Zero - Earth Fall: Zero, #3 452t1z

Zero:

Earth Fall Author: Clifford Barker Zero - Earth Fall Copyright © 2020 by Clifford Barker. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review after receiving permission in writing from the author. Cover designed by Clifford Barker This book is a work of complete fiction but historical accuracy is assured. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental and is used only to provide a stage for the characters.

"Given the unstoppable march of time, it is the responsibility of future generations to honour our servicemen, whether living or fallen who dedicated themselves to maintaining peace, such that the unsavoury acts of the past will never be forgotten, excused or repeated. " This story ends in the period of WW2 ... 1939 - 1945

Contents

Chapter 1 – Systemic perfection.............................4 Chapter 2 - Great ball of fire................................9 Chapter 3 - Central......................................12 Chapter 4 - Like a fly in the soup.............................14 Chapter 5 - Welcome to 1563 ...............................24 Chapter 6 - A history of violence............................30 Chapter 7 - The pattern in the chaos.........................35 Chapter 8 - Mortimer ... Able seaman.........................42 Chapter 9 - Death from the dark continent....................50 Chapter 10 - Adrift again ....................................53 Chapter 11 - Memories from beyond the stars...................57 Chapter 12 - The Företaget III...............................62 Chapter 13 - Pieces of ... A bigger picture......................71 Chapter 14 - Time sails on .................................78 Chapter 15 - The thorn at Garic's side ........................84 Chapter 16 - The torch is ed ............................88 Chapter 17 - Deserts and just desserts.......................91 Chapter 18 - Alone again..................................96

Chapter 19 - A drink to ... And plan................102 Chapter 20 - The real chase begins .........................110 Chapter 21 - Parts and Pirates............................117 Chapter 22 - Evidence of a long haul........................122 Chapter 23 - Alculinium resolve ............................132 Chapter 24 - Geyldian...................................144 Chapter 25 - The Second goes fishing........................152 Chapter 26 - Come in Number Two ..........................157 Chapter 27 - The chase continues...........................164 Chapter 28 - Clarity in the fog...............................175 Chapter 29 - I am Garic ... No ... I'm Garic .....................193 Chapter 30 - Last Morty ... Standing? .........................215 Chapter 31 - Morty’s mission accomplished ....................222 Chapter 32 - One of our Clones is missing.....................227 Chapter 33 - Impatient patient...............................238 Chapter 34 - Vanished without a trace ........................242 Chapter 35 - Blank slate..................................250 Chapter 36 - A wild Garic chase..............................257 Chapter 37 - The epic of Jinhai ..............................270 Chapter 38 - Return to Guam................................272 Chapter 39 - Global shell game.............................281

Chapter 40 - Masters and minions ...........................284 Chapter 41 - A captain’s disgrace ...........................299 Chapter 42 - Bamboozled in Bombay........................305 Chapter 43 - Cutting the body off the snake...................313 Chapter 44 - The ultimate transgression......................320 Chapter 45 - Doon and Gloom.............................324 Chapter 46 - Party at the Panopticon.........................326 Chapter 47 - New York high life .............................343 Chapter 48 - All out prʌɪmeɪt-ɪv war..........................347 Chapter 49 - Basic Training?...............................355 Chapter 50 - S.A.S. vs S.S.................................360 Chapter 51 - The Key to victory ..............................377 Chapter 52 - The anti-gravity of the situation....................386 Chapter 53 - The Tall Client I presume? ......................395

Chapter 1 – Systemic perfection.

“IT IS THE SMALLEST organisms which hold the most power. They can enhance life or devastate it utterly if conditions are wrong. Survive they must, and survive they will, by any means required. Whether that be sympathetic evolution, or brutal and remorseless revolution.” Across the unimaginable void of space, lay a vast stellar structure. This single galaxy, countless galaxies from our own, contained millions of solar systems. Riding on the back swept edge of one of the galaxy’s feathery arms, was one solar system not unlike the system containing the Earth. There were however, a few glaring differences. The sun at the centre of this system was much heavier than our own and was still within its first two billion years of shining light and life down on the surrounding planets. So bright was the light burning from this star, that it easily washed over all the planets in the system, of which there were eighteen in all. Within the temperate zone, a miracle had happened. Four planets basked in the light; all hosted complex life. These four planets, having jockeyed initially to reach the orbits they were in, had all quickly settled and cooled. Appearing as small moon-like objects in each other’s skies, the four planets had never tangled since. While the effects on their neighbours were noticeable, they were also manageable. All four planets had developed complex carbon based life, and a myriad of species had developed, but only the three outermost of the planets had borne a dominant sentient species to inhabit all the environments on each world. The three races were broadly similar, and yet philosophically speaking there were no differences between them. From their earliest times each had known about their neighbours, but none had harboured any thoughts of conquest; only the desire to experience these different worlds so they could meet their brothers and sisters. The innermost planet of the four was a pristine haven for life. Galra-Shin was almost totally covered in lush rainforest, with small polar ice caps. Whilst being permanent all year these were crossable on foot in mere days. Not possessing a native dominant species, Galra-Shin played host to all the species of the other three. Due to its agreeable climate, the planet became a sanctuary for leisure. As the four planets traced their orbits, locked in a staggered convoy by the second

planet Ashlar-Gin, this gem of diversity took less than one day to reach; even from the outermost of the four planets, which was far less temperate. The outer planet, Galshan-Rin, was the odd ball in the bunch. This planet made only one rotation as it orbited the sun. Many species lived here too, despite the fact that the side facing the sun had originally been desert. When viewed from the neighbouring worlds, a huge maze of irrigation channels could be seen. Through these, water was channeled from the dark side, to feed a huge underground city in the centre of the desert surface, like the spot on a billiard ball. The dominant species had long since grown tired of living on the dark side and had chosen to bask in the sun instead. Safely below ground in a huge, excavated tunnel, the Galshan people wanted for nothing. The construction of this world within a world had taken many millennia, but the task had been made faster with assistance from the neighbouring planets. Originally, life on the planet had been harsh, plant life had been sparse on the planet. Still the only foliage on this planet grew like the hair on a friar’s head in a thick forest. Stretching from the outer edges of the sunward side, where the temperature was cool enough, back to the equator of light which marked the front and rear side of the planet. Inboard of this, on the light side of this surprisingly lush artificial forest, was now enough irrigated farmland to feed the entire planet with enough left over to trade. Although all four planets shone like jewels inside their system, Galshan-Rin was the most spectacular to look at. Although the four planets had evolved separately, it had only been a matter of time before they would arrive to each other’s surfaces. It was the people of the second planet in the habitable zone, Ashlar-Gin, who had gotten to the technological milestone of space flight first. The Ashlarians had set out in all directions simultaneously with three ships. They were surprised to find no complex life beyond plants, insects and animals at the first planet, but were elated to meet their sisters and brothers on the two other planets. With a spirit of true harmony the Ginlar had shared their technological achievements with their neighbours, and this only brought them closer together. At first it had taken months to make these journeys, even such short distances. In this era, the three planets were much evolved. Each planet had a population mixed evenly from the three worlds, free trade and free movement were the norm.

The first was left pristine for the benefit of all three worlds to visit. Even with this rich floating holiday planet only hours away, the three races were ultraresponsible with their own resources. None had ever harnessed fossil fuels, despite the fact that they would have been abundant upon all but the final world where the rich forest ring had been seeded only within the last twenty thousand years after the planets came together fully. With mental capacities on a par, but with different outlooks and priorities in their lives, the three species had been able to advance past the need for fossil fuels and a few steps beyond with minimal quarrelling. The stellar propulsion units they used planet to planet were based on ionised plasma technology. Integrated into these large units were also ionic wave thrusters which could be heard crackling in the atmosphere as they flew overhead. So successful were these thrusters within the atmosphere and with zero harmful emissions to boot that they had soon been adopted on all four planets. While they could even breach into space, they were useless for reducing flight times over long distances and were only used to offer high maneuverability and deceleration. Ashlar-Gin was a fine planet, the second from their sun inside the habitable zone. Classifiable as a super Earth, the split between landmass and ocean was almost fifty-fifty. There were small patches of desert which coincided with areas closest to the sun as the planet proceeded to tilt around its orbit. One full day took more like twenty-eight hours, with each ing normally on Ashlar-Gin. A year took exactly four-hundred and twenty-five days as the planet had much further to travel around its enormous star. Dominant on their world in of intelligence and population, the Ginlar lived synergistically with their world and the myriad other species which lived alongside them. All life, all things which were alive, were prized. The Ginlar had no need for violence or violent thoughts. Their population was held well within sustainable levels using a radical but ultimately effective solution. As a species, the Ashlarians had given up the act of sex for procreation. There was still coupling, and love and Ginlar still engaged in sex for pleasure, but this would not lead to pregnancy. Every couple was entitled to one child, but not before certain criteria had been met first. These were called the tasks of life. The first was to realise the potential instilled within you at your genetically modified conception. The second was to maintain a relationship with a chosen partner for at least two years. The third

was simply that both parties in the relationship had to acknowledge their own readiness to be a parent. Their child’s IQ level was determined by the average of their genetic mother and father. The system ensured that you would follow them into their chosen profession, but this was not a foregone conclusion. Tests were istered to check that potential was being fully realised, and adjustments were made if required. On the three planets there was a job for everyone, allocated to you seventeen years in advance. The system even knew whose job you were going to take. The benefit of this system was that people who wanted children could have a child; those who did not were allocated more isolating jobs. Everyone would perform a challenging and fulfilling job tailored to their abilities, yet advancement was still possible, despite the pre-programming of the initial posting. There was no disease, and the parents were allowed to choose the aesthetic traits of their offspring, from the possibilities their genetic mix might produce. All children had parents, there were none who were unwanted or unloved. All parents were ready and prepared for the challenges of parenthood, which meant less strain in the long run. Couples made better parents; examples their children could follow. Money worries never existed as there was no currency. Homes and home comforts were allocated by the state as was all food. Produce was high quality; all goods were equally matched and no one had any more or any less than anyone else without earning it. At your place of work you simply had a task to fulfil for the greater good of the colony you lived in, you didn’t have a boss. Beyond keeping good time, there were no other rules, and no quotas. If a person was exceptionally skilled and unchallenged by their posting, then they could be moved to another post which would allow them to use their skills. The system worked because even the Ginlar who did nothing more than clean up after other Ginlar felt happy and content in their work and in their lives; and because everyone lived within the system. In stark contrast, whenever a similar system had been tried on Earth, this had

mostly been forced onto the people by an upper class who felt themselves to be above the system. Such systems were used to manage food and commodities, so there would be enough, though there rarely was. The result would be contempt for governments, as they failed to end the suffering of their people, even making things much worse. Another reason why the system worked on Ashlar-Gin was simply because the system had never been given a name; it was simply the system which everyone had lived by since time had been recorded. There were no exceptions, even the royal family lived a frugal and public life, for the enhancement of their subjects. Far from being holed up inside a castle or a palace, looking down on their people, the Royals were scattered across the planet, accessible to the masses. They were regularly seen speaking in public, performing duties for the masses in the same way, though maybe not for as much time in a week. They were also still heavily involved in planetary development and day to day operations. The people of Ashlar-Gin were technologically advanced enough to make it work. Recreation time was spent outside on the land or pursuing hobbies. The Ginlar were by and large an active species, there was no TV to ruin people. Families were oriented around and focused upon their children. By cooperation and collaboration, the races on the three planets had achieved perfection, not nearly, but actual. To a human observer, these worlds would have been magical at first. Quickly though the human would find the worlds unrewarding and unfulfilling. The Ginlar had no ambition or need to better themselves. There was no competitiveness in the workplace, order and efficiency was always maintained. The tradeoff socially was no violence or crime of any kind. Our human observer may then have commented that while these people looked generally like smaller furry versions of us, they behaved more like ants. Everything happened for the greater good of the whole. Not like humans who prefer an everyman for themselves approach, regarding any matter outside their own family unit. Their ordered lifestyle was a marvel, and had continued without adjustment for thousands of years. Even the way they handled off world trading ran like clockwork with neither species perceiving any advantage over the other. Goods were traded as freely as surpluses allowed to whoever needed them that had

something to trade. Without money, the goods had no value beyond the use which could be made of them ... This perfection had only been disturbed a handful of times in the last ten generations. The record held all the information regarding the first time ... Roughly five hundred and fifty Ginlarian years ago, the forest planet Galra-shin was disturbed by an explosion and subsequent fire which had destroyed many square Kliks of the forest. Fire on Galra-shin was unrecorded ever before. The vegetation was lush and the ground moist. The cycle of new growth existed without the need for fire to erase that which had grown previously. In accordance with the seasons all plant species had their time to grow, flower and germinate, always to return ... But this was all a long time ago ... Only in a few systems could the words Ashlar-Gin still be heard crossing people’s lips. The last hundred years in the Ashlarian system had been turbulent as an enemy with infinite numbers and an unparalleled greed had plagued the Ashlarian system into extinction ... Against all the odds, there were survivors ...

Chapter 2 - Great ball of fire

IT WAS TIME FOR DECISIVE action. Garic had canvased his crew and all of them agreed. It was far better to be destroyed after ripping themselves out of the inversion than to end up alone and with no power in Khai territory, potentially allowing the enemy a view of their technology ... "So we are all in agreement then?" Groans were heard from the rear of the fighter. "Jacus, see if you can fire up Elsie's reactor. I know it's only been a week but we have no idea what the inversion bubble has done to our reaction chamber." "Affirmative, starting engine ... Now." A droning sound hummed from the reactor as Elsie slowly came to life. Normally turning Elsie on was easy, you just pushed her buttons and she was fired up and ready to go ... "Sorry Garic, it seems like she's being a little difficult today ..." Garic listened as Jacus tweaked Elsie in ways he'd never had to before. He was diverting fully battery power to increase the reactor shielding and pre-heat the plasma injection manifold. "Okay boss, Elsie is ready to play now." "Thanks Jacus ... Right men, get your helmets sealed and strap yourselves back in. Things are gonna get a little bumpy from here on out. We free Elsie or rip her apart trying ..." A cheer bellowed from the rear compartment as Garic oriented all thrusters to point forwards. Taking a deep breath, he then applied a one second burst, before cutting power again. Nothing had changed. Next he applied a two second burst, and was pleased to see the rear starboard stabiliser was beginning to form a breach. -Alright Elsie, it's time for us to leave.

Garic could see the tip of the stabiliser begin to burn up, they were travelling incredibly fast. Miku, the weapons tech could see the same view on his own monitor ... "Come on Garic, in or out ... Which is to be?" That was it, Garic wasn't going to stand for his men thinking he was getting cold feet. "Give her ten seconds Garic." "Thanks Peret, but this is all or nothing. We are getting out this time or ... It's been nice knowing you." No countdown this time, Garic impatiently punched the throttle fully open for reverse thrust, and he held it there; he wasn't even counting. How long it took did not concern him, only the ship’s hull integrity did. As he watched the left stabiliser emerge fully into the space outside the bubble, then melt away back to the surface of the inversion bubble, he had his fingers crossed. If they made it out in one piece, he would have to slow them to a stop quickly. They were going so fast that the heat might exceed a planetary re-entry. Garic speculated they would have about two minutes to get themselves slowed to a stop so they could evaluate the damage. After thirty seconds the lensing effect as Garic looked out of the inversion into normal space was becoming less distorted. The bubble was stretching thinner and thinner. Garic was fully invested in a tug of war, Elsie against the massive Khai ship. His tiny ship could not compete, but the integrity of the jump bubble was finite. It would not stretch much more before Elsie would be ejected. Pressing a few buttons Garic first went to override his reactor output to push one hundred and thirty percent. Next he deployed full shielding. In the end only a minor tremor indicated their ship was free. A much more obvious sign came as the whole ship began to glow red. If not for their cooled survival suits, the men would have been cooked where they sat. Garic didn’t power off for even one second, he still had the Ionic wave thrusters in full reverse, but his speed was ... It was off the scale. Once below re-entry speed the coldness of space quickly cooled the hull again. Garic was shocked to see a blue planet covered with wisps of white fluffy cloud, filling his screen. He had no

time to react, his thrusters were already on full reverse. Now the ship was heating up again on actual re-entry. Fortunately, the ionic wave thrusters now had something to push against, dense molecules of air and other assorted gases. It wasn't enough though, this planet was much smaller than Ashlar-Gin and as the surface grew ever nearer, Garic could just see through the flames burning over his ship’s hull and screen ... Water, they were going to ditch into water ... We might survive yet. What Garic hadn’t realised, the sudden reheating of her hull was about to prove too much for his fighter Elsie to withstand. Already having their suits and helmets on, his crew had some protection, but this didn’t help them as their small ship came apart at the seams. Garic’s shipmates were sucked out and dismembered as their portion of the ship, firstly separated from the cockpit, then continued to break up into jagged flying knives. The fragments quickly slowed in the air and began to drift down to the surface. Garic was still racing away. Plummeting over an ocean for most of the way in, for the final twenty seconds Elsie's cockpit travelled ballistically over a pair of small islands; one of which had a mountain range forming a rocky spine. Then another sea, more land and finally a smaller sea. Unaware that he was alone, Garic issued the call to brace. Tightening his own straps, the tiny metal capsule hit the water. The impact shattered the fighter's front screen and water rushed in tearing Garic’s helmet off with a force which almost broke his neck. The sea was shallow and Elsie's cockpit bounced off the sea bed before coming to a rest. Unconscious, Garic was quickly flushed out of the cockpit rear bulkhead; his last realisation was that he had crashed alone. He was lost this time for sure. For the first life in his time, Garic stopped fighting and relaxed. The water was cold and the shock almost focused his mind to his situation. Drifting slowly up to the surface, he ed how much he hated drowning; strangely this time there was no panic, he just to let go. The icy water had filled his lungs completely and Garic was dead before his body breached the surface into fresh air. Despite the tragic nature of his last thoughts, this was better than him knowing the truth of what really happened on his home world. He had been in the Khai jump bubble for almost a week, but during this time more than ten thousand years had ed on the remains of Ashlar-Gin ...

Chapter 3 - Central

BURIED JUST BELOW THE surface of an ocean platform, lay a vast space faring leviathan. Buried originally by human labour a million years ago, the ship had finally been left under water by rising sea levels after the last ice age. Currently this ship lay about ten miles offshore from the landmass of the new world, christened as Florida only fifty years earlier by the Spanish. This hulking alien spaceship, known to its inhabitants as Central, was so big and had been travelling so fast, that it took less than 30 seconds to pierce the atmosphere of the planet after narrowly missing the moon. The breaking thrusters finally fired with enough force to allow the craft to smash into the ground hard but remain intact, and more importantly ... Functional. That was a long time ago, millions of years. Over these long eons, this advanced race nurtured humanity as the dominant species on Earth; hoping to their gift of enlightenment on to their new found wards. Central was immense. It had taken over a thousand years with assistance from the humans to bury the vessel. Far from needing to enslave the humans, which was not the way of the Devine, they had simply asked the leaders of various tribes to help. There was no urgency in the endeavour, some years no work was carried out at all. There was no rush. In fact there was never any need to rush, the clones always considered a situation fully, before starting any task. This process of consideration and evaluation had only taken too long once. The Devine had committed themselves to the task of deciding whether or not they should share their home world with their neighbours ... The Khai-mah. On their planet, with it’s here today and gone tomorrow crust, the Khai had been forged into an aggressive and warmongering species who killed to survive. They weren’t given to waiting. A war to end all wars broke out, lasting millennia, the result was exodus on the part of the Devine. The Khai had stolen their first world ... After abandoning their beloved planet, the Devine ran. For somewhere, anywhere else which could offer them sanctuary. The journey had never been intended to end on Earth, but this planet was better suited to their needs than many others which they had already ed. Earth certainly represented the planetary needle in the galactic haystack, and the

Devine could not have landed more on their feet. Only Mona, the third ship in their party never made Earth, crashing instead on the surface of Earth’s moon. Embedded fast, she had been unable to launch despite also remaining fully functional. In recent Millennia, the latest generation of Devine clones had been devoting themselves to a single important task. The power reactors on their two ships were ancient. Whilst fully functional, the reactor housings, having each lasted many eons past their original design specifications were beginning to break down. This allowed small leaks in their containment. A mark of how well the two ships were designed, and manufactured, was the stable predictability with which both ships were beginning to fail, in almost perfect alignment. There was no direct threat yet which the clones could not deal with. But in time, they knew that the leakage would leach matter into the ground and then the atmosphere, polluting everything. All living things would be choked to death. The Clones certainly did not want that. Over the last hundred millennia, the clones had been both cautious and diligent, as they had chosen certain humans to disseminate valuable information to. This information covered many fields of learning. Eventually such knowledge would allow humans to develop to a point where they could make the parts to repair the leviathans huge reactors. The humans initial lag of understanding, and Earth's own natural machinations to obstruct the humans, had seen even the Clones with their legendary patience begin to think that time was running out. In the last thousand years though, humanity had caught up and had actually sured the level of minimum learning, which the clones felt they would need, in order to help their cause. Today though, something broke the silence aboard Central. Something which had not sounded in over Three and a half million years, since their huge space vessel had exited its hyperspace conduit only to find a large blue and green world filling their viewing screen, approaching far too quickly ...

Chapter 4 - Like a fly in the soup...

BWAAH ... BWAAH ... Bwaah! The proximity alarm was blaring in the ear slits of the ship's inhabitants, the Devine Clones. Even though the proximity alarm was almost deafening to the clones, this was the only noise. The clones themselves were in a mild state of panic, but having almost lost verbal communication, all enquiries were made telepathically ... Within their hive mind. Hitting the button on his console and returning his office to a silent condition, allowed his concentration to return. Ra'sian, the clone officer in charge of finding information was first to try and interpret the source of the alarm. Examination of the ship's systems yielded no results, everything was operating nominally. Odd then ... Why the alarm? Expanding his search to the scanners surveying outside the ship far into space, Ra’sian was stunned to see a blip on his monitor. Akin to a radar system the humans were not due to invent for another few centuries, Central’s scanner had much higher range and definition. The screen showed a craft on an inbound course to Earth. The first time ever since their own controlled crash landing. The instant that the realisation dawned upon Ra'sian, so too the other supervising clones knew. The first to appear beside him in an instant, with a loud thunderclap which almost caused the air to ignite, was Aelren the Old Prime. Secondly was Leren, the Doctor, then Oxull the Engineer. Finally and impressively late compared to his contemporaries was Geberus, the science officer. Being nearer to Ra’sian than any other clone, the Scientist should’ve been first to the Watcher's side; but as usual he’d been distracted by his Thrall mind bank which was conducting one of his unending experiments. Normally a Circle of Numbers would contain nine of the clones. Each covered a different discipline on board the ship or the planet. Various circumstances meant they were now down to six. The seventh seat had travelled with the Devine to protect them on their long journey to the new Prime planet. The Eighth seat had been retired to the record for crimes against humanity many millennia ago, and no Novus had risen to replace him yet. The same was also true for the ninth seat. -What is it Ra'sian?

-I can't see clearly yet Prime ... It’s small but it's coming in very hot ... Velocity ... Constant ... NO ... Wait ... It’s slowing. ing over us ... Now ... It just broke apart ... It's definitely not mineral, it's a craft, the rate of slowing was far in excess of atmospheric drag. -Where? -The larger chunk seems to have ditched into the English, one three hundred miles East of the tip of Balerion ... Sorry ... Cornwall. The small piece is ditching ... Now ... The middle of the Nordic Sea. -Oxull ... Dispatch some Caddy with instructions to investigate. Check for survivors, bring everything back. Ra'sian, continue to monitor and correlate any data collected ... Go now ... The two officers most likely to yield any useful information at this early stage had been set their tasks, Aelren would expect results to come quickly. This was the first time anything external had even come close to Earth since their own arrival so this was an important event. The other clones could hear their Prime's thoughts clearly enough to know exactly what he was worried about. He was dwelling on the same thought which had dogged all previous Prime's ... -What if it's the Khai-mah? ... What if they've found us? A chill ed through the minds of the remaining clones, Aelren's fear wasn’t hypothetical ... It was real. Ever since the Devine had crashed onto the Earth, they had always cast one eye over their shoulder. For the clones it was never a case of IF ... Only WHEN? Two short minutes later, small vibrations were felt through the hull of the massive ship. Three Caddy were leaving on their mission, it would be hours before they would return. Ra’sian had instructed the Thrall pilots and recovery teams to go to the nearest site first, this was where the larger ship fragment had crashed. There would be more chance of finding a survivor or intact pieces of debris at this site. If they were lucky the debris field would be small. Though realistically, having exploded at such high altitude debris could have spread for hundreds of square miles.

The Caddy were more than capable of travelling under water, being early afternoon in Europe, this was what they would now do. Humans had been seafaring for thousands of years, inspired by the ships the Devine had used to visit all the Earth's continents while they had still been present on the planet. Whenever the human tribal communities had witnessed the arrival of their gods it had always been from the sea primarily, not the sky. This had inspired the humans and fuelled their aspirations, enabling them to progress. The Devine had shepherded humanity well, from warring monkeys to a species which would eventually become capable of reaching an enlightened state. This was still a way off though, a long way off. Within the last century human vessels, now made of sturdy timber frames had begun traversing the Atlantic. Whilst the sighting of a Caddy would have few consequences now, it was a precedent the Clones were committed to avoiding. Inevitably the humans were becoming more technologically savvy. In a few short centuries they should easily progress to air travel, and maybe even space; all the building blocks had been set in place. The scientist Geberus didn’t like to be unprepared. Today was a great day, he was going to press a button he had always hoped to press but had never had the opportunity. In an instant, a signal was sent which re-assigned a node of his mind bank in order to receive and translate communications from the Thrall Caddy pilots. As erroneous clones, Novus and Old Clones could issue instructions to the Thrall, but this was only one way. Thrall communication was mostly nonverbal beyond random yips, grunts and choking noises. All of which merely supplemented the facial tics which made up their actual language. It was just less than two hours after the three Caddy had set off on their first real mission of importance ever, before the science officer began witnessing the exchange of rapid eye and cheek movement, and strange noises. He was reliably informed in text on a mind bank interface screen, that the major piece of the broken spacecraft had been located by the three Caddy. Luckily, the debris field was tight, no larger than five square miles. It seemed there had not been any explosion, the fragmentation was simply a result of a major failure of the ship's hull. This allowed most of the pieces to land in a tight grouping, meaning that while the pieces would take some days to collect, the Thrall were confident of almost a total recovery. The Thrall set to work with their usual doggedness, each Caddy only had limited space. Caddy didn’t have a

dedicated hold area, they were mostly transport devices. Five hours after deployment, the Thrall had completed a full survey of the area. This was relayed back to Geberus who quickly converted the raw data into a 3D map. Less than five minutes after this and the Clones were once again assembled, this time in Geberus' lab. -So Geberus ... Give us your appraisal of this wreck ... Briefly please. Geberus sometimes had a flair for the dramatic, and an ego which was almost as big as Central itself, but once told by his Prime, he would comply. -We are in luck, most of the large wreckage looks to be together in one area of quite shallow ocean, no more than 120 metrons ... Sorry, around 65 and a half Faedm. Aelren was a stalwart of the Old ways, Geberus considered him quite stale and harsh for very minor reasons. The young scientist had suggested several times that they adopt a new base ten unit of measure, this could be tried and tested before being filtered to the humans. Certainly, it would give a much higher degree of accuracy, something the humans would need as their technological developments became more accomplished. Base ten made much more sense than the old units they had brought with them. Given Geyldian's current task, this advancement would surely be something of use to his human associates now. Either way, Aelren would pretend not to hear Geberus if he deviated away from his own expectations. The Old Prime had invested much faith allowing him to enter the circle at such a young age. Geberus was only a quarter of the age of Aelren, only being around seven thousand years old. Who could say how much older Aelren may live to, he was already long overdue for retiring to the record. At such time, his knowledge would be reincarnated into a new Novus. Hopefully, the recipient would soar with the inherited knowledge, but they could just as easily be of no consequence to the running of Central ever. At his time of life, the Old Prime was way beyond caring about improving the human situation, he’d been trying to do just that for the last 17 millennia since Geyldian’s father had promoted him as the new Prime and then walked off the ship to go and live his remaining years amongst the humans. Geberus continued to explain.

-I've already asked the Thrall to bring the larger pieces back to the hangar first, you should be able to put them together ... Right Oxull? -Yes Yes, no problem for me ... You don't need it to fly, you're only trying to determine its origin ... Right? At this answer Oxull only heard the sound of silence, rolling his eyes ... It was several seconds more before Geberus finally put Oxull out of his misery. -Of course we don't need it to fly, half the parts are probably missing or damaged. We know you're good, but even you can't be that good. No we simply need the craft putting back together as completely as possible ... So we can get something to compare to the record. Oxull looked relieved, Geberus had a cheek making him wait like that. Oxull was vastly more experienced practically, and as such was confident of his usefulness. Geberus' behaviour was almost disrespectful. Outside the circle, the two were essential, but their paths never crossed in normal day to day Central business. Today was different, one old clone could certainly feel the tension, and decided to stamp it out. -If you two are quite finished, maybe you would like to get over it and continue. The task is simple, construct the ship, compare it to the record. I want to know if it's Khai-Mah, and I want to know quickly. While Aelren’s words were delivered into both their minds with total calmness, the tone was firm, letting both know they were trying Aelren’s patience; something they should never do. Oxull had worked under Aelren for nearly twice as long as Geberus, in recent millennia he had witnessed Aelren only get more firm, when all the Primes before him had grown more mellow. With the subtle but clear warning issued, Aelren left once more, followed by the others. Only Geberus and Oxull remained, the engineer at least was prepared to try to get along. -OK Science, walk me through the 3D. Let's see if we can identify some of the pieces. Can you show me which pieces you've asked the Thrall to retrieve first? As the two looked on the huge screen, Geberus was able to manipulate the view

point and zoom ratio to get Oxull close to the scanned parts. Within an hour the engineer had a pretty good idea of the size and shape of the ship, just by looking at the pieces on the sea bed. Sadly, the list of parts being collected first at the behest of Geberus, differed somewhat from the parts Oxull saw as the priority. -That's a shame Geberus, if we'd had this part here, which I'm sure is probably the propulsion unit, we'd know straight away if this bird was Khai. Again it's hard to tell on the scan, but this part here looks like a cooling outlet duct, which suggests were in the clear. A Khai ship wouldn’t have one of those, everything ran hot. Dirty lumbering things they called engines. Right there ... That looks like a chunk of the hull, can you give me the length? -Yes I can, it's just about 15 metrons. -By the ancients, I don't even know what one Metron is, let alone 15. Show me a metron. At this Geberus sensed a taunt coming on but decided to ride it out anyway. Oxull was a skilled engineer after all, he should appreciate the simplicity of his new unit of measure. Opening a file over the top of the 3D scan, now Oxull could see a green line, within a few moments this was aligned axially to the side of the hull fragment, then the line was replicated down the side of the piece, 15 times. There was a little left to go, sensing the guffaw from the older Clone, Geberus put the final Metron in position anyway, then began to zoom in. At this, Oxull could see the Metron was subdivided into 10 equal parts, which Geberus called the Demetron, closer still revealed each Demetron to be equally divided also into 10, the Centron and finally after division again, the Millimetron. The final measurement was given exactly at 15.237 metrons. -That's pretty exact, but I have no frame of reference for what a metron is ... Show me one. -OK ... This console is one metron long, by 1.2 tall by 0.6 of a metron deep. This was all the old engineer needed to know, he could now picture the size of the hull fragment easily. -Seems like a useful unit if you ask me, give Aelren some time ... I expect he'll come around.

This olive branch from the older clone, was appreciated by Geberus. The old engineer asked how far the young scientist could manipulate the pieces in the 3D map survey model, again Geberus' answer was disappointing, but did have a silver lining. -Well this data is pretty raw, it's good enough to give a nice rendering of the ocean floor, as far as how the wreckage is spread. Beyond that the data is fixed. If you give me some time, say a few hours, I'll set the mind bank onto stripping the data to extract individual large pieces. Why what are you thinking? -I was wondering if we could physically build the pieces now to try and get a handle on how they fit together. But it sounds like the real bits may be back before, so there's little point. It could help us to reverse engineer the craft to home in on the propulsion type, but looking at the size of the thing now, I'm completely at a loss to explain how such a small craft could arrive here all on its own. Using our own tech as a comparator, this ship cannot be hyperspace capable, it's far too small. If it is, we are talking about technology far in advance of our own, which is a worry. -I see where you're headed, if we could make a computer model, we could run simulations. You'd know the propulsion type from looking at the physical pieces though right? If it's something you recognise I mean. -Yeah sure, but as a back up, if pieces are missing, or I don't recognise them, a model could be useful. -I'll get on it right away then. With that the old engineer gave his usual bellowing laugh, thanked Geberus and jumped away. The scientist began deftly tapping at his console, coding his instruction to the Thrall mind bank, he also set an impossible deadline, one hour. He knew the Thrall wouldn’t question him. The Thrall were to start with the largest pieces first, then work down to smaller pieces. They were to ignore pieces of less than 200 millimetrons cubed unless they looked like an engine part. Small flat pieces were probably fragments of hull and could be avoided at this time altogether. Tapping a final key, the Thrall were off. Geberus could see within seconds that some of the more inconsequential projects were being refiled and then closed down. Within thirty seconds the node supervisors had evaluated the node requirement. This task would take 67% of the mind bank

capacity to hit the deadline, so Geberus sent another instruction overriding all tasks. Sitting back into his seat, he watched as the remaining nodes became dedicated to the task, in 40 minutes he would call Oxull back. On his monitor he watched as pieces began to turn red on the survey scan, then they would reappear in his other monitor. At first the positions of each piece was pretty arbitrary, but as more and more pieces became available the Thrall began to use broken edges to match to other pieces. A craft was beginning to take shape. Periodic adjustments using the outside profile to refine these alignments only made the model look more complete. Geberus did not need to call Oxull, he had known the whole time what was happening and returned to the science lab with five minutes to spare, so he could get a head start. Examination of the hull yielded a small craft, incomplete at this stage as the front portion was missing, still laying at the bottom of the Nordic sea. The Thrall had not even begun to locate this yet. That would probably be tomorrow's task. Oxull was impressed at the speed and completeness of the model. It was clear that the structure of the ship was configured for a number of the crew to be deep in the middle of the ship. There was an entry portal, and a walkway which presumably terminated at the cockpit. The major parts of the propulsion unit were now being added, with parts resembling plasma coils. Upon seeing these, Oxull knew the craft would be atmosphere and space capable but watching to the finish he did not see any evidence of an interstellar drive. There were shield generators, thruster outlet cooling baffles and a variety of weapon systems. This was a fighter craft, there could be no mistake about that, but Oxull doubted seriously that this craft was Khai-mah in origin. -So you think we're in the clear? -I'd say so ... This ship doesn't even represent an evolution of Khai technology. No ... this is something else. Once the parts began to arrive back to the Caddy hangar, rather than rush to construct them, each part was analysed thoroughly by a mobile scanning particle spectrometer. Geberus was looking for residual particles. Firstly this would confirm the plasma signature. Secondly, they would find out what this ship had

been through. Thirdly they might be able to determine its path through space, to see if it was any space Central, OFFright and Mona had also ed through. The scans yielded no matches on any front, but two things stood out clearly to Geberus. There was a residual trace on all the outer surfaces of the hull. This verified that the ship had followed a Khai cruiser's hyperspace drive. At these levels, the ship was not tailing the cruiser, it had probably been dragged along from who knows where. Secondly, there was trace from Khai plasma weaponry on the outer hull plating, in highly localised concentrations. It was reasonable to assume that if the ship had been fired upon by the Khai-mah, that the ship had not been piloted by allies of the lizards ... Good news then. Much more grisly remains were found once the small pieces finally began to arrive back to Central. Body parts, most totally dismembered and at least partially burnt. Leren had these transported back to his lab and began to perform reassembly of the pieces, several bodies which were at least eighty percent complete or better were laid out on tables for examination. Once scanned into his mainframe terminal, Leren began much the same exercise already performed by Geberus on the spaceship. Extrapolations of limbs based on a few of the most common body types the Devine had found on their age though the universe, yielded some very odd results indeed. Not all life it seemed was bipedal with human type features. Yet it was the human type which seemed to fit the closest with these pieces of the crew, closer analysis down to a DNA level yielded this species to be almost identical, with no differences he could note. Odd then, that these apparent humans should be found on a spaceship which had in all likelihood travelled from a distant galaxy. Their own stellar record showed no habitable planets along the route the Devine had travelled in the last two Galaxies before the Milky Way. At least none in scannable range. The only notable fact which Leren could detect was that two of the three crew found seemed to be related. Twins, maybe even identical twins. All the crew were also most likely within one half inch of being the same height, large frames, at least a foot taller than the average human on Earth. Maybe this was a result of a stronger gravity on their home world, or maybe the atmosphere was more oxygen rich. Maybe they were just fed really well, the variables and possibilities were many and varied. In fact when Leren examined their branch of

the record, only two other bipedal species had been found, beyond this their anatomies had been very different to humans. The day after, roughly seventy percent of the wreckage from the first site was back in the hangar being reconstructed by Oxull and his team of Novus. Geberus had set another team of Thrall, the task of finding the cockpit, which had been separated from the main body, the speed of re-entry had propelled the small piece of craft at least another 198 Laegs. Geberus was quick to state the distance was much easier to interpret with his new unit as it was almost exactly 1,100 Kilametrons, each obviously being 1000 metrons in length. The debris field at the second site was very confined, the cockpit had remained totally intact, even the bulkhead door which sealed the pilot from the rest of his crew was still attached to the hinges, having been burst open. The main front screen was the only piece showing any damage at all, having been totally blown out upon impacting the water. This piece lay submerged in around 60 metrons of water, the plating was thick and heavy. The three Caddy had to share the load, suspending lifting strops, made of high tensile Alculinium wire between their three ships. The problem was now retrieving the part back to Central, it was late afternoon, with the load suspended externally to the three Caddy in this way, they would be required to travel above the water’s surface or they would not make it back for over a day and a half. Above water the travel time would be more like 10 hours, making detours here and there to go around the two human sailing ships which lay along their route. Oxull had most of the ship pieces together before the cockpit arrived safely in the hangar. The clever engineer was able to gain clues as to how the crew's control screens and console were constructed, from looking at the intact s in the heavily armoured cockpit. Clearly the ship needed a full complement of crew in order to fly safely, as the inside the cockpit, beyond flight instrumentation, weapon selection and firing capability, was sparse. Oxull speculated that the propulsion, shielding and general systems were not only monitored, but we're also controlled from the aft compartment. Oxull had often perused the record for instructions on how to repair or maintain the various systems of Central. His knowledge was inherited from the wealth of learning of his predecessors; technically speaking this learning should be

complete and all encoming. However, if a succession of clones over the eons had never carried out or learnt a task, that experience and all the associated knowledge could be lost easily. This would not be a problem for menial tasks, but the major systems of Central were over engineered in the extreme. Indeed they were still going strong after four million years, and they were well used during the voyage before that. The voyage was never intended to end at Earth, but in all that time, some systems had never needed maintenance. There were manuals, but finding them, then interpreting the more ancient and pure language in which they were written, was a chore for Oxull. Deciphering the manuals often took more time than the task he was researching. One thing Oxull could usually rely on, both the operation and maintenance of Central’s systems could be easily accomplished by a small number of Novus and himself.

Chapter 5 - Welcome to 1563 ...

GARIC IS FLOATING IN the middle of the Nordic Sea ... "It's no good captain ... There's no way around it ... The storm is headed straight for us, the men are getting restless. What are your orders sir?" The first mate was fearful that if the captain continued to pursue this heading much further, they would all lose their lives. As they slowly crossed the Nordic sea, the winds had almost been too calm to fill a sail, but about 20 miles out of Malmo, the sky had darkened. Things were not looking good, lightning had peppered the horizon which had then faded behind a thick vale of torrential rain. Winds had crept up in speed as they approached the centre of the storm; a good thing as this made the ship far less sluggish in the water and much easier to steer. A newer design than most ships in the water with her, the "Företaget" was an evolution of a cog, the flat bottom made her slow, but at the rear was a large pintle mounted rudder. This was a much better design than previous vessels of her size, around 300 Tons, and would make steering the ship into waves much easier for them. The seas were getting high with a swell of around 13 feet. The boat could cope, but only as long as the captain steered her true. As they approached the wall of weather, all hatches were sealed shut, the main sails were refolded back to their masts whilst the smaller sails were slackened such as to give a modicum of control whilst also allowing the strong gusts of wind to through them with far less drag. Now though a voice was heard shouting the first mate from the head of the bow. "There's something in the water ... It's a body sir ... Some other poor souls must have gone down ahead of us." As the first mate reached his position at the bow of the boat, holding a boat hook and securing his foot into a deck line, he quickly reached over the side. The boat was pitching and rolling in the choppy sea, at times he was unable to even see the object he wanted to retrieve. The spotter was guiding him though, he had to act fast or the ship may slide past the body. Carefully he thrust several times more, before hooking his mark. The pull of the body in the bows displacement wave was now exerting enough force through his own body, that the deck line was beginning to cut into his ankle. Shouting for help, two more men rushed forward to his position. The three men precariously hung over the gunwale of the

bow, making slow progress wrangling the body aboard until finally the spotter also ed them. All four together managed to pluck the body from the water up to the deck. The sight which now lay at their feet was as bedraggled as any sailor lucky enough to be rescued from the murky blue. Sadly this man had not been lucky enough, though not by any fault of the men who had tried desperately to salvage him. The colour of his skin told them everything. He'd been in the water for hours, his skin was blue from cold, but not so blue as his lips. His strange attire certainly was puzzling, unlike anything the four had ever seen on their travels around Europe. None had ever been to the new world, so this was where they now all agreed he must be from. His jacket and breeches seemed to be ed at the hip, into one piece. An unfortunate piece of attire for a seaman they thought, once he had hit the water it had probably filled with water and become heavy, sapping his strength and leading to his death from hypothermia. Of course they could not have guessed the true origin of the man they had rescued. Nor that it was because of this very suit, his pilots pressure suit, that Garic had floated back to the surface from where his craft had come to rest sixty metres straight below their current position. A ship of this size was obliged to have a doctor on board, paid well, good seamen they rarely made. This ship was no different and hearing the commotion from his quarters below where he had been hiding from the storm, he’d struggled to breach the companion way topside. Staggering all over the deck as he clambered towards them, the doctor was a sorry sight indeed. Upon reaching them the doctor was as green as the corpse was blue. Seeing the dead man, he crossed his head and torso as if asking for a miracle whilst expecting the worst. Kneeling beside the body, he didn’t even check the man’s pulse, his colour alone confirmed the learned doctors first suspicions. The cuts on Garic's face were deep, from when his ship ditched and the force of the sea had shattered his cockpit screen. Not knowing this, the doctor hinted at the fact that after falling overboard from which ever vessel he had been sailing on, the deceased may have been swept over by the hull... “... And these deep cuts are probably from the barnacles. Of this I am assuredly certain. These wounds resemble those of the last unfortunate I witnessed, who

was keel hauled for a minor misdemeanour, whilst I was serving on my first boat in the Dutch navy.” The ordinance allowing keel hauling as a punishment had only been brought into force 3 years earlier in 1560 and served many functions. The most important of these was to keep the seamen in line and prevent mutiny. Conditions on this boat were not typical of the time, she was well stocked with decent food and clean water. The Företaget was a privateer, a trade ship. Most navy ships were cramped, with far more bodies on board than could be properly berthed or fed. Ship fever was rife on many ships, and in fact even on this short voyage, this had not been the first time the doctor had been relieved of his comfy hideaway to examine a mortality aboard the ship. On his own maiden voyage, but obviously unwell before even leaving Malmo, a young crew member had already succumbed to ship fever. Called Typhoid fever on land, the young lad had probably contracted it in the small village where he had lived, a few miles outside Malmo. The water supply was probably contaminated and impure. The young lad appeared to be in perfect health when he left his village four days ago, or the captain wouldn’t have contracted him ... Now he was dead. It was at the side of his body in an aft store room that Garic's lifeless body was now positioned. No one had noticed straight away in all the activity, but almost as soon as Garic's body had been secured onto the boat, the storm had turned away. The storm was once again hovering at the edge of the horizon. Now the captain was decisive, and with all sails raised in the above moderate wind, the ship was making good time across the remainder of the Nordic sea, if the wind held they should sight land shortly after breakfast and make port in Lubeck by midday. Early the following morning, in the aft store room, something was stirring, and it was not the young sailor ... Opening his eyes and gasping his first breath, Garic was surprised to find himself wrapped in a blanket. Rolling out of the bunk in which he was laid served to loosen his bindings. Then he was free. The room Garic was in was small and dark, but the door position was obvious from the faint light which shone in beneath it. Exiting the room cautiously, he only had one thing on his mind, food. Following his nose an incredible smell appeared to be above him; it set his senses alive. The scent was easy to follow. Without a second thought

Garic entered the room from which the smell emanated. The sight which greeted him was a sea of shocked faces, aghast with terror. They were looking at a ghost. This wasn't possible, the good doctor must have made a mistake. The whole room watched as the man silently walked up to the cook who had been handing out portions of a meaty stew but was now slack jawed. Availing himself of a bowl in one hand and liberating the ladle from the cook with his other, Garic then proceeded to serve himself a more than hearty portion. Minutes later, the captain watched the man steal his second portion. Stunned to silence, he was unable to reprimand the man. In the next moment the man, with his bowl loaded almost to the point of overflowing suddenly pulled up a pew beside him. The captain felt compelled to say something, but even now appropriate words escaped him. The look on this unknown man’s face said he was eating a slice of heaven or maybe even eating for the first time. Either way, the captain's inclination to question a man so fixated on his food was gone. Instead he turned to the good doctor, looking like a much softer target, seated to his left. "What is this doctor? Why is there a dead man eating my stew? It seems as if you got your miracle!" "Sir ... I saw the man when he was dragged onto the deck, and he was long gone; inescapably gripped by death." "Inescapably you say?..." The captains tone was now grew more stern. "... Then explain to me why a man you pronounced dead is sat beside me? I put it to you Doctor, none of the men I've seen fall into the drink, and I've seen many a poor soul go that way; has ever raised himself back to our realm before. ERGO my good doctor, he wasn't bloody dead first off." "It may well be sir that the cold of the sea slowed his heart, for sure I agree if he had been dead, he would not be here with us now, except for his cuts Sir." "What cuts?..."

Now the captain turned once more back to his right, checking the face of the man still sat eating quietly, paying no attention to anyone. "Exactly sir, cuts as deep as his would never heal so fast. That at least is unnatural. Far more likely having been pulled from the sea, he'd be dead anyway from infection. His paths to death far outnumber any which explain him sat here right now living and breathing! It's a mystery to me too Sir." Now the first mate, sat opposite the captain spoke a more rational explanation than the supernatural reanimation of a dead man. “Maybe the man hadn’t gone into the water for as long as you think. He was definitely hypothermic but had yet to expire. Then we dragged him onto our nice warm ship where the warmth obviously went someway to revive him back to the rosy cheeked specimen now eating your stew.” He did not offer any explanation which made this possible, they had been in a storm in the late afternoon. “... But we were inside the storm in the late afternoon. If we’d been following a ship so closely enough to pull a man from the water, we surely would’ve also watched the vessel sink to the depths. Maybe we would’ve pulled a few more men out to boot?” The first mate was rationalising, in order to avoid confronting the full weight of the conundrum which now sat amongst them. "Aye mate, I reckon your right." With this the captain ended all speculations and avoided any possible brain ache. He now turned to the man who was cleaning his bowl with a crust of soft bread. Picking his moment ... "So what do you call yourself friend?" It came as no surprise to hear a response in English, if he were from the land Columbus discovered, he would almost surely be English. Little information was returned, the man did not his name. Perhaps the doctor was correct in his evaluation the night before. As the man was thrown overboard, a bang on his head must’ve knocked him out cold. In this instance he was probably breathing

shallow enough not to inhale much water. As luck had it they had shown up and plucked him out of the murk before he expired, this explained everything and his amnesia to boot. In the coming days, the man ate his share, but he had also learned quickly. Whilst none of his memories returned he was becoming able on the boat. Climbing the masts and mending the sails, he was shown once and the task was grasped. The men didn’t mind him being on board, the moment they had rescued him, the storm had quickly pulled away. This made him a good luck charm. Growing ever tired of shouting to get Garic's attention, and given the situation of his discovery, the captain named him Mortimer. A name derived from the French words for death and sea, Morte and Mer. In times past the name was solely used as a familial name, but in these modern times, in some countries, especially England and Scotland the name was becoming increasingly fashionable as a first name. The captain didn't miss the humour in shortening this to Morty. This didn't matter to Garic, he had no memories of his distant origins, but was happy where he was, for now. He was getting well fed, had made a boatload of friends and the work was physically challenging. At the top of the rigging, he could see further than any of the guys on deck, all the way to the future. The captain was a man short after the young man’s death, so it was easy for him to offer the post to Morty, who quickly accepted. Pulling into port at Lubeck, Morty helped to unload the cargo on to the dockside. The captain would soon embark upon two days of steady sailing to a port in Holland, where he was due to collect a new cargo, before heading to Spain. The crew only had a few hours to kill in the port. Lubeck was a grand town with many sights to see, Morty was more than happy to tag along ...

Chapter 6 - A history of violence

IT DIDN’T TAKE MORE than a week before Oxull had some systems Jerry rigged on the crashed ship. Following the examples in the cockpit he was able to patch most of the power looms, comm’s and sensor cables back together. He couldn’t be sure what frequency of power or how much power they needed but by starting small, and working upwards, some systems began to spark into life. He was skillfully able to swap out broken screens for ones robbed from broken or old Central consoles, and for the most part the technologies of the two races seemed quite compatible. All the systems followed a well-reasoned logic, and therefore made sense to Oxull. As part of his own personal growth and possessing a “know thine enemy” sort of attitude, Oxull had scrutinised the record at length for Khai-mah technology. As part of his expanded supervisory privileges, gained with his seat in the circle, Oxull had explored and dissected all the Khai-mah’s systems, gleaning, learning, optimising, improving, and not for no reason. Even Aelren could see how trying to develop Khai-mah technology themselves, might help them predict how their enemy's technology might be advanced utilising the better resources on their old home world. The result was total revolution. Embarrassingly for the Devine, the lizard technology used to win the war was as simplistic as it was chaotic. There was no order, no logic. It seemed each lizard clan in the war was responsible for providing their own equipment. Following the every lizard for themselves mentality, all the clans engaged in their own battles to win Devine Prime for themselves. This meant that fleets of ships from different regions of the Khai home world were all different. Simple things like a colour convention for wiring, separate safety systems which would be operable in the event of damage, fail safe systems, we're all nonexistent. The Khai sunk all their abilities into shielding, weapons and propulsion, which were simple but amazingly effective, and could be maintained or repaired even in battle. The control systems were ragged and unreliable islands of technological brilliance, strung together by unshielded electrical systems. Oftentimes these would be daisy chained from one common power supply cable. This had proven to be the downfall of the Khai-mah in close air combat, but Oxull could appreciate how these wrinkles would be quickly revised once the Khai had stable ground to work off. Expecting to be fully caught out, and having suffered an almost complete technical stagnation themselves, it was in the clones interests to try and predict the advancements

they may have to defend against. Though they prayed to the ancients that such a day would never come ... The crashed ship was well ordered by comparison to early Khai technology. If Oxull had met the ships makers he would have shaken their hands, then taken them to one side to educate them. Some of the more critical systems were far too close to the skin of the ship, shielded all the same, but once the hull plating became compromised, Oxull could predict that a few more hits may start a chain reaction of destruction through the systems of the ship. Maybe the management of these and swapping to backup redundant systems was why the crew was needed. But given the chaos this may create, it would go some way to explain why the pilot was sealed away on his own. This approach would allow them to concentrate on flying and fighting. An intercom was all he needed to speak to the crew, but it looked like they would be more concerned with the ship than the actual battle. Neither Oxull nor Geberus could speak regarding the skill of the pilot. There were startlingly few traces of Khai weapon residue on the hull plating so both surmised the pilot must’ve exhibited more than basic skill. They did however speculate as to the pilot’s stubbornness. The plasma cannons, locked in a forward firing attitude at midships, exhibited signs of partial melting; evidence that they’d been fired freely and without mercy, tenacious then. Maybe tenacious enough to chase a fleeing rival so closely that they got caught up in the ships hyperspace bubble. That was the only method by which the two clones could explain so much Khai propulsion residue evenly distributed into the hull plating. Such was the level of exposure suffered that under close examination, Geberus could clearly see the residue had leached into the molecular gaps in the hull plating, which would have been tough at the time of its manufacture. As the residue leached in, the plate became degraded. Had the ship remained inside the hyperspace bubble much longer the plating would have begun to perforate. Oxull speculated maybe this was what had happened. A crack or small perforation in the hull plating, would present an unshielded edge to the heat being suffered as the small craft blazed through the Earth's atmosphere. This might’ve resulted in a localised heat spot which had escalated to full on failure. With the cockpit lost, the rear compartment of the ship had quickly broken up, taking the crew with it. This was a neat explanation, ed by all the evidence.

Geberus' computer model was skinned over with computer generated surfaces to look new. The render was pretty accurate, better than ninety seven percent. Very few exterior features were missing. The scientist then broke the model down to its raw data with an encryption key for its restoration. His intention was to send the model to all the Devine colonies in neighbouring systems. The message would take months to send to the nearest outposts. Possibly years to the furthest ones, but some other branch of the Devine may have encountered this species on their own travels. At this stage they had exhausted all their lines of enquiry and would just have to be patient, but that was OK ... The clones had nothing but time. Aelren reminded the Numbers that there was only one loose end. The pilot, was he ejected when the ship broke up? It seemed more likely judging by all the broken glass inside the cockpit, and the open bulkhead door, that he’d been flushed out on impact. If he had been wearing a pressure suit the same as his crew, this could’ve easily floated him to the surface ... -So where is the body? The Nordic sea is a relatively small one, regularly crossed by human vessels. The Caddy reported no fewer than six sailing ships ing overhead as they collected the cockpit section. If the humans have him ... This will be a problem. -I agree Prime ... Leren's autopsy findings on the dead crewmen certainly only added weight to this conclusion. The graphics of their rebuilt faces showed that no matter how far across the cosmos the pilot had travelled, or been dragged; he would certainly fit right in on Earth. He or she would be taller than most, but maybe not sailors, who would have certainly been the ones to pull him from the sea. -Leren, What are the chances that the pilot survived? -Well Prime, I would like to say slim to none, but the fact the Thrall found no body, floating or otherwise, suggests that the humans definitely plucked him out. Is it likely that if he were dead, they would have wasted the effort to pull him out? Or that if they pulled him out and he was dead, that they wouldn’t just toss him back in? I think no body at the scene means maybe there’s an astronaut out there who’s about to have a shock. Maybe Geyldian can be of some help? -Hmmm ... You think so? Even given the state of the cockpit? ... I will ask

Geyldian and the network to check all the morgues in the area. It’s possible the humans picked up the pilot who later died. If he’s still in his pressure suit, he should be quite easy to find. -If the pilot survived with their memory intact, they would certainly be trying to find a way home, futile given the fact that they would almost certainly carry with them the knowledge of their ship's destruction and its watery tomb. The problem would be if they received a bump on the head ... -A bump on the head ... Seriously. With all that broken glass and a wall of water to the face, his head was probably ripped right off. -Well Geberus ... Given the muscularity of the crew and the size of the seat in the cockpit, it’s likely our pilot was of equal size. Even though the screen popped on impact; the force would’ve been mostly absorbed before it actually broke. -Oh! How can you know that? Leren now looked across to Oxull. -Given the polymer used for the screen, the area of the glazed , and the speed the cockpit was travelling at impact, as Ra’sian measured it, my simulation showed that the polymer screen would’ve buckled some way before shattering. As such the water flooding in would’ve done so much slower than the impact speed ... -And given the pilot’s stature ... -You think the pilot may have survived? -Maybe ... Maybe not ... But what I can say for sure is that his head will still be on his shoulders, however they find him. -Good to know doctor. I will set the network on to it. Is there any way we can get the Thrall to help? -No Prime, I’m sorry but the DNA of the crew is surprisingly similar to human DNA, so there are no markers to program the Caddy scanners to look for. Essentially, the crew of the downed ship are just humans at the larger end of the scale.

Leren’s final words were something which seemed to throw all the previous neatness back into the air once more. The Khai propulsion plasma had been breaching the ship's plating; the doctor had found every single one of the severed limbs to be contaminated with large amounts of the small particles. He speculated that if the crew had been affected then it was reasonable to assume that the pilot would have received an even higher dose. Several days worth, judging by the levels in the fleshy chunks of the crew. He had not found any signs of tumours, but all the same maybe some mutations would have occurred with increased exposure. -... Though I cannot say how these mutations might manifest ... Or when. Certainly all my samples showed the crew to be in the prime of their lives, right until they were shredded. There really wasn’t anything more I could learn from them, so I put them on ice in a stasis pod. I could dispose of them, but It might be prudent to wait until we hear something from the other outposts. Leren felt that if another Devine outpost had come across this species, they may have DNA on record which would allow Leren to the bodies origins ... It was six weeks after the arrival event before Leren managed to assist Geberus to design a sniffer device. This could sense the residual particles from a Khaimah drive as a heat signature from a distance which would allow the Caddy to move in low cloud. Still, Aelren held out little hope. The pilot, if retrieved dead, would’ve been long buried in a pauper’s grave. If retrieved alive then he could have recovered and travelled anywhere. Even on foot, it would be impossible for them to cast a net big enough to catch their quarry ...

Chapter 7 - The pattern in the chaos.

THE CRASHED SHIP PROVED to be a suitable distraction for the clones. They had all but forgotten, albeit temporarily, about Geyldian and his mission. The Second had been hip deep in humanity for a few millennia already. Part of this mission had been disseminating the Caretakers knowledge to gifted humans, preparing them with the skills to help the clones. The final phase was about to begin, Geyldian was about to reap what he had sewn. The parts needed for the new reactor housings were about to start rolling off the production line. Notwithstanding Geyldian’s constant input so far, from this point on the endeavour would become a logistical nightmare. How to transport large pieces firstly through the streets and then over vast oceans, under the noses of the humans, was beginning to keep Geyldian up at night. Luckily he had the human network, and delegation was a favourite pasttime of the Second. The humans receiving the knowledge had also been inducted into the network. This meant they had complete knowledge of whom they were working for. All of them had met Geyldian at least once. The network provided a mechanism for the clones to monitor and influence events topside. For the people supplying the parts, a contract was required. This guaranteed two things, discretion and control. In the past so much geological and cosmological change had occurred that the humans had come close to being wiped out twice. Firstly by a period of heightened solar activity which effectively microwaved the planet’s surface making it unlivable. The only humans who survived were the ones who moved underground. This meant only people in certain regions could survive, as only certain places had the type of geology which could sustain vast tunnel networks, and were diggable with the tools the humans had. The polar ice caps suffered a rapid melt during this period also, causing huge floods to wash over the northern hemisphere. Such a volume of water was unlocked that all floods before and since, were like gnats on the back of a hippo. Beach-like tidal ripples were left on the plains, but with such large amplitudes that geologists would remain unable to comprehend the forces which made them for centuries to come. Huge cataracts were formed as weak rock was quickly

eroded to form channels, funneling the remaining flow which would etch the rock away even faster. This had been a bad time for the humans. By the time the population had bounced back from the brink, the planet entered a second ice age, this locked up a lot of water for thousands of years. When the ice melted, sea levels rose by some 400 feet, erasing many human achievements, and resetting civilisation yet again. Each time the accumulated knowledge was lost to all but a few individuals. Wars ... Famine; the hardships were many, but the hardy humans always pulled through. Each disaster left a few skilled survivors, visionaries who were able to invent technology, raise crops, or lead people. This made all the difference. After the formation of the second network, if a particular person started to question or expand current thinking, or began researching new theories which had merit in longevity, then Ra'sian would quickly come to know. Unconventional and free scientific thinkers were almost frowned upon in this current age. The humans in the developed world currently placed more faith than ever in the deity they called God; a mere by-product remaining from the legacy of the humans interactions with the Devine, millennia ago. The Clones were utterly at a loss as to how their teachings had become so convoluted over time. Then as now, everything had been written down, but not in books as none existed; nor were they needed. The teachings were firstly hewn into wood, then into stone markers, and finally into the architecture of the early civilisations. Geyldian’s second incarnation of the human network was still in its infancy, but since being formed, the agents had spread around the world rapidly. The Caretakers were sure they had made with every free or radical thinking exceptionally gifted human. This was why they could never reconcile the existence of the one called Jesus. The Numbers felt it was impossible that any man could attract so much attention and not have crossed their radar. For the longest time, the clones were in denial. Jesus was a ruse, a device to spread a message to the masses quickly. That the humans placed so much faith in a myth was a huge source of disappointment to the Devine clones. The existence of Jesus wasn’t in question, there were at least seventy other Yeshuas all living at the same time and in the same region as the one. The clones however, were

positive of one thing ... None of them were the son of a deity. All the clones could do was watch, as this young man became the seed of a religion which crushed the old ways. Though no human could possibly all the original religions had characters who, whilst having different names, all shared very similar exploits. This was because these weren’t mythical gods, but actual Devine rulers. These had all lived and breathed among ancient humans at one time or another, shepherding them and teaching them. Now these lessons seemed all but forgotten. The last people to uphold any trace of the Devine had been the Aztecs, but even they had lost sight of the original teachings. Generations without their Gods had seen the Aztecs descend into an unparalleled bloodlust. Their Gods had become both vengeful and demanding. Desperation translated into grandeur of design, and the grander the design, the more blood was required. When one new temple was inaugurated in the Aztec capital city, the Network logged 80,400 sacrifices exactly over a four day period. By this era, fully formed and further transformed into a money making Goliath, the Christian Catholic church judged many similar polytheistic religions to be against the teachings of God; along with a great many other things. The Earth was created by God and was at the centre of everything. The clones finally learned how to laugh. Only an Italian born master navigator could begin the process which would eventually end the Aztec bloodbath. Once Christianity found the new world, it took only two years for the Spanish to conquer King Montezuma and his people, plundering the spoils for their King, their Pope and themselves. This was only forty-two years earlier in 1519. The idea of one true god was a convenient one. In the old Pantheon, temples existed to each deity; all received tribute from their worshippers. The problem was that some gods were much more popular depending upon what they were the god of. Having one GOD who was the creator of everything, yet remained responsible for nothing, made ing the buck the new name of the game. The clergy were able to tell anyone that they were unlucky, unworthy or sick, simply because they did not respect God’s ways with enough devotion. And, of course, they were allowed to demand cash donations whilst doing it.

The clones were almost moved to laughter again at the idea of a God who needed money ... But this feeling of levity had been squashed flat, by the out of control growth of the Christian faith. The clones saw this as a sign that they had lost touch with the humans for too long. Their absence had made it easy for a few, to overwrite eons of teaching in a short time. The original biblical texts represented a purification, or distilling of the humans many interpretations of the original Devine teachings. The best parts of many faiths had been interwoven with new ideas. Not a bad thing then, but even these had been asserted with so much force that in this age many people had little choice but to pay the religious piper. At the head of this religious monster was the Pope, a figurehead so powerful that armies ransacked Eastern nations at his behest, stealing as much wealth as they could carry. Having been fought only four hundred years ago, a blink in the life span of a clone, the Holy wars wrought devastation unparalleled at any other time. Wars had been a constant of human history, but the holy wars were the first to be fought for religion. During this time, the usual goals of resources or territory were swapped for riches. Cloaked by religion and coated in the virtuous cause of finding the holy grail, the cup Christ drank from at his fabled last supper; the real motive for all this death was in fact plain and simple greed. As if this wasn’t enough, the faithful throng left at home to worship, paid through the nose for the privilege. Most humans were prone to living in the now, working to eke out a meagre living. Few had any chance to think or plan for the future. The poor living standards of the general populous were exacerbated by the people at the top of the social ladder. The various monarchies and the Catholic Church all levied heavy taxes; either to fund wars or just to fatten their own coffers. There was little chance for the little man to escape these impositions. Once Ra'sian had located a gifted person, it would fall to Geyldian to make . The ones who would hopefully value the knowledge he could give them, without questioning either its validity or origin. The type of inquisitive men who would start a project, then work tirelessly until they had their result. Such men were difficult to find, but for the last two hundred years Geyldian had been working with a company whose origins had actually been forged in war. The man's great great grandfather had been a smithy, but then became so much more. He was able to forge new sword steels, better armours, and other special metals.

These weren’t only for decoration; they were built to be used. This man, by his own innovation had created a strong reputation; his descendants all seemed equally inclined. Each successive generation had only expanded the family's knowledge of metallurgy. The company now owned water powered forging equipment, top of the line by human standards. More impressively, this equipment was developed completely in house by the family. The latest familial proprietor, still only in his twenties, had been around hot worked metal his entire life. He was already beginning to visualise a machine which could machine metal to a higher degree of accuracy than his father's first rotary filing machine. Geyldian gave a few subtle pointers in person, allowing the man to refine his machine quickly. Geyldian later commissioned his company to make the reactor parts. Geyldian believed in working with the chosen recipients of the knowledge for the long term. This suited the clones' plan, but was also kinder. A huge man delivering information and skill, shortcutting years of development, and which could even make them wealthy was a thoroughly life changing experience. Many inductees found the process to be daunting. The men had the seed of an idea, but no real plan of how to achieve it, nor any appreciation of the challenges which faced them. To then be confronted by a giant man with jet black hair, who lavished them with encouragement and funding, all whilst filling in the gaps in their understanding, could be mentally straining. To avoid overload, Geyldian would take years to drip feed the information to them. Ultimately this was more time consuming, but was also easier for the recipient to take. The net result was still a huge saving in time. Eventually all efforts would benefit the humans and the Old Ones. The son had raised concerns, and many questions. Geyldian only answered the important ones, and told him not to worry about the minor ones. They would work themselves out in the process. Eons ago the Numbers had debated the ethics of gifting information to humans, and thereby influencing and accelerating their development. They questioned whether this was the right action to take. A previous Number in charge of science had developed a series of software

based predictive algorithms. The personality, talents and abilities, degree of learning and numerous other variables were all entered into the analytic program. In addition the goal the clones wanted to achieve would be set as the target. The job of the program was merely to extrapolate whether or not, given the skills and learning of the selected individual, their own target could be met. Further to this, the software would try to select the best times for the clones to interject, and what developments should be shortcut. These would normally be the most minor of tasks, but were also identified as the pivotal points which could hold up the development entirely if not quickly achieved. Doing his due diligence on the company, Geyldian had found there were many pluses. Firstly the founder member, the original smithy turned metallurgical expert, was already accomplished before the clones found him. This was how Ra'sian had found him in the first place. Secondly he and his successors were not slow to take innovative chances. Not all were successes, but nor could they be classified as total failures. Some development was always yielded for the next iteration of prototype. When the report was given from the software, the result was as Geyldian suspected already. No inputs the clones could make would alter the final result, they would however shorten the time and effort required to achieve it. Geyldian stayed close to the family. They already made the finest steels available anywhere on the planet, and were on the brink of developing Alculinium. Geyldian had suggested the blend of elements as a useful metal type, but hadn’t hinted at material ratios or stabilising additives. The Second knew the family would find these out in short order, such was their skill. Geyldian continued to monitor results from the family’s tests. Evidence suggested that they still wouldn’t develop Alculinium on their own; but they’d made enough progress to justify Geyldian giving them one more pointer. At this point the manufacture of reactor pieces could feasibly be started within the next century. Maybe not by this son, but with the best luck, certainly his grandson might make a breakthrough within the next sixty years. Geyldian would certainly keep checking in. This family was only one of the many balls the Old human alien clone hybrid was currently juggling. On several fronts Geyldian and the clones on Central were once more guiding humanity. Bigger, better and faster ships, with better navigational equipment was just another stepping stone in the clone’s master plan.

They had long since realised that if they were going to preserve precious Caddy fuel, they would need the humans to transport the parts for them. This was no good piece meal, the parts had to be sent in usable numbers with unwavering reliability. This kind of planning with patience for the long game was what the old clones excelled at. They’d been made for this kind of consideration and organisation. Not that the Old Ones liked such methods, but the humans almost enjoyed waging war on each other. These were not opportunities to be wasted; major developments could be made by minor people. These people were inventive but they weren’t scientists. No special knowledge was required on the battlefield, yet so many massive leaps in technology were gained this way, purely out of necessity. The Old Ones did not condone war, but at this stage they would’ve only been lying to themselves if they'd expected human enlightenment to be just around the corner. At this stage war was just what humanity, and the clones needed. Of course they also knew that the more wars the humans fought, the bigger and more serious their weaponry would become. There was a possibility the wars themselves would also escalate to be longer with far more serious repercussions. Yet, none of these would be more serious than a catastrophic reactor leak onboard one of the two downed leviathans. The clones would manage the situation to limit human casualties as much as they could. In a reactor breach scenario, there was potential for everyone to die. War as distasteful as it was represented the quickest way to help the humans to help them. The developments made would ultimately stabilise their societies and a new status quo would be established. In centuries to come, the clones were certain that war would become a last resort. Humans would eventually realise what they had to lose, not only in of their planet which existed like an oasis in this region of the void, but also each other ... After All humanity was just as rare. Eventually humans would realise a line had been crossed. Just as the Devine had before them, the humans were doomed to develop a weapon which could wipe them all out. At this point a stalemate would be reached and normal people would finally be able to live in peace. For now, Geyldian had grown surprisingly good at secreting tactics to whichever side he needed to court in order to

minimise losses and end a battle, whilst securing maximum technological development. Just as improbable as the clones using human wars as a tool for development ... Was the driving force, herding the humans like sheep towards all the wars they had ever fought in the last fourteen thousand years. Wars seemed to break out randomly, with petty squabbles amongst previously harmonious partners escalating explosively. The clones were too busy harvesting the talent to spot the pattern in the chaos, the match which lit the fuse on all human conflict. Only seeking to control such matters loosely, the Old Clones kept their distance. Geyldian was given more or less free reign to determine the outcomes of such battles, and he had done a good job so far. Only the crusades and the Hundred Years War had seemingly escaped his control. He had however redeemed himself, whispering words in the ears of certain people both events were eventually halted. Geyldian was only one Human alien hybrid clone, trying to control a planet which did not know how it was expected to behave ... Still he would not give up. All goals were still on target for completion before the reactor cores would completely break down. That was all that mattered ... It would be some time yet before the clones would focus their gaze upon Khaalida ...

Chapter 8 - Mortimer ... Able seaman.

THE NEXT SIX YEARS ed in a blur, the captain grew wealthy with his boat and even bankrolled a few new ships. Three years earlier he had offered the first mate and Morty the posts of captain on these fine vessels, which were brand new. Business was good. Both had opted to stay with their Captain who was getting on in years. The crew of the Företaget worked well as a unit, most of them saw the day they rescued Morty as the day they saved themselves. After six years on the high seas the ship had weathered many storms, but none had come close to upsetting their steady ship, even fully laden. Stories of ships sunk with all hands lost were rife everywhere they went, the crew all felt the Företaget had dodged several musket balls. It was a running joke aboard that if anything happened to split up this crew it would spell the end for their boat. While the captain was far from a superstitious man compared to most sailors, even he hoped that their luck would continue to run. Literally the day after Morty had been pulled aboard his whole business had changed. Since then he’d always managed to get a well-paying load, which he always delivered on time. His reputation was strong. Too many companies had suffered massive losses on the seas, equipment, cargo and men; but not his boats. They always steered true; it was an odd coincidence indeed. The boat was no stranger to omens either, they had more than their fair share. It wasn’t unusual to see things whilst out at sea in the dead of night. Lights which darted backwards and forwards in the sky, if you blinked you’d lose sight of them they were so fast. Then the lights would either disappear back below the waves or streak out amongst the stars at high speed. These shows were not a nightly thing, but a few times each month the lights would be seen. Not naive or easily confused, the captain, the first mate and Morty loved watching the lights; Morty more so than the others. As far as possible even large boats would try not to stray far from the coast, indeed this made navigating the sea easy by locating lights lit on land to keep them safe. All too often, crossing some large body of water was unavoidable to save time; this meant land was lost. In this instance the captain was able to translate his relative position using his trusty sextant and his pocket clock, which was small enough to have a spring powered movement. As long as the spring was properly wound the clock could remain accurate for forty or so hours. His longitudinal position was still widely open to speculation, given wind speed and

his actual rate of travel, it was much better to stay close to land if possible. More than a few times as the men watched, the lights appeared to be tracking their boat; seemingly for hours without interaction before vanishing once more. Mystery and speculation surrounded the lights. The captain wasn’t given to being lost in conjecture or hearsay, but even as a more learned man than most, he was at a loss to explain the lights or their possible origin. The more superstitiously gifted amongst his crew would refer to the lights as water sprites, or ball lightning, but no explanation could be offered for the random directionality and speed of the lights. Morty had other ideas, in his dreams he was easily able to visualise himself in a room with a screen and lights flashing all around him. Inside this room he commanded from a vantage point allowing him to see for miles all around. Never static, he was always moving, at great speed in a variety of directions. Far from being limited to blue seas and bluer skies, his view would sometimes be totally black, full of all the stars in the heavens. When these dreams happened he hated to be awoken. Morty didn’t feel like he belonged in this life. Compared to his dreams, life was nothing but primitive ... Today had been another example of the crew’s ability to get the job done. It was early evening at the end of another grey day in the autumn of 1569 when they pulled into Calais in northern . The Företaget had arrived safely despite rising seas and strongly gusting winds. Berthing in one of the deeper channels, the Företaget was again on time with her load. Calais had long been annexed by the British, and was seen by many as the jewel in the British realm, but eleven years earlier the French had taken the town back, aided by long neglected defences. Tensions remained, as Calais was an obvious advantage to any country who wanted to try and take Britain herself. Trading was strong through the port, but day by day, no particular trading company felt inclined to put permanent roots there. For sure this was influenced by the shadow of Spain, which always loomed large over the port. Britain and Spain were old enemies. This evening though the port looked peaceful for a busy trade centre. By seven bells it was too dark to begin unloading the cargo from the Företaget's hold. While the captain ed the berth with the harbour master, most of the crew alighted to stretch their legs. Several small groups wandered to the harbour

end of the sea wall, before splitting and heading their separate ways. Morty, the first mate and two other seamen made their way into the centre of the old town which had been built on a small piece of land separate from the mainland. Together the group looked for a tavern where they could get a meal, and maybe a drink of ale. They didn't have to walk far. After an hour, and with full bellies Morty’s group were making their way back to the boat for the night, when the sound of loud raucous voices and shouting caught their ear. Ducking down an alleyway where the cellar doors were open to the rear of one property, the group saw the room filled with men from other boats. At the centre of the room all the men had formed a circular clearing. In this clearing two men were knocking lumps off each other, fighting bare knuckle. The people around them were not there to fight, they were there to bet. Morty and the men observed for several minutes until the fight they were watching had been won by an aggressive French man built like a house side. There was only one simple rule, the winner stayed on. Biting, kicking, punching, clawing and any other move which would give a chance of victory, above or below the belt were all allowed. This was not an honourable establishment, but still Morty was intrigued. The other crew tried to drag him away but he was fixated. Over the din, the announcer could be heard shouting the name of the champion, and the name of his next challenger. A quick pray-see had all the silly money betting on the big French docker who had just won. Having hit his usual form, this was how he supplemented his meagre earnings when the births were empty. Now though he looked tired, like his wind and legs were about to leave him. Having paid about two and a half Sou for his meal and the wine they had all shared, Morty now saw a way to make the money back plus much more. The big Frenchman was not going to last through his next fight. Even though his opponent was smaller, he was also younger and most importantly, he was fresh. Morty entered the cellar down the stairs. Not wanting him to invite trouble upon himself alone, the men went with him. They would finally see how lucky Morty was. It took six short minutes before the Big Frenchman, his lungs on fire and legs

failing, had succumbed to his new opponent. Having knocked down the human equivalent of a buffalo the younger man strutted proudly around the ring. The men assembled around the fight arena had no allegiance to any particular fighter, and bets were spread evenly. Just because he’d won this time was no guarantee he could pull it off again. Now Morty wanted in. He was six foot six and was well built before being rescued. After six years at sea climbing rigging and pushing barrels about he was even bigger. He couldn't ever throwing a punch but felt sure he'd be able. As Morty took off his shirt and signed the fight waiver, the previous winner no longer looked so cocky; and with good reason. There was no way he was taking Morty down. He was smaller, not as well muscled he was also still over breathing from his last fight. Morty could get in there and coast, one good hit and it would be good night Calais. The bell rang and the opponent played his hand, he was gonna try and get his punches in early. Easily able to side slip, Morty remained frustratingly out of reach. He didn't need to rush to throw a punch the guy was tiring himself out. After a particularly inaccurate right hook thrown with far too much power and nowhere near enough control, Morty's moment came. Turning leftwards and pushing himself in close to the man’s body, he raised his right fist below the man’s jaw unchallenged, Morty's victim never even saw it coming. Flying through the air several feet, he was unconscious before he landed in a heap on the ground. Not playing to the lack of rules in the house, or the roars from the crowd to get in there and finish his opponent; Morty now turned away from the downed man and walked to his friends. The first mate collected and saved the money, but Morty wasn’t done yet. Having saved his energy he was barely even warmed up. He could be quietly confident of victory yet again, as a new mark stepped into the ring. Due to his calm demeanour his crew mates’ confidence in Morty was growing. They were even betting small sums of money, and were certain he could win. His opponent was trying to find his own confidence by shouting loud insults in what sounded like German. Morty remained unaffected by either the scene or his new opponent. As the two met in the centre of the circle, it was not clear who the winner would be. If fighting were poker, Morty had already won. His body stood strong, with no hint of fear. In stark contrast, reading all of Morty's body language loud and clear the man was now facing the realisation of

his error. Physically they were evenly matched and as the bell sounded, both instinctively took a step back before getting to business. Many punches were thrown from both sides, all connecting; this was now a fight truly worth betting on. Many of the spectators who'd been too shy to place a bet on the German before the fight began, seeing him as no match for Morty, were now all clambering to place bets with the ring leader. Having not been dispatched quickly, Morty’s opponent found the strength to become the aggressor, and for several long moments was punching Morty in all directions around the ring. Still Morty knew he could win, but sportsmanship dictated he could not appear to win too easily or people would stop betting. He felt alive, even as a heavy right connected with his head, he was enjoying himself. -Now ... It's time to fight back. Following this big right, Morty had swung around quickly. To his credit the German had tried to follow athletically, but hadn't made it fully around before Morty had walloped him with his own club of a right. As if hit in the side of his head by a cannonball, the man looked visibly rocked, his jaw bounced from side to side. Almost ing out on his feet, there was no referee to save him. To his credit he shook off the pain and dizziness within seconds, and maintained his balance adequately enough to not lose the fight right there, all to no avail. Morty, relishing his last punch and its effect, now followed up with a left. Less weighty but surgically delivered, this was the coup de gras, and the man went down. The fight lasted no longer than eight minutes, but Morty's group had redoubled their stake money. This paled into insignificance compared to what the surly looking man running the book had raked in. As the organiser stood surrounded by his entourage of giant, no necked French and Dutchmen, some of whom looked to be more than a match for Morty; these were dwarfed by the huge African stood behind them. He was the organiser’s best prize fighter. Morty now witnesses two things, firstly his mate approaching the promoter again for his winnings, second was the promoter throwing the winnings on the floor, allowing the mate to retrieve the cash before pushing the man to the ground with his foot whilst laughing loudly. The first mate had tried to check Morty out of

the ring, but was reminded of the only rule ... “The winner MUST stay IN!” The shifty grin on the promoters face as he glanced over at Morty told another story. Now it was Morty's turn to take a beating. Rather than just making money, now the promoter wanted to make a killing. As he prepared himself for the huge African, Morty was pleasantly surprised by the arrival of a large, thickset Dutchman who looked a little past it ... “He doesn't look to be much of a challenge, more like a giant meat bag in need of some tenderising.” The first mates words were true enough, except Morty had already caught sight of the man’s hands. Each looked big as a bunch of bananas, his fingers were beset with hefty sovereign rings which would make a nasty wound if the man got lucky and connected with them. Morty made a note to keep out of reach unless he could be sure he was going to connect hard. Replying to the first mate, Morty was under no illusion. “I don’t think so, this guy’s a sleeping lion. He’s as slow to turn as he is in conversation with his corner. They’re trying to build his confidence but he isn’t even listening ... He doesn’t need their words. To get so disaffected he’s taken a lot of pounding. The scars on his body confirm as much. Hey Gilles ... me the sandwich from earlier would you ... I best put something else in my stomach; just in case he lands one on me.” Morty was now engaged in physically warming up. He looked impressive as his fists seemed to move faster than the onlookers eyes could see. Certainly, he had the big Dutchy worried if his looks back to the organiser were anything to go by. When Morty started to snap kick his legs into various positions around his body, a look of apprehension began to develop. Morty could not where he had heard it, but he knew it to be true. Fighting is not just a physical activity, as much as forty percent could be psychological too. Once this seed of doubt was sown into his opponent's mind, all Morty had to do was make it grow. Finally as he was done warming up, his muscles had flushed red, and he was now dripping with sweat, but he wasn't out of breath. Now at full speed ... Morty was ready.

As the bell sounded the flying Dutchman wasn’t wasting any time. He rushed fast and hard at Morty, who dodged completely but was still caught under his left rib by a ringed knuckle. Internally cursing himself for this early mistake, Morty maintained his calm face. Quickly regaining his composure he laced into the Dutchman’s back and side as the big man slipped by him. The damage was now equalised. Realising much of the physical bulk was untrained muscle by the linear way the fighter stopped and then turned, spurred Morty on. Now he danced in between the rain of blows as the man stood square on to him, padding like a frustrated lion. It was too easy, keep the guy moving, make him miss and tire him out in one go. Morty landed the occasional heavy blow on the side of the guy’s head, which only served to wind him up even more. Side slip, duck, turn and punch ... This continued for a little over three minutes; until Morty found himself backed into a bunch of spectators who were obviously friendly to his opponent. He now found himself facing a tirade of blows from the crowd. Not expecting this, but being more than able to repel them, Morty now put his legs into action, and completely changed his boxing stance to a low martial arts stance. Braced solid at the hips, he then proceeded to start kicking them back while preparing for the inevitable game changer he could see was coming from the guy he should’ve been focused on. of the crowd were being pushed back by Morty as he kicked hard to create a space. All the time Morty kept his body sideways to the giant lumbering towards him. Eventually the crowd had cleared enough to expose the corner of the room, only one large man remained seated on a table in the middle of the wall Morty was now being pressed towards. The opposite side of the ring had followed the action, this was good. Even though Morty now found himself completely boxed into a corner, he didn’t feel any particular urge to fight his way out. Feeling the cellar brickwork gently caressing his shoulders, all Morty did was stand square, facing the Dutchman. The man’s face said a left was coming, Morty would react right, but not until the last second. He had to time his next move perfectly or the price would be pain. Receiving the Dutchman's telegraph perfectly, Morty spotted the huge left incoming, as if in slow motion. The guy was panting and tired for sure, but had mustered all his fighting spirit into this one giant slaying punch. In the Dutchman's mind, he had to connect, the fire in his belly was burning out

quickly. Morty waited, and waited, closer and closer the huge fist advanced, with all the man’s weight behind it. NOW ... Morty twisted his head, and barely moved his body to the right, the Dutchman’s fist glanced his right cheek, resulting in a deep cut; but the main blow had missed. As unstoppable as plate tectonics, the huge sovereign covered fist continued on its voyage of destruction, hurtling into the wall post haste. The sickening crack of both bones in the man’s forearm, others in his wrist and most of his knuckles all breaking in unison silenced the crowd. All examined their tickets ... The ones with money on the Dutchman knew their money was lost. Bleeding profusely from the deep cut on his cheek, Morty now body checked the huge man, springing from the wall with the force of a bear. The man was stunned by pain and unable to counter, nor could he prevent himself barrelling to the floor. Morty was on him in the blink of an eye. Nothing short of a full knock out would do, but he didn't need to drag it out. Sitting on the guy’s chest, one huge whale of a punch to his opponent’s jaw was all it took. Standing and returning to his ship mates with blood running down his chest and neck, Morty wasn’t in as much pain as his friends expected; nor was he particularly out of breath. The promoter wanted to make trouble, but after a few shakes of Morty's head, he reconsidered. The giant African tribesman resettled against the wall, using it to lend to his hugely wide, muscular body. The other of the promoter’s entourage were now extracting the fallen Dutchman from the ring, whilst he handed over the winnings to the first mate, yet again. As they made their way to the stairs, the one rule was now rewritten. The promoter was sure he HAD to let this guy walk away, it would've been more trouble to try and make him stay. Morty flipped him the two finger salute made famous by British archers for hundreds of years, before calmly saying. "Same time tomorrow?... Bring plenty of money!" The fight organiser looked nervous. This guy could see him in the poor house, and he didn’t want that. The promoter decided it was best to lay low for a few nights until their boat pulled out. Or better yet, he could take out the problem permanently ...

Chapter 9 - Death from the dark continent

THE LARGE AFRICAN SLAVE was hard to spot in the dark, but Morty could hear his breathing as he crept along in the shadows, picking his time to attack. A man this big moving so lightly on his feet was a bad sign. He had some skill at least; unlike the dinosaurs from earlier. Morty now bade his colleagues go on ahead of him, he convinced them of his intention to go for a walk to calm down from the evenings exertions. Promising them he wouldn’t be longer than 20 minutes, Morty watched as they rounded the corner back towards the harbour. Once out of sight, he then began walking back towards the huge warrior, thinking to himself it was to his advantage to choose the point of the attack rather than be ambushed cold. His opponent this time was a slave from darkest central Africa. Morty had overheard the crowd talking earlier; wherever this man walked he was gazed upon with awe. Everyone murmured about the giant who fought for fun, and his deadly reputation. The rumours told that he had already killed three men whilst in Calais, but such was the influence of the fight organiser that the authorities appeared unwilling to punish the man. Morty considered it more likely that they’d been paid handsomely, not to intervene. This was mildly irrelevant now, like it or not, Morty was about to go toe to toe and fist to fist with this unknown quantity in a fight to the death. Morty knew this was why the promoter had sent this giant after him; so he would never show up at his organised fights again to bleed him dry. Not only had Morty relieved him of some serious cash, he'd also put one of his best fighters out of action, possibly for good. Morty felt his situation was dire, doubting he had the strength or skill to beat this man. In the dark things would be worse, he couldn’t hope to evaluate the way the man moved, or determine his true strengths and weaknesses. Considering all these things, Morty had momentarily lost himself, and for the briefest moment he’d also lost the position of his would be attacker. Only his plume of breath rising in the cool night air ahead of him in the alley served to locate his foe once more. As Morty got within ten feet of the man, he stepped out into the dimly lit road ahead of him. The African wasn't hiding anymore, he meant business.

"So my friend ... I see you've had your orders then?" A deep rumbling, "Hmmm..." was the only reply. Probably he could understand most of the languages he heard, but maybe he couldn’t speak any of them; that or he simply couldn't be bothered. "Let's get to then!" Morty rushed the man and for a brief time had him completely off guard. Landing several blows Morty found the flesh was hard like rock. This man didn't only eat to get big, he'd been flogged to that size. The work he did every day was written in his movements. Shoulders, chest and arms for lifting, and legs for climbing while holding the whole massive frame up. Morty was making no particular progress as he darted around the man, targeting the diaphragm and head one after the other, before trying to evade back to a safe position to the side or behind. Now his opponent was taking his time. Was he studying me earlier? If so Morty had to change strategy, but before this new plan could be executed the man scooped him up in his arms and began to squeeze him. So this was his attack. Morty was about to have his rib cage crushed. The best he could do was to try and cup his hands inside each other and brace his arms wider than his own chest, but the man quickly adjusted his grip. This told Morty he was a grappler, not a pure stand up fighter; he wasn't prepared for this. Not having seen him fight earlier, Morty’s first strategy had been incorrect. The man easily had the strength to overpower him. With his arms squashed down beside him, Morty wasn’t able to break free. Suspended two feet in the air, and wriggling like a dying eel, Morty considered a head butt to the man's nose, but he was too high to really make it count. Raising his knee could not be considered a low blow, not against this man; he was a killer. The onus was now on Morty to get free and stay alive by any means necessary. Finally, his low blow provoked a reaction, momentarily the giant’s grip released for long enough that Morty dropped through and back to the ground. Crouching he attempted a low roundhouse kick, relieving the man of his legs. Down on the ground, both tussled for what seemed like minutes, rolling, kicking, and punching furiously. On top of the pile again, Morty had had enough. This man fought in some style which he couldn’t defend against. The man was gathering his flesh and literally twisting huge lumps from him. Bleeding profusely in several places Morty couldn’t allow this to go on for much longer. Morty stood

up and backed away from the man. The African was slow to his feet, by which time Morty was behind him once more. Mustering what would be more like his fifth wind than his second, Morty took aim and punched with surgical precision, directly to the base of the huge skull directly in front of him. This was the last thing the huge African felt. He was dead for sure before his body hit the ground, the loud crunch testified to as much. Having beaten the bodyguard, Morty was still in danger. He was losing blood fast, his body was cold and shaking badly. Seconds later his vision began to blur, he had to get back to the ship, at least nearer than he was right now. He set out to put himself somewhere he could be found, and as far away from the body of the man he'd just killed. He knew it was self defence but as well-connected as the fight promoter was, he was not sure the authorities would be easily convinced. Moving as fast as he could given his unsteadiness, Morty rounded the corner where he left his ship mates. He was roughly a quarter of a mile from his boat, but he wasn't going to make it. He could hear voices in the distance, but kept moving as he couldn’t determine the direction the voices were coming from. His ears were full of blood from a gaping scalp wound the African had inflicted on him. He’d effectively removed a portion of the hair and scalp from Morty’s head. This wound was not his worst, but with the scalp being thin, it was bleeding the most. Keep moving ... He had to keep moving. Clearing the buildings and emerging to the open dockside, Morty collapsed ...

Chapter 10 - Adrift again ...

THE FIRST MATE, HAVING witnessed Morty collapse from his position at the head of the gang plank, gathered men and rushed to his friend’s aid. The men retrieved Morty back to the Företaget, but found him to be both lifeless and cold. It was clear Morty had been ambushed, and had suffered heavy blood loss due from several injuries. The ship's doctor was in no doubt this time, Morty’s pupils were fixed and dilated, a sure sign death had occurred. The doctor recalled pronouncing this man dead before, and had been embarrassed to find him eating breakfast as happily as a pig eating swill the next day. For this reason, the doctor reserved judgment ... “Get him into his bunk, and get me some warm blankets and a bucket of hot water. I’ll dress his wounds, hopefully Morty will pull through.” The doctor played a hunch. The other sailors not in Morty's party had all been asleep in their bunks, but they were woken by the commotion following the men's return. There was suspicion of the doctor’s request considering all attempts to raise Morty had failed. He was limp, cold and had no pulse. The crew wanted to know why they were tucking a dead man into his bed and not stowing him below. The doctor could not really answer except to throw their question back at them wrapped in bluff and bluster. “Are you doctors? I’m telling you he’s lost a lot of blood but I felt a weak pulse ... Now move him ... Quickly.” All fell silent finally when the captain cottoned on to the doctor’s curious plan and assisted to cover, ordering his men to return to their bunks. He was vested in the doctor’s play, he didn’t want to lose his lucky talisman. The doctor stayed with Morty all night, the room lit by as many candles as could be spared. In his diary he kept notes of observations made every 15 minutes. Pulse, respiration, body temperature, pallor were all recorded. After three hours he had recorded ... "... By the striking of three bells all blood loss had stopped. The torn and blood pieces of flesh, about Morty's person have all fallen away, either to the floor or into the bed upon which he is laid. Still no pulse. How was this possible?..."

The doctor slipped from the room and went to get the captain. As the pair returned, the captain was vocal in his doubts of the doctor’s bold theories. The captain was silenced as the body, still having no pulse began to tremble slightly, accompanied by several loud cracks. Neither had any comprehension of what they were witnessing, but various fractures were now systematically repairing themselves. The doctor wasted no time in confirming to the captain in his most matter of fact tone. “I told you so!” As they continued to watch Morty’s skin began to turn from greyish white to a rosy pink. The doctor could now find a pulse easily in any limb he cared to try. Small lacerations vanished before their eyes. "What kind of devilishness is this? ... How can Morty be this way doctor? What pact must a man make with Satan which allows him to return from the dead?" The doctor calmed the captain, reminding him that he had never put his faith in such matters. “Be calm Captain. If heaven doesn’t exist then why would hell? No hell means no devil. No ... There is another explanation ... I’m convinced of it. Think back to the night we found him. There was no ship ahead of us by less than half a day. How then did Morty come to be in the middle of the sea? And his strange clothes, we still haven’t seen anything like them despite trading with ships from the Americas.” Whilst the doctor was ill equipped to explain things to the captain in a way which made sense, he was convinced the reasons were more other worldly than biblical. Maybe the lights they had seen were more of his own kind, still looking for him. Back in Morty's room, he was for all purposes, in a deep sleep. The doctor watched as deeper lacerations also healed with no scars. Even given the primitive nature of his medical training, the doctor appreciated that this state was more than just deep sleep ... Morty was regenerating. With no more to see than his comrades chest raising and lowering as he was fully alive again, the doctor replaced the blankets over his friend, tucked them under the mattress out of habit, before making his exit back to his own private

cabin and climbing into bed. A ridiculous thing to do really, considering he could no more sleep than he could cite a reason for Morty's regeneration. During his years in the Dutch Navy, he'd been party to some minor skirmishes at sea. Seeing what a cannon ball or the splinters of a thick wooden hull could do to a man had not been pretty. Easily a man might be torn into pieces. In his experience it was fair to say that injured men stayed injured, and no understatement for him to say that dead men stayed dead. Here though, was a man who it seemed would not, or maybe could not stay dead. To everyone's amazement, the next morning brought a bout of déjà-vu which could not be questioned. The man they knew for these past six years as Morty, who they'd come to trust and rely upon, strolled into the galley without so much as a by your leave, not even a good morning, as right as rain. It was soon after breakfast that the men began to get antsy, maybe even fractious. Several appeared in the captain's quarters for a heart to heart discussion regarding the status of Morty as a seaman on their boat. It seemed that while the captain was not himself religious, many of his men were. Their belief got them through the long sea crossings, any suggestion that the captain had a modicum of skill fell on deaf ears. They were alive because God allowed, their proof were the angels they had regularly seen following their boat. The captain knew there was no point in denying the situation. As a possible member of the undead, or just the first ever human to be classifiable as indestructible; Morty could NOT stay amongst them. The captain could not allay the crew’s fears. His crew was too valuable to him. Even Morty, as good on deck and at sea as he generally was, wasn’t worth a possible mutiny. After these meetings, which almost served to fill the time from breakfast to lunch, the captain took Morty who had no recollection of the captain or his position on the boat, to one side. “Morty, I am so glad you were able to recover from the accident. You don’t anything do you?” “No captain.” “I’m afraid you were struck out cold by a lifting tackle block which came loose from the rigging ... The problem is this, you don’t anything you’ve

learned, and while I am sorry to lose you; I cannot let you sail with us. You’d be a liability, an accident waiting to happen ... You understand right?” “Aye sir.” “For the last six years you’ve been one hell of a crewman Morty, but I’m afraid this is where you get off.” Morty would have to stay at Calais. The captain’s strategy to placate eighty percent of his crew almost cost him the remainder. Speaking their piece Morty's friends were unhappy that after six long years of exceptional service and hard work, the captain could let Morty go so easily. The captain explained the decision wasn't easy, the fact was that none of them knew Morty. And as of today, he did not know them. This was the best time to cut him loose. Whilst not being in possession of his memories, Morty had all his faculties; he would be okay on land. The captain walked Morty down the gangplank and led Morty into the centre of town. Once there he purchased two things. The first was a leather bound diary with a quill and ink reservoir, the second was a well-made leather satchel. The captain offered Morty some advice... “Morty, make an entry in the journal each day. Places you go, people you meet, put them all in here. Try to avoid more bangs on the head, it makes you forget everything. Don’t lose this journal.” The captain knew he was stretching the truth, but hoped that if Morty should be killed again and remain in possession of his satchel and diary, he would have his identity and life contained within its pages for him to study. In this way he wouldn’t be lost for long. Morty promised that he would make time each day, and thanked the captain who left him where he was standing; taking in the town square, and the market it contained. Morty hadn’t fully realised what the captain was saying, until he found his way back to the harbour; the boat he’d been on was gone. Alone, Morty was adrift again; this time in a sea of people. He was about to find out how much more treacherous this would be than the ocean. Trust and friendship would all have to be learned and earned again, and far from the bubble of the Företaget he would now be exposed to the new concept of enemies ...

Chapter 11 - Memories from beyond the stars.

FOR ALMOST FORTY YEARS Garic, no longer Morty, in fact mostly nameless, had wandered all over Europe. He was careful, never putting roots down in any one place for more than five years. Although he'd often found women with whom he could have settled down, he never took the steps needed to advance these relationships. Garic was nervous of the fact that people he may grow close to, would realise that he did not seem to age. Working mostly as a casual labourer, occasionally he would come across an opportunity to shine, where someone would get a chance to see his mental strengths. Garic was no slouch mentally, and when he had the chance to rub shoulders with scholars of the time he usually had something to say which would astound them or push their research in a new direction. In 1607 Garic had met a man called Galileo in Pisa. Garic had been introduced to Galileo by his eldest daughter, a nun at the convent where a dishevelled Garic had washed up in the middle of a very stormy night. The next day Garic had accompanied her the few miles to Galileo's villa to see she arrived safely. Once there, Garic was quite taken by Galileo's scientific and mathematical work and asked if he might assist Galileo on his new astronomical project. The Italian scientist was aware of a new device which helped the to see further, but these were no good for seeing to the heavens. So Galileo had begun development of his own telescopes. Subsequently, Galileo had been sufficiently impressed with this unknown man’s questions regarding his work that he had given Garic quarters in one of the outbuildings in his rear garden. Within Days Garic had fixed a leaking roof, allowing the plaster inside to dry out; after painting the walls and moving in a bed, he had a little shelter to stay in. Garic's real concerns regarding his un-ageing age through time was only heightened, whilst polishing one of Galileo's reflector mirrors, Garic confirmed to himself that he had not aged even a day. The sight of his own face in the polished surface was the first opportunity he’d had to observe himself in years, maybe in a lifetime. The image which flashed into his head, showed him in surroundings which were unlike any he had experienced in these last forty years.

High quality mirrors such as this were expensive and took time and effort to manufacture, nonetheless the man staring back at Garic now was as he had always been, barely into his thirties. Despite being a lonely existence, constantly moving had been the right decision. In the six months from the summer of 1609, Garic watched as Galileo developed his idea for the telescope. His latest prototype gave a useful twenty times magnification. Within two years of this, Galileo was making detailed observations. In contravention to the Papal Geocentric view of the universe, Galileo theorised that the Earth moved around the sun, which remained static. Galileo had christened this new orientation for the solar system Heliocentrism, establishing many subtle pieces of evidence. Due to celestial alignments, these observations could only be made for a few days and might not be corroborated for years, maybe even decades. Once Galileo had verified some of his findings, these were compiled into a book, but until his findings were verified, he would be unable to publish his work. When released, the works were not well received. Galileo found himself at the mercy of a Roman inquisition only five years later. The verdict stated categorically that Galileo was wrong, and that he should never again challenge the accepted church view. Garic often used to talk to Galileo regarding the dreams he had been having for over fifty years. He encouraged Galileo to continue his work into Heliocentrism as he knew the Italian was on the right track. At first Galileo found Garic's narratives to be too fantastical to believe, but as Garic continued to speak, his scientist friend saw there was a cord of science running through them. The vivid way that Garic described these 4 planets, all of which were inhabited. One was exactly like where they were now, except that in Garic's faint memory, the planet in his dream was larger. He spoke of a time every 7 or so years when the inhabitants would have a festival. As all four planets moved into alignment with each other, their sun would be eclipsed by the most interior of the planets. Garic held the firm belief that one of the planets took twice as long to orbit this star, than its neighbour, but in all cases the planets moved around a static sun. For the first time since Calais, Garic had broken his one simple rule. He greatly enjoyed working with his scientist friend and without trying at all

Garic had spent more than fifteen years with the steadily ageing Italian scientist. Galileo was always left in awe by Garic's tales, often related though a technique of waking hypnosis to the scientist. Once awake though, these memories didn’t stay in his friend’s mind for long. This technique did seem to be the best way for Garic to explore his memories. Galileo used the technique himself often, once busy any onlooker observing him would think him to be day dreaming, or in a stupor. In fact, Galileo would simply be visualising a problem at its most raw, inside his head. Placing Garic into a similar state these memories came alive. The concepts Garic was raising, some regarding moons, Galileo had already begun to confirm around a planet he was studying called Jupiter. Garic told that some planets had so many moons as to run into double figures, some even being bigger than the planet they were now on. Garic told that some systems had binary Suns, pulling each other in such a tight orbit about one another that they would swap their material, no life existed in these solar systems that he knew of, but he had been ing through them very quickly. Galileo laughed as he inquired to Garic, what he thought Pope Urban VIII would think about that. Galileo could not fathom the vastness of space, and how easily his friend appeared to have traversed these distances. How many life times had he lived? Galileo appeared to all onlookers to be a very devout Catholic. In spite of this he had so far fathered three children all out of wedlock. The subjects Garic was discussing warranted further examination, at least as far as their celestial neighbours would allow, but this was at odds with the judgments of the inquisition. Ever the scientist, and in spite of his religious beliefs he felt he’d compiled enough theoretical data to write another book. This time he would prove that biblical geocentrism was an errant concept. Garic urged him on, but Galileo was sure there would be no let off this time. After Galileo renounced his heretical theory years before, the Pope had shown some mercy. This time Galileo was sure the Pope would mete out a more thorough punishment if angered again. Galileo became constantly frustrated. Feeling his theories were not only correct but would in time be endlessly provable, Galileo was still loathed to move against the might of the church. Having finally reached a design of telescope which yielded thirty times magnification, Galileo felt little inclination to continue. Whilst Garic could polish a mirror smoother than anyone he knew, an uncorrectable flaw existed in the lenses; this only got worse as the magnification was increased.

The glass used to make the lenses was lead rich and full of tiny bubbles, there was no way for Galileo to refine this process; this led to colour distortion and lack of peripheral clarity. Galileo knew it wouldn’t be long before the Dutch astronomer Huygens’ own design bettered his efforts by some significant margin. Galileo appreciated that his design had been a means to an end, a valuable tool to prove his theories. He now decided his time was better spent writing down his evidence and observations to re-publish his main theory. He did however feel it only right to get consent from the church before putting pen to paper once again. The pope's initial benevolence came at a price, he determined the conditions under which Galileo's text could be published. The book could not be antiGeocentric, or anti bible. The pope also had a few of his own theories which he wanted included, to give balance. With his heart in the right place and his conscience clear, Galileo satisfied exactly none of the pope's requests. Once again the aging scientist was summoned before the inquisition. Finally giving in to his urge to move on, or risk being found by the inquisition, Garic said his goodbyes to Galileo just prior to his friend’s latest book being published in 1632. Any news regarding the Pope was important enough to be carried quickly by word of mouth. It was easy for Garic to hear the drama unfold. Even average men with no inclination to the stars knew the name Galileo. The concept of religion seemed odd to Garic. Why was mankind so beholden to the idea of an omnipotent deity that they would adhere strictly to his divine rules? These were strange times. The verdict was heresy, accompanied by the obligatory judgement of death. Only the Pope himself could commute this sentence, and against the odds he did just that. Urban VIII decided that making an example out of such an old and well valued scholar in this way was totally inappropriate. The eventual sentence was house arrest for the remainder of Galileo's natural life. Indeed all the sessions in waking sleep with his friend Galileo had raised some deeply hidden memories within Garic. Despite the level of vivid detail in these dreams, Galileo still considered them as purely theoretical, and he never disclosed their content to anyone. As such, just how much of an outsider Garic

may be, was a well-protected secret. Once his memory had been refreshed, Garic's intelligence far sured even Galileo’s own great human mind, and Garic feared that unless mankind changed substantially, he might not come into with another such as Galileo for some time. The only mysteries now in Garic's mind were, how long was he going to be alive for, and would he ever be able to return home? Garic felt these questions were doomed to remain unanswered for some time. Mankind’s technology was crude, even when they called their works precision pieces. They still had no real knowledge of metallurgy, and only a basic grasp of alloying to mix metals for strength or other properties. He felt doomed, unless he could lead them in some way. The problem was the knowledge he possessed had value, in the wrong hands it could easily cause a power struggle, or worse a cataclysm of destruction. Garic could not appreciate that even here on Earth, his new home, it would only be a few short centuries before the Khai-mah would once again be in his nightmares. The news of the commutation of Galileo's sentence by the Pope reached Garic just as he crossed into Constantinople. This was a good outcome for the wise scientist who thought people should no longer be kept in the dark by a book written long ago, or the ideals of a few people with far too much power. Garic could be reasonably assured that Galileo would be continuing his work behind closed doors, and making notes for people to find in the future. All the things which made the humans, well human, good and bad were things which had never occurred on Ashlar-Gin, his home planet, no currency, no religion; only fair trade and respect for a fellow Ginlar. This was enough to halt all wars, and prevent people who certainly wielded power, from being consumed by it completely. The current pope, like many before him, seemed to be the epitome of misplaced power, Garic had not seen another single person who held so much sway over the way millions could think and behave. The church in Rome had its fingers in the pies of many countries in Europe, as far as setting policy, and creating rules to live by. A supposedly pious order comprising representatives of God, and yet most clergy were corrupt within small villages. Worse than this, the larger the

flock, the more corrupt they would be. Such corruption peaked with the Pope. Dressed in all his finery, looking down on the heathens; he had more wealth and power than several monarchs put together. The bible taught that God helped those who helped themselves, and the pope and his underlings certainly liked to help themselves, woe betide anyone who stood against them. Poor Galileo ...

Chapter 12 - The Företaget III

WALKING INTO CONSTANTINOPLE the year was now 1633, being midsummer the weather in general was hot. Garic had high hopes. In order to find a balance, he would follow the trading routes to China and learn something of the eastern ways and religions too. Certainly, he had done Europe to death and needed a change of scenery, his choices were Africa or Asia, but he also had time on his side, so neither was ruled out permanently. Initially, travelling through Western Europe Garic had taken to returning to a library in the Netherlands, where he was in the habit of storing his journals. He would visit there roughly every five years, but this grew bothersome and wasn't allowing him the freedom of movement that he desired. Once the wars between , and the Ottoman Empire flared up again, he had almost been drafted into the German army, just by virtue of the fact he was headed in the same direction. For a few years after that, Garic had taken to hiring a courier to deposit the journals from wherever he was back to the library, while he continued to tiptoe around the war zones trying not to get caught up. As he got further away this seemed to make little sense, now he had journals in many places, but using the locations of two towns, the first to signal latitude and the second longitude, he could use these to indicate an old building in a third town, or some permanent geographical feature like a cave in an isolated area where the journal would be stored, remaining dry and undisturbed. It was also usual for Garic to place a marker in each location, something innocuous which would draw him to the final location without attracting unwanted attention from anyone else. This marker was always a natural object, but the shape could be used to point the way, Flint or some other such rock, or a carving in a tree trunk. The locations of three such journals could be indicated in this way, inside the front cover. This was a kind of insurance policy in case one became lost; he could still locate the journal before that. Complex, but for a man who showed no signs yet of ageing or even being able to die, he could not take the chance that someone would come across his notes and piece together his real age. One of his biggest fears was that he may die and become separated from his bag and the current journal stored within it, he had

been stopped by thieves several times during his travels, but had always defended himself adequately, achieving victory without significant injury. He thought it lucky that up to this point, whilst sleeping mostly rough, he had managed not to fall ill. Humans were at the mercy of so many diseases, Cholera, typhoid, plague, measles, diphtheria and influenza to name a few, and whilst the humans were good at cutting up bodies now, to try and advance their own medical knowledge, they were also given to mixing herbs and roots to make potions and concoctions which would be as effective as a gnat trying to fell a cow for all but the most minor of ailments. Even in this day and age a common cold was more than a minor ailment, easily turning into influenza or pneumonia. All but those who had been in their primes before illness would succumb, and no amount of quackery would stop this from happening. Garic had certainly had his fair share of exposure, but had pulled through most bouts of illness within a few days. Nothing kept him from his swift and solitary advance. At first glance, Garic's pace would appear inconsiderate to those less fit who sought to travel with him, even temporarily. It wasn’t personal, Garic never got too close to anyone or anything, preferring to avoid human wherever possible. Constantinople was an exception from most other European cities. Its sheer size and longevity throughout history with ties back to the Greek and Roman empires, dictated a more modern infrastructure. Two centuries before, the Black Death had run rampant through the city and the rest of the continent, and parts remained squalid despite continued public works to improve the city by its new Muslim Ottoman rulers. Not that Garic really cared, having no use for religion of any kind, but even he could not miss the number of mosques in the huge city. Since Ottoman rule began, most Christian churches had been converted into mosques. There were more than could be counted and this only cemented the city's status through history as a trading port, even more importantly Constantinople was the start of the Silk Road which extended all the way to China. If you were headed to China to trade, then your journey started here. As was Garic's custom, he would always try to remain close to the sea when he

could, Constantinople was no different. Sitting on the end of the sea defences, built hundreds of years before to give ships safe haven from the fickle nature of the Mediterranean sea, today he would watch the sun rise. Even so early in the morning the city was a hive of activity as Muslims made their way to morning prayer. Moored in the harbour in the distance, Garic clapped eyes on a ship, the sight of which triggered some strong memories. While the mast and rigging arrangements were unfamiliar to him, the name was. He was looking at the Företaget III, could it be? His captain must have been long dead, it seemed amazing that the ship had lasted so long. Walking alongside the vessel and watching the activity to unload her cargo, the memories, wiped from his conscious mind for so long, continued to return. The captain, his first mate and the good doctor ... Morty ... That's what they’d called him. Strange that in all these years he had never taken a name, or been given a name by others whom he'd met. He did tend to keep people at a distance though. Sat on a mooring post he continued to watch ... After a few minutes sat there observing, the sun was now fully above the horizon, unloading was in full swing. Anybody else might have jumped or been startled when a hand suddenly appeared on his right shoulder. "So you couldn't stay away from the sea then Morty?” These words, spoken loudly, appeared to be from a ship's captain. Garic turned to see a sun tanned face, framed by long grey hair which appeared to be the man's own, not a wig. Deep lines were worn into his face from years at sea in all the weathers Mother Nature had thrown at him; still Garic recognised something in his smile. After a little more introduction, Garic now recognised an elderly Marcus, the cabin boy from the original Företaget. He had literally been a boy when Garic had been pulled from the sea, but by the time the captain dropped him off in Calais, he was almost about to turn sixteen. Several years after the old captain had given him his own vessel, which he had obviously grown and matured with. Garic explained that he still had no actual memories of his time aboard the Företaget, but the time he had spent in Italy with a good friend had helped him to unlock some of the memories enough to put them on paper. He explained to

Marcus that all his memories were still there, they just remained elusive whilst awake. "You look no different man, you've had a charmed life." Garic heard these words and it hit him, the year was 1633. He'd left Calais in late 1569. Marcus had been almost Sixteen. Marcus watched Morty trying to work out the years, he appeared to have little clue how many had ed, time obviously ed differently for him. "I'm almost seventy four years old, and I'm surely only alive because of this fine vessel. If something happens to her, I will share that fate, isn't she a beauty? I can see you cannot put together the years, have you been wandering all this time? I've lived a full life ... A good life, but you, you're no different, as if time has stopped for you." "Marcus, old friend ... Time stands still for no one, I am sure I would've been dead long ago, if I were I where I truly should be ..." Garic's voice faded out ... Am I really going to try and explain my dreams to a sea captain? "What do you mean by that? I'm sure people only live as long even in the new world." At this he began to laugh, certainly his old captain's open mindedness had rubbed off onto Marcus. He was now a wise old man, not given to superstition or religious dalliances. "New world ... That's a laugh ... Suffice to say my world is a very old world indeed, and very far away. That's if she even still exists. When I left her, she was dying by degrees. Now, I am stuck here, in this world which can never accept me, because here I don't seem to age ... Not one day in over seventy years." "It explains everything, found in the middle of the sea in clothes I've never seen before or since, and dead to boot, but alive only hours later. Then you seem suspended in time while we all hop around like frogs. You must think us all mad, but no more so than the average man would think you to be if you told them your story. How have you filled your time?"

"Mainly I've been wandering. I've spent decades roaming everywhere and nowhere. As recently as thirty years ago I was avoiding the draft in and violence in general, in case I lose my mind again. I'm also still keeping the journal, every day. What ever happened to Hansel anyway?" Garic was not surprised to learn that Hansel, his old captain was long since consigned to the sea. There were many ways to be killed or die, whether on land or at sea. He was upset to learn that the captain, as old as he was, had died an unnatural death at the hands of a Spanish Navy warship captain. Marcus related the story as it was relayed to him some time after the event. In 1596, the Spanish had been on the move to take Calais for themselves, and mount another attack on their old enemy Great Britain. In order to present a larger force than they actually had, one Galleon captain had tried to commandeer the Företaget. Hansel had not allowed this, as Garic and Marcus sat there in discussion, both nodded in agreement, each knew that not even God himself would've been able to take Hansel's pride and joy away from him. The Spanish captain had never stood a chance, until that was, he'd drawn his sword, running Hansel through with extreme prejudice to make an example of him. A monumental waste of a larger than life salty dog on an utterly petty cause. Further insult was found after the Spanish army had given Calais right back to the French less than two years later as part of some ongoing treaty. Humans could certainly quibble over the smallest of things. Any excuse to spill vast quantities of blood. The frown on Marcus' face was soon replaced again by a smile. Garic's memories were hazy but he couldn’t picture the young cabin boy without a smile on his face. Now Marcus told Garic all about how he had risen to the position of full captain, just before Hansel had been butchered. The Företaget III mainly toured the Mediterranean, and was never without a load due to Marcus having a very personable disposition, which most traders trusted. This and the fact that like his mentor, he always delivered on time. Hansel's business had remained in trust after his death, but only for as long as it took for Marcus to prove he had the tenacity to grow the business even more, and turn forty himself. Everything was his, though he’d never sired a blood heir either; the issue of succession was becoming an issue again.

As they walked around Constantinople's ancient centre, Marcus expressed the firm belief that his meeting Garic here now ... Was fated. Marcus had already reconciled himself to selling the business in the next years, but the thought saddened him. Almost dragging Garic down a side alley, the pair walked only a few feet more, to a large door. Marcus pulled a key from his waistcoat pocket, and unlocking the door, marched inside. "Do you still your way around a ship? ... I'm guessing your name isn't Morty? Hansel gave you that name. I'd rest easier knowing that the company was in friendly hands." "Are you asking me to take the boats and the business? ... I'm honoured. But you know me, they'd only be a temporary diversion ... I might not keep them long before I get pulled somewhere else." "Even if you could manage the ships for the next 10 years, it would be long enough for you to find an apprentice. Then it on ... As you chose." "What about my condition? What I am? I've been too lucky so far, sooner or later that's going to change ... One little bump on the head." Marcus interrupted, explaining that he was a little more robust than the captain had led him to believe. The problem would not be a simple bump on the head, but would in fact be more related to his death. Garic had no memory of this. Marcus elaborated ... "I reckon it was five years after he let you go, Hansel called me into his cabin for a Brandy. I was first mate then and he was training me up to take the business, though I never knew that. He thought about you a lot, but never spoke of you ... Nor would he allow people to talk about you. He told me how you had taken part in an organised fighting match in the cellar of a tavern. You fought well and dispatched some big opponents ... So well, the organiser set his best man after you. You sent everyone back to the boat, before doubling back. You won but at a cost. When your ship mates found and returned you to the Företaget, you were dead again." Garic was stunned ... Killed twice, resurrected twice ... But why? For what purpose? Why did deeper memories than these surface with Galileo, but not these?

Marcus found it hard to believe that he’d not realised this sooner, especially if Morty was slowly regaining his memory. It was clear his friend had no knowledge of the events Marcus had just told him about. He could tell though that Morty was not in denial, he just didn't understand what was happening to him. He was clearly living his life in complete obscurity, for fear of being ridiculed or worse. Marcus could not help but feel this was a tragic waste, if Morty had certain abilities, then it was for a higher cause. The memory loss was probably to keep him focused, each time he died, he'd been reset; allowed to continue unencumbered by previous knowledge. Pouring two large brandies, Marcus made his feelings on the matter more than plain. Morty or whoever he was, should not be living in the shadows ... "You are clearly more than able to cope with this life, tasks which ordinary people might master in a decade, you master in only days. You have to start putting your talents to use ... On my trade fleet for starters. Find a suitable heir, mature but no older than 25, train them in seamanship and business. Once ready let them run the business on their own for five years, if they prove themselves, lay it all on their shoulders." "That's OK Marcus, but what if they take all the teachings and still aren’t worthy? What if he just doesn't want it, or he accepts the business and then runs it straight into the ground? I would have no come back, otherwise they'd spot that I remain un-aging." "Friend ... You worry too much for a person with your kind of power. You can live ten full lives, you've got time. The burning question is what happens if you whet your appetite sufficiently and don't want to hand the business over? That's the biggest problem of all." With this Garic felt that if Marcus twisted even a little more, his arm might come free of its socket completely; his old friend was very persuasive. He did have nothing but time on his hands, as for the legalities of the hand-overs from generation to generation, these could be handled by willing the business to an heir or a young ward, whose identity Morty could assume after thirty years or so. "Don't you worry, I have retained the services of a very good maritime lawyer ... Originally I hired them to deal with other matters, but they are trustworthy, and discreet."

"Marcus, you're a dark horse ... I sense a secret ..." Marcus did indeed have a Spanish skeleton in his closet ... "I needed him for my own protection. I am quite a well known personality in European ports. Once I tracked down Hansel's killer, I found myself a person through whom I could exact revenge. Once the deed was done, my man was killed whilst fleeing. It was only hours before he had been identified, but thanks to the lawyer, all connections between me and the killer had been erased. False paperwork, bills of lading, port mooring papers well away from the scene, all had been pricey, but essential. I watched the Spanish bastard drop, but no could put me there ... They never even suspected." "Murder ... I would never have ..." "Suspected me? ... Oh Morty, my loyalty is unparalleled, for my friends. Besides, I am usually a prominent figure in society and make more than my share of charitable donations. Since then I haven't had any thoughts similar." "So I see, you're wealthy and powerful ... So obviously not a killer." Marcus was certainly in a position to be a great ally for Garic, who wondered how much longer he could wander aimlessly, before he would be compelled to put down roots. Shipping magnate seemed like a good cover, maybe he'd get the chance to meet some of the worlds captains of industry. Garic had not seen anything he classed as technological on this world, maybe humans just weren't at that point yet. He could give suitable pointers and suggestions. His problem was only that he needed to meet the right people, and they would need to be discreet. It was not clear to Garic yet how he would begin to go about this, but initially he felt Marcus would be more useful to him than the other way around, even if he took over the burden of the Företaget fleet. "Morty, just come with me on my next voyage to Alexandria, see what I'm doing. We had just started loading this morning, but by now they should be ready to set sail." "In for a penny ... Is that what they say?"

"Well you stand to gain a lot more than a pound old friend ..." Without making a major commitment, Garic had agreed to accompany Marcus on his next voyage to northern Egypt. No doubt the pressure from his old friend would be unrelenting, but the voyage would give Garic time. Time to consider Marcus' offer, and also test out his old sea legs. If he still proved able at sea, he’d probably accept stewardship of the company; but he wasn't about to tell Marcus this just yet. Once Marcus received Morty's approval, he seemed to relax making his previous demeanour appear overly tense. Garic attributed the change to an entrepreneur achieving his goal. Garic had promised nothing, but in Marcus' mind he was closer to convincing him that it was a good move. The old captain would not have lasted seventy four years at sea without knowing when, and when not to push. Marcus told him the cargo he was taking to Egypt was a precious load of heavy metal parts. He had no idea of their use, Garic was intrigued. Metal parts? This confirmed that going with Marcus was the right move. He had to remain interested and yet ignorant. Marcus downed his Brandy and spoke ... "Come on then, the sooner we get back on board, the sooner we can get under sail." "Agreed, we still have plenty of light ... Shame to waste it." With that, Garic downed his own Brandy and made ready to leave. Again Marcus locked the heavy door to his company office, one of many Garic suspected. It would not make sense for Marcus to be tethered to Constantinople, surely he would have offices everywhere. Garic only needed to be patient. Arriving back to the dock, Marcus was pleasantly surprised to find the ship waiting for him to reboard her. Soon, they could set sail southwards. The sky was blue with high wispy clouds, the air was hot and dry, typical of the eastern Mediterranean. The wind was favourable at the shore and would probably be stronger once they cleared the bay. Clearing the gangway onto the main deck, Garic remarked upon the Företaget III's bigger size. Marcus gave the signal to cast off, before proudly informing him this vessel was fifty percent longer and twice the beam. He went on to

explain that this boat had twice the sheet area of Hansel's original Företaget, but was faster despite her size. As the harbour wall was cleared, the first mate gave Marcus a sealed envelope, the contents were read discreetly before giving the order to steer westward from the port ...

Chapter 13 - Pieces of ... A bigger picture.

GARIC FOLLOWED MARCUS below deck and into the hold. The pieces awaiting them were indeed large, and despite their separate arrangement to keep the ship balanced, Garic could easily see the assembly the parts would form. "Marcus ... How did you ever get them in here? They must be heavy." Garic speculated at least two large lifting derricks and some seriously hefty ropes and blocks, would have been needed. None of which had been apparent on the dockside. Puzzlingly, the crew began laughing at him. One large chap signalled to Garic to assume a position at the end of one of the longer looking pieces, once he had, the crewman took the other end. "On three mate ... One ... Two ... Three!" As signalled, on three, the sailor put his back into a lift; to Garic's surprise he hadn’t strained. Garic followed his lead, the lift was easy considering the object was metallic. This is alloy! A super lightweight alloy. The metal almost shone gold in the candlelit hold. The two men could have held the load for some time if required. "We simply lowered it down using ropes boss! All eight of us on a rope each, it's light but strong as hell so they say." "Oh?... So who says?" Garic continued his enquiry, only to be blocked by Marcus directly. He asked Garic to exercise some patience, he was always going to reveal this cargo, his client was special and enjoyed doing business secretly. In good time Marcus said all would be revealed, but for now he could not tell Garic who the client was, in case the man took his business elsewhere. Garic lowered the load back to the deck, the seaman re-tied the lashings to secure the part. Marcus made his way topside, still talking; Garic ran to catch up. Breaking back into the fresh sea air, the temperature away from the coast was at least five degrees cooler. All too quickly the port of Constantinople was growing smaller behind them, their sails were full. Marcus told Garic how the large elder gentleman had sought him out a few years

earlier, and he'd been hauling pieces similar to this ever since. “I can barely how she handles without a hold full of metal parts. This is a typical load, about thirty five parts, they aren't that heavy but as you saw, in volume alone they almost equal the maximum load the Företaget III can handle.” Marcus went on to point out that if the load had been composed of cloth, the hold would have been stuffed full and his boat would be sitting on her load marks. “Not like now, there’s plenty of fresh air down there.” Marcus alluded to the fact that this business was very convenient, far less labour intensive and infinitely more lucrative. “We move twelve loads per year, this is the only contractual obligation, but it’s no hassle really. One month is more than enough time to make the run and get back to Constantinople, or anywhere else the wind can blow us. That’s not the half of it, upon arrival in Alexandria, the organisation always unloads the hold themselves. We don’t even have to touch it.” Marcus had only met the large elderly man the first time, but Marcus stated categorically that he would never forget him. When Garic enquired why, Marcus told him that the man had bettered eight and a half feet tall and was truly extraordinary. “He was most gentile, overly so, not natural. He stipulated exactly when the first load was to be picked up and handed me a schedule for delivery.” Marcus remarked that his client had the most efficient sense of timing regarding the weather. Even loads in winter months had found the Företaget III sailing on a sea like glass; it was like his client just knew. Marcus would receive a well-dressed visitor in the days before the load was due to be loaded. This visitor would hand him sealed instructions outlining when the boat should leave, and even the general route. “It’s uncanny, but the route usually takes around six and a half days to follow, never more than seven. The destination is always the port of Alexandria.”

Garic tried to push gently ... "How can they know the weather? To miss storms and heavy waves, something else must be in play ..." "Garic ... I'm paid handsomely not to ask questions. Once in Alexandria I've never tried to follow the load, but I'm not daft. The parts don't stay there, why else would they need to be protected by the infamous brotherhood of assassins. Another Captain told me who they were on my second run." Seeing the look transfixed on his friends face, Marcus now snorted out a laugh to diffuse the bomb he'd just dropped ... "Assassins? ... I don't see it, they’re a jolly bunch, and they’re always right enough with me. I even argued with the other captain about his claims, he had no evidence.” Garic was skeptical, if not about the weather prediction, then certainly the paid assassins, but Marcus just bade him wait a few more days. “You’ll see for yourself and you can make your own mind up. I’m pretty sure the brotherhood runs the parts by camel train, somewhere near Cairo.” Garic enquired ... “Are you still seeing lights in the sky at night?” “I hear tell occasionally, but I haven’t seen anything for many years. Normally we’re quite close to land anyway, but I them vividly enough to know if I saw them again.” Garic felt it was barely worth speculating, but if the client was truly as tall as Marcus remarked, it was also likely he was not of this planet either. In all his years of wandering, and some years spent in the Netherlands, where people were taller than in most other countries, Garic had not met any man taller than six feet and nine inches. Marcus ed this particular man had been gangly and un-gamely in his movements. Marcus related a tale which alluded to the fact his client was a giant in every proportion, tall, muscular and thickset, with long jet black hair which Marcus felt sure was dyed to alter his appearance.

-Why would he bother? Surely at his size there is no blending in! The only thing Garic could take for granted, the parts stowed below were unlike anything he had seen in his travels. Garic didn’t have any idea where such parts could be made, having not seen any companies capable anywhere. Machinery was in general crude, whereas the parts were anything but, being intricately designed. His quick appraisal whilst in the hold, told him they looked similar to the pieces needed to form the hull of a spacecraft, or maybe a vessel for a power source. Needless to say they were valuable beyond compare, hence the need for a band of armed men to look after their safe transport to their final destination. The fact that these men were a league of assassins was probably a ruse, put there for insurance to stop possible theft. Though no one else could have a need for such parts, there was a possibility they could be stolen for ransom, hence the need for secrecy. This was proving too much for Garic who was gripped by excitement, more than he’d felt in many decades. He would have to be careful to conceal his true motives for accepting Marcus' generous offer. Deciding his decision would be more plausible if he threw himself into the work of running the ship, he spent much time inspecting rigging and sail. Amazingly none needed repair, indeed most of the sheets hardly showed any staining from moisture at all. Clearly Marcus hadn’t been kidding when he said the Företaget III was always lucky with the weather, the sail stitching was barely stressed at all. Marcus was a businessman, his continued success dictated that he did not appear overly inquisitive, but he was sharp. Garic now wondered if Marcus made his offer to him, because he knew that Garic would not be able to resist getting to the bottom of these mysterious dealings. This was a stretch even for Garic, and implied that his meeting Marcus in Constantinople was not by pure chance alone, but that wasn't true. Garic had been careful not to form personal bonds, preferring to remain in the shadows. No one could have known Garic's general direction of travel, much less that he would end up in Constantinople. Also, considering Garic had been on the move for roughly sixty years, longer than a normal person’s lifetime and his movements would have been impossible to predict. Garic abandoned such paranoid thoughts, deciding Instead to let his current situation play out, time was the great revealer. The view from the crow's nest was spectacular as the sun began to hang low in the reddening sky. Sights like this always triggered some small memory from the

past. Hazily the clarity and freshness of this atmosphere brought back memories of his own world, before the war had contaminated it almost beyond the point of repair ... Such a shame. Garic was having mixed feelings. He was a born soldier, who spent many years in battle before being sucked away from his dying world, a world he had missed every day since Galileo had awoken his first deep memories. In contrast though, he did find this pace of life much more relaxing, and only wished he had been granted this kind of life on his own world with his family. His regrets of not being present to keep defending his world, paled into insignificance when compared to his regrets at the possible fate of his family. Garic had never explained any of these more personal facts to Galileo, the old scholar would've barely been interested. Suffice to say if the Lizards of war had ever arrived here, the battle would have been over in literal moments. It was not worth enlightening Galileo to these realities. Maybe, with this new information entrusted to him by Marcus, he could find the makers of this technology and assist them in making technology to defend this planet, in case the Khai-mah did arrive. He was under no illusions that this would take some time even if he did find them. First he would need to create the right opportunity and earn their trust. Internally Garic was agonizing ... -Does Marcus know more than he's letting on? That's the question. Garic was sure Marcus knew plenty more, but how much detail? What was the relevance? Tipping his hand was a risk at this point, the Marcus he mostly had memories of was a teenager, still mostly naive and untainted by life, the rigours of nature or the future deals he would make which would turn sour. By now, although well concealed by his hearty exterior facade, Garic could see that older Marcus, although wealthy and successful, had a dark past. There was more than the skeleton of a Spanish Captain at the back of his closet. That was his business, as long as Marcus remained straight and honest with Garic, any misdeeds from the past were of little concern. This all just seemed a little too fast and coincidental. This morning his intention had been to spend a hundred years slowly traversing the Silk Road to China, ing through India of course and learning all he could about the many races he’d been forced to live with. In a few short hours, this plan had been completely changed, he couldn’t see himself going on this journey ever. Higher things were

being revealed to him, things he must investigate. As the sun sank into the sea at the edge of the world, they were making good time, after seven hours Marmara was growing smaller in their wake. Tonight another man would be relieving Garic. He would be the one keeping watch as they ed through a narrow straight, once clear of this they'd be clear into open sea. The only obstacles they'd face then would be any one of the islands between them and the eastern end of the Mediterranean Sea. It would take another two days to reach Creta, Marcus had been instructed to on the eastern end of the island, west of Kasos. This time the route Marcus had been instructed to follow after Creta would take them in the rough direction of land but not easterly enough to remain within sight of it, Marcus fully expected the remaining journey to Alexandria to take another four days. In another two hours the crew on deck would change over, a chance for Garic to get a bite to eat. Still looking down from the crow's nest, Garic had a clear moonlit view down onto the deck. Marcus was still at the wheel, but he had been given to taking frequent breaks, once relieved he would usually disappear below deck into the hold. Garic thought it was reasonable to check the cargo, but why wouldn't Marcus delegate this task, as simple as it would be for a deckhand? Why so often? With barely a ripple on the sea, which was more like a mill pond, why check the cargo bindings at all? And these weren't the only questions Garic had ... -If he'd checked the route, I would have surely seen Marcus retreat to his quarters. But he hasn't even taken so much as a com heading. He's barely navigating the ship at all, at least not by conventional means ... How does he look so relaxed? How does he know he's still on his intended heading, and not totally lost? Soon the two hours had ed and Garic made his way down from the nest. He hadn't seen Marcus for the last hour, again he'd gone below deck; this time he had not returned. One of Marcus' most trusted mates was at the helm, but his presence at the wheel was moot. Such was the consistent nature of the wind, and it's apparent lack of effect to disturb the surface of the sea that he was merely using the wheel to his huge forearms. Garic stayed midship, by the hatch, he was keen not to look too curious, and

more so not to get caught snooping. After not knowing Marcus for over sixty years, he couldn’t know what colours the captain was capable of showing if incensed. The remaining voyage ed in a relative blur, the very action of performing duties on board triggered memories at a staggering rate. Garic not only ed Marcus as Hansel's cabin boy, but also most of his time on the original Företaget. More pertinently, the reasons for Hansel dropping him off in Calais also returned. He knew now that Hansel only took that decision to calm his sailors, who were somewhat unnerved by Morty's revival, an understandable action for him to take. The Företaget III was indeed a fine ship and made an average speed of at least ten knots. With uncanny regularity, she made landfall outside Alexandria exactly on target on the morning of the seventh day. Garic could barely believe his eyes as the Företaget III was pulling inside the old sea walls. Also on schedule, the camel train was arriving to unload the cargo. Steered along by the brotherhood, all dressed in red and burgundy with full head scarves to protect their faces from the sun and wind driven sand. Each was armed with a long curved scimitar, and as if that were not enough a dagger was also tucked into the sash around their waist. Aside from this each was laughing heartily, engaged deeply in some topic of conversation Garic couldn’t understand. The brotherhood comprised fifty men in total. Observing the general populous milling around the harbour, none were equally armed. Upon seeing them, the average man would go to some trouble to get out of their way. Clearly the brotherhood did have some sort of reputation for trouble. Mooring at the berth, Marcus and his first mate threw the lines ashore, where two of the brotherhood secured the lines to posts embedded into the sea wall. The gang plank was offered up to the side of the ship and up they came. Marcus' own men just stood by and watched as, still laughing, the men headed straight for the hold cover, removing and stowing this further up the deck, then half of them headed below, reappearing once they entered the hold. Using the same system of ropes and carefully directed man power, it didn’t take more than three hours to empty the hold completely, the men were certainly organised and well-practiced at this task. The four men who remained dockside would then make sure that each part was secured between two or four camels

depending upon the size of each component, irrespective of how heavy a part actually was. Cloth was then draped over each piece, in order to conceal it from general view. Garic stood close by Marcus all the while, listening intently to the conversation, but this was mostly idle chit chat to exchange pleasantries and stories to update one another of the last month’s activities. Once the hold was empty and the parts were secured to the camels, the men then began to bring aboard bales of silk, Arabic tapestries, cloths, rugs, and barrels of spices made in the area, as well as small trinkets packaged in chests. These it seemed, were the bonus load which Marcus had told Garic about back in Constantinople. The silks and cloths were in demand in Europe right now and were used for all sorts of garments and furnishings, drapes and such like. The trinkets would be sold in markets, and formed another branch of Marcus' business empire. The final chest to be loaded was noticeably heavier, which prompted Marcus to wink at Garic, with a smile on his face which nothing could erase. This was the payment. Garic was careful to remain focused on Marcus and the activities on board, but he could not resist quick glances to the dock side, up and down the harbour to see if the client were about. Struggling to conceal his disappointment as he realised that the client wasn't present, he made to climb the mast to the nest, when Marcus put his hand on Garic’s shoulder to stop him. “Come on, we're all going ashore for some food, I know you've never been here before, I'll show you around ...”

Chapter 14 - Time sails on ...

IT HAD BEEN OVER FORTY years since Marcus had gone to the big gentlemen’s club in the sky, and it was seven years before that, when Garic took over as the figurehead of the Företaget shipping company. Garic ed the fateful day, the Företaget III made its way back to Constantinople, another clear sunny day in late summer. Once again he accompanied Marcus to the office in old Constantinople town. Marcus was pushing for a decision regarding his request for Garic to take over. Without keeping Marcus in suspense, Garic cheerfully agreed, he’d been away from the sea for far too long. This, he decided, would be a new chapter in his life stranded on this small blue world. He itted to Marcus that he had thought very long and hard indeed about jumping ship in Alexandria to follow the brotherhood and their camel train, so desperate was he to find the makers of these huge parts. He even concurred with Marcus’ earlier theory that they too must be from another world to need machines of such size. It was clear to Garic that they were building the parts of a craft or some power source, but he was not clear which, certainly the first would need the latter. If they were merely building the latter on its own, the vessel must have been truly immense. His eyes rolled back in his head with excitement ... "Oh Marcus ... Any reactor needing so many parts is probably being constructed from scratch ... Eventually it will be powering something colossal ..." The older man could see this was weighing heavily in Garic’s forethought as he speculated openly ... "This can only mean one thing ... Somewhere on this world there must be an interstellar craft, crashed but still working. But I wonder ... Why would they need the humans' help to ship these pieces when they must have shuttle craft themselves which could move parts faster and under cover?" Then Garic clearly ed his own gunship back on Ashlar-Gin. Beyond the room into which the weapons cargo was loaded, and that occupied by the crew piloting the ship, taking into the various systems on board, there was no other space free. Certainly, there was no bespoke cargo hold ... "Then there is the number of parts involved. One part per ship per flight and

returning to wherever ... Yes, now I can see ... If they're looking to conserve valuable resources which their technology needs to run, and time is of no concern to them ... Then this way is more than adequate." Marcus was boggled at Garic’s intelligence, and even more-so regarding the matters about which he spoke. His friend clearly was not from Earth, there was no doubt left in the old sea captain’s mind. His friend did not age, did not stay dead, and had knowledge of machines he couldn’t imagine. Marcus now wondered if putting him together with the tall client would be a bad thing after all. The way the large elder gent moved to and from the boat, in the middle of the ocean defied all explanation. For all he knew his client was also immortal. For as long as Marcus had been dealing with the tall client, he had not aged a single day either. The final element in the chain was that he also had knowledge of what these parts were, and how they would be used. The one thing which made Marcus shy away from such an introduction was the tall client’s urgent need for secrecy. How could he? Marcus was ageing steadily towards his own inevitable death, maybe this wouldn’t be as peaceful as Marcus was hoping if the tall client unleashed his wrath upon him for divulging secrets to his friend. It was a long time ago but he ed g the contract. This had contained page upon page of small print, which Marcus had barely bothered to read; such was the sweetness of the deal he was making. At his age he’d be a fool to break his contract after so long. Garic did nothing to calm Marcus’ racing mind when he jokingly declared the tall client would probably just erase his memory. The old captain hurried towards his drinks cabinet to pour another huge brandy. Two weeks after this, Garic remained in the office as the well-dressed messenger was due to arrive and advise Marcus of the next load, which would soon be available at the dockside for loading. For much of this time the Företaget III had been moored out to sea in the bay, this freed up two normal births for other boats. Trading always grew busier at the back end of summer and early autumn as the Mediterranean sea, fickle by nature, became difficult to during the coldest months. This led to a certain urgency for trade ships to get in and out of the port quickly. The from the Aegean Sea to the Sea of Marmara was less than a nautical mile wide at the narrowest, and was outlined by submerged rocks in many places. As winds grew stronger towards winter; these rocks spelled the

end of many sailing ships which had been blown onto them. The well-dressed messenger expressed his shock and near anger upon seeing Garic, who sat quietly in one corner of Marcus’ office. He had almost turned on his heels to leave, and certainly would’ve, had Marcus not caught hold of him gently but firmly and guided him towards a seat. Again Garic was impressed with how easily Marcus dictated the situation. Using simple gestures, gently but directly applied, Marcus imposed his will to calm the well-dressed messenger without ever resorting to aggression, or volume. Marcus then silenced him from expressing further concerns, stating categorically ... "Garic’s presence in this meeting is essential. He will be the point of for all future runs." This was it then, without saying it, Marcus had just retired from his captain’s position. Garic was now in charge. As previously discussed Marcus would stay on 2-3 years to show him the book keeping and money side of the business, before retiring fully. This assumed of course that he didn’t die first from over consumption of Brandy. The well-dressed man, as if tuned in to a higher power, calmed down, accepting the news graciously, and introduced himself ... "Well Garic, I am El-Hac Resul Murad, I am the liaison for our mutual client. I am pleased to meet you, it is rare indeed that Marcus shows this level of trust in anyone ... First let me assure you, the last ten years which Marcus has shipped the parts for us could barely be described as, the beginning. There will be many more liaisons, and many more ships captains, before this work is complete ..." This news had Marcus rubbing his hands together with glee, his initial sense of foreboding at having to handle this changing of the guard was completely gone. In his mind he visualised his swelling retirement fund, and also but at a much reduced level, his legacy. After all, he was leaving the company to his friend, not his heir. That made a difference ... But there was no time for sentimentality. He’d given his life to the sea and for the remainder of his life, Marcus was looking forward to buying some property inland. Not too far inland as he felt he’d miss the sea air, but sufficiently far to stop him gazing at the sea and wasting however many years he had left.

He even remained seated as the well-dressed messenger stood up and made his way to the large oak map chest, Garic followed eagerly to him. Now the pair talked as if they were partners of old, without Marcus as they discussed the route the next load must take. The man relayed his knowledge of the weather in he felt Garic would understand, stating observations taken from stations around the Aegean and the eastern Mediterranean basin. With this data he was convinced that the best route would be to Crete on the west side this time and head due south to north Africa, then traverse the coast back to Alexandria. Garic pressed as far as he dare ... "So Resul, where are these stations? Why the differing route?" He had not met a human yet concerned with measuring atmospheric pressure, and Garic was sure the humans had no such device, certainly not one sophisticated enough to determine a weather pattern days ahead of time. The well-dressed messenger became somewhat flustered by Garic’s apparent knowledge, and for a moment glanced back to Marcus for , only to find him asleep and smiling, whilst nursing a celebratory Brandy ... "Well of course this knowledge is crude, but it is better than nothing and has proven reliable so far. We also augment the readings we receive with observations from our other vessels throughout the Mediterranean. They aren't engaged in this endeavour ... Just tapestries and trinkets. We are also connected with a vast network of farmers who are all within sight of the sea basin." Garic began to laugh loudly, almost in the face of the messenger, and for some seconds allowed his restraint to slip. Finally ... "It is alright mister Murad, you are under no obligation to divulge your secrets to me ... But don't take me for a fool. You will only embarrass yourself." The well-dressed messenger apologised, and enquired how much Marcus had divulged regarding the company he worked for, Garic stated quickly without hesitation. “None ... Marcus knows nothing ... He's given to speculation, but I fear he’s wide of the mark. I on the other hand, can certainly make educated guesses about your employer and his operation. Things based on logic and things I’ve seen and know to be factual. Again though, you would probably be able to spin matters to

render my own theories as nothing more than wild speculation.” Sweating, the well-dressed man now looked to be visibly in distress. He was a go between who only had a job because of the level of discretion he could guarantee whilst carrying out the service. He wasn’t fully in the picture. It seemed impossible, but the man before him acted as if he knew exactly what the parts were for. Could he be bluffing? Garic’s manner was confident, almost to the point of bullying, his eyes were reading him like a book, the well-dressed messenger could tell. “Do you have any concerns?” This was all he could think to ask, he’d certainly lost this game of mental chess. For ten years he had dealt only with Marcus who whilst sharp, had played the game, unlike this newcomer. “No, why? I’m sorry, I know Marcus is always telling me I ask too many questions, but hey, if you don’t ask ... I won’t divulge anything we’ve discussed in this meeting, of that you can be assured. That said I’m not given to blindly accepting lies ... Sorry ... Half-truths designed to keep me in the dark. I trust the information regarding the route, I’d be unwise not to as the last voyage was smooth indeed, I would hardly describe it as sailing. I am however curious to know about the parts as they are almost certainly for something big, and yet there is no news of innovative projects. I will be reliable, as you require, for maybe longer than you can comprehend. Please, ask your employer to meet with me, it may be beneficial.” Garic hoped his direct approach, un-checked by Marcus who was still sleeping, wouldn’t lead to the immediate demise of the Företaget shipping company. Should the well-dressed messenger feel sufficiently threatened by Garic’s plea, he might well persuade the tall client to withdraw his business. If however Garic’s gamble resulted in the well-dressed messenger mentioning him and his apparent understanding to the tall client, and his curiosity was piqued, he expected would be made. He had to be hopeful and patient. The messenger didn’t bolt for the door ... An encouraging sign. When the briefing was finished, he and Garic shook hands then the messenger left. Mr. Murad had been gone for several hours before Garic decided to wake Marcus from his Brandy nap.

Upon their arrival at the dockside, the metal parts had begun to arrive on a train of horse drawn carts and were beginning to stack up. As they looked outside the sea wall, the Företaget III was looming large, her crew were already lowering the sails to slow her down. Marcus was happy that Garic had conducted the business successfully, and was also apologetic that he had lost himself in fancy at the bottom of his snifter. Less than four hours later, the crew, the cargo and Garic were all under sail watching Marcus get smaller and smaller in their wake. He was waving back to them, with his newly fitted Tricorne in his hand; the oddly shaped headgear was still stiff and resisted Marcus’ ability to wave. The old captain had never been given to wearing hats, aided in part by the fact the Företaget III was usually lucky enough to sail mostly in fine sunny weather. The tricorne situation was heavily influenced by his recent decision to evolve onto land; with it came the realisation that after so many years, he might now get wet. Garic’s first voyage had gone well. Having followed the well-dressed messengers route the Företaget III made landfall just off Tobruk. Another half a day had been spent traversing the coast to reach Alexandria. The messenger's information had indeed been right on the money. After studying the charts, Garic figured they’d averaged around 10 knots for the duration of the voyage. The weather had been sunny but frequently the nights had been illuminated by storms on the distant horizon, it was as if the route had been designed to use the surrounding winds from these storms, but how did they plot the paths of these storms with such accuracy? The Företaget III had not even seen so much as a single droplet of rain, and the winds, whilst filling the sails adequately had never once strained them. Garic resigned himself to the fact that the messenger was just that, and in all probability, he had no knowledge of how the tall client specified the route either. He would have respected him far more if he’d just itted this up front; rather than trying to spin him a line about farmers and weather stations. Garic was sure none existed ... Garic ed the rest of his maiden voyage had run like clockwork too. As had every voyage since in the forty seven years with Garic at the helm. By rotating the crew under his command to other boats in his fleet without fail every five years, he had enough boats in the fleet now to ensure they would never

again board the Företaget III. For the most part, Garic ensured all new crew were over the age of forty and experienced sailors. In all those years, Garic had only made one exception, a young girl ...

Chapter 15 - The thorn at Garic's side ...

TWELVE YEARS EARLIER in 1668, his ship had been berthed in Alexandria, having been reloaded with the usual goods, the Företaget III would leave the next day. Standing on the deck at the rear of the ship, Garic's eyes were drawn to a small, and very malnourished girl staggering down the harbour's edge. Weak and off balance, she had fainted and fallen into the water. It had not taken Garic long to dive in and rescue her. The girl, a bedraggled specimen, appeared to be around eight years only. It was clear she had lived without aid for years, despite her young age. Not that she could tell him, but the girl had been orphaned around her third birthday. Living alone ever since, the girl had scraped out a living from the scraps of others, often being chased away due to her feral nature. Initially, the girl had been too weak to show this straight away, but once she’d been dried, warmed and fed, her initial shyness had disappeared. Before Garic could even react to cover himself, the girl had bitten deeply into the flesh of his forearm. Far from reacting angrily, understandable given her lack of gratitude and pain caused, Garic knelt down and calmed her. Holding out his arm, she watched as the wound healed right before her eyes. She was confused to say the least, firstly by this man’s complete lack of reaction, secondly, at his ability to heal himself. The girl had been Garic’s constant companion ever since, and wasn’t without wiles. These served her well on the boat, and in the ports which the Företaget III moored at. Garic figured the girl, whom he’d christened Acacia after the thorny Egyptian tree, was around twenty years old. Having nurtured her natural talent and curiosity, Acacia was now well read and spoke many European languages fluently and Garic was more than confident to allow her to act as his proxy. Indeed, Acacia was already a regular attendee in Garic's meetings with the welldressed messenger ever since he had adopted her. In another 10 years he would allow her to run the company, she would have been more than capable now except for the fact that she still had quite the temper on her, but not yet the frame or skills to back it up. She was a competent fighter, skilled with many weapons but the crew still had a hard time accepting orders from her. If she couldn’t earn the crew’s respect this would be a problem after the rotation also. Acacia tried to lead by example and for this the crew appreciated her, she certainly pulled her weight on the vessel, Acacia just didn’t deal well with failure, be it hers or that

of a crew member. She took everything to heart, and was always seeking success. Garic knew from long experience that you have to learn to roll with the punches, turning them to your advantage. Acacia would get there in time, of that he was sure ... The year was 1680, parts continued to arrive to the dockside thick and fast, from somewhere in the heart of Europe. And Garic continued to transport them to Alexandria. In all this time only one thing of any note had changed. Eighteen months ago, the well-dressed messenger had appeared at his office in Constantinople accompanied by a much younger man, his son. Garic was slightly saddened by this, over the years the pair had grown close as friends. As sharp as the man was he obviously realised he was caught between two masters who both seemed to share the same traits. He’d itted years before that whilst he had no idea regarding the parts or their use, he felt confident that Garic and the tall client were similarly aligned and there was a good reason for the project. Garic tried to explain several times that he had always known generally what the parts were to be used for, however the welldressed man never allowed him to elaborate any further stating that he did not want or need to know. His son was a chip off the old block, but remained consumed and pre-occupied to this day, by the rules of Garic's contract with the tall client, whose large shadow loomed over the whole operation without ever showing himself directly. No-one had seen him since Marcus below the deck of the Företaget III on Garic’s first voyage to Alexandria. In time Garic expected that the well-dressed son would eventually mellow as his father had; then they could be friends. Save for Acacia, Garic didn’t make friends easily, he didn’t need many people around him. There were his trusted captains and first mates on each of his vessels, the well-dressed messenger who he would still see from time to time, aside from this all his friends were gone. Some, like Marcus, were long dead. Looking back Garic was slightly ashamed that he ever suspected Marcus of deceit. Reconsidering the way Marcus had dropped the company in his lap like a hot potato for the very next run, merely suggested Marcus had grown tired of it all. He’d sailed the seas his whole life, and in many ways shipping the parts, to a schedule and always on a sea of glass had become boring. Marcus had been robbed of the very thing which had originally drawn him to the sea in the first

place. For Marcus, as with most sailors the call of the sea was a personal challenge felt deep within them. To pit themselves against something larger than them, beyond their own control. The sea would never be tamed, not by a single man, or many men, nor indeed the whole of mankind. Herein lay the challenge, by their skill alone, or the coordinated skill of the crew, a boat would sail and survive this test time after time. The alternative was certain death, and they accepted this, most sailors never bothered learning to swim. The tall client had taken all this away. Marcus sailed almost with guaranteed safety, and certainly in the latter years he seemed to sail under a huge cloud of boredom; the lure of the sea was long gone. Garic felt sure this was the reason Marcus retired back to land. Beyond building up his own empire, Garic could not fathom why Marcus couldn’t walk away from the deal. Shipping the parts wasn’t a contract for life. Taking adequate time to read through every part of it, Garic knew most of the fears Marcus held, were in his head. The were quite straight forward. Transport the parts from A to B in secret, no one could see or measure them, and the stated route should always be followed, simple really. Marcus didn’t even have to insure the parts, which initially struck Garic as odd. Only after shipping parts in this manner for almost half a century did the reason become obvious. Though the scale of the project was large and the parts had value, they were not irreplaceable. The loss of one load would be nothing in the tall client’s mission. Certainly as complex as the parts were in both shape and metallurgy, Marcus would have been wiped out had he been made to suffer the cost of replacement, but again no such stipulation was written in the contract. Garic could only guess, but the service and discretion which Marcus afforded the tall client may have even been more valuable to him than the parts themselves. Clearly there was no time constraint, all his dealings with the well-dressed messenger had told him this. In forty seven years there had only been two winters where he had turned up at the office and said the load was deferred until the following year due to there being no safe route for his boat to follow. That the tall client was patient and did not entertain risk, were beyond doubt. Garic only wished he knew a little more. On more than one occasion he had

attempted to follow the camel train into the desert, allowing less and less of a head start each time, yet he had never caught up to them. He and Acacia had searched for many days, over a series of deliveries, every nook and cranny which Alexandria had, on the off chance that the parts never left there at all. But unless someone was playing a huge version of the shell game, they found no evidence to suggest this either. He ed the huge underground construction hangars on Ashlar-gin, and this more or less resolved him to end his search. He was sure he would never find a tiny service entrance in the vastness of the desert, especially if the brotherhood were paying such close attention to covering their tracks. This was a blow, one which to this day Garic had not managed to overcome. The fact he still knew nothing didn’t justify the level of consideration and effort he’d applied to the problem. At his final visit the well-dressed messenger assured Garic that he had requested an audience with the tall client decades before; shortly after Marcus had handed him the business. Rasul couldn't think of a reason why such a meeting had never happened. "... I , initially he was more than open to the idea, but his considerations are many, we are but a small cog in a larger machine. Nor is he prone to making decisions easily or quickly." "You're saying the request just slipped his mind?" Garic's frustration and near anger was written clearly as his face flushed red ... Seeing this the well-dressed messenger attempted to calm him ... "Yes ... Ah, well, anyway my friend, in my years of dealing with our client, I have also come to theorise that our client is not the party responsible for this project ... He is only the face ..." In subsequent meetings with the well-dressed son, Garic continued to pushed for a meeting with the tall client. No word ever returned. Eventually, Garic gave up asking. As with Marcus before him, Garic's love of the sea was being eroded. The time for him to hand the company to Acacia, or indeed anyone else was approaching fast ...

Chapter 16 - The torch is ed ...

BY THE SPRING OF 1690, Garic had truly sick of shipping the parts without making any progress in his own investigations. Acacia was thirty ... It was time. In order to do the right thing by Marcus, Garic called for a convention of his captains on the island of Crete. It took around two months for the message to reach his furthest ship which mainly operated in the waters around northern Spain, but nonetheless, when the date arrived for the convention all his men were present in the harbour at Heraklion. Some of the captains were discounted straight away, they were either too old or simply trod too close to the outside of Garic's envelope of trustworthiness. For these men, the week would be simply a knees up with Garic paying for everything, and he thought no less of them for it. The remaining captains were all serious contenders. To that end Garic focused not only on the men, but the way they kept company ledgers and records, and how many notices each had received from their port authorities for breaches of regulations. These two factors discounted another eight men, the misdemeanours were slight, resulting from a moment of sloppiness. Most of his captains were sharp as razors, but to ship the parts for the tall client the man must have a zero fault record. Garic considered that in this day and age with things as they were, such a man may be impossible to find; yet three of his captains remained. All of them had served under him on the Företaget III at some time or another and knew the work well. Garic had his favourite, but after discussions with all three at length, he threw the decision over to Acacia. After all she’d be the one studying under the man he chose, so the view from her perspective was a variable to be considered. Naturally, Acacia favoured the youngest man, who to all intents and purposes looked no older than Garic himself, he was in his early thirties. Having not set foot on the Företaget III in over 15 years, he barely ed Acacia, but was sufficiently charming in her presence. Originally French, Louis Baret wore the garb of a captain well, and despite his

relative youth, commanded his ship and the respect of his crew equally well. Even tempered, he was always able to settle differences with diplomacy, and as Acacia confirmed, he was not unattractive to look at. Garic reminded Acacia that this was a serious meeting not some romantic tryst, whomever they chose should have at least thirty good years of service left in him. All of the remaining men, barring any kind of illness or accident could offer this; Louis was merely the youngest of the three. Louis spoke evenly but did not waste his words, always answering concisely. Garic appreciated this quality, which would serve him well when dealing with the well-dressed son. On the third evening Garic allowed Louis to escort Acacia to a society party on the island. There was a few wealthy, self-made ex businessmen who had retired to Crete. The climate on the island was agreeable due to its location, not too hot in summer and not too cold in winter. The party was being hosted by a silk trader who had tried to court Acacia himself a few years before. Given the girl’s youth at the time, the trader had been adequately put in his place by Garic without any hard feelings. He had without much coaxing arrived at the correct decision when Garic asked what he planned to do with such a young girl, especially considering there was a better than forty year age gap between them. Acacia continued to be happy around the trader, but she had always looked upon him as more of a grandfather than potential husband. Upon her return to Garic’s quarters, Acacia's reports of Louis were glowing. The young captain had been the perfect gentlemen ... "You should've seen him father. He talked business for hours with traders from all over but he never neglected me, not once. He is the one father, I am sure he is more than capable of taking the business ... I think you will need to repost him to the Företaget III though." Acacia's final statement was delivered playfully through batted eyelashes and with a disturbingly lustful bite of her plump lower lip. Garic was only too eager to comply, in the next days before the end of the convention, he personally announced his successor would be Louis, and had his lawyer, from the same company Marcus originally used, draw up the transfer

papers. At first Louis would merely be appointed as t director as well as the captain of the Företaget III. Only if the company were still trading successfully after ten years would he be granted full ownership. Within one week the new organisation was being put to the test as Louis had his first solo meeting with the well-dressed son in the main Constantinople office. Garic had prepared the messenger to spare a scene like fifty seven years before, but still did not request that he go easy on the young captain. These were two young men together, it didn't take long for them to start butting heads like two mountain goats. Louis had a considerable knowledge of the sea, including main currents, tidal patterns and weather which could suddenly spring up. Being told exactly when to sail and by which route he should travel was alien to him, he was a captain; by definition he sought to have the final say. It took several hours of wrangling before the well-dressed son explained that if Louis could not follow the stipulations made by his tall client, they would not be able to do business. "Louis, think how your boss will take this news. I don't think disappointment would quite cover it ... Not to mention your new sweetheart Acacia. She is her father's daughter and no mistake ..." Louis had to concede that point, Acacia was still more often found by her father's side than his own. Humbly ... "I am sorry Yahya ... Please forgive me. I am a captain, I usually control everything. I will agree to be bound by the of the existing contract you have with the Företaget Shipping Company." "Wise Louis, very wise ... You have your route and the parts will arrive tomorrow, I think that concludes our business ... Oh ... Silly me. If you would just sign here ... That will conclude our business." Louis signed the contract amendment which formally recognised his position in the company. In the short briefing afterwards, Garic was almost angry enough to melt rock when he realised his new charge had almost collapsed a business sixty seven years in the making within four short hours. He was perked up only when Yahya the well-dressed son stated his confidence openly that Louis was sharp enough to run his business. This was all Garic needed to know.

The very next voyage would be Garic’s final one in command of the Företaget III, she was an old vessel now, almost one hundred years old but thanks to regular maintenance she was still seaworthy. Her duties mostly included floating rather than sailing; compared to ships even a quarter of her age she still looked like a strong vessel. Garic allowed Louis to follow the route by himself, it was not hard as all turns and bearings had been specified. As they neared Alexandria, Garic told his adopted daughter and the man who would take over his company to look after his client, and his boat. He’d be watching over them. Barring any disasters, he would check in from year to year. With this final statement, he kissed Acacia on the forehead, shook Louis’ hand, turned and then dove off the side of the deck into the sea. Both rushed to the gunwale to try and see him, but he was gone. While they watched Acacia's father did not resurface ...

Chapter 17 - Deserts and just desserts.

WHEN GARIC DID EVENTUALLY resurface, he’d closed the gap to the shore massively, the Företaget III was just disappearing behind the sea wall of the old port. In only quarter of an hour Garic had eyes on her once more. Dressed in an old Djellaba he'd paid a man handsomely for only minutes earlier, and with a Shesh wrapped hurriedly around his head. Approaching his old boat with the gait of an elderly man, no one suspected as he sat within Ten yards of the Företaget III in the shade of the ancient sea wall. As he watched, the brotherhood boarded the boat, forcing Acacia to take measures to restrain Louis. She knew this was normal procedure, but to Louis, the concept of allowing people to board his boat unannounced and unsupervised was alien. Garic watched every move the brotherhood made, he was sat close enough to touch the camels if he had wanted. Easily picking out their leader, this man was new ... And much younger. From the unfolding commotion, the man appeared full of himself. The entire brotherhood looked to be in a slump, far from their usual jolly selves. -This could spell trouble, everyone is too tense. Standing and stretching out his old bones, Garic the nomad sidled up to one of the brotherhood’s number who was fastening one of the metal parts between two camels. Fluently in Arabic he asked the man ... “Where is Abreeq?” Abreeq was the middle aged leader of the brotherhood, usually to be found laughing along with the rest of the men. The man frowned and said that this young upstart had been unhappy with the cut he received from a job they had recently carried out ... “He killed Abreeq in cold blood during an argument. Unhappy with the young man’s attitude and work Abreeq stood firm. He refused to pay the young upstart anything if he did not settle. With his honour insulted, the young man ran Abreeq through with the same sabre Abreeq gave to him when he ed the brotherhood.” The man's frown was understandable. He had lost a boss and lifelong friend, if not father to him, only to have a young pretender claim his position. Things were

going to pot already and Garic hadn’t been off his boat for an hour yet. Things almost got worse when Acacia decided that to relieve some of the tension, she would take Louis around the market in old Alexandria. As they walked arm in arm past him, Acacia was caught in the old man's gaze. Garic had taken care of her since she was a very small girl, his love didn’t end just because he dove off the ship. The look on her face as she recognised Garic's eyes was amazing, and the way she kept looking back behind her was even worse. At the finish, Garic had to put her out of her misery. With no one looking he put his finger to his mouth to mockingly shush her to secrecy, then he winked. There was the smile he'd grown to love, winking back she turned away and continued with Louis, who remained totally unaware. Renewing his conversation with the brother, he asked if they would have any problem with him accompanying them to Cairo. The man looked amazed ... “Cairo? Where did you get the idea we’re going to Cairo?” That simple answer solved so many of Garic's own persistent questions, but he couldn’t let his frustration show. “I am sure it would be safe for you to follow us, but maintain one Seir ... No closer. If the new boss enquires ... I will vouch for you.” Thanking the man there was nothing left to do but wait for the train to be fully loaded, Garic ed the next two hours feeding and watering the camels as the rest of the brotherhood beetled about. Finally the last piece was lashed between the camels, and the band was ready to begin their journey to who knew where. Garic allowed them to clear the harbour before walking to follow. Within Alexandria's walls he was careful to maintain at least a street length between them, he only needed to observe which old gate they ed through to leave the city, then he could easily catch them up. Garic was stunned when far from exiting the southern gate towards Cairo, the train left Alexandria via the eastern gate instead, suggesting a completely different destination. No matter, he was on the right path now. About ten miles outside of Alexandria's eastern wall daylight began to fade; Garic looked on as the brotherhood set up their camp. As most of the men turned in for the night, some remained around the fire talking. Within ten yards of the fire, hidden behind a boulder, Garic listened intently as the young leader bragged

... “Ha ha my brothers, we did it. It is the greatest robbery of our time. Now we will all be rich.” What was this? Garic listened on as the young man and some of his men who were party to the plan, all discussed how they had found a buyer who was willing to give them more money. This made no sense to Garic ... -These parts are all specially designed for an extra-terrestrial mechanism, though I doubted they know that. One question remains. Who would be interested in the parts besides the original designers and s? The conversation suggested a sabotage plot, the only question which remained unclear was the who? A new mission formed in Garic’s mind, and he was the only person who could execute such a plan. He had to stop the young leader of the brotherhood, and return the cargo to its rightful path before they gained too much distance from Alexandria. Although Garic wasn’t sure, the train might normally have been expected to a checkpoint, today this had not happened. Soon enough the tall client would be made aware of the theft, and would begin searching by his own means, whatever they might be. If the client really could traverse through space at will, he might appear in the camp at any time. At the very least he'd acquire a position giving a sufficient panorama to catch a glimpse of the caravan. Garic had been looking for a way to force a meeting with the tall client for years ... Decades ... This was finally it. Silently he shed his nomadic trappings, affording him easier movement and a better chance of a silent approach. The distance was around ten yards to the fire, the problem was he was in a position forward of theirs. If he left the cover of the boulder he would almost certainly be seen. -No matter, I’ll just have to be quick, before they draw their Scimitars. Collecting his thoughts, and playing through certain obvious scenarios in his head, Garic made his move. Leaping over the boulder, he was halfway to the fire. Flying out of the darkness, from over the fire, Garic landed two footed into the leader’s chest. The young man was stunned and thrown backwards. Garic

landed behind him, rolling and then quickly turning. With the man still on his back it was easy for Garic to reach his scimitar and pin him to the ground with the blade at his throat. In his bid to reach the leader, Garic hadn’t tackled his two friends who were now on their feet and waving their own swords at him. Only fear that any attack on their part would result in death for their leader held them at bay. Again in Arabic, Garic instructed the two to lower their weapons. Then he ordered them to wake the other forty seven men who were sleeping, so he could find out which were loyal to this new leader and get them isolated. They wouldn’t have to tell him directly, one look at their faces ... He would know. With all the men before him, he determined about eight of them were actually loyal to the new young leader. The man Garic talked with back at the dockside now recognised "Morty" the boat captain whom the brotherhood had been doing business with for decades. The man confirmed that all eight had a quarrel with Abreeq and had only recently been sworn into the brotherhood. Garic asked that the man and his loyal brothers bind the hands of the eight men behind their backs. The men were then connected to the camel train. The sun would be up in a few hours so they would start back to Alexandria now, the forty two loyal brothers would flank the train on both sides. The way things were arranged now, if the tall client should happen across them, it should be obvious to him what had happened and Garic would have his long awaited meeting. Having appointed the friend of Abreeq as his successor, the man then led the camels with Garic following at the rear. They hadn’t travelled more than two miles along the path back to Alexandria, before Garic heard a noise at the rear. Instinctively he gave a warning signal. The men dropped the camels to their knees and drew their Scimitars. Barely had they prepared themselves before they were ambushed by a force almost equal to their own. It had been years since Garic had needed to fight, but this was the purpose for his original conception back on Ashlar-Gin, and he had not forgotten how. The ability to fight was hard wired into his soul. Instinctively, he rushed the attacking force head on, the brotherhood raced to his aid, within seconds they were

fighting hand to hand, swinging their swords in full combat. Even in the midst of this fight, Garic was strategising, at least Rafiq the new leader of the brotherhood must survive. Calling the man to his side the pair continued hacking and slashing as Garic explained the plan ... “Rafiq, stay at my side brother, but do not waste your efforts in my defence ... I will protect you. You must get the parts to their proper destination, deliver the cargo!” As the battle raged, both sides were suffering heavy casualties. Garic was also wounded heavily, having been slashed across his chest, and cut deeply on his left side. This would be a fatal wound; Garic knew what that meant ... -I’ve got to end this quickly. Fighting with renewed energy Garic gave instructions to Rafiq who was still mostly unharmed, and who was still actively fighting despite being told not to. “Rafiq, soon I will die, stay by my body or take my body with you. Whatever you do, do not let me become separated from this bag. Where I go, the bag must go too ... Do you understand?” Garic could not allow himself to be separated from his journal, he even made Rafiq promise to make a final entry into the journal after the battle was over and Garic was dead. Rafiq thought the request was strange, and couldn’t appreciate the need for a posthumous entry. Garic knew the journal would kick-start his memory, although it would only be sufficient to fill him in regarding the last eight months, but this should also prompt other memories to be recalled. As such it would be a good start. The final member of the attacking clan soon gave up and was placed in restraints. The two men now turned to find Garic dropping to his knees. Garic himself was melancholic, having come so close, now he was going to die again. There was no guarantee he would regenerate this time, but the odds were good. The question was, would his next life keep him on track to meet the tall client? If the leader of the brotherhood transported his body, maybe. He had to remain hopeful ... The two remaining brothers and their prisoner could do nothing as Garic

expired, injured as they were, rest was required. Though little progress had been made back to Alexandria, they made camp once more. The brotherhood went to sleep near Garic’s body which they had washed and placed into a shroud.

Chapter 18 - Alone again.

COMING ROUND, GARIC was cool but could feel his body beginning to warm. Not for the first time he had to strain free of his coverings. This instantly triggered memories of Calais, but as he removed the blanket from around him and turned to look skywards, there was desert all around him. He knew instantly that he was far from . As he rolled over, a lump pressed into his side, it was a bag. He looked inside to see if there was food, there wasn't. The only contents of the bag were a long scarf, and a black leather bound book, around half way through the pages were blank. It was a journal, turning back to the inside front cover, he saw a name ... Garic. This triggered another memory, he was Garic. Below the name was written. "In the event of your death, read me." An odd sentence indeed, but the handwriting was plain as day, neat and ordered, not written by a person losing their mind. Below these words were several more sentences. Företaget Shipping Company, Constantinople. Acacia Y.O.L.1689 AD He could read through the journal at his leisure later, first he had to sate his ravenous appetite. Sitting up he saw the remains of a hastily extinguished fire; the smoke suggested that the fire had been burning until recently. He didn’t have to think too hard, ing the fuss the Företaget crew made in Calais, he guessed that people had been with him as he’d lain dead. It wasn’t a huge mental leap then to imagine these people being scared into flight as his body began to breathe once more. In fact their haste yielded a welcome bonus for Garic. A barely touched but perfectly roasted hind leg from some small beast, probably a goat was still on the spit over the ashes of the fire. Garic needed no invitation. Once the whole leg was gone and his belly was full, he set his mind to work on

his immediate surroundings. Before Garic’s subconscious had paid little heed to the bodies scattered all around him, such was his hunger. Now he realised a battle had occurred. As he observed there was a clear group of tracks, 4 sets wide, human tracks then two sets of animal tracks and a final set of human tracks. These ended when they’d been intercepted by another set of disorganised tracks which were more like toe indents, people running. Around each body were signs of a scuffle and large amounts of blood, all had died violently. The only tracks leading away were the animal tracks and those of three humans. The human tracks were directly overwriting the animal tracks and were close enough to suggest one man was in front flanked by two more; all three were following the animals. It looked as if the victorious side had taken a prisoner. The tracks all headed westwards. Feeling this was as much as he was going to learn, Garic set off at a reasonable pace to follow the tracks, not knowing where they would lead him. The animal tracks were deep and easiest to follow, the human prints were occasionally lost over denser ground, however the animal tracks always remained. Three toed pad marks, probably camels, but they were much deeper than if the animal had been walking unladen or carrying a rider. The pattern of animal tracks were also surprisingly parallel, the deepest tracks were on the inside, suggesting the animals had been strapped together to carry some weight. His observations were confirmed as Garic poured through the journal. He had been a shipping magnate, always working the same route more or less, to transport huge metallic parts for a tall client. No name was given, nor was the client’s company name. Interspaced between the notes, were sketches of the parts. Each was different, but just as before Garic’s keen mind could visualise what kind of mechanism they would make once assembled. There was a name mentioned more often than most. Acacia, a young lady aged thirty. Obviously, she’d been with him on the Företaget III which was also mentioned often. The final few pages seemed to be the most relevant now, It seemed Garic had jumped ship in order to follow the camel train transporting the parts. The final page was the most telling of all, recounting the previous day's events. The final paragraph was written almost illegibly in Arabic, but it seemed Garic

could make it out the squiggles and understand what was written. “Interrogation of a single prisoner yielded no information as to who financed the theft. Having suffered a heavy wound, the man was mostly incoherent during questioning.” This was not what Garic wanted to be reading, the journal seemed full of his own notes, made in the constant process of trying to track down the tall client and the final destination of the parts. He had it seemed, almost accomplished this task; only for the cargo to be snatched by thieves. This meant the parts had been going somewhere else. Angrily now, he read the final statement made by one of the brotherhood. “The thief babbled endlessly about a giant woman! No evidence of her or the thieves intended destination was gathered. Sorry Morty but this is where we must part ways my friend.” Now, this final statement, which only seemed to introduce a new unknown player into the equation, pushed Garic over the edge. Holding the journal open high above his head, he roared across the sands. This was too much. As he followed the tracks, on the horizon he could make out what looked like a walled city, his journal made many references to a port called Alexandria in a country called Egypt. His knowledge of the Earth sphere having not returned yet, he’d have to wait to know accurately where he was. By nightfall he had arrived at Alexandria. Figuring he had missed his chance this time Garic had slowed his pace to concentrate on his journal. The earliest notes appeared to be a preface, clearly written by him, and intended solely for him. These notes explained his origin and means of arrival to the world he now found himself stranded upon. If the date given was correct he had crashed here from space over one hundred and twenty seven years earlier. He did not age, and whilst he could die, he never remained this way for long. It explained only much more vaguely that he had been born a soldier, piloting a war ship to defend his home world. Probably for the best given his heightened level of frustration, the notes made no mention of his family. Only the names of his home world Ashlar-Gin, and the tyrannical lizards he had fought so hard against, the Khai-Mah were written.

Clearly he had died twice before this time, he had listed the events on the inside cover. 1563 April – Malmo to Lubeck – Företaget 1569 September – Calais – Företaget Garic now had to assume that the year at least was 1690, beyond this it seemed as if the exact date was of little concern to his former self. A trait he now vowed to correct once he knew what the date was. Also he needed a new inkwell, the remains of his old one were to be found smashed in the residue of dried ink at the bottom of his bag. He was lucky that the journal had not been partially destroyed. Re-assured by the fact he’d recalled most of the important people and events in his life, it appeared he was a prodigious note writer. Garic made a mental note that if he had the time in the future, he should look up the girl Acacia, and his company in Constantinople. Now though was not the time. Even though he’d been travelling more slowly, he was sure he was moving faster than a fully laden camel train. Garic figured that at most the train had a three hour head start. He should be catching up to the parts. Through his own well learned organisation, his death may not have been such a bumbling disaster after all. Leaving Alexandria by the southern gate and continuing to follow the imprints, Garic never did catch up to the train, and reached a new low mentally. Gripped by depression and paranoia, he wondered if he’d mistakenly interpreted the paths of other camel trains which had frequently intercepted the trail he was tracking. He also wondered if the tall client was watching him from just outside his sight, directing other trains into his path to deliberately throw him. By the time he walked forlorn into the port of Safaga, it had already been two and a half weeks since he had resurrected. The fact that he walked into another port did nothing to raise his spirits. - Around here ... Where the hell else would a camel train be liable to end up? Garic was resigned to the fact that he had taken a wrong turn weeks ago, he didn’t realise how mistaken he was. Paranoia aside, his instincts and tracking abilities had been spot on. The camel train had pulled into Safaga only four days ahead of him. The reason Garic had not kept pace? The camels in the train had

been changed twice for fresh animals, and they had always walked for three hours into the darkness; then another hour before sunrise, to take advantage of the cooler temperatures during the dark. In one of the mountain es, Garic was geographically only two miles from the train, but was by the constraints of the route more than fifteen miles behind. Whilst he was always closing the gap in the day, his assumption of the trains ability to walk and needs for rest had been false; as a result, each morning he would be a little further behind than the day before. Of course, Garic hadn’t known this but his dogged determination to meet the tall client had spurred him on sufficiently. He had even spent several moments walking past the camels from the second train as they returned to their little oasis. Looking mostly alike, arranged nose to tail with no sign of harnesses for carrying cargo, no bread crumbs had been revealed for him to follow. Upon arrival at Safaga, Garic’s tiredness and sore feet ensured he would lose the following two days in sleep. The third day he resolved to ask around at the small port, if anyone had seen huge metal parts being loaded onto a ship. The mixed reports he received from Arabic dock workers only served to confuse him more. Some said yes, most said no. Most of the yes answers were later found to be misunderstandings also. Garic’s skills with Arabic could not cope with the regional dialect spoken at the town. Maybe the townsfolk didn’t like to be asked so many questions by a white Ajami, and gave him the false information deliberately. Garic was in no position to argue. He had quite a mellow personality, this was evident from the writing in his journal. He could be respectful, sometimes joking, but was rarely formal. Maybe the self-imposed urgency of his endeavour was making him short of temper, one race of people with short fuses to start with were Arabs; they were certainly easy to insult without intention. Just watching the workers interacting beside the ships, most of their dialogue sounded like a huge communal argument to him. Garic was almost certain this could not be the case, but the throaty sounds and general tone continued this illusion everywhere he went. After persevering for several days, his accent adjusted naturally, allowing his line of questioning to become as accurate as the targeting system of his old

fighter ship, about which he ed much more. With the pieces firmly together the picture was now complete. The final destination, unbelievably to Garic considering how many years he had been shipping the parts, was nowhere near Cairo, or it seemed, Safaga. Once loaded into the hold of another ship, the parts were destined for some location in the Philippine Sea. Garic kicked himself; originally he had planned to follow the silk road to China. This venture has been squashed flat by his adoption of the Företaget Shipping Company, which he had run for the last fifty seven long years. This was not a happy realisation but Garic remained calm, maybe this time he was on the right track. His only consolation was that without Marcus, he would never have known about the parts. First of all he resolved to return to Constantinople where he could read a few more journals and talk with Acacia. Garic had fully ed her as a daughter and not simply as a girl in his crew. It would be a good opportunity to see how Louis was handling the pressure. Maybe the young captain thought of his new work as a holiday, compared to the actual sailing he done before in the western Mediterranean, with no weather information from the well-dressed son. Garic calculated that using a more direct route, it would take him around twelve days to walk back to Alexandria, he would then charter a smaller faster ship to tail the Företaget III back to Constantinople. Even if he lost her, he knew twenty routes back to Constantinople. Half of those would allow him to beat his own ship back with a fair wind if he wished it. With renewed energy and intent, Garic almost stampeded back to Alexandria, stopping only to eat and sleep. He also invested in a pair of new leather slippers. They weren’t really fashionable back home but they would at least last him the journey, then he'd probably give them away to someone who needed them. The walk from Safaga was also uneventful, improved only by not having to keep his eyes fixating on the ground. Egypt was a beautiful country, taking a direct route back to Alexandria meant more or less following the Gulf of Suez, before cutting through Cairo and into the Nile delta. Recalling the last two weeks, sandy dunes and mountain es abounded in the South. The delta was lush by comparison. Garic maintained a pace few locals could have endured for any reason but the direst emergency; still, the beauty of the ruins and oases he ed along the way would live long inside his memory.

All too quickly Cairo was behind him. For so many years he had imagined giant aliens assembling reactor core housings, or maybe even a ship, in a huge facility underneath the city. Garic laughed it off and kept walking. As expected, by midday of the twelfth day, barely out of breath, he walked into Alexandria where a rare opportunity presented itself. For fifty-seven years he’d only ever visited with the Företaget III. Seeing the port without his large ship berthed was a new experience. Putting his ducks in a row, it was a little over one month since he began following the Brotherhood's camel train; the Företaget III had likely already left the port so Garic decided to charter a vessel and head back to Constantinople immediately ...

Chapter 19 - A drink to ... And plan.

GARIC ARRIVED BACK to Constantinople after his most eventful crossing of any body of water ... ever. It hadn’t helped that the boat he’d chartered was barely a quarter of the size of the Företaget III, and the captain had arguably used too much sail for such stormy conditions. Whilst fast, the vessel hadn’t been fast enough to outrun the storm which caught her up mid crossing. Nor had the captain appreciated Garic’s input, when he requested that he change course more easterly to let the storm go by. The young and relatively inexperienced captain had tried to ride out the winds ahead of the storm rather than divert. He had then been caught napping again before reacting to take in his sheets. By the time all the sails had been safely tied up, the tiny boat was lost in waves which might have broken her to pieces had she been caught broadside. Thankfully here the captain had proven to be quite adept at using the swell to guide the boat keel first towards the next wave, helped along by a far older crew who were not ready to die quite yet. While Garic had paid for a full berth onboard he had rarely ventured below deck to take the benefit of it. Without having any direct recollection, Garic knew from the preface of his journal that his first death on Earth had resulted in him being pulled from the sea after crashing just East of Denmark. The previous Garic must have vividly recalled the memory in order to write the entry. Eager to know more about his past lives, Garic could not wait to get back to his office and begin scouring through his previous journals. He was sure the answers to some of his more random recollections would be in one of them ... Once inside his office, Garic faced his bookshelf behind the old desk which was now Louis'. He was somewhat shocked at the number of journals and the well organised manner in which they were arranged. The first journal he read was from the year 1630, Garic had only recently left the empire controlled by papal Rome, crossing into the Ottoman Empire. He had evidently followed the coast towards Greece. Interestingly, the preface in this journal was missing, it must have been an idea he had adopted much later. Instead there were three groups of names, which he assumed to be towns and villages. Following normal navigating convention, Garic assumed the first two names denoted latitude and longitude;

the third appeared to reference a more general vicinity. What these coordinates referred to at this time he was unsure, but it was clear he had travelled almost constantly. Judging by the dates, these journals were not his first ones, maybe previous Garic had devised this system to ensure he could fully trace himself, all the way back to the start. Having been in Constantinople fifty Seven years, Garic was alarmed to find many more journals than this. Lifting them down shelf by shelf and thumbing through their pages he found sketches of every piece he had moved on the Företaget III. Some journals only had sketches in them, with a date by the side of each ... -This makes sense, I must have taken to keeping the sketches in separate journals to avoid discovery if someone went sneaking through my main journal. Opening pages randomly, at least seventy-five percent of the time revealed a sketch of some part or another. In one of the parts journals, two words were written speculatively ... Hull ... Reactor It was clear what mechanism Garic thought the parts were being used to construct. With the many sketches before his eyes all at once, Garic remained convinced the parts were indeed for a power reactor core, but by the volume of parts this reactor was huge. The cruisers on his home world Ashlar-Gin were small by comparison. The reactor core indicated by the parts would be used to power something immense. -Such a massive ship couldn’t be present here on Earth though ... could it? Days ed in a daze as Garic got reacquainted with himself, keeping Marcus' globe drinks cabinet as his constant companion; though the stores of Brandy within it were quickly depleting. As the days merged into one Garic had taken to drinking exclusively; shunning food he had maximised his efforts without leaving his old headquarters. It was young Acacia then who returned to the office to find her adoptive father slumped in a chair taking a much needed nap. A journal lay open in his lap and his Brandy glass was still tightly clasped, though the double measure of brandy

had long since made its escape onto the floor when Garic had succumbed to his tiredness. Garic's journals had always remained as secretive as his manner, no one had ever been allowed to read their contents. Even Acacia hadn't dared to look inside one her father's journals for more than a stolen minute. Now though, the woefully curious and willfully smart young lady couldn’t resist. Smiling broadly, the open journal was liberated from her father's lap. As before, whilst she was able to read her father's neatly written words, understanding evaded her. Acacia was well-read, she particularly enjoyed books regarding exotic locations around the world, and their wonders. Acacia had never heard of any country or place called Ashlar-Gin, and yet this place seemed to be her father's go to reference when comparing objects or drawing parallels to places, in and around the Mediterranean. Acacia was embarrassed to learn that she was mentioned in the journal frequently. This particular journal must have been written shortly after Acacia was adopted, several paragraphs of notes described her as a snarling biting terror, making her stifle a chuckle. Acacia was not mentioned nearly as often as the metallic pieces they had always transported on the Företaget III. Clearly, her father had become deeply obsessed with the parts over the years. Most curious of all was the text, clearly written in her father’s hand on the inside front cover of the journal. It made even less sense than the other notes in the book. Garic In the event of your death, read me. Acacia could not fathom the reasoning behind anyone asking themselves to read something after they were already dead. As she stared intently at the words, reading them again and again to check she was reading them correctly, her father Morty, who was still slumped in his easy chair opened one eye directly at Acacia, and with one eyebrow raised ... “I should have let you read them years ago Acacia. Why the puzzled face?” “I can read the words clearly, but I don't understand them father. Where are you

from? ... Originally I mean? ... Where is this place, Ashlar-Gin? ... Is your name really Garic?” “Yes my love ... I am Garic. Those are very good questions; you couldn't know Ashlar-Gin, for good reason. Let’s take a walk, it’s easier to show you.” Leaving Garic’s office, the pair descended the stairs, and exited the building. Locking the huge wooden door behind himself Garic then took hold of Acacia’s arm and placing it through his own, they both began to walk. One of the darkest places at this time of night was the end of the sea wall. This was where Garic said they were headed now. About half a mile outside the sea wall, the Företaget III was clearly visible as a shadow on the water, save for the few oil lamps lighting up her deck and some portions of the masts. Louis must have been in the captain’s quarters, the windows shone light over the water’s surface at the stern. As the pair stood at the end of the sea wall, looking outwards, Garic gently placed his hands either side of his daughter’s head, tilting it upwards slowly. Once he deemed the tilt to be adequate for his purposes, he stooped behind her to sight the object he intended to show her, before raising her arm to point out a faint star. Acacia gasped ... “That’s Ashlar-Gin?... But how?... How did you get here?” Garic reported sadly that this star was not the sun of Ashlar-Gin, his home world. The star Acacia was gazing at was merely the last visible reference on the path back to Ashlar-Gin, his small jewel of a planet. “My name is Garic, in all these years you never knew that did you? You’re not alone ... Nobody on this planet knows my real name, no one who is still alive anyway. I crashed here on this world over a century ago, into the Nordic sea.” Acacia was transfixed by the star, her jaw slowly dropping as Garic explained further ... “Only in the last few days have I been fully able to all the details of my previous life ... Indeed, my first life.” Acacia listened as her father described his own planet as the jewel of the system,

and how along with the neighbouring planets they had fallen victim to a scourge of warring lizards called the Khai-mah. Garic had been a soldier. In a twist of fate he’d been dragged through a long tube of space at very high speed, in the wake of a Khai ship ... “Just until I managed to break free from its pull. Then of course, I crashed into this planet more or less immediately, and I died. “So how ...” “How am I standing here now? That’s what you’re going to ask ... Wasn’t it?” Acacia nodded as Garic, again sadly, began to report that to this date, having died a few more times since his arrival, he hadn’t stayed dead for more than one night each time. “In fact I died again roughly five weeks ago, in the desert; the day after I jumped ship in Alexandria.” Tears formed in Acacia’s eyes as her father explained the why behind everything. “The parts I have been dutifully shipping for over fifty years are all tiny pieces of a very large whole. Because of who I am, and where I’m from, it was easy for me to recognise that the people who need these parts aren’t from this planet either.” Garic itted that ultimately he was only hoping they could give him a lift back to his home world. To date though this mission had also ed unsuccessfully ... “... in truth, after the onslaught my planet sustained, I can’t say for sure she even survived. Before I was transported here, Ashlar-Gin was barely clinging on against the Khai-mah. Despite daily victories, the sheer numbers of the lizards meant we were dying by degrees ..." Finally, Garic explained ... "Before the Khai-mah, Ashlar-Gin was a pristine jewel with no crime, and certainly no need of an army. Once the need arose however, a force was created

in huge numbers ... I was not born from flesh as you were ... I was grown in a laboratory. I never had parents ..." Making light of his final statement, Garic gave a laugh ... Adding ... “Things were done differently on Ashlar-Gin ... The population was ... under control ... We were engineered to regenerate. Don’t you your first taste of me, and how quickly I healed?” Acacia did this in her deepest memories of her father, but had never witnessed such an event since and had simply forgotten over time. “Surely you can see that I have not aged even a single day in all the time you’ve lived with me? That’s why I have to wear wigs when we entertain ... So people who’ve known me for years don’t suspect anything. I used to move around constantly ... It was easier, but this was a nice little gig and I was in control. Now you know why I rotate the crew to different ships every five years.” Acacia now saw a glint of humour in her father's eye, an attempt to cheer her up. As always his words were spoken directly, with no mind paid to how Acacia would react; but his delivery was warm. Despite the incredible subject matter, Acacia realised she wasn’t uncomfortable. This man had taken her in and shown her nothing but kindness, at a time when without someone’s help, she would have surely died. Acacia had learned more about her father in the last hour, than she had known in all her previous years spent with him. Even in light of these facts, which no matter how incredible she knew to be true, Acacia still loved Garic as her father. Following the short walk back to his office, Garic allowed Acacia to read through all his journals, so she was completely in the picture. Then he explained what his next move would be whilst pouring himself a stiff one from the globe ... “My mind is made up. I intend to chase the parts as far as I can ... All the way to Timbuktu if I have to.” The Företaget III wasn’t due to carry another load for almost two weeks, and Garic was never one to wait ... "I'll charter a small fast privateer back to Alexandria, before trekking the twelve days back to Safaga. That's my quickest option. Then my little fishing expedition

can begin. I can take my time ... Gain the trust of a ship captain and see if I can be included on a crew roster for the next leg of the journey." Garic advised Acacia to try and get Louis trained up quickly ... “... He needs to be able to tolerate people coming aboard his ship without getting annoyed. I haven’t spent years building you an inheritance for Louis to scuttle it inside the first two months ...” He also impressed upon Acacia, the need for her to curb her still erratic temper. As Garic saw it, how could she hope to calm Louis if she was also spoiling for a fight. In the years to come Louis would realise that sailing the parts, following the specified routes, was not sailing as he was accustomed to it, but it was safe, easy money. “You’d be fools to it up. All but the best shipping magnates eventually go bankrupt, and most sailors die drunk and penniless. You both have a chance to build a pot of money. In twenty years leave the company to an heir, and get out with money to you, before you both get too old.” Garic cited this as a perfect scenario given the difficulties of the current age. "The business is yours to lose. After tomorrow, you won't see me very often at all, maybe never again. Let me be very clear on this, I could be killed again and become separated from my journal. If that happens recollection may take years ... Maybe decades. There is a very real possibility I won't anything ... The tall client ... The parts ... Or you. Let's say I do and I make it back for my journals, decades could have ed ... You might be very old or worse ..." The gloom of Garic's scenario was taking its toll on young Acacia, but she could see her father was unsettled also. With his usual calm gone, Garic had mentally slipped, visualising a scene he had never imagined. It was cold, wet and windy. He was in a grave yard laying flowers on Acacia's grave; the image was far too vivid. Even during this night of extraordinary revelations, Garic had neglected to tell Acacia how he had already suffered the loss of one family. These memories were always guaranteed to be emotional, and now the vision of

his Acacia, also gone, and the inevitability of her eventual death sent Garic spiraling into self-contemplation. It wouldn’t matter how many friends he made, where he travelled or where he would end up in the future; if he stayed there long enough Garic was doomed to be alone. To put this right, Garic promised that when he got to southern China he would send details of his location, Acacia could then send his journals packaged in a chest. The pair also agreed to catch up at least once every decade, they could decide where once Garic knew his final destination, but neither one was comfortable with severing all ties completely. This plan returned the smiles to both their faces, ten years was a long time for Acacia, but they could be more flexible as events settled themselves. Acacia realised the worst thing she could do was try and persuade her father not to go, when she knew he had business to take care of; especially if it could eventually help get him back to his true home. She was satisfied this new plan would be enough for her, after all, in the next few years she would set out her stall with Louis, together they would hopefully grow and move forward. Drawing her father close, into a full hug, Acacia said she would get the first mate to row her over to the Företaget III so she could be with Louis. It was clear from the look in her father's eyes, when she returned to their office in the morning, he would be gone. As Garic listened, he heard the big heavy door at street level below his office close; it would be some time before he saw his Acacia again. Undeterred, after packing only the journals he had not already managed to read, he was out of the door within two minutes of his daughter. Within quarter of an hour Garic entered his friend the harbor master's office and made enquiries regarding the destinations of the small clippers and yachts in the harbor. Finding a vessel suitable for his needs, Garic exited the harbor master’s office and looked over the wall, out to the shadow of the Företaget III. The ship had drifted on her anchor line, and was now laying nearer to the harbor wall. A hand carried lantern was moving slowly down the deck toward the stern, as the light disappeared, Garic was happy. Acacia was now safely with Louis ...

Chapter 20 - The real chase begins ...

ARRIVING AT THE SIDE of the small boat which would take him to Alexandria, he was met by the captain, who immediately recognised Garic as the owner of the Företaget III. This was lucky and the captain agreed to take him to the Egyptian port free of charge, Garic had a reputation for always returning safely from the sea, even when other ships had been lost. The captain probably thought having Garic on board was a good omen to guarantee his boat safe age to its destination. Once welcomed aboard, the cramped conditions stuck Garic immediately. The deck was short in length and narrow of beam and the four crewmen bunked in cots housed in the hold. The captain had something larger over deck, positioned astern, though this cabin was modest too, compared to Garic's quarters on the Företaget III. The rigging was also simpler and only held a quarter of the sheet area. The ropes were narrow and tightly woven, each one resembled a single strand of the thick ropes on Garic’s own ship. Pacing the cramped deck, Garic's subconscious survival instinct was waging war inside his mind. The harbour master knew all the captains much better than he did, and had wasted more words than necessary in his glowing endorsement of this captain. Still ... Garic couldn’t shake his feeling of vulnerability; stronger than ever before, the feeling grew within his gut, preventing him from closing his eyes to sleep. The boat wasn't due to leave until morning. Yet already having obtained permission from the harbor master and unable to sleep, Garic set about persuading and finally bullying the captain to leave post haste, much to the chagrin of his crew. Still tipsy from the rum they had consumed earlier in the evening, the four men, already hunkered down for the night vigorously resisted all attempts at breaking them out of their bunks ... Soon though, the small vessel weighed anchor. By morning, the tiny vessel already had the small island of Marmara in sight. ing north of the island they would soon approach Gallipoli. Garic was much more at ease too, this captain held control much better than the young captain on Garic's last voyage back to Constantinople. The ship itself was devoid of comfort, and even the small wave actions caused the small vessel to pitch and roll in a manner which could not be ignored. Walking the deck steadily was

nearly impossible. -Fifty years at sea and now I have to grow new sea legs, marvellous.

GARIC COMPLIMENTED the captain upon the speed with which his vessel sliced through the water, even with half the sails still stowed. ing through the narrow strait which would emerge into the Aegean Sea, the remains of several ships lay strewn across rocks, after being hit by a storm in the previous days. Luckily for them, this storm had mostly blown itself out the evening before. The last vestige was probably the ample wind they were now harnessing. At each stranded wreck, lines of people extended back up beaches and cliffs, emptying the cargos for themselves. As Garic watched from his position on the boat, his mind wandered to the last meeting of ship captains and traders he had attended. He distinctly ed hearing mention of one gentleman by the name of Edward Lloyd. He only ran a coffee house in London, but already it was a meeting place for bankers, financiers and shipping magnates. Together, these people addressed the growing need for loads to be insured against loss or damage. Garic had never travelled to London, or England for that matter; Captain Hansel didn’t like the way the English did business. Of course, the Italians had been insuring vessels since the fourteen hundreds. The insurance of the cargo though was a different matter, and previously any company could carry any cargo, cemented only by a handshake agreement between the two parties. If that boat was lost at sea then both companies would fall foul of a fiscal maelstrom. With cargo insurance the situation was different, having been blown aground by gale force winds, or grounded, the ship would never sail again due to keel or rigging damage. However the cargo’s within might still be salvageable, and often contained commodities or trinkets of value. Insurance aside, as Garic continued to watch, the inevitable bun fight of making a claim were irrelevant now ... “What you’re seeing there Sir ... Is salvage.” Garic smiled broadly at the captain’s words. “Salvage? ... All I see is the simple redistribution of wealth. The fat cats are getting a little thinner today.”

Navigation was as often a matter of experience as it was skill, and even a seasoned veteran of the sea, may meet his maker if his route entered waters he had no knowledge of. Marine surveys were, by virtue of the way they were undertaken, crude at best; for some areas, no surveys had even been done. Coupled with the variables of weather, sea currents, and the lack of any precise means for navigation, locating a lost ship would be impossible unless debris was found. It was a rare thing if a sailor could actually swim, given the futility of the skill if the boat went down more than one mile from shore. A sailor could survive by clinging to wreckage, assuming their ship was broken up somewhat before sinking. Spotting debris in a decent swell would be as unlikely as another vessel happening along to rescue them. A person needed a certain disposition to work at sea, not many felt the calling. Navigating in the Aegean Sea was no easier in the smaller boat. The wind had to be considered constantly. Playing between the tight network of islands, air would be forced in different directions and often smashed into other currents of air to form vortices. This only made predicting the wave and weather patterns more difficult, as these turbulent interactions could appear from nowhere to wreak havoc on unsuspecting vessels. Luckily with the knowledge collected on the tiny vessel, predicting the weather was a little easier. The two captains, accompanied by the four hardy seamen, spent several moments observing the skies each hour. In different directions each looked for the telltale signs of storms and cloud directions relative to their own vector. Using these basic observations and all their experience to interpret them, they skirted around some islands and in between others. Any indications of down draughts which might spawn a storm, ensured these islands were given a wide berth. Not until they drew close to Thera did they finally run headlong into an ambush of meteorological making. The horizon was black, and was closing in their direction as fast as they were sailing towards it. Both captains came to the same conclusion, if they tried to ride this out directly, they didn’t like their chances of emerging intact on the other side. Better they thought, to run towards Thera and drop anchor in the relative shelter of the bay. The perfect natural harbour was formed by an eruption which had shattered the island thousands of years before. They would still catch the winds, but with the sheets stowed and the reduced wave amplitude within the crater bay, they were both sure they'd be secure.

The water in the crater would normally have been as clear as crystal, especially close to the shoreline, but now the water was cloudy as sediments were stirred up. As the captain steered his tiny boat unnaturally close to the shoreline, this was the first decision which Garic felt he should challenge. "I agree ... The waves will be reduced inside the inlet, but the wind will still be strong enough to push the boat on its anchor line towards the shore ... We'll be grounded at best, or holed, stranded either way ..." Garic, who had been sailing more years than the others put together, now urged the captain to pull his boat into the middle of the bay. Deeper and rockier, the anchor would have something to bite against, Garic was sure they'd be safer there. Quickly thinking on his feet, the younger man differed to the experience of his elder. Now in water so shallow they could easily turn the tiny boat with poles, they began to tack their way back against the wind towards the centre of the crater. Having dropped anchor lines from each end of the hull, and taken in the final sheets, the crew took a position on the deck bench at the bow end of the captain’s cabin, in the middle of the deck. None of them thought it necessary to lash themselves to the bench, but as the storm hit full force, making big water even inside the crater, the pitch and roll of the tiny vessel almost required them to do so. Two of the crew reached out to catch one of their number who would have slid directly overboard, had they not grabbed him in time. Garic sat resigned. If something did happen to this tiny craft, he would try his best to swim as many of the men to shore, safe in the knowledge that he might simply die, float to the shore, and then reset. In truth now, his only real panic was to reach and check the strap of his bag, which was indeed adequately fastened to his person. He could die ... He could NOT lose his journal. The other men were now almost in unison as they began first to sing a shanty, then pray as things grew worse. Every wave which struck the boat made the men bounce into the air. Each time it was a coin toss to see if they would return to their seat or be sent sprawling across the deck to its edge. Garic however remained calm and silent ... Frustrating his young captain no end. "How? ... I've never seen water so aggressive, even here ... How are you so calm? We may be dead in the next few minutes."

"Death holds no fear for me son, I've been at sea a long time ... No, a very long time. When you’ve lost as many friends as I to this beast, you may find yourself more than ready to them. As restless as the sea is now, so too am I. How many more friends can I hope to make and then lose? I am at the point where I would rather die myself than bear witness to anymore death and survive ... I don't think you need worry anymore sir!" The captain followed as Garic pointed starboard to a break in the clouds. Barely a crack at first, but opening ever wider as they watched. The sky beyond was a pinkish orange, confirming the late hour. Even though they couldn’t see the sun, it was clearly about to set. As they watched colours mixed and merged like an atmospheric kaleidoscope, the crew hardly noticed as the waves just seemed to die down. Once the wind receded to a breeze, the crew stood instinctively to raise the sails and weigh the anchors without even having to be told. They were all surprised to see their young captain was still seated. "Leave it ... We'll stay here tonight. Get the stove on, let's eat and then hit the feathers ... We can start early tomorrow." Garic now helped the captain to his feet, but he still wasn't ready and just sank back down onto the bench. Activities around him were diverted below. The cook mustered up a tasty Frutti di mare, in a hastily constructed broth. The mussels were good, the fish was better, but the shrimp were truly great; simple vegetables complimented the meal perfectly and all the men ate their fill. This was the first non-alcoholic meal which Garic needed to chew in over a week. Previously, his journals had absorbed all his time; the meal proved a welcome change to his well-aged brandy. The morning the sun hadn't risen and Garic found the captain standing on the bow, he was making his observations of what the day's weather may hold in store. Almost immediately Garic confirmed, today would be a good day to sail. After taking a simple breakfast, the anchors were weighed and the sheets raised, all of them. After the previous afternoon’s events, they had lost time which the captain was keen to make up. Shortly after breaching the opening in the crater bay of Thera, they hit full speed, the bow wave attracted a pod of Dolphins who jumped playfully out of the water only feet from the hull of the boat. This was a worthy distraction, and in all

Garic's years at sea the Företaget III had never made this kind of speed. He'd seen Dolphins often, but they usually ed by quickly. This tiny boat was almost racing beside these aquatic mammals, who seemed happy just to match the speed of the boat. By midday they had ed Creta by the Eastern side, and were making good time. After the storm, Garic could see that the captain was wary of losing sight of landfall. He looking decidedly uneasy as Creta vanished behind them. Still Garic was unmoved to offer any words of reassurance, in his mind he felt the captain should actually be stronger now, with renewed faith after the stable way his vessel had behaved the night before. The little boat had pitched and rolled dramatically, but never once did she feel like she’d roll over completely. In many ways this vessel was just as strong as his own much larger ship, which would have also been sorely tested had she ever floated into such waters. Garic would be interested to see what the captain would choose to do next. Seeing him faltering, Garic almost dared him to abandon land and head straight to Alexandria, but then thought better of it. There would be nothing but blue sea for another week, should he follow this route, but it would reaffirm the captain's faith in his own abilities. The captain must have picked up on Garic’s glare, which remained fixed in his direction, wherever that was. Quickly he gave the order to head straight on after Crete. Good man. Hearing the order, Garic’s face now cracked a smile at the captain, who thanked him for his directness. Even though Garic had said nothing, the captain suggested that the elder gentleman's inner voice had been ringing like a church bell inside his head, urging him on. Had it not been for this, the captain freely itted that he would have directed the boat left toward Cyprus, following the Turkish coast as far as he could. “I only brought you along because I thought you’d be good luck ... Then I nearly lost my boat.” The captain's words were direct, but Garic detected a hint of sarcasm. “Everyone said you were the luckiest ship’s captain to ever sail ...” “Stop worrying man. You did everything right, there was no avoiding the storm last night. Your boat is small, but she’s a little beauty and you rode the storm out perfectly. I’m glad you chose to continue, but the voice you heard wasn’t mine,

how could it be? You probably sensed my urgency and came to that decision yourself. In my fifty odd years at sea, I’ve never seen a storm like that one last night. Normally I read the skies in the same way as you. If that’s any indication, you have a long career ahead of you.” Garic’s compliment had landed squarely on target, and a smile now crossed the young captain’s face, this boat was his own, bought and paid for. As far as training he had only sailed six years at sea on another boat, before coming into the money which bought this vessel. He’d been in charge of himself and his crew since then, to the annoyance of older men who still hadn’t had their own breaks. “They all told me I wouldn’t last one voyage.” The remainder of the voyage after this went quickly and smoothly, the little vessel had a remarkable turn of speed, and the wind always filled her sails. The little boat arrived at Alexandria a mere five days later, having seen no further trace of bad weather. Garic aided the captain in the removal of his small cargo from the hold, and also wrote him a letter of endorsement, stamped with the company seal of The Företaget Shipping Company. He also shared the name of several useful s throughout the Mediterranean so the little boat would not get stuck in a rut and could travel different routes. The captain was grateful, and told Garic whenever he needed a ride back to Constantinople, to look him up. Garic headed down the gangplank and began the twelve day walk to Safaga. He was a day ahead of Schedule thanks to the efforts of the captain and his little boat. Garic made a mental note to share his details with Acacia when he got settled, before setting his mind back to the matter at hand ...

Chapter 21 - Parts and Pirates

1692 ... THE TWO YEARS since leaving Constantinople and Acacia to track the tall client and the parts had ed quickly. Upon reaching Safaga, Garic reestablished his s, who informed him that the next boat to be loaded was due in the next five days. The day before the boat's arrival, with almost perfect synchronisation, the camel train arrived. The Brotherhood began stacking the parts on the dockside in readiness for loading. Having reasoned things through during his walk, Garic had re-tasked himself. There was no rush to a ship crew as he had first planned. Instead he took a job as underling to the harbour master, and with patient resolve he had spent easily the last twenty-two months, simply observing, keeping notes in his journals. In charge of the Företaget III, Garic had met with the well-dressed son once every month, following the load cycle time. In this time he would receive, load, ferry, and unload the parts, before returning to his home port. Depending on the sea and the wind, he would have anywhere from one week to only a few days before he would meet the Tall client's envoy again to arrange the next load. It had been a tightly scheduled sequence of events, which always ran smoothly. The last two years had clarified the picture for Garic, regarding the final leg of the parts' journey. Data gathered revealed Three boats like the Företaget III, working in rotation. It hadn’t taken a shipping genius to work out that the same boat only arrived back to Safaga in time to carry every fourth load, the round trip taking a full three months. The destination was apparently a small island in the Marianas group called Guam, south of Japan, although here the harbour masters logs reached a dead end. There was no more explicit information than that, which frustrated Garic no end. The plotted course would cover Eight thousand and thirty nautical miles. Covered at an average speed of ten nautical miles every hour, the boat would take thirty three and a half days to reach Guam, and then have to return. Of course this did not allow for rest stops for repairs and rewatering. Also factored in was the turbulent weather in the Indian ocean and South China Sea. For this reason, the Tall Client allowed the voyage to take forty five days and the same

for the return journey, putting the boats on a four month cycle. This integrated into the monthly delivery of parts to Safaga nicely. The chief stipulation being that the time should be used, but not wasted. With so much extra time added, there were few excuses for late arrival back at the port in Safaga. Even if the three ships could run the gauntlet of wave and weather, there was always the chance that pirates operating in the South China Sea would steal the load or cause the loss of the boat. Whilst only three boats were required to keep up the leisurely schedule, losses were still suffered. In the two years Garic had been observing, two of the original boats had not returned. These were not small boats, and had only been lost months apart, thankfully on the return voyage. Garic could not image the sea needed to break such heavy boats, but after the vessel following the second lost ship reported she had been lost inside a giant maelstrom half a day from Guam, Garic stopped imagining. No reason was ever given for the loss of the first boat. At the time the first boat was lost, Garic made discreet enquiries, but as an outsider, the crewmen of the following boat maintained their code of secrecy; none of the sailors would talk to him. Taking the parts on one final long voyage using one boat made no sense to Garic. The Företaget III had not weathered a single rain drop on any voyage in fifty seven years whilst sailing the Mediterranean. Why would the tall Client suddenly chose to abandon the parts to their fate once leaving Safaga? Small consolation in Garic's mind was the unnatural manner in which the two vessels were lost. Bad weather hadn't played any part, this led Garic to surmise that maybe the tall client was still choosing the routes. But then why then would he the ships so close to a massively unpredictable whirlpool? Pouring through twenty years of ships logs, made available as repayment for a favour he'd performed for the harbour master, Garic began to form a theory. Until ten years ago, ships had often returned to Safaga late, even with the relaxed schedule. Maybe the tall client was now imposing some penalty on the captains for disruptions to the schedule, and this was leading to some captains deviating from the specified routes to try and catch up.

Assuming the tall client was still being cautious, and there was no reason for him not to be, then this human factor could be the radical variable. Many times Garic had witnessed storms lighting up the night sky or darkening the daylight at the distant horizon while sailing across the Mediterranean. It would not have taken a major deviation from the specified route to fall foul of Mother Nature. Having studied the boats arriving in Safaga and their captains at length, Garic had befriended all three of them as they visited the harbour master. Two of the captains were still young men, nice enough men, but head strong and impetuous, Garic ed well his voyage back to Constantinople, and still saw the folly of youth in charge of a vessel at sea, as being the biggest contributor to the loss of any ship. The three Captains were obviously all held firm within the bounds of their contract of secrecy, and none of the men would let slip the final destination of the parts. Garic's hands were also tied by his own scruples. If he had asked either of them to confirm their destination was Guam, the harbour master would have been in deep trouble. Every time Garic tried to veil his line of already discreet questioning, the Captains would turn the conversation around, telling tall tales of the foes and obstacles encountered on their voyages. Garic was confident these tales were pure fabrication, but his imagination would be captured. The result being that by the time he realised no answer had been given, it was too late. The tales were spectacular indeed, the maelstrom had been verified later, but a mysterious vanishing island and a huge pirate woman ... Come on! Garic was unsure. Certainly, this wasn’t the first reference he'd heard regarding a huge woman; the first having been made by the upstart leader of the brotherhood who had murdered Abreeq. This rogue claimed he'd been paid by a huge warrior woman to steal the parts. Now he had sea captains, one of whom was a far more mature fellow, stating that their vessels were being dogged by a huge female pirate. No one had uttered as much, but from scribbled notes in the ships log's Garic surmised pirates had in fact stolen one load and sent another ship to it's grave, but this was over a decade ago. For the most part Garic put no faith in these yarns, which were so ripping they could make an average man’s brain boil trying to comprehend all the mythical facts. The only course of action remaining to Garic was to get on a boat and see for

himself ... It's way past time. Within a matter of months circumstances presented themselves which allowed him to make his move onto a vessel. The older captain, who was by now a good friend of Garic’s, happened to mention to him that whilst ing through the Arabian Sea towards the Gulf of Aden, his first mate had become very ill, and had actually ed away only one day before their arrival into Safaga. The ship’s doctor had diagnosed Typhoid, or Ship fever. This suggested the man had drunk tainted water, but if this was the case why weren’t more men ill? "Ah come on Morty ... You know I'm not supposed to say anything about the voyages ... But then you are coming on board ... So I guess it'll all come clean in the rain. A few days out of Aden we rode a storm out in a deep coastal inlet, my first mate jumped ship for some companionship ... When I found out the next morning I disciplined him real tidy like, you can never let them get the better of you ... That's how mutiny's get started ..." As the captain continued to relate the events, Garic reflected on what a shame it had been. For the most part the oldest captain had, for most part, quite a benevolent and placid personality compared to some of the salty old sea dogs Garic had met in the last two years. "Anyway, things can get really ugly really fast on the water, especially when rules are flaunted ... I gave 'im the lashes myself, you know to stop any revenge brutality ... Only ten but good ones all the same ... We cleaned and dressed his wounds, and the doctor even tended to him ... I think it was infection that finished him." The captain dropped his gaze to the floor ... "It's weighing on me heavy Morty ..." It was a shame to have his need for a ride met under such circumstances, but even so Garic took the captain's offer of a post. He would not be first mate, the captain had already filled that spot. Garic would simply resurrect Morty to replace the promoted man on deck, and most likely in the rigging. Garic was careful to send a letter to Acacia, explaining he would be spending some more time at sea, and may even be relocating again in the long term, this time to East Asia. The task of sending the letter would fall to Abreeq and the

brotherhood. After his initial shock on the trail outside Alexandria, Abreeq realised afterwards that he had much to thank Garic for. Firstly his life, and that meant a lot in Arab society. Secondly, the fact that he had become the new leader of the brotherhood. Starting from scratch, initially just two men, since then he had quickly rebuilt the ranks back to forty strong. This was the fastest and best solution to Garic’s problem, and guaranteed that his letter would find Acacia or Louis the next time parts were delivered. Taking yet more time to properly consider the task at hand, led Garic to ponder all the potential problems. The first of which troubled him the least; he had time on his side. Once he reached the fabled destination of the parts, he'd heard tell that the islands in the region numbered into the thousands. Some were apparently no more than whittled down mountain tops poking a few feet beyond the surface of the ocean, and most were spaced hundreds of miles apart. It would be the same old story of so near, and yet so far, merely the next wild goose chase. Then there was the mysterious vanishing island. One boat had sailed on for days and became quite lost, after a previous vessel had used this island as a navigational reference. The second boat was lucky not to run out of food and fresh water; having fallen foul of such an error so close to the end of its voyage. Since the first ship, few others had sighted the mysterious island. Garic, using his actual mind which seemed immune to sailor-like speculation of unknown objects, reasoned the island to be no more than a sand bank. Probably this was eroded and rebuilt by the wave action of tropical storms. A far more real problem existed. Given the tall client’s endless need for secrecy and discretion, Garic considered that the ship would undoubtedly reach “a destination”, where-by the crew would be put to shore, then replaced by some shadowy organisation equivalent to the Brotherhood in Alexandria. These men would then be the ones to sail the ship to the true destination for unloading, doubtless under the watchful gaze of the tall client. First things first ... Garic had to get there. This would, based on all previous information, take at least forty days of sailing at best, forty five at worst. If he were put off the boat, he would then be forced to evaluate and make another plan. It would be difficult to infiltrate a boat with a clandestine group of people

aboard, if not firstly inducted into the group; that would be impossible for an outsider. If he could get himself assigned to a detail close to the cargo, in the hold, he would at least have the chance to see if the tall client was dropping in for a looksee. With the last leg being so problematic, this seemed quite likely in Garic's mind. Garic raised a smile; he could have easily forced a meeting with the tall client. If he’d set his crew ashore on Crete, before sailing headlong at the first storm he saw, on his own some calamity would have been inevitable. Garic kicked himself for his selfless reliability...

Chapter 22 - Evidence of a long haul.

TWO DAYS LATER, AS the parts were being loaded by Rafiq's newly constructed brotherhood. Garic was happy, the picture before him was mostly back to normal. The brotherhood were working autonomously once again, laughing and joking amongst themselves as the metal parts were carefully lowered down into the hold, one by one. Rafiq had been expressly instructed by Garic, not to draw attention to their relationship. In spite of this, as Rafiq finally walked down the gangplank back to the ancient sea wall, he could not resist flashing a smile and a wink in Garic's direction. It seemed now, in part at least, that Garic could call the shadowy brotherhood his own; in the last two years he'd spent at Safaga he had almost become the forty-first brother ... That aside, their help had been invaluable. Garic set sail aboard the Padre Eterno, originally constructed in Rio, Brazil, before arriving in Lisbon on her maiden voyage. Having been commissioned for the transport of sugar and other goods, she was sailed once, before being sold into the Portuguese Naval fleet where she served with distinction. Naval service required an immediate re-fit, to house 144 pieces of artillery. Twelve years ago, she had been sold again and had since traversed the Indian Ocean, though she had only been in the service of the tall client for the last eight months. Both her previous shipments had been executed very smoothly. Following another re-fit back to cargo hauler, as Garic looked, only 8 guns still remained, two fore and two aft per side ... For protection. The captain who had been with her for some years was proud to say that she had been the largest ship of her kind at the time, though bigger ships had been constructed since. The captain also chuckled loudly as he recounted buying her for a song... “She ran aground in the Indian Ocean six years previously ... back in 1684. Sitting pretty as a peach she was, on a sandbank ... Large as life and ready to sail.” “No damage at all, that’s lucky.”

“Aye lad, all previous attempts to free her failed, and then ... Hallelujah! Along came a small squall, and she freed herself ... Floating quarter of a mile off the shore she was. Bah! ... The stars must’ve been in line.” The captain considered himself to be truly lucky having found her floating merrily as if nothing had happened. All he had to do was wrangle the ship and tow her back to port in Calicut. One week after, he received official ruling that she was considered an ownerless wrecked boat and so he'd bought her. Far too much of a gentleman to disclose how much he actually paid, he gleefully bragged that the number was obscenely cheap, for a ship so large. “I had the guns removed to reinstate her hold capacity, the rest is history...” The captain had grown wealthy and respected at her helm, like Marcus had originally on the Företaget III. He also considered the tall client’s contract was a gift not to be shied away from. It had not taken Garic long to shine on board. Within two weeks the captain recognised his value and promoted him to second mate. After that, Garic was often to be found at the helm, as boring as that was; he was also able to make random “checks” on the cargo without anyone batting an eyelid. Garic didn’t even look out of place filling in his journal. Indeed most of the men on this crew had their own daily rituals, mostly carving and whittling small ornaments. These could be sold in ports or given to their loved ones, Garic had never known another ship with so many married men on board. The captain subsequently revealed to Garic that he preferred to employ married men ... "... They are much more inclined to work without fighting amongst themselves ... Also ... I make no secret of the fact that I truly believe married men have more to live for. This makes my boat noticeably safer in a storm." Several other past-times were available on board, in order to stave off boredom the captain liked to run organised books on the crew activities, the most common were raising and lowering sails, weighing anchor and rowing competitions when the huge boat was anchored in some bay. There would always be two teams in any activity. The crew was by enlarge fulfilled, sharply trained in the tasks onboard and most of all appreciated by their captain. Garic was happy to be aboard, the Padre Eterno was indeed a fine ship, somewhat younger than his own Företaget III, and noticeably more modern; she was well looked after by the

crew. As usual for a ship in the service of the tall client, the sails were always full of winds, but without so much as a creek of strain from the masts. What the tall client managed to achieve when specifying a particular route was truly amazing. There were hundreds of ships travelling the globe on any given day; for many, luck would run out before they reached their final destination. All would probably have relished the chance of some benefactor to give them warnings of bad weather, guiding their paths. Alas, they never got such help; the sea was a fickle mistress, who claimed boat loads of men each year. Five years ed by so quickly that Garic hardly realised. If he'd been on his own vessel he would have rotated the crew by now to avoid any of them noticing his everlasting youthfulness. Twenty successful voyages had been accomplished in this time, but never once had the voyage of the Padre Eterno come close to yielding the final destination of the parts; more frustratingly, the tall client had never once shown himself. Reality had played out almost as Garic had first assumed it would. The captain would guide his boat through the maze of islands which formed the Philippines, onwards to the east, finding the same spot with remarkable accuracy each time. Eventually he would pull the Padre into a shallow inlet along the western coast of Guam. Once there they would drop anchor, tuck into a hearty meal, take on fresh water and supplies, then turn in for the night. In the morning he would give the order to raise anchor and they would begin sailing back to Safaga. Oddly Garic was never able to stay awake to lay eyes on any eastern version of the brotherhood. Nonetheless, come the break of dawn, the cargo hold would be empty and the huge ship would be riding a full two feet higher in the water. Garic was visibly frustrated by these continual disappointments. He could not reconcile the processes which must have been involved in order to pull off every action regarding the safe, yet secret transport of these highly valuable parts. Every time he thought of a logical, methodical approach, for tackling the problem, it was like the tall client beat him to the punch; having already put the measure in place which would serve to foil Garic in his quest. The complexity of such an operation in this age, even with mankind's technological achievements still being relatively crude, could not be overstated. The tall client seemingly had all of humanity running around after him, and yet

this would not necessarily mean that he had an easy life. Human nature dictated that all too soon, boredom and then neglect would begin to creep in where the average person was involved. In general, Garic found people like the welldressed messenger and his son were rare characters indeed. Fiercely loyal, selfmotivated, impenetrable to questioning along normal lines, he had tried a subtle method of questioning with these two men repeatedly whilst at the helm of the Företaget Shipping Company, but they were too clever to divulge anything. They either possessed the widest streak of mistrust, ever expectant of people's attempts to extract secretive information from them, or they were simply very good at avoiding a question altogether, instantly turning the subject around. The pair were certainly never rude, or sinister. Watching them conduct their everyday business, they appeared to be perfectly normal, giving no hint at the mission they were orchestrating. They were professional secret keepers of the highest order. Yet with this latest failure, Garic could not think of any better place to start. The well-dressed son was by now in his mid to late thirties. His father was extremely old, even older than Marcus had been. Changing tack, Garic felt maybe the father would be a better person to ask. Garic had to get back to Constantinople again. Resolving himself to approach the captain, he would resign his post once the Padre Eterno pulled back into Safaga. The voyage went smoothly enough to be officially classified as boring, as expected the voyage home took forty-one days, then Safaga was upon them once more. In the entire return trip, Garic had only ventured to document the day's events or his further thoughts for his next action eleven times. Some of these entries were only to ensure that he stayed in the habit of writing in his diary at all. Garic hadn't managed to get the captain, by now a very good friend, alone to offer his resignation until they were moored in the port. Garic followed his captain down the gangway to dry land. "Captain! May I have a word please?" "Ah Morty lad, how many times have I told you? ... We've shared enough Brandy for you to call me Oliviero. What is it my good man? You look perplexed." "Indeed ... I must apologise but I find myself growing weary of the sea, these last

five years ... I'm grateful to you Oliviero, but it's not sailing ... With each voyage I grow more bored ... Not with you, but certainly the routine nature of the work. I forget what actual rain feels like; I have to get back to Europe." Captain Oliviero looked saddened, shocked even ... "Indeed, Morty ... I did not think when you first came on board that you would even last this long. You seemed quite purposeful and focused on something, but you're obviously skilled on a boat. Honestly, I thought I was just giving you a ride to Guam. Though I could never reconcile why a smart person like yourself would want to be stuck there. I was really surprised you came back to Safaga, after all I wouldn't want to be stuck here either." With this Captain Oliviero began to laugh loudly, his were eyes shut tight and watering. The joke being that he wouldn’t want to be stuck anywhere else than on the Padre Eterno. "I know what you mean though Morty, I before I was contracted by our client, a huge fellow he was ..." "What? You've met the tall client? What is he like?... I'd like to know everything." At this the old captain's face returned to a blank straight expression. Oliviero, realising his momentary lapse, knew he shouldn’t really indulge Morty any further, but truly he’d come to enjoy his company and friendship. The look of sheer desperation in Morty's eyes, which were sharp and focused once more, almost compelled him. The Captain had only witnessed this expression on his sailor's face once before. The morning after the parts were unloaded in Guam after the first voyage he'd sailed on. Other than this his character was usually solid and completely placid, not like now, the look in Morty's eyes was almost that of a mad man. Fearing for his friend's health upon seeing his growing intensity, the contorted face, the bulging vein in his forehead, and the tendons in his huge neck steeled the Captain’s resolve to break his usual silence. Covering nicely with a loud statement of compliance, aimed to diffuse the looks which Garic had drawn with his demanding tone, the captain scooped Garic under his arm. Placing it over his shoulder the captain proceeded to lead his friend to the end of the sea wall, talking all the time about when they sighted the fabled Kraken. The crew

busying themselves around the Padre Eterno, had long since become immune to the captain’s tall tales, and effectively switched off their ears to concentrate better on their many tasks. Garic realised this was the captain's aim all along ... Well played you old dog. As the two reached the end of the sea wall, looking ahead of them lay the huge body of water known as the Red Sea. As far as the pair could see. No one was around, certainly not within earshot. Oliviero paced around Garic who was seated, waving his arms furiously, maintaining the ruse that Garic was suffering at the hands of another endless story. In actual fact, this couldn’t have been further from the truth. The Captain explained that whilst he had only been shipping the parts for eight months longer than Garic had, it was a decade and a half previously when the tall client had personally knocked upon his cabin door. His old boat, "La Sexto Nao de la China", or the sixth China ship, was a Manila Galleon, named for the route it sailed and the country whose goods could be found in her hold. The Captain explained she was a modest ship, not even one third the size of the Padre Eterno, but still solidly built. Whilst she was more than capable in the maze of the Philippine Islands, the open sea was not her domain. Strange then that this huge man, who barely fit through the door of his captain’s cabin, wanted his services personally. The Captain recalled how the man, who could only be described as giant compared to normal men, could only just be accommodated in the captain's easy chair. It wasn't long before he was talking briskly regarding his need for skilled sea captains to ship an important cargo for him ... “There are several conditions, and you should adhere to these ... Verbatim ... I have a messenger, he is a trusted member of my organisation. Once you begin working for me, all future matters regarding business or problems should be lodged with, and dealt with by my messenger ...” “Once I beg ...” “My cargo is too valuable to be lost, ergo my messenger will specify a safe route. You should follow any instructions for delivery and return. You’ll be advised in the days before the cargo is loaded, by my previously mentioned, designated messenger.”

Garic recognised all these conditions as the same imposed upon Marcus, indeed they read almost word for word as the contract he had inherited. Hence Garic knew what the final condition would be before the Captain told him ... Interjecting ... "My organisation requires that no fewer than twenty parts should be shipped, this will comprise one load, which your crew must assist in loading, but for which we will arrange to be unloaded." The captain was shocked that Garic already knew the . Garic felt he had to come clean, itting that he was owner of his own shipping company, and in fact had for some time been responsible for shipping the parts from Europe to northern Egypt. Though he had never met the tall client himself, the previous owner had also been contracted directly by the tall client. This stopped the captain, who was shocked enough to sit beside Garic. Finding himself, the captain continued. "As you must be well aware, a Manila Galleon such as mine did not have this kind of load capacity, nor was she built for crossing open ocean over vast distances ... He told me where to find the Padre Eterno, my new boat. I swear as I first laid eyes on her, for a boat to end up in such a position on its own in a rough sea ... Impossible. And that she should remain there, propped out of the water in a narrow inlet, perfectly aligned to slide back out in the smallest of swell, and yet remain unmoved. It took me two days of sailing up and down the coastline, ing the position which the tall client had indicated, and at barely one mile from the cliffs, before I found her. I’d liken it to a natural dry dock, as if she just sailed in there, and then the inlet was filled from one end with a huge quantity of sand, sufficient to raise her keel out of the water. I would put a boat's chances of running aground in such a perfect position for protection from both waves and elements as less than one in a million ... Truly unnatural." This had begun to sound at first like another of the captain's tall tales, but the quietness of his mood, speaking in hushed tones which betrayed his guilt for the ission he was making, told Garic every word was truly spoken. Garic concurred, from the captain's description of how the Padre had been laying, it sounded like she had been stowed there for a later date. What the captain told him next, was even more baffling. "That's not even the end of it. Despite the small draught of my own vessel, I

could not get close enough into the inlet to attach lines, and had I even done so, she'd have had little to no effect to dislodge the Padre from sand which held her a clear four feet out of the water. Seeing a storm on the horizon I decided to drop anchor over a broad but shallow sand bank. It was easily a half a mile long and twice as broad as my boat. Not wanting to be too close to the rocks and cliffs, I felt the sand bank would serve to isolate us somewhat from the waves. We rode out the storm, literally the whole night bouncing off the top of the sandbank. The storm hit us as soon as darkness fell, and cleared miraculously as morning broke. I was stunned to find the Padre Eterno, in all her massive glory, no more than two beams off my own stern ... I'm telling you, the tall client has more secrets than one man should ever have." After this extraordinary narrative, Garic was left wondering if the tall client could not only predict the weather, but maybe could also control it as well, but the captain wasn't even finished there. "Then there's his age ..." "What do you mean his age?" "Well you see, I hadn't met the tall man before he entered my cabin, but I was well aware of who he was. You see when I first came to sea, I was an orphan, sold into the service of an old sea captain. He was a gentle man, who took me out of the work house because he wanted me to have a better life, he taught me everything I know about sailing and navigation. He became like a father to me, as we grew closer he used to tell me bedtime stories about when he was a younger man. Several of the stories featured a giant man, who went by the name Guillermo, an ordinary name for an extraordinary man. If my father's stories are anything to go by, he was engaged in a truly epic mission, and could appear from anywhere. My father told me he could walk through walls ..." Captain Oliviero fell silent, and as if experiencing a myriad of vivid recollections of happy times spent with his father, a childlike smile plastered spread across his face. "So what does that have to do with the tall client?" "My father described the man as eight and a half feet tall, always he seemed to wear a hair piece whilst dressing grandly, with a large gentleman's overcoat. In all the dealings my father witnessed, this Guillermo seemed to be a robustly

happy man, always laughing and joking; but underneath this he was always business like, focused on the accomplishment of his needs." Explaining more, Oliviero continued, speculating that the huge man's needs were many. Sometimes he had been to immediately before meeting his father. Then came the amazing revelation that even his adoptive father's father had also done business with the tall man. This would mean that just like Garic he was now well over one hundred years old. "Have you ever been to India Garic? I have, such a lovely place, that is until Europe sank its teeth in." Garic, slowly shook his head replying in the negative; though he would have surely ed through there decades ago, had he walked the Silk Road. "Their gods are all depicted as having blue skin, and are several feet taller than humans. Did you know that India has one of the oldest religious belief systems in the world?... Thousands of years old. Several paintings I saw on the walls of various temples depicted a large blue God, instructing humans to do his bidding. Ok Garic, I know it's a stretch but maybe he's not just old, maybe he's ancient. The paintings show a younger man, but still nearly nine feet tall." "But Oliviero, they're just paintings, you're speculating they were painted with the intention of depicting a moment, not just as some fantastical artist’s religious propaganda. How could anyone live to be so old?" Garic was covering now, he was over one hundred years old, not counting the years he'd spent on Ashlar-Gin. He knew full well that if the tall client were not from Earth he could age at an entirely different rate, so slowly as to appear immortal to any ordinary human. Not just millennia, but tens of thousands of years? That was a different matter entirely. Certainly Garic hoped he didn't live that long, he didn't feel like he'd have the stomach to live for many more years, unless he could finally begin to make some progress. Today had been a good day, he had learned much. The tall client often did business in ... Maybe the origin of the parts. This also presented a better place to start than interrogating his friend, the well-dressed son. That would’ve been awkward as he still provided safe routes to Acacia and Louis. Then there was the tall client's name, Guillermo ... But by what chance would he still be using that name?

As the sun was setting, Oliviero finished by saying that he shouldn’t have said anything at all, but their tall client was at the centre of some very strange events, dotted throughout time and history. Things Oliviero had never managed to reconcile in his own mind. He was clearly convinced the tall client was not human, but he wasn’t mentally capable of making the leap to him being extraterrestrial. Oliviero, being a devout Catholic; pigeon holed their strange client as either an angel doing some great task, or a demon, ushering mankind towards some foul fate ... He assisted, praying it was the first. Shortly after the sun had sunk slowly below the horizon, in the few remaining minutes of light, Garic escorted Captain Oliviero back to the Padre Eterno. The crew were tucking into their evening meal, the captain made it known that if Garic wanted, he was welcome to come on board for a final meal with the crew ... "I'm sorry Oliviero, my mind is racing ... I just don't think I could eat right now ... I have to find him." The walk back to Alexandria was typically uneventful. Before the endless sand and rock finally gave way to the fertile vegetation of the Nile delta, Garic happened upon the brotherhood. They were encamped about thirty miles outside Alexandria, having collected the parts the previous day. Rafiq, had missed his friend these long five years, but could see that Garic was in too much of a rush to properly engage in conversation. He offered Garic the use of a spare camel, with instruction upon where he should leave it once in Alexandria. How could Garic refuse? Unless Acacia and Louis had changed the habit of the Företaget III, they would not put to sea again until mid-morning, he had just enough time to make it on foot, but as tired as he was, he'd probably arrive just too late. So ... by camel then. Thanking Rafiq for his generosity, Garic was once more on his way at double speed, his arrival with time to spare was now assured.

Chapter 23 - Alculinium resolve ...

ACACIA WAS OVERJOYED to see her father again, the last seven years had been long indeed; with no word for the last five she had begun to assume the worst. Garic reminded her of their plan to be in at least once every decade, so at this point they were up on that score. Louis was conspicuous by his absence. Acacia explained that at his last visit, the well-dressed son had made them both aware that the tall client was accelerating the schedule for production and delivery. This was good news initially, until the well-dressed son elaborated further; he was about to begin receiving tenders from other shipping companies. The messenger still hadn't appreciated the size of their company, even after all these years. Once Louis clarified the situation, the messenger’s son felt comfortable extending their contract. Louis was currently recalling one of the Företaget fleet from Gibraltar to assume the role. The news pleased Garic, his successors were doing a good job. Garic was now sure too, that if the tall client was accelerating production, then this was the perfect time to visit . Metal production was a dirty business, there were bound to be fumes rising into the sky, there would be no way to miss such a factory. He could probably ask anyone where to find it. There were human aspects to the tall client's mission, as secretive as he was, these were difficult to obscure. Garic surmised that even given this, most onlookers probably wouldn't fathom what they were looking at, nor would they realise what was happening behind the closed doors of the factory. The tall client was hiding in plain sight, with everyone blissfully unaware of what the parts were for. Garic made Acacia aware ... "I've have enquired at every opportunity love. I can tell when someone is employed directly by the tall client ... They clam up or change the subject, every time. If a person is merely a cog in the machine, I'd say there's been a fifty-fifty chance of them dropping some information. But of course, being outside the inner circle, information gleaned in this manner is seldom useful ..." "But what if someone had tipped the tall client off ... You've asked a lot of

people some very direct questions. By now surely he is aware father ... I worry for you ..." Garic was bearing the brunt of Acacia's sad eyes well, but it would be best to put her mind at ease, rather than leave her worrying ... "Yes ... You may be right. Obviously, I am intruding on his business and might potentially reveal his secret. The action he takes against me will depend upon how seriously he takes the intrusion. You and Louis should remain vigilant ... Just in case. I also have secrets ... Before I find the tall client, I need to have information to bargain with first ... It’s got to be on my , from a strong position. I don’t want any fallout.” “You think he might turn violent father?” “No ... No, it’s not that. I just don’t know what depths he might sink to in order to protect his business ... Dammit! I’m starting to sound like Marcus.” Maybe over the years, everyone the tall client had done business with smelled something strange, and had eventually begun to investigate, just like Oliviero. He got the feeling that Marcus had tried also, but limited as he was by the tight schedule, his chances had been slim. Once Marcus realised that Garic had all the time in the world ... Who better to track down the tall client? Within the safe confines of his captain's cabin aboard the Företaget III, Garic brought Acacia up to speed, everything he knew, and what his next actions would be. He would travel to , to find where the parts were being manufactured. "This is bound to attract the attention of the tall client. If I'm captured rather than being requested to assist, I will make sure there's no trail back to you ... But I need you to be prepared mentally, if the tall client ever comes knocking at your door." Once back in Constantinople, the two said their goodbyes again and Garic was straight on the road. He was in no rush and, although the route was arduous especially whilst walking through narrow mountain es. His route took him to the far north western edge of the Ottoman Empire, through Edirne and Sofya, then Nische and on to Beograd then beyond into the Austrian Monarchy, ing though Agram and then Laibach. Entering the Duchy of Bavaria ing through

München, Garic had questioned several characters who all indicated that, based on reputation alone, the best arms manufacturer was located in Essen. By the time Garic reached Essen, he'd been marching for just over two months. As he had done decades before, en route Garic tried very hard not to be noticed, and not to get drafted. It seemed in this part of Europe there was always some territorial squabble or another; back then it had been difficult for Garic to avoid being sucked. Currently though, as he walked through the countryside things seemed much calmer. Over forty years before, the land of Prussia had emerged as the dominant member of the group, forming a strong alliance with its neighbour Austria. This partnership absorbed many of the small micro monarchies in the region, bringing peace and stability. The fighting was not totally over, but battles were fought far less frequent. Having been the battleground for the thirty years war, Garic reasoned that Essen would be the perfect place to establish a shop for the manufacture of weapons. Garic understood better than most that weapons had to be hard and yet durable, this led in ancient times to the development of Damascus steel. The way this steel was forged was truly an art form in decline, due to the growing popularity of firearms. Different steels were forged together, this led to swords which had a strong durable core, but an edge which could be honed with razor-like sharpness; even better, this edge would be hard. Weapons produced in this manner, with forged welds and the folding process being repeated many times before a light acid etch, would yield a blade with a pattern of markings like flowing water. Truly beautiful and unique patterns would show the skill of the maker and the quality of the steel. The parts which the tall client had commissioned, and was now busily engaged in transporting to the Pacific region, were not patterned at all, and were in all likelihood produced by casting. Garic's reason for seeking a weapons manufacturer was only that he had seen often enough that these parts were also machined, and the finish reached suggested modern, mechanical tooling of a kind invented specifically for this purpose. The finish wasn't mirror smooth, but was exceedingly close, smooth with a dull sheen. Better than this and far more important, the mating faces used to assemble the parts, were perfectly flat. This was true high precision, not in the way which most craftsmen claimed, but in a way no other craftsman of this era could match.

It was obvious that whoever was the human architect of such equipment, they had not been unaided. So perfect was the finish, that none could match it. Essen was littered with weapons makers, and Garic wondered for some time if the people had referred him to this place out of convenience. Approaching the gates of many master smiths, in most cases this was all he needed to do before ruling out a shop. Some had premises which were just physically too small to produce the parts on such a scale, even toiling around the clock. At others, the pieces people were leaving with were only manufactured from simple wrought iron. Horse bridles, fire stoking tools, coal shovels, pots and pans and such like. They were nothing special, notwithstanding the quantity of pieces being produced. Garic's interest was, however, piqued as he witnessed one man, grandly dressed mount a horse which was huge compared to others around the town drawing buggies. Approaching the man caused a very odd reaction from him, reacting fiercely to defend himself, drawing exactly the kind of weapon which Garic was seeking the manufacturer of. "I apologise sir, I mean you no harm ... But what a beautiful sword ... Might I enquire where you purchased such an exquisite piece? ... I am but a simple collector, but I only collect the highest quality pieces, such as yours." The man was on full alert, was it the audacity of such an averagely dressed man enquiring about a weapon he seemed unable to afford? Believing Garic to be a criminal, he mistook Garic’s words as a simple ruse to lower his defences. Garic could not have imagined the high status of the man he was delaying, the son of the local council head; the type of man Garic should never have addressed so informally. "Why should a man such as you, have need of such a weapon?" Garic could sense the thoughts running through the man's mind, he was wary, but not fearful. The confident way in which he looked from the bottom of his eyes, down upon Garic, said he easily had the skill to handle the prized weapon. Garic was confident also, but differed to the man who obviously saw himself as Garic's social better. "I am sorry Sir, it must appear as if I came out of nowhere to impress myself upon you. Here is my card ... You see I am a merchant seaman. In fact I own a

large line of trading ships, we operate all over Europe and the Mediterranean. I am not without personal means." At this, Garic placed his hand inside his cape and began to jangle a small sack, from the sound it was obvious that the sack was full of money, Garic then proved that this money was in fact gold pieces. Continuing to explain ... "A few short months ago, you see I was at sea, East of Manila in the Philippines, when my ship was boarded by a horde of pirates. Whilst defending my vessel, my existing sword was broken ... I simply seek a replacement. My blade was of the same grade as your own, but alas the smith I used has now withdrawn from this world, which is why I seek another high quality weapons manufacturer ... Again I apologise for causing you alarm." With this last plea from Garic, the man re-sheathed his sword. No longer feeling threatened, the man even dismounted his horse to talk face to face with Garic. This was progress. "Sir, you have come to the right place. We have a manufacturer here in Essen who manufactures the very finest blades in the whole region. He is usually very busy, such is the demand for his services in recent years, but I am sure, with my endorsement he will craft you a blade you will be proud to wear." Garic smiled warmly, as the man began to walk, gesturing to his man who had remained unseen until this moment, to follow with his horse. Garic started walking to catch him up. "You look to me to be Nobility sir ... A Duke perhaps?" "Not quite my good man, my father is the Grafschaft, or ruler of these parts. I'm not engaged in any matters of state quite yet, though my father is giving me instruction." "Well my apologies again to you sir, I mistook you for a man more mature in years ... The wig I think." Garic maintained his smile so as not to re-offend the man, who turned backwards to face his man, then shouted most indiscreetly. "You see Christian ... I told my father that this rag, which he insists must remain

atop my head, made me look too old! I should burn the blasted thing and take back my youth." "Sire must not, if one is to continue attending the council chambers with one's father". Christian the aid, looked perplexed, as if he could not advise his master strongly enough to leave the wig alone. "You know Christian, just because you have the same name as my father, doesn't mean I should listen to you as if you were him." Quickly though, the young man apologised to his aid, after seeing the hint of a disapproving look, momentarily interrupt the smile on Garic’s face. Then the young man gave huff, to signal that his life was not his own; the huff being the only form of rebellious behaviour he could muster, without offending everyone. "It is a little mature sir, but it does suit you now I look again ... Very dignified ... I imagine everyone in the council wears something similar." Garic now turned and winked to Christian, who rolled his eyes in the way of a man at the end of his tether but with absolutely no means to do anything of consequence. "You're not wrong there ... Stuffy old bunch!" With this the young man broke a smile and began to laugh. The two men ed the time in conversation whilst they walked for maybe half an hour across town to a quieter area almost on the outskirts. All the time they had followed the road beside the river Ruhr, which ed through Essen. -Eureka! Garic was elated to walk around a street corner to be met by a caravan of horse drawn carts. Their loads were covered, and somewhat disguised by the bales of hay thrown on top of them, but Garic immediately recognised the drivers of the carts. Judging by the sharp angular edges forcing out the tarpaulins, this was a shipment of parts headed to Constantinople. Garic was careful to the party by without attracting any attention. Even though the better part of eight years had ed, there was a chance the caravan leader may stiff recognise him.

What a stroke of good luck. As large as Essen was, he could have walked the streets for a month, checking hundreds of armourers and still not found this place. The caravan obviously followed an initial route straight through the heart of the town, rather than the road around the outside, The streets were wide enough that they were not obstructing the general flow of people, horses and other carts, so Garic assumed this was to save time. The young man began informing him ... "These carts, or rather the cargo on the carts is the reason why our man rarely makes swords anymore. His company has been manufacturing these large pieces for over sixty years now, with no sign of stopping. In fact I think Alwyn Krepp is actually trying to purchase the land beside his factory so he can extend his premises, such is the demand. He has greased several palms within the council, so permission will probably be granted. In any case his family are well known benefactors within these parts, they have founded several workhouses for orphaned children, but the standards inside are very high indeed, each child is schooled for the morning and works the afternoon, all meals and lodge are provided. Some of the older ones he has employed as foremen in his factory here." Clearly the Krepp family was also largely engaged in the buying of property. The realisation dawned on Garic that the area they’d just entered, which was being earmarked for the factory expansion, was mostly deserted; all except for the cart drivers transporting the parts. When Garic enquired, the young noble remarked that this had been going on for the last sixty years or so, before the Black Death had reached Essen. “As the plague hit, people began to leave Essen in their droves. The Krepp family amassed a huge fortune buying up all the abandoned property and renting them out. Currently, the houses in the expansion zone are all occupied by the workers at his factory. But with the tenancy agreements, the Krepp family can turf them out as soon as progress is made with the expansion plan. Though knowing Alwyn, he will just move his workers to new properties rather than turf them out.” Rounding what the young noble suggested was the final corner, the houses and shops ended. There before them stood the largest building Garic had ever seen, not the tallest, but the footprint was immense, like the cathedral at Notre Dame,

only larger. Garic signalled that he was impressed. If this was the level of the business now, Garic's imagination temporarily got the better of him, his stride slowed and his balance became erratic on the cobbled street. Garic's mind was filled with a dark vision, this building would eventually swallowing this district of Essen. The skies were black, filled with the smoke which was endlessly billowing from the many chimneys. It took the young noble putting his hand on Garic’s shoulder, before he was dragged back to reality ... Entering the company gate, the two men drew up to the large wooden door, suspended by highly ornate wrought iron hinges, leaf work and iron vines served up the illusion that the door was overgrown by some huge metal plant. Closer examination showed that the leaves were produced with tremendous detail, almost replicating the real thing, hammered from small buds of iron then wheel formed to spread them out. The most lifelike curvatures had then been added to each leaf individually, even the midrib and veins of the leaves were apparent. If the owners had been trying to their skill with metal, this gate was the perfect medium. Despite the huge size of the doors, both swung open smoothly and silently with the lightest of touches as both men entered the office simultaneously. Garic was surprised again as to the left was a hole in the wall, through which he could see a host of pots, pans, pails, steins, fire utensils, cutlery and the likes, all made as a standard for anyone who cared to buy them. Ahead was a door and to the right was a wide staircase which wound its way in a circle through the ceiling above them. The segments of the stairs formed the treads, each spaced by the hand rail and its s. Again the staircase was hugely grand, adorned with the various crests of the surrounding regions, at the top though, twice as large, was the crest of the family who owned the business. The Krepp's had been an active family in the region for a few hundred years, the young noble explained. In all that time they had never been far away from the manufacture of weapons of one sort or another. People were not given to come to the Krepps, simply to get their horses re-shod. The company was now partly engaged in the production of parts; to make what, no one knew. In tandem with this, the factory still produced goods which everyone needed, but better quality and slightly more expensive. Then there were the guns. The family had made guns since the outbreak of the thirty years

war. Sword making was in obvious decline, but this shop still had craftsmen who could fold metal. "Excuse me sir, while I shout Alwyn. He is both my friend, and the owner of these magnificent works." Shouting up the stairway as if this were where Alwyn Krepp should have been, it was not more than ten seconds before the man made his way out of the doorway at the head of the room. All too briefly Garic caught a glimpse of the works, but not in any kind of detail. He wanted to bolt through the door for confirmation, but remained rooted to the spot. Faintly, at the periphery of his senses, he could just hear the platitudes being exchanged by Krepp and the young Noble, whose name Garic now learned was Hagan. Hagan and Alwyn clearly knew one another, despite the young noble being only one third the age of the workshop owner; they talked like equals, almost as brothers would, laughing and joking. The young noble sured Garic’s expectations whilst trying to vouch for his worthiness ... “... and this fine gentleman would like to purchase a sword.” “Oh Hagan, you know I can’t stop production. Making a sword of that quality takes time. Can you come back in two months sir? It’s been three decades since I made this blade for Hagan’s father you see, I don’t even have the stock pieces to begin with ...” The materials would have to be ordered, they would be expensive in such small amounts needed to make one sword, and would not arrive for easily two months. Then given the initial forge welding of the strips for making up the core, the twisting of these core pieces and then binding to the outer blade steel, before forge welding the pieces together would be close to a week and a half for any man, putting in such time needed to produce a quality blade. Making the cross guard, hilt and pommel, with intricate embossing or engraving to the clients demands would double this. Alwyn apologised unreservedly, but he was required full time inside his mill to supervise production of a huge commission. Garic now interrupted the persistent pleadings of Hagan.... “Alwyn ... Might I enquire ... Hagan and I whilst on our way here ed a series of carts, at least thirty strong, the products on the carts were somewhat disguised,

but I recognised them immediately ... You see I believe we work for the same task master ... I have spent some long years shipping the parts you manufacture, on behalf of our client.” Alwyn was confused, Garic could see all over his face, he had fought for years to keep everything secret, now here was a man who possessed intimate knowledge of the parts. The metal worker appeared conflicted, as if a huge weight could be lifted from his shoulders, but he may miss the weight once it was gone. Garic tried hard to re-balance Alwyn. “Secrecy ... Our client demands secrecy, it’s a huge burden to lie to my family as I have ... For over two decades now. I was looking for a new blade, but I feel that Hagan has introduced me to a kindred spirit. We know all about toil, maybe yourself even more than I. I cannot impress upon you any more for a sword, a mere trinket when I know what important work must be undertaken. As a consolation though, maybe you can show me how you are making such intricate work. I am a mere layman, and yet even I can see that your parts are masterfully reworked on some contraption, maybe of your own making? Hagan, I must thank you young sir for introducing me to Alwyn, but I am sure you have other matters which deserve your attention, I would not want to waylay you anymore than I already have.” As Garic made this final statement, he also ed a glance towards Christian who was standing feet behind them. The knowing nod from his man seemed to jolt the young man back to business, and the matters which he had been getting to only an hour before. The young noble, shaking both men’s hands, bade them farewell and made for the exit with his man, Christian. This was the last element of pressure removed from Alwyn, who would not be revealing any secrets now, even if he showed Garic everything. “Masterfully done sir ... Follow me ...?” “Mortimer ... My name is Mortimer, but you can call me Morty.” The secret of Garic’s name, a minor one in the grand scheme, unless the tall client should become aware, remained intact. The business card he now placed into Alwyn's hand, confirmed the same, also showing his company name and emblem. “Follow me Mortimer, prepare to be amazed ...”

With this Alwyn headed for the door with an urgency which indicated he may have already been distracted for too long. ing through the door Garic could not recall ever entering another room so large. Hot on the heels of Alwyn, Garic followed as the metalworking master named each piece of equipment they walked past, whilst also giving a brief explanation of the function. Whilst Garic was listening intently, his eyes were not focused in the same places Alwyn was describing. Instead his gaze was transfixed at the far end of the workshop building, where he could see a huge machine, with one of the parts securely fastened to it. A noise akin to a loud oscillating hum emanated from it. Alwyn soon noticed ... “Ah, I see, well it makes sense, let’s go and look at my grandfather’s machine. I’ve only modified it twice in the twenty years since I took over from my father, the machine is a true masterpiece. You’re the first person not in the employ of the factory to see it. My grandfather spent the best part of his life developing her. Can you hazard a guess what it’s doing?” Garic had waited years to be asked this question, now though he had to appear dumb. “I’ve seen these parts for the longest time, but the finish is far superior to a rotary file, judging from the tight coils of material being removed from the piece, this works by cutting the metal away. I guess the tool has to be even harder than the piece being cut, and that the speed must be tightly controlled. I see you’re lubricating the cut ... Water or oil?” “A mix, well done, I’m impressed. Have you ever wondered what the parts are for?” “No ... The tall client asked me not to speculate, only to concentrate on shipping the parts safely. Given how much work goes into them, I can understand his concern.” “I seeing him once, I was a mere boy, maybe five years old. I cannot speak as to the accuracy of my memory ... I have not seen him since that day, despite spending my life in his service; as it would seem five generations of my family have. I he was a hugely built man, easily as tall as the machine here, he dwarfed my father, and was maybe twice as wide as him. That said he was a kind and gently spoken man who seemed to be offering endless

encouragement to my father.” “Yes I , I am not a small man compared to most, but he was a clear two feet above me. What were they collaborating on?” “My grandfather was so preoccupied with the development of the machine tools, that he had to delegate the task of developing the metal itself to my father completely. This was a hugely repetitive task, once every five years the client would drop by to check his progress. My father told me that whilst he never seemed to age, he was the very definition of old. In any case, once both my grandfather and my father achieved success, almost within five years of each other, that was when the client placed his order ... As promised ... And we have not seen him directly since, only his agents, several in the last two decades alone. Both my elders were broken men by the time of the order, neither was able to enjoy the fruits of their labour. I am a rich man Morty, but I am constantly busy and rarely happy. My son shows no interest in the business, I fear if he were put in charge, the whole operation would collapse through neglect within a few years.” “That’s a true shame Alwyn, I only recently ed my business to my adopted daughter, such a tenacious young thing. I knew the time was right, and that Acacia would continue my business in the way I built it up. Maybe I should put you in touch with her.” “Maybe Morty ... It would be best for him, if the business stayed in the hands of people already in the know. As hard as it is I mean, that requires a rare breed.” All too quickly the tour was over. A glance, shot to the crucible in the middle of the shop signaled to Garic that Alwyn needed to attend. Garic thanked the steelmaker then begged his leave, Alwyn escorted him back to the front entrance and the two parted ways. Garic could not imagine what price Alwyn would put on such a business which was by no stretch of the mind, self-sustaining. It would require constant work, to innovate new products, using ever better materials, and also the generation of sales to provide the cash flow. Certainly, Acacia would provide a sound business head, but still not the skill to drive such a business without a huge amount of training. Alwyn was undoubtedly schooled from a very young age, and clearly had very

few interests elsewhere. Acacia would need help and the more he pondered the idea, the more Garic realised it may not be a good one. Having seen the parts being made was fascinating, and yet the meeting had revealed little regarding the tall client, or his goals. It did seem however that he was a master of using people to get what he needed with little attention paid to their needs as people. The tall client appeared to use people like batteries, draining their lives from them. They would work their entire life as Alwyn had put it, to then die. Never having had the chance to enjoy the carrot which the tall client had dangled tantalizingly just out of reach as they toiled, all the riches he could bestow upon them meant nothing if they were dead. Indeed, Marcus had only managed to live another six years after handing the business over to Garic. A fleeting moment of rest after a life of endless toil. Garic had been inside the workshop with Alwyn for around two hours; no more. Walking at his usual pace Garic had ed the carts transporting the latest shipment before they had even reached the city limits. If it would once again take two months with few stops to reach Constantinople on foot, the carts would probably take three or more. Again this small detail hinted at the skill of the tall client, and his aptitude for planning.

Chapter 24 - Geyldian

FOR THE LAST FIFTY or so years, the second in command of the Numbers, the nine head clones on board the crashed ships Central, OFFright and Mona had been adhering strictly to the plan. He’d been working closely with the owners of a company in who made high quality weapons for a few generations. Now they were not only making Alculinium, but the family were also deg and making the tools to work the space age alloy. Geyldian’s hard work was paying the best dividends. Over a hundred years before, Geyldian had begun dropping technological crumbs to the company's then proprietor, the great grandson of the original master smith and forger of high grade weaponry. The Hybrid clone had paid frequent visits to this man over a space of ten years or so in the mid 1560's to 1570's, until the master metal worker was on the brink of developing the first cutting tools to machine the metal pieces. Even with the clone’s interaction, the great grandson's task had not been an easy one, he had developed various prototype gear tooth forms. Some of these were less than satisfactory, being far too fragile, if not wearing down quickly then they would always break prematurely. This single hurdle to develop the gearing required to properly control the turning rate of both tool and workpiece, had taken its toll on the brilliant young man, who did not successfully accomplish an adequately working prototype for the remainder of his twenties. Manual mechanisms to hold tools and finely tune their interaction to the piece came quickly and were no problem. The young man did not miss the irony; all the pieces he needed in order to make a better machine, would have been of a far higher quality if they could have been manufactured on the machine he was deg. The pieces for the third prototype, were cobbled together on his MkI and II machines, and this did lead to a reduction in development time. In the end the young man achieved his goal of producing a machine which would bolster his family's reputation for metal making, but it took the great grandson until he was well into his seventies to complete both his own goal and those of his tall client. Fifty years ahead of Geyldian's target was a good result which allowed time to be devoted to other areas of the plan. Once Geyldian had seen the ageing man was close to making his machine a

reality, in its most complete and usable form, there was only the small matter of the recipe for Alculinium for Geyldian to on. Indeed over the five decades of his partnership with the great grandson, the Clone had never stopped guiding the human towards the completely developed material. The problem was that Geyldian could not simply hand him the recipe, additives and all. Aelren would never have allowed such a shortcut which yielded no learning benefit to the humans. As the Prime saw it, the knowledge would have been quickly forgotten, if the learning process were not fully followed. The old man had ed his thoughts for Alculinium on to his own son, whilst the youngster was in his late teens. This pleased Geyldian, who worked with both men on their respective tasks. Only in the last fifteen years or so, with the son now in his late forties, had the eureka moment occurred. The tests which Geyldian had set the men to follow after each successive batch had yielded promising results. Without the correct test equipment to the internal structure and final properties of the test specimens, the father and son could only carry out basic hardness tests, and a rudimentary weathering test, but favourable results would lead Geyldian to procure a sample for Oxull to test. The latest sample had exhibited excellent toughness, and was not deformed easily by hammering, when left outside in the elements over a winter, the metal showed no signs whatsoever of tarnishing or rusting. This was unheard of, even the best and most highly polished metals the family made would not survive a winter without rusting if neglected. The metals used to form coinage were often rust resistant, but had no toughness and would be well worn after time in a few pockets. The last sample had been a landmark moment, the micro grain structure of the metal, crystalline boundaries and size were all examined by the clone engineer, in detail. The sample was then accurately hardness tested, before being tested to destruction. The results confirmed that the two men had indeed manufactured a piece of Alculinium to within 99.97% of a proof sample from Central. With this news, Geyldian was as good as his word. Once he saw that the new machine was adequate in both repeatability and accuracy, and that they had manufactured several more batches of Alculinium to the same desired specification, the order for pieces of the new reactor housings was placed. The family was going to reap the reward of their decades of hard work. The work

would be lucrative for the family, and provide their company with work for hundreds of years to come. Such would be the task of decommissioning and replacing the reactors on the three Ark ships. After that Geyldian had rarely seen the great grandson before his eventual death seven years after the order was placed. Other important matters prevented him, that was his excuse, no, his justification for why he had let his wane. The reality of the matter was simple. Geyldian's mission had absorbed another human life. This hurt, and was a burden none of the other Numbers could imagine. Geyldian, or Guillermo as the men knew him, always grew close to the humans he was advancing. In each case, over centuries he had gently cracked the whip, watching as these humans lived fast in the pursuit of his goals. One by one, each had flickered out of existence, never living life for themselves. Hundreds of bright minds, people Geyldian called friends had ed in this manner. Allowing his mind to rest on the subject for a minute or two, he would become saddened by the loss of these individuals. He was sometimes lost in the notion that his own life was being exhausted in much the same way. The only difference being, his life was focussed on many more tasks than a single human could achieve, over a vastly protracted span of time. Blessed with a memory akin to a steel trap, Geyldian was incapable of forgetting the people he'd known. After making such worthy contributions to their cause, none of the humans knew how grateful the Numbers back on Central were ... While the Clones had technology in spades, the opposite was true for resources which we're all but spent. As such these resources were rationed, and their usage heavily monitored. Although their arrival to Earth was accidental, the planet had furnished every need for them bar one; the fuel element which powered the caddy. Despite exploratory probing of favourable locations, this element did not seem to occur naturally in any significant quantity on Earth. If they were reckless in their usage, the element would be gone within the next ten millennia. This element was a type one material, as classified by the Devine, meaning it could only be sourced directly from inside a star. The Devine found the material was being shed abundantly from a sun at the centre of a neighbouring solar system, yet was rarely present in planetary bodies.

The element, Aurumocrium was collected slowly over time, but given that the Devine had lived almost as masters of time, this was no hardship. Reagglomeration of the collected molecules was a technological feat in its own right, the finished material was extremely dense and heavy once compressed into a solid mass weighing nearly fifteen times as heavy as the equivalent volume of Alculinuim. Luckily, the energy output potential of this element, once harnessed correctly, far overcame the problem of the element's mass. The Devine then committed generations to perfecting the process of converting the energy rich Aurumocrium into a plasma. In a plasma state, the material yielded a denser ion stream than any gas could. The final benefit of this material was the longevity of its ability to yield ions. The Caddy had never been refuelled since their original manufacture. The fuel charge was forever encapsulated inside a sealed super-heated unit. This applied pressure enough to retard and regulate the shedding of ions, and a pulsing electrical field for the charging of the released ions. The ions once charged were simply repulsed against an oppositely charged arrangement of plates, from the rear of the vessel to create a forward thrust. Early versions were highly efficient, yet accelerated very slowly. The promise of interstellar travel dictated that the design be modified to open the taps a little more. The cores could not be unsealed, due to the constant manner in which ions were being shed. Damage to a core usually resulted in a run-away meltdown, though not explosively. Release of containment would just allow the material to decay rapidly. The ions released unchecked, would simply be wasted. Planning and foresight were the two strongest gifts of the Devine race, as such, even the early prototypes were designed to be endlessly up scalable. One standard design for the sealed fuel cores meant the cells could be fully expended in the course of developing their space fairing technology, which given the effort to make even one, was preferable to them being wasted. Very quickly, less than five generations more and the Devine were regularly traversing huge distances in space. In the galactic vicinity of their home world Devine Prime, there was only one other such star which was throwing out the matter they needed, it was sadly out of their reach. The equipment they required to capture, refine, process and compress the

collected material was initially huge. So huge, portability was impossible, unless they managed to move the hollowed out refinery moon, sadly this was even beyond the capabilities of the Devine. To reach the nearest other star which was spewing out valuable molecules of Aurumocrium, would have been an impossible one way trip. But the Devine couldn’t let the most energy rich element they had knowledge of go to waste ... A plan was formed. If it had been possible to miniaturize the process equipment required into a ship, the vessel would have been gargantuan, over two hundred times the size of their largest ships. The Devine, never being a race to shy away from a challenge, had almost accomplished this goal when they were rudely interrupted by the Khai-mah. By the time war broke out, the Devine had realised a working refinery ship not much bigger than Central. To accomplish the evacuation plan which no Devine thought would ever be realised, fifty refinery ships had been planned. The aim was for each fleet, to be accompanied by a refinery ship. This plan was later altered ... Before consideration of the Khai-mah's request for sanctuary had begun, the supreme council deemed it prudent that all ships should be carriers. The Devine intended to do some deep exploration of space, the refinery ships would only further this endeavour. The plan was limitless voyages and endless exploration. This pre-war ambition of the Devine was echoed by the ease with which they made their final decision to abandon their home world, in the face of the Khaimah's final solution. The Devine had fought hard, but always planned to have half their population fathom the void of space anyway; the Khai merely accelerated their resolve to do so. The plan for exploration never really changed, it was only scaled up. Such was the doggedness of the Khai-mah attacks, that all Devine superiority was nullified. As a result, only twenty eight refineries were made before Devine Prime was abandoned, not enough to go around. One of the hulking industrial ships had been in the group to which Central, OFFright and Mona belonged, but the vessel’s propulsion drive was rendered inert after entering a never before encountered hyperspace anomaly. Sadly, following this the ship had effectively been rendered dead in the water; far too

close to the newly expanded Khai-mah territory. The Devine took their time to systematically destroy this ship, ditching the reactor core into a nearby red giant, causing a spectacular supernova. The fuel cells were not wasted, but shared amongst the remaining ships. Unless installed they remained safely inert anyway and were easily slung like galactic saddlebags outside the hulls of the fleet. If the clones were going to avert the catastrophe which would result from the deterioration of their reactor cores, they would need the slow but steady help of the humans. Every last grain of their own precious fuel must be conserved ... Hence the reason for Geyldian’s very special topside mission. The logistical nightmare of how to move the parts across the Earth had been partially unravelled by Geyldian decades before. Once he felt the metal making great grandson was close to completion. In 1622, the Prime's right hand clone alien human hybrid had begun talking with shipping magnates and privateers with no affiliations to the royalty of countries or Rome. There were only seven companies across Europe and Asia, at that time, who had enough sailing ships with the capacity to run the newly made parts which were about to begin coming off the assembly line in . Once this process began, it would not cease again for at least four hundred years, assuming no further technological developments. Either way this would be fast enough to save the day as far as global pollution was concerned. It took merely one month for Geyldian to vet the various shipping companies, a veritable sprint of a decision by Devine standards. The parts would firstly be shipped to OFFright. Calculations and data had shown that the reactor on board this vessel would give up the ghost first, by a very small margin, but that set the priority. For around two hundred years at the initial rate, parts would be sent around the globe to a very remote part of the ocean over a thousand miles south of Japan. For the longest time both Central and OFFright had been situated well away from man, only in the last fifty years had mankind's endless wandering brought them dangerously close to both the buried vessels. Secure in the knowledge that neither could be discovered, but greatly perturbed by the possibility that Caddy could be seen by the naked eye, leaving the sea off the coast in both Florida and

the tiny island of Rota, they would need to exercise more caution than before. Rota was an island formed by volcanic activity, laying on one of the many fault lines which formed the ring of fire around the Pacific. Rising sea levels at the decline of the last ice-age had isolated the island for thousands of years. The island also lay very close to some of the deepest water on the planet. OFFright had entered the Earth’s atmosphere at a very shallow angle, slightly ahead of Central, her braking thrusters had taken slightly longer to fire, this was the main reason the hulking Ark ship had pulled so far away from Central after leaving the hyperspace conduit. It was fair to say both ships had been momentarily distracted by the sight of their third sister ship Mona. As the moon had been liquified by the arrival of the conduit, both ships had watched helplessly as Mona ditched into the molten lunar surface. In a strange twist of fate, it was Mona who was travelling the fastest at the point of impact. Having had zero warning of her fast approaching fate, the almost molten surface of the moon had allowed her the softest landing of the three ships. Mona entered the molten crust like a large calibre, high velocity round. Just six Kilometres of adjustment would have seen her merely grazing her plating on the lunar surface before crashing to Earth with her sisters. The huge size of the ship had ejected vast amounts of molten moon rock into space. Luckily, Mona had emerged somewhat unscathed out of the other side, but not completely. The only drawback being that once the conduit vanished behind them, with her main thrusters still offline, the moon rock quickly re solidified in the coldness of space, entombing the hulk forever, sealing most of the lower hangar entrances shut. Mona's insides required a complete refit, without any human or Thrall assistance. It had taken two thousand years to re-route essential systems, remove bulkheads, and make all the required reinforcements. Finally, the new hangar and runway tunnel was finished. The runway tunnel ran from the new entrance in the nose of the ship, through the heart of the ship, all the way to the original hangers. This was essential work, as Mona had far more fuel left in her reactor, and far more Caddy in her hangers. The fate of OFFright was lucky compared to her Moon bound sister, as she had most time of all to prepare for impact. So shallow was her angle of entry into the

atmosphere, that she had swung round half the planet, with her breaking thrusters firing hard. Finally she splashed down into the sea before skimming across the surface of the water for over 200 Kilometres. OFFright finally slid to a stop on dunes forming the foothills of a mountain island, now named Rota. This was yet another stroke of luck, the alternative might have led OFFright to sink into a deep ocean trench. One of the smallest landmasses on Earth, Rota had in times past been somewhat larger. Roughly thirty kilometers west of the island lay a submerged volcano. The crater and cone of the volcano were enormous, at least five kilometres across and ten kilometers long. Thankfully the volcano had remained inactive the whole time OFFright had been resting on the shallow south western slopes. With no humans in any direction, the Devine, their clones and Novus, aided by four legions of Ninurtan warriors, all made the best time they could to ensure the ship was hidden. Many millennia later, the Earth had done a much better job, as the rising ocean and crustal shift had covered the ship far more thoroughly. The leviathan now lay submerged in around six hundred meters of water. Geyldian had accomplished great things too; recruiting the largest private ships he could find for the transportation of the new reactor parts had been no small task. It had taken Oxull roughly six hundred years to fully interpret the blueprints for the original reactors which were identical on all three ships. It took the same time again for the engineer to redesign the new housings, a moot point considering it had been a further five millennia before the humans had proven capable to make the parts. All but a few of the humans who were assisting Geyldian from inside his human network, had any inkling of what they would be used for. For too long Geyldian had not really checked his operation in the Mediterranean. He was reminded of a message from his agent in Constantinople. Thumbing through the papers in his pockets, he found the piece of paper. It read:Marcus is intending to retire, has found a partner to hand over business. Marcus states the new Captain is more than reliable, he served alongside him on his first boat. Hand over will be in three years.

-Hmmm, that’s odd. Marcus had given a reference for his replacement... -But he’d be older than Marcus, or at least the same age. Geyldian’s suspicions were raised, quickly he sorted through the papers, spilling them onto his bureau. Arranging them into date order, Geyldian became filled with urgency. Some of these notes were over sixty years old. -How could I let this happen? ... Dammit! Another note read:Guillermo, after all my long years of service, it is my intention to hand over duties to my son. Morty, continues to ship the parts satisfactorily and is still requesting a meeting with you. This note was dated roughly thirty years after this Morty character took over from Marcus, 1633. -That’s impossible, he’d be over a hundred years old. All the notes after this date were written in the hand of the well-dressed son and appeared to continue to heap praise on Morty. Then another note read:Guillermo. Captain Morty has announced his intention to the business on soon. It is out of the blue but his daughter Acacia and her fiancé Louis will run the Företaget shipping company in trust for the next five years, before full handover. Morty is moving on ... The date on this note was 1690, the year was now 1697. This was an unmitigated disaster, the shipping task had changed hands twice and no one had been vetted by him ... -Moving on? ... By the ancients ... What does that mean? I will have to go to Constantinople and sort this mess out or Aelren will have my blue hide.

Chapter 25 - The Second goes fishing.

THE OLD CLONE HAD JUMPED to Constantinople, dropping everything to meet the well-dressed son, together both made their way to visit the old office which Marcus used to run his business from. To his great shock, the man now sitting at Marcus' desk was a young man, in his late thirties; exactly as the old sea captain's successor had been described. All sorts of thoughts were running through Geyldian’s head at this point. Only the well-dressed son laid his fear to rest. "Good afternoon Louis, we're sorry to call a meeting at such short notice. I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to your client." "Hello sir, we've waited a long time to meet you, I'm honoured to get this opportunity, just a few minutes more and Acacia should be with us." Geyldian, with his heart now beating more steadily, moved forward to shake Louis' hand, stooping somewhat to do so, he asked... "So, Guido tells me you've been running the Företaget shipping company for seven years now, is everything running smoothly? Certainly, I have no complaints from our side, I wish all our projects ran as well. I'm very keen to know more about your boss, the owner. I'm aware you are in a period of probation." "Well you know, I am new at this, even now after these last years I am still learning the ropes of the business. Acacia is trying her best to teach me; she has spent many more years with our boss than I have." "You mean her father?" "Well in fact, he is not Acacia's father, he, er ... How you say ... Ah yes, he adopted her. Acacia was an orphan from Alexandria, Garic ... I mean Morty! ... saved her from drowning. She has lived with him ever since, apart from the last eight years obviously. "Ah I see, so your boss is called Garic?" Even as he was answering in the affirmative, Louis knew he had blundered massively. Garic’s real name was one of his biggest secrets; very few people

knew this detail about the man who rarely used a name at all. Whilst Louis was not privy to every detail, he was keen to make a good impression, but remained mindful that he had to protect Acacia’s father. He didn’t know much in reality, the man was kind enough to take him straight off a French navy ship, and saw something in him. After a very short time Garic had made him a ship's captain, this was many years before. Until the meeting in Crete, Louis had been operating one of the fleet's boats in the territory above Spain. As soon as Louis had been promoted to the Företaget III, his boss had left them both in Alexandria. It had been almost five years and six months since Acacia's father sent his last letter; delivered into her hands by the new brotherhood. Louis appeared to be visibly conflicted, alerting Geyldian to keep the conversation light. This didn’t stop him plunging into Louis' head, everything he had said was truthful ... Louis did not know much. At least Geyldian had gathered a face to put with the name from Louis' memory. So diverted had Geyldian’s attention been by recent events in the Middle East and the Western Pacific, that he never even realised that the Brotherhood had been completely born again. Strangely the first hiccups after sixty years of plain sailing had started almost at the same time as Garic had dropped the Företaget shipping company in his ward’s lap. Geyldian now wondered if these events weren't some form of sabotage by Garic. Quickly finding his rationality, Geyldian realised this couldn’t be the case. Why would Garic spend more than fifty years of his life transporting parts across the Mediterranean, only then to begin halting proceedings? It made no sense, nor did the age of this man. From Louis, he could see that following the current trend, Garic wore a thickly curled grey wig, but the image of the face did not fit grey hair or a man who must by now be well over one hundred years of age. Maybe somewhere in the mix, the original successor to Marcus had also transferred the business to another younger man, but had chosen not to inform the well-dressed son. This would have been a breach of the few contractual . Shaking his head ... Impossible, the well-dressed son would surely have noticed ... Knock Knock!

Acacia knocked out of respect, hearing the voices talking inside; Louis wasted no time in introducing her to their client who towered a clear two feet above all of them. Acacia's mind was closed, only very fragmented images of her father, right from her rescue to the current day. -Nothing but a jumble of indecipherable images, Garic in a wig, with a beard, or a deep red Mediterranean tan, and a host of other false add-ons. He seems to enjoy using copious amounts of Talcum to conceal his true age, but the eyes don't lie ... He is clearly much younger than he lets on. Despite all his attempts to cover, he is much the same as Louis. Geyldian decided he was getting nowhere, he had to provoke a reaction, anything from Acacia. "So Acacia, exactly how old is your father? I only ask because I hired Marcus almost seventy years ago, I'd guess he was in his middle sixties at the time. I saw him a short time after his retirement, such a lovely villa in the mountains. He confirmed what Guido's father told me, that he had worked with his successor whilst he was still a cabin boy back in the 1560's. You see where I'm going with this don't you? You know something about who Garic really is ... Don't you?" With an expression like ice, Acacia replied with such ferocity that Geyldian was left clear in the knowledge that Garic had taught her well how to protect herself and his interests. "It strikes me as funny sir; that a man such as yourself, who only seeks to do business from the shadows, so valuable is your secrecy, would at the same time desire to know all things about those who only seek to help and serve your cause. My father is an honourable man, the best. He worked faultlessly for you for over five decades, hoping above all else to gain an audience with you. Why? I will never tell you, though I do know you would be well advised to look him up somewhere in the South China Sea, he knows a great deal more than you ever told anyone about those parts. I don't need to say anything else. I can see you are already curious; so go and find him. He wants you to ... He's waiting." Louis and the well-dressed son, Yahya, were left ashen faced at the audacity and almost rudeness with which Acacia addressed their client. This was bad for business, or so they thought. All the time though, subconsciously Geyldian had

still been trying to crack her mind. Whilst he had gathered a few more facts about her, enough to confirm every word was the absolute truth; he had gotten no further with the issue of Garic. Only images from her childhood and a sky full of stars, which looked to be in the western quadrant as viewed from Earth, at a latitude which appeared to indicate Acacia was in the Mediterranean when she made the image. "Well OK then my girl, I can sense you wish to protect your father. I have to assume you have a good reason. You’re not lying ... I can tell. I suppose the last questions I have are ... Where can I find him? And will you accompany me for a drink?" Now Louis' ears were wide open again and pricked, his eyes fixated on the tall client. Was he trying to steal his fiancée? “Nothing like that Louis, but I should like to get to know the new head of the business better. It’s all routine I assure you. I am rarely around. When I am, I prefer to do business personally if I can.” Acacia agreed and the pair left Louis and Yahya in the office to vent their disbelief. Once on the street, Geyldian was a perfect gentleman. Taking Acacia’s hand in his own, they walked towards the harbour where the Företaget III was moored, waiting for her next cargo. "The stars, you have a vivid memory of them, but only one image, you're not an astronomer ... Not even as a hobby. So why is this memory so strong in your mind?" "How could you know about that, if you weren't such a friendly man, I'd be scared. I guess I can give you that ... Garic ... My father showed me one particular cluster of stars, and he told me a story. That's as much as I can tell you, if only because he is desperate to tell you himself. He's known about you for a long time, he is like you." "Why Acacia, whatever do you mean?" "My father knows the parts are for a ship, but not a sailing ship ... How does he know this you might ask? Then there is the way you are so huge, and when the

sun hits you just right, your skin shines the brightest blue, despite all the talcum powder you use on your face. I'd say that your hair is not really black either ... You can draw your own conclusions. I am not an idiot, neither is Garic. Compared to anyone else I've ever met, he's a genius, who understands much with very little learning required." "My dear ... Would you mind stopping for a moment?" With this the pair stopped at the head of a quiet side street, smiling gently Geyldian requested that Acacia not worry. Placing his hands either side of her temple, he was able, very gently to break her mental strength and gain a much clearer image of the stars. He was living the memory as Acacia had, watching Garic point to the exact star, and he heard as Garic then told his daughter that even this star was not his home. With this information, Geyldian quickly pulled back to his own mind, they were starting to attract attention. Several men who recognised Acacia were becoming of a mind to step in and were asking if she needed assistance. She was a strong girl, who simply smiled back to them and signalled that she was fine. She then looked Geyldian in the eyes ... "Thank you for not taking anything more." "You won't tell anyone what you know will you, about the parts or myself?" "Please ... Your kind of secret I can keep even while sleeping; your secret is no different to my father's, no one can know. Yahya, the well-dressed son, is he connected to you?" "You could say that yes. We keep a network of human helpers because we are few and cannot manage everything ourselves, even though we are far advanced of your kind. Yahya's family has been in our network for over one hundred generations, they are loyal beyond compare." “How can I become a part of this network? I would like to continue to be of use, to both of you ... I’m sure by now you trust that I can keep a secret.” “Very much so ... Let me think about it ... I warn you, that could take some time, as busy as I am. If I find Garic quickly, we will return to you quickly and I will make a decision.”

With this Geyldian thanked Acacia for her time, it had been years since his last visit back to Central ... Maybe now is the right time for a catch up with Aelren and my brothers? Once out of the main bustle of the town and seeing himself to be alone in the shadow of a mosque, Geyldian jumped. Once back at Central, aware of his arrival and his reasons, it did not take long for Aelren, Leren and Ra’sian to him ...

Chapter 26 - Come in Number Two ...

AELREN SPOKE FIRST. -Geyldian, long time brother. You have something on your mind. -Yes Aelren, I think I found an immortal human being, except he may not be human at all. Ra'sian can you process the image I am sending you now? Find out what star system is being pointed to, and what lies behind this, further out. Get help from the other colonies if you need it. Leren how is it possible for a man to live for 130 years, just in case. -It is just barely possible, some Japanese people have proven to be adept at living well into a second century, even so 130 years is a long time. -Well this man is easily that old, but still has the look of a thirty year old. -30 year old you say ... Aelren! ... It must be him. Leren was visibly excited. Geyldian having been off Central for so long, whilst barely communicating at all, had no clue what Leren was talking about. It was left to the calm Prime to explain everything. -Him ... Who? -Back in 1563, a craft crashed out of hyperspace, much as we did. We have the whole ship put back together in hangar five, and found five crew with the wreckage. They were all dismembered by the ship when it decompressed and broke apart at high altitude. The pieces landed in the English Channel and the Nordic sea, but we never found the pilot. -Well there is a good chance he’s been transporting our parts to Alexandria for the last sixty years, and he's wanted a meeting for nearly that long also. -So are you bringing him in? -I don't know where he is now; he ed our business on to his heir about seven years ago so he could chase me. Having no information to go on, he's trying to follow the parts, his daughter claims he is somewhere in the South China Sea.

-Find him, he won't find you, if that's as far as he's got, he's a way off finding OFFright. Track him down Geyldian. There was strong evidence to suggest that his people were also fighting the Khai-mah. At this news, Geyldian became unsteady, Garic had just won himself top spot on the Seconds priority list. If what Aelren was saying was even remotely true, they had to get together. Garic would be a useful ally, indeed he may have valuable information regarding the technology the Khai-mah were now using. It wasn't long before Ra'sian had isolated the star which Garic had been showing to Acacia. -The star would appear to be Almeisam, in the Gemini cluster. Not all that far away. -OK that's good, but that is only the last star which the pilot ed ing directly before crashing here hours later. -I will add this to Geberus' list of tasks, I do not hold out much hope of getting anything back though. As you are aware we came from an opposite sector entirely, we never made it that far. Not many of us made it even this far and only two ships from a different group went any further. I believe they were the Golath and stellar refinery number three, the Massine. They settled the new Devine Prime, but that's at least twenty-five vectons towards Algol. -So Leren, have we any way to track him down? By all s he's a big man, well built. -Over six and a half feet tall and in his prime you might say?... -Yes, that's the impression I get from everyone who's seen him. Ra’sian interjected now ... -Well sorry no there isn't, essentially, they could be from the other side of the universe, but they are genetically indistinct from humans. Geberus and I developed a sniffer to try and track the residue particles of the Khai hyperspace drive, but the tests on the dead crew proved inconclusive. If you couldn't put the sniffer on his flesh, there would be slim chance of detecting him.

-I see, that's not promising then ... -Well there was one last thing, but it's only really of any interest to me, as a doctor. To the rest of you it will just seem odd. I had the samples from the dead crew put into stasis pods, pending any reply from our sister colonies as to their origins. We have not had any replies. That’s no surprise given what Ra'sian just told us; but the thing was, the Novus who transferred the stasis pod to storage inadvertently interrupted the power supply, switching the pod off. I realised years later when I went to collect samples to run some more tests. I was shocked to find that instead of the decayed, rotting remains of flesh I might have found, given the lack of stasis, the limbs were still in pristine condition. No sign of decay whatsoever. In fact if I had to note any observations at all, I'd say some of the limbs at least showed signs of post mortem growth. Make no mistake, I'm not saying they can fuse back together to make a whole body again, or that each limb will grow into a new individual, but at a cellular level, I could find signs of new cells on the wounded tissue and broken bones. Some extra healing capacity or regenerative capability may have been present. I can only think that if the bodies had not been completely dissected in the crash, some of them may have healed and swam for shore. I cannot speculate how long this process takes or if it's even possible without oxygen or food, which is probably why the limbs stopped growing in the pod, they ran out of fuel to make new cells. Aelren found all this to be highly interesting, but being old with more tasks to do and only less time to do those tasks in, the Prime first grew weary, then quickly advanced to impatient ... -So ... In conclusion Leren?... -Sorry Prime ... I believe there is strong evidence to suggest that the crew were cloned. Two of the crew certainly appeared at first to be related, but their DNA under further scrutiny was almost identical. Genetic twins from a natural birth would be far more different. These two appear to have been cut from the same cloth at least. We ourselves are clones, it's not beyond the bounds of possibility that other species elsewhere have the same technology. If they were a peaceful race, suddenly attacked by the Khai-mah, can you think of a better way to make an army? Grow them and hard wire them, program them if you will, with traits and skills they would need to fight and survive. -So we're looking for a super soldier?

-So we’re looking for a super soldier? The hive was in full effect as the Second and the Watcher asked the same question, in unison. Leren was hard pushed to answer. -Well that depends upon how well he’s adapted to life here on Earth and whether any of the more peaceful traits from his species were instilled in him. He was born to fight in all probability, but that doesn't mean he can't be peaceful if the circumstances are favourable. With this Geyldian had all the information he needed to begin tracking Garic. If he were truly trying to follow the parts to their eventual destination at OFFright, he'd be struggling against a dead end. The boats Geyldian was using for these purposes would all pull into an inlet on an island to the south of Rota called Guam. This Island was larger and the offshore currents were far more suitable for mooring. Guam had also been colonised long enough to be useful to a ship for restocking with food and water, medicine and such like. As the boats were moored in the largest inlet on Guam's western coast, as instructed to do so, Thrall would approach in Caddy and set up a light fog bank comprised of an anaesthetic gas. This would not actively paralyse the crews, but it would allow them to get the best night’s sleep during the whole voyage. They would wake up in the morning refreshed, the captain would give the order to set sail and homeward bound they would be, with an empty cargo hold. Thrall were normally discreet, and quiet, but humans could be unpredictable and were prone to wandering about at night. The light anaesthetic was just easier, then the clumsy little grey clones could get to work. A Caddy round trip of two hundred miles was acceptable, endless trips around the globe were not. For some time Geyldian exchanged pleasantries with the other Numbers, after all it had been over a century since his last visit back to Central, and none of them, least of all Geyldian knew when he would make it back again. For a few hours, the pressure was off, the Second planned to enjoy this short respite. Jumping next to OFFright, this was where he planned to stay for the few days it would take the Soleil Royale to reach the mooring point in Guam. Whilst on the sunken leviathan, which was identical in every way to Central, Geyldian took the time to inspect the reactor core. Oxull ed him especially to apprise him of the situation. Everything was stable for now, there had not been any accidents since

the last one, roughly seven years ago. Though the reactors had not produced ions for propulsion since the leviathans had crashed, the heat produced in the reactors was harnessed and converted into power. This required the flux coils to be operated to sustain maximum pressure, thus ion production was very low, conversely the heat being generated was high. A weakening in one of these flux coils had led to one of the many reactor cells to overheat. A relative term considering the thousands of degrees they were required to operate at every hour of every day. This had led to a small breach of ions from the affected reactor core cell. No structural damage resulted. When engineering Novus realised what was happening they did not try to adjust the flux, they simply increased the circulation of the cooling circuit, effectively venting the excess heat into the sea. Whilst this process stabilised the reactor until the coil could be adjusted, had the Novus stopped to think for a few seconds longer, or maybe if Oxull had been present to guide them; then they would not have taken this course of action. So much heat dissipated into the ocean so rapidly, caused the water to vaporise instantly, sending immense plumes of bubbles rising to the surface. An unfortunate event, considering one of Geyldian’s ships had been returning from off-loading in Guam. The ship's route had ed directly over OFFright, leading to the ship being lost in a raging torrent of foaming hot water. More bubble than fluid, the water became incapable of providing floatation for the ship. The vessel had been lost in seconds with all hands lost. Geyldian had not been happy when Oxull, who insisted on breaking the news himself, apprised him of the circumstances of the accident. This was the first total loss of a boat engaged in the service of transporting the reactor parts. Even though the parts were safely in the hangar being assembled, Geyldian’s feeling of loss was very real, extending further than the parts. The Novus on both the crashed ships, none of whom knew the maverick clone in person, all had some very strange ideas as to Geyldian's persona. Some felt he had the humans mesmerised under hypnosis to do his bidding, others preferred the version where he ruled them like hordes of minions. In reality neither was possible, or required. Geyldian knew the best way to deal with humans was peaceful communication,

or havoc would follow. During this process, the second in command would form great friendships. The ship’s captains, predominantly older gentlemen who appreciated the fine brandies which Geyldian would lavish upon them, were easy choices for Geyldian to assume as his friends. They were happy men, full of appreciation for life. Being happiest working hard, these men inspired Geyldian to keep going, that all his toil was for something achievable. Spending time with the salty old sea captains gave Geyldian a chance to disengage his intellectual brain, and simply tag along, enjoying the endless wind and waves. A chance to forget about the parts below him in the hold. After so long amongst the humans, the loss of one of his friends would cause a common emotional response, one Geyldian always succumbed to in private. As alien as Geyldian was, his half human side was vastly more prevalent given his circumstances topside. If any of the Novus had witnessed such a human emotion from one of their highest supervisors, it would have been damaging to his reputation. If one of the other Numbers, or Aelren had seen him, he would have been recalled back to Central instantly. The problem with this was that on board Central, Geyldian did not have any special skills at all. His knowledge of humans, their world and their interactions, and how to manipulate them with peaceful means; that was Geyldian's skill. He did not have the medical or scientific knowledge of Leren or Geberus, nor could he really follow the maze of engineering phrases when Oxull talked. At best he might have made a better than useful assistant for Ra'sian. In truth, Geyldian had suffered through the flush of knowledge shortly after his 21st birthday, right on schedule, but being in a small encampment with his father, he had neither the need nor the opportunity to really use or explore the knowledge. In most other clones this was their chance to choose which field they would follow. Geyldian was ed by his father, who was vastly more experienced and wise, until he ed away. This only reduced his chances to explore the knowledge for a useful purpose. His father knew that Geyldian was not developing as he should have been, this was the chief reason why he gave his son the coordinates of his old vessel, Central, telling him to look up Aelren and explain who he was.

Having accomplished this goal, the youngling then spent Fifteen hundred years butting heads with Aelren, regarding his maverick behaviour. Geyldian’s frustration at Aelren’s manner and style, hammered the final nail into the coffin of Geyldian’s lack of appreciation for the knowledge he’d inherited. The only role which Geyldian was really suited to, guaranteed he would leave Central to cultivate the humans for the interests of the old clones. That said, by his endless good management of the topside chaos, Geyldian had risen to the role of second in command, and his character was usually robust enough to get over the bad days very quickly. Aelren for the most part, now had complete and total faith in his right hand clone, and was well aware that the situation on the two crashed ships. There was only light at the end of the tunnel, because Geyldian had made it back to them. It was his connection to the humans and his sole, focused effort, which would allow his contemporaries to mend their dying ships. The week spent on OFFright was completely uneventful, Geyldian was happy for this. The time had allowed him to formulate a plan, and then a backup plan. His information from Acacia showed that Garic had finally given up shipping parts across the Mediterranean to chase them, following his curiosity, hopefully towards the aliens who needed the parts. As such Geyldian would put himself like a brick wall in front of Garic, such that both their paths would be sure to cross. However, the Devinely cloned qualities of planning and consideration, almost hardwired into him, compelled Geyldian to cover any situation where Garic failed to materialise before him. In this instance, if Garic was not on the Soleil Royale, a French boat originally, then he would have just shy of another month to wait before the Galleon Madre Estrella would arrive in Guam. Both these ships were large but still, they were dwarfed by the Padre Eterno which had been in Guam just over three weeks before and was an immense sailing ship, making the other two look like toys. Since her new captain had converted her back to her original cargo set up, having the capacity for two thousand Tons in her holds, she was truly under utilised. On this current mission however, the ship was infinitely reliable. In the unlikely event that Garic was not on any of the ships, Geyldian would then

make his way to Safaga, Garic apparently had set roots there for more than two years. There was a slim chance he may rest up there to re-evaluate his efforts when the dead ends in Guam continued to present themselves. Beyond this Geyldian would be reduced back to square one. If he sensed a clue in some other direction, Garic could have left the ship he was on, in any port they moored at. If this happened, Garic would become a needle in the proverbial haystack ... The half human hybrid kicked himself again, ing the time he'd wasted, cooped up inside various captains aft quarters, mentally unburdening himself and enjoying fine Brandy. -If only I had taken a step outside onto the decks, ... I might have bumped into Garic there and then. Thinking to himself the many ways Aelren would have chewed him out for revealing himself publicly, Geyldian reached for his Italian globe drinks cabinet and flipped open the northern hemisphere. Reaching inside Geyldian availed himself of a half-finished bottle of French Brandy. With snifter in one hand and the bottle in the other, Geyldian raised the bottle and clenched the cork between his teeth. Spitting the cork back into the cabinet, he proceeded to pour himself a conciliatory measure. Two fingers ought to do it. He was however prepared to be wrong and left the cork out of the bottle ...

Chapter 27 - The chase continues.

IN THE TEN YEARS SINCE his meeting with Alwyn at his factory on the outskirts of Munich, Garic had barely stopped moving. Firstly he had walked for two months to reach his office in Constantinople, sadly just too late to speak face to face with Acacia and Louis, who were most probably a few days out of Alexandria. Then Garic had set off on a different tack. For several years he had been a captain's mate aboard the Padre Eterno. In that time his captain had never acted at all suspiciously. Garic ed his first voyage back at sea after a prolonged absence wandering aimlessly around Europe. His captain and friend of decades before, Marcus, had spent half the voyage at least, below deck checking the cargo in the hold. Garic had always been sure that this was a ruse and that Marcus had in fact been meeting with the tall client below deck. Yet in all the runs Garic had performed himself, the Tall Client had never called to check. He imagined the tall client was infinitely absorbed by all the other things he must be trying to accomplish. Garic had taken some time to reflect on things, and spent two years walking as he had always wanted to do, along the silk trade route to China. During this time, Garic had reached several logical conclusions. The first was simple, the Tall Client must be very old, much older even than him. This was obvious from his conversation with Alwyn who had mentioned that the Tall Client had visited not only his father, but his father and even the two generations further back than that. Secondly, whatever it was that the Tall Client was organising must've been on a truly massive scale in order to take such a long time in the execution. This alluded to the size of the vessel, so many parts being shipped over decades with no sign of stopping. Clearly the race occupying the craft was a typical space faring species, with no plans for conquest, they were probably explorers and observers. Garic was sure that however these aliens arrived on Earth, it would not have been for the same reasons which brought him here. Thirdly, was the single mindedness of any race who would plan something in such minute detail ... Not to mention patience. The whole feat was woven around the capabilities of the humans in order to achieve success. They had to wait for

humans to find materials, then invent technology for blending and refining, may still might not be up to their standards. Then they needed means for molding, handling, and transporting them also. Humans were inquisitive and inventive, but technologically they weren't even close to being able to repair even his small ship ... An interstellar leviathan ... They had no chance. The Fourth was that whilst their ship was huge, it must have been incredibly well hidden. Garic ed that when he had been crew aboard the Företaget, he often used to see lights in the sky. Back then with none of his memories, he was as naive as the rest of them. It had taken a free thinking genius to unlock his memories initially, and then his strict policy of writing the things he ed and learned, down in his diaries. Briefly Garic considered the ship may not be a single huge ship, but a cluster of many smaller vessels. He quickly dismissed this as being unlikely. As he had been crashing down to Earth, his breaking thrusters had been firing hard, if his hull plating had not been damaged in the wake of a Khai-Mah hyperspace drive, he may have been able to bring his craft to rest on dry land. Garic appreciated with hind sight, landing might have caused more problems than it solved. The humans were always looking for a leg up the ladder, and the most powerful of them, were always looking for a short cut. He was sure that the humans did not have the capacity for space travel yet within their minds, most had still not embraced the fact that the Earth was round. There was no edge to fall off, and no void they could fall into. Garic also considered the fact that Alwyn was not the only metallurgist in the employ of the Tall Client, maybe he had several men all making parts which were all going to different places. This thought was quickly dismissed also, after Garic considered the path the current parts were taking from Alwyn in Munich right around the globe to somewhere in the South China Sea. It would make perfect sense that if there were multiple steel makers around the civilised world, some would be nearer to the parts ultimate destination than Alwyn was. The current way, while very well organised, was a logistical nightmare. If there was an easier choice, the assumption was that the Tall Client would not have to keep things so complicated. Certainly, the fewer people in his employ, the easier concealment would be.

Whilst pondering these and a great many other things, upon his arrival within China, Garic had held as close to the coast as he could. He deliberately chose to walk between all the ports and smaller harbours where he knew the Padre Eterno moored overnight. Two times in the last year of his hike he had even been lucky enough to spot his old ship moored. The last time was a little over eight years ago, the old captain was beginning to look frail, most of the crew looked different and operations did not look so well ordered as he ed them to be. For a short time he thought about having another go at riding the parts to their destination, but he had made countless voyages on the Padre Eterno, and countless times he had come up empty handed. All the time spent had only been worth it as far as gaining the trust of his captain, which enabled Garic to have that final conversation with him in Safaga. That was just over a decade ago, and even with that knowledge, Garic was no closer. Once in China, Garic started getting to know some of the ports, and the boats which frequented them. Taking up residence above a tavern, he also spent much time at the bar getting to know boat captains and various crews, eventually using his wealth to buy one particular boat and hire a crew. Garic considered that despite his endless failures, there was still something to be learnt in Guam, the knotted feeling in his guts could not be ignored. He just had to approach the problem from another angle. Maybe on another boat, he could approach the problem sideways and achieve his goals more easily. More than any other island he had ever encountered in the Mediterranean, Guam was capable of very changeable weather, but was usually subject to two distinct seasons. A dry summer and a wet winter. Also typhoons were a constant threat at the changes in these two seasons, and they made storm in the Mediterranean look timid. Whilst serving aboard the Padre Eterno, most evenings while the vessel had been moored in the bay, Garic had usually witnessed the fog as it rolled in, engulfing the ship with great speed. Strange because the incidence of clouds in the region, outside of the tropical typhoon season was next to nil, yet almost every night his ship had been moored there, this thick dense fog bank had cloaked the ship. Fog so thick that you

would not be able to see the mizzen mast from the stern of the ship. In truth most sailors had taken to getting off the boats and going to the local tavern, it was only a short trip by rowing boat. Once the fog hit, most sailors daren't risk this short row boat trip, for fear of becoming disoriented and rowing further out to sea. Instead, all there was to do was sleep, which always came easier than most other nights. The fog acted like a thick downy blanket, tucking the ship into its billowing folds. Even the men supposed to stay on the deck all night to keep watch for pirates, would succumb to slumber. Captain Oliviero even docked the sailors wages for sleeping at their posts. Garic always suspected the captain knew that the sailors had no real choice in the matter. Garic determined that he would sail his boat to the same bay, it would be his first visit, outside the employ of the Tall Client. He would moor his boat within the harbour and watch from the shore as the Soleil Royale, the Madre Estrella and then the hulking Padre Eterno arrived at the bay, one by one, all one month apart, and all on schedule. This way, Garic would be assured of the truth, The ship Garic shelled out his hard earned cash for was a Chinese designed Junk. Almost forty years old and yet comparatively, compared to the tall ships of Europe, which he was used to sailing; both the sail design and even the hull design were more advanced. Lateral bulkheads were employed to form water tight compartments, adding strength and making the ship less likely to sink completely if holed. The Chinese had, since 400BC been travelling huge distances at sea, and were also the first to have a functioning Navy with ships specifically designed for battle at sea. His Junk also had a much more streamlined keel design and made good time despite her rear heavy appearance. Employing only a skeleton crew for the running of the boat, her smaller size did not need many sailors, Garic had gotten to know all the men he’d employed very well over the last two years. All were solid workers, of robust character, but more importantly, they were all familiar with the route to, and waters around, Guam. His first mate was a man called Lei by birth, joking that his cries must've truly bellowed for his parents to name him thunder, but over time the men who all worked under him, began to call him Jinhai, which meant Golden Sea. Jinhai

was the previous captain of the junk on which they now sailed, before Garic had made him a very generous offer for her, and allowed him to maintain a position aboard. Why not? Jinhai was a fine sailor and captain, he had a reputation for reading the weather and avoiding danger with amazing reliability. Garic had made the decision to buy Jinhai's junk above the others he’d vetted, because Jinhai had experience. He followed many routes around the pacific rim, but nearly all ended in Guam, this was his terminus. Jinhai was also more than familiar with the mysterious fog, as such his new first mate was able to clear up a few of Garic's questions for him regarding this matter. Jinhai stated that the fog behaved like no other he had ever witnessed, anywhere else in the Pacific. He was adamant the fog was not formed by descending clouds. There were clouds in this region, in fact even during the summer months, the sky could be full of clouds, but these clouds would not even be low enough to scrape the top of Mount Lamlam, let alone descending to form fog on the sea. According to Jinhai's observations, the fog didn’t roll in from the sea either. Nor was it an effect of thermal boundaries resulting from the cooler ocean air meeting warmer island air in the evening, as the island effectively radiated it's daytime heat back into the night. “NO Morty, the fog is localised. It appears instantly, and only around certain boats which pull into the bay roughly one month apart.” Jinhai was specific and his description was clear. His next words shocked even Garic, as his first mate went on to describe the mode by which the fog would appear ... “This fog is not natural Morty, it simply rise from sea. It engulf ship in bubble twice size of ship ... Then ship invisible from shore and sea. Not even deck lamps escape fog.” Garic was first struck with disbelief at Jinhai's claims, before the Chinaman went on to elaborate. The deal whereby Garic purchased the ageing junk from Jinhai was effectively sealed, as the Captain continued. “I watch from my own junk one night. Fog rise from water under largest ship, engulfing it within minutes. I was moored less than twenty chains away. The night was clear and full of stars, the Moon was low on the horizon. One ship was

huge, looming over my little junk. I was walking down my deck, I like to check the rigging when things are quiet. I spot pod of dolphins ing between us in water, but they are spooked. Like they want to grow legs and get out of water. Several objects were moving around down there underneath us. The sea was like glass but dolphin all scatter. I swear to you Morty, they were bouncing along the surface of the water, they did not want to go below.” Jinhai continued, stating that his eyes were drawn back to the huge ship before him, as in the dark, illuminated only by the full moon, three groups of dim lights appeared to move to a position below the keel of the ship. The Chinaman watched as within seconds of the lights becoming stationary, the fog began to rise quickly and silently from the sea, directly underneath the vessel. As he had previously mentioned, the boat was completely cloaked from view within five minutes for sure, quickly, but not so quickly that the sailors ever considered the fog's arrival to be unnatural. Jinhai also reported that the voices of the crew, sometimes raised in merriment as the ship seemed to have a very flamboyant captain, would then fall silent as a ghost ship within a further five minute period. While the fog bank remained localised around the ship, Jinhai's junk had been moored so closely that it had almost drifted into the fog on her anchor line. The detail in Jinhai's showed Garic one thing. As detailed as his plans were, the tall alien orchestrator could not plan for everything. On this particular night, the vessel had been backlit by the low moon. Cloaked, with only her crow's nest poking out of the fluffy ball of fog, shadowy shapes could sometimes be seen circling the vessel ... "... But shadows never once breached cloak of fog. The fog was dazzle of colours, yellows, pinks, greens and blues, all flashing alternately in three distinct groups, all moving independently at deck height." The only sounds Jinhai reported hearing from the fog bank were the deck lid which covered the cargo hold sliding open, and something else which he had great trouble describing to Garic. Words failed him so instead, his first mate took to describing the noises by demonstrating them directly. What followed was a series of clicks, chirps and occasional yip noise, like the bark of a small dog. The fog would remain for three to five hours depending upon which vessel was being

engulfed, the Soleil Royale and the Madre Estrella were both smaller vessels than the Padre Eterno. As quickly as the fog came, so the duration which the fog would endure around the boat also seemed to be timed, never melting away before the lights had returned below the surface of the water. Jinhai's final observation came with a guarantee ... “Morning after, crew not rise before eleven bells. And they groggy. Captain give order to remove hold cover, upon inspection ... Hold always empty. After this, cover replaced, ship go home.” Garic had full recollection of these mornings. He also clearly ed the fogging events the night before. But as Jinhai described, he would soon be slumbering with the rest of the crew and retained no memories from these periods. Clearly there was a direct correlation between the fog engulfing the ships, and their crews all simultaneously being rendered unconscious. The key was Jinhai's testimony that the fog did not roll in naturally, but emerged around the boat, no matter where it's mooring point was in the bay. Intelligent fog made no sense ... No, this was something else entirely ... A sleeping gas. Garic's new Junk was no Företaget III and conditions aboard were both humble and cramped, but her progress was steady even in low wind. The sail configuration was more than adequate to provide good thrust. Leaving China from the port in Canton, Jinhai took great care with his navigation to miss the dangerous waters which lay in this whole area. To make matters worse it was late April and Jinhai was struggling with his celestial navigation. Usually he was more than competent, but his last few checks had been hampered by a form of mirage known as false horizon. This made alignment of his navigational tool, sketchy to say the least. In the day they were hampered further by reefs and atolls, which may have been raised by a strong storm or fast current in the days or weeks before. The danger being that these obstacles would come and go, without ever being marked on any map or chart. Jinhai positioned his best spotter on the bow. The man used a novel trick to spot atolls which may prove dangerous to the boat. Far from looking at the sea, instead he would examine the undersides of the clouds floating ahead of them.

Discoloured water surrounding an atoll, would be reflected on the underside of any cloud floating directly above. This effectively gave their small junk eyes in the sky as she made her way, and gave more warning than a man observing from the deck. Movement was not advised at in this area at night time, it was a good job Garic was not in a rush. All he had was time. Soon enough Jinhai had expertly guided the junk out into the open ocean, and as long as he did not approach land masses too closely he could be reasonably assured of the boat's safety. The sea bottom was highly irregular though, showing huge dark patches where deep channels carved downwards into trenches, lying beside clear blue waters which were no deeper than about forty fathoms. Soon even this boundary was ed, and with all sheets raised, a decent average speed was attained; Jinhai figured they were reliably making eighty nautical miles per day. The design of the sails was truly novel, being able to raise and lower individual sail s on bamboo slats which ran like ribs across each sail. This meant Jinhai had far more control over how much sail he could use in any given wind situation. In one interesting Anecdote, the first mate related to Garic the truly extraordinary scale of one iral Zheng-He’s flagship Junk, which tipped in at four hundred and forty feet in length. Garic could barely visualise what must have been a spectacularly huge wedge of wood, bedecked by seven masts. Suspended on the middle two was probably more sail than the Företaget III had in total sheet area. Garic tried to relate the concepts of airfoils to Jinhai, the principles of the slatted sails was certainly similar. Garic may as well have been speaking Zulu to his bewildered first mate, Jinhai did not understand. With the additional bamboo struts, the segmented sheets were much more taught, thus the sails could be turned to catch wind from any angle. This would be converted very efficiently into forward motion, even against the wind. At this rate, the junk was destined to take around thirty days to cover the two thousand one hundred and sixty seven nautical miles from Canton to reach Guam after all the earlier caution. Waiting was no obstacle to Garic, he was preoccupied by planning how to board

whichever of the Tall Client's boats pulled into the bay first. He was also plotting some device to allow him to approach the ship and remain immune to the sleeping fog which would almost certainly be shrouding the vessel. Garic was a strong swimmer, which was uncharacteristic of a sailor as most never bothered to learn. Garic used to swim to the time during periods of R & R. ittedly this was only in the earliest stages of the war, when Garic was infantry and all he had to do was fend off scouts and raiding parties. It was only after being promoted to fighter pilot that Garic saw a Khai leviathan in orbit for the first time. Within a few years, there were no more opportunities for rest or recreation, only active duty and sleep, stolen whenever he was not in the air ... Or space. A few long years after the escalation, there were few resorts left, most had been replaced by scorched. After all this time, Garic still enjoyed ing the four planets in his home system. So abundant with life, all had existed in complete harmony with their surroundings and each other. The problem with these moments was that he would eventually end up ing the event which sent him over the edge. After this Garic turned from a mere soldier who followed orders, to a blood thirsty, crazed lizard hunting and killing machine. After this, Garic would rather disobey an order to return to base, if it meant he could take down another lizard ship. After his family had been killed, Garic became devoid of all normal feelings and empathy, only living to fly and destroy. These were not happy memories, but without this period, he knew he would never have survived life, here on this little planet. This was another problem, he could not die, ergo he could no more kill himself than he could save his home system, but he could erase his memories. He could burn his diaries, before falling on his sword. In this way he could have been ignorant of all the events which carried him to the point of giving up. Thankfully Garic wasn’t prone to self-doubt or becoming fatally depressed; giving up was not in his nature, it never had been. Even as he was being dragged, helplessly against his will through endless parsecs of space, Garic's sights remained firmly focused on the Khai ship. IF they had dropped out of warp, even WITH his damaged hull plating, Garic WOULD have taken that ship and blown it to atoms.

Even now when the situation called for it, some of the fights Garic had been involved in, he still exhibited a cold streak a mile wide, the more heated and het up his opponents had become, the calmer, more detached, focused and deadly Garic became. He'd observed often, that in response to a deadly situation a human would exhibit a clear fight or flight response. No matter how tough or determined the human was, their resolve not to run would always be contrary to their nature. The physical symptoms of such resistance to this true nature would always give them away, sweating nervously, hitting out at in-opportune moments, the wrong punch, the wrong dodge. These would all play directly into Garic's hands as he observed, sensed, calculated, adjusted and then struck with devastating coldness. He didn't like to do it here on Earth, but the few times when he had needed to, Garic had found it easier to kill than he did to take a breath of air. His reluctance to kill was proven by the fact he had died twice as a result of his own minute losses of resolution in critical moments. Small failures to adjust or strategise could and had resulted in his own physical death. The difference being he was engineered to do nothing but fight and keep fighting with endless endurance. In the few cases of failure, regeneration ensured the fighting would never stop ever, until the battle was won. Garic could never have known, his childhood memories, and those of his family were all imprinted as he lay growing in his pod. The peaceful inhabitants of the three planets had cooperated fully in the production of their unified fighting force, after first with the Khai-mah. The three species just didn’t have the physicality to make any impact. With necessity being the driving factor of design, they spent enough time to ensure that their fighting force were ruthless killing machines, the very opposite of themselves. Even after all this effort, the principals of the planets had feared a revolt from their all-powerful fighting force. This could not be allowed, so memories were installed which invested them with an instinct to protect the inhabitants on all three planets. This ultimate lie gave each of the cloned soldiers a reason to hate, and by extension a reason to fight. They had all lost family before g up to the defense force. For Garic it had been his wife, his son and two daughters. The urge to kill had been strong. It was also ruled that the clones should never know that they were clones, bred to eventually be disposable. Even if this fact was not quite true, all the clones were

capable of regeneration. A clone could be rendered dead, but only after enduring extreme damage. Total dismemberment by explosion, or complete incineration by fire would both do the trick. In this way the soldiers were expendable, but a strong investment up front meant that by no means was this fighting force intended to be cannon fodder. Soldiers could achieve many times the normal life expectancy of free-born inhabitants, serving many masters. Still, they were doomed to a violent and unfortunately, painful death eventually. By the time Jinhai had sailed the Junk with no name halfway to the waters around Guam, Garic had several possible strategies, but not the tools to actually execute any of them. It was the aptly named Ying, one of Jinhai's deckhands, but capable of so much more, who attempted to fashion a breathing tube from the sticks of bamboo which were currently being used as struts on the sails. Ying and Garic removed one sail completely, this gave them more than Seventy metres of light weight tubing. The sails were then cut into strips and coated in a resin which remained waxy to the touch and flexible even after its application to the sail material. Utilising sail stitching thread; which Jinhai had aboard the Junk, Ying and Garic then ed the bamboo tubes by binding the sealed sail strips around the ends of the tubes for two inches at each end. The pair were confident of success, but were also aware of the pitfalls in their plan. Firstly, their junk would have to be moored within the distance that the tube could reach, which was not as far as they would have liked, this could see the junk also being engulfed by the sleeping fog. This was undesirable as Garic would rely upon his crew to pull him back rapidly if the tube stopped moving for any reason which could indicate that Garic had failed, and was asleep in the water. Another obvious reason why the junk should remain moored outside the fog was Jinhai's earlier observation that small objects could be seen moving around inside the cover which the fog provided. Garic surmised these objects were in fact small transport craft. In the event that the junk wandered in blind and the craft were too preoccupied to notice them, a crash could occur. This might destroy their rigging or the hull of the junk, leaving them dead in the water to be captured, this was also to be avoided. The breathing tube was a bundle of compromises. The device would allow him to swim to the ship, of that he had no doubt. Prudence compelled Garic to first

test the device by diving into the ocean, as far down as the tube would allow, and he was still able to breathe air from the surface, but he could not stay down for long. He could not eject his full breath from the tube before breathing in again. Garic realised quickly that he was suffocating, bit by bit. He needed a valve. Garic had seen Ying with a set of Baoding balls during some turbulent seas earlier in the voyage. For a small increase in salary, Ying agreed to donate his smallest worries. A set of Baoding balls consisted of four different diameters, the smallest was little larger than the base of Garic’s middle finger. Ying confirmed that he had a length of bamboo which the ball would down with a smooth action, albeit only four inches long. A little more ingenuity and the pair had fashioned a simple rocker valve. The breathing tube was split in two and ed to two ports in the ball tube, again these were sealed with resin. Now one tube handled breathable air, and the other handled expelled air, all Garic had to do was rock the ball inside the tube to the other end of the tube. The flow was not completely blocked, but it was obstructed enough to be effective. Garic now resolved that the second sail would be robbed of its bamboo once they arrived at Guam. Jinhai could not bear the thought of this, and stated that there was an abundant supply of bamboo at the southern end of Guam which they could harvest to make even longer tubes. Garic’s reply was simple ... “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?” With problem one solved, the second obstacle would be that the tubes would bend, but only to a certain degree. Any bending seemed to be taken up along the full length of the tube, Garic was resolved to the fact that he could climb the side of the ship for a look and he'd be okay. But if he dared to step onto the deck and the tube tried to follow him, a bend this sharp would cause that particular t to break free and he'd be swamped by the fog. Garic knew what that meant. On the Padre Eterno, if the captain got to him first, Garic may be let off without being keel hauled, but nobody on the other two ships would him from Safaga. The two younger captains had been swapped out shortly before Garic jumped ship, and he didn’t get that involved with the crews of the other two boats. Garic reasoned that the best he could do would be to get close for a look. It was safe to assume the small transport craft had some capability for navigating inside

the dense fog. On his own planet, the ships he flew were all equipped with vision across a multitude of spectrums not yet discovered on Earth. Garic was infinitely aware that even if he were hugging the side of the ship he may not see anything, but the beings in the crafts would probably see him very clearly, at least from his body heat alone. He had to assume that the craft could see clearly, as if the fog weren't there. This problem paled in significance compared with Garic's real problem. How would the occupants of these craft react if they discovered that Garic was watching? Discussion with Jinhai suggested to Garic that most of the three crafts' activity would be concentrated around the hold, in this instance their requirement for movement was very low. Jinhai's opinion was simple, if Garic waited the ten minutes for the fog to be fully established and the crew to fall asleep, once he saw the lights emerge from the water into the fog, this would be his best opportunity to swim across, hopefully unseen. Garic liked his first mates optimism, if only it could be that simple ...

Chapter 28 - Clarity in the fog.

AS SOON AS THEIR SMALL vessel pulled into Guam, the task of gathering bamboo took top priority. With an excess of bamboo, Ying refined the breathing tubes further, such that each tube was now constructed from short lengths. Sail cloth and resin was supplied by a shipwright on Guam. Ying was happy that Garic would have much greater flexibility when climbing up to the deck. Garic was happy that Ying was happy. If push came to shove, Garic was already resigned to the fact that he would have to ditch Ying's tube, then dive overboard and swim like crazy whilst holding his breath. In this respect Garic was good for about two minutes whilst static, without a warm up. Swimming hard for the safety of the junk moored maybe seventy five metres away allowing for drift ... On a stolen breath before hitting the water ...Who could say. Next Jinhai and Ying set to work restoring the sail on mast two, which was destroyed to make Garic’s proto-snorkel. Seeing the two sailors at work, Garic knew he would only be in the way so he swam to the shore to gather information. Talking to the owner of the only sailors tavern on Guam, Garic would still have some time to wait ... “Sure enough it'll be another two weeks before the next boat from Safaga arrives. Did you really just swim ashore? My you’re a fine one aren’t ya.” Garic was dripping wet but drying fast in the heat, currently his clothes were stuck to his muscular frame, his shirt having been rendered almost see through. This ensured information would be easy to get from the tavern owner, at least for the time being. “So ... Can I get ya an ale ...?” There was the look Garic was used to, he never really did introductions. “Morty ... That’s not my name but it’s what I answer to. Do you have Brandy instead?” Congalie Ó Broin was a busty, raven haired Irish lady who had been abandoned on Guam maybe six years before by a Spaniard. Congalie was sure the next boat to arrive in the bay would be the Soleil Royale, she was familiar with most of the

crew on all three ships, but she apologised for not ing Garic. Rolling her eyes and batting her eyelashes, she made it abundantly clear that Garic was already unforgettable. Sidling up to him, Congalie informed Garic that if he got cold in the night, he should come see her and she would keep him cozy and warm. Maybe such a line would've worked back home in Ireland, but Guam was only less hot during the night. Today pulling into the bay the temperature had been bloody hot, but it was a few decades too early yet for any of them to know exactly how hot. As evening fell, and Garic sat in Congalie's tavern, it wasn't much cooler. Humans still couldn’t measure humidity but from experience on Galra-Shin, Garic estimated it to be over ninety percent. Garic ordered a Brandy, which was adequate, but was not the much needed drink of water which his body was craving in this heat. Fresh drinking water was an expensive commodity on Guam, with most drinking water coming in on ships. Ships could re-stock with water from the island's interior, but supply often fell short of requirements. Talking with Congalie, it seemed to Garic that in the six years she’d resided upon the island, Congalie had also witnessed the fog which only ever afflicted three of the ships visiting the bay from Safaga. Adding more detail to the he had heard a few weeks ago from Jinhai. The bar owner informed Garic, most starry eyed ... “When I see those three ships come in, I always make sure I put on a good spread ...” “Oh ... Why?” “Sleeping sickness associated with the fog, as diagnosed by the ship’s doctors. Now the men usually draw straws to select a skeleton crew, the rest all come ashore. They eat here ... and drink ... Lots of drink. That fog is a legend, it has the men spooked for sure. Most of ‘em come ashore before the boat’s even dropped anchor ...” “That must be good business.” “Oh it is.”

This was interesting to Garic as the remaining men, five or six at most would probably be up on the deck, in a place where they would definitely not escape the fog. This meant that there would be much less chance of discovery by a crew member than he had factored before. Congalie had been most useful, and seemed to like pouring her best Brandy into Garic's glass. Of course the Irish lady had not counted on Garic's immense tolerance for his favourite tipple. When the end of the night came, the big man was still sober as a judge. Even so, he accepted Congalie's generous invitation to stay the night without much arm twisting. Her room over the tavern looked directly out into the bay and positioned as the tavern was, in the centre of the bay front, Garic knew he would have an excellent vantage point. Each day following that, Garic grew slowly softer in his attitude toward this raven haired Irish woman, she was sometimes far too coarse for Garic. When surrounded by men in her tavern, things would quickly decline into sexual innuendo of the most graphic kind. This was expected from sailors, maybe also of a bar keep, but from a female it just didn't seem proper. Garic had in Constantinople, achieved a certain standing within the community, reaching a level where people came to him for help, or they consulted him on civic matters. He was a well-known figure. Congalie’s constant, brash frivolousness was almost more than the self-styled noble could take, and yet her broad Irish lilt was charming and warm. Once the doors of her tavern were closed for the night, Congalie appeared to be quiet, but most of all lonely. Garic was an honourable man, as such, to this point he had ducked, dived and danced around all of Congalie's romantic advances. This was getting harder though as slowly, he was making a place in his life for her. She had been set to marry her first love, a man who courted her for some three years. As she related the story to Garic, it seemed the man was a first mate aboard an English merchant ship, he was tall, dashing, and well built. “You remind me of him, strong and dashing, but rugged.” Now she called Garic her second chance at happiness, she figured everything which had happened in the past was only leading her to this moment now. Garic could see that her recollections were painful and more than a little upsetting. He speculated that maybe the Englishman would’ve drifted too close to another

woman in a port at some point anyway. He didn’t really need to know. He already got a sense that the story was not a pleasant one, but Congalie was seeking to unburden herself. All too soon, she was telling Garic how the pair had been walking through a large port in Manila, when a group of Spanish sailors had accosted them down a dark alleyway, stabbing her betrothed and kidnapping her. The story grew much worse from there, before she was eventually tossed overboard into the bay here on Guam, then apparently left for dead. In the whole six years which Congalie had been stranded here, she had managed to carve out a niche for herself, by requesting certain things from certain sailors aboard various vessels, Congalie had been afforded a fresh start almost for nothing. When these certain sailors came into her tavern, they dined and drank for free, she owed them that much. They'd all been kind to her in her moment of need ... but the one person she really wanted to step into her tavern, had never done so. Pointing to the flintlock pistol behind the bar, the slug which was packed into its barrel would only ever be fired at one man, the Spaniard who had stabbed her man back in Manila, then abducted her aboard his vessel, subjecting her to five months of brutality as his ship sailed about the Philippines, before arriving here at Guam. She longed for the day when he would stride confidently and all too cocky, as the Spanish all seemed to be, into her tavern. “Then I’ll blow an extra hole into him.” At this moment, looking straight down into the Irish beauty’s eyes, all he could see looking back was desperation and a lust for revenge. Placing his hands gently on her shoulders and drawing her in to nestle into his chest, Garic could not think of anything to say which would make things better. Revenge was a feeling which had also haunted, no, driven Garic and would continue to do so, until he managed to get close to the Khai-Mah once more. Close enough to kill them in their leathery hoards. There was not one reason for Garic to stand in Congalie's way, he considered after deliberating for over a century that the only thing worse than wanting revenge, was not being able to get it. "Can you the name of the Galleon?... Congalie?"

The tavern owner now seemed to be in a daze. At first she had considered Garic to be just a good thing. He reminded her so much of her boyfriend. If she could have just had one night with him, she would have been happy. But, just like her own man had been, here before her was another good man. The proof was that Garic still hadn’t, despite several bold attempts, succumbed to taking advantage of her. Congalie was kicking herself inside, she knew Garic had his own reasons for being here on Guam, but she had never unburdened herself to anyone before like she had just done. She knew now, Garic was more than just a good thing; she was falling for him. The machinations of her deepest thoughts, replaying inside her mind, left her dazed. Eventually she tried to respond to Garic's question, but she was tired ... "I don't know love, the ship was a medium sized galleon, but they all look the same. I see them all moored in the bay, their crews all fall into here and make merry ... And I ... Make merry with them ... But that ship ... And that man. Well I'm sure neither has ever returned. I long for the day when they do!" "I'd like to help you ... And I will ... I just need to take care of some business which is very important to me here first ... OK?" Congalie nodded slowly, still lost in her darkest memories. "I'm also looking for my pound of flesh, I had a wife once and three children, all were slaughtered. I definitely will take my revenge, if not in this life then the next. My reason for being here in Guam is only to get me closer to the animals who took my family from me. One day ... I may tell you the whole story." Garic released Congalie from his arms, and led her quietly upstairs, tonight he would not upset her more by rejecting her. Climbing into her bed for the first time, the pair still did nothing but cuddle and talk, before Congalie drifted to sleep beside him. Waking up, the next day, Garic was alone, and it was some time before his ears began to focus upon a voice. Congalie was shouting up from the street below. Garic rushed to the window, pushing it open so he could be seen. "Look! ... Look out in the bay ... It's the Madre Estrella!"

Garic's eyes were now frantically scanning the bay ... My junk ... A few small vessels ... There, there she is! Pulling his clothing on quickly, and making his way down the winding stairway all too quickly, sometimes losing his step and skidding down several at a time, Garic emerged into the tavern to be met by Congalie. "She's there ... Did you see love?" "Aye Con, I did ... I have to get back to my junk, you don't mind do you? ... It's now or never. If everything goes well, I'll see you tomorrow sometime ... OK?" "Aye, get yerself off man ... And don't be doing anything silly now, or you'll have me to answer to ..." Garic kissed Congalie fully on the mouth, his excitement to finally be advancing his own mission after decades, could not be contained. With that he was out of the door. Seconds later, he’d run to the edge of the dock and dove straight in. Setting a heading for his junk, moored at least half a mile out in the bay, Garic was on the deck within fifteen minutes, having swam right by the men of the Madre Estrella, who were rowing their way to shore in three boats. Onboard his Junk, he found that his first mate Jinhai, along with his crew, had already raised a few of the junks sail slats and weighed the anchor. Expertly, Jinhai was riding the head wind to slowly creep the junk to within range of the Madre Estrella, so Ying's breathing pipe could be used. It had taken all day but by the time the sun was setting below the waves, the junk, small even when compared to the Madre Estrella, had slowly drifted close, so close that the few men on the deck of the larger ship were shouting for them to drop their anchor, to prevent the two ships from colliding in the darkness. It was a further half an hour before Jinhai had complied with the crew of the Madre's requests. The larger ship, having two anchors down, at the request of her captain, had not moved by more than a few feet all day in any single direction. Today Garic paced the deck like a preloaded spring. His patience was well practiced but these last few hours, waiting was hard, now he wanted a result. It was Jinhai who finally talked him down. "It will not be long now master, please remain patient ...”

“You’re right of course Jinhai. I’ve waited this long.” As Garic stood at the edge of the deck, looking up at the fine ship which was the Madre Estrella, he could indeed hear the few men left aboard, trying to make merry. There were six of them, all stood spaced out along the deck, down both sides. Some of the men must not have been able to see their crew mates, hence the shanty. This confirmed that all the men were still awake. After an hour of darkness, one thing was noticeably different this night, the sky was overcast for a change, and no stars were visible. Added to this, there was no moon. In the few deck lights which the crew had, the men were growing ever more nervous, they were expecting the fog. Their voices, muffled by distance such that Garic could not make out exactly what they were talking about, was carried through the air with a distinct tone of fear. The men were all talking in hushed tones, more like a loud whisper, the kind a person would adopt when trying to hide, but being so gripped by nerves that they became unable to turn down their internal volume. To try and release the men from the tension which was gripping them, Garic shouted over to the other ship. “Heeeeey over there!” This drew the men to the gunwale for a look to see who was making a fuss. Spotting the men below them on the junk easily, one ventured to make . “Yes mate! ... What can we do for you then?” “What a sad night this is turning out to be ... And after such a hot sunny day ... Maybe we’re in for some fog.” “Wouldn’t that be a bleedin’ turn up for the books then ... I swear every night I’ve ever been moored in this bay ... It's bleedin’ foggy!” “Don’t worry about it mate ... You’ll probably sleep like a king tonight.” The men all looked dis-heartedly at each other before, the self-nominated speaker retorted. “That’s what we’re all afraid of mate. What you doing now then?”

“Us, we’re all turning in for the night, god knows there’s nothing else to do, I got myself barred from the tavern last night ... Ach it was a good night mind, one that will live long in my head ... Night then men!” “Aye then, but make sure your anchor doesn’t move, you’re bloody close mate.” “Aye-Aye sir, we will do just that.” Jinhai began turning off the deck lanterns which were scattered generously along the deck and hung over the gunwales of the junk, maybe twenty or more, far more than the five lamps which the men staring down at them had. For such a tiny boat, the light emanating from the junk was overkill, and Garic couldn’t help but wonder if he had just done the other crew a disservice. But the chances were, whoever was about to pay the Madre a visit, would not do so unless there was minimal chance of them being overlooked. The men aboard the Madre Estrella, held their position by the edge of the ship’s deck for some time, seemingly afraid of breaking their formation and becoming separated again, before eventually one man was heard to say. “Well that’s that then ... back on yer ‘eads lads.” Garic, Jinhai and Ying all met back on the deck, the junk was now in complete darkness, moored so closely to the larger ship as to be in her shadow, cast by the deck lamps, Jinhai expressed his concerns that maybe they were too close. Garic bade him hold their position, which he was sure was within the length of the breathing tube, he did acknowledge though that Jinhai was correct, they were hellishly close. “Jinhai ... We need to be careful ... Make a plan to move away just a touch if the fog is more than we expect.” “Yes master. I am glad for that ... Thank you.” Jinhai began to weigh the anchor, slowly with Ying’s help. Not fully, just clear of the bottom to set the boat drifting again, before he used his expertise to reset some of the sail, thankfully there was more than enough breeze to start the tiny boat moving away from her big European cousin. Ying remained poised to set the anchor free once more, but Garic did not signal.

Three groups of lights had moved in quickly and quietly below the boat, once settled Garic thought he could make out the outline of the three craft, they were larger than he expected, almost a third the size of their junk. So transfixed was he that Jinhai approached him. “Master, Master ...” A few moments later, as expected the cool, white, odourless gas which was pretending to be fog, began to rise from the sea all around the hull of the Madre Estrella. Garic was still transfixed, this was the first time he had ever seen the fog from this angle. In a few minutes, the density had increased to the point where her hull was totally obscured and the masts were quickly being swallowed behind it. Soon the boat was gone completely and the fog was still rising. As if playing out a one fog bank fits all scenario, the fog bubble was hugely oversized and was billowing ever closer to the watching junk. By the time the fog stopped growing in size around the Madre Estrella, Garic was able to reach out from his own deck and swirl his hand through the white mist. Jinhai had raised two more s to try to outrun the approach of the fog, but had only just managed the task. “Jinhai, me here please.” It took less than ten seconds for his first mate to reach his position mid junk, closest to the water’s surface. Garic looked dejected, like he was almost at the point of tears. “Yes Master ... Are you ready? I shall prepare Ying’s tube.” “Don’t bother my good man ... It’s a waste of time ...” “Oh ... How so? ... ” “My hand is numb ... The fog is a nerve agent, effective on with any part of the skin ... It’s working its way up my arm. Once it reaches my torso, I’ll be away with the sea sprites, raise as much sail as you dare ... Quietly now, put some distance between us.” “At once, Master!”

Jinhai sprang into action with Ying to raise the anchor again; as the two raised the first sail almost completely, the ship began to move visibly. The pair heard a large thud as Garic hit the deck, unconscious, but at this point neither was available to assist, Jinhai took the rudder as Ying raised the second sail. They were out of danger within a few minutes, and had made what Jinhai called a safe distance from the fog swamped ship. Taking an arm each, the two sailors got Garic raised off the floor where he fell, suspended between them, they maneuvered him into his bunk. After this all the two men could do was watch and gather more data, which given the moonless overcast night was scant indeed. After three and a half hours, both men witnessed the lights below the water for a few seconds, before they were gone again. Garic came back to life as predicted by Jinhai, around eleven the following morning, and had no memory of being manhandled into his bunk. Instantly mad, it took a large bowl of the cooks Chi Tan T’ang soup to reduce the furrow fixed between his eyebrows. "That treacherous beggar!" "Who master ... And how?" "The man I'm after, for years now ... But I am always thwarted by his knack for planning every last detail. Jinhai, you know my recent history, I was a sailor on the largest of the three boats originating in Safaga." "The Padre Eterno?" "That's correct, all the voyages I sailed, all the times I was swept over by the fog, just like the rest. In all that time I thought the fog was uncanny, unnatural, to cloak what he was up to, him and his followers. Eventually I connected the dots, but not completely, NEVER completely ... he always sees to that." "I'm lost master. You were a sailor, you also caught in fog many times. Then I'm lost." "Yes, yes ... But I always thought that the sleeping effects of the fog were as a result of direct inhalation. If I used Ying's tube ... I could get close ... If something happened, I could ditch it and hold my breath ... Bolt for it ... You

know? But it's never so simple, I should have known that he would have considered any way a person could negate the fog's effects. In this case, the fog was far more complicated, even though the average man would not be so ingenious as we are to design their way around the fog. No ... The average man would never think to connect the dots, because they don't know what I know. This gas was a nerve agent, inhaling the gas would work quickly as we have seen before, but I only bathed my hand in the fog, and still I was laid out cold ... devious ... methodical ... I can't out think him ... I never will." Now Garic's head was slung low into his hands as he sat open legged on the deck, his elbows braced to his knees, the sweat from his re-furrowed brow, dripping into the soup bowl positioned unfortunately under his head. "What you looking for master? How long you look?" "A man, who is the key to me returning to my family ... A long time Jinhai my friend ... A very long time ... Centuries ... Let's all go and get a drink." With this the junk made for the small port. Once tied off, the crew headed to Congalie's tavern, brandies all round. By the end of the night, Congalie, having closed shop for the night, now only had Garic and Jinhai for company. "Come sit down by me Connie, I have something I need to tell you." As the Irish Tavern owner ed Jinhai and him at their table, the tavern was quiet. Garic had opened a fresh barrel of Congalie's best Brandy, to which he was becoming quite well accustomed. Everyone’s glass was full in readiness. "I have to tell you all something, my reasons for being here are mine and mine alone, and normally I can shoulder the burden quite well. I don't normally explain the things I am about to explain now. People like yourselves ... Well let's just say ... You won't understand ... I normally keep to myself, I make friends easily enough, but I always have to watch them die eventually ..." "Master, what are you talking about? The man ... The big man?" "He's the Tall Client Jinhai my friend, but you have to try to understand, he's not all of it, like I said earlier ... He's just the key. Let me start at the beginning. Jinhai, you call me master out of respect, because I bought your junk, so that makes me captain, but do you know what my real name is?"

"No master." "We're friends but you don't know my name, that's because my name is one of my biggest secrets, and you Congalie? I knew your name after a few minutes, but you’ve called me love since our first meeting, do you know my real name?" "No love ... But I'd like to. You told me Morty, but in the same breath you told me that wasn’t your name at all ..." "My name is Garic. On this world there are only three people who know that, and you’re two of them ... The other is my adopted daughter Acacia. What I'm about to show you, I've only shown one other person, everyone else who has seen this is long dead. Do not be freaked out, I am still just a man, albeit one with a long and violent history." Garic stood and walked behind the bar, relieving a large knife with which Congalie would slice loaves and cheese for her customers. He then returned to his seat, and placed his hand outspread on the table before them. Before anyone had the chance to object, or look away, Garic quickly plunged the knife through his hand so far that the thick blade split the board on the table top. Garic was bleeding, Congalie and Jinhai were both aghast with shock. There was no look of pain, Garic’s face was like rock. Even as he pulled the knife out slowly, and the bones of his hand could be heard scraping the side of the blade, Garic's face remained unchanged. With the knife fully withdrawn, Garic held his hand up, Connie was looking at Jinhai, through Garic's hand. "I heal very quickly, this is because I am not a human, I came from another planet in a very remote solar system in a very far off, isolated Galaxy." By now the hole in Garic's hand was completely closed, taking a towel from the bar, Garic wiped the blood away from where the wound had been, to reveal his hand, no longer cut, and not even scarred. Jinhai's face was a picture, Connie looked pale like she may faint. Garic poured them both more Brandy. "My planet was at peace with her neighbours, two nearby planets, until another species not native to our worlds came to steal our planets and their resources. War broke out on a scale you cannot even imagine. My planet was far advanced of your own here, we had machines which could traverse the air, and onwards into the vacuum of space. I was a soldier, in fact a pilot, flying mission after mission killing lizards as I went ... As many as I could find. One day I was

caught inside the hyperspace envelope of my enemy's ship, and for endless days I was dragged through space. One day I managed to break myself and my crew free, and we crashed here on your planet. My ship is submerged in the Nordic sea between Sweden and the Netherlands. I was rescued, my crew were not so lucky, as my ship broke up on entry into your atmosphere and I lost them. On my home world I had a family, a wife, a son and two daughters. My crew were like extended family, my brothers and sisters, as you both are to me now. I tell you this because that occurred in the year 1563, the year is now 1707, and in all that time I have not aged one single day. I was not born of a woman ... I was made in a pod simply to fight, finding and exploiting the weaknesses of our enemy ... and I was good at it." "So you're one hundred and forty four years old?" “Only if you don’t count the years I spent back on my own planet.” Connie could not believe what she was hearing. "Yes, and going strong, if you don't count the fact I have experienced physical death three times now whilst living on your planet." Jinhai was not sitting easily with the knowledge Garic was giving them. He was familiar with many old Chinese legends which told of travellers from the stars, and how they created the world. He, like many, saw these as mere legends, stories ed down by grandparents to their grandchildren. He had never put much stock in them, not since becoming an adult, working at sea. "Why are you telling us these things master?" "I guess I am making peace with the fact that I will never meet my tall client, I worked for him for over a century. I had a ship like the Soleil Royale in the Mediterranean. In fact I am still the owner of the Företaget Shipping Company, I have many ships. My daughter runs the business now, I am trying to meet the tall client." "Who is this tall client, why is he so important?" "Obviously, I come from a technologically advanced planet. When I see things on your planet which you could not possibly have any use for, then I get curious as to WHO does need them. In the 1630's I was approached by an old friend,

who worked on the boat that rescued me sixty years before, he gave me the Företaget fleet. He was running huge metallic parts in his ship from Constantinople to Alexandria. He didn’t know what the parts were, but I did, and I know the people behind the project, are just like me, not from this planet. The tall client looks like a man, but if you had seen him, you would apparently never forget him. He is over eight and a half feet tall and heavy set, with skin and hair which shines the faintest blue in colour, despite the fact he dyes his hair and uses talcum on his face. I cannot say for sure but I feel that he and his race have been on this planet for much longer than I have. Your oldest human religious texts make direct references to them. The Indian Vedas describe large blue people who descended to earth in huge spaceships, probably cultures around the world all have similar creation myths, dating back to forgotten times. If I can just get a meeting with him, I can warn them about the Khai-mah and help them to prepare. You see the lizards dropped me off here as they were ing, luckily you do not get a clear view of objects from inside a jump bubble, not when you are travelling Parsecs every hour." Garic's face dropped, not because of the expressions of his friends' faces, which were disbelief, peppered with a complete lack of understanding, but because he had reached another stark conclusion. "The war I was fighting, if you counted my kills and applied this across our force, you’d say we were winning, about to be victorious. But no, the Lizards numbers were never ending, make no mistake, we were losing. I am under no illusion now that my home system was probably wiped from existence. If they find Earth, it will be a bloodbath. You could not hope to offer resistance for even one hour. This is why I have done nothing but try and reach the tall client." "How can you expect us to believe you, it's too fantastic ... Too much to take in." "My trunk aboard the junk. The one I always keep locked, that's where I keep some of my diaries. Some more are back in my office in Constantinople. I am compelled to write every meaningful event and friendship down. When I die I am reset by my genetics, I do not a single thing ... See in my pocket, this is my current jounal, with all the events in the bay logged down for my reference." "Am I in there love?"

"Yes Connie, you are the first woman I have ever really spent any time with, since my wife back on Ashlar-Gin, and my adopted daughter Acacia, here on Earth. I have roughly one hundred and sixty diaries up to this point in time. I'll show them to both of you aboard the junk tomorrow. You’ll know then what I know." “So what now Garic? What will you do next? ...” “I am only one man Jinhai, it is clear that my resources are nowhere near capable of tracking down this man. I am close ... so close ...” “To finding him?” “No. I wish that I were, I mean that I am close to the point where I can no longer justify searching for someone who does not want to be found ... I mean I’m close to giving in. Telling you now, may be my way of trying to motivate myself one last time. Hell maybe I should’ve told somebody a century ago, you know, put the word out. Who I am, and where I can be found. Acacia did the same about ten years ago, she met the Tall client in my office in Constantinople. She even tried to his human network; again his elusiveness has still not led him to answer her. It’s clear he has his trusted helpers, and he has no need to swell their ranks. I am only telling you two what his elite network of humans has probably already known for generations.” Both Jinhai and Congalie listened intently, as if this fact leant some credence to Garic’s story. Jinhai considered Garic to be a brother, and for as long as his master needed, he would serve, and die if necessary. Congalie already knew that she loved Garic, he was such a steady man, but powerful and focused. She knew she would have to wait, but she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She did not want to die for him, she wanted to die with him. If he were telling her the truth, certainly beyond the fantastic nature of the story, she had few reasons to doubt him, he even said he would provide proof in the morning. Connie knew that she wanted Garic around. “Maybe stop moving Garic love, take some time to rest yourself and think, there has to be another way. What if we recruited our own network of men? Sailors are a large bunch, maybe we pay some of them to be you, get the word out. We pick the biggest, loudest sailors we can find and set them up with just enough facts to make them interesting. Like baiting a fishing line, if they start telling their story

in the vicinity of one of the Tall Clients human network, they are liable to follow and try to talk with him. At this point he confesses the ruse and gives the network directions on how to find you.” “But we could also be sending these men to be killed, he knows I’m out there, and he isn’t trying very hard to find me. Maybe his reasons for finding me are not the same as my reasons for finding him.” “In all the time you’ve known of him, has anyone actually feared him, has anyone reported any violence?” “No ... No they haven’t.” “Then you need to stop second guessing yourself like that. Maybe my idea won’t work, but maybe it can work. We definitely need to send a man to Constantinople, you’re known there for sure, anyone pretending to be you will surely get noticed. In the meantime, you rest your feet here by me love.” Jinhai seconded the plan, it was after all uncomplicated, and easy to implement. Congalie knew many sailors, who whilst not looking like Garic, were all tall well-built men of reasonably high enough intelligence to tell a story in a tavern. All the men had equally large characters, and the best part was that they sailed on ships which travelled the entire globe, total coverage. They speculated that the plan may yield a result definitely within a decade, maybe sooner. Garic thought the pair to be a bit too optimistic, but was refreshed by the fact they had not dismissed his claims out of hand, they were on board, and already they had ideas which Garic had never considered himself. Garic never failed to marvel at the way humans rallied behind a cause, even if it was not for the benefit of them, as long as the cause was just. The next day, Garic was true to his word, giving Ying and the rest of the crew the morning off, then banishing them from the ship for the rest of the day. He led Jinhai and Congalie to his quarters on the junk and opened his old sea chest. Taking some time to remove them all, they were easy to re-order, before handing his first diary to Jinhai, the Chinaman began to read. Garic explained ... “The first several will not make any sense really, you have to that I was completely blank as a fresh slate at the time I began keeping my diaries. I usually regret reading the first six or seven, they’re too random, just notes

scribbled down incoherently as I made my way around Europe several times. The dates and places are all accurate though.” Once Jinhai had read the first diary completely, he placed the book into Congalie’s hands and she began to follow suit. She found it strange that Garic’s handwriting had not changed in all the time since he penned this diary. But he was correct, the first one made no sense at all, his mind was like a child then it seemed. Not knowing which facts to write down and which he should dismiss, there weren’t many details to work with in either case. “Did you ever find out who was following you?” “I think that was just a mere coincidence Connie, there were some pretty bloody wars going on at the time all across Europe. I think a lot of men were just trying to dodge being conscripted, I was trying to dodge them all.” Garic laughed it off but Connie could not shake the fact that her man may have missed something of importance. “Well it could be coincidence, but in this diary alone, you crossed paths with the same man, based solely on his description, at least thirty times, which is to say a two and a half year period. If you were moving about as much as you say, doesn’t that strike you as a bit odd?” Garic failed to answer, he was losing himself in recollection. His memories from this period were not intact, not by a long shot. Most of his memories would be in perfect correlation to the entry in his diary, as a result of reading the entry many times; there was nothing else he could add from his mind, not from so long ago. “I’m sorry Connie, I just can’t anything from back then. I certainly died in Calais, about six years after I arrived here, that’s why I started keeping the diaries. I was an outsider, maybe somebody was following me, but I really couldn’t say.” Like a flash of lightning in his head, a strong memory returned, one he'd never had before. The face of a man who liked to look down on people, he was powerful, and had a sneer of contempt on his face ... But who is he? ... Then another, Garic was fighting in a cellar, in his memory, out of the corner of his eye, that face ... The fight organizer!

Garic began to relax again as the memories from before his diaries began to return, fragmented at first, but eventually forming a fuller picture. Now he could scan the faces in the crowd. There was a whole room full of them, not counting his ship mates, the organizer and his cronies including the huge African, with each new face came a little more, but there in the corner, close to where he’d levelled the Dutchman, there was another huge figure, in complete shadow, almost hiding behind a large wooden column. Putting himself back inside the fight, he tried to see if he had spied the man out of the corner of his eye when the crowd broke around them. THERE! Just briefly, Morty HAD caught a glimpse of the man, he was head and shoulders above the crowd, but he was seated on a large oak table, his head was against the ceiling, even higher than the African bodyguard. It took a lot more concentration, but Garic upon re-examination was able to focus on the shadowy features of the man’s face, he had long black hair and a beard, but despite being in shadow his face was not completely dark, he seemed to be glowing in the glow of the various oil lamps. “I’VE GOT HIM!” Then calming down, with his two friends watching on ... “At least ... I had him ...” Needless to say that it was not the Tall Client who had been following him across Europe, but the fight promoter. He had probably wondered why his huge African bodyguard had not returned, but saw Morty walking around Calais acting strangely, the very next morning. Having seen Morty walk nomadically from pillar to post across the whole of Western Europe, never talking to anyone and always moving, he had probably given up. Garic was certain that the organizer would never have dared to try and take revenge on his own. The three of them discussed the entries inside the first six journals. More of Garic’s memories from his life as Morty returned. Garic was cursing not breaking his own confidences decades ago. Humans usually took things at face value, but the information his friends had wrung out of his mind was welcome. He hadn’t rubbed shoulders with the Tall Client ever again since Calais, that was around sixty years before Marcus caught up with him ... Before he knew the parts existed.

Chapter 29 - I am Garic ... No ... I'm Garic ...

GEYLDIAN HAD WAITED for some time on the crashed Ark ship OFFright, with several cycles of the three ships all ing overhead, en route to Guam. He had also taken to boarding the ships whilst the parts were being offloaded by the Thrall. This had required a little of the Doctor’s magic, the fog was a nerve agent concocted from several toxic species indigenous to Earth. This would put a man to sleep from an impregnated fingertip, but in a strange twist of fate, the fog would’ve been fatal to Geyldian. The good doctor made an effective antidote, after only one month. The only reason it took this long was due to the doctors unwillingness to follow Geyldian’s order to use Thrall as guinea pigs with which to test the strange purple fluid. The Prime's second in command was not happy at the wait, in his mind he was already making a plan to travel to Safaga. Once the protective serum was complete, the full dose was istered by Leren, directly into the upper arm of a chuntering Geyldian, who apparently hated needles. Especially the big one Leren had selected to penetrate his thick old clone skin. Upon boarding the three ships Geyldian was always exposed to the same scene, resembling the aftermath of some huge massacre, but without the blood. Men were strewn asunder, laid exactly where they fell when the fog rendered them unconscious. The Tall clone would then use his special device, the PUCK, to take non-invasive samples of hair, skin and saliva from each sailor. These were ed to Leren upon his return, for DNA typing. Geyldian was like a man possessed with this new side project. He made it his mission to find out what the astronaut knew about the Khai-Mah's spread through space. Where exactly had he come from, what class of ship he’d been caught in the wake of, and other important data which may help the Old Ones determine how much time they might have. Geberus had informed Geyldian and Leren that even if himself and Ra-sian had perfected the sniffer, they were convinced that the background radiation left over from the Khai hyperspace bubble would have fully decayed, and there would not have been any trace left in the man's tissue for the sniffer to find. This was why Leren had to turn gumshoe and get old fashioned on the project, investigating

each of the sailors on the three ships, in turn. Whilst being an easy process for the doctor, almost boring, some time had been taken to get all the results in. The effects of the fog had led to the three crews abandoning their boats, so he had needed to find some reason for the captains to hold them in the port for a week. In this instance the crewmen's reaction was fair, and time ashore was rotated each night. It had been no hardship to make the fog appear and this allowed the second to gather a sample from everyone in each crew. Geyldian was left fuming though when Leren informed him that all of the men tested were 100% human, no traces of anything alien or cloned was found. On his way to Safaga, Geyldian located the mind of his friend Oliviero aboard the Padre Eterno. In a few moments he had determined that the old captain was in his quarters at the rear of the ship. Borrowing an image from the old captain was all Geyldian needed to jump to the ship. Captain Oliviero, who's mood had been slowly sinking at the loss of his best ship mate some months ago, was perked up by the sight of his Tall Client Guillermo, especially once he laid eyes on the large bottle of properly aged brandy. “What could possibly be causing you so much trouble that you need to come and see me ... After all these years?” “Oh nothing you need to concern yourself with directly Oliviero, I have many things which give me concern, but you know me ... I have very broad shoulders.” As Captain Oliviero stared up at Guillermo, then ed his eyes over each of his shoulders in turn, exaggerating his head turn from side to side in confirmation of the fact his client shoulders were indeed broad, and then slowly nodding, Guillermo began to laugh out loud. “It is good to see you still all at sea Oliviero, I do miss our little chats. I have an urgent matter with which you may be of some assistance.” “If I can be ... Then I will be Guillermo ... You know that, but first things first eh?”

With that Captain Oliviero opened the front of his amply stocked drinks cabinet, withdrew two large tumblers, of the best quality which money could buy, and set them atop his map chest. His eye movement ed between the bottle and the glasses, hinting to the Tall Client that he would certainly be of more use with a Brandy in his hand than without. Guillermo did not miss the hint, extracting the cork with a loud pop, and pouring two large measures, before handing one to his captain friend. “I’m looking for someone Captain, a large set man about six and a half feet tall. If you know him at all then his manner would have said experienced, but he cannot be more than thirty five at the most. In short he would know too much for his age, capable of anything with barely no tuition, quiet ... Keeps to himself, maybe he had a diary and would be a prodigious note taker ... Do you know a man like this?” “I know there’s no point lying to you, you must have some idea that he was on one of the three boats, or you wouldn’t be here, but you guessed right the first time. Mortimer was his name, of course most sailors are large men, nothing new there, but he was young and exceptionally skilled, and yes he always filled his diary in while the other sailors would be carving out ornaments. He had a large chest in his quarters, always locked, but one time I did get a look inside, and there was nothing inside but diaries, stacks of them. Why are you looking for him?” “He knows too much.” “I knew you’d say that. We had a good conversation when he left the Padre. He certainly knows who you are, and he is looking for you. He’s focused and determined.” “And I want to find him too, of that you can be assured Oliviero. Not because of what he knows about me, it’s other important information he may have, that we ... That is, my organisation needs.” “Well the last I saw of him, was as he disappeared over the horizon in Safaga.” “Any ideas where he was going?” “Yes ... But I don’t know if you’ll like it ... He was headed to Essen to find the steelmaker.”

Oliviero purposefully scrunched up his eyes as he finished the sentence, mocking Guillermo’s possible negative response.” “I thought you understood, I don’t want to hurt him, he’s obviously a very clever man, on that front he can know everything . His mind is already attuned, the more he knows the less I have to explain when I catch up to him. Annoyingly ... We keep missing each other. Obviously, he got as far as Guam, but the fog would have stopped him, it’s annoying how human he is!” “Why Guillermo, whatever do you mean, of course he’s a human, how could he be anything else ... We’re all human aren’t we?” Oliviero was now beginning to try Guillermo’s infinite patience, as he was eyeballing the huge man directly from across his cabin, he winked knowingly. “This is why I could not make you a part of the network Oliviero, you just don’t take matters seriously, you know the score. As such you must have sensed something about this man Morty ... He really goes by that name? His adopted daughter told me his real name is Garic.” A serious expression now returned to Oliviero’s face. “He knows for sure who AND what you are Guillermo, and he knows what the parts are too, so pardon me for being direct, but human is the last thing he is. In all the years I have been working for you, not one other man or his dog has ever so much as expressed an interest in the parts, let alone sketched the overall assembly which they may make, or speculated what their function may be. NO ONE that is until HIM!” “So he is the one, Central has speculated as to his existence for some time, but he could just as easily have been dead. He crashed his ship onto this planet back in the late 1500s, his crew were all lost. But it seems he made it down intact, possibly dead. We don’t know how but he was rescued, returned to life and has been roaming the earth ever since, latterly looking for me for the last century.” “You can’t find him? Not even with all your resources? That’s a rare thing indeed ... I can scarcely believe it.”

Guillermo was looking into his glass shaking his head. Oliviero knew this must be a very serious matter indeed. He’d met Guillermo maybe a hundred times during his service, but he’d never seen the Tall Client looking dejected like this. As if he didn’t know what he should do for the best ... as if whatever he did, it would be wrong. For now all he could do was drink his Brandy. Oliviero confirmed it had been about four or five months since Morty had jumped ship in Safaga, he also said that he was thinking of hanging up his own Tricorn and returning to the land for good, he was glad for the money but the satisfaction of sailing was wasn't there, and hadn’t been for some time. His conversation with Morty had led him to a point of self-evaluation, he wasn’t as happy as his demeanour reflected. Geyldian did not want this; Oliviero knew the job. If he went, finding another boat would just be one more task on his already long list of things to do. He had already been having trouble recruiting another ship to assist in the Mediterranean before Louis of the Företaget shipping company offered to retrieve another ship from Gibraltar. Geyldian had been so tied up trying to find Garic lately, that this move by Louis had been easy to say yes to. Not only a path of least resistance, it also represented the least work for Geyldian. The Tall Client finished his Brandy and spoke at length with the captain; he wanted to know everything about the man he was after. Oliviero, not suffering from the same sense of loyalty to Morty as his adopted daughter had back in Constantinople, told him everything he had seen, and everything which they had discussed when parting. Now Geyldian was starting to get the idea that he was not the only one frustrated by their endless search for each other, it was obvious that Garic was also growing weary. The next day when the clone jumped directly to Essen to see Alwyn, the story and ultimately the result was the same. He had missed Morty by around three months, the steel maker was sure he would go back to his office in Constantinople. Geyldian jumped there next, but again Louis informed him that they had only just returned from their latest shipment and had not seen Garic Louis was much colder this time, maintaining control of his mind and body, he gave no hints to Geyldian regarding the letter which Garic had left on his way through. Dated only two weeks ago, it detailed his intention to walk the silk road to China.

Acacia was so icy to Geyldian after he had apparently still not finished considering her induction into his network that she could not even bring herself to look at the big man, let alone speak. Instead she pretended to be sleeping in her father’s most comfy leather chair in the corner of his office, as she had done countless times before. Geyldian considered tapping into Louis’ or Acacia’s minds again, but could not justify the intrusion solely for his needs; such an act would certainly ensure he could never return here again in the future. At this point he could not say with certainty that another visit would not be required in the future. Following a further two years of chasing rumours, reports of sightings and other leads from his human investigative resources, Geyldian was still no nearer to his goal of catching up to the mysterious Garic. The Old Ones second in command was not so glum as he might have been, pre-occupied as he still was after ramping up production of the parts. Geyldian had persuaded Alwyn to sell the secret of man made Alculinium, to a major steel worker in the states, and another in Europe. Despite obvious failings from his own side, Geyldian was still highly satisfied with the performance of the Företaget Shipping company who now handled all his transportation needs in the Mediterranean. He had eventually ingratiated himself with Louis and Acacia by paying them regular visits, and even though he had never accepted Acacia into his Network in all this time, he did let her down gently. Geyldian informed her that he would have been more than happy to have her, but his higher ups were not given to fast decisions. It seemed they were happy with the Network as it was at this time. Acacia was let down, but eventually her buoyant exuberance meant that she no longer cared, why should she. Acacia was now a fully-fledged shipping magnate with her partner and husband Louis. Turning the tables on Geyldian, it was she who let him down, stating that she had far too much work to be gallivanting off on all of the big man's wild goose chases. Acacia was also adamant that she would not take part in any endeavour to find her father, the Tall Client should do that for himself. In the years which followed Geyldian tried. In the limited spare time which he allowed for himself, he had managed to spottily trace Garic's movements along the Silk Road as far as India. The evidence he was gathering suggested that his target had left the trail upon reaching this point to follow the coast of India. Geyldian's network was not amply manned in this region, with very low levels of

industry, there simply wasn't the need. This did of course stunt Geyldian's investigations somewhat, which led to the clone becoming probably the most frustrated he had ever been in his long life. To be on the right track, and making good headway, only to be stalled, Geyldian considered this to be karma. After all the man looking for him had been stalled in the same way many times more by the immense bubble of protection which Geyldian made for himself and his endeavours. Certainly over the last few centuries, due to the unending curiosity of the humans, it simply had to be this way. Geyldian was pragmatic regarding the struggle from both sides. If Garic wasn’t smart enough to find a way through, then he probably wasn't going to be of much use to him or the Old Ones. During a brief stopover at Central, Geyldian found himself at the sharp end of Aelren's alien tongue for the first time in about six millennia when he voiced this opinion to his Prime. Aelren stated that at this point, with such a long time having ed since the super soldier had crashed to Earth, with no sign of Geyldian catching up to him, maybe it was the big blue hybrid who was of little use. Aelren was always very direct, and never chose to sugar coat his words. Being so immensely old, maybe the oldest Clone ever, the Prime considered himself to be on borrowed time. He wasn’t about to let his workers waste what little time he had left with procrastination and failure, as always Aelren demanded results. Not wanting to fall out of the Circle of Numbers completely, Geyldian resolved to ask Ra'sian to help him find suitable candidates to be inducted into the network within India, China and all the territories in-between. Then like beaters raising Pheasants into the air, they would flush Garic out ... They had to. This would not be a quick process, apart from the obvious people of interest in each of the countries, the Royals, their families, close staff, and international business partners, Ra'sian did not have information compiled for anyone else. Geyldian instantly ruled these people unsuitable for the network, due to their high profiles and busy schedules. The number four of the Circle of Numbers was not watching anyone else whom he could immediately suggest. He would need to send of the Network from Europe and Russia to gather the information he would require, these had to be sifted through personally, before

presenting his short list of maybe two hundred people to the second in command. Geyldian would then whittle this list down to a select number of fifty or so viable candidates, before approaching Aelren to present a case for each one in turn as to why they were suitable. Of course this meeting could not occur before Aelren had made the time in his busy schedule of wandering the halls of Central, chastising Novus, punishing errant Thrall and interrogating his Numbers. Aelren would then go through each of the fifty dossiers in order to compile his own reasons why they should not be inducted. This whole process, even if rushed may take up to a decade, a decade Geyldian did not think the Old Ones could afford, this only added to his frustrations ... As the process began, the first two years of the schedule played out pretty much as predicted by normal Central procedure. Ra’sian was only just beginning to receive his list of viable candidates from the network. Geyldian was so frustrated that he became incapable of concentration, this forced his hand such that he made the only logical decision which he felt able to make. Breaking from this rigid protocol, Geyldian selected the candidates for whom he considered Aelren's list of cons would be the shortest. This rare moment of individual initiative had been a major mistake. Throughout his time aboard Central, Geyldian had occasionally shown himself to be forgetful of the way a hive mind worked. Even as Geyldian was hatching the thought in his own head, Aelren had been experiencing the same thought; immediately the Prime had jumped to see his second in command to give him a serious dressing down. -What are you planning to do Geyldian? You know I cannot allow you to break our ways, to do so would be against everything we stand for ... We consider everything fully ... Then plan accordingly. There is no other way. -Like all the Primes who have gone before ... You are repeating past mistakes, maybe the biggest mistake our kind has ever been guilty of ... -We do not make mistakes ... That is the whole point. -Prime ... With the utmost respect to you ... The whole way we work may be in error ... Sure it’s fine for normal day to day things ... Even the reactors because Oxull got a handle on the problem so early ... But consider this, if

the reactors had suddenly shown a huge problem instead of their steady degeneration, our current system would have seen us all dead ... And this planet! Geyldian considered that his words were just strong enough to find their target, another benefit of the hive mind meant that now Aelren was feeling the same emotions Geyldian was feeling. How much this meant to him, his sense of urgency and frustration, all hit Aelren so strongly that he was almost out of his depth to cope with them. Aelren trusted Geyldian, this was why he promoted him to number two and not Leren or Oxull, both of whom had seniority based on age and experience. Even so, Geyldian saw his role as being amongst the naked apes, as he could not fulfil a role upon Central. Aelren did not subscribe to this thought, which he felt resulted from a basic insecurity of Geyldian's human emotionality. If Geyldian did not fight hard to keep these in check, he would soon be in the mire. This also meant that he could be severely lacking in patience for the true ways of the Old Ones. -I take your point, but what are your real concerns with due process, in this case. If we examine the problem from an outside perspective, let’s say mine ... You need to expand the network, these are your tools with which you will find the astronaut. You cannot personally look everywhere on this planet for him, that would take forever, not merely another eight years. So what’s the problem? It looks as if you are saying I’m too slow. The slender wrinkly old face of his pure blooded alien clone boss was now glaring down at him. Geyldian was not trying to make such a direct attack on his Prime, he was merely trying to make Aelren appreciate the need for a few shortcuts. Maybe a few guesses or random choices ... A few risks. -I was hot on his heels in to China, but that was two years ago, you cannot appreciate this man’s single minded determination. Nor the speed with which he moves to search for new clues, two weeks head start was too much for me to catch up to him, now it’s been two years and you’re asking me to wait another eight? ... I just don’t see how you can expect me to track him down with such a long head start. We need to look together with Ra’sian now at the candidates coming in, and recruit new to the network

now ... Immediately. Sure in another year we may get some better candidates, but we cannot wait. The Khai-Mah may be in the next galaxy, it’s a certainty they’ve already ed through this back water system or the astronaut wouldn’t have been dragged here. Where was this ship headed? From in front of us to behind us suggests to me that they are everywhere now, it’s only a matter of time. The quicker we find Garic the more time we have to fully consider and plan. These final words went some way to appease Aelren, he knew Geyldian had all their best interests at heart, even extending to the protection of the entire planet. There was certainly no way they could just up and fly away now. Aelren was about to feel the pressure as he was about to push himself harder and faster than he had ever done in his twenty-eight millennia of existence. -Follow me ... As Aelren popped out of view before his eyes, Geyldian let out a sigh of relief, he knew exactly where his old chief was headed. Within seconds he ed the pair in Ra’sian’s observatory. The list already had around one hundred names, and together the three resolved that none would leave until 30 new recruits had been selected. At times discussions had become quite heated for Old Ones, but after only one month the task was accomplished and the three were laughing together. Even so the two younger clones felt a certain disappointment emanating from their Prime. -What’s the matter Aelren? -I bet I can guess ... Aelren is looking at what we achieved, and how much time was saved on this minor task, and he’s thinking to himself ... How did we ever end up going to war with the Khai-mah when all that was needed was to sit around a table with them in a locked room and thrash it out ... -Exactly ... Such a shame. You were right Geyldian, time is a luxury we may not have ... I’ve given you what you need ... Now I expect you to use these new tools to find me one Astronaut. With this simple statement, the burden of pressure was once more removed from Aelren who jumped away back to his usual machinations. Now Geyldian had to get results.

Ra’sian explained that the thirty men they had selected were mostly merchants with a few of them being sailors. This was a concerted effort to zone the network directly into Garic’s environment. Geyldian had briefed his two brethren at the start of the selection process, he was sure that Garic whilst not at sea anymore at this time, would not be able to stray far away from the ports. He would want to keep his eyes on the parts, and monitor their progress. It also made sense to Geyldian that Garic would want to return to Guam at some point in the future, as industrious and inventive as he obviously was, he may yet try to beat the fog to see the Tall Client’s littlest brigade of Thrall helpers. He may then want to try and follow them. By now Geyldian figured that Garic may be somewhere on the eastern coast of India, or the western coastline of China, Garic most likely would not want to waste time in between as the ships had no previous history of mooring around Indo-China. Around the time when the selection process should have been completed, eight years later and Geyldian's newly expanded team's efforts were still left wanting. Some rumours had been investigated. It seemed that after g his wealth away to Acacia and Louis, and before they willed it back to him in some new persona, Garic was able to live by performing menial chores for elderly folk or by taking part in organised fights. Following up on this lead led Geyldian to indulge in an old past time of his own, which he had not had the time to pursue for around a century and a half. Geyldian was an avid watcher of bare knuckle fighting. This gave him a way to re-live his youth when the humans in his village would often settle scores in a physical way. Of course these duals were never to the death and were mostly over some petty squabble involving grain or livestock, they only lasted as long as it took Geyldian's father to walk in and break the fight up. Geyldian did however fully believe that one could learn a lot about a man simply by watching him fight. Was he arrogant, timid, cautious or a dangerous risk taker. Then of course there was whether or not the man fought with his fists alone, or whether he used his mind too, to outsmart his opponent. People like this often proved useful at a lower lever in the network, being able to get their hands dirty without getting too scrappy whilst doing it, it was cleaner that way. Geyldian did not miss the chance to move into this kind of environment again, it

would be a chance to work and relax all at the same time. Geyldian was fascinated by the many forms of martial arts which existed, born of centuries of upheaval in this whole area of the globe, Also the various levels of discipline which the fighters employed, simply to bring about a focused targeting of their opponent. The fights were as much about mental strength and strategy, as they were about who was physically stronger or faster. After observing from the shadows in fight dens all over South Western China, this night found the huge clone human hybrid entrenched in a den in an Eastern Indian port. Several times over the last few months Geyldian had actually begun to think he may be watching Garic fight, there was certainly something about the way the man in front of him was now moving. He exhibited amazing fluidity, astonishing reactions and a very efficient and strategic fighting mind, exactly the sort of traits which he expected would be hardwired into a cloned super soldier. The fighter clearly realised that there were no shortcuts to victory, he would never win in one punch, that said the way he chose to punch and move, or block, move and then punch told of a high intellect. He was reading everything his opponent did and adjusting his stance and strategy to counter. Geyldian's suspicions were only aroused further after the crowds, consisting mainly of European sailors, all began to chant the name Garic, or the name Morty. This second name was Garic's alias, this much he did know. A cold shiver ran up Geyldian's lengthy spine as he realised he had been in this situation before, at one of the last fights he had watched before ramping up his project. Searching through the memories of a lifespan measured in eons, the clone human hybrid eventually ed the fighter in question. One good reason why this fighter had stood the test of time in Geyldian's busy mind was that he ed the fighter making an enemy of the organiser, a distinctively bad move. As the man had left with his friends, the promoter had sent a large African fellow to tail them. The fighter was probably taught a lesson he would never forget by the huge man, who looked more like a henchman than a prize fighter. Geyldian made it his policy not to get involved in human disputes unless it was on a major scale like all-out war, and then he would only be involved because there was some benefit for the Old One's cause. Such a simple dispute had not warranted his interference. Needless to say the man, who had fought excellently in three successive bouts, had never resurfaced. Maybe an indication that he had been badly injured by the much larger man.

In Geyldian’s mind's eye, he was so taken by the similar style of the man he was watching now, to the man he had observed all those years ago, that his mind, assisted by the crowds chants, began to wander back to that night in Calais. The fighter had come in confidently and taken out the previous victor who was obviously fatigued, but the second opponent was dispatched just as effectively. In his third successive bout, as the victor was duty bound to stay in the ring until he lost, the promoter, by now losing money to this new fighter and his friends, was feeling the pressure to field an opponent who could take him out. Sending in one of his biggest strongest fighters, a heavily built Dutchman, the new fighter, only there to make a bit of extra cash had actually been tested. It hadn't been a clean fight, blood was drawn from both men. Finally the Dutchman, thinking he had the new man on the ropes, had been suckered into punching a stone wall, shattering his radius and ulnar, as well as most of the bones in his hand. This was just the break which the new fighter had planned for himself, and the fight was over quickly, another victory. Geyldian had been trying to remain inconspicuous, and had spent most of the fight seated in the back corner of the room, where he could easily see over everyone else's head, but as the Dutchman had been pushing the smaller fighter into a box in the corner, the crowd had broken around them, for a few moments until the fight ended Geyldian had a ringside seat. As the fighter had won he had raised his head into the air in victory, this brought a stark realisation into the mind of the clone envoy, the man's eyes. Instantly the image of Garic from his first meeting with Acacia came into view, the build was the same, and despite the heavy disguise in the second, later image, his eyes ... They were the same for sure. The fighter from a hundred and fifty years ago was Garic, now he could even the crowd roaring, "Morty! Morty! Morty!" -I had him ... By the ancients ... I had him all the way back then. Ironically, before Geyldian knew of the Astronaut Garic’s existence, or Morty or whatever he called himself, or how important he was to them, he could have taken him in there and then, if only he'd known. According to the information on the crash which Geyldian had received from Geberus; Garic had crashed into the Nordic Sea in 1563, and in six years he had not moved on by more than 500 miles, a far cry from the huge strides he was taking across the planet now. The fighter he was watching right this moment, whilst fighting as he expected

Garic would, and being a similar muscular build and height to Garic, was not Garic. So why was this crowd shouting Garic? Why had previous crowds shouted Garic while some had shouted Morty? Garic was not an Earth name, it was the astronauts real name, from his home world, he knew this much from Acacia. Not one of the men on these various occasions, which by now numbered more than ten, had actually been Garic. Geyldian was growing confused as to why he should have suddenly started seeing men, all drawing attention to themselves by prize fighting, who were using Garic's real name or his alias, and were even moving as he would move despite being human, not the cloned super soldier he was looking for. To try and see if there was some glimmer of reaction from the man, Geyldian had actually made his way from the shadows at the back of the room, through the crowd to watch directly. As he pushed through, the men who were already riled up as they watched the fight, turned aggressively to see who was pushing them out of their prime spot, only to see this huge man who towered at least two foot over them, smiling down at them. "Excuse me chief, I just need to get a closer look." At the sight of the huge man, the spectator would usually back down, allowing Geyldian to , then moan at the complete loss of his view of the fight. As the false Garic won his fight once again, this was also three victories on the trot now, he turned to see the big man watching him from the edge of the ring. There was absolutely no reaction from his face whatsoever before he turned to the organiser and shouted. "Forget it ... I ain't fighting him." Of course, despite the fact he had played entirely dumb in the ring upon catching sight of the Tall Client, Garic's stand in knew instantly who was watching him, but his job was now to gather intelligence. Getting a wash at the edge of the ring, drying himself and then pulling on his shirt. The fighter made his way out of the building, a quick turn back to ring side to satisfy the cheers of his irers afforded him the chance to confirm he wasn’t being followed, good! The big man was still at the side of the ring. Closing the tavern door behind him, he was quickly met by a second man who

also looked uncannily like Garic, but sufficiently different that the two men could not be confused. The plan was now that the second man would follow the Tall Client to wherever he stayed for the night. They were perplexed at the end of the night, everyone else had left the bar except the Tall Client. Both men had re-entered the tavern only to find it empty except for the proprietor, who conveniently had no recollection of an eight and a half foot man ever being there. Geyldian had simply jumped out of town, back to his regional base. Whilst being confused, Geyldian felt this parade of Garic's and Morty's was a new lead which should be followed up thoroughly. Jumping away from the fight venue, he arrived at his quarters to meet one of the section Chiefs of his new network. Since its formation, Geyldian had tried to liaise at least once a month with the new section Chiefs. Geyldian's mind was only plunged further into chaos, as each branch head, from regions all over India and China were also bringing him reports of prize fighters, or extremely loud sailors in drinking taverns or inns, all of whom were going by the name Garic or Morty. More frustration ensued as Geyldian realised that the new network were not doing anything particularly proactive about these sighting, a few of these clone Garic's had been tailed back to their boats or inns, and had been loud all the way, introducing themselves to literally everyone who crossed their paths. Considering Acacia and Louis had both given Geyldian the distinct impression that Garic had a very secretive and reclusive personality, the extremely overt behaviour of these people using a name from another galaxy made no sense until one branch head, a merchant who had an outlet in every port in the region, gave his opinion. "Can I run something by you?" "Please do ... I'm lost at this point. If you have an idea ... Then let's hear it." Spurred on by his employers forthright request and apparent lack of any ideas, the branch chief let loose. "You say that he was secretive about his real name, no one knew it, only his family and trusted employees. You say that he's followed the parts, even as far as

Guam, but got stuck at that point, and potentially he's been chasing you for years, maybe even decades, without success. You say that despite the best efforts of the network, you haven't been able to find him either." "Thanks for the recap, but what's your point?" "Well did it ever occur to you that he has had enough of banging his head against all your protective walls ... He's clever ... He's set up his own network, if you can call it that ... Or maybe a league of Garic's. We need to get hold of one of them and see what he knows, he may not know anything, but maybe if we can find out what boat they sail on, then what ports these boats operate between, and repeat for the next one ... You see?" "Aelren's beard! That's pretty clever, he couldn't find me personally, but he's known about the network for years. His only problem was that before eight years ago there was no network in this region. At that rate we may never have met at all." "Maybe, but now you have us, and he has them. Now we find out as much as we can from them and see where they lead. I'll see my agents tomorrow and get started, can you get the word out to the other branches, boss?" "Yes ... No problem ... And good work ... That's the best lead we've had in all the time I've been searching." Just as the Tall Client was beginning to formulate an actual plan, on Guam, Garic was living a much more peaceful life, he had taken to sailing the junk with Jinhai and the crew, operating on some of the more far flung islands. One of the tiniest, called Rota was about forty seven nautical miles north of Guam. Barely inhabited, this mountain peak stood alone in the middle of the vast ocean. The fishing was good in the waters around Rota, and Garic and Jinhai were beginning to make a good business sponge diving in the island's shallow waters. They were exporting the sponges to Europe for the masses of women who liked bathing. Garic had seen people sponge diving in the Mediterranean decades before, using a wet diving bell as their operating point under the sea, but Garic was able to move much more quickly in the clear waters up to twenty-five metres deep, with a newly updated version of Ying's breathing tube. The bulk of the tube was still the original cobbled together mark two version

with which Garic had intended to board the Soleil Royale. But now in a new development, the bamboo and Baoding ball had been replaced by a brass assembly which did the job much better. Jinhai would slowly pump air into the tube from the surface with a set of bellows, removing any breathing difficulties. The second tube ensured that Garic's exhaled breath was transferred back to the surface, removing any bubbles which might scare the fish or attract the attention of unwanted reef sharks. Always with him, Garic carried his trusty spear and a large net. The tube had lasted these two relaxed years since it was made with only rudimentary maintenance to the fabric ts, replacement of rotten bindings and such. With his net almost full, Garic resolved to return to the surface once more. Approaching the lifting rope with a foot loop on the bottom, and checking his breathing line was clear, Garic gave a tug on the lift rope, slowly Ying began to reel him back to the surface. The lift would take five minutes to reach the surface to reduce any chances of diving sickness, so Garic would arrive at the surface fresh and ready to help his crew sail home. Congalie was still running her tavern which was the place to be for sailors mooring off Guam, there weren't any other taverns so business was good. Every now and then one of her artificial Garic's or rogue Morty's would pull back into the bay, still recovering from an organised fight, or with some other story to tell. Garic had not put much stock in Congalie's plan, sure he let her recruit some of her friends who all bore more than a ing resemblance to Garic, he even taught them a few moves and how to read an opponent more effectively, so the men would stand out from the crowd, but he had been very scant with any other details. Some he named Garic and some he named Morty knowing that these names were sure to catch attention if the men had found themselves in the presence of the network. By now Congalie had recruited maybe thirty men, all of whom had been sailing these last two years to ports in India and China, despite her obvious energy and enthusiasm which remained high even now after two years of receiving nothing much in the way of useful information, Garic had not pulled the plug. The Garics and Mortys weren't hurting anything, and besides, here with Congalie, Jinhai and the crew of the junk, he had found a little slice of heaven ... life was relaxed. The only thing which really detracted from Garic's daily operations was the Spanish governor, and his taxes on the revenues which Garic

and Jinhai made from their endeavours. Garic was aware from the last letter he'd received from Acacia, still in Constantinople that the Tall Client had spent the last twelve years ramping up production, currently the Företaget shipping company had three ships engaged in the service now, transporting parts almost on a constant rotation. He was also aware from some very simple sketches drawn by Louis that some additional parts were now being introduced, these were bigger, and looked purely structural. Considering what he knew about the parts he had seen, Garic always thought them to be parts for a reactor core of some kind. While he didn’t know the exact technology, which appeared to be far in advance of his own ship, he wondered if the reactors were breaking down, and that maybe some areas of the surrounding structure of the ship were in need of replacement after being contaminated. Setting up a permanent station here had allowed him to see that there were now nine ships which the fog raised for, and he had even taken to chartering these same boats to haul his sponges back to Safaga, in effect piggy backing his own operations on those of the Tall Client. Originally he had only gone aboard one of the vessels to propose the idea, and had expected to be ejected almost immediately. Instead he had struck up a friendship with the first mate, whom he presumed would not be directly under the watchful eye of the Alien taskmaster. The man even ended up taking him below to brag about their prestigious cargo, in this way Garic was able to better visualise Louis’ sketches. Quickly though these new events all became routine and these last two years had been mostly quiet. Upon his return to Guam from his trip to Rota, Congalie met him off the junk and walked with him arm in arm to the tavern. This was an experience Garic had never lived before, not even on Ashlar-Gin. He ed loving his wife Noanje and their three children, but there had been little time for public displays of affection such as this. For two species as similar as his own and the human race, their societies could not have been more opposite in their ways. Even so, Garic knew that even though he was walking with his hands locked to another human being, with whom he had shared enough of himself to actually grow close, and maybe even further, that this was not even the norm here either. With this small island firmly

in the grip of Spanish rule, Catholicism meant that religious impositions were also prevalent. Congalie's asserted that if they were living in her hometown of Ireland things may have been even worse. They would certainly have never been allowed to live under the same roof out of wedlock. For the most part, as long as Garic and Jinhai paid the levy which the governor demanded, he stayed out of their business, accepting that foreigners lived differently. On this island there were so many foreigners, he understood that trying to govern them all as he was expected to by Spain, would've been an exercise in futility. So for the most part he allowed a live and let live policy. As long as he made the right noises in his reports back home, his position was assured. For the most part he was laid back enough to have the backing of most of the permanent inhabitants of Guam, he kept the peace and brought order, with a minimum of fuss and force, rare for a Spaniard. Congalie was always excited when Garic returned from his trips to Rota or the other islands, she had fallen for him completely, yet there was no talk of marriage. Garic found this odd, but was grateful nonetheless. He had fallen for her too, but was mindful of his previous relationships, having already resolved that he may never see Acacia again, and while they corresponded often by letter now, he was aware that out of sight was nearly out of mind. Acacia would be in her forties now, and only getting older. Congalie was maybe the same age as Garic appeared, but he had not told her yet that eventually she would die, while he would still have the look of a man in his thirties. This was a problem, and was the primary reason why Garic had resolved centuries ago never to fall in love, but Congalie was typical of the Irish in her strong will and persistence. She made him acutely aware that she would not take no for an answer, chipping away each day in some small measure at his thick defensive persona which he had built for himself, until before long, this persona had dissolved away to leave the man that Garic truly was. A warm man who needed companionship just like everyone else. After this, Garic became far less preoccupied with the Tall Client and his affairs, he never forgot, but he made more time for other things, the frequency of his letter writing to Acacia meant that she would almost be guaranteed to receive a letter every time she pulled into port in Alexandria.

Whilst not being a chore, the concept of having to provide for Congalie and put food on the table and money in the pot was also something which Garic had never had to do before. Everything had been provided for soldiers and their families back on Ashlar-Gin. Of course, Congalie was more than capable of providing for herself, and maybe even saw her role as the provider, knowing what she knew about Garic and his origins. He appeared to her to be very stunted in social situations, especially around people who were new to him, like a small boy who was not quite capable of looking after himself without some degree of mothering. Now though, as the pair arrived back inside the tavern, Congalie was positively beside herself with excitement. Garic prepared himself for some revelation about her millionth sailor customer or maybe she had finally saved enough to build the extension she was after. Garic should not have made such assumptions though as the news she was about to reveal, would strike much closer to home for him. "Do you Albert love?" "Yes, of course Connie pet, but I think you mean Albert Garic." With this Garic began to laugh, but as he did, not wanting to upset Congalie, he strode confidently towards Albert, an English sailor friend of hers. In fact Albert was one of her first friends after she was ditched on Guam. Albert was an English sailor, ex-navy, he had seen a few skirmishes at sea, mostly against the Spanish, which always explained why the governor kept one suspicious eye on his activities when he was on the island. That said Albert, also having a distinct mistrust of all people and things which were Spanish, always had one eye looking over his shoulder too. He could with uncanny accuracy, always predict when the governor was lurking around, or was about to enter a room to interrupt something which had nothing to do with him. "Albert! How are you my good man? Long time no see, how long has it been exactly? ... About eight months?" "Almost to the day Garic. You look well, enjoying the climate no doubt." "Yes, indeed, my arthritis is much eased by the never ending sweatiness of life on a tiny Pacific island."

With this the two men began to laugh together, each one taking a shot at the other. This failure to get down to business and explore the real reason for their meeting, only served to annoy Congalie. Removing the Brandy from the table silenced both men instantly. "There now I've the attention of the both of you. Albert, why don't you tell Garic what you've learned? Garic ... Hush yourself and listen to Albert ... He's come a long way, and not for some jape!" With this the two men, both transformed themselves into seriousness personified, adopting a similar salty sea dog style one eyed squint, across the table, before laughing again. Congalie had seen enough, and withdrew behind the bar, brandy glasses in hand, before proceeding to busy herself as if she no longer cared. But once Albert began to talk, she could not help but earwig. "I've seen him Garic ... Your big man, hell I nearly soiled myself, he's huge, his head was scraping the ceiling, I've seen no man taller ever in my whole life." "Where? ... When?..." "About five months ago, eastern India. I was fighting and as usual I was winning ... Thanks to you, such a difference to when I used to fight, it's almost like they can't touch me. I must have beaten three men when he just forced himself through the crowd for a look. I tell you, he looked like he recognised my style, but he was surprised when I wasn't you. It took me all my effort not to react to him. I tried to have a Morty follow him, but he vanished from inside the den, and I didn't risk coming back here until I knew for sure I wasn't being tailed." "Good work Albert, that's amazing news." "But that's not all Garic, talking to a few of the other Garic's and Morty's, a few of them have seen him too, he's out there ... And he's looking for himself, getting his hands dirty. The others all report seeing men watching them quietly too, when everyone else is bringing the roof down, for one man to be watching them specifically and to be so quiet ..." "His network ... He's finally expanded his network! This is great news Albert, truly great news. Connie my darling ... Brandy for my friend!" Smiling and happy once more, she had understood the significance of Albert’s

observations the instant he had told her the previous day. For over two years the Garics and Mortys had been showing off, attracting attention all over the Indian and Chinese coast line for a few months over two years. But in all that time, no news had ever returned. This illustrated to Garic the huge gaps in the Tall Client's network, and went in some part to justify Garic's reasons for not expecting much from Congalie's original plan. The fact that now, Albert had returned not just with a few meagre tit-bits, but some real evidence of the Tall Client and a newly formed Indo-Chinese branch of the human network, this meant the two were closer than ever to achieving a meeting. Albert was the first, but in the next year, more than ten assorted Garic and Morty recruits, all returned to Guam for a debriefing, two of whom had also seen the Tall Client. All of them had reports of being tailed by the same people who had spent hours observing them in taverns and organised fighting matches all over the two countries. One of these men, a French sailor called Lucien, who looked much more like Garic than Albert did, even reported that he had been accosted by two of these new network in South Western China. He was bustled into what looked like a shop, but was actually a secret office. He was questioned at length by the two men, who were certain from the Tall Client’s descriptions that they had found the real Garic. The questions were far too detailed though, formed from everything the Tall Client knew about the real Garic and every which had ever been told to him or the Network. As such, Lucien Morty had fallen far short of impressing the men, who instantly turned on him. Lucien had feared for his life, but fought adequately enough to break free of them and the building. The three of them spilled into the street, where Lucien had managed to floor the two men and escape into the cover of the busy crowd. This was a new one, Garic had known the network in Constantinople very well, the well-dressed messenger and later, his son. There was never any hint of strong arm tactics. They selected people based on their ability to comply with the Tall Client's wishes, there was never any need for bullying. Maybe his orders now were different, to find Garic at any cost, by any means. In the months which followed several more of Congalie's recruits reported similar s, this was indeed a worrying situation, but Garic needn't have worried. Far North in China, Geyldian had heard from various section heads of these interviews and their decline into outright interrogations, with dangerous

and more worryingly, highly visible public fighting resulting. Geyldian's reaction was unexpected to say the least, he disbanded the network, only saving the few trusted section heads who spoke out. This was going to hurt his chances of a meeting occurring in the next few years, but the Clone, well versed in dealing with human matters. He wanted to ensure that tasks were accomplished by peaceful means, certainly from his side at the very least. He knew full well that these experiences would be getting reported back to the real Garic, or whoever it was that was organising and directing his imposters. This kind of action was surely sending the wrong message, and may see all chances of a meeting dashed. Geyldian could not have that. He gave explicit orders that these two section heads, now having no actual sections to command, should only perform one last function, before they should return solely to their normal human activities. The next Garic or Morty which they found should be given this simple message to on to the real Garic. "Come to Shanghai, I will find you personally. I apologise for the treatment of your friends, this was never our intention." This message, written indelibly into the minds of the remaining two network proved to be much more difficult to deliver than Geyldian could have ever expected ... On Guam, with increasingly common reports of his Garic and Morty brigade, being subjected to a night in a cell, before being questioned most roughly, some even brutally, had led Garic and Congalie to the same exact conclusion. Enough was enough, they had come close, but not close enough. Garic did not want any of his new friends to die for him, though most would have been willing. He got his new request out as quickly as the sailors, all released from their roles as imposters could carry it. They should no longer impersonate him, nor should any of them use the name Garic, or the alias Morty. Garic's message was carried far and wide, and as quickly as the wind could carry the ships of the men who would deliver it, to all but one man. He played the role of Morty, and while having a ing resemblance to Garic dimensionally, was not the most accurate look alike of the bunch, nor had he made the best use of the training which Garic had given him. By his own ission, his record of victories struggled to stay ahead of his

losses. Yet within the space of two months, this man, real name Jacob, was soon the only Morty left in existence, who had not actually been christened with the name. He was the last Morty standing, and for five years he travelled within Chinese waters, from port to port, still trying to make a difference. Geyldian had never been closer in those five years than he had been before disbanding his extended network. It seemed the ground which he and his only two remaining section Chiefs could cover by themselves, just wasn't enough. Without knowing it, their paths had almost crossed several times with Jacob Morty, but so adept was Jacob at losing his fights that usually the crowd would be shouting his opponents name, as Morty was being thrown back out into the street. Well before the network men had even reached the venue. Jacob was failing at his mission almost as much as he failed to be an exceptional fighter, but with stubborn determination, he continued ... Geyldian was beginning to lose hope once more, and had paid the last two section Chiefs for five years too long, the seemingly never ending stream of Garic's and Morty's having dried up as quickly as they had become apparent. He had not personally seen any single fighter of European origin who stood out above the oriental or Indian fighters, truth be told Geyldian had by now lost his appetite for fighting almost completely. If he ever went into another fight den, it would be too soon...

Chapter 30 - Last Morty ... Standing? ...

ONE FATEFUL DAY IN March of 1715, Jacob Morty lost his job again. Having shown up on deck too injured from his efforts the night before to sail, he had been relieved of his duties. This was Jacob's life, he had never shined at sailing, he had never shone at anything. He was the only Morty who failed to make use of the training which Garic had given him. Within a week, Jacob found himself in dire need of aid, and hadn't eaten since before his last fight. Sleeping most of the time, under a bridge by a stream, surviving on the scraps other people left, gave Jacob some considerable time to reflect upon his life to this point. The highlight of which had definitely been his meeting with Garic, but as with all things, during the training which Garic had given him and four other men at the time, Garic's movements were too fast, and his voice too calm to make the words stick in his memory. That said, the words had been heard, and whilst not striking an immediate chord with Jacob, these memories were to be found revolving inside his mind increasingly more often now that he had time on his hands. As a memory, Garic's movements were slower, and the other noises which had drowned out his voice were gone. Quite quickly Jacob was able to zone in, this was his last chance and he had to make it count. If he could not fight and make some money, no one else would give a damn, until they had to push his dead body into the river to clear the path under the bridge. Two days later Jacob, full of newly learned knowledge but no practical experience, walked into one local tavern where he was assured of an organised fight. This was make or break time. Coincidentally parked in a darkened corner, lit only by the red lanterns, eating a meal were the two section Chiefs, who were having a meeting to catch up. Neither one had made any progress. Each having encountered approximately zero Garics and precisely zero Mortys. As they sat drinking their warm Baijiu, conversing; neither one observed the underweight frame of Jacob striding past their table to the rear of the tavern. It was half an hour later as they were just finishing up their meals, when the all too familiar din of a severe beating being delivered to someone in the back room began. It had been months since either one of them had heard such a commotion. Paying the bill, both men made their way quickly into the back room. There, the two of them saw a tall man, over six foot, broad and maybe at some point, well

built, but now the man with his arm in the air being declared the victor looked like a gaunt shadow of what he may have been. Having won his first fight as the challenger, Jacob would have to stay in the ring and fight as the victor, the pressure to fight well was now upon him. The first opponent had been a big man, strong and well fed, but not quick with his movements. As a practice for Jacob to put his theoretical learnings to the test, he had been the perfect challenge. The man, who was still on the ground, being roused by his corner men, was truly out of it. After two minutes he did regain consciousness, but not his feet enough to walk. As such the aids carried him from the ring. The promoter immediately announced a new challenger, an unknown unless he won this fight. Then the man announced the previous winner, for the satisfaction of the crowd, the name he bellowed out was "Morty!", significantly drawn out for dramatic effect. The prospect of a new match about to begin, brought the room to silence. The atmosphere, tainted as it was by tobacco and some significant opiate fumes, was also thick with anticipation. Morty, who had already won by a huge knockout, looked to be mismatched against his new opponent who stood even taller than him, and looked far better fed. As the fight began, Jacob had already weighed up this new opponent, and was giddy at the prospect of another win. He would be eating tonight for a change, another win may see him spending the night in one of the tavern’s rooms. This was it, he felt his fortune was changing, but he must remain calm and focused or he’d blow it. In came the bigger man, who Jacob noticed was favouring his right side, and while he was a big man, the way he held himself was stiff to the point of immobility. The calluses Jacob felt on the man’s hands in the pre-fight handshake said he was a manual labourer. His upper body was littered with scars, which said he was accident prone and maybe given to a lack of balance. Then there was the way he was protecting his left hand side. This looked like a severe injury, well healed, but still affecting his performance. That said, he was clearly bigger than Jacob, and his expression said that he was hungry for a win. Jacob spent the first round ducking and dodging, selecting his punches, all were absorbed into the man's right hand side, and he never really caught sight of his opponents left flank at all. This needed to change in the next round. Jacob wasn’t developing the same strength he was capable of a month ago. Trying to break his

opponent on his right hand side was a waste of time and energy. Jacob knew that he had to get the man off balance, make him spin and expose his left hand side, then he'd give him everything he could still muster. As the two men danced towards each other at the start of the second round, Jacob decided to stand toe to toe, and quickly raised an uppercut into the jaw of his opponent, with enough force to make it rattle. Stunned, the man's head rolled skywards, eyes closed, just for a moment he was stopped in his tracks. Quickly Jacob adjusted his position to where he could land another into his left hand side. Hits to the diaphragm and the rib cage landed quickly and were taking a toll, but he just wasn't strong enough to end it. Continuing around the man he kept lacing punches one after the other, straight into the bigger man. Ribs, already broken years ago were snapping again at each blow. Jacob was inching closer to victory once again, finally landing a huge blow between the man's shoulder blades. This ended the fight, the man sank to his knees and fell sideways. The speed with which Jacob had ended this fight despite appearing to be at such a profound disadvantage, had now succeeded in catching the two section Chiefs full attention. The crowd was chanting Morty, endlessly. Tankards were raised high in the air, their contents spilling everywhere. At the end of the night, Jacob remained unbeaten, each time against the odds, making all who placed bets upon him, momentarily a little bit better off. In general though, most men who had placed bets on Jacob to win, went on to bet against him at the sight of his next opponent. Invariably these were larger men who looked like they had a better chance. Not one single punter had stuck with Jacob throughout the whole night, most took losses but some were lucky enough to go home even After a seven win streak of fighting excellence, Jacob collected his purse. This was more money than Jacob had seen in one place for a long time, as the organiser was kicking out his punters, Jacob took a table. He had expected to eat alone, but was surprised when two older gentlemen asked if they might him. "So Morty, well done on your string of wins, you fight exceptionally well. Reading your opponent as you do, it is hard to see you ever losing." "Thank you, I'm not normally so great, I guess some stars aligned tonight."

"What's your real name? We know it probably isn't Morty ... Don't worry we don't mean you any harm, enjoy your meal. We have a Tall Client who is interested to know more about the real Morty. But maybe you know him by his real name ... Garic?" A shiver went up Jacobs spine, for the best part of six years since he was recruited on Guam by Congalie, then shown how to fight by Garic, Jacob had been beyond hopeless. Never once had he caught anyone's eye, much less come close to achieving the task which had been set; to the Tall Client’s network. Even tonight, after his victories, the chances of him being in their presence and them seeing him had been slim to none at best, and yet even here Jacob had triumphed it seemed. “Yes I have heard of him." "Did he show you how to fight like that? How to read your opponent?" "Well I had fought before, but had a fairly even record, even after Garic showed me a few things. I still wasn't great, but as you can see, I've fallen on hard times recently, and that served to focus my mind on the lessons ... The gifts which he gave me." "Are you still in with Garic." "Not since the last time, why? We were only supposed to return when we had learned something." "Okay, that's good ... Morty?" "Jacob ... My real name is Jacob." "Can you get a message to Garic, wherever he is? We don't need to know anything else." "Yes ... I can leave tomorrow. What's the message?" "The Tall Client has invited Garic to meet him in Shanghai, all he has to do is show. Our client will find him after that." "Yes ... I can do that ... Shanghai. I expect it'll be around four months from now

though, is that alright?" "That'll be just fine ... Don't worry Jacob, these two men have been seeking each other for years, our Tall Client is in your debt for performing this service for him. We'll leave now ... Please enjoy your meal ... It’s on us ... You've earned it." With that the two men stood, one of them placed more than enough money on the table to cover the meal and a stay in the tavern, maybe even enough to charter a boat to deliver his message to Garic. What a result, Jacob finally had money in his pocket and these two men wouldn’t let him spend it. It was a little over two weeks before the two section chiefs, now retired from the Tall Client's employ, gave him the happy news. They had delivered his message after five years, to the most unlikely Morty they had ever come across. As the men described the whole event, Geyldian could not resist entering one of his agent’s minds to watch. “He was this malnourished? ... But he fought like a one man army.” Geyldian was visibly overjoyed and relieved. Now the endless ear ache from his Prime would end. In a little less than four months, they would finally be able to invite the alien super soldier aboard their own leviathan ... Central. Six hundred nautical miles southwest of their position, Jacob’s rotten luck had returned. The small boat he’d chartered solely for his return to Guam, was floundering in a storm which even by Pacific standards was huge. The only hope this small boat had was to weather the storm now lashing them and make landfall whilst inside the eye, before the other storm wall hit them again. The captain had spent some time pouring over charts and memorising his options. A string of tiny islands lay before them, but in the pitch black, illuminated only by the occasional dazzling lightning flash, he was pretty much taking pot luck at this point. He certainly didn’t expect his boat was where he thought it was; by now they could be a hundred miles off course. In this case they would never hit land. The damage they had already sustained whilst not minor, was not severe enough to make them a dead duck. The top five feet of mast one had snapped, the sail was sagging violently. No sailor dared to climb the mast and cut the sail free. If the tail end of the storm caught them before they put into a bay for shelter, their chances of survival were limited.

Jacob cursed his luck and wished he could have been born someone else, with a more charmed life. He always seemed to get the worst deal going, even when he was in the company of others. He expected their luck to be many times better than his, yet they would always be forced to ride the downward slope with him. It was never the other way around. Jacob tried hard not to dwell on these small misfortunes, he had lived an adequate life, but now things were getting serious. He had achieved something major, and still fate might not allow him to accomplish his final objective. The main mast was cracking under the strain of the winds as the captain dropped out of the storm wall, into the eye. At this point the winds were still elevated far above normal, but were quickly falling. As he sailed, the captain figured they had no more than three hours to find land before the rear storm wall would overtake them and smash them to pieces. Repairs began immediately with some braces being lashed around the main mast to reinforce the cracked section. The sea was much calmer now. Much to the captain’s surprise he could just make out a small island peak on the far horizon. It was too early for a pat on the back. They needed to repair the sail and make headway before the winds began to halt their forward progress. Taking a quick break to consult his charts and try to get a fix on their position, his best guess from what he could actually make out, was that they were not far off course at all. They were in the Luzon strait, north of the Philippines. The captain was aware that there were several uninhabited islands, like rocky outcrops which barely broke the surface of the sea. He could clearly see two larger masses, and was not sure about several more, smaller ones. The only place this could have been was Balintang Island. On the chart they appeared as a group of seven small rocky outcrops, he’d seen these many times before in ing, always from a safe distance. If his memory served, one side of the main island, and all the smaller masses were steep-to, rising almost vertically from the water. They would provide some shelter from what was coming, but one wrong move and they would be wrecked against these sharp cliffs. For an hour, the captain made his best time towards the larger island's southernmost side, here he could see the largest peak, which easily bettered one hundred meters in height. This would afford them some protection at least. He

didn’t dare get too close into the bay. There were probably jagged rocks just below the surface, he had no time to take depth readings. Where they were now would have to do. The next hour saw the men tying themselves down and anything else on the deck which was heavy. They had dropped three anchors but not much line had gone out, indicating the water was maybe 14 fathoms deep if they were lucky. The anchor lines were left loose, to allow the tiny boat to ride the waves a little. The captain thought their position was safe enough. The sails were stowed, hopefully the braced main would hold fast. What ed in the next six hours was the closest Jacob ever wanted to be to hell. Despite being tied down, two men had been washed free, then off the deck, screaming as they were absorbed into the sea. Soon, but not soon enough these screams fell silent, only the occasional bump was heard against the small boats hull. Jacob didn’t want to think about the bodies of the two men being smashed against the boat, but he was thanking god it wasn’t him. The repair was good and as the storm once more left them in its wake, the boat appeared intact. A quick inspection revealed that one more man had been claimed, he was still lashed firmly to an iron eyelet on the forward gunwale, but he’d drowned nonetheless from the sheer volume of water which had been washing over the deck as the boat bobbed up and down in the waves. The anchors having dragged, the boat was a hundred feet closer to the rocky cliff than the captain had left her. Another hour would have seen them smashed. This was something to be positive about, and Jacob gave a silent thankyou to the captain in the few moments when their eyes locked, before the captain began to give orders to his remaining crew. This had been a last refuge, had this land not been reached they would’ve been dead for sure as there was no more land until the Mariana Islands, another three weeks away with a firm wind. With the wind all blown out, barely a breeze remained, thankfully this was enough to move the boat away from the cliffs, rounding the small island, on the far horizon the sky was black. The storm was still raging ahead of them, so for now the captain was happy not to be making good time ...

Chapter 31 - Morty’s mission accomplished ...

SHORTLY AFTER JACOB’S tiny boat had pulled into the bay off Guam's western coastline, in a direct line of sight from Connie's quarters above her tavern, the last fake Morty had been released from his service to Garic and her. Jacob was the last member of the Morty brigade, with all the remaining Garic and Morty impersonators having been discharged over five years earlier. With all news of Jacob being consistently disappointing, the other believed Jacob had discharged himself years before them. None had ever sought Jacob out to deliver Garic's final orders to disband. This had truly been a stroke of luck for Garic who would now receive his message, hot from the Tall Client’s human network. Jacob told a sorry tale to Connie, who was desperately hoping Garic and Jinhai would return quickly from sponge diving on the opposite side of the island. The pair had been gone roughly three days and were due back any time. Connie ed Jacob receiving a few days training some seven years earlier; he’d been one of the first, sent on his way with enough knowledge to make him stand out. Connie was stunned as Jacob basically itted that the training he'd received went straight over his head, but that he had continued on the mission anyway; nearly getting himself killed several times in the process. Jacob continued onwards to say that this streak continued until about four months ago when he had, in a very sorry state, hit rock bottom. In a malnourished daze most of the time, he had begun to relive the lessons which Garic had given him. The knowledge, now make or break, had clicked in his brain such that he’d been able to fight out of his skin ... Once. Even more miraculous was the news that on this particular night, where Jacob had defeated all challengers to win every bout, he was finally noticed by the Tall Client’s network. Connie put her arm around her old friend, whom she had not set eyes on since his last visit. Jacob was still a shadow of the strapping, well-built man she ed, she had lived through hard times herself when she had first been abandoned on Guam. Thankfully, she had always managed to eat and find shelter. That he had fallen so far, and still remained on mission, spoke of an eternal optimism within Jacob which it seemed, could not be extinguished by a mere streak of bad luck, even if that mere streak lasted for the best part of a

decade. The next day, and not a moment too soon, Garic and Jinhai appeared at the end of the road which led through the small town. Each now carried a bag full of sponges over his shoulder. It was more than Connie could do, not to run out to meet the two men. Hugging Jinhai first, she then grappled her way past him to capture Garic into her arms. Aside from exchanging pleasantries, Connie remained tight lipped about Jacob’s arrival and his news; she wanted it to be a surprise. The first port of call, following an expedition was always to see the governor. Connie knew this, but it didn’t stop her trying to lead the two men straight past his office, she never let her arm lock go from between them both. It took the cooperative effort of Garic and his first mate to stop his woman whose sights were set firmly on her tavern. The unhappy look upon her face as both men lifted her into the air and began marching backwards was to be expected from the fiery Irish lady. The Governor had to be informed of their new found spoils at the very least; though Garic wouldn’t have to pay him until a ship had paid for the haul. Walking into the governor’s office ... “Come on Connie girl, you know the Governor will want to know how much money he should be expecting. Then he’ll want us to sell them quickly.” "Oh no Garic love, the sellin’ can wait ... You've urgent business at the Tavern." Garic and Jinhai first looked at each other, before locking eyes with the Governor, who in turn locked eyes with each of them, before rolling his eyes. "It's alright Garic. I know you are both honourable men, I will wait, but better that the sponges are sold quickly ... You know?" "Understood sir, and we'll come back to see you later." With this brief exchange, the two men turned on their heels and recollected Connie into their arms. As the pair lead the noisy Irish barkeep outside backwards; the governor’s eyes rolled downwards to make the appropriate note in his ledger. Outside again, Connie was in charge, but only because Garic allowed it. With a nod he signalled Jinhai to go down to the harbour and sell the sponges. His

Chinese friend broke formation, walking away with one arm out-stretched. Pulling the bag from his own shoulder, Garic first swung the bag down and then up and over his shoulder backwards. The sponge bag arced through the air, landing in Jinhai’s open hand in one smooth move. Arm in arm the two of them hurried back to the tavern, where Garic having no memory of the unremarkable Jacob, had to be re-introduced by Connie. Shaking hands, the scales of excitement were almost unhinged in the favour of the Morty impersonator, as Garic stood unshakable and almost expressionless. “Garic ... So good to finally see you again! ... I thought this day would never come.” “Jacob ...” Garic remained frosty, only to receive a rather large and unsubtle elbow to his ribs from Congalie. Garic remained unmoved, but took the hint. “Jacob ... I’m sorry ... I vaguely that you were one of the earliest Mortys ... But I find myself at a loss as to how ... Or why ... You should be here now? I disbanded our network over five years ago.” Scratching his head ... And looking rather deflated, the sailor began rubbing his chin in broad strokes. Jacob then related his story in the same words he’d used to Connie a day earlier. This took an hour, after which Garic was up to speed fully with the poor judgement and poorer luck of Jacob. “... So basically, the network says if you can get to Shanghai, the Tall Client will find you there.” Throughout the tale, Jacob had been displaying a whole range of emotions as he attempted to give Garic the full picture, but this final statement was delivered with some joy, and a large smile on Jacob’s face. A cursory glance by Garic said that Jacob was telling the truth, nor was it his fault none of the other impersonators had bothered to look him up to relieve him of the role. -So why then ... Why does this story seem too good to be true? Garic was having trouble reconciling the words of this man. He found it unlikely that Jacob, who was for all purposes a failure, should be the one to deliver the

news he had waited for. In fact, since disbanding his league of Garics and Mortys, he had given up on ever receiving news like this. -Is the tall client toying with me? Is he so masterful that he was able to pick a Morty at a time which suited him? And why after all this time is his message only one line long? ... “I can see you don’t believe me Garic. It does seem to be against all the odds that I would be the one. I can barely believe it myself, and I’ve had two months to take it in.” “I can see you’re telling the truth Jacob, of that I am not in doubt. As far as the series of events ... Well let’s just say, stranger things have happened. Right now I need to be thankful that the stars seemed to align for you that night, and you made it here ... So ... Shanghai eh! I’ve got a junk to prepare.” With this, Garic thanked Jacob for his efforts and dedication, before chastising the sailor in the next breath ... “Why would you even leave Guam without seeking to clarify the lessons I gave you? Your life could have been much easier.” Jacob had no answer. Garic then placed a small sack containing gold pieces on the table for Jacob. Garic, raising himself from his seat, attempted to leave. “What’s this for Garic?” “It’s for you, call it a bonus ... For a job well done. And extremely dumb bravery in the face of overwhelming adversity.” “I can’t accept that ... But thank you anyway.” Now Garic slowly lowered himself back into his seat, as he did so it was Jacob who raised out of his, shaking his head slowly. “I didn’t do any of this for the money; certainly, there have been times when I wondered why I was doing it at all, and a few coins might’ve made a real difference. The only thing which kept me going was that my struggle, no matter how great it was, was never greater than yours. Money or reward was never on my mind ... I just wanted to help. For the longest time I was no help at all. I’m

just glad that in the end, I could be of some service. I don’t need all that gold ... So much money would surely be like painting a target on my back. I’m tired of fighting, even though ... For one night, I raised hell. Just don’t waste your chance ... I don’t wish you ill, but I hope to never see you again.” With this Jacob bade Connie and Garic a good night, before ascending the stairway to his room on the first floor. Garic remained slack jawed in his chair. Connie, seeing her partner stunned to silence, made her way to his side, putting her hand on his shoulder for comfort ... “Well ... In your heart of hearts you must’ve known he wasn’t a quitter, or you would never have taught him in the first place ... Would you now?” Garic heard her words, but was powerless to respond. He wished her statement was true, but in all honesty Garic ed quite clearly that at the time, he spent scarcely any time vetting the candidates. He was never able to relate to them in any way, let alone see any hidden personality traits. This was mainly because, secretly, in his mind, the plan had very little merit in the first place. Though he was glad to be proven wrong, and considered that he was now much more like the Tall Client than he could ever it. He had successfully used a group of humans to achieve something positive on this planet, and with practically no gain to them. Sure, they had each received a bag of gold coins similar to the one offered to Jacob, but all of them had gone through the wringer in some way to get it. Standing up and turning to fold Connie into his arms, she knew what was coming next. Conflicted; Connie was happy that the man she loved was a step nearer to achieving his goal, but her heart was sinking fast as the reality of what this meant began to hit her. If Garic was successful, it was unlikely that she would ever see him again. Tears began to form in her eyes, but Garic instantly began to wipe them away gently with his thumbs. “Now then Girl ... I’ll have none of that. You’re a strong woman, with or without me ... If I can get back, I will, you can count on that. Don’t wait for me Connie, I might be a while ... Always ... I love you ... And I’ll carry you everywhere with me, in here.” With this Garic put one hand across his chest, this only caused the tears he’d wiped away to be quickly replaced, but with much more volume. This time

Connie could not keep her tears contained in the rims of her eyes, each blink setting them free to roll down her rosy cheeks, meeting underneath her chin. Placing one last kiss on her forehead, Garic released the only woman from this world that he had ever made time for, turned and left the tavern, bound for the junk. Having met Jinhai returning from the Governor's office, the two men rowed out to the junk moored in the harbour. Already stocked and ready to go, the sails were set, sending the junk gliding through the water at best speed into the midday sun ...

Chapter 32 - One of our Clones is missing

TWO MONTHS LATER ABOARD Central and Geyldian was in the Circle of Numbers, the clones were deep in conference about the procedure which the ambassador for human affairs would rigidly adhere to. Aelren was keen to the identity of the astronaut, and ascertain his usefulness, before they might make a mistake by bringing him on board. Once the man was confirmed to be Garic, Geyldian should engage him in conversation to confirm everything he knew about the parts. Having only ever seen the parts in isolation, if he had any idea what they were all assembled to form, then his intelligence could be assumed to be high, and he would be one step closer to a role on Central. Thirdly, Geyldian should find out how Garic came to be on this planet. What class of ship brought him? How far had he travelled? And from what system? Then any other pertinent information which would allow the Old Ones to determine how much time they might have, and if the Khai-Mah were even aware that the Devine were present on Earth. Aelren made it clear that if; and only IF Garic should give satisfactory answers to everything, should his second in command give him the choice to come aboard Central. -What if Garic says no? The Circle of Numbers was stunned to silence, of course they had all heard the question form in Geyldian’s mind, but none, least of all Aelren had stopped to consider the answer. The Old Prime was convinced that the tenacity with which the astronaut had chased Geyldian all over the globe, was confirmation enough that when the two met, he might rip his second in command's arm off to them back in a civilised, clean environment away from the chaotic life on the surface. Aelren now found himself being stared down by his surrounding subordinates, who felt this kind of thought was not only premature, but also highly arrogant. After all, Leren had confirmed from the remaining crew of Garic’s ship, still in cold storage on a dark lower deck, that Garic was far more like a human than he was a Devine, or a clone. For all they knew, he might be thoroughly enjoying his time among the humans. They would certainly remind him of his home world,

which in all probability no longer existed, knowing how the Khai-mah dealt with planets which resisted their control. Never one to it he was in the wrong, Aelren quickly rushed to justify his view. -If he was really happy amongst them ... Do you really think he would have endlessly pursued you? -He took a daughter, and grew a successful business; he must have derived some pleasure from these pursuits at the very least. While we must assume his home world was not an exact copy of this planet, as such his sensibilities have yet to be determined; we can assume that he is advanced beyond the humans, as his species were obviously a space faring race. It may be that he knows were are here, and he wants to warn us about the Khai-mah, but ultimately he feels he can help the humans far more than he can help us. It is by no means a foregone conclusion that he will want to us here ... It isn’t like you to make assumptions. -OK, then let’s put it like this. We have an advanced species out there, roaming around in a sea of warmongering, chaotic naked apes who simply are not ready for the advances he can show them ... While we are busy trying to save the planet from our own reactors, he might give them advanced weapons, which we all know the humans will not be able to resist using. The planet will be blown out of existence despite all our long efforts. -He hasn’t once in over a century and a half, so much as shown any of the people he has mixed with, one single piece of advanced technology, let alone try to change the human race. Nor are there any hints that he ever would ... You’re being a little hypocritical aren’t you? ... Considering what you have me doing, feeding advances to the monkeys, for our own ends. We’ve changed the human race more than one man ever could ... -But slowly ... With a purpose ... And never before they were ready, or we would have completed our reactor upgrades about four and a half Millennia ago. We follow the strictest of rules in our conduct, regarding what we give them and when ... You know that. One man, acting alone could do a lot of damage. -It sounds like you want me to get him on board by any means, so we can control him, and keep him away from them. So it’s a stasis pod in his future

then? -That depends entirely upon him, AND you, but you would not be doing your job correctly if you cannot at least consider that he may have his own motives for wanting to come aboard, or wanting to stay amongst the humans. Geyldian knew this was as far as he could push, and all the Numbers sensed their Prime was growing tired of Geyldian’s endless impertinence. -Within the next few days we will have our answer won’t we? As the gathered clones waited for their Prime to take his leave, it was obvious to them all that Geyldian was having second thoughts. He could not in good conscience meet Garic, just to trap him. Geyldian was by no means inside the astronauts head, but some of the moves he’d made showed his desperation to locate the clone, who was sure that Garic only had the best of intentions. Geyldian did not like the thought that on a whim, Aelren would deem him to be unsuitable or unworthy of a role on Central, but equally; far too dangerous to live amongst the humans. He would not let Aelren put Garic in a stasis pod on Mona or anywhere else for that matter. Geyldian needed to get clear of the reach of the hive, the thoughts he needed to work through, did not need to be proliferated through the Numbers, or reach Aelren. So the old human clone hybrid took a walk, after a few hours or so travelling along the corridors of Central, moving sixty or so decks below his quarters, to the underbelly of the huge leviathan, Geyldian found himself all alone in his mind. Stood all too close to one of the aging reactors, the slight leak of particles into his body would serve to unplug him from the hive mind, he could not stay here for long or physical damage could occur. He knew that Oxull and his Novus all wore devices to show them when they must retire from such proximity, at which point the particles would be quickly dealt with by their cloned physiology with no lasting effects. Geyldian did not have such a device, but felt that he’d be okay for an hour at least. His dilemma was how could he not show up to a meeting which he himself had given the invitation for? Or how he could best meet Garic and feign that the meeting never took place? Aelren would never allow the first, and Geyldian was not strong enough to fend off a mind probe from Aelren, should he try to fake

that the meeting never took place. Such an act might be seen as treason by the Prime, and would see Geyldian sent to Mona, he didn’t want that either. So lost in his deliberations, Geyldian did not notice the appearance of Oxull and Leren, the engineering clone almost appearing at the same spot which Geyldian now occupied as this was closest to the console which Oxull used to create his jump image. Leren using an image implanted by the engineer, had materialised some metrons away, at the end of the conduit, by a power coupling. Too close to his surroundings for comfort, the medical clone was startled, having rarely left his own deck before, let alone coming down into the bowels of the ships. -By the ancients, I’ll be sterilising myself for a week after this! -Aaaah ha ha ha Oxull could not resist having a good laugh at the prudish doctor’s expense. It was written all over the doctor’s face, he would rather have been poking about inside someone’s entrails, than be down here in Oxull’s realm. The engineering clone’s laughter soon snapped Geyldian out of his concentration. -What are you two doing here? -It’s a bit suspicious you being down here alone don’t you think? -If we’re here with you it looks more legit ... Right? Oxull handed Geyldian a monitor, which once fitted around the clone’s wrist, jumped immediately to low amber, signalling that Geyldian could maybe stay another half an hour. -Now we’re just discussing reactor strategy and possible health ramifications -Thanks both, I’m stumped ... Completely stumped ... By now I want to find Garic as much as he wants to find me, and for the same reasons I’m bloody well sure. None of them have anything to do with aiding the humans towards self-annihilation. The two clones signalled their agreement, with both itting that whilst they found Aelren’s reasoning to be logical, it was also a little strange for him to state such a worst case scenario first, before all other possible outcomes.

The three of them discussed the possible choices at length but finally, with their wrist meters buried too far into their red zones, it was time for them to leave this area, they had already been there too long, and no resolution had been reached. With the engineer and the doctor returning to higher decks, Geyldian made his way directly to Shanghai, in a few more hours he would decide Garic’s fate, but by his own rules. Not by the preconceived misconceptions which Aelren had hastily arrived at. Garic was not human, in Geyldian’s opinion it was wrong of Aelren to judge him as such, when everything the astronaut had demonstrated so far, only bore the faintest resemblance to human behaviour. Garic avoided conflict, yet could be clinical and decisive when the need arose; this was a definite plus and would be a useful trait. He had stamina, and focused resolve, not just physically but mentally also. Geyldian found it very hard to question the commitment of anyone who would walk for almost two months, with no specific destination in mind, have a three hour meeting with a complete stranger before walking all the way back and then just carry on. That was more dedication than even Geyldian would be able to muster. Garic was like a human chameleon, and had successfully blended himself into so many human societies across the globe, making friends everywhere. Yet he’d never let his cloak of secrecy slip, only Acacia to his knowledge had any true understanding of what Garic was. Acacia ... Geyldian reconciled that he may be on the sharp end of Garic’s tongue at his treatment of her in those first years. Truth be told, he had been busy ramping up the production of the parts and the schedule of shipments. Acacia had all too quickly fallen to the back of his mind, even despite her being an obvious link to Garic. Acacia had shown her cards when she declined, no positively refused to help him find her father. A flimsy justification for him not inducting her, but he would argue this case should he be questioned regarding his choices. In actuality this may not be the only reason why Geyldian might receive hostility from Garic. He could have done more to look for the astronaut, he could have followed up the lead from his network member in Constantinople who first alerted him decades ago. He could have continued visiting the ships, however briefly to seek out the captains and look for himself. If he had been aware of Garic serving aboard the Padre Eterno earlier he could have postponed the Thrall

for a night to extract him in Guam, there were so many opportunities which the clone had failed to seize, but hindsight was an extraordinary thing, always allowing complete clarity, before it poked you in both eyes. All of this was of little consequence now as the eight and a half foot Alien clone, cunningly disguised as the biggest Chinese man to have ever existed, stepped out of the disused shop. For the last fifteen years this had served as an office for his now disbanded network. Geyldian maintained the property as a jump terminus, solely for the convenience of its location to Shanghai’s bustling centre. The looks of amazement, bordering on fright, hinted to Geyldian that maybe his choice of more traditional dress, might have been a mistake. Looking to all like a walking red and gold tent, the only part of Geyldian which looked vaguely correct was the sprout of hair well bound, trailing from the back of his head. Dark round spectacles which barely covered the true shape of his eyes only attracted more bemused gazes from ers-by. Right now, the huge clone hybrid stood out like a beacon, at least three feet taller than everybody else he was ing. Geyldian knew Garic was close, he could feel him. It only took him an hour to walk down to the edge of the river which ed right through Shanghai. Here were all sorts of bars and restaurants which were frequented by westerners, Geyldian felt sure that the super soldier would find him if he hung around for long enough. In fact, Garic was more than five miles away, still aboard the junk, trying valiantly to ward off his own fears. Never before had he known his stomach to knot and churn as it was doing now. For the first time in his whole life, Garic was unsure? What to do, where to go, what to expect once the Tall Client actually found him. He almost decided to stay put, holed up in his quarters on the junk, but he did eventually venture out onto the deck. Jinhai by contrast had left the boat almost immediately after tying the mooring lines, it had not taken him long to put the word out to his old friends around the harbour that they were looking for a huge man who would be unable to blend in. Now the first mate was satisfied that his friend Garic would realise his destiny in this world. During their time together on Guam, Garic had told him and Connie all about where he was from, and how hard he had fought to save his home world. Garic had also filled them in regarding his thoughts as to whom the Tall Client was, and what he represented. Citing the events Garic and Jinhai had both

witnessed on Guam with the fog, and the craft which moved around under the cover it provided, Garic had surmised that these craft were only the tip of the ice-berg technologically speaking. He was sure that their mothership must have been truly enormous, based solely on the vast number of parts he’d seen being transported. Jinhai did not consider himself to be an educated man, but he had earned the respect of his crew and even garnered several wealthy friends who had all used his junk in preference to Western ships, before the ex-captain had sold his junk to Garic. He had grown worldly wise, and was hugely experienced, which made him far smarter than the average educated man. This was one of the reasons why Garic had chosen Jinhai, his crew and his junk in preference to the other candidates he had been checking out. Jinhai could sense Garic’s apprehension, and in some small way he understood. To be this close to achieving a goal after chasing so long, was forcing his new captain to do some deep soul searching. What if this wasn’t a good move? What if the Tall Client’s expectations for him were too high? What if Garic could not give him any answers to the questions he would ask, or what would the Tall Client do, if the answers Garic did give were not what he wanted to hear? ... There were many others Jinhai was sure, but he was there to help, and was happy to do so. Garic may be struggling momentarily, but the Chinaman knew that if push came to shove, then Garic would break through his nerves, and shine. He was after all the most rock steady, calm and sensible man Jinhai had ever met. ing Garic on the junk, Jinhai found his captain staring over the side, into the bustle of the port, as he had been doing for the last hour. In Garic’s mind, if he could see the Tall Client first ... Get the chance to evaluate him from a distance ... Then he would decide how to proceed. If Garic could’ve laid eyes on the giant clone human hybrid in that same minute, he would have not been so apprehensive and unsure. If anything the huge feeling of discomfort which Geyldian was receiving from the crowd around him, was beginning to make him feel the same way. His choice of wardrobe had been a mistake, he was sure of that now. Not one single other person was dressed so traditionally, nor as brightly. Geyldian wondered if the flushed hot feeling was merely caused by the climate, or if his half human physiology was playing a

part. Maybe this was what embarrassment felt like. Having never experienced anything like it before, he could not know, but as all the eyes ing by him, couldn’t seem to be diverted in any other direction, such was the attraction of his bright regalia that he began to move more quickly. He was trying not to, but the big man could not resist turning his head to see if the ers-by were turning theirs. They were ... This was awkward. Soon word had spread in advance of Geyldian, and people were coming out of shops and restaurants to see the spectacle. Children were crying, so were some mothers ... This is a disaster! Geyldian decided to lay low at the back of a restaurant for a while, the owner’s daughter was serving clients when she felt the tall man brush by her. Squeezing himself into a stall, with his back to the door, he waited patiently for the waitress to get to him. Geyldian had worked up a hunger and was ready to eat. He asked the waitress if the chef was skilled enough to prepare a dish of puffer fish. The young girl proudly replied that her father was indeed skilled and had prepared the dish several times for more wealthy clients, always without incident. Being quite aware of all the risks that the meal brought with it, after several lengthy lectures by Leren. The huge Geyldian, with his alien physiology, which differed vastly from a human, had eaten Fugu many times before over the centuries. In fact it was one of his favourite human dishes. Whilst many a human had died from eating the tetrodotoxin laden fish, he had always maintained the peak of health after such meals, without much more than a tingly lip. So without any fear, and a crowd of gathering onlookers who thought him to be quite mad, Geyldian ordered his meal, fresh from the Yangtze River. Sat close by the rear of the restaurant, Geyldian watched, as fifteen minutes later, a young boy barged into the kitchen through the rear door. Geyldian’s intended meal hung limply by the tail, as the young boy handed the fish to the chef and then left again. The chef immediately got to work slicing the now deflated fish along both sides to remove the skin, before cleaning the fish and removing all the more dangerous organs. Generous applications of salt were used and several careful washing procedures, it was like the young boy never stopped bringing pails of water. Finally the chef, using a fresh knife, began slicing the flesh as thin as the dish demanded. Half an hour later and the plate arrived, adorned by the appropriate garnish of

raw seaweed. Seconds after the plate hit the table; the hungry Old One began tucking into the plate, visibly enjoying every mouthful, to the cheers of the now adoring crowd. “Of course this man can eat the dreaded Fugu, he is so massive the poison could never accumulate in his system.” Geyldian heard one onlooker state to another, as he turned with the last slice hanging from his lower lip, before giddily sucking the morsel inside loudly and smacking his lips together. Thinking that this was another occasion where he knew what was best for him, far more than Leren who could be a massive dietary buzzkill, Geyldian smiled, downed his wine and made to stand up. Only then did he notice how heavy his whole body felt. His collar also seemed to be tightening and as he fought to unfasten it to give more room, the gentle giant realised this was becoming more serious by the second. As uncoordinated as he now was, he began to beckon for help. His final act as his body became fully immobile, with him falling back to his seat, was to reach out to Leren. It took four of the biggest men in the crowd to remove the huge man from his seat and lay him down on the floor. The chef was beside himself. For years he had prepared this dish and never had this happened before, checking the separate container which still housed the poisonous organs from the puffer fish, the chef checked, and then double checked the contents, replaying the whole process. All the parts which should’ve been removed were present and correct, which only made the old chef even more confused. Back on Central, Leren was in his lab, when suddenly he felt unable to concentrate on the task at hand which was usually second nature to him. Overcome with a feeling like he was dying, unable to breathe, it did not take the doctor long to put two and two together. Geyldian plus Fugu equally meaningless death. Quickly he was ed by Aelren. -Go and retrieve him now, back to OFFright, it’s closer -You mean China ... In broad daylight ... Me? -Did he send his location? Leren nodded slowly, he had never been topside, and he rarely ventured to

OFFright, Hell he seldom ever left his lab! -Then go! You’re wasting time. The clone doctor pulled the hood of his garment up over his head until the shoulder seam was almost atop his head. With his face completely hidden from view, Leren jumped for the first time in several thousand years. Upon arrival the street was now mostly empty as the restaurant had become packed to the gunwales with spectators to Geyldian’s failed Fugu challenge. Leren could see over everyone’s head through the restaurant to the kitchen, it was empty apart from the Chef who was crying and hugging his daughter. He was gripped by the certain belief that he had just killed a man with his arrogance and negligence, though he was at a complete loss as to how. His sorrow was not comforted by a pop in the air and the sudden appearance of a figure, so much taller even than his ailing client that he was forced to bend forwards just to fit inside the small kitchen. Leren did not stop, moving quickly past them, his hood inflated and nearly slipped backwards. Reaching the restaurant area, Leren knelt beside his half clone brother. “Geyldian! Geyldian!” This crowd were stunned by the arrival of this new figure, even taller but much more slender of build, and the strange noise coming from his mouth. The figure was clearly shouting, by the volume, but the words were quite unintelligible to them. As quickly as he had arrived, so too he had the huge customer to his feet, then with a much louder popping, the pair were gone. OFFright was the same class of ship as Central, a carrier, and having all the same features, it was no problem for Leren to jump to his second lab aboard the huge spacecraft. The two were met by Novus who Aelren had alerted seconds earlier to get a Medi-pod ready. Helping the doctor to manoeuvre their second in command inside the pod, the lights and traces automatically came to life. Leren noticed that although completely immobile, Geyldian was still breathing although the rate was shallow, and he was at some points opening his eyes and staring blankly ahead.

-Is he still conscious? Then what’s wrong? The two Novus were confused, but the vitals being displayed were nonetheless falling, ever so slowly, this was going to be a slow death. Leren couldn’t tell if Geyldian was experiencing any pain at all, as all his muscles were fixed, even his eyelids now remained open and his pupils were fixed and unresponsive. Even now though, in such close proximity, Leren was able to tune into his friend's voice. -How are you doing Old man? -I’ve been better Leren ... I can’t move ... The Fugu ... I can barely feel myself, but my fingers are burning. -The Fugu was fine, I read the chef's mind, everything was correct ... I fear this may be my fault. -Your fault ... But how? -Come on, you know me better than that, it wasn’t deliberate ... Unfortunately timed ... YES ... But intentional ... Certainly not. Do you the antidote to our fog which I formulated for you? Well one of the key ingredients in the fog is a minute amount of tetrodotoxin from Fugu. I know you’ve built up a tolerance over hundreds of years despite my best advice, so the small amount present in the fog wouldn’t have hurt you anyway. It’s all the other things in the fog, when combined which would’ve killed you. Like the Fugu toxin, the other toxins you experienced inside the fog will have remained present in your system in some small amount. This is one area you differ from the humans, with them the fog is not completely absorbed and the effects are instantaneous, but temporary. For you though the small amounts of toxin are absorbed and have to be metabolised and released slowly. The antidote is basically a blocker which latches on to the nerve receptors to intercept the toxins in the fog which would otherwise have killed you. The other function of the antidote is to facilitate removal of these toxins from your system so they do not stay inside you or build up, so my friend your tolerance to Fugu is gone ... By the way ... How much did you eat? ... You like human food far too much. -The whole fish! ... Is that bad?... And may I remind you Leren ... I AM HALF HUMAN, of course their food excites my palate.

Now even the Novus, safe by virtue of the fact that Geyldian could neither move nor talk, took their chance to mock their elder, smirking and shaking their heads in disbelief at the wanton act of greed. This was before their elder and ultimately better, implanted the taste memories from some of his most favourite meals into their minds. The two defenceless Novus almost cringed back from the pod as these memories hit. Their stale malnourished taste buds suddenly flooded their mouths to the point of dribbling; only the laughter of the number they were trying to save, inside their heads, served to refocus their attention. -That serves you right, you should never mock your elders so blatantly, catatonic or not. Leren smirked. Silly Geyldian. With a handle on the problem, the fix would not come fast. It was clear that even though the Fugu had been cleaned and should have been fine, Geyldian had gone super-sized. The portion could probably have fed the whole restaurant. Typically a prepared fish was intended to be shared between a table of people ... Leren shook his head.

Chapter 33 - Impatient patient.

IN ORDER TO GIVE HIMSELF the time to work, Leren had slowed Geyldian's system down. Pressing a button on the console, the lid closed and a stasis environment was established within. There was not much the Novus could do now but watch their tutor work. Both appreciated the master class Leren was giving them. First of all was a full scan to enable the doctor to see how deep the Tetrodotoxin had penetrated Geyldian's body. From the deep red colour of the holographic image being projected clearly above Geyldian's body, which was now effectively on ice, the signs were not good. The poison had been absorbed into every muscle, this much was clear. Interrogating the scan image further, Leren could see that the toxin was moving deep into the tissues of Geyldian's organs also. Without stasis, his hearts would be in fibrillation losing their synchronisation, death would have followed. Leren began a blood transfusion, and artificial dialysis, this would help to scrub some of the toxin from Geyldian's body, but this was a stop gap not a complete solution such was the volume of toxin in his system. Once this process was established with blood being siphoned out and scrubbed clean before being reintroduced. This freed up Leren to begin a modification of his antidote ... -Where to begin? My original antidote effectively blocks the toxins inside the fog by attaching itself to them so they can be metabolised. But too much damage has been done for that to work now, Geyldian’s nerve receptors are already swamped, with yet more toxin waiting to stimulate them. Also ... With him in stasis, his body isn’t metabolising anything right now. Metabolisation required normal processes to be working at a normal rate, impossible in stasis. Leren had to begin again. By the time Leren had isolated new ingredients which did not counteract, or even kill each other off completely, Geyldian had lain in stasis for roughly three months. Leren had his sense of ethics tested to the limit, and almost succumbed to dooming a Thrall to a meaningful death. The thrall would have been happy to help, but the Old doctor just could not allow himself to save a life at the expense of another. After this, Leren spent a few days growing a clone. This would serve his needs being kept alive at a normal rate inside a second Medi-pod; without ever being

sparked into consciousness. Here too problems were encountered, how to replicate Geyldian's initial tolerance to Fugu. An infusion with the original antifog serum was simple enough, but then the clone would also need to be exposed to the fog. Leren had no way to replicate the time, close to a decade, since Geyldian had been exposed to the fog. During this time the first serum had been cleansing Geyldian's system. Again, istering a full dose of Tetrodotoxin, equivalent to a fully cleaned and prepared fish should have been easy, but Leren would have to follow the same procedure as the chef, if he took a shortcut and dissected the fish inside a third Medi-pod, the pod would remove all traces of the toxin automatically as it was designed to do, rendering the fish useless. As they watched Leren who was distracted totally by this problem, the two Novus were deep in conversation ... -Do you think the master is struggling? *Certainly not ... He's theorising and strategising how he can test that the new serum isn’t going to conflict with the first anti-fog serum. -Yes ... I know that ... But why? Didn't master say that the first serum was designed to not only block, but cleanse the fog toxin from his system, and that the reason the Seconds tolerance to Tetrodotoxin was gone because this was a minute component of the fog? *Yes that's correct. -And after that the serum would have also been metabolised as it was locked onto the toxin from the fog ... *What’s your point? -His point would seem to be that I am looking too deeply. Geyldian was poisoned by a massive dose of Tetrodotoxin, as his system was cleansed of all toxins including his tolerance to Fugu by the original serum. I designed the serum to stay in his system only as long as the toxins were there, after this his body should be as if he'd never been exposed to any toxin ever. Ergo, your brother Novus is suggesting I only need to investigate the new serum’s effectiveness in a body already totally infused with Tetrodotoxin ... Am I correct?

-Yes master, but is it okay to assume that the Second’s body was cleansed of toxin and the serum fully excreted? -Ordinarily I would not encourage this kind of speculation, but you may have a point. Pulling up his original raw data from his anti-fog serum trials, he confirmed what he already knew. The rate at which the serum was designed to work, quickly but gently without taxing Geyldian's organs, should have left his system scrubbed clean at least five years earlier. -Let us try ... But prep Geyldian for an emergency imprint, if we have to we can initiate his succession. The Novus realised what this meant. In a normal succession, like all expected Aelren to go through at some point soon, the knowledge learned would be backed up by imprint to the record. Clones would then be grown, and imprinted with this totality of knowledge, but none of the experience which allowed the learning. -But Geyldian will be lost, he will be a Novus ... We can't do that ... -He won't ... And I CAN! It is not my intention to carry out a full succession. Geyldian is barely two thirds through his lifespan, he still has plenty to add to the record. But should a conflict arise which forces our hand, we must be ready to extract his conscience into a new body, he will be newly sparked ... But he will be Geyldian with all his memories intact. So the shorter process of loading the clone with a massive dose of Tetrodotoxin, then testing the second serum began. At the same time Geyldian’s imprint with his up to the minute knowledge, even the dim sensory reflex memories from his time in stasis were all ed to the record. If they needed to imprint him into a new body, they could. Geyldian would get a surprise when he next looked in a mirror, but this might take years. There weren't any on Central or OFFright. Once the test had been carried out, the serum took just two weeks to flush the toxin out of the clone, with no problems at all. This course of testing was infinitely more preferable to the use of a Thrall for many reasons. The small weedy erroneous body would have been dead after a much smaller

dose. It could never have survived stasis, and the results if they had been successful, could not have been taken as representative of Geyldian's situation. In short, a complete waste of time. The two Novus joked that maybe Leren meant the Thrall. Their master's icy glare told them both that they should not be thinking that way. In stark contrast the clone body had never been sparked up, and was effectively cured. Leren dropped the clone into indefinite stasis until the body was needed, most likely for Aelren, as he was the closest to a full succession. At which point the clone would be imprinted and sparked, with absolutely no knowledge of how useful he’d already been. The next phase was to treat Geyldian. Stasis was removed and the Medi-pod began its usual perfect job of carrying out all the functions which Geyldian’s poison ridden body could not achieve for itself. The serum was distributed once a normal metabolic state was reached. Leren was reasonably confident. Due to Geyldian’s maturity, the serum took one month in total to scrub his body clean. Soon enough, Geyldian was fully conscious and giving the two Novus hell ...

Chapter 34 - Vanished without a trace ...

BACK IN SHANGHAI, AFTER almost one month, Jinhai was beginning to feel completely dejected. His network of useful s had drawn a complete blank at locating anyone out of the ordinary. Eventually though, news reached him that a chef who owned a restaurant had taken his own life after apparently poisoning a customer with pufferfish. This was not extraordinary in itself, death occurred in roughly 80 percent of cases, but the buzz surrounding this case suggested that the client had been a huge man, who had gobbled down the meal quickly with no immediate effects. Even as the toxin began to saturate his body, all witnesses remarked that the man active mentally despite a complete paralysis of his huge body. Another aspect of the story which Jinhai found tantalising were the descriptions of the overly bright traditional dress, almost ceremonial wedding garments. For everyday wear in the day time, no native would make such a fashion faux pas. Jinhai took the information to Garic, who was by this time, in a state of complete relief. The meeting, which had been the source of so much apprehension had never occurred; none of Garic's fears were realised. As the two men walked casually through the small outlying quarter of Shanghai, where Jinhai was sure the Tall Client had eaten his final meal, the two men came across the restaurant. Entering, the original owner's daughter was pleading with a couple to come back. Since her father, a respected chef had committed suicide, she had engaged a new chef in order to keep the business she had inherited running. This chef it seemed was not skilled at all. Cold bland soups and tasteless noodle meals with under or over cooked ingredients were quickly driving her clientele away. Garic and Jinhai took a seat in the booth, coincidentally the one where only five weeks earlier, their target had sat. As empty as the restaurant was, it did not take long before the young lady was with them to take their order. "Can I help you please?" "Sure, can we get two of whatever's good. Your recommendation, Thanks." "Oh ... Really? ... That's a hard one these days, since my father died I don't like to recommend anything. I'm afraid my chef is not a skilled man, but he is all I

can afford." "That's very honest of you, so I am sure you will pull through, actually we really wanted to have a talk with you about the circumstances of your father's death. We heard a rumour that there was an accident with a puffer fish meal ..." "It was no accident, my father was a skilled chef, he never hurt anyone with Fugu!" "We believe you, indeed my friend Jinhai here, says some of his friends eat Fugu here periodically without incident. Your father's reputation is not in question by us, I am sorry for the upset. We really wanted to talk to you about the man who ordered the Fugu." "The client, but why?" "We heard he was a big man, dressed most oddly, attracting a lot of attention to himself. Even as he ate, the whole restaurant watched ... Is this true?" "I never thought anything about it, I was very busy at the time. I feeling him breeze past me, but by the time I met him, he had been seated for several minutes. I his eyes were slightly above mine though, so yes I guess he was tall ... And he was dressed strangely now I , in a shiny red silken robe with golden trimmings and a wide black belt. Authentic traditional dress, like you don't see very often anymore." "So you brought him his meal ... He ate it all, caused quite a fuss we heard ... and due to his size it was some minutes before he suffered any ill effects?" "That's correct yes." "So once the big man was taken ill ... What happened then?" "Well ... My father was beside himself ... Panic ensued in the restaurant. The man was still seated at this table, but some strong men laid him on the floor, and there he stayed ... Until someone burst in. I was with my father in the kitchen, he seemed to arrive out of nowhere. Moving quickly past us, he went straight to the aid of the stricken man ...” Now the original chef’s daughter was glancing into the middle distance and

squinting, as if she were reliving the event, but still couldn’t believe her eyes. “... But the second man was even stranger than the first. He was so tall he could not even stand up straight, and he was very slightly built. His legs were bare almost fully bare as his robe was pulled over his head, obscuring his face ... His skin was blue ... That's the first time I even considered what I saw ... His skin was blue. He moved with incredible speed, and very quickly he had the big man on his feet and in his grasp, then the two of them vanished ..." "You mean they exited the front entrance to the restaurant?" Garic wanted there to be no misunderstanding, so he asked again. "No sirs, his exit was completely blocked by people who were too transfixed to move. Two men so big could never have left that way. I mean they vanished ... In front of everyone’s eyes." Both men observed the expression on her face as she continued reliving the experience. The shock and confusion of what she had seen was written once more across her face. "That's excellent ... Thank you for your help ... Again I apologise for all the questions, I know it must be difficult. Jinhai, do you think you can help this lady acquire a good chef?" "Yes master, I believe so there are a few good chefs I know who are still in training who could teach this one a lesson I think. All of them would welcome the chance." "Thank you sirs, please come back any time. You will eat for free." With this the two men left, walking back to the junk, Garic needed time to consider what the young lady had told them. The only solution was to lose himself in thought, this was easiest to achieve whilst alone, but surrounded by people. With a nod, Jinhai knew what his friend wanted. In the meantime he would go and propose the idea of a new position of resident chef which was about to open up at the restaurant they had just visited. With a glance exchanged so briefly that none around them would even realise, Garic had first told Jinhai that he would meet him back at the junk before nine bells in the evening, by looking to a position in the sky where he expected the moon to be when he

would be back to the junk. The blink back over his shoulder then look back to Jinhai, was the signal that he expected his first mate to follow through and locate a replacement chef for the lady who had been helpful. The two men parted ways at a junction one street away from the restaurant. As he just wandered along the streets, Garic was intrigued by the revelation that the Tall Client had been extracted by another, even larger figure, who's build was very different to that of the Tall Client. Garic's mind was trying to form theories and reach rational conclusions. Ironic considering, little could be considered rational about two huge figures, both besting eight feet in height simply vanishing before the eyes of about sixty people. This confirmed the suspicion that he'd held for all this time, these were aliens. Garic knew some species, from his old system and the neighbouring systems, but none of these were even as tall as his own race, who were not even as tall as the soldier clones they'd made for protection. Amongst his own artificial species, Garic was unremarkable, all matched him for height within one inch and were similarly muscular. The traits where Garic had excelled, even more than his crew mates, were spatial awareness, visual acuity and hand eye coordination. Almost as if he were made to be a fighter pilot. In all reality, amongst the species he knew and the others he'd been educated about, none were known to teleport, but he appreciated that any race which had mastered this, was far in excess of his own intelligence, and was probably evolved well past the point where conflict was required to settle disputes. One thing which occurred to Garic was maybe the Tall client was an original species, and the figure who zoned into his position to rescue him might be his cloned equivalent, sent in to protect his alien master. One valuable piece of data which Garic failed to compute was the immense age of the tall client. Garic felt his target was old compared to any human life expectancy. Having ed through India, he speculated Oliviero had been correct. There had been a race of tall blue aliens present on Earth thousands of years ago, but the Indian Vedas told that these had all left Earth. In truth most continents on Earth had similar stories originating in antiquity about alien settlers, who later left. The trick to gaining a real understanding was

properly interpreting the old languages, which were all dead, no longer spoken. In this field, Garic didn't class himself as a mildly skilled amateur. Having forgotten this knowledge in the eons between then and now, most humans were little better. Only a few scholars were capable of even venturing an opinion. If Garic had considered the Tall Client’s age in millennia, not merely centuries, he might’ve made the leap to alien and human liaisons, the type which had spawned Geyldian. Garic had no idea as to the hybrid nature of the Tall Client. It was in fact the larger figure who had been the full blood clone, with the texts correctly conveying the fact that the original species had retired from Earth in the period before written history began. This spoke of another revelation which neither him nor any human could appreciate yet, and that was the age of the human species. After less than twohundred years, archeology was still a fledgling field. The people partaking in this field approached matters amateurishly indeed. Bones from several species could be connected into some chimera which had never actually existed, it would be centuries yet before humans developed the science and corrected the mistakes now being made. Beyond this the whole game was a treasure hunt, for greed and gain. No respect would be paid to remains as tombs and vaults were ransacked. Garic wandered for hours, lost in his thoughts. His diary was bound to get some pages filled tonight once he returned to the junk. Sadly, that was not going to happen. It was almost fifteen years since Garic had last been in Shanghai, and now his lack of attention and familiarity had led him to lose his landmarks, he was deep into the city now, well away from the port. As he tried to backtrack, literally nothing stood out. Garic didn’t usually venture this far from the port. Garic's normally sharp senses had been temporarily dulled by his confusion at getting lost in a city he thought he knew well. As such he had no idea that he was being followed. The group of six men got far too close to Garic before he realised fully what was about to happen. At his captain's instruction, some four hours earlier, Jinhai returned to the restaurant with a new and much more skilled chef. Still a trainee, the young chef was ionate about the preparation and cooking of food. The original owner's daughter, now trying desperately to extend the success of her father's business, had fired the inadequate chef on the spot as soon as Jinhai had returned. That should've been the end of the matter right there, except that the young chef was

also a member of a local gang. He blamed Garic for the loss of his job. Whilst on his way back to his gang house he caught sight of Garic who was clearly distracted, more importantly, he was alone. The newly unemployed chef rushed back to get some of his friends. It had been all too easy for the group to get a bead on their quarry by asking people in the street. There was no way ordinary people would risk reprisals from the gang by not answering. Far too quickly the gang had caught up to Garic and minutes later he did them a massive favour by taking a wrong turn down a blind alley. Only upon realisation of his error did Garic turn around to find the six men directly blocking his path back out. Almost instantly Garic achieved a level of focus and calm which would allow him to best evaluate his opponents. It was fairly obvious from the look on the groups faces that they were out specifically to target him. Garic recognised the chef from earlier and knew straight away that this was revenge. Never one to wait, the super soldier wasted no time at all, rushing at the group head on. Young, arrogant and with a confidence swelled by the advantage of their numbers, none of the men even flinched, two were armed with sickles, the rest had a knife in some form. The chef still had his meat cleaver to hand. Now he was waving it around like he was about to chop Shanghai in two. These six men certainly weren't afraid of Garic, who had not pulled a weapon. How could he possibly hope to win? The gang would cut him down quickly like the meddling dog he was. The men only began to exercise some caution once Garic was almost upon them. Having ducked the first man's first sickle swing, Garic connected his huge right fist with the man's jaw. Landing with a sickening crack, this man at least was out for the count. Garic had one gift which the gang simply could not match, each blow was a calculated attack, unencumbered by conscience or remorse for the consequences, and with an unnerving lack of restraint. Garic was now in the thick of them. Through the first volley, Garic remained un-injured, being positioned in the centre of his attackers, did for the time being give Garic the advantage. Any over stroke by one attacker, would certainly spell an injury to his friend positioned

oppositely. The meant blows weren’t so much raining down, but coming one by one, once the previous attacker was clear. The linear fashion of the group's attack made it easy for Garic to fend off each blow before dealing out his own attacks. Appearing to be a brotherhood formed for violence, the gang was certainly hardy. The linear attacks were paralleled by Garic's own retaliations, this meant he wasn't getting anywhere fast. Eventually this meant their numbers would give them the advantage in of strength and stamina. Garic had to shake things up. Grabbing the man closest to him, he almost dislocated the man's arm from its socket, such was the torque which Garic applied to spin the man around him and throw him at the opposite man, taking both of them out. Whilst being an effective move, Garic had presented his back to the only other man carrying a large rusty sickle. With speed, and a smoothness even Garic may have been proud of, this man now marked an 'X' across Garic's back, in a double stroke, swung in a figure of eight. Garic was bleeding profusely from one of these cuts which was much deeper than the other. He had to end this quickly now, he was nowhere near Jinhai and the junk. Nor did he have his diary with him, it was still safely in the sea chest in his quarters. Several glints caught Garic's eye. Knives inbound. Now the men were beginning to work in a more coordinated fashion. Garic managed to take the cleaver from the chef, deflecting one blade directly, before completely severing another guy's hand. Leaving the man screaming in pain, only four men were left. Then a burning sensation in Garic's gut said that he'd been stabbed. It was only a short blade, but all too quickly the man wielding the weapon had withdrawn, then thrust a second time, embedding the knife to the hilt. Garic was in serious pain, but the burning was almost familiar. Images of him being gored by a six foot Khai infantryman flashed into his mind's eye. Garic was becoming more detached by the second. Grasping the knifeman's wrist and clamping his huge hand around it, primarily, Garic was trying to ensure that the knife was not withdrawn. This would limit the bleeding, which from a gut wound would have been copious. As Garic fought with his other hand, he rapidly tightened his grip on the man's wrist, within seconds he felt the snapping of bone as the man's radius and ulnar snapped simultaneously. The man released his grip on the knife and attempted to

break away; Garic was not allowing that. Pulling the man to him like a rag doll, Garic played his advantage. Removing the knife from his gut he then planted it firmly into the centre of his captives chest. The first fatality of the battle, the man was dead before Garic tossed his body on the ground. The chef, having lost his cleaver on a nearby roof where Garic had thrown it, now picked up a sickle. This had been dropped by one of his friends now out of the fight. Though a failed chef, the man had some skill with a blade; at least in a combat situation. The look on the chef’s face defined panic, in contrast Garic remained emotionless, like stone. The way Garic had skillfully removed three of his assailants, only added to the chef's determination not to end up the same way. Swinging wildly with the sickle, there was still no panic from Garic, who patiently waited for an opening to strike. Seeing his opportunity, Garic rushed the chef, only to get grazed along the side of his neck by the sickle blade as the chef rushed to adjust his missed strike. This was the worst wound so far and Garic's chances of survival, even if victorious, would be slim. Now Garic accelerated his strikes, losing a little finger in the process, he ripped the sickle from the hands of the chef, then stuck it through the vengeful man's chest. This was his party, maybe once Garic took him out, the remaining two would run for it. As the Chef became the second fatality, dying stood up, held in position by Garic, the two remaining gang each pushed a knife into his sides. Enough was enough now. If Garic was going to die, effectively resetting him to square one, first he would make sure neither of these two men walked out of this alley alive. Garic dropped the chef, freeing his hands, grabbing the head of one man in his huge left hand and relieving the knife in his side with his right hand, it was a split second before Garic had pulled the man in to his body to brace his head, before pushing the blade in through his temple to the hilt. The last man soon realised Garic's bloody intentions for him and began to back away. Turning to run, he was suddenly levelled from behind by the dead body of his friend. Falling to the ground, Garic made sure he did not get back up, snapping his neck at the base of his skull with a correctly applied foot. All six attackers were now dead, but Garic was too close, some of the noise coming from the alley was beginning to attract attention, Garic took flight. To where he hadn't got a clue, but he had to put some distance between him and this

scene of carnage. The few minutes of running to clear the scene, had pumped out another pint of blood, Garic was beginning to get weak from massive trauma and blood loss. The gash in his neck was gushing a steady stream of blood despite the pressure he was applying with a sleeve he'd ripped from his shirt. Another minute and the narrow street emerged at a river, not a large one. As focused as he could be, Garic ed seeing lots of little rivulets in the northern half of the city, which all fed into the Yangtze River. Garic was suddenly lost again. He knew which direction to head to return to the junk, but he would never make it. He had no idea how he had managed to drift so far north while he'd been deep in his thoughts. Normally he travelled in a natural circle, but this time it seemed he had travelled in a straight line for almost seven miles on a northerly vector, with no landmarks to distinguish the path he'd taken, this situation was not going to end well. Garic found a position at the mouth of the small river where it ed the main river. Here there was a bridge, sliding hastily down the bank, Garic took up a position underneath, hoping he would have the time to regenerate before his body was discovered. Time was short now, sitting down, he used some mud at his feet to write on the bridge boards above him. His name, Acacia, Connie, Jinhai and the tall client, before inscribing as much information as he could into the mud below the position he would rest in. None of this would make any difference. As Garic exhaled his final breath, so too the tide began to turn ...

Chapter 35 - Blank slate

WHEN GARIC AWOKE FRESH the next morning, it was without any recollection of the events which had led him to seek refuge under the bridge. Sitting up as if someone had suddenly flicked a switch on inside him, his first instinct was to analyse his surroundings, his feet and lower legs were wet through, and had clearly been in the water at some point earlier, though the river he now found himself beside was lower than his current position. Looking by his legs, he could see the faintest of inscriptions in the mud, but none were clear enough to make out, above him something was written, but he was unable to read it. Even though Garic’s mind was fresh and empty, just the familiarity of this scenario, waking up alone, ravenously hungry did strike a chord of familiarity within him. This wasn’t the first time, he knew that. Paying no regard to the weakly scrawled writing on the underside of the bridge, he knew nothing except that he needed to eat, his stomach felt like it was eating him from the inside out. Making his way out from under the bridge to the bank, tracks were evident, clearly one leg had been dragging and most of the weight appeared to be ed by the other foot. Emerging back to the level of the street, there were people everywhere, none of them paid him any heed and all seemed to be moving with a hurried sense of purpose. Everywhere there was noise, voices, livestock, laughter and shouting, even music. Then Garic’s sense of smell was set on fire ... Food. The smell of which consumed him aurally. Hooking him like a fisherman would a fish, the smell compelled him to investigate. The hungry man had no choice but to follow his nose. The food was being cooked by a vendor at the side of the street, consisting of a white meat in a spicy sauce, Garic stood in front of the vendor, consuming the food in his mind, until finally, being aware of his presence for more than a few minutes, the vendor spoke, and to his amazement Garic understood. “You want some fish sir, this is very best fish curry, I catch fish myself this morning, watch I cook for you. Three Wen.” -Three Wen? Of course ... Payment. Without a word Garic checked his pockets and found a small silk pouch, he was in luck. Opening the pouch, inside there were small round copper coins with a square hole at their centre. Assuming the smallest to be one Wen, Garic

withdrew three of these, handing them over to the vendor. “Very good sir, very good.” After eating his meal of curried fish, Garic's hunger still wasn't sated. A second bowl was hurriedly devoured before a third bowl was downed to top himself off At this point the man who had no recollections of either events or affiliations, simply began to walk once more, as he’d been doing the previous day. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was habit, but Garic felt compelled to match the speed of the crowd around him; a fair pace but still comfortable for him. Seven miles south, Jinhai had awoken early in a chair at the back of the deck. He’d intended to wait up for his captain, however the combination of walking and his evening meal had swamped his stomach such that the process of digestion had led him to drift off to sleep. This had been no problem, but as Jinhai came to, the realisation of what had happened caused him to check on his master. Unusually, Garic wasn’t in his quarters, nor was he milling around on the deck. Peeking his head over the side of the gunwales, Garic wasn’t beside the junk on the dock either, as was his occasional habit. -Most worrying. There’s no note. He hasn’t touched the stew either... Realising that his master had not made it back to the junk the previous night, caused the usually calm Jinhai to start in panic. Garic never deviated from his planned actions. He had told Jinhai he would be back by Nine bells in the evening, but clearly something had stopped him. It could be something, or it could be nothing, but Jinhai felt like he had swallowed several stones, the heavy feeling in his gut could not be ignored. Jinhai’s next course of action was decisive and borne from assuming the worst, he knew better than to fear for the safety of his master, Garic had explained everything previously, but if Garic had been killed, he wouldn’t have a single memory left inside his head, not even his own name. Jinhai took a heavy tool and broke the locked clasps from Garic’s sea chest. Taking the last five of his masters' diaries. These covered not quite the last decade. Wrapping them in a linen cloth, he tied this closed with sail thread. Placing the bundle in his shoulder bag along with two pouches of gold coins,

Jinhai alighted the gangway down to the dockside, where the crew were sleeping off their previous night’s revelry, next to the junk. The first mate ordered the men to stay with the junk, no more nights out. If he found Garic quickly then he would bring him back. If he failed to locate Garic, he wouldn’t be back until he had. In this event, the men should wait one month, then they were to pilot the junk back to Guam... “...Connie will be new acting captain. Follow her instructions to the letter. She can be a difficult and stubborn woman, but she has good head. She will probably never set foot on deck, but she will direct you properly.” Placing a handwritten note into Ying’s hand, to be given to Connie only upon arrival at Guam, Jinhai said his farewells and rushed into the streets. The starting place, to which Jinhai returned, was inevitably the last place he saw Garic, the corner near to the young woman’s restaurant. ing the course he saw Garic follow, Jinhai resolved to follow the streets straight for as far as they would lead him for two hours before considering his options. Asking a few of the street merchants he found, they all ed seeing a European looking man ing the evening before, remarking that he looked to be lost in thought, dazed almost. People were making detours around him as he held steadfast to his straight course. More than one merchant told Jinhai that his friend had simply continued straight on, along the street. Jinhai followed. After another hour, the stories he received from local people were all more or less the same, Garic had stuck out like a sore thumb as he seemed to walk past them like some sort of Jiāngshī. The analogy of his master being in a zombie like trance was not lost on Jinhai. In Connie’s tavern back on Guam, many times he’d witnessed Garic moving around purposefully, but oblivious to everyone around him, even being deaf to their calls. Eventually, if the situation dictated such action, the person would have to physically touch Garic on the shoulder to gain his attention. This new information was not received well, as the stones in Jinhai’s stomach turned to boulders, he had to find his master ... And quick. Now fearing the worst, the Chinaman was moving at speed through the crowds, until the streets became too narrow to do so anymore, the area he was in now was well away from the main estuary. Up ahead of him, a commotion was apparent. He could see of the local militia, the Bao Jia. These were

senior of local families, from this locale. It was their job to enforce the rule of government, each unit reporting to a higher regional unit. Now though the Boa Jai were busy questioning local families, several men and women were standing in the street, all appeared to be distraught. As he drew nearer to the scene, Jinhai could see five covered bodies, another one remained uncovered and was still being examined by the officials. A man and woman who appeared to be the young man’s parents were standing by the body. Their task right now it seemed, was simply to provide verification of their son’s identity. Jinhai was stricken by the amount of blood, which had been sprayed out under pressure to cover almost every surface at this end of the narrow alleyway. Listening into the official’s conversation from around a corner, it was apparent that the six young men were all of a local gang, which was feared by everyone. As such the officials were looking to draw the matter to a close quickly. The gang had probably tried to extort money from a group of unknown people who had obviously proven far too strong for them, and had received their appropriate comeuppance. Jinhai managed to sneak past the encircled officials, who were all deep in discussion regarding what should be done next. Quickly lifting the sheets from each body in turn, it was clear all the men had taken a severe beating, but the blows were constrained, landed with clear intent. None of the wounds appeared random, despite the obvious brute force which had caused the traumas. The lesser wounds, all none fatal, appeared to be strikes to jaws and temples. These would have rendered the targets to become disoriented, and did not tell of some random struggle, these were all hits to buy time. The fatal wounds were mostly singular wounds from a sickle, or a knife, but all had penetrated a spot which would be effective quickly. One man with no obvious stab wound, was laid face down in the dirt and appeared to have a broken neck. The mark on the man’s neck appeared to be from the outer edge of a shoe. This was a single sharp move which would have brought instantaneous death, delivered perfectly without hesitation. It was clear to Jinhai that seven men had been in the alley, but only one had finally left the scene. This realisation briefly lifted Jinhai’s spirits. Inside the alley there was so much blood, a closer look back down the alley told that some of this was arterial spray, at high level. It seemed after bringing

matters to a close, Garic had stemmed the blood flow just long enough to conceal his exit. As he exited the alley, past the officials, who still had no inkling of his presence, it did not take him long to pick up the blood trail again; and there was a lot of it. The way the blood suddenly started, about thirty feet from the mouth of the alley had gone completely undiscovered by the officials. With all their crispy ducks in a row, they were now ready to close the matter. After putting some space between him and the alleyway, Garic probably needed both hands to maintain his balance, at this point he must’ve been tiring from blood loss and in a large amount of pain. The case being closed so easily, with barely any adequate investigation at all being carried out, was no bad thing; at least the officials weren’t looking for his master, who had killed every last one of the gang . Evidently the gang had been out of control in the neighbourhood and would not be missed by its residents if the conversations Jinhai was listening to were anything to go by. At least now Jinhai had a trail to follow, but his worst fears were being realised as the blood trail began to grow thinner, and harder to follow. Eventually Jinhai was following single droplets; sometimes having to backtrack to locate the next one. All too soon Jinhai arrived at the bridge where his master had died the night before. Following very unsteady tracks down to the river’s edge, he could see perfectly well that Garic had only just managed to make it here. Yet he’d been thinking clearly enough to find a position which afforded some protection from onlookers and the elements. Two deeper impressions in the mud, which now both had water lapping at them once again, told that maybe Garic had been lucky to remain on the bank; any lower down would have seen him being swept away by the tide. For a moment Jinhai paused ... -What might happen if Master regenerated in water unable to breathe? Would he drown and begin to recover all over again? Or would his infinitely capable body adapt to breathe water like a fish? He doubted even Garic had the answer to this question, especially not now.

Being familiar with this area a small amount, Jinhai considered that if Garic had been swept into the river, he may have been eaten by the large catfish which made their home there; before ever getting the chance to return to life. At the very least he would have vanished for much longer, and with no way for Jinhai to follow him. Now though, the first mate could clearly see the tracks left by the fresh Garic. He was walking evenly again, no spots of blood were being dropped. These fresh prints led back to the street above the river. Jinhai could just make out the names of everyone Garic had trusted scrawled underneath the bridge too. -Garic must’ve been weak ... Not his usual confident calligraphy strokes. Whilst speaking English fluently, Jinhai was not well versed in reading the language. Garic found English to be a singularly useful language simply because people spoke it everywhere; this era found the English empire expanding without limit or meaningful resistance. Jinhai didn’t know if Garic would have even understood his own notes once he awoke, on finer details like this, his master had always been a little more lax. Probably because in the scheme of things, the memories Garic formed in the first moments after his regeneration, would amount to a sensory bombardment, so many new sights and smells all at once. His deeper memories would have to wait. Jinhai ed Garic once told him that his brain seemed hard wired to languages, logical he thought, as Garic’s origins in space would have seen him meeting more than a few new species, who would have all spoken differently. This ability had been a useful tool here on Earth where the simple act of walking across a border, would have made conversation impossible if Garic hadn’t been able to pick up the lingo. To Jinhai’s knowledge, Garic was fluent in every European language, some North African languages, Arabic of course and most Asian languages. Strangely not Russian as to the best of Garic’s own recollections, he had never been to Russia, not even the outer borders. His mental wanderings almost caused Jinhai to lose his footing as he climbed the bank, following the fresh tracks back to the street. He was paying far too little attention to what he was doing. Jinhai ed Garic telling both him and Connie a tale where he had

regenerated once in the desert just outside Alexandria, with an unspeakable hunger. Garic suspected this was normal after his body had used its fuel to regenerate. Jinhai followed his own instincts, inhaling the air deeply through his nose ... There was a singular smell which stood out from the mass of aromas ... Heavily spiced curried fish. The scent was easy to follow, and upon questioning the vendor, the news was good. Garic had been there bright and early, so all in all his master only had about a six hour head start on him. Trying to remain positive, Jinhai followed the path north, in the direction the street vendor indicated, and once again tried to pick up the pace where he could, but the clever Jinhai was under no illusions that this task, however small it might seem, would not be that way. Garic’s pre-programmed instincts as a soldier would be strong within him right now. Self-preservation and the need for food would be driving his master; at least he’d unwittingly confirmed that he still had some money, though if he needed shelter, Garic was far more likely to stay off grid and rough it than he was to ever rent a room in an inn. His cautious and logical nature would quickly mandate that it was easier to shun all with others, than potentially become a target again. Jinhai could only really take solace from the fact that Garic was a large westerner, as such there would be no normal situation where he could escape the gaze of onlookers; but if he breached the limits of the city into the wilds of China ... Jinhai sighed ... -This could be a long search indeed. I could spend my whole life looking and still not catch up to him ... For sure the tall Client had spent much longer than one mere human lifetime looking, and had never really come close until Shanghai. Jinhai was not really a traditionalist, nor was he an overly religious man. He would sooner give himself the credit for his own successes, than thank some deity. But even he wished he could turn the clock back to a point where he and Garic might have intercepted the Tall Client. By all s he’d been, yǒu mù gòng jiàn ... obvious to everyone, before eating the meal which forced him to need rescue. Certainly Jinhai had heard no reports of another massive character wandering around Shanghai ... So near, and yet so far ... Back to square one.

For now Jinhai resolved to concentrate on the matter at hand and forget about the Tall Client, if he was even still alive. Just because he had been rescued by one of his own kind, was no guarantee that they could counteract the Fugu poison. Priority number one was to quickly find, and then safely approach Garic and persuade him to read the diaries he was carrying with him. These would surely spark some recollection, maybe enough to inspire some small trust in him on the part of his master ...

Chapter 36 - A wild Garic chase.

TWO MONTHS LATER AND Jinhai had followed all the reports as best he could, but for all purposes it was like he was following a child, roaming based solely at the whim of his free will. Having no exclusive purpose to his wanderings, Garic only needed to keep moving. The reports had quickly turned from being hours old, then days old and by now most reports were at least two weeks old. Garic had for some time stumbled blindly up the Eastern seaboard of China, as close to the sea as he could manage, then having arrived at Qingdao, the trail had gone cold. Jinhai had assumed, maybe wrongly now it seemed, that his friend would have obtained work on a boat operating in the East China sea, but then it emerged that Garic may still be walking, now northwest. A report from one traveller indicated that he’d ed a man on the road who matched his master’s description, headed for Weifang, another town two days walk away. Jinhai had been spurred on by this, two days was closer than he’d been for a while, but his hopes were dashed as the traveller confirmed that the sighting was two weeks before. Attempting to cover more ground, faster; before the gap opened up to supersede the recollections of the people Garic had ed by, Jinhai purchased a horse from a trader who supplied wealthy clients. Ironically, the realisation of his need to move quickly had led him to by the Chinese breeds in favour of an Arabian stallion, tan coloured with darker coloured legs, standing around 15 hands, the horse had been purchased by the governor of the Shandong prefecture. Jinhai had used some leverage in the form of three gold pieces, amounting to much more value than the horse. The trader had been persuaded to tell his client that his horse had died in transit, after developing some malady of the inner ear which caused a swelling in the neck. The trader would tell his client that the condition had been untreatable on the ship, and the crew had done the decent thing, putting the creature out of its misery. The trader would then order his client another horse as replacement; he wouldn’t even be out of pocket with the sum Jinhai had given him. Jinhai could barely wait for the trader to get the saddle correctly fitted before he charged off to Weifang. Garic wouldn’t still be there, but he wanted to gather

information before people forgot. The next months continued in much the same vein as before, always arriving about two weeks too late. At least Jinhai was managing to keep up with his master ... At the same time ... Roughly four months after his extraction from the restaurant ... On board OFFright, Geyldian was fighting Leren’s orders to stay in his pod and recover fully at every opportunity. The Novus, having initially toyed with Geyldian as he’d lain, immobile and dying, were under no illusions now. They should remain quiet in his presence, not even venturing near their Second in command unless their own master ordered them to run yet another blood test, or check that another infusion of the serum was not required. Geyldian was spending much of his time deep in meditation, giving consideration to the matter at hand. Around four months, that was the length of time which the Clone’s ambassador for human affairs had been stuck in this Medi-pod; out of the game. Four months he hoped that his quarry had not been deterred by his own failure to appear. He resolved that once he was finally given the all clear by the overbearing clone doctor, two things should happen. Firstly he would jump back to Shanghai and begin the search again. Secondly; he would avoid Fugu at all costs, this had been a one-time deal, and was never to be repeated. Despite his friendship with Leren, Geyldian found his bedside manner to be quite terrible, even after all the eons which he’d had to practice. It was a sorry state of affairs indeed when the only visitor he’d received in all this time was the same person who was treating him. Geyldian speculated that he may be in Aelren’s dog house. Huger than a cathedral, and more complicated to escape than your average Grecian labyrinth, the only way to get back into the Prime’s good graces would be to bring the astronaut aboard Central, ending these shenanigans for good. Still after all this time, and after all the resources which he had levied against this task, Geyldian was no closer, and with Garic’s head start, he considered himself to be just as far away from accomplishing the task, if not further. One week later, having finally grown tired of Geyldian's endless whining about needing to return to Shanghai at some point in the 1700’s, Leren allowed his patient to leave the Medi-pod. This was still about four weeks too early in

Leren's opinion, but at this point, it was worth unleashing Geyldian back into the wild, just for some peace and quiet. -I don’t know how you do it, you know? -Do what Leren? -Spend so much time amongst them ... Up there ... On the surface. -Oh ... That’s right ... You had to come topside to rescue me. Well look at it like this, if you dress properly and don’t get poisoned ... It’s not a bad place to be. Sure they’re an unruly bunch right now, but you watch. Soon they’ll be flying about all over the place ... These next centuries are gonna be special ... I can feel it. Now Geyldian, glad to finally be released from his technological, probe laden nightmare, could not remove the smile from his face. Nor could he miss the chance for one last dig at Leren, who truly had no idea what surface life was like. As the doctor walked away again ... -Fancy going to China in nothing but your robe ... Of course your ankles were cold! -I heard that! And that wasn’t the only thing the Old clone doctor heard, as Geyldian jumped away back to Shanghai, his head, and most likely the head of every being connected to the hive, was filled with psychic laughter. A loud billowing noise which only took a few seconds to spread throughout the hive like an infection, causing the corners of every clone, and Novus’ mouth to curl up at their corners. Every mouth except one, Aelren, the staunch Clone Prime, who was so set in his ways that even his face muscles daren’t move unless he willed it. The Prime was in no mood for smiling. Geyldian’s behaviour this last decade and a half had grown ever more reckless, finally peaking with the restaurant debacle. The Old Prime had given some serious thought to leaving his second in command right where he lay, in the stasis pod for a few decades just to reconcentrate his mind. In Aelren’s opinion, a clone should never suffer from confusion, after all he was over 28,000 years old and he was still acutely aware of what must be done, and how to do it.

Arriving back to the disused office, previously used by his network, and now dressed in far more sensible clothing which would no longer be the reason why people would stare at him, Geyldian made his way once more out into the streets of Shanghai. As he walked, ing sights he had seen on his last visit, he finally reached the restaurant where he had almost killed himself. He was happy to see that the chef's daughter was still there. As the giant figure walked past, he could not help but catch her eye. "Oh ... Sir ... You are OK! You survive ..." Geyldian had not intended to speak with her or anyone else, but there was no getting out of this. He couldn’t simply say she was mistaken and thinking about someone else. It was unlikely there were any other people walking by here who tipped eight feet six inches tall. "Ah yes my dear, there was nothing wrong with the Fugu, it was the best I have ever tasted ... Sadly the water at my hotel was not the cleanest, that is what struck me down so forcefully." "No ... You lie ... You are liar ... And my pops is dead ... You were poisoned by Fugu! Or my pops die for nothing!" The daughter was visibly upset, and was shaking with rage as she shouted up to the big man. "What? Your father ... The chef is dead? ... But I watched him prepare the Fugu. His preparation was perfect. I was as careful to watch as he was cleaning the fish, and besides, I have eaten Fugu many times, and always been fine, because I am careful where I eat." "My father think he kill you! So he kill himself." People on the street and in the restaurant were beginning to stare, so Geyldian led the young lady down the side street to the rear of the restaurant, away from all the eyes. Here Geyldian slowly and gently placed his hands on her temples and began to talk to her telepathically. -You are correct my dear, I lied, but this is because I have interests which I

need to protect. I cannot have this fuss, so please listen, then you will understand. I was looking for someone during my last visit. Do you what I was wearing last time? This was a mistake, but in fact I was trying to be found ... Do you understand? I HAVE eaten Fugu many times, and ALL without incident, your father cleaned the fish perfectly. Something happened to me a while ago and I was given medicine. This removed my Fugu tolerance but I didn’t know. Then I ate a full fish, you right? I ate a full fish. This means I received a massive lethal dose, but only because my tolerance was gone. I am very sorry about your father, if I could have gotten back quickly, I would have put his mind at rest, I ate too much. The girl was still angry, but the issions of the huge man, and his adamant insistence that her father had done nothing wrong went some way towards calming her down. "You say you look for someone, and you are trying to be found, that is funny ... One month." -One month what? "One month after you are sick, we bury my father, three days later two men, one Chinese and one Gweilo, a big man, but not as big as YOU. They come looking, asking many questions ... I tell them everything ... They so happy they find me new chef. I happy too, until ten minutes ago!" Geyldian was sad, and now linked as he was to the girl, this sadness, bordering on remorse was apparent to her, slowly the malicious thoughts she was having towards the man who caused her father to commit suicide melted away. She understood now that this was never his intention, and she believed he did have a strong tolerance, previously at least. Gently pressing further into her memory, he found the conversation which she had angrily referred to. To Geyldian's great joy, it was Garic and someone called Jinhai. -So he did come to Shanghai? I missed him ... Again! Due to my appetite and my stubbornness. What a fool I've been. "Yes ... Fool ... Yes ... I guess you really like Fugu."

-I did, but I will never taste it again. "So sorry fool ... But why you didn't go to harbour? That where they moor junk. Instead of killing self with fish, why you not walk to harbour?" -What? A junk ... There must be hundreds ... Of course ... Gweilo! "Ok, I guess we friends again, I gave you information ... Now you owe me an explanation ... Who your big friend that rescue you from restaurant? ... And why his skin blue? Don't lie now ... We friends ." -Aaaah ... You got me there ... Then I won't tell you. I will show you, so you know I'm not lying to you, but you cannot tell anyone ... Do you promise? "Yes ... I promise ... Now you show me." With this, Geyldian put her inside his body, as he lay on her father's restaurant floor. Quickly realising what was happening, for a few moments she was scared, as she felt the sensations of not being able to move or breathe. Then she realised this was a memory and she was fine. In the next twenty seconds she felt as Geyldian had gotten weaker and stiffer, then in came his friend. From where she was laid, only she could see the face of the huge blue man who had pushed past her and her father in the kitchen. The figure was clearly not a person at all, now he had bent down low and was shouting Geyldian's name, as she lay unable to respond on the floor, she felt the sensation of being lifted and then everything was dark. -That's all I can show you. "He's a ... What is he?" -We're both ... And I can't tell you that ... And you can't tell anyone else either ... Got it?!" "But you ... he ..." -Yes we look nothing alike ... I had a human mother ... And yet he is my brother ... That's all I'm saying. Thank you for the information. If the Gweilo shows up again you can reach me ... Find a merchant called Liao Huang-Fu, he knows how to reach me ...

"OK Geyldian." -Hey I never ... "No, your blue friend did ... Ssssh! I not tell no one." Rolling his eyes and smiling, then releasing his hands from her temples, Geyldian turned and left. The girl entered her own kitchen through the rear door. The things she had just seen, she would never forget, and she knew that she must not break this trust. Even having seen the image of the blue creature, she still had no comprehension of what Geyldian had shown her. Given that none of the clients or onlookers in the restaurant whilst Geyldian had been having his episode had seen what she had seen, she was convinced that no one would believe her. Within one hour, Geyldian had easily covered the three miles to the main harbor. Surveying the scene for some minutes, looking specifically for any junk which had a European amongst the crew, Geyldian drew a blank. Then he realised that nothing else had come easy, why should this? All too quickly it was Geyldian who was about to reach out for Huang-Fu. Maybe the ex-network member would be willing to come down to the harbor and ask around, on his behalf, for sure the huge man couldn’t just walk around asking for himself. Turning his back on the bustling harbour, Geyldian turned to leave back into the city once more, when he was tapped at the waist by someone who must have done a very good job of approaching him unseen. Instantly the half clone, thrust his hand to his side, fearing he was being pick pocketed and may lose his PUCK. There was nothing there, and his PUCK was still where it always was. Automatically reacting to jump sideways and turning to face the harbour once more, Geyldian was surprised to see a small boy, smiling up at him. Calming down as fast as he had raised to alert status, the big man, crouched down. Though still taller than the boy, the two were now much more at eye level. “Can I help you young man?” “Oh you speak English, no worry, I speak English good mister. You looking for something?” “Not something ... Someone.”

“Aaah I know it ... I see you look ... I think this man need help ... Who you look for?” “A Gweilo, six and a half feet, he works on a junk.” “Aaah I know it ... But you out of luck ... No Gweilo on junk round here.” Geyldian let out a sigh, this was bad news, clearly Garic had tired of waiting and had gone back to something he thought to be more fruitful. “Not for four months and half ...” “What did you say? You said there wasn’t any Gweilo working on a junk here now.” “Yes that correct, but not for four months and half ... He own that junk over there ... Junk should be gone now but new captain disobey old first mate.” “That’s very interesting small boy, tell me more ... Where did the captain go? Why is the junk still here? Where should the junk be?” “I no small OK ... You just huge ... Captain ... Gweilo ... He looking for you ... Everyone know it thanks to first mate. But Gweilo unsure if want find you. One day ...” “Let me guess ... Four and a half months ago!” “Yes that correct ... You very clever ... You no need me..” The boy, now frowning turned away coyly, standing still. “No wait ... I am not that clever ... So I DO need your help. Now young man ... Tell me ... Please.” Smiling again the boy turned to face Geyldian again, leaning in close for effect ... He continued ... “Old captain, Gweilo called Garic, he finally leave junk to search for you ... It must be you ... There nobody else in all Shanghai who look like you ... Anyway ... He no come back. Next day first mate leave also...”

“To find him? ...” “Yes that correct ... He no come back too ... Four an ...” “And a half months ago, OK that’s excellent information. Here, have this as a token of my gratitude little man, but can you tell me ... do you know where the first mate began his search?” “Thank you mister ... Of course yes ... First mate begin search on Junk ... You really not clever at all.” Looking down shaking his head in disbelief, Geyldian could not believe the impudence. He should have put the boy across his knee, the information would flow out more freely with a few swift smacks to his smart derriere. As if reading the large man’s mind, the boy took a large step backwards ... “It no MY fault. You ask wrong question, dummy ... First mate go to last place he saw captain ... Captain easy to follow ‘cos he big GWEILO!” Handing another large denomination coin to the young lad, and sensing that he still had more to tell, Geyldian returned to his feet and held out his hand. The boy took hold, and Geyldian lifted him high into the air before seating him gently onto his shoulders. The boy pointed the way and the big man followed. At an intersection, almost back to the girl’s restaurant, this was where the boy had learned the two men had been before separating. "Next morning first mate return here ... He ask many question about big Gweilo captain ..." The trail of both men proved easy to follow, several hours later and they were still on the trail, eventually ing an alleyway which had the remains of prayer notes plastered all over it. “Aye aye, what happened here then?” “I not know all details, six of local gang, militia think they face off with rival gang and fight ... anyhow all get mass ... mass ... killed!” “A massacre?”

“Yes that correct ... Mass-a-ker ... All dead ... lot of blood ... Militia have no clue though ...” “Oh, how so?...” “Militia lazy, want quick solution ... So find one! Lazy! ... Witness watch first mate sneak in alley and look at dead gang ... Militia no see him ... When he come back out he seem happy and he go there ... twenty paces. Man see first mate find blood trail, he set off this way ... Quickly go.” As Geyldian began to walk again, cursing his love of Fugu, it was obvious what had now happened. After meeting the chef's daughter, Garic had walked alone, probably collecting his thoughts, then he’d been ambushed. A big mistake for the gang, but showing some restraint, Garic had also been injured. “So where did the trail lead?” “No far now, be there already if you walk faster.” At which point the little boy began to mush the larger man on, spurring him in the chest with his bare heel and rocking his head back and forth, nearly shaking Geyldian’s wig loose. It was only by the narrowest margins that the imp hadn’t pushed his small fingers into his alien ear slits already. Geyldian shook him loose and ordered him to sit still, it was a long way down! The boy complied, and even apologized, progress Geyldian thought to himself. The pair continued and soon enough they arrived at a bridge over one of the many tributaries to the Yangtze. “OK we here big man. Put me down ... Please.” At once the young lad took off down the bank under the bridge, Geyldian followed much more slowly. “This where first mate find Captain had been laying all night ... But no captain. In morning Captain eat big meal and then he disappear, first mate appear later ... Midday.” “How do you know all this lad?” The boy, now silent for the first time, beckoned Geyldian to follow him, a few

seconds later, back at street level, at the opposite side and a small way down, an elderly vendor was selling curried fish. “This my grandpa. Captain buy three bowls of curry fish here. Grandpa also serve fish to first mate in afternoon. He say normally when China man follow Gweilo, bad things happen, but this time not. First mate tell him story, he tell me and I wait. I am clever so I walk between Junk and Grandpa, eventually I run into you ... See now you need me.” Handing the entire bag of coins to the boy... “One last thing ...” “Captain go that way, first mate follow ...” “Thank you, clever boy. We will find each other again in the future, grow big and look after grandpa.” Waving goodbye Geyldian set off on the trail, but upon arrival to the horse trader in Qingdao, the trail finally went cold. Months later, people’s memories had grown vague, some s had the two men continuing north, others east to Joseon, a huge hole had suddenly appeared in Geyldian’s net. The two men had vanished ... A month of endless walking later, Geyldian jumped back to Shanghai to locate the vendor again. He asked the small boy about the junk, but this only yielded information which the blue half clone had already suspected, but never actually acted upon. The junk had spent much time in Guam, and was now ed there. Again Geyldian was kicking himself, he had never followed up on this hunch, having given up searching the boats, he’d later assumed Garic had grown tired of sleeping through Leren’s fog and simply gone elsewhere. Now it appeared that he had lived on Guam, kicking back for the better part of seven years. -Dammit! There was no point in him staying in Shanghai, there was nothing new to be learnt. Returning to his network headquarters, Geyldian prepared to jump back to Central. Whilst not having found the Astronaut, he was sure that Aelren would want to know about the last days findings.

Just as the Second was about to jump, he cleared his mind, isolating his image of the circle of numbers. Just then a loud bang occurred and the building shook, then there was a secondary, much smaller pop. Opening his eyes in shock, he knew what the disturbance signaled, Aelren had jumped to him, and Leren was with him. The force which Aelren used to jump was often far greater than he needed to use, no one knew whether this was purely for effect to intimidate, or whether Aelren was simply losing the ability to accurately temper his jump force, as a result of his massive age. Geyldian assumed the first in this case, having never known Aelren to leave Central ever, so clearly the only reason would be to give his second a piece of his mind. In actuality this wasn’t the case, but the thought had been noted ... -Geyldian, you continue to upset me, if I wanted to correct you, I would wait until you returned to Central. No ... This is far more important. -I need to give you something, urgently. The doctor disappeared with a modest pop, another pop which quickly followed, said he was already back, then a sharp pain in the back of his arm made him jump slightly. Again a large gauge needle was injecting him with fluid. -Sorry my friend but I knew if I just asked you to return for a shot, you might not comply, and Aelren agreed to provide a suitable distraction. All done. -But why? -The Soleil Royale was sunk last night in the bay just off Guam. There was an explosion on board. -As you know the fog is extremely sensitive to temperature, this is how I managed to make it dissipate in the hours before dawn with complete reliability. In an explosion the fog would have disappeared instantly ... -So someone was trying to expose the Caddy as they worked? -That may have been the plan yes. Luckily, the Thrall managed to get to the cover of water within seconds, so no damage was done. They were back on OFFright in the hangar before their fright gripped them and they dropped dead ... All nine of them. That must’ve taken incredible will power.

-If they’d died in the sea and stranded three Caddy, I may have had them stuck in Medi-pods, revived, and then exiled to Mona ... Will power indeed. The two clones looked silently at each other, without a single thought in their heads to give them away. The ing of their eyes said everything. They knew Aelren only allowed the Thrall to exist for Geberus and to fly the Caddy, but this was another level of mean. It wasn’t long before Aelren let them know why he was so angry. -The Thrall said that they opened the hold and it was empty, the parts were all gone ... There are no stopping points equipped to move parts that size on the route you chose, so the parts must be on Guam, unloaded in the day before night fell and the fog was deployed. Find them and quickly, you know the schedule of delivery is paramount, and cannot be interrupted anymore than it has been already. Then there was a loud bang which almost took Geyldian’s wig clean off the false head where he’d put it minutes before. The Prime was gone again. -Do you think it might be the astronaut, sending you a message? It’s very “catch me if you can!” -No Leren, he has shown infinite patience, and has never sought to damage our interests or expose us. If he wanted to he could’ve done so a thousand times by now ... No this is something else ... Someone else ... And I need to stop them. As the clones talked, Geyldian explained that he had been wondering how he might spend his time, after being stripped from the circle when he explained to Aelren that he’d lost Garic yet again. Leren said Aelren would never do that, he was only ever angry for effect. In a race of infinitely patient clones, Aelren was the only one who never felt the pressure of time. He’d realised long ago that given enough time, the result always matched up to his design, that said time should never be wasted. -So you best get on with it Second. After relating all the events of his latest visit to Shanghai, Geyldian concluded that by now Garic could be in Mongolia, Korea or Japan, if not India and the trail was cold. Then the Second seated his itchy hair piece back on top of his

head once more, and jumped to a secluded spot he knew on Guam. Leren popped away to deliver the news. Truth be told he could not wait to get back to Central, having been forced to venture topside twice inside six months. The doctor felt these events should remain as mere punctuation marks in his long life, and must never become a paragraph. The doctor would not rush to come topside again ...

Chapter 37 - The epic of Jinhai ...

JINHAI’S THANKLESS chase went on for two years in which time he followed his master out of China, westwards through Mongolia, and onwards. Now though, Jinhai had once again lost his master, the going had been slow, and now he found himself high in the mountains of Kazakhstan. The China man felt he was being stricken down, with what seemed to be a cold, but within the next hours large swellings appeared all over his body, which began to open and were becoming very sore. All the time Jinhai was getting weaker and weaker, but had struggled to actually make a camp Eventually he’d ed out in a cold sweat, running a high fever. Jinhai had been roughing it since leaving Shanghai and all the while he had been missing meals too, it was far more important that he fed his horse who he considered would look after him, if only he did the same for the horse. Now in the middle of the wilderness there was precious little in the way of edible vegetation, and with no cover for snaring a rabbit, or trapping deer, he was getting nowhere near enough protein. This had led him to become weak, but that wasn't what was ailing him now. It was Jinhai's firm belief that he had been bitten, either by a flea or a tick, and that this was probably the source of the illness. Jinhai had seen these symptoms before, in his homeland of China. As he collected his thoughts and prepared to die of bubonic plague, he was full of sorrow as he thought of his master, wandering about aimlessly. The chances of him having any recollection and getting close to fulfilling his purpose again would be slim, with no one to provoke the return of his memories. As the sun set, Jinhai's pulse dropped, slower and slower, his breathing growing steadily shallower, until his chest finally stopped moving. Outside the shelter, Jinhai's only friend, the horse was sleeping, and never saw the stranger approach. The next day, all was quiet on the plateau, the weather was cool but remained fine all day. His horse pottered about, foraging the grasses for food. At one point, sensing his master's illness, Jinhai's trusty horse, splayed his front legs to lower his body, then pushed his whole head inside the tent, to find his master. That evening the horse lay on the ground as usual, again remaining close to the shelter ...

The next morning Jinhai opened his eyes, slowly, yawning and stretching as if it were just another day. It was several moments after that he had left his shelter and wished his horse a good morning, whispering into the horses ear that maybe today they would find their master. Jinhai then turned around to see the shelter he had made. As he walked around the construction, inspecting his handy work, this was not up to his usual standard. In fact, the shelter looked almost as if it had been thrown up. "It is wonder this still standing. What you say Horse?" Only then did Jinhai what had forced him to make the shelter in the first place, he had been ill, seriously ill ... With plague. In his early life, plague was something to be accepted and lived with in the back waters where he had grown up. He ed watching countless relatives and childhood friends all succumbing to the disease, none had survived. So why had he? Had he even survived? Jinhai wondered if today the horse might finally talk back and he had crossed into heaven. Jinhai grew uneasy, far from being natural, for a moment he considered himself to be some kind of demon, before returning to his usual calm self. There was no point dwelling upon this, he already owed Garic much, including his life following some near fatal diving accidents back on Guam ... “Well horse ... I cannot owe my life twice to the same man.” Jinhai wondered for a moment if he had ever come into with his master's blood or sweat. Both had been injured several times on the junk, and while sponge diving. It had usually been up to the other to patch the injured one up. Jinhai could no such instance and eventually ruled out any involvement with Garic. He surmised instead that while he had been seriously ill, it probably wasn't plague after all but more likely extreme fatigue and influenza. “Best of all horse ... I get to live another day with you.” Jinhai said a rare prayer to give thanks for his speedy recovery. The rest of the day Jinhai sat and watched for any signs of buzzards in the sky; he was very hungry and knew the birds would show him the location of some easy meat. The next day, Jinhai re-packed his shelter, and began leading his horse onwards

... His first break in just over two years, was over ...

Chapter 38 - Return to Guam.

ON GUAM, GEYLDIAN HAD strayed into one of the camps of the Chamorrus people, indigenous throughout the Marianas. The Old Ones had watched them arrive from their position on OFFright just over 4,000 years ago. In all this time they had held strongly to their belief system and way of life, until that was, the Spanish had arrived. By this point, in 1717 there were more foreigners than there were indigenous people by almost fifty percent. The Old Ones had paid particular attention to the Chamorrus peoples as they were avid astronomers and had simply, yet accurately mapped several stars paths and positions as the basis for their navigational calendar and then com. These skills had not completely died even now, but were as always ed down in perpetuity by the elders. As the villagers watched the huge man enter their village, who's skin seemed to shimmer the faintest blue in the sunlight, all dropped what they were doing, then ran to gather other of the village. Before Geyldian had the chance to completely walk out of the other side of their village, headed for civilization, the people were on the ground kneeling before him. At their head was the village leader and their Surohano, in this case a spiritual healer. The Chamorrus were novel as regards ancient people, simply because they did not believe in a deity of any kind, instead choosing to believe in their most revered ancient elders who had lived and died eons ago. The world, the sky, moon, sun and animals were all made from the body of the first man of their ancient race, as his dying instruction to his own sister. Even now the Chamorrus were a proud and strong race who spoke boldly, even in the face of people who would appear stronger to them. They were able to do this because of their strong belief that they were inhabited by the spirits of elders who had ed away generations ago. Recently a well-respected elder had ed away, in this instance it was believed that the spirit in his body would try to into the body of someone in his family, but this would cause a great illness. So the huge Geyldian, whom they manifestly believed to be the spirit recently released from their elder, would be reasoned with. As the Alien clone half human approached and stopped, the village chief regained his feet and stood his ground in front of Geyldian. “What can we do for you old taotaomona, there is no one here who is ready to be

ed with you! Please leave!” Geyldian for effect, and to aid matters along quickly so he could continue, spoke directly into the minds of the whole tribe. -You have no need to fear me, young ones. Today I have come for another who is not in this village. However you should pay heed to my words now, I have been offended, and now I will make this person pay ... So do not be in my way, and hope you never see me again. Appeased by the words of the huge Ghost, and with their minds at ease, the village stood with heads bowed and broke to line a path out of their small settlement. It was rare that the spirits of their elders ever manifested physically, none could such an event, but legends did exist. The spirits could be offended very easily if the proper respect were not shown, and this elder would bestow a justified punishment on the one who offended him. Geyldian walked out of the village and continued on his way, a few hours later reaching the coast where Connie had her Tavern. The bay and the harbour were filled with European ships, mostly sailing under the Spanish flag. Geyldian walked into the town, from the wilderness side, unannounced. It wasn’t long before he was attracting the gaze of everyone in the street. Walking slowly, one building Geyldian could not fail to miss was the Governor’s office, and now as the Spaniard sat on the balcony which outlined his office on the first floor, he too was stirred from his ledger. Quickly, his eyes locked nervously to the huge man, who’s like, none had witnessed before. Geyldian glared back, Guam had changed and was much more developed than his last visit here twelve years ago. Geyldian held the Governor’s eyes, as he ed, until continuing to do so would have meant turning around and walking backwards. Certainly, a man of the Governor’s standing, with access to resources would have had the means to steal and then hide the missing parts, with no one suspecting. He would have also been aware of any vessels carrying dynamite in their cargo, none of which should have been aboard the Soleil Royale, unless put there for nefarious means. Geyldian would be back to speak with him later. First he had to stand on the dock and take in the sights, what boats were there, and how large were they? Unless the thief was very devious, it was a fair

assumption that the parts would all be in one place. It made sense the Soleil Royale would have been overpowered and boarded whilst still in the middle of the Ocean. So Geyldian looked for a boat which would’ve matched his vessel for size. So remote was Guam that the second boat would have been forced to come here too, either before or after to re-stock with food and water. A skeleton crew would then have sailed the now empty ship into the bay, setting the explosives and then abandoning her. Only one man would’ve been required to stay aboard her to light a lengthy fuse, which afforded him time to escape over the side. It was another logical assumption for Geyldian to assume this act was perpetrated by someone on Guam, as they must’ve had intimate knowledge of the fog, and knew the value of the cargo. One thing was for sure, the only detail they could not have known was the strength of the people they were stealing from, and the lengths which they would go to, in order to reclaim their property. It was quite possible the person who’d stayed aboard to light the fuse had not escaped without injury. A sizable amount of gunpowder would’ve been needed to obliterate a ship the size of the Soleil Royale, there was every chance that the man had been ripped apart by huge splinters whilst trying to make his escape. Fuses and primitive explosives like black powder were by no means an exact science, and errors in timing such explosions could occur from the smallest of mistakes. Geyldian would have to keep his ears open for word of any injured sailors. He would also ask around to determine which sailors could actually swim. For this the giant ducked in through the doorway of Connie’s Tavern, only averagely busy as it was still early evening and much was happening within the harbour. The men gathered who were partaking of an ale or a drop of spirits were all deep in lively conversation. That was until they clapped eyes on the big man progressing back towards the tap area; then a wave of silence fell throughout the tavern. Connie had her head down initially, pouring a beer for one of her customers. Neither had seen the big man enter. The man was compelled to turn first, causing Connie to look up as the tavern fell completely silent apart from the man now talking to her. Shocked to stone by the entry of this new customer, and her instant recognition of him, the tankard in her hand began to overflow onto the floor, splashing her feet. Finally finding herself again, she returned the handle of

the beer engine to upright and quickly called time. Several hours early, this was much to the dismay of everyone trying to drink. “Alright boys, that’s all for tonight ... The tavern is closed, sup up or leave em, see you tomorrow. Here mate, you take this outside, on the ‘ouse, give me the tankard back tomorrow.” This practice, whilst definitely upsetting all of her clientele right now, could not affect her business long term, Connie was still the only person with a tavern. Even though she was ejecting them now, they would all flock back again tomorrow. As the tavern emptied, Geyldian found a pew at the front of the shop and allowed the other men to him. Finally Connie shepherded the last man, desperately trying not to spill his hard earned nectar, out of the door, which she closed and locked. Seating herself in front of Geyldian. “For sure, I know who you are ...” “You do, why am I not surprised?” “Aye ... I’m Connie ... You’d be the Tall Client ... You’re late so y’are.” “That’s correct ... So why am I here?” “Well you met Garic in Shanghai so I guess you’ve just come here to confirm a few things.” This remark caused Geyldian’s face to move, not much but enough for Connie to pick up on it. “Oh dear no ... I’m wrong ... You didn’t find him ... Ach you pair!” Now it was Connie whose first emotion was anger, as if she would have torn a strip off Garic if he’d been there right now to face her. This was quickly replaced by the obvious look of worry which crossed her face. Then collecting herself, her head was hung slightly low and her eyes were darting from side to side, deep in thought before ... “Well then I guess you’d have to be here about the Soleil Royale. She went

down in the bay two days ago with all hands lost, a sad affair. I don’t like to hear about such things, but to see it was truly horrific. She was one of yours wasn’t she? Garic explained everything.” Geyldian nodded slowly, he was trying to evaluate Connie, she knew far too much, was this truly a case of loose lips sinking a ship? But her voice, the sincerity was not fake. He surmised that she may have even known most of the men who were lost, but Geyldian guessed these men were also still alive ... Somewhere. Connie was not showing any awareness of this, her face was relaxed, her eyes wide open, and her voice remained even with no hint of breaking. It was easy to see why Garic may have chosen to spend some time here; it would’ve been hard for him to reject such a strong and attractive woman. He continued ... “You’re right ... About everything. Things overtook Garic and myself in Shanghai and we have still to meet. I was given the news about the Soleil just a few hours ago, so I came here straight away ...” “A few hours ago ... Then how?... Oh right! ... Forget it.” “The Soleil’s cargo was missing when our chaps tried to collect it. There isn’t the equipment here to offload such weights to the dock is there? I think the pieces were extracted at sea, ship to ship, or maybe on some small atoll.” “Stolen ... But who?” “That’s what I’m here to find out ... I will definitely speak to the Governor tomorrow, but I wondered ... How well do you know the boats in the bay right now?” “Well obviously I’m very familiar with the crews of your nine boats, especially since they all got scared of the fog, which is a nerve agent and not really a fog at all.” At this point, Connie was whispering and tapping the side of her nose, to signify her knowledge, and the fact that she would keep the information secret. “The problem is you see, that with the crew’s all in here or the hotel, your ships are practically empty, and unprotected. The poor men would rather be anywhere than on their ships.”

Geyldian wasn’t about to justify the Old Ones methods to a barmaid who was lucky enough to own her own tavern, whether she knew the astronaut or not. Pressing her with a gaze ... Connie continued. “Well the other boats, they mostly haul textiles, and other nonperishables. You can spot ‘em a mile off because none of ‘em sit so low in the water as yours do. And of course your ships arrive one by one about every three weeks by now I’d guess. There are two boats currently moored which would be roughly equal to the Soleil Royale if I’m not mistaken, but neither is so heavily burdened.” “I see, well what about injured sailors, have you heard anything, at least one person had to set a fuse for the explosion, he may be injured, or dead. Any chatter?” “No not really, not everybody comes in here all the time. Some of the more god fearing amongst them never set foot in here, but then I’d guess they’d be unlikely to be involved ... It’s difficult to know.” Connie let out a sigh as she tried again to wrack her brain for useful information. “Maybe ... Yes I’m sure of it ... Occasionally, I have seen a ship on the extreme horizon. If you stood by the water you wouldn’t ever see it, but my room on the fourth floor is much higher. I guess I can see further out to see by a couple of miles, but I can’t make out what type of ship it is, and it never puts in here.” “Hmm ... That’s odd, Guam is normally the end of the line for most ships. So where would this boat be coming from and heading to, that it would never need to pull into port? There is no other land except Rota and the other Marianas. Not for weeks of sailing. Is there another harbour on the island yet?” “Not to my knowledge, Garic and Jinhai walked around the coast to dive for sponges and he never reported anything. The governor never leaves his property, surely he’d have to if there was another official harbour?” “Yes probably, unless he was keeping it covered up, what about dynamite or gunpowder? Any ships carry them?” “Not to my knowledge, only a naval ship would carry those ... Wouldn’t they.

And we never see any of those in the bay.” “OK then, I will get my people to do a once round the island, to see if there is any other activity.” Following this, Connie watched as the Tall Client reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, Connie was unable to see the front. The big man was tapping at various buttons while the device was beeping and buzzing in response. Then after pressing a final key, he put the device back into his pocket. “Let’s go outside and take a walk to the cove ... Shall we?” Twenty five minutes later the pair had walked the short distance out of town and followed the path to the end of a naturally occurring rocky peninsula which formed the Southern end of the bay. Standing as they were at the end of the outcrop, they were maybe thirty or so feet above the water. The sea was as normal, mostly calm with a few frothy patches as some waves broke prematurely on shallow rocky shelves, just beneath the surface. It was impossible for Connie to tell as the sun was now low down, but in front of them lay a naturally formed deeper channel. "Hold on to your hat my dear. You're about to see something you will be able to tell your grandchildren about, whether they believe you or not? That will be a different matter." Geyldian stood directly behind Connie and put both his hands on her shoulders so she would be steadied. As the two Caddy broke the surface of the water, it took some seconds before the lady's brain had deciphered that she was not looking at an animal. These were small saucer shaped craft, maybe twenty four feet across. Connie almost jumped backwards so hard that even the big half clone was nearly knocked from his feet, but planted as he was, he held firm gripping her shoulder to provide reassurance. The two Caddy held a perfectly static position twenty yards ahead of them, over the water, which continued to swirl as two shallow mini maelstroms. Geyldian nodded, and immediately the pair broke apart in opposite directions to circumnavigate the island, within seconds they were out of view completely. Little more than two minutes later, and in perfect synchronisation, the pair returned. Even Geyldian flinched a little as it appeared to the pair that both craft would smash into each other. The Caddy came to a simultaneous stop with

inches to spare. Suddenly the device inside Geyldian's pocket began beeping once more, withdrawing the PUCK and examining the screen, it was the Thrall. Having circumnavigated the short coastline of Guam, the Thrall were now informing Geyldian through a translator interface that there were no other harbours, and no wharfs or piers. Having mapped the subsea coastline also, there were several deeper areas, tight into the coastline at several points, which a sizable ship could moor in, but the topography of the adjacent coast would be impractical for unloading the cargo. Analysing the coastline in every spectrum, they could see clearly that there were no hidden caves, no hidden rowing boats with which to even board a ship, and more importantly there were no traces of any hidden metallic parts, only the more dull trace of minerals in the ground. Geyldian now tasked the Thrall to perform the same scan of all the islands in the Mariana's, and then report back. "That should keep the little buggers occupied for a while, especially travelling sub-surface to avoid being seen. All night I'd guess." "Why are you showing me these things? I am sure you can read my mind, as you did with Acacia ... Garic explained everything." "Yes, he really did ... And yes I could, but this problem does not require it. We are alone and can talk freely, and I try not to memory dive, if I can avoid it ... It's a basic respect thing." "You respect me?" "I respect all humans, although you are different. Your mind has already been opened by Garic and his explanations, you surely know that he is also an off worlder?" "Yes, far away ... A planet called Ashlar-Gin." "That's interesting, we found his crashed ship, it's reassembled back on one of our Ark ships. The frame was shot, we couldn't get her flying, but we did get some of the systems to run." "What about his crew?"

"All dead I'm afraid, she broke up on entry to Earth's atmosphere, they were all torn apart. Otherwise we assume they'd all still be alive and giving me the run around!" Connie began to chuckle, as Geyldian smiled broadly, it was refreshing to talk to a human such as Connie. There was no need to hide things or lie to her. Garic truly had a fine handle on the way things were, and had brought his friends up to speed very accurately. But it was the gracious way with which she trusted both Garic and now him, and the way Connie had assimilated all this fantastical information, without question, which made him respect her the most. Ultimately this gave him the most hope that the humans would reach enlightenment, Connie was proof that the humans had the capacity. At least some did. Geyldian would take the next report from the Thrall back upon Central. Before leaving, he walked Connie back to her tavern, as they travelled, he took the time to explain his fears about Garic. He was now wandering after being ambushed, and he had killed all his attackers. In order to preserve some semblance of his learned humanity, he had not allowed his full killer instinct to take over, as such it was highly likely he had died. "So he's been reset then?" "Reset ... How do you mean?" "When Garic dies, his damage is repaired and he is reborn, but without any memories of his experiences, with no link to any place or person, this is why he is wandering. Did you talk to Jinhai?" "The first mate from the junk? No ... But my information says that Jinhai is in hot pursuit of Garic. Approaching six months so far ... I know how that goes. If he was hardwired as a soldier, he'll be a wily one, very difficult to get close to. He probably already knows he's being followed. But without knowing why, his first instinct will be to remain hidden. I do not envy Jinhai. Maybe it's serendipitous, now that something else has cropped up to occupy me ... Honestly, Jinhai stands a much better chance than I, and as important as the parts are, they really take priority." "Of course ... Jinhai is very clever, I have faith." Geyldian saw how his news had changed Connie's previously buoyant mood.

The fact that if Garic met her now, he wouldn't recognise her at all, was indeed upsetting. "He said not to wait ... I should get on with my life." "Well that's very wise of him, and kind. It shows he cares for you immensely. When I find him, I can make great use of him. This means he will probably stay on one of our Arks, that said I would never keep him from you. Of course, being a soldier to his very core, prudence allows him to see the worst possible scenario, and guessing the result, he saw it as highly unlikely that he would make it back to you. As young as you still are, you could have another life, after him ... He knew that ... And he wanted that for you. I have no experience, but I'd say that's love." Geyldian had been winning the battle to quell Connie's tears, but his last statement snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. Breaking down, she let herself back into the tavern, Geyldian did not follow ...

Chapter 39 - Global shell game.

... TWO YEARS LATER ON Central, Geyldian was at the terminal in his quarters. For some time he had suspended operations regarding shipment of the parts. Alwyn's factory was still putting out parts at the scheduled rate, but now they were being stockpiled in a cave in the heart of . This was frustrating, for the Old Ones who had even had their boats shadowed at a reasonable distance, by Caddy, from Safaga all the way to Guam. On these occasions nothing untoward had occurred. It was like the thieves had an inside man, at the first sign that the ship was alone, then the parts would be stolen and the vessels would be scuttled. There were never any bodies in the water after such events, and Geyldian was sure that the ship's entire crews were being taken along with the cargo. In all this time the Network, now mainly gathered around Safaga, had been trying to pick up on any chatter. Even the brotherhood had been taking an active role exploiting their underworld connections trying to open up new leads. Aelren had been disappointed by Geyldian's performance before someone started stealing parts right out from under their noses. These last two years had just rubbed salt in, to what was by now, the gaping open wound of all Geyldian's inadequacies. He had failed to find the astronaut, and now he was being led around by the nose. To cap it all off, this time it was probably only a human. A meeting of the Numbers was held in the circle, but the Old Prime was not in attendance. Such was his lack of confidence in his Second, who was barely keeping this role by the skin of his teeth, that Aelren did not think it would be fair for him to be there. The meeting was to find rocks which had not yet been overturned, and then plan how best to follow up any new leads. Leren had been voted as the chair, in Aelren's absence ... -The situation is this. Eight of my nine ships have now been destroyed. There is no sign of their crews, but neither is there any evidence to suggest they are dead. Also missing are eight loads of parts. -You've checked out all the captains? -There is only one left, and he is still performing fake runs with an empty hold. Since we stopped shipping parts, they also stopped hitting us. It's hard for me to envisage any human would have the motive to do this. For one, I

vetted them most thoroughly for their positions, there were none better. Secondly, none of the humans in the chain of production or shipping, have the full picture, they only know what they need to know. -I see your dilemma. Hitting us in such a coordinated way, shows a knowledge you say they should not possess. Where are they taking the parts? -Well at first it looked like Guam or one of the Marianas, though our scans have shown nothing. Each time we opened the net a little further and tried to scan islands along the way, but still nothing. -Alright ... That is what I would do too. Are all the captains who have ever served still active? -No, the Padre Eterno took a new captain around seven years ago, I heard that old captain Oliviero had died a few years ago. -Did you seek verification? Do you know for sure? -The man was in his eighties, there's no way he'd turn pirate. He worked for me for thirty years. If he were ever to turn, he'd have done it years before. He was a loner, no family and no children. He was a wise cracking the last time I saw him over twelve years ago, but I don't think he would ever harm our interests. He loved the sea and openly enjoyed the money. -Well at this moment, your dead man is our most likely suspect. At some point in the future we have to consider getting the parts moving again. How long can we wait? Considering what it would take to steal the parts, move them and keep them hidden, this is not one man working alone, it would take a hundred men at least. -Hmmm ... Well the brotherhood are like a well-oiled machine with forty ; they can unload a ship in around three hours. So I’d say a hundred men might be a bit of a stretch. If there were that many men roaming around the chances of them operating in secret would be slim, just one idle bit of chit chat and I bet we would’ve heard about it. There is no network left in Europe now, they are all lining the route the ships would take, stationed in the harbours and bays used for mooring. -I thought they were all in Safaga?

-All of them ... No. There is no need, better to cover all bases simultaneously ... Or so I thought. We've chased the parts the length of the route, and turned up nothing. -Have you relocated the astronaut Garic yet? Have you any information at all? -Leren, I really wish you hadn't asked me that, I hate to keep telling you no ... At this point I have forgotten about him relatively speaking. The parts are my priority. By now Garic could be at the North Pole. I have all my people looking for them, not Garic ... He can take care of himself, and after dying he probably still has no knowledge at all. My two s in Shanghai haven’t reported the two men’s return yet ...

Chapter 40 - Masters and minions ...

(CENTRAL INTERRUPTED.) After continuing to follow his master, Jinhai was glad the Earth had been proven to be round, or he was sure the pair may have fallen into the abyss by now. Kazakhstan was tough going, and took months to through, but eventually Jinhai emerged to the shore of the Caspian Sea. The closest Jinhai ever got was three days behind his master. Ordinarily this was not a massive gap, but Jinhai had begun to surmise that in the periods when the trail went cold, which had been often and for weeks on end, Garic may have been doubling back upon himself. This would seem like a logical strategy whereby a soldier could keep moving and still check if they were being followed, yet even knowing this Jinhai found his master’s patterns impossible to predict. With no one around to ask in the isolated wilderness, it sometimes took weeks to regain his master's trail. In a rare moment of rest, Jinhai weighed up his options and took stock. He had been riding ... Endlessly for almost two and a half years, with only rare traces to follow. For the last two months the climate had changed again, the land was dry and arid, and Jinhai surmised he had ed into the middle east. Always having dismissed his self-doubts regarding the futility of his endeavours, Jinhai was perked up by the thought that tomorrow he would cross into Egypt. This was the best news Jinhai had received during the whole escapade. He was sure that it would only be a matter of time before Garic would find himself in Alexandria. Just the name of the town should provoke some recollection from his master, and these would probably draw him towards the port. If he caught sight of his ship or his daughter, so much the better. Jinhai pushed hard to reach Alexandria, Garic had often mentioned the brotherhood and their leader Rafiq. Who better to help him keep a lookout? Finding a room overnight in a reasonably sized town, now under French control called Rosetta, on the northern coast of Egypt, the next day Jinhai was sure to reach Alexandria. Driven on, only by the fact Garic appeared to be on a collision course with the port, despite having no new information within the last five days since entering Egypt. Jinhai hoped that no matter what road he was on, his master would see the name Alexandria and be drawn there, inexplicably.

Leading his horse to the stable at the rear of the Inn, Jinhai then spent some time rubbing his horse’s legs to ease the aches which the animal was sure to be feeling. He left his friend and confident with a fresh bale of hay. The journey before Egypt had been very arid, and both Jinhai and his horse had missed several meals, but his trusty mount had always kept going, at various points on the journey the route had been most treacherous, with loose shales and rocky plateaus to cross. These weren’t ideal for such a large horse, but where Jinhai led, his horse followed, the pair were bonded completely. Unless he absolutely needed to, Jinhai abandoned setting camp. With plenty of blankets, he preferred to sleep under the stars with his horse. Tonight though, Jinhai needed a good wash himself, and decided to rent a room. Even though the currency was still not right, the golden coin, more than paid for a room and food for him and his horse for the month, though Jinhai didn’t know yet if he would need the room for so long. Jinhai had taken the other coins out of his bag before even entering the inn, so he would not make himself into a target for thieves. It had been inconvenient to say the least, having to rough it, but more so was the constant need to periodically change the gold pieces into local currency. Most of the time, he could fill a sack with small denominations just by the exchange of one gold piece. These would enable him to buy food and lodgings if needed, but on more than one occasion, Jinhai had used the knowledge Garic gave his Morty brigade to defend himself and his trusty horse from people looking to score a retirement fund. Not really what he wanted at the end of a long day in the saddle, but he would be damned if he would allow himself to lose his horse or the gold. He was thankful to have had access to these limitless funds, even if explaining the loss of this gold to Garic might eventually prove more problematic for him, than tracking down his master had been. Jinhai needn’t have worried about that though, sleeping comfortably and deeply in his bed, the Chinaman never noticed the figure creeping into his room through the open window, despite being on the third floor. Not that is, until the figure had lit a candle by his bedside and positioned a dagger against his throat. A gentle nudge was all it took to wake Jinhai, who was surprised to find the figure, using a traditional Tuareg nomadic scarf to conceal his face. Quickly

trying to sit up, he found himself pinned by the dagger. Jinhai was completely at the mercy of the unknown man whose face, wrapped as it was, was completely shadowed from the candle light. All too quickly the unknown figure began to speak in fluent Mandarin to him, odd considering he was now in Egypt. The voice was slightly different, more gravelly. As if the man’s throat was coated in dust and he needed a drink. Instantly Jinhai relaxed his head back down to the bed ... “Master!” The man hesitated for a split second, Jinhai felt the pressure on his neck removed momentarily, before feeling the cool steel blade delicately pressing down again with renewed focus. “It’s me master ... Jinhai.” Again the blade faltered, this time the man turned into the light. Only his eyes were visible, but Jinhai could see instantly the hidden face was Garic’s. Jinhai was getting through, but the memories were not flooding back as quickly as Jinhai wanted them to, Garic might yet slit his throat. “Garic! ... Please, it’s me Jinhai ...” “How did you find me? And WHY?!” Jinhai had never seen this side of Garic, his face was contorted with primal rage, like he would kill his old partner before he’d make the time to listen. The blade was pressed more firmly than ever into his neck. Jinhai daren’t swallow, or the simple rising of his throat would see him bleeding. The pressure was being applied firmly and precisely. Uned, Garic’s hand was steady as a rock, even in this situation with his boss enraged, Jinhai felt safe enough that he didn’t need to struggle. All he did now was to begin talking, reminding Garic how the pair had met in a tavern almost fifteen years earlier ... “... In the weeks which followed, we grew to be like brothers ... You purchased my junk ...”

Jinhai could see as he related the story, a glimmer of recognition beginning to form inside Garic’s eyes. His face was still drawn, but had started to soften. It was barely perceivable, but it was there. When Jinhai mentioned Guam, and the reasons for their voyage, the fog and the tall client, Garic’s eyes glazed over. This is it, he is ing. With each new memory the pressure on the blade was getting steadily less. Finally, whilst relating the years Garic had spent sponge diving and returning to the arms of Connie after each trip, Garic’s face had a calm expression once more. This was the Garic that Jinhai knew, not completely, but now he had broken the ice enough for the blade to be removed completely. “Jinhai, old friend ... Can you ever forgive me? ... Why are we here? I have no memories except those you just gave me. I don’t even where I started from ...” “Shanghai ...” This final word, spoken quietly but confidently hit Garic like a punch to the face. Garic was visibly rocked as the visions of Jacob, his goodbye with Connie, and his arrival to Shanghai all hit him at once. Jinhai realised some time could be saved by stating single powerful words, which would be connected to the most memories inside Garic’s brain. “Acacia ... Företaget ... Tall Client ... Shangri La ...” Garic appeared to be in some degree of pain as each new word which Jinhai uttered unlocked decades of experiences ... “How many lives have I lived?” The note of disbelief made Garic’s voice tremor, the sand in his throat leading his voice to whisper. “To my knowledge you are currently in your fifth incarnation in our world. I travelled a great distance to catch up to you, I am glad I was able ... Master.” Garic’s memory was creating its own fuel now to burn the remaining gaps away. The few words which Jinhai had spoken, had grown into a raging inferno.

Within half an hour, with Garic still sat beside Jinhai on his bed, almost his complete time on Earth and even Ashlar-Gin before that, emerged back into his recollection. His oldest and longest forgotten memories of his home world were clearer than they had ever been. Jinhai turned over, with his back to Garic, signifying the bond of trust which they had previously shared, and which was again restored, the first mate knew he could sleep soundly now. “Shall we start back in the morning Garic? ...” “I think that’s a good idea old friend ... By the way ... What is Shangri-La?” As the first mate and by now, expert tracker lay drifting to sleep, he almost moaned. “Shangri-la ... Ashlar-Gin ... Paradise ... It’s paradise.” The next morning, Jinhai awoke to find Garic still sat on the bed beside him. Rising silently, it had not been hard to determine from Garic's stooping posture, that he’d fallen asleep whilst remaining sat up. This was probably the first night Garic had spent in a bed in almost three years, even if he had remained sat up, it was a start in the right direction. Jinhai slipped from the room to bring food, returning minutes later to find Garic was awake and walking around. The pair ate breakfast. "Did you think I'd left you?" "No. I could hear you downstairs talking with the hotelier. You should've let me, I seem to still Arabic quite clearly. Anyway, thank you." "So, master, which way now?" "Well I think we walk the path to Safaga, hop on a boat back to Guam and re Connie. I can't imagine the Tall Client has waited for us all this time in Shanghai. There'll be other opportunities to catch him, of that I'm sure." Walking the same path which Garic had followed decades earlier, such was the barren nature of the land that little had changed, progress was easily made. Garic knew where to find water and where to make camp. How a day could make such a difference, Garic was sure that if he'd gotten close to Alexandria, some of his memories would have returned, but would he have been tempted to return to

Constantinople, or Safaga? He did not have an answer for that. In possession of all his memories, thanks to his friend Jinhai, Garic was sure of one thing. He had at least been spared from reing the chase for the Tall client, this could easily have been the result from a partial recall. As the pair walked Jinhai had allowed his boss to read the five diaries which he had personally carried the length of the Earth. Garic had shown little or no reaction whilst reading them, inferring that the events logged within them were far from news to him. "So my master, you everything?" "Yes Jinhai, thanks to you, I think I have everything back. I owe you a great debt. Plus I have some great memories of Kazakhstan. You and that horse. Do you always talk to him? Did you reach the point where he answered back?" Garic began to laugh, confirming to the Chinaman that whilst he had been headed toward the edge of his own sanity, trying to track his master, it had been he whom was being tracked. "How long? ... How long were you tailing me I mean?" "Never for very long old friend. I was curious only because I was aware how long I'd travelled, yet you always seemed to catch me up; so I spent some time watching you. I at one point you were pretty ill, it was two days before you came out of the most hastily constructed shelter that I've ever seen." "Yes, I was very weak, I got so cold I thought I may die, but evidently I did not." Garic left the conversation at that, never telling his friend that in fact he had checked in on him the first day, and it had not been looking good for him. But having no recollection of Jinhai, whose face was pale and clearly transformed from the illness, he had not taken any particular action. In fact if Jinhai had not risen that second day, Garic had already claimed his horse. He was happy to see his friend up and about now though, and wasted no more thought on speculating how Jinhai had managed to pull through. As the pair walked into Safaga, the first thing which struck them as odd was that the harbour was full, but only with small ships. Garic had expected that there

should be at least three of the Tall Clients vessels there. Asking around on the dock, Garic was met with a grim story. Someone had been stealing the cargos and blowing up the ships. Only the Padre remained, which was a small relief to Garic, until he asked how the old Captain was. The man could not answer, stating that the Padre had sailed with a younger captain at her helm for at least the last seven years. Having not followed a path back to Constantinople, Garic was unaware that the Tall Client was now stockpiling parts rather than shipping them only to keep getting them stolen. Unknown to Garic, his assessment that the Tall Client would be searching for the thieves was accurate. “Maybe the chance to finally meet my alien huntsman has presented itself sooner than we expected brother. I only hope we have not been out of the game for too long. We need to locate the Brotherhood, they will reveal everything.” When the Brotherhood failed to reach Safaga, this spoke volumes. “Why would he ship the parts when they might be stolen, and the ship destroyed? Jinhai, it looks like our Tall Client had suspended his operation. This is bound to be hurting their schedule.” “Master, you told us the parts were probably for a reactor. Is that important?” Garic smiled, it was all he could think to do in the face of such naivety, but he couldn’t blame Jinhai. Humans had no knowledge of what was possible with energy yet ... In time, though not soon enough for his first mate, the humans would learn for themselves. “You could say that. The reactor is what would’ve powered their ship through the void of space. Knowing how the Tall Client likes to plan everything, they were probably infinitely reliable too. If they are breaking down, then they must have been here eons. I cannot imagine after all the prudence he has shown to this point that they are panicking about the halt, but if the Tall Client had spent centuries in this endeavour, then it is important to him and his people. Maybe the stakes are high enough to be a threat to the planet!” Now Garic presented his first mate and friend with a choice... “Jinhai ... You don’t have to stay, you can go back home on any of the boats out

there if you want. You have done more than enough for me ... Only I need to follow the parts. You can say “no”, if you want.” “Master ... Where you lead, I will follow.” Asking the dock workers a few more questions, yielded some information, straight away. It seemed that there had been a rash of Europeans in Safaga almost three years ago, around the same time the first ship was destroyed in Guam. But then six months ago, these people had all left, headed eastwards, now only a few men remained. Garic's final question was a simple one. Was Captain Oliviero still alive? He had been in his early sixties when they last spoke, that was easily thirteen years ago, maybe even fifteen. Garic found it hard to keep count. The dock worker was busy, and being Arabic, did not like the intrusion or the constant questioning. Without words he pointed to a large villa at the head of the channel which formed the harbour. Approaching the villa took longer than expected. The size of the dwelling was immense and had created the illusion that the distance was not so great; as such it was going dark by the time the two men had walked into the courtyard. Garic rang the bell, three times, after a short wait a servant appeared. The servant did not know Garic from Adam, but had obviously been prepared that anyone going by this name was a friend and should be allowed in at once. The two men were ushered into a huge drawing room, which despite the villa’s location, could not have been decorated more European in taste. The floor was covered in small wooden pieces all cut and laid into a pattern, like herringbone. Several varieties of wood were used and had all been lacquered over the top. The walls were fully clad in oak s and a library of thick books formed one entire side of the room. Oliviero's tastes were lavish, lots of red and gold materials. “Very Chinese.” Jinhai remarked, yet the two styles complimented each other greatly. It wasn't more than a few minutes before Garic's old captain ed them, explaining that he'd been transferring some brandy from its first barrel to a second barrel used previously for a strong wine. Apologising for the delay, Oliviero walked quickly to greet his old friend.

"Garic old friend, how are you? I'm so glad you could finally come and visit. I was almost ready for giving up after the last visit from our mutual friend, I'd guess about fifteen years ago." "Yes, Oliviero, he must've been hot on my heels all through India and China, but he never caught up to me and I was completely unaware at that time. Did you know he even expanded his network to those regions for a short while?" "No ... No I didn't, but it's a reasonable move for him to make. In fact I left the sea seven years ago and put word about that I died three years ago, I gave him up when I gave up the sea." "Why did you leave it? I Marcus, my old captain always remarked it wasn't like sailing, no weather, no challenge." "And there's your answer my friend, it was boredom which killed my love of the sea. I hated to see the Padre Eterno go, but I had no need for her, and such a fine ship should be properly employed ... Don't you think?" "Most definitely. Oliviero, I wonder ... Have you heard anything about someone stealing the parts and sinking the ships to cover their tracks?" "Oh dear lord no, who would do such a thing?" Maybe Garic was too close, but Jinhai, who had no prior relationship with the old sea captain, instantly picked up on the fact that this information was not a surprise to Oliviero. If so, this indicated that his reaction, and his answer, were probably lies. Jinhai, more out of respect for Garic, who was deep into catching up with a man who had been his boss for some years, felt inclined to say nothing. Instead he would try to ask some questions, and then gauge the captain's reaction. A feat made all the more difficult by the old Captain permanently showing off all his newly purchased trinkets to Garic, who was left in awe at their beauty or rarity. Jinhai was at a complete loss to explain Garic's behaviour at this point. Garic was usually without fail, the best judge of human character, usually capable of spotting a lie a mile away. But Oliviero was different, here was a man who seemed to have some kind of hold over Garic which allowed him to shroud the truth.

Jinhai stopped to consider what Oliviero's motives might be. He'd obviously spent the better part of thirty years in the employ of the Tall Client, and had been happy to take the money. As far as Garic had informed the Chinaman, any failure to deliver parts, or any action which damaged the route or the parts would be seen as a breach of contract, and would not come without some consequence. Though Garic had never alluded to what these may be. So why then? Oliviero obviously had expensive tastes. The finest Brandy, the rarest books and the oldest objet D'art, were all apparent in this one room. Jinhai could only guess what may lay inside other rooms within the villa. In fact they had missed the biggest clue of all. If the two men ever sailed past the villa outward bound, then they would not miss the fact that Oliviero's villa had been built to bridge the two sides of a narrow inlet. Direct exposure to sea air and even submerging brandy barrels in sea water was indeed a technique to enhance the flavour of Brandy over time. But now Jinhai suspected this was a cover. Oliviero of course, suggested that Garic and his friend could not be allowed to leave after dark, and that they should stay the night. This was no less than Garic had expected. Now he would be free to take a look around. Having worked for Oliviero for five years, eventually becoming the old sea captain's right hand man, the changes in his old friend had been easy to spot. It was perhaps to be expected that, after a life of toil, doing nothing but amassing a huge sum of money, a man might splurge to build a dream. But Oliviero had gone far past this. His previous modesty was now replaced by arrogance, told by the way Oliviero had showed off his pretty baubles whilst looking down his nose at Garic. His previous empathy for his crew was also now replaced it seemed by a need to control, his manner with his servants was both stern and brash, completely unexpected from this once gentle soul, and totally unnecessary. This had tipped Garic off immediately that Oliviero might be involved in some nefarious scheme. Even so, for Oliviero to take on the big man ... Who he knew next to nothing about really, and who obviously had the power of planets behind him ... What was the old sea dog thinking? ... This was why Garic had not openly challenged Oliviero, giving his old friend the

benefit of the doubt, was the least he felt he should do. But that wasn't going to stop him taking a look at the Brandy cellar. It took moments for Garic to exit his room, once his concentrated mind heard no noise, indicating that everyone was in bed. He was surprised to find Jinhai at his door, clearly the two men were in tune as to Oliviero's manner, but the largest look of shock was now on Jinhai's face. He felt sure he may have to make his master see reason. The fact that Garic had not been fooled at all, restored his faith. The two men crept downstairs back to ground level, but then they followed the stairs into the sub-basement. For all purposes this was a room also, no signs of a cave, nor any brandy barrels, but as the two men's eyes adjusted to the very low level of light, a large trap door was evident in one corner of the room. Clearly Oliviero's arrogance extended to his belief that he would be able to pull the wool over Garic's eyes. The trap door was wide open and no attempt had been made to cover up what lay beneath. Peering into the dark rectangular hole, a staircase descended, cut from the foundation rock itself. As with everything else the two men had ever attempted, they realised now that this wasn't going to be easy. Waves were lapping at the stairs, which apparently continued beneath them into the murk. "The tide is in Jinhai, we will have to come back another time, there is no guarantee that there will be any trapped pockets of air down there, and if there is an outward current, getting back to the stairs may be difficult." "Yes master, maybe we leave in the morning and come back by boat when the tide is out?" "That's a good idea ..." "What tipped you off master ... About Oliviero, I was suspecting, but you seemed oblivious." "Not for a second old friend, as we approached the villa, I knew something was amiss ... It's too big ... Too ostentatious ... And then when we met him ... Well let's just say, Oliviero has changed ... Covering something for sure. He was never on edge like this before."

"He seems like a man who has a lot to lose ..." "Granted ... But a man so wealthy in this area is not abnormal ... Even so the old Oliviero would never have painted such a large target on his back, he would've spread his wealth around the town. The Brandy ... That was the one thing I DID expect ... If it's legitimate of course ... And why would he need to fake his own death?" “So the Tall Client does not come looking for him.” “That would be my guess too ...” The two men went back to their rooms, and slept well in the huge plush beds which Oliviero had provided for them. The next morning the pair descended expecting to leave, but the old captain would not hear of it, insisting the two men stay for a hearty breakfast. Garic could not resist pushing some of the old captain's buttons, to see if he could be tripped up. "So Oliviero, I never realised that a sea captain earned so much money, what are you doing with yourselves these days ... Selling Brandy?" "Selling? No ... That's strictly for my own consumption, not sure if I have the blend right. I do sample it, and it's more than able ... But saleable ... I'm not sure." "Maybe you could show us, you know I like my Brandy. Would you trust my opinion?" "Of course ... The tide should be out, we can get into the grotto now easily, it's a little early though." "It's never too early, looking forward to it." Garic laughed but inside he was cursing, he’d just laid the bait and all too quickly, Oliviero had swallowed it. Unless the grotto was huge with several chambers, all concealed, Garic was now reasonably assured that there was nothing down there but barrels of Brandy. Garic wasn't sure how much longer he could continue the charade. If Oliviero had turned against his former employer, he wanted to know why? And soon.

Finishing breakfast the three descended the same stairs which Garic and Jinhai had found the night before. So far Oliviero had made no obvious attempts to cover anything, but maybe this was just an extension of Oliviero's new arrogance ... Showing how clever he thought he could be. -Whatever he’s covering up, he’s sure it’s safe from prying eyes. If Garic was going to learn anything, it was going to take a more direct approach to loosen Oliviero's tongue. At the bottom of the stairway, was a channel linked directly to the sea, waves could be heard crashing against the rocks at the mouth of the channel. The chamber which Oliviero referred to as the grotto, was around the same size as his study. At this time of day, a shallow pool of crystal blue water lay in the centre. Every five seconds a ripple would cross the pool due to the crashing of another wave at the far end of the channel. This ripple being the last vestige of the dying wave after its journey some yards up the channel, just reaching the pool. Lined around the path, which appeared to be a natural shelf around the edge of the grotto, were twenty or so barrels of Brandy. "I knew it! There are several more barrels here than you could possibly drink in the twilight of your life ... You ARE selling it, you beggar." Oliviero snorted, and then offered his reply ... "No No you fool, half the barrels are empty. They were the first ageing barrels, I haven't refilled them, now I only have rocks in them to hold them down. See ... The ones with Brandy in are lashed to the rocks." Garic made light of his little joke, smiling broadly. This was the first time a comment had been met with actual irritation. Oliviero had completely failed to conceal his growing anger, now he knew the two men did not trust him at all. Now to turn the screws ... "Oliviero, when I said goodbye all those years ago, you and I were friends, and I would never have doubted that anything could come between us. Now I find you living as the leader of a ring of thieves, with your stolen riches. I'm not saying you stole all of it, hell I was with you five years as you earned it, but you are covering something my friend ... And now as much as it pains me ... I use that term with the loosest of connections. So Oliviero, who turned you against the

Tall Client?" "Garic, that you would ever suspect me makes this a sad day indeed, but it takes events such as these for a man to learn who his friends truly are, and you aren't mine. So if you'll be leaving now ..." "NO! Not until you tell me what you are involved with. Parts missing and ships exploding ... How could you do such a thing?" With this Garic made a rush to the bottom of the stairs, to cut off Oliviero's chances to trap them in the grotto. Garic’s stance and his snarling question fired at his former captain, told the old man he had no chance except to come clean. Jinhai silently looked on, the expression on Garic’s face now exceeding that of a few nights before when he had Jinhai cornered in the tavern. The first mate was sure that Garic's patience was gone now, but knowing Garic well, he knew this was merely a threat. He'd seen Garic fight many times, and heard rumours about many more of his masters encounters, and this display was a far cry from those times. When Garic was actually stirred to fight, it was always to defend himself or someone, he never used such means for extracting information. When he fought, it would be as cold as the mountain snow, no emotion and no remorse. He knew for sure that if Garic intended to harm his old friend, no warning would’ve been made. Oliviero's manner changed dramatically again, to that of a man who had thrown everything away, almost mournful. The old sea dog sat on one of the lower stairs with Garic looking down at him, it was mere seconds before his face returned to normal. "They got to me in Manila, a little over seven years ago ... One of my last runs." "Who? And how? Manila isn't on the route." "There were a whole bunch of them, maybe as many as twenty five men, very aggressive. They'd been waiting in Manila for maybe a year. They'd have never come across the Padre if the weather hadn't been so stormy, we had actually had to sail my big old ship the night before, though the worst storm I ever in my thirty years of service to that point, and a mast had broken. The storm was never far over the horizon so rather than risk the cargo and my ship we made straight for Manila, a fair sized port with a shipwright. I had the mast changed

for a new one, it took a whole week." Oliviero went on to explain that the men had been present in small numbers in all the local taverns at the port. It turned out they were all disbanded of the Indian and Chinese branch of the Tall Client's network. “They were all unhappy that the network had been disbanded. But a violent bunch like that, it had been easy to see why. To my knowledge the Network was always land based, but they knew the routes clearly enough. Maybe this lot were only hired to find you. Anyway they were all in agreement about wanting to hit Guillermo where it hurt. They made it clear that if I didn't talk, ship names, cargo weight, ship size etcetera, that I'd be found floating in the harbour the next morning. I had a bad feeling about that run the moment we set sail from Safaga. I should have retired there and then!" "You expect me to believe you? Twenty five men that the tall client picked probably by hand himself, ALL decided they wanted revenge? That sounds a bit odd when only some of them were ever involved in any wrongdoings on his behalf. Who's behind them?" "Garic ... Please ... If they find out I exposed them, I'll be dead." "Don't call me Garic anymore! Only my friends call me that ... And if I were you I'd stop thinking about what they will do to you, and start thinking about what the Tall Client will do. I am sure this represents a significant breach ... And before him ... Don't forget about me!" "The money they gave me was a huge sum, but not for the information, it was just to keep me quiet. If I'd been paid, and they made the right noises, they knew I'd have been done for. Similarly I couldn't talk because I'd been paid ... I never wanted to. After that I didn't hear anything, it was another four years before they hit the Soleil Royale. Honestly, even with the information, I never expected them to pull it off, not against all Guillermo's resources. Someone must've been organising them, but it wasn't one of the men who caught me, I'm sure it was a woman." "A woman? What makes you so sure?" "Well they would always talk in hushed tones when not addressing me directly, but it was all 'she wants' this, or 'her wrath' that. They were probably as much

under duress as I was ... They were scared of this woman, I have no doubt." Garic thought about pressing Oliviero, maybe even physically, but seeing the return of the man he knew and once respected ... Garic knew for sure he was telling the truth. Now it was time to leave this sad old captain to his repentance, and maybe punishment. Garic signalled Jinhai, a look was all it took and the two men left the old captain alone to tend his Brandy. Upon their return to the main harbour in Safaga, the pair split, in order to find any remaining member of the Tall Client’s network. It was Jinhai who succeeded in this task first. Entering a particularly lively tavern frequented by Europeans mainly because the owner was French, so the atmosphere was much more to their liking. Firstly going to the bar to get a drink of ale, before circling the establishment, only one fragment of a conversation had tipped off the Chinaman. He felt sure he had overheard the words ... Information from Central. Jinhai moved in immediately, sitting in the final spare seat at the table. The five men all fell silent immediately. "Don't stop on my . A new lead has surfaced, I am here to tell you. My name in Jinhai, Guillermo knows who I am ..."

Chapter 41 - A captain’s disgrace ...

IT WAS A WEEK BEFORE Geyldian had been due to get his next report, but as the report landed early on his desk, Geyldian was first shocked and then heartbroken. The report started: Met a Chinese man named Jinhai in Safaga, Garic is restored. They are moving to India ... Captain of Padre Eterno ... Oliviero is alive here in Safaga, but he has been compromised ... Was forced to sell knowledge of shipments to a ring of thieves. Early information suggests the ring is made up of ex-Indo-Chinese network ... Press ganged to do work for some powerful figure ... Possibly a female." -This is too much ... Apart from believing his old friend to be dead, he would never have considered such a breach could originate with Oliviero, not in an ancient’s lifespan. The only good news was Garic had been restored and with Jinhai, had been instrumental in breaking this lead, although already, he was on the move again. For now, true to Geyldian's original words, Garic remained a low priority. If he was up there on the surface trying to crack this ring of thieves, it may not be too much longer before the parts would be returned. Garic was a tenacious one, if anyone could right this wrong, it was him. Geyldian resolved to let the astronaut and his first mate get on with the task, which may yet see him handing over the parts and himself at the same time. Geyldian went to break the news to Aelren. Whilst it was not the greatest news, taken at face value it was significant in of both Geyldian's main projects. -A female you say? Are you sure it isn't the astronaut Garic's girl on Guam? -That's what the report states, but it's unconfirmed at this time. No I don't think it's Connie, she misses Garic for sure, but her manner ... She's a very emotional woman, she could never be so calculating without it showing ... She's not involved. -So then Garic ... What's the plan? -Well he has his memories and was probably back on his way to Guam, but

he ed through Safaga and must have learned of our problem ... Now he's into it like I wish I was able to be myself. Of course it helped that he found Oliviero alive when all my information said he was dead ... Now we know why he was hiding. -So what are we planning to do with Oliviero? We need to send a message! -Surely you don't mean Mona?! I was thinking of bringing him here to deep read him. I think you'd be best for that, I'm too attached, and too human. What might be best now would be to put another face on the parts, the real face. Then send him back to spread the word to everyone that their time is limited. -Yes ... That might have the most lasting impact ... Then bring me this Oliviero, I will deal with him ... A full week after Garic and his first mate had left him in his grotto, Oliviero had seldom left the comfort of his bed. He’d made peace with his servants, apologising for the seven years of misery which he put them through, but even this had not lifted his growing sense of foreboding. It's only a matter of time, he thought to himself. By the end of the week, Oliviero was a broken man at the edge of his sanity. Having not eaten the whole time, and with the worry of the Tall Client’s possible repercussions circling endlessly in his imagination, the old captain was growing weaker by the day. Then one night ... Oliviero was awoken by the pitter patter or tiny feet running either side of his vast bed. Then the voice he had been dreading ... -Oliviero you snake! Wake up, I know you can hear me ... "Who is it? ... Who's there?..." The level of light in the room began to rise, but not from his brass oil lamps. These new lamps were without flame and found an infinite number of levels as they increased in strength. Oliviero was strapped onto a slab, and could not move freely. Within seconds his eyes began to adjust to the low level of light in the room, then the realisation that he was no longer in his lavish boudoir hit him. Oliviero was now racing with primal fear like he had never experienced before, at sea or anywhere else. "Guillermo ... I knew you'd come."

-Oh ... Oliviero I haven't come anywhere ... You've been taken ... Can you guess where you are? Guillermo's huge face appeared inches from his own, if he had not been strapped down he might have recoiled back, but the slab behind his head allowing no retreat. -Come on old man, think of me as the judge. Confess to me now, or things will get truly ugly. Guillermo withdrew once more to the cloak of darkness. The Prime was now by the slab, mere inches from Oliviero. In the darkness the old captain could not make out anything more than a huge slender shadow. In the next instant, long boney fingers appeared from the darkness and found the captains temples. The lights then went up a thousand times in brightness to expose Aelren in all his cloned alien glory. The shock was enough that Oliviero began to pant with fear and despite being spry for a man in his eighties, he could not catch a full breath. Whilst thinking this was maybe more than the old man could bear, Geyldian remained silent. Years of perfect service with no reason for any mistrust, Oliviero was only guilty of one mistake, but that was all it took. Aelren was diving through Oliviero's memories, and quickly found his target, the old captain had indeed been surrounded by men in a tavern. From the vantage point of the captain himself, Aelren was making a mental note of the faces around him, and he was hearing the conversation in detail. Withdrawing, Aelren turned to Geyldian ... -It's no use, he told the truth to the astronaut; he has no knowledge of the ringleader, who would indeed appear to be female. He has not seen them since Manila, and he does not know who they are. Neither do I. None of the faces match the people we selected for the Indo-Chinese network, some years have ed, but still, these men seem unconnected. -So what about him? -Have the Thrall clear out his trinkets, then destroy the villa. No man needs a house that size, and he doesn't deserve it.

-That's a little extreme Aelren, Oliviero didn't want this, he just didn't want to die ... leave him something. He was sure the men were network. If he’s wrong, then they must have lied to him also. Maybe there is some connection up the chain of command to an old network member. Can you put the faces of the people who attacked Oliviero into the system so I can them to my PUCK? -Extreme, yes maybe, a message definitely ... As you say it is possible the old network is pulling the strings. I think you pay them too well, aren't our secrets worth protecting? Worth dying for? I'll go and see Ra'sian immediately. -Worth dying for? I've never asked any of the humans to make that sacrifice, they keep our secrets and do our bidding at every step, they should never be in danger ... This situation is different ... It's starting to look like an inside job ... That's why I think Oliviero should be cut some slack. Aelren, dissatisfied at being challenged in this way by his Second, who was on shaky ground to begin with, turned his back. Following this there was a loud pop which made the air fizzle in the wake of his jump. In the Prime's mind, the humans were paid well to achieve certain things, whilst concealing everything they did from the uninitiated, this didn't stop for a death threat. The network and the ship captains all had special knowledge, and were aware of the potential cost of it falling into the wrong hands. The fact people hadn’t been killed defending that knowledge before showed Geyldian’s skill. He managed everything, and had set operations up, just so. Aelren jumped away because he felt that he was in the wrong, but he just couldn't it it. Geyldian was certainly his father's son, the Prime who trained Aelren in all the ways of the Devine and the Old Ones, then turned his back on it all to try life on the surface. Geyldian's father was perhaps the wisest clone ever, always managing to maintain balance, order, and peace, never showing any hint of ill temper or sharpness, even as Aelren ed, to one particularly arrogant Novus ... him. That was a very long time ago, and though a few seeds of doubt had been cast as far as Geyldian's performance in these last years, the never-ending flow of time would rinse everything clean eventually. Geyldian was still Aelren's chosen successor to be Prime, not that he would ever let his second know. Geyldian would have to endure the same wait every new Prime did before his

ascendancy. Aelren would've gone through his own succession, before this could happen, his knowledge added to the collective and ed into a new clone. Geyldian still couldn’t get a grip on his old Prime, who would readily chastise him just as harshly as he would a Novus. And yet it seemed praise did not exist in the Prime’s vocabulary for any of them, least of all him. Leren and Geyldian talked often about how the Second in command had ever managed to rise to that position, given his apparent lack of any skill which would serve him well on Central. Leren was of the opinion that the highest form of praise from Aelren, was no words at all, and this may be a trait he learnt from Geyldian's father, who never wasted words either positively or negatively, where a look would suffice. Geyldian ed seeing more negative looks than positive. Leren, not given to joking, usually inquired why Geyldian had to be such a naughty clone, or when would he grow up? His point was nonetheless a serious one. Geyldian was often at odds with the Old ways, which he had not properly been exposed to until reaching Central. In this way Geyldian was likened by almost all his contemporaries to a rebellious teenager. He knew the rules but seemed unable to follow them easily of his own volition. Asked privately those same contemporaries would also say something else. They were thankful that Geyldian was so well versed in the ways of the naked apes who ruled the surface. None could have done more or better. Geyldian instructed the Thrall to remove all artwork and antiquities from Oliviero's home, and then demolish most of it. He also placed a constraint upon Oliviero whereby if anyone should report that he had rebuilt his villa, the old captain would be sent to Mona. Geyldian was most insistent that Oliviero wouldn't want that, as it was a very dark place with no kind of atmosphere. The old sea captain did not have the heart left to protest. Seldom had a man made such an error of judgement, but wracking his brains, Oliviero still saw no other option than the death he'd been assured by his attackers. When Geyldian jumped his friend turned foe back to his villa in Safaga, the sea captain was shocked by the sight before him. The central core of servants quarters were still standing. The greater part and more lavish part which he’d occupied and made up more than eighty percent of the structure, was gone. There was no rubble, and strange lines now existed down the structure where it appeared walls had been melted away.

Walking inside the barest bones of what had been his dream home, Oliviero wept. The man who had lived humbly for the majority of his life save for his huge boat and expensive taste in fine Brandy had, in these final years of his life, been turned by money and greed into a mean man. Much of his wealth remained, where it had always been, in truth he had only spent a fraction of his accumulated monies on the villa and the baubles which once filled it, and this lifted his heart somewhat. Now he knew what he must do, engaging his servants, as freed men and women, he used his money to construct several terraces of accommodation. Once completed he devoted the rest of his life, almost another decade, to the care of poor people and children, of which there had always been far too many in Safaga. Having heard this news, Geyldian was happy that his old friend had found something good to use his money for, something selfless and typical of the man he'd known. The half-clone now considered that Oliviero's little misdemeanor was a last resort act of self-preservation on the part of the old captain. He had taken his punishment like a man and turned the whole sorry affair into something good ... Geyldian was happy about that.

Chapter 42 - Bamboozled in Bombay

NEWS OF THE SUDDEN fate which befell Oliviero's villa, occurring overnight, travelled far and wide, eventually reaching Garic and Jinhai in Bombay after a couple of months. Garic had taken the decision to break from walking. After all, it might have taken the better part of six months to walk that far. Longer if Jinhai became ill or fatigued again. Instead the pair boarded a ship bound for India. Bombay was the first stop and that was good enough for Garic. Having made first over a century earlier in 1608, British faces and voices everywhere. Generally it was easy to pick out the people who seemed to have less purpose in their step. Loiterers who may be waiting in the shadows to do someone harm, or waiting to meet another. As far as Garic was concerned, British people could be ignored. The English territorial expansion was still mostly happening in the new world, though more and more business was headed into India, and though the groundwork had been laid, the empire still hadn't fully sunken it's teeth in. Besides, Garic had found no evidence suggesting the Tall Client had any connections there. By contrast, any Italian, Persian or Russian voices were just as easy to pick out, but were far less common. These were far more likely to be part of the current network, drafted in to help find the parts. Garic and Jinhai decided to keep tabs on these people, to get confirmation. To maintain their own freedom of movement, the pair chose not to introduce themselves, preferring to avoid the gaze of the Network and ultimately the Tall Client. Much harder to find would be the people who had been recruited quickly around fifteen years earlier, then disbanded. These were almost certain to be Indian business men, well connected people with the resources to hire more, of a lower, possibly more criminal character. Garic saw locating of the old, disbanded network as their top priority. “, the makeshift network got quite brutal with the Morty men at one point. This was probably why the Tall client shut them down. We won’t engage anyone of interest unless we can get them alone and contain them.” “It is most odd master, that the Tall client would leave so many loose ends everywhere ...” “It is Jinhai ... And all along the route where they could keep tabs on the parts

movements on the way to Guam.” “Do you think the indo-chinese network had any knowledge of the route ... Or the schedule?” “It's probable they didn’t, or they wouldn’t have needed to hijack Oliviero on a single chance encounter. it was a fluke storm, another oversight from the big man, which caused the Padre to pull into Manila. Without that everything would still be running smoothly.” “Those men must have shown true patience, waiting as they did for a single chance.” “Yes, the storm should never have happened, in all my time aboard the Padre, she never saw so much as a squall, nothing we couldn’t ride out or make a slight detour around. Maybe it was my fault.” “Oh, how do you figure that?” “We have been so busy trying to find each other, a right old merry dance you could say ... Maybe he let his grip on other matters slip.” “I think you’re reading things too deeply master. I cannot imagine the Tall client is working alone ... He has help, we know from Shanghai ... Maybe the storm was ... Well, just a storm ... A freak of nature he didn’t plan for and couldn’t see until it happened.” “Yes Jinhai, maybe you’re right. I bet he’s kicking himself about Shanghai.” Now the pair laughed, neither had been there, but both had their own ideas regarding the scene as the big alien had been laid on the restaurant floor dying. “I still have to find him ...” “Let us find the parts first master, then you can give them back to him. This will at least show your usefulness.” “Wise council as always ... Thank you Jinhai.” After almost a month of scouring Bombay for possible network ,

current or disbanded, and coming up with only one or two possible candidates, Garic and Jinhai were considering other options. A chance meeting on the huge harbourside one morning made up Garic's mind. The pair bumped most unceremoniously into Albert, formally one of the fake Garic's. After explaining the fate of the Tall Clients stolen parts, Albert confirmed he had heard rumours all over the Indian coastline, but something was off with Albert’s narrative. Albert heard rumours of the parts theft almost three years ago, shortly after returning to the sea full time from Guam. This was a few months before the attack on the Soleil Royale had actually occurred. “Are you sure Albert? You heard the rumour about the theft, a few months before the theft actually occurred? And that was a full three years after a group of ruffians accosted Captain Oliviero in Manila ... This was a plan long in the making.” “Master, maybe they aren’t from the Network at all ...” Clever Jinhai had put the pieces together seconds before Garic. “No they aren’t ... It’s looking more and more to me like they knew Oliviero or just recognised him from the mystery fleet and saw an opportunity for some quick money. But what would be the motive? How did they know what the cargo was? A crime syndicate perhaps? But driven by a woman ... Jinhai, this isn't the first time ...” Back in Egypt the group who tried to steal the parts back then also made murmurs of a huge female paymaster. But that was after I left the Företaget. How old is this woman?... Garic had already seen the look on his first mate’s face. Jinhai would not accept this statement without qualification. “In recent times I can only think of one person who would hold a grudge against the Tall Client. I know her, and you know of her.” “Acacia ... Surely not master.” Having happened across Network several times, none had been female. Garic considered maybe this was because the Tall client knew the sacrifices each

would be forced to make, plus the work was challenging. were clearly expected to keep moving, and there was an element of danger involved, even if this rarely manifested itself. Ruling Acacia out was easy, being in regular whilst in Guam, he knew Acacia had made her peace with the Tall client and had been in regular with him. “Don’t worry Jinhai, I do not think my daughter would go so far. I don't think she would want to upset me that way for a start, Connie either. She is more than smart enough and she knew the schedule, but she's too kind hearted to consider it. That just leaves the rumour ...” It did not take long for Garic to explain the events outside Alexandria to Jinhai, before adding his speculations. “I think someone has been aware of the parts from the start. For that to happen they must have dealt with the tall client before, though in what capacity I cannot imagine. Clearly the woman in question has some knowledge and is still trying to trip the Tall client up. I am guessing it was not so hard for her to work out the schedule, I managed after a few months.” “But an attack, why wait so long?” “Well in fact, when I first reached Safaga, I heard one ship had been attacked, by a huge female pirate ...” Jinhai was shocked. “I didn’t place any stock at the time, there was also a rumour about one ship disappearing into a maelstrom shortly after unloading the parts in Guam too. Then there’s the Kraken ... With sailors it’s hard to sort the facts from the big squid.” “But for someone to know about the Tall Client and the parts, someone who has a grudge. Could she be one of them?” As his first mate’s words landed, Garic pondered them. For someone to have a grudge with the big man, and his limitless resources. The woman would need certain things before she could even start such a project.

“A renegade? ... She’d need her own Network ... Men ... Money ... And patience. Lots of patience.” “Patience enough to rival the Tall Client?” “Not just him ... Them ... If not patience Jinhai, then time. She’d need lots of time ... She cannot be one of them, all the evidence suggests she has no idea what she is up against.” “Maybe after you stopped her outside Alexandria, she took some time to reorganise and find another way.” It was beyond doubt, someone else wanted the parts. But without having any use for them, their aim was purely spiteful, just to stop the Tall Client. Having tried to get close to the parts and failed, Oliviero’s detour from the route into Manila had finally allowed them a chance. Whether they had acted hurriedly, to put manpower together or if there was a large counter-Network was also unclear. Garic couldn’t waste time thinking about the huge woman. There was no direct evidence. Talking with Albert was an opportunity well taken, he knew how to find half of Garic's original mini network, and was sure that none would miss the chance to go into action again. Maybe this would even out the numbers a little more in their favour. It was three months before the three got together again with some of Garic's old network, gathered by Albert. The meeting was held in an abandoned building just outside Mangaluru, another port town south of Bombay towards India's tip. This port was also now in the control of the British, and whilst never being a destination on the route specified by the Tall Client, Mangaluru was one of the more favoured cities for wealthy businessmen to trade. During the meeting Garic explained the new mission, indeed several of the men, all employed by him in previous years as Garic's and Morty's, all had tales to tell. One man swore that he had overheard several men, all talking about a large female pirate who had upset a large company in the South China Sea after hitting their ships and stealing parts. But more than this being a simple ing on of information, the man relating the story sounded as if he were bragging, possibly even connected somehow ... Maybe he was just too happy to help.

This report had potential, but the details were vague, so Garic pressed the man more directly for locations, dates and descriptions of the man in the gathering. The man struggled to provide these details, but eventually, he did give the location where he overheard the conversation regarding a large female pirate was in Chittagong, Bangladesh. "The men gathered were mostly Indian and Chinese, but the ringleader struck me as Tibetan. I wish I'd paid more attention Garic. The ship I work operates mostly out of Chittagong, we run various routes and each is usually around two months round trip. But that the only time I've seen any of 'em." Most of the men, including Garic had heard the fables of a huge pirate woman, but none had ever encountered her. Garic still debated whether this information was a red herring, to provide perfect cover for an ordinary human man to hide behind. The second man's s, as he first described them, came from just before the Soleil Royale had arrived at Guam, and she had been fully manned. The timing suggested the man may even have seen the Soleil on her last trip to Guam a little under three years previously. “She was making fine headway as she ed my boat, but another ship, Chinese in origin, was gaining ground on her. It was only minutes behind, in her wake. I the junk because it was enormous, easily matching the Soleil for size. She was a mite quicker than the Soleil too, unladen I expect.” The man then revealed another thing which had struck him as odd at the time ... “Some of my shipmates shouted across to the junk, you know ... As is the custom. As we shouted across there must’ve been fifty of ‘em ... They just stared ahead. Never even turned their heads to acknowledge us ...” The way the man relating the tale was staring into the middle distance, he was certainly making a true recollection. In the Soleil's previous life there was no way a junk with fifty men would've overtaken the ex-naval vessel by force, this was only possible since her retirement and repurposing. At least the parts had been taken, but reports received later suggested no bodies had been found after the Soleil's destruction. Maybe the crew was also taken ... But to where? Garic still didn't like to think about such an irreverent end for a fine ship like the Soleil Royale.

The seaman claimed that he was north west of Singapore, in the Malacca straits, when both the ship and the junk had ed him at speed, his boat having left port headed north one day earlier back to Chittagong. As the seaman described, the junk was only minutes behind and gaining on the Soleil, if this region was where the ship was hit and the cargo transferred, then the search would be long indeed without more information to go on. The straits of Malacca was a common point for all the Tall Client’s ships. Even if they all had differing routes before or after that point, the straits were less prone to high wind or rough seas and presented a place of relatively safe age. The problem was that there were thousands of inlets where a pirate boat might hide, and though the western world was busy settling this area, much was still untamed. It was odd that the man stated the people driving the meeting were maybe Tibetan in origin, considering Tibet had no coast. There were several rivers which all tributed to the Ganges Delta, some of these wound into China. Garic could not decide if this was a lead worth following. “They all looked like poor beggars to me Garic. Like a proper band of thieves ... Penniless and desperate.” “But Tibet is so isolated, it wouldn’t be connected to the sea except by some small rivulets and all the rapids which lay along them. It would be impossible to haul the parts through there except by animal train.” “That said master, maybe the parts are at the end of some larger river, still in India but towards China, so reports can be given and instructions received.” “That does make some sense Jinhai. That region would give certain advantages to anyone wanting to stay off grid. Shall we check it out then?...” His first mate nodded enthusiastically ... Jinhai had not yet tired of a life on foot. It was only the way his first mate shifted on his feet way which tipped Garic off to his discomfort at getting more blisters. “Don’t worry ... We’ll be taking a boat. Morty’s, can you check out the Straits of Malacca, we’ll meet in Chittagong in one year. That should give everyone enough time to do some discreet digging.”

A YEAR LATER GARIC ed the enthusiastic cries of his Morty brigade. Much the worse for wear, having completely underestimated both the climate and the terrain, Garic and Jinhai wandered wearily back into Chittagong to meet the Mortys. Before reaching this place they had trudged, rowed, or pushed their tiny boat with a pole, over all manner of obstacles, without ever leaving the Delta to go upriver. None of the people they had encountered had even heard of a huge pirate woman. Nor had they seen any boat bigger than theirs, let alone a massive junk. It simply wasn't possible to move a big ship through those waterways. Hiding anything in the Delta, which was prone to flooding, was impossible. The land was unstable to build upon without using careful ancient methods. Apart from needing to bathe, Garic felt like an idiot for wasting a whole year, and was keen to hear what the others had learnt. Luckily, the Malacca straits yielded more information. The inhabitants on both sides of the Strait ed the nine vessels which regularly ed through. All crewed by Westerners, they had been easy to spot. The ships even stopped periodically to take on water and trade food items or ornaments, though this had always been when headed northwards. Some people also ed sighting a huge junk. Such a vessel was rare to see so far west in recent times, so it stood out to the locals. The junk seemed to appear and disappear at random, sometimes it was months in-between sightings, and in these last two years had not been seen cruising the strait at all. Another dead end then ... Thanking all his comrades for their help this last year, Garic and Jinhai bade them farewell and continued back to Mangaluru with the sailor. The tavern there was worth one last look, maybe they could bump into someone from the Tall Client’s network. One of the Mortys was headed that way to re his boat anyway ...

Chapter 43 - Cutting the body off the snake

ONCE BACK IN MANGALURU, the sight which presented itself was a typical one, with British trading ships filling the harbour. Starched men in uniforms were everywhere looking very official, mostly covering the fact that they were all skimming what they could to supplement their meagre pay. It was the same all over India after colonisation by the British and Dutch. At least here the conflict seemed to be over for the time being. The native people seemed to have fallen peaceably into their assumed roles of servitude. At least for long enough to plan an uprising. At the tavern, the three men found an ale and then a pew. As the weight left their feet, so their eyelids grew heavier in response. Quickly the sailor had fallen asleep without even taking the head off his brew. Not so Garic and Jinhai, whose ears were working even if their eyes were not. Garic was able to concentrate his hearing, which was acute by manufacture, though he just thought it to be a learned skill, as he had spent so much time trying to eavesdrop for information over the decades. For the most part, the men gathered were all sailors. Some were British merchants, some were Dutch, and some French, very few were from this side of the globe. Discounting these, four men were sat, at first they glance appeared Chinese, but their skin colour was deeper. They could have been Tibetan, Mongolian or Nepalese. The broken blood vessels on the men's cheeks suggested they were definitely from cooler climes. A nudge to the ribs of Jinhai, and the two men came back to life, drinking their drinks with the rest of the crowd, but now Garic had his marks. When the group left, they would follow. All night the men were talking freely, but in a language no one else could understand, it was clear that the group was taking full advantage of this freedom. What they couldn’t cover, was their shady body language. As Garic and Jinhai watched, they were ignorant of the conversation, but Garic was spurred on by the way the four would receive regular visits, from one or two men. This went on throughout the course of the evening. Always the visitor would whisper, as if delivering some important message, into the leader's ear. Sometimes even pieces of paper were delivered which the leader would read.

One man visited several times in the space of an hour, but never shared a drink. Garic was on full alert, Jinhai nudged his master in the ribs several times to stop Garic staring towards the group. Garic was psyching himself up for the moment he would unleash hell. Resolving to simply eradicate the three man entourage, and then take the main man by force to some secluded place for an interrogation. By the time the tavern was kicking out, Garic was impatient to say the least. Six times he had almost decided to sit by them, to ask them directly what they were doing, but Jinhai, nervous of the odds kept him pinned into his seat. If a full scale brawl broke out, Garic was reasonably safe, he had the skills to fight his way out. Jinhai was accomplished in Chinese self defence, but was not pleased about fighting on all sides. Garic had to wait. Gritting his teeth, his senses were quickening already. This time there would be no restraint, he would not allow himself to die tonight. He would protect Jinhai AND achieve his mission. At the end of the night, amid the sea of Europeans which flooded out of the tavern, somewhat worse for wear, Garic had tried hard to keep his eyes on the four men. As they walked through the dim streets, two men peeled off down another street. Jinhai looked grateful, until Garic drew his attention to the fact that he could hear them steadily following behind them on a parallel street... “Get ready Jinhai, they’re all around us now ... I expect they will lead us somewhere we will be truly outnumbered and disadvantaged. You take off to that roof. Stay out of sight no matter what happens.” Garic then signalled to an overlooking rooftop. He saw no reason for Jinhai to be at his side now, he was totally ready for the four men on his own. ing the scene in Shanghai, Jinhai knew his master would be OK, but could not seeing his boss more focused on a task than he was right now. Jinhai scaled the side of a building to the roof and tracked Garic to a market square, now empty. His quarry was ahead of him maybe forty yards. Once in the clearing which opened up to the ends of six streets, Garic as if possessed by the strength of ten men, filled the street which they had just emerged from. It was odd then that the two men were now static, milling around as if idly chatting, Garic was not waiting. Seeing his approach, the main man whistled. At each exit from the clearing two more men came from the shadows to block Garic’s escape. The two men whom Garic had been listening to, also closed on his position from

the rear. Garic was surrounded. Numbers did not matter to him, but they were sufficient to keep him occupied for some time. It was time to get serious, and flip the switch. No mercy, no restraint. Garic was about to become a one man bloodbath. The men closed slowly and quietly, circling around, leaving only Garic and the main man at the centre. "You are Morty, we are looking long time for you." It was obvious to Garic now. They had been tailed from the moment they’d stepped off their ship earlier that night. His men's enquiries must have reached the ears of the band of thieves, and they had taken their position as bait in the tavern. It was clear that the men visiting the group were messengers sent to ready this group of men, and then relay back the route the group should travel to lead Garic into the trap. Garic stood silent, he would never confirm even his fake name. "You have one choice now ... us ... If you don't want to die. We serve powerful lady, more powerful than big man who make parts ... He is irrelevant ... His needs are irrelevant." "I will never you, but I will tell you two things which are about to happen ... First you’re going to tell me where the stolen parts are ..." At this the leader of the gang began to laugh, out loud. Garic continued oblivious. Addressing the gathering ... "... and secondly, you ARE going to tell me where to find this woman. If these two conditions are met quickly, you will all live. If not, none of you will leave here alive ...” Looking back to glare into the ring leaders eyes directly ... “... And you my friend will be not only be the last ... But the slowest." These strong words which showed a complete lack of respect to the man who thought he had the upper hand, stopped his laughter in its tracks.

“Morty ... Your arrogance is laughable. There are thirteen men around you with orders to recruit you or kill you ... How can you hope to win?” A long pause followed ... "OK Morty, I don't need you alive. You are as irrelevant as your master, now die like the dog you are." A quick nod from the main man started the chaos, but Garic had been ready for hours. Several men looked just as eager to get it on, Garic was not disappointed. Three men reached him in sequence, allowed by his movement from the centre of the circle just slightly, differing the distances they each had to cover. The first man arrived flailing his arms wildly, in some kind of Kung Fu claw movement which Garic was unfamiliar with. No matter. Garic met the man with open hands, grasping both his wrists and breaking them simultaneously, whilst flipping the man past him and dislocating both his arms. This made it impossible for the man to arrest his fall to the cobbles. Head first, the sickeningly loud snap confirmed kill number one for Garic. This did not stop the other two men, the third having covered his ground faster to reach Garic at the same time as the second man. Without breaking a sweat Garic jumped into the air, flipping himself over the second man. Landing behind him with pinpoint accuracy, Garic was able to lock his massive arm around the man's neck. The man immediately tried to throw his elbows into Garic’s ribs, but turned slightly sideways, it was easy for Garic to hide from this feeble attack. A single flex, and a second loud snap said the second man was also dead. Garic didn’t drop the body, instead the soldier from another world began a half spin. Flailing the body from his arm the third man was bowled over by the body of his associate. No sooner had he hit the cobbles than Garic was standing above him. Lifting one foot and kicking it sharply out and downwards, the outer edge of Garic's foot connected with the man's neck, just below the jaw. This was another quick death and so far no one had come close to landing a hit on Garic. The main man was visibly shaken at the speed with which his men were being dispatched. Far from being finished, Garic was barely warmed up as far as the pain he would bring. The main man was frantically signalling all men, to attack at once. Without hesitation the rest of the men all rushed in.

Using a mix of all the fighting arts he'd encountered while on Earth Garic laced into the men. Bodies were flying everywhere from well-aimed hits. The sound of bones cracking was nearly lost in the cries of the men who grew more injured with each blow. Despite all these men's efforts, their blows were as water ing the flanks of a fish. The blows which connected, had been so diffused by the minutest of movements on the part of Garic, as to be rendered completely ineffectual. In stark contrast Garic now continued to flex his muscles. Catching hold of an unfortunate man's arm and twisting it quickly behind him as he continued his approach. The limit of travel for the man's arm was soon found as Garic had twisted around him and folded the man's arm up his back towards his neck, the man went face down into the floor. Garic would use this man to send a message. He would not, no, could not be beaten. Garic continued to push the arm, which first dislocated, before twisting the arm around and around, until the arm was held by the skin alone. All tendons and muscles were completely torn free of anchors to bone. Garic placed his foot in-between the man's shoulder blades, a sharp yank was all it took to stretch the skin way beyond its breaking point. There was blood, a lot of blood. As the man ed out from the pain, he would never regain consciousness. Garic threw the limp limb at the main man, smearing him with blood. The remaining men were becoming gripped with fear. Even if they didn’t get their necks snapped, they may in fact be dismembered alive. They were no longer so eager to engage Garic in any form of combat. Standing around their supposed target, with no knowledge of how enormously outclassed they were, the circle was now much smaller, five men smaller to be exact. Garic switched again to a boxing stance, rushing individual targets, for a three or four hit combo. Two more men were dead by the time Garic completed one full round of the circle. After this two of the remaining men fled, both falling against the sides of buildings as they ran. Dizzy from the depressed fractures which Garic’s knuckles had beat into their skulls. The situation was looking more and more bleak for the main man, who was taking large paces backwards to one of the six exits from the clearing. This had

not escaped Garic's attention and the last henchman was fatally dispatched in short order. Garic stood, dressed in clothes which were drenched in the blood of the young, fit, strong men whom he'd sent to meet their maker. He looked for all the world to be a hugely injured man, this was the hope of the main man. All hope would be lost now as Garic stripped off his top and vest, revealing his muscles which were almost glowing red, flushed with blood from their recent minor exertions. There was not one single cut or bruise evident. The main man, now sensing that the end may be very close for him, dropped to his knees, his head was bowed. "I told you before we started this little battle, that I would get two things from you ... The first now if you please ..." "The parts are not here in Mangaluru ... They are on an island, far from the route, far from the prying eyes of the master you serve, the one who continues to wreak his havoc on our world ..." "Spare me your half-baked fantasies, I want the parts ... Give me the name of the island ... And make it quick. Every second you wait will be a bone I break afterwards ... Do you understand?" As a token gesture that he should not be taken lightly, Garic reached out and grasped the man's ear. Broken bones would eventually heal, but the ear he was now going to tear off, never would. "Stop ... Please! Alright ... I'll tell you ... Just don't rip my ear off ... NAN MADOL ... NAN MADOL ... PLEASE ... NO ... AAAAARGH!" The ear was in Garic's hand now, and as he opened his hand to show the main man the feature, bloody in his hand, he continued ... "And the second thing ... Quickly, time is ticking, you're running out of bones and ears don't grow on trees ... Where is she?..." The main man, suffering through searing pain in the side of his face, weighed his options. In a last bluster, calmly he refused to answer Garic's pointy question.

"I will never tell you that, not her name ... Never ever ... If you kill me, I'm dead. If you don't kill me, I'm still dead because I gave you the parts ... She will never forgive that ... I will say no more ..." "Have it your way then ... If you hurry up a decent surgeon on one of the ships in the harbour may be able to sow that ear back on ... For a price. Your boss will probably kill you much more slowly than I would, so I'll allow her that pleasure. Have a nice life, what's left of it." Garic turned to leave, a dull noise to his left signalled that his first mate Jinhai was with him once more. "Are you okay?" "I am glad to be your servant, and not your enemy, master. Why did he think that you were working for the Tall Client?" "I guess he had some bad information, needless to say if an outsider had watched us moving almost in the same circles for all these years, it's an easy conclusion to reach ... But still wrong." "So what now Garic?" "I think all we really need to do is get the location of the parts back to the network ... They can do the rest. Nan Madol? Where the hell is that anyway?" "I have never heard of such a place master ... But I see now ... You want to find the Pirate woman." "Sure ... Why not? It's likely that whoever they are, he or she, is hell bent on causing a disruption. They attempted it once, and they were successful. That may be all the encouragement they need to continue. This was merely a small set back. They organised the attack on the Soleil Royale easily enough, that would've been message enough, but they carried on and took out another seven ships. My guess is they would've hit the Padre eventually, just because then we'd have even less to go on ... In addition to the inconvenience it must be causing the Tall Client ... And if he can't get a fix on them, then whoever is pulling the strings is doing so from far away. I imagine that either he or his people will know the location. The only saving grace is that the Tall Client has only lost one load."

“You think?” “Absolutely, as valuable as those parts are to them, and by extension this planet, I would’ve shut down all movements as soon as the Soleil Royale was lost if it were my project.” "So which direction next then boss?" "I think we have to head North, it's just a feeling, but if the Tall Client needs his parts for a crashed ship somewhere at the equator, then it makes some sense this other organisation will have its base well away ... Let's try Russia." "But the network already exists inside Russia." "True enough my friend, but only around Europe, to the west, which is why we will head to the eastern side." Within one month, Geyldian had received word from the network and dispatched several Caddy to the ruins of Nan Madol, located on the small island of Pohnpei where the stolen parts were being hidden. Soon the parts from the Soleil Royale were all back on OFFright with Oxull who was now continuing his work slightly behind schedule ... Shipping could begin again ...

Chapter 44 - The ultimate transgression.

IT WAS ODD, BUT THE report in Geyldian’s hands gave precious few details on how the island of Pohnpei had been discovered. There was mention of the ring of thieves in Mangaluru, who had apparently been wiped out, but the report was unclear whether this was a coordinated effort by the network, or an extreme act of prejudice by Garic. Geyldian thought it unlikely that the network would've broken the ring by themselves. Stranger still was that if the ring had been brought down by Garic, that he’d miss the opportunity to meet up, and give the location of the parts personally. Geyldian was now being torn apart by the feeling that maybe the astronaut was happy to help with this small task of finding his missing property but was somehow punishing him for his failure to appear in Shanghai, a few years earlier. -This might be an act of silent protest. Garic may be capable of anything, hopefully nothing which would disrupt our plans. Pretty soon, Geyldian was so lost with frustration that Aelren was becoming worried he was losing the ability to complete even a simple task. In the last month, Geyldian should have engaged new ships and capable captains, there was a huge mountain of parts produced by Krepp which were still deep in the heart of Europe. Geyldian HAD to get the line back up and running, yet when everyone enquired to the Second, what his plans were, he could barely muster any coherent response. The hive could sense his bafflement and confusion, which was by now blinding Geyldian to everything else which must be done. Geyldian considered that he had struggled for so long, and for Garic to now change his mind and deny him the chance to catch up to him ... It wasn't just illogical, it was bloody unfair. Out of complete desperation and a lack of any other plan worth considering, Aelren had briefed two of the Novus who worked for Oxull, in secret to bring him what they considered to be random materials. Blocks of Alculinium, some other random elements, and a small amount of gold. The Novus would not question their Prime, and once he told them what he would do if they spoke of his request to anyone else, their silence was guaranteed. The prime had managed for this long to cloak his intentions, but this was tiring, and he could not keep it up for much longer.

In his quarters, Aelren fashioned a helmet, using his metallurgical knowledge, ed well from the flush, but which had remained unused in all his eons of life. The helmet was formed from a dense metal, an amalgamation of the materials the Novus had gathered. Such a dense material worn closely to his own head, would serve to completely isolate him from the hive. As guarded as Aelren usually was with his thoughts, if he acted quickly, it was unlikely anyone would spot his disconnection. The reason for the helmet was simply that there was no precedent for what he was about to do, none of his brethren would ever endorse such an action against another member of the hive. The Prime would get his Second in command to refocus on his work, this was all that mattered. There was no one else who could complete all the tasks which Geyldian was neglecting on his own self-absorbed guilt trip. None of the other Numbers had a prayer; even if they had been willing to give the role a try. No, Geyldian IS the human ambassador, I need him back on the surface. Placing the helmet upon his head, the fit was snug, completely covering his cranium and indeed most of his face. Only the Old Prime's eyes shone out from the eye slots. A wave of panic gripped Aelren. Alone, he was unable to hear the thoughts and voices of the hive. Aelren felt compelled to stand still for five minutes with the helmet on, not from fear and not to adjust. He was half expecting that his more switched on Numbers, Leren or Ra'sian would feel his detachment and him to lend their aid. When no one did come, Aelren took a deep breath, and for the first time since his first jump, the Old Clone Prime jumped perfectly. No sound, no vibration, nothing. Even so this was only half the task, he would have to materialise just as silently inside Geyldian's quarters, a place he had never been before. There was a strong risk of embedment into some object. Geyldian was famous for his collection of human nick-nacks. As skilled as Aelren was though, he was able to partially materialise for a look around, before completing the jump. This took so much energy that Aelren almost had to sit down once fully materialised in the middle of Geyldian's room. Geyldian was easy to spot, laid on his bed at one side of the room. Walking silently to the side of the half clone for whom he had so much iration, despite his usually staunch outward opinions, Aelren placed a single finger from each hand lightly against both of Geyldian's temples, between his eyes and his

ear slits. -I'm sorry my old friend, this is not just for your own good, but for all our sakes! The Old Prime began to dive into Geyldian's mind and quickly began to organise all the thoughts which involved the elusive astronaut, and any person with whom Garic had ever had any association. Far from erasing his subordinated memories out of all existence, Aelren had chosen a far more risky procedure. He would transfer all the thoughts to his own mind, and become the keeper of Geyldian's biggest burden. The whole procedure took less than two minutes, at which point a single tear had rolled down Aelren's cheek. Withdrawing as silently as he had entered, he would be safe to leave the helmet on now. If interrupted he would merely state that he had begun to take rests from the bustle of life on board of a leviathan, for his own sanity. Examining the memories which he had removed from Geyldian, he realised that quite by chance the Astronaut and his Second had been intertwined for much longer than a single century, 1569 in Calais appeared to be the first time. Geyldian had no knowledge at that point that the astronaut even existed, and Garic of course, well he didn't even appear to see the half clone crouched at the corner of the cellar where he was fighting. Running through all the memories, in half Garic appeared to be wearing some form of disguise made up of the current fashion for wigs and powders. His adopted daughter was also a tenacious girl, she certainly had not been frightened by Geyldian, but had been clearly upset years later at the big half clones failure to induct her into the human network. Bad luck or carelessness, that's what Aelren chalked Shanghai up to in his own mind, of course Geyldian had adopted far too many human traits and habits, but this was what made him perfect for the role. His own appetites mirrored theirs, and so this gave Geyldian the perfect understanding. Still ... Fugu ... That was stretching it a little bit. The next day, Geyldian awoke feeling like a huge weight had been removed from his soul, quickly seeking a meeting with his Prime, he explained his plan to get the parts back on track ... Aelren openly displayed his satisfaction ...

-It is my intention to persuade Louis of the Företaget shipping company to manufacture more vessels for use in the Indian Ocean. In return I will gift him the Padre Eterno. It is easier for me to have one point of , his three boats in the Mediterranean were running perfectly before the stoppages, and he is an easy man to do business with. I think he will bite our arm off for the business. Aelren gave an almost imperceivable flinch at the mention of Louis, waiting for his Second to mention Acacia, thankfully this association was never made. The Prime also felt lucky that Geyldian was given to talking whilst pacing around, paying no particular attention to him. Aelren did give a moment's thought to Garic. Maybe his little task last night would have done the astronaut the biggest disservice. That night inside his own quarters, the Prime watched Geyldian’s memories again to get them clearly ordered in his mind. He had more work to do to remove the memories of Garic from his Doctor too. Leren had been forced to jump topside twice, and Garic was the root of these trips. Leren was the only other person who had questioned Geyldian regarding the soldier in all these long years, and that was Aelren’s fault. Pressing the matter of his dissatisfaction with his Second had been a mistake. Donning the helmet again, the Prime already knew where to jump inside Leren’s quarters ...

Chapter 45 - Doon and Gloom

(SOMEWHERE IN THE DOON region of Tibet) News that her plot to derail the nefarious cabal had been terminated, came as a shock to Khaalida. The information represented a double whammy, not only had the parts been returned to the Cabal, but this act had been committed by a normal man and not her usual untraceable adversary. "You're telling me that my lair in Pohnpei had been compromised? ..." The leader of her gang of thieves, sporting a recently healed scar around the entirety of his ear began to back away slowly ... "Yes Mistress, it seems the parts were removed overnight around four months ago ... Just after we lost ..." "You mean after YOU lost the parts ..." Khaalida was already moving forwards, closing the distance to the man who could not hope to escape. If he ran, for every five of his strides, his mistress would need but one. His only option was to completely own his failure, then pray to some force he was sure had never existed that his scorned boss would give him a mercy token. On his hands and knees and fully supplicated, talking to the floor. "I am sorry mistress ... I have never seen anyone who can fight like that man. He took out the whole gang and barely broke a sweat, then he cut my ear off." "This man you speak of, have you seen him before?" "No Mistress! ... But ... On my travels since I have investigated and I believe him to be a former sailor from the Padre Eterno. He knows the old captain personally, they are good friends." "I told you to keep eyes on the old captain, to make sure he knew he was under observation ... So he wouldn't talk." "We did mistress, for years. But as we didn't manage to steal anymore parts, because the Cabal suspended all operations, I thought man power would be

better spent tracing the parts to their source." Khaalida had turned her back on the man. This was the first satisfactory thing her gang leader had said ... Slowly lifting his head in hope, Khaalida soon stole this away ... "And what progress was made on that front?" "No progress was made, it seems that when we stole the parts from the Soleil Royale, the Cabal stopped everything. They used their own network to make the parts vanish from the dockside in Safaga. I have some new men trying to infiltrate this ... Brotherhood. But they are a tightknit Arabic group, suspicious of all outsiders, so far my men have been unsuccessful." "Yes, the Brotherhood ... I know them. I tried to take them over decades ago. I almost relieved the Cabal of some parts back then, but a man ... A single man got in the way then too. I have never been able to get anyone into the Brotherhood since." "So Mistress ... What would you have me do?" "Well things are a little risky right now ... It's probably not a good idea to try again so soon ... So I'll lie low for a century or two and then begin again ..." Silence fell inside the carved basement of her lair. Half a minute before, the leader of Khaalida's gang had returned his face to the floor. Things were looking grave indeed, but exactly how much so, he couldn't be sure. In the next second there was neither room, nor the need for more thought. Khaalida had judged her man to be a waste of life, definitely surplus to her requirements. The huge woman wasn't even angry anymore, self-preservation mode had been engaged. She would spend a century or two in her lair, first she would tie off this loose end ... Without prejudice. Ending the gang leader's life was easy for a woman of her stature, she didn't even have to lift a finger, her foot had been far more precise ...

Chapter 46 - Party at the Panopticon.

1924 ... MUNICH. Garic could not explain why he always seemed to be sucked back towards violence. For a man who had acquitted himself most adequately from the shadows for the better part of four centuries, this latest episode was perhaps the dumbest move ever ... As he sat in his cell, Garic considered the events which led him to this point ... Garic had drifted back into following yet another vague lead to the tall client; one of only two figures Garic knew from his experience these last four centuries, to be more shadowy than himself. The lead had gone cold in a bar on the outskirts of Munich. If his had actually shown up, Garic was to learn the details of a meeting to be held by the tall client and another German company. Once it became obvious that his had gotten cold feet, and wasn't going to show, he should've sank quietly into the corner to enjoy his ale. -Why did I stay at the bar? Garic was kicking himself, for the most part human matters never piqued his interest. The trivialities of their everyday lives could never be allowed to intrude on his goals. -But this time was different. As Garic had been hiding himself at the bottom of his stein of German ale, the taste was hardly to his liking. Beer was no substitute for fine Brandy. It wasn't long before a young couple occupied the barstools beside him. Following a seemingly innocuous beginning to their meeting, Garic along with the whole bar, could not help but overhear, the quickly raising voices of the pair. Seconds later they were shouting at each other. Garic had thought about stepping in to diffuse the pair, but was alert to the fact the bartender had already signalled two large gentlemen to calm things down. Probably by taking the man outside and giving him a stern beating.

Garic didn’t feel the situation warranted that. The couple were arguing loudly about the young man's plan to leave the girl to study at university in Berlin. The young lady was unimpressed as her calls for him to stay were being ignored. This wasn’t the right time or place for such heated discussion, but slowly, the young man made progress to get the situation under control; the two goons weren’t required. This alone, compelled Garic to intercept their path towards the young pair. Speaking fluent German to the two men, Garic had engaged them in some light conversation. "Good evening, do you have the right time please? Can you tell me the way to the Torbrau Hotel please?..." The two men walked by Garic as if he were invisible, not an easy thing to do considering he was of equal stature to both of them. The two men were focussed intently on the young couple, who were by now on their best behaviour once again. -This isn’t right, the barman has no intention of calling the two men off, the look in his eyes says he wants to separate the pair and get to the girl. A few free drinks could go a long way in these desperate times. This was confirmed as the first goon, knuckles pre-cracked, wound up to blindside the young man. Garic, moved to intercept with speed neither of the two men could have anticipated, grabbing both men by their jacket collars, he yanking them backwards to the ground. Only temporarily stunned, both men quickly found themselves. Garic hastened the young couple to leave the bar and retreat to safety. Finishing their drinks and gazing into each other's eyes, might have seemed like a nicer plan, but was ill advised. Quickly the young man, alert to the danger, snatched his lady’s arm in his hand and made for the exit with speed, cutting behind other tables to avoid the skirmish developing in front of him. Garic did not try to keep the fight going, he had saved the day with his simple actions before. All too quickly, it became apparent the two men had transferred their intention to fight onto him. Only a few seconds after retaking the stool which had been his original vantage point Gray was grabbed from either side,

simultaneously, before being hoisted over the stool and towards the exit. At this point the two goons, with Garic in tow, were met at the exit by several of the local Polizei. They had been called by the young couple, once they escaped to safety outside. The two men were now resisting arrest, trying to barge out of the bar, past the Polizei. Having been released by the goons, Garic's mind wandered to the beating his attackers had just been spared. Even though he usually avoided conflict, Garic was always prepared for action. The small stutter in his concentration was all one officer needed to get handcuffs around his wrists and begin pushing him to the exit. The two goons were on the ground now, underneath a pile of officers as they attempted to get the cuffs on them. Garic winked at the pair as he walked with his hands cuffed in front of him, through the scene. They would not be so lucky ... "I am sorry for the cuffs sir, we know you're an innocent party ..." The officer nodded at the young couple who were smiling at Garic and thanking him. The officer continued ... "There will not be any charges, but we would like to ensure your safety by holding you overnight. These two are going to be a problem to process ..." Garic began to protest, but the officer wasn't having any of it. "I am sorry ... It is just procedure, while we establish what everyone was doing before the fight. You picked the wrong men to go up against, these two are local hoodlums, well known to us. They used to be soldiers but now they just use their skills to extort people." Garic’s continued protestations fell on deaf ears. He knew from long experience that nothing on this planet could hurt him, especially not two thugs. But if he were held in a cell, only problems would result. Possessing no papers, or other legitimate form of identification to enable the Police to check who he was, he would be trapped in a bureaucratic maelstrom. There was no way they would simply let him go without establishing who he was first, and that might never happen. The next day Garic was still in the cell. To the officers who checked up on him, he was apparently dozing, patiently allowing proceedings to take their course. In

fact he was concentrating his mind on the faint voices he could hear through the cell walls and the small hatch in the heavy door. Garic was being held in a cell situated in the first sub ground level, all light in his cell was afforded to him from street level. The bustle of traffic and pedestrian activities was stifling, to the point where Garic was concentrating hard to isolate each sound he could hear inside the building. This was a community branch of the State Police, not a main headquarters, which helped Garic as the building was not a huge one. There were only uniformed officers on the floor above, no detectives. That said the officers were on the phone to various departments up the chain, trying to ascertain who Garic was. In only another year, there’d be no problem. He would have claimed the name of his trustee. Ten years ago, he'd willed everything to them before hitting the road again. This was no help now though, and this first day ed slowly, but not as slowly as the next ... Or the day after that ... At the end of the week, he overheard his arresting officer talking with his sergeant; they were heatedly discussing what to do with Garic. The arresting officer was vouching for Garic and suggested he should be released, but the sergeant was a stickler for protocol. Not to mention he was suspicious of the fact Garic had not given them a name, not even a fake one. What was the point? Garic never got to know people. He could have said his name was Hans Schmidt from Wolfsburg, but upon checking the Polizei would go to his house and find the real Hans Schmidt probably eating his tea. In the end, the sergeant made up his mind; in the morning Garic would be transferred by prison transport to Landsberg Prison, some forty miles west of Munich. From then on they could all get back to the task of policing the community, the headache of tracking down Garic’s identity would fall to someone else. Upon arrival at Landsberg Prison, Garic hoped that the Art Nouveau frontage was not merely an attempt to provide a sunny exterior cladding to a hell hole. The sign on the gate alluded to the fact that this place was a fortress for confinement. What sort of people could be kept here? He wondered. After being signed in, examined by the prison doctor and told the rules by the head guard, who seemed like a reasonable man, Garic was then shown to his cell. Snatching a quick look at the cells before his own, this wing was barely occupied.

Garic could hear music being played, probably from a gramophone somewhere in the building nearby. Landsberg wasn’t a big prison, the guard explained that most of the prisoners here were political, some were awaiting their execution. Prisoners here were excluded from hard labour, and until their release, they would have quite an easy time, compared to most other prisons. This was harsh, Garic could see himself spending the rest of his already too long life in here, he resigned himself to a long stay, and settled in. It wouldn’t be too much effort to break out in a couple of months if he really couldn’t stand it anymore. The coming days brought a routine which was easily learned. Breakfast was early, before light as the seasons drew closer to winter, there was also some time for supervised exercise, maybe because he was not really convicted of any crime. Some days, whilst out in the grounds, Garic would see another prisoner whose voice he recognised, as he was the only other occupant resident within Garic’s wing. Conversing with the guard, Garic learned that this man was called Adolf Hitler, sentenced here for treason after inciting public unrest in Munich about two months earlier. "Make no mistake, while this odd little man is small of stature, his temper and hunger for political change, is huge..." Adolf had been a soldier in the Great War, he’d been disillusioned by the way was forced to surrender by the Allied forces, and the harsh sanctions being levied against now. As Garic watched the peculiar little man walking most sternly through the grounds, he was being followed by a two larger men who seemed to be jotting down everything the smaller man said. “What’s going on there then, is he dictating?” “Yes, I believe he is writing a book of some sort, he calls it his manifesto. I do believe he plans to rise to political power someday. I think he is hoping the works will run into many volumes ... So he can pay his court expenses.” The guard began to chuckle, but was moved to stop by Garic’s next words. “It sounds very inflammatory, I can only hear his words when we are closer together, but some of the things he is planning can only be accomplished at the expense of others.” “I agree, and in normal times I believe his voice would find no ears to listen ...

But sadly these are not normal times, many people are swayed to change by the poverty and conditions in which they find themselves. In this kind of climate, people are ready to follow anyone who can make a change.” The guard finally added. ”I honestly hope it will not be this odd little man. He seems to begrudge everyone and everything. The change he wants may rip the very world apart!” Garic was rendered speechless by these words, he had come across some power hungry men in his time, but this man before him now was unlike any of them. Usually they were powerful looking figures, with strong opinions, seeking more than they had. Not all had bad motives, some worked for good, but Adolf was a different kind of fish. In his mind he was righteous, with the whole of in his heart, but this same desire to bring about change, would probably manifest itself in death and destruction for a great many people including Germans, before his utopia could be established ... If at all. The words his underlings were frantically scribbling down, alluded to dark reasons indeed, methods which Garic knew other countries would rush to squash. Garic was consoled only by the facts that most Germans were good people, kind to their fellow man, and also that the German economy was so depressed at this point, there was simply no money to launch this kind of radical plan. The guard’s words still rang in his ears as he analysed the man before him, one thing was clear, this little man was patient. He could, and would wait. The charges which held him here sounded trumped up, certainly when Adolf spouted angrily against the people who put him here. In the tide of misery which had swept across since its surrender from the Great war, any single German you could care to ask, might have lodged the same disdain for their government. But national pride was still rife, virtually none would have sunk to, nor even thought of such extremely prejudiced methods to bring about change, much less express them openly as Adolf was now attempting to do with the book he was writing. The vast majority of Germans would benefit from some form of change for the better, but this normal desire for more could be sated easily. Without ing to such radicalised ideas and unstoppable greed.

In the next few weeks Garic continued to observe, watching and even listening when possible. Adolf’s ramblings provided ample distraction from his own situation. It was only after listening intently, over this period of time that Garic felt he was sufficiently inside Adolf’s head space enough to hold a conversation with him. At first Adolf would not reply at all, but several days later Adolf did respond. Garic knew just how to get to the meat and potatoes of Adolf’s plan, by posing as an infantry man who had seen action at the Somme in 1916, where the German army had annihilated the British forces most decisively. Garic began to rant himself as he replayed events to the eventual surrender of , and the harsh years which followed. “I was badly injured in a later battle ... when I recovered I was strong, but the battle was over. Now we are on our knees and all of Europe is laughing at us.” This final statement was Garic's icing on the cake, showing Adolf how powerless he felt, unable to contribute, before the tide of the war changed. “The war was tough. But the years after almost broke me, unable to work, unable to earn, my wife and my family starved to death during the horrific period of inflation. I was so angry ... But so powerless!” The words which Adolf uttered were softly spoken at first, but the anger in Adolf’s voice could not be contained and by the end of the sentence, he was shouting. “I share your pain my brother, your pain and your shame, with only a few simple changes we would never have fallen so far so quickly ... like dogs forced to do our masters bidding.” Finding calm once more ... “Do not worry friend, I will make strong again, I am locked in here, but I am still active. My friends Rudolf and Emil, you’ve seen them with me maybe?... Even now we are working to bring my message to the people, I will not be in here forever ... I am patient ... I have time on my side. Things only get worse for every man, woman and child in this land with each day that es. So the need for change, the kind of change I can provide for them, will make my goals, their goals. I see a unified with room to grow. I will give the

strong proud people of the room to be successful, and purge everything else. will become the model of a perfect human race.” “You sound like you’re planning another war, revenge maybe?” “Yes! No! ... Maybe! ... First I aim to change this country from inside the government.” “Do you think this will be possible? ... That one man can make a meaningful change? Do you think?” The fire was burning in Adolf’s eyes, to squash all the naive doubts from Garic. “Before spent land can become fertile once more, a cleansing is always required ... A cleansing by fire! Of course the weak will complain, but they will be unable to stop the strong ... That is the way of things in nature, and so it should be with us. I promise you now that things will be better in the future, but they will get worse before this can happen. I am realistic enough to know that, but my vision cannot be stopped. It is the right thing to do ...” Garic exchanged conversation with Adolf on several occasions after this, trying to keep things lighter, but seldom was he successful. Garic quickly learnt not to try and talk to Adolf at all, if he had spent all afternoon with his two friends. In this instance Adolf could not be torn from his vision, and Garic could not listen to Adolf’s ranting anymore; so he simply let Adolf calm down in his own time. The best time for Garic to converse would usually be at the start of the day before Adolf saw his friends. In these instances, the pair could converse for a few hours about the most trivial things. At this point, Garic did not see Adolf as completely irredeemable, what he needed was to be surrounded by more calming influences. Garic knew he was not getting this inside his cell, and feared he still would not get once he was released either. In that event Adolf’s path looked clear cut and resolute. He was destined for power, and all the rage and destruction which he would unleash seemed inevitable. Adolf had been released on December 20th the year before ... After this calm was restored to the prison ... Garic was brought back into the present as his new friend the police officer came to visit him with news. Knowing the injustice of his sergeant’s actions, Garic’s

original arresting officer had taken to visiting him with regular updates regarding the lack of progress being made with his case. Shockingly, the constable had with him a nearly new but obviously weathered port from the United Kingdom, which had come into his possession via a body found in his district of Munich. The port holder had been called Gray Albern, luckily, he had German roots. These had been the reason for his visit to in the first place. The officer's excitement could barely be contained, indeed as he examined this man’s documents, Garic could not contain his laughter. The two laughed together, until the police officer could laugh no more, Garic was still going, laughing almost mockingly long. “What’s wrong friend, I thought you’d be happy ... I can get you out.” “That’s good news indeed and I am grateful, but this won’t work.” “Why not? You speak perfect English and German, and I have a document which shows why.” “This document is false already. You say you found the body of a man, a criminal no doubt who stole this port from a boy, check the age, it says Albern was born in 1910. Even if the port is genuine, it did not belong to your body. On that assumption Gray Albern may still be alive, his parents might be trying to track down the crook who stole their son's port. What use is an identity with that much heat already associated with it. I am a young looking 30 year old, but I could never for 15!” Garic nearly began to laugh again ... But was stopped ... “What if I make enquiries, find the history of the boy and the port. If the boy is dead too, and that is how the man acquired the port, will that ease your mind?” “Well yes ... Then I suppose ... It's viable ...” Garic’s eyes rolled. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm ... Nothing ... Don’t concern yourself ... It’s my problem.” Garic had for years been leaving his possessions in trust for an heir until their 30th birthday, of course these heirs were all carefully selected from the births and deaths s around Europe to be boys, who were still born. No one was looking for them, with his connections; Garic could have the death certificate destroyed, and legitimate papers drawn up. On their 30th birthday he would see his solicitor who was complicit in the affair to re-collect his acquired wealth and possessions. This was a process which had been easier centuries earlier, when such good records were never kept. Back in the day, he’d transferred ownership of the Företaget Shipping Company several times in this manner, once there was not even a viable candidate, so a birth certificate was falsified instead. The ends justify the means. This notion was what had caused Garic’s eyes to roll; this same idea was probably being pumped through Adolf’s veins also. Almost four hundred unsuccessful years meant Garic knew all too well how a cause could consume a man, to the point of everything else. Normality and rationality would become irrelevant. Garic had always taken care to restrain his methods, something he was sure Adolf would be incapable of. To him, such extreme methods, and casualty rates were both necessary and completely acceptable. As the Police officer left again, Garic tried to think how he managed to inspire people to do things which would ordinarily be out of character. As an officer of the law, there was no way he should be hiding dead bodies and swapping identities for his own means. With no personal gain, the risk was too great to his career, not to mention his own personal freedom. Garic certainly expected never to see him again after leaving his cell in Munich, so why? Garic almost figured that he’d asked that question too soon, as over a month ed before his friend returned with news ... Good news. “We are free and clear, it took some time to check. The man we found was the boy’s father. The boy and his mother were confirmed drowned after the ship they boarded from Southampton to Zeebrugge was lost near the coast in a storm ..." The Police officer went on to explain that the father survived, evidently on one of the life boats, but his wife and son had not ed him. The father's relatives in Munich told him Mr. Albern was wracked by guilt over his apparent cowardice

and failure to stay with the sinking ship long enough to find and save his family. The night before he was found he had by all reports, simply gone out and gotten drunk... “... From the placement of the body face down in some scrub, and the blunt force trauma wound in the back of his head, the coroner believes Mr. Albern was clipped in the back of his head by some large vehicle’s side mirror, whilst walking drunk, back to his family house along a narrow lane.” The officer surmised that in the dead of night on the poorly lit lane that it was unlikely the driver of the vehicle even saw Mr. Albern. “He did not have any money on him, or indeed his own papers. The landlord at the Inn said he had drunk away fifteen Marks. His relatives reported him missing three days later, after he never resurfaced. In short, all the relatives believe this branch of the family is now dead. It is unlikely that your paths will ever cross, so you should be able to make use of the boy's identity. I have already had his death certificate destroyed, and his birth certificate altered to read 1895, so you are thirty years old." "I'm just not sure you should be doing this." "It's already done ... You being in here ... Well it's just not right. The way our system works, you cannot be released whilst your identity is in doubt. To that end I have also destroyed all records regarding the discovery of Mr. Albern’s body. He is buried and his grave is marked, but only his relatives will ever visit. I have also planted your release papers in my sergeant’s filing system, back dated to one month after your arrival here. I plan to find them the next time he has me search for something else. I will then question him why your release orders were never executed ..." "Stop there, I've heard enough, you've been very thorough. Tell me what's in store for the sergeant? Do you plan to replace him? Is that what all this is about, your own advancement? ... Hey, don't get me wrong, I completely understand ..." "No it's not like that at all, since I ed the Polizei, I have trained under him. He's changed ... He used to be a stickler for procedure, now this only matters to him when he can gain something from it personally or it saves him work ... He has become utterly corrupted and lazy. Our station is only a little one and to some extent completely avoids the gaze of the head office in Central Munich. He

will not fall unless someone trips him. Times are hard, everyone is feeling it, but we are Police, bound to enforce the law ... Not bend it to our own wills for profit. I cannot hope to replace him, I am too young yet. In time I hope to move by my own skill to the central bureau to be a detective, something my sergeant seems hell bent to obstruct. He is only a sergeant in a small suburb with no chance of further advancement, but he could see to it that I remain an officer, for my entire career ... Do you see now?" "OK, if you are convinced, you know him better than I." "You believe me? Just like that?" "Why not, I can see on your whole face, and in your eyes that you're telling the truth. That's the only reason I allowed you to keep visiting, if you were lying ... I'd know ... Believe me ... and you wouldn't get the time of day from me. I'm glad that I'm on the right side of you though ... I have to say the lengths you've employed, and for multiple goals ... Very calculating indeed. I may have to visit you in the future to check you are still on the right path." This last statement did not amuse the officer, in the slightest. Even though the prisoner in front of him was smiling broadly as he said it, his manner was direct, and he could tell that every word was meant. "Cheer up young man, I know you have your pride, don't look so wounded. You're destined for great things I am sure of that. So how much longer will I be in here do you think?" "Just a few more days now, I'll see to that, then this will all be behind you. Being wrongly accused and sent to prison is one thing, but you weren't guilty of anything and still, here you are. I'm surprised you didn't try to escape, most men would've gone mad, yet you ..." "What?" "You settled in here like it was a sanitarium and you just needed a rest ... Like all you have is time ..." "You're not wrong there, time is the only thing in this world that I truly do have." This answer provoked two raised eyebrows from the Polizei officer, his

inquisitive nature was bested by his ability to read Garic's face, a skill which would carry him far once he did make detective. He could see that Garic would never explain what he meant, there was no smile this time, only a blank expression like a runner who had circled the globe. Like he was doing something repeatedly, no longer because he wished to, but because he had to. The next few days ed much more quickly. Once released with his possessions returned, the most important being his precious diaries, Garic saw that time had also been speeding on for Adolf. Released only on condition that he would not speak in public, his political party was now banned in Bavaria, and finally the economy was picking up, though this had required the invention of a new currency. If the world was lucky, Adolf had missed his chance to agitate himself to power. With that Garic's usual disinterest set in and he moved on. For a brief period he tried to find his , the one who had made the initial call to one of his offices in London. As quickly as Garic had arrived in Munich, this had still not been quick enough and the had obviously changed their mind, or been gotten to, maybe by the Tall client. -No!... Garic chastised himself. Every now and again he would succumb to a lack of mental focus, which would breed doubt and leave him open to conspiracy. Nothing good ever resulted. Snapping out of it quickly, he resolved himself to this resulting from his forced hiatus in jail. With that, these thoughts were soon at the back of his mind. Garic never stopped praising the human race, who always sought advancement like an army of evolved ants. Ants would never accomplish anything due to their single minded omni-focused approach to colony welfare. Humans, on the other hand, even whilst living in such close proximity, formed strong bonds with family and neighbours, but this never stopped them trying to better their situations. Relentless advancement was inevitable. More so in the last hundred years than at any other period before it, real technology was being developed. First the wire, then the fangled telephone, wide scale electrical distribution, meant street lights were no longer powered by gas but by electricity. Fifty years earlier, electric street lighting was one symbol of a city’s modernity, but had quickly spread to be the norm. Cap this period off with the Great War

and all this technology was rapidly developed to be much better, communications, photography, transportation and of course destruction. Life was getting faster ... As Garic, now officially re-christened Gray approached the small station where his officer friend worked, he could not miss the commotion as the sergeant was being herded into a Polizei wagon. The officer wasted no time informing him that the magnifying glass of head office was now firmly shining a light down on the sergeant, who had already been stripped of his rank and status, pending an inquiry and probable prosecution. He also took the time to point out the new sergeant, a very business-like gentleman in his late forties. Justice had been served; it was good to know that the system worked even for those without. Even if a little nudge had been applied, the result was proper. The two men exchanged pleasantries, shook hands and parted ways ... On the train back to the northern coast, Garic took the time to update his diary. Despite the subject matter, this was to be one of the less cryptic, more normal entries he had ever written. Reflecting on recent events, with the sway of the train, Garic was helpless to resist as his mind wandered back through the centuries before ... His mind recounted all the progress he’d made in the last 361 years. Garic counted them out. He had crashed to Earth and survived, a small feat indeed as he seemed to be cursed with immortality, but this afforded him time at the very least, which could only be counted as a plus. His knowledge allowed him to recognise the work of a kindred spirit, somewhere on this planet ... Victory. He had also found the origin of these parts in Alwyn's factory, now much larger and more accomplished than ever, especially after the Great War. This short list seemed to pail into insignificance if he counted every instance where he had just missed the tall client, or been killed and had to start over, of course this was always made easier, firstly by his diaries and then by Jinhai. Beyond this he considered that he had made no progress at all. Garic was still stuck inexplicably at square one, even his adopted daughter Acacia had met the tall client more than once over a ten year period, but never after. She had written Garic a letter, which he found upon arriving back to his office in Constantinople after visiting Alwyn.

Acacia wrote that the tall client had been escorted into their office by the welldressed son, and had basically pulled Louis mind apart. As a result the tall client knew his face and his real name. This never mattered to Garic as he always used no name at all in preference to his real name. By now everyone who ever knew Garic, was dead, and had been for well over a century. Acacia’s letter had a gleefully impish tone as she wrote how she challenged the tall client to find him. Acacia wrote very much as she spoke, and it had been easy for Garic to hear the letter as if she had spoken the words to him in person, his beautiful girl. Garic and Acacia had corresponded many times in the next 15 years, as Garic had rested on Guam with Congalie and the crew of his junk. Her final letter to Garic had only been received by him some twenty years later. In her letter Acacia explained that Louis had expanded the fleet to continue the Indian Ocean runs also. Business had been good, what followed was not so good. Louis had been killed the year before in an accident on deck, Garic’s old boat the Företaget III had been struck by another smaller ship whilst moored in an Italian bay on the return leg from Alexandria. The weather had been foggy that day and by coincidence all the lights on board had been extinguished. The damage to Företaget III was minimal, but Louis had been knocked overboard, possibly striking his head on something as he fell. Despite being quickly pulled from the water, he was dead nonetheless. The letter was basically informing him of Acacia’s intent to retire from the sea. She had lost her life partner and did not see her father anywhere near as often as she would have liked, the fun was drained from her and she withdrew back to the land, her fear of water returned to cripple her. The only light left in her life was her sons Louis junior and Abraham. Louis was twelve and wanted to be a sea captain like his father, but Acacia would never let this be, not ever. The final words detailed the identity Acacia had chosen to put the Företaget shipping company into trust for, so her father could resume ownership. Receiving this news steeled Garic's resolve to put his own needs second, for the first time. Spending the rest of Acacia's life in Constantinople, Garic assumed the role of father figure to the two boys. He taught them everything they would need to know for a life in business, though not necessarily at sea.

The rest of Acacia's life was not as long as it should have been either and she finally succumbed to some untreatable malady in the summer of 1732 whilst on her final visit to her hometown of Alexandria. Garic had stayed with the two boys long enough to help Louis return to the sea as third mate aboard on of his ships. Abraham moved to England to pursue his career as a doctor. It was twenty years before Louis finally rose to be captain of the ship he had been serving on in the Mediterranean. Within the month Garic's lawyers had ensured the company was placed into his safe hands so Garic could return to his endless hunt. In truth the hunt had never stopped, it had only ever been tethered to the office in Constantinople. Once Garic hit the road again, it was only one short decade before Louis junior had uprooted the Företaget shipping company to work out of an office in London, close to the Thames. This affected nothing really until July of 1882, after both Acacia's sons were dead and four more generations had run the company. Garic was in London visiting his lawyer and bumped into the current caretaker chairman of his company. It turned out that the Företaget shipping company was about to launch it's first steel hulled vessel, the "Acacia" from a slipway near their office on the Thames. "It would be a great honour if you would launch her sir." It had been a few centuries since Garic had last witnessed the launching of a new vessel, and now this memory stirred up a feeling of excitement. -Well it would certainly be a nice way to honour Acacia. Garic agreed and was only slightly surprised when he saw the shiny metal plated vessel was built for pleasure, and not for hauling goods. "Isn't she a beauty sir? We won't be building any more of these ... Acacia only has a boiler for the comfort of the engers. All power is mounted on these four huge masts. The next one ... "The Garic" will have a coal fired boiler and be independent of the wind if required. It's the way all ships are going sir, practically our entire merchant fleet is coal powered now. It means we can

maintain our schedules much better." Garic was unsure how his company had ever arrived at naming a ship after him, not that they knew that. "The Garic? How did the company arrive at that name? ... It's certainly unique." "Well we found an old piece of parchment in an old map chest. No one had opened it since our office moved from Constantinople to London back in 1743. A little investigation suggested that Garic was the original owner of the Företaget Shipping Company, before Acacia." "Could I see that document please?" "Certainly, we'll head over to the office now ... So will you launch her?" "Yes. It would be ... My pleasure." The old document was not written in his own hand, but certain flamboyant strokes of the quill suggested it was something Acacia had written when she was very young, to practice her penmanship. The note simply read ... -My father is called Garic ... I love my father very much, this summer he will take me to Italy. Garic raised a smile without thinking, the kind anyone would raise when finding a long forgotten photo which brought back a beloved memory. The subconscious leak did not go unnoticed ... "Are you okay sir? You almost look like you knew Acacia." "Yes Wilberforce, I'm fine. I know I am usually too busy galivanting like an errant playboy, but during my schooling my old grandmother ed down the stories of Acacia, handed to her from her relatives before. She was a character, of that I am sure. This must've been written when she was very young, apparently she was proficient on many languages." Garic, or Cornelius Garrett as he was known for legal reasons, pocketed the document so he could transfer it to somewhere more safe. He was happy the slip had not been his own, though he did not blame Acacia either. The only other

surprise regarding this whole affair would come much later ... Garic spent much time contemplating the ladies in his life after this time. When Acacia had left the sea, he could've suggested that she take over Alwyn's business in Munich, but he hadn't. His daughter had soon withdrawn from society, living only for her children. In truth Garic believed his daughter had earned the rest, and the time was well spent educating her two sons. Briefly Acacia had pouted hugely at the failure of the Tall Client to induct her and Louis into his network. Garic was sure a being with so many balls in the air had simply been too occupied with other things to check back in. Garic ed one letter well. In it Acacia explained how she had torn a strip off the well dressed son, and asked him to get a simple message to his overlord. Simply put, she was no longer interested in adding her efforts to his. Garic ed his own disappointment, after all this might yet prove to be a precursor for what would happen if he and the Tall Client did ever meet. Not that they ever knew but upon hearing the message, Geyldian had taken it at face value, and with a modicum of relief. He certainly never appreciated how deeply hurt Acacia had been at his failure to acknowledge her request to his network. The young girl had been ignored, in much the same way as her father’s request for a meeting had been decades earlier. Aside from the happy years which Garic had lived on Guam with Connie, he had never tired of searching for the Tall Client, though by now, he was unsure why he still placed so much importance upon the matter. Acacia had challenged the big man to find Garic, she told him that he wanted to be found, but the two had only ever come close to crossing paths, in Shanghai to his knowledge. Now he didn’t know what he would do or say even if he did eventually catch up to the Tall Client. He might tell him to stick it. NO, it's far easier not to be involved. He had lived and travelled alone ever since Acacia died, though he did still have ties to the Baret family, they were by now tenuous at best. He did not have any direct with the family, all he did was keep tabs. Having had no with either branch since launching "The Acacia" in 1882, the Företaget Shipping Company had changed hands a few times, always in trust to him, but now at least the company was back under the control of the family,

still Louis Junior's side. The branch sired by Abraham Baret, now lived somewhere in the industrial North, and though he had no , he wouldn't like to see them in trouble. All he knew for sure was that this branch were now known by the anglicized surname of Barrett and that they had finally come to rest in Sheffield. No longer connected to the sea, the men were steel workers, engineers and coal miners. Though comfortable, the family was no longer wealthy, since Acacia had left everything which had been her father's in a trust for him to collect when he was ready. Louis junior's branch had remained wealthy by their continuous involvement in the running of the company, having even branched out into ship building which was by this time an equally large part of the business. To Garic's knowledge the firm had recently been sold again, but the descendants of Louis junior were still on the board.

Chapter 47 - New York high life ...

HIS NEW ABSTINENCE from the hunt which had occupied him totally for so long, was a very difficult and bitter pill for Garic to swallow. In the 361 years he'd been on this planet, Gray figured he had completely circumnavigated the planet around fifty or so times whilst following leads on either the Tall Client, who had seemingly vanished after the return of the parts, or the person who orchestrated their theft in the first place. Most countries Gray knew intimately, the best sights, the best places to eat a meal, where all the ancient sites were and more. Embarking on a mission of ambivalence, for pleasure only, Gray boarded a boat back to the U.S. knowing in his heart that anywhere he went, some memory would be provoked. This was sure to keep the Tall Client at the very front of his mind, whether he wanted him to be or not. What Gray needed right now was to be surrounded by people, it was a concept he'd never tried before. He didn't have to form any relationships, he could simply try making friends with a bunch of people as he ed from place to place. Once thing Gray was keen to try were the flicks, cameras were no longer just for static pictures where people had to stand for minutes to get a simple black and white image. The turn of the century had brought the first movies, Gray had never given them the time. Settling into a hotel in New York, his second call was to a cinema. Gray was somewhat dismayed to learn the movies had no sound at all, all the dialogue had to be read on black slides placed between the action sequences. Almost giving up before he'd really committed to trying, the star of the movie was a man called Harold Lloyd. As it turned out the story was not complex so Gray resigned himself to sipping his sarsaparilla instead of reading the dialogue, all he saw was Harold getting into a series of ever more dangerous situations from which he always escaped. He realised how little he truly knew about the lighter side of human nature. The audience sat all around him howling with laughter to the point where sound was not missed at all. An organ player frantically banged the organ keys to musically relate the situation quite effectively. The problem was Gray was struggling to find the humour, his life up to now had been fraught with peril to the point that he could only see the danger, not the humour.

It was months, and several genres of movie later before Gray was bitten by the cinema bug. Now wherever he travelled in America, if there was a movie house, he would visit. Gray gradually came to appreciate Harold Lloyd, but much preferred Buster Keaton, eventually his favourite movies were definitely the ones based on war. By 1927, the flicks were becoming more accomplished and clearer, there were better dramas, to balance out the comedies which were oftentimes rehashing the same plots and gags. A film called Wings became his instant favourite to date. The film featured spectacular aerial footage, some of which Gray was convinced was from the Great War itself due to the amazing realism. Action intertwined with a love struggle, even without words the film truly held Gray's attention for the full two hours and twenty minutes. The years after this saw more and more "talkies", the fate of the silent movie was sealed, now colour was also the norm. As time marched on Gray made good progress on the friendship front too, he was now working as a freelance site engineer for a company specialising in steel framed high rise buildings. This was big business in New York especially, where companies were all racing to build the tallest skyscrapers which construction would allow. It was good work, allowing Garic to use his intellect and put his imprinted engineering skills to use. Another unexpected benefit was his introduction to several Native American Indians. Possessing no fear of death, they were ideally suited for working on the skeletal steel frames high above the New York pavement. For the most part, despite the squabbles and tensions of the previous centuries, all the work force got along. Some of his crew were practical jokers, but Gray made sure to control the levels of these jokes, rather than ban them completely. His crew worked the highest levels, mainly responsible for fixing the vertical extensions to raise the building, another crew would then follow close behind with the structural ties, before others followed to put the meat on these bones. Following Gray's leadership, his crew operated with a zero accident record for two years, and had a reputation for quick and solid work. Gray thought of all the men in his crew as his brothers, all the men respected him, calling him Antiman, meaning "Condor of the sun". They all said Gray had arrived at this world on giant wings, not too far from the truth Gray thought to

himself, but his workers could not have known about that. Even Gray himself still had not ed all the circumstances of his crash to Earth. When each job was complete, Gray had even taken to ing his Native workers on their trips back home. On native land, Gray saw a different side of life. Most of the reservations were extremely poor, but the casual observer would never have noticed. The tribe would eat, drink and generally make merry. Money was rarely needed, in fact save for travelling expenses, most of the money earned would go into a pot for the benefit of the tribe. Gray liked movies, a lot, but he enjoyed watching the tribal ceremonies even more. Sat around a campfire, the tribal elders would relate stories, usually related to creation or great migrations which their ancestors had made in eons past. One such story which intrigued Garic, was how their forefathers had been escorted to this world by walking out of a hole in the earth, after this process was complete the previous world and all the unworthy ones left there were destroyed by their gods. Garic understood that the tribe generally tried to live as it always had, in harmony with the land on which they lived. However hard the encroachment of the white man had made this in recent centuries. In one story the Tribe had originally been borne of twins, one with red skin and one with white, the white brother choose to migrate far to the east never to be seen again, but it was prophesied that their white brethren would return again someday. This of course happened, after a sort when the Spanish landed in the Americas, bringing their own religion and guns, not to mention disease and an unhealthy interest in gold. Things only got more difficult after that. Some of the stories involved lizard men also, which Garic was initially dismayed to hear. These couldn’t be Khai-mah, owing to the fact that the Earth was still relatively pristine, despite a growing smog in some city areas. Some pressure came from the tribe, falling squarely on Garic’s shoulders to relate his own story. The men he worked with could tell that he was not a normal man, though they were unable to put into words exactly why he was different. This feeling was put into better words by the elders of one tribe which Garic visited.

“You are not a normal man Antiman, your spirit has the aura of ten lifespans. You walk a path of peace, but you are constantly ready for war ... What is it that you seek?” “A path home ... A chance to re- my family.” “This is what your heart wants, yet in your mind you know this can never happen. You have travelled far in all your lives, forged in battle you are like the very enemy you were born to destroy ... It doesn’t have to be this way. You must find inside yourself the wisdom to accept this battle cannot be won. At the moment you have peace and destruction running through you in equal measure ... Let go. Unburden yourself to your new brothers and sisters; let us help share your pain.” Garic waited until the youngest ones had fallen asleep, then with the fire restoked, Garic proceeded to relate his long journey, through the many lands and eras of the world, and his struggle to find the beings who could help him return home. The tribe who were normally calm by nature, found themselves disturbed to be sat in the presence of a man who was more god than man. He defied death many times and had, as the chief already knew, lived many lifetimes. The giant man he was seeking was unknown, but his like was familiar to the tribe. Many stories existed in their culture about a race of giants who lived amongst them, then disappeared, eons ago. Garic confirmed that for the last fourteen years, since leaving Europe he had abandoned all hope of finding the beings, and was trying to live a more peaceful life. This was only hampered ultimately by the fact he could not die, he could not form real relationships which could stand the test of time without him being doomed to be found out as different. His path was a solitary one, peaceful or not. Garic thanked the tribe for listening to his story. To finally it his secret to a large number of people lifted a huge weight off his shoulders, but this was a one off ... He was certain western society wasn't ready for the same story. He certainly wasn't ready or willing to become a lab rat for humans to study. Back in New York it was late in August of 1939, for the past month neither the tribe nor Garic had been exposed to the strife happening around the globe. Notably, back in Europe tensions were rising again, but the reason came as no shock to Garic. The name in the headlines was instantly familiar, Adolf Hitler ...

Chapter 48 - All out prʌɪmeɪt-ɪv war

(ALL OUT PRIMITIVE WAR.) The strange little man whom Garic had shared a cell wing with in Landsberg Prison, had engineered himself firstly to become the German chancellor, and then the head of his new Nazi party. His political sway had burgeoned to the point where he was now the most powerful man in . His old radicalism had been watered down for years, or more accurately, left as a burning ember, capable of re-igniting when exposed to enough oxygen. Neither slowly nor quietly Hitler had climbed the ladder, but reaching the top his true feelings and beliefs became harder for him to deny. After hit the ropes at the end of WW1, the basic situation resulted in ’s unconditional surrender. In the years which ed after, the allied countries maintained the tough stance and embargoes for as long as they politically could, but what followed was a series of amazing and dangerous blunders which quickly served to completely reverse the balance of power, back into 's favour. Hitler was elected to power around 1934, and immediately he began to align the pieces of his puzzle, prescribed years earlier in his book. His words swayed vast portions of the German public his way; this only spurred him on more. To the UK public, their sanctions now appeared to be harsher than necessary, and the brakes were firmly pressed on this policy, in favour of allowing to rebuild its crippled defensive forces and military. Austria was annexed, and a treaty was signed with Russia, stating that Poland and its neighbours would be split equally between the two countries. The result allowed Hitler to invade Poland and other Baltic States and Russia could not intervene, in fact Russia followed, marching in shortly after. The boundary between the two being the Bug river which ran through Poland. This move was in direct contravention to a promise made to Poland by the Allied forces, to see that it's boundaries would not be broken in such a way. It took only two days for the Allied force to wake up and declare war on , a bold move considering Britain was completely unready for a war. It took less than two weeks for Garic to return to England, though he wondered if he could do anything. Having completely abstained from the Great War, Gray was moved to action with the full knowledge that Hitler would observe no

boundaries in the fulfilment of his goals. Everything he had seen inside Adolf's manifesto, convinced Gray that he had to be involved. Once safely back to London, Gray wasted no time visiting his lawyer to put his affairs in order, putting his assets into financial suspended animation, until such time as he was able to return. In addition he left word that his fleet of ships should be added to the hands of the allied war effort. None of the vessels were armed, but could prove invaluable in the transport of troops and munitions. After this it was a small matter for Garic to enlist in the Army, basic training was nothing. Gray's final resting place was the engineering corps, not really a surprise given his engineering capabilities. Surprising his superiors, Gray fought with unmatched voracity, especially when the situation turned bad. Of course they were completely at a loss to explain this, having no knowledge of his journals or their significance. That said Garic did not pull any punches, if he saw a target on the field, he attacked ... Even into gunfire. The men in his squad all saw Gray Albern as a lucky charm. The number of times he had been grazed by gunfire and still managed to walk away with minor patching up was incredible. Many times his brazen heroics had saved a colleague or three; allowing them to escape, while he lay down covering fire or shielded them directly. Of course Garic would never it that he was the human equivalent of a bullet magnet. Many of the near misses were in fact far more serious direct hits, which he could only sustain due to his engineered healing. For anyone else, such wounds would have proven fatal. For the first time in his long existence on Earth, Gray realised he could have a purpose. The camaraderie within his unit reminded Gray of his crew on Ashlar-Gin. Far quieter in his demeanor, his sense of humour had been tucked away. He could still have a laugh, but all his fighting brothers could see his focus. They knew Gray was happiest in a hail of gunfire. Being in the engineering corps was truly the best place for Garic. Usually the corps would be at the sharp end of the action, often having to provide bridges for tanks and men to cross as they advanced toward the front line. Hitler had made short work of his march into Poland, all his pieces were falling into place

according to plan, no real resistance had been offered. Even the initial allied response had been riddled with errors. By November of 1939, Hitler's sights were set on the next target for his expansion plan ... . Angry adjustments were made once Adolf was reminded by the Commander in Chief of his military that the German motorised divisions needed time to perform maintenance. Adolf, true to form, was itching to get into . There was a huge strategic advantage to possessing the land by the English Channel. He wanted to catch the allies napping. would give a position from which they could launch an offensive against England, and protect the Ruhr region of . Despite the wants of Hitler being clear, the formulation of any plan to achieve his goal was a battle in and of itself. Eight months of strategic bickering exceeded all the time for repairs. May of 1940 saw the German tanks pushing hard against the Maginot line, eventually outflanking and seizing the low territories of . This was a poor show on the part of the French forces. They had been urged by the French Commander in chief of their army, to prepare a spring board for an Allied assault into . Using the same territory, this call to action was dismissed by the French government. Adolf was much more hands on, but the ing back and forth of the plan for the invasion of was a missed chance. By the time marched on , the allies were alert and equipped enough to begin mobilising everything they had. Britain had already just about doubled the initial strength of their manpower to 1.5 million men. had conscripted nearly 5 million men but only half were anywhere where they could be properly used. Despite the French devoting much more of their resources to military might after the Great War, their technology was best described as antiquated compared to the German Panzer division, in which each tank had its own communications device. The French tanks were smaller, and lighter and moved about by word of mouth, little better than the board markers back at their field HQ's. By 1941 the war was well underway, with the liberation of being a top priority. On the western front, Gray and his unit awaited orders. was still gaining ground at this point while the Allies were just trying to halt and

contain them, but with only marginal success. Only one man was truly in his element ... Having fun ... After a few more months, most of the missions seemed to run endlessly on from each other. Occasionally one of their number would be killed, even despite the best efforts of Gray. Though he had never formally shown up to collect any of the awards, he had won or been recommended for every medal of valour that it was possible to win, while still being alive. The truth was that losses were not acceptable. Not when he was as effective as a two foot thick concrete wall when acting as a human shield. If one of his number died, it was almost certainly a mistake or oversight on his part, and that hurt him. His strategy in battle was second to none, and not one of his superiors ever chose to ignore his advice. It was too easy for them to listen to the man who just kept on returning, from even the most brutal killing fields. Of course, Garic had died several times in these few short years, but he was never far away from his journal. Usually stored in the cab of whatever vehicle he'd been driving prior to engaging the enemy, his remembrance, at least of his current situation, was always speedy. Before each mission, Garic would note all relevant details down, along with the plan for how the mission should be executed. Once Gray had been blown up in the truck he was driving, and had been burnt to a crisp, but within the steel box of his field radio, his journal had survived relatively unscathed. It was one week later when Gray, having fully regenerated, walked back into camp. Amnesia provided a lucky cover for why he could not other team who had only recently ed them in the fray. These were just more details for next time. In another even more memorable turn of events, Garic had been killed covering his unit, who had all then hunkered down to wait for . The unit was hidden out of sight but this did not stop the Germans from launching sporadic attacks on their position. Two more men died in these attacks which lasted all night. In the morning Gray was back in possession of his trusty machine gun with spare magazines, covering his men again. Without the aid of his journal, just regenerating in a battle situation was enough to flush his memory to the point where the super soldier was up to speed and ready to acquire targets.

As his unit retreated back in the direction of the allied encampment a few miles behind them, Gray stayed behind to let hell loose on the Nazi forces. As one man, he had no need to cover his true abilities, his stamina and speed were unmatchable by man or tank, and unless injured, he did not tire easily. So unpredictable were his attack patterns that at least three times he had the Panzers firing at each other, and to great effect, this despite their vastly superior tank to tank comms systems. When the unit finally caught up to him, they were shaken by the wreckage of tanks and the bodies strewn everywhere. After this, Gray was taken away from the front line and back to GCHQ somewhere ... He wasn't cleared to know. The assembled group of commanders and strategists were all desperate to know ... "... How does a wounded man single handedly take out a panzer platoon comprising of four tanks and the remaining thirty some men, whilst at the same time covering most of his unit for strategic retreat? ... Whilst advancing the front line by half a click." Gray could tell the general consensus in the room thought that his actions were designed to build a cover. They knew from his birth records that he was of German descent, so it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that such heroics would allow him to climb the ranks quickly. With this would come a higher clearance level, and access to important mission details and intelligence. It was obvious to Gray that they all expected him to start ing these details forward to his Nazi controllers. Allied command did not want that, but on the outside chance that this scenario was completely wrong, they would now give Gray a chance to explain himself. One of his inquisitors began to read from Gray's dossier. "Gray Albern ... You underwent, and subsequently ed basic training to be stationed at Invicta Park, Kent ... 36th Engineering regiment. Your files shows me nothing spectacular ... Certainly nothing to suggest you are a one man killing machine; though your engineering credentials cannot be disputed..." - Was this why he’d found a resting place in the engineering corps? Once finished the man dressed sharply in a suit, placed Gray's file back into a briefcase and left Gray alone in the room. There Gray sat ... For a long time ...

Alone, but not alone. In the darkened room with it's single weak bulb, Gray could not see the edges of the room, but from shadowy ading rooms placed on all four sides, commanders were watching ... Trying to assess Gray's character. Even using hushed tones, they may as well have been shouting directly into Gray’s ears. It was too easy to isolate voices and hear every word they were saying. Their considered opinion was that a real German spy had gotten to Gray, and offered him something he would never get from them. They knew he spoke fluent German. It was an easy extrapolation for them to assume he would be sought after as an asset by the Germans. Gray's solution was simple. He began to talk back to the voices, firstly in Dutch, then Norwegian, then French, then Italian, then Mandarin Chinese and finally Navajo Indian. The door to the room opened and in walked two men both wearing white smocks. In fact they seemed to be dressed identically, only a marked height difference clearly separated the two men. Both wore glasses, both had moustaches, and both carried a clip board with them. Once these were placed down on the table, Gray could easily see that hurried questions were scrawled on them. Gray did not feel like answering any questions, so he began by simply relaying the events of the battle ... "We'd pounded the German tank positions well after night had fallen, there was no way they were undamaged. I confirmed this when I got to them. Most had been weakened, some had even lost tracks, which rendered them immobile. We gave 'em an hour and they must've thought we'd gone because they all came out and started repairing their tanks. I moved in and peppered 'em with my STEN. When the mag was empty, I took one of their guns and carried on firing, but I was moving all the time. They probably thought there were five of us." This was all sounding far too plausible ... "The four tanks in their unit were separated by some distance due to the foliage and trees where they were hiding. None of 'em had a direct line of sight to back each other up. They all heard me take out the first tank and its men, but it was simple enough for me to climb aboard to activate the comm system and alert the other tanks. I said ... Wir wurden von Soldaten zu Fuß gestürmt, aber jetzt ist alles unter Kontrolle."

It was left to the short moustache to translate what Gray had said in his best German for the taller moustache. "He said ... We were stormed by soldiers on foot, but everything is under control now, Sir." "Exactly ... Then I moved onto the next tank position " As he put it, Gray said the infantrymen he encountered were easily subdued ... "You see, I was approaching them stealthily from behind, and they weren't prepared to engage a threat on foot. Half weren’t even side-armed, they were stationed on an anti-tank gun." The picture Gray painted showed victory had come more easily than they imagined. Far from all guns blazing, he had been most patient, taking hours to work his way to the back of the unit, then clearing his way back to the front to meet up with his unit and reinforcements. "Obviously, I was resolved to certain death. I knew my unit had some distance to cover before they could raise the alarm and bring back up. I have to say, I was lucky. The rub of the green was always by pure chance, in my favour. Still, I never expected to keep going. I had to take a break to get warm and eat a meal after the third tank had been dispatched. I'm just glad that in this case, I was able to use my German to the fullest advantage of our side." Gray's final statement only made his inquisitors aware that he was fluently multilingual, after working in those countries and being well travelled whilst growing up. The door opened again, in walked a tall thick set man in full army uniform. From the lack of stripes and the insignia on the man’s lapel, he was a major in Gray’s corps, the Royal Army engineers. “Quite a story Private Albern. Surely you can see though how such a story might seems unlikely, if not completely impossible? Still ... This is war ... Who can say how an individual man’s will to survive may manifest itself in the heat of the moment ... Maybe the more a man finds himself within the grip of death, the less he wrestles with the concept of killing. You would seem to have been possessed with a killing spirit akin to a robot.” “Are you saying what I did was wrong? It almost sounds like it would’ve been

better for me if I had been killed.” “No! Hell NO! In fact what you did was perfection, the likes of which we've never seen before. You survived by grit and spit against four tanks, their crews and thirty men. I wish we had fifty thousand more just like you. I don’t think you’re a double agent, I’ve talked to your unit. It seems to me you’d be better off if you just it to us that you like killing Germans ... A skill I intend to put to good use. Effective immediately you'll be transferred to a new unit we're forming, a black unit with authority to act as it sees fit. No one outside of this facility has any knowledge ... So we have ... Plausible deniability ... Unfortunately, it also means none of your acts will ever by rewarded. How do you feel about that?” “I don’t enjoy killing, but this is war ... I never wanted any reward anyway, only to see my men home safely ... None of us asked to be here ...” “Good ... That’s settled then.” With that the Major left the room, flanked by the white coats. A sergeant came to escort him to a transport vehicle, he would be moved immediately to the secret facility. In the vehicle he was issued a field ration pack, it had been about three days since he last ate, and even this bland food was now welcome. Eight hours later the truck pulled off the road, Gray could see mountains. The position of the sun told him that despite the length of the journey, they had not travelled to Scotland. Poking his head through the canvas into the truck cab, Gray spoke to the driver. “Wales?” “Aye lad ... I’m not sure I wanna know what you did to get sent here, but either you’re a bad sort or you’re really good at killin'!” “That’ll be the second option sir.” “Hmm, I thought the two went more or less hand in hand lad, but no matter. They’ll turn you into a bad sort by the time you leave here.” With that the truck pulled to a stop outside a large cottage, maybe a renovated farmhouse, inside the lights were on. As Gray opened the door to get out of the

truck ... “You seem like a good kid, watch your back with some of these head cases, and try not to lose yourself eh?” “I reckon not sir ... Thank you sir.” As he watched the truck drive away back through the hills towards the main road, Gray knocked on the door of the farmhouse turned barracks.

Chapter 49 - Basic Training?

BY LATE AUTUMN IN 1941, Gray had emerged easily at the top of his S.A.S. class, 18 short but bumpy weeks after knocking on the farm house door. The training had been tough at times even for him, but having a little extra compared to his comrades, who simply had to man their way through it, helped him. No mental slouch, Gray quickly earned the respect of his squad mates, not because he was brighter than them at strategising or the more mental aspects like planning and organising, but simply because they were all hardened soldiers who had seen a lot of action. All were natural choices to be approached for this special unit. Gray was an engineer, it was more normal for the corps to clear a path or facilitate a safe route as a shortcut, rather than stand toe to toe with the enemy, much less finish off four tanks with crews as an appetiser before tucking in to a main course of 30 infantry men. Gray's escapades were legendary, but could not be committed as such, because they were true and had been verified. A few of the harder men amongst the unit's number felt like they had to prove themselves. They all came with reputations, and they were truly offended that Gray had never heard of them. Nonetheless, all physical challenges from the men had to be rejected, the unit could not be allowed to implode into in-fighting. Gray called a meeting one night to remind all of them why they were there. “Come on lads, we’re supposed to be an elite fighting force, not rank and file cannon fodder. We only get missions suited for our special skills. We’re here to bash some boche, not each other.” They had, by their skills, been selected to go in first, and win against the odds of both superior manpower and superior equipment. After arriving at their target they would unleash hell before their enemy knew they were even there. Gray felt obligated to take one challenge, but this was all, they should decide who was the most worthy, and then Gray would decide if they were right. During training some of the men were small, but had proven to have almost no sense of pain, limitless stamina and a zest for battle bordering on psychotic. All the men got on, though there was some inter regimental pride at play, and all of the men wanted to be the best. Gray only encouraged this, as long as no man was injured. The selection process to win the right to challenge Gray was the only process

longer than the S.A.S. selection process itself and it was another three weeks after crumbling into the squads request, before the soon to be loser presented themselves in front of Gray. The only rule was that the winner would be the one still on his feet. The superiors were informed of what was happening, and after initial moves to squash the idea, a right thinking commander thought it had been a good way to select the men who would command the various units. The remaining men ran an organised book on the outcome, and all their trainers and superiors had their stakes firmly lodged, but it was lodged on the wrong man. Patrick "Paddy" Harken, was a huge Englishman who, having seen fierce action in the battle of Arras had then been sent with his regiment to bolster the numbers at Dunkirk. He’d been approached for this special unit due to his notable battlefield skill. Having been acknowledged by his superiors to have a kill tally second only to Genghis Khan, their fellows in the regiment now felt he was more than a match for Gray. There were some who felt Gray may yet be uncovered as the luckiest army engineer to have ever lived. Come the day and both men were at one another from the get-go, each trying to outpace the other on the hill course, whilst carrying unknown weight in their packs, additional ankle weights and assorted other ballast rammed into their pockets. The strain was evident even on Gray's face, but he eased over the finish line three minutes ahead of Paddy. Both men scored equally on the shooting range, and only seconds separated them on the agility course. The final test was hand to hand combat, but this was not to be the technically choreographed movements from training which built muscle memories enough to make their killing seamless. This was to be a gloves off, no holds barred test of both men, injuries were expected and bets were being placed on how much damage would be inflicted and by who. A weaponless fight until one man was out for the count. The two men squared off in the courtyard to the rear of the farm house. The buildings on all sides had been converted for army use, mess hall, offices and officers' quarters, armoury and so forth. The spectators stood side by side flanking two sides of the square, everyone had a ringside seat. Paddy was around two inches shorter than Gray, but was almost half a foot wider at the shoulder. Gray’s legs were more muscular and would probably hold him for longer at the end. These few differences aside the two men were a good

match and no one could call with any certainty which man would emerge victorious. There could be no changing bets, the book was closed, all the unit could do was watch. The base commander signalled the start of the fight, at which point, as if both men still hadn't had ample opportunity to weigh one another up, they began to dance counter clockwise in a circle. It was Paddy after about two full circles who broke the ice and rushed Gray. Both men met in the middle of the courtyard, arms raised, they would avoid direct fisticuffs at this stage. Preferring to meet in a high grappling hold, both men sought to get the other off balance by forcing the others arms down. Here with a wider stance and wider shoulders, Paddy was gaining the advantage, but Gray's legs and core were enough to keep him stable. In fact now Gray sought to use Paddy's own strength against him, without warning he completely removed any resistive force he was offering, this was enough to bring Paddy forwards completely off balance and out of control. As Paddy began to fall almost on top of him, Gray was able to twist his core to dodge and turn Paddy as he fell. Paddy crashed to the ground on his back, swiftly and smoothly Gray raised his leg over Paddy and followed him to the ground, sitting on his chest, locking his arms by his side. Gray began to hit Paddy in the face, each time Paddy turned his head to defuse the full force of the blow, if not the fight would have been over right there by a knockout. But Paddy wasn't out yet. Even in this position he was able to think and turn the tables. As Gray lifted his arm to rain down another huge blow, at the last instant Paddy dipped his head, taking the full brunt in the middle of his forehead. Everyone heard the crack as Gray’s knuckles were broken, now this hand was out of commission, for the time being at least. The officers' eyes were now all locked on each other more than the fight; they were beginning to have second thoughts. Their imaginations ran wildly to all the ways which Whitehall may punish them if they found out they'd let two of their best men pension each other off. The initial revelry of the assembly was stunned to silence as the two men fought. Paddy again using his massive upper body to throw Gray over the top of him, a huge bruise was already forming in the middle of his forehead. Standing up still dazed, it was obvious to everyone that Paddy had been

concussed by Gray's blow. Realising he was being thrown, Gray had tucked his head and rolled back to a standing position, turning quickly he was facing Paddy again. At this stage both men were injured but by no means weary. Paddy quickly gathered himself, Gray turned his broken hand away from Paddy, he would now fight southpaw. The two men moved in and immediately began boxing, this looked neater on the part of both men, far more respectable than the brawling which went before. This was neither man's first rodeo, but Gray found himself reliving some of his earliest memories on this planet, the organised fight he had taken part in whilst moored in Calais. That night had not ended well, being the night of his second death on Earth. This memory triggered a change in fighting style from Gray. Paddy was dancing around him as he almost seemed absent from his own body. No longer alert to where Paddy was around him, Gray looked just for a moment like Paddy was about to steam roller him towards defeat. Paddy's movements were by enlarge crisp and powerful, using his long reach he didn't even have to get too close to Gray to hit him hard on the head, all without response. This wasn't like Gray, nor was this Calais. He could not afford to lose himself in an action replay of his past life or he may just kill Paddy without even realising. This focused Gray's mind once more. He was back, and knew acutely where Paddy was, the next blow did not land. Gray ducked and twisted to face him. With Paddy's arm at full stretch, Gray unleashed his own left, to Paddy's rib cage; low enough to break the spares. This caused Paddy to reel in pain and withdraw two steps backwards from the force of Gray's huge punch. Gray was sharp again and instantly moved to follow, his mind was now focused on how to end this quickly with as little further damage being inflicted to Paddy as he could. Paddy was a strong man, a real asset to the unit, Gray liked and respected him enough for trying hard to win, but Gray had to call time, marching unstoppably past Paddy's final punch, all he did was quickly and deftly apply a finger tap to a pressure point on Paddy's right shoulder, and down he went. Fully conscious, Paddy knew he was down, but not why or how, and he wasn't happy about it. How had Gray moved so quickly?...

Gray knelt down on one knee beside him ... "Give it up Paddy, I win, a good try though ... Hold still ... The more you try to move, the more it's gonna hurt. I from the man who taught me!" The commanding officer signalled Gray's victory, amid boos from the men who lost money and cheers from those who had their money on Gray. "Here mate, let me get that for you ... Sharp pain ...1, 2, 3!" With this Gray released the nerve pinch which had floored Paddy, causing him to flinch again, but then it was like he'd never been in pain. Gray held out his hand to Paddy, who took it firmly, then Gray stood again pulling Paddy to his feet. "How's your hand Gray?" "Just fine thanks, how are the ribs" Gray winked as he wiggled all his fingers, which all seemed to be articulating fine. "Just temporarily dislocated ..." This was a lie, but given both men appeared to be largely unscathed, Gray's healing ability was easy to brush over without raising any suspicion. The two men were soon surrounded by their unit, who had seldom witnessed two men fight so violently without being on a battlefield. The base doctor strapped up Paddy's chest just to hold his ribs in position while they knitted back together, but to his credit, this small injury did not stop him training as normal. The men selected for the SAS were tough indeed, picked for their strength of will and complete ignorance of pain ...

Chapter 50 - S.A.S. vs S.S.

THE FIRST MISSION OF the new unit was a disaster, the Nazi forces had been tipped off and half of the men who had trained with Gray were wiped from the slate; their objective was thoroughly missed. This prompted a change in strategy from the higher powers who were keen to see the unit succeed, money and time had been invested. To lose half the men from the first cut was unacceptable. The training of subsequent men would double and be even more focused. Split into different types of training, the whole program would now take 32 weeks. Paddy had been chosen as the unit leader for the first mission, and despite not making any notable blunders, the mission had ended badly. The second mission was by contrast, a complete success. Paddy's men got inside the enemy perimeter, smashed the hell out of their target, inflicting heavy casualties in the process. Very few losses were suffered. Quickly the elite commando unit became the first choice for hitting high priority targets. The unit travelled extensively, killing their way through North Africa, before destroying valuable targets around the Mediterranean. Business was good. So many targets were routinely crushed by the SAS that in October of 1942 Hitler issued a new mandate, the commando order. This clearly stated where his men encountered Allied commando units in Europe or North Africa, if captured, they should be shot immediately without trial. Failure to carry out this order would be considered an act of negligence punishable under German military law. The problem as Hitler saw it was that these highly trained commando units did not operate like normal armed units. They were small groups of men, easily able to pose as locals, adopting whatever dress they had to in order to achieve their goals. Once these were achieved, they would often melt into the background. Their knack for disguise and surprise attacks which leveled devastation on his own forces made Adolf's issue of the death order inevitable. The order did not change even if the captured men were in proper military uniform. If captured, commandos were to be turned over to the security forces and executed post haste. Adolf sought to crush this thorn in his side like a bug, whenever he could. As the war pushed on year after year, the missions seemed to get more and more reckless for the SAS and this new order from the Fuhrer, only made the need for victory even more important. The order was invoked almost immediately from

November 1942, and ran almost to the end of the war in 1945. On two occasions Hitler's wrath was carried out on a large scale, the first time 22 men were executed, the second time was even worse with over thirty men being shot. By the summer of 1944 Paddy and Gray were the only original men left from the first unit. Losses were never heavy, but they had sustained small losses on each mission. This latest mission was by no means distinctive, but the result might prove otherwise. Paddy would lead his squad, this time 20 men towards Berlin. The aim was simply to get close to Hitler himself, and find out the identity of a prisoner whom Hitler considered to be of great importance ... Most of the time in recent years, Hitler had been either at the Wolf's lair, and when he wasn't, he would certainly be at the Eagle's Nest, much further south high in the Alps on the German side of the Border with Austria. Hitler made sure that he had an equal capacity to work in both these Fuhrer H.Q.'s. Both were secure and well protected. If anything the only problem worth considering was that the Wolf's Lair was very close to the Polish border. At the moment there was heated action not very far away as had now forgotten its earlier agreement with Russia to split Poland equally and without conflict. In fact had launched a furious advance eastwards against Stalin's Russian forces. A move so bold as to be considered suicidal by Hitler's staff. The Germans were trying hard to expand in two directions at the same time, but had faltered just outside Russia due to an extreme winter and poor supply lines. This had given Stalin all the time he needed to regroup and reinforce Hitler's potential entry point into Russia. Since then the Nazi invasion force had been completely wrong footed. Stalin's tanks were still no match for their German counterparts unless pitched in significant numbers. This was exactly what Stalin made sure to do, slowly driving the German forces back into their own territories. Even here the Nazis weren’t doing well. Reinforcement of the eastern front was only weakening Adolf’s forces on the western front; the Allies certainly considered there was little left to do before they would win decisively. When Poland had initially been divided, this should have been a welcome liberation for the people who had been previously oppressed by Stalin. Instead Hitler sought to wipe out the Gypsies and the Jews and anyone else who did not fit his high Arian ideals. So one dictator had fallen in the face of an even worse

dictator. Employing a different attitude, Hitler may have expected some of the Polish to his own ranks to ensure that Stalin was driven away and could never return. But being so blinded by his own idealism and the need to recreate a new , Hitler swept the weak and powerless, as well as those who just didn’t fit, from the land. As such the Polish people would never embrace German rule, instead they sought only to rebel, using guerrilla tactics as much as resources would allow. In recent times though, Hitler's staff had seen a change in him. Stress brought addiction to all kinds of drugs, prescribed and worse. Hitler was a confirmed vegetarian who believed firmly in reincarnation. Further to this he believed himself to be the reincarnation of a Germanic king from a thousand years earlier, the last time had been peaceful and powerful. In the last weeks, Hitler had begun to calm down, he was now growing more confident again. It was true to say that Hitler had invested huge sums in many projects which, in his own mind at least, could afford him the tactical advantage. Huge rail borne artillery guns, ever larger tanks, human experimentation within his concentration camps and more. Largely these were folly, misguided ideas realised by staff who dared not question him, or slow his roll. Whether or not they were totally behind him and committed to the cause by his means, this was the face they presented in his presence. Failure was treason and meant death. Only a few months before, one of his own staff had engineered himself into a meeting at the Wolf's Lair, and had tried to blow up Hitler and his highest Chiefs. Unfortunately, 0this plan backfired somewhat due to the heft of the table under which the bomb was placed and the fact it had not been placed close enough to the target. Hitler suffered cuts and bruises, but the whole experience only served to back up his claims that his efforts were just, and that he would create a new and powerful . Needless to say, that despite his troubles on all fronts, Hitler was convinced he had found the source of a new technology which would allow him to create weapons so powerful, he would wipe his opponents from the face of the world. Intelligence suggested that this source was in fact a prisoner, being held in the Wolf's lair bunker complex. There the information ended. Neither the Allied spy's nor their code breakers had been able to discover the identity of the man, but whispers from higher powers into the ears of GCHQ were clear. Get this

prisoner out of Adolf’s clutches at all costs and by any means necessary. Weeks before, Gray had been to see his commanders, accompanied by his good friend and now superior officer Paddy Harken. At this time Gray felt it pertinent to tell his superiors about his imprisonment with Hitler in Landsberg Prison after his failed coup. This was where a younger Adolf had formulated all the ideas and plans which he was executing now. Gray's superiors were dismayed ... "Gray ... Are you serious? If you'd told us this months ago old man, we would've found a way to embed you into his bally war cabinet as a spy." “I would've had to respectfully decline that plan sir ... I found myself in his company only a few months ... But these were a few months too long ... I am kicking myself for not having twisted his neck though.” Gray was positive that had he been placed close enough to Hitler, he would not have botched the assassination attempt ... "But ing information back to the Allies while watching events unfold ... I'd have gone mad. I couldn't just sit and watch." "Well you two, it matters little now. Paddy, you're next mission will be to get Gray to the Wolf's lair ..." ... once there his unit's mission would be complete. Paddy's reaction was understandable, not that he was chicken ... "Is that all? I thought you was gonna ask us to level Berlin ... Something easy ..." Once inside, Gray would acquire a uniform and simply assume the role of himself in order to rekindle his friendship with Der Fuhrer. Rolling his eyes at Paddy, their briefing commander reassured Gray ... "Keep your story simple old chap. Having recovered your former strength and abilities, you ed the Luftwaffe at the start of the war. Our spies in Berlin at the main war office are already creating a healthy record of action for you Gray. It's going to look like you've been flying missions over the UK for the last six years, shooting down a good tally of our bally fighters and generally giving us hell. We have also inserted your name into the list of servicemen who will be awarded medals at a Nazi morale boosting ceremony. Hitler will be awarding

you a gong himself, honouring your dutiful service to ." Gray looked at Paddy stifling his urge to grin. He already had every award the British army could give him, now he was to start collecting German decorations too. The cover prepared told the story of a First World War infantryman who had been injured, but managed to fight against adversity to recover strongly before going to war again for the pride of his country. When receiving his decoration, Gray was instructed to call Hitler by his first name, to try and jog his memory if the back story had not already successfully done so. The rest of Gray’s mission, whilst easy to say, rested pretty well in Adolf’s lap as far as the eventual outcome ... Forty eight hours later, the of Paddy's unit found themselves inside a small airplane deep over eastern , twenty miles or so away from the intended venue of the award ceremony. The plane was modified to be able to fly high out of the range of anti-aircraft countermeasures, the engines were also double baffled so their noise wouldn’t reach the ground. No lights were fitted to the plane, not even in the cockpit, and the only glazed s were the screen the pilot needed. All other glazed areas had been painted Matt black to be nonreflective. This mission had to go smoothly, which meant they could not have the plane discovered en-route. Luckily, the pilot had flown many missions by instruments alone, hence him being chosen for this mission. Gray was not happy with his orders, which fell far short of what they should have actually been in his opinion. He did however pride himself on being a good soldier and as such would follow these orders to the letter as far they took him. By fluke he was the perfect asset for this mission, though his superiors would never know how perfectly suited Gray was. The mission would be a suicidal one for anyone else. Paddy's entire unit would jump from a height well above the normal five hundred metre mark, by at least another three thousand metres. The air was thinner at this altitude, and the effects of this were by no means fully understood, but it was known that some of the men may not recover from a feeling of euphoria, before they reached the ground. For this reason it was important that the men stayed close together as they drifted down. They would all leave the plane within ten seconds, plummeting in the darkness towards the ground which

they would not see clearly. None of the men would pull their own chute until Paddy had pulled his. Paddy was equipped with a rudimentary wrist altimeter, and was adamant that the pull height would be well below normal. This would limit their chances of being spotted against the moon, which was the only source of light in the middle of the countryside. Cover was being provided by the RAF who had been sanctioned for a bombing run over nearby Berlin. This would ensure that people weren’t out and about and the ground forces defending Berlin would be thoroughly occupied. The low hum of the Allied bombers would also serve to cloak any engine noise from the aircraft carrying Paddy's unit. They would fare better if they could all hit a pre-prescribed landing site, marked only by their who would have his car headlights on in the landing field. This was German military, but had become dissatisfied with the Nazis methods and the ever growing blood lust which seemed to drive his contemporaries. He would supply Gray with the official uniform of a Luftwaffe fighter pilot, carrying the rank of Squadron leader. Gray's above average size and stature, made it hard to imagine him squeezing into the cockpit of a Messerschmitt BF109. That said a uniform Gray's size had been found, which meant other pilots his size existed in the ranks already. Gray spoke nothing but German after landing, much to the frustration of Paddy, who could not understand whether or not Gray fully understood the particulars he was being given. These were dates, places and times, all of which were of the utmost importance to the mission. Finally, to throw Paddy a bone, Gray limited his responses to "Ja" and "Nein", words every English soldier knew, much to the amusement of their . True to S.A.S. standard operational tactics, once on the ground each man had removed his black jumpsuit, revealing not a military uniform, but the normal everyday dress of the average German civilian. They looked like a convention of early middle aged doctors, dentists and normal school teachers. Quickly once on the ground the number attempted to split up into pairs, so the group would not be seen as suspicious by the locals. The whole unit spoke enough rudimentary German to get by; except for Paddy who barely understood yes and no. Then there was Garic, who spoke German like a native. Paddy however, drew the line

at speaking his enemies language on principle, even though this gave him a handicap in the field. Paddy felt he was more than a match for the average German stormtrooper, why would he want to fake German when he could probably dispatch the man quickly anyway. One thing was for certain, none of them wanted to be caught alive. Being killed in battle was far more preferable to being singled out and killed after the fact, just because they were good at their jobs. That was just a waste, and they all decided it was a better show for them to fight to the death if required. None of them had a problem with that. Now their job was simply to walk into Berlin, escorting Gray. The drove back to his house where his wife and daughter were none the wiser regarding his traitorous behaviour. In public they were the perfect Nazi family, being an officer he was lucky enough to have a KDF wagen, and his family vacation at the Colossus of Prora was already booked for when the resort finally opened. This was Hitler's reward for those who worked hard for . The buildings were true monuments, intended to form the largest beach resort ever constructed. The blocks were almost two kilometers long, and capable of housing 20,000 guests. The complex even boasted a specially designed festival hall capable of holding every guest simultaneously. Amazingly, considering the cost, this monolith of rest and recreation had never been finished, the construction workers had been transferred to construct the Vweapons plant instead. Through the war, the shells of these hulking great structures had been of some use, to various parties of refugees. Running from the fronts of battle, no one who stayed there found it as pleasurable as Hitler intended. It was especially important that their ’s wife should suspect nothing was awry. Nazi affiliations ran deep within her and her social circles, even though behind closed doors she openly itted to being physically sickened by the Nazi's more extreme policies of ethnic cleansing. The trusted his wife, even he approved of the general outline of Hitler's plan for the total welfare of the German people and their betterment. But he could not put her in danger with her more hardened friends and their husbands who all ranked above him. One thing the knew for sure, the closer to the top of the pyramid an officer was, the more extreme his views and methods were likely to be. Doubts of Hitler's grand design were not safe to be discussed. One could never be certain if

a person might agree behind closed doors, before throwing you to the lions at work the next day. Gray and the men made their way steadily overnight towards Berlin, arriving still quite fresh shortly before morning. They were no strangers to night manoeuvres, in this instance the pace had been adequate and hadn't really pushed them. Now the mission objectives were clear, Gray emerged from his hotel room suited and booted, ready to be decorated. He was picked up from the foyer of the hotel by his who would take him to the waiting area before the awards ceremony. The unit's mission was to stay close to Gray, so they could if he were successful in resurrecting his friendship with his former prison mate. Close in this instance was a relative term. The venue was a huge street in the centre of Hitler’s new Nazi monuments, close to the centre of Berlin. The closest area to Der Führer was equipped with seats and was reserved for officers only, this distance was considered a suitable security buffer for their leader, and would make for good movie recordings by the Nazi propaganda department. Two hundred meters away from the stage the ground was open for the common man, and this was where Gray's comrades had to watch from. Not satisfied with his view, Paddy had broken into one of the construction sites, and was almost directly overlooking the stage ... -If only I'd brought my rifle ... Paddy was already imagining himself shooting Hitler dead squarely between his eyes, right over Gray's shoulder. The people whom Gray was rubbing shoulders with in the hospitality area all had rags to riches story to tell, each was similar to the fake story Gray had told Adolf all those years ago, but their stories weren't a cover. This was evident in the way they had all totally embraced the Nazi doctrine. Leaving their impoverished beginnings far behind them, some had adopted a devastatingly harsh tone when dealing with the ordinary folk around them, whose only crime was being hired to ply them with food and drink. ing his conversation with his prison guard back at Landsberg, the exact contrary of every hope which the guard had spoken of had seemingly happened. Far from shunning Hitler and his extreme ways, the poor people,

sensing a man with purpose and focus, had all gotten right behind him. Change he promised and change he delivered. In their eyes, the only people who lost out were the people who should never have been in anyway. Normal people were directly affected by the war, and many ordinary people were tired of the conflict after losing their homes and even their families, much like their counterparts across the channel in Britain, which was also having its cities flattened by Hitler's Luftwaffe. Like a giant, Hitler ground the bones of little people everywhere to bake his new . Looking at the way these once poor people talked down to the people who served them, tested Gray's usually infinite patience. One particularly snide remark from an infantryman about to receive a medal of valour, the iron cross, was particularly cutting to the young lady who served him. Gray would never rest easy when a man abused a lady, there was never any need, and he wasted no time tutting loudly enough for the soldier to hear him. Gray examined the man's uniform, an iron cross mounted on a ribbon was already attached proudly in position, so this new award would be the Iron Cross first class. This soldier must have either been very brave or very skilled, or maybe he was just favoured by his commanders. No matter Gray would teach him a lesson in humility. Standing up, Gray made his way to the toilet, as he approached the soldier, he faked a stumble, his whole cup of hot coffee, complete with cup and saucer, landed with precision squarely on the chest of the soldier, drenching his pristine uniform with a lovely brown stain. Gray immediately recovered to his feet, the man's face was the very definition of anger. Reaching his feet also, the soldier moved to snatch a towel from the serving girl. Gray took the towel first, using it to rebuff his now scuffed left shoe, the excess of boot polish as Gray returned the deep shine left a thick black stain on the towel. The serving girl looked on in horror as Gray then looked at the soldier and apologised profusely for throwing coffee all over him. At the same moment, and whilst looking the soldier directly in the eye, with a glint showing his mockery, Gray began to pat down the soldier's dress uniform to mop up the coffee with the boot polish stained towel. The stain from the towel was easily transferred to the soldiers uniform also. This was the final straw for the soldier, how dare this pilot, rank or no, destroy his uniform. He could not meet his Führer looking like this, he would be ridiculed. Gray stayed cool ... His expression remained neutral

in the face of the soldier’s rage. In fluent German ... "My word, how does such a highly decorated soldier in my Führer's army become so rude? You have apparently shown enough valour under extreme circumstances to have already received the Iron Cross. I am only trying to dry you, be calm soldier. Surely you do not kill just to receive praise from your betters? I am sure this young lady can arrange another uniform for you." Turning to the girl, Gray continued ... "Can you do that please, beautiful?" The girl shot Gray a smile, as he winked at her. "Yes sir, I will try. Maybe in the offices, I will find one." With this the girl left the hospitality area, Gray leaned in towards the soldier’s ear and spoke gently but firmly. "My friend ... When the girl returns, no matter what the size or colour of the uniform she places in your hands, you WILL be grateful and act as if you are worthy of the award you are about to receive. Do I make myself clear?" Seeing that Gray was also a decorated squadron leader in the Luftwaffe, the soldier began to address his superior officer, in the correct way. "Yes Sir! Grateful sir!" "The only thing which separates us from the girl and the other helpers here, is that we are strong enough to fight ... And you have fought well, or you would not be decorated at all. It is our job ... No, our duty ... To protect the citizens of who are too old or young and those who are too weak, to stand by our sides. Just because the girl is bringing you tea, does not make you better than her, you only have a different job to do ... Do you understand?" "Yes sir ... I'm sorry sir ..." "Don't apologise to me ... The girl ... Apologise to the girl ... And your place as protector, not tormentor ... I'm watching you."

Gray turned away and returned to his seat. When the girl returned ten minutes later, the uniform was correct. Maybe the tros would be too long. She also had the presence of mind to bring a needle and thread for transferring the soldiers ribbons to the new uniform. The soldier took her hand and apologised loudly and quite sincerely for his earlier comments, the room hushed as the young lady smiled back at him. The girl pointed him to a side room where he could change. Taking his tunic the young lady got to work with the ribbons. Gray was satisfied, although not for the first time he questioned the need for him to get involved. Still as a test of his uniform, things went well, and clearly his German had not suffered from the years of not using it. Maybe the soldier would also learn his lesson. There was a marked change in the room after the soldier apologised to the girl. The other people who would receive the favour of their Führer, also mellowed somewhat towards the hired help. An hour later, just after everyone had been invited into a large dining room, Adolf himself entered the room. The people assembled now were the hard working soldiers, pilots and sailors who would receive their military decorations. They were to be treated to a lavish meal in a closed and private setting, before returning to the seated area in the huge Main Street outside, where anyone who wanted could see their Führer bestowing praise on his armed forces. After saying a few short words to thank everyone for attending, five courses were served; the room was noisy with conversation. The Führer himself was flanked by his highest commanding officers, these were his entourage for all official business relating to the war. Adolf shot a stern look at the officer seated second from his right; Gray did not recognise the officer from any intelligence dossier. Maybe he was stationed more permanently in Berlin and did not get the same exposure as Hermann Göring, or Heinrich Himmler. Hitler's stare, firm beyond belief said that the event was meant to be a lighter affair and he was not prepared to talk shop. The officer looked sufficiently chastised to say sorry, before turning once more to his meal, a large slab of meat, probably venison. Maybe it was one of Hitler's genetically faked Arian cattle, currently looming dangerously in the woods seized from Poland. Adolf, true to form was not eating meat. His plate looked small, and he looked appropriately gaunt, however his mood seemed to return quite buoyantly. This was the first time Gray had ever seen Adolf laugh, and it didn't seem staged,

tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. No one in the hall was prepared to see Hitler this way, the sight of the man they usually only saw in Cinemas shouting loudly as he addressed troops or crowds of people almost stopped the room. Adolf was certainly presenting a far more charming side of himself than when Gray knew him at Landsberg. After the meal, followed a short meet and greet, before an usher called everyone outside. Naturally, Hitler was led to a separate chamber beside the stage area. Twenty minutes was all that was needed for the seated area in front of the stage to fill up. The front row was reserved for the people receiving their decorations, there would be forty in total. The enigmatic Hitler decreed early on in the war that the officer class of the Nazi party should spread itself amongst the lesser ranks whenever the chance presented itself at official functions. Further to this, he also challenged his officers not to seek decoration themselves but to reserve these accolades for the younger generation in the ranks. Hitler himself only wore the honest decorations which he earned, his Iron cross and his wound patch awarded during world war 1, and his golden Nazi party pin. This was in direct contrast to Hermann Göring, who had a bone to pick with Hitler regarding his policy on decorations for high ranking officers. Göring made it his mission to acquire every decoration that it was possible to earn, that was until Hitler directly vetoed Göring's plan to acquire his final decoration. The Knights Cross of the War Merit Cross with swords was the highest decoration a German officer could be awarded. Hitler felt Göring had no right to such an award. Indeed Hitler did not wear any such adornments, and despite being qualified for many, Hitler never acknowledged this fact. Gray waited and applauded every soldier, airman and seaman who went before him, but Gray's time was now. Adolf set off by first acknowledging Gray's action in the great war, and became notably excited when mentioning that he too had sustained an injury which had been hard to overcome. He then went on to mention how when the need had arisen, Gray had not hesitated to re the effort on 's behalf again ... "... Where he has faultlessly risen by his repeated brave actions, to the rank of squadron leader in my own Luftwaffe. Squadron leader Gray Albern is a model of self-discipline and obedience to the Reich ... Indeed, I know officers ranking

far higher who cannot claim such levels of either. Today I will honour both his service and his loyalty, not only to me ... But to our glorious ." As Adolf continued to read the words aloud, he was addressing the assembled masses with his head held high. Part way through, the story finally struck a chord with his memory and his voice began to peter out. Slightly dazed by the recollection, Hitler was moved to shift his focus to the front row where the awardees were all seated. Off to the far right, he could see the man but not his face. Gray was hidden under his military cap, his head tilted down to listen to Hitler’s words, whilst maintaining his own focus on the ground. Quickly Adolf recaptured his focus, this brief pause was out of character for him as he was usually well polished at public address. The swinging heads of his general staff showed their confusion as to the origins of their Führer's confusion. Quickly though the moment had ed, Hitler returned to reading the scripted words regarding Gray's exploits in the Luftwaffe, before finally introducing him. Speaking Gray's name Adolf was already looking down expectantly towards Gray, waiting for him to reveal himself. First Gray rose like an automaton, still gazing towards the ground, before turning as if performing a rank and file turn to his right, Gray proceeded all the way to the stairway to Adolf's elevated position without looking directly at Adolf. Not until he was at the top of the stairway, was Gray forced to meet him face to face, albeit Gray was looking down at least a foot to do this. "Hello Adolf ... Well ... You did it ... is forever changed. I do however fear for the eastern front." Hitler's face was shocked, firstly at Gray's brazen manner, even his highest SS officers, whom Hitler counted amongst his few friends would never speak to him so directly. Secondly came a warm look of comfort, like finding a long lost relative. Gray was bracing for an unrestrained show of physical , but luckily this never materialised. As quickly as the warm look appeared, Adolf's face straightened once more, back to his usual public persona. "Major Gray Albern ... We are all honoured by your presence here today, and humbled by your service to the Fatherland. It is my very great pleasure and honour to promote you to Oberstleutnant Gray Albern. Thank you sir." "Thank you my Supreme Leader!"

With this Gray, now newly promoted to the equivalent of Wing commander, retreated two steps. As was the convention, he then raised his arm palm outwards and upwards. "Heil Hitler!" Gray was about to turn once more to exit down the stairs to his seat, when, completely contra to convention, Hitler approached him once more. His eyes locked with Gray. Out of simple courtesy, Gray leaned in to listen to Adolf's whisper. "Gray ... Find me afterwards please." In Gray’s peripheral vision, almost as keen as his central focus, Gray could see the heads of Hitler's general staff, once again they were spinning out of control to look at each other hurriedly and in secret. Gray simply nodded and made to return to his seat ... At the bottom of the stairs from the podium, a sly turn of his head to the left was his subtle hint to Paddy; watching everything through his scope ... Mission accomplished. For the rest of the ceremony, Adolf gave a rock solid performance, a short and very sharp speech was then given stressing his expectation that every able man, woman and capable child should the war effort and that would emerge victorious and reborn. Free from the shackles of weakness, they would be re-united as one under the umbrella of national socialism, where every worker was rewarded for their effort, and no German would be left wanting. He urged the people to keep their morale high, and their mental strength and fortitude, as they all progressed strongly to victory. After the ceremony, Hitler was conspicuous by the long stare he gave Gray, as everybody in the seated area began to filter back into the hospitality area, Gray remained seated. He was hoping for a signal of acknowledgement from Paddy. Within ten minutes, Gray was alone. Returning from his hide overlooking the stage, Paddy exited the building back to street level, only yards from Gray's position, without words the two friends and colleagues exchanged a single glance. Paddy had observed Hitler’s lack of composure at the rostrum, he knew that whatever Gray had said to him had proven most effective. With no head movement whatsoever, Gray gave the signal, stooping to one knee

to spit shine his shoe. This was final confirmation to Paddy that he was preparing to move. Paddy followed the edge of the building back to the rear of the seated area, where other of their squad were located, randomly interspersed within the crowds of actual Berliners, hoping for one last chance to see their Führer. Gray remained at his knee, and continued polishing his shoe. The almost mirror reflection showed a curious sight, he was being watched. Framed by a large first floor window located in the building behind the stage, the figure, though blurry could not be mistaken, it was Adolf. He was showing himself in plain sight for Gray to see, and follow. This blatant self-display was not advised by the general staff assembled with him. Adolf was busily waving to the crowd, but his eyes were fixed on Gray. All the while, they were urging him to withdraw, Allied spies were everywhere and despite Hitler's own rhetoric, rumours of another internal assassination attempt were circulating. This was the hype they fed Hitler, but at such a public event, the rumours could easily prove true. At this moment, the Allies best spy was one story below them, entering the building to re his master. Two low ranking S.S. guards halted Gray's progress once he reached the first floor. Gray was within sight of Adolf, who moved quickly to by the security conscious guards, who would not dare argue with him. With great familiarity and the warm look now returned to his face, Adolf put his arm through Gray's, and dismissed his general staff back to the main room, before leading Gray to a small chamber away from everyone. Gray was shocked that Hitler would have such fond memories from Landsberg, when most of the time Gray had not spoken, and when he had, it was usually to try and dampen Adolf's escalating rant. Gray was sure he had not hidden the fact back then that he was oppositely aligned to Hitler's viewpoint, and definitely did not endorse in any way, Adolf's proposed plans for how his goals would be achieved. "Gray, I am so happy that I could see you again, and just imagine it ... You are a high ranking officer in my Air Force. When I last saw you, you were struggling." "Well weakness is not exactly a desirable trait in your new land, I made myself strong again, so I could bring your vision alive. Though honestly, I was hoping

deeply inside that you would not use such dark methods." Gray's flat expression, whilst not being openly disapproving, had the look of a disappointed father. It suggested the same result could have been achieved through more rational and conventional, diplomatic means. "You were getting there, slowly and steadily, you negotiated for re-armament and strengthened once more, there was no need to go further. Poland started a series of events which grew much worse, but you could've recovered. , and then Russia, almost at the same time ..." Gray's voice broke off, intimating that this strategy had been errant, deeply flawed, a bridge too far, and despite early victory in , this was where Adolf should have stopped ... Waking the bear, had truly been the mistake to end all mistakes, and so close to winter ... "When did you stop being so patient, for the best part of fifteen years you accomplished so many things, laying the foundation stones of your new . Then you threw all your carefully arranged plans back into turmoil, hell bent on reclaiming the old lands, and all the old creatures ... Even now you remain distracted as you build your great follies, huge buildings and huge weapons. You’ve thrown good money after bad, but who is picking up the tab Adolf? It's the very people you are trying to save, left hungry and homeless by your greed." Hitlers face sank, in fact during rare moments when one of his general staff or anyone else who had some mettle about them, would dare to stand up to Hitler, he could be made to look back on his actions. Then as if he were momentarily snapped out of his quest for power, he would see his deeds as clearly as he would see his own face if he looked in a mirror. In these rarest of moments, he would not like what he saw, not at all. He wasn't blaming his general staff, nor even his highest ranking S.S. officers, Adolf was at least able to accept responsibility for his own actions. The problem was he had surrounded himself with people who were prone to saying yes, and in a few cases, people whose ideas were even worse than his own, no matter what Hitler’s plans involved. Beyond this though, Adolf was able to step back and easily exonerate himself of all the evil deeds which Gray had just accused him of.

had for centuries been diluted by the influx of impure blood, this state of affairs eventually became intolerable for a great many Germanic politicians and scholars alike. By the end of the 19th century, it was socially acceptable to root out the weak or the impure. Nor was any stranger to acts of genocide against people who sought to defend themselves against the nation which always sought to expand. Indeed the first act of genocide of the 20th century was committed by from 1904 to 1907 whilst on a campaign of conquest in Africa. The impositions upon two tribes, the Herero and Namaqua, indigenous to the region, quickly became intolerable and the two tribes staged a revolt against their tormentors. At this point all peaceful negotiations to allow to settle were abandoned, the newly appointed governor called for help as he found himself to be out of his depth. The right man for the job, sent from with a force of 14,000 soldiers was General Lothar Von Trotha, who wasted no time declaring that no man from either tribe should be allowed to live. As such they were all summarily executed, whether they bore arms or were simply herding cattle. Of course the women and Children were not to be executed as the honour of the German soldier should not be compromised by such atrocities. Instead Von Trotha had his men chase the women and children into the Namib desert, poison all the watering holes and regularly patrol the edge of the desert so there would be no way the tribes could return. With a complete failure of common decency or the vaguest respect for the dead, the corpses of those who died from starvation, thirst and exhaustion, were taken from the desert on a cart each day and buried in shallow graves on a sandy beach. Each day after high tide the bodies would be seen washing into the sea to become food for the Sharks. While these events happened whilst Adolf himself was only young, and he would not have been aware at the time, many of his advisors would have had better recollection, and may have even used these events as justification to suggest that Hitler have his own Holocaust. Gray knew from Landsberg prison of Hitler's hatred of the Jews whom he saw as sub-human. Indeed his first steps upon rising to power in 1933 were to laws excluding them from all areas of German society, students were refused Degrees by universities even after completion of their studies. Jews were prevented from owning farms, or being doctors, all Jewish lawyers were disbarred, and so the madness continued.

One reason why Adolf was elected to power in the first place may have been that his views, however deplorable to the viewer outside , were the socially accepted norm by the general populace within . As his head was bowed, his face was red with anger now and his eyes were wide with a rage which Gray had rarely seen in all his years on Earth. Gray braced for the impact of Adolf's violent temper. This always burst out uncontrollably when questioned by anyone on his national, social beliefs and plan for his new pure . "How can you accuse me of these things? ... You ARE a German. Were you not in that uniform I would have NO PROBLEM at all sending you to a camp for desertion. When we were together in Landsberg ... They were everywhere, like a fog of poison sweeping over the land, polluting everything they were involved with. You call my vision a pipe dream ... HOW DARE YOU! The beginning of a new , a strong ... Involves the removal of all things which would otherwise weaken her. Strong German blood means not interbreeding with lower stock, and the removal of this scourge will give us the room to blossom. A job for every German in . Is that NOT a good ideal?" "Yes Adolf, I cannot deny that your ideals at their very base are good, but they are no more than the best politicians all over the planet are striving for. But ethnic cleansing to achieve this goal is neither right nor necessary. Look to London, such ethnic diversity, maybe there are fifty countries or more represented there. Are these people stealing the wealth of England ... Of course not, they are trying to integrate and work just like any other of society, this is where the strength of England comes from, this is where a strong society comes from, social tolerance. You've gone too far Adolf, but I've gone with you this far, so we are both guilty ... You ordered me to kill, and I have killed. But before, you had a plan, a strategy, a clear path achievable through patience ... I ask again. What are you going to do about Russia?" This was Gray's attempts to calm Hitler, absolve him of his acts so far, by assuming guilt with him. Gray now only sought to know Hitler's thoughts on whether or not he could still win the war, and by what means. "Of course we are busy, constantly busy developing new technologies ... This you are aware of I'm sure. You must have flown all the aircraft in my air force by now to have so many different mission patches. You must know that our

weapons and means for their delivery are becoming more effective. But what you don't know ... What nobody knows ... Is what we are working on right now. Things which will be our crowning glory, things which will put us so far ahead of our enemies that we will be able to erase them from the battlefield, and quickly assert our claim to their lands." "How? I don't care to hear of yet more super-sized weapons of Nazi folly. I am a German, and I seek victory as much as my supreme leader, these expensive weapons cannot work against our rivals with lesser equipment in massive numbers. I want to hear you say something which will truly inspire me to win, and finish this war quickly before our enemies scorch any more German soil." "Do not worry Gray, I have the key to victory in my hands, and in a few short weeks we will have the equipment we need. Even in small numbers they will prove utterly devastating, history has shown this to be true ... I know you are a dedicated Nazi Gray, and to speak with me as you have, you could the most dedicated officer I've ever met. Even my highest ranking S.S. officers only me out of fear ... But you ... You share my pride in our nation ... That much is clear, and you openly challenge my policies and strategies in a way which shows you to be a strong individual thinker. I truly wish we had remained friends after Landsberg. With you at my side, this war would have been fought very differently, and maybe even won by now. Save for this, all I can offer you is a chance to me now ... Come with me to the Wolf's Lair and meet our salvation." This was it. Gray had successfully challenged Hitler, maintained his cover and was about to be chaperoned by Hitler himself to meet the prisoner which Allied intelligence had sent him to find in the first place. The Allies thought the Prisoner to be a German scientist, forced to help Hitler against his will. Why else would he be held prisoner? The only other prevailing theory suggested the unknown man had been captured from the Russians by a team of Nazi secret agents, and that he had full knowledge of a top secret project which the Russians had been developing. In either scenario, this person was seen by the Allies as dangerous or possibly essential to their own cause. Which depended upon whether or not Gray could liberate the man into Allied custody. The most important thing was that he not be allowed to remain in Nazi hands. But if he could be liberated and turned to their employ, he could be the greatest Allied asset of the whole war...

Chapter 51 - The Key to victory ...

(ON A SILVER SAUCER.) Gray's superiors back in Britain were beginning to build a steady momentum against the Nazis on the western front, having already liberated . Now they were close to busting down Hitler's front door, whilst the Russians were about to do the same thing to the east. It was seen as highly probable that if Hitler could not secure the cooperation of the unknown man very soon, he would have the man killed. This was preferable to him falling into enemy hands. The Allied forces would do everything they could to liberate the prisoner before that happened. As such Gray's mission had an addendum. Gray was primarily to use his old friendship with Adolf to get closer to the unknown scientist, this Gray had accomplished with ease. Once at the Wolf's Lair, Gray was tasked with observing Hitler, and finding the scientist. But secondly, in the event that the Russian force got so close that Hitler decided to burn everything and run, and IF Gray was unable to liberate the man, then he was ordered to kill him instead. That order was final. The next day Gray accompanied Adolf eastward on his personal train back to the Wolf's Lair, through occupied Polish territory to his bunker hidden deep in the Masurian woods. Eight kilometres from the small East Prussian town of Rastenburg, security was tight. Recently work had begun which was intended to fortify the buildings hastily constructed in 1941, prior to operation Barbarossa, the plan to invade Russia. Hitler only talked of victory over Russia in public, in secret he knew his chances grew slimmer day by day. His prisoner ... He could be the tipping point between victory and defeat, if only he would start talking. The little despot was adamant about one thing, his prisoner could not fall into Russian hands. Gray was staggered at the complexity of the bunker layout, designed of course to be defensible. The people who were stationed here, knew the complex intimately, but they rarely left. Even an outsider from within German ranks would have trouble negotiating the bunker layout, much less a spy from another country. Luckily Gray would not have this problem, as he would be shown every aspect by his friend personally.

As far as allied intelligence could determine, the Wolf's Lair was Hitler's driving seat from where he dictated battle strategy and kept everything moving. He had spent more than seven hundred days there consecutively prior to the awards ceremony and had been anxious to return there straight after. Adolf showed him firstly where the mess hall was in case Gray needed anything at all. Then the garrison and the armoury, after which he could see that Gray was showing visual signs of boredom. Hitler had a member of his general staff take the brand new black uniform to Gray's quarters, for him to wear. Gray had once again been promoted. The black uniform was S.S. The collar badges showed three leaves. Top tier then. While the yellow woven epaulets with no pips, showed his rank now was that of General Major. A fine rank indeed for a man who would be shot immediately without trial, should he be found out. The new uniform was tight, and not in a good way. Everyone at this facility was S.S. but the uniforms of the lower ranks afforded them much more freedom. It was all Gray could do to walk normally. His stance was dictated and set by the internal cut of the suit, which must have been internally reinforced to prevent stretching, this created a stiff attitude. Gray was sure this rigidity would eventually manifest itself mentally, creating a black and white attitude to decisions and results, in short ... Stiff. The uniform was smart, but a man Gray's size and proportions had rather more black cloth than the average officer, making him look more like the grim reaper by comparison. This combined with being a new face at the facility meant wherever Gray walked, he was observed. He could not move in secret anywhere. Of course this mattered little, as a General Major Gray was entitled to move freely wherever he went. The looks from the lower ranks were probably curious as to who this huge new officer was and where he came from. The biggest problem faced was the size of the complex. Gray needed to zone in on the important secret parts, which were of interest to the Allies, but he also needed a legitimate excuse to be in that area. To address this matter Gray resurrected his afternoon walks with Adolf. So intense was Adolf's day, it was easy for Gray to persuade him that he needed to take some time out to switch off mentally. Truth be told, Adolf clearly knew what projects were being carried out

at the base. All new projects had to be sanctioned by him, money was tight with the war being fought on two fronts. Largely, Hitler was disinterested in most of the projects, which had a chance but were by no means certain of success. The only project which Adolf saw as being truly valuable was the one involving the scientist whom he was holding prisoner in a concrete cell deep in the inner heart of the base. As usual, Gray went to meet Hitler in his conference room. Right from the getgo, Gray could see that Adolf was having a hard time maintaining his calm. Gathered around him were assorted S.S. officers who were trying to persuade Hitler to dig in and fortify their stronger outposts on the Eastern front, and not keep pushing so hard to move forward. At this point the land they had already taken from Russia was not a small amount, whilst not being as much as Adolf had initially planned, in their eyes this result was not a failure. According to his advisors, it was far better to stop the advance and consolidate their current positions. This would allow time to effect repairs to equipment which had taken a sound beating despite being superior. Once Hitler saw Gray filling the doorway to the conference room, the meeting was quickly adjourned. Without any resolution, the dissatisfaction of his war cabinet was painted across their faces, clearly saying ... Russia can wait ... Hitler needs a walk! Normally, their walks around the grounds or the buildings which scattered the outside area of the complex, were akin to a woodland walk, given the location of the base in the heart of a Polish forest. Today was different, upon leaving the conference room, Adolf turned along the main corridor of the base, but headed inwards ... "Can I show you something Gray?" "I thought you would never ask ... Please ... Lead on." The pair talked as they walked, Adolf was unhappy with his officers apparent excuses for why they could not defeat the Russian forces to the east. Entering a huge tunnel complex at one side of the site ... "They're blaming me you know? ... Not in so many words, but they're saying that I pushed too far too fast ... Getting anything East is a logistical nightmare ... Maybe they're right ... I've pushed them hard, the Panzer division is on its knees, and it seems the Russians have every advantage over us when it comes to the

cold." "For sure we are a long way from , did you know that Polish resources would be so scant? Or did you think that you were taking over a rich land with strong people and a readymade army who would all fight on your side. I think taking Poland was a good idea, the lands are prime for the Reich. But you came in as the aggressor and continued to sweep away the weakness. Instead of saving a potential army from Stalin, you made them want him back. You dropped the ball I think ... Now your Army is trying hard to push forward but they are being attacked from all sides at once by rebels who hate Russia and as one. They just want Poland ... To be Poland. If you intend to keep this place for , you need to call some sort of halt to the violence you are showing the people ... Whilst I know this goes against your plan ... I also know you have the patience to get them on your side.” "Maybe Gray, you are correct, your words do always seem to make sense. You certainly don't mind showing me the errors of my ways do you?" "I don't like that you lock yourself away with all those people who are probably lying to you regarding the true state of your forces. They appear to me to be like ants, cooking the books and skimming the cream for themselves. They cannot deliver the result you ask for, because your men are weak, maybe even starving. As you rightly point out, the Russians are capable in the cold. Could none of your staff anticipate this? ... I remain baffled ... Rather than tell you the truth so you can plan around it, maybe change tack, they just keep agreeing with you. It's not right, you are the one who will be ed, for their failure." Gray was walking a fine line, he had to act the friend, but he could not hold his tongue. And why should he? Under as much pressure as Adolf was, Gray's words might yet steer the little man towards a lighter path. The conversation continued for as long as the pair walked, which was some time. Only the lights in the corridor and the cable which connected them marked how far the pair had walked. Turning around to look back, Gray could see that they were quite alone. Even the external entrance to the corridor, as huge as it was for driving equipment into and out of, was just a point of light far away ... Still they walked. About one more minute and the corridor became better illuminated once more. A

chamber had been newly excavated at the end of the tunnel, there were puddles where the groundwater was not yet being handled correctly. This chamber was maybe only one or two months old. At the rear of the chamber was a concrete cube with a huge door, like a safe. As the two men approached, two S.S. soldiers gave the customary salutation to their Führer, Adolf responded in kind as if on autopilot, but his eyes never left the vault. The two men then set to spinning the huge wheel which released the locking pins. The door was new, but such was its size that the mechanism still groaned, indicating it had already been opened many times and was ready for a good dose of grease. As the door locking pins were released the scale of the door became evident. The maker's mark was Swiss, Gray did not recognise the maker, but the work was excellent. The door was easily two foot thick and fully machined, the slight puff of air as the door broke its seal said that the environment inside was being controlled and conditioned. Around the door were twelve pin ends evident, not quite fully retracted within the door, each pin was a good 10 inches in diameter. What kind of force was this door meant to hold? Gray was expecting to see a clean room, with secret parts to Hitler's next amazing super weapon being assembled. His jaw dropped when he rounded the rim of the door frame, and saw clearly what was inside. The vault was lined with steel, Adolf said the slabs were cast at a foot thick, and were arranged in two interlocking layers. On the side which now faced the pair was only glass, and a door frame again from steel. "This glass is the thickest ever produced on the planet. It's a whole two feet thick, toughened as much as it can be ... but not as much as I wanted ... The slabs kept cracking. It's not ideal but it's the best we can do ... This is him. He's the key Gray. If he cooperates, we will win this war yet ... What do you think of him?" Gray could not speak, the irony of this situation was unmissable. As Gray examined the man who Adolf called the key, Gray knew Hitler's cause was lost instantly. This was no man. Standing before him with a broad smile, he towered above Gray by almost a full two feet. In the bright lights his hair which looked black, actually shone with a distinct tone of blue, also his skin ... Remarkable ... It too shone with a light blue hue, almost indistinguishable, but it was there. Adolf continued...

"He's an alien ... A perfect specimen ... You have no idea how long it took us, or how many men with tranquilliser darts. We have his ship too, but he rendered it inactive before we took him. Didn't you see it in the hanger outside?" Gray could only shake his head, still unable to speak. Internally he was kicking himself that he never inspected the hangar which was unremarkable from the outside. He’d figured there were only a few small fighters inside, a monumental mistake. Now Adolf was beaming back at the huge figure. "I have been conversing with him most days, he speaks perfect German, but many other languages as well. He is incredibly old and has knowledge of many extinct human cultures. In any case he will not give me the start sequence for his ship, so we have tried to copy it ..." Hitler's arrogance was flowed freely and without limit. Here was an obviously far higher intellect than any human could possibly ever be, standing less than two metres away. And yet Adolf talked directly in front of him as if he were from some indigenous African tribe, as if he had the intellect of a dog. "I think you're out of your depth Adolf, now more than ever ... He is no more likely to give you the keys to his ship than I would be capable of defeating the Russian army with one arm tied behind my back." The huge figure stood before them now weighed in ... "Your friend makes a good point Adolf, you will never be able to pilot my ship, and I will never tell you ... NO, I will never allow you to make another one. You should just let me go, while you can!" All the time the giant blue man was talking, his eyes were locked to Adolf's, and the smile never moved from his face. Nor did it falter or change in any way. "Gray ... Can you guess why the glass needs to be so thick?" "Well if his strength is in scale with his size, he must be immensely strong, but I would not have thought that this thickness of glass was required ..." "That's it ... Keep thinking ..." "His mental capacity is probably far in advance of ours. He may show skill with

tele or psychokinesis. If so he may be able to bend people to his will. He could escape any time by simply asking one of the guards to let him out." "Bingo ... He's got it. Your minds are so weak I wouldn't even have to ask, I could simply possess you and let myself out of here ..." Gray could not believe that after all this time, after all his searching, even after he had given up, fate had forced his path to cross with the Tall Client. There could be no mistake, his description fit that which Acacia had given him centuries ago. But something was off, he looked much more human than Gray had expected him to look. This was Gray's chance, his one chance, but he couldn't exactly carry on a proper conversation with Adolf stood right there. He was relishing the thought, but he had to wait a little longer. Playing down his true feelings for now ... There was something he could try ... “Chi erliiz üü?” “What was that? Chinese?” Adolf could not allow anyone to talk with the prisoner, unless he knew what had been said. Gray covered... “It’s OK Adolf, you said he knows a lot of languages. I was just saying hello in Ninilchik, an eastern dialect of Russian. I took a job in construction there after Landsberg. I had to get away ... You know? Any way ... He clearly doesn’t speak Russian.” What Gray had actually asked, directly, was Are you a hybrid? In Mongolian, a language Gray had learned in the trail of the huge female, shortly before Jinhai had been killed. Gray continued ... "Hmm, I think you’ve got yourself a live one there Adolf ... Good luck with that ... But I think he has obvious reasons not to give you anything, and he can probably withstand anything you can throw at him. IF he is so old, he has nothing to fear from you ... And of course ... There will be others. Be careful that the weapons you seek are not the ones which will destroy you first." With this Adolf's prisoner had taken to the huge bed at the rear of the cell. Geyldian wondered why Adolf would keep someone so close to him who shared no part of his plan. He could not dive into anyone from behind the glass, he was

quite by chance completely isolated. The way this man had spoken to him in Mongolian, and such a direct question. Have I met this man before? I don’t think so, I would . Anyway, this man was a good deal wiser than Adolf. Geyldian did not need to escape. In fact the events of his capture which Adolf had earlier related to this new officer, had been merely a ruse on Geyldian’s part. He could jump himself from this cell at any time, but he had not yet fully ascertained what Adolf's plan was. About three months ago Central had detected huge waves of electromagnetic force. Pulses which had never been scanned on Earth before. The origin was found to be Eastern Poland. The Old clones were well aware of what was happening topside from their environmental scans and Geyldian’s reports. The planet was slowly being covered in residual traces of heavy ordnance. The situation was not in any danger of damaging the atmosphere which was robust and would eventually filter and recycle everything, but their usual curiosity forced the clones to investigate. The only way to achieve this, had been to send in Geyldian. Unable to fly a Caddy due to his enormous size, he had simply jumped to meet the two Caddy. The second transported away the first Thrall crew, leaving Geyldian stood by a craft he couldn't possibly have climbed out of. Caddy were unstable flyers due to the principles by which they worked and the way in which they moved, this was why three Thrall were needed, to respond to the myriad of minute adjustments required to fly and hold a course. The second Caddy was gone in seconds, it had taken the Nazi storm troopers another ten minutes to reach Geyldian’s position two miles west of the Wolf's Lair. After this it was a simple matter of putting on a show with a feisty bit of fighting to resist, before appearing to be completely captured ... Humans were so predictable. They always believe they had the upper hand in any situation. Unfortunately after the initial excitement, Geyldian had only been required to sit in the cell which they had practically built around him whilst he was shackled to a huge steel table. All the while, Adolf would come to visit his new prisoner, to interrogate him for information. Hitler seemed to be no stranger to aliens and encounters with them. Apart from

the vision he had experienced whilst laying blind in a German hospital, after being caught in a mustard gas attack nearing the end of WWI, Hitler had also seen something else when he was much younger and far easier to influence. He had never told Gray, but had freely itted to Geyldian, that he not only believed in Aliens, but he had witnessed them directly. Geyldian made a note to investigate as Hitler related the story to him. Adolf had been a small boy in Austria, but his family had moved to by the time of his third birthday, by the time he was 11 years old, Adolf was constantly locking horns with his father over his choice to be an artist when he grew up, as such his father had decided to send the young boy off to Realschule, where he would receive a very formal education. Here Adolf rebelled by deliberately performing badly within this school system; taking the opportunity to paint whenever he could to better his skill. It was during one of these stolen moments, late one summer night in 1900 when Adolf's keen eye spotted a light darting across the sky he was trying to represent on the canvas in front of him. The light had not traversed the sky in a straight line, but had instead performed sharp turns and changes in altitude. At one point the light was a clearly visible craft, unlike anything he had seen in his life, before or since. The craft had no wings, nor any kind of control surface, and even at the craft's closest , within one hundred meters by his own estimation, no noise could be heard. Not even the sound of turbulence or air flow around the craft. Whilst Hitler was purporting himself to be a very bad student indeed, the subjects he was learning were not missed by his keen mind, and in the years which followed, the already withdrawn young student tried in secret to research the possible method of transit for this craft, which never left his memory. Listening blank faced, to his inquisitor's childhood story in its entirety, Geyldian made a note to chew some Thrall tuchus when he eventually jumped out of the cell back to Central. Geyldian couldn't blame the Thrall for the war, but they had carelessly shown the little man a means by which he could achieve his objectives. Whilst his Luftwaffe had been developing new aircraft, these were not extraordinary compared to the Allied craft, and while his scientists had developed flying bombs, the first missiles, their developments had come at a

heavy price with several exploding on the launch pads. The doodlebugs which eventually wrought such devastation later on in the war, had taken a long time in relative to develop. Despite developing the gas pulse thruster, the device was neither new nor ground breaking and was unusable on an aircraft platform. The V1 and V2 rockets came too late also to have any true effect. All the while, German scientists worked in the background to replicate the craft he ed. Only three months ago his scientists finished constructing the drive system, which negated Earth's own gravity and used the planet's vast magnetic field to move around. The first test had gone well, better than any other Nazi project. A special concrete structure had acted as the test bed to anchor the power source for safety, whilst the scientists attempted to move the craft up, down and sideways. The hum was enormous, nothing like Hitler ed. Reminding himself this was not a craft, only an engine, this was his first real step in the right direction. Construction on the saucer had begun twice at the Nordhausen V2 rocket plant. Both prototypes were destroyed by Allied bombing raids, though each incarnation was more polished. In the broadest Hitler considered the allies had done him a favour. He was too close to give up and these next days would prove pivotal. Unless the alien told him how to best control the engine, the craft would likely spin out of control and crash, but it could just as easily embed itself into the moon. Like the imperfect Thrall were failed clones, Die Glocke was an imperfect copy of a Caddy. Whilst able to generally replicate the movement of a Caddy, it was crude, but that was why he had taken such great steps to acquire the prisoner. Without his knowledge, the craft might be completely un-flyable. As close as the craft was to being successful, even useful, at this moment the craft was still firmly parked in the camp of failure. Adolf grew tired of the alien always looking down on him, he had been polite, respectful, served him the best meals, and apart from denying him his freedom, he had not been harmed or shown any violence at all ... So why then, Hitler pondered, wouldn't the big man give him what he wanted? Geyldian couldn’t know, but the little man’s patience was about to be replaced by his temper ...

Chapter 52 - The anti-gravity of the situation.

THE NEXT DAYS AT THE Wolf’s Lair were intolerable for Gray, who could not stand to be so close to his quarry, halted only by the little despot, his friend Adolf Hitler. No matter how hard he tried or what excuse he gave to the S.S. guards located at the chamber, they would not let him . His rank meant nothing there, not after they’d received orders in person from the Führer that no one but him should be allowed past ... On pain of death. Advancing on another front, Gray had, on a few occasions managed to walk casually into the hangar for an inspection, it seemed as if Adolf didn’t care who saw the saucer. Sometimes enough Nazi scientists to make a platoon were pouring over the craft, but clearly they were beginning to give up as each time they would spend less and less time with the craft, poking and prodding, trying to decipher the old glyphs on some of the s. From his first brief observations and then more detailed inspections, Gray was able to discern how to access the cockpit. Of course he only popped the hatch once he had spent so much time there that the S.S. guards had gotten bored of his looking around and left him alone with the vehicle. The guards all joked amongst themselves. If the scientists have no clue how to gain access, then what would an S.S. General Major, promoted out of harm’s way be able to do? The guards could not have been more wrong, it had been a few centuries and five lifetimes, but Gray still knew something about space vehicle technology. Though he wasn’t familiar with this type, he had never come across any race who had need of an externally locking door hatch to their vehicles. Most space faring races were of course well evolved past the need for looting and pillaging. A small access near the bottom of the craft was popped open by pressing one of the corners in first. Then the button to open the hatch was clearly marked. Not quite a universally known symbol, but similar enough. The glyph looked to be old, a language he definitely did not know, but pieces were familiar enough for Gray to assume this language had been used as the template for a more universal language in the Eons which followed. Once inside the cockpit, he was confronted with three seats, which again made sense to Gray. His own craft which wasn’t so sophisticated, still required inputs from him plus his rear crew. Clearly this craft also needed three pilots to be stable. The drive looked to be

more advanced than the plasma drive of his old ship, despite being very much older. How much older he could not tell. The ship was in fair condition, some of the alloy was showing signs of wear, probably the Earth’s atmosphere was affecting the surface after so long. Clearly the ship was not operated in space very often, why would it be, this craft was too small for interstellar travel. The colour of the metal frame was a shiny yellow, similar to the parts which he had shipped for so many years. Gray had formed some idea what the metal may be composed of, but most of the elements were not that abundant on Earth yet ... - Repairing these craft must be difficult. After a few more visits, and with very little skill whatsoever, Gray had done everything bar start the ship and make it take off; the symbols were beginning to find meanings in his space adapted brain. He almost felt like a thirty year old again, giddy ... As he imagined what would happen if he made the craft slowly rise and then levitate silently out of the hangar before landing it inside the tunnel. What would his intense friend say then? Gray decided though that the Tall Client, still being so much of an unknown quantity as far as his true alien capabilities, was not worth getting on the wrong side of. A few moments ressurecting his original purpose as a pilot were not worth fouling the chances of a real meeting almost four centuries in the making. Letting the controls slip from his hands, Gray slid out of the cockpit and resealed the hatch. Gray did not visit the hangar again, he knew what he needed to know about Hitler’s new super weapon. Now it was time to invoke the next part of his mission. He had to get close to the Tall Client and find out more about who he was, where he was from, and why he had allowed himself to be captured like this. The next day, Gray walked into the conference room at the usual time, Hitler was deep in discussion with his war cabinet. When Adolf’s eye found Gray, he quickly adjourned the meeting, his face first elated, but then dismayed. “Gray my friend, where have you been for the last week?” “Around, in fact I attempted a few times to question The Key, but to no avail.” “Oh ... I see ... Why? ... Wouldn’t he talk to you?... Normally he makes excellent conversation.”

“I don’t know Adolf ... Because your guards would not let me the hatch.” “Ah yes ... That is a problem ... One week ago I may have let you try to talk to him, but I fear it is utterly useless me keeping him prisoner here anymore. I have exhausted every avenue of reason with him that I can think of, so I only have one more gambit left to play.” “I see, well let me know how you get on ... The craft is marvellous though isn’t it. Clearly it must be unstable in the air as there are no control surfaces anywhere on the thing.” Adolf was moved to silence by his ace pilots observations, which were the first intelligent thoughts to hit his ears, in the two months since he’d had the craft, immobile, inside his hangar. “Oh ... You’ve seen it then? I won’t ask how you gained access, but my order applied to everything pertaining to the prisoner and my project. I am however interested to know any more of your thoughts on the craft.” “Well I found the door. Did you know it needs three pilots? All of whom must’ve been smaller than you. I can’t think why you have the giant in the clink, when he couldn’t possibly fit inside the door.” “You’ve opened it.” All thoughts of putting the S.S. guards who’d failed him before a firing squad were draining away as their failure had yielded this unexpected reward. “Yes ... Haven’t you?... Why ever not?... The thing isn’t even locked. My my Adolf. What kind of scientists do you have working for you?” “Show me ... NOW please.” “Well, I’d love to ... But I can’t ...” “What?! ... Why Not?!” “Well because you just said I shouldn’t have gone in there.” Gray was smiling down at Adolf, whose face flushed red momentarily, until he

realised Gray was having a little fun. “I’m surprised you aren’t marching your guards to their deaths right now old friend ...” “Believe me the thought had crossed my mind, dummkopf! ... Now let’s go.” Like a small boy Gray's little friend was unable to contain his excitement, as the two men walked closer and closer to the hangar. The glare of doom and gloom shot to his guards was priceless as the two officers entered past their sentry post. Gray flicked the light switch, and there within the low electrical hum was the saucer, gleaming as it must’ve done long ago when it floated off the assembly line, in who knew what galaxy. Both men stood in awe, but for different reasons. Gray was filled with the memories of his battles against the Khai-mah lizards, and of his lost brethren who flew with him into those battles. Adolf’s mind was racing to the time, not very far in the future when the whole planet would be known as Aryana, the New Germania, and he would be the Supreme leader. His chance meeting with Gray was paying vast dividends and had huge implications for the battle currently being fought on the eastern front; soon he would drop the bear to its knees, before slaying it completely. “So where is the door?” Reaching to the small concealed flush into the outer skin of the craft, Gray pushed the corner gingerly ... In the full knowledge that he shouldn’t be revealing any of this to Adolf. As expected the opened to reveal the buttons. Hitler was now in awe of Gray, who had accomplished more after a few seconds than his team of scientists had in months. “OK my Supreme leader, grab the rail, I’ll give you a leg up.” Adolf did as he was told, and was soon boosted onto the ladder which led up a small circular tube directly to the cockpit. Once seated, Gray popped up beside him, still on the ladder. “Don’t touch anything eh? I wasn't planning on going into space anytime soon, I’ll stick to things with wings!” Gray explained his interpretation of the cockpit layout, and the reason for three

pilots, concluding with his view on why humans were not ready for this type of craft yet. “You say you saw one of these when you were a boy?... How fast did it move?” “Well sometimes very slowly, and then other times very fast indeed, so fast my head could hardly keep up as it shot across the sky. My spies in England tell me the allies are working on jet propelled craft as we speak, secretly so are we, but these craft pale into insignificance compared to this. They would be no match for this craft, of that I am convinced.” “I agree, my guess is that the three pilots are essential. They make adjustments simultaneously, but more than that you witnessed the craft pulling sharp turns in many different directions, that would certainly require some sort of countermeasures for the pilots to resist the inertial forces or they would likely be liquidised. It may also be that each pilot takes a shift at controlling the craft when it is flying generally in the direction which he faces. Either way, you could put twenty humans in the cockpit and your craft would not be flyable in the same way as this one is. It’s so small, light and nimble looking. I think this button is for external shielding but from what I cannot guess, as the craft has no weapons, maybe it can also move underwater. My guess is that this is simply an observation platform, not a fighter craft, which would be much more bulky.” Adolf was beside himself, so close to his dream, and yet Gray was still telling him it could not work. His frustration was apparent. “I cannot find any button which would appear to start the craft, but then that’s not a surprise either as the pilots probably form some sort of neural link to the controls to cut out reaction times. In this way they could be fully strapped in, and wouldn’t need to move much. How big do you plan to make your craft?” “At the start she was designed to be 120m diameter, but now we are at 80m, thanks to the Allies. I can take you to our engine, I would value your opinion. You seem to have good intuition for this craft.” “It doesn’t take much thought, if I think carefully about what you described, I can imagine the problems the pilot would face. We ourselves already use multiple pilots on large planes, there are so many systems and redundancies that one man cannot manage alone. This can be extrapolated logically to hypothesize about this craft. It cannot have fixed weapons if it can fly in any direction, and in

the barest , why would it need any when it can out manoeuvre anything which comes at it?” “You are right.” “No ... If this baby has weapons, they would not be physical projectiles, they’d have to be some sort of focused energy beam, fired from the centre or the extreme rim, but there is no evidence of that on the external hull. There is a crawl way half way up the ladder did you see it? I think that’s for cargo, but it's only large enough for about two coffins, not very big. You can see some of the ships systems but only the gods know what systems they are. Can’t see anything like an engine or a motor or anything like a drive. Maybe you were on the right track though Adolf ... You must have done something that attracted them to come and investigate, how far along are you with your project?" "The saucer is already on the mk3 design due to the bombing raids over Nordhausen. We successfully started the anti-gravity drive three months ago but without control, one of our more promising failures you could say. The engine was just tethered to the concrete structure outside here ... You must have seen it?" "So it negates gravity, I'm impressed, but only locally I'm guessing, then what? Magnetic pulses to move around?" "Exactly, but how did ..." "That's not important, but the large release of electromagnetic pulse energy was probably what led them to investigate, as that is the only aspect of the project which has not been accomplished by humanity on such a scale. Their technology must be astounding, they must have spotted your emissions from wherever their base is on the planet." Hitler never liked to be interrupted, but honestly, listening to Gray talk was an education. He had a truly unique knack for being able to see the what, and the why, even with people. He ed how quickly Gray had figured him out in Landsberg, keeping him cool and calm when he got easily wound up. If only he'd had Gray on his war cabinet from the start. He always spoke his mind, but Adolf didn't mind because he always spoke common sense, not like some of his power hungry generals.

"So what role do you think they play on this planet then, assuming they are not from here?" "Why would you say that? It's quite possible that they are from Earth. The history of this planet has been written over eons, as such the land and the sea are all vastly different now to what they were originally like. I know you've studied mythology at length Adolf, so you've heard of a place called Atlantis? Claimed by the sea thousands of years ago and then written about by the great philosopher Plato. What if one branch of humans split off from the main branch very early on, in line with Darwinian evolution, then developed incredible technology, which they still have. When pestered by us weaker humans, they sought an escape and sank their cities under the ocean. Just to get away from us, with our hands constantly out, greedy and needy like spoiled children!" "An interesting theory Gray, but what's your point?" "My point is we don't know about them, they are everywhere watching us, but they leave no evidence of their existence, maybe they have influenced us over time, maybe they still are, but one thing is certain ... They want the planet to be in balance, which it will not be if you develop technology on a par with theirs. Human nature says you will try to conquer all, in fact, you've already started, they've probably had their eye on you for a while, but they wouldn't interfere while ever the Allies have you in balance. It's interesting that the prisoner is large and bluish, don't you think?" "India, the Vedas ... You don't think ..." "It all fits in my opinion." "We looked there so many times Gray. How could we miss them?" "Don't blame yourself, they don't WANT to be found. The myths and legends are all they need to keep us under control, this is their power. Although the world is shrinking slowly but surely and they are being forgotten by all but the most primitive tribes." Hitler wanted Gray's insight into his anti-gravity drive. After resealing the hatch under the saucer, the pair walked for some minutes over to another large industrial building. Inside was a clean environment, it was well after eight in the evening and yet people were still working hard in white suits which covered

them from head to toe. Again, inside another room de-marked by its glass walls, with a fully temperature and humidity controlled climate, was the Reich's greatest achievement, an anti-gravity motor. Approximately three meters tall, slightly less in diameter, and bell shaped, Gray did not take long to examine this huge, seemingly solid object. The object did not look to be made from metal at all, it was black and felt quite primitive to the touch. Gray thought maybe the object was lodestone, but Hitler told him that it wasn't, nor would he elaborate any further. Having done some serious investigating to find any reference to the material, then even more hard work to find a source, he obviously considered the material to be his biggest secret. This had been refined, melted and cast to form the outer shell. "It's noisy, and it vibrates at sonic speeds, very fast. The structure is almost crystalline, way more regular than a metal, but also the material is quite porous, it's much lighter than it looks to be." "So it's some mixture of lodestone and carbon, with a nano crystalline matrix, probably able to amplify a magnetic field generated within it by orders of magnitude with each inch of thickness the field es through." Hitler looked stunned, Gray had not even walked around the object once fully, and yet he had hit the nail on the head. The scientist who had ed them at Hitler's signal was also slack jawed as this General Major in the S.S. spoke so fluently about things he himself was still trying to fathom and understand. "My guess is that this object has zero weight once charged and operational, so how are you making thrust? The base is a separate component, an emitter plate, but it's not plasma particles, don't tell me it's just another magnetic repulsor, that would mean that the craft can only move up and down ... Which must be what you're struggling with." "Correct again Gray. This is why we have the prisoner, generally the craft is gravimetrically neutral, we can have the plate on the bottom and this works, but if we try to have plates on the sides, we cannot balance them. As you speculated earlier, the craft would indeed be unstable, impossible to fly on a normal course." "Make more of them, and make them smaller, much smaller, no more than say ... Six inches in diameter, they should be ..."

Now it was the scientist's turn to interrupt Gray, he knew exactly what point Gray was trying to make. "All around the outside of the craft, thruster banks, fired opposite to the intended direction of travel, positioned just outside the bell's local neutral gravity field." Gray nodded his approval, before finishing the mental prototype ... "Exactly ... Keep the large anti-gravity bell at the centre of the craft, and space small thrust plates all over the hull. Just like the saucer." The Supreme Project Leader was excited and annoyed in equal measure, his frustration quickly turned to rage as he bellowed at his scientific team, deriding their apparent lack of tenacity in solving the problem Gray had solved for them in minutes. "OK then, now you don't need the prisoner, what will you do with him?" Hitler was put on the spot once more, and at this point he could not decide who was more troublesome, the prisoner who wouldn't cooperate or Gray, who despite being so useful, insisted on pushing all his buttons at once. "Please Gray let me think, I cannot simply let him go, or he will give the same information to the Allied forces, to maintain balance and order. Obviously, I cannot keep him locked up here forever either, he will outlast us all. He is my biggest problem, I cannot allow him to fall into enemy hands." Gray did not like to think about Adolf's most probable solution to his biggest problem. For once Gray did not antagonise the Führer anymore, in the hope that he would not arrive straight to the most obvious and brutal solution. He felt it far more prudent to simply excuse himself and return to his quarters, he would certainly have plenty to enter into his diary tonight. This would be his first entry since Adolf had taken him to the chamber where he first saw the Tall Client. Hiding his diary in the usual place, in a hole behind the medicine cabinet in the shower room of his plush S.S. quarters ...

Chapter 53 - The Tall Client I presume? ...

THE NEXT DAY THOUGH Gray was touring all the facilities on his way back to the saucer hangar and then the engine laboratory. Seeing something out of the corner of his eye, he was drawn to look. Gray watched as twelve infantrymen handed their rifles to a gunnery sergeant. In return he was handing each of them a completely different rifle. This was common practice when forming a firing squad. The soldiers own weapon would be replaced with a weapon which was already loaded, either with a live round or a blank. This made the duty of the firing squad less of a cross to bear for the selected soldiers, as half the guns were not capable of killing. This allowed each soldier to think maybe they had not fired the killing shot. Of course an experienced rifleman who could not feel the difference in recoil between a live round and a blank one, should not have been given a weapon in the first place. Sensing something was afoot, Gray followed the path to the outside of a courtyard, on one side were the soldiers with their weapons in a safe position, at the other side ... NO! It was the tall client, he was handcuffed to a post set into the ground which was twice as tall as he was. Gray had to act and fast as the master at arms called the men to readiness. Hitler was standing on a balcony overlooking proceedings, at his signal, a simple nod, the unit captain called his men to take their aim. Gray cleared a low fence to the right of the yard in a single leap and was coming in hot on the Tall client’s position. In a blur Gray heard the unit captain, who hadn’t even seen Gray enter the range, shout ... FIRE! No sooner had Gray jumped to cover the Tall Client, than the six live rounds ripped into him, most were close to his spine, between his shoulder blades. One was off and ripped through his neck actually reaching the tall client. It figured the soldiers were still aiming for the big alien's heart, which was why the rounds all hit Gray so high in the back. As the life quickly drained from his body, all Gray could think to say was ... "You're a hard man to meet ..." Not that he had needed the chance but with Gray clung tightly to his body, Geyldian jumped back to Central. In a blink he was gone and so was Gray, right before everybody's eyes. Adolf was struggling to reconcile not only the death of his friend, but why would he try to save the prisoner when he knew what was at

stake? ... And where the hell did they both go? Answers would remain elusive. Micro seconds later, utilising all his power, Geyldian and his human sandbag arrived inside Leren's medical lab accompanied by a flash and a loud crackling noise as the air burnt. Gray slumped to the floor, appearing dead to all who looked at him. Immediately the Novus picked up what they expected to be Gray's lifeless corpse. Laying his body inside a medical pod, it instantly bleeped into life, showing a slow and steady beat. As Leren quickly approached the console, activating the holographic representation of Gray's body, the skilled clone doctor began to sweep his hands through the projection, as he did segments of Gray's holo-image were being removed. Leren went straight to the site of the five bullet holes, which were grouped so tightly that they had completely obliterated one of the vertebrae in Gray's spine, two segments above the T3. -The damage is significant Geyldian. This man will not walk again ever unless we do something to assist, but there is not much to work with, the shattered fragments are scattered all over the inside of his sternum, they've caused major soft tissue damage to the lungs, the esophagus, the trachea and of course his heart, it's a miracle that he still has a beat. If he weren't in this pod, he would already be dead for sure. I have him in a coma and have slowed his system down to virtually suspended animation. istering a full body anaesthetic now, just in case, but honestly there are no brain waves right now so I'm reasonably confident that he's under. Oh ... That's not good. With that the doctor stopped talking and started tapping keys again, moving to a completely different area of the projection, zooming in on a bone shard which was lodged in the side of Gray's right ventricle, even with his blood pressure lowered so much by Leren's virtually suspended animation protocol, the remaining pressure had eventually caused the bone to be popped out of the vital junction. This bleed would quickly prove fatal if the doctor couldn't stem the flow of blood. Seeing that Geyldian needed a distraction, Leren inquired ... -Anyway Geyldian old friend, how are you? With this the old doctor pointed to the greenish stain through his clothing, Leren knew that Geyldian had been hit. -Me ... Well I'm fine, I think one round came through this man's neck. I

popped the lead out shortly after you got started with him ... It’ll heal in time, stop fussing. With this Geyldian showed Leren the bullet which hit him, so devastating to Gray, but which had hardly penetrated the clone's much denser flesh. In the few seconds whilst the two had been talking, Gray had momentarily died on the doctors bed, but the medi pod attachments had quickly micro-fused the tear, and almost immediately restarted Gray's heart. Eventually all the fragments of Gray's shattered vertebrae were found and reassembled, new cartilage was cultured to exacting specifications before being painted onto Gray’s spine. From there the new discs would grow in place guided by Nanites. These microscopic medical marvels were infused by lumbar puncture into Gray's lower spine, they immediately got to work repairing all the nerve pathways which had been obliterated. Leren had worked tirelessly, patiently and above all skilfully, for over two weeks, after which the bulk of Gray's internal structures had been repaired or remade completely. At the end of this work, which even Leren acknowledged he was proud to have completed successfully, there was still extensive internal bruising. Leren knew this would heal far more quickly if he brought Gray's system back to normal speed. With the stasis ended, Leren began to ister drugs which would bring Gray out of the coma, this was where the problems started. By the time the drug had been fully introduced, a process which took no longer than one hour, after which Gray should have been able to come around if he wanted, but he didn't. There were still no brain waves present on the scanner. -Maybe I got something wrong. Leren patiently rechecked everything he'd done, replaying hours and hours of video logs. All the while Gray remained motionless, his body fully functional and now largely recovered. Leren itted to being impressed by the man's physical strength. He’d never seen any human with such an amazing capacity to heal. It was two months later, when Leren was once again manipulating the beds medical attachments to take another blood sample when an electrical

malfunction sent a small electrical shock into Gray's body, almost immediately Gray came to. And not slowly, the medi-pod's brain scan lit up instantly, as if throwing a switch. This was shocking in itself, but in addition Gray had complete and total amnesia. Leren couldn’t explain the amnesia because the man had suffered no head trauma, nor had Leren performed any surgery in this area, the damage was all sustained within the upper torso and lower neck. His patient was however in control of his body and quickly sat up. Ripping all the remaining tubes and attachments out of his body, he turned his legs over the edge of the bed. His massive frame and restored physique, akin to a professional strong man of the time, just sat there looking blankly to the other side of the lab. There he stayed, respiration strong and shallow. The Old clone Second in command and the even older clone doctor stared on in amazement. -Tell me again why you brought him here. -He looked desperate when he grasped his arms around me, as if he knew me and I was important to him in some way. He was a General Major in Hitler's S.S. so I can't think why he saved me. In fact Leren, I only saw him once before, a few days earlier. I just jumped away, I honestly didn't think you'd put him back together, I thought he was a goner for sure. -Actually, about that ... He was a spy, his dog tags are Allied format. I dug into his records back in Britain and he was S.A.S. Geyldian listened in silence, at the same time on Leren's terminal screen, Gray Albern's records were now being displayed. -He started out in the Royal Engineering Corp, but went berserk on a mission in Belgium in '41, the Brits interrogated him, suspecting him of being a German agent. They couldn't explain how he managed to survive, he wiped out 30 German stormtroopers and 4 tanks with crews. He was skilled enough that they hastily put together an entire unit to him, the S.A.S. He and his unit was sent on ever more clandestine missions. -Well the way he sprinted to cover me, he certainly does not fear death ... -That's not all, he was born in England around the 1890s, to German parents. In

1924 he was arrested for breaking up a fight between two mobsters in a bar in Munich, I can't get to the bottom of why he was sent to Landsberg Prison though, when his record shows that he had committed no crime at all, but that's where he met Adolf Hitler for the first time. This was probably why the British sent him in disguised as a Luftwaffe pilot, to resurrect and exploit his friendship with Adolf. He was there to find you, his orders were sealed by the British war office, but that's no barrier to us. His orders were to rescue you if he could, kill you if he couldn't, he was only following orders Geyldian ... That's all. -No way Leren, you didn't see the look in his eyes like I did, he wasn't following orders, the desperation ... It was personal. Granted though ... He definitely had Hitler round his finger, and he didn't mince his words with him either ... Fearless. -Only one downside as far as I can see, Hitler is actually making progress with his fake battle Caddy. We don't know how he got inside ours, or how he managed to interpret it's design for his own use. It seems we will have to instruct the Allied forces of the location of his mk3 prototype, so they can destroy "another Heinkel factory". We don't need to tell them what they're really destroying. The Russians are about to spare us some trouble at the Wolf's Lair, but of course we will need to dispatch some Thrall to retrieve the Caddy before the Russians roll in there, if we send two again maybe between them they can bring back Hitler's anti-gravity engine, this will wipe the slate clean. -Sounds good, my network told me that Hitler has already abandoned the Wolf's Lair, he's back in Berlin ... the bunker complex. I'll get this intel ed to the war office in the UK and of course Franklin in the U.S. This is it then ... The final push. Geyldian made as if he was going to jump, but Leren stopped him ... -Aren't you forgetting something? What will we do with him? He can't just sit there. -I'll leave that in your capable hands Doctor! Maybe remind him who he is, and what he did for a living ... He could be useful to me, he obviously has a knack for infiltration and subversion. It seems he can defend himself too, which is always a help. Geyldian picked up one of the doctor's scalpels, taking aim squarely at Gray who

wasn't even looking in his direction and looked spaced out. Geyldian threw the scalpel at him. In an instant, as if hearing the swoosh of the blade as it cut through the air towards him, he reacted. Far from turning to catch the scalpel, Gray merely reached his hand out behind him and caught the blade, by the handle. Deftly turning the blade around before flicking his wrist to throw it quickly back where it had come from. Geyldian, who was a full two feet taller than Gray, and nowhere near as agile, attempted to re-catch the scalpel but missed. Instead he deflected the unwanted projectile downwards, where the blade embedded itself into Geyldian's sandaled foot up to the handle. Leren laughed ... -That's gotta smart ... Once extracted, the grimace on Geyldian's face was soon replaced with his usual broad smile. His half human hybrid features looked much more natural, in stark contrast to Leren who always looked to be in severe pain whenever he tried to smile. -Yes Leren ... This one may certainly come in handy ... Still laughing, the clone orchestrator of human affairs jumped away to meet his Network in Britain. Leren began to prep’ the patient for his return to human society, his job was done and the treatment of his first human patient in a few thousand years had gone well. Of course neither Leren nor Geyldian could have appreciated the fact that the man now sitting on the edge of the bed already had a very special connection to them and Central. Here, only a meter or two away from Leren, was the pilot of the ship they had reassembled in one of the hangars below, centuries ago. Here was the man who, since that time, had been desperately trying to catch up to Geyldian. Leren could never have known that between his stellar skills as a doctor, and the medi pods technical sophistication had completely cloaked Gray's healing and regenerative abilities. If Geyldian had simply left Gray where he would have fallen, Hitler would have had a shock indeed. If Adolf didn't burn or bury Gray's body, one or two days was all it would have taken in order for the super soldier to heal all the damage done by the firing squad. Leren with all his prowess had completely hindered Gray's own healing process.

Gray had died during the procedure, and as usual his brain had been reset, with the loss of all his memories. This was usually enough to trigger Gray's genetics to kick in, but in this instance, Leren and the Medi-pods attachments had been dabbling. The near stasis protocol had only added to the interruption. This was what effectively stopped Gray's ability to self-spark, the small electrical shock from the malfunctioning pod attachments, replicated Garic’s original sparking procedure back on Ashlar-Gin. In order to comply with his superior's request, Leren sedated Gray enough to put him out for two hours. Leren was astounded at the man's pain threshold which seemed to be very high. The doctor injected the sedative using a large gauge hypodermic needle, directly into the dense muscle of Gray's thigh. Most humans would flinch in pain as the drug was forced into this muscle, but not Gray. Considering how he had reacted immediately to Geyldian's scalpel attack, Leren found it unusual that Gray would completely ignore this sharp implement, simply accepting the fact that it was penetrating his flesh. Gray's face was like a rock, unmoved by surprise or pain, he didn't even change his focus from the other side of the room onto Leren. Even if he were exceptionally good at hiding his pain, Leren would have seen some change in his eyes, or some facial flushing, the type of involuntary tell, which no human could cover up. But in Gray, he saw nothing at all. This led him to perform several more tests and checks to make sure the Nanites had re-made Gray's upper spinal cord correctly. ing micro electric shocks from the base of Gray's spine and sensing these signals with a placed at the base of his skull, Leren watched as each pulse was sent, conducted, and received without failure. In essence there was no problem at all. With Gray fully sedated, this short window of time was plenty enough for the Caddy to take his restored patient back to an Allied field hospital on the western front. Of course the Base commander, an American, was in the know regarding Gray's mission, without ever being read in from London. He made sure that Gray received the best treatment, and quickly they had appraised Gray of his former life and exploits, most of which, Gray could actually after prompting. He was however aware that these few scant details were riddled with gaps of a far larger volume. On advice from his doctor he didn't push himself too hard to , after all he considered that the gaps were all mission related and it

would not matter if these events never returned. He already knew the aims of the mission. His recollections, often prompted easily by the smallest detail, were in this event stunted, not on purpose but simply by the lack of information generally available. If they had said the words tall bluish prisoner, Gray would have been in the picture soon enough, but they didn't. All Gray heard was prisoner this, scientist that ... Hitler this and Hitler that. By complete fluke the language was ambiguous enough that none of Gray’s previous memories could be triggered. Of course without his diaries, or even just the last one, probably still hidden in his S.S. quarters to use as the key to finding all the others, Gray it seemed was starting with a completely blank slate for the first time since Shanghai just over two centuries ago. Gray had been unlucky indeed, to be so badly injured within days of the end of the war, he had missed everything unravelling at high speed. As fast as Adolf’s scientists had been progressing on the saucer project after a much needed injection of insight from Gray, Russia’s steady advance on the eastern front eventually pushed so close to the Wolf’s Lair that Hitler abandoned the base, ordering everything to be destroyed, the bell was moved, but had been quickly tracked down by the Old Ones scanners as Hitler insisted on test firing the project one more time, for the aid of his scientists. After Hitler’s withdrawal from the Wolf's Lair back to his Führer command bunker in Berlin, Russian forces had advanced quickly, taking the base within a few short weeks. The Allies knew Hitler was planning some new weapon, but had no clue exactly what this was or the dire consequences project success may have brought. Now all traces of the project were gone, either destroyed or removed back to Central. Then of course there was the fact that Hitler, along with half his general staff and his longtime girlfriend, turned wife for 40 hours Eva Braun, had all seemingly committed themselves permanently to the annals of history, with the simple popping of a few cyanide pills. The Allied liberation force found the mass suicide after storming into the bunker. After this the breakdown of the Nazi forces was systematic. Quick and unconditional, total surrender. The Allies began the task of rounding up all the Nazi officers who had fled like so many woodlice from under a turned stone. The human network kept their distance as the Allies were doing an adequate job, and one by one

some of the worst perpetrators of war crimes ever recorded in history were all sentenced to death or life imprisonment depending upon their role. America turned all its attention with the help of the ANZAC’s forces to the not insignificant threat facing them from Japan, who had not collapsed when their ally had. Once fully restored back to health, Gray received orders and fulfilled missions tailored for him from Geyldian, but always indirectly through the human network. Every mission he received was more daring than the last, but Gray was always up to the task. Rarely, when he was sent in to action with a group of soldiers from another country, he always ensured their survival. Of course this meant sometimes Gray would resurrect his human shield act, and injuries, bad ones were sustained, but he would always make it back alive. Twice though, the delay in Gray's return to his base of command, numbered into days, not mere hours. This did not go unnoticed, by Gray's superiors. By strange quirk, the doctor at the field hospital had also suggested that as Gray was fighting fit and may yet see more action and become injured again, that he should keep a diary, so that in the very real event of a secondary bout of amnesia, he could bring himself up to speed quite quickly. The little black books were easy to conceal inside his uniform, and always served their purpose. If Gray had suffered a physical death, he would always first check his pockets, and read his diary prior to returning to base. He would simply tell his commanders that having safely evacuated his team, he continued on to achieve all the mission goals. This seemed to placate them, and keep their faith in his skills. Gray was noticing though that each time he suffered a physical death, the length of time it took him to regenerate may have been getting shorter, and that his capacity for healing was also becoming stronger and more rapid. He was certainly eating well, but he was so active he was gaining muscle mass. Gray was not a doctor, but he was wondering if his extra capacities were linked to his metabolic rate, or simply increasing as a measure of how often he was being injured and needing to regenerate. This problem was exacerbated by the fact that a few times he had returned to camp with a uniform full of holes and heavy stains, but upon inspection by the camp doctor, no marks, not even a blemish was found. Gray could not offer any explanation for this, of the team had even reported to their handlers

that they had personally witnessed Gray being hit in the field, one even confessed to watching Gray dive on a grenade and having at least his forearm blown clean off, yet there he was back in camp later that evening. Gray was too valuable to let go, he got results in accordance with the mission objectives and the wishes of his superiors, but some of the things his team were reporting, sounded very disturbing indeed. As a consequence his unit was dissolved shortly afterwards, and Gray began to work directly for the human network, all military affiliations were dropped. The human network, whilst being a little taken aback by the tales the various units had relayed to them, were in the know about Gray's surgery back on Central, and the use of the nanites. The human network saw this as the only source of any special power which Gray may be exhibiting. After a few more solo missions where of the human network had been sent in to observe and track Gray's performance, the Network chief began to get antsy. Gray fulfilled mission after mission, each more dangerous than the last. In the end they could only be described as death or death scenarios. Some of Gray’s injuries had been serious, but the man never went down, he only ever moved forwards... Troubled, by information received from his subordinates, the network head finally sought advice from Central... In Leren's medical lab ... Bleeeeep ... Leren called Geyldian to his lab, the human network was calling and it was best that Zachary spoke with Geyldian, as he could actually speak human English, Leren had no understanding at all. With a soft whoosh, the human alien hybrid clone materialised in the corner of Leren's lab and walked to the console. Leren backed away, the network was primarily Geyldian’s tool, as such the all thought that the aliens looked like Geyldian. If they had chanced to look upon Leren or worse still the aged Aelren, the of the human network may not have proven to be so compliant.

"Yes Zachary, how can I help?" "Hi Gill, Gray has carried out another successful mission, quite exceptional. I will use my transponder to relay some of the footage our observers shot, are you ready?" "Ready to receive now ... go." Leren pressed a button on his console, switching the image from Zachary's face to some battlefield footage, shot from roughly one hundred meters away but there, clear enough was Gray, armed with his trusty sub-machine gun charging an armoured gun emplacement. The pair of clones watched in disbelief as Zachary described what was happening. "This was the second gun emplacement which Gray encountered, he took the first one out without them even seeing him coming ... He is fast, you see that? He just covered the one hundred meters to the next emplacement in roughly seven seconds, but the second gun had a warning when he blew the first gun ... You see the trace coming from the gun, it's definitely being aimed straight at Gray. It's not fifty cal, but it IS large caliber ... SEE ... THERE ... A first and then a second, one in the arm and one in the chest, but Gray just keeps on going ... And ... BOOM! There goes the second gun ... Already he's covered another hundred metres to the main building, the objective was inside there. For a while we have been hearing chatter through Japanese channels that they are trying to develop nuclear power, it's no secret ... But a separate military branch is also trying to refine and weaponise Uranium, in this building if the chatter is correct, Gray will find 560kg of unprocessed Uranium Oxide, it was snuck into Japan under the radar by a German U-boat. Ironically its designation was supposed to be U-234 but the photograph clearly shows U-235, mirroring the very element they were trying to create. Ok so here we go, our man captures Gray at the window, see the torch flash ... That's the signal that he found the material. His next objective was to find and destroy the centrifuge which the Japanese would use to refine the U-Ox ... And the explosion signals the target has been destroyed ... Onward to the cyclotron which was purchased a few years ago from Berkeley. By the way, the flashing in the windows is from the muzzles of multiple aggressors resisting Gray's progress, see they're yellowish and slow ... Hand guns ... When Gray returns fire, the flash is rapid and brighter."

"Zachary, I didn't see any rapid white flashes ..." "That's because Gray isn't firing Gill ... Look now, our man has caught up behind Gray, he's looking in one of the windows by the room where the top of the cyclotron should be ... That's Gray on the right, rushing the Japanese guy with the hand gun, for a hand gun he's managing pretty rapid fire, and again Gray is definitely absorbing some of those shots in his chest, but it never stops him from advancing ... See now, Gray draws his knife and ... Well let's just say, that's another man retired, again Gray never stopped moving forwards ... There's another ... And another ... See now this one thinks twice about engaging Gray and hides instead. Gray es him apparently unaware ... Until the guy pops out and shoots him in the back ... From the look on Gray's face ... He's pissed ... And makes short work of the hidden guy ... Then Gray plants a grenade inside the cyclotron. It will presumably fall three storeys below ... So no rush. Except that the Japanese have been carrying out maintenance, and a small platform is just below the floor which Gray is stood on. The grenade goes off, right beside Gray, he's shielded from the main blast but his uniform is on fire. He runs ... He exits by jumping through a closed window, ducks and rolls, extinguishing his uniform. He then begins running back to the rendezvous point, our guy follows but there's no way he can keep up, Gray is way too fast, and his stamina ... Well it's off the chart!" With this the video footage ended and Zachary's face reappeared. "Gill ... I gotta know ... I've got a lot of very nervous directors and a doctor here ... Did Leren simply heal Gray ... Or is there a chance that the Nanites have done something to him? That they're ... Gill you know what I'm getting at ... Gray takes hits to the chest and back and it doesn't even slow him down ... Does Gray still have Nanites inside him? Are they affecting his brain? His appetite for killing? Why does he run into fire, get hit and not go down?" Zachary watched as Gill's head turned to the right to look off screen, the human network agent had assumed that the always invisible doctor Leren was with him, now Gill asked him directly. Leren's answer was incoherent, but Gill turned back to the screen to deliver his answer. "Not intentionally, it is possible but highly unlikely. Normally once the Nanites have done their job, and there is no more to do, they are programmed to switch off and they're simply broken down by the body and

excreted in the usual way. Leren thinks we should bring him into dry dock for an inspection ... Make arrangements Zachary please, and ... He's big ... So use a lot." "Ok Gill, that's good enough for me ... don't worry WE will ... Zachary out." With that the screen went dark and the agent was gone. Gill arranged for a Caddy to be dispatched from OFFright to Zachary's field office, stationed far enough outside Tokyo not to draw attention. Gray arrived back to Central for the second time two hours and thirty three minutes later, not quite fully conscious, which was a problem. Gray saw the Thrall, which was a new albeit odd memory to make, but when he saw the Caddy, the massive gaps in his memory suddenly got a little bit smaller. Hitler burst back into Gray's memory, followed by everything to do with his Nazi Regime, followed by the S.A.S. and finally Paddy. Gray ed their fight at the S.A.S. training camp, and their strong friendship afterwards. Slowly but surely his memories from late on in the European arena of WW2 were becoming coherently connected. Then, just as clarity returned, things got hazy all over again. Gray had been given a top up of his sedation by one of the Thrall, half his height and one tenth his weight. The people Gray had taken out in the field, and now he was floored by a shiny grey, almond eyed toddler ... In Leren’s lab, in the heart of Central ... -So what's the story Leren? -I've ed an imprint, it's interesting, a lot of his memories have returned, but only from 1941 onwards. He re his mission at the Wolf's Lair, but not everything, I didn't see you in there, only our Caddy ... The one you so graciously loaned to that German. As far as Nanites, there are a few residual materials, but none are functioning. How long has it been now? A few months I guess since we released him back into the wild? Zachary says he has achieved his primary objective in over twenty action heavy missions. The last five carried out for the human network exclusively. I have him in a Medi-pod over here, as you can see all is normal apart from his system being a little depressed from a double dose of sedative, followed by another double dose of sedative, easily enough to kill a normal man! Leren was as angry as any alien clone was ever likely to get, which was to say he

was mildly perturbed by Geyldian's treatment of Gray.—This human stuck his neck out far enough to take five bullets for you, ever since then you seem disinterested enough to properly monitor or treat your new employee with even a little bit of respect. Geyldian, I am well aware that you have to use them like tools, but you usually show them more respect than this ... -So why didn't it kill him? That's what I'm interested in. -Well it's difficult to say, he has elevated levels of human growth hormone in his system which may explain his fifteen percent growth in muscle mass since I operated on him. I am also seeing an increase in bone density which is off the charts. It's possible that the Nano-Medites did this before they ceased functioning as a response to all the damage he was taking in the field. -But then following that logic, the Nanites would still be performing work on his system even now, so you'd have found them. -I Guess you are correct ... Sorry Geyldian ... I'm at a loss. There is nothing to suggest any abnormality, though he heals faster than any human I've ever examined. -Could you make him stronger, if we wanted ... The types of mission he is completing now ... I don't have anyone else who could. I can't explain it, he is like a hammer, but applied with surgical skill, his tactical mind ... His anticipation ... His combat skills, armed or hand to hand, I've never seen anyone like him. He could be a major asset to us in future years, given everything which will start happening in a decade or three. -The reactors? -Yes, I could really use the help, and he was an engineer ... But unfortunately he doesn't seem to that ... Ship him back out, I promise I'll keep an eye on him and I promise I won't use him like a battering ram anymore ... Except as a last resort. As Gray’s physiology once again began to beat his sedation, the fact went completely unnoticed by both Clones. For several seconds whilst they were in each other’s heads, Gray was laid fully conscious staring in disbelief at the two of them. Both quickly tuned into his thoughts and were panicked by his coming round.

-Where the hell am I? Who are these guys?... Have I been captured?... Leren stared intently at Geyldian. -You can’t tell him ... Aelren will be displeased; we haven’t had a human outside the network on board for millennia. -Tell who what? Aelren had sensed the panic in his number two and number three as soon as the feeling occurred and jumped to Leren’s lab immediately. -Ah ... The human ... I fear sometimes the both of you forget you’re part of a hive mind! Now what is the problem? Aelren had been tuned in the day before when Geyldian and Leren had been shown the video of Gray's actions in Japan by the Network. He had realised instantly who Gray really was, this day had been a long time coming. Soon the Old Prime would have all the answers. -The patient ... Gray has revived to full consciousness, we’ve been seen. -Ach Leren, don’t sugar coat it will you? No wonder you don’t have actual patients anymore, your bedside manner is atrocious! “I can hear you all talking, will someone explain to me what’s going on? How long have I been here? What do you intend to do with me?” Gray was becoming impatient, feeling vulnerable, he was now beginning to flex his muscles, testing the restraints which were thankfully still holding him to the medi-pod ... For now. Aelren took charge of the situation, even though his alien features were new and unfamiliar, the look of disappointment on his face that his two underlings had yet again mismanaged the situation was easy even for Gray to see. As Aelren placed his hands upon Gray's temples, a feeling of calm entered his mind. This was Aelren, silently diving into the astronaut’s mind, very quickly he had deciphered Gray’s memories, as few as they were. Deeper, the Old Prime pushed into an area of Gray's brain which he could sense was there, but he could

not see ahead of him. These memories were repressed, hidden on purpose by some psychological mechanism within the super soldiers head, but once there, Aelren had his confirmation. The man now laid in the Medi-Pod was Garic, and then Morty, and finally Gray. He had been all around the world, shipping parts and then chasing Geyldian. He saw as Garic had also tried to perform the ultimate service on their behalf, by tracking down the person who orchestrated the theft of their precious parts. Here was the only task Gray had ever failed. Aelren felt that Gray already knew, they hadn't seen the last of this person, who for now had withdrawn. Probably to strategise a new plan of attack. These memories which Aelren was seeing, were not being unlocked in Gray's mind, Aelren had mentally crossed a barrier erected in his neural pathways, one he could not break even with all his mental strength. Aelren eventually realised that this barrier was in fact for the astronaut’s own protection, and if he had broken it down, the sudden arrival of so many repressed memories might kill Gray. Anyway as deep as the Prime was now, he still had a way to go. Pushing on, he finally arrived at the moment where Garic had crashed to Earth, pushing further, and he was back flying the ship which crashed, in an alien atmosphere. Very similar to that of Earth, but much thicker, and this planet which shone just like Earth, was much larger. The ships which Garic was taking highly aggressive action against were Khai, but as Aelren watched he realised that the ships were old, their attack patterns were blunt, and had been no match for Garic's craft. That said the view from Garic's cockpit had been a sorry one, the numbers of the Khai ships were immense, even with the destruction now being wrought by the home force. Aelren ed from the knowledge ed down through thousands of generations of Devine and then Old Clone, that the ships were similar, and the numeric advantage was roughly the same. It did not matter what technology the Devine had invented to give them the advantage, the Khai numbers had extinguished any chance which the Devine had tried to make for themselves. It seemed like stealing Devine Prime had not been enough for the Khai-mah, who had swept endlessly on, to neighbouring systems, then neighbouring galaxies, and onwards across space and time, like a plague.

Finally Aelren felt the moment which began this whole story, it was the moment when Garic was first sparked. Now Aelren knew everything there was to know. Garic was a soldier, born and bred to kill, inside a clone pod. The knowledge behind his super traits still escaped him though as these were patterned in someone else's mind. At this point, Gray had no idea of his origins as a cloned warrior, his presence could be advantageous to them in the future. As Aelren drifted slowly back to the present, the skilled Prime took a different route, here was the great back story, the reason why Garic had fought with every ounce of his super soldier ability, his mother and father, his wife and three children. All of it a brilliant lie, to ensure compliance, but as Aelren attempted to withdraw, he was met by yet another barrier, though this one was much stronger. Had Garic forced himself to forget his family? Being separated from them must've placed a huge strain on him. Being stranded on Earth amongst the humans, it seemed Garic had escaped the fire, only to land in the frying pan. The restraint he’d shown his adversaries on this world probably stemmed from Garic denying himself access to his reason to fight. Every battle here had been self defence, the need to win being determined by the stakes. In the Desert he defended the parts, in Shanghai he’d defended himself, and finally in Mangaluru, he had cracked the ring who stole the parts to learn their location. That said as Aelren pulled further and further towards today, he had lost count of how many times Garic had died in the Second World War, as an engineer and then the S.A.S. He was dismayed also to see that even in the service of Geyldian, Gray had only been fighting more recklessly, but always to protect his team, and that said a lot about this man. He was willing to die, to protect their secrets, and to protect his team. Aelren withdrew back into his own body, having not been inside Gray’s mind for more than five minutes, he was tired. He’d cloaked everything from the hive. Geyldian would remain more focussed if Gray remained just a man, and not the astronaut. Leren still had Gray's crew stowed below in stasis, but to all intents and purposes had forgotten this after Aelren had paid secret visits to his Numbers, one after another, removing all knowledge of the super soldier who crashed to Earth.

Re-connected to the hive, the Prime’s next actions shocked his two subordinates, they were fully aware as Aelren shared the history of the Devine, their history before Earth, their struggle with the Khai-mah and their long journey to escape this enemy. After a short pause Aelren continued by bringing Gray up to speed as far as everything which had occurred since the Devine had crashed on Earth, everything right up to the current second as if Gray were watching a movie in the cinema. By strange quirk, he didn't know why, but many of the memories held some familiarity for Gray, but were from a third person’s vantage point. Knowing the memories weren’t his own he accepted them without question. All of Geyldian's orchestrations, executed over thousands of years since leaving Central full time to organise the humans for the clone’s purposes were now just another of Gray's memories. Skilfully, Aelren managed this memory implanting process without triggering any of Gray's own memories, which would remain in limbo. All the years which Garic had lived and died were overwritten by the parallel memories being shown to him now. The year was 1945 and Garic had just died for the last time ... For the rest of his life, however long that would be, the unknown super soldier from another galaxy would be known as Gray Albern ... But he would also be known by another name ... -There you go ... Zero ... Now you know the truth of things ... Turning to Geyldian, no words or even thoughts were exchanged, but the look on Aelren’s face said ... Look after this man. Geyldian nodded his compliance, he would finally have some help topside ...

Follow Zero back to his home planet of Ashlar-Gin to finally learn his true origins as a weapon to battle the Khai-mah in ...

"Zero - Into Ashes" Book Four of the series.