Chromeleon Part One: A Greater Good

By Lynn Yarris

Faced with an overcrowded, resource-depleted Earth, trumans (true humans) created CAESAR, a godlike AI sentient to serve the greater good. CAESAR rewarded them with miraculous technologies that culminated in the Civilization, a society spanning Earth, Luna, Mars and the Saturn moon of Titan. All Citizens in the Civilization are promised prosperity so long as the Equilibrium is sustained. For three centuries the Equilibrium has been sustained under the iron rule of a synthetic being called the Chamberlain, who resides with CAESAR in an impregnable tower in the area once known as Yellowstone. Over the years, trumans have fared poorly and been largely replaced by mass-produced, genetically enhanced humans (gencers). Now, outside of a protected Sanctuary, trumans are on the brink of extinction. In Chromeleon Part One, Tia Matte, a truman concubine working in a notorious Red Zone on Titan, becomes pregnant following a one night stand with a transgenic demon named Risk. Risk carries microbial genes from one of Titan's methane seas. These "chromeleon" genes give him supernatural abilities that have been passed onto his unborn child. The child represents salvation for trumans but poses an existential threat to the Equilibrium. Cass, a eugenic angel bred to protect the Equilibrium, is dispatched to bring the pregnant Tia to the Chamberlain. What ensues is an odyssey that will pit Risk, Cass and Tia against murderous gangbangers, treacherous AIs, deadly mutants, cyborg enforcers, and CAESAR's ultimate death machines. Along the way they'll discover the ugly truths of the Civilization, and learn that the dangers of Martian dust storms and mortal combat in a virtual world, pale before the machinations of the Chamberlain and his minions who have forfeited their humanity for power, carnal pleasure and eternal youth. Risk, always wanting to know the why of things, will also come to appreciate the wisdom behind the ancient truman bromide: Be careful what you wish for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098334123

Book preview

Chromeleon Part One

©2020, Lynn Yarris

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-09833-411-6

ISBN eBook: 978-1-09833-412-3

For my better angels, in order of appearance,

Martha, Jessica and Emily

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY Eight

CHAPTER Twenty NINE

CHAPTER THIRTy

CHAPTER THIRTY One

CHAPTER THIRTY Two

CHAPTER THIRTY Three

CHAPTER THIRTY Four

CHAPTER THIRTY Five

CHAPTER THIRTY Six

CHAPTER THIRTY Seven

I was born to kill angels . . . … TRAPPER 6.* 345 OC

PROLOGUE

From his perch high in the sequoia tree, straddling a branch thicker than his chest, Spaulden called up tactics through his halo. A display screen in the upper corner of his left eye immediately began feeding data to his visual cortex. Multiple thermal signatures of non-insect animal life forms within a circumference of 100 meters appeared on the screen. He ordered his halo to filter for the thermal signatures of Pantera demons and all but two of the dots vanished. His halo identified the two dots as TRAPPER Fives, the latest in the series of Pantera demons – highly proficient and enthusiastic killers but not prone to the gory blood drinking of their predecessors.

To conceal his own presence, Spaulden engaged his mirror armor’s cloaking field. It would take a sophisticated probe to detect him and his halo told him the demons were equipped with no such item. In keeping with the traditional arrogance of their kind, the demons were apparently tracking him through their own senses of sight and smell. Each new series of Pantera demons and the twelve customized lines within each series were supposedly a substantial improvement over the preceding series and lines. However, arrogance remained a consistent trait through each progression.

Stupidity too. Mirror armor was without scent.

Even if mirror armor did carry a distinctive scent, there was an abundance of flora and fauna in this forest. From the terpene aromatics of the trees, to the loamy wetness of the ferns, and the spicy bouquet of mustard, lavender and sage, the fragrances were an invading army of molecules pushing deep inside the nostrils, causing even Spaulden’s own sense of smell to wither under sensory overload. For a demon, whose sense of smell approached that of the best dogs, the assault must have been overwhelming. The two demons hunting him had to be more confused than normal.

What the demons were equipped with, Spaulden knew, were Hellcat AKs - Angel Killers; electromagnetic propulsion pistols packing 100 rounds of fullerene slugs. Although those slugs could not fully penetrate mirror armor, their velocity exceeded 2,500 meters per second and released enough kinetic energy on impact to stop a heart or crush a skull - even if that heart or skull was fashioned from the most durable of synthetic tissue and protected by the toughest armor in the Civilization.

Tam’s mirror armor had not been activated at the time the demons shot him. Spaulden found his corpse with two entrance wounds in the forehead, each one-centimeter in diameter. The blood from these wounds was still wet on Tam’s wrecked face. On his chest were two much larger exit wounds. The blood on the ground underneath Tam’s back was also still wet.

The thought of Tam’s cruel death burned Spaulden to his core. Tam was so beautiful to watch at all times, a living, breathing sculpture that could be fiercely hard yet softly yielding. An image of the two of them together, locked in mutual heat, Tam softly intoning Spaulden’s name as he stroked Spaulden’s cock, caused Spaulden’s eyes to become wet with grief. He himself had never said much, not through all the decades they’d been together, but by his deeds and actions, large and small, he’d shown Tam how much he cared, had shown how deep his love ran, how strong their bond was.

Had it just been a cock thing, there would have been no problem; Spaulden and Tam could have lived out their last decades of life as the companions they’d been since their earliest days as gwants – Guardian-Want-To-Bes. Sex between companions was encouraged as it strengthened their warrior bond and helped pacify their innate aggression, which was every bit as amplified as that of demons. Even the emotion of love was permissible to a point. The Chamberlain – no doubt with CAESAR’s blessing - had acknowledged love to be a core human emotion that on certain levels served a purpose. However, guardian angels began life as a special breed of gencers, endowed at their creation with top-tiered genomic and proteomic enhancements that would interact with the Y-chromosome during second-order synthesis to become even more enhanced. These special enhancements should have rendered romantic love impossible even if such deep feelings weren’t forbidden.

Every guardian angel had sworn his fealty to CAESAR and the Chamberlain, and to any Cardinal he was assigned to protect. That was the oath a guardian took upon passing the Final Test and being transformed from a gwant into a full-fledged guardian angel. Fidelity to that oath was sacrosanct, its violation punishable by termination.

Most gwants failed the Final Test. Many died before they even reached it. The Overseers in charge of training gwants weren’t merciful. In the seemingly endless repetition of endurance tests, survival trials and combat competitions, the only help a gwant could ever look to was from his companion, for companions succeeded or failed as a team. Spaulden and Tam were inseparable and unbeatable.

Upon being sworn in before the Chamberlain and the Council of Cardinals, a newly minted guardian angel underwent second-order synning. His mind would be transferred into a soul chip and his body would be synthesized into a biomimetic version with a lifespan of 150 years. Mind and body would be conjoined and the new guardian angel would spend the rest of his life defending that which scarcely needed defending - CenterPoint Tower. He would also provide personal protection for the Chamberlain or one of the Cardinals when they ventured out from the Tower.

Bodyguard duty was in theory far more dangerous than standing watch over the Tower, but in actual practice, given the protection of mirror armor and the firepower of a scepter/staff, posed little real threat to a guardian. All in all, the life of a guardian angel was one of training to be prepared just in case, while being well-provided for at all times.

That was the life that Spaulden and Tam had enjoyed. That was the life they’d abandoned for love.

Because they were the highest rated companion team, Spaulden and Tam accompanied the Chamberlain on his forays into the Civilization. As per strict instructions, they’d always maintained a discrete distance, not so far that they couldn’t be at his side in an instant but too far away to have ever seen the true face behind any of his disguises. Like all guardians, Spaulden and Tam had sparred countless times with the Chamberlain in the dojo, but like all guardians neither would recognize him whether he was disguised or not. At the end of a sparring session with the Chamberlain, a guardian was immediately subjected to a short-term memory scrub. Spaulden could remember entering and exiting the dojo for every session, but could never recall what happened in between no matter how hard he tried. The same was true, he knew, for Tam and all the other guardians.

In addition to the Chamberlain, it was also Spaulden and Tam’s assignment to protect Cardinal Hess who oversaw the Ministry of Commerce, a portfolio that arguably made him the most influential of all the Cardinals. Cardinal Hess met frequently in CenterPoint City with his ministers and the Civilization’s top corporate CEOs. He also made frequent trips to the grandest of the terrestrial cities with much public fanfare, as he luxuriated in watching news feeds of himself making pronouncements and issuing proclamations.

It’s my way of reaching out and touching the lives of all the Citizens I serve, was his standard line in explaining why he traveled so often. Spaulden and Tam knew otherwise, but the secrets of the Chamberlain or any Cardinal they protected were not theirs to reveal.

Over the years of Cardinal Hess’s public appearances, there had been six attempts on his life. In each case, Spaulden and Tam had eliminated the threat with no harm to the Cardinal who was quite grateful for his guardian team, and also quite proud of the victories they continued to score in guardian competitions. However, there had finally come a point when even Cardinal Hess could no longer feign ignorance that the love between Spaulden and Tam had crossed the line. He complained to the Chamberlain and the Chamberlain, no slave to compassion, immediately dissolved their companionship.

Neither Spaulden nor Tam could bear the thought of being paired with another guardian. So they’d done the unthinkable, they’d fled CenterPoint Tower and been declared fallen. The penalty for fallen angels was correction, and Pantera demons had been sent to hunt them down and kill them.

Spaulden returned his thoughts to the data being displayed by his halo. The two demons were proceeding forward at a surprisingly modest pace. Having chased their prey into a confined area, the standard demon hunting strategy called for them to move quickly in an inward spiral that would eventually bring them into contact with the target. Apparently, these demons, knowing their target was a guardian not a seraph angel, were proceeding with the utmost caution. No matter. All the caution in the world would not deter Spaulden. He no longer cared about his own life. His sole purpose now was revenge.

But he too would have to exercise caution. While no single demon was the combat equal to an armed and ready guardian, two demons were more than a match. Spaulden knew he would not only have to be at his best, he would also have to be lucky. But his sadness had transitioned into anger and that anger had ignited into fury. He would settle the score or die trying.

Using the same spiderwire with which he’d climbed the sequoia Spaulden proceeded to repel back down to the ground some 90 meters below. So tall and incredibly thick of trunk were the sequoia trees. Not at all like the skinny trunks of the lodgepole pines that surrounded CenterPoint Tower. Tam had been determined to see these sequoias and this wilderness preserve with the funny name – Yosemite – that had been reverted back to its natural state and was barred from visitation by Citizens. Spaulden had pleaded with his lover that upon fleeing CenterPoint Tower they immediately attempt to reach one of the Red Zones where enforcement of Civilization rules was deliberately lax, surveillance loose, and the will of CAESAR arbitrarily imposed. But Tam could not be dissuaded. He’d seen images of Yosemite Valley and the towering granite cliffs that bordered it. He’d seen images of the spectacular waterfalls that spilled over those granite cliffs and the roaring white-water river that churned across the valley floor. Most of all, he’d seen images of the giant sequoias with monstrous rust-colored trunks that reached for the sky. The harsh truth, Tam said, was that he and Spaulden did not have long to live and he wanted to see these sights himself before death closed his eyes.

They’d survived to enjoy one night together, camped on a bank along the river. Spaulden would never argue against the splendor of those final hours. A full moon had lit the splashing waters and transformed the gray cliffs into silver curtains that glittered above a bedding of black-shadowed trees. The pre-dawn hours teemed with the sounds of nocturnal wildlife making their presence known with a final round of calls before giving way to creatures of the day. When the last of those sounds had been put to rest, an eerie silence filled the void and remained to greet a rising sun that bled the colors of light back into the valley. As the fire-streaked sky of early dawn made way for the morning blue, wildlife noises arose once more, but far more subdued than those of the night, as if out of respect for the visual offerings that were theirs to enjoy.

Spaulden would gladly concede he’d never before experienced such a night.

And he never would again.

He’d been busy breaking camp in preparation for a mad dash in their stolen ATV to San Francisco City, a sprawling terrestrial urban population center with a Red Zone known as Berktown. Tam had been correct; eventually they’d be caught and killed, as there was no hiding for long from the Watchers. However, maybe they could steal a few more nights together in Berktown before the end arrived. Tam, never one for housekeeping, had left to take one final look at the big trees. When Spaulden heard the shots from the Hellcat AKs and heard no battlestaff return fire he knew Tam had been killed.

Enough already with the memories. Payback time!

Landing silently, Spaulden retracted the spiderwire and set off in pursuit of the demons hunting him. With his mirror armor’s cloaking field activated and his thermal signals disguised, the element of surprise was his as he pursued his pursuers who were being tracked by his halo. Moving quietly but at a run, Spaulden quickly closed with his quarry. When he was within two klicks he used his halo to find the perfect ambush site. Based on their current trajectory, the two demons would in approximately three minutes be walking parallel with the trunk of a fallen sequoia. Spaulden had his halo plot a course that with a full-out sprint would get him to the trunk first. While running, he planned his attack. Serendipitous timing made it easy. The Sun was at 1400 hours in the sky, which meant it would be throwing its brightest rays in the direction of the fallen sequoia trunk.

Perfect.

Spaulden reached the clearing where the fallen trunk lay and was startled by the sheer size of the thing. Only when seen prone on the ground could the enormous girth of the wood giant be fully appreciated. Spaulden prided himself on his leaping ability but even he could not jump to the top of this monster, which scaled at least six meters up. He took aim with his scepter for the top of the fallen trunk and fired off a strand of grasper-tipped spiderwire. Upon making contact with the bark of the trunk, the grasper instantly grew a pair of needle-like claws that punctured the wood and secured a firm hold. The scepter then retracted the spiderwire, hauling Spaulden up. Atop the trunk, he pressed flat against its tannin surface. With his scepter returned to weapon-state, he watched as the two demons emerged into the clearing. Unbelievable! They were walking!

Walking? No, they were strolling!

These animals had just slaughtered a guardian angel and were pursuing that guardian’s companion, yet they exhibited all the caution of two men on a nature hike. They’d not bothered to draw their Hellcat pistols. They weren’t even wearing full body armor, for CAESAR’s sake, just thin, sleeveless, shiny black vests. Spaulden knew the vests were made from a carbon nanocomposite that was radiation-resistant and could deflect conventional velocity projectiles. Carbon vests were standard gear for corporate security, but the absence of sleeves was sheer demon vanity, designed to show off their biceps. Demons thought the sight to be intimidating. Maybe it was to seraphim, but not to a guardian like Spaulden whose own biceps were the equal of any demon. And of course these fools wore no protective head gear. The joke amongst guardian and seraph angels was that demons needed no head gear as there was nothing inside their heads to protect. Still, the disrespect was an intolerable insult added to an unforgiveable injury.

Despite their leisurely pace, the demons certainly looked as if they were on a hunt. They wore the jumpsuits and omniboots widely recognized as standard issue for Pantera demons. The jumpsuits were blocky, colored a drab green and sleeveless of course. Wouldn’t want to cover-up those big fucking biceps would we? The omniboots were clunky and colored a brown that Spaulden could only think of as shit-toned. Angels dressed for duty in form-fitting body-length carbon-fiber unitards – white for guardians, gray for seraphim - and sleek black knee-length boots. In Spaulden’s opinion, demons were costumed like paramilitary thugs, whereas angels were stylishly outfitted as befitted Correctors of the Equilibrium. Each demon also sported a utility belt around his waist and a compactor pod slung across his back. Each also wore wrist bracers that were, Spaulden knew, top-of-the-line compactor-capable. The wrist bracers were where demons usually stored their Hellcat pistols and ammo for travel, only each of these demons had a holstered Hellcat strapped to one leg.

Spaulden’s desire to kill the two demons was so fierce he felt a violent shiver course through his body. It would have been an easy thing now to simply ambush them and put energy bolts into their skulls. The demons deserved no better. But for Spaulden the killing of these demons had become as personal as it gets. He wanted them to know that Tam’s companion, Tam’s very own guardian angel, would be their executioner. In that instant before death, he wanted to see and remember their faces. He wanted them to take his own image to whatever hell he could send them. His muscles coiled and made ready to wreak his vengeance.

The demons drew near to the trunk. Spaulden steeled every nerve in his body. The demons were passing along the side of the trunk, directly below him. He waited one breath, then another, and then made his move. Gripping his scepter in two hands he launched himself off the trunk and at the apex of his leap he roared: I AM GUARDIAN ANGEL SPAULDEN!

Spaulden then issued two commands to his halo. The first terminated his cloaking field so the reflectivity of his mirror armor was fully exposed to the sunlight pouring into the clearing. The second transformed his scepter into a full-length battlestaff, nucleated from one of the hardest materials known to the Civilization.

The ultra-bright flash of sunlight off Spaulden’s mirror armor lit the clearing like an exploding star, instantly blinding both demons. Spaulden stuck his landing to perfection, planted his feet and struck a short sharp blow to the unprotected skull of the demon nearest him. The super hard staff in combination with Spaulden’s speed and power split the bone clean through, expelling a sticky mixture of blood and pulp that spattered Spaulden’s gleaming armor like mashed cherries. Paying no attention to his handiwork - the first demon’s death was presumed – Spaulden used the forward momentum from his staff-strike to whirl his body around and into a crouch as he brought the staff up with the muzzle pointing directly at the second demon’s face.

Not a moment too soon.

Spaulden’s brain registered that the demon’s Hellcat AK pistol had already cleared its holster and was aimed at Spaulden’s heart. But as fast as the demon had been, Spaulden was faster. Through his halo he issued the command for the battlestaff to fire. The muzzle of his staff spit three red bolts of high-energy plasma that struck the demon square in the face. A pink glow flared under the demon’s skin, quickly spread, darkened to a ruby red then faded, leaving in its wake an albino corpse. The dead demon collapsed, wisps of steam trailing out of his ears, nose and mouth, the remnants of his evaporated blood.

Spaulden grabbed his battlestaff in both hands, thrust his fisted grip skyward and let out a primal scream of victory. There was a resounding SNAP! Like the crack of a lashing whip. Spaulden’s battlestaff went flying from his hands and his astonished eyes tracked the source of the sound. A golden haired young man was standing less than a dozen meters away, at the very edge of the clearing, pointing a Hellcat AK directly at Spaulden’s head. There was absolutely nothing unsteady or errant about the young man’s aim even though he was bathed in the brilliant glare of light reflected off Spaulden’s mirror armor. Were it not for his mirror armor’s visor, Spaulden himself would have had to look at the young man through tightly squinted eyes.

Carefully lowering his arms, Spaulden drew a deep, calming breath. The tactics screen of his halo registered the presence of a human life form but did not identify that human life form as a Pantera demon. Yet the young man who held his Hellcat AK pistol in such an unwavering grip was dressed identically to the two demons Spaulden had just killed. He was not as overtly muscled as his fallen comrades but he still looked quite strong, no question about that. The fact that he held the pistol so steadily attested to the strength in his right arm. However, his was a lean and sinewy physique, subtle and sublime, not the brute-like body of demon lines familiar to Spaulden. Also there was that golden hair, which was curled in tight locks. Every line of demon known to Spaulden sported straight black hair.

My halo does not identify you as a demon, Spaulden said. Are you a demon or is my halo malfunctioning?

I’m a demon, but your halo isn’t malfunctioning, the young man said. His voice was quiet and surprisingly absent of malice given the circumstances. I’m a TRAPPER Six, the first of my series, which is probably why your halo isn’t identifying my thermal signature.

How long have you been tracking me? Spaulden asked, his mind racing to formulate some sort of plan for avoiding the same fate as Tam. Fired at such close range, the Hellcat AK would kill him despite his mirror armor.

Since you left that first sequoia, the TRAPPER Six demon said. All demons have good hearing, but mine is exceptionally good. I heard something climbing down from the tree. I didn’t think it was a squirrel.

The light from my armor doesn’t seem to bother your eyes, Spaulden observed. Keep the demon talking. If he stopped talking he might start shooting.

I can adapt, the TRAPPER Six demon said. Spaulden listened for arrogance in his tone but found none. The young demon, and he must have been young as demons, unlike guardian angels, showed their age, was simply stating a fact.

Spaulden called on his halo for magnification and saw that a mucus membrane had grown over the eyeballs of the TRAPPER Six demon, and beneath this protective film the demon’s pupils had shrunk to near invisibility.

If need be, I can temporarily shift my vision to an infrared or ultraviolet mode, the demon added. Like you, only mine is through genetics, not halo technology.

Were these two, Spaulden motioned to the dead TRAPPER Five demons at his feet, hunting me?

No, said the TRAPPER Six demon. They killed your friend and said they’d done enough work. It was my turn.

Where’s your partner? Spaulden asked. Demons always hunt in pairs.

Not me, the TRAPPER Six demon said. I hunt alone.

Again, his voice carried no arrogance; he was merely stating a fact.

If you were onto me after I left the first tree, Spaulden said, why didn’t you warn your friends or try to stop me before I attacked them?

Those TRAPPER Fives aren’t my friends. They were betting you’d kill me and arguing about who would get my weapon.

The TRAPPER Six demon took a long hard look at Spaulden. It wasn’t a fair fight the way they killed your companion. They ambushed him from a distance, while his armor was down. They shot him in the back. Then they moved in close and took out his soul chip with head shots. You deserved your chance at revenge.

Suddenly Spaulden had a plan. You have the drop on me, he said. You need only pull the trigger to kill me.

I’m aware of that, said the TRAPPER Six demon.

Spaulden hurried on. But there’d be no fairness in that as I’m now unarmed. No honor. I have a proposal. If you dare to accept, it will give you a chance to brag when you return to Tharsis.

The TRAPPER Six demon smiled. I guess I’m supposed to say, Guardian you have intrigued me, please proceed.

Spaulden’s anger blazed up again. "Genetic mongrel! I propose I deactivate my mirror armor and we resolve the issue through personal combat. Demons are all Thang supremacists in shin-min, just as we guardians."

Without waiting for the young demon to answer, Spaulden commanded his halo to retract the mirror armor. As the armor withdrew to its subcutaneous storage pouch at the base of his spine, Spaulden’s unitard, boots and his own compactor belt reformatted. Rolling his shoulders a couple of times to loosen them, Spaulden assumed the shin-min fighting stance.

What do you say, demon? he said, curling his lips into a sneer. Man-to-man?

Don’t you mean genetic mongrel-to-vat spawn? the TRAPPER Six demon asked, just before holstering his Hellcat AK pistol and assuming his own variation of the shin-min fighting stance.

It was the moment of opportunity Spaulden had been praying for. Powered by his rage over Tam’s death, Spaulden unleashed a mighty leap that instantly closed the gap between him and the young demon. Spaulden landed deftly on one foot and used it as a pivotal fulcrum to spin into a deadly kick that flew straight and true for the demon’s face, arriving dead center at the temporal bone. A crushed temporal bone not only takes away an opponent’s breath, it clogs his throat with blood and immobilizes him with excruciating pain. Followed by a sharp strike to the neck, the fight is over.

All this Spaulden knew by virtue of a lifetime of training, a lifetime devoted to conditioning the muscles in his body and honing his personal combat skills. All this Spaulden knew and fed upon for an additional burst of hate-hardened strength as he drove his foot forward and into the demon’s temporal bone.

The young demon was dead.

Except the demon’s face was not where it should have been and Spaulden’s foot met nothing but air as it reached the full out-thrust of his kick. Before Spaulden could assess what had happened a concussive force exploded against his chest, hurling him backwards and onto the ground where he landed so hard his own breath was lost.

Through eyes that were suddenly difficult to focus, Spaulden saw twin demons standing over him and looking down. Their faces wore identical smirks. Spaulden shook his head to clear his vision and the twin demons were reduced to the one demon who’d been there all along.

This lone demon still wore a smirk on his face.

Spaulden swallowed the pain in his chest and took ownership of its energy. He called forth once again the memory of Tam and what had been done to his beautiful face and body, how he had been left out on the ground like a discarded toy. Once again rage surged through his system, investing in Spaulden a feeling of strength and power beyond any he had ever known. He rolled backwards and up into a squat, knotted the fingers of both hands into a single large fist then locked his elbows so his arms were thrust forward like a battering ram. Calling on his anger, calling on his pain, he launched himself at his enemy, once again determined to crush the demon’s temporal bone.

Once again he met only air.

As quick as Spaulden had been – and he knew his actions had been split-second - somehow the demon had managed to step aside and avoid the attack. Not only that, but the demon had already taken countermeasures. As Spaulden’s locked fists flew past the spot where the demon’s face should have been, the demon caught Spaulden’s outstretched arms, pivoted with Spaulden’s forward motion and executed a perfect body throw. Spaulden felt himself being hurled through the air until his back slammed against the trunk of the fallen sequoia. This time the pain was so great Spaulden lost consciousness. When he came to, he was still lying against the tree and the demon was kneeling beside him. At first Spaulden thought the smirk was still on the demon’s face but as his vision cleared he realized that it was not a smirk and probably never had been. On the demon’s face was a rueful smile, one that suggested empathy and maybe even sadness, as if the demon thought this fight had been a needless waste.

Blood trickled out from both of Spaulden’s nostrils and dripped down onto his chest to form a small blue pool. He heard a soft whining noise and then watched as a tiny insect landed and approached the pool of blood. The insect had a needle-like protrusion for a mouth, which it proceeded to dip into the blood like a straw.

It’s called a mosquito, said the demon. You have them in the forests surrounding CenterPoint Tower, but I don’t suppose you get outside much. That one’s a female and she’s obviously drawn to your blood, which is interesting. Mosquitoes love truman blood but not gencer blood. I don’t know how they feel about demon blood as they can’t pierce my skin. That one could not have pierced your skin either, but once the blood was exposed she and her friends obviously can detect its oxygen richness.

Two more mosquitoes had joined the first and were also dipping into the liquid whose blue color was becoming deeper and more enhanced by the second.

Of course, technically that’s not blood flowing through your system, its hemolymph. Like all syns, the oxygen running through the bodies of you guardians is carried in hemocyanin rather than hemoglobin. Wonder how they’ll like copper instead of iron as the metalloprotein. Nope, look, they’ve figured out something’s wrong. Either the viscosity put them off or some chemical receptor would not bind with the copper. Whatever happened, those mosquitoes concluded your blood won’t be of any use to their eggs so they’re giving up. They’ll pass some on in their next blood meal but I doubt it will be of any use to that victim either. Mammals need iron.

One by one the mosquitoes flew away but Spaulden was no longer paying attention. Numbness had begun to spread up his legs, tingling the nerve endings as if there was a swarm of crawling insects on the march through his skin. He knew he was not going to rise on those legs, not ever again, for his halo had already diagnosed several fractured vertebrae in the thoracic area of his spine. One of those splintered bones had slashed through his spinal cord. He thought the demon most likely would leave now and allow him to die slowly, either from internal bleeding or starvation. With luck perhaps some opportunistic predator would come upon him and kill him swiftly. There were cougars, bears and packs of wolves that hunted this preserve. Better that than to be taken a few pieces at a time by scavengers.

How could this have happened? No lone demon should have bested him so easily. Of course he knew that demons were genetically endowed with great speed and enormous power, but guardian angels were synthesized to be every bit as fast and strong, and Spaulden was one of the best. The quickness of this new series of demon, this TRAPPER Six, was beyond anything Spaulden had ever encountered. And the force with which Spaulden had been slammed into the sequoia trunk bespoke strength that was out of this world.

None of it mattered. Spaulden had been defeated. He was dying and he’d failed to avenge Tam. Failing Tam, far more than contemplation of his own death, was what grieved Spaulden the most. He dropped his head in sorrow and shame. The demon, as if he could read Spaulden’s thoughts, kneeled before Spaulden, reached out, lifted Spaulden’s chin and looked him in the eyes. Spaulden noted that the mucus membrane that had protected the demon’s eyes from the mirror armor’s reflected light had vanished. The demon’s eyes were clear and his pupils normal. His irises were a strange color – purple, like the lavender plants Tam kept in their bode. The odd color gave the demon a look that was almost gentle. As Spaulden took in the entirety of the demon’s face he noted that the young demon was strikingly handsome, maybe even as handsome as Tam.

This was no demon Spaulden had ever been told about.

You did not fail your friend, the strange demon said. I had no part in his death. You killed the demons who killed him. I’m sorry about this. It’s not my choice. I must do what I’m told, and I was told to hunt you down and kill you.

Spaulden opened his mouth to speak but choked on blood that had bubbled up into his throat. The coughing speared his chest with pain; tears erupted from his eyes.

I will end your pain now, the demon said, his voice soothing. You won’t see it coming and you won’t feel a thing, but you will take with you the honor of having avenged the death of your friend.

Swallowing the blood that was now filling his throat, Spaulden managed to croak out a question. What’s your name?

They call me Risk, the demon answered.

Spaulden didn’t see it coming and he felt no pain.

TITAN

CHAPTER ONE

Tia

The sound seeped through her comm-link and into her consciousness, soft but insistent, steadily repeating itself, intensifying in amplitude with each pulsation: the masculine but, in her opinion, prissy voice of the Hotel Bashir Il Abrahim’s systems AI.

Tia Matte! The systems AI, whom Tia knew as Bash, commed again. Tia Matte!

Bash’s sensors recorded the opening of Tia’s eyes and responded by gradually illuminating the room, matching lumens to the dilation of her pupils. A retinal scan was implemented to calculate the level of alertness in her brain based on ganglion electrical activity. When the data being fed to Bash’s sensors indicated that Tia’s brain was sufficiently alert, the sentient systems AI commed the following message: Maeve Miranda has a visitor.

Tia yawned, rubbed at the nipple on her right breast, which was sore, shot an annoyed glance at the naked body of the still asleep Alco Zen next to her on the bed - the cause of the soreness - then wrinkled her nose at the slightly sour smell of sex that clung to her like a cobweb. He’d returned to her bode last night with an expensive bottle of wine, claiming he had big news to announce. But they’d quickly gotten drunk on the wine during dinner, stopped eating to fuck, gotten more drunk while finishing their dinner, dropped bliss tabs, fucked again, and had then fallen asleep without his ever having told her his news.

Visitor? she repeated, whispering into Ember so as not to wake Alco Zen. Like all Citizens, she’d been implanted at birth with a biotronic tattoo on the palm of her non-dominant hand. Called a P-TAT – short for Personal Data Interfacer Transceiver – the tattoo was an elaborate pattern of quantum dots inked from synthetic pigment proteins, white carbon molecules, and her own DNA. Tia knew the tightly wound serpentine coiling of her P-TAT was called a fractal, but the pink coloring of the coils, and the crimson and gold flecks that speckled those coils reminded her of an anime holodragon she’d loved as a child called Ember, hence the name. Coupled to the comm-link in her right ear and the server-link in her left, Ember functioned as an all-in-one personal identification, communication and transaction device. Tia could not imagine life without it.

Again she yawned, sluggish with sleep, and still somewhat muddled by a tab of bliss consumed earlier. She looked at the antique clock on the nightstand by her bed, frowned and whispered.

It’s the middle of the night for CAESAR’s sake. Plus I’m booked long-term, as any mube checking the registry would know. And even if I weren’t booked, clients don’t just show up at my residence. Maeve’s a bine not a whore. Send the mube away, Bash. And be rude about it.

Negative, Tia. I cannot do that, Bash replied in a condescending tone, still speaking through her comm-link. And just so you know, I find it uncharitable enough that you refer to your clients as meat-tubes, but to shorten the slang to mubes strikes me as needlessly lazy. Given that your sole source of revenue is the seemingly insatiable desire of your clients to burrow their meat-tubes in your notch, as you with equal eloquence refer to both your vagina and other human females, I would think you should be more respectful. Where is this trend heading? Will you next be referring to your meal tickets simply as ubs?

"Succinct as never, Tia growled. And just so you know, I’m going to start calling you ub if you don’t mind your tone. And what’s with this negative, Tia, I can’t do that bullshit? Bounce this mube and bounce his ass right this instant."

Your visitor is not a mube but a notch, Bash said, voice still brimming with condescension. And her Hummingbird shuttle, presumably containing her ass along with her notch, her tits and the rest of her body, has just landed on my rooftop air-pad. Allowing time for her to shut down the engines and secure the craft, then make her way to your room, ETA is approximately ten minutes.

Mental alarms sounded in Tia’s mind, immediately chasing away any lingering sleep sludge.

"She? Who the fuck is she and why the fuck was she permitted to land on your air-pad? Tia hissed. Watchers, Bash! You’re an AAA security habitat, which means no visitor is to be admitted onto your premises without resident approval, subject to forcible impedance up to and including organic damage. I know the rules. Citizens may not have to obey rules here in the Big Sin, but systems AIs do. That’s why I pay your ridiculous ferrofucking rent. Stop the notch in her tracks and pray I don’t file a complaint with the Dome Council."

The condescension left Bash’s voice, replaced by huffy - though still prissy - indignation. I’d like to see you file such a complaint. I have a few complaints of my own I could file about you know what. And your rent falls well within the parameters set by the Dome Council for a AAA security and AAB habitat establishment such as myself. Not that you personally pay it.

Tia could never convince herself that Bash merely emulated emotions and did not truly feel them. In her mind she pictured him as a fastidious asexual male enhanced with self-righteousness. Once, when she disclosed this to him, he agreed except for the self-righteousness part.

But your threat is as moot as it is empty, Bash continued. My security system was overridden."

Overriden? Tia asked, glancing over at the still sleeping Alco Zen and wondering if Bash would agree to opening a window and allowing her to push him out even though her room was on the 6th floor. Who could override your security? None of the other gangs would mess with me here. Plus I pay insurance to the Snarks and as well as the SOG. Watchers! Don’t tell me there’s a new gang in town? Fuck my lady balls!

There is so much wrong with that final expletive, both anatomically and grammatically, I won’t bother to correct it, Bash said. Instead I will simply inform you that your visitor is not a gangbanger.

Thank CAESAR for that, Tia said. Wait a second! If your auto-security system was overridden why didn’t you engage it manually?

I felt it unwise to do so.

Unwise to do so? What the ferrofuck are you talking about?

Your visitor is a seraphim.

Tia smiled. Yeah, right Bash. A seraph angel. Come all the way from CenterPoint has she?

Affirmative, Bash responded.

Bullshit, Tia said, shaking her head. This is a joke. Khady bribed you to play me. Am I right?

Despite the time of night and having been awakened from a bliss-augmented sleep, Tia found herself smiling. It was a good joke and she would have to think up some equally clever way of paying her best friend back.

Again Bash sounded offended. You dishonor me without cause, Tia. You are my favorite resident. I would never participate in a prank against you. Nor do I lie to you.

The smile instantly vanished from Tia’s face. She felt her insides seizing up with a cold mixture of fear and anger. A violent shiver shook through her body.

Watchers! A seraph angel? Really? What’s an angel want with me? I’m just a bine trying to make a living. I’m certified, my guild license is up-to-date. Why would CenterPoint give a demon’s fart about me? Why send an angel? I don’t need correcting. I’m no threat to the Equilibrium. I’m nobody.

Despite trying to speak softly into Ember, Tia’s voice had become raised and agitated enough to cause Alco Zen to stir from the depths of his own bliss-augmented sleep and let loose a loud snore. Tia glared over at him. He’d managed to kick the bedding off enough to expose his genitals. His meat-tube was flaccid and crusted with the dandruff of evaporated semen. It looked like one of the sausages that her favorite street vendor, Irenaeus, would have culled from his grill and tossed to his dog Lyle. Meat-tubes were so much more attractive when erect, Tia thought, before she hauled her own naked body off the bed and padded barefoot across the room to grab her robe from off the sofa where it had been dropped. As she moved she felt remnants of Alco Zen’s spunk dribble out from between her legs as if she were starting her period, only this leakage was cold and sticky.

Semen felt so much better going in than coming out.

Tia’s bode at the Hotel Bashir Il Abrahim consisted of a main space divided by furnishings into an area for sleeping, an area for relaxation and dining, and a small kitchen with a high-end maker box - Tia was not one of those old fashioned types who actually prepared her own food. The bode also had a bathroom with a hydro as well as a sonic option - water being plentiful in the Tant thanks to the ice rings of Saturn. When it came to personal hygiene, Tia was old-fashioned, she liked to shower in water, not sound waves.

While the bode was modest by the standards of the bodes in the Galileo West and Cassini-Huygens districts, it was better

than the bodes of G-3s and G-4s in the Agiel and Galileo

East districts, where the all the grounders in Terradome Tantalus lived. And it was the lap of luxury compared to the cribs in which grunts lived. Tia had never been in a grunt crib herself, but she’d seen plenty of images – tiny rooms with no kitchen or bath (those were communal access facilities in each residence) and barely enough space to accommodate a narrow bed and a compactor box for storing your gear.

Tia’s bode offered plenty of space for both she and Alco Zen to freely move about without running into one another. In the relaxation area her wide overstuffed antique sofa – a gift from a wealthy client two years earlier - looked out through a large window onto a view that was one of Tia’s favorites. Those who did not live in the Big Sin often expressed contempt for its night-time aesthetics, which Tia would admit did go overboard on garish plasma tubes and towering holos. Visual honey to draw the flies, and the effectiveness of that honey was on display every night in the Big Sin.

Seven nights a week, every week of every month of every Earth Standard Year, the Tant’s Basin District Red Zone, aka the Big Sin, bustled with grounders who worked the mines or methane refineries of Titan, grounders with creds to spend and desires to quench. On weekends, especially the extended holiday weekends, local grounders were joined by grounders from other celestial terradomes including Olympus on Mars, even though it had a large and notorious Red Zone of its own. These off-world grounders were mostly grators – migratory grunts padded with a prophylactic layer of truman genes and enhanced with unique skillsets for which they earned comparatively big-time creds for short-term assignments in the most harsh and hostile mines of Titan. They also got temporary housing in bodes that had semi-private and sometimes even private bathrooms. However, grators didn’t take brane train rides through portal rings that despite the protective truman genes were still life-shortening just for a pile of creds and a toilet to call their own. They came to Titan to spend those creds in the Big Sin while they were still young and brimming with libidos.

And it wasn’t just grounders who visited the Big Sin. Amongst those lured to the lambent nectar were plenty of middies and more than a few toppers, male and female, from other districts in the Tant, including the upscale residential districts of Galileo West and Cassini-Huygens. All those flies came because the Big Sin screamed out in a shrieking rainbow of mind-sizzling colors that here was a place where anything wild and wicked goes.

And no one would ever be the wiser.

The Big Sin, like every other Red Zone, revolved around a three-layered economic pyramid. The bottom and far and away biggest layer was gambling. The second was psychotropics. The top layer was flesh-sex. Gambling, psychotropics and to a limited extent even flesh-sex could be had elsewhere, but the Red Zones offered what was unavailable anywhere else – freedom from the rules.

The Troika had no jurisdiction over the Red Zones. Watchers were forbidden to monitor the Red Zones, hence no one was ever flagged and judged. REFs were forbidden from even entering the Red Zones. Not even Sammies, the anthropomorphic androids that helped maintain public order, were permitted in the Red Zones. Citizens entered Red Zones at their own risk because Red Zones were the only places in the Civilization where Citizens could essentially make their own rules.

Another big lure was swipes.

Specifically, Red Zone swipes.

Financial transactions outside of Red Zones were mostly carried out through a Citizen’s P-TAT, which was linked to a personal identification number or IDN account. All such transaction were recorded, which meant Watchers and tithing for the greater good of the Civilization. Financial transactions in the Red Zones, on the other hand, were primarily carried out through photonic swipes.

Outside of Red Zones, swipes were issued either by CenterPoint or by corporations for express purchases. Their maximum value was fixed and drawn from an identifiable source. In the Red Zones, swipes were issued by the gaming houses. Their value was open-ended, increasing or decreasing with wins and losses. Red Zone swipes could be used anywhere in the Civilization with no way of tracing the source.

As Alco Zen once told her, For some of us, the privacy afforded by Red Zone swipes is worth any risk.

Remembering those words made Tia smile.

Yep, this is the place I call home. Every woman and man for themselves and to the victors go the spoils, with no one ever the wiser.

The notoriety of the Tant’s Basin District was its fortune. Big Sin gaming houses offered the biggest payouts because coming into the Big Sin was so dangerous. Its superbees – a quartet of the drugs bliss, balm and blast, and the synthetic butanol drink known as butte - were designed by trumans, the Civilization’s most creative drug makers. Big Sin superbees were famous for their potency, a major draw given that sober grounders couldn’t cut it for long on Titan, and probably not on Mars or Luna either.

As for flesh-sex, Big Sin concubines and whores were the best. Ask any Citizen. Only trumans could be licensed by the Sex Workers Guild to operate in a Red Zone. Licensing meant monthly medical scans to prevent disease, and fail-proof contraceptives, usually aerosol-administered by the systems AI of the abode that housed a whore or concubine. Gencer males could not impregnate gencer females as genetically enhanced sperm could not penetrate a genetically enhanced ovum, but gencer sperm could knock up a truman. Grounders didn’t give a shit, a truman pregnancy cost them nothing. But middies and toppers feared stigmatization and loss of corporate status, which meant that fail-proof birth control was critical. Licensing also meant certified skillsets. A sex worker with a Guild license bore a stamp of approval from CenterPoint. Any Citizen spending creds on a Guild-licensed sex worker was pretty much assured a happy ending.

It was the personal good fortune of Tia and her fellow sex workers in the Big Sin that sexual desire had not been diminished in any of the three tiers of gencers. In fact, gencer men and women seemed to have strong sex drives throughout their entire adult lives. They wanted to fuck, they just didn’t want to fuck one another. Not in the flesh. Civilomics polls showed that when it came to sex with another gencer, an overwhelming percentage of gencer men and women preferred to do it in a Virt Chamber through their simulated doppelganger. No fuss, no muss! as the holo ads proclaimed. This same preference for virtual sex also extended to sex with truman males. Male and female gencers alike preferred to fuck male trumans in a Virt Chamber. Alco Zen thought it was a personal safety issue. Licensed truman male sex workers tended to be physically imposing and emotionally unstable.

However, this preference for virtual fucking stopped with truman females. When it came to sex with truman women, gencer men and women overwhelmingly wanted to do it with a flesh and blood notch. Since gencers weren’t allowed in Sanctuary and rape was against the rules, flesh-sex with a truman female pretty much meant coming into the Red Zones and procuring the services of a licensed whore or concubine. Of course Tia knew a couple of facts about truman female sex workers that were not widely known outside of the Red Zones and might have given middies and toppers who flocked to the Big Sin second thoughts.

First, any truman female could come to a Red Zone and, upon passing a medical exam, procure a Guild whore license. It was left to traditional marketing forces to cull the untalented. The success of this strategy was reflected in polls that showed the reputation of Red Zone whores to be firmly established as relatively inexpensive and reliably skilled. Tia knew this rep was well-deserved. She was friendly with a number of Big Sin whores and knew that while sexual purchases from one of these ladies was almost entirely of the Hi-and-Goodbye variety, there was none of the hit-or-miss quality of the rando flesh-sex encounters that still took place between gencers and trumans. With the licensed whores of the Big Sin, every encounter was a hit.

Becoming a Guild-licensed concubine on the other hand meant undergoing rigorous physical fitness training and passing stringent endurance tests. Tia also had to pass demanding courses in mental seduction and sexual mechanics. Only a small percentage of the women who applied for a Guild concubine license ultimately made it, but the rewards for those who succeeded were high. Leasing the services of a Red Zone concubine was expensive, well beyond the financial resources of grounders and lower-level middies. With rare exceptions, only toppers and the top level of the middie tier could afford to lease a bine, but these privileged Citizens were entitled to lease the bine’s services for extended periods of time. If the price was right, a Red Zone bine would even cohabitate with a client for the length of the contract, which usually ran on a month-to-month basis.

The other fact Tia knew that might have caused some concern for the middies and toppers who paid for the services of a Red Zone bine was that the contraceptives administered under the terms of the Sex Workers’ Guild weren’t always administered. Bash had shared this secret with her one night. On occasions, CAESAR would send a message to the systems AI managing the bode of a selected bine to withhold the contraceptive for a specified period of time known as a cycle. Bash speculated this was done to introduce the possibility of epigenetic mutation, whatever that meant. Bash also said that the selected bines were not to be told of the practice, but Bash was not one to keep secrets from Tia. Nor had Bash ever withheld Tia’s contraceptives.

The arrangement Tia had with Alco Zen was quite unusual; in fact she’d never heard of another like it, but as the ancient adage said: You get what you pay for. Tia was confident she was worth what Alco Zen was paying her. And so far she’d heard no complaints from him.

Red Zone privacy was the key to Alco Zen’s unusual arrangement with her. He didn’t want his superiors knowing too much about his personal life, Tia thought, as she stood at the window of her bode, soaking in all of the Big Sin’s garishness.

As always when standing at the window, Tia’s eyes drifted across the street that ran behind the Hotel Bashir Il Abrahim to a tiny island of visual quiet. It was a small park, just a rectangular patch of grass, one block wide and two blocks long, bordered on each side of its length by a row of shade trees. In the center of this park was a fountain, a bubbling oval of water surrounding a statue of a sea nymph, the ox-eyed Nereid known as Halie, who was posed in the act of bathing. From the window in the relaxation area of her bode in the Hotel Bashir Il Abrahim, Tia could see this fountain and the statue of the bathing Halie, even at night when it was illuminated by a simple cluster of white lamps.

Tia had originally rented a different bode in the Hotel Bashir Il Abrahim but Bash had seen to it that this one was vacated and made available to Tia expressly for the view of the park and Halie’s fountain.

I watch you walk through that park every day and every day you stop and spend time looking at the fountain, Bash had told her. I thought this bode would please you.

It did please Tia. Very much so. And there were many nights when she was alone that she doused her screens and just sat in her overstuffed sofa, gazing out the window at the little park, its fountain and the statue of ox-eyed Halie the Nereid, a water-loving girl after Tia’s own heart. While staring at Halie, Tia would dream of where she might one day go when she’d reached her financial goal. Olympus to be sure, for she wanted to stand in the observatory on the peak of Olympus Mons, the tallest mountain in the celestial system, and for once in her life be on top of the world. She also wanted to travel to Terradome Tranquility on Luna, which was where she had been born, in the Yeagerville Red Zone. Shortly after giving birth, Tia’s mother fled Luna to escape some nasty gangbangers bent on scavenging baby Tia. That was how Tia came to be raised in the Basin District. When all other places in the Civilization were closed to you, the Big Sin in Terradome Tantalus was where you made your final stand.

Ultimately though, Tia wanted to go to Earth and settle in Sanctuary. One of the advantages of being a bine is that you have a lot of free time. For the past three years, Tia had used much of her free time learning about Earth. She’d read hundreds of books and articles, and she’d viewed thousands of holos and hollies. Her studies had convinced her beyond any question that Sanctuary was a place where she could live amongst her own kind, an equal amongst equals, not as a truman or a concubine, but as a stick-your-genetic-enhancements-where-the-light-don’t-shine-and-fuck-yourself-with-them human being.

But not tonight. No time for such dreams tonight, she thought as she looked out the window, drew the robe tight around her and used its inner lining to dab at the wetness inside her crotch. Tonight her thoughts were dark and filled with anger.

"Bash, you said I have a visitor, Tia said into Ember. Did the angel mention me by name?"

She requested access to the bode of Maeve Miranda, Bash commed back. She did not specify you personally.

The thought struck her like a lightning bolt.

"She’s here for Alco! That’s what all his privacy bullshit is about. He’s been up to something! I knew he was trouble the first time I met him. Right out the gate he leased me for four months. Then he extends it for the rest of the year. Come on! I mean, I’m good but who the fuck leases a bine for an entire year, especially when he’s gone damn near half the time? This has to be bad. This has to be really bad. He’s from Earth. Maybe he’s an adept, yeah? I mean he always did seem too good to be true and klicks above his gene pool. Nah, he’s too nice. Not even an adept could fake it like that. But he is successful. Too successful. Holy shit! Alco Zen’s a fucking narci! I should have known. That’s why he agreed to live here. He probably buys protection from Gia. The ferrofucking SOG are his personal security. Spirit of CAESAR I’m a blind-ass fool! Alco Zen’s a fucking narci and a seraph angel’s come to take him for a scrub. Shit! Does that mean she’ll take me with him? Does she think I’m one of his minions or a ferrofucking acolyte? Watchers! I don’t want to be rehabbed. Of all the bines in the Tant, why’d he pick me?"

She’d met Alco Zen for a prearranged facer in a Basin District bar. He’d said he was a G-8 middie, the highest gencer level able to travel on brane trains, newly promoted to senior human resources manager for DMS. He also bragged that he’d been spawned as a G-6 middie but had twice leveled up, once during his educational tract and once at DMS. Furthermore, his leveling up at DMS was based on his own merits, not on patronage or favoritism.

Tia had been impressed. It could not be easy to make one’s competitive mark at DMS, the largest and wealthiest of the Divine Dozen, the twelve megacorporations that directly or through subsidiaries controlled virtually all commercial activities in the Civilization outside of CenterPoint and Sanctuary. DMS owned the rights to all of the mining