Disclaimers in Part 1

It wouldn't be a Vegas bar if it didn't have a row of slot machines. This was true even of Hanratty's Pub, a bit of old Dublin transplanted to the end of the Vegas Strip. Diarwen smiled as she tuned her harp. Tonight Hanratty's was hosting a Bard's Battle, and she was one of five who had signed up for the opportunity to win a generous pot, and to share the craic—that is, exchange the news and gossip, relax, and raise a pint or three with other bards. The craic was the most important—there were few true bards in the American southwest, and those who did live here were distant from one another. She had never before met any of the others who were in attendance.

She tapped the small earpiece that she was wearing to send a ping. Optimus replied, "Yes, Diarwen?"

She said, "Sound check?" Both Optimus, and the fellow in the sound booth, assured her that they could hear her fine.

A crowd began to gather as the local favorite, a young fellow named Dustin who worked at the pub, started off the first set. Diarwen ordered a Murphy's and sipped it as she listened. The young fellow was extremely talented, and needed only a little more experience.

An old man wearing a lot of Navajo silver set a guitar case down and ordered a whiskey. "Kid isn't bad," he commented.

Diarwen nodded. "Diarwen ni Gilthanel."

"Aditsan O'Leary," he replied, and they shook hands. "Don't recall seeing you here before."

"I am new in town. Yourself?"

"Well, I live in the Navajo Nation, but I come here whenever I'm in town. Navajo mother, Irish dad, and I married a Navaho lady," he grinned. "You sound like you're from the old country."

"Yes, as a matter of fact I just returned from a visit there."

"Brought some new music with you, I hope."

"That I did, a ballad I learned in Dublin."

Diarwen was called up for her first set. The pub was crowded, some of them here for the music, others vacationers who had wandered in from the Strip. Diarwen entertained both groups with a couple of upbeat dance numbers and "The Rattlin' Bog." She'd save the ballad for later.

After she finished the last chorus, she saw some people in NEST jackets come in, and Parker was among them. She surrendered the stage to Aditsan and joined them. Parker sat with her, while the rest crowded into the next booth.

"I do not mean to break up your evening out-"

"Oh, I didn't come with them, we just met on the sidewalk outside. I don't think they're staying here very long. What is going on here?"

"This is a Battle of the Bards. I hope you like Celtic music!"

"I like what I've heard so far," Parker smiled.

"I'm glad to see you somewhere besides medbay," Diarwen said.

"Well, when I'm not working, I'm usually with my son, but he has a play date with Annabelle Lennox, and Sarah said he could sleep over if I'm late—or if I have a few."

"That's good of her."

"I don't know what we'd do without her and Chromia. They keep us all sane."

"Truth in that!" Diarwen said. "What are you having?"

"What have you got?"

"This is a Murphy's stout. Do you like Guiness?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"Murphy's is similar."

"I'll try one."

Diarwen signaled the waitress and said, "Another pint of Murphy's, please, and one for my friend as well."

"Comin' right up."

Diarwen said to Parker, "I did not know you had a son."

"Johnny's just turned five. I can't believe he's going to be starting kindergarten in a couple of weeks."

"They are so cute at that age, and it goes by so quickly."

"Doesn't it, though. It feels like only yesterday I had him."

Diarwen asked, "Do you have a picture? I am sure I must have seen him around the base."

Parker not only had "a picture," she had a brag book full of adorability that would undoubtedly prove to be the bane of the poor boy's existence in ten or so more years.

Diarwen carefully did not ask about the boy's father. Parker did not wear a ring, there was no father in any of the pictures, and Diarwen knew the military life was very hard on marriages.

Optimus' voice came over her earpiece, "Perhaps you should tell Dr. Parker that I am listening."

Diarwen said, "Ah, yes! Dr. Parker, you should know I have this headset microphone turned on so that Optimus can hear the music."

"That works! Good evening, sir."

They sat for a while, listening to Aditsan's set, and then to a quartet of fellows in kilts whose role models seemed to be Celtic Thunder.

Diarwen said, "If you do not mind me saying, this does not seem to be your preference in entertainment."

"Oh, no, it isn't that. I'm trying to figure out something from work. Did you know we got the medical examiner's report from Oregon today?"

"No, I did not. I take it that the findings were not as one might expect?"

"I don't know what the findings are." Parker bought them another round, and once the waitress had left, she described the injuries found on the corpses, one professional to another. "I don't know what to make of it."

Diarwen sipped her stout. "I...might. It sounds like one style of psychic combat. Victims of psychic combat sometimes appear to have died of exhaustion. I gather this is not that?"

Parker shook her head. "We've set up a medical conference for tomorrow morning. You should be there."

"I have no qualifications as a healer here."

"That isn't the point."

"I do not know what more I could contribute other than to say what I have said. If I am right, you know what you are up against. If I am wrong, then I know no more than anyone else what could do such a thing."

"I have just officially summoned you to that meeting. I'll fill out the paperwork on the fly, later. –Could you defend yourself against an attack like that?"

"Oh, aye. There are few limitations to defense. I would not have to see an attack coming, and probably no one could attack me while I was unaware, since I have my wards set so that any such attempt would wake me even from a deep sleep. The people in Oregon, however, were not trained as I am, and had not my millennia of practice. They would have been taken unaware, possibly knowing that they were being attacked but nothing more before…the attacker prevailed. Counterattacking, however, might prove problematic."

Parker had a slug of Murphy's. "That's nice stuff," she said, turning the glass to catch the light. "Tell me why a counterattack would prove problematic."

"For one thing, it is more complicated. I know exactly one truly effective attack which does not require magic—and that is the one which I am teaching Jazz. It is highly effective when it is a surprise, less so in a protracted psychic duel. It might be that this killer is accustomed to attacking from ambush and striking down his prey before they have a chance to mount a defense. He may be unskilled in actual psychic combat. That would give me the advantage of experience. Against a seasoned psychic warrior, however, my current limitations would prove a serious disadvantage."

"I see. I admit that I am curious as to what you are teaching Jazz, actually. Can you show me?"

Thus, Diarwen spent the time until she was next called on stage showing Parker how to play Invisible Basketball, and what could be accomplished with the air inside the basketball, so to speak.

When she was called to the stage, the Sidhe found it very hard to keep the smile from her voice during the ballad while she could see Parker continuing to play Invisible Basketball with herself.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Within the server farm, Soundwave allowed himself a thrill of triumph. For weeks, he had been isolated from other Decepticons by a lack of communications. At last, Lugnut had taken to the Internet, cautiously, using a very old code phrase as a screen name.

Soundwave had to be cautious around Lugnut. He was intransigent once he got an idea into his processor, and unshakably loyal to Megatron. Soundwave's own loyalty had been beyond reproach, but it was the Decepticon way to be aware of all possible means of advancement, including betraying and replacing one's superior. That meant that the strongest and most capable led. To coddle the weak, as the Autobots did, weakened the whole by allowing individuals to remain in positions of power for which they were unsuited. Lugnut, however, was one of those useful but dangerous followers who carried loyalty to the point of worship.

Blitzwing was not competent on his own, being too likely to switch from his logical personality to the less stable ones at any time. It was only the influence of his trinemate that kept him steady enough to be useful. The two of them together could be highly effective, but they would cooperate with Soundwave only as long as they believed he was working to avenge Megatron.

The only thing that could make the whole ridiculous situation more complicated would be the arrival of Strika, Lugnut's mate and the third of their trine. She was as loyal to Megatron as Lugnut, but she had her own ambitions. Back on Cybertron, those had been to unseat Starscream as their lord's second—and as Winglord of Vos.

Starscream had been aware of her designs on his position, but her trine had been too useful to Megatron for him to permit his scheming Air Commander to have her killed.

Soundwave had run several simulations substituting Strika for Soundwave in Chicago. All of them had resulted in a decisive Decepticon victory.

He had no doubt that, if she still lived, she was drawing all the surviving Seekers that she could find to her banner. When she arrived on Earth, she would be a rival, and Lugnut and Blitzwing would abandon Soundwave for her without a second thought. It might be necessary for him to take the same position with her as he had with Megatron—the loyal consigliere, and potentially, the power behind the throne.

Her return might be vorns away, though—or she might be deactivated. She and Lugnut had not been sparkmates, only a very close long-term mated pair. They had no way of knowing if she still lived. And even if she did, if Soundwave could consolidate his power here, Strika might be content with her old ambitions to replace Starscream as Winglord and Air Commander. To keep the peace among his troops, Soundwave would be content to rule in Lord Megatron's memory—as long as he ruled.

For now, though, he had more immediate concerns. They were limited in travel by the web of energon detectors which the humans had put into place, not only on highways but also at major airports.

Soundwave had found one apparent limitation to that web. It did not extend to smaller airports, often frequented only by private pilots, small charters and freight carriers. Soundwave was most interested in the cargo planes.

Lugnut and Blitzwing immediately objected. Lugnut yelled, ::Those things are unarmed!::

Soundwave replied, ::Have you forgotten that we are Decepticons? I do not expect you to disarm yourselves—only to design your alt forms to appear so! Do you want to fly wherever you wish, with the Autobots and their human pets none the wiser, or will you be content to be leashed, and possibly denied the air perpetually?::

The freedom of the skies, to a Seeker, was like energon to a starving mech of any other frame class. ::Yeah, that's good thinkin', Soundwave. You always were a smart one.::

::I am arranging a base of operations for us at a small airport near here. Choose the smallest cargo aircraft that you can manage, given your frame size.::

Assured that they would obey, Soundwave ended the communication and then turned to his human minions.

They weren't Frenzy and Rumble. No one ever would be Frenzy and Rumble. But they were starting to be adequate substitutes, and entertaining pets at least.

Soundwave never should have allowed Frenzy to work with that traitor Barricade. He should have known what would happen.

"Eric Hasson," formerly James Smith, answered a service order in his queue, which took him to a far back corner of one of the server farm's many buildings.

One of the security guards, a fat, ill-tempered man named Herbert-something, yelled at him because his ID badge had flipped backwards. He turned it right side forward and apologized insincerely.

"What was that, ya little faggot?"

Now, "Hasson" wasn't gay, he was only pretending to be as a part of his cover. And he knew that there were a lot of conservative people around who acted like idiots whenever they thought they were within twenty feet of a homosexual. Still, the guy's tone of voice struck something primitive and Hasson's first impulse was to knock him on his ass. Instead he said, "It isn't contagious, you Neanderthal."

"What did you just call me, you pansy-boy?"

"A Ne-an-der-thal," he replied, dragging out the word, clenching his fist. "Look it up."

Whether it was because Hasson wouldn't back down to an obvious bully, or because said bully knew he'd be on the unemployment line if he got in a fight with someone he was harassing, Herbert growled and waved him on.

Hasson, for his part, started a little list, and Herbert's was the first name on it.

Server racks do not normally have monitors and keyboards. Those were on Hasson's work cart. He positioned the cart so that, if someone happened to walk by, they wouldn't be able to see the monitor screen. Then he plugged them in and typed, ::I'm here, what do you need?::

Words came up on the screen. ::I have contacted the others. I have created a shipping company and rented a hangar at the local airport. We need humans to staff it. Blitzwing's and Lugnut's holoforms will do, to a certain extent, but if we are going to pretend to be a business we must have employees.::

Hasson asked, ::Why pretend?::

::What do you mean?::

::If I were you, I'd hire people to run the business. They don't need to know about us. If you can keep the other Decepticons in line and make sure they don't let the employees get wind of anything, the business should pay for itself, and anyone who gets curious will find a legitimate business in operation. The fewer people who know about us, the better,:: Hasson replied.

Soundwave quickly sent out several Internet spiders to research that. ::Very good thinking, Hasson. There is something else that I would like for you to begin working on. The DNI headset is bulky and obvious, and cannot be used continuously. If you were to create an implantable version, it would allow you the same freedom of the Internet that I have. I also think that it might be possible for you to...influence, perhaps, those members of your species who are … less gifted … in the same way that I can influence some members of my own.::

Hasson said, ::An implantable version could be do-able. We've had some problems with human technology, but Cybertronian technology might make it possible.::

::What qualities in humans do you feel we should seek out? We do not want to repeat the situation at Premium Software.::

::No, definitely not. We don't want anyone who has committed a felony, that would draw attention. People who have one or two misdemeanors on their records might be good. They can't be too curious, which means they can't be too smart, and we don't want people with initiative. They have to be motivated by money, and know how to take orders. That will work for the cargo company.

::But we need to hire people to work another level below Silvers and me for your stuff. Cell leaders, so we'll have to choose them carefully. They're the only ones who have contact with either Silvers or myself—not both of us—and they don't need to know about you. Then we get them to recruit a cell of operatives. If those operatives get caught, they can identify only their cell leader. If you're right about being able to use the DNI to control people, though, once we get that up and running we'll be able to recruit all we want.::

::Of course I am correct about the DNI,:: Soundwave said. ::I will put some thought into what you have proposed.:: He terminated the conversation.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

In September, the daily highs at the base were still near a hundred every day, and it hit eighty by eight most mornings. Optimus and Jazz found it more pleasant to meet with Diarwen at six for lessons, Invisible Basketball for both, then sometimes, as this morning, Jazz hitched back to base with Chip after his session on the shooting range, and Optimus settled in with Diarwen to discuss matters of … not faith, and not belief. One did not need either when one carried the Matrix, nor when one dealt daily with Beings which existed, and which shared moments of benevolent attention with their worshiper.

So these were not discussions of faith or belief. Of deity, perhaps, Diarwen mused this morning as she'd done her Sword Dance, but neither she nor Optimus had need of faith or belief.

She sat in the shade of an outcropping of rock and accepted the bottle of water that Optimus unsubspaced for her. It was delightfully cold.

"How did you –?" she asked, holding it, cherishing the feel as much as she would the taste.

He smirked. "Froze it the night before."

She grinned at him, and applied it to her carotids. Wonderful.

Then she applied it to her inside. Even better.

"Aaaah. Thank you. You said," she said, capping the bottle and quirking an eyebrow at him, "that you had some questions."

"I do. The Goddess is both son and lover to the God. Isn't that incest?"

She spared a thought on what it had taken Optimus, a being from a race which reproduced (if you could call it that) asexually to be able to ask her that question. "Well, yes and no."

"Oh good. I do love a straight answer." He sat down beside her, in as much shade as the rock afforded him.

She smiled at him. "Yes because it is, if the mother-son relationship between them were the truth. You must remember that this awareness of the Goddess evolved during a time when humanity had not reached the level of sophisticated thought now available to it. To say that the God is both mate to and son of the Goddess was all they had in the way of expressing the truth: that without the Goddess, there would be no God. Without the God, there would still be a Goddess, but any expression of love She might make would not be toward living beings. She is boundless creation, but He is life, springing eternal from that creation, ephemeral where She is immortal."

"And that takes care of yes. What about no?"

"No because incest is not commonly practiced among humans, nor among animal species. Oh, a few individuals in every generation will practice it, but very few. It tends to breed itself out. Few societies do not actively condemn it. Only among royal bloodlines was it common." Diarwen had to stop to think a bit. "I believe," she said finally, "that He is Her son and Her lover only because ancient humanity had no concepts to express Their relationship otherwise. They combine to make Life, in all its forms. Therefore, to humanity's early mind, they must be lovers. Yet He arises from Her, so they must be Son and Mother." She paused. "You must know also, Optimus, that any written records humanity has of the Goddess and Her Son were written down by those politically inimical to that belief. The humans may have known a better way to put it, may have had the correct information, but those who recorded it chose the worst possible way to express it, for political reasons."

He'd have to think about that, he knew. "Very well. I wish to further discuss Mabon, while we are out here together."

"Fire away," she said, and had some more water.

"Why is it that some pagans see it as 'the beginning of sorrow'? They don't brand Ostara as 'the beginning of joy.'"

"No, that is Imbolc. At Mabon, as at Ostara, the sun and moon are balanced in their influence. The ancients had no way of knowing that summer with its bounty would always recur, so I imagine that they approached Ostara in hopes of that. At Mabon, it's always true that the days are growing observably shorter, but on that holiday day and night balance. After that, the days continue to shorten, and it is confirmed that winter comes. Three days after Yule, on the other hand, the days have already been observed to be longer. Summer is welcome, winter with its hardships is not. That may be the only difference between them."

"That would be true only in the Northern hemisphere, though."

"Yes, but that is where modern paganism developed. Many pagans in the Southern hemisphere do celebrate the Sabbats at the proper time for their seasons—it is nearly Ostara by their reckoning."

He filed that away. "The other question I had concerned quarter- and cross-quarter days."

"Ah! Well, let me give you some information first, and we shall see where that leads us. Those are two differing systems, mashed together. Tribes in the British Isles celebrated the solstices and equinoxes. Germanic tribes in Europe celebrated the days half-way between them."

"You have already told me that."

"Have I? Well, accessing files is less random than accessing organic memory, my friend."

"Indeed," he said dryly.

She grinned. "The other source of these two systems is the British banking industry."

"How so?"

"Funds kept in trust for widows, orphans, and dependent children were paid out on quarter-days, ninety days apart. It's really quite difficult to budget for two months in advance, so instead of paying monthly, for a time the funds would have been distributed on the quarter and cross-quarter days."

"Would that have had any influence on magical practice?"

"None, although if you are an illiterate peasant, it's a pleasant way of marking time. The other members of your village may have more disposable income around this time, and so you are likely to stockpile salable goods to coincide with the expansion of the market at those dates."

"Thank you. Surprising creatures, these humans." He stood, and held out his hand to her. "Are you ready to go back?"

"Aye, that I am," she said, and stepped into his palm, their fields meshing.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Meanwhile, Lennox was on the phone with Mearing. It was 0600 hours on the base, 0900 in DC—the beginning of both their work days. They were hashing out the situation with S5 and S13 which had cropped up at the proving grounds yesterday.

Mearing asked, "What exactly happened? Were you there to see it?"

"I was there to hear it, but I had my back turned. I heard Baker cuss at Stoughton, then there were two cracks, Stoughton yelled 'Ouch,' and Baker went flying. When I turned around, Tyler came over the obstacle course fence and tackled Treadwell before he could jump Braithwaite. Arag was keeping Darlington and Pritchart out of the fight. Hempstead and Winters were assisting Stoughton and Baker, respectively. I ordered everyone to stand down at that point, sir, and they did."

"So Baker started the fight. Why did she do that?"

"She thought Stoughton was, er, improperly staring at her."

"O-kay...was he?"

"I think he was actually staring at the S11 twins, sir, and the two of them did not consider it improper. Dr. Hunt may have had a different opinion."

"Good Lord preserve us from horny teenagers. They do know Stoughton is a ghost, don't they?"

"I believe they are aware of that, Director."

"Do you ever feel more like the principal of a middle school than a commanding officer?"

"There's a difference, sir?"

Both of them laughed. Mearing said, "I'll call Braithwaite, you get Treadwell's side of it, then call me back in an hour."

Lennox said, "Yes, sir," hung up, eyed the stack of paperwork and data pads waiting in his in-box, and told his aide, "Tell A.D. Treadwell I need to see him immediately after breakfast, and inform him and A.D. Braithwaite also that there's been a change of schedule. S5 will attend CMO Ratchet's Bots 101 lecture this morning, and they'll have the firing range at 1900 hours. S9 will have the firing range this morning and the lecture this evening. And have the galley send me black coffee and whatever kind of danish they have."

"Yes, sir. What size coffee?"

"Do they have gallon jugs?"

His aide grinned. "I'll find out, sir."

Lennox pulled the top paper off the stack and got to work.

He had reduced the in-box overload considerably and significantly lowered the level on his quart of coffee (the largest dose the galley would provide without, his aide reported, a prescription) by the time Treadwell arrived twenty minutes later.

Treadwell stood at attention in front of his desk, which at first puzzled Lennox because he hadn't been in the military. But then Lennox remembered a 20-year reunion T-shirt the man had been wearing the other evening that said "St. Ignatius High School."

You could take the kid out of parochial school but you couldn't take parochial school out of the kid.

Lennox hadn't been to parochial school, but he could channel the toughest teacher he'd ever had, his high school football coach. He said, "Have a seat, Mr. Treadwell."

"Sir, about yesterday, I'd like to apologize on behalf of my team. There was no excuse for getting into a fight, sir."

"The next time Baker feels that someone is harassing her, we have a procedure in place for reporting and dealing with that." Lennox pushed a sheet of paper across the desk. "Please make sure that your team is aware of that procedure."

"Yes, sir," Treadwell said. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Not quite. This is only one example of continuing tension between your team and S13. It is affecting unit cohesiveness. Before I decide what to do about that, I'd like to hear your take on what the problem is."

Treadwell gave him a suspicious look, and Lennox could understand that. The New Yorker had to be wondering if the Ranger really wanted to hear what he had to say, or if he was simply going through the motions before reassigning S5. He took the question on face value and replied, "It's a question of...perspective, sir. Sector 5's job is to deal with supernatural menaces. S13 wants to study the damn things. Talk to them. That's all well and good—but not when it's something that can kill people. Take this Sufri incident. We should have been called in on that."

"And that's the main reason the Sectors have all been brought into the same agency, so that we can share our expertise. Believe me, if your team had been available to me during that incident, I would have called you in—if I thought you and S13 could work the case together without killing each other."

"With respect, sir, it's hard to work a case with people who are just as likely to be on the other side of the fight. You got a Fomor, you got a witch and a warlock, you got a ghost. There's only one guy on the whole team whose loyalty is to the United States, and he could be compromised."

"OK. I'm trying to give you a fair hearing, but after that statement, you're going to have to talk fast to convince me not to load your asses on the next transport out of here," Lennox snapped.

"Well, if you don't want to hear the truth, maybe that's the best thing you could do," Treadwell replied.

"And that truth is? Because I've worked with S13, and I watched them all put their lives on the line alongside the rest of us to put Sufri down. If you're accusing them of disloyalty to the United States, those are fighting words. Put up or shut up."

"OK. You know there are different kinds of witches, right? Hempstead is one of those tree-hugger new age types, they're really pretty harmless for the most part because they believe anything they do boomerangs three times. They do tend to hate Christians."

"Considering your ancestors burned theirs at the stake, that would be understandable. But Hempstead isn't in my office telling me what bastards Christians are," Lennox pointed out.

"I'd point out their ancestors threw mine to the lions a long time before that," Treadwell replied. "But that isn't the point. What I'm getting at is, Braithwaite isn't a new-ager. His kind are interested in power, and they'll take it from any source they can without getting eaten. I've seen them collect all kinds of things—artifacts, books, creatures—to study, regardless of the danger to themselves or their neighbors. And they don't have the same...moral brakes...that the new-agers do. Eventually they over-reach and take out a city block—and we're the ones who clean up their mess. Have you seen S5's reports?"

"I have."

"Then you know about that guy in New England who built a golem in his garage. I had to have the Navy shell that thing to stop it—after it killed him and six other people. Remember the flap that caused?"

Lennox grinned. "You mean that accidental shot that blew up a garage? I don't remember the news getting hold of seven people being killed."

"We managed to pass it off as a head-on collision caused when one driver got scared by the explosion and went left of center. The reporters were more interested in whether or not to blame the president for the misfire than in the people who were killed."

"That figures. OK, let's assume you have a point in that some people who practice Braithwaite's style of magic can be irresponsible, and some of Hempstead's fellow witches can be prejudiced against Christians. You haven't shown me a shred of evidence that either of those things are true of the people we presently have on this base. But you did refer to A.D. Braithwaite by a term that they find offensive. A warlock is not a male witch. A warlock is an oath-breaker, a backstabber."

"So noted."

"Now, let's move on to Arag. That man served his country with honor in the United States Marine Corps from Vietnam to the Gulf War. He was decorated for bravery three separate times. After he retired from the Corps, he moved on to S13 and has continued to serve with honor. Now you listen to me and you listen good, there's someone on this base who has every reason to refer to him in racial terms, and I wouldn't take that from her if she did. I'm sure as fuckin' hell not taking it from you."

"Yes, sir."

"I want to know how this crap started in the first place."

"It was in Boston, when I was still 2iC of my team. We were up there investigating a string of what we thought were ritual homicides, you remember that case, it was all over the news. We suspected a bunch of juvenile wannabee Satanists. S13 was already up there. The killers were vampires; an old one turned a pack of high school kids and sent them out to hunt for him. S13 was trying to study those kids instead of tracking them back to the master. Two more people were killed before we got there and staked the vampires. Like I said. It's all about what they can learn. I don't know what Braithwaite thought he was going to learn about vampires! The victim is already dead, you can't save them—all you can do is kill the demon that's possessing their body. You can't waste time studying things when people are dying!"

Lennox nodded. "I'll look into this. In the meanwhile, I don't want any more incidents like yesterday. You and your team are to stay clear of S13. That's an order."

"Yes, sir. With all due respect, sir, if they don't stay clear of us, what are we supposed to do then?"

Lennox growled, "They'll stay clear of you. I'll make sure of that."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

While Lennox read Treadwell the riot act, Mearing had Braithwaite on the phone. "I understand your team had a little trouble yesterday."

"Yes, Director. I would like to apologize for that."

"What the hell happened?"

"Mr. Stoughton was, shall we say, distracted. Miss Baker assumed that she was the distraction, and took offense. She attacked Mr. Stoughton without provocation. I defended my teammate. Mr. Tyler then prevented Mr. Treadwell from attacking me. At that point, Colonel Lennox restored order."

As that agreed with Lennox' account, more or less, Mearing accepted it. "I need to know what the problem is."

"The—problem—is that S5 are a collection of cowboys and hooligans who think blowing things up is the preferred solution to every problem! If they're investigating anyone who is not a human Christian, their attitude is to kill them all and let God sort it out. They don't care what the collateral damage is, or that it might be possible to find a peaceful resolution to the situation. Anyone who doesn't fit their criteria for a proper American is automatically the enemy."

"Yet they've done a lot of good."

"I'm not saying there aren't enemies out there. I am saying, they don't bother to find out first before they start firing away like the gunfight at the OK corral! We cannot live in blinders. We cannot judge who is worthy of respect, of life, by species or religion. And we cannot decide what information is worthy of study and preservation by what has gained the approval of any specific religion. There is a reason why we have a First Amendment, Director. We shouldn't still be fighting these battles in this day and age. We ought to be past that."

Mearing said, "While all that's true, I don't know what it has to do with this brawl yesterday. I don't want a repeat of that."

"I must point out that they attacked us."

"Based upon a misunderstanding. Let it go."

"I've had words with Mr. Stoughton. We will attempt to avoid Mr. Treadwell and his people as much as possible, and we will not provoke them. However, I will not allow my agents to be attacked without taking action, Director."

"They'll leave you alone, Mr. Braithwaite, I'll see to that."

"Thank you, Director."

Jazz, who never let anyone know he did so, had eavesdropped on both conversations. Primus help anyone on either team who stepped over the line from now on, he thought. Having both Mearing and Lennox on your aft was probably not survivable.

End Part 7