Prologue

Long ago, well before the strange people called the Arks forged a civilization out of the remnants of the North American continent, a man stared intensely through hooded binoculars into the far distance. He was dressed in a loose fitting, sand colored jacket, baggy trousers stuffed into high riding boots and on his head was a white cover held in place with a black band.

"What is it?" a younger man called from below the rise. He was holding the reins of two horses and dressed practically identically to the man with the glasses.

"I see workers," he replied without moving, "dozens, and building materials. They have knocked down the stockades. I see a road, some vehicles, all protected by a squad of soldiers all heavily armed."

"What?" the younger man called in alarm. "Who are they?"

"Northerners? Townsfolk? Who else can they be?" He turned to look at the other man. "Nestor, you must go back to the herd and tell them the situation. Then you must suggest they go down to the Lower Floral and ask the Russians if we can share their pastures."

"But they're our pastures," Nestor declared, outraged. "They have no right!"

"What deeds can we show these men that they would recognize? We have decided to live outside their laws - we can't then claim its protection."

"Then we must drive them away, Suetonius?"

"How? A few hunting rifles, a bird gun or two? Less than five of the band have any sort of military training. What tactics would you advise against professional soldiers, dug in, armed with assault rifles, anti-armour rockets and directed beam weapons? They have not come to fight us, that's for sure. That force is meant to protect them against a much more dangerous foe."

"Such as?" Nestor asked.

"Politics," Suetonius shrugged. "Go on, get! And talk to the Russians nicely, you know how obstinate they can get."

"Obstinate?" Nestor said, mounting up, shaking his head. "Petty, belligerent..."

"Go!" Suetonius shouted.

"What about you?"

"I'll stay here awhile, now, quickly!"

Meanwhile, about 40 clicks away to the North, Chief Maintenance Specialist Harry 'Hap' Arnold emerged from Admin to check an approaching dust cloud. He'd already figured who his visitors were and looked forward to their arrival. He swept around the perimeter of NAS West Floral and found everything else as it should be. This was his home, his domain and nothing ventured within the wire without his say so.

West Floral had never been very big. It was originally built as a training and logistics base about 90 years ago. Later it was a communications facility and now, well, it was just another marker in the sand. NAS West Floral satisfied the North American Association that this was their territory and had always been so. Whatever military function it now served - and that function was elusive at best - it was invaluable as a bargaining chip.

Chapter 1 »