Prologue

The seed that had been tumbling for what could have been centuries, picked up speed as it was snared by the gravitational allure of a nearby double-mooned world.

It couldn't see the celestial wonders in its slow passage through the galaxy. It had no ears to hear the super-heated air screech and ram around its genetically enhanced hull as it shot through the cerulean sky of its new home.

It hadn't yet understood before its approaching implantation, that a flaw, a physical weakness in the seed's hull, caused it to splinter in the heat of atmospheric friction. A small, glowing section of itself cracked and flew away in a supersonic course deviation whose terminus was towards the vast seas.

Below, in the vastness of the world's continental forests, animals perceptive enough to notice, evaded to the best of their skill, as they began to hear the sudden, loud whistle of a living, football-shaped projectile streak to the lush ground.

It was over in a moment. Trees within the seed's flight path were now sporting smoldering, broken stumps were their branches brushed against the white-hot kernel. Lush grass and fertile earth was furrowed into a scorching trench that terminated into a small crater in a clearing neighboring a wide river.

Half-buried in the hole it made for itself, the seed, within a few minutes, split its casing and issued out a feathery tendril to the air. With that tendril, it sensed, sniffed, tasted and analyzed the world around it by the biochemical picture it painted. Nothing was omitted, everything was crucial.

So efficient was the seed's ability to learn of its environment that within the hour, it had sampled close to a mile of its new territory. All of the information was chemically encoded into the seed's DNA, immediately giving it superior adaptability. Soon it would grow, flourish and begin the real work.

The tendril arced back, but instead of retracting back into the seed hull, it began to insert itself into the yielding soil. Then it gradually started dragging the rest of the seed deeper into the earth until it was out of sight, save only the still hot trail of its landing.

Within the span of the following month, every animal in the vicinity witnessed the titanic and unearthly swift growth of a tree that was once a mere seed before and now had uprooted nearby smaller trees that measured several hundred meters themselves. Its girth rivaled the width of a small town and was still growing steadily. The clearing where it had germinated was now a tiny, anonymous patch of turf completely covered by the massive root system of The Super Tree.

With a world so abuzz with life, the tree had been busy during its development, both physically and consciously, cataloguing as much as possible the myriad forms of both flora and fauna. However, it had also discovered that for every increase of its growth, its ability to extend the range of its airborne chemical absorption analysis had been hindered. At present, it could read a little less than half the length of the continent. Under favorable conditions, it would have already done half of the planet's northern hemisphere.

It was the flaw, there was no doubt. The broken piece of itself that now meant so much, was gone and its absence threatened the designed mission. It needed to improvise. It needed...assistance.

Something began to stir in its powerful, cellular brain. It recalled the animals that now lived and capered in its vast canopy and boughs. One, in particular. A small species of arboreal mammals whose audacity and curiosity belied its size. At the moment, they lived near the ground, oblivious to the intelligence and intent of their host.

The titanic tree had learned about the animal's physiology long before then and now it was gradually manipulating and reshuffling its genetic makeup to produce a red, enticing fruit from its branches that hung heavy with ripeness in time. With a subtle scent attractant keyed to the target animal, they would be devoured readily when they swelled and fell to the ground.

Although incapable of showing it, the alien tree was pleased of the work it accomplished. Yes, audacity and curiosity would become very useful in the centuries ahead.

And as the first of the mammals stuffed the sweet fruit into their ample cheek pouches and bolted for their dens in the surrounding woods, the tree couldn't help but wonder how this would have affected their lives in the coming years, as well.

Chapter One

The Bulgravian Royal Palace sat away from the city and its blend of both traditional and cosmopolitan citizens, though its presence in the Eastern European countryside still gave people the feeling that it and those who lived in its halls still looked after them with civic fealty even in this day and age.

It was the physical symbol of the Bulgravian citizenry, wide, vast and gray with ancient stone. It withstood insurrections, survived burnings, defended against medieval invaders and Nazi looters. It held up to political intrigues and assassinations, secret betrayals and even more overt reprisals. Now it provided, for Augustus Rudi, the current king, lodging and comfort for his friend and erstwhile American college roommate, David Seville, his sons, The Chipmunks and his friends, Miss Miller and her daughters, The Chipettes.

When it was learned that the last stop of their Vagabond Heroes Tour would be in the Bulgravian capital, Kind Rudi and Queen Stahlia insisted that their guests be made welcome in their home, as they had been when the two of them visited The Sevilles while on business in America several years back.

The high, delicate window of one of the lesser used salons of the East Wing of the immense palace, framed Theodore and Eleanor and gilded their bodies in soft sunlight as they moved their chess pieces with deliberation.

Their betraying eyes would slide from their pieces, to the window and its view and vista, to each other,(often to each other), and quickly back to the game at hand.

Eleanor glanced up cautiously and tried to favor him a disarming smile that in her discomfort, came out thin. "You know, a girl could get the impression that you're avoiding her," she quipped weakly. "Rook to Pawn Three."

Theodore answered with a glance back to her that was both annoyed and apologetic. "I said I was sorry, Ellie. That interviewer caught me off-guard with that question about you and me. Bishop takes Pawn."

"It wasn't like it was earth-shattering or anything. She just wanted to know how long we knew each other."

"It looked like there was more to it than that," he said under his breath.

The blonde girl pondered that for a moment. That particular question was well-disguised, but also quite loaded. While she might have been comfortable enough with the question to answer, Theodore seemed slightly shaken and more at odds before he blurted out his clumsily diplomatic one. She wished she could have been blamed on the stress of the tour.

"I know," she said. "But maybe if you weren't so afraid of us, you might have handled it better. Knight to Bishop."

"Us?"

"Us. Our relationship."

'Uh, oh,' he thought. 'This again.'

With a stomach tightening more than it looked, he defended himself. "I'm...not afraid. Rook takes Pawn, er, Knight. I'm just, uh...I don't want to...rush things, y'know?"

At that, Eleanor looked him in the eyes and dropped both her concentration and decorum. "Rush what? We've known each other forever. Don't you want to take it further? I do."

Theodore felt backed into a corner by her urgency. It sounded more like a plea than a question. It was during those moments that he'd forget about the changing complexities of having a girlfriend and it would cost him. Sidestepping questions and an approximation of rationale wouldn't work on Eleanor now, but he fell into its comfortable habit and proceeded anyway.

"I guess, but can it wait until we get back home?" he reasoned. "This is our last stop on tour and we really need to be focused." Then a thought hit him."Besides, I thought you liked me already because I was nice."

Eleanor suddenly looked hesitant, as if she was about to think of something specific to say, then aborted. Her expression, which had a shade of hope, grayed into a look of solemn disappointment.

She stood, her hand still on one of her pieces, and said with sad imperative, "Sometimes, nice just isn't enough, Theodore. Queen takes Rook."

For Theodore, it was more preferable to concentrate on the lessons Simon and David taught him about chess, then it was to wrap his mind around this particular problem that he could solve, but the child within him forbade.

"Pawn takes Queen," he said with strained confidence. "Mate, Ellie."

"Probably not," she muttered aloud. Then she left.

Arthur Duval dutifully paid his respects at the foot of the three graves. A light drizzle mystified the somber woodlands, glistening the bark and leaves of every tree throughout and refreshing him with wet, cool breezes. He ignored it.

It was ritual by now. The poignancy of its meaning was still fresh in him, but he knew that it wouldn't solve his questions about their deaths any more now than it did in the beginning.

With the graves adorned with flowers, a rose for both brothers and a wreath of honeysuckle for his mother, he stepped back in introspection.

"I wish your older brothers were still alive," his father, Phillip, mysteriously said from behind him. "This position is too much for you, Arthur."

"Failure can be very liberating, Father," Arthur answered calmly without looking back. "You should try it sometime."

Phillip walked over to his son's side to see what he had done with the graves. With his family, simple beauty worked best for Arthur. Simple flowers, the currency for the preservation of his fond memories and their honor.

"I did. When I was young like you and could afford the luxury of others to help me because of my youth. The death of our family was the result of the last mistake I made. Ever," said his father quietly.

"The coroner ruled it a murder/suicide due to depression," Arthur replied. "She couldn't handle the life of being a member of I,T.O.."

Phillip turned to stone. "Couldn't or didn't want to. My mistake was in deducing her unhappiness too late. I worked too hard and in the end, she took away my sons and herself without a word to me."

Arthur just starred ahead at the vista of tombstone salted hills and promptly ignored the obvious inferno of pain Phillip was enduring inside. "But why worry?" he asked conversationally, though he couldn't hide the mocking tones. "About future leadership, I mean. My failure with The Predictor and the disaster in Venice has already made me and outcast in your eyes."

That earned an almost shocked glance from his father to him. No matter the setbacks, he was his son. "I want you to apply yourself more. You were not born to be mediocre. I want you to be a male among males. Not just for our cause, but for yourself."

Arthur didn't listen. The recent past was playing in his eyes and had his full attention. The crashing failure and the black betrayal that begat it. For one of his rare moments, he looked sad.

"But you know it's lost on me, right? I couldn't even find the girl I love in all of that commotion and miscommunication in Italy, and I daresay she might have had a hand in thwarting me again, or at least slowing me down." He turned to Phillip. "Which lead us to The Roaming Eyes, those interdepartmental watchdogs you prize so."

"What of them?"

"They're the vipers we hold to our breast, Father, yet you give them so much latitude."

Phillip sighed. It was a subject they've had words with before and again he would be patient with his remaining offspring.

"They need to have that. They're called The Roaming Eyes for a reason. They monitor and report on all field activities."

" And they answer only to you," Arthur finished for him. "I tell you, they are after me for some reason."

"Don't be paranoid. They're doing their job and if that entails reporting on your occasional blunder, then I'm all for it, for the welfare of the organization."

Inside, Arthur fumed. Once again, the watchdogs were protected by their master, while the son is ridiculed for his worry. "Who watches the watchmen, Father? But if you love them so much, why not give them Field Executive status and revoke mine? They're much more capable than I am!" he exploded.

"Because my Meredith didn't give birth to The Roaming Eyes!" Phillip lashed back with a fire he normally kept in check. If this would shatter Arthur's seeming self-pity, then so be it. "She bore heirs! Now act like one! End sim!"

The world dissolved away in glowing pixel deresolution, replaced by a stark white room with a single control panel set in a nearby wall. With the change in setting, Phillip calmed.

"The Roaming Eyes are not your concern, Arthur. Concentrate on what's at hand. I have sent the bulk of two Holds to assist us on this and the location of The Green Gate has been verified. That's why we're assembled here in Bulgravia." He turned to leave through the aperture that formed from one of the otherwise featureless walls.

"Ready yourself and rendezvous with me later so we can arrive at The Gate. If all goes well, Humanity will fall in our lifetime."

Arthur said nothing as his father departed.