The golden Groi avatar Chauncey stands impossibly still before Garrett Davis. The room is windowless, the door, a single fire door leading to a taupe hallway guarded by suits. It's taken several favors to get some face time with Chauncey and all Davis wants to do is use him as an interstellar cellphone.

"The connection is made, Davis," Chauncey says. "My counterpart at home will attempt to translate as much of the Whiirr's responses into audio as it can."

"Thank you, Chauncey," Davis says. "Swims-the-Black, how's paradise treating you?"

The reply is both audio of the shaggy beast's actual grunting language, as well as Chauncey's vocalization of the underlying visual message and surface thoughts. "Just Swam-the-Black now, Davis. It has not been a paradise, but it has been peaceful. I have been keeping surprisingly active. How goes your crusade?"

"On hold at the moment. You know how military leaders think, we have to stop and figure out what we did right, so we don't do it again," Davis says. "They've split us all up, I've been working on organizing the reconstruction of Boranai." He pauses for a second. "It's good to hear your voice again, Swam-the-Black. It's been a frustrating few months, trying to get some kind of forward motion going towards liberating more worlds. Plus, Ngawai's pregnant, and you can imagine how hard it is to get her to slow down."

"Ah! May you have a ferocious litter!"

Davis laughs. "Thanks. Somehow, I don't think that will be a problem, between the two of us."

"Your call is appreciated, friend. Dominic left us some time ago, but we have cut a fine tree for the mast of his ship. I do happen to know you always have a plot roiling around in your head, though. What is it?"

"I need your advice on something, Swam-the-Black. I think I've figured out what our next goal should be," Davis says, and pauses to gather his thoughts. "What would we need to do to liberate Whirr? What message would we need to send, what Imperial forces would we have to defeat?"

"You have made so much progress you're turning your sights to my homeworld?" The Whiirr asks. "Your people work quickly, Davis!"

"It's more than that, though. We're fighting to liberate the Imperium, to stop the tyranny and slavery that they live under. What could be a more powerful message than your species and mine fighting alongside each other to liberate themselves? How long has your species lived as slaves to the Imperials?"

Even Chauncey's hollow translation connotates the long-buried emotions under Swam-the-Black's simple reply: "Too long."

"We need you for this, Swam-the-Black. I know you're there to find peace, but I have to ask if you're willing to come back and help us. If you don't want to, I will understand."

Millions of light-years away, Swam looks at the still-unfinished boat. He looks at Kelly, scraping one of the planks. He looks up at the faux-sun in the faux-sky and then looks to the shiny Groi machine in front of him. His eyes finally fall to a spot of disturbed earth up the hill where the grass was just starting to sprout.

"I am ready to return," he finally says.

---

The warm wood of the enormous conference room table is in sharp contrast to the stark utilitarian recording devices and lighting in the Pentagon meeting room. Davis and Swims-the-Black (having adjusted his name once more) sit in front of a small but influential group of GRHDI and CIA officials: Samantha Barnes, taking time from her busy schedule to hear Davis' proposal; Bob Russell, Davis' boss, whom he hasn't seen in months; and some Army colonel Davis doesn't recognize.

"Garrett," Bob starts, "Why don't you start 'er off here, explain what yer needs are for this operation?"

Davis glances at his notes out of habit but he's been preparing this proposal for a while now. "The opening stages of this operation are very low-overhead, a small team of maybe a dozen personnel, equipped for long-duration jungle operations and selected from a short list by CIA, DoD and GRHDI officials. They'd have to have extensive off-world experience and be able to speak Wherren fluently, obviously. I think that the Napai and Boranai Needleship strike teams are ideally suited for the job," Davis says.

"I assume you mean Captain Verrill's unit?" Barnes states. "They've been reassigned, you know. It's important we make use of their collective experience to train as many of our people as possible if we're to get a leg up on Imperial culture and tactics."

"That's only true up to a point," Davis says. "Yes, experts on Imperial culture and tactics are a scarce resource, but there are other uses for that expertise than simply passing it on to others. I wouldn't be asking for such a specialized and rare resource if the mission didn't warrant it. I'm not saying we take them off of training duty to go walk a beat in Spire City, this is a highly specialized mission that requires that unit's unique skillset, and the payoff of breaking the chains of an entire species is worth the expense."

Barnes relents, noting "And you do work well together." She nods to Davis, indicating for him to continue.

"The initial team's job to find and prepare the ground for the next step is key, and that's where things become more expensive," Davis says. "We're going to need a gatekeg and lozenge from Boranai in order to create a safe point of access for the heavy weapons, vehicles and special operations troops we'll need to push the Imperials off the surface. Depending on the security both on and off Whirr, we might need to send them with the advance team, or we could shuttle them in after a base of operations has been established."

"What about that part where you gallyvant off to Endor with irreplaceable artifacts?" Russell asks. "I've read yer fact sheets and seen yer Powerpoints. Whiirr's got manpower- er, alienpower. Botane's got heavy industry, for example, in addition to that manpower. Hell, we got manpower right here at home. Why we hangin' our shinies out on a leash to get snatched back up by the Imps?"

"Whirr presents a unique opportunity on a couple of different fronts. It's not considered a planet of high strategic importance by the Imperials, so it's not nearly as heavily guarded as a planet like Botane is, with a more receptive populace. At the same time, a liberated Whirr and a free Wherren race would not only be a great new ally, but would provide a powerful symbol of our intent. We need to combat the Imperial perception that we are a conquering force, intent on destroying their worlds like they intend to do to ours. By making our second planetary liberation a target of relatively low strategic importance but instead about bringing freedom to an enslaved species, we show where our true intentions are." Davis smiles. "It's all about hearts and minds, Bob. Besides, we know that somewhere in the Spire, there's kegs that make other gatekegs and lozenges. Once we get those back to Earth and up and running, the scarcity of those resources won't be as much of a concern."

Swims stands up. "If I may," he begins, "My people fall into two broad groups: those that live on Whiirr and worship the Imperium as gods, and those who have been offered up to the Imperium as sacrifices. This second group knows what it is to be a slave. The first group does not. They believe the stories about the Chosen few going to glory. Breaking my peoples' misguided religion will not be easy, but think of what will happen to the Whiirr sprinkled throughout the Imperium when they learn what the Homeworld has done for their distant families. You will gain allies from every branch and vine of the Imperium overnight."

"Will logistics for an operation this size be a problem, Colonel Rollins?" Barnes asks.

The quiet officer shakes his head. "No, it shouldn't be except for the initial infiltration. Whiirr doesn't have a personal Gateway so they'll need a space vehicle."

"I'm of the mind our resources could be better used elsewhere," Bob disagrees. "But if this PR stunt is what's goin' down, then I'll do what I can. I can get ya'll a spaceship."

Davis nods to the committee. "Thank you. With your permission, I'll start assembling the team and equipment on Atea as soon as possible."

---

Bob Russell has a nice office - heavy wooden desk, classy lamps to avoid using the nasty overheads, cushy swivel chair. Walter Simmons looks around before taking a seat opposite Russell.

"You didn't have to come down here, son," Bob starts. "I read your recommendation and I happen to disagree."

"The man is going native, Bob," Simmons says. "Or he's making a power grab. Look at this. Hand-picked team of people he's already established an operational rapport with. A low-priority world, lousy with large, impressionable aliens. A gate-maker artifact. You can't look at that and see Apocalypse Now?"

"Garrett Davis may be a lotta things," Bob retorts, "but he is one hundred percent against the Imperials. I'm signin' off on his operation, Wally. At best, it works. He pulls a win outta his ass again and we end up with an army of seven-foot sasquatches, and we take the credit for signing off on it. Maybe he establishes a beachhead, goes rogue, and starts a private furry crusade against the enemy. Fine with me. Maybe they go and get wiped out."

Bob takes a swig of his coffee. "Any way ya'll look at it, Wally, we are better off with Davis out there than down here runnin' his mouth. This Whiirr thing gets him what he wants and it gets him out of our way."

---

E Ring seems pretty deserted to Davis. It might be due to the hulking alien brute at his side, though. Here and there office doors are cracked just enough to afford glimpses of the Whiirr without drawing undue attention.

"We're probably going to need to hit the ground running," Davis signs, now that Swims and he are alone. "Do you have any ideas for messages we can use to prepare the ground?"

"How would you free your people from the..." Swims pauses, frustrated at the inability to get the word across. "Catholic church? My people on Whiirr are not stupid, but they are... primitive. The Turai with their weaponry and their ships are as gods. Even blazing the truth across the sky would meet generations of inbred knee-jerk resistance."

"Unless we unmask their gods, and show them acting contrary to how they believe they are supposed to be," Davis signs. "Getting the Imperials to use too heavy of a hand and use brutality to solve their problems. Shouldn't be that hard to do. Do you think it will work?"

"It must," Swims says.

"Speaking of heavy handed, did you see Kao on the shell?" Davis asks. "His passing through the Black Gate was all over the Cortex two weeks ago, and the Groi might have left him nearby you, since they like to group species by environment."

"No." Lying is a mechanism foreign to most Whiirr - they literally wear their emotions on their sleeve. Swims-the-Black makes a passable attempt at deception. It might have fooled an average person, but Davis can ferret the truth from the most experienced human liars.

An uncomfortable silence settles between the two of them. "Hmm," Davis signs. "If you don't want to talk about what happened, that's fine. But I'm your friend, Swims-the-Black, not his. He's an asset, nothing more, and frankly, since he's out of the picture, he's not even that anymore. Whatever it was, you can tell me."

Swims' arms shift slightly in frustration before he replies. "All right. Yes, I did see Kao."

"I assume it wasn't a very friendly talk."

"It was not."

"Did you get anything useful out of him? I might try to contact him on the shell, see if he's more willing to cooperate, get some useful information."

"Nothing more than the mutterings of a tired old thing," Swims signs back. "I believe the Groi brought him there to find his own peace."

Davis looks sideways at Swims-the-Black. He can see that the Whiirr is hiding something, and the only time Davis can remember Swims hiding something from him was his deal with the Imperials to turn over their passengers on the Akamu. Whatever happened on the shell between his friend and Kao, he's ashamed of it, and it's with that at the front of his mind that he reaches up and puts his hand on Swims-the-Black's huge shoulder. "Alright. Maybe the old bastard's found his peace at the bottom of a deep hole somewhere."

Swims nods. "I saw this building has a Sbarro."

Davis squeezes Swims's shoulder, then lets go and smiles. "Have you developed a taste for mediocre Italian food?"

"Something about their pizza reminds me of home," Swims replies.

Fort Bragg, NC

The firing range at Fort Bragg is one of those things that shouldn't, couldn't logically exist, an eternal struggle against the rules of physics, a strategic reserve of lead and brass, backstops that have been rebuilt so often that the axe analogy cries itself to sleep just thinking about it.

This kind of ruthless repetition - the iteration of killing skills, ever surging upward - that's what Hugh Verrill calls his home. He's dressed in a fresh ACU suit, hair trimmed to the letter of regulation. It's a marked contrast from how he looked last week: surplus Swiss camo, AK-74, the archetype of aSpecFor beard hanging from his chin. For the last week, he and a handpicked crew of veterans have been showing the homeworlders - now a fine derogative for anyone who hasn't been off-planet yet - that they don't know shit about assymetric warfare.

"Ladies!" he speaks loudly. If anyone didn't recognize him clean-shaven, they would have picked it up just from the voice. "We are all gathered here today so you can show me how you engage targets at ranges from 200 to 600 yards. You have been instructed in the use of this" - he holds up a weapon aptly described as a "space gun", the M10 beam rifle or simply theTenner - "and now I want to see results. I want to see holes. I want to smell ozone, and I want to see what you do when you pull the trigger and nothing happens. And just so you don't get bored, I brought a few friends of mine. You'll recognize them - they've been making you look bad all week. Prove to me that when everything else fails, you can still shoot straight. If you can pass the range test, you've got a future in exoplanetary operations. All I ask is that you can shoot, because God knows you apes aren't good for anything else. If you can't put the holes exactly where I want them - fuck off and go home. Everybody got that?"

"SIR YES SIR!"

And so it begins. Hugh cracks a grin and brings up his hearing protection. This should be good.

As Hugh walks down the line, he sees that the initial adjustment from a weapon that burns powder to one that burns plasma has largely passed, and there's a decent amount of hits being waved at the other end of the range. However, as he gets closer to the end, he sees that two more targets are being used than there should be. One's a decent enough shot, but the other is lighting up the target almost twice as often as the rest of the class. Hugh lowers his binoculars to see Davis and Ngawai sitting at the extra positions. Davis smiles and waves Hugh over, while Ngawai adds yet another hit in the black to her count.

Hugh smiles and leaves the instruction in the hands of his crew of "gremlins". He walks over to where Davis is sitting at the bench and shakes his hand.

"Davis, you son of a bitch! What are you doing on my range?"

He nods to Ngawai. "Always a pleasure to see you, too."

Ngawai puts her rifle down, turns around on the bench and gives a friendly nod in return. Hugh notices she's just starting to show underneath the plain babydoll t-shirt she's wearing. "Getting some practice in, Captain Verrill," Davis says. "Gotta keep sharp, and I've been too busy bouncing betweenBrinai , Barnes and this other handful here -" Davis playfully shoves Ngawai, "- I haven't had much time on the range, and I'm gonna need it." He stands up and takes a step towards Hugh. "We both might need it soon."

"Ah, still going native, I see," Hugh says, not quite making clear if he's talking to Davis or Ngawai. His next sentence is unambiguously aimed at Ngawai, though. "You should wash your hands when you're done, there's still a lotta lead around here. Not good for - your little freedom fighter there."

Ngawai nods. "Thank you," she says in mildly accented English. "It's good to see you too, Captain Verrill."

"So, happy burgeoning family aside, what's that you said about needing the range time soon?" Hugh asks. "Because I just know you're gonna get me into the shit again."

Hugh pauses briefly and then grins.

"Took you long enough, too."

Davis smiles. "Had to get it past the Pentagon, and you know how that goes." He pauses. "Whirr."

"Ah, our very own Gulf of Tonkin," Hugh says. "Go back to where the crusade kicked off - hell, I've heard worse plans. What's the idea, Davis, hearts & minds?"

"Like always, Captain Verrill," Davis says. "Both onworld and off. Swims-the-Black is back, he's on board and helped cook this plan up. We land, get a few villages on board, build a gate and work with the Wherren to kick the Imperials out of the system and set them free. Looks good for us, helps to get the message of what we're really doing out there, plus, the idea of the Imperials keeping Swims-the-Black's species as slaves really pisses me off."

"I got not problems with the asskicking," Hugh says, "but turning villages is gonna be hard work, especially if you want to keep this low-key and a surprise for the Imperium. And all theWherren slaves elsewhere on the 1000 worlds, they're not gonna snap their chains just because we freed their home planet. We gotta think about what the Imperials will do to them if their home goes rogue."

"Well, there's low-key, and then there's low-key," Ngawai says, switching back to Imperial to better make her point. "The plan is to make just enough noise to get the local Imperial garrison to crack down on the village without giving them a reason to call in for support until it's too late. I've seen how they deal withWherren issues on Sambasan, it should be enough to get them on our side."

Hugh's smile turns grim. "Oh, hey guys, we're gonna provoke the Imperium into burning down your village, but just a little so we can draw them out and shoot them. After that, you'll be one of the rebel planets they really want to pacify. Did we mention they're not really gods and all the 'chosen' Wherren you gave them are either dead or enslaved?"

He looks at Davis. "I know you can sell this, Davis, I trust you, but the part where we get the Imperium to be cruel to the natives just so they get pissed off enough to fight back? That's gonna be suffering on our tally."

"I know, but Swims-the-Black says that it doesn't take much to at least have them start putting Wherren in cages. Just showing them who their gods really are should be enough, no one wants to have it go beyond that," Davis says. "If we can get their support without it, I'm all for it. But Swims-the-Black and I both agree that it's going to take more than a few good points and some pictures to get the job done here. After that, we just have to clear them off the planet and take control of the garrison in orbit, but that's probably not going to be so easy. I'm putting my team from Napai and your team from Boranai back together for this, but I wanted to come to you first, Captain Verrill. Are you on board?"

"If I'm on it," Hugh says, "might be we figure out something to make this go smoother. Alright, Davis. You got yourself a commando."

Davis shakes Hugh's hand and smiles. "I'll take all the ideas I can get. Plane goes wheels up at 1800, I'll deliver the orders on my way out." He takes Ngawai's hand and turns to head towards the exit. "Anything to do to kill a few hours around here?"

Hugh grins broadly. "When's the last time you hit an assault course, Davis?"

Davis thinks for a second. "It's been a bit."

Ngawai gives Davis a hip bump. "I bet I could still beat you," she says in Imperial.

"You sure you're feeling up to it?" he replies.

"Doctors said I have a few more weeks before the little one puts me off my feet, and I plan to stay in fighting shape until the last minute," Ngawai says. "Why, are you afraid to be beaten by a pregnant woman?"

"You're on," Davis says. "I'm not as slow as I was back in that Jang-xur airlock, you know."

"We'll see about that," Ngawai says, and the two of them break to wash up.

"This should be good," Hugh mumbles and follows them.

Diego Garcia

The transfer orders don't have any information about the type of assignment, but then neither did the last batch of orders that brought you to the small island base. You've tried to keep up with your comrades from beyond the Gateway where you could, but for the most part the Army ran you ragged, like they were trying to squeeze every ounce of knowledge out of you before they threw you back into hell.

The blessed chill of overworked air conditioning raises hairs on your arms as you enter the dreary briefing room. Several faces are new, but most - Angel, Arketta, Luis, Semo, Captain Verrill - are a welcome sight. Of the three new people, one is a haggard-looking wiry man who looks like he was exfiltrated right out of a Brazilian favela. The second is leaning back, feet propped up on the chair in front of him. He's got that confused look, like he's simultaneously intimidated by the scuttlebutt surrounding the rest of the people in the room and trying to put on a disaffected tough guy facade to show he can hang with the big dogs. The subtle differences in stance, the slightly off-kilter hairstyle, and the concentration as he tries to follow the English side-talk marks the third man as a citizen of the Imperium.

The briefing room door opens a minute or two later, and the mysterious transfer orders suddenly make sense. Agent Garrett Davis enters, his trademark smile dwarfed by the Whiirr who follows him in. Swims-the-Black's fur glows a happy gradient of colors as he sees the team reunited.

Hugh nods to Davis, but reserves his warmest handshake for Swims-the-Black.

"It is good to see you again," Hugh says in slightly rusty Whirr. "I haven't forgotten about the ship I owe you."

After bantering a little with Swims, Hugh turns his attention to the newcomers who seem to have bunched up somewhat in a corner. He walks up to them with his salesman smile turned down a couple notches.

"I haven't seen you guys and I don't know how up to speed you are, so here's what you gotta know. Guy who walked in here like he's Elvis, that's Agent Davis, he does the schemeing. Joseph's Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat is Swims-the-Black, our local contact and the most decent guy in this fucking room. Cornfed over there, that's Sgt. Putupu, he makes things dead. Thousand-yard stare, Specialist Riviera, our sniper. Bright eyes, Sgt. Stanhill, resident smart guy. The lady over there, Private Quis, ex-Turai and a hell of a scrapper. And I'm Captain Verrill, that spells Sierra-India-Romeo to you poor bastards.

"Now," he says, "who the fuck are you?"

Luis is enjoying breathing real, unprocessed air for the first time in months. He's been at Boronai, mostly aboard the pair of Needleships captured at Boronai in order to help train Earth military (and some civilian) scientists, technicians, and personnel on the operation and theory of Imperium technology and craft. It's been interesting work, but it's still nice to get back to Earth again. Boronai's at the end of a long supply chain, and Luis could feel the isolation sometimes when they accidentally left him time to think.

Besides that, something about being on board a ship that long feels...wrong, Luis thinks. One of the Navy reactor engineers Luis had worked with had said that the Needles felt a lot like the subs he'd been posted on, but it was still odd after long periods in the Army. Needles may be big, but their crew areas are still relatively cramped, with thin walls most everywhere except when there are thick pressure bulkheads with hatch doors and a general lack of private spaces.

Not even his excitement when he'd discovered that Arketta had been posted as part of the same training program helped with the disconcerting feelings caused by alien surroundings and long distance from home. And the lack of privacy didn't help anything with Arketta, either, he thinks.

He's just catching up with Hugh, still wondering what they've brought him all the way back to Earth for until..."Davis, you the reason we're here? Not like seeing everyone's face is...hang on, Swims? You're in on whatever this is? This is going to be good."

Zaef stands in one corner of the room, watching the movements of the Narsai’i as they greet and talk. He had been trying to absorb as much as he could about the culture and language ever since his arrival. Not that there was much else to do here-the Narsai’i had a “you can look but you cannot touch” policy with their world, which was pretty understandable, considering what little Zaef had seen so far. The bright sunlight, swaying palm trees, and vibrant blue water were incredibly beautiful. It only made sense that they would want to preserve it, even if they were being hardassed about it.

It only made sense they didn’t want it to turn to glass.

Still, the scenery was only fun to watch for so long, and the Homeworlders mostly left him alone, so he mostly tried to learn what he could about the Narsai’i. The vox recordings the military had given him were pitiful-no inflection, no body movement. He mostly hung around the mess, listening to conversation there. He had picked up most of the basics, and learned about some “Hah-Nah Mon-Tan-Ah” person(cute, but a bad singer) and the blessings of “Coke.” It tastes sweet yet acrid, a surprisingly good combination.

Now two people come walking in and nearly everyone turns to greet them. Stuff like “Davis, you bastard! How you been?” and “Looking good, Swims!” One of the arrivals, shockingly, is a Whiirr. An Alef-ka, no less. Zaef tries not to let his body language show how he feels.

A Narsai’i soldier struts over and tries to intimidate Zaef with a tough guy act. Unimpressed, Zaef responds with a simple “Zaef Utari,” then sips some Coke.

The Chinese-American man with his feet up pushes off and stands up at Hugh's approach. It's not quite a "by the book" attention, but it's not slovenly enough to rouse Hugh's ire. He's a short man with piercing eyes, and Hugh notes as he gets closer that his cheeks still bear the brunt of a close call or two with shrapnel.

"Specialist Daniel Kang, sir," Kang answers Hugh. "Just got back from a month on Boranai, saw some of your work there."

The scraggly looking fellow is relatively unaffected by the arrival of the Fed and well-polished officer, all he knows is that he's relishing the A/C and hot chow afforded by his current accommodations. He's on his third cup of coffee and eating a tray full of food that isn't of questionable origin or taste.

"Captain...Verrill was it? Sorry, the hearing ain't so good after listening to the prop-wash of a C-130 for fourteen hours straight. All I know is that I was pulled off a mission and dragged halfway across the world to a rock in the middle of Indian Ocean. Not that I'm not happy to have a warm meal and dry boots for the first time in weeks..."

"And what a fine piece of work that was, Specialist," Hugh says with obvious misgivings. "Only thing I'm proud of is that we didn't have to blow up even more than we did."

The scraggly-looking fellow gets a cocked eyebrow. "You enjoy that while it lasts, then. Whirr swamp water goes in one side of your boot and straight through all the way. I swear to Patton, that stuff even seeps through freakin' NBC moonboots."

Gatac wrote:

"And what a fine piece of work that was, Specialist," Hugh says with obvious misgivings. "Only thing I'm proud of is that we didn't have to blow up even more than we did."

"Yeah, it's bad enough as it is. I've been working with some of the people piecing the place back together," Luis says with a nod. However, it's Hugh's response to the scraggy man that really gets Luis' attention.

"Hang on, we're going back to Whirr? Now I'm sure I've got to hear what this is about."

Zaef straightens up at the words ‘going to Whiirr.’ It certainly explains why the Alef-ka is here, among other things. “I want to hear this too. Whiirr is not…popular vacation place."

Zaef throws a sly look at Hugh. "Good for recruiting though."

"It's all true," Davis says, grinning wide at Semo's question. "She's due in five months or so. Neither of us can wait, but we're still trying to figure out, well, everything."

---

(A few minutes later)

Davis loudly claps his hands together. "Alright everyone, fraternization time is over, so let's all take a seat and I'll explain why we shipped all of you back to this lovely little slice of paradise."

"You have all been brought here to be the advance team for our next planetary liberation," Davis says, switching to Imperial for the briefing proper. He flicks the overhead projector on and slides an acetate sheet out of a binder, the Imperium Cortex file image of the planet of Whirr appearing on the projector screen. "As Captain Verrill said, our target is Whirr. We are going there with the intention of revealing the true nature of the Imperium to the natives, and then assisting them in kicking them off the planet and out of the system. We're going to start small, just one or two big villages, and then eventually expand our operations to the whole Wherren populace. Obviously, this is going to require a good deal of manpower and equipment, but unlike Boranai, there is no footgate on Whirr, which makes getting all of that there something of a challenge."

Davis changes the sheets, and a schematic image of a Mantaship and photos of a gatekeg and Groi lozenge generator appear on the screen. "That is where we come in. We have been given a Manta, and the Bashakrans have loaned us Zaef Utari, an expert pilot, close-combat specialist and Arena survivor. He'll be flying us, our gear and in particular, a gatekeg and a Groi generator to power it, down to the surface of the planet."

The images disappear and are replaced with a map of the surface of Whirr. Red dots are overlayed on the image, with Imperial glyphs labeling each as "Village #---", each village assigned a three-digit ID number, rough population estimates, and in a detail that still pisses Davis off, two Imperium dates indicating when each village was last "harvested", and when it can be safely "harvested" again to maintain the population. "We will be landing in this region, targeting one of these three villages," Davis says, circling an area near a point labeled "Research Camp". "These are the villages closest to the Groi gate transport ship wreck site, where the Imperium has a small research team and a Turai Quad guarding them. In order to get our footgate built in any kind of reasonable timeframe, we have to scavenge an existing gateway to be reprocessed. Based on the report from the first mission to Whirr, the locals like to reuse parts from the crash site in their buildings, and maybe they have a defunct gateway in one of these villages. Also, the presence of nearby Imperials might be helpful in convincing the Wherren to turn against them."

Davis slides a blank sheet of acetate onto the overhead. "Which is where the real work is going to come in with this one. We have to convince a population that their religion is not only wrong, but their gods are exploiting them and think of them as chattel. Not exactly an easy task, but we do have a few things working in our favor. If we can get even a slight degree of dissidence and challenge to Imperial authority started in the villages, the resulting Imperial crackdown, think cages, public shaming, martial law, the whole nine yards, should do our job for us. Swims-the-Black has been invaluable in planning for this phase, and he will be accompanying us as our face with the Wherren locals."

"Other than that, our job is to protect the villages we're working with and especially the gateway. Once that's up, we can start bringing in more special operations forces, weapons and heavy equipment and get this liberation rolling in earnest, maybe head back home for a few days," Davis says, smiling at nothing in particular.

"We'll play the removal of Imperial forces from the planet's surface by ear, but there is only a minimal Imperial presence on the ground at any time, if there's any there at all. Most of them are in orbit," a new sheet showing the Imperial garrison at the orbital gate over Whirr is displayed, "which is where the Sheen come in." Davis pauses for a moment to let the worried muttering settle down. "We've got to get them in this fight sooner or later, folks, and the sooner, the better. We've given them four freighters, two of which will deal with the gate orbiting the planet, the Meatfucker and the Aggressive Hegemonizing Swarm, and two will deal with the outsystem gate, the Meatbag Massacre and the Guns Guns Guns, and I'm sure those names sound much more...elegant to the Sheen. They will clean out the orbital gates and block them with the freighters, and then that will be that."

Davis turns the overhead projector off with a loud click. "So, why are we bothering with this, you might ask. Whirr doesn't have anything in the way of industrial capacity, nor is it a big military garrison. So, why are we choosing this planet? The answer is simple. The Wherren have been kept as a slave race by the Imperium for generations. A joint human-Wherren effort to set their homeworld free from Imperial control sends a powerful message to the rest of the Imperium. Right now, all that the Imperials know about us is that we've invaded Boranai and attacked the Imperial Palace on Napai, and that doesn't speak well of our intentions. We're being painted as warlike invaders, bent on destroying the Imperium. This will show that we are anything but that, that we are fighting to bring freedom and liberty to all of the citizens of the Imperium. Once the people of the Imperium know what we are fighting for, that should go a long way towards winning support and allies, and with that, the war." Davis smiles. "Not to mention put a serious black eye on that blowhard Sun Shenmai's face. Any questions?"

It takes Semo a few moments to remember where he is. The brass have had him jumping from place to place so fast in an effort to train as many soldiers as possible to kill Turai that it has all started to blur together. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the memories return. Diego Garcia. At least it's familiar.

He gets a chance to bathe and eat before the orders come to report for a briefing. Maybe he'll finally get a chance to do something besides training greenhorns. Semo can't quite figure out what's derogatory about being a "homeworlder", so he doesn't use the term, himself.

Entering the briefing room and looking around the room, Semo's face brightens. Many of his favorite comrades are here. Subconsciously taking advantage of his size, the sargeant swims through the press of bodies to greet his friends. More than one of them gets caught up in a bone-crushing, lung-flattening hug as he greets them all warmly. Captain Verrill, of course, receives a regulation salute instead.

Next thing he knows, the doors open once again and Agent Davis spills into the room with Swims-the-Black trailing behind. Semo trails the Captain in that direction, addressing Swims with a Whirren greeting. "Great to see you again, Swims," he then says in English.

Turning to Davis, Semo grins mischieviously. "What's this I hear about Ngawai being pregnant?"

Eventually, things turn to business and Davis starts the briefing. Semo listens quietly. The idea of liberating Whirr appeals to him greatly, as he has learned to respect the people and knows how the Imperium treats them. As usual, Semo asks no questions.

Gatac wrote:

The scraggly-looking fellow gets a cocked eyebrow. "You enjoy that while it lasts, then. Whirr swamp water goes in one side of your boot and straight through all the way. I swear to Patton, that stuff even seeps through freakin' NBC moonboots."

"Can't be any worse than Amazon jungle-rot. Trust me, Captain...I'm savoring the hot chow and recycled air." putting his tray and coffee cup down to give Verrill a proper handshake.

"Lt. DeFranco, late of the TF151. Most people just call me Cowboy. I've heard a lot of great things about your detachment."

The conversation turning to the mission, Cowboy spins a folding chair around to listen to Davis, raising his hand when the Q/A session starts.

"Agent Davis, how many Whirr can we expect at the villages? Going along with that, how often do the Turai check in on them?"

Luis grins as Davis lays out the briefing's purpose. However, when the Cortex file is projected up on the screen, it puts a chill down his spine. Luis can appreciate well-thought-out and efficient systems. This file shows one; however, it's one designed to oppress an entire species. Then he reminds himself that this breifing is to be about how to make that system and its goal obselete, and settles in.

Once it's over he asks, "What kind of assets will we have on the ground?"

The Sheen. Somehow, someway, the Narsai’i found the Sheen, and allied themselves with them.
Why did it have to be the Sheen?

The evil Sheen have no face, have no name. They are the ghost in the machine, and if you anger them, they will cause every bit of the Master’s sacred technology to turn against you. Everything you touch will curse you and work against you. Then nothing can save you, for the Master’s sacred technology is the only salvation we have.

Zaef tries to ignore the old bedtime stories and concentrate on the briefing. When the speaker calls for questions, he stands up and speaks in quick Imperial.

“I have two questions, Agent…Davis, correct? Firstly, I apologize for my ignorance surrounding your alliance with the Sheen, though it seems that some people aren’t comfortable with them, to say the least. I’m sorry if I am merely voicing a concern you have already addressed, but I must ask. Do you know if the Sheen are true allies, fighting for your cause? Or is it merely an alliance of convenience against a common enemy?”

Zaef then raises his empty can and continues in passable, albeit heavily accented English. “Second, where is the Coke dispenser? This is…tasty.”

"Loyalty is when emotional attachments distort your assessment of your choices," Hugh replies in Imperial. "I don't think the Sheen feel anything special about us either way, so I expect them to act rationally, in their advantage. It's in our best interest to make sure we're the smart choice, and to get them invested so that they will have a tangible loss if they break with us. Once you've gotten that far, we can talk about true friendship, but for the moment I say we keep our minds open and our eyes peeled."

He gives Zaef a small smile, then continues in English. "The dispenser is through that door, down the hall, painted like that can."

Angel shakes his head at Zaef.

"Coke? They have you drinking Coke? Do yourself a favor and go buy a Dr. Pepper instead. Same machine, an extra 22 flavors, and it wasn't meant to treat stomach aches."

He greets the rest of the team warmly. When asked what he's been up to, his answer is an entirely unsarcastic "Babysitting in the mud". Those with a high enough security clearance to keep tabs on him know what this actually means is running around the Colorado Rockies, reteaching fieldcraft to people unused to the notion that the Enemy has superior firepower, mobility, detection and concealment technology. And apparently utterly ignoring orders to use the standard issue beam weapons.

"So...we're fighting the good fight. On Whirr. Sounds reasonable."

Of course, running around a forest full of cloaked borderline psychotics with laser rifles, storming the Imperial capital, kidnapping an Emperor and fighting off a demon with no respect for high school mathematics seemed reasonable too.

Davis waits for Zaef to return from the vending machine to continue. "First, Lt. DeFranco's question." Davis flicks the overhead projector back on and puts the acetate sheet with the Imperial map back up on the screen. "On the version of this where you can actually read the glyphs, it seems that these three villages have populations between 100 at the smallest, and 500 at the largest. The Imperials haven't bothered to figure out the sociopolitical landscape here, no surprise there, but Swims-the-Black thinks that it's likely that these three villages trade heavily with each other, with the largest village functioning as a local hub of sorts, or possibly even a capital. As for how often the Imperials visit, it seems to be about every two months, Earth time."

"To answer your question, Luis, you're looking at the ground assets," Davis says with a smile. "We're going to have equipment crates with weapons, ammunition, medical supplies and other essentials and we get our pick of the armory, but once we go through the Atea gate and enter Whirr space, we're on our own until that gateway goes up. Training and arming the villagers with both projectile and beam weapons is going to be a priority early on, and that's why we're carrying that weapons crate. Everything else, we're going to have to do for ourselves. Once that footgate goes up, we can bring in all the heavy weapons we want, including helicopters if need be."

"Finally, I understand the uneasiness everyone has about the Sheen. I know about the history you've had with them, but as Arketta, Luis and Angel have seen," Davis says, motioning to each team member in turn, "what you've been told about them is mostly another pack of Imperial lies. They fought the Imperium to guarantee their own freedom, just like the Bashakrans did. I have been working closely with the Sheen Ambassador, and he has been nothing but cooperative and enthusiastic about working with us, particularly this mission. He has said repeatedly that this is precisely the kind of mission that they formed this alliance to pursue, and that as long as we're fighting for freedom, they will be by our side."

Davis looks over the room again. "Well, that's about it. If no one else has any questions, or wants to back out, we've got a few days before all our equipment will be ready to gate to Atea. Talk to the armory about any gear you want, do whatever you need to do to get ready." He smiles. "Let's go liberate a species."

Cowboy half-raises his hand.

"Yeah, what do the Whirr like in terms of things that aren't medical or go boom? If we plan on winning the hearts and minds of these people, we need to bring something we can count on them WANTING in the long run not just needing. Chocolate bars and cigarettes work on Earth, but I don't have damnedest clue what off-worlders would want."