Zakal: Stories From Within the Institute

by machievelli

Set on Torch, a deadly danger is loose in the Galaxy, and only Ruth Winton and her Institute can stop it. co-written by Lord Grise, unless noted, chapters are by myself. Rating for violence and some descriptions.

25. The Original Spiderwasps

A Better Understanding

Kerin felt so awkward and off-point as she and her erstwhile cuddle partner came out of the Maven's office. The hallway had half a dozen large, physically fit men in it, two of them with weapons slung. They all smirked as the two women came into view, and one of them nudged an empty bucket by his foot as if to claim credit.

Absently she categorized each of them as she entered the hallway, assigning them a low-to-moderate threat value based on body language and facial expressions. Her main focus did not drift from Lori even as she maintained contact with the potential hostiles. The slung weapons made her back itch. "I need to - apolo - why were you crying when I came in? I'm sorry for what I said, I thought you had sold me out..."

Lori wiped her face and swept her hair back. Water trickled down her back as she walked. Unlike Kerin, she didn't spare the men in the hall a second glance - they had no business with herself or Kerin as long as they didn't make themselves their business. "Thank you for the apology... and thank you for not caving in my head! You hit hard. I was grieving... for my sister."

Kerin felt sick. She had been so sure... and couldn't have been more wrong. "I - don't know what to say. I'm sorry seems very - very repetitive right now." I didn't know you had sisters - I thought you were a clone trembled on her tongue, but she choked that one back and went with option B instead. "What happened?"

Lori almost snarled. Temper. Temper temper temper... Instead she stuck out her tongue. "I'm a clone. One of nine," She turned away. "I found two of them. One lived, one - died. Now a third has been found... and she's been dead for years. I never had a chance..."

Kerin looked at her, then said slowly. "So - six to find."

"Five." Lori snapped. "Five others, five SISTERS who are still out there being tormented as I was. Worse, tormented more than I was!"

"Five? But - three from nine - oh. Of course." Now I've screwed up again, Kerin thought. "Do you have any leads?"

Lori turned away, hugging herself as she remembered. "The first I found as a whore. She couldn't even envision freedom. She committed suicide." The weight of the guilt on her soul was a physical thing. Others paid for her mistakes with their lives, and there was no way to learn other than trial and error. "The second was saved by the raid on the Good Times station. She's on the way to Beowulf for care. The third? She died in the Mesan research station."

"The Mesan research station? What Mesan research station?" Kerin's mind whirled, the Other maintaining contact on the potential hostiles watching them leave. "A secret compartment on Nightlight? Or - or in orbit elsewhere in the system?"

Lori whirled on Kerin. "The research station on the Victim Isles, where else? Where they created the spider wasps!"

The figures down the hallway quit lounging. Kerin's blood pressure and heart rate bumped as low-to moderate abruptly jumped a notch, and began approaching to boot. Without thinking, Kerin eased sideways and around Lori. Kerin's eyes flicked to ascertain the weapons were still slung before returning to Lori. "The lab? They got the lab opened?" She couldn't process that here, they couldn't stay here... "Lori, walk with me. Let's get out of here."

Lori recognized the twitchiness Kerin was suddenly displaying, and she did not miss her eyes beginning to flick around before settling, then flicking off again. She glanced behind her, and understood as she saw the men slowly and oh-so-casually approaching. One of them was lagging, talking on his cell... She nodded, and led the way out into the sunlight. Mercifully, the men did not follow.

Once out of the building and not obviously followed, Kerin visibly stood down a notch, her focus seamlessly coming back together. "Lori... what intel sources do you have?"

"I can ask Ruth for anything, why do you think I work for her?" Lori shrugged. "On my own, we have extensive personal contacts inside the League. What did you need?"

Kerin shook her head. "It's not what I need; it's what you need. You are on the planet of the Ballroom. Are you one of them?"

Lori snorted. Anywhere else in the known Galaxy, asking that question would mark you in so many ways it wasn't funny. "No. But some of my crew are. We work well with the Ballroom." Of course, so would that answer...

Kerin nodded. "Alright, then you have a disseminated intel network... that likely has this as an extremely low priority. Have you thought of contacting one of the Core World private investigation firms? Smith-Pinkerton, or Laz-Lor Investigations on Mars? Personal Locator has a good rep in Silesia..."

"And have them do what?" Lori asked. "The BSC has connections into all three, and haven't found them yet."

"The BSC has connections, yes, but they can't launch overt cases. Is there a reason you haven't? Give them a genetic sample, and tell them you're looking for matches. Phrased properly, washed thru a couple law firms in jurisdictions that recognize attorney-client privelege, they'll think you're another slimy slave owner looking for a replacement."

Lori crossed her arms, considering. "Haven't considered that." Of course, all the other major intelligence agencies also had their ins. God alone knew where the Mesans had their agents - but they had to have manpower - Ha, I made a funny! - limitations.

Kerin was continuing. "There is an entire industry out there devoted to this sort of thing. Why not put it to work for you?"

Lori automatically prevaricated. "We reach the problem. Money I don't have. You try to run a ship and pay a crew without a backer."

Kerin burbled on, her gaze in the middle distance. "Do you have a hacker?" All that was missing from her double-take and sudden refocusing on Lori was the soundtrack screech of the needle across the record. "Wait, no money? You go in, you raid slave depots, and you don't take the money?" She sounded horrified.

Lori smiled. "Yes, we have a hacker. As for what we grab from the slavers..." Lori grinned. "We do very well. So all right, I can afford it. Or I should say we, since we split it."

Interesting information

Helena looked at her screen, finishing her donuts, and threw the box in the disposal as she contemplated what she had found. A number of the slaves sent to station 11 had been processed to this station 11A and counted as dead several days or weeks afterward. She typed out a note on a pad. She called a messenger who took it. "For Maven." Damn security. She groused as he left. Until they've cleared the phones, there were no calls internal or external allowed.

Ten minutes later, Ruth read it, then went into the outer office. They weren't trusting the intercoms either. "Helena found an anomaly in the station 11 records. Go down to the file room, pull the files for slave transfers on these dates, and bring them back to me."

Setting the Stage: Sean and Jaime

Jamie looked into the office. Office, it was a closet they had stuffed poor Sean into. There was barely enough room for a desk, the office chair, and a coffeepot.

"I don't need a lot of room." Sean commented from his seat. "I found that being treated like a mushroom actually makes me work better," He turned slightly. "Close the door."

"Surely..." Jaime closed the door, and found a jumpseat folded up on the inner side. "So. Why ask me here?"

Sean turned to his monitor. "Maven asked me to get with you because of this Tailgunner thing. Except for some references in security systems for the big wigs who used to run this place, there is nothing." He motioned toward the coffee pot. "Coffee?"

"Oh, thank you. It's rather late for me. Now, what's this about Tailgunner?"

"When we took over, anything the Mesans left behind that was computer op or possibly interconnected to anything else was taken offline until it could be evaluated." Sean took a swallow of his coffee as he cued screens up. "So last week we put the original security scanner for the building entrance back online. Robert told me that the Cleartraine woman has an install Manpower codenamed Tailgunner."

Jaime folded the seat down and sat, relieved to find it was properly anchored to the door. "That's not possible. Tailgunner was an all-up combat enhancement system, and it was obvious as hell. It was scrapped because it drove the recipients mad. How did Robert come by this novel idea?"

"Mushrooms don't grow without the right amount of shit, after all." Sean mumbled to himself. He reached across to pass Jaime his coffee without looking. "Ms. Cleartraine came in yesterday. This image is from the Manticoran system; it notes the reinforcement of her neck, but rates it a medical matter, so it only flagged it but didn't highlight." The second image came up, with inset closeup highlighting Kerin's cervical spine, with image enhancement. "This is what the Mesan's system showed us."

TAILGUNNER DETECTED. SUBJECT NOT RECOGNIZED. DO NOT PERMIT ENTRANCE.

"That's not cyberware..." Jaime commented as he sipped. Sean apparently liked his coffee weapons-grade strong. "That does bear resemblence to Tailgunner's central processing unit... " but recast in nano... Jesu, what other horrors will they resurrect now?

"And you'd have to be expected. So... a combat enhancement." Sean's fingers raced across the keyboard. "No, not listed here either. What it was based on? Implant or nano-tech?"

Jaime's voice was hushed. "Tailgunner was a set of implanted wide-spectrum sensor nodes connected to a combat ops processor that was itself connected to the brain of the bearer. The sensor heads were mounted either on the head or on the neck; usually there were either three or four nodes.

"Built using nano-tech or implanted?" Sean repeated merely changing the phrasing. "Give me the right shit."

"Cyberware." Jaime answered. "We have scans of people who were Tailgunner implantees back home. She hasn't anything like that. I could show you images, it's quite obvious the recipient is a cyborg. This isn't Tailgunner."

"So it was an implanted system. Thank you. But the concept was scrapped thirty years ago?" Sean sipped coffee with one hand as keys rattled under the other. "Mesa uses bio-tech, gene tech, implant and nano-tech these days. Things change."

An inset window popped up and began scrolling, cyan on black. "Hey, looks like it finally came up. " Sean said raptly soaking in the data. "Obviously it wasn't scrapped. She isn't in her thirties." Sean replied as if Jaime were a moron. "Ah, implant tech back then. Let's see..." He looked at the screen, scrolling fast. "Heightened awareness, limited adrenal control, of course they went mad. It would be like putting a puppy in front of a speaker and playing nothing but shatter rock all day."

Jaime's coffee was sitting in his stomach like heated battery acid. "The actual issues were a bit more involved than that, but essentially yes, especially in the earliest iterations. Later attempts tried to filter the input, but even then, the ones who lasted the longest were the ones with marginal psych profiles, particularly the sociopathic exemplars. Have you any evidence besides this Mesan security system that it sounds like you do not fully understand, let alone control?"

"Oh we control it, it's just Mesa has a conciousness of need to know like no other. All there is here is a basic briefing of what the tailgunner enhancements do. Tailgunner for Dummies if you like." Sean leaned back, waving at the screen.

Jaime examined it closely. "Very clever. By using organic bone as the matrix, it neatly disguises any unusual materials. Any indication of sensor nodes on her person? They would need clear fields of view in order to function optimally."

Sean reached over, picked up his cup, sipped, then set it down. "We have no idea; she has no medical records here in beacon. If any existed, they would have been up at her site. She's a twitchy person, right?"

"Extremely. But after what she's been thru..."

"No, this is why she's twitchy. If this is Tailgunner..."

Jaime waved for Sean to let him speak. "Manpower is generally very protective of their test subjects. Her situation would be anomalous in the extreme, released with no handler. The only time they do that..." he paused a moment. "Is final field tests before deployment. And even then, there are observers."

"So they finished their in house testing, and arranged matters so she'd end up here?'" Sean murmured. "No, that doesn't make sense. If she were a test subject, she wouldn't have been handled like this, even then. If her parents were recalled, she ought to have been as well."

Jaime nodded. "The disappearance of her parents. Maybe they didn't disappear. Maybe they died and no one noticed. Do we know what happened to them?"

Sean brought up another window. "These are Maven's own notes. New Way had records. That's the mystery. A few months before her hell ride began, Kerin's parents were just gone. No trips to somewhere else, no departure from Earth, just gone."

Jaime sipped his coffee. "If it were a standard withdrawal, it would have been orderly. Accounts closed, bills paid, leave no reason to be followed. If it were random mishap, they'd simply be handled in that manner. What does she know about it? Does she know?"

Saen shook his head. "No, according to this, she didn't notice until she started getting dunned for bills. And the college asking about the tuition for the next semester."

Jaime's lips thinned. "Then she was deliberately abandoned in place. Final stress test, likely... and then the recruitment attempt, bring her back in thru that door. Her mentors onsite would have been her observers."

"But that means someone at Manpower still knew she was there." Sean countered. "Otherwise New Way wouldn't have been there with the job offer. How deeply has Beowulf investigated New Way themselves?"

Jaime shrugged. "I cannot say. New Way is likely a shell or a DBA. Her recruiters were likely not told of her situation - need to know. I have been asking about the Liberation of her camp. What do you have on what happened there?"

Sean snorted. "Shell company... Makes sense in a way. What I have only links them to Mesa and Manpower because of the evidence at Kerin's camp." Sean passed over a disc. "Unless you want to get really friendly and lean over my shoulder, you'll have to look at them later, or on a pad." Sean looked back, batting his eyelashes. "But I don't swing that way."

Jaime smiled. "I ask because I have been investigating independently. I know what I have been told. She apparently organized and led the uprising in her camp, initially supported by the ex-slaves she and her colleagues had been hiding.

"But there are clues in that I didn't notice because we didn't know about Tailgunner. Like how according to a witness, she turned and shot one of the overseers when he was kneeling behind a wall 20 meters away. Shot him with a needler carbine - on autofire, thank you - one handed, no looking, while she was swinging a vibroknife in the other.

"I had more than one tell me she had an angel on her shoulder that day. But we had no idea Tailgunner had been recast in nano."

Jaime studied the images. "This bears thematic resemblance to Tailgunner... but if it is, where are the optic scanners? Without them, the threat processor would be relying on either the original eyes, or the ears... Tailgunner was not what one would call a stealth system, Sean."

Sean leaned into screen, looking at the original version. "These nodes must be why the other people with tailgunner went crazy. Signal processing would be a serious bitch." Then he switched to the imagery of Kerin. "Hers have to be toned down; there's no sign of them, even now that we know to look for them."

"The system is likely heavily dependent on her natural organs, then; no wonder she's never still. Even in an environment she is familiar and comfortable in, that she's had a chance to paint, for lack of a better term, the processor is probably always prompting her for reassessment. So she's always being bombarded.

"Her level of socialization is amazing, considering the augmentation this would be. I am very surprised her worldview is not more in line with Mesan norms, however. I take it she's banned from Berry's presence?"

Sean snorted. "If I had a vote, I'd say yes. But she had a chance to take Berry down, and didn't even try. Same with Ruth."

Jaime was thoughtful. "She ought to have identified with the masters, not the slaves. Her file said she had been educated privately."

Sean snorted again. "Not if she went through the University of Edinburgh. They still haven't forgiven the botch 2014 CE referendum."

"Since before the Final War?" Jaime shook his head. "It becomes necessary to learn what happened to her parents. Her handling makes no sense. Where is she now?""

"No one ever said Scotsmen were forgiving. Right now she's overseeing the hive's placement. I'll let the Maven know. Or maybe Beowulf can do it more efficiently?"

"We have agents on the ground in Mesa. It will take time so all we can do is observe." Jaime shook his head angrily, "I can't believe she came this far to be a plant or mole. Somehow, she was released without safety protocols, or proper Mesan ruling class values, or even a safety net! I wonder if her parents deliberately gave her these things in defiance of protocol? Bought her what time they could?"

"I'd have to allocate some, or have any people there who will work for us doing it. So time is what we need to spend on it." Sean leaned back. "So what you think might have happened is they raised her to be a normal human being, moved her to Earth so she'd get schooling away from their handlers, and Manpower found out and took them out of the picture?"

Jaime raised a hand in acknowledgement "I grant it is a very unlikely scenario. If so, they likely volunteered for the assignment on Earth."

Sean sipped coffee. "But how did the people in charge of this project miss the fact that she's not merely a good little robot?"

Jaime looked into the middle distance. "Picture their situation. They love their daughter, and they know that at the end of their time, they will be instructed to return their daughter for examination. She would literally have been dissected, especially if her personal values were known. So they appear to comply... but something happens, they disappear, likely dead, and Kevin is left in plain view. The rest falls into place as a cobbled together recovery of the original project objectives."

Sean nodded. "Then she deserves an explanation, and they deserve a wreath on their graves, if we can find them."

"I know. That would be a major flaw in the theory." Jaime sighed. "They would have to have become dissidents at some point, and concealed that fact successfully. Does Maven propose to tell her about herself?"

"She'll want all of the data she could get first. So figure a few months down the line." His intercom buzzed. "Someone has obviously not gotten the word." He thumbed the button. "Until further notice, no one is to use the intercoms, moron."

"This is further notice." Ruth sounded more amused than irritated. "We've had another burst transmission. So the phones might be all right. But the intercoms don't have any external links, so I am reactivating them.

"You're an anal retentive ass, Sean, but you're the best I've got, Find the moles, Sean."

Sean leaned back. "You know, that was almost a complement."

Learning the Script: Dragon and Bond

Jane leaned back into the edge of the tub. There was a flowing waterfall that constantly replenished the water. She'd never thought of hot tubs considering the average temperature. Silly her... She wondered how hot the water was-

"Forty degrees, if you're wondering, Ms. Bond. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me under these circumstances." Georgi stripped off his robe without ceremony and eased his frame into the water. As someone who had spent time working among the Regulators, she had seen the show, and ignored it. After all, she had been in hot tubs back home, and the average patron dressed as he did.

"I have always wondered why people who hate to sweat enjoy hot tubs." she commented. "You asked me here, and since I've seen you take men like Maw in here, I assumed it wasn't for sex."

Georgi glanced around. "This is an unofficial meeting room for me, Ms. Bond. I bring people here for what used to be known as 'Come To Jesus meetings.' It's an utterly informal form of reprimand."

She opened her eyes, looking at him. "I am being reprimanded for something?"

Georgi shook his head. "Not a bit. In your case, it's a coordination meeting."

Jane's left eyebrow rose. "Oh?" Her voice had a quiet purr to it. Georgi did not believe it indicated happy feelings.

"Commander Bond, the advantages of this room are that it is the single most heavily shielded room in the House. Full Faraday coverage, full thermal coverage thanks to the water, and auditory coverage via the waterfall and the acoustics." His eyes narrowed into slits of pleasure. "The only ones who knows what happens in here are the occupants." Georgi settled himself deeper in the water with a sigh. "You are working out far better than I was afraid you might. Has Major Charles briefed you on developments?"

Jane nodded. "If you're referring to the leaks and the need for COMSEC, he only told me that there have been a number of leaks, that your unit, the Palace, and the Institute are all compromised, and that I needed to make my reports to the palace in writing until further notice. Nothing else."

Georgi nodded. "Were you aware the Regulators have been awarded Sanction by the Andermani?"

"Yes, that was in the papers. I expect you will head off to Silesia soon enough." She shrugged. "Except for fighting something the size of an assault shuttle with teeth, it's been fun."

"That is precisely the impression that needs to be made, Ms. Bond. But as a matter of fact, I will be staying here, with at least a third of the Regulators." Georgi's voice was bemused; he still could not believe what he was about to say. "I have been offered, and accepted, the post of Minister of Justice in Berry's Court. But the Sanction still stands."

She looked at him, considering the ramifications. "Berry is giving you basing rights?"

"More than just that. The Regulators remaining here are to form the core of the Bureau of Investigation. The ones that go, will return; we are to be based here in perpetuity for purposes of taxation, recruiting, and training. I am to receive a patent to continue running them, on the understanding that they become Torch's Foreign Legion, if you understand the reference."

She smiled. "I do indeed. Win-win for Torch; the nastiest group of guard dogs I have ever seen for the sheep, and the pack on call whenever that isn't enough." She laughed. "Talk about 'interesting times'."

Georgi waved his hand to show his appreciation of the compliment, then segued. "Berry believes the recipient of the leaks is Connor Wittman. I don't need to brief you on him, do I?"

Jane grimaced in distaste. "You mean Wittnauer? I've read his file. A nasty piece of work. Perfect as a politician, though."

Georgi's voice was no longer light. "Both Berry and I believe Mr. Wittman's plan is to install himself as the de facto Prime Minister, after gutting the Throne of any real authority."

"I've been watching him." She looked thoughtful. "He could do it... if he can rally public sentiment. He's using Mein Kampf for his playbook, and the workup from 1922 on, by the old calendar. Have you considered the event dubbed Krystalnacht?"

Georgi's eyebrows rose. "I hadn't considered that - course of events... mm. Hitler, yes, of course; he's been obvious about it. But Kristalnacht." He said it like he was savoring the phrase. "Thank you, Ms. Bond. Yet another reason to drink, as a friend of mine likes to say. Berry and I have decided to play left nut right nut, with Mr. Wittman in the middle."

Her eyebrow arched quizzically. "And that is where I come in?"

"Yes. We want to get him to where he attempts to hire us as his catspaw. Thus, we create the impression there is ill-will attending our leaving, that the Summit does not trust us. That is where you come in."

She considered. "It is a fact that I took being assigned to you as a job demotion of sorts. No doubt at least one of the moles knows that." She sighed, snuggling deeper into the water. "So we're going to pretend I am still... peeved about it?"

Georgi nodded. "Yes. You, over the next few days, are to be isolated from command level meetings. You are to become unhappy about this, and seek information. Go to the Summit and report on us. You get the idea?"

"Oh my yes. Did you want me to play it as if I were suspicious? Or just terribly, terribly, hurt?"

"Oh, suspicious, very suspicious." Georgi grinned a moment, then his lips tightened. "Be public about how you cannot liaise when you can't talk to me. Wittmann must have the idea we are leaving under a cloud." Georgi suggested. "But nothing insubordinate or mutinous, you understand? Merely... sore, and inquisitive. Some snide comments, perhaps, would not be amiss. A bit of verbal sniping. But no more than that, or you're likely to receive wall-to-wall counseling."

"That I can do." She said, then grumbled. "I've had more than enough practice with it in the real world. That is the start of how I ended on Torch in the first place." She considered Joe. They had something going on... "Who else will know that this is only a charade?"

"Some day, I'd like to hear the story, ma'am. In due course." He rose to a more formal sitting position. "As for who are in on this charade, all of my Captains are. You can tell your partner, he's not the leak. But utmost discretion must be employed otherwise. The leak, I expect, is some kind of recorder planted on one or more of us. Or a connection into our communications network. Have you seen the newspapers?" His face turned grim. "I don't even want to contemplate one of my men betraying our trust. Worse, they have sources inside the Institute, which has security on par with the Summit - also somehow penetrated." He looked at her. "Your security systems are generations beyond mine, yet they were penetrated as deeply as ours."

She sighed in relief. If the assignment screwed up a beautiful friendship, and she blew it, she'd be second guessing herself for the rest of her life if she'd done it for personal reasons. "Alright. So what happened in here?"

Georgi grinned mirthlessly. "I informed you that you were not the Captain during the Gojira incident, and to quit behaving like you were. Thereby showing my unreasonableness, since you haven't been. Oh, and I questioned you about the impeller missiles going missing."

She tensed. "Missiles?"

"Yes, I know from her Mousety that you have been informed about the loss of two cases of anti-tank impeller missiles, and four loaded launchers... borrowed by some our overzealous auxiliaries. You have been asking discreetly about them." When he saw her cold gaze, He shook his head. "When those who took them reported it, I contacted HMS Generous. Her captain had already been informed. I saw to it they were returned, and if you speak with him directly, he can verify it.

"But there are rumors that the SA have been ordered to gather information regarding these missiles. So while they know they were taken, they do not yet seem to know that they have been recovered." Dragon shifted forward. "But we have obtained empty missile crates from the Solarian ships, and have begun a shell game of moving them around, out of your sight, of course. We tell Maven where the empty crates are, but only in personal contacts with my Captains, and now you. She receives reports at home at all hours, and it has not been visibly penetrated as yet. So she passes these reports on to Shin Bet, who then reports to her where they 'think' we have hidden them, so they plan a raid. We of course must have bugs inside the Institute and find out, so we move them to another location.

"They arrive, find nothing, go back complaining, and it starts again. We give code names for the sites. So if the SA does get wind of it, we know which locations they have discovered. Which give us more information on where the moles are. But the fact that they have been returned will not be spoken of except for in this room, along with all of the facts we gather of where the moles happen to be."

Bond sighed. "It is so good to have competent associates." She lifted her arm. "I'm getting all wrinkled by this. Anything else?" Dragon shook his head. "Then I had best get to it."

She put on her robe, and opened the door. Her manner changed between one step and the next as she snarled, "Of all the nerve!"

Finding the truth

Kerin knew the Beowulfan's pet theory was that the spider-wasp was intended as a biological weapon. "That's ridiculous. How in Hades could they maintain deniablility of whatever-it-is if there were bar codes on it?" Kerin demanded with asperity. "And weren't you supposed to be doing genetic assays?"

Jaime nodded at the display wall. "The first set are running now. Over an hour to completion." Jaime manipulated the PS controller, and another window opened up in the field, showing the same portion of the wing washed in shades of green. "If I had a good search program, this would be much faster, but eh, it passes the time between setting up computer runs."

Further training.

Gerhardt's eyes opened blearily. A woman was standing there, coal black hair, pale, pale skin, vulpine nose, with cold almost white blue eyes. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Gospodin Gerhardt."

His body felt - heavy. He took in her clothes, and slumped back. "Ist - the other one, Maw? Ist he alright?"

Her head cocked. "You did not care when you were fighting him. Why start now?"

He lifted his arm, vaguely surprised to find himself not in restraints. "That - " His mouth was dry, and his throat rebelled for a moment. "That vas - not me. I - go away, sometimes."

"Ah." She nodded. "Dragon sent me to deal with you."

That figured. "Would haff been simpler while I vas - unconcious." He tried to rise, but simply couldn't. He couldn't.

She looked at him. "You misunderstand, Gospodin. I am not here to kill you, far from. I am here to guard you while you heal, to ensure you do not harm anyone if you wake disoriented, and - eventually - to train you." She poked him in the chest. "The beast, the monster within you. Neistovyy. Dragon knows it well, he taught me. I know it now, and I will teach you. You will know it as we do, I will accept nothing less."

He coughed and looked at her uncomprehendingly. "If you're not - here to kill me - then may I haff vater?"

She motioned impatiently toward the jug on the table. "It is there. Are you able to get it?" She snorted as she saw how badly his hand was trembling, and filled the glass before turning to him. "Thirty years as a mercenary. I have done a great many things, but this is the first time I have been a nurse maid to a child..." Gerhardt did not answer, for he was unconscious again. She cursed in Russian.

"Bullshit, Natasha." came from the door. Dr. Worth stepped in, quickly assessing her patient. "I remember you hovering over the wounded on Mirabella. I remember you getting Jones water after he had his leg amputated. Don't you pull the stone bitch act with me, I know better."

When he awoke, She was still there, standing in the same spot. "I would hope you will stay awake this time."

He felt stronger. "I vill - I will try my best, Ma'am."

Natasha snorted. "So far your best has not been good enough, obviously. You will try my best, not yours. Or there were will be consequences."

His arms were easier to lift. He tried to ease himself up, and surprised himself by succeeding. "You were here yesterday."

"I have been here all this time. Nine hours,forty-two minutes," She looked at her watch "25 seconds. You snore."

Gerhardt was staring at her. "I remember asking you this, but I don't remember your answer. The instructor, Maw. Is he alright?"

Natasha's voice was as cold as Winter. "I answered, and I will repeat. You did not care when you fought him, why care now?"

He felt a surge of irritation, but held it that. The beast was on a short enough leash, but it strained to break free. "Because I am not an animal, and men care about what they have done. Who are you? And why would you stay here? I will not - do that again, I will go peacefully."

Her head cocked odly, but other than that she still had no expression, either visible or audible. "Go? Go where? According the Frau Kiel, you have nowhere to go. And you have not answered my second question. Will you rule your beast? Or let it control you?"

Gerhardt tried not to look at her, and failed. "Control it? I control it by controlling my temper. I do not drink, or smoke, or do anything. I haff tried Tai Chi, Parkour - it is easiest when I am tired out. But if I become angry..."

She waved her hand. "Yes, I saw the re-release of the old story, what was it, the Horrible Hulk? We would not like you if you were angry? Pah. Control comes from within, like a child learning not to piss his pants."

His eyes snapped up, and embers burned a moment - and then were smothered.. "Go away, woman. I have failed here, ruined my last chance..."

She sniffed theatrically. "So tragic. So terribly terrible. Your last chance?. You will know your last chance has passed when you are dead. Dragon learned his beast." She leaned forward. "I learned mine. If it had been me you faced on the mat, one or both of us would now be dead - except the men, they would have known what was happening to me, and would have stunned us both." She eased back, surveying him, and not terribly pleased by what she saw. "I will not permit or tolerate failure. You will learn your beast, it's tricks, it's ways, what provokes and what calms." She took a deep breath. "When to walk away. And - when it runs free, because it assuredly will - you will learn to know you have family, who will bring you home, and will not judge you." She exhaled. "You go nowhere but into my care, Gospodin Gerhardt. We are your pack, your family, and your unit. God brought you to us, and we will not turn you away. If you cannot learn, then I promise, you will die. It is simple, what they would call a binary solution. But you will not die alone, and you will not die without your honor."

His voice was low and he spoke in his childhood dialect. "Everyone dies." He struggled to stand. Somewhere near, alarms started sounding

"Yes, I know the quote. Here is another; I would prefer to live a day as a tiger, rather than a hundred years as a sheep." She looked up in irritation. "What is that?"

The door opened, and Dr. Worth entered. "You cannot stand yet! Lay down at once!"

The woman looked at the doctor, then back at Gerhardt. "Does it hurt to stand?"

His legs simply gave, and he sank down against the bed. He would have gone to the floor, except he was guided by the doctor. "Pain is - simply data."

"Fuck that! You are not a robot! If you do not do as I say, I will sedate you! Lay down at once!" Worth spun to Natasha. "Either help me, Natasha, or leave!"

She nodded, and there was a look of approval. "Then you are already learning." She caught him under the arms, and as Worth took his legs, they put him back to bed. "Stay until the doctor says you are well. Then your real hell begins, and I will be your personal demon." She gave a sudden grin. "Bet on it."

He didn't reply. He had passed out again. Natasha sighed. "I will be bedding down here until he is well enough to leave." Dr. Worth stared at her. "What? He is one of us. I will not leave him alone."

First Proof

It was two days later - and several assay-and-match runs later - before Jaime found what he was looking for. His shout of triumph brought Kerin running from the office where she had set up.

"What is it? What did you find?" Kerin looked into the holo-field.

Jaime pointed at the display wall, which was showing a portion of the wing magnified and washed in a particularly verdant shade of green. An extensive bar code in dull red pulsed in the cool green field. "That. First real, concrete evidence of what I've been thinking."

Kerin looked at it thoughtfully. "That's not the same format as a slave marking."

"No, it's not." Jaime said grimly. "But then, this isn't a slave, precisely. It's a weapon. Or more correctly, a weapon prototype."

Ever since the Torch government had briefed her in on the spider-wasp problem, Kerin had been more than half convinced. The working theory had always been that it was a biological experiment of some kind; Kerin had been more than half convinced it was a weaponization project just from the survey data made after the original documentation had been discovered. After all, you just didn't find something this utterly inimical to every damned thing, right down to grubs and the local equivalent of worms, in nature. The assay results, at first, had had been very suggestive: there were segments of it's genetic code that resembled the tiger wasp of Old Earth Japan, the damfino of the Final War, the mulotte of Terra Nova, and the the grimwalder of Beowulf. Very short segments, to be sure, but assurance levels consistently above eighty percent. As the run data accumulated and projections ought to have become possible, the situation became less clear - a forest for the trees situation, almost. The central body of genetic code was not documented - the base creature not known. The bar-code discovery had just been the call for all-in. And so they began looking into everything. Kerin started sleeping in her office.

The original discovery documentation was revealing only in what they didn't find - otherwise, they discounted fairly quickly. For one thing, none of it was encrypted, it wasn't found in only one place... and it was fragmentary only in respect to the sponsoring department inside the company. Vista Verde had been a highly competitive place, at least nominally... but the entire story of how the Victim Isles had been found, and what happened, was available from a number of sources, no particular assembly required. Apparently the slaves and the honey harvesting operations had been supported by no one in particular, for no one of consequence, purely for the entertainment value of watching the slaves die. Oh, and the honey, of course. Which had been marketed but without major market share because there was only a couple of hundred tons a year. But everyone had apparently tried.

The spider-wasp itself was another story. It definitely was not a naturally engendered child of the Torch biosphere - nothing remotely similar had been found anywhere on the planet. But Torch was kind of like Old Earth New Zealand in the nineteenth century - on steroids. Much was not even surveyed, let alone well understood. But higher up, at the macro biological systems level - there, the more and more they looked into it, the nastier and less likely the spider-wasp got.

The mandibles of the spider-wasp were to be feared almost as much as it's sting. It secreted a binary enzymatic that dissolved most organic compounds, which it then siphoned up, very like a spider. There were discoveries to be made right there. It's mandibles didn't just pierce, they cut, very like scissors - applying almost two tenths of a kilo of force to an area measured in microns - thereby displaying an incredible amount of structural durability for a chitin material. The outer edges of those mandibles were also sawtoothed, leading the researchers to believe it could abrade things it couldn't get a purchase on.

It had the ability of certain spiders to hydraulically compress and decompress it's legs - but while it could jump, its carapace across it's head and thorax were structurally reinforced vertically to a ridiculous degree... giving it the ability to lever objects it was trying to get under or into. And it could grip things: it had rudimentary thumbs. "That's unique..." was Jaime's comment.

It got worse. It spun webs like a spider - that it could use to either make it's hives, or to bind and slow anything it was attacking in concert. It was able to separate oxygen internally for a short time. It was resistant to temperatures far in excess of anything it might find in nature. It's sting was a beveled carbon-fiber nanotube that more closely resembled a modern hypodermic needle that any sting found in nature, and the spider-wasp had the ability to quickly withdraw and extend it, almost sewing-machine style, albeit not that quickly. Tellingly, it's venom was also a multiple factor agent that mixed in the tube to form the vicious venom it boasted.

It apparently only had one control pheromone, at least that the specimen might generate. "Probably to call in others." Kerin suggested, and Jaime agreed. The most chilling part about the spider-wasp was that it boasted an enormous number of tiny palps whose function was apparently to sense airborne chemical traces, probably at the parts per billion level. "Properly sensitized, this thing could find a single individual out of an entire city by scent, and then call in more of it's own." Jaime said. "How you would do that... I haven't the faintest idea. Some kind of viral programming system, probably. But as it is, if you mark your target with something that emits that pheromene, and then release spider-wasps anywhere relatively nearby...? It would self-seek, work to defeat any defenses the target has or is residing in - and it won't stop. And if it doesn't find it's target, or isn't given one, it works nicely as an area-denial weapon, especially in an urban environment."

Flight of the Bumblebee

"Macklemore, this is Bumblebee, approaching from your twenty by zero, near enough. We have Carol Industries' manifests 11232-alpha and 11232 bravo, that is one-one-deuce-trey-deuce-alpha and bravo, on tow; where would you like them?"

George Sierra was in a good mood as he deftly piloted the old cargo tug towards the freighter. He'd had nothing planned that afternoon when the call came in from his man at Transcom. "George, Macklemore has two big ones, type-fours, over in the long-hold yard, but she's up against the station for passenger transfer. I make it a quick three-hour tour for you, start to finish; Googleboi is the hell out of position and the Mikes will be over their flight hours limit if they go for it. I know you guys aren't on today, but d'you mind? It's time and a half to you..."

George hadn't minded a bit, and neither had Nicoletta - Nicki to their friends - who was his wife and wrangler. Not after they got double-time for it. Could've stuck him for triple time, but there's no sense in it, George mused as he monitored positioning, not just of the tug, but also the two cargo pods. Nicki was doing her job, as superbly as usual, but he still watched, just as he knew she watched his piloting. Good partnerships were like that. There'll be other jobs, and we want to stay good with 'em...

The Cargo Master's voice was clear and formal, since he knew he was being recorded. "Bumblebee, this is Macklemore, Cargo Master Gregor Heinz speaking. We receipt Carol Industries' manifest numbers 11232-alpha and 11232 bravo; two type-four cargo pods, appearing in good condition." His voice softened and warmed. "Thank you for the assist; we would have been delayed twenty-six hours otherwise. We will remember when next we call here. Macklemore clear."

"Macklemore, Bumblebee here; we copy your receipt and appreciate your business. Look forward to being of service in the future! We are outbound on reciprocal of our approach; estimate one-seven minutes to clear your wedge profile. Bumblebee clear." George hit the talk switch on the yoke. "Orcon, this is Bumblebee, outbound from Macklemore on reciprocal of approach vector; at clearance of wedge profile propose to go for re-entry in accordance with filed plan. Confirm?"

Orbital Control's voice was calm and easy. "Bumblebee, Orcon two-six; we copy and confirm. Orcon two-six clear."

They were at thirty kilometers altitude and just coming below Mach one steady in the groove when the starboard air-breathing turbine came apart. One moment it was turning sweetly; the next red lights and alarms sounded as the forward fan began to oscillate. At a quarter-million revolutions per minute, it lasted almost three seconds before it disintegrated; long enough to kill the fuel feed, long enough to initiate an asymmetric thrust maneuver - and that was it. A hard wrench cut off by a loud bang, and then they were dropping hard.

"You okay, honey?" George hollered even as he wrestled the yoke. Autopilot was advising off-course, but that was the least of his concerns for the moment - control was just yucky. He automatically started testing availability of control surfaces, they were yawing bad, but they had time, it was coming back -

"I'm fine! You fly, I'll diagnose!" Nicki was already busy, reconfiguring her board. Engine two was dead, that was obvious; half the readouts that ought to be present weren't, and the ones that were were deeply in red zones. "Engine two, fuel feed is locked off, no fire showing... no thrust, vibe rate not showing, no stage one, no stage two, no stage three - George, I don't think the engine is there anymore. We eat something?"

"This far up? I doubt it. Come on, girl... Something in the fan failed, something big - maybe the shaft, or the main bearing - we'll find out later. Orcon, this is Bumblebee, we are declaring an emergency. Starboard jet is offline, possibly exploded, starboard wing is questionable - dammit, hydraulics warning, hon!"

Nicki could see it; the hydraulics were into reserve capacity. Fuel was dropping as well. Two eternal minutes to attempt to stanch the hemorrhaging, to recognize failure, to judge loss rates - She broke into the back and forth with Orcon. "George, we're still losing fuel; estimate maybe fifteen minutes 'til we're dry. We will lose hydraulics in twenty minutes max. Less if we maneuver hard."

"Orcon, this is Bumblebee; that is a negative on orbiting, we are way too deep, and we have active leaks. I think part of the wing is gone. I have a small land mass just visible to starboard, we are making for it."

Lt. Cmdr Wilkins, the exec of HMS Descant, had just taken a cup of coffee when the comm rating slapped his board. She looked up as the speakers came to life. "Orcon, this is Bumblebee, we are declaring an emergency. Starboard jet is offline, possibly exploded, starboard wing is questionable - dammit, hydraulics warning, hon!"

Steuben had placed his ships equidistant around the planet in low orbit instead of just running in line. She herself had thought his worry about the Torch equipment was a bit paranoid, but it meant she was the closest ship to the developing situation."Tactical, find that ship!" she snapped, even as her thumb went down on the priority link to the Captain's quarters. She grimaced as she imagined what he was going to be like when he got to the bridge; he'd been running the crew double shifts making the entire ship Fleet Inspection ready. What the hell they'd use to help Bumblebee when they found her, she had no idea; their one and only pinnace was in pieces all across it's flight deck. Her head snapped up at the thought. "Comms, open mike, relay to the rest of the squadron; our pinnace is down, but we can direct SAR as soon as - "

"Ma'am, I have radar and transponder contact! One Mishrah class tug, angels thirty and dropping fast!" Wilkins called the specs up at her position, and winced. The Mishrah was a retired Havenite design, essentially built around the tractor assmebly she carried. Intended for ground to orbit work, no impellers at all - and no provision for ejection. Lifting body design, hybrid air breathing thrusters - massively overbuilt, as all Havenite designs were compared to Manticoran designs. At least she's brute tough to go with the brute ugly! God alone knew how she had gotten here.

"Ma'am, Captain Badenov calling. Bulldog's out of position, but will be in position in one five minutes. Already prepping her pinnace."

"Tell Captain Badenov we have radar, and I'm anticipating - "

"Captain on the Bridge!"

"Wilkins, what the fucking hell? No sooner do I leave you than you have to call me back? This better be good, Goddammit!"

She stood, moving out of the command chair. "Captain we have a heavy cargo tug going down with a blown starboard engine. Looks like it will be rough even if they do survive it-"

"And just what the fucking hell do you think we can do about it? Our bird is torn down, remember? Re-MEM-BER? ""He poked her in the chest with his finger.

She repressed the urge to punch him. She never had liked being poked. "Captain Badenov is prepping her pinnace for the assist. But when they lift out, we will be the closer ship, so I am alerting sickbay-"

"Badenov is on the other side of the goddam planet, what the hell is she going to do? This'll be all over but the laughing by the time she's in place to do anything."' He plunked down in the chair. "Stupid, stupid - I should've known better than to leave you any discretion - bring those neobarb clone tank refugees aboard MY SHIP? I don't god damned think so! This is a military vessel, not a fucking cruise ship! God only knows what those-those - ungh! Get off my bridge, you worthless cow."

She glared at him. It might have been weeks since her last practice at the Coup, but she could still fold spindle and mutilate ths asshole. "With all due respect, sir, you think someone will be laughing if they auger in?"

"How can you possibly think to bring civilian - no, worse than civilians, mindless murderous Ballroom wanna-bes aboard my ship?

"Captain-"

As she spoke the com rating stiffened. "Captain-"

Parker looked at the fuming officer. "Why are you still here?

"Sir, with all due respect, you statements border on prejudicial."

When he didn't get a reply, the rating raised his voice. "Captain?"

"Prejudicial? I'll show you prejudicial, you worthless plebe-born mustang! You should've stayed in overalls where you belong, instead of trying to overcome your shortfalls! WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE!"

The rating spoke into his mike, then turned. "CAPTAIN!"

Parker rounded on the man. "WHAT?"

"A message for you from Witch Queen. On a whisker laser."

"Witch Queen? They're not even in system! Who in the hell-" He glanced at his repeater and stopped dead, then went pale. The mike was open, they'd been broadcasting everything he had just said! When HMS Witch Maiden had suddenly pulled out two days before, he had finally relaxed. Too early, obviously. "Put - it through on my screen here."

The rating turned, but as he reached for the button to disconnect the first channel, a gentle hand stopped him. The Senior chief beside him gave him a feral grin, then made sure it was being recorded

Captain Miriam Schaefer look out through the small screen by Parker's knee. "Captains Steuben, Badenov, and Wilson are also recieving this. I want your Number One to hear this, Commander."

"She - ah, she has not yet left the bridge, ma'am".

"Good."

Wilkins stepped into the view of the camera. "Go ahead, Ma'am."

Schaefer nodded. "Commander Parker, you are hearby relieved of command. You will return to your quarter until I determine your disposition." She looked to Wilkins. "Captain Wilkins, you have already taken the steps I would have ordered. Maneuver to maintain station over the crash site until the injured are brought aboard."

"Ma'am, please be advised; our pinnace is not operable at this time. We have nothing that can enter atmosphere."

"Orcon, this is Bumblebee; that is a negative on orbiting, we are way too deep, and we have active leaks. I think part of the wing is gone. I have a small land mass just visible to starboard, we are making for it."

"Yes, I was apprised on that by Captains Steuben and Badenov. Her Condor is making the pick up, but you are in the best position to make the medical assist."

"Ah. In that case -"

"On what grounds are you relieving me!" Parker screamed. He knew it would look bad, but he could claim mental duress caused by harassment from both his squadron commander and that bitch Duvalier...

"Schaefer looked at him mildly. "Grounds? Let's start with gross insubordination to your own squadron commander. Attempting to illegally detain a crewman from another ship, constant denigrating comments about the people of Torch, and finally your diatribe which, I should warn you, was broadcast over a live mike for everyone to hear." His eyes flicked down to the two, the two open lines.

"So get the hell off that bridge and let a real captain do her job, Commander. Captain Wilkins, if he does not leave, order him removed. If he resists, then he is in defiance of a lawful order, in time of war, while in a secured location that endangers your ship, and I expect you to act accordingly. Do you understand?"

Captain Wilkins stiffened. Captain Schaeffer had just underlined that lethal force was authorized if necessary. "Yes, Ma'am. "

"Good. Witch Queen clear."

Wilkins, who had been a Senior Chief up until four years earlier looked at the deflated man she had once called captain. She almost said 'Why, if I may ask, are you still here' instead she motioned as the lift door opened and two MAs came onto the command deck. "Please be so good as to escort the Commander to his cabin. Post a guard; he is not to leave it."

"Skipper! I have visual on Bumblebee!" Tactical reported.

"On main screen!" Wilkins ordered turning away from the man. The good news was, the tug was not trailing anything visible. The bad news was, her starboard wing was a two meter stub.

"Christ, only God's keeping her up." someone whispered.

"Helm, maintain position over Bumblebee. I want us as close to them as we can get safely.

"Bumblebee, this is HMS Descant in high orbit; we have you on visual. We confirm, your starboard wing is not present from the engine mount out. We make you at angels twenty three, that is two three thousand meters, airspeed three hundred ten meters per second, descent rate one hundred two meters per second. Be advised, on this course you will overshoot all islands and come down inland on the southern continent. We are standing by with any assistance we can render; SAR will be launching directly from HMS Bulldog, trailing our position. We will continue to monitor your situation and guide them to you. May God keep you safe."

Nav spoke up. "Ma'am, straightline on that course, she will come down in - the Rockfields? - on the southern continent. That can't be a good landing site. Recommend water landing if he can manage it, ma'am."

"Descant, this is - umph, come on, come on - this is Bumblebee! We copy! Do we have any fire? Repeat, any fire! We are leaking fuel components and hydraulic!"

"Bumblebee, we now have you at angels twenty-two five, descent now niner five per second. We see no fire, repeat no fire visible! We recommend a water landing; that class of tug is designed for it."

"Copy that; that was our intention! We are two souls, no injuries so far. Gonna orbit the island twice, bring her down parallel to the island, north side! Can you check for reefs or rocks for us?"

"We're on it now, Bumblebee." Tactical was already working, building the radar model even as she spoke. "We'll keep you on visual, maneuvering to maintain position. A pinnace from Bulldog will be launching in," She pointed at the com section.

"Eight minutes, ma'am!" He replied.

"Eight minutes. Descant clear..."

As Wilkins settled into what was now her chair, the comm chief popped out the chip. He waved it at the younger rating."This is never growing old."

The landing was a good one; they walked away. Technically they swam and then waded, but that was alright; land was less than a hundred meters away laterally, only about two meters vertically where they dropped off the port wing. From the shore, Bumblebee lay forlornly on the sandy bottom, more-or-less upright after the water landing. The starboard wing was indeed simply gone from the engine mount out, the stub twisted and torn.

"Let's hear it for lifting bodies... Good job landing. I'll never say a thing again about you and your obsession with playing Attack Run again. Where are we?" Nicki asked as they stood on the shoreline. The island was small, perhaps two kilometers end to end, with extensive beaches. Towards the middle of the island, riotously colorful growth gave way to the exuberant jungle Torch boasted. " - and how long til sundown?"

"Eastern edge of the Southern Sea." George answered, consulting his datapad. " Southern continent is about a hundred clicks that way; we could've made it, but it's cliffs and damn hard ground..." He sighed and powered down the pad.

"This island isn't even on the damn survey maps." He looked around. "We'll have several hours of daylight yet. Descant had us all the way down, they know we're good, beacon's running... Search and Rescue ought to be here in an hour or so. Want to look around?"

"Predators?" Nicki asked, eying the jungle.

"On an island this size? Not a chance." George scoffed. "Biggest thing we might run into'd be a munchkin, but even that I'd doubt." Nicki gave him the Look. "Hon, there just isn't enough prey on an island this size to support anything we'd have to look out for. Racing sticks, sure. With all these birds, I'd buy skypike, or even nighthawks, as close to the mainland as we are - but I'm not climbing any trees, you know? We have our pulsers. C'mon."

Nicki didn't want to admit it, but the whole thing creeped her out a bit. "George, this is the startup for every other classic horror adventure vid we watch! Island no one knows about, wrecked transport - the only thing we're missing is abandoned buildings! We're good right here, and I want to keep it that way. No. We stay put."

Eventually they compromised with a walk on the beach. "Hell, we could own this place, you realize that, Nicki? We found it, we get to name it - and we get first bid if we want to buy it. Pretty sweet setup, you ask me..."

Nicki was looking at the jungle with new eyes; everywhere she looked, there was riotous, joyful splashes of color from the multitude of flowers. "Look at all those flowers! George, have you ever seen such a thing!" Almost involuntarily, she drew closer; she adored flowers of all kinds, one of the things her husband used shamelessly to get her to go camping (and hunting) with him. "Oh George, that's the largest black rotor I've ever seen!"

"Good Lord..." George marveled. The jungle ended fairly abruptly at the one end of the clearing, and the boisterous profusion of color before them was even heavier and thicker before being swallowed by the trees at the other end of the clearing. He moved up the rise towards the trees.. and stumbled as it flattened out. Huh. Why isn't anything much growing here... Then his eyes narrowed, as the ground under him crunched and glittered, and it registered what he was standing on.

Fused ground. As he looked around, his ex-marine eyes suddenly started picking out the site. That would have been the comms shack; it's got the highest ground. HQ probably there - Less than a dozen buildings, he would bet on it. Fueling would've been over here...

His eyes automatically went to Nicki - she was coming to join him, and her body language said something was bad wrong - and as he started towards her, he caught sight of something in the trees. There was something flying - and his eyes stopped at an oblong shape hanging under the tree canopy and actually melded into the side of the tree, and the small something flying up into the bottom of it.

That's a hive. That's a god-damned hive, and there's only one known thing on this planet that makes a hive to live in -

George spun and made for his wife, his utterly useless pulser in his hand as he strode don't run don't run "We need to go. Right now. Back to Bumblebee, fort up - "

Nicki was pale, but she had her own combat experience to draw on, even if it was less legally justifiable anywhere but on Torch. "Right. The beach first, then back. What did you see?"

"I think I saw a spider-wasp hive hanging in the trees."

Nicki didn't even blink. "Yeah, that's what's flying out there in the flowers. Put your gun up, it's no good for this."

It was tense as they waited. Finally they heard the thin whistle of turbines as Bogart slowed to hover a ways overhead. "Your ride is here; you have dozens of those damned things flying all around you. Hang on, express elevator, going up!" A voice called out over the radio.

Bogart's tractor was no where near as powerful as Bumblebee's, but Bumblebee wasn't a pair of type four cargo containers either. Bumblebee lurched, and then they felt as well as heard Bogart's engines thunder as they did indeed make like an express elevator. "We're leaving them behind. Stay in your suits, just in case they find a way in before they run out of air. Once we're to orbit, you EVA to us, and then we're on to Descant."

Bogart lifted Bumblebee to mid-range orbit on tractor beams while they stayed in their skinnies in case the living space was breached. It wasn't. Once safely in orbit, they EVA'd directly to Bogart, taking almost fifteen minutes to do so. Behind them, Bumblebee tumbled gently as she exhaled all her air and water, leaving no pressurized spaces anything requiring air could exist in. During the following inquest, no less than three insectids resembling spider-wasps - small and black, unlike the far larger and more colorful examples of the Victim Isles - were found in the corpse of Bumblebee, all dead.

Lab, part two

Maven had brought the plexene blocks to them personally. "These were found in the wreck of the Bumblebee. We need to know yesterday just how big a problem these are going to be. I'm not going to rush you - I'm just letting you know that I brief Berry in four hours, and if I can't answer her questions, you'll be doing the next briefing for us both..."

Kerin and Jaime had looked at each other. "I'll make klah, and then start setting up the assay plates?" Kerin said.

Jaime had nodded. "I'll start sampling the first one..."

"One more thing. The crew of Bumblebee spent the better part of an hour on the ground where these were found. Yet they are not only alive, they reported no attacks by the spider-wasps at all."

The pair looked at the insects in the blocks. Would this be where Manpower had started? "We need more samples." Jaime commented.

The first specimen had been separated, sectioned, and then portions emulsified and fed into the assayers. Kerin was awaiting chemical analyses on the specimen's bite and sting venoms, and in the meantime was studying magnified images of the remaining sections on the display wall.

The second of the three specimens recovered from the wreck of the Bumblebee rested on the sensor table, and was in the process of being virtually nanotomed. Jaime worked projections and probabilities on the specimen's internal systems as the holos thereof were being assembled over the sensor table.

The third one - the spare - was on the counter, like a small ominous paperweight. Within the block, small, shiny black, dead, but in no way innocuous looking, forever hovered the last specimen. Kerin was still wondering if the damned thing moved when she wasn't looking at it.

"Roughly sixty five percent of the mass of a Victim Isles spider-wasp, same general appearance, wings a good bit simpler..." Jaime was murmuring to his note-taker.

"It's not fuzzy-looking..." Kerin observed. "What'll you bet me this thing doesn't have nearly the same capability to sense pheromones?"

"Not one centavo," Jaime answered. "Neuro system is much less decentralized. It has that same hyperdeveloped digestive tract, though... why in hell would a pollinator need to be able to digest heavy proteins and fat?"

"The sting is chitin, and a simple channeled groove needle at that, Jaime..." Kerin said. It's not getting thru a skinny with that... not unless it's damned lucky." The analyzer dinged loudly and started spewing hardcopy at the same time the display wall started scrolling the results. "Single agent toxin... " She sighed in relief. "Oh thank you, Elvis..."

Jaime looked up. "What have we got?"

Kerin was leaning against the counter. "It's sting venom is a single-agent variant in the 'caine family. It's not lethal, unless you were stung several hundred times. This thing is a nuisance, not a danger, and certainly not a hazard we have to evacuate for." She frowned. "The venom is actually a paralytic... weird. The front end stuff is much more complex... It's an enzymatic cocktail, predigestors galore - this stuff would burn like hell if you got bitten. Not lethal, certainly, but it would absolutely leave scars."

Jaime grinned. "First good news in days. You just named this thing, by the way."

Kerin looked startled. "What? I did not!"

"Yes you did. This is now the Torch scarwasp." Jaime grinned. "Wonder what it's honey is like?"

Maven called up from the Institute. "Helena down in cyber came up with some odd reports regarding slaves during the period before the lab on New York went down. Slaves who were judged too weakened to work were chosen at various research centers, and sent supposedly to Beacon back then. But never arrived.

"They seeded all of the islands with the original spider-wasps at same time. But according to the lab's records, the slaves did arrive on the Victim Isles and were put to work harvesting wood and honey from the as yet unaffected islands. Except for one group sent in later who were pretty much dumped on London when they began the initial testing. That was less than three months before the lab shut down."

Ten hours later, genetic assays completed, they started to get a better idea of the full horror of the Victim Isles.

"I think I know why there aren't any remains to recover from the Victim Isles." Jaime said, studying the display wall. "I think the spider-wasps ate them."

Kerin nodded from her seat at the sensor table. "I agree. The least modified portion is the lower digestive tract. And those opposable palps on their legs. We know they cut bits of whatever off of whatever they've found, and take them back to the hive - that's how the spider-wasps make their hives. It would be logical they do the same with any creatures they killed..."

"But that doesn't account for the suits the slaves wore." Jaime commented. "That's been one of the mysteries of the Victim Isles - all that video of the victims, but no identifiable remains. They damned sure didn't eat the armor plates!"

"That much protein would have been enormous increases in their available energy resources..." Kerin mused. It would have led to - " Her head snapped up.

"Population explosions." Jaime's voice was hushed.

Kerin was flipping thu display screens on the table. "How many waves of slaves were sent?"

"Twenty-three separate files of video have been discovered so far. There are what? - ten islands in the chain? That's too many..."

"But they were sent out in clusters. Nine of them, to be precise. Over three years time. We need where when on the slave expeditions, we need surveys of the hives, cores if possible, we need better topography of the islands - most of all, we need a couple of queens." Kerin was pale, and trembling.

"What are you thinking, Kerin?" Jaime rubbed her shoulders. "Sit. You look like you're about to faint."

Kerin spun to face him. "I think the honey harvesting was to cover sampling on the hives, see how they were developing, maybe - maybe check chemical or biological markers in the honey. And - and God help me, I think the slaves were sent as - as food, as starter for new hives, and as the means by which tweaks to the genetics of those hives were administered." She swallowed convulsively. "I'm going to be sick."