Virtual Insanity

Several weeks had passed since Williams’ trip to Mars. Meeting a few old friends was worth it, and the executive now sat back in his estate ruminating on events.

Helios, is it just me, or have certain servers online been more dangerous to us and the JASTS?

Well, a JAST was almost destroyed by a strange algorithm a while back. Similar to the strange attack that slowed down communication a few months ago.

Hmm. The plot thickens. How about the backup plans?

We’ve got a backup form that can fit all the JASTs and us if we need it. However, it’s floating around the asteroid belt now, and unless there’s a really bad emergency, we won’t have to use it.

I’ve also noticed something strange. Whenever we report server attacks to the WDMD, they either do nothing, or place in sleeper algorithms they can activate at anytime.

Well, that’s bureaucracy for you. If certain predictions were right, the age of nanotech industries would’ve meant the end of bloated bureaucracies as we knew them, and start of economic and political decentralization.

Well, we still might have potential to do it ourselves. However, to get the full effect we’ve deserved, we still have the same damn obstacles as normal: Distribution. In order to get the sort of decentralization we need, we need enough nano-factories shipped around the world so that enough people can use them rather than rely on traditional purchase of commodities.

Likewise, we need people to be familiar with a new economic system. Nanocapitalism can eliminate scarcity for the most part, but we still need to instruct enough people in the theory so that nanotech is used to its full extent.

Well, free copies of Murray Rothbard’s “What is the Government Doing with your Money?” have been available online for decades. Most people just don’t have interest in theoretical neo-Austrian economics.

Most people also don’t seem to care for the political state of the world. Some WDMD “terror suspects” seem to have done nothing wrong in their lives. It’s like the neocons all over again.

Or worse. Clarke seems like such a long time ago, but the public reaction is always the same. Voters trade freedom for security, loose interest, and all the meanwhile, the terrorists find some new hole in the system and commit more atrocities.

Compare surveillance technologies to economics for a second. The governments hold a monopoly on them. People unauthorized to hold devices like phone taps or sniffing programs are held as stalkers or hackers. In other words, the government doesn’t like competition.

And it’s gotten worse since Clarke. More government crackdowns and secrecy. Tell me, Helios, do you know David Brin?

Yeah. He’s an old sci-fi writer. Wrote political essays for a time.

One of his ideas was the “Transparent Society.” The idea was due to cheaper electronics, citizens should have the same access to those surveillance technologies as the government. Instead of clinging to the illusion of privacy or letting Big Brother in, make both government and society more open.

I do find the politics of that amusing. I very much doubt a Senator who passed a bill allowing increased government surveillance would like the idea that their finances and personal life could also be screened by anyone with a modem.

Yeah. Politicians could be held accountable for breaking the law. Stalkers could be counter-stalked and revealed to the police. Sounds better than the old climate of fear environment. Oh, and to think, this is now on an international level thanks to the WDMD. And world taxpayers’ money goes to fund this.

The WDMD has also been talking about regulating nanotech more strictly, since a certain public relations official said, “With nano-assemblers, any terrorist with the proper schematics can make an atomic bomb, or worse. WDMD monitoring of nanotech companies, such as Williams Biomedical, is necessary to prevent another Clarke.”

Well, they’re welcome to try. What many executives fail to get is public access to nanotech could weaken the powers of bloated, self-important bureaucracies around the world. With nanotech, people can become more self-sufficient. For energy, they can make their own solar panels. For materials, they can recycle trash in a disassembler. It’s the ultimate in recycling, after all.

Realistically, nanotech makes most consumer goods and retail chains obsolete. All one needs is a schematic for the assemblers to follow. Raw materials are not a hard thing to acquire. Due to the internet, schematics can be copied an infinite amount of times.

I do have a way of making sense of the system. Since people will maintain different interests, they will still have different professions. Favors exchanged between both parties would like be the system. A “currency” unit would be like Hayek’s idea. The informational equivalent of an hour’s design would be a good objective value. People control the amount of “currency” they mint.

Won’t that lead to inflation of worthless online currency and make all labor of equal worth?

No. If someone “mints” too much currency, they will suffer a loss of free time and bad credit rating. As for labor, I said “Informational Equivalent” of a commodity. A computer program taking three hours to write is worth three units of currency. The initial rates of exchange might be unstable, but they will stabilize over time. Markets normally do that. The problem, of course, is materializing entire system out of whole cloth, or else it will crash before it even gets off the ground. Another way to think of it is each individual is like a small corporation, trading out shares of their own stock.

How about unskilled laborers and laymen?

Online information will make education free, should one desire it. The JASTs and I have been working on an online college for some time now. It has yet to go public, of course, but it should ideally be accompanied by the system it was meant to support. Likewise, cheaper nanotech should allow transhumanist augmentations to become more widespread.

Yeah, but how about services like firefighters or police?

Those will be government-run. As historical Philadelphia shows, for instance, that free market fire departments often spend more time spraying each other with hoses to get to fires than putting them out. That is why we still need some sort of federal government. Complete anarcho-capitalism only works in theory.

Lots of systems do.

Well, I’m hoping to make this one work. Humans are innately selfish and greedy, so why not use it for the public good? As for the WDMD, they had better get back to their normal job, or else.

You think you can take them?

No, I’m more than able to use economic subversion. For instance, I can stop supplying them with technology, or I can use this nano-capitalist system to bypass them and make them irrelevant.

Sounds good to me.

I hope so. You’re the true AI here.

Note: the following does not take palce at a specified time. In fact, this piece is most likely to have taken place outside the current flow of the story, preferably around about before the fall of Clarke. If anything, this piece is one out of a series that is focused on an individual character with this story. 

~

When one sees the Terabithia, one is inclined not to describe the ship, or give its layout readily. To begin with, when Josiah inherited the ship from his teacher, his main preoccupation was whether he could get the ship off the ground in the first place, and of the tens of rooms of accomodation on board, onl a few mattered to; mainly the bridge, the ISN port, the hatchway and the cargo hold. It was only after a year of touring around the ship did he actually map out the ship in its entirety. Not that he didn't have the blueprints of the ship to begin with; rather, Josiah was an unusual character, and was one who liked to do things on its own.

Its an eccentricity that he had inherited since young. Dudley, his best friend, cousin and a fellow eccentric, knew quite well about Josiah's peculiar habits. Popular as he was back in Olympus Mons, he was rather aloof and oblivious to everything that happened around him, not to mention that, in contrast to the virgin hands of Mr. Kinsbrick, Mr. Jameson would usually be caught with his pants down more often than not. Not that that was unusual, it was rather the fact that a man so eccentric as Josiah, with his obliviousness and absent-mindedness could get away with being both popular and suave that puzzled Mr. Kinsbrick who, despite his own charisma, wasn't as lucky.

Josiah would chuckle, and say its all down to how things play out. WHile he did acknowledge the possibility of an existence of an entity that we call 'luck', he also believed, partly, in the idea of a thing called 'will'. A power inherent in all beings, and would manifest itself in certain actions that seemed out of the norm. Indeed, while Josiah admitted himself to be rather lazy, he knew full well that there were times when he just had to take that effort to do something. Years of doing this had made him realize that even the most trying things, after a while, become reletaively easy for him. At the same time, his uniqueness was manifested in his love for experimenting; Dudley woudl notice that he took down his study notes in an unusual manner and that, even though he had a highpropensity to forget ideas in subjects outside his field, a quick glance at his notes, as opposed to hesitatingly referrignt o them half the time, helped refresh his memory in a jiffy.

And it was here, at the 'living room' of the Teb, that Josiah was, looking out into the window, staring at Gaia, strumming a guitar, humming to himself. Dudley was there, sitting at the dining table, revising one of the drafts of a work he intended to publish sooner or later... if he could get round to it.

Dudley took a quick glance, and eyed Josiah. Josiah had always been a mystery to him, as outlined above, but there were things about him he could not understand. While Josiah had his flaws, as he remembered full well during those University days, when the life of party seemed to interest him as much as academics, Josiah wasn't a mindless fool who got away by simply regurgitating everything that came to him on a blackboard and a screen. At the same time, he justs eemed adept at anything he could get his hands on. SUre, he's older now, and isn't as versatile as he once was, but his adaptability was something of a mythic ability.

To an extent, Josiah seemed almost... 'perfect'.

Why would he harbour this thought ? Dudley knew that he shouldn't entertain it. AFter all, his cousin was a complete arsehole, a selfish bugger who never really seemed to care for people, and this had brought misfortune to the both of them at many times, not to mention that Josiah's memory did fail him at certain times, and he had a penchant for a stubborness that defied logic.... 

But Josiah was just unusual. He wasn't some cad who tried to get his ideas and theories across no matter what, but rather, accepted any ideas that came by his way, and discerned what was interesting out of the lot. He was not interested in people who believed that "A is A", he was just as interested in the ARts as he was in the Sciences. The Arts had remained for him a mystery, and, although Dudley demonstrated an eye that Josiah could never really develop for literature, Josiah would still chuckle, thankful that there was at least one other person in the world who was there to helphim in somethign that was weaker in.

Josiah was endearing in this way. Utter cad as he was, he wasn't a person that anybody, save for a self-righteous pussilanimous twit would find repugnant, as he could pass off as a genial person in most situations.

~

The one thing that most people would ask Josiah was what he believed concerning the Gaia theory.

Dudley asked this question once. It was that very day, that very moment, when Josiah as strumming the guitar, and Dudley had decided to rest his eyes after consulting some Milton, which was to serve as a basis for his future text.

Josiah put aside the guitar for a while. He was still reclining by the window, with a cushioned edge just beside the glass, enough space for any resident to recline, and look out, into the murky depths. With his trademark move, he took his right hand, brought it to his mouth, mimicking a cigarette, and inhaled deeply, as if he were smoking a fictituous piece of tobacco.

"Dud, it's not so much what I believe in the Gaia theory, as in why I believe it."

"Well then, Josiah", said Dudley, "Why ?"

Josiah turned back, stared at the Earth, and answered.

"Because, the Earth is alive."

Dudley sniggered sarcastically.

"Alive ? What, as in the classical sense, a religious entity unto itself ?"

"You know I find it hard to believe in God these days, Dud."

"Yes, I know JJ..."

"But the Earth is alive. In almost every sense, literally, and spiritually.

If it were just a barren rock, then I;d suppose it'd be nothing special, but, this was something different about it. It was like as if it were a seed, and all the other planets were also that. Some were too far away to even  evelop, and some were too close, and were scorched, but, out of a huge probability, and with an everyday certainty of extinction, our planet managed to find itself at just the right place, during the right times, to grow and burgeon."

Dudley kept listening.

"And what if, out there, in the magnitude of space, there are other such worlds, and other such stars, numerous and edless as they are, with more planets than we do, and yet, out of a handful, only a few, a remote few, a few, very lucky 'seeds', that were allowed to grow and develop."

A silence grew, as Josiah finished.

Dudley kept watching Josiah. He lost his parents when he left the WDMD, both of them to cancer, but this hardly seemed to affect him. In some respct, it was an undermining of his character, another example of a man who should be more mindful of the people around him. And yet, as Dudley knew, unlike his own parents who kicked him out of their house, Josiah's parents, mindful of his achievements, even if little and within his own circle, would still be proud of him in some ways. Perfect ? Far from it. 

And yet...

Before picking his pencil again, Dudley added a few words.

"You know, there was something like that in the Bible."

"Hmm ?"

"Luke, Chapter 8. The first few verses."

"I don't read the Bible anymore."

"You should. Your theory is similar to that very parable."

Josiah chuckled, and picked his guitar again, going back to his music.

Dudley could only sigh, as he tried his hand at his work again.

It had been a few weeks since Gervase and Yolanda had arrived on the Alamar, almost a month since they had left their old life on Earth. Things had been quiet apart from the aftermath of some shoot-out at a re-enactment of Mars, something which Yol herself had found out about on some obscure forum. It seemed some unseen force on the battle-carrier prevented the outside world from entering, something which had Yol somewhat worried.

Gervase was busy with his own problems, first trying to fit-in amongst the crew and secondly relearning formation flying from scratch. Yol could tell that Gervase was finding it hard, though at least he hadn’t touched the bottle since they had arrived onboard despite there being a fully stocked crewman’s bar. Gervase didn’t bother to say much about his day, not even about who he was supposedly working for. This left Yol feeling alone, though she preferred her own company.

She had been busy, managing to access the Alamar’s internal and external systems and even the ISN uplink. A quick scan of the logistic programmes revealed the vast stores of munitions, being a battle-carrier it didn’t surprise her. Though she couldn’t quite work out why they were headed for some remote French mining outpost in the Belt, nor why the Alamar was supposed to linking up with some heavy reinforcements on the way in…or so the frequent coded transmissions told her. She had found out that the reinforcements were a couple of Frigate class ships and oddly enough a troop carrier. What worried her most was the lack of transmissions between the Alamar and the French outpost they were headed for.

She decided to link with the ISN to see if she could found out some more info on the mining outpost and more importantly Gervase’s new employer, a certain Victor Wilheim.

~ ~ ~ ~

Yol found the uplink quite easy now that she had had some practice at it and of course she remembered to set up a series of firewalls to hide her trail and more importantly to give her a warning if somebody on the Alamar had noticed her. She found quite early, when she first became aware of her abilities, that she liked her alternate form, a being of energy that was almost her mind flying along the electronic pathways of the so-called ‘ISN network’. It was like being in another dimension, a dimension of electronic signals carrying information to and from parts unknown. The whole solar system was merely compressed into one server, or so it seemed as Yol jumped from one data stream to another as she travelled the main roadways.

However the first thing she did, once she figured out just what her abilities were, was to find about her parents. Unfortunately she hadn’t been able to find out much expect for a headline from some Russian regional newspaper, ‘BABY GIRL SATCHED FROM HOSPITAL’, which was dated ‘July 2079’. The date more or less matched the rough date she had worked out for when she was born, though there was a lack of further information. There was also a lack of records from or about the hospital and no reports whatsoever, not even from the regional police. It seemed that somebody made sure that there was no record of her existence.

She had more pressing matters to attend to.

Yol discovered early on the JATs, sentient beings almost like her, which appeared to be observers more than virtual guard dogs. They never seem to pay her any attention, though she was careful to mask her trail, but they didn’t seem at all bothered by her hitching a lift. She found them useful in a way, that if she trailed one long enough it led her eventually to a data rich server. Though she shuddered in her virtual form at the thought of the other ‘things’ she had encountered in her travels online.

Chloe.

Yol wasn’t sure what to make of this being, a strange being having the appearance of a schoolgirl. The name had been whispered frequently in the data streams, it even had the JATs spooked if such a thing was possible. Yol herself had had one encounter with ‘Chloe’, something which she didn’t want to experience anytime soon. It happened about a month or so ago, she had stumbled onto a data server which looked promising in revealing her past. No sooner than she logged onto the server there was something like a…disturbance.

Yol experienced something akin to a tap on her shoulder…a sensation which she didn’t expect possible. She turned round to see an entity with, for some strange reason, the appearance of a schoolgirl. The entity gave a slight smile, closed her eyes, and said, "Hello. My name is Chloe."

Then promptly vanished.

Before Yol could figure out what had had happened, she found her connection being terminated. The feedback sent her into shock for a few moments, but she was lucky it didn’t fry her brain. Since that time, Yol kept a weary eye on the data stream for when this ‘Chloe’ should reappear.

Suddenly she got a warning signal from one of her firewalls on the Alamar’s uplink, cursing she hastily dropped her mask and terminated her connection. She didn’t give a damn if the JAT she was trailing noticed her ‘blink’, she posed it no threat.

Least she hoped it also came to the same conclusion.

~ ~ ~ ~

It took her a moment or two to come to her senses after her emergency termination, before she connected into the ship’s system to see if she had been noticed. A stream of data, larger than she expected, flooded into her mind which took a while for her to process. When she did she found out that the ship’s defence systems and turrets had been brought online. The MiGs in both hanger bays were being prepped for launch whilst the klaxons throughout the ship sounded their alarm.

The Alamar was under attack.

As much as Josiah was not in the room to overhear Anton's narration of the actual events that transpired during his last trip to the lunar city of Diana, he had definitely heard the words 'Venusian Mafia' come out from the piehole of the stowaway. Of course, Josiah reasoned to himself, the Venusian Mafia had many targets on their hitlist, so it wouldn't be surprising if this was one such person, and anyone could end up on their deathlist if you piss them off, no matter how high or low you were. But, this man..... why would the WDMD also be after him ? And, of all the ships he had to hitch a ride on.... why the Terabithia of all ships ? One though led to the other, and, out of the thousands of theories that came forth to Josiah's mind, a few hundred were plausible. And, out of the hundred, all shared one common consideration; Anton Miles was a danger.

As Miles Bell rose from his seat after concluding the narration, Josiah walked up to him.

"That was some interesting story you got there."

Miles Bell was alone now, save for Josiah, and Raghast. Terence had gone off to have another unlucky try at his studies, while the Colonel decided to retreat back to his room for a slight binge. Dudley, on the other hand, felt that it was time the fish was fed, humming to himself "So long, so long, and thanks, for all the fish...." Only Raghast was left, sitting with a blank look, though, with his hidden sense, he could make certain the danger of Josiah's presence to Miles Bell. However, Mr. Bell was oblivious to all this, and was taken in by Josiah's smile.

"I hoped you like it. By the way, the last one was all true; the trucker took me from Diana to Mars, then dropped me off at some platform."

"Oh really.... I take it you've been to Venus ?"

"Well.... yeah... went to the main capital of Eros Major a while back."

"Oh really ? Sounds interesting...."

A smile crept on Josiah's face, as he bared his teeth, showing off a rather genial emotion. Miles was taken in by this, and gave off a light laugh. Raghast, owever, gave off an emotion of worry. Josiah was giving off a slight weakness, and, for a man whose mind he found very hard to read for some reason or rather, he could sense a slight weakness here. Josiah was perspiring, indicating a slight anxiety. This perspiration allowed Raghast to peer slightly into Josiah's head, even if only for a short second, and somehow, gauge out what Josiah's next action would be.

It was certain.

Josiah wanted to do something bad.

Raghast had little time. He seldom did this, and as much as it took a great toll on his mind, he had to do it.

Miles continued to smile, until he felt a slight tinge of pain in his head. Clutching his head for a while, Josiah asked "What's wrong..."

"Noth-"

Miles could see it in his head.

~

Josiah was holding Miles by the collar, with a gun to his head. Miles was pinned to the wall, and Josiah's index finger was carefully placed on the trigger finger, even though mainly out of threat. As the imags flowed through his head, he could feel the perspiration n the image, even though it wasn't real. And yet, it did feel so genuine...

"Listen, you son of a bitch, what did you do to have the Venusian mafia on our asses ?"

Miles wanted to hesitate, even if a gun was pointed at him. He knew nothing.

~

"Let's just reason this out !"

As Miles blurted this, he was back in the real, with Josiah surprised at this reaction.

Miles slightly recoiled as Josiah came up to him. Josiah was puzzled by this, until he heard a small voice enter his head.

"Please don't hurt him."

Both men turned to the silent figure of a boy.

"Raghast, you have to stop doing that..."

"Look, Mr. Jameson, I will tell you everything about the Venusian mafia, and what I know, but please.... do not hurt me."

Josiah dusted off his coat. He hismelf never liked violence..... always dirtied his clothes. Then again, he was never one for civility, but it was already made certain that Mr. Bell was innocent in every respect. Raghast seemed to indicate that he was innocent, the Colonel had interrogated him, (though it was more of a tea drinking session), and even a lie detector (belonging to the Colonel) on-board the Teb revealed that, in every aspect, Miles Bellw as an ordinary fellow he did nothing wrong at all.

At least cocnerning Clarke.

"Fine, Mr. Bell. You have my promise. I won't do anything, provided you explain to me what you did."

As he said this, a call came in.

~

As the young Terence March reeled on the floor, trying to calm himself after hearing a rather rude and obscure joke from a man who apparently knew his mother, Josiah couldn't help but laugh at the scene. There was some kick out of making fun of an illegitimate child, as any man could pass of as his or her father, wicked as the statement was. Besides, Josiah did share a liking for George Lucas's classic, one of the few things that he had in common with Thomas Williams when they were younger. And still friends.

"Excuse, Mr. Jameson, but who is the man Terence is talking too ?"

Josiah felt a tap from behind. Tilting his head slightly, he saw that it was the hitch-hiker Miels Bell. Feelign somewhat tired, Josiah gave a ywan, ebfore answering Miles's question.

"It's Thomas Williams, head of the Williams Corporation."

"Thomas Williams ? THAT man ? Why is he calling you ?"

"Good question. I'd like to ask him myself. But, for a man who seems to know everything, it sure is interesting for him to ask us. I have a suspicion that he knows something."

"Eh ?"

"He must have got wind about the WDMD's latest announcement about you. I have no qualms that you didn't do it, and I'm sure he doesn't."

As Josiah said this, his mouth stopped, as he eyes glanced to the phone, and an idea came forth.

"Hmmm...... that bugger would like to know more about you. Tell you what, why don't you tell him everythign that you know about Clarke, first, before you tell me what you did with the Mafia."

~

Parker was slightly bemused with himself.

"Great. So a bunch of nuns grabbed us down to these sewers, and then, after giving us a piece of advice anyone would give, they fuck off."

"They said they had to go off."

"Yes, Parker, but that was a waste of time. i mean, why-"

As Parker said this, Firdaus whistled to both of them.

"Yo, you two.... I got something to show you."

Firdaus had moved from the side of the sewer, closer to the wall. Parker had already found descending to the sewer tunnels a displeasure, with the smell of waste of beneath him, and the growth of algae and god knows what else on the damp floor beneath him. The slime seemed to extend all the way to the walls, and the only thing that he, and Joel wanted to do, was get out. However, as soon as Firdaus said those words, he had pressed a button, covered slightly in slime. The sound of a metallic whir could be made certain.

~

Lilli was looking out into the sky. Raghast had been the only thing in her mind for the past few days, and nothing else could be amder certain.

However, ever since that ship left, becoming no more then a tiny dart, Lilli looked on and hoped, hoped that Raghast would return, and the two would be together once more.

That time, however was not now. And, as her mind could sense, there were other men, well prepared to take care of her until that time. They were there, already at the front door of the bulding she was in. There wasn't much time left.

Besides, this wasn't captivity. This was sanctuary, even if temporary.

~

"Sir, Lilli has been acquired."

"Bring her aboard the ship, and prepare for the operation. Hopefully, this will allow one safeguard before the real trouble starts."

~

Josiah was staring at the one man he hoped not to see again. The voice was undeniable, and the time was just quite wrong, yet it had happened, and there he was, Thomas Williams, before him. Josiah ahd to put up with this, putting on the air of nonchalance he had long practised and believed him, as he spoke with Thomas.

"Well, get ready for a long story, cos we've found him.

By the way, Thomas, why did you call the Terabithia ?"

"Why do you ask ?" asked Thomas, somewhat puzzled.

"I bet you know a hundred other ships in the vastness of space, and it just seems so unusual that you had to call my ship out of nowhere."

"With all due respect, Mr. Jameson, your ship was one of the few surviving ships we know of that survived Clarke."

'Yes, I know that-"

"And I happen to know that Terence March, penelope's son, is on that ship. Penelope was my friend, so, I just felt that it would be interesting if I actually got to converse with the son of my colleague."

A slight pang of guilt was in Josiah's head, as he slowly gulped down. Nevertheless, Josiah managed to retain his calm,a nd continued to talk.

"Well, anyway, about Miles-"

"Well, here's the thing, Tom - Anton Miles stowed away on my ship. I found him in the cargo hull, hiding in one of the crates."

"That's unusual... doesn't the Terabithia have any security systesms ?"

"It does, but I'm pretty sure Mr. Bell found a loophole somewhere on the ship. It's not surprising.... I've had assasins worm their way into the ship one way or the other, though I usually have them.... desposed of."

'Even so, you should invest in better protection."

"But, anyway, I found him hiding on my ship, and that's about it."

"And that's your long story ?"

"That's not even half of it- Mr. Bell, tell him the rest."

~

Mintaka was looking to the artificial sky of L5 with Lukan, as both watched the ships go by. Lukan was thinking of his wife, back on Earth, stuck in Little Lycan, Mintaka was thinkingo fht elife she once had, a long time ago, when she wasn't in the shell she was now inhabiting. The memories were fuzzy, but there was a life she had, before that red desert of Mars was made evident.

"Josiah will be coming back soon" said Lukan, looking to the sky.

"Josiah" murmured Mintaka, thinking of the man who brought her in aboard the ship.

~

As the Terabithia came within reach of L5, Josiah had managed to sit Miles before him. Josiah was on another chair, but had it reverse, and ahd his chest placed against the seat of the chair, with his arms clutching the back, in a posture typical of some interrogations.

"Alright, Mr. Miles Bell. While this ship is dockign at L5 on its own, i want to hear every last bit about what you did on Venus."

"And what about you ?"

"I have trouble with the Mafia, but not once did they mention me. But I'm pretty sure whatever that happened on Clarke had, even though indirectly, somethign to do with what you did on venus."

Miles sighed.

"I might as well tell you then."

The High Priest

The Cardinal flipped through his personal leather-bound edition of the Avignon Church's "Book of Sinners". Carefully, his bejwelled fingers ran along the cream vellum, his mind searching for the heretic in question.

"Fr Anton Krause..." He mused, quoting from the text. "A priest in the German Roman Catholic Church, famed for his tolerant yet stern dialogue with the Lutheran Churches...one of the first influential Catholic theologians to have advocated the positive effects of cyborg technologies. His works were banned under the 'Subversive Scientific Research' edict, released by Pope Godwin in 2043...however, Krause eventually decided to put himself up as a test subject, adding augmentations to his human frame...he is believed to have been influenced by the theologian Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, and the recent religious figures who have become part of transhumanist groups..."

Scowling at the words before him, the Cardinal disdainfully thudded the book closed, and had his servant take it back to the shelves. With an air of further annoyance, he motioned his hand over the cruciform on his desk, and his hologram emitter activated, projecting an image of his ally the Prince.

"I want your help, Richelieu." Began the recording, the Prince's face smug all the while. "France has become a potentially booming market for a mutual friend of ours, especially since that little girl offed herself from the top of your Cathedral. I need you to pull a few strings and free up one or two trading routes for him...after all, the French government can't really do much nowadays without your support. Mercutio needs acess to ports on the French Mediterranean, and a man of your influence could achieve this. And Our Lady also want you to increase your denunciations of Fr Anton Krause...make it the subject of your next sermon, or something. Men like Krause are becoming an increasingly dangerous threat to our road-map of dominion. I want his head, Cardinal...or By God, I'll have yours instead..."

Angrily, the Cardinal turned off the recording and scowled once again. This madman, this vile atheist of Mohameddan pagan stock was telling him what to do. But then again, without the Prince's influence and backing, not to mention his connections and plans, Richelieu would not even have clawed his way up Deacon, let alone a Priesthood. He'd have spent his existence ministering to the backward peasants, far from this palace of God personified...power, pure power.

He also despised the way that the Prince kept referring to his strange contact with the name of "Our Lady"...

Apologies for my lateness. This is something of a 'filler piece' before I move on to bigger fish, but it will contain a developable plotline

The Baron

Cane in hand, Mercutio strode down the sawdust-blanketed halls and byways of his New Orleans base of operations. Occasionally one of his scientists would raise their head from their computer terminal or microscope, take in the disturbingly powerful presence of this narcotics baron, and then return to their work. Flanked by one of his financial aides - a toadying little man called Bildenberg - Mercutio inspected his ranks for recent developments. Since the neat display of Mab's powers at the Second Battle of Olympus Mons, the more insatiable line of junkies had leapt onto the market, eager to sample an entirely immersive drug which could not only cause disregard for their own life - even the old school of chemical-based drugs could pull that off - but allowed them to feel the dangerous high of killing someone else. Almost ignored by his master, Bildenberg continued reeling details from his datapad.

"...we've had shipments dropped off in Saudi Arabia, and there are some clubs in New York which we've infiltrated. As expected, drug raids have been conducted in numerous lunar ports, seeing as the politicians would like to prevent anything along the lines of Olympus Mons happening again. Three of our peddlers were arrested in Beijing; however the recent growth in the Hong Kong sector has allowed us a new foothold in China, so the Asian market won't suffer any time soon. Also, Mr Mercutio sir, I must draw attention to the decreasing profit margin we've experienced in Federal American territories since Jerry Robinson has begun to claim our product as being somehow diabolically inspired...I don’t wish to alarm you sir, but..."

Mercutio raised a silencing hand.

"Worry not about our markets in the Federal area, Mr Bildenberg." He soothed. "I have had assurances from some business associates of mine that Robinson is merely paying lip-service to the usual special interest groups. After all, what sort of evangelist would he be if he condemned abortion, homosexuality, liberalism and secularism, and then didn't adopt a negative stance on narcotics?"

"As always sir, your explanations are most welcome. Now as for our French market, having received a blow at the hands of the equally vehement Cardinal, we..."

"Don't bother me with politics Bildenberg - I want to have some fun! What other delights have we planned at the moment, eh? I have some customer reports from certain ladies and gentlemen who were highly impressed with the 'Houri' strain. They would like to see similar drugs on the market, especially if we can further reinforce the level of reality..."

Bildenberg broke his stride, and led his lord across the wooden floor into another laboratory. Mercutio was surprised by the goings on - black cockerels in wooden cages, African tribal masks, varying snakes; obviously the developers were appealing to voodoo rituals for inspiration. Tapping the edge of one of the observation chambers, which housed an already deep-under “patient“, Bildenberg smiled at his master’s obviously interested reaction.

“This young fellow has agreed to be a test subject for Nimue.” Began the guide. “It’s a delightful new nano-strain which induces the addict into a sense of mutual appreciation; almost like love, really. However, with the first phase of the trip concluded, they experience something akin to a blissful paralysis, somewhere in between an orgasm and a heart attack.”

“Ah, like Merlin’s seduction and decline.” Nodded Mercutio. “I suppose that’s what brought the name on?”

“Indeed.” Smiled Bildenberg. “But what they don‘t know is that after enough trips, they will end up into a slow physical decline, and only a counter-strain of highly potent Mab will relieve them from it. Our marketing department came up with originally; it moves addicts from the beginner drugs into our more expensive range.”

“I want the first shipments to go to Europe.” Mused the baron. “I’ve contacts in London and Marseilles who can spread it into the nano-drug virgins. With this Nimue working for us, plus certain political ties, our annual revenue may double over the course of the next few years.”

He then slipped Bildenberg a piece of paper, and patted him on the shoulder.

“This is a request from my Arabian contact.” He mumbled, almost whispering to his career-minded assistant. “He wants us to look into the possibility of developing new…aggressive drugs. The Olympus Mons incident wasn’t exactly a big success for me, but my business associates like the idea of using nano-drugs to create unconscious soldiers. There is an internet contact I want you to get ahold of…his highness Il Principe says she’s an intelligent young woman with the beginning blueprints for the new developments…”

Mercutio patted Bildenberg on the shoulder, and wandered off to inspect his other investments. Standing alone amidst the clamour of scientists and test subjects, Bildenberg unfolded the paper and checked the name.

It was a fun class. He stood there, in the back, very quiet, listening to what the instructor was saying. Not that he needed to knew anything about dog-fighting, be it in atmosphere or in space. What he really wanted was to know his instructor, Captain Mendez.

The class had ended and the students were talking with the instructor. He took advantage of Mendez distraction and planted a little box on her briefcase. It was a copy of the blackbox found in Clarke. They knew if someone could find something wrong with what was displayed, that someone was Paz Mendez.

After his delivery, he left the room. He needed to make another one, this one a little more difficult.

~

Raghast was sleeping again. But in his dreams there was a shadow trying to wake him up. This shadow warn him of a danger. And he did and in his front, right on top of him, was a transparent tentacle. He looked around and saw several tentacles, all connected to the other children sleeping there. And, what was worst, they all come from... Lili.

Raghast couldn't believe it! He managed to duck from his tentacle and looked to Lili. She was dreaming, more like having a nightmare. And near her head there was a shadow. He couldn't see who he or she was but somehow was controlling Lili's tentacles.

He tried to wake her but couldn't talk, in fact he couldn't even move. He manage to slip by the tentacles more because it seamed not to know where he was than by his own.

Then someone entered the room. That someone start arguing with the shadow and, as he/she did, the tentacles simply disappeared.

And... he awake. He was still at Terabithia, he had fall asleep.

~

He needed to do it right. He waited until she was alone in the house. He had to be sure that it was she who answer the door. He got to the door, put the package on the mat and press the bell. When she answer the door he was nowhere near to be seen. Only a small package was there, with a note saying “for Zoe, from a friend”

Williams walked down the halls of Olympus Mons University’s massive School of Engineering. He saw none of the faces of professors he remembered, but considered why.
This is the Civil and Structural Engineering Department. Biomedical’s on the first floor.
Originally, Civil and Structural Engineering was on the first floor, meant to be symbolic of the fact it was the oldest “foundation” of modern engineering. However, demands for more lab space, as well as additions to the building, re-arranged the departments since Williams had studied there. Williams had a few things he owed, one of the reasons for his trip. He stopped by a few of his former classmates’ offices, who were now professors. He did have an errand to do in the Electrical Engineering Department, however.
An employee of his worked at the Olympus Mons University, the head of a joint project between Williams Biomedical and OMU. The plan was to construct several new types of concealable listening devices, hidden cameras, and other covert electronics. The WDMD had also invested a substantial amount into it. Williams had access to a few extra prototypes, which he planned to use as payment. After picking up a few devices, he mailed them directly to an address he and a contact for the Tugas had worked out beforehand.
So, that was how you worked out payment to the Tugas?
Yes. I figured they could use some new toys, so I sent some surveillance and spy devices they’d get a kick out of. Plus a special surprise. A weapon they might find useful.
Don’t the Tugas normally operate without use of lethal force?
They do. The weapons, however, are non-lethal ones. I sent them set of custom-made Magshockers.
That sounds useful. It’s designed to incapacitate a human with an electric shock, or work as an EMP type device on machines. It also makes a nice club. They draw bioelectricity from a human body, so they don’t run out of “ammo” very easily.
Exactly. What I customized, though, was I made them all out of polymer and advanced nanocircuitry. I also made them more compact. The idea was to create a smaller, easier to use one that doesn’t set off any metal detectors. They’re ideal for agents who prefer non-lethal means if they can’t avoid it. After all, sleeping guards attract less attention than ones with holes in their head.
True.
Speaking of the Tugas, did they find much on this “Jennifer” figure?</b>
A girl in France with that name died strangely slightly before the attack on the JASTs happened. The Tugas and JASTs both tried to trace the server, but both ended up pointing at the Confederates.
It’s always something.
They can’t pinpoint who directly, but we think Marduch, the Cardinal, and their cronies may also be directly or indirectly involved.
This conspiracy keeps getting better and better. How about the WDMD projects?
All on schedule. Our method of construction is saving a lot of time and labor-hours.
Building small parts and then combining them normally allows for smoother assembly than just trying to build it all at once.
That’s the basic premise of nano-fabrication, remember.
Yeah. How’s Paz and Tellos doing?
They’re playing Red Storm 1942 again before Paz starts a brief lecture here. Right now, she was shipped here to Mars to teach a bit on dogfighting at Olympos Mons’ military academy.
Ah, the alternative-history shooter game. The premise being that the Second World War was fought between fascism and democracy on one side, and communism on the other, rather than democracy and communism against fascism. Allied factions include British, German, American, Italian, and Chinese Republican forces. Communist factions are the Soviet Russians, French, Red Chinese, Spanish, and the Japanese Empire. Of course, here, the premise here is the Japanese, French, and Spanish had communist regimes installed in their countries, or at least ones who prostituted themselves to Soviet interests.
I normally prefer Chinese Republican forces. They’re not as well equipped, but have fast respawn times. Germans are great for maps with tanks on them.
So, from the server data, it seems Tellos and Paz are both on an Allied server, playing as American forces. Paz is a frontliner, while Tellos is an engineer. It’s a map of the Aleutian Islands, with a Japanese-Soviet naval force advancing towards an American garrison.
That’s “Battle of the Bering Sea,” one of my favorite scenarios.
You know, how about we join in? It’s about time for some game play testing, anyway.
What nation shall we be?
Russian, of course. Let’s see what Paz and Tellos can do together. I can tell this will be a fun battle.
With that, Williams attempted to fire up the game. Something had stopped him, though.
Hold on a sec.
Yeah?
More info from the Tugas. Remember our personal investigation of Clarke?
Yeah. Has there been a breakthrough?
They just supplied us a copy of the data from the black box from Clarke.
What did they find?
A single name. One “Miles Bell.” There’s no record of this individual being involved with any terrorist groups, or even extremist philosophies, before. The WDMD released a statement on him. His DNA was found in an incriminating place. Other than that, they haven’t released much. Oh, other than the fact he was last seen on L5, and may have possibly escaped.
There’s a lot of traffic around L5. There’s countless ships always docking there. Even more-so since they set up a makeshift shelter for Clarke refugees. Anyway, tell me more on Bell. Did he have any friends involved with terrorist groups? It’s not unknown for some suspects to be brought into a terrorist plot by friends.
Absolutely none. I have some suspicions on this case. The man has no motive, no means, nor expertise for this sort of attack. An attack on Clarke would require lots of planning, coordination between several agents, technical expertise to overcome mechanical fail-safes, and electronic expertise to enter the colony’s systems undetected. Nor does he know anyone who would have the means or motive for such an attack.
What if he was just a pawn in some larger plan, with someone else doing the planning?
If that’s the case, then more names would be found. The timing for this bit of information is also impeccable. The name of a seemingly random man suddenly turns up just when the public wants more progress on tracking down the terrorists.
So, think it was planted?
They found a nano-recorder black box with the name on it. To taper with something like that requires more processing power and technical skill than most terrorist groups have no hope of matching in their dreams.
Assuming that this is some new group, they sure went through a lot to frame Miles Bell. If it is authentic, you think that Miles Bell would be on some intelligence agency’s watch list?
Yes. The fact that, all of a sudden, a person with no possible means and no motivation is listed as a suspect worries me.
If it’s a new group, and it could very well be, then this might be Miles’ first action with them.
Yes, but remember no group officially took responsibility for Clarke. A few WDMD officials have noted doubt. Some USA, PRF, and EU officials are also unsure.
Hm. That is odd. Perhaps some new group, with technical skill, was responsible. They would destroy the colony, then alter the black box data, and frame Miles Bell for his part in the conspiracy. Seems fairly complicated and contrived, though.
Yes, but think of it this way. Marduch’s stock prices have jumped as well. New drugs are emerging even faster from South America since the massacre on Olympus Mons. The strange deaths of young women have effected the JASTs and our web access abilities negatively. The French suddenly are able to almost hit a prototype fighter of ours on a mission that almost no one was supposed to know about. And, to top it all off, the Cardinal and his whole rotten Anti-Papacy have been getting more ill-gotten money than before. The ILF almost mounted a biological attack on Russia. Not to mention, Marduch’s support for the American Confederates has never been more open. I think there’s a lot more going on here than a simple hunt for a suspected terrorist.
Strange things have been happening, true. There’s got to be something logical behind it. It’s no secret to us the Cardinal, Marduch, that drug lord, and the Confederates are in bed with each other. And they’re selling weapons to the ENC and the ILF. Is Miles Bell someone who perhaps was mind-controlled? There have been some cases where experimental mental implants could control someone to commit a crime, and then leave no memories it was committed. Then again, to fake data on a colonial-standard black box is something only an AI, master hacker, or uploaded mind could do.
A digital entity like this “Chloe,” who significantly slowed down JAST communications, could very easily do something like that. I think Chloe was just toying with us and warning us. The fact we traced her to Confederate servers leads me to think that unholy conspiracy has more abilities than we might’ve thought in the first place.
So now they’re using that power to frame a random innocent? And for what? To commit more terrorist attacks? That’s a sickening thought, to say the least. Daedalus, I want you to call up the Terabethia and ask if they have any information. Use one of our covert channels. We’re going to need call everyone we know.
Sure. Terence might not like helping. I’ve gotten through to Josiah.
Mind putting me through directly?
Williams heard Josiah’s voice. “Yes? This is CEO Williams himself?”
“Yes, Mister Jameson. Pardon the interruption, but some sources of mine have recently become suspicious over a certain suspect wanted by the WDMD,” Williams mentioned. “Have you happened to hear or find anything else about a man named Miles Bell? Oh, and is Terence around?”
“With Miles, it’s a long story. I’ll have to get back to you on, but Terence is around,” Josiah replied.
“Can you put me through? I have something important to tell him,” Williams asked.
“Sure,” Josiah replied. He vanished, and the annoyed face of Terence appeared. “What?” he grumbled.
“Terence, did you know your mother well?”
“What about her?!” Terence snapped.
“I met her a long time ago, before you were even born,” Williams continued. “She was my research assistant when I was at Olympus Mons. She was quite a nice woman, you know.”
“What are you getting at?!” Terence thundered, with an odd mix of anguish, fear, and anger across his face.
Williams altered the tone of his voice. He willed himself to sound deeper, and added a mechanical respirator sound in between breaths. Williams locked eyes with Terence on the video screen, and an evil grin crossed his face as he spoke. “TERENCE! I AM YOUR FATHER!” Williams exclaimed in his no voice.
The unfortunate man’s jaw dropped. “NO! Th-that can’t be! I-I…” Terence stuttered.
And with that, Williams doubled over laughing.
That was mean.

I guess Terence never had someone do such a convincing “Darth Vader” impression.
Either that, or he doesn’t appreciate that sort of schadenfreude.

Terence, however, was surprisingly still on. He was mumbling incoherently to himself when Williams added, “Terence, I was just kidding!”

The previously speechless man was none too amused. He almost closed the line when Josiah moved him out of the way. “Listen, we’re having some strange things going on up here. It’s a long story.”

“I have no problem with long stories,” Williams added.

“Then get ready for a long one,” Josiah said. “Since we’ve found the man himself.”

---

Paz stood in front of the classroom, as several Aerospace cadets watched her. She pointed to a projector screen behind her. Two computer generated models appeared on it, both of World War II era fighter planes. There was an American Corsair F4U and a Japanese Zero, both labeled.

“Now, since I’ve gone of the basics of atmospheric dog fighting, here’s a simulation I made,” the pilot explained. She pushed a button on a remote, and the animation started. The Zero trailed the Corsair, and was preparing to open fire on it. Paz started to explain as the animation followed. “Here, you might recognize the American plane here is at a distinct disadvantage. The Zero is more or less moving in for the kill,” she explained. “If the American pilot does nothing, here’s what happens.”

The Zero continued, leveled itself, and opened fire, shooting down the Corsair.

“However, let’s say we’ve got a more experienced American fighter pilot here,” Paz pushed another button, and the planes went back to their original places. This time, as the Zero struggled to lock onto the Corsair, the American plane turned up and over the Zero, turning upside-down before moving in behind the Zero. The Corsair, now above and behind the Japanese plane, opened fire.

“As you can see, there’s countless possibilities here. The Zero might have tried to circle back itself, bank to one side, and countless other things,” Paz explained. “With lots of planes in the air, the confusion further increases. Thanks to modern sensor technology, however, it’s a lot easier to detect targets and friendlies. However, causes of friendly fire still happen. Always look before you shoot. The targeting computer is not the mind of the aircraft. You are. Thus, your military will hold you responsible for any losses. Before we move on, any questions?”

A young man raised his hand in the back row. Paz looked towards him. The man started to speak. “Captain Mendez, why did you use World War II airplanes for your simulation? Why not some more recent history, like the Second Russian Civil War? And is that the Red Storm 1942 engine you used for that simulation?”

“Because recent history can get touchy with certain individuals,” she scanned the room once. “And because Second World War fighter planes always interested me. They had no radar lock-on or targeting computers. It was just skill, willpower, and devotion to them. The weapons and plane models might’ve changed, but the basics remain. And for you last question, yes, it was. I made those models myself for a more historically accurate World War II Pacific Theatre mod I made.”

A young woman looked up. “You play Red Storm 1942? Awesome! We should so play online sometime!” she chirped.

“That’s enough,” she waved her hands. “We’ll talk about games after class. Now, moving on, you probably know many nations operate space-planes, and various craft capable of both atmospheric flight and zero gravity flight. Atmospheric dog fighting has been refined since the First World War. Zero-g is something new. Now, we’ll go onto zero gravity dog-fighting.”

The image of the World War II planes changed to two high tech space-planes, a PRF Diwata drone-plane, and a larger ENC “Torque” MiG-57. Paz pushed another button, and the labels for both appeared. “There’s no sounds in space, save what you here over your radio or in your cockpit,” she explained. “Now, in space, the basics still hold, but there are some significant changes to take note of.”

The Diwata moved in behind the Torque, and opened fire. There was no sound as the rounds exited the barrel. The two craft when back to their original setup. The Diwata fired at the Torque from a longer range, this time causing more damage to it.

“Anyone care to mention why the Diwata caused more damage to the Torque at range?” Paz asked.

A female student raised her hand. Paz looked at her. “Gyrojet rounds. The Diwata was firing gyrojet rounds, or small rocket bullets. They continue to accelerate even after they leave the barrel, so they get more powerful at longer ranges,” the student replied.

“Very good,” Paz replied. “Now, do you know why gyrojet rounds are ideal in space, and even for aerospace vehicles in general?”
“Simple,” the female cadet said. “There is no recoil. In fact, in the atmosphere, there is “negative” recoil, since the round going off sucks in the oxygen from the air around, creating a vacuum and pulling the gun forward. In space, no recoil means you do not have to built in recoil-absorbers into a craft, and in the atmosphere, you have gravity’s pull to help accelerate the projectile’s descent velocity.”

“So, are you a mechanical or aerospace engineer?” Paz asked.

The female cadet nodded.

“Can you tell me why flying in space is extra dangerous when projectile rounds are used?” Paz added.

“If you’re in space when a bullet hits your cockpit, it depressurizes your cockpit and unless you have a spacesuit or vacuum-sealed ejection pod, you’re a goner,” she replied. “Most newer fighter models have space-capable ejection pods, though.”

“Excellent! This insightful student here mentioned most of the things I was going to say,” Paz mentioned. “There’s something else to note, however. Anyone know what the turning radius in space is if you have want to shake or face a pursuer?”

The female cadet made a ring with her thumb and forefinger, and said,

“Zero.”

“Exactly!” Paz mentioned. “Almost all modern fighter space-planes have rotating mini-thrusters mounted on their nose. In space, there’s no friction from the air, so you can use those mini-thrusters to turn fast and about face. Even remotely piloted and drone planes can be made to use these physics. Observe.”

She pushed a button on the remote. The animation started with the Torque pursuing the Diwata. The Torque moved in, and locked onto the Diwata from the rear. The Diwata, however, had its nose thrusters activate and it turned around to face the Torque. The Diwata opened fire, blasting the Torque face-to-face. The thing was, the Diwata continued to move at its previous velocity, albeit backwards.

“There’s the wonder of zero gravity.” Paz asked the class. “Any questions?”

The class, now speechless, began to clap. Internally, Paz wished Tellos was there to share it with her.

An excerpt from the Vagabond International...

The Vagabond's Code
Pay back your debts to the bit.
The word of a Vagabond is irrevocable.
Who breaks the Code is scum.
--Everyman Jack

...

The Art of Hitch-Hiking

Often, the traveling man will find that he needs to get somewhere when he lacks an obvious means of transportation. In situations like this, it's best to, above all, remain calm and nonchalant. No one wants to help out a desperate man. Observe your surroundings, and consider your options: is there a fueling station, bar, or some restaurant nearby? If so, your best bet is to mosey on into said venue and scan the crowd. You're looking for a fellow, more on the jovial side, but not too drunk that he won't recognize you later on. He's your man. Such a character is almost always guaranteed to give you a lift, at least to the next docking platform.

However, circumstances won't always be so convenient. Perhaps there isn't any fueling station, bar, or what have you nearby. Or, perhaps, for one reason or another, your in a pinch, and you need to get gone fast. If this is the case, there is no shame in stowing away on a cruise liner, a freighter, or some random fellow's starship. If you need to do this, above all, avoid running into any member of the ship's crew, or even passengers, if at all possible. It is easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.

----------

So here I am on the Terabithia, Miles Bell thought to himself, Never heard of it. What's so special? Why am I safer here than out there, hitch-hiking my problems away like I've always done?

Miles had been led into the main quarters of the ship by Josiah, and had readily made himself comfortable in the sitting room, lounging across almost the entire expanse of a sofa, despite the questioning looks of the others. Josiah had called the rest of the crew into the room to meet the stowaway.

An interesting crew, these folks. Josiah Jameson, I'm sure of heard of him, some sort of planetologist apparently. This Dudley fellow and his uncle, the Colonel as he considered each of them he turned his gaze from one to the next, A Terence March, some random student, and then that kid, Ragamuffin, or whatever ...

"It's Raghast," the boy says.

Miles is caught off guard. "Wha- Well, yes, I knew that. Josiah introduced you already."

"You thought my name was Ragamuffin. It's Raghast."

"... Yes, ok." He's certainly a strange one. "Anyhow, I do hope you all don't mind my stowing away on your fine vessel. It really is rather decent of you."

"Hmph," Josiah grunts, "You might as well, we're already dragging those two along," he says, motioning towards Terence and Raghast.

"Yes, well, what with my being a fugitive ..."

"But you said you didn't do it," Terence broke in.

"Well of course I didn't, I'm nothing but a travelling man with next to no resources. Even if I had had a reason to indiscriminately kill millions of people, I certainly don't have the resources for it." Then suddenly adding, "Not, that I have a reason, mind you."

"We believe you. Just don't get in the way." Josiah says, before walking off, signalling that the introductions are over.

"A traveling man, you say," Dudley begins after Josiah vanishes behind a door, "You must have some interesting stories to tell."

"As a matter of fact ..." and with that, Miles begins narrating his most rehearsed tale. The same one he told in the bar.

----------

"What a tale, my boy. What a tale." "Incredible." "You didn't really do all that did you."

This last was from Raghast, "Well, of course I did. Do you take me for a liar?"

"I agree with Raghast," Terrence speaks up. "It certainly is a consistent and engaging story, but it can't all be true. I mean, aren't the Gibbous Vandals a Lunar Rock band? In fact, their biggest song is "New-moon Bleeder," and much of your story comes right out of the lyrics to that song."

"Ha. You caught me. I never expected to meet anyone else who knew about the Gibbous Vandals ..."

"He didn't make it all up though," Raghast explains, "he just exaggerated ... alot."

"Yes ... that's true."

"You really did have a run in with a Lunar gang. But you didn't know their name."

"Yes. Yes. Ok, fine ... fine. Here's the real story:

"So, there I am, in the fine city of Diana. Not at it's best these days, as anyone who's been there can tell you, but still a relatively decent place. I was just coming out of an apartment complex, after paying one of my friends a visit--and getting a few favours from him while I was there. So, I was coming out of this decently well-off complex, with nice new cloths (one of the favours), and these hooligans, one by one, fall in step behind me.

"Now, I know they're there. My first reaction, on a normal day, would have been to make a run for it. But I was sick of running. I had had an uncomfortable run-in with the Venusian Mafia just the other week, and I was not about to let this one go. Not these no-name Lunar thugs. So, I turn around to them. They all stop, and glare at me. Very intimidating, admittedly. I say this: 'Look, fellows, I'm just a traveling man. I have no money, or anything. I'm looking to hitch-hike my way to Mars. There's nothing you could get from me, so, if you don't mind, just bug off.'

"Well, they are none pleased by my little speech, and their leader, a fairly squat little man, somewhat on the chubby side, points his finger at me and snarls 'Y' wants'a bleed new-moon?' He actually did say this--it was merely convenient to tie in other lyrics from "New Moon Bleeder". I laugh at him. Not really my best idea. They're already mad. They all howl and start yammering amongst themselves. Then, the boss says 'Gedready, new-moon, we gon'a make y'a bleeda.'

"And so now I'm thinking to myself, ah hell, I did not need this. Naturally, I turn, and I sprint down the road as fast as I can't. About half a block down, there's another gang. A rival gang I take it, because, when they saw me running from this other gang, I was suddenly their best friend. Their leader, a lanky mohawked fellow, caught me, and gripping my arms in alliance, passed me off to one of his lackeys and told him 'Th'sman 'sour frien'. Taghim wher'e needs'a go.'

"So, these two gangs face off, and there's a bloody brawl. Of course, I was already being led away by lackey, who soon got me to a nearby fueling station. Gripping my arms as his boss had, he says 'Don'eva ledem thugs chas'y'agai'. Y' jusgall us. W' taghar'adem.' Of course, from that fueling station, I was easily able to hitch a ride to Mars.

"And that's the true story. Not nearly as exciting as my fabrication."

"Not at all," Dudley disagrees, "That's even more exciting."

"Eh, maybe," Miles shrugs, "I'd rather have myself kicking Chunbgut in the face."

----------

Rome, somewhere in the Vatican apartments.

Fr Anton Krause is delving into the ISN, finding everything he can about the Cardinal, especially reports regarding his going abouts days, weeks, months, and a year before the Clarke Incident. Looking for any and every clue as to how the Cardinal is connected to these recent events.

CHAPTER 8

Miles Bell was now standing on another space platform.

Great, just great, thought he. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire. He had escaped one platform, only to reach another. Nevermind that this one was a church, accessible for most denominations, the fact remained that WDMD officials were hot on his trail, and, like al his other adventures, he was once again, dumped off.

But, this one was quite different.

~

“Thanks, madame, for the-”

“Shut up, you son of a bitch.”

Miles was slightly taken aback. The fear was creeping up on him again, as he felt that his rescuer could have been one of them.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“Look, just shut the fuck up, and let me drive, okay ?”

Two hours then passed, as the woman crossed over a few continents in her shuttle until she reached a small orbital platform, with a few shuttles, and one or two ships docked on it. The shuttle slowly lowered itself onto the docking area of the platform. The woman then turned round from her driver’s seat to talk to Miles.

“Listen, Mr. Bell. Down here there is one ship you must look out for. You have one task, and only one task, and that is to stay on that ship. And don’t think you can run away…”

‘Why are you doing all this ?”

“It’s not just the WDMD that’s on to you. Others are. And, as of this moment, your only refuge is on this one ship, whose name I’m about to tell you now. Whatever happens up to you next is up to you.”

~

Miles could hear the ringing of the beel, as he looked round. The name of the ship rang clear, as the shuttle sped off, away from the platform.

Terabithia.

~

Joel’s head was slightly groggy.

“Where the hell am I…”

As he came to, he found Firdaus, and Parker, standing. Joel slowly got up, his heavy body trying to assess the surroundings. The area seemed to be a sewerage area of some sort, with pipes leading all the way. Joel’s eyes traced along the pipes…. Until he saw three women.

He instantly recognized who they were.

“The Blessed Trinity ? But, I thought you were-”

‘Dead ? It was smart move they made.”

“A pity that Brother Dominic had to not only pay the bribes, but allow computer generated footage to let people assume that we were dead at the hands of the Harlequins.”

“Brother Dominic did what he had to do, Sister. AT least he managed to escape, and we were fine.”

It was here that Parker chipped in.

“Yeah,a nd Firdaus was in on all this, and we didn’t know.”

‘Dei, brudder; they just turned up this year, before the tournament.”

‘Wait- that means you..”

The first sister, the leader of the trio, who answered Joel earlier, gave a reply.

“Parker, do you REALLY think that a business contract can me made overnight ? NKS was already losing money since last year, and Marduch was already interested in furthering his vile competition by getting himself into a larger market. Plus, he had the money, so al he had to do was buy what was a respectable and reputable martial tournament, and turn it into the massacre he wanted. All he had to do was make it inaccessible to the public eye, but available to anyone via pod cast.

Thing was, we were in on it for a while now.”

“We ? Who’s we ?”

“Us. The Vatican.”

“Wait, that means that you took part this year just to-”

“No, we’ve always been taking part in the competition, ever year. You’ve seen us before, and you know how we fight. We honour God, and we honour the art of stopping fights. However, Marduch and his cronies are just interested in furthering their agenda and their pockets.”

‘You shouldn’t be so harsh, Siter…”

“Oh, quiet Sister. I know what I’m talking about. And while I don’t believe in death, I hope Marduch gets locked up for every one of his dastardly deeds. It is aazing he hasn’t exposed the nanotech people yet, and the Tran humanists-”

“Wait, he knows all this ?”

Parker gave a questioning look to the elder nun.

“Marduch knows about this. He knows what Thomas Williams is. At the same time, he has his eyes on a few members of the Catholic Church. I’m surprised that Fr. Anton is still alive, what with the stigma going on with him and Avignon-”

The three started to have a quizzical look on their faces.

“Wait… what does Marduch have to do with Avignon ?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you ? The WDMD is not the only ones doing their investigations, the Church has its own agents, though minor. What bothers us is why factions of such differing ideologies are working together.”

“I assume you’re talking about the Prince, sista.”

“Yes, Firdaus. It is not only revolting, it is insane. Why would an Islmaic terrorist, a corrupt Catholic cardinal, and two White supremacists collaborate together ? Three of them hate coloured races, and this union seems all the more too unusual. And, if what they say about Mercutio is correct, then it is getting all the more ridiculous.”

“You’re saying it is all ridiculous, then, what else can it be ?”

“Let me tell you what WE think. The Cardinal may want to recreate the Papacy in Avignon, but he’s hardly the sort to be a madman. There’s no real point in trying to bring the papacy to Avignon, but I have a hunch that he’s in on all this. Mercutio also seems to be funded by the Cardinal and Marduch, but his operations were already well-funded even before this elaborate union. “

“So ? Whata re you getting at ?”

“I’m getting at this: something else, something bigger, and larger is controlling all these men. Some people think it’s Marduch, but I think that’s bullshit-”

‘Sister !”

‘Shut up. It’s bullcrap. Marduch doesn’t have the foresight to think up something big, let alone the demise of Clarke. When the massacre at Olympus Mons happened a few days back, some South Americans were found to be guilty of collaborating, but aside from Mercutio, all hands pointed to something bigger.”

Parker had enough of this.

“Fine. What ahs this got to do with us ?”

“I suggest you three be careful. We arranged to meet the three of you, now, before it’s too late. We’re going back to Rome, and see what we can do there. But be wanred; Marduch has his eyes on all of you, especially you, Sun Kwan Park.”

“SO, what about me ? I can just throw fire. Big deal.”

As the two sister continued to walk back, the third sister turned back, and said something to Sun.

“You’re real name’s not Sun Kwan Park, isn’t it ? Do you think we don’t know what you reallya re ? What runs through your blood ?”

Parker’s face was blank.

“And, what you were even before you were fighting in these tournaments ? Not everyone knows about your past, Parker, and the thing is, not even you do. Not even we.”

Joel was bothered.

“Look, he may have amnesia, but-”

“Pay attention to your dreams, Sun Kwan Park.”

And with that, she promptly left, to follow the others.

Firdaus was silent throughout all this. He finally spoke up.

“What were they talking about ? What is your past ?”

“I don’t know, Firdaus. I don’t really know.”

~

The Terabithia was leaving the platform, as Dudley, Raghast, Terence and the Colonel were returning from the Mass. As Josiah left the ship on autopilot, with L5 as it’s intended destination, Josiah walked out of the control room. He was walking, down the passageway, when he heard a distinct sound.

It was coming from the cargo area, and it was not very loud, but, for some odd reason, Josiah could hear it. Slowly, he made his way, down various stairways, and pass certain doors, he reached the main cargo hold of the Terabithia, a giant space, mostly empty because the expeditions of Jameson, which usually met the requirements of one, tow, or, at the most, eight people, were not the same as the ship’s maximum for twenty people.

And, with this, Josiah was able to make out that a figure was hiding in one of the crates. It was a light tapping, but, experience taught him before.

As he grabbed forth the man hiding inside the crate, he was quite surprised to see who it was that was hiding there.

“What the…. You’re…”

“Yes. Mr. Bell at your service, a man framed fro a crime he, sadly, didn’t commit.”