I agree AJackal.

SMAC was just the best game ever. Of any kind of game. I love it - play it even today. Certainly more than I play Civ 4...

Fantastic Story Smegma.

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.

wow can't stop reading this excellent story, keep it coming please

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.”

....Waits....

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.

Choosing Sides

A fuming Rhona McKibben walked briskly back to her quarters. As soon as the doors slid to a close Rhona finally released the tension that had been building over the course of Ramirez’s meeting. Her entire body began to warm with indignation and this time she refused to let her professional side keep the feeling in check. She glanced down and at the Space Command patch over her left breast. A moment later she moved her left arm and looked at the circular patch of the Science and Research branch on her upper shoulder. She wondered if the two emblems would begin smoldering if she brought them together. It was certainly happening within her right now.

She reached across her chest and jerked the tunic flap open nearly ripping the shining gold buttons off the uniform. She shimmied out of the tunic and threw it across the room. The tunic landed cleanly across her science terminal covering it completely.

How symbolic, she thought.

Rhona wrenched the tie loose from her hair which reluctantly fell across her shoulders. She walked to the bathroom, activated the heated sink and turned on the water which quickly sent steam into the air. Rhona closed her eyes and leaned over the sink burying her face in the steam cloud, forcing herself to become lost in the mild sensory deprivation it provided. When she was done she stared at her reflection in the small mirror for a long time, her red face and the hair surrounding it dripping water. The fact that she had not taken off her white undershirt which was now soaked in the front barely registered.

Why was she so angry? This was not the only time Command had decided to hamstring their research, presenting them some cryptic rationalization as a reason for it if they bothered to give them a reason at all. And why was she so wounded by Ramirez’s inflexibility? She felt he really did understand her feelings on the matter and knew that Ramirez’s hands were tied. He had to implement Command orders. That was his job. So why was she taking this probe shutdown news so poorly, so personally?

Rhona felt her spirit becoming heavier. Had she finally grown tired of the internecine battle she constantly waged between science and military? If she continued the battle, would it eventually dull her instincts to the point where she could no longer properly utilize both effectively? Would she retire an anesthetized shell of the person she was?

Was it time to finally choose a side?

Rhona’s visage began to change in the mirror, morphing from the slightly pinched cast she had been sporting into one steely and determined. Without looking down she tapped the water handle, reached into the cold water with both hands and splashed it roughly in her face. The shock of the frigid water seemed to cement her resolution. She grabbed a face towel which sported the emblem of the Science and Research branch and began wiping her face as she headed toward her terminal.

Rhona lifted her discarded tunic from the terminal and tossed it aside. She didn’t sit down, which would have automatically activated her terminal, but began accessing it manually. It was a more involved process but she needed to log in this way in order to properly cover any trace of the transmission she was about to make.

* * * * *

On the research bridge, Koushik Mitra was slowly walking between occupied research terminals like a school teacher shuffling through a classroom while the students took final exams. The crew had learned to tune out his presence over time. Most favored Dr. McKibben’s method of planting herself at one central location where all relevant information could be brought to her. But Koushik liked to put himself where the action was, feeding off the scientific quintessence in the room, observing the crew as they chipped away Chiron’s mysteries which were becoming fewer and fewer as the days passed.

A beep at his terminal close by interrupted his meandering. A small flashing box was displayed on the screen with the word “eyes only” on it. Intrigued, Koushik tapped the on-screen box which quickly flashed a message.

“Meet in my quarters. McKib.”

Very good, hope to see more

I disagree with most of this. After reading another recent thread on SMAC, I reinstalled the game (I don't have SMACX and am not paying $100+ for it) and have been playing a bit. It's still really a great game--it's close to a draw with Civ4 IMO. Civ4 has the advantages of many nifty gameplay concepts introduced in Civ3 and 4 and a far more polished UI; SMAC has the more compelling story (the factions are far more intersting than the civs in Civ), a unique setting, and great terreforming options. While I like GalCiv2, I find SMAC (and Civ) a far better game. At least for me, GalCiv comes awfully close at times to the dread "playing a spread sheet" comcept (I attribute this to the somewhat abstract nature inherent in a space setting versus the more concrete terrestial setting). Also, my primary interest in 4x games is building up my cities/colonies, therefore I get far more enjoyment from the SMAC/Civ model, which constantly rolls out new improvements to build with no limit, then the limited number of improvements buildable in GalCiv (and I understand the gameplay and balance reasons for this, I just don't find it a lot of fun). As for SMAC's graphics, sure, are dated, but they are still quite serviceable; I don't see that they would be a major problem for a real 4x/TBS buff. Is anyone really blown way by the more modern graphics in Civ4?

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.”

Scapegoat

2219.7.4
Research Vessel Ganymede
Day 640
(24 hours later)

Jeremy Nixon attached another Nicostim patch under his armpit and continued to pace the room nervously. The engineering officer had been confined to quarters with no terminal access for the past twenty hours and cabin fever was beginning to set in. The conspiracy charge leveled against him was, of course, complete madness. There was absolutely no way he would ever risk his career on the stupid stunt Dr. McKibben had pulled. Sure, he knew what she had done was technically possible...quite easy to do, in fact. But there was no way in hell he would have gone along with it without the complete approval of Commander Ramirez. And even then he would have been damn sure to completely cover his own ass in the off-chance something went wrong.

Jeremy was so outraged at McKibben’s antics and how they had affected him he was unable to admire the fact that it had actually worked. He was also angry at himself for not following basic term-op procedures. The back door to his personal files was practically wide open due to his dislike of the firewall implementations so he had lifted the restrictions. He had always thought it idiotic to place such restraints on his personal access not to mention the fact that it slowed his terminal down dramatically - to him, anyway. And since he was the only engineer on board he never expected anyone to be remotely interested in what ideas he tossed around on his off time. Hell, everyone on the ship thought most of his ideas were just quaint little fantasies of an overactive mind.

What else was he going to do during down time? Go crazy for boredom? The F.T.L. drive was almost completely self-sufficient with enough failsafes built in to cover every known emergency. In his opinion, Command could have fulfilled this entire mission without the need of an engineer at all.

Now that woman’s got me hooked on Nicostim again after bein’ off it for damn near a year!

Two beeps and the door to his quarters slid open, startling Jeremy and stopping him in his tracks. A dark and sullen Ramirez entered first followed by Logistics Officer Emmons, Signals Officer Myers and his assistant Officer Cook. The door slid closed behind them and beeped twice indicating the door had been passcode locked once again. No one was entering or leaving this room until Ramirez let them.

Jeremy managed a quick salute to his Commander who smoothly returned it. “Stand at east, officer.” he said in a low voice.

Jeremy relaxed and put his hands behind his back. His eyes nervously flicked between the other officers, their expressions detached and unreadable, acknowledging them with a quick nod before returning back to Ramirez. A long silence followed, all eyes focused on Jeremy who continued to perspire heavily under his uniform.

“Officer Nixon,” Ramirez finally said. “Did you assist Dr. McKibben and Dr. Mitra in their unapproved launch of Lifepod Two?”

Jeremy cleared his throat slightly before answering. “Sir, I swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t know anything about it. There ain’t no way I could’ve...”

“I didn’t ask you for an explanation, officer,” Ramirez said curtly. “It’s a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. Did you or did you not assist Dr. McKibben and Dr. Mitra in the unapproved launch of Lifepod Two?”

Jeremy swallowed hard. “No, sir.”

Ramirez, without taking his eyes off Jeremy, held out his arm. Emmons smoothly laid a hand held PDP in his hand. Ramirez brought it back and began to read from it.

“Did you allow Doctor’s McKibben and Mitra access to your personal files, specifically files 212 through 247 which contain figures and diagrams of a modified Lifepod that allows ship-to-surface transition?”

“No, sir.”

“Then can you explain to me how Doctors McKibben and Mitra were able to modify Lifepod Two in nearly the exact same manner that were found in these records?”

He’s not gonna like this answer, Jeremy thought. “Sir, I’ve been operating my personal terminal without the required firewall restraints. It was strictly a personal choice and I take full responsibility for my actions.”

Jeremy steeled himself during the brief dead silence that followed. Ramirez slowly looked up at Jeremy, his eyes seeming to grow larger as they sparkled with anger. The other officers managed to maintain their stoic disconnect from the proceedings, their rapid blinking the only evidence of their being affected by his revelation.

“You blanked your firewall?” Ramirez took a step closer to Jeremy, his face only inches away from his. “That a breach of class two protocol, officer! You want to enlighten me into what thought process led you to make such a stupid decision?”

“Sir, I dropped the firewall to increase the performance of my terminal.” He mouth quivered slightly as he fought the urge to explain his action but finally thought better of it. “Again, sir, I take complete responsibility for -”

“You goddamn right you do!” Ramirez exploded. “I’ve got an irreplaceable military scientist and a SciCom research officer roaming around on an alien planet because you wanted to eek out a few extra nanoseconds on a terminal used to piss away your free time! I’ve got a good mind to put you in one of the other Lifepods and blast your ass to Chiron so you can join up with your fellow adventurers and run around singing ‘kumbaya’! What do you say to that, officer?”

Jeremy continued staring forward, his face and eyes red. “I will comply with whatever orders the Commander deems prudent.”

Ramirez stormed off in a huff quickly shaking his head from side to side as if in disbelief. He walked the length of the room in silence then suddenly spun around and addressed Jeremy again. “You’re in a bad place, officer. Command reps are going to have to be informed of this and Garland’s breathing down my neck. He’s expecting me to serve up a scapegoat to use for the inevitable press inquiries.”

Jeremy continued staring forward but felt the blood drain from his body at Ramirez’s statement. So much for that high paying cush job he expected to be awarded to him when he got home.

Ramirez began slowly walking back to Jeremy’s position, head down, hands absently fumbling with the PDP. He stopped directly in front of his engineer, looked up and stared at him for a long moment. Finally he said, “You’re extremely fortunate you’re not the goat.”

He raised the PDP and pressed a control. The voice of Dr. McKibben reverberated throughout Jeremy’s quarters:

“I would like to state for the record that Engineering Officer Nixon had absolutely no prior knowledge of my and Dr. Mitra’s plan to jury-rig Lifepod Two in order to land on the surface of Chiron nor was he in any way complicit in the execution of said plan. His only fault was his failure to follow proper terminal procedures combined with a penchant for mild boasting regarding his engineering abilities. Both allowed us easy access to his computations on Lifeboat modifications. Dr. Mitra and I would like to express our sincere apologies to Officer Nixon. He is a fine and gifted officer, as this transmssion from the surface of Chiron clearly demonstrates.”

Ramirez stopped the recording and handed the PDP back to Emmons. Jeremy stood unsteadily, eyes blinking rapidly as his mind spun.

“Our two scientists took enough portable oxygen with them to last about a week,” Emmons said. “But they’re obviously going to need more. I’m in the process of scraping up enough oxygen containers to last them another two months but we’re going to have to use another Lifepod to drop it down to them. I’ll need you to make that happen.”

Officer Myers spoke next. “Officer Cook here is working on a probe modifcation that will allow us to directly communicate with Dr. McKibben on the surface. As you’ve just heard, she’s managed to find a way to send us one-way audio which means she’s probably scavenged some old tech from one of the bases. This probe modification should enable us to get a proper two-way transmission going.”

“Give me another twelve hours and I’ll have it working,” Callum said. “I’ll need you to look over the probe schematics, Officer Nixon, to make sure we don’t cause an overload when Dr. McKibben attaches this thing I’m working on. We only have so many Lifepods to send down to her.”

Jeremy could do little but look completely stupefied as the officers talked while Ramirez stood close by watching Jeremy with a measured eye. When the officers were done Jeremy turned to Ramirez, eyebrows raised and mouth silently opening and closing as he tried to process what had just taken place.

“S-Sir,” he finally stammered out. “Does this mean that the charges against me are dropped?”

“That’s going to depend on you, Jeremy.” Ramirez said with a trace of graveness in his voice. “With Garland’s help I think we can put a positive spin on this incident but only if you don’t screw up like this again. That means if those scientists wind up dying on that planet the bullseye will be right back on you.” Ramirez took a step closer to Jeremy.

“And on me too, officer.” he said menacingly. “I’m ultimately responsible for everything that happens on this ship. So you better continue to pull miracles out of your butt in order to keep them alive down there. Because if you don’t, I’ll pull your ass under the steamroller with me. Do I make myself quite clear?”

Jeremy nodded quickly, determined. “You’ll have my best, sir.”

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.

Day 643
(Three days later)

Dr. Rhona McKibben pulled her breathing mask down and rested it under her chin as she took another bite of the large pear.  Back home, she wasn’t particularly fond of the fruit but these Gaian hybrids had infused everything with enhanced flavor.  While exploring the remnants of this Gaian base she had discovered some personal notes made by a Gaian genetic scientist who was well on the way to altering the taste of certain foods to make them more palatable for the allergic or for the particularly picky.  If one was allergic to the higher acidity of apples, for example, but craved them nonetheless then one could try a genetically altered bananna or watermelon with an apple taste.

Even after three somewhat taxing days on Chiron, Rhona continued to be impressed by the ingenuity of the Unity survivors as they endeavored to survive on this alien world.  Technology and culture had, of course, taken some very interesting twists as it evolved over a century after planetfall.  But it was the incredible, almost furious, pace of genetic manipulation on Chiron that would leave all of Ganymede’s crew, and eventually everyone on Earth, quite stunned.  Compared to Earth, little on Chiron seemed to be off limits - seeds, plants, soil, skin, organs, children - all were given equal amounts of consideration and experimentation.  And while unchecked genetic manipulation had been seriously curtailed and strictly regulated for decades on Earth, Rhona felt there would be few back home would judge the Unity survivors harshly.  Despite occasional lapses into the god complex, an inevitable consequence of such unbridaled research, most genetic experimentation had been geared toward the betterment of society.  The frenzied pace of genetic experimentation was, quite simply, necessary in order to survive on this alien world.

Munching on her pear, eyes playing over her surroundings, Rhona walked a few yards further into the massive Gaian greenhouse.  The half-acre greenhouse contained a cornucopia of fruit trees, vegetable gardens, tropical plants, several Earthpines and other foliage she couldn’t recognize.  Rhona could tell this greenhouse had once been a fabulous and even asthetically pleasing ecosystem.  Now, after years of neglect, the entire house had grown wild, the foliage growth accelerated by Chiron’s nitrogen rich soil.  The Earthpines had broken through several glass ceiling panes.  Berry vines were growing untamed up the inside walls and along ground.  Where the massive trees allowed light to peek through, grasses grew thick and lush as they battled for dominance over the vegetable gardens.  The whole scene was eerily primeval.  And, she admitted, quite beautiful even in its apparent chaos.

She glanced back to where Koushik still slept about thirty yards away in a clearing at the edge of the greenhouse, light glinting off the large tropical leaves he had used to form his makeshift mattress.  He and Rhona did find a small sleeping area in a corner of the greenhouse complete with a handful of large padded benches, but Koushik had insisted sleeping on the ground.  She didn’t blame him.  Being cooped up on a sterlile, metallic starship for over four years would probably make anyone want to be that close to actual ground.  The feel of soft, squishy ground underneath her feet left Rhona feeling a tranquility she hadn’t experienced for a long time.

Rhona suddenly began to smile as an intense euphoria overcame her.  Her widening smile then flared into a spate of giggling.  She tossed her head back as her mind swam in a brief dizziness, eyes drooping and smile ever present.  Then, in a merciful brief moment of clarity.

Too much nitrogen. Have to put my mask back on.

She quickly dropped the pear and both hands fumbled to reapply her breathing mask.  Kneeling down to steady herself, she took a half dozen deep breaths and the narcosis quickly dissipated.  Rhona slowly stood up again as her head cleared and her wits finally returned.

A few more minutes of that and I would have died a happy woman.  She turned around to see Koushik sleeping peacefully in his leafy paradise.  And a lot of help you would have been.

Rhona walked further into the overgrown greenhouse forest occasionally running a hand along the side of a tree or rubbing odd shaped leaves between her fingers, experiencing the texture.  It was becoming more humid the further she ventured into the overgrowth but Rhona didn’t mind it much.  It was good to feel something other than merely comfortable as was life aboard Ganymede.

Rhona immediately stopped walking.  Something had changed.  She slowly spun around in place focusing on everything around her.  The forest appeared to be the same except that it felt more menacing as if had grown slightly as to loom over her.  Rhona’s logical mind deduced that, of course, the forest was still the same.  Just moments ago she had been experiencing contentment.  Why would the nature of the forest change in the blink of an eye?  Still the feeling was there.  She took a step back.
What felt like warm liquid dripping from her nose caused her to stop her backwards trek.  She pulled the breathing mask from her face and looked down into it.  Blood.  Her blood.

Oh, my God.  What’s happening?  Anxiety began to overtake her.

Rhona again looked all around her.  The forest was moving.  She could see it now.  It was trying to close in on her.  Trying to devour her.  But why?  What did I do?

She spun around and began to run back toward the clearing where Koushik was sleeping.  Except now there was no clearing.  There was only more forest. And now it was beginning to moan...a low, grating, primeval sound, otherworldly and menacing.  Rhona’s breathing became more rapid as she began to panic.

She tried to scream Koushik’s name but her tongue shot from her mouth the moment she opened it.  It quickly grew longer and longer, whipping about her head and around her body like a pressured water hose.  Rhona’s eyes were now wide in crazed shock.  She tried to grasp her tongue as it whipped around her but her hands had turned into heavy bloody stumps which began to swell in front of her eyes, puss intermittently squirting from them.

Rhona was out of her mind now.  She fell to the ground writhing in agony as the skin on her face began to boil and fall away in chunks of mangled flesh.  Her stomach began to swell as her internal organs began to cook inside of her.  The forest was now completely on top of her, its moans growing into a steady wail then a high pitched shrieking which drowned out her own.

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

The Search

“I’ve looked all over, Captain.  I simply cannot find her!”  Koushik’s voice was warbly and punctuated with occasional static but there was no mistaking the distress in his voice.  They had just gotten the surface to ship voice communication working the day before, a minor miracle that was completely overshadowed by the sobering conversation taking place now.

“Now is not the time to panic, Dr. Mitra.”  Ramirez's face was stern, his voice low and steady.  “ I need you clear-headed and thinking.  Now, when was the last time you saw her?”

Due to the makeshift method of their communication there was a five second time delay before Koushik’s answer reached Ramirez.  “It was about five hours ago.  Dr. McKibben and I had been trying to activate the monitoring computers to this greenhouse for the better part of the day.  We were unsuccessful.  We finally decided to call it a day, get some sleep, and try again tomorrow.  We have been sleeping in shifts, three hours at a time.  It was - supposed to be for mutual protection, though I honestly cannot say from what.  We haven’t seen any evidence of -”

“Never mind that, doctor.” Ramirez interrupted, though the time delay meant the Koushik was still talking through his reply.  “Let’s try to focus on Dr. McKibben, please?”  At that moment, officers Jeremy, Coo k, and Emmons entered Ramirez’s quarters their faces grave with concern.  Ramirez didn’t meet their gaze but instead held up a hand to forstall any questions as he concentrated on his conversation with Koushik.

After a pause, Koushik warbling transmission continued.  “Yes, of course, Captain.  My apologies.  I believe Dr. McKibben may have entered the greenhouse forest while I slept.  I don’t know how long she remained in there but I doubt it was very long.”

“And how would you know that?” Ramirez asked.

“Because I discovered freshly eaten fruit discarded about forty meters or so inside the forest.  A pear, to be exact.”  Ramirez blinked at Koushik’s statement.  Rhona hated pears.  It was the only fruit she refused to eat.

“I went into the as deep as I dared,” Koushik continued.  “The forest is much too thick, Captain, and too dark.  I could only proceed about eighty meters before I was forced to turn back.”

Koushik stopped to give Ramirez time for a reply.  Conversing in this way was becoming maddening.  “Is there any possibility she could be in another part of the base?  Perhaps a shaft or a crawlspace she could have entered and gotten trapped inside of?”

“Impossible, Captain.  We have limited our explorations to the greenhouse and its environs.  There are no lower levels to speak of, no mines or shafts of any type.  Our probes have confirmed it.  Everything is above ground here.  I cannot say that about the main base itself but, as stated, we have not ventured that far.”

Callum waved his arm to get Ramirez’s attention.  When he looked up Callum was quitely mouthing the word “oxygen”.  Ramirez nodded, then spoke into the transmitter.  “Doctor, is it possible Dr. McKibben could have run out of oxygen?  Either in the forest or outside the greenhosue?”

“I don’t believe so, Captain.  Dr. McKibben was very strict with our oxygen usage.  We’ve kept our exertions to a minimum so as to not use up our supplies faster.  According to the canister count, Dr. McKibben had an oxygen tank and a breathing mask with her but I have been unable to find any trace of them.  And I see no reason why she would purposely discard her oxygen.  Breathing Chiron’s atmosphere will cause benign side effects after about ten minutes.  But a half an hour of exposure will lead to certain death.  If Dr. McKibben is to be found her oxygen canister will surely be with her.”

“She’ll be found, doctor.  I can promise you that.  Because we’re not leaving this system until we do.”

“I will keep looking for her, Captain.  I’m convinced she hasn’t gone far.  It’s simply not possible.”

Ramirez nodded but part of him was still not convinced.  “I want updates every hour even if you haven’t found anything.”

“Understood, Captain.  Mitra out.”

Ramirez broke the link, then rested his arms and head on the desk.  The three officers stood in silence watching their captain with a mixture of empathy and impatience.  A moment later he raised his head from the desk, still refusing to look them in the eye.

“I want every probe on Chiron sent to Dr. Mitra’s location,” he said in a grave voice.  “All of them.  Now.”

The officers stirred uncomfortably for a moment, each man not wanting to be the one to remind the captain that he was commiting a violation of mission guidelines.

Emmons was the first one to speak.  He cleared his throat before beginning. “Captain, with all respects, is it wise to send all the probes to that location?  In my opinion, sir, we could easily do the job with half that number.”

Ramirez continued to stare off into the distance during his reply. “I don’t want half that number.  I want them all in that location.”

Emmons opened his mouth to speak again but hesitated.  He nervously glanced to his right, eyes imploring one of the other officers to jump in and contribute.

“Sir,” Callum chimed in, “six of our probes aren’t anywhere close to Koushik’s location.  They aren’t even on the same continent.”

“Then they need to get moving.”

“Sir," Jeremy said carefully, still mindful of his role in the present circumstances "as the engineer I feel its my duty to remind you those probes aren’t designed for that kinda trip.  They got a hundred kilometer radius from their point of touchdown at best.  Those probes would have  t’cross several hundred kilometers of open water to get there.”

Ramirez inclined his head and set his jaw.  He remained silent, his features becoming darker.

Jeremy swallowed before continuing. “The probes only have a six hour charge, and they can’t recharge while they’re runnin'.  They have to stop, recharge, then move on.  If they can’t make the trip in six hours, then they’ll lose power and drop into the sea.”

Ramirez slowly turned a steely gaze toward the officers as he spoke. “I don’t care if only one makes it across I want them all moving to the main continent.  And I wanted them moving two minutes ago.”

The officers stood before their captain in an uneasy silence.  They wanted to find Dr. McKibben as much as Ramirez.  McKibben’s and Koushik’s unauthorized trip to the surface was a cross only they were going to bear.  But Ramirez’s decision to usurp the entire purpose of the probe mission would not only blacken his record it would also stain those of the officers that worked under him.

“Sir,” Emmons said, his voice becoming serious, “we can execute your order effectively with the probes on the main continent.  There is no need to jeopardize the safety of the other six.  If we lose them, which we most likely will,” -  he paused to let the comment hang - “then we will have sacrificed six incredibly expensive pieces of hardware for no purpose at all.”

Ramirez slammed both of his hands down on the desk with such speed and force the officers felt a shockwave of air on their faces.  Ramirez rose slowly from his chair like an angry tidal wave ready to swamp them all, glowering at all three men.  “One of our crew has gone missing and you tell me there is no purpose for such a decision?  How about you communicate your opinion to Dr. McKibben’s family when we get back and see if they agree with your sentiments, Officer Emmons.  Personally, I would wonder until the day I die why Ganymede’s captain didn’t crash land his whole damn ship on the surface to try and get her back.”

“Her family knew the risks, sir.” Emmons said evenly. “All of our families do.”

Ramirez exhaled slowly before answering. “This whole mission went off the rails the moment Dr. Mitra and Officer Cook stumbled upon that Unity anomaly.  As far as I’m concered, we began flying by the seat of our pants at that point.  We’ve gotten more out of this mission than any of us ever thought we’d get, more than Command thought we would get, more than our entire race thought we would get.  We’re done researching.  Our mission has been accomplished.  Those probes have done their job for king and country and now they’re going to help us find a missing crewman.  All the probes.  And don’t any of you think I wouldn’t do the same thing if one of you were lost down there.”

His gaze passed between the three men before gently sitting back down in his chair. “Let’s be frank, gentlemen.  Most of us volunteered for this mission because we knew it could very well be our last one.  After this, we could retire and live our lives any way we wanted, basking in the admiration of our peers.  Well, we’ve got that and then some.  Besides, Command has already informed me of my mandatory retirement after I get back.  My career is basically over.”  Ramirez managed a chuckle.  “I guess Garland thinks he’s doing me a favor.”

The officers balked and traded quick glances at one another.  This was the first they had heard of it.  Ramirez felt the tiniest bit of gratitude as he watched their dumbfounded expressions.  They didn’t want to see the “old man” go out like that.  And, to a lesser extent, the revelation was a tactical strike designed to silence any more grumbling about his decision.

“So let’s get those probes moving, gentlemen,” he finished.  “Dismissed.”

All three men saluted and began walking out.  Emmons and Jeremy quickly exited but Callum stopped just before he crossed the threshold.  He took a step back and touched the door control, closing it.  He turned and walked purposefully back to stand before Ramirez, arms rigidly at his side.

“Permission to speak, sir.”

Ramirez leaned back. “Granted.”

Callum relaxed and folded his hands behind his back. He took a moment to gather his thoughts.  “Sir, I just wanted you to know - I just wanted to say that I have complete faith in Koushik.  He won’t stop looking for Dr. McKibben.  He’s one of the most tenacious men I’ve ever met.  Once he gets to work on a problem he doesn’t stop until he has the answer.  If youever need someone down there to look for Dr. McKibben, he's your man.”

Ramirez smiled.  “Thank you, officer.  Dr. Mitra is nothing if not inspiring.”  He glanced down a moment. “Off the record, Callum, what do you think happened down there?  To Dr. McKibben?”

Callum made a face and shook his head.  “I honestly can’t say.  Dr. McKibben is right about one thing though.  There are still a lot of things we don’t know about Chiron and one of those unknowns may be the reason she disappeared.”

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.

By the way.  I, Smegma, am now Poindexter.  The name was kinda distasteful and gross.  Apologies to the gentleman who gave me kudos because of my old name.

What thats it no more why!???

 

Yes, there is more...well, there WILL be more eventually.  I've just continued it on www.fanfiction.net.    

 

I decided I should finish it there as it's actually not yet into the "meat" of the GalCiv2 universe, per se.  Still working on the back story. 

 

Here's a direct link if any of you guys/gals want to continue along with the story.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4161812/1/Centauri_Arrival_Rediscovering_the_Past

 

I haven't updated it for a few weeks (working 2 jobs now) but am still writing it.  The story updates will just be coming a little slower.

 

Thanks to all of you who have read and enjoyed the story so far.  I honestly never expected it to become as long as it is now.

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!”

The next chapter has been posted at www.fanfiction.net in the Games - Alpha Centauri section.

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

 

I had to stop in this story to remind everyone that nitrogen is the main element in Earths air not oxygen.  Also nitrogen is a huge help in plant health.

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!

Hey everyone,

 

A new chapter (finally!) has been uploaded at fanfiction.net

 

Chapter 20: A New World