The Battle of Syme

Charles leaned over the map spread out on the ship's table. The seas were getting rough, visibility was low, and his men were not looking forward to the storm, but there was no time to bring the fleet in to land. The Spartans would be on the move, and the port of Syme was a poor place to face them.

He went over the information in his mind: The Melian slave, Sandra, had come to his tent a week ago to warn him of an alliance Therimenes was forging with the Persians. The Melians were a canny group, and even as slaves they had contacts across the Aegean. The Spartan fleet would be sailing under Astyochus, to Knidos, to meet up with the Persian fleet there. Charles had already sent one ship back to Athens to summon the bulk of the Athenian fleet to Knidos, but in the meantime it was up to him to stop Astair's fleet from reaching the Persians.

He had sailed from Milos with eighteen fast ships, loaded with Athenian marines, ready to do their part for the war and the empire. Charles was getting old, though, and this storm irritated him. Instead he tried to focus on his plan of battle. They would first stick together and try to outmaneuver the enemy ships. Then they would fan out and force the enemy to clump up. Then one flank or the other would close in first, and the other would follow soon after. Charles had won many battles this way. They key was to avoid getting tangled in your own fleet, which is why he drilled his men on close , and precision rowing and sailing. The Spartans were substandard sailors at best, but fierce warriors. He would try to press his naval superiority as long as possible before closing for hard combat.

"Oy, ships!" The cry came from Perry, in Aaron's boat, off to the port. With a few shouts Charles swiftly turned the fleet to intercept, and told his men to row fairly. No use tiring them out before the fight.

The storm closed in.

Vince stood at the prow of his Spartan ship, staring out into the dark, rough waters. Somehow they gotten separated from Astair and the rest of the fleet, and now he was just trying to make time through the storm, hoping to rejoin the fleet in the evening.

The swells were larger now, and a few of his ships were busy bailing water, though none were in serious danger of capsizing. He saw the masts just as he heard the cry, "Athenians! It's Charminus!"

The storm closed in.

Charles started shouting orders, bringing his fleet south, upwind of the Spartans. There were fewer ships here than he had expected-- only ten. It would be easy enough for him to defeat them. The Spartans turned to flee east. That made Charles curious. Fleeing north would be faster, and surely they could see that. He brought his fleet downwind to close with the spartans, sending his fastest eight vessels ahead to cut off the Spartan's eastward tack, and swung the rest of the fleet north to flank the Spartans when they turned away.

Vince could tell he was outmaneuvered. Charminus was famous for his grasp of naval strategy. But Vince knew that if he could reach Astair and the rest of the fleet the battle would swing in their favor. He guessed they were east of here, and he told his men to put their backs into it.

The Athenian vanguard closed, and a rain of arrows and javelins from the starboard fell on the Spartan fleet. The Spartans let loose their own missiles on the ships that had cut them off, and then tacked north. Charles closed the trap, and bellowed for ramming speed. His own ship hurtled into the side of the trailing Spartan ship, as spears and javelins flew all around. A few of the Spartan marines tried to leap onto the Athenian ship as their own vessel began to sink, but they were quickly dispatched. Nearby, another Spartan ship went under, taking on too much water because of the barrage of spears.

The vanguard swung around, concentrating their fire on the starboard flank of the Spartan convoy. The fighting was fierce, but another Spartan ship sunk beneath the waves. Amid the shouting and clashing of arms, none of the Athenians noticed Astyochus and the rest of the Spartan fleet moving in behind the Athenians.

Astair noticed, but that's because it was relatively quiet on his boat. "Fan out! battle formation!"

The storm closed in.

Suddenly, Charles was surrounded, his eighteen boats against the 26 remaining Spartan vessels. This is exactly where he didn't want to be. He mad a snap decision to retreat.
"All ships, disengage, strike with me!"

Astair was a canny commander, and he knew that Charminus was cornered, and that a cornered Athenian was almost as dangerous as a cornered Spartan. So he pressed his advantage quickly, to avoid giving Charminus the time he needed to devise a plan.

The Athenian ships disengaged from the first skirmish as Vince turned his boats around to charge and rejoin the battle. He thanked Poseidon for this good fortune. Two Athenian ships failed to break free from the first clash and capsized, sending more soldiers into the water. The rest made directly for the gap between two Spartan vessels. As they broke free, the Spartans began to rain down their own missiles; arrows and javelins scoured the Athenian ships, killing more than a few before the Athenians raised their shields above their heads.

Charles's ship this time brought up the rear of the Athenian fleet as they drove toward the Spartan wall. The first two Athenian ships were stopped dead by withering javelin and spear assaults from the closing Spartans. With a shout Charles abandoned them and turned the rest of the fleet to the Port to avoid getting snared on the ongoing battle as the leading ships were overwhelmed. Rowing hard now, the Athenians made for the next Spartan ship holding the line, hoping to overrun it.

Astair was astounded at the this new tactic. Charminus was driving the Athenians right for the Spartan flagship, his ship. His ship was full of forty crack Spartan marines, and was a formidable. force in itself, and so he turned his ship in to the onslaught, so that it would not be rammed, and told his men to fight off any Athenians who came close enough to hit.

Charles knew he had made a mistake when the Spartan vessel turned to face his fleet. He could now see Astyochus through the storm, yelling to his men, the plume on his Spartan helmet blowing fiercely in the wind. No choice. "All speed, all speed, break the line!"

The Spartans waited quietly, with javelins and spears ready. The two Spartan ships on either flank turned in to help close the line.

The first Athenian boat to reach Astyochus was Perry's ship. Perry was standing tall, in front, when a Spartan spear slew him. The boat foundered. On the other side, two Athenian ships broke through to open water and turned to fire a volley at the closing blockade before making off.

Another boat got stuck behind Perry's and the Spartan trap closed on it. Charles drove the rest of his boats past Astyochus, losing some men, but holding discipline and reaching the open water.

The storm raged.

Vince and Astair met up once more, after sinking the remaining Athenian vessels and rescuing what Spartans were still afloat. They would sail on to Knidos.

Charles returned to Syme, defeated, but not crushed.

415 BC

The Fat Man and the Ghosts

Frankly, Im not very keen on it.
Really?
Really. I mean... it pretty much involves my taking on an entire squadron with nothing but my bodyfat protecting me.
It's all about the technology, though. Look at it this way: they'll have no idea what they're up against, while you'll know exactly what you're up against. You'll take them completely by surprise!
Yes...
Look, you'll take down half of them before they even see you.
Yes, but what about the other half?
There's a program for deflecting bullets.
Isn't it expensive?
Well, just be carefull not to get shot at too often.
Thanks... I guess... I guess I'm just not used to this sort of thing. I mean, I've done a lot of crazy shit in self defense, and I've killed more than a few times. But this is... very different. And besides, what makes you so sure they won't have a real defense?
We've done surveillance. None of them is shaped for it like you are. Look, I've gone through your scripts myself, like you asked, and I've added a few tricks of my own. No-one I've ever met could take you down while your fight is on.
You know, I've been meaning to lose weight.
Don't make me laugh. Just run some artery cleaning and cardiovascular strengthening progs and you're the healthiest man on earth.
Okay, but, about this plan...
Look, I would go if I could, but my count is low, and I've been starved for weeks. It'll take me months to get back in the kind of condition you're in.
Alright, alright... it's just, it seems like a lot of killing for one uplink.
What is knowledge?
Power.
And what would they do to us if we had the uplink?
Kill us. Alright already. Just... don't be surprised if I come back a lot thinner.
Heh. You'll always be a fat man to me.
How sweet. We get in, we suck the net, get what you're looking for, and get out. There's no organic matter within 10 miles of here, and you can almost taste the pixiedust.
Tell me about it. Fighting it off shows up as a line item on my calorie budget. Believe me, I don't want to hang around here any longer than necessary.
Kama... what if they make a sacrifice?
They can't. That's the beauty of it, Dima, any undefended carbon goes to the pixiedust, to feed the ghosts. They can't get more than five percent of it.
What a god-awful wasteland.
That's why you have such a huge advantage.
...I keep forgetting that I should be proud of my blubber. It makes it so hard to move around most of the time.
It's not blubbler, it's wealth. Portable power, potential energy.
So... are you ready?
What the hell. I'll shoot you a line when it's clear.

An ancient sattelite dish sits on top of a metal hut in the middle of a small desert, roughly a 20 mile hole in the forest where nothing can grow. As the fat man lumbers out of the shadow of the trees under the cover of a starless night, he whispers a few words into his headset. His movement is suddenly more graceful, he seems to glide across the desert, ignoring the odd holographic ghost that pops up to stare at him or entreat him or attack him, in madness. Ignoring also the thousands of probes, his scripts easily fending off their advances. He glides like a shadow toward the hut.

Shapes show up on his display, moving along foxholes surrounding his target. He pulls a focus ball out of his pocket and holds it close to his face, and he whispers a few more commands, before giving it a gentle toss in the direction of the hut.

Silence. Screams. Shots.

All at once, the desert basin comes alive with ghosts, as the pixiedust starts gnawing into the freshly dead bodies.

"Reward to be paid by Microsoft Corporation for--"
"Help Me!"
"Please..."
"I'll kill you now!"
"Thank you for taki--
"No!"
"You, you killed me!"
"Stop!"
"More! Give me more!"

Thousands of ghosts, across the desert, suddenly feasting on the fallen soldiers, all of that energy running into their deranged personalities. Kama has never seen anything like it.

Mayra wakes up. She's been sleeping for a hundred years, after writing her last script. She doesn't like living in a computer. That's why she sleeps, saving up her calories and letting the other ghosts waste them on passerbys. She alone made a plan, and now she's executing it. A fresh surge of energy puts her over the threshold, and her script starts running, scanning. 30 humans at the hut. 25. 20. 15. Too dangerous. One human far away, on the edges of the forest. Her focus ball starts rolling that way, and then picks itself off the ground as it builds up speed. Energy to spare.

Dima sits down in a foxhole, breathing hard. The other QMan is dead. There are 8 soldiers left, and they're busy shooting the ghosts. Whenever one of them gets near Dima, they drop, and Dima shudders. Already he's noticeably thinner. His face is white and he's shaking. Around him dead bodies are disintegrating under the pixiedust. Ghosts are springing up all around him, yelling at him, attacking him, trying to hack his defenses. His programs keep him secure, snuffing out several of the peskier ghosts. So many. So many. He shuts his eyes and covers his ears, shivering, as his calories are sucked away into his fight program.

Kama's display puts up a warning, and he feels a familiar burst of adrenaline as his defenses kick in, sucking at his living tissues to fend off the attacker, he can't even tell what's going on, but it hurts.

Mayra brought her dust with her, but she barely needs it. This human is weak. Her reserve of energy is much greater, and soon the script she had been able to suck, the crowning achievement of her body's last 5 minutes of life, will be set loose on his brain.

Dima finally opens his eyes. He coughs, and a little blood comes up. It happens, he's told. He orders his scripts to stand down to level 2 alert, and stands up carefully. He feels weak, but also lighter than he's been in years. They say the extra weight just goes into the atmpsphere, but he doesn't really understand the chemistry behind it. No-one else is alive. The ghosts have mainly gone quiet, only a few screamers and a few drones are left in the area. They can all be ignored. He steps inside the hut and surveys the scene. There it is, the uplink, in all it's obscene glory. Just another console. He dictates a brief message to Kama.

Kama is reeling, but he's not out of tricks yet. The attack is strong, but simple, just a push to force him to spend his defenses. With a word he launches a counter-attack to stop his opponent's heart. Nothing. Crap.

Dima gets no response. After a couple of hours he logs on and takes a look around.

Mayra's script fails. The host is dead. She's spent.

The fat man leaves.

Updated 8/23, changed whitespace in initial conversation to make it clearer who is talking.

Whoops.

clink. clunk.
clink. knock, bang.
"eh, Evan, hold up."
clunk.
"whadisit?"
"I'm heading up for a break, you wanna come?"
"eh, few more minutes, I'm onto something here"
clank.
"what're you guys talking about?"
"here, listen."
clunk. clunk. clunk.
"what?"
"sounds like rock to me, you hungry?"
"you're deaf, it's differin', I tell ya."
"eh, I'm heading up. you comin' or not, Ev?"
"yeah, sure."
clunk. clank.
crash. crumble. echo. plunk. echo.
"Joe! Scott!"
"Joe!"
step crumble slide step step echo.
"Joe!"
echo.
knock bang clamber.
"Evan?"
"Joe! there's some kind of open space here. My light won't even reach the far side..." echo.
"what're ya talikin' about?"
"get down here!"
echo.
clamber slide scrape bang
"what the...?"
"come on, there's a lake, look at it"
step crumble slide crumble step step echo.
skitter. plunk. echo.
whispers.
"wow."
"whoa..."
"phew."
"this thing is huge."
"shh!"
echo.
steps. steps. whispers. steps.
slurp. plunk. echo.
"Joe, was that you?"
"No. Scott?"
"Scott?"
echo.
"Are you throwing stones in the lake?"
echo.
"asshole turned his lamp off."
echo.
slurp. plunk. echo.
"Scott? cut that out!"
steps.
steps.
"Scott?"
echo.
"Evan?"
echo.
"Evan?"
echo.
steps.
slurp. plunk. echo.

Good Morning

It's time for bed.

It took me a long time to get this far, to the very beginning. A long time of turning the other way, going to work every morning, coming home, having dinner, and going to sleep. A long time of steadfastly ignoring my own ache. A long time casting about, in between commuting and computing and consuming. A long time after I admitted to myself what I wanted. A long time after I told myself what I should do.

Finally, clearing out the cobwebs. Finally, dusting off the covers. Finally, at the end of the day, early in the morning, when I'm about to go to sleep, cracking open the lid.

It took me a long time to get this far, to the very beginning. And that's as far as I'll go for now.

Good night.