Thanks to Lord Kona and ganoesparan for the kind words.

* * * * *

Faction Leaders revealed

Earth Space Command HQ
Perth, Australia
Day 613 of Ganymede mission
(Two months later)

The lights in the spacious apartment home brightened to their pre-programmed intensity as Wesley Garland walked in after another long day of meetings. He tossed his stylish leather bound PDP onto the plush sofa as he headed to the bathroom to splash water on his face and change into more comfortable clothes.

After changing he made his way to the kitchen and pulled out one of his last pre-fab dinners. It wasn’t a particular favorite, but he felt especially hungry tonight so it mattered little. He touched a button on the side of the container and set it aside as the tray automatically began to cook the food inside.

While waiting, Wesley passed the time sorting through personal messages received while he was out. He hadn’t bothered to wear his PLink for weeks because of the lengthy logistics meetings he had attended. He couldn’t return a call even if he wanted to at this point. He shook his head in exasperation when he came across the pleadings of particularly demanding associates, either ignoring the message or deleting it entirely.

No. You bean counters won’t get your pound of flesh tonight.

Wesley quickly ate his meal, poured an after dinner drink, and made his way to the sofa and the PDP lying on it. He navigated his way to the latest Ganymede reports regarding the seven settlement leaders of Chiron. It was utterly fascinating how the Unity survivors had split along these ideological lines. Sociologists would be writing books about this for years.

Gathering Chiron’s early human history through one old terminal on the surface was a very painstaking process since no one could land on the planet. The Ganymede crew were wholly dependent on their remotely controlled probes to access the old datalink terminal. As the power dwindled on one probe another would be sent in to take its place so the data crunching could continue. And everyone worried about the backup power supply itself. Just how long would it last?

Wesley began scrolling through Chiron’s leader profiles again. CEO Nwabudike Morgan was at the top of the list, of course, since he was the first to be studied. It didn’t surprise Wesley that Morgan had become one of the faction leaders. His charisma along with promises to his people of unlimited economic prosperity made him an easy man to follow.

Deidre Skye, Unity’s Chief Botanist and Xenobiologist, was responsible for the “natural style” settlements on Chiron. She was an attractive, brilliant scientist whose keen intuitive knowledge of plant strains was responsible for the huge Earthpine forests that now grew wild all over Chiron’s surface. A staunch environmentalist she referred to her followers as Gaian’s. According to the psych reports she didn’t care much for the Morganites, who “exploited the beauty of Chiron for their own debauched luxury.” A highlighted record of a newsvid debate between her and Morgan quoted her as saying “Morgan’s notions of ‘healthy’ growth are more like that of a cancer cell.”

Wesley then selected the psych profile of Sheng-Ji Yang, Chief Security Officer of the Unity, who was apparently referred to as “Chairman Yang” in the settlements. Born in China, he was gifted with a powerful mind and a strong will. Yang was another tough personality that people would gravitate toward in time of crisis. His underground cities were built as a consequence of his obsession for protection and defense. But Yang’s psych profile was littered with red flags. He was security minded to the extreme. In fact, he was quite paranoid. His desire to control every aspect of his peoples’ lives turned his culture into one resembling more of a police state. There were flagged reports of numerous officials disappearing under mysterious circumstances along with rumors of torture and nerve stapling performed on many of the more independent minded citizens.

Then there was the Spartan Federation led by the survivalist Corazon Santiago, a one time lieutenant in Yang’s security force and another strong personality. She was responsible for the “bunker style” settlements that had so impressed Commander Ramirez. Corazon, a model soldier, was physically and mentally tough with a strong will to survive. But she disdained weakness of any sort, emotional or physical, and was known to have an explosive and often violent personality. A report from Ganymede’s cultural anthropologist revealed that Spartan children were taken from mothers at birth to begin the long, harsh Spartan training regimen. If weakness was perceived at any point during training the child was summarily eliminated, cut out of Spartan society like a diseased growth.

After Santiago came the psych profile of Sister Miriam Godwinson, Psych Chaplain and Lieutenant Commander of the Unity. She and her Beleivers had carved out an existence on Chiron’s barren eastern continent, mostly shunning the technological advances of the other leaders and relying instead on “an abiding and unwavering faith in God” to provide for them. “The struggle itself is what makes us strong, not necessarily what awaits us at the end of the struggle,” one report quoted her as saying. Wesley chuckled a moment later as the the report went on to reveal that Miriam’s Believers had covertly penetrated the other settlements and “acquired information” on many of their elaborate technologies. When a charge of espionage was leveled at her by a Morganite diplomat she deftly sidestepped the accusation by saying, “We simply maintain watch over the spiritual so the secular does not work its poison too deep.” What technologies she did posess were generations behind anything the other faction leaders had. But her influence could not be ignored. Her followers were legion as thousands of the disenfranchised and downtrodden had found their way to her lands.

Academician Prokhor Zakharov was a Russian scientist whose old but still functioning backup power supply had given Ganymede access to Chrion’s human history. The man was literally a genius. He was responsible for the genetic enhancements that had kept all seven faction leaders alive for the century that humanity had thrived on Chiron. It was a breakthrough that would be considered abhorrent today. Such longevity treatments had been universally banned nearly twenty-five years ago, though strictly regulated “fashionable” genetic tweaking was still allowed. The process was marketed under the name “Designer Genes.”

Wesley tapped some highlighted links on Zakharov and more screens zoomed into view. Unity project leaders had chosen Zakharov for developing planetside technologies. Wesley took a moment to scroll through a few and found they had roughly paralleled technological developments on Earth with some techs developed ahead of those on Earth, others developed years after. Wesley then moved on to the psych profile. Zaharov had believed strongly in teamwork, but his view of the world in general was driven purely by logic. As such, his ethics had suffered and there were many of his followers had “defected” to rival factions because of his perceived callousness and social deficiencies. And, of course, his humanistic bent and logical mind was set at odds with Sister Miriam’s spiritual beliefs. Needless to say they did not get along well.

Finally, there was the idealist. Commissioner Pravin Lal, born in India, was Unity’s chief of surgery. He had been a strong believer in the United Nations Charter and had been primarily responsible for organizing humanitarian relief after Earth’s Twelve Minute War and the India Border Conflict before that. He was part of a team of researchers that made great strides in DNA repair which had saved countless lives in the aftermath. Or at least made life more bearable for the survivors.

Lal appeared to be a genuinely good man, a humanitarian of the highest order who loathed conflict. Not surprisingly, his followers became known simply as the Peacekeepers. Lal himself was elected as head of Chiron’s planetary council which seemed to rule wisely for several years after planetfall. But Lal’s primary failing was that he was a bureaucrat. A well meaning bureaucrat, but a bureaucrat nonetheless. His vision for Chiron did not take into account the simple fact that there were people who simply refused to play by the rules, not matter how benevolent the ruler. The Spartans were one such group. They had looked on the United Nation laws of Pravin Lal and his Peacekeepers as an oppressive yoke that threatened their way of life and, as Spartans seemed to do well, they armed themselves with the mantle of revolution and attacked the very heart of the UN settlements. The Peacekeepers fought back bravely but could not stem the Spartan tide. Their superior training and weaponry was simply too much to overcome.

Wesley called up the date of this attack, the first of so many factional conflicts recorded in the old datalinks. The year was 2112. Wesley shook his head sadly. Only twelve short years after planetfall.

My apologies. Since TA has been released I have been busy playing around with the editors and have let my story fall by the wayside. I have every intention of finishing it, though!

* * * * * * *

The Family Name

For the next half hour Wesley Garland mulled over several more Ganymede reports and updates. The influx of information had hit critical mass about a month ago and was only now starting to slow down, finally giving Command a chance to really delve deep into Chiron’s archives. He skimmed over reports of Zakharov’s technological breakthoughs, Skye’s work with plant hybrids and the deadly mindworms that were native to Chiron, Morgan’s intricate trade networks and undying quest for more resources to burn, Santiago’s massive weapons programmes, Yang’s constant battle to control his people, Lal’s passion to set up a fair planetary government, and Miriam’s worry that many of these things were not being done according to the will of God.

But there was one story in particular that had been nagging at the back of Wesley’s mind since Ganymede first uncovered evidence of the Unity survivors. He had been searching Chiron’s archives every day to find a report, a memo, a record snippet of one particular man.

Tonight, finally, his quest came to an end. Wesley found his answer in a newly uploaded archive from the Peacekeepers datalinks. It was a old holobook written by Pravin Lal himself describing the events on the Unity just before planetfall.

According to Lal, the crew had been awoken from their cryosleep much earlier than they should have been. It was suspected that sabotage was to blame for the Unity’s reactor damage and a small but determined band of mutineers, supposedly led by Corazon Santiago, were rampaging through the ship. Whether the mutiny was a result of the reactor malfunction or the cause of it was unknown.

Unity’s commander and friend of Pravin Lal, Captain Garland, had been shot in the chaos but was still alive. Garland and Lal quickly discovered that the reactor malufunction had caused a shutdown that locked the escape pod release mechanism. There was not enough time to run a full diagnostic as the ship was now a ticking time bomb. It was Garland who volunteered to leave the ship to activate the exterior manual release mechanism. Lal, of course, protested Garland’s decision. Once the restraining bolts were tripped the escape pods would blast free of their mounts and there would be no way for Garland to save himself once they had been launched. It was a suicide mission.

But Captain Garland, slowly dying from loss of blood, knew there was no other way. The reactor damage would eventually cause the Unity to explode and take nearly forty thousand colonists with it. There was no way he was going to let humanity meet its end so close to their destination. Not as long as there was breath in his lungs.
According to Lal, Captain Garland donned his spacesuit and exited the ship never to be seen again. But his personal sacrifice had saved all of them and had given humanity one more fighting chance at survival.

Wesley sat in silence for a long time as he digested the story of his grandfather of six generations ago now relegated to a few paragraphs in a small history holobook. His eyes welled up as he went back to read Lal’s simple statement on the holobooks introductory page, three simple words that transcended generations, leaping through space and time as they made their way to the one man who would truly understand and embrace them.

“For our Captain.”

Thank you everyone for your patience. I promise I have not forgotten about this story!

* * * * * * * * * *

Slapdash Orders

2219.6.20
Research Vessel Ganymede
Day 626

Ramirez sat silently in his quarters for a few moments after cutting the transmission link from Command. A sudden weariness came over him. Not the kind of weariness that comes from lack of sleep. He had been able to control that pretty well over time. No, this feeling was deeper than that - a weariness more sterile, more lifeless.

Ramirez quickly stood up, purposely walked over to a corner of his quarters, and poured himself a cup of coffee hoping the jolt would quench this creeping moroseness. He silently shamed Ganymede’s coffee maker for its inability to properly heat a cup of coffee, sardonically wondering why the engineers couldn’t have run an FTL reactor line to this infernal machine. Now, that would be one hot cup of coffee.

Ramirez took a couple of sips before reaching over and touching the comm button. “Dr. McKibben, please report to command quarters.” A minute later a soft chime indicated Rhona had arrived outside the door.

“Enter.” Rhona smartly strode in and the door slid shut behind her. A subtle pride rose up in Ramirez as he considered his science officer’s appearance. Her uniform, as usual, was neat and crisp, her professionalism and sense of duty always present. Even though her mind was one of science and reason instead of soldiering and tactics Ramirez always admired her commitment to the uniform. It was that mutual respect that had kept them friendly despite their many opposing viewpoints.

Ramirez motioned her to sit down which she did cleanly, crossing her legs and lying her hands in her lap in unison as she sat, back and head straight as a rod. He would have given Rhona an “at ease” command but he had learned many months ago that it did little to change her posture or her quiet intensity.

Ramirez took one last sip of the weak coffee and set it aside. He walked back to the center of the room in a measured gait, arms crossed, and turned to face her as he slowly half-sat on the edge of his work table. He looked up at her, his feelings masked behind an impassionate visage that didn’t fool Rhona.

“I just got a transmission from Command,” he said. “They want us to cease probe ops within three days.”

Rhona remained still at the news. To the average crewman, the news would have seemed to have no effect on her. But Ramirez noticed the edges of her eyes twitch slightly and the hue of her face turn slightly redder.

“Did they tell you why, Rafe?”

Rafe. Rhona’s shortened version of his first name which she only used when they were off duty. Her unexpected use of it now told Ramirez the news had affected her far more than she let on. Her face, now fully flushing with embarrassment, only confirmed what he already knew. She spoke again, the words uttered barely above a mumble. “I mean - did they tell you why, sir.”

“Exactly why? No, they didn’t. You know just as well as I they never tell you exactly what’s going on.” Ramirez immediately glanced away, biting his tongue at his last comment which was something that should have been said off the record. But Ramirez reasoned he and Rhona were now tit for tat on breaking protocol so he continued, albeit more cautiously. He relaxed a trifle, moving a leg so that he now sat comfortably on the edge of his desk. His arms remained crossed.

“Commander Garland seems to think we have enough data on Chiron to rate the mission a complete success. Beyond successful, really. It goes without saying few of us really thought we would strike gold out here. And not just the crew. Command had its share of doubters as well.”

“All the more reason why we should continue if you ask me, sir.” Rhona said. “What we’ve seen here - what we’ve discovered - you, me, everyone on this ship - is the equivalent of...of...” - she waved an arm through the air as she searched for the right metaphor - “finding a holy relic. This is the scientific version of uncovering the Ark of the Covenant!”

Ramirez nodded firmly, apologetically. “I know, Doctor, and I agree. But apparently Command feels they have enough data to begin work on their loftier, long term plans.”
Rhona sighed, exasperated. “I understand Command’s desire to get moving, but isn’t it just a bit too soon, sir? Have we gained enough knowledge to justify wholesale colonization of this planet?”

Ramirez pursed his lips, his eyes staring off into the distance. “You believe Chiron could be more dangerous than we think?”

Rhona glanced away for a moment then returned her gaze to Ramirez. “We’ve gained tremendous knowledge over these past weeks, sir. To be honest, we wouldn’t have gotten this far had Hendrix not stumbled upon that old terminal on the surface. But that in itself is also a problem. We have gathered and logged so much information that it stands to reason we could have easily overlooked something critically important.” She leaned forward and pointed at the bulkhead and Chiron beyond it. “Sir, that’s an entire planet out there, one that humans have not had the luxury of living on for thousands of years. Everything we know know about it is enough to fill up this little ship. That’s it. We don’t have enough insight into what makes this world tick to make such...”

Ramirez turned to look at Rhona when it became clear she was not going to finish that statement. Her hand was gently rubbing her mouth and chin as though she were gently pushing words back into her mouth. A tiny smile formed on his face.

“Such rash decisions?” he finished for her.

Rhona leaned back into her chair and did her best to mimic her original military posture. “We’re still looking into why nearly all of Chiron’s native life has been wiped out,” she continued, her voice measured. “Was it a cosmic phenomenon? Disease? Life cycles we know nothing about? Human interference? And there’s also the minor detail of not knowing exactly what happened to the Unity survivors. It’s clear they left here but where did they go? Why did they go? Was it lack of food? The aftermath of some war?”

“All legitimate concerns, Doctor, whose answers will come in time.” Ramirez said in a low voice. “Though I disagree with Command’s order to cease probe ops I have to believe that Commander Garland and SciCom already have enough data to move their agenda forward. And whatever means, methods or plans they’ve dreamed up I guarantee you all of them end with the colonization of Chiron.”

“I’m not opposed to colonization, sir,” Rhona said in a tone that bordered on exasperation. “I’m just opposed to slapdash colonization.”

Ramirez gave her a sidelong stare, his disapproval apparent. “Doctor, I believe you are beginning to let your emotions override your reason.”

“And I believe Command is doing the same,” Rhona shot back. “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot help but remain - at best - dubious about this whole decision.”

Ramirez considered his science officer for a time. He silently hoped that on some level Rhona also knew his feelings on the matter were not that far from hers. Commander Garland seemed to be moving things along more quickly than Ramirez thought prudent. But he was, for all intents, Garland’s “commander in the field” and as such needed to walk the line between Garland’s command and his own. He had to show respect for Command decisions, especially in view of the crew, no matter how unpopular they were.

Ramirez stood up and uncrossed his arms. “I realize this decision is difficult for you, Doctor. But, as Commander Garland told us weeks ago, some Command decisions will not be popular ones. We no longer have the luxury of time and Garland thinks its safe to proceed with pre-colonization.”

Rhona stared at Ramirez coolly, unflinching. Then she looked down, tongue firmly planted in her cheek and nodded slowly though she was far from accepting of Ramirez’s conclusion.

“May I be dismissed, sir?” she asked in a low, brittle tone.

“You may,” Ramirez answered flatly.

Rhona stood up and walked purposefully out of Ramirez’s quarters, her gait precise and not a little tense. Ramirez followed her with his gaze but Rhona never looked back at him.

Ramirez stood in place for several moments after Rhona left. Eventually he forced his back muscles to relax and made his way around the table to his chair. The terminal came to life automatically and Ramirez willed himself back to work. Soon he found himself fully absorbed in routine and welcomed the numbing effects of it.

Rhona had taken his Command report a bit harder than expected. He felt as if he shouldn’t have been surprised by it though. Rhona was a consummate perfectionist who believed in not only doing a job well but also doing it thoroughly. But Ramirez felt that she sometimes put thoroughness above everything else. She felt as if she expected to be given as much time as she needed to get the optimum conclusion. In a pure research environment that may indeed be expected. But this mission was mainly funded by the military and the military, as a rule, had a finite amount of patience. As a military scientist, Rhona admired and embraced the discipline and commitment the military instilled but it was always at odds with the creative and rather unconfined aspects of being a scientist. Rhona managed to be one of the few who could work within both spheres but at times like this it became a real struggle.

She had been given enough troubling news for the day. Which is why Ramirez figured he would wait until tomorrow to inform her that Command had also decided Ramirez was ready for retirement and a desk job after the Ganymede mission was complete.

Very good, hope to see more

Loose cannons

Earth Space Command HQ
Day 639 of Ganymede mission
(One week later)

...and this final conflict, which became known as The Mindworm War, would become the largest and most widespread of all the factional wars fought on Chiron. All seven factions would eventually become involved in one way or another. The Mindworm War was also the last large scale conflict fought on Chiron before the seven factions fled the planet.

The spark that set off this conflagration seemed to begin with a boundary dispute between the capitalist Morganites and the environmentalist Gaians. A large Gaian earthpine forest boundary that separated the two factions had begun to overtake a lucrative Morganite mineral deposit. The exact boundary line had been in dispute for years. The Gaians insisted the edge of the forest closest to the Morganites embodied the limit of the Gaian border while the Morganites insisted the opposite was true. But the forest seemed to be growing more rapidly in Morganite territory than in Gaian. As a result, Morganite diplomats attempted to make the case that Lady Skye was deliberately pushing her border further into Morganite territory, occupying a key mineral find in order to keep the Morganites from exploiting it.

The planetary council, led by Commissioner Pravin Lal, could not quickly come to an agreement on the border dispute. Before a final decision could be reached, Morganite mining equipment swept into the forest leveling a large portion of it. The Gaians were outraged and Lady Skye demanded the council force Morgan to immedately halt his operations. Unfortunately, Lady Skye and her Gaian faction held little influence over the planetary council.

In fact, Morgan seemed to get almost everything he wanted. A resolution was eventually passed allowing Morgan to extract the vast mineral deposit under the stipulation that only the portion of the forest covering the deposit could be removed. There was to be no indiscriminate “slash and burn.”

The Gaians were furious. They feared the smooth-talking Morgan would find a way to exploit his victory by, for example, informing the council he would need more space to properly excavate his minerals, thus pushing the boundary further and further into Gaian territory. He had attempted it before.

The normally pacifist Gaians acted quickly. They began summoning Chiron’s deadly native life forms, known as mindworms, to attack Morgan’s mining vehicles in the field. The worms attacks were gruesome to behold as the Morganite victims froze in terror, living in a type of waking nightmare, as the worms tore into their flesh, eyes and brains. Now it was Morgan’s turn to be furious.

Unfortunately for the Gaians, the Morganites had powerful allies in the Spartan and University factions. In fact, Prokhor Zakharov, leader of the University faction, had just made a breakthrough in anti-mindowrm technology. He had discovered a method of destroying the mindworms completely without causing damage to the human body itself via a finely tuned vibrofrequency. The Spartans, of course, wanted the technology badly as their citizens were constantly fending off mindoworm attacks. Zakharov cared little for the mindworms, secluded from their attacks in the mountainous terrain his bases occupied. His problem were the Believers to his east who were constantly infiltrating his bases and sabotaging experiments, specifically ones involving human genetic enhancements.

Zakharov approached Spartan leader Corazon Santiago with an offer. He would trade his anti-mindworm technology for advanced Spartan weaponry to use against Sister Miriam’s Believer hordes and defeat them once and for all. Santiago readily agreed. Thanks to Morgan’s pact with the Spartans it wasn’t long before Morgan, in an extremely expensive trade, got his hands on the technology as well. The Peacekeepers, feeling things were spiraling out of control, finally attempted to put a stop to...

Wesley Garland tapped the audio timeline graphic and slid his finger toward the end of the transmission.

...nearly wiped out all mindworms on the surface and agreed to a unilateral cease fire in order to bring everyone to the negotiating table one last time. The faction leaders spent many weeks hammering out their grievances. Santiago was the most inflexible, wanting the wars to continue in order to ensure the survival of the fittest. Deidre Skye was extremely distraught by the massive killing off of native life and was willing to go along with any plan that would stop the fighting. Pravin Lal also shared the Gaian sentiment. Morgan seemed unfazed by the destruction, treating the council meetings like one of his trading seminars. The University and Believers mutually loathed one another after suffering terrible losses in their personal war and were only grudgingly accommodating to council wishes.

Eventually, all came to the conclusion that instead of risking mutual annihilation they should leave Chiron and exist apart from one another, each faction colonizing its own planet, free to live the life they desired for themselves and their people. Prokhor Zakharov’s astronomers had long ago found other habitable planets in the system. The council drew lots to see who would go where.

It took about three years for the seven factions to build the proper spacecraft and propulsion systems that would take them to their new homes. It is the ultimate irony when one realizes that all seven factions worked together to build these craft so they could exist apart from one another.

End.

Wesley Garland absently rubbed the bridge of his nose as he contemplated what to do next. Ramirez had lost control of his science officer and her assistant Dr. Mitra and neither Wesley nor Ramirez were happy about it in the least. Court-martials for both officers were inevitable but for right now there was the fate of their survival to worry about.

Wesley cleared his throat and tapped a command on the terminal. A series of lights flickered on the holo-trans unit nearby indicating it was set to record his message.

“Commander Garland, Ganymede Mission Commander 2219.6.27 to Commader Ramirez.

Ramirez, I will need your action plan regarding Dr’s. McKibben and Mitra by 0900 tomorrow, Ganymede time. I will also need you to place Engineering Officer Jeremy Nixon under arrest on a charge of conspiracy. We need to know if he assisted these two in hijacking that escape pod and rigging it so it could land on Chiron’s surface.”

SMAC remains one of my favorite strategy games, alongside Rome:Total War, Master of Orion II, and Civ:Beyond the Sword. TA needs a little more work, but I hope it will make that elite group eventually.

That...was scary. I'm never going into an orchard again.

Interrogation

Chiron
Thirty hours later

Everything’s blurry.  What’s going on?  God, my head is killing me!  Like a million ants gnawing at my brain.  What is that light?  Am I still in the forest?  Oh, dear God, I hope not!  My arms.  I can’t move my arms!

Rhona McKibben was completely unaware of the lone figure standing at the far wall next to a small doorway, nor did she hear him speak into the device on his wrist.  She could barely see.  She couldn’t hear anything except a high pitched whining.  She had no bearings at all.  She didn’t even know if she were standing or lying down.  All she felt was an acute grogginess and a constant, throbbing pain in her head.

In her next moment of recognition, her head had cleared somewhat and was able to deduce she was lying down.  The table was hard even though there was some type of thin cushioning underneath her.  She realized she couldn’t move her arms because they were bound as were her legs.  There was a blinding light situated directly above her whose glare caused her to squint.  Her deep, throbbing headache  seemed to have subsided only to replaced by a annoying tingling sensation.

She glanced to her left and a wave of nausea overcame her.  She coughed roughly as she fought to keep from vomiting.  The bright light was drowning out the rooms features but by judging the echo created from her coughing Rhona concluded the room was not a very large one.

She lay back for what she perceived to be several minutes letting the vertigo dissipate.  Over time she felt herself becoming more and more alert.  She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and slowly, letting the oxygen replenish her strength...

Rhona’s eyes bolted open.  Oxygen.  My breathing mask!

She instinctively tried to jump from the table but the restraints kept her firmly pinned in place.  The adrenaline rush had cleared her head and she strained her neck to look around, frantically searching for the mask she needed to survive.

It was then she noticed two figures to her right, about three feet from her.  The bright light, hanging down very low over the table, lit only their arms and hands.  Their faces remained masked in the darkness above.  One pair of crossed hands rested on what looked like greenish robes.  Next to that were another pair of hands wrapped around what looked like some type of rifle.  She noticed the rifle had quickly swiveled to point at her when she tried to jump from the table.

Rhona slowly laid her head back eyes never leaving the rifle. She raised her bound hands in supplication.  “Please, whoever you are, I need a breathing mask or I will die.”

Silence.

She let out a nervous sigh.  “My name is Dr. Rhona McKibben, number SCS-dash-1314-romeo-mike.  I am the chief science officer of the research vessel Ganymede.  I am on a -”

She immediately clamped her mouth shut, afraid to give out too much information.  The thought crossed her mind how very disappointed Captain Ramirez would be with her when he heard about it.

More silence.

Rhona’s face hardened.  “If this is an interrogation, then you’ll get nothing else from me until I see a breathing mask placed on my face,” she said in a firm but slightly quivering voice. “If not, then I’ll die laughing while you watch.”

Continued silence but she noticed the robed hands turn toward the hands holding the rifle as if the two persons were looking at one another.  Rhona set her jaw and lay her head back, eyes toward the ceiling.

“You have no need for a breathing mask here,” a deep male voice said.  “The air is oxygenated.”

Rhona blinked in confusion.  She took a few more tentative breaths as if testing the air for nitrogen which, of course, there was no way to do by simply breathing.  But Rhona concluded that she had most likely been in this position for quite a while - her body was stiff as if she had lain in this position for a long time.

“Where is ‘here’ exact-”

“We ask the questions,” the deep voice of her interrogater interrupted. “What faction are you from?  Peacekeeper?  University? Morganite?”

“Faction?”  Rhona’s squinted in confusion, then her eyes widened when she realized that this person could be a Chiron survivor.  But why was he here?  Why didn’t he leave with the others?  And why didn’t Ganymede detect any human life signs from orbit?

“I’m not from any faction.” She exhaled slowly before dropping what she assumed would be a bombshell. “I’m from Earth.”

For a long moment there was no movement from either of her captors.  Then she noticed the rifleman’s hands loosen on his weapon and twitch.  The interrogaters hands unclasped for a moment, gently shaking.  She heard what sounded like chuckling.

“And I am Santiago’s love child,” the interrogater responded in a tone that suggested he was smiling.  “I hope that wasn’t the best story your spy trainers could come up with - doctor.”

“I’m no spy,” Rhona said harshly.  “I’m telling you the truth.  I am from Earth.  I am from the same planet that your faction leaders hail from and from where your ancestors came from as well.”

Neither of the two figures moved, but remained silent.  Rhona was unsure if she had given them something to think about or if they were merely amusing her, allowing her to tell the fantastic little tale they believed these spy trainers had cooked up for her.

Rhona decided she had nothing to lose.  If she were to be tortured or killed by her captors then she would die with the truth on her lips.  “My ship, Ganymede, is orbiting Chiron as we speak.  We left Earth over sixteen months ago to follow up on the Unity mission of 2060.  We heard nothing from you for decades and, to be honest, most of my crew did not expect to find any trace of you at all.  But we did.  These settlements you created...it was like nothing we had ever dreamed of.”

“Earth no longer exists,” the interrogater said unconvinced. “Humanity was in the throes of destroying itself decades before the Unity mission.  There is no possible way they could have survived.  But, please, continue this sensational story.”

Rhona sighed. “I know this is hard to believe.  And your are right in one respect.  We were destroying ourselves.  Life was becoming nearly unbearable for most of the planet.  We fought many wars, large and small, for decades.  Overpopulation, the scarcity of natural resources, food...unimaginable stresses that tested humanity’s willingness to go on.”

“All well documented in the old Earth archives,” the interrogater  said. “All factions had access to them.  I’m sure your handlers did as well.” He exhaled sharply. “I’m sure your now going to tell us some predictable story of the massive man-made holocaust that followed in Unity’s wake, yes?”

Rhona shook her head. “There was a holocaust but it wasn’t man made.”  Rhona’s eyes seemed to look past the men for a moment. “One of the philosphers of that time wrote ‘Earth knows more about itself than any man and cannot be contained’.”

“Sounds like a Gaian,” chuckled the rifleman.

Rhona simply nodded. “From what we’ve learned of Chiron’s factions I would have to agree.  To this day we still don’t know exactly what exactly triggered it or even if...”

Rhona abruptly stopped speaking and this time she refused to go on any further.  She closed her eyes, adjusting herself on the table as if to make herself more comfortable.  “But what do you care?” she said dismissively.  “You believe me to be a spy so I’m not going to continue to amuse you with stories you won’t believe anyway.  Do with me what you will.  If you wish to relish in close-minded ignorance that’s your choice.”  Rhona smugly hoped the rifleman was thinking she sounded like a Spartan now.

“Do you speak for your colleague Dr....Mitra, I believe?” the interrogater said after a brief pause.  “Would he share your beliefs?”

Rhona’s heart skipped a beat and she felt herself go cold for a second.  She quickly forced a smile, hoping the men didn’t notice the brief change in her demeanor.  “He would tell you the same story I did.  Or the one I would have told you had you been willing to listen.  We spies have to stick together.”  She said the word “spies” with penetrating sarcasm.

“Who says we haven’t already interrogated him as well?”

“Because you wouldn’t be asking me to elaborate on Earth history if you had,” she answered curtly.  “Dr. Mitra has a problem with keeping his mouth shut.  If you were holding him captive you would know that.”

“Perhaps we are merely comparing his story to yours?” he shot back.

“Let’s just put her in the punishment sphere and get it over with!” snarled the rifleman.

Rhona slightly opened one eye.  The rifleman was gripping his  weapon even tighter now, the bones in his hands clearly defined as the skin around them became taught.  She noticed the interrogater lift a hand as though silencing the rifleman.  No one said anything for several moments.  Rhona noticed the interrogater lightly tapping his hands together as if in thought.  Then he turned away lifting a sleeve on his robe as he walked a few paces from the table.  Rhona got a brief glimpse of some sort of device latched on the man’s wrist. He murmered in broken conversation to someone on the other end for a couple of minutes, then returned.

“All right, doctor.  I’ve arranged a little test that - may - prove your story.  But rest assured if at any point we think you have been less than truthful with us, you and your friend will suffer a death more horrible than anything you could possibly imagine.”

Rhona heard the rifleman laugh quietly, hissing with pleasure.

What thats it no more why!???

 

Oh, all right.  Ya twist my arm...

 

* * * * *

 

2219.7.9

Research Vessel Ganymede

Day 645

(12 hours later)

“Commander, Probe Seven just went black,” Emmons said, his voice hard. “That’s the second one we’ve lost.”

Ramirez was slightly ruffled by Emmons’ last comment. It was unnecessary. He knew what the probe mortality count was perfectly well. He decided to ignore the wisecrack this time. “That one was one the two probes on the western continent, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Emmons answered flatly.

“At least one of them made it,” Ramirez said in a low voice. At his work station on the command bridge Emmons rolled his eyes in irritation.

There were now fifteen probes on the main continent, including the one already with Dr. Mitra, all heading for his location. The three other surviving probes were still en route from the barren eastern continent and would not arrive for another ten hours - if they managed to survive the large dirt storms that had sprung up at the northern tip of the continent, directly in the path they would need to take before crossing the sea to the central continent.

Ramirez continued pacing the command bridge as he had done for the past six hours. Other than routine chatter between the bridge officers and the hourly reports from Koushik very little was said.

At his station, Emmons inwardly chafed while he watched invaluable probes being lost in a fruitless search that went completely against the pre-launch mission guidelines set down - guidelines that he had a large part in writing up. Yes, Garland and SciCom had ceased all probe operations weeks ago, but now Ramirez was using Command hardware - exorbitantly expensive and highly advanced hardware at that - in some personal, quasi-chivalrous quest to find a renegade scientist who had no business going down to Chiron in the first place. It troubled him to no end as he watched his immediate superior break the rules in order to save two other officers whose actions had broken those very same rules. Quite frankly it was pathetic.

* * * * * * * *

As he did every hour, Ramirez quickly walked back to his quarters for Dr. Mitra’s update. There was still nothing to report. He and Ramirez would then go their separate ways until the next hour brought them together again. On and on the cycle continued, hour after hour.

Koushik had refused to sleep until he found some trace of the missing Dr. McKibben. Ramirez knew Koushik could go days without sleep but he had a feeling that guilt was playing a more prominent role in his determination. Dr. McKibben had gone missing while Koushik was snoozing on a pile of leaves and he felt it his duty to remain vigilant even to his personal detriment. After nearly two days Koushik had been unable to find any trace of Dr. McKibben other than the discarded pear. Not even a footprint.

Koushik had fashioned a makeshift machete from a piece of discarded metal he had found and was slowly hacking his way further into the Gaian greenhouse-forest where he strongly felt Dr. McKibben would be found. He exertions were using his remaining oxygen containers up at a much higher rate than Dr. McKibben would have approved but Koushik never gave it so much as a thought. He would continue chipping away through this overgrowth until Ganymede had no more lifepods left to send him.

* * * * * * * *

Rhona’s eyes slowly opened to a blurry, distorted world. She found her thoughts distant and unfocused as if she had awaken from a long, deep sleep. There were no traces of ghastly nightmarish images upon her awakening, however, and she became alert much quicker this time. They could have made it uncomfortable for me if they had wanted to. I wonder why they didn’t? Then again, if these “tests” they are running don’t reveal whatever it is they are looking for, then I’m sure they’ve saved the best for last.

She was lying on a long table tilted back about thirty degrees from the vertical, her wrists and ankles once again tightly bound. The room was fairly small and rectangular in shape. Numerous medical devices and terminals of all shapes and sizes were placed neatly around the sterile space. A lab of some sort.

Rhona craned her neck to look down the length of the room then blinked with a start. Standing at the far end next to the only door in the room was the rifleman who so eagerly wanted to place her into this “punishment sphere” he mentioned. She knew it was the same person because of the the way he gripped his weapon and how he flexed his fingers. But what really surprised her was the youthful, almost boyish, face scowling back at her, quite a contrast to the strong, resolute voice she had heard earlier. His attempt to appear intimidating barely dented his soft features.

“So,” Rhona exhaled. “We meet at last. What’s your name?”

The rifleman stared stright ahead in grim silence, his flaring nostrils the only indication he had heard her. Rhona shrugged her eyebrows and looked around the room. Idle chatter may soften that exterior, she thought. “Some interesting equipment here. I think I can actually recognize some of it - not that different in appearance from what we have on Earth - nor in function, I suppose.” She nodded in approval. “Quite intriguing.”

A haughty sniff from the young rifleman was the only reply Rhona got. Clearly she was not going to get anywhere with this young man by chatting about laboratory utensils. She decided to stop talking to him for the moment, temporarily abandoning hope of culling some nugget of information from this Spartan-like adolescent...

A light went off in her head. If this youngster is cast in the Spartan mold, or he fancies himself one, then he won’t want to talk about mundane topics like laboratories or the gadgets that fill them. He’ll want to talk about the gadgets of war, combat tactics, conflict, weapons...

Rhona continued turning her head appearing to examine her surroundings. When she spoke again her voice was casual, as if she were merely talking to herself. “That weapon you used on me in the greenhouse was quite effective. Ghastly to be honest. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such intense terror in all my life.” She made a point to not look at the young rifleman but nonchalantly worked her searching gaze toward his location. She noticed from her periphery that she may have gotten a reaction from him. She ignored it and pressed on in a low tone but loud enough for the rifleman to hear.

“I would assume it to be some sort of...psionic weapon? Yes, probably so. A psionic weapon that causes abject terror in the victim - ah! - a technology most likely based on Chiron’s mindworms! I remember reading reports about the terror they wrought for several years after planetfall. Thousands of deaths. Waking nightmares so intense the victim would often literally tear themselves apart with their bare hands while the worms bore into them.” She gently shook as if chilled. “Terrifying and effective.”

The young rifleman mumbled something in an incoherent, reluctant tone. Rhona purposely did not answer for a few seconds, then spun her head toward him with an innocent, questioning expression. “I’m sorry...did you say something?”

“I said we only used a quarter of the total frequency on you.” The words tumbled from his mouth in a rush but the young man kept his eyes rigidly forward, refusing to look at her.

Rhona slowly nodded her head in understanding and to mask any visual traces on her face regarding her success at cracking this young man’s belligerent veneer. “You say that as one who has witnessed others reacting to this weapon the same way I did but at higher frequencies.”

The young man remained rigid but his eyes narrowed as he spoke. “Spartans can withstand up to ninety percent of the total frequency.” He blinked once. “The - other factions - could endure around fifty to sixty percent. If well trained.”

“Interesting,” Rhona said softly. Interesting that this young Spartan grudgingly mentioned the capabilities of other factions. From what I have researched Spartans were loathe to give credit to any faction as related to fighting capabilities. Spartans thought themselves the only true warriors on Chiron. “You must think me weak after observing my reaction to your psionic weapon.”

A corner of the Spartan’s mouth twitched, his eyes remaining cool and unreadable. “All spies are weaklings. They have no idea what constitutes a true soldier. They are trained vermin, sneaking into whatever place their gutless leaders tell them to go so those leaders can then come in and take by force what they believe is theirs. Spies are afraid to fight for what they believe in because they have no beliefs. They merely react to what they have been told. They have no honor.”

Rhona, watching the youth speak, said nothing in reply. The words he had spoken did not faze him in the slightest. He did not twitch, or shudder, or raise his voice hysterically. He spoke the words clearly, confidently, as if they were the ultimate truth. Rhona thought she understood the Spartan mindset from what she had uncovered from Chiron’s archives, but seeing it tangibly displayed in this young man had left her feeling somber, even a tad melancholy.

“And you continue to believe I am a spy,” Rhona said evenly. She dropped her head. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you people - I am not a spy.” She looked at the Spartan with steely eyes. “And just because some decide not to use conflict or battle as a first option it does not make them weak. Neither does it stain their honor. I would argue there is more honor in conflict resolution than in resorting to battle, or war, or whatever you want to label it.”

For the first time the young Spartan looked at Rhona, his eyes cold and piercing. “Then you are not only a weakling but a fool. In battle, your enemy must be defeated, not entertained with meaningless platitudes. If battle is joined it must be to the end, not until it becomes inconvenient for the side that takes the most losses.”

Rhona was becoming troubled by the the young Spartan’s demeanor. She could clearly sense his animosity toward her, specifically what she represented. She and Commander Ramirez had spent many hours over the course of the Ganymede mission hashing out the age old “peace-versus-war” discussion, but Ramirez had never once made Rhona feel like this. He had never been this rigid in his thinking. She decided to continue engaging this Spartan - to attempt to dialouge with him as she would with her commander - but deep down she felt it was a lost cause. With this Spartan, or with any Spartan, there seemed to be very little quid pro quo.

“Seeking peace is not meaningless,” Rhona said in a clear voice. “Right-thinking leads to right-action and most conflicts are begun for misguided or wrong reasons.”

The young Spartan sneered. “Do you bother to read Earth history, woman? It is a story of struggle and conflict. No hope or help whatsoever is accrued from those who are willing to roll over and die. Those that do deserve no pity. They should be allowed to die. It is the only way to ensure survival for the strong and worthy.”

Rhona frowned. “And who gets to decide who is strong and worthy? You? The Spartans? By what criteria do you get to become both judge and jury?”

“It is the law of nature!” shouted the young Spartan. “It is survival of the fittest. I will not paint a word picture for you!”

Rhona’s mouth hung open in disbelief, eyes beginning to glitter in anger at the imbecile that stood before her. “The law of nature?” Rhona said mockingly. “Your perverted notions of the actual law of nature is nothing more than a man made play on words by which men justify warring with one another! Statesmanship and diplomacy are just as effective, even moreso in most circumstances, than any weapon could ever be. Sound use of it is the basis for strong and true leadership!”

Anger had nearly reached critical mass in the Spartan as well. “And will your words protect you from the attacks of the armies of your sworn enemy? An enemy bathed in the strength of the trained warrior instead of the puerile diplomat?” The young Spartan spat on the ground as though casting out an impurity from his body. “Which of these strengths will prevail?”

Rhona let out a long breath, her eyes never leaving those of the Spartan. “In the short run, your way may prevail.” The young Spartan straightened himself, his smug, boyish face awash in apparent victory. “But in the long run, my way will prevail. Because when you have conquered all of your external enemies, real and imagined, and set yourselves up as rulers of your own destiny there will come a time when you will be compelled to seek out other enemies to battle. You will begin seeing enemies all around you, even within your own house - enemies that are not actually there.”

Rhona leaned her head toward the Spartan and her voice became grave. “You will eventually tear yourselves apart from within until there is no one left to fight - until there are no more bogeymen found hiding in dark places - until there are no more dragons left to slay. Your glorious society will no longer exist because it refused to acknowledge the real laws of nature and of reason - that human beings must strive for peace through co-existence. Otherwise human beings themselves will no longer exist. Not even the mighty Spartans.”

The young Spartan’s haughty demeanor disappeared in a flash. Rhona noticed the young man’s grip had tightened on his rifle, the weapon’s business end now pointing squarely at her. “The Spartans would survive,” he growled. “They fight against injustice - against oppression and tyranny. They fight for their way of life and against anyone who dare take that from them. They are warriors and not the simple minded infants you describe them to be.”

Rhona cast an aggravated, despairing glance at the ceiling, then looked back at the young man. “To a man, the Spartans may not be. But from talking with you their mindset truly is.”

In the blink of an eye the young Spartan charged at Rhona screaming at the top of his lungs, weapon now raised in the air, poised to come smashing down on her head. Rhona caught a glimpse of the young man’s face as he rushed toward her, his soft features grotesquely distorted by his wild eyes and gaping mouth, then she tightly shut her eyes and turned away preparing herself for the blow that was about to come. The sound of rushing blood in her ears helped drown out the cries of the charging Spartan.

At about the time Rhona expected her brain to be crushed by the rifle butt she heard a strong, loud voice exclaim “ Holden! Stop!”

I've never played SMAC but i've been a huge fan of SM games since the original colonization came out, prior to civ 2 iirc. i guess i was't a huge enough fan however since i never played SMAC. This story is very interesting though and i will be looking around for a copy of SMAC and hopefully get to play it soon.

cheers

This is quite true.  I assume hiron, as described in the SMAC game manual appendix and in the three books, to be almost pure nitrogen with only trace amounts of oxygen and carbon dioxide.  The first SMAC book "Centauri Dawn" has the colonists wearing breathing masks and one of the characters (Pravin Lal's son) loses his mask in a skirmish with some Believer marauders and eventually succumbs to Chiron's "toxic" atmosphere.  He lives, but it does a number on him...similar to what happens to Rhona McKibben in my story.  A mere plot device to remind the reader how inhospitable Chiron is.

 

The science behind it may be fuzzy (intentionally or not), but I believe it "in character" for the planet itself.  Either way, Chiron ain't made for humans!