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"Every 3600 the two planets are in their closest proximal orbits, which continues for 200 to 400 years. At these times, they return to the Earth with new experiments and technologies to test on the humanoids left from the old mining operations. The strongest victims resisted the trances that enabled the abductions; but their minds were no longer controllable. Their brains had mutated and evolved to a higher level. These humans were either killed or kept aboard for further study. Some were sterilized and transported to other planets to work mines. Whatever their fate, they could not be permitted to breed with the normal populous and contaminate future generations.

However, the humans whose minds had not yet mutated to the higher level could still be controlled. They were returned to their homes after the abductions - with their memories shrouded with bizarre images and tales of alien abduction."

* Lord Kelnor Din, "Legacy of the Obolids"

* Chronicles of the Visitor; 2382 TS

CHAPTER IV

Just below the residential quads on were the areas of general commerce and recreation for the Star Cities. Shop keepers, beauticians, barbers, restaurants, theaters, museums and art galleries provided products, services and activities to the populace. The Star Cities and Auxi Stations ran on a twenty-four hour basis; each shift and job duty for every inhabitant was accommodated.

Though all citizens were not required to "work", most found the act of developing expertise in a chosen craft or field to be a satisfying and rewarding pastime. Whether it was creating a new line of seductive lingerie, performing in a play, nursing lilies in the sewers or teaching tomorrow's generations the values of the past, satisfaction was achieved by thriving to be the best.

After the Great Migration, the first migrants determined that concepts of economic gain and cash incentives were the factors most destructive to social health. These concepts embraced the idea that perpetual conflict provided normal, healthy and necessary inspiration for continuous growth, stability and social survival. Wealth vs. poverty, control vs. free will, and power vs. vulnerability, were all life conflicts and considered natural and unavoidable. Work incentive preyed on basic greed and survival attitudes, and economist fed into it by declaring that people would not be willing to perform distasteful duties if no monetary reward was gained. "If there were no monetary system, the world would be reduced to chaos. Who would collect garbage; sweep streets, or clean public toilets? Our cities would collapse from filth and decay."

Children were taught the value of money at an early age, given weekly allowances to save in their piggy banks or to buy a new toy. The work ethic was more firmly implanted by the educational systems with a quarterly report card: "A" for the acceptable child - "D" for the dumb ones. Acceptable children were the most productive and offered greater monetary gains to an economically driven society; but the dumb children offered no value to society. Parents validated the ethic by paying more money for the higher grades.

When money no longer determined the accessibility of food and shelter, clothing, health care and mental diversion, the pursuit of wealth and the social corruption it inspired eventually disappeared from everyday life. Theft of goods and services is impossible when everything is free. Consequently, crimes associated with wealth and power were eliminated by structuring and entirely new set of social values in the Terra System.

However, the mentally disturbed and antisocial criminals still had to be dealt with. Most fit into two basic categories that were determined by the crimes they committed. The simply dysfunctional because of organic instability and congenital deformations were returned to society once these problems were determined and solved. Others were too disturbed to return. Finding pleasure in sadistic practices, they would spend their entire lives restrained on the Mental Barge.

The ECOS rebels did not seem to fit into either of the typical categories. They weren't dysfunctional or antisocial; they weren't even particularly dangerous. Their only crimes revolved around the colonization of the planet, which was an activity expressly forbidden for over 2300 years. Still, captured rebels refused to answer questions or communicate motives in any way. What little was known had been obtained through covert activity and undercover investigations.

"I don't get it," John was saying as he ushered Neila through the congested commerce area to a favorite restaurant. He led her to a vacant table in a quiet corner and held the chair for her to sit in. "Look at this place," he continued saying, "we have everything we want and need right here. Why would anybody want to leave? From all I've read about life on Earth, we've got it a thousand times better out here. What motive could anybody have to return to that kind of life?"

Before she could respond, a tall lanky waiter dressed in white coveralls with a bright orange sash peeking out from under a short black vest with long tuxedo tails had trotted up to their table. He bowed graciously and spoke with a heavy French accent. "Good evening, Commander Decker. It is always good to see you and your lovely mademoiselle, and a pleasure to serve you," he smiled broadly.

"Hello, Henri, it's good to see you again, too. I saw the seafood shuttle coming in from City IV this afternoon. I hope Ramon has a good supply of oysters."

"An excellent supply, Masseur. The oyster beds were most productive this year. Much larger and meatier than any of the previous shipments," he said, slipping a tiny sea green disk into a slot in table edge. The tabletop suddenly sprang into life as holographic images of the entree selection emerged and rotated clockwise in front of them. Henri described every dish with the eloquent expertise of the true connoisseur. John ordered the oysters in a half shell, the scampi and a seafood salad plates with a sweet Chardonnay to wash it all down. Henri entered the selections onto the disk and removed it. "Excellent selection," he said, repeating the broad smile and elegant bow. Then he scurried off to the next table.

Neila picked up the conversation where John had left it, saying, "I can't imagine where this sudden interest in Earth came from. No one ever questioned the rationales of planet quarantine before ECOS made it an issue. Was there anything on the shuttle to give you a clue?"

Before answering, he scanned the faces of patrons in the restaurant, then shook his head. "No, not really. Mostly stuff they took from stores a while back. Weapons, antiques from the museum, nothing we didn't know about."

"Antiques?"

"Yeah, you know, shovels, picks, hammers, saws, that kind of stuff. Some old literature on logging and architecture, cookbooks, pharmacology, medical procedures..."

"Everything one would need to set up housekeeping on a deserted planet," she surmised.

"I guess. You'd know more about that than I would."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you were there. Isn't that what your research was about?"

"Not hardly. It was about planet recovery after our ancestors killed it. The regeneration of life in general. How species have evolved and adapted to the new environment. I don't know anything about setting up camp. Besides, I seem to remember a certain tall, skinny lieutenant chasing me around down there. Didn't you have any kind of survival training as a cadet?"

"Not with the stuff they had. Survival on Earth wasn't considered an option. We were rigged to survive in space until a rescue team found us. If you made it through the entry you were on your own."

The waiter returned to the table carrying the entrees on a huge silver platter he was balancing high over his head with his left hand. A tripod was wedged in his right armpit, and a towel was draped over the forearm. In his right hand, he carried the tall wine bottle, two stemmed crystal glasses and a candlestick. In one smooth and graceful motion he managed to set up the tripod and the tray, wrap the bottle in the towel and pour precisely one ounce of wine into a glass for John to taste. When John nodded his approval he the glasses and set the bottle and the candlestick in the center of the table and served the entrees. "You're in excellent form tonight, Henri," John complimented.

"Oh, thank you for noticing, Mossier. I have taken up ballet and discovered it to be a great asset," he told him. He finished arranging the entrees on the table, snapped up the tray and tripod, bowed and left them alone to enjoy their meal.

"He sure gets a kick out of making a fuss, don't he," John snickered as he shook out his napkin and placed it on his knee. Then he took a hefty swig of the wine and stabbed at a melon ball.

Neila set an enormous oyster shell on the side of her plate, scooped out the meat and dipped it into the buttery wine sauce before popping the whole thing into her mouth. She shut her eyes and savored the flavor of the slimy mussel, then washed it down with a sip of wine. "Oh, I just remembered something I've been meaning to ask you," she said, searching for another oyster. "What ever happened to that big red headed sergeant who was with us on the excursion?"

"You mean my good buddy, Ray Pierce?"

"Yes, that was his name. I thought I might run into him sooner or later, but I haven't seen him at all. I remember he was such a character. Always making me laugh at the strangest times. Especially when he would tease you when you were trying so hard to impress me." She swished her fork the sauce to stir the seasonings up from the bottom and popped the drippy thing into her mouth. "I really liked him."

"You would. He just loved watching you hang me out to dry," he snorted through a mouthful of scampi. "He put in for a transfer a few years back. Said he needed a change."

"Really. What's he doing now?"

"Kicking grunts on the Mental Barge."

"What?"

"He's the drill instructor for their security recruits. Training Sergeant. You know."

"Wow. That really is a change. I should have thought he'd want something a little more exciting than that. He seemed so gung-ho military." She served herself the salad, scooped some of the scampi onto her emptied oyster shells, and ladled some of the sauce over the whole thing.

"Yeah, it sort of surprised everybody," he said, watching her drip the sauce over her food. "There was some nasty talk about some kind of reprimand; but it wasn't. He just wanted out for a while." Just as she was about to slip a shrimp in her mouth, John reached out, snatched her wrist and slid the bite into his own.

"Oh, ya big bully. Get your own," she scolded.

"Yours tastes better." He dipped an oyster into the sauce and fed it to her with a kiss. "See?" She nodded and kissed him back. "By the way, did you know three of your colleagues are part of the ECOS movement?" he asked, and shoved a dark green sea pod into his mouth. "They're locked up on the Barge with the others."

"Three of my colleagues?"

"Yeah, I recognized them from the excavation. William Fields, Sarah Tanner and Joe Thompson."

"Joe Thompson," she repeated the words. "I can't believe he would risk so much voluntarily. He was much too dedicated to the project. We thought he would be the head of research after Professor Harris. He even headed up the project. His leadership ability and organizational skills were truly a gift."

"I'll say. He led the raid on the monition stores. He stayed so the rest could get away. That's when we got him. I wouldn't mind having him on my team."

"He was never afraid to do whatever was necessary. I just can't believe he'd be a willing part of this."

"Maybe not; but they couldn't have recruited a better man. What about the others?"

"I never knew Sarah very well. She was very aloof and a bit stand offish. Didn't try to make friends. Will was technical back up. A programmer. He was good, like Henri. We depended on him to keep things working or make it work better. I remember we needed a scanner to penetrate deeper in the soil for a better reading. He tore the whole thing apart and rebuilt it. When he gave it back, the thing was giving us a deep core analysis. Will was good. Very good. I think he and Sarah may have had a thing going on for each other for a while. I found them together once and she blushed bright red."

"What did she do?"

"Labor, mostly. Sterilization, clean up, an extra pair of hands, that sort of thing. Nothing technical, though."

"Was she any good at it?"

"I guess she was okay. I didn't need her much. I never heard anybody complain."

"A leader, a wizard and a worker. Three important components in any revolution. Arthur, Merlin and Guinevere."

"I suppose. None of them seems the revolutionary type. Joe and Will were to committed to their work, and though Sarah might follow a lover to gain his favor, I can easily doubt it would be more than that." Her meal finished, she sipped at the glass of Chardonnay. "I've been thinking about something Max said about the terminal shutting down right when that shuttle would be making it get away. You know, if TCS hadn't alerted us and ECOS had successfully launched, that terminal is the only thing that would have picked up the unauthorized vessel in that sector. I would have ignored it. I have no way of knowing if a flight plan is authorized without the computer."

"I know. It's bothering me, too. Do you think a technical wizard could have rigged something, or programmed it without anybody catching on?"

"I couldn't say. But Max seems convinced nobody could."

"What about that sphere? Where would he build something like that? Higgins said it was bigger than his Halberd. There aren't a whole lot of placed to hide something that size. It would take an entire hanger bay."

"We would know if a hanger was out of commission. I can't shake the idea that it's all connected, somehow. It's just too convenient for it to be a coincidence. There must be something we're missing. Some way to get at the truth."

"If you're suggesting we try infiltrating with undercover teams you can forget it. It's already been tried. The group is too tight, too well organized. They spotted out agents as soon as we picked them. Thing is, I don't think anybody really knows anything, except whoever the genius is that's calling the shots. I'm not real sure anybody knows who that is. Nothing's written down. Messages are personal and verbal. The couriers can't tell us were they came from or who they're going to. Everything's anonymous."

"Then how do they know about the agents?"

"We never found out. The whole operation just moved off to a new location whenever we got to close. The only ones that show up at the old location are the agents. Then, nothing. No messages, no new location, no mistakes. It has to be the most sophisticated conspiracy since Operation Noah."

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