Caldwell Carrion

Using a bayonet taken form his boot puttees administers a coup d’ grace, spilling the blood of the Seraphion onto the concrete floor of the bunker. In the headphones comes a story of surprise and of death, as post after post is over run, the companies behind the guard posts unable to come to the aid of their comrades, the ground mist concealing enemy and friend alike.

With the rising of the great star to its optimum position comes a break in the situation.The mist dissipates. Now the dirigibles of the Manuchians and the SSTO’s of the Delaneys come to the fore. At low level the crude round balloons constructed from wrap around tree inner bark are no match for the lavishly equipped dirigables. Laser fire rakes balloon after balloon. SSTO’s rain down missile fire from space upon the now exposed infantry of the Jutes.The attack is broken, the Jutes, the Budeuas’,the Tampieces’,and the Seraphions flee in confusion.

The High Commissioner places his long body in to the white contour chair. In the wrap around headrest, the static buzzes annoyingly. He waves an arm, cutting through the infra red and instantly killing the sound, at the same time running a hand through thinning blond hair. He is a natural and so has no illusions regarding the fate of his Budeuas et al. They are all, as for as they know, from Sale, an island of the coast of Scotland. Their defeat in the American continent will, in their eyes, absolve them from any future obligations to the ALTERNATE EXECUTIVE. Some where along the coast they will fell some of the great trees and build a fleet in order to transport themselves back to the island of Sale.They will in all likelihood wind up on the continent of Egypt as the currents, despite their best efforts, will take them there.

He takes a renewable page from the small table to his front and inserts it into the slot of the data box. A cheery female voice asks if he wants the data in vocal or in text.

"Really" he speaks in clipped north American tones, "do you think that I want to verbally wrestle with you just so I can get a bit of basic information?"As though knowing what he has just said the robot emits the sheet from the slot with a whirring clang.

‘2001-3001.Earth One-.A history’, read the page in neat Helvetica script, the ancient font soothing to the eye of the historian. An account of intertribal warfare. He touched the patch at the top of the page. It became bland and then just as quickly flooded with black text.

Compressed sound waves.a) Sound waves compressed to a three-foot beam. b) Misinformation, aiming multiple beams at a group.c) Creating confusion in a crownd. e) Orbital experimental models.

He tapped the box marked e.

‘Experiments conducted by the Canadian military in the high arctic where volunteer bands were bombarded with sound waves from space. The resulting confusion had broken a tribe of five thousand in to bands of ten or less. The methods used were I) the recording of messages from the elders urging a course of action. III)These messages where mixed. III)Some would entreat the natives to leave their habitats, as a great flood was under way and to flee in a certain direction.IV) Another message would tell them that a fire was approaching and to flee in a contrary direction. V)The experiment was designed to show how, in the event of an invasion by technological and intellectual inferiors, a small band of troops could prevail.

Pale blue eyes glazed over in consternation.