ODIN'S WAR

MUSIC’s Revenge

It had been ten long years since Spurion had successfully eliminated the older generation and established himself as the supreme commander of the I C.C.E. Empire in Argentina. Blake Williams, the grandson of ‘George’ the revolutionary was by this time firmly involved in the network. He had been removed from his family not long after his grandfather’s ‘disappearance’ and had been earmarked for special service in the new military fore set up by Spurion to ’remove the possibility of future revolution and to preserve life from such atrocities as those perpetrated by the organization of Umms, called MUSIC.”

Blake pulled his long, tall frame up onto his feet. The snow stuck to his clothing in little flakes. He surveyed the camp where his fellows-in-arms sat about, taking their ’rest in a frozen wasteland somewhere in what was once southern Canada, no longer inhabited, completely abandoned after the day of Death. Such out of the way places on the crippled. planet were now used for mock stun wars, which Spurion and his pseudo opponent Baspierre enacted in order to amuse and entertain themselves, as well as to provide a convenient outlet for some of the more vigorous of the rapidly growing population. Neither leader of the two halves of the surviving Earth found it enjoyable in a peaceful world. On one hand, the natural vigor of both men at times appeared to exceed their judgmental powers of mind and heart, while on the other hand, each possessed a lust for power that never seemed to be satiated with gain, and raged in frustration with every loss. Such fires are seldom quenched; it seems, in those born powerful, at least, in their person and natures. In the deathless world of stun warfare, the barbarity raged for an eternity, or so it seemed to the dreary ‘foot soldier’, who tramped for years in barren and lonely lands, imbued with a sense of alienation from his leaders by his own insignificance in the game, and his inability to understand the desires of the powerful.

“You don’t rest enough, Blake.” A curly headed man came up and put his hand on his shoulder. “You’ve taken a heavy stun dosage this past month.“”

“Can’t rest, Kevin. I feel like I’m dyin’ every time I lie down for more than a few hours.”

“You don’t lie down much. Not even after a full stun.”

“I don’t like that feeling of being dead, or empty,” Blake retorted, “not while I’m really still alive and kickin’ with a lot of things to get done.” He walked across the camp, his feet crunching down the frozen snow. Kevin followed along. “Besides,” he continued, “I have to figure out how we’re going to take objective seventeen.”

Blake had demonstrated a great talent for tactical planning as well as being famous for his inordinate strength in resisting stun blasts, and had therefore been placed in command of this entire company of men, resting about the icy camp, which was on a mission to capture the chief base of the Australian complex in the northern hemisphere. The war had continued for nearly a decade, with neither side winning appreciable gains. Prior to the Day of Death, the I.C.C.E. scientists had managed to launch quite a number of satellites which were easily converted into stun weapons, capable of knocking down as many as 100 men at a time from high up above the earth’s atmosphere. Most of the world’s satellites had beets in fact destroyed by the superpowers in efforts designed to sabotage the communications and coordination systems of the opponent, but because of the apparent commercial intent of the companies in launching their own, the IC.C.E. satellites survived, and shortly after MUSIC was successfully quashed, they were altered to suit the stun war games of Spurion and Baspierre. If Blake’s company were to be located by the enemy, their whereabouts would be relayed to the nearest available satellite, which would then spray stun blasts into the coordinate, stunning all or most of the men for approximately 30 minutes. This necessitated an immediate approach by the enemy and an effort to bind and secure the men before they regained consciousness. Finally, the captives were marched to the nearest internment camp, where they were kept on a minimal ration of food and in conditions which met all basic physical requirements for survival. They were released only if recaptured by their comrades via a direct assault, fought out with hand stuns and tactics.

This is exactly what Blake’s present objective was. If he could capture objective 17, several thousand of Spurion’s men would be released and he would regain much of what they had lost earlier to Baspierre and the Australian complex. This was very critical to Spurion, since all negotiations between the two complexes hinged upon the progress of the ‘war’. For every five thousand enemy soldiers stunned and interned, one archangel was allowed to sit for the victor on the council Board of Angelic Harmony, and add his or her vote to all decisions enacted “in the Name of God and His prophet Hollow.”

Presently Spurion needed several votes to regain a majority he had held for the first 5 years of the War. Baspierre, however, was taking great delight the last few years in his consistent majority on the Board of Angelic Harmony, since he was able to solicit goods and services from Spurion in addition to having the final say in matters of ’religion”; Consequently, he was extremely meticulous in guarding his internment camps. Despite his care, however, the genius and extraordinary vigor of Spurion’s best soldier, BlakeWilliams, had led to several recent gains for him, and this objective was to be the biggest ‘coup’ in years. It would result in three more votes on the I.C.C.E, Board, and one more than Baspierre. Even though the Board was allowed to exist only by the mutual agreement of Spurion and Baspierre, neither warlord wanted it removed, even to gain more power, because without the Board between them, the entire system had a potential to degenerate to chaos. The people were now well in check, brainwashed into their religious observances. Yet there were so who knew that the I.C.C.E religion was entirely false, but who declined to act because of their fear, and because they still remembered the days before the Blast When all unity was disrupted, and chaos ruled the earth. The regimes of Baspierre and Spurion were so controlled and organized. So all supported the system as the tangible unity in a dissected whole, which was linked with the religion of Hollow Hollow.

This was not to say, however, that certain clandestine operations did not exist, or that both warlords were honest in their tactics. There were occasional instances when the stun satellites were tampered with to up the dosage. There were also spies who attempted to discover the maneuvers of the ‘enemy’. There even “stun assassins” who attempted to incapacitate key leaders, or even members of the Angelic Board at Key decision making times.

For Spurion and Baspierre, it was all a fascinating game, complete with intrigue, “Murder,” “War”, and all the trappings of a real global conflict.

Most important of all, each was a glutton, feeding on the surge of power provided by the manipulation and destruction of the mind, heart, and souls of thousands of people.

Soon the camp was busy with activity, as the few hundred men checked their stuns, provisions, shields, and protective suits. Blake and his Brother assistant, Kevin, moved through the camp, surveying the situation and directing the marching orders. When the men were assembled and ready to go, he walked in front of them and called their attention, as they stood in their all white protective suits knee deep in the snow.

“Are you ready?” he shouted at them.

“Hell, Yeah!” they shouted back in unison.

“Good,” he said, “Now this is what we’re going to do today.” He began to pace back and forth, occasionally pausing to stare at them, his huge frame dwarfing even the larger men in his company.

“You will march fifty miles east, where there is “the Plain of Hopelessness”. It is a highly contaminated area, so Baspierre’s forces won’t be looking for us there. You will use the tools you are packing with you to set up the camp which you have been trained to do, within five hours after we arrive, in order to avoid severe illness and radiation exposure. Inside our camp, we will commence treatment, for all those who suffer. After that, you will get further plans from me. Remember, you have to be tough to do this, and you can count on a lot of hard work. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been picked as the strongest company in the army. You may all get special honors and treatment’ if you are successful, but better yet you’ll have a lot of pride. Damn well deserved, too. Do you all get my drift?”

“Hell, Yeah!” came the cheery shout.

“All right.” Blake nodded to Kevin, who gave the orders to march, and the company moved out at a steady pace. Vehicles were not used outside the home continent, except for long distance or intercontinental travel.

The groups at war in the North American and Asian continents were extraordinarily trained in the fashion of the Roman Legionnaire of many centuries ago.

Physical strength and endurance were prized above all else, and some units were trained to cover three or four hundred miles a week. Supplies were air dropped at regular intervals, and communications were carried on in code, and relayed through the satellites.

The men marched on. Blake and Kevin marched just to one side of the column, and near the middle.

“Have you heard from Karen?” Kevin asked Blake.

“Yes,” said Blake calmly. “She misses:* me. It must be ages since I last saw her now.”

“I really don’t understand how you can think so much of her, Blake,” said Kevin, “We are supposed to love many.”

“I can’t’ help the way ′ I feel,” said Blake. “Hollow preached exactly what you say, but he also preached a constant love of fulfillment. I think he was confused.”

Kevin was shocked Hollow Hollow? Confused? Sometimes I am sure you are really quite mad.”

41 always need to find something I don’t understand”, said Blake, “Otherwise I’m just tired of everything.”

“Why don’t you understand her?” asked Kevin.

“She seems to place myself against something inside of me that I can’t understand, or withhold from my actions.

Kevin shook his head in disbelief, “Well, we all trust your judgment in stun warfare, anyway.

They marched a few hours on into the cold before taking a rest.

When the men stopped, they simply lay down in the snow and slept, while Blake and a few others kept watch. None seemed really afraid of being suddenly stunned from above, but rested easily after their first leg of L long, forced march. After all, most of them had been stunned and interned before. Some of them had even been stunned as many as seven or eight times. Usually, a soldier was forced to retire after five stuns, because the more times a man is stunned, the greater chance there is of brain damage. Blake had never been stunned into unconsciousness though he had been directly hit many times. He was one of a few people who were extraordinarily strong, perhaps because of his size, and who resisted the blasts successfully. He had been interned, however, since sometimes hand to hand combat was used to subdue opponents. A type of wrestling was usually used to subdue those who could not be stunned, which disallowed any severe physical injury. “We’re going to explore the perimeter,” said Blake to his guards, “The rest of you,” He nodded to the five remaining, “Watch and wait here.”

The three started out to look for Australian patrols, just as a light snow began to float down through the crispy cold air. They made a circuit about thirty yards around the camp. About half way around, Blake noticed a thin trail of smoke several hundred yards off in the distance.

“Let’s make a little-reconnaissance venture, “Blake said to his two companions. “Make sure you’re silent. You two approach from this side, and I’ll swing wide. If there’s any bad luck, the surviving party gets back to the company as quickly as possible. Otherwise, we’ll meet back at the camp in fifteen minutes.”

They split up, Blake going at a quick pace around to the left, the other 2 moving more slowly and directly ahead.

Picking his way around lumps of snow and parts d of the grey nukescape that protruded harshly in contrast to the light flaky snow, Blake soon lost sight of the other two. His brisk pace and long legs carried him quickly and silently to where the enemy camp was. Peering from behind an exceptionally large grey mass, he could see that a small reconnaissance party of five was having a meal, over a very old fashioned campfire, apparently built from coil, and bricks. The fire was struggling more than it should. and the carelessness of the group, which should have had a smokeless fire, caused Blake to shake his head. “I shouldn’t have any trouble with these characters,” he muttered to himself as he checked his two stuns. He was the only man in the company who could manage two stuns accurately. The stun beam from a hand held gun was only about a half inch in diameter, and had to strike in the trunk of the body, neck, or head to render the victim unconscious. “Yeah, okay,” said Blake regaining some control of himself. He looked at the two men.

“Yer eyes are deep red,” said the second man.

“They aren’t in focus, either,” said Blake,” Let’s get these men tied up and head back to camp for help. We’ve got to hurry, and get on our way. The men ought a’ be ready to get hoofin’ it again.”

The two men bound up the five unconscious victims while Blake made a last attempt to unscramble his brains. Sometimes the pain alone was enough to put a victim under if the shock of the stun did not. Most people didn’t resist the pain, but preferred to go to sleep. Blake was a different case. He fought it off with a passion, not only because he knew that his men needed him, but for another reason he couldn’t quite place.

“Let’s go,” he said, suddenly showing a sign of regained strength, “Triple time.” The three ran swiftly back to the camp, where the news of the successful attack and Blake’s courageous though characteristically foolhardy action was loudly cheered. Blake’s men admired him almost as a sideshow, it seemed. Few seemed to understand such bravery in a world of mock battles and seemingly inconsequential objectives. Yet they nonetheless admired their tall, powerful “cap’n” who pulled for values of his own, and in turn, gave them a little pride in a world where they all felt a little like slaves fighting against their brothers in a world of deathless pain. The column resumed march almost immediately after the captives were secured and sent back with a small patrol to the nearest camp. The long white line was hardly discernible as it rhythmically inched its way through the snow and wound around the occasional large grey boulders where the nukescape protruded above the snow. Blake hoped that they wouldn’t be spotted before they reached the high level radioactive zone where they would set up camp, and avoid detection in an otherwise uninhabitable area. Blake had some doubts about the success of the radiation elimination screen that Marcus, chief scientist of the empire, ha d designed, but the success of the mission was well worth the risk.

At least, this is what Spurion had told Blake. It seems there was an ’extremely valuable entourage”, that Spurion needed to solicit by way of the board of Angelic Harmony, and the majority vote he would receive as a result of this enterprise, would enable Spurion to “Prise the entourage from the unworthy hands of Baspierre”. Yet Blake had heard through the grapevine, a series of informed insiders that seemed to plague the government with gossip that -often was more obscene and viscous than the subject of their rumors, that Baspierre managed to assemble a ‘harem’ of sorts that included an incredible variety of surviving exotic women. This was reportedly what Spurion wanted to solicit the services through the board, as an act of personal insult to Baspierre, whose degenerate behavior Spurion, wished to be known throughout I.C.C.E. Spurion, himself had little use for the women. He seemed to spend little time with them, preferring the company of assorted dwarfs and mutants that were produced during the nuclear blast. Yet again, there was great suspicion that since such mutants rarely lived more than a few years, and since Spurion had an ever abundant supply and variety of them, that Marcus was manufacturing them as court : jesters from the existing population by the way of radiation experimentation. The idea was horrible, and therefore widely disbelieved. Yet Spurion, controlled all press, all video broadcasts, and all clandestine and police operations. Blake could think of at least two children that had been reported as lost on the nukescape, though it seemed highly unlikely that they would have remained still unfound.

Still, Blake and his fellow officers did not think much of the matter. They were soldiers, and their allegiance was to the existing order of things. Besides, Spurion had conducted an intense brain washing session for all his officers, heavily laced with the religion of the empire, and the insuperable morality of the martyr Hollow Hollow, whose name rang in the back of Blake’s head from his early childhood. In the final place, the thought of a worldwide destruction of man and his order such as occurred in the blast, was terrifying beyond imagination. Most preferred, even desired, the simple, calculated existence provided by Spurion and the ‘religion’.

After nearly two more hours of hard marching through the snow the company was entering the zone of radiation. The men were getting tired, but Blake was happy to know they reached their destination without being detected. He enjoyed the tiredness, the fatigue, which made him more aware of his existence. Shouting the orders to halt the march, he had them face him directly.

“Are you all tired?” he shouted.

“Hell yeah!” came the answer.

“Are YOU ready to pitch camp?”

“Hell, yeah!” came the response, louder than the first time. “Then unpack, and get to it. You have seventy five minutes to have a radiation free camp. You are the only ones in the army who can do it. If you don’t, then you’ll probably be dead.”

The men had been trained a long time for this, and they moved with vigor, even though their muscles had gone rubbery from the march and a sweat was rolling off their chins despite the frigid air. Their captain moved from spot to spot encouraging them and checking their work. Kevin was at his side, offering advice and recording the progress. Shortly after the hour, the plastic structure was fully erected, and the entire company was inside.

“Everyone who is not involved in the radiation elimination operation, sit in concentric circles in the middle of the building!” Blake shouted to his men. In less than a minute, all three hundred men were seated Indian style in the center. Blake, Kevin, and two other men worked busily to set up the radiation elimination device. It was a spider like device with a small oval body and several mechanical legs. The men watched as the chief engineer manipulated the small control board. Soon a low whirr began to come from the machine. Blake checked his watch. Sixty five minutes had elapsed, and it took about eight minutes for the device to neutralize all radiation inside the tent, according to Marcus’s calculations. Two minutes to spare.

“It’s done.” said Blake. The men cheered, making Blake’s skin tingle. He was glad they were proud. Suddenly his eyes blurred and he felt a sickness in his stomach. He placed his hand on Kevin’s shoulder.

“Time to rest, Kevin,” he said with a hesitation in his voice. He mustered some strength.

“Company, at ease!” he shouted, though not with great confidence, and he walked to his personally prepared cubicle while leaning on Kevin’s shoulder, as the men broke up and milled about the ‘tent’, talking and relaxing from the long and difficult day.

Soon, however, it became apparent that several of the men were suffering from a touch of radiation sickness. They walked about as though they were delirious, clutching their stomachs. The company doctor saw to each of them, determining the seriousness of the condition. When he had prepared his report, and was sure that the situation was not severe, he went to Blake’s cubicle to report. When he walked into the small chamber, Blake was lying on a cot, and Kevin sat beside him on a stool. The white haired, small, and slightly built ‘medicine man’ knew that Blake was ill, and that he had been reacting in an adverse way to the high dosage of stun rays he had received.

“The men will be all right in a few hours, sir” he addressed Blake, who now opened his eyes.

“But I’m not sure how well you’ll be, from the looks of you.” “I’m fine,” said Blake, “Just fatigued.”

“Still, I think I’ll have a good look at you. You’re too valuable.”

“Too valuable?” said Blake, “What value do I have that you know of?” “More value than a lot of other people I-think of,” said the doctor, “But look, you have to relax just for a moment” The doctor checked Blake’s pulse, his eyes, and made a quick rundown of a checklist he had prepared from previous checkups. He shook his head and looked down at the tall man, whose face was slightly drawn in and whose deep lines in the forehead suggested a man in his early forties, while in reality, he was much younger. Blake had known for a long time that he was ageing at an abnormally rapid rate, but he always bore it with a sense of committal and maturity that did in fact seem to fit his ageing face.

“I believe,” said the doctor, “that it is the stuns that are ageing you. You’ve taken more stun than anyone alive.”

“That’s because they don’t knock me down,” said Blake, “I’m tough, and so I go back out and get hit again and again.” The simple minded approach masked the unpleasantness of the feeling of a man who had lost his youth before he had had a chance to fully reap the benefits of it. Blake had emptiness worse than that which was already implanted by the society which stressed the actions of youth and ignored the dying.

“You’re going to have to retire,” said the doctor, “before the next year, if you...”he stopped. “If you don’t want to be a very old man.”

“That’s all right,” said Blake, “you know I like my work. There’s not too much else to do back home, except to see Karen. Besides, stopping this game’s not easy. I think I’d rather---die.

“You will,” said Kevin, “But not for a long time. Let’s go, Doc.” The 2 left Blake to rest up for the important engagement to be made at dawn with the 15,000 prisoners of war and a camp full of deadening but deathless stuns.

Several miles from the temporary pioneer camp where Blake and Kevin rested with their men, lay to prison camp, otherwise known as an ‘internment center’, where some 15,000 men were held. The complex consisted primarily of one large circular structure very similar to a huge doughnut, several hundred feet high and nearly a half mile in diameter. It had a streamlined appearance, and a nearly bright silver hue. The whole building was nestled comfortably in the Canadian snows, and caught the gleam of the sun occasionally so that it resembled a finely polished silver ring. Upon closer inspection the complex could be seen to be separated into well concealed segments, each able to pull apart from the other, to slowly widen the ring in order to accommodate new segments to increase the capacity of the facility. A force field disallowed any chance of stun satellites penetrating from above.

Inside the ring, there was a yard in which were located 12 cubicles, one for each section, which stood as towers for the purpose of observing the inmates. This was possible since the entire inner face of the circle was made of unbreakable glass, so that not a single activity, even of the most private nature, could be enacted without the knowledge of the guards in the towers. This, however, was not a great shock to the ‘residents’, as they were called, since privacy in general was not common in the heavenly society, and since many of them.* had been interned several times before, actually living in such complexes more than they had lived their entire lives outside. For some reason, those that had been stunned more than once or twice seldom seemed to go long without being stunned several times over, though they were sometimes released shortly after they were captured.

One particular inmate or resident, Frederick Johanson, had been stunned, interned, and released no less than 7 times. No one was quite sure how it was that whenever he was ‘rescued’, whatever unit he was reassigned too invariably became either engaged in heavily fought confrontations, or were discovered and flattened by the roving enemy satellites above.

Because of his misfortune, however, Johanson was given a fairly wide berth by the rest of the residents, who considered him both unlucky and a bit strange as well. He never seemed to have himself composed or together, but was afflicted by various mannerisms such as turning his head in sharp jerks to the left as though he were being slapped. Many of the residents had similar nervous twitches, perhaps due to the cumulative effect of the stun rays on the nervous system, combined with the rather debilitating living conditions. But they were less noticeable, in the others, and usually controllable in some degree. It was actually the few times when Johanson’s head didn’t move, and a person could look directly into his eyes, that he was most unnerving.

In fact, when he looked straight forward at whomever he was facing, the other person was nearly always compelled to turn their head away to one side or the other, in order to avoid his penetrating gaze.

In some ways, he didn’t mind the social ostracization, since he was allowed a room to himself, unlike any of the others. This pseudo-privacy encouraged him to devise ways of disguising his actions from the guards in the tower, who made frequent visits to his room in order to inspect and check his behavior. He enjoyed these little inspections, since it gave him a queer sense of dignity, and he chided the guards when they came to his room, saying things like “Ha! You again? Why don’t you sit down? Have some tea! Well, well, I don’t suppose you have the heart to do it. No! No! Don’t touch that!! Get away from there!” He usually spoke in a tone similar to that used when chastising a cat or a dog.

The guards themselves weren’t very thrilled with the inspections. They couldn’t threaten Johanson, since it was illegal to inflict any corporal punishment to the prisoners.

The complex was reasonably comfortable, and contained some facilities for recreation such as video games, pool, and indoor track, which consisted of corridor running the complete circuit of the complex. Competitions were encouraged and hotly contested and though many did not participate, track was the only sport encouraged by the I.C.C.E. government since it was nonviolent, and though it provided great excitement, involving strategy, strength, and willpower, it did not “relate to the primitive instincts of violence and malicious destruction such as typify the Umms.”

The best runners of various complexes were sometimes allowed to compete against each other, primarily for the entertainment of Spurion, Baspierre, and the Archangels. Crowds were discouraged, since competition “exited the primitive instincts of the masses to dangerous proportions, threatening the heavenly, peaceful composure of the population.”

Included in the daily routine of the residents was a Lecture delivered by the complex Minister. On the day before the planned attack by Blake Williams and his company, the unsuspecting and unknowing guards and residents were gathered in one of several halls for the usual service, which was to be broadcast on a screen from the complex in his own private studio. Shortly after everyone was settled and prepared to watch, the preacher came on, an elderly, weak faced man. He began reading from a sheaf of notes.

Johanson had been banned from all such broadcast assemblies, because he nearly always disrupted the Lecture by standing in front of the screen and shouting obscenities, so he was usually in his room every day at this time. However, today, he had something else on his mind. He had discovered a way through the security in the running track, and had jogged conveniently over to where the broadcasting room was located. Slipping quietly through a door and down a short corridor, he saw the door to the broadcast room. His eyes grew as he saw that it was unguarded. Apparently the guard simply had left for a moment to go somewhere. Nor were the guards watching from the tower opposite this particular section of the complex, since they were at the ‘Lecture’. Johanson opened the door, entered the room very quietly, and walked silently across the floor to where the preacher was giving his Lecture in front of a video camera, run by another man. Neither seemed to notice the presence of Johnson.

Making his way quietly around the room, he reached a position near the cameraman. Suddenly he lept up, grabbed the man around the throat, and wrestled him to the floor. In a brief moment Johanson had knocked him senseless, having caught him completely unawares. The ‘preacher’ stood up in front of the camera with a look of panic on his face. He bolted to the door, and ran out. Johanson quickly stepped over and locked the door. Meanwhile, the trapped audiences throughout the large complex were being treated to a series of confusing pictures and sounds. Soon, however, Johanson’s crazed face appeared in place of the ’preacher’s″. At first, everyone was shocked, including the guards, who could hardly leave such large numbers of prisoners unattended, while there was confusion over who was to get to the station and stop Johanson.

This confusion, and the locked door, offered Johanson a few short minutes of ‘broadcast’ time.

“Everyone!” he began with a tone of authority. “I have something to say. You know I suffer. Why should I? I am in pain constantly. I have been stunned a number of times, my nervous system is poisoned. But I have no desire. I have no desire!” He began to shout. “They have killed me, but they won’t let me die. They won’t let me kill, but I fight for life and death? No, I have stopped fighting. They can shoot me, and I will be in pain and my brain spaghetti, but I don’t die, so I don’t care, I spit at them all!” He spat aside to the floor. “They have taken my life over and over again, and mock my death each time by locking me in a glass cage!”

At this point, guards began knocking down the door behind Johanson, who began screaming.

“I deserve the right to die! I deserve the right to kill! A man who is all but dead must be allowed to die! To be killed!”

Suddenly, the door crashed in behind him, and he whirled around with a large steel extension, apparently used to mount a camera. He struck the first guard through the door in the side of the head, splitting his skull open before he could get out his stun, the second guard drew but could not fire in time and the extension again came crashing down and knocked him senseless. Johanson leapt out into the hall and began screaming “Kill!” and “Die!” The captive audience watched it all in dumb horror on the huge screen where the usually dull and boring preacher sat and lulled them to sleep. They could not believe what was happening, remaining silent but enthralled as Johanson cracked the heads of the guards and blood flowed. The total perversity of Johanson’s words in a ‘deathless’ world made soul biting impact on them, and when they were adjourned and escorted by the nervous guards backs to their compartments, there was a low rumble of voices and the exited shuffling of feet. Many pairs of eyes exchanged glances which were filled with fear, but also an excitement of a most unusual and disturbing kind, as they were all secured in their chambers and once again submitted to the penetrating scrutiny of the guards, safely back in their towers. Johanson had apparently been beaten into submission at last and returned to his ‘private’ chamber to sleep off his latest fit of brutal madness.

The following morning, all the prisoners were asleep as the sun just came onto the horizon. They generally preferred to sleep through much of the morning, since no place in the world followed the limits of the natural day. Time was kept by a computer in the Australian complex, and checked by a second computer in the complex. It was absolutely consistent, and all around the earth it was fairly easy to be quite exact about the time. Yet no one knew exactly what the ‘standard’ was only that it did not correspond with the day or night, month or year.

Everyone was told that it was not ‘natural’ time, which was quite obvious, but that it was Divine. The heartbeat of Christ had been figured from the New Testament, and calculated forward over the thousands of years by the computers, and registered by ‘ticks’ and ‘beats’. Ticks were one motion of the heart, beats were one hundred. The accomplishment of computer science and critical/literal study of the Bible had long amazed and baffled the minds of the people. There were some, however, who were sure that it was not really the heartbeat of Christ which dictated the life of the planet, but instead one or the other of the living heartbeats of the pair of divine right despots, who waged their games between themselves as pure pleasure and diversion, while in reality, they were united in a common agreement to preserve their own law, power, and the satisfaction of their passions. Blake and Kevin agreed to move at dawn for two reasons. The first was, of course, that the camp, ‘objective 17’, would be mostly asleep, if not all, since the guards were poorly disciplined, and unmotivated. The second was that the air was unusually, sharp and clear, with the rising sun casting an optimistic, spirited atmosphere across the nukescape. Blake’s unit lived on its spirit, and its admiration for their leader. Otherwise, they would be like the other units and lack morale and drive.

The unit began pulling down their survival shelter which had been such a rousing success for them. The sun n was not yet up as they made the last packing arrangements and began to fall into traveling order. Blake confronted them, and ordered them to attention.

’Very good.” He walked down the line. “You have been first rate. We now have about one hour before we leave this radiation zone, and another two hours to objective 17. You have been inactive for the last 18 “hours, so you had better have a lot of energy. The sun will be up and well into the sky by the time we arrive.

I want you to watch it while it goes up, out of the corner of your eye. Think of it as on your side. Those you’re going to confront„ don’t know what it is. They don’t know what it means to rise like the sun, to sit at the top of the world like the sun, or even to set in peace like the sun. We’re going to know what it’s like to do all three, before we split up and today we’re on the rise. All right, let’s move out.” He waved to Kevin, who gave the orders, and the unit filed out at a fast pace in the still grey dawn.

Sure enough, about the time they were out of the radiation zone, the sun was just lifting itself off the horizon, a quiet red ball above the carpet of snow. The crispness of the air gripped the heavy wrinkles in Blake’s cheeks and forehead. Droplets of water formed on top of the snow, and d reflected the sun in tiny glimmering red rays. Blake knew his men were not fighting for Spurion, and neither was he. These were soldiers, fighting because that’s what they were, and they needed self-respect and pride for what they were doing, at least in the fulfillment of their obligation. This was achieved more or less by most soldiers in the stun war, though few possessed a spirit so detached from the rest of the organization. Blake’s unit fought for themselves, but allowed I.C.C.E. to set up the rules of the game and the targets. They usually operated far off in the field, where they contacted the organization chiefly through Blake and Kevin, who dictated to them the course of action. Neither Blake nor Kevin had any love for I.C.C.E., and in fact, Blake had a disturbing feeling about Spurion, similar to that engendered by a phonograph needle that is scraped across a spinning record.

Blake turned to wait for Kevin, who was marching near the rear. When he came up, he walked beside him.

“Do you think they’re ready?” he asked Kevin.

“Yes”, came the reply! “Absolutely. We went over the plan of attack several times in the radiation zone camp.”

“What about their Morale?” “They worship you,” said Kevin. “But they are beginning to have doubts about I.C.C.E.”

“Neither one is really what I want, sighed Blake.” But if they fight well, and we win, that is what’s important.”

“What is really important?” asked Kevin. “Certainly not another vote for Spurion on the angelic board of harmony. He says it is the board which fulfills the will of God, but I am sure it is just his own desire.”

“Kevin”, said Blake, “without him, there is no order. We must make do with him.”

“If there were no war, what would you do?! asked Kevin. “And you too?” Blake e responded.

They marched on, as Blake moved up to the front once more. They reached the huge doughnut shaped internment camp just ahead of schedule. A squad of men led by Blake moved stealthily up to one of the segments. They were camouflaged in their white suits, blending in with the snow perfectly. The main group waited back behind a large hump of nukescape and snow, with Kevin in command.

The men with Blake reached the wall undetected. Two of them carried a small box between them, which was to act as a jamming device for the alarm systems. Having successfully started the device, they next began to cut into the metal with a special touch, trying to find the wires which triggered the outside door to that side of the ‘ring’. When they had finished cutting however,

they could not find the wires, and were baffled as to what to do next.

Suddenly, they heard something just above them. They looked up at the face of Johanson, smiling broadly. He was leaning out the door.

“Ha!” he exclaimed “Caught you!” Blake raised his stun.

“Wait!” Johanson shouted, “I’m one of you! They’re asleep in the tower, but not me! I don’t sleep, hardly ever. Here’s a rope.” He dropped a rope over the side to the astonished men below. “Come on up for a visit!” Blake nodded to the first man, who quickly climbed the rope, making his way like a cat up along the silvery side of the prison. The rest followed, with Blake last. Once inside, Blake was in hurry.

“Where’s the engine room?” he asked Johanson.

“Engine room?” Johanson was surprised. “There isn’t one This isn’t a ship!”

“For the separation of the links, to add more. Surely you’ve seen it done.”

“Ah, yes, I have. But I don’t know how they do it.”

“Well, we’ll look where we were told. Let’s go, men.”

They left Johanson who turned to the tower in the yard. “You sleeping blubber brains!” he shouted at them, though they could not hear him. “you’ve blown it! They’ve got you now! aha! ha!”

Blake and his men moved through the corridor into the next section, and went down a flight of stairs to a lower level. There was, unfortunately, a guard awake in the tower across from this new section, and spotting the intruders, he immediately rang the alarm and awoke his comrades. A high pitched howl rose and fell around the ears of Blake and his men as they raced down the steps to the bottom of the section. When they stepped onto the floor below, two men began firing stuns at them, striking the man next to Blake, and the wall behind him. Blake and two more of his men drew and blasted the guards senseless; They raced down the hall to where the engine room was supposed to be in their plans. “Yes,” thought Blake, “Here it is.” He hurriedly placed a bit of putty on the lock, lit a short fuse, and backed away. Meanwhile several more guards appeared in the hall, and everyone was dazzled by the extremely bright stun rays as they glanced about the silvery corridor in all directions and from both sides. Shortly, a small explosion blew the door open, and Blake and three of this men rushed inside and blocked the door, leaving two others stunned outside. Blake rushed to a panel, looking much like a large fuse box on one wall of the small room. He opened it with a tiny lock pick. and searched the board for the proper switches. He pulled four of them, and then looked about the room.

“Hurry cap’n!” shouted one of his men. “There’s too many of them!” The guards outside were battering the door, and it seemed that the three could hold out hardly a second longer, even with a large steel box against the door that they had dragged over.

At that moment, Blake spotted a square glass case bolted to a table along the back of the room. He rushed over, and smashed it with his stun, sending glass flying about the room. Exposed was a large red button marked “Facility Separation.” He pressed it just as the door came bursting open.

Everyone was hit by a rumble and a shake like a powerful earthquake, as a warning siren went. off. Most of the men in the room fell to the floor. Blake, however had been prepared, and standing his ground, he shot the guards as they spilled into the room.

“Get to your feet!” he shouted to his 3 men, who responded immediately, as the shaking of the building slowed considerably. A guard who had escaped Blake’s barrage as he entered shot Blake full in the chest. Blake fell to the floor, as one of his men stunned the guard, and the other two dispatched the remaining few as they scrambled to their .feet.

“Captain!” said one, running to Blake’s side. He was not completely unconscious, but as close as he could be to it. His eyes were open, but there was nothing behind them. His men helped him over to the nearest wall, where they set him up against it.

Suddenly a loud shriek was heard out in the hall. Two of the men rushed out to see what it was. There at the edge of the section, was Johanson, who had apparently come down to see what all the action was. As the huge sections were rumbling apart, the connecting walls had mechanically folded in, and one side had caught and crushed him at the waist as he dove for safety. He writhed, clawing the air with his arms and turning back to see where his legs were caught by the descending wall. He screamed only for a few moments before he passed into permanent unconsciousness in a pool of blood.

Outside, the remaining majority of Blake’s men watched the huge complex separate as the sections rolled apart at a uniform rate. the loud rumbling sound and the massive moving walls provided a fantastic spectacle.

“Move in!” shouted Kevin, and they split up into several squads, each choosing a different gap and side of the structure as they penetrated the center of the complex. The guards stayed in their towers for a moment, firing from above, but soon realized that they were trapped by Blake’s men who began battering their way in at the base with explosives. Suddenly, one tower lit up in rocket fire, about one half of the way up, and the top half of the tower slowly lifted up into the L. air. The commander of the facility and a large part of the guard was escaping. The remaining towers however did not move, and soon mini battles were being fought in each building. But they did not last long, as the prisoners poured out into the center, and the situation was hopeless.

Meanwhile, Kevin sought out Blake, finding him still in a state of semi-consciousness in the engine room, where his three men had stayed to protect him, though no more guards came after the complex had begun separating.

“Is he all right?” asked Kevin.

“I think so, sir,” replied one. “He’s been stunned again. This time he’s more out than in.”

“He needs some rest.” said Kevin, “and I know he’s going to get it now. Spurion is going to be very pleased.”

Blake slowly shook his head and drew his back straighter against the wall. He mumbled something.

“Force. . . force. . . field” he groaned.

Kevin knew what he meant. The force field had been let down in order to separate the building. “Yes, I know,” he responded, “Which switch do I Pull?”

“All four” said Blake. “Fuse box.”

Kevin looked about the room. “Over there, sir,” said the soldier who had spoken before, pointing to the box on the wall. Kevin went over and switched the field back on, thus finally insuring the safety and success of their mission.

“We’ve done it!” he exclaimed. “Now we just have to get back to Argentina with about 16,000 people. I’ll contact Spurion and see if we can get a ship. You!” he nodded to the man who had shown him the fuse box. “What’s your name?”

“Sargent Fitzgerald,” came the reply.

“You’re a lieutenant now. Go outside and regroup the men. Cap’n Williams is a casualty and needs rest. I suspect he’ll be headed home very soon. The men may want to prepare a celebration for him. You other two go with Fitzgerald.”

“Yes sir” they said, and all three left.

Kevin went to the fallen ‘capn’. “We’ve got it” he said to him. “You can rest now.” Blake looked up, still dizzy. “I am resting!”

Later, there was a gathering of soldiers and prisoners outside in the center area between the towers. Blake was nearly recovered, and as nightfall and cold was fast approaching, he ordered a bonfire built in the center. The ex-prisoners sat in rows around the center, and on the roofs of the recently rejoined ring. Blake and Kevin stood on the center tower, with his men on the others, surrounding him in a circle. The fire burned with tremendous heat, but the facility was completely fire proof, and could not be damaged by heat.

Blake spoke with a seriousness of tone that demanded absolute attention.

“Those of you who know me, are well aware of what I mean by spirit, courage, pride.” he began. :“The rest of you may know, but you are now going to hear of it from me.” He paused for a moment, collecting his energy and his thoughts.

“You all realize by now that we are living in a world which is almost entirely controlled. We can’t kill, nor can we be killed, at least not on purpose. We don’t pick our principles. Spurion, Baspierre and the board of Angelic Harmony decide on what we are supposed to do. Yet we do have our own strength and will to fight, and we can stun and win for our side, whichever it may be. My men have fought for themselves, for me, and their honor well. None can equal their record.

But what are they, if they don’t believe in me? What are they, if their honor has no purpose, no meaning? They are like lost souls, yet they fight bravely. There are many who sense hopelessness in their situation, and live as though they are merely waiting for the death to come which has been forbidden them. Yet we know that none of us really wants death. When a man .was killed, just during the last attack, we were all horrified.

I, for one, will not soon forget the sight Of pain on a man’s face who has just been torn in half. Nor will anyone else who saw it.”

Yet we know we must die. No one has been able to discover the secret to the power of life, or the power of death, and we are slaves to both. Dying is hard for all, but hardest for those who have not lived. Life is worth living because of our principles, our feelings, our accomplishments, and our fellow humans. To founder in a sea of ignorance, immorality, and a senseless dream world of noncommittal is indeed to drown. We are dead before the pain even begins.

But there is always hope. And faith. We of the post day of death age have been committed to a religion. This religion states that we cannot kill, and disallows any chance, except by calculated plot or with our bare hands. It also calls us to a man who was God, who died to give us eternal life with Him in heaven. Do you remember this? Or: do you think that a man called Hollow Hollow created paradise, which is the State, and that this is all there is? You rotted in an obscene prison.

You don’t care if you are stunned again, and again, only so there’s the least amount of pain. You children are taken from you and programmed against you. Where is your Paradise?

I’ll tell you. It is in the kingdom of God.

Eternal life is in the hand of God, and we can all hope to rest with Him. If we live our lives with His purpose, we will be worthy. We will have our children; we will have life and freedom.

At this time, I see we have two purposes. One is in this world, and the other is of heaven. We must change our world for the sake of God, and for our own sake. Our faith will save our lives, and our lives will save our faith.

Now, we have only to wait here. We are to hold this position until further notice, which I believe may be several weeks. I have to be back at headquarters, so Captain Kevin Williams will be in charge. I trust you will all think carefully of what I have said.

The room was small but luxuriously and exotically furnished. Deep purple and black seemed to hang heavy on the drapes, the chairs, and lamps. Spurion preferred a small enclosed place to relax and think in, and the bizarre color scheme generally put his guests in an uneasy mood, as though they were trapped in the lair of some kind of odd beast. This pleased Spurion.

His present guest was a somewhat elderly but handsome woman, whom he had kept close to him since the revolt twenty years ago. Marie Hollow had proved to be a cautious and patient woman, working her way into a position nearly equal to that of her dead and martyred husband, though she possessed subtle powers which were more difficult to assess. Her elegant manner was deeply enhanced by a pair of intelligent but tender eyes that disarmed all but the most heartless. Nor did she compromise herself for the likes of Spurion, who was presently attempting to persuade her to accept a new post.

“Come now, my illustrious lady,” Spurion began, “surely you would not turn down a chance to become the first female Archangel. It would suit you so well.”

“I have no desire to be a crooked pawn for you,” she responded. “But you know how the people love and respect you, like the sickly sheep they are. You would enjoy their adoration.” Spurion leaned back into his purple chair.

“But they respect me now, as First minister of Religion. Most of them think very little of your archangels, because you control them like wooden headed puppets. You would have no chance with me.” She smiled darkly.

“On the contrary,” said Spurion, “You are still my subject, and I have, shall we say, ‘divine right’ over you.”

“Earthly might, perhaps. Your cruelty is never confused with holiness.”

“Nonetheless, it is most effective.” Spurion picked up a pot which contained an exotically spiced tea, containing a slight trace of opium. “Would you care for some tea?” he asked, smiling.

“No thank you,” came the firm reply, “It suits you far better than it does me.”

Spurion needed a ‘sedative’ of sorts, to calm his nerves, mangled by attempts on his life, and his increasingly degenerate life style. Taking a sip of the tea, Spurion stared coldly at Marie. “Then you are absolutely refusing?”

“Perhaps.” she replied. “How do you know a position on the board will be open?”

“I was informed just a few hours ago that objective 17 was taken, and the necessary 5,000 men captured. I have three days to name a new archangel, after which we will have a vote on my latest proposal.” “Which is?” asked Marie.

“That the ladies of Candufair are given to me to serve in my court.” Marie looked at him with disgust, and shook her head. “I don’t know why. You are passionless, and have no use for a woman, let alone the most beautiful and exotic harem in the world.”

“Yes that is true,” said Spurion, “I am only occasionally amused by such women, and a vote on the angelic board on the surface seems to have better use. But Baspierre has been intolerably haughty. lately, and he loves his harem. The frustration he suffers will be most enjoyable, and his humiliation more than satisfying.”

Marie looked into the eyes of the fiendish man. Or the manish fiend, she thought to herself. Still, she did not drop her eyes, or shift her position at her chair. “I will need two days to decide” she told him plainly. “I have much to think about and my schedule has disallowed me any time to myself lately.”

“It is all to your advantage to accept,” said Spurion, “since it will 1 give you additional prestige and power.”

“But I will still be subject to you, even more so than now.” she replied.

“You know I would never harm you” smiled Spurion.

“You wouldn’t if I didn’t cross you. But how can I trust a man who is ultimately selfish, as you yourself have said you are.”

Spurion got up from his chair and began to pace about the room, as he always did when he was about to philosophize. “There are many theoretical points of reference in the human mind, and we must choose one by which we orient our being.

Of these ‘centers’ or reference points, there are basically two kinds: internal and external. The internal consist of mind, soul, body, spirit, and so on. The external consist of Nature, God, or symbols of a god or gods. The existence of the internal is proved by the existence of the self. The existence of the external can only be understood in relation to the self. I know that I am, and it is I who projects the images outside of myself. There is a God, but He exists because I allow Him to. I do not allow God to be destroyed, because His power is useful to me. He does a lot of things for me, as I want Him to. Likewise, the emanations of myself, the emotions, exist because I will it to be so. I have love because I desire it. Love is the principle which is closest to me so that sometimes it is difficult to distinguish the difference. In a sense, I am Love.”

“And you are God,” replied Marie softly after a short silence. “What about hate?” she then asked.

“Hate is within me as well,” said Spurion coldly, “It is as pure and true as love. That which is against myself, I hate, and seek to destroy.”

“You don’t make sense,” said Marie. “You say there is a God, but you control Him. You say that you have love, but love is yourself. Hate, I believe, really is inside you.” Spurion glared at her. “But, you cannot have love by yourself,” she continued, “Nor can you have God and be alone, because He is outside you, and within you. God brings love, and it is with love that you find Him.” Spurion looked at her and shook his head. “You are suffering from an illusion, like many bright people,” he said. “I wish you could be saved from it. It would better your condition.” “Spurion, you cannot know joy without the touch or smile of a loved one. The exchange of a mutual love will always bring greater things than yourself alone.

“I love,” said Spurion, “and I am tender.”

“You are deceitful and false, because you share nothing. You take like a rapist, as you want nothing but satisfaction in return.

“So? what do you claim there is?” snapped Spurion changing his mood from pensive to aggressive.

“You probably will never know,” she said, “and haven’t known either since the death of my husband. . . .” she turned her head to: stare at the wall.

“Your husband was weak,” said Spurion. “He thought that because people were naive and fell for his good looks and flowery speech that he was right. But he wasn’t.”

“If he were not right,” said Marie, “I would not be here, at least not in anywhere near the same capacity.”

“Ridiculous,” coughed Spurion.

Marie glared at him. “You haven’t the power to break my spirit.” she said in a measured tone. He looked her in the eye, but did not reply. She continued, “There is nothing you can do to hurt me, because my faith, my love, and my sustenance are all in God, but you have nothing but an ageing body, a slowing mind, and a hate which drives you, but without control.”

Spurion was stunned. He stared blankly for a moment, and then exploded. He kicked the chair which he had been leaning on to the floor and bellowed, “Get out! Get out you wench! You will bow to me, and you will suffer!” He kicked the chair again as Marie left the room without a sound. As she walked down the corridor she could faintly hear him shouting, and objects shattering in rapid succession.

Marie returned to her room with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had not dared in the past to fully speak her mind to Spurion, preferring to use a more subtle approach. Yet the thought of becoming a crooked pawn for him on the Board of Angelic Harmony was repulsive. Her position as head of Religion, and successor to her husband, was a far more suitable position to operate from. Now she was to expect a vicious retaliation by Spurion which may leave her in no capacity to engage in any activity whatsoever. Such was his brutal method in dealing with insubordination.

After the two guards closed her door and locked it, the silence was a great unseen. pressure on her skull, her eyes and ears. The realization that years of work and subtle maneuvering for an influence may end in a brutal punishment and no doubt humiliation was a nerve crushing weight. She stood for several minutes in shock, staring at the wall.

She suddenly shook her head and rubbed her reddening eyes with the realization that she did have something that she must do. She turned and moved to her bedside, kneeling slowly and deliberately, clasping her hands together, she bowed her head and pressed her forehead gently against them. She tried hard to clear her mind, to seek and inner calm which she knew lay within her, but was unable to bring forth. She was disturbed when a knock came at the door. Gathering herself to her feet, she responded. “Come in.” she said flatly.

The locks came off, the door opened, and in came a pretty young maid, dressed in a green body tight suit. Turning back, she smiled at the guards who had been staring at her from behind as she walked. They shut the doors, but no lock was fastened.

“Hello,” said the girl, “I have come to discuss an alternative for you.” “You will have no more success than Spurion at persuading me to do anything I don’t believe in.”

“You misunderstand me,” smiled the girl, “I am not speaking for Spurion or ICCE. Marie was confused.

“But who? What?” I don’t understand.”

“Surely you remember Music, the wise old souls of the long ago?” said the girl.

“Yes, but,” stammered Marie, “He, I mean, they, are dead.”

The girl smiled “No MUSIC is not dead, and they would like to have you as their guest this evening.”

Marie was thinking quickly, trying to assess the situation.

“If you would like to leave with me, we can find our way to their little ‘home’ by this evening.”

“How are we going to get by the guards?” asked Marie. “I am certain Spurion himself will be here before too long.”

“That is the easiest part” the girl said simply. “Look.” She swung open the unlocked door. The guards weren’t in sight.

“Come with me,” she said, walking out the door. Marie followed and around the corner, she discovered the two guards unconscious and drugged on the floor.

“They were foolish” said the girl. “By the way, my name is Lana.”

“I am very pleased to meet you,” said Marie, following Lana down the corridor with a lively step. On their way, they passed several more unconscious guards. They were just about to enter the parking structure for sonic cars, when they heard Spurion’s voice down the corridor.

“That hateful wench is going to know pain for the first time in her life! I think I’ll break her bones with my bare hands! Yes! That well be a pleasure I can’t resist!”

Lana and Marie quickly and quietly slipped through the automatic door into the parking structure, and ran low between the docked sonic cars. Lana went to a small blue bubbled car and they climbed in, as Lana started it up. They slowly backed up, and then zipped out into the late afternoon sun, unhindered and unseen.

“We have to transfer to a more suitable vehicle,” said Lana, after riding for several miles off the road on a dirt track. The sonic car they now entered apparently had been parked off the beaten path in anticipation of their arrival. They quickly switched to the new car and continued their journey. They stopped shortly in the middle of a huge barren field. Lana pressed a button near the steering wheel of the car. A low humming ensued and slowly, to the astonishment of Marie, something began to rise out of the ground in front of them. TA was much larger than the sonic car. It rose like a large square stone about 20 feet above the nukescape, and 20 feet wide. Soon a door slid up electronically, and 2 men in space suits with helmets waved them forward. Lana drove into the opening, as the door closed behind them. The ‘elevator’ was lighted, and Marie watched the men curiously as they sank slowly down into a shaft for a few hundred feet. They stopped, and another door slid up in front of them. The guards opened the side doors of the car, and Lana and Marie stepped out. Looking ahead, Marie could see down a long low corridor. A group of several men were approaching.

In front was an elderly man whom Marie thought she recognized. “Hello, Marie,” said the apparent leader. “I’m glad you could finally come for a visit.”

“Jeremy!” gasped Marie. She ran to him and hugged him.

“Yes” said Jeremy, “I and MUSIC are still alive.” He paused for a moment. “And perhaps stronger than I had hoped, now that you’re here.” he added. Marie noticed something different about the ’cap’n.” He had a softer touch, and his eyes were completely blank. She looked up into his face and searched it carefully.

“Yes,” sighed Jeremy, “I am blind. The years out on the nukescape have had some side effects. Here is my guide. She tells me all I need to know.” He put his arm around a young woman with brown curly hair who stood next to him.

“Now come,” said the aging warrior, whose days of prowess were now left to a sharp mind, common sense, and an indefatigable will. “It is time for us to have a little gathering of wits. Some things have come about recently which are soon going to bring MUSIC into action, to redeem the name and cause of those who died in the early days.” The urgency in Jeremy’s voice was compelling. Marie felt that a decision was to be made, and it was to be one which would include her in some crucial way.

The small group of green suited soldiers, Jeremy, and Marie walked down the corridor. Marie had forgotten what a large man Jeremy was. His gray head loomed in the middle of the group, bowed slightly, but still higher than the rest. He moved his massive body slowly.

Soon they came to an elevator, large enough. to hold them all, and upon entering it, they were quickly transported even further into the earth when the door finally opened, a cavernous room was before them, the size of a large train station. A number of sonic cars were gathered in a ‘squadron’ roughly in the middle of the structure. A number of green soldiers were milling about, some engaged in repair, maintenance, or some task.

Jeremy stepped out and waved his arm. “Here you see what we have been doing the last few years. We have built a small force here, but our real strength lies in the mechanical and technical abilities in clandestine operations. You will hear of our plans later. Now, I think we can allow you to explore some of the facility. Questions will be answered by James who will assist you in the tour.” Jeremy waved his hand, and a tall, swarthy man with long black hair came to Marie’s side. “Meanwhile,” continued Jeremy, “I’ll be preparing for a top security meeting, to which you are invited.

I hope to see you in about an hour. James will bring you.” The tall, indian-like man grinned, showing a lack of at least three teeth.

Marie and James went one way and Jeremy the other. James made Marie a little nervous. He looked hardly the type to accompany a lady, though his toothless smile was congeli.al. They strolled, or Marie strolled and James ambled, around the perimeter of the large underground structure. “The cars appear to be an unusual model” said Marie, “I’ve never seen anything quite like them”.

“They are our own invention”, said James, who could not prevent a little air from slowing through his words. “They have several unique features.”

“Such as?” inquired Marie.

“They run at a higher frequency than the ICCE cars, and therefore generate more speed, though less power.” Marie was surprised at the apparent intellect of such an unsightly man.

“This has the advantage of switching easily to a flight frequency,” continued James, “enabling the car to ‘hop’ several hundred feet, though extended flight is impossible.”

“Amazing,” said Marie, Who designed these little devils?” James grinned broadly, “A pal named Willoughby was my chief assistant.”

“You seem to have remarkable talent,” said Marie. “Are you a member of the board here?” I am mostly concerned with frequency systems sonic cars, and satellites.

“Satellites?” asked Marie.

“Yes, but you will learn more about our satellite work later,” said James.

They walked further, until they had made a complete circuit of the complex. Marie asked the odd but intelligent James more questions concerning the numbers of MUSIC, the strength of their devices, technology, and so on. It appeared that while there was a fair mix of committed individuals with talent, there certainly wasn’t enough manpower to lead a full scale revolution. At least, not without committing suicide, and at this point, Marie shuddered, remembering the terrible outcome of the first revolution, and the unwanted deaths it had caused.

Shortly, James and Marie had tea and rolls, in a makeshift canteen, before they proceeded to the meeting. They walked through a tiny maze of corridors before they arrived to the council room, where Jeremy and Eric waited. There was a table in the center of the room, suitable for about eight board members, three to a side and one at each end. Pencils, paper, and water on the table indicated a lengthy planning session was in order. A video screen was behind Jeremy, at the head, and a video machine was fastened to the middle of the table. A computer terminal was located at the far end of the table.

“You may sit here, on my right, Marie,” said Jeremy, apparently sensing it was her and James who had just entered the room. James took the chair by the terminal, at the end of the table, as Marie took her place by Jeremy.

A moment later, an elderly man came in, hunched over and aided by a cane.

He seemed to carry too much weight on his broad but old and rounded shoulders. He walked slowly up to Marie, and smiled broadly.

“Willoughby!” she exclaimed. She took him into her arms and hugged. him seemingly harder than his years and condition could bear. He smiled even broader.

“Marie, you lovely lady,” he began, “I thought I wouldn’t have the pleasure of such a sight before I died!”

“Well, the pleasure is mine! I am happy to see you well.” Marie had difficult4 controlling the emotion in her voice, and felt awkward.

“Yes”, said Jeremy, “We can all thank the Lord for His kindness. But we most begin now. The hours are getting shorter. ”

At that moment, another person entered the room. “Ah!” exclaimed Jeremy, the last is here. Marie, allow me to introduce Kerenyi, our personal “supervisor.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Marie.

“And I to meet you,” responded Kerenyi politely, with a distinct Slavic accent. “I have heard many great things about you.”

“Thank you,” responded Marie, flattered.

The six stood about the table. Jeremy spoke, “A moment of silence, please. Our Lord God, who watches our every deed, guide us in our lives to seek and find the truth, and to know the true end of man on this Earth.” He paused a moment. “And we pray for the souls of the faithful departed, for those-who died in Your name, Amen.” They were all seated, and the meeting began.

“First of all,” began Jeremy, “I should give you the news from the North. Williams has been successful in capturing Objective 17, and our man has contacted him. He has agreed to hold his position until we tell him to move.”

Marie was stunned by this revelation. She had no idea that they had managed to sway one of the chief military leaders of ICCE.

“How sure are we that Williams will join us?” asked Willoughby.

“We can be quite sure,” said. Jeremy. “His former girlfriend has just joined Spurion’s court. Such a low handed maneuver will certainly shatter all his illusions of happiness with the ICCE state, if our information on his character is accurate.”

Again Marie was stunned. How could she have been so ignorant of such a delicate situation?

“And what out the men with him?” Willoughby pressed.

“The prison that Williams has captured has been severely neglected, poorly provisioned, .1.Aa undergone a nearly complete exile from the rest of ICCE, their friends, families, and homes. Johanson last reported that morale was perhaps at the lowest point in three years. Hollow’s men have always been devoted to him, and he has great powers of persuasion. I believe that they will move with him. In any case, it is a gamble, but I think it is a good one.

“Yes,” lisped James. “How much power is Williams going to expect? We can’t allow our entire strength to fall into his hands.” “It is unquestionably a- matter of trust and judgment,” said Jeremy.

“Personally, I don’t think he would want complete control. He is basically a soldier who prefers to follow, unless he can’t do it with dignity.”

“If you will excuse me for a moment,” Marie interjected, “there was once a soldier in the days of Rome by the name of Julius Caesar who did not stop short of complete control once he took the crucial step.”

“Yes, in the days of Rome,” said Willoughby, “But a Caesar is better than a Spurion. Besides, Blake is the grandson of George Williams who died in our first revolution.”

“That can’t be!” exclaimed Marie. “Both of George’s grandsons disappeared after the revolution! We have always assumed that they were put to death by Spurion!”

“They were taken to a secret complex,” said Jeremy, “and brainwashed. Spurion thought it was a fitting revenge that a rebel’s sons were turned into staunch defenders of I.C.C.E.”

“What a beast!” gasped Marie.

“Yes, it is true,” said Jeremy “and I think Blake and Kevin Williams have their father’s character, despite the brainwashing. They go the way of honor, when it is possible, and they are sincerely spiritual men, and not simply claiming it for the sake of the State. You can’t take such a faith from a man’s heart.

He will listen to his God.”

“Let us hope so,” said James. “But we must still check him in some way. I propose we move on to the discussion of satellite systems, where our control is most necessary and crucial.”

“Yes”, said Willoughby,” that would be appropriate. All that has been said is on tape for review later. We must press on.”

“Good” said Jeremy, “Then you have prepared a report, James?”

“Yes, I have,” he lisped. Marie was anxious, both because of the horrendously poor speaking manner of James, and because their seemed to be something driving him other than his natural tendencies. He. behaved as though he were in a lot of pain.

“We have placed men,” James began, “in crucial positions on the satellite repair unit. Given the proper timing and skill, they should be able to take control of three satellites, and implement the programs I have designed.”

“Could you explain the programs?” asked Marie.

“Yes, of course,” said James. “I have been experimenting with frequency distortion in sonic cars and stun ray frequency conversion. I have discovered that with proper rewiring and the implementation of a sonic structuring device, I can convert a stun ray to a simple sound wave.”

“What is a ’sonic structuring device?” asked Marie.

“It is a small computer which restructures the particle patterns of light to produce a sound effect, and as a consequence removing the effect of the stun dray. The sound effect can be predicted and altered to fit a desired frequency, such as that of the sonic cars in the ICCE complex. When the frequencies are matched, the sonic car. can be controlled by simple radio waves.”

“such as those from a transistor radio?” asked Marie.

“Yes”, James smiled broadly.

“A car could then be locked into a musical sound?′

“Yes,” said James. “We have done it here, as a form of entertainment. The reverberations throughout the machinery of the car give a most pleasant sensation, that is, if the music is good and ordered. We have discovered that loud, disoriented and chaotic music produces a similar effect on the occupants. They are unable to function decisively or coherently. It’s pure torture to some, who are unable to stand the utter chaos in their nervous system and brain patterns which result. Others find it a release of some kind”.

“I prefer Strauss” said Jeremy. “It’s the happiest balance of mind and body.

“Now gentlemen,” said. Willoughby, “Let us please return to the matter of strategy.” “Yes” said Jeremy, “You are right. We plan to use the satellites to disrupt the communications and transportation systems at the IGCE complex, which will give Blake Williams and our men the chance to move in and seize control of the central computer systems, which run the entire complex and the rest of the of the .satellites.”

“Do you think you can penetrate their security system?” asked Marie.

“That is where you come in, my dear, said Willoughby, ”You are the only one who knows that part of the complex. We need you to devise some plan of access.”

“I believe I will be able to help,” said Marie. “here are some inside who are absolutely loyal to me.”

“We had thought as much” said Jeremy. “You are very popular with the people. You are crucial to our overall success, and we will need you from beginning to end.”

“I have been waiting for years for a chance to remove Hollow from ICCE,” said Marie, “and I am committed to help you with all my strength. You can’t imagine the strength of purpose and desire the years of metering has built within me.”

“I think I can,” said Jeremy, hesitatingly reaching his long arm to carefully settle around her shoulders. He turned his blind eyes to blankly stare over her head. “I think I can.” Marie noticed a tear was rolling down his left cheek.