come right to the point of my visit here today, I've little time or patience for any pleasantries. Where is the immortal Cosmo? Huh?"

"The immortal Cosmo is convalescing at an undisclosed location – deep in space and indeed beyond the reaches of even your own technology."

"I hear the coward is dead!"

"Mister Ambassador I assure you that I as his first aide am privy to all vital information concerning Cosmo's health and wellbeing. He is quite alive and convalescing."

"And what does the immortal Cosmo suffer from theses days besides cowardice? Per chance he was fearful of the few hundred Mercenaries who visited Nouveau Paris?"

"The presence of Mercenary miu's on Nouveau Paris contravenes that planet's constitution and the recent accord of détente of which I must remind you - that all -colonists were signatories to."

"I can't recall any Mercenary signatures attached to those documents. And I must confess; I've read those documents rather closely, too."

Mercury Smith sighed extravagantly through his nose and grinned and brought his attention to me.

"Who do we have here? He behaves like a hired hand I hear."

"This is the New Euron – Mark. He is an asset of the immortal Cosmo."

"I know who he is! Can he not speak for himself, – woman?"

Joyce's eyes said speak.

"I am Mark as you say, you well know. My presence before you is in the service of Cosmo and his interests"

"I sometimes have admiration for a well trained New Euron. They are dependable people and pragmatists – willing to compromise or step aside. Please if I may ask – how would you rate the Mercenary's technology - you yourself have had perhaps more personal combat experience battling them than anyone else that I can think of?"

"The crab type man-machine commanders appear to me to be an incremental advancement. They are not as soft of a target as the human type commander, but nonetheless, take out the commander of a Mercenary miu team and the remainder of the team become as ineffective as a litter of kittens on a battlefield."

"Kittens!" laughed Mercury.

I showed no emotion.

"Surely you jest New Euron, I heard that these kittens – shot you down just days ago."

"I assure you that I accurately spent my stinger's entire ordinance and was on my way home to reload and return and here I am today before you with nary a scratch, so to speak."

"You are clever that is certain, but in the wrong employ."

Mercury returned his attention back to Joyce.

"Madam, when might we have a more transparent report of the immortal Cosmo's wellbeing? Something – more tactile if you understand me."

"Cosmo will see to that when he is ready. He is allied with the Republic and some New Euron interests too, but he is not a head of a state and therefore not required to attend the ongoing peace negotiations."

"I know he's the head of nothing and a nosy-parker at that, but he is a player at this card table and I want to know if he's left the game. It's outrageous and completely intolerable. My people have travelled a great distance to attend these peace talks and with the good intention to negotiate a peaceful resolution to these contentious issues, but this interloper Cosmo the immortal has taken it upon himself to stall the entire proceedings. And you listen carefully to me – he's toying with the very integrity of this accord of détente!"

And with that the meeting became adjourned and Mercury Smith and his two companions left the Beagle's observation deck to return to their awaiting shuttle. A few hours later, the entire colonist fleet disappeared at once in a single synchronized moment of hyper-acceleration.

*****

The New Team

Sophie was repatriated to New Euro the following day after Mercury Smith's now famous 'kittens' visit aboard the Beagle. She may have been repatriated years earlier, but apparently until very recently no one had asked for her return. Joyce was certain that the Republic was much relieved to be rid of her. The New Eurons were equally elated when Joyce via Cosmo's influence offered to supply the resources to rehabilitate Sophie.

The Beagle collected Sophie from a military base located on the Earth's moon. She was thinner and rather bedraggled in appearance; apparently there were few hygiene facilities allowed to those in solitary confinement. After a good cleaning and a change of clothes I met with her for the first time in more than a year.

"Well hello flyboy. Thanks for springing me."

She was pale and there were scratches and some bruising about her face. The little hair she had left on her head was now white in color.

"Hello commander. Second commander - in an elite New Euron commando team and decorated for bravery, too. I'd never had thought that of you, Sophie. Why so secretive?"

"I've never done anything in my life to be proud of. Anything I've been a part of - including that commando team is best left forgotten."

"Tia is here."

"I saw her. She looked like a little going concern - busy and all business-like."

"I've spoken to Margaret."

"How's she?"

"Good. She's quite happy with her new vocation and she asked me to say hello to you when it became possible."

"I don't know how you and your friends managed it, but thanks again. I know you Mark - there's got to be something on your mind?"

"Your safety was on my mind - as was Tia's and Margaret's. When I heard about Emily and Shelly – I knew it would become just a matter of time."

"Renata too," added Sophie.

Sophie was hurt by the mention of Emily and Shelly. She was suddenly silent and sullen and stared with her eyes downcast to the floor."

"I let them down, Mark. For a little while after Emily and Shelly disappeared and even Tia was gone - I 'd stay awake for as long as possible – two and three days at a time until I would literally pass out just so I might be able to spit in the face of those taking me to my death. I went crazy with hate."

"There was nothing that you could have done to stop it. They took me away the same way – remember?"

"Okay. I let you down, too."

She grinned a crooked grin.

"You can help me now, Sophie."

"Name it flyboy."

"I want to get into the salvage business and I can't think of anyone who knows more about it who I can trust."

"Trust?"

And then I explained to Sophie about the Mercenary factory-ship and how it had upset the local balance of power. I needed to know what metals and kinds of scrap that salvagers might sell to a factory-ship of such. I figured that there must be some irresistible scrap that a small team of commandos could hide in. It was the only way that I figured that we could gain access to the factory ship – as Trojan scrap.

The factory-ship itself was a totally modular manufacturing system that required such things as scrap metal for its foundries, receiving areas for its contracted-out parts, warehouse and shipping areas and a centralized control area. In all, there were really five independent ships that could transport themselves individually and unite together when there was need for more production. I had to get to the factory-ship when it was one and manufacturing; I needed it whole.

Sophie didn't think I was crazy; she knew me too well. Her face was alive with perplexed interest.

"I think I know someone who might be able to help."

"Who?"

"His name is Malcolm – you'd like him. He's a disenchanted New Euron like someone else I know. A real independent \- who picked salvage for particular customers – if you know what I mean. The guy is more of a burglar or procurer than a salvager.

"But Mark, I think most of the stuff that this factory-ship would have delivered to it as raw material would already be pretty processed. Think ingots, bales and drums of things."

"Nonetheless, Sophie those raw materials and out-sourced parts must get delivered to the ship in containers of some sort. There has to be a supply chain and even if it is solely deep-space Colonists supplying the ship – there has to be a way of infiltrating it. How do we arrange a meeting with this Malcolm?"

"We'd have to hire him. Your buddies here must have deep pockets?"

"Can he be trusted?"

"If you can make it worth his while he can be trusted. He's very project orientated – if you know what I mean."

"He's another mercenary for hire."

"Yeah – I guess you're right."

"I want to meet this Malcolm. Can you arrange that?"

"We'll look for him tomorrow. How's that, Mark?"

"Sounds good."

"We'll need to visit your old home."

"Earth?"

"Can you do that in this bucket?"

"I'm about to find out. I'll talk to you again in a few hours, Sophie."

*****

I went to see Joyce. It wasn't that Earth was far away because it was within minutes from where we were situated at the moment. The problem lay in that the Beagle and I were not welcome there. Earth was pretty much the property of the New Eurons with the exception of a few Rebel settlements under the Republican flag. Cosmo was more closely aligned with the Republic and his relationship with the New Eurons was always tenuous at best. I was considered to be 'persona non grata' and pretty much a traitor though an official summons had never been issued on that matter.

Joyce was not too receptive to my request to visit New Euron territory. I reminded her that I had just taken part in a combined New Euron and Republican effort to remove the Mercenary miu's from their encampment on Nouveau Paris, and Joyce in turn reminded me that I was now a public figure who was being closely watched.

"Just how are you going to disappear for more than a day from the Beagle without Mercury Smith coming for a visit and asking the same questions he asked about Cosmo's absence? They are watching us, and they are watching you, too."

"I won't be gone for more than a few hours. Sophie and I just want to talk about salvaging with someone in the business that she has known for years. To an observer it should look like Sophie is looking for employment."

"Okay. Let my people look into this Malcom first and then we'll see what can be done. It's going to be at least a day."

"Thank you."

"Only you and Cosmo do that."

"Do what?"

"You two are the only New Eurons that I know who say: thank-you."

*****

Fortunately, we did not need to visit Earth and the New Euron authorities were quick to warn us that anything could happen if my presence on Earth came to the attention of some people and it was understood that that could mean even someone like Mercury Smith. It wasn't uncommon for Mercury Smith to stick his nose into the internal affairs of sovereign states. He wasn't a shy man when it came to pursuing his goals.

Malcolm accommodated us by arranging a meeting on a seedy independent satellite and called 'Port Kidd'. He supplied the security, which meant that we were to be accompanied by a pair of hired gangsters once we arrived on the satellite of Port Kidd. Both Sophie and I brought side arms along, just in case, and wore the forever ubiquitous New Euron personal grenade around our necks. To New Eurons that grenade was a sign that you were a serious New Euron – willing to die by your own hand if it became necessary.

The Beagle was not welcome at Port Kidd either; only a short list of independent operators were permitted to dock there and all other visitors were permitted to enter the port by invitation only and via traditional container type transports. Sophie and I caught a transport from the Thirteenth Colony and travelled with a motley crew of shady business executives and other criminal entrepreneurs and their merry-men.

I'm sure there must have been somewhere on Port Kidd that wasn't decrepit or run-down, but anywhere we went it was a challenge to keep your food down and your feet on the ground; the gravity there or lack of gravity was near the worst that I have experienced where people actually lived. And it was odorous. The big draw for a place like Port Kidd was the lack of law and its enforcement. Its major industry was the export of modified New Euron kits that were modified in such a way as to cause euphoria for those who were into that sort of mindless waste. All sorts of nefarious characters seemed to circulate the corridors of Port Kidd, and as far as I could tell the remainder of the satellite's commerce was completely confined to the business of providing bar rooms and brothels.

Sophie, our two bodyguards and I found a seat at a table in the back of one of these bar rooms called 'Lucky's'. A few minutes later Malcolm appeared. He was New Euron alright; perhaps thirty-something, with not a hair upon his head and he had that air about him of a clever academic.

Malcolm and Sophie talked quietly for some time. Malcolm had acknowledged me with a handshake at first, but his first order of business was between he and Sophie.

"Mark. Malcolm wants to be put on a retainer for at least a week before he will advise us."

I nodded.

"Anything that finds its way onto a factory-ship involves many intermediaries. This one that you are interested in is a tough nut to crack because it's not from around here. But nonetheless, it's pretty common knowledge here," and he revolved his hand around the bar room, "that deep-space Colonist container-ships are supplying it. They've been seen on many occasions and they are not going to ports here in the Republic with cargo."

"They're empty?"

"That's right. First rule of shipping is to deliver a full load and then return with a full load. You never run empty, so these container ships must be delivering to somewhere other than a New Euron or Republican port before they leave for deep-space again"

"Drink up!" growled a bartender.

And immediately all the bar's patrons lifted their drinks and emptied the contents down their gullets in a hurry. I wasn't new to all this and downed my own.

"I've hired container ships and expedited near priceless shipments of titanium and the like in the past. I know I can get you aboard a container-ship within a container - it's been done before by stowaways and such, but most are eventually found or even more often found dead of suffocation or exposure."

He smiled with sarcastic glint in his eye.

"So there is little atmosphere within these container ships?" I asked as a puddle on the bar room's floor began rising up off the floor in a golden translucent glob of near weightless liquid.

"Near zero. Just enough to keep the hull together. Container ships are like sieves. You should know all this – you flew stingers. I bet you had little or no atmosphere when flying them."

"Yes they are an airship."

"Sophie, your friend here is testing me. You make sure to remind him of my credentials. Say – where did you get that hair? It's not very New Euron. I should be asking you some questions, too. Someone should be questioning your sanity. How about that?"

I raised my eyebrows in his direction.

"Your plan – it's a death wish! Oh – I'll help you. Once you're dead I won't have to listen to you complaining how it could have worked. But I need to be paid up front if I can find an acceptable way to get you into that factory-ship. That's the deal."

"That'll be the deal then Malcolm. Maybe you might want to come along with me."

Malcolm cocked his head slightly and carefully focused his attention on me."No – I don't think that's going to happen. I'll see you in five days, - maybe a week. If I come up with something – we'll talk then about my compensation."

Sophie and I couldn't really talk until we were out of there and back on the Beagle.

"So that is your expert?"

"Don't underestimate him. He's well connected in the underworld of the salvaging business. I've heard he's even done bio-salvaging, too."

"Well, you know highly I revere that business. He's no better than those who took your friends in the middle of the night."

Sophie gave me a cold hard stare.

"You watch your tongue New Euron – or I'll cut it out!" Sophie hissed.

I had no reason to disbelieve her threat.

"Sophie. I worry about this man because I have to trust his will to deliver Tia and I – alive to the factory ship. I know we have few other options and that you are doing me a favor, but would you trust him?"

"Yes I do. And I told him that I'm going on your crazy mission, too."

"It's only me and Tia."

"It's three now."

"I won't have it."

"Those deep-space Colonists and that factory-ship have ruined my life and taken the lives of thousands of others. I want justice."

"Oh what is that anyways? It's just something that old men in robes debate. The stuff of old stories. It's not ever a good reason to kill for."

"It's all I want now. You make plans for three. I'll more than carry my weight."

*****

Joyce was livid. She was not pleased to say the least, at having Malcolm on the payroll.

"That man is a criminal."

"At the moment he is only being hired for his knowledge and experience – nothing criminal – yet." I answered.

"Cosmo would not approve of this."

"He put me on his payroll and I have a pretty checkered past."

"When do you intend on revisiting this man?"

"I'm not. It's too risky. Sophie will be acting as my agent. She'll be acting as if she is in his employ. If I showed up at Port Kidd again I'm certain it would draw the attention of Mercury Smith and company."

"You keep me up to date on all of this Mark?"

"Yes. Has there been any word on Cosmo?"

"Not directly; a communiqué was received earlier today from deep-space asking for the Beagle to be prepared for battle forthwith."

"We're going to war?"

"No. We're preparing for the worst. Properly prepared, the Beagle is one of the most powerful military assets in the service of the Republic."

"Gun-boat diplomacy?"

"You might say that."

I was going to ask where Tia was, but I could now see her whereabouts; she was just outside of the Beagle in a tiny self contained maintenance craft located a few hundred meters from where Joyce and I stood on the Beagle's observation deck. The tiny craft darted about the hull of the Beagle as Tia performed some maintenance to the ship's hull.

"What are those things?"

I pointed to Tia's tiny maintenance craft.

"I believe that is called a 'Manned or Remote MV'"

"MV meaning – maintenance vehicle?"

"Yes, I presume that would be correct Mark."

"I've seen MV's before, but these ones look quite advanced."

"The Beagle uses only the best."

"And they are self-contained for manned operation?"

"Oh yes, but they are really designed for a hybrid operator like Tia."

Joyce and I both watched as Tia and another manned MV darted about outside of the Beagle.

"She's come a long way in a short time. The crew has become quite taken with her."

"Yeah, Tia is alright." I said as Joyce left the observation deck with just the aid of a cane to help her progress now.

I remained on the observation deck for a while longer and watched Tia in her tiny MV. She came right up close to the observation deck's canopy – perhaps just ten meters away, and gave me a thumbs-up and then darted off. No funny grin; all business. I whispered back to her, "Bah Roo!"

And then suddenly I felt the need to ask some questions about these MV's and I went to see the Beagle's chief engineer.

Apparently, someone could spend as much time as up to a week in one of these little MV's. It would be smelly and uncomfortable after a few days, but these little maintenance vehicles were self-contained enough to do a job for that length of time without the need for refueling. The Beagle had four of them and I tried one out for about an hour.

The cockpit of the little machine was a tight fit for a New Euron, but with some help I was shoe -horned into one and once you were seated into it, it felt much roomier. I was most impressed with the agility of the little spacecraft, but it was intentionally designed for use in tight quarters and up close work, and it was well suited for that task. You could clearly see whatever was in front of you through the craft's transparent canopy and I was pretty sure that more than a dozen of these little MV's could fit comfortably into the industrial containers that I was accustomed to seeing about space-ports where container-ships were handled.

*****

A Call to Arms

The Beagle was quickly transforming and in a matter of a few hours its crew had doubled in size with the addition of various support people. There was a team of commandos and a dozen or more weapons specialists added to the Beagle. I was asked to give up my present quarters and bunk in Cosmo's old quarters seeing how only I could get beyond Samson and Hercules.

The corridors of the Beagle were busy with the movement of people and their gear, and any of the former genteel atmosphere previously common to the Beagle was quickly disappearing and being replaced by barked orders and hurrying feet. The dining room was now serving meals in shifts and I found myself elbow to elbow with young Republican servicemen who wouldn't leave me alone for a minute without pleading for me to tell them all I knew about the battle for Vancouver Island and my year that I spent as a prisoner of the Republic.

One cocky young commando challenged me to a match.

"Hand to hand or pike to pike. I'll take you down New Euron."

His name was Anthony and he was just a slight figure of a man, but he looked fit and agile. I reddened his face with a rebuke; chastising him for his lack of respect of an elder though I was no more than a year senior to him. Demonstrations of bravado indicate a poor soldier to a New Euron. We are not match players and young Anthony would have been shocked had I accepted his invitation.

A few days later, Sophie received a message from Port Kidd. Apparently, there was a great need for her to visit quickly and so a meeting was scheduled for her to visit with Malcolm the following day. The two of us were excited because a quick answer usually meant a positive one. I was eager to hear what Malcolm had to report on so early into his task.

Sophie went alone to meet Malcolm so not to raise any suspicions that I was involved with something on Port Kidd. She returned directly with news that we were not expecting. Malcolm had made some solid progress, but in the process of sticking his nose into places where he was apparently not welcome, his security people had come under attack. The attack was so severe that they were no longer interested in working for him.

Malcolm wanted to hire a personal man-machine – one that would be very much like the one sent to assassinate Joyce and I back on the Thirteenth Colony only a few months earlier. Joyce was livid, but I explained to her that we were still insulated from suspicion so far by hiring Malcolm and he must be making some headway with his task if he is being threatened. The question was - who was trying to intimidate Malcolm?

"Oh I have no doubt who that would be!"

"Who?"

"Mercury Smith that's who! I am that close to proving that he was behind the attack on you and I," she said pinching a thumb and forefinger together. "You get Malcolm whatever he needs. And you're correct. If someone is getting in Malcolm's way then he must be making progress. I'd like to know all there is to know about how this phantom factory-ship is being resupplied."

Two man-machines were hired; one to watch Malcolm's office and quarters and the other to watch his back. They looked to be human enough but when you tried to have a conversation with one of these man-machines – you were pretty much talking to a program. They required maintenance just once a month and they never sleep, eat or speak even, unless spoken to first. In short – a child could easily determine that one of these man-machines was not human.

It was decided that Sophie would visit with Malcolm as often as every day just as if she were in his employ. He made it clear early on that we may have to move in haste if he finds the right opportunity and he wanted to know more of our plans and limitations. Each day I conferred with Sophie and sent any relevant information back to Malcolm.

The additional crew aboard the Beagle had its pleasant side; people who were once strangers were becoming good friends as the days went by. Anthony for all his bravado followed me about now as much as Hercules and he in turn introduced me to a mysterious young Republican technician who had caught my eye the day she first boarded the Beagle. She seldom spoke with anyone accept Anthony and that was only when dining and I suppose that was because of their young age. She seemed to float silently to her quarters, to the dining room and to various control rooms on the Beagle that had restricted access.

"What does she do Anthony?"

"Specifically - pertaining to the Beagle, I'm not sure. But I do know that back in our academy she was the top of her class in programming."

"And her name?"

"Sarah. She's asked about you and was quite fascinated with your story. She must literally spend all her time programming because at first, she behaved like she had never heard of you."

"That's rather curious. Don't you think, Anthony?"

And I decided then and there that I was going to enquire more about her.

Ever since Cosmo had disappeared Joyce had been rather cagey and selective in her words with me. It had me feeling uncomfortable at times and I should think that she should be as forthcoming as possible with sharing pertinent information. Maybe I'm expecting too much. I can except that perhaps I might not be privy to everything, but I do not like be handled like a playing card. So, Joyce and I were going to have to have a talk.

"Mark, I don't fully know what's going on around here. And that's the honest truth. There is a Sarah aboard the Beagle. She is a military weapons programmer for the Republic. That much I know."

"But what's her task? Who is in charge around here? These people are working under someone's instruction."

"Well, perhaps you should ask her?"

"I think I will."

Sarah was a difficult person to intercept. She spent most of her time behind locked doors - working on programs. Her eating habits seemed to have no pattern and I believe she also slept behind the same locked doors. For a Republican she had the work ethic of a serious New Euron in my estimation. Anyways, I put the word out through Anthony that I would like a word with her.

She too, seemed to know my habits quite well for someone who hardly saw me because late in the day she came to the observation deck where I had a habit of relaxing under the stars before retiring.

"Good evening Captain."

"Good evening Sarah."

She was bright eyed and still in the bloom of youth, and dressed in trendy civilian attire, but she also carried herself about like a bit of an old soul.

"Your presence on the Beagle is a bit of a mystery. Neither the Captain of the Beagle or Cosmo's chief aide: Joyce really knows what you're up to. As a soldier it's always a necessity to know who is an ally and who is not? So please forgive me for asking, but I have to."

"I would hope that all of us here – on the Beagle, are allies of the Republic. So, I assure you Captain that I'm here not just because of duty, but also out of passion. I truly believe that war as we have never witnessed before in lifetimes is near. My mission is to design the best battle-program possible for the Republic. The Beagle is one of the strongest military assets in the Republic's arsenal and I intend to make it stronger still."

"And who do you report to?"

"I report directly to an ad hoc war committee that was recently formed by the Republic and New Euro. It became apparent to many of the local Republican colonies and settlements, and the New Eurons too, that the deep-space Colonist's fleet will not be leaving until they have acquired as much of our territory as possible. They are not interested in real bargaining – they've cleverly managed a military situation in which they can leverage anything they want by threat of our annihilation. A war is now a foregone conclusion and the great immortal Cosmo has volunteered the Beagle for frontline service."

"The Beagle will be the Colonist's first target."

"Precisely, and I intend it to draw as much enemy blood as possible. I'm planning big – I want fifty percent of that fleet."

"That's not possible."

"I'll make it happen, Captain."

"Does Joyce know about this?"

"I don't think she wants to know. But I'm sure she knows all about this new war committee as sure as Mercury Smith knows, too."

"What kind of time frame are we talking about?"

"I have a program ready now. If you see Joyce called to Nouveau Paris that would be a good indicator that a controlled escalation is eminent. If you suddenly notice that the Beagle is in hyper-acceleration for a transport jump – that too, could mean that the Beagle's battle-program has been executed."

"Is it a terminal program?"

"To the very 'nth' degree. There will be no termination of the program until all of the targets have been neutralized."

"Well thanks for telling me, Sarah. But why may I ask have you been so forthcoming - all of this must be privy to just a few?"

"I know exactly who you are. That's why."

Sarah reached carefully out to my hand and touched my forefinger and ring finger with hers – and it burned.

"I see," and I smiled back at her. "You know – I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

*****

The following day Sophie brought good news home with her; Malcolm was pretty sure that he had found a way to get a container into the factory-ship, but he had not yet found a means of getting us into a suitable container and further, the factory- ship was rumored to be in full production at the moment. The latter was good news because it would be a much greater prize to have the whole ship together than in one or two pieces.

The Beagle's chief engineer had found a source for four more manned mv's which would be delivered to the Beagle in as soon as twenty-four hours. I wanted a few days to scope these little machines out and prep them as best I could for what Tia, Sophie and I would need should Malcolm become successful.

To my knowledge only Sarah and I knew that the Beagle was almost certainly to become a deathtrap when ever that fateful battle with the deep-space Colonist's fleet should begin. My little plan didn't seem so crazy now. War is insanity; people will attempt crazy foolhardy things and die trying to do the impossible - to end one. What cannot be fathomed during peacetime becomes quite acceptable during wartime.

Just the same, it wasn't something that I would relish or like to picture: the Republicans and their New Euron allies, and the Colonists fleets will bounce about in space – appearing and disappearing during hyper-acceleration while blasting each other into white and red glowing cinders. The little Beagle will have speed and a big punch on her side, but all of the Colonist's fleet will be trying to neutralize her as quickly as possible. Sarah will have to be a very clever program writer and operator indeed, to manage anything near a fifty percent kill-target. Between friendly-fire, hostile-fire and the inevitable collisions the little Beagle may last just minutes or perhaps up to an hour in that kind of fast combat.

What Malcolm had found out was that much of the factory-ship's resource needs were being stored in almost plain sight. They were being stored in traditional containers at many independently operated ports, - and at Republican and New Euron ports too, unbeknownst to the latter because of false shipping manifests. Whatever materials that were needed on the factory-ship were apparently available within just hours from its secret location.

I was surprised, but not that surprised with the deep-space Colonist's audacity. The materials that factory-ship needed were probably shipped here long ahead of the Colonist's fleet's arrival and the factory-ship too, for that matter.

Malcolm needed to find a way to get us into a container that would be in the front of the shipping queue. I suggested that we be crated into a bin of titanium ore seeing how the metal was used extensively as an alloy in stinger fuselage frames and miu skeletons. He didn't discount my suggestion, but I'm sure there were many other logistical needs to be considered. The little manned mv's were sturdy little machines, but they would easily be crushed under the weight of tons of titanium ore.

The Beagle's engineer did take delivery of four new manned mv's the following day and he struggled with my request to have them modified as best as possible to lengthen the time that they could support human life. Ten days he figured and perhaps a couple more with re-breathing kits added. I had to remind him that in all likelihood we would need the re-breathing kits once we began our mission's final steps on the factory ship itself.

I debated at length with myself about when I should talk to Tia about my plans. Sophie couldn't understand why I had not had the conversation with Tia a long time ago. So I sat down with Tia at an opportune moment where we were relatively secluded from the rest of the crew.

I explained to her that I had a very dangerous mission planned and that I required her help if she was willing. I told her that Sophie had volunteered to help and that if she had any apprehensions regarding the danger of the mission she was more than welcome to decline. I could employ another hybrid technician to help. Well, as I expected she was eager to join Sophie and I, and she was upset that I would even consider another hybrid technician to take her place.

I explained to her that there were no schematics or drawings for us to refer to if we did manage to infiltrate the factory-ship and for that reason alone we would be operating at a great disadvantage. The mission was simple – capture the ship's helm. This would mean that I would need to assume the command. Only a captain can take command of a craft.

In all likelihood, there would be a program in charge as well as the ship's captain to contend with should we be successful in mounting an attack. There would be a hostile crew to deal with and a host of other defensive measures that would be used against us to protect the factory-ship's helm. We would need to avoid detection for as long as possible. And should or more likely, when we become detected, we need to use the element of surprise to work in our favor.

"Speed - Tia; we have to be quick about it. For certain that factory-ship's control systems will be well programmed to deal with human infiltrators. So, – between now and until we successfully take the factory-ship's helm, I want you think hard about how we can make this happen."

"I don't need schematics or drawings Mark. If we can get into the ship I will know them all in seconds!"

And she was correct. When a hybrid maintenance technician enters a ship's control system geographically speaking, they immediately synchronize with the ship's entire library of schematics and physical drawings. She won't be under the control of the host system, but she will know where everything that requires maintenance is physically located.

Tia will be our guide, but nonetheless, there will be no schematics or drawings for us to consider until we actually board the factory-ship first.

And as we planned further, it became clear that Tia was going to have to play a paramount role in the attack if we were to become successful in any meaningful way. The factory-ship would be almost entirely automated; there would be little accommodation for us such as ceiling height, and in general access for all humans because the ship was essentially manned by a handful of hybrids who travelled through the ship's duct-work.

There would be some corridors large enough for machinery and men, but far fewer in number than the hundreds of kilometers of maintenance duct-work, thus giving the ship's defenders a great advantage for preventing our progress. Tia was going to have to disable some doorways and enable others for us if we needed to travel deep into the ship and which was in all likelihood going to be the case. And all the while Tia would be doing these things to aid our progress; her hybrid counterparts would be undoing them.

The intelligence that we had gathered on the factory-ship was severely lacking to say the least. We toured other manufacturing facilities that were of New Euron and Republican designs. I couldn't get past my shoulders into any of the duct-work. There was little or no lighting present in these ships because automation didn't require it. Little atmosphere too, and what atmosphere that was present in these facilities lacked oxygen and hydrogen and was enriched with more inert gases such as nitrogen and carbon dioxide to prevent the combustion of any flammables. We could however, rely on good gravity being provided on a factory-ship because that was essential for the operation of most assembly line equipment. Ambient temperatures were another matter too, because depending on where you were on the factory-ship it could be temperate or just above zero Celsius.

These are things that I had to consider because I was going to have to engage the defenders of this factory-ship whom I'm guessing will consist of miu's directed by crab shaped commanders that were the norm of the Mercenary forces of the deep-space Colonists and various man-machines of course, supervised by the ship's program. And if we get deep enough, the human crew will need to be dealt with; thought to number as few as ten or so.

Sophie said it best, "We'll be going into the 'belly of the beast' – to the very birth place of the deep-space Colonist war machines."

*****

Finally

Malcolm hit pay dirt. He found a container-ship making a priority delivery of recovered miu parts that had been collected from a recent battlefield. There was however no one who would take a bribe to get us in there. The Century Inter Space Container Company had a container-ship doing a port call at an independent deep-space port that was perhaps just within a day's travel on the Beagle.

Malcolm wanted to know if we had the resources to interfere with the container-ship. We'd need to capture and replace the crew until the pertinent containers were off loaded. It would be a certainty that the containers of recovered miu parts would go to the front of the queue for delivery to the factory-ship.

Joyce was real hesitant at first. Apparently, she did know what Sarah was up to and it had priority. The Beagle was to stay within striking distance of Nouveau Paris at all times which meant minutes rather than hours and my team needed to be delivered to an intercept with a container-ship that was hours away. Nonetheless, she was so intrigued that for the first time after months of failed attempts to find the factory-ship that now that someone may have finally found a means of locating the ship, that she left the Beagle immediately for a personal meeting with the Republican members of the ad hoc war committee.

Several hours later Joyce met with me up on the Beagle's observation deck. She had just returned from her meeting with her Republican ad hoc war committee members. She looked sad and preoccupied as she came to sit next to me though she brought with her good news.

"Mark, the committee has endorsed your plan to covertly install your team onto the container-ship and with good luck onto the Colonist factory-ship, but you are not to destroy the factory-ship – they want you to provide the Beagle its exact location at the earliest possible moment."

"That's ridiculous! I would be destroying my cover and condemning my team to a certain death."

"The Republican fleet including the Beagle will endeavor to rescue you at the earliest possible moment."

"That could be hours – even longer!"

"Those are the conditions! Your team is too small. You have to have support."

"And this is the only way that I can be delivered to the container ship in time?"

"Yes, but only - with those conditions. A team of commandos can be put together immediately to commandeer that container-ship and locate you into a suitable container with the rest of your team."

"I'll do it. I'll do it then. What's the time frame?"

"Incidentally, Malcolm is now under the employ of the Republican members of the ad hoc war committee. An intercept with the CISCC Selkirk can be managed in about eight hours."

"Thanks Joyce," I stammered as I now had become immersed in detailed thought.

Good luck Captain," said Joyce before leaving the observation deck.

So, I mused, - the Republic wants the factory-ship for themselves. It appears that everyone these days - lusts for this factory-ship's power. I was only a little disappointed because in battle, once it begins – preconditions just like the best laid-out plans always go out the window!

I had less than eight hours to prep my team and assemble the pertinent equipment that we would need to while-away a week of waiting for the container to be delivered to the deep-space port by the Selkirk and then be collected by whatever means and be delivered finally to the factory-ship. We would take the four new mv's and use the fourth unmanned mv to store additional supplies and munitions in.

I had no input whatsoever with the capture of the Selkirk. Anthony was to be a member of the commando team who would make a lightning strike on the ship and neutralize its crew without a mayday call getting out from the Selkirk.

Three teams of commandos simultaneously attacked the Selkirk's crew's quarters, its drive room and its bridge – all at once. In two minutes the ship was ours and quick repairs to the Selkirk's hull were started immediately.

The Selkirk's logs provided the location of the deep-space Colonist's port and it was a temporary affair that had probably been just assembled a few months earlier. The Republic put the port under immediate surveillance, but at a safe distance away to avoid detection by whomever.

It was quickly determined that this Colonist port was receiving goods through conventional means, but everything that was leaving the port was likely not leaving by conventional means. This meant that either huge matter transporters or very large freighters that were capable of hyper-acceleration space travel were being used to move the off-loaded containers.

It was unlikely that matter transporters were be used because they would require enormous amounts of local power to operate a facility that could move such cargo. So, it was all coming-together now; there had to be a handful of freighters that were capable of hyper-acceleration, space travel that would resupply and service the several ships it was thought that made up the factory-ship. And if all were capable of the same infinite ability to become mobile at hyper-acceleration speed until they were needed to ultimately manufacture miu's then the only time one would be able locate them would be when they were as one. They were like pieces to a puzzle that could be quickly assembled when it was required. No wonder the factory-ship had not been found; it only existed when it was required to be in production.

I saw less and less of Sarah once the Beagle's resources were diverted to assisting my mission. It was no mystery to me where she was because both Hercules and Samson were usually found outside various locked doors about the Beagle. I wondered if she was unhappy or pleased with the recent change in events. The crew was ecstatic with excitement over the development. The Republic and New Euro had been seeking just such a breakthrough for months and finally at last, a crack in the Colonist's plan had been found. There could be no invasion of Earth, the Republican colonies or Nouveau Paris without the miu's and support equipment that the Colonist factory-ship provided.

No one from the Beagle's crew or anyone with any knowledge of our mission was to be allowed leave or have communication outside of the Beagle until our mission was completed. We had ten days of air once we were sealed into our container. It was prudent maneuver I thought - that Malcolm had been brought under the wing of the Republic and New Euron alliance and hopefully we are not to be betrayed by him.

Sophie insisted that she required a meal with her comrades before starting the mission. It was an old New Euron tradition that I had thought had been long forgotten, but Sophie was twenty years my senior and steeped in more formal New Euron traditions. Sophie insisted that without a meal between soldiers on the eve of battle, that we would doom the mission. She worried more for me and Tia than herself, or so she said.

We made time for the 'meal between comrades' while aboard the Selkirk in the freighter's mess. There was little gravity and the atmosphere stank of rotting food and stale air in the tiny mess. Sophie was pleased; the less than pleasant ambience was more to her liking and justly suited for 'our tiny team of amateurs'.

The young commandos from the Beagle were a little awed by us. They'd likely have no stomach for a certain suicide mission as ours.

"I think they pity us Mark?"

"They can't imagine their short future like both you and I can. The deep-space Colonist's will be merciless; there won't be a Republican or New Euron alive should we fail or the next plan fail or all the following attempts fail. They are far too strong. Their fleet – their factory ship are too much. Life is just so fragile in space. An orbiter such as the Thirteenth Colony could be overwhelmed in no time by miu's and a little damage to its infrastructures could cause a cascade of equipment failures and the whole colony of millions would suffocate."

Tia squirmed in her seat uncomfortably.

"And how about you Tia? How do you feel about this mission?"

Tia was not used to talking in a social conversation with people. In a tiny voice and after swallowing nervously she responded carefully, choosing her words.

"I am committed to helping Mark until the end of this mission - and beyond. My survival as a hybrid requires a Republican or New Euron world that remains intact."

"You don't think the Colonist's would have a job for you? You are quite the technological marvel. You could help crew a freighter just like this one?"

"I thought that might be the case when I was captured by the Republic initially, but I was used for salvage – then ultimately put up for sale - at a brothel."

Tia was embarrassed admitting the latter and rolled her eyes to the floor.

"I see," replied Sophie who opened a bottle of red wine from Nouveau Paris.

Tia could not partake in the wine, or much of our meal; a hybrid required a particular diet of water, simple carbohydrates and dietary supplements. The wine was particularly delicious and Sophie and I were grinning and telling stories embellished by alcohol in no time.

"So Captain, how do you feel about this mission?"

"I have no doubt in my mission. Its intention is moral – and it's just. However, it's risk taking – many times over.

"Could the factory ship be captured in another fashion? Not by conventional means - that's for certain. The Colonist, Republican and New Euron fleets are distributed and arranged like chessmen – if one were to attack the factory-ship by conventional means the surprise would be lost almost immediately.

"Our mission is a long shot, but a noble one and worth taking. Should we fail, we will still prove to our enemy that they are vulnerable. Should we be victorious, we will send Mercury Smith and his Colonist fleet running."

"You've had good fortune in the past Captain."

"Yes I've had."

"You could lead an army of millions."

"Perhaps I am."

*****

A suitable container on the Selkirk was found for us to stow ourselves in and the gross weight of the container and its contents were adjusted to the very gram of its original documentation. The little mv's were be powered down to supply just life support and a bit of interior lighting and they were bundled up together by tethers in the bottom of the container that was filled to its ceiling with stacked bins of broken miu parts. We were situated in such a way that our mv's transparent canopies were facing each other and if needed, we could communicate by hand signals and notes. In all likelihood, we could be facing each other like this for several days until our container finds its way into the deep–space Colonist's factory-ship.

Tia was our trump card. I'm not sure if any hybrids had been used in a combat situation before as a means of intelligence as was in our case. For our needs, she would instinctively know when we arrive at the port; and in fact, she would actually be able to sense its presence for us and figure out its layout as any other electronic device might be able to do. I gave her instructions to record and share all the material details that she would be able to glean from the factory-ship's network just as soon as it became possible. She would be able to update our personal data bases via our own communications as we progressed into the factory-ship. Our plan was to split into two separate armed units while Tia would run through the various ducts and conduits and help enable our advance towards the factory-ship's bridge.

It wasn't going to be easy, but I was hoping that the element of surprise was going to work in our favor. There would hopefully be many more hours yet to rehearse and rehash our plans and our alternate plans before we attack.

Perhaps eight more hours of spaceflight followed after being buttoned-up into the container when Tia quietly announced that we had docked at the port and that the Selkirk had begun to auto-unload its cargo into the port's receiving bay. We could hear quite a lot of mechanical noise as the process continued.

So far, our little ruse had not been detected. There was some concern that the old crew of the Selkirk may have had a personal connection with the crew at the port. Anthony assured us that he and his team were all very proficient con men should the need arise. It appeared that he was correct.

Sophie's, Tia's and my own eyes all opened a bit wider as our container shook about as it was offloaded into the port's receiving area. We all knew now that we were committed to the mission; there would be no turning back.

Later, Tia reported that more receiving was occurring at the port though Sophie and I could not tell because all we could hear was a deafening quiet as the hours passed. There was now, one hundred and sixty-two more hours, and counting of life support left in the mv's and until we would have to switch over to our small reserves and this was indicated on a digital read out that was counting down on each of our instrument panels in each mv. The counter's alpha-numeric display became everyone's focal point in their own mv's cockpit and you would notice whomever return their eye to it every minute or so, and certainly at least once an hour with a wary gaze.

*****

More than a day had passed and Sophie fell into a routine of dimming her lighting down to zero for a half hour or so about three times a day and when she turned the lights back up, it was a refreshed Sophie greeting us. At least she had the decency to turn the lights out while masturbating. I wished too, that Tia would take up masturbating because the constant stare she fixed on me for hours at a time was becoming really tiring. We all knew that this was going to get to us and we discussed how we would situate ourselves for the long wait and we deemed it better to be facing each other rather than facing away from each other.

It was about forty-eight hours into our wait when Tia announced that a large ship had docked at the port and was taking on cargo. She wouldn't be able to tell us much more until it took our container onto it – if it does – and until then if that became the case she could only determine what machinery was operating on the port itself.

We waited – being ever so quiet and waited for our container to move. Tia whispered 'Bah Roo' and smiled – a difficult thing for hybrid to do, but she grinned as best she could. Apparently, our container's number had just shown up on a loading manifest.

Sophie dimmed her lighting down to zero again and Tia and I waited. And then there was movement. It was different from the last time; it appeared that our container was on a carousel-type conveyor.

Sophie's lighting came back up, but she didn't look quite so refreshed this time. I think she was having some anxiety.

She mouthed the words in silence to me, "Are we there?"

"I'm not sure." I mimed back.

The two of us, both Sophie and I focused our attention on Tia. She looked like one of those squirrels that I had seen in the parkette on the Thirteenth colony. Her head was cocked like an antenna.

"It's huge," whispered Tia. "Its ring shaped. It's part of four more components. This is the factory-ship's outer ring; shipping, receiving and utilities. It's come to port to collect supplies and materials. There is a central disk at the center of the factory ship and four concentric rings that mate altogether as one. Each ring is independent from the other when needed, but together they are a manufacturing facility: the factory-ship."

Logistics are flooding into my mind. I need to capture all of them not just a shipping and receiving warehouse. There was less than one hundred and fourteen hours of life support left in our mv's. It would likely take several hours for the factory-ship to assemble itself for production. Was that even planned? It had been assumed, – deduced to be more precise that another freighter, one capable of hyper accelerated space travel, would come and pick up the containers destined for the factory-ship and deliver them directly. This was an unforeseen wrinkle, but it could work in our favor and save us some precious time.

Sophie's lights went out for another hour and did not come back up until we had hyper accelerated with the outer ring-ship to who knows where.

"Do we have any idea where we are?" mimed an anxious Sophie to Tia and I.

'We are one step closer to victory', I wrote on my canopy for Sophie and Tia to read.

"Tia," I whispered. "Is there any maintenance going on? Are they wrapping some up or in the midst of some? Can you tell?"

"There is some major work going-on with some stand-by utilities, but all this unit's primary services are available. It's ready to go."

"I'm going to hope that that is a good sign."

"Captain, are you losing your hair?" piped in Sophie.

"Yes it appears I am. It was only temporary."

Sophie smiled and nodded her approval.

"Listen up you two. It's quite possible now, that we could be discovered before we can get to use our precious element of surprise. We need to have our weapons at the ready and our communications on standby. The plan will be the same whether we are discovered or whether we are not: we split up and head to whatever control center is available. Presently, it's the outer ring of the factory-ship; hopefully it becomes the bridge of the centre disk. Tia, I need a map and mechanical drawings as soon as you can manage of this ring-ship and please keep it updated as best as you can."

Tia was already busy sharing what she had discovered from the schematics and drawings that she had just become familiar with and we were a long ways away from the outer ring's control centre. Our container was in the receiving deck of the factory- ship and so far its number had not come up on any data base for movement or allocation into a manufacturing process.

"Captain," whispered Tia. "This ship is moving – ever so slowly. I think it could be positioning itself for docking with another ring-ship because the receiving areas are not active at the moment and that to me would indicate that we are not docking at a port."

"Keep us up to date, Tia. Our intelligence was that all the pieces of the factory- ship could assemble themselves into one unit within hours. Now pay attention," and I made eye contact with Sophie intentionally, "There will be no hysteria. The three of us are going to calmly and cunningly plan the capture of this ship. Here's a good question Tia: are there any crew quarters for sleeping or dining on this outer ring?"

"No."

"Then that means that within eight to twelve hours at the most, that this ship will have to dock with one that does. Does that make some sense?"

They both nodded.

"Then we shall wait patiently."

Only minutes passed when Tia joyfully updated us.

"We are in the fifth and most outer ring and we've just docked with the fourth ring-ship which is a collection of primary and secondary facilities used for the production and finishing of metal alloys."

It was now becoming abundantly clear that we were going to have to travel some distance to get to the heart of the factory-ship. And in the time that that may take to transpire, the centre disk and perhaps several of the center disks may have enough warning and the time needed to separate themselves in a defensive maneuver from the outer ring-ships.

"Tia. I need you to focus some of your research time on finding ways to prevent the factory-ship from disassembling itself for as long as possible during our attack. We are going to need some time or some shortcuts to get to the center of the factory-ship in a timely fashion."

Tia looked back at me like I was being too demanding, but then she went to work on the new task that I had just added to her all ready full plate.

"Sophie?"

Sophie's mv's lights were out again and fifteen minutes or so later, they then slowly came back up.

"That'll be the last time for that Captain."

I was going to coyly acknowledge her inference, but I was taken aback by her new appearance; Sophie was wearing a vintage New Euron kit and helmet.

"Will that antique work with us or against us?"

"I had Tia reconfigure it for me back on the Beagle."

"It's been tested?"

"Oh yeah. Are you jealous Captain?"

"No."

I had only seen pictures of the kit that Sophie was wearing. It looked as if it weighed at least five kilos. They were made quite sturdy back then and they were not surgically connected so a chin strap was necessary to keep the kit in place. These old military kits were made specifically for a soldier and had unique features such as terror mode, stealth mode and suicide mode. No personal grenade was needed if you wore one of these kits – should you lose consciousness in suicide mode, the kit could be set to detonate. Only a New Euron would wear such a thing.

"Tia? Any idea on the scale of this ship? Like how far to the center of this thing?"

"The outer ring-ship is approximately five kilometers in diameter, Captain. The fourth and fifth rings are thirty meters high."

"Sophie? Do you have any more surprises from the past stowed away in that mv of yours?"

"Such as a powered pike, Captain?"

"Yeah."

"No. The only other antique is me."

"Is that kit a personal item? Have you worn it before?"

"Many times and many years ago."

"Captain, the outer rings are preparing to dock again."

"This is going a lot faster than I ever thought would be the case," added Sophie.

"That might be so, but we aren't going anywhere until we have to or we have a plan. The whole of the factory-ship together and as one unit is our first goal. Only then will we have the whole picture of how this ship is laid out. From there we will think about an advantageous moment. And here's something I think you should all be aware of, it was a precondition to our mission: We are to inform the Republic once we start our attack."

"And why's that?" asked Sophie.

"I suspect that they want to coordinate their own attack on the deep-space Colonist fleet with ours should they feel the opportunity is right."

"They're using us!"

"I'm using you."

"But you have my permission!"

"Without the aid of the Beagle and those Republican commandos we would not be here – that's how I look at it. I'm your Captain and you have offered to follow me. Has anything changed?"

"No Captain."

"Are you certain?"

Tia gave the two us a glassy stare for a moment and then went back to her work.

"Absolutely."

The deal that I had made with Joyce and her Republican allies had become a personal sore point with me shortly thereafter I agreed to it and as time went on, it became an unfair burden that I felt that not just I should have to bear. Who wants to be the man who triggers an inter-galactic war that could very well kill hundreds of millions of people? How is that fair? In the past it was always just my life in the balance when it came time for deadly choices. I was loathe to bring Tia and then Sophie into this crazy scheme and now the lives of millions who have had no say in the matter rest upon my shoulders.

Dimitri once told me that a good leader should never have to worry about being called a coward, but rather he should worry about being called a fool. It seemed like a paradox then, and it still does now, - that a good leader is defined as a gambler who wins.

So the timing of when I notify the war committee that I and my team have begun our attack on the factory ship has become the critical question. Will it be when we engage the enemy with our first fire fight? Will it be once we are discovered? Will it be as soon as we exit our mv's? Will it be once we've made some headway into the mission? What's the point of notifying the war committee of our actions if our little mission fails early?

I should be resting, but my mind is reeling and racing. In all likelihood, I'll be cranking my kit up to keep me alert as possible once the attack begins; I think that's scaled down somewhat from the suicide mode that I suspect that Sophie will be using on her old kit. Tia, thankfully can go days without sleep if needed and her performance will not suffer.

Several hours passed, when Tia suddenly called us to attention again. The center disk and the second ring were docking and these two were already teamed together! Sophie and I both stared at her, waiting for her to confirm that our container was or was not on a manifest for production somewhere on the factory-ship.

"Our container is scheduled for movement to the third ring-ship,"

"When?"

"As soon as now. We're at the front of the queue for a recycling facility in the third ring. That means they are requesting our container firstly. But here in the outer ring, we could have hundreds of containers in front of us," said Tia lifting a hand up into the air to emphasize her loss for a more precise answer.

Sophie's mv's lighting began dimming.

"Don't," I asked. "Let's take ten minutes here and I want all of us to check their gear and ready our arms. From this point on we must be prepared to attack the enemy and to defend ourselves as best we can."

It was thought that in a hurry that we could cut ourselves out of the container in a minute or two and I checked the cutting tools on my mv and the others followed suit as they were also installed and at the ready on Sophie's and Tia's mv's.

"What's the best way out of here, Tia?"

"You should cut a hole to your right and go out it and straight up right now with the rest of us following you, but that could change if our container starts moving."

"Well, I 'm hoping. And that's all I got right now – is hope – that they come get our container and move it for us to the third ring. That is my ideal scenario at the moment, but we play this by ear."

"We hear you Captain. Into the belly of the beast."

"Tia? Can you tell what this factory-ship is tooled-up for – for manufacturing?"

"At present it's all about miu's, their delivery and support equipment."

"What about commanders?"

"Their squad leaders?"

"Yeah."

"There is no such facility here to manufacture those. That would require an advanced lab I would think?"

"Yeah, I suppose you are right. That's a good thing for us I think."

More waiting – and it was worse than worrying because it couldn't be avoided. I had decided now, that when I felt that we were about to be discovered or actually discovered by the crew of the factory-ship, then that would be the most logical time to inform the Republican War council that our attack was under way. I figured that would be my best gamble: that the colonists would not be able to come to aid of the factory- ship if the fleet itself was under attack from the Republic. The Beagle was not going to come and aid us until all the dust had a chance to settle – after all, they had the entire Republic to help defend.

"Full production will be under way in one hour. They plan to manufacture a little more than ten thousand units in the following seventy-two hours and then disassemble again," announced Tia.

We could feel some movement.

"We are just being shuffled around – like on a giant carousel. We're still some ways away from moving inwards, yet," she added.

And so it went. There was still plenty of life support left in the mv's, but time seemed to crawl. I let Sophie dim her lighting. Tia continued with her tasks and uploaded any new and pertinent information concerning the layout and operations of the factory-ship to our shared data base.

My temporary head of hair was falling out fast. It was all over the interior of my mv and I could collect it up in handfuls. A few days ago I had noticed that it was thinning up top at the crown and my beard had all but stopped growing since its last shave. I'd be a handsome New Euron in another twenty four hours if it keeps falling out at this rate. It bothered me though. Was it an omen? Was it stress? Was it from living in these cramped quarters, or was it likely just time for this temporary disguise to fall out?

It had been a poor disguise anyways, and was hardly effective for more than a day or so once I made that ill fated visit to the Thirteenth Colony with Joyce. A few hours from now, I want my enemy to have no doubt who they are up against.

There can't be a soul left in this galaxy who is not familiar by now with my likeness with or without a full head of hair and of my reputation. I can thank Cosmo and the media for that: the two have molded me into a larger than life killing machine – where the reality of it all was just circumstance on my part and the need for a war hero on their part.

I do wonder about Cosmo though. I do suspect that he is gone. Gone as gone can be. His demise is likely to always be a mystery and a necessary secret to be kept to help the same war effort that I'd been enlisted in. Fool hardy bluster and a lot of lies is all this war making is.

And with all that said, I do suspect he is still here with us in spirit at least – in the likes of Sarah. She surely has his magic touch. Perhaps there are many ways for an immortal to live forever.

There was more movement of our container, but it stopped as suddenly as it seemed to have started. Sophie's lighting came up and the three of us exchanged silent stares and waited.

"This waiting is killing me," said Sophie.

"I have a feeling that things are going to get moving very soon."

"Well, waiting for long periods like this has always been a bad omen in my past experience, Captain. I want to get out there and make a difference – now. I could do nothing, but wait back in that prison cell for someone else to disappear in the night. I knew that I'd be the last to go; no one wants and old crow like me. It broke my heart each time it happened. You'd try to stay awake in that total darkness with only the noise of your breath to help you stay awake. In time, as hard as you tried to stay awake, they'd ply the atmosphere with something or you would just fall asleep in spite of your terror – wake up – and find out that someone you loved was gone again.

"When I was not much more than a cadet in training for special ops our entire camp was captured while most of us were still bunked. It stunk from the start – like we were traded off for something else. But there we were, the lot of us being interrogated one at a time before being executed by Colonials on some planet I can't even remember the name of. New Euron after New Euron commando walked into that interrogation room and after ten or fifteen minutes they were then carried out in a bag for salvage. When it was my turn – and it was near the end naturally, I acted like a cowering bag of shit that had to be dragged in there, and when my interrogators got all comfortable with my lack of backbone I took the fleshy throats out of two with my teeth and hands and cleaned up the rest of the room with a captured side arm.

"I'm not going anywhere this time without one of these," and she tugged on her personal grenade that hung from her creased neck and polished it with her thumb.

Tia had stopped what she was doing as Sophie told her story. I too, listened quietly and respectfully kept my thoughts to myself as Sophie went silent and turned her lights down low again.

*****

Into The Belly of the Beast

Thirty minutes later our container began to move again, but this time it kept moving for at least five minutes. The three of us stared quietly as we were jostled about by the movement which was punctuated with sudden stops and lurches into different directions. Tia signaled four with a raised hand when we entered the fourth ring and then she signaled three.

Well hallelujah!

"Tia? In what direction should we exit?"

She looked puzzled.

"At the moment only through the top. There isn't enough room for us at the sides. I think we're stacked and on the top of a column of containers."

"That's too prominent of a maneuver right now. We'll be detected. I got an idea."

We were loaded into the container in such a way that we had access to the back end of the container from bottom to top. The mv's came with articulated sight cameras that could easily maneuver into a cavity to inspect or repair something under the skin of a ship's hull let's say. I reasoned that I could cut a hole from within a cavity, that being our container and send the sight camera out to scout our position.

Sophie and Tia watched my progress as I carefully cut a hole that would be large enough for the camera to fit through the roof of our container. It was uncomfortably quiet and I did my best to make as little noise as possible. I put the camera out the black hole that I had cut and we waited momentarily for the device to adjust to the lighting or the lack of it I should say.

There was little need for light in a fully automated manufacturing facility and generally none was provided unless there was a need for it such as in a breakdown. We were two containers up from an expanded metal deck. Indeed, we were stowed on industrial sized shelving. We were going to be doing a lot of climbing or we were going to need use of the mv's to get down to the decking.

"You two see all of this?"

"Yes," they both said in unison and Tia added that she had located and could now see our best departure point for the footed part of our mission.

"Tia. You are our best climber. We can't leave our mv's out there – they'd be discovered too easily, so you will operate your mv to deliver Sophie and me down to the deck and then I want you to return the mv back to this container. If possible, we then begin the next leg of the mission by stealth for as long as possible."

"By stealth" was going to be difficult achieve because by its very nature a manufacturing facility is watching for movement all the time. It won't take long before some proximity sensor or motion detector finds us and the ship's control begins to investigate. I was counting on just a few minutes and then things were going to become real fluid.

"Well comrades, the business of making war is just about upon us. We've had good fortune so far and I hope to build upon that. Once we are out there, we operate as three separate units that are tied tightly together by our communications – I want to be able to hear every breath you two take. We know the basic layout of this ship; five rings and six spokes or arteries that converge on the center. We'll move laterally at first and see if we can get two or three spokes of separation between us and then we head for the center of the ship. I think we'll have the element of surprise on our side for just a few minutes and then this crew and the ship's control will move to eradicate us. You can expect anything and you can expect plenty of miu's. Your best means of sighting them will be sonically because it's pitch black out there – and in case you have forgotten – miu's don't need any conventional light to see.

"I'm going to cut a bigger hole now in the roof here and then we'll get ourselves out of these mv's," and I made some eye contact with Sophie for her to acknowledge me.

Her kit was now activated and her eye's corneas were on fire – they glowed like hot red embers from behind her vintage helmet's transparent blast-shield. Sophie was now a war machine. Her personal grenade and an amulet swung from her neck.

"I've not seen that amulet before, Sophie?"

"It's a locket that contains a few strands of pubic hair from each and everyone that I've ever loved."

"Very nice," I said.

She smiled a crooked smile.

There was a lot of anger pent up inside of Sophie and if I wanted a skilled and disciplined soldier to accompany me on this mission then I was going to be sorely disappointed with her. But what I really needed was a highly motivated New Euron commando and I was glad to have her. I pity her enemy.

I climbed out first. The gravity was good and there was some oxygen in the atmosphere, not enough, but it would aid us because from now on we had just six hours to breathe where we needed assistance.

We moved ourselves and our gear in stages: first to the roof of our container and then down to the deck down below us. We saw no one and we saw no movement of machinery.

Tia found her access point to the ship's electrical duct work. Sophie gathered up at least three times the ammunition that a normal commando would carry.

"Won't all that extra weight slow you down?"

"I don't plan on carrying it for very long."

I activated my kit for combat. My corneas won't be glowing red embers; the blast-shield on my helmet was transparent in one direction, for me to see out and both opaque and camouflaged for those looking in.

"Let's take a minute to hydrate ourselves. We'll then point ourselves into the right direction and start our attack."

There was some awkward eye contact between the three of us at this moment. We knew what we were in for, but I suppose it was all of the uncertainty of whom or how many of us might get to survive the mission and have the chance to look into these same eyes again. It seemed appropriate to just smile and wish each other safe keeping.

We slapped hands and Tia took off for the duct and disappeared into it like a rabbit into a hole. By the time I turned my head back to see Sophie's progress her figure was just a blur of moving limbs disappearing into the darkness. I advanced into my corridor. Straight ahead – a kilometer or so was the target. For success I needed to be conscious and at the helm of the factory ship, only then could I upload my program and assume command. Before any of that could be possible the crew needed to be neutralized and whatever other defensive measures the factory ship's commander and program had to throw at us. A tall order but that's the business of war.

It started out as a kilometer of obstacles. There were pits of I don't know what kind of oily solutions and lots of grease everywhere. It quickly became obvious that I was going to have slow my progress significantly in order to prevent a fracture or some other kind of injury from falling on my ass.

It had been five minutes now and no movement of any kind had been seen or heard by the team.

"Captain. It's Tia."

"Go ahead Tia."

"I'm ready to neutralize the ship's external communications at your command."

"Tia, I need that antenna operational for an encrypted message to the Beagle. Hold on, I have it here. Send it – three times quickly – don't wait for a confirmation – just destroy the antenna once the message has been sent. The ship and crew will be on to us immediately and will likely head into your direction – so you take evasive action as soon as that antenna is down.

You copy that too, Sophie. We want them to know that they are being attacked by three different parties at once. Put the fear into them."

"Oh, I can do that Captain. I've been dropping goodies off every ten to twenty."

Goodies were anti-personnel mines that could be detonated remotely. We were going to need just that kind of distraction because suddenly the lights came on. The door that I had just passed through only a few minutes ago was now closing. It didn't matter because I was at least ten minutes away from the next one and Tia was likely going to have to open it for me anyways. I could hear some of Sophie's mines go off. Perhaps five. Perhaps six – in succession.

"Tia. I'm at least ten minutes from the next door. There doesn't appear to be any miu's dispatched to my location just yet."

"I'm in progress Captain."

"Sophie?"

"I can hear the little buggers. Their feet click real good – just like you said."

"You be careful, now."

"I'll be careful to kill as many of these little mothers as I can."

I don't think there were any miu's sent in my direction because there was too much grease for them to deal with. My mind was racing as I ducked and crawled beneath the conveyors that ran through my corridor. Did the Beagle get my message? Were they on their way? What was this crew and their ship's program up to? Where was Tia?

"Tia. I can see the next door. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"I'm working on it Captain."

Sophie began shrieking.

"Die you little mother fucks! Die! Have some of this!"

I had to turn her volume down. It wouldn't be wise to interfere with what was working for her. Just as I approached the door ahead of me, it opened.

"You got to give me some warning before opening a door Tia!" I shouted. "I could be ambushed!"

Luckily, it appeared there wouldn't be one. The next corridor was as greasy as the last and I was pulling myself along as much as I was walking and crawling. I saw some laser activity. Someone was trying to sight me. It appeared that it was coming from behind. I found some cover from a vantage point above a conveyor and waited.

The conveyor started moving with a clatter – so much for sighting sonically. There were now at least six lasers seeking me out now. They had to be miu's. I had my doubts that a miu could negotiate this grease, but if they are going to ride this conveyor below me and into my direction I was going to have a good advantage and a fine kill zone just as soon as they come into my sight.

The conveyor began advancing haltingly. I waited with a full magazine of anti-personnel charges trained on the conveyor as it approached. I'd need to get their commander so there was a good chance that I was going to have to charge them too, so I lightened my load a little and wiped some of the grease off my boots and gloves.

The ambient temperature of my location was presently about ten Celsius. I'd try to sight them by heat. Miu hydraulics typically operate at about a regulated temperature of forty degrees Celsius and depending on their armour type and insulation my job of finding them was likely going to be made easy; my body temperature however, was electronically camouflaged.

Three were approaching and they were going to be easy kills, but the remaining were nowhere to be seen. I could only wait a few seconds more before I would lose my vantage. Two shells did the job nicely and then the conveyor stopped. I decided to put an anti-personnel mine down instead of making a charge and I moved ahead another twenty meters before returning my attention to my rear. They were going to be following me that was for sure, but I could not see them at the moment as there were too much in the way.

The conveyor began to move forward again and when it stopped at about where I had been previously and I could determine this by gauging the travel of the conveyor. I set off the mine.

"Tia?"

"Yes Captain?"

"Is there a way that you might be able to shut this conveyor down in my corridor." "Give me a minute. I'll try."

There was not a lot of lighting in this corridor and I was pretty certain that what light there was available was being used to follow my progress and I could expect a steady stream of miu's to be delivered to my location using this conveyor.

"Captain, I can only stop the conveyor by killing all the power to the local drives in that zone. The ship's bridge seems to have firm control over its operation and much of the ancillary equipment."

"Do whatever it takes to make it not move, Tia."

"Done, Captain."

"Sophie? An update please?"

"Aye, Captain. I'm making excellent progress and ahead of schedule. They seem to put up a little bit of fight, but then drop away.

"Tia, have any escape pods left ship?"

"No, Captain."

"Should they abandon ship, and remember these are crewmen and not soldiers, we'll be dealing with a program that no longer has to provide life support to a human crew. So we can expect that the ship's program will begin responding to us far more severely."

I continued on through the greasy muck and when I finally arrived at the next door that would take me into the second ring-ship, I placed myself in a defensive position just outside of it.

"Tia? I'm ready for you to open the bulkhead at the second ring."

"Opening Captain."

They were well prepared and waiting. I peppered the opening with rifle fire and it was returned tenfold. This was not going to be easy. There had to be two teams of miu's in my way who were well entrenched.

"Captain, preparations are being made for the central two ring-ships to undock."

"How can we stop that?" I hollered over the din of my rifle fire.

"I can't do much to prevent it, Captain. I can keep that bulkhead open for you, but they can still undock with it open should they want to."

"How long we have?"

"Ten minutes if they forgo the open bulkhead, Captain."

"I'm in!" shouted Sophie."Do you want some help?"

"No. You keep the pressure on with your progress towards the center of the ship that will worry them more."

"Aye, Captain."

I need to take out at least one commander in a hurry and they were not accommodating me. They were judiciously holding back. I stopped returning their fire and moved laterally, but close to the third ring-ship's hull and positioned myself behind a support beam and waited to see if they would investigate. I could only afford a minute, but sure enough three miu's of their forward team came out from the bulkhead to look about. I held my fire and had everything shut down but my kit and my rifle.

They're not so smart without a commander to supervise them and sure enough a commander mounted on a miu appeared just inside the bulkhead. I took him out and rushed the bulkhead. We exchanged anti-personnel charges, but mine were far more effective because they were grouped about just inside the bulkhead and I had a much wider area to run about in.

I charged again and this time I made it through the bulkhead, but I was pinned down in a tight spot right away and it was close and difficult for a minute or so until I could locate all the sources of miu rifle fire I was taking.

"Tia? I'm inside, but just. Where are you?"

"I'm in progress Captain. It could be several minutes before I can interfere with the control here."

"I've reached a door, Tia" piped in Sophie. "I can wait Darlin'."

It was becoming apparent that my progress down the main corridor was quite sufficiently blocked by enemy miu's. It brought to mind young Anthony's advice a few days ago that we should have brought some of our own along.

"Tia I'm advising you that I need an alternate route if I'm to progress any further. I'm checking your diagrams now. How is your progress with gaining control of this second ring-ship?"

"Unfortunately, it is not going well. I can't seem to gain the same amount of control that I had acquired so easily in the three outer rings. I'm going to have to over-ride the door circuits locally rather than remotely Captain. It's going to slow us up considerably."

"I want you to help Sophie's advance. She's got the best momentum now. I think they are focusing on me for the moment and that'll change if it looks like Sophie might out-flank them. They'll adjust their resources if they see that coming."

"Captain, I recommend that you follow a pipe gallery that you can gain access to behind you by about twenty meters and to your left. Follow the red hose. And Captain – you will have to shed some of your gear to get through some of the tight spots in that gallery."

"Thanks Tia."

I left a remote charge behind me and I retreated laterally and looked for the pipe gallery.

Well, at least it wasn't as greasy, but I was going to have to leave all my gear behind but for a side-arm and my helmet in order to follow the opening. I could illuminate ahead of me, but not behind me. By the looks of it I wasn't going to be followed by any miu's in this pipe gallery because they were not going to be able to negotiate the tight passage with their armoured bodies. This would be considered spacious for a couple of hybrids like Tia, but I was nearly twice her size. The red hose was easy to see and I moved as quickly as I could, consulting the diagrams as I went along.

"Captain?"

"Yes Tia?"

"The ship's escape pods are being prepped."

"Thanks Tia. Let me know if and when they are launched."

"Where's our support from the Beagle?" piped in Sophie.

"A veteran such as you should know better than to expect support in a crisis Sophie."

"Just kidding Captain."

"You be prepared to exercise some caution if you get too far ahead of me – they'll focus on you then."

"I hear you. 'Open the door, Richard'," sang Sophie as she waited for Tia to manually override the locked-down door she waited at.

"Tia. This pipe gallery appears to go on forever in these diagrams. How long will I be climbing along these pipes?"

"Almost till the second ring-ship's inside hull – much like when you first entered the gallery."

"There's no detour from here?"

"No Captain that was the only alternate route."

They're going to piece that one together. No other way to go, but backwards and no room to do that even if I wanted to. At the very least I can expect a welcoming party when I arrive at the other end of this gallery.

"Captain!"

"Yes."

"I've made it. I've just cleared the last bulkhead. I'm in the center disk. I have prisoners. A small group of hybrids have surrendered."

"That's terrific Sophie. Watch your back. I'm going to be a little while yet.

"Tia. You are to regroup with Sophie as soon as possible and interrogate those hybrids."

"Captain the pods have left the ship."

"How many of them?"

"All sixteen of them."

"That's good I think. Are we still all intact? All the ring ships?"

"Yes Captain. A fire in the third ring-ship scuttled their attempt to undock."

"Captain. Human life support is being shut down across the ship!"

"That's no good! Can we do something about that?"

"No. We need you at the helm to take the command from the present program."

"Listen now, - from here on in, things are going to get more difficult. It's a program we're fighting now and it wants us dead. It will deal with us logically and in a predictable manner. It will be using whatever resources that it can and that are at its disposal. In minutes you can expect little or no oxygen in the atmosphere. You can also expect minimal gravity to be present and it will be just warm enough for the hydraulics in a miu to operate. Keep this in mind too: those pods that just left the ship could be waiting just off in the distance for the ship's program to deal with us before returning them back to the ship."

"We'll manage Captain."

"I know we will. I'll hurry as best I can."

I could feel the cold first. My re-breather was going to have to work double time now, however the lack of gravity was definitely not going to be an issue at the moment because there was barely enough room for me to move in – let alone float in. If I was reading the diagrams correctly, I was now nearly three quarters along my way through the pipe gallery.

It had become much quieter and I was thinking to myself that you could probably be able to hear a pin fall here if there was a little more gravity at the moment when I did actually hear something. I turned my communications down and looked behind me as far as I could with a now weak lamp aimed down between my legs and I thought I saw fingers grasping a pipe – but then they were gone.

"Tia." I whispered.

"Is that you Captain?"

"Have you had a chance to question those captured hybrids?"

"No Captain. Not yet. Sophie has been busy exchanging fire with a team of miu's. I've not been able to get to them yet."

"You two are safe?"

"Yes. We are in a good position at present."

"When you do have time to question them, I want a quick inventory of their assets. How many hybrids? How many humans? Miu's?"

"Yes Captain. How's your progress?"

"Less than a hundred meters to go, but I think I'm being followed."

"Followed?"

"Yeah. Human? Hybrid? Man-machine? I don't know."

"Captain! Read me off a pipe label!"

"Something is tugging at my feet!"

"Captain! Please! Read me off any tag or label."

"Alpha, echo, foxtrot, five, alpha!"

"I'm coming Captain."

"What's happening Captain? Tia is on her way."

"I'm stuck. It appears that my feet have been tied to pipe just behind me. I can't reach down. I can't go forwards. I can't go backwards."

"Do you have a side arm?" asked Sophie.

"Yes!" I shouted. I was exasperated and at wits end. "But I've no room to point it!"

The hands came back. I could see them trying to tug the bottom of my suit off. I hit them once with the end of a light-stick and they then disappeared into the darkness. They were hybrid hands; no nails, serpentine skin. Each finger was long and double jointed at each knuckle. They looked just like Tia's – right down to the coloring.

"The hands are back! They're trying to undress me."

"Captain at this temperature – they're trying to kill you! Shoot the little mothers!"

"I wish I could, but it takes me almost a minute to move my side arm from say chest high to down to my feet. I've got to protect my face!"

"Sophie? I need your help." Called Tia.

"I'm on my way arling'. I'm going to have to leave our little kiddies alone. They're not about to go anywhere unless they want to be shot up anyways."

"It's a hybrid!" I shouted, and I awkwardly beat the hands away again until they disappeared into the pipes and hoses.

She's got to be feeling as cramped as I because I was taking up most of the space around the pipes. I got one leg free and I knew that this would invite another attack from the hybrid. This time she came at me with a screwdriver and I got a good look at her face. She was no Tia. She looked more human and wore a miserable grimace. This was one angry hybrid.

After a bit of a struggle I got the screwdriver from her hands and I started plunging it defensively between the pipes and into the darkness. I kept trying to free my left foot, but I couldn't struggle with it too much. If a boot came off I'd be in trouble quick.

"We're into a bit of a firefight here, Captain. There was quite a welcoming party waiting for you at the end of the gallery. Hold on. It'll be only a few minutes. You were right Captain, once you take out the commanders these miu's become little morons just like you said. Hold on."

I could just make out with the light from my light-stick that the hybrid had used a simple cable-tie to tie my foot to a hose. I could shoot it free, but I would likely lose my foot in doing so – I was thinking of it though. Maybe that will be plan 'C', right now I need a plan 'B'.

It had been a few minutes since the screwdriver attack and I was anticipating the hybrid's next assault.

She came from above me. Just her arms and hands again, but this time she was tugging at my helmet. I could not see her face. I wrenched my head around and her long hybrid fingers tapped at my helmet's transparent blast-shield. She was mocking me like she had just achieved something clever and she had. She had disabled by re-breather. I would have less than a minute of consciousness left before I asphyxiate.

She wasn't going to enjoy my death. My hands were free and before hers disappeared I wrapped the chain of my personal grenade about her right wrist and when she pulled her arm back through the pipes – I set it off. There was a good bright flash and then a lot of blood that I could see – as I held my breath. She'd lose her arm, and bleed out quick I hoped.

My kit knew what was going on; it was recording my trouble for potential rescuers or body salvagers. I don't think I would make much of a man-machine if I lingered here in this pipe gallery dead for more than a few hours. Who knows?

Endorphins were flooding through my veins. I was going to get a kit send off as I was already too weak to bring my side arm to my head.

As a soldier you always wonder how you are going to go. We all hope for an end in glory, but all too often it's something less dramatic. I was little more than a bit of human Diaspora who was to become asphyxiated some millions of kilometers way from his home.

I rolled my eyes up to where I could see my face's reflection inside my helmet. It was turning blue and my irises floated sleepily beneath drooping eyelids. I rested them once more and spoke without uttering a noise.

"My name is Mark.

And I want to...

Ell.

A breath.

Eye.

A breath.

Vee.

A breath.

Eee.

A tear."

*****

Black.

Black, black, black.

Timeless black.

Black.

Blacker.

Black, black, black.

Empty black, nothing black

Is this death?

Was that life?

If so,

I so loved it.

Black.

*****

I saw Sophie floating. She was floating – weightlessly. Her antique helmet, that I had so admired - missing. From one of her outstretched arms and hung about her fingers was her locket. It followed her about the cabin as if it were being towed by a graceful ship with blue lips.

Gas bottles, foil blankets and other unusual debris floated about like chunks of flotsam in this untidy and unfamiliar cabin.

What was this? I was dead. Am I now the undead and haunting this pilotless ship?

I heard nothing on a deep-spacecraft's bridge that should be alive with order. Where were its crew and commander? I felt cocooned and discovered that I was swaddled in foil blankets and bats of insulation. I could hear and see, but I was trapped in a body without any ability to move its limbs.

I could breathe and take in air. I could smell the scent of my own recent trauma. I was alive!

I looked about for Tia, but she was not here on the bridge. I could see the commander's helm. Sophie's floating body had now circled it twice. That seat was the whole goal of our mission and there it was just a few meters away and I had no physical means at the moment of getting to it.

It was like dying cruelly all over again. The irony of it all: to be cheated like this. Victory was a mere two steps away. I tried to speak. I wanted to shout, but I could hardly do more than take tiny breaths between lips that until only recently had just begun to reopen.

What do I do? Rest? Wait? Struggle like an infant? Fight? Surrender? Hope?

Plan. I'll plan exactly what I will do when I get to that helm. I'll 'E' stop that program and then upload my own by kit and take control of this ship. I'll secure it and find it safe haven until I can ascertain what has happened to the Beagle, the Republic and the deep-space Colonists' fleet who I should think will be coming to reclaim their prized factory-ship.

A few minutes later, I started sensing some feeling from my flesh and gained the ability to move my fingers and toes about. My kit was trying to help me. I started to become more lucid and began recalling what had happened in the pipe gallery. And then, - I began to get angry. I could feel my face redden.

"How dare you!" I uttered as angrily as I could.

"Captain? Captain?"

"Why?"

"Captain? I'm on my way!"

With what energy I could muster I broke the adhesive tape cocoon that contained me upright and against the wall of the cabin. It was near zero gravity in there and as much as I struggled and I was not operating at much better than fifty percent in the agility department, I could not get myself into that empty seat.

The helm was shaped much like an upright oval. All of it but the seat itself was transparent and to sit in it, one had to recline backwards into its open face. I needed muscle strength to do this in a weightless environment and I had very little of that at the moment.

I pushed Sophie's floating corpse out of my way several times, once with a head butt, in my attempts and did my best to align myself to that seat, but I couldn't get myself deep enough into the helm's shell and I was fading. I can't let myself feint in a weightless environment; not in this condition.

A flurry of arms and legs emerged from an open duct in the cabin's floor which then raced around the cabin and embraced me as four outstretched limbs that pressed me into the recessed seat of the ship's helm.

'E' stop. Upload. And I was in command!

"Bah Roo!"

"Yes! Bah Roo! Tia."

We've done it. I was trembling. It was hard to believe. I had captured one of Mercury Smith's most important assets! His factory-ship was mine.

There was noise at the cabin's door. Tia's smile faded as she looked warily at it.

"Tia. I now control everything on this ship, but someone's disconnected the power to that door," and I shook a weak finger at it. "The ship's dispensary is now open and I've called for a medical droid to come to the bridge to see me," and I pointed the same pathetic finger back at yours truly. "I need medical help."

I grinned as best I could though I felt so terribly weak. I needed the attention of that droid in the worst way so I won't lose consciousness and the control of the ship.

Tia immediately disappeared back into the same duct in the floor that she had just recently come to my rescue from. A moment later another hybrid popped out of the same duct. She was literally half the size of Tia except for her eyes which were quite a bit larger and she sat quietly in a corner of the cabin next to where Sophie's body had settled.

"I'm Midge. Tia asked me to sit with you while she restores power to the bridge's cabin door. I'm sorry about your friend."

"Thanks."

"Would you like some help in removing your helmet Captain?"

"Yes. I think I would."

"The atmosphere in here has been restored, but it could be hours before the main ship is up to supporting human respiration," said Midge as she climbed up and onto my lap to release the seal on Sophie's helmet. "This is an interesting helmet. I've not seen one quite like it."

"It belonged to my good friend over there," and I pointed to Sophie.

The bridge's door slid open and a medical droid entered and started emergency triage. First, it went to Sophie. "Deceased," announced the droid.

"That body is not for salvage."

"Acknowledged."

Then the droid came to me. I was given fluids, meds to help clear my head and restore some energy. I was carefully examined for several minutes by the droid.

"You need rest. Recommended time period: eight hours. A follow-up visit has been scheduled for you in twelve hours."

"Thank you."

"It's been my pleasure Captain."

Tia was back and there was pretty much a soccer team in numbers, of perhaps ten and Midge made it eleven, - of hybrids in the cabin now, all sitting quietly and staring at me.

"Is this? What is left?"

"Yes, except for three miu commanders who are considered missing in action. All of the enemy miu's had just been contained behind disabled doors prior to you taking command Captain. There are no humans aboard and the escape pods are still gone."

"Those pods are more than one hundred thousand kilometers from here now. I have this factory-ship moving, but at its present speed it's going to take days to get somewhere I would consider a safe distance from where we began our attack.

"Are you following me? A counter-attack is always to be considered a good possibility from a formidable enemy. What can be done to get this complex moving a little faster?"

"At the moment, only the two central ring-ships are able to undock and hyper-accelerate."

"Yes. I'm aware of that, but I've got my eyes set on this little system of hot planets," and I pointed to a chart I had up on the helm's shell. "I want all of this, there in twenty-four hours," and I rotated a pointing finger to everything that surrounded me - meaning that I meant all five ring- ships.

The little mob huddled and spoke to one another and Tia was barely included in the conversation that went on for several minutes. I waited impatiently.

Tia approached me and told me that the hybrids were deciding who was to become there new leader and thus suggest a means of achieving the task that I had just given them. Apparently, the hybrid who had pretty much succeeded in killing me was their former leader. I had caused an enormous void in the team's technical resources, but one came forward with a plan that might get us where I wanted in two days. The problem was that the ship was not meant to travel with any real speed as a whole unit and there were damages sustained during our attack that would require several days to repair in order to release the outer rings so the group could travel individually at hyper-acceleration speeds.

They did however, have one requirement before they would start their task: an introduction from their new Captain.

"My name is Mark. I am a trained New Euron captain who has fought for the New Euron military service and more recently for the Republic. I have been a New Euron prisoner of war, and held captive by the Republic as so, for more than a year. I was then liberated and brought under the employ of the immortal Cosmo. My last station was on the Beagle. I've been planning an attack on this ship of yours for several months because of its immense strategic value to the deep-space Colonists – who are my enemy. If you shall willingly follow my command I shall see to it that no harm comes to all of you as best I can, and find you all a safe return to your home."

I seemed to meet their approval; there were no sour faces as I spoke to them. Their elected spokesperson was Elka. She appeared to be the eldest and most experienced of the team.

"We are the technical crew of the 'DSC Olympia', "said Elka and adding, "Which is a strategic support-ship of the deep-space Colonial Fleet. We adhere to the principles of the legitimate process of inherent chain of command - Captain. We are familiar with the reputable immortal Cosmo and his asset: Mark; seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, seven, and seven. Welcome aboard the DSC Olympia."

The hybrids then disappeared to tend to the task that they had been given. Elka hesitated for just a moment to tell me that she would report back to me on their progress every two hours and I thanked her.

I had Tia make repairs to the communications systems, and it was then that I noticed that the former crew had found a partial work-around to their sabotaged communications and according to the ship's log: they could only receive but not transmit. Apparently, what information they had received from what remained of their fleet had convinced them that abandoning the ship, at least temporarily, as I had suspected and having the ship's program then purge all human life aboard thereafter was deemed to be the best plan of action. There would be no support forthcoming from their ravaged fleet and the Olympia was rapidly becoming overwhelmed by insurgents – us.

The numbers from the battlefront were rather disturbing. The deep-space Colonists for all their effort had suffered the most serious losses and the Republic's losses were also steep. Only the New Euron forces fared well. What can I say? But that my people are cunning survivors if that's what is necessary.

If this were truly the end of hostilities between all the parties then the New Eurons now held the balance of power. The Republic's resources and populations had been decimated. The deep-space Colonist fleet had been reduced to less than half of its original size. It's mighty factory-ship - supposedly gone! The Earth was untouched and thus sparing most of New Euro's assets.

Eighty percent of the Thirteenth Colony's population – had suffocated as a result of massive infrastructure failures and Nouveau Paris's entire human population was gone as a result of having been overrun by a massive assault of deep-space Colonists' miu's .The miu's themselves, unsupported now as a result of the deep-space Colonist's retreat would simply run out of resources in thirty days or so – not much of a victory for the enemy there. The most serious setback for the deep-space Colonists was that some twenty percent of their own assets at home were destroyed by those loyal to the Republic and its allies; the fleet was obliged to return home in haste to secure its own survival.

I carefully perused the records of losses for the Republic. I was considered missing in action and presumed dead, mostly I suppose because the Beagle was gone – destroyed during its third attack on the deep-space Colonist's fleet. Sarah had done her job well.

*****

I would have loved to have had some sleep, but time was surely of the essence. I had Tia help me transport Sophie's remains back to our mv's that remained parked and at the ready in the container that we had arrived in, on the third ring-ship. The trip required breathing assistance, but we had plenty of that now: the Olympia's entire resources were now available to us.

I put Sophie's locket back around her neck and I delicately caressed her cheek with my hand before placing her helmet back over her head. We reclined her as best we could into the mv that had recently been hers and turned the tiny cabin's lighting down low as she would have liked it.

"Good-bye good friend," I whispered before sealing up Sophie's mv.

"Tia? Why'd she do this?

"To preserve the mission Captain."

I suppose my eyes asked for more from Tia.

"We got to you relatively quickly Captain, but once we got you onto the Olympia's bridge, it became apparent that no matter what adjustments we made to your helmet's re-breather we could not restore a sufficient amount of oxygen to your helmet's atmosphere. Your hybrid attacker had bled away most of its oxygen stores when she interfered with it back in the pipe gallery. Sophie took charge then, and sent all of us away in different directions to gather up any available oxygen stores we could find or any other necessities for human life support and bring them back to the bridge.

"When we returned, you were wearing Sophie's helmet and Sophie – was gone. We bundled you up and set out again; this time in a futile effort to over-ride the security to the Olympia's locked stores. And then Captain, we heard you call."

*****

The Nina

In just two hours Elka and her team had doubled the Olympia's speed and they had not yet run out of ideas to increase its speed even more. I retired to the former captain's cabin as had been suggested at my medical follow-up. I could follow the logic; I may need all the energy and concentration that I could muster to fight salvagers or whomever that might attack us, yet.

I couldn't sleep and as far as I could tell the former captain had left behind nearly all of his personal affects behind. They were distracting. There was a personal journal, pictures of loved ones and a plaque on the wall confirming that he was an accredited pilot from his early years at a Colonist academy for space flight training. His name was Benjamin Smith and yes he was related by more than just numbers to Mercury Smith – one of his immediate offspring no less.

The son of Mercury Smith abandoned his ship? How about that? His journal entries painted a picture of a much more amiable and likable person than his more severe senior – that wouldn't of happened had he come from a New Euron lab. I'm sure his father is even less happy with the young Benjamin now.

For what the former captain had lacked in bravado it appeared that he was however, a very competent space pilot who had travelled millions of light years in his career. On his desk were several models of deep-spacecraft ships of the more personal type meant for adventurers – that were much smaller than the Beagle, but just as capable.

In a wooden box on his desk was an antique sextant. I had only seen pictures of such. In a desk-drawer was a collection of hand-held compasses. These old things would only have value to a romantic – an explorer. These were not the things that a soldier would collect thus – being a romantic – he surrendered his ship too easily I mused.

I tried to sleep again, but that wooden box and the brass sextant kept calling me. I examined it some more. It was such a primitive navigational device, but it had helped captains navigate the earth's oceans and seas centuries ago and it was alluring to the touch as anything I had ever held in my hands. It made one think and dream.

This Captain Benjamin Smith began to intrigue me and I delved into his personal files and history. He had been captain of the Olympia for a year now and had been more or less pressed into the position by his senior.

Apparently, the Olympia was a personal pet project of his elder: Mercury Smith. The intention was to have a portable facility that could manufacture thousands of their most advanced miu's and their accompanying support equipment within the same theatre as a conflict itself. He believed that these modern miu's were the perfect anti-personnel weapon that would be able to completely purge – all the human life from a planet and yet keep the infrastructures intact for the most part. He pretty much proved that to be true in the case of his attack on Nouveau Paris.

And indeed, as I had suspected, Captain Benjamin Smith was also a much lauded adventurer and deep-space explorer who felt that another 'Nouveau Paris' was still out there. Had he found one, perhaps his senior would not have come to plot a scheme to take Nouveau Paris for himself?

According to his journal he had decided that the best chances of finding an inhabitable planet lay at the outer reaches of our galaxy. There were three specific systems that he wanted to investigate that not even an immortal had visited in the past, but then the war came and his plans were put on hold to pursue his senior's military aims. I suspect Captain Benjamin Smith will never see another adventure; his pods are likely still floating in space unless salvagers have picked them up.

All the good sense that my mentors such as Cosmo and Dimitri had imparted on me in the past, told me that it would be a bad idea to give hope to even my New Euron brethren that the Olympia, - Mercury Smith's 'ace in the hole' was still intact. As long as the Olympia existed and no matter whose hands it rested in – the temptation to use its power for gain would be too great. I was going to destroy it as best as I could. I would not be sending any communications to anyone even following the Olympia's destruction.

*****

It was Midge who came and got me. There was excitement on the bridge. Whatever Elka and company had done in the last four hours was working. We would be arriving at our target four hours ahead of schedule.

I had work to do. There were modifications to be made to the ship's programming that I needed to attend to and there was no suitable work for Midge so she stayed on the bridge with me while the others remained busy about the ship.

"Did you buy Tia's freedom?" asked the diminutive Midge.

"I suppose I did. We New Eurons have very few hybrids or man-machines for that matter within our society so the notion that a hybrid – which to me is pretty much as human as I am, was something less - such as chattel, - was repugnant. Tia was a good friend who I was obliged to look out for. Under similar circumstances I'd do the same for you Midge."

"The real turning point in your attack on our ship was a mutiny of sorts by the technical crew to not fight once we understood it was - you who was leading the attack. No one wants to be the crew on a death-ship. You are our liberator. Who wouldn't want to be liberated by Captain Mark, 'brother by numbers' of the immortal Cosmo!"

"What of your group leader who tried to kill me?"

"Tanya had her position to ensure; a position that she was appointed to, rather than elected to by her peers. Our Elka has always been the true leader here."

"Thank you Midge. And I'm also thankful for the support I received from a lot of people. Now however, many of them are unfortunately dead. Soon, I hope to justify their sacrifice."

Midge looked pleased. I don't think hybrids are thanked enough for the many things they do that keep a spacecraft 'afloat', so to speak.

"Midge, every hybrid I've met is the same size as Tia. They wouldn't have made a hybrid as small as you without a purpose?"

"I was designed for a whole new generation of deep-space exploration craft. I am half of the technical crew for the 'Nina'."

"The Nina?"

"Captain Benjamin Smith's personal ship. It is here. It's dry-docked."

"Show me."

Midge took me through a long circuitous path of corridors to a large hangar located near the outer hull of the second ring-ship. The Nina was identical to one of the spacecraft models that I had examined on the top of the former captain's desk. She was saucer shaped and she was beautiful. A typical spacecraft is huge and impossible to take in by eye except at a great distance. This beautiful machine was just a hundred meters or so across. It looked to have perhaps four decks of living space at its center - the rest of it was just beautiful machinery designed to travel at the utmost speed.

"It's beautiful Midge."

"It's a ship without a captain now," replied Midge.

"Can it operate?"

"It would take about eight hours to prep it."

Midge could obviously see my great interest and excitement.

"I could prep it for flight if you like Captain Mark. I know Captain Benjamin would have escaped in it had it been ready. Tia could help. We're in the way of the others anyways. It could become useful should we come under attack."

"Please if you can Midge. I think that's a very good idea. It would be a very prudent move."

The Nina was the 'pride and joy' of Captain Benjamin Smith. Only a few years old and the Nina had already seen more of the galaxy than many older deep-spacecraft would in a lifetime. It was totally self-sufficient with food and fuel for fifty years and that was by design because when you are exploring the universe you never know when you might become waylaid, lost or simply distracted.

According to Midge and Tia, only the Beagle was faster at hyper-acceleration. I had no doubt in that regard after inspecting the Nina's drive deck – it was massively oversized compared to what you would expect to find in a ship so small. I sat at its helm. There was only minimal power present for lighting and such on its bridge. Antoine came to mind, of all people, but I think it was that little boy wonderment of light in his eyes – and that smile of his - thrilled to be in his own element. This was no warship – it had but one heat-ray battery. Virtually all the instrumentation on its bridge concerned the ship's navigation or the ships drive systems.

I pressed myself back into the helm's seat and it felt as familiar and as comfortable as no other cockpit that I can remember. The Nina would be mine.

*****

I called a meeting on the bridge as we entered the 'Clibanus' system which had a large star with just three hot planets in close orbit around it. All the hybrids were present including Tia and Midge.

"I thank you all for getting us here and ahead of schedule. Time is still unfortunately of the essence. Our target is a collision course with the second hot planet from this system's sun. I don't care how elegant or nasty the collision might become, but each of the three outer ring-ships of the Olympia are going to be destroyed in that way to remove any chance of their salvage."

They seemed shocked, but what else were they expecting?

"What of the remaining two ring-ships?"Exclaimed Elka emphatically.

"They'll be yours to return to your colony with or to go wherever you wish. I'm taking the Nina. I can program the remaining two ring-ships to go wherever you would like. You could be home in forty-eight hours. You don't need me to take you there."

This seemed to appease them.

"Captain Mark, in order to arrive here and as quickly as you requested we have lost the fuel needed for any hyper-acceleration of the two remaining ring-ships."

"Are you in that big of a hurry?"

They stared inquisitively at me and I did some quick calculations. At freighter speed: they should arrive comfortably within the deep-space colonies' boundaries in fourteen days.

"It'll be two and a half weeks Elka if it's your capital that you're going to, or two to three days less to the nearest deep-space Colonist outpost with a port."

They seemed to be okay with it.

"Who will crew the Nina?" asked Elka.

"Tia."

"Tia is too large for much of the maintenance on the Nina."

I looked to the tiny Midge whose eyes were glistening with emotion from behind her widening double eyelids.

"I would like to crew the Nina, Captain Mark. She's my ship."

Some of the hybrids looked secretly envious and some looked like they were thinking that Midge should be more thoughtful of what she was volunteering for – she would likely be regarded now as a traitor by the deep-space colonists who had trained her.

"Thank you Midge. In one hour I want the outer ring-ships ready for separation. I will pilot each of them remotely into the second planet from the Clibanus system's star. Is that possible Elka?"

"Yes. I suppose it is, Captain. We can make that possible within the hour."

"Thank you. I leave you all to your tasks."

I stayed on the bridge and kept a vigilant watch for any sign that we were being followed or in danger of being discovered. The Olympia was a support ship with little in the way of defenses. We could defend ourselves against salvagers, but if any sort of military craft approached us it was going to become a real challenge for us to defend the ship. I could have hundreds of miu's prepped in minutes, but they were only going to help in the event of a boarding. The Olympia was a big slow moving target and without the benefit of having a few big heat-ray batteries aboard to defend itself with – she was easy pickings for whomever.

I'd had months to think about this and to simply blow the complex apart was just going to provide a rich bounty of salvage for the picking, and to put the Olympia as a whole into the hands of the Republic or even with the New Eurons was simply going to tempt fate as I saw it, and ultimately upset the balance of power again. With the three outer ring-ships of the Olympia destroyed in the way that I had planned, all of her inventories and stores, all of her manufacturing ability – all of it completely, would be destroyed. The two remaining center ring-ships, - they simply housed the maintenance services and the control of the complex and were of little consequence.

I created a program for the Olympia that I felt would be the safest for its hybrid crew. They would travel a route that was both reasonably direct and also most likely to avoid any conflicts with others who may try to intercept them. In any event, the ship would have to be boarded by another captain in order to over-ride its peaceful mission to return to whence it came. Elka and her maintenance crew will ultimately have to deal with whatever becomes of her. It was in my estimation that in all likelihood the two remaining ring-ships of the Olympia would be discovered in a few days time.

As the last few minutes of the hour passed, the maintenance crew returned to the bridge and waited for the next step of the mission to begin. When all were accounted for, the center ring-ships of the Olympia were instructed to undock themselves from the three outer concentric rings, and then those three ring-ships were then separated from one another individually. All of this took about three quarters of an hour.

I then remotely piloted the three ships in a straight line formation like as a train so to speak, on a collision course to the second planet from the Clibanus star. The surface temperature of the satellite was estimated to be about four hundred and fifty degrees Celsius. Its atmosphere was thick and its days were so short that it never much cooled down over one of its short nights. It was a perfectly uninhabitable planet and no one, and no machine, and in particular, no salvagers - were ever going to visit its surface for the valuable metals that were about to be deposited there.

Each time I sent one of the ring-ships into the hot planet's atmosphere the tip of my right index finger burned and tickled just as I expected it would. You would think that there would be dramatic fireballs and flames erupting as the ring-ships met their fiery demise, but there was none. Each of the giant ring-ships simply disappeared into the clouds and was swallowed up by a planet that should be now named 'Peace'.

"Thank you everyone."

The hybrids looked back at me. They seemed a little dumbfounded. Most of the Olympia was gone. Gone – and without a whimper. It would take some time to replace her; many years hopefully. If only she had been found and destroyed months earlier; so many more of us would still be alive.

"You still have a ship. You still have a home to go to and I hope you all still have a future in your respective trades when you arrive back there."

Elka spoke.

"Captain, there was absolutely no satisfaction for us as partners in sharing in the destruction of the very ship that we were bred and trained to maintain. It is hard for us to relate to the terror that she imposed upon you and your allies.

"The Olympia was our life. We cannot share the sense of honor that you have won for your nation. We respectfully ask that you record our sense of loss at this time in the ship's log for our deep-space colonial leadership to consider when we return home."

"Consider that done Elka."

There was still a need for some haste, but the mission was complete now that the Olympia's might had been destroyed. I activated the program that would return the Olympia to its home, and safely I hoped. Tia and Midge had almost finished with prepping the Nina for spaceflight, but still needed another hour or two make her good for what she was really built for: deep-space travel of epic proportions.

I collected a little bit of personal booty from Captain Benjamin's cabin and with the brass sextant in hand, I spirited myself down to the waiting Nina in its hangar. I settled myself into the Nina's helm and tucked a pillow behind me so I could reach its controls.

"Ten minutes Captain."

"Thank you Tia. How's Midge?"

"She's good – and very busy at the moment."

Tia left the bridge and five minutes or so later the Nina began to come to life. I could now program her and I plotted a hyper-accelerated space jump that would put a safe distance between the Nina and the Olympia. It would be better for both of us to go our separate ways quickly in case one or the other becomes discovered.

"Five minutes, Captain. The Nina's hull is secured. The Olympia's hangar is opening. All drives are operating as they should. Midge is into the last few checks before we launch."

"Ready Captain!" announced little Midge just a few minutes later.

"I'm going to take the Nina out and about manually. We will salute the bridge of the Olympia and when we are a hundred kilometers or so apart we're going to hyper-accelerate to over there." I said while smiling and pointing to nowhere in particular, but somewhere else just the same.

We saluted the Olympia as she lumbered off towards her home, - then the three of us all made a bit of eye contact as I started the program, and then, in mere seconds we and the Nina vanished light-years from anywhere near where we had once just been a moment earlier.

"Now that's space travel!" I exclaimed.

"Bah Roo!" piped in both Tia and Midge in unison – and they both had a twinkle in their eyes.

"Tia? What does Bah Roo mean, anyways?"

She feigned a slight curtsy and stretched her long thin arms out from her sides, "Bah Roo means: Ta Dah!"

The End

About the Author

S J Garrett is a Canadian poet and e-book novelist who resides in a steel town at the head of Lake Ontario in the very heart of Canada. He's been employed as a steel worker, an industrial electrician and more recently as a warehouse worker for a large Swedish furniture company. It occurred to him one day when he was just ten years old and as he was being pulled by the arms by rabid classmates to the front of the classroom to read his stories \- that maybe he could become a writer.

If you wish, you can learn more about the author S J Garrett, his poetry, and his other published novels at his website: www.thecomfortingchair.com.

