GENETIC WARS: New World Order
Jonathan S. Coolidge

	In the year 2065, the crystalline extraterrestrial organisms termed “Cozaliens” by humankind sent a massive invasion force to occupy Earth, devastating major cities and subjecting humanity to bizarre genetic engineering experiments.  With the help of the progeny of prior Cozalien experiments, the human species was able to repel the invasion force.  But, the humiliation of the attack would forever affect human kind.

	Captain Rick Adamo looked out the window in his cabin, off to the rotating stars beyond.  The Freedom II Space Station was old, but still in service, having survived the war to emerge as a way station between Earth and the slowly healing defense fleet.  Adamo was to be delivered soon to his own ship, the Prometheus, a vast new vessel designed to transport large numbers of people in the event the Cozaliens should return.  In the distance, he could see his ship, its two large population rings slowly rotating, creating the illusion of gravity.  One ring, fully functional and already occupied, shone with numerous pinpoints matching the stars beyond.  The second ring was still under construction, a skeletal framework flickering from occasional sparks of welding equipment.  Attached to the front end end of the ring pair was a large, blocky control module, the engineering of Shann Enterprises through a contract with the STAR Corporation, two of the many business industries that had made space travel possible in the late twenty-first century, and that had therefore given humanity the illusion of a chance of resisting the Cozalien occupation.  At the other end of the Prometheus was a large, dark red, octahedral structure.  Anderson Conus, another cosmic capitalist, had started the ambitious project of refitting derelict alien ships from the war, looting Cozalien technology to push humanity into space.
	For a few moments, Adamo reflected on the dream he still had fresh in his memory.  Overhead in the sky, a four-pointed red star hung beyond the clouds, its massive form in orbit shaking the continents below.  Four bright structures resembling eyes stared down at the city below.  Then, suddenly, bursts of light flared from the alien object, and several nearby towers erupted into flames, collapsing as people ran.  Adamo joined the frantic retreat, until clouds of smoke and debris overtook him.
	He was now back in his room, looking at the alien body that was to become his ship’s power supply and drive system.  Earth itself rotated into view.  Down below, the cities were rebuilding.  The ruins of the war had been swept away, and at last the emotional wounds were starting to heal.  Humanity was joining together to endure its reconstruction.  On the continent of North America, the United States was even celebrating its 300th anniversary this year.
	“Incoming message,” Adamo’s portable phone blurted out as it sat next to a cup of coffee on his table.
	“Thank you,” he answered.  It had become custom to express courtesy to electronic devices, even if they lacked the motivation to be concerned one way or the other.  He looked at his phone, which doubled as a portable computer, and read its display, showing the circular logo and wolf face of the Lycanthrope Global Freedom Federation.
	“The L.G.F.F.,” Adamo thought out loud.  “What the devil could this be about?”  He then instructed his electronic device.  “Shinobu, transfer the message to this display.”  He set the phone next to a landscape print hanging over a desk in the room, and the painting of trees and running water gave way to a woman in a modern suit.
	“Good morning, Captain.  I am Patricia Conway, with the Lycanthrope Global Freedom Federation.  We’ll be sending a ship over shortly to escort you to the Prometheus, and to discuss along the way a cooperative venture we are sponsoring, between the STAR Corporation and Technical Research Industries.  With your approval, we’ll arrange for a rendezvous with Conus One to meet with Anderson Conus and a special friend of his.”
	Adamo nodded, sipping his coffee.  “Anderson Conus…so, that’s how we’re getting the Cozalien module.  I should have figured the L.G.F.F. would be the ones.”
	“Mr. Conus looks forward to meeting with you.  Thank you, and good day.”  The transmission blinked out, and the landscape painting gradually faded back into view as Adamo stood up, tossing aside his robe and rumaging through a travel case.
	Technical Research Industries was one of several companies to emerge from the industry of reverse-engineering alien technology.  Conus himself took the bold and unnerving approach of reanimating Cozalien devices themselves, and was rumored to be working with the progeny of Cozalien experiments—beings, some of whom were technically human, raised inside alien colony ships.  They had started the process of joining human society, along side a few products of human genetic engineering.  Some of these aliens were not even technically human, being anthropomorphic hybrids of the human species and various animals.  The rest were usually afflicted with either lycanthropy or some other Cozalien animal-shifting virus.  These bizarre people had no hostile intentions towards humanity; in fact, some of their kind played a key role in helping turn the tide in the Cozalien War.  But, they were no less eccentric than one would expect from ones raised in outer space by wolves.  The L.G.F.F., of course, would be one of their strongest advocates towards helping to integrate them into humanity.  For reasons relating to this cause they had invested in the joint venture between Conus and the STAR Corporation, so that the Prometheus could have a giant fragment of a Cozalien creature become its main engine.
	Adamo and his escorts floated through the station’s center hub, drifting to the docking station module.  Hand rails spaced along the path provided support for those less accustomed to zero gravity, but Adamo’s experience with space and the physics of weightless motion rendered them unneccessary.  His party floated into an airlock, bouncing on the rim of the open inside door and then grabbing onto the side rails.  Then, they climbed through the opening of the thick walls of the docked ship, reorienting themselves to the ship’s interior.
	Conus One was larger than a shuttle, but not particularly remarkable.  It’s forward hull was spherical, attatched to a cluster of blocky modules which were in turn linked to framework and a rather unremarkable engine system in the back.  Adamo looked around for signs of alien technology, but saw only the usual late twenty-first century human plasma displays, metal and plastic parts, and two ordinary human crew members there to greet him.
	“Welcome aboard, Captain Adamo,” an enthusiastic, middle-aged man greeted them.  “I’m Anderson Conus.”
	Adamo shook his hand and introduced himself.  “Captain Rick Adamo of the Spacecraft Prometheus.”  He looked around one more time at the mundane surroundings.  “I’ve heard of your reputation and your work, and , with all due respect, I’m a little disappointed.  I was expecting artificial gravity.”
	Conus responded with a slight, suppressed, mischievous smile.  “This is just the transport module.  We’ll be joining with the main hull of Conus One when she comes around.  Keep building your expectations.”
	Conus made his way along railings down a short corridor, into a large room in the forward hull.  Adamo made his way behind him, entering into a large, circular chamber with a series of curved front windows.  The architecture of the room in some ways hinted at the old Star Trek movies Adamo used to collect off the Internet as a kid.  Adding to that theme, crew members and the onboard computer exchanged conversations of technobabble as the ship’s electronics played themselves out.
	The docking module of Conus’ ship broke loose from her docking ring and floated off into the black sea of stars before her.  Conus and Adamo watched through a large, curved wall of thick windows, as Earth rotated away from view, revealing a group of constellations.
	“Primary module approaching,” Conus’ computer described, its female voice deceptively emotional.  Adamo blinked his eyes a few times as he saw the object fly by.
	“If that’s not Conus One, we’re in serious trouble,” Adamo stated, clutching his seat nervously.  He continued to stare at the vessel—a Cozalien battleship.  “That’s a W.O.D.”
	“W.O.D.?”  Anderson asked.
	“Wedgie Of Doom,” Adamo replied.  “During the war, that’s what we called them.  Because they’re only two-way symmetrical, they’d fly at us in formations of four at a time.  Cozaliens are obsessive-compulsive about the number four.  But even one of those ships was more than a match for some of our best destroyers.  Frankly, seeing one in any state other than torn to pieces scares the hell out of me.  I hope you know what you’re doing with it.”  He stared out the windows ahead as the Cozalien battleship flew over them, its triangular forward hull suspended ominously overhead.
	“An engineer by the name of Xau Zolan has been working on it.  He’s managed to convince it that it’s no longer part of the ‘Four One’ Cozalien thing.  It now sees humanity as its shared consciousness.”  Anderson then added with a sigh, “and, he convinced it that two-way symmetry is superior to four-way.”
	“Primary hull aligned for docking,” the ship answered.
	“What was that engineer’s name again?  It sounded like one of those Cozalien people.”
	“Xau Zolan,” Conus answered.  “He’s one of the ones who helped in effectively saving humanity.”  Conus’ explanation paused as the clamor of docking assemblies echoed through the ship around them.  Then, the computer’s voice spoke out.
	“Standby for gravity.”
	Adamo’s eyes widened as he felt his seat pull him down.  Around him, crew members were unbuckling their seat belts and standing up on the floor.
	“Zolan is a bit eccentric,” Conus added, as Adamo started to stand, his eyes still gazing upward with wonder.

	“It’s all electromagnetic,” Conus explained as Adamo climbed up through the airlock, onto a platform surrounded by a wide, crystalline cave lit by strange, glowing gems.  “It’s really more of a force-field than actual gravity.  Think of it as a tractor beam.  Of course, since the module’s on the bottom, it’s actually repelling rather than attracting, but…”
	“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Adamo thought out loud.  “We’re actually inside a Cozalien ship.  Usually that means being subjected to the Island of Doctor Moreau.”  He looked at the bizarre landscape around him, lined with a simple railing of Earthly design but otherwise filled with strange, alien devices and forms moving about, floating up into caverns above, as if ignoring the ‘gravity’ that made Adamo’s standing in a daze possible.  “There’s some things humans just aren’t ready to play around with.”
	“The control deck is this way,” Conus answered, guiding Adamo to a platform.  The two stood for a brief second, and then a bright beem of light propelled the two of them upward, flying deep into the belly of the alien ship, and then forward through a cavern, into something resembling a garden.  Conus guided Adamo around the strangely placed Earth foliage.  “This used to be Zolan’s family living quarters, back before the war.”
	Adamo blinked as he noticed a small rabbit dart by.  “I’ve heard about these.  Abductees described being placed in a zoo-like setting.”  He wandered around a cluster of shrubs, looking increasingly apprehensive.  “Please tell me you’re not a werewolf or something, luring me here as part of some experiment.  We won the war, fair and square.”
	“No, I’m not,” Conus chuckled, as Adamo came upon a large, white wolf sleeping near a tree, lit overhead by a ceiling of sparkling crystals.  “But, Zolan is.  Don’t worry, however.  He’s harmless.  Half the time he’s not even  there in his body.  He’s infatuated with remote viewing.”
	“This must be your engineer…” Adamo said with disbelief, looking at the sleeping wolf.  “And, astral projection is not exactly a science yet.”
	The wolf’s eyes popped open, and the animal stood up, stretching and then standing upright, shifting his features.  The now half-human creature looked back at Adamo.  “But, maybe in time, it can be.”  He sniffed at Adamo as the spacecraft captain backed away.  “Please, don’t be apprehensive,” the creature answered, shifting his head towards a more human-like conformation so that he could speak more clearly.  “I’m a naturalized Earth citizen.  Just think of me as you would any other person with lycanthropy.”  Adamo could swear that the beast had an English accent.
	“The bridge is this way,” Conus pointed, guiding Adamo further through the ship.  Zolan followed as the three crossed the garden, entering into a large, triangular room illuminated with a combination of alien lights and Earthly instrument displays.  A gigantic display hung over a series of triangular windows, both revealing the moon outside, and Adamo’s ship, the Prometheus in the distance.  Adamo glanced at a creature somewhat resembling a wolf and somewhat a human woman, poking at a flexible polymer display of the ship Conus One, while conversing with the computer in a strange language, as if in tongues.  He strolled about the room, looking out at the view outside.
	“If you didn’t bring me here to turn me into something, then why am I here?  Surely not just to dazzle me with special effects.”
	“There could be spies on the Prometheus,” Conus answered, “and you might want to take a look at the second button on your shirt.”  Adamo looked at his shirt and began unbuttoning it.  “Second from the top,” Conus continued.  He poked at another polymer display panel, and on the main display of the Conus a view of Adamo’s chest came into view.  It zoomed in on his hands, fumbling around at the button.  The display then shifted spectrums, revealing ghostly X-ray images and miniature points of light on the button surface.  As it zoomed in to microscopic levels, the points of light became molecular machinery and electronics.  “As I feared, someone bugged you.  Don’t worry; its transmissions were jammed the moment you entered the ship.  After that, it was just a matter of finding the thing—an easy job for Conus One’s internal scanners.”
	“What’s going on?”  Adamo stated, pulling off his shirt button and handing it over to Conus.  “Who would want to spy on the Prometheus?”
	“Who wouldn’t?”  Conus replied as he sat back in something vaguely suggesting a command chair.  “There are rumors that nearly every major corporation or organization is the front for one secret organization or another.  I and Technical Research Industries have been accused of being the front of an alien conspiracy.  I’ll disagree with that, but it’s been said none-the-less.  Shann Enterprises has been said to be veteran ‘Illuminati’ Thomas Shann’s pawn and a front for his alleged ‘Control Administration of Thomas.’  The STAR Corporation—Stellar Transport And Residence—is supposed to be built on the promise of colonizing space, but I’m actually finding evidence that it’s part of the plans of Professor Christopher Bartlett, a South African Internet wizard.”
	“Earth is vulnerable,” Zolan added, pacing back and forth in a lupine manner.  “Humanity still has yet to recover from the Cozalien War.  It’s been fifteen years, but its humiliating defeat after centuries of conviction that it was given dominion over Earth and all other life forms—that it was the supreme force in the eyes of God—it’s an open wound to a battered ego.”  He stopped pacing and looked at Adamo, his cold eyes reflecting bluish light with a ghostly stare.  “I’ve studied your history, Captain Adamo.  When nations are stretched and people are desperate, tyrants become leaders, and the worst aspects of humanity surfaces.  We’re seeing the same fear and desperation that brought about terrible historic regimes like the Nazis or the Taliban, but on a global scale.  All it takes is one mastermind and a few fanatics, and the prospect is nightmarish.”
	“And,” Adamo responded, “you have evidence that this is already happening?”
	“You shouldn’t dismiss astral projection as a science,” Zolan answered.  “Remote viewing has been in use for intellegence by major governments for more than a century.”
	Adamo stepped back with disbelief.  “What’s going to happen?”
	“We don’t know.”  Conus answered this time.  “But, I spent a lot of time dreaming about a bright future, and Zolan and I have come a long way towards trying to realize that future in spite of the Cozalien crisis.  We’ve come too far as a species for this to happen to us right now.  I’m going home tomorrow to New York to see my wife Elaine and my son Alexander.  I want to see Alex grow up in a free world, not some God-forsaken dictatorship.”
	“We will be watching,” Zolan stated.  “This afternoon, when they bring the Cozalien power module of the Prometheus online, they’ll be delivering me with it.  My technology will be at your disposal.”
	“In the mean time,” Conus added, “we’ll bring you to your ship.  Officially, I was just showing off our new project.”
	“Just one more thing,” Adamo asked, looking back at his cohorts.  “Why is the L.G.F.F. involved?”
	Anderson Conus glanced back at Adamo, bewildered.  “Hell if I knew.  Pick your theory.  I’m sure it has something to do with werewolves.”

	Security Chief Rhonda Collins looked out the oversized portal window of the blocky forward hull of the Prometheus with disbelief.  She fidgeted with her hand-held computer and spoke into it.  “I’m going on faith that the Wedgie out front is Conus One and we’re not about to be blown to smithereens.”  She was an older woman, heavy set with her hair dyed a marroon red.  She carried herself with a confident pride that endeared her to her staff, but she had the power to intimidate, and she used it generously.
	In response to her query, the computer simply stated, “incoming message from Captain Rick Adamo.”
	“Put him on.”  Her device popped open, revealing a screen with Adamo’s face against the backdrop of Cozalien paraphrenalia and lights.  “Hello, Rick,” she stated, ignoring the convention of ranks and titles.
	“I’m calling you, Rhonda, because I need to talk to someone I can trust.  I’ll have to tell you in person.  Meet me in my quarters at 1100, and get Mr. Nguyen to come, too.”
	“Thanks; I’m really looking forward to our date.  In the mean time, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about a Cozalien battleship headed our way?”
	“Remember Anderson Conus and T.R.I.?”
	“Oh,” Rhonda nodded.  “That explains it.  I’ll tell the boys to cancel red alert.”
	The smaller Cozalien cruiser drifted towards the underside of the Prometheus, and then its smaller, more Earthly underside module broke loose and floated across the space between the two ships, delivering Adamo away from the bizarre amenities of the refitted alien ship, back into the less advanced but more familiar settings of human engineering.
	Adamo floated into the Prometheus, accompanied with a procession of officers.  Minh Nguyen was among the first to salute his arrival, but he was also the first to drop formalities, pulling him down from his drifting trajectory and guiding him to the side railings.
	“Welcome, Captain.”  Minh was formally dressed in a classic business suit, the attire of the executive professional.  His homeland of Viet Nam had in the recovery efforts after the Cozalien War become a major commerce center.  Minh himself was a clean-cut Oriental man with an authoritative presence.  “You have certainly found an interesting ride.”
	“Relax, Minh,” Adamo replied.  “It gets worse.  I’m going to need a second cup of coffee.”

	Rick Adamo held a small, octahedral object and waved it in front of Minh and Rhonda one at a time.  “Good, we’re safe.  Conus found a bug in one of my buttons.”  The three were gathered in Adamo’s private quarters, located on the rotating habitat ring of the giant vessel; a moving portion that created the illusion of gravity by simple centrifugal forces.  It lacked the glamor of Conus One’s force fields, but it was cheap and did not involve technology that had not yet been mastered by humanity.  Adamo placed the glowing red trinket on a table in the center of the room.  “They never called themselves ‘Cozaliens,” he thought out loud.  “We gave them that name.  It’s a corruption of “CZ-aliens,” from the files kept by the Blue Sentinel organization back in the turn of the century, before it became public knowledge.  They call themselves…”
	“Four-One,” Rhonda answered.  “I’ve been on one of those…things, like the one you rode in on.  The pretzels are stale and the in-flight movie really sucked.”
	“Who would want to put a bug on you?”  Minh asked, studying the alien artifact.
	“That’s why I’ve gotten with you two.  There’s a conspiracy in the making, and the Prometheus is targetted.  She’s the largest ship in Earth’s fleet, and she’s designed to carry if need be more than five million people to colonize Tau Ceti, in case the Cozaliens should return.  A ship her size could do catastrophic damage if it were to, say, crash into the Earth, so it’s not hard to think of reasons why someone might be interested in her.  What I want to know, however, is which reason and who.  For all I know, Conus could be the one behind all this, but for the moment, I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt.  Some of the answers lie on Earth, with the STAR Corporation and a man named Christopher Bartlett.  Minh, you have a lot of influence down on at STAR headquarters.  Conus One is deploying a shuttle to Earth tomorrow.  The rest of the puzzle, however, was in my quarters some time between last night and this morning, doing things with my shirt, and is probably right here now on the Prometheus.  That’s where my chief of security fits in.  Rhonda, I’ll have to introduce you to Xau Zolan.”
	“Xau Zolan?”  Rhonda sighed apprehensively.  “Sounds Cozalien.  I bet he’s lycanthropic, too.”
	“He is.”
	“Now how did I know that?”

	Rhonda shuddered as she and several of her officers walked up to the open aperture of the airlock between the back end of the middle of the Prometheus and the front end of the ship’s Cozalien rear.  Wind blew in through the orafice, into dimly lit crystal caverns beyond.  The force of the air, unopposed by any gravity, drew her closer in.  Then, suddenly, she was swallowed into the alien caves, dropping onto a gravity surface with no appearant rule of physics to account for it.  Her companions one by one stood up and looked around, sharing her unspoken anxiety.
	Rhonda gasped and fell back as a lycanthropic monster gracefully lurked towards her.  For a brief second, she feared she were having a flashback.  But, the beast extended its furry hand, offering to help her up.
	“Xau, I presume,” Rhonda sighed, standing up and brushing herself off.  “I don’t mean to be rude, but you scared the crap out of me.”
	“I see,” Zolan answered, retracting his fur somewhat and shifting towards a more human form, but refusing to hide his lupine features completely.  “Gardener and Taylor revealed themselves a little over sixty years ago, but with the Cozalien abductions—I guess we’ll never fully be rid of the ‘werewolf’ stigma.”
	“No, no, it’s not that.  I was…abducted myself.  Seeing you looming over me like that with pointy teeth just brought back some of my less than favorite memories.  Nothing against you or your kind—just old baggage.”
	“Then perhaps you can forgive this awkward introduction,” Zolan replied as he circled Rhonda, sniffing her.
	“I’d be perfectly happy to.  Just one small favor.  Could you please for one second or two stop acting like you’re going to eat me?”
	“Right,” the beast answered, walking over to an alcove and selecting a set of cloths, tossing them into a crude toga.  “I take it that Adamo explained the situation?”
	“He explained that there’s some shenanigans going on between this Illuminati and that Illuminati.  He also said that you’re pretty confident that Chris Bartlett is up to something with the Prometheus, even though he already owns it and the STAR Corp?”
	Zolan shifted into a more human form, revealing a man appearing somewhat English, with long, blond hair and a slightly disheveled appearance.  He even spoke with British inflections.  His voice sounded warmer in human form, but still retained a somewhat scratchy quality.  “Remote viewing is a useful form of information, as long as you know whether you’re in the real world or deeper in the astral plane.  If you don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going, you can see just about anything.”
	“But, you saw something important, I take it?”
	“Christopher Bartlett is masterminding something.  I know it now.  Since I last saw Conus and Adamo, I saw something else.  He had a conversation with someone about a bomb.  Something about setting us up, or setting up something.”
	Rhonda grabbed her portable computer and flipped it open.  “Larry, call it a hunch, but we need to go to Code Black right now and secure all incoming and outgoing traffic.  We may have a bomb threat on our hands.”

	Minh looked around Conus One’s interior nervously, eyeing the landscape around him as a bright light struck him, abruptly catapulting him through the ship.  He came to a stop near a large room lined on one side with large octahedral objects.  He looked around, confused.  “Conus One, I asked for the shuttle bay.”
	“Minh Nguyen, you are in the shuttlebay.”  The ship’s female voice answered, echoing overhead.  “Did you mean another location?”
	Minh wandered around the cavern, inspecting the row of diamond-shaped artifacts.  Each one had an opening on one side, revealing a small chamber filled with glowing alien trinkets vaguely suggesting electronics.  “No,” he answered out loud, and then mumbled to himself, “I just expected the shuttle bay to look like a shuttle bay.  Silly me.”  Three other passengers stood around—Anderson Conus and him two elderly companions—a colorfully dressed African lady and a man with long, silvery hair and a receeded forehead.
	“You must be Minh Nguyen,” Conus stated, as Minh noticed him for the first time.  “Adamo said you were needing a ride to Earth.  I’ll be going to New York to visit with my family.  And Minh, meet Scott Gardener and Elodea Taylor, founders of the Lycanthrope Global Freedom Federation, and the people who first came forward with lycanthropy.”
	“The Gardener and Taylor?”  Minh stated, his eyes bulging from his forehead.  The old man Scott extended his hand and greeted Minh.  “Believe me, you two were among the last people I expected to see today!”
	“You never know what life has to offer each day,” Scott Gardener answered.  “Believe me.”
	“We were just touring Conus’ ship,” Elodea Taylor added.  “It’s just like my early childhood.”  Except for her white hair, she could easily have been in her early fifties.  However, she was in some respects about a hundred years old, with Scott being slightly older.  Both, however, benefitted from Einsteinian relativity and a round trip across 12.7 light years to Tau Ceti.  In their mid-seventies biologically, the two had aged gracefully and appeared to be enjoying life.  However, this appearance was tempered with the appearance of deep concerns.
	The four made their way inside one of the diamond-shaped objects, which began emitting a low, rumbling hum.  A panel closed them inside, and the humming intensified.
	“So,” Minh said, trying to make conversation.  “What was it like back in 2012, telling the world that you’re werewolves?”
	“It was harder not telling anyone,” Scott answered.  “And it was probably my biggest blunder.  The world needed to know.”
	“Don’t be nervous,” Elodea told Minh.  “I don’t bite…any more.”
	“It’s not that…It’s just that…I’ve always been a little uncomfortable with the idea of shape shifting…”  Minh sighed, catching his breath.  “The thought of having your brain and innards rearranged, of having your flesh tug and stretch like that…it makes me feel a little light-headed.”
	“After awhile, you get used to it,” Scott replied, as the side panelling of the octahedral pod became transparent, revealing a series of assemblies guiding the small alien craft outside the landing bay.  Below their feet, the ground became open space with the planet far below them.  Then, abruptly, Conus One shot upwards above them as they descended in what seemed like a ride in a glass elevator, but across a distance of a hundred thousand miles.
	Minh looked around with nervous interest as the four of them propelled through space.  Conus, however, seemed focused on chatting with a navigational display beside him.  “We’ve got clearance through New York airspace.  We’ll be landing in Memorial Plaza.”
	“You’d think they’d be a little less giving about airspace there.”  The old, silver-haired wolf replied.
	“That was seventy five years ago,” Elodea answered.  “There aren’t many people still alive who even remember.”
	“Remember what?”  Nguyen inquired, watching the planet grow beneath him.
	“One of my biggest regrets,” Scott stated, “was that I never got to see the original World Trade Center before she fell in 2001.  But, it’s not like we expected it.  Back in those days, werewolves were fiction and people who believed that the government knew things about aliens were kooks.  But, the day those towers fell was the start of a long series of rude awakenings about terrorists, secret organizations, and conspiracies.  It was September eleventh—Nine One One.  That used to be the phone number to emergency services.  Read some history, kid.  She’s not always pleasant, but she’ll tell you everything you need to know about today.”  He cleared his throat as he thought out loud.  “But, history is still being written.  This is where the story starts to get interesting.”
	The octahedron dropped from the sky, rocketing through layers of clouds and over the bustling airspace over Manhattan.  Guided by a network of air traffic guidance computers, flocks of aircraft flew in tight formation, almost touching on numerous occasions but always missing each other.  The pod dropped around them, abruptly decelerating until it came to a hover a few feet above an open court yard next to the tallest structure in the skyline—an enormous fortress standing over 120 stories.
	“The place was designed to stand up to anything,” Anderson Conus commented, looking at the bridged tower complex.  “Right before the Cozalien War, they reinforced the superstructure and moved the United Nations inside.  When the Cozalien mother ship opened fire on our cities, it was the safest place to be.”  As he made his way across the court yard, however, he stopped to look at one of the many monuments sitting in formation, bearing the name of a firefighter turned casualty of war from the turn of the century.  “If Xau were here, he’d probably say the place is haunted.”
	Inside the front lobby of one of the great towers, Elaine held out her arms as Conus entered, followed by Minh and the two elder lycanthropes.  Anderson’s son Alex ran over to him with excitement.  “Daddy, I saw the pod land!”  Alex was ten years old, too young to remember the Cozalien War or understand that lycanthropic people were anything other than everyday people with the ability to become animals.  Though he lacked adult prejudices, he had his own imperfections, including a fondness for “Genetic Wars,” a new reality show in which people with lycanthropy or other genetic enhancements engaged in violent sporting events against each other.  Both Cozalien-born therianthropic creatures and the rare products of human genetic engineering endevours were fair game in this controversial but enormously popular show.  His T-shirt depicted “Warlord Gary,” a blue-skinned super-jock with a row of thick spikes instead of hair.
	“Alex, I’d like you to meet Scott Gardener and Elodea Taylor,” Conus gestured towards the senior couple.  “Scott, Elodea, my wife Elaine and my son Alexander.”
	“A pleasure,” Elodea stated, shaking Elaine’s hand.  Elodea sniffed at Elaine, picking up on the younger lady’s frustration behind her overtly pleasant appearance.  She was uncomfortable with something—probably Anderson’s prolonged absences while he tinkered around in space with alien devices.  “You’ve been working too hard.”
	“Alex is quite a hand full,” Elaine replied.
	“Has Anderson ever invited you or your son up there with him?”
	“On that alien spaceship?  It bothers me enough that he’s on that thing.  Suppose it decides it’s Four One again and starts looking for subjects to experiment on?  I don’t want Alex anywhere near…it.  It’s a thing to me…that’s all it is.  It’s his thing.”
	Scott used his own lupine senses to inspect Alex.  The boy looked up at him.  “You aren’t the real Scott Gardener and Elodea Taylor!”
	“Oh, really.”  Scott stated back, unbuttoning his shirt.  “Let’s see if you remember this line.”  Scott smirked with obvious exaggerations.  “The legends are true…”  He promptly dropped to the ground, shifting into a gray-haired wolf.
	Alex grinned and chuckled slightly.  Scott stood up, grabbing his clothes and partially shifting back.  “Back in 2012, most people ran away screaming.”  He leaned over, reading his T-shirt.  “Genetic Wars…you watch that show?”
	The kid reached into his pocket, pulling out a small block.  “I’ve got every episode.  Some day, I’m going to be a genetic engineer myself.  I’m going to make a guy with wings!”
	Scott and Elodea backed off as the Conus family pulled back together towards the great towers.  Scott sighed a deep breath.  “Conus may be a great inventor, but his family is going to fall apart.”
	“Elaine will leave him, but we’re not going to be able to convince him of that,” Elodea answered.  “People like him seldom acknowledge personal lives until its too late.”
	“Knowing these things, hearing and smelling them before they happen—that’s the real curse of the werewolf.”

	Although the second habitat ring of the Prometheus was still under construction, the first was already populated with almost ten thousand people, consisting of space engineers, construction workers, commercial employees, and their families.  The outer rim, where the ring’s rotation created the illusion of gravity equal to Earth’s, supported busy walkways lined by intersections, shops, and shared transit vehicles.  Overhead, an arched ceiling created the illusion of a daytime Earthly sky.  Amidst this flow of activity, a blue-skinned figure in a long cloak set down his travel bag and walked off.
	“Hey, sir, you dropped this.”  An innocent bystander picked up the case, jogging towards the mysterious person.  The blue figure looked back and then started running.  The older man carrying the case set it down, backing away as others began noticing and moving back.  He out of his pocket a hand-held device, poking at it a few times.  “Security, please.  I’d like to report a suspicious activity.”
	As the blue figure pushed his way through crowded passageways, uniformed guards began emerging, chasing after him.  He continued to advance with superhuman speed and agility, jumping over statues and shop facades, and darting around onlookers as they tried to dodge aside.
	“He’s gone down into the utility corridor, towards subsection C,” one of the guards notified his handheld device.  Rhonda looked back at him on its tiny screen.
	“Then he’s headed towards me.  Get that bag out a drop chute.”  Rhonda flipped up her handheld device and looked around, taking a deep breath as she climbed down a ladder.  Moments later, a stir of commotion approached her as a blue, robbed figure burst through a gathering of people nearby.  A single, exhausted officer ran behind him, still trying to catch up with the inhuman creature ahead of him.  Rhonda drew out a pistol, shouting at the figure.  “Stop!  Stop, or I’ll shoot!”
	The blue figure looked up for a fraction of a second at Rhonda, and then returned his attention to his direction of motion, without slowing down.  Rhonda fired several times, hitting him once, creating a brief and small spurt of blood from the creature’s chest.  But, he continued moving, exhibiting no evidence of pain or loss of function.  He pushed Rhonda aside, knocking the weapon out of her hand.  Rhonda tried to grab his robes, but the man tossed them aside, revealing a hulking blue form underneath, bursting out of his attire and continuing unimpeded.
	The other officer ran up to Rhonda, gasping.  “I’ll…try to keep up…”
	“Save your energy,” Rhonda answered, hastily throwing off her jump suit.  “I can take him.”  She tossed her clothes aside as fur erupted from her skin.  Moments later, she had become a wolf, running after the blue figure.
	The blue man looked back at the animal breaking through layers of obstacles between them.  He shifted his pace from a light jog to a full run, but the wolf behind him continued to close the gap between them.  He ducked down into an outer layer underneath the populated levels, ducking through rows and columns of ducts and pipeworks.  However, the wolf Rhonda appeared just as at home in this unearthly environment as he was.  He looked around, and made his way towards a cluster of stairs connecting to a group of lifeboats.  Rhonda had nearly reached him when he slipped into one of the escape pods, narrowly closing the door behind him.  He smiled and waved briefly at the angry lycanthrope behind him, and then jettisoned away as Rhonda punched the closed escape hatch between them.
	A furry creature somewhat resembling the chief of security plodded back towards her stack of clothes and a confused security officer.  “It’s a little something I got from the Cozalien War.”  She grabbed her clothes and stepped into them.  “And, if you tell anyone, not only will I rip out your throat, but I’ll forward all my L.G.F.F. spam to you as well.”
	“That looked like Warlord Gary,” the officer replied, trying not to stare.  Rhonda looked up, straightening out her sleeves.
	“Like who?”
	“Don’t you download TV?”
	“Oh, you mean that guy from that show—‘Eugenics Wars,’ or ‘Clone Wars,’ or something.”
	“Genetic Wars.”
	“Right, whatever.”

	“This is just the sort of thing Thomas Shann would do.”  Professor Bartlett responded, standing up from behind his executive desk.  He walked past Mr. Nguyen, over to a bar in an alcove.  As he poured himself a small drink, he offered one to Minh.
	“No, Thanks.”
	“Suit yourself.”  Christopher Bartlett was an imposing figure, a tall, bald African man with a sharp beard and a deep, resonating voice.  “Terrorism has plagued this century almost as much as the politics of those who would take advantage of its end results.  I will make security on the Prometheus a top priority.  Tell your security chief to expect additional staff by the end of the day.”  As he walked back over to his desk, he set his drink down, picking up a hand-held computer.  “Luckily, the STAR Corporation has an exceptional security department.  They’ve already prepared contingency plans for just this sort of thing.”  With an unsettling lack of emotion, he handed his notepad instrument to Minh.  “On here is everything your crew needs to do until the reinforcements arrive.”
	Minh reviewed the list in front of him, but failed to find comfort in Bartlett’s leadership.  “Professor, this puts Rhonda’s people away from the Cozalien module, staffing a critical area entirely by unknown personel.”
	Bartlett stood up, looming over Minh.  “We’re all on the same team.  I know how it can be on those ships up there—you feel like family, closer to each other and further away from everyone else.  But, I have the utmost confidence in the people who put together the contengency team.”
	“Not to say that I’m doubting you, but Rhonda’s certainly going to want at least her existing security detail down there with Zolan—one of our members, a lady named Elvedea, is Cozalien like Xau, and knows the ship better than anybody.”
	The professor began to display his impatience.  “I know what I’m doing, Mr. Nguyen.  I’ve been dealing with this kind of thing for many years now.”  Minh, not used to his recommendations being ignored, simply stood still, trying to decide on a response.  The professor, however, answered first.  “Are you with me, or are you with the terrorists?”
	“With you, sir.”  Nguyen responded, uncomfortable with his lack of a better reply.
	“Your objective right now,” Bartlett added, shifting tone away from hostility, “is to investigate the attacker who tried to plant the bomb.”
	“The blue man.  He shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
	“As far as I know, only two progeny of Cat’s Paw’s ‘Warlord’ project made it to adulescence so far.  Both are hard to miss, being directly in the public eye in Nevada.  Chances are, you’ll find your blue man in Las Vegas.”

	Elvedea, a creature part human and part black panther, struck at a square-shaped gem formation on a raised crystalline platform, causing lights to flicker around her and a series of chirping sounds.  “Retransmit,” an overhead voice announced in English.  The white wolf Xau lept onto the same platform beside Elvedea and then shifted to a hybrid wolf form.  With a growl, he picked up the formation and set it back down with a thud, causing the lights to flicker off and on again.  With a loud jolting sound, a series of displays popped up.  Xau then retracted his muzzle into a human-like face.
	“You have to know how to talk to it.”
	Elvedea’s animal head retracted, and she shifted her stance as her digitigrade hind paws gave way to feet.  She kept her tail, as well as a coating of black fur.  She then addressed Xau in a language known primarily to beings born and raised inside the artificial environments of Cozalien vessels.  “I’ll still keep in touch.  You’re right to be suspicious—the whole reassignment makes no sense.  It’s going to be tough working out of my element.”
	Xau continued working vigorously on a display panel, negotiating human and Cozalien software.  His ear flickered as he paused to answer Elvedea.  “We can’t stay bottled up, away from humanity indefinitely.  We need them as much as they need us, especially if Four One decides to come back.”  He stopped talking for a moment to concentrate on a file compatability exchange.  After initiating the process, he continued.  “We are based on them.  Technically, I’m human myself, and I think you are, too.  Four One uses human templates in most of its therianthropic genetic experiments, using viruses to make the modifications.  Panthers and wolves are both mammals from the same ecosystem from which the humans evolved.  If we have a home planet, it’s Earth.”  Xau ran over to another set of displays, frantically chasing various icons and symbols across several panels.  “We need to get this thing working as soon as possible.  I’d rather we be at full capacity when something else happens.”

	Minh looked away from his hand-held computer and stood at the front entryway to the great pyramidal atrium in awe of a grand spectacle before him.  Overhead, a great, golden amber pyramid housed a miniature city, filled with activity, suspended over a sparkling, flashing casino, beckoning visitors forward to press their luck.  “Rhonda, you really should see this place.  They’ve renovated the Strip, and I’m standing in the new Luxor.”
	“Right.  You’re standing in the most Cozalien hotel on Earth and you want me to go there.  That place has already given several people abduction flashbacks.”
	“No, it’s not like that at all.  They’ve toned it down a bit—made it more comfortable for the post-war era.”  He turned his handheld so that its camera could show the view before him.  Rhonda’s muffled voice sounded back at him over the echoing sound of slot machine melodies and background crowd conversations.
	“Remodeled my ass!  They made it look like the old Luxor—the one Elodea Taylor once said was the first place on Earth that really felt like home.”
	“Well,” he answered, looking down into his hand-held, “I for one…”
	“Exactly!”
	“I, unlike one person, am very taken with this place.  ‘Genetic Wars’ shows live over at the Universal, but, I’d much rather stay here on the old Strip.  Later this afternoon, I’m going to see if I can locate Warlord Gary.  In the mean time, I’m heading over to the Oasis Spa.  Nguyen out.”  Minh made his way to the information desk housed near the great entryway.  “I’m looking for the spa.”
	“Certainly,” a woman behind an elegant series of formal, Egyptian-themed desks answered, handing him a brochure map.  “You head through the casino…”

	Minh exhaled as a therapist pushed tension out of his shoulders and into the massage table below him.  Delicate, warm hands proceeded to anoint him with a body lotion before turning his head from right to left.  As his head was repositioned, a being observing the procedure, part leopard and part young lady sank into view.
	“Mister Minh New-Yen?”
	“It’s pronounced ‘Nguyen,’” he answered with a sigh as his therapist continued working on his mid-thoracic spine.  “And your name?”
	“Michelle.  Michelle Stewart.  Unlike Gary, my engineers were thoughtful enough to give me a last name.  I hear you’re looking to get in backstage to Cat’s Paw.”  With her statement, Minh sat up, momentarily halting his massage.
	“How did you know?”
	“Someone within the L.G.F.F. has been keeping up with your progress.  They asked me to help out.  For all they’ve done for me, I’m only too happy.”
	Minh inspected his feline benefactor with increasing curiosity.  She could not have been older than sixteen or seventeen, no doubt conceived just before the Cozalien invasion.  Most people her age were dealing with issues of dating, drinking, unplanned pregnancies, and contracting lycanthropy.  That she would be involved in larger affairs would be unusual, were it not for her exceptional background as one of only a few hundred beings genetically engineered on Earth by human hands—more than half of whom were still children.  “Help out in what way?  And, what did they do for you—besides the usual?”
	“Imagine if you contracted lycanthropy, but lost your human form.  Suppose your face was a mask you couldn’t take off.”  Her slitted, yellow eyes conveyed as much emotion as those of any human pariah, and more weariness than was deserved for her stage in life.  “I can get inside Genetic Wars.  I may even be able to make a little profit.”

	The Genetic Arena was one of the largest tournament-fighting ampitheaters in Vegas, outsized only by the one in the new MGM Grand.  What made Genetic Arena unique, however, was not the size, or even the media attention it drew, so much as the fact that no one born human was allowed to participate in any of its events.  An open invitation went out to anyone genetically engineered, by humans or Cozaliens, to participate in a series of sporting events ranging from boxing and martial arts to outlandish athletic competitions.  Warlord Gary was last year’s reigning grand champion, gaining the title by rising through the fighting events, using a contrived martial arts style under the marketable name “death dancing.”
	This evening, thousands of people gathered to watch live what would not officially be posted online television for another few months—the new season of Genetic Wars.  Bootleg footage of the fights would invariably show up online as early as tomorrow, and the producers secretly encouraged it as free publicity.  As the opening event unfolded, an announcer emerged, dressed in a scientist’s white smock and goggles, but obviously an entertainer.  “Are you ready for the Genetic Wars!?!”  As the audience cheered, a burst of explosions and indoor fireworks raised the crowd.  Not satisfied, the would-be engineer asked again, “I said, are you ready for Genetic Wars?!?”  A second burst of effects and glamour flooded the ampitheater, followed by the heavily distorted noise of the heavy metal band Nightstalker at full blast.  “At Genetic Arena, there’s only one rule.  If you’re human, you’re on the sidelines!  Our first event, blades!  Our first contestants, from Cat’s Paw’s Bagdhad headquarters, Rakim; and from somewhere between here and the other side of the galaxy, if I’m pronouncing this right, Zer Colea!”
	A creature part human and part tiger wielded a bright scimitar, flashing it back and forth in a dynamic display of form as he appeared on the stage.  He burst out a roar, and then grabbed a microphone, speaking with a deep, almost human voice.  “I’m here to welcome my opponent to Earth.”
	His opponent then made an entry; a werewolf of Cozalien origin appeared in hybrid wolf form, wearing an amber diamond-like headband and holding onto a quadrilad, an oversized four-pointed weapon resembling four large daggers afixed at right angles into a cross.  He spun the weapon around, tossing it from hand to hand before bellowing a large howl.  Then, he took the loudspeaker, shifting briefly in form to respond.  “You have no chance to survive.”
	“And, for those in the audience who wonder,” the announcer interrupted, “these are real blades.  According to legal bylaws in the state of Nevada, we’re not supposed to permit or endorse serious injuries to any person, human or otherwise, but according to a loophole, we’re not obligated to guarantee survivors!”  He gestured to the crowd to keep the momentum of excitement going, and then shouted, “on the count of three, if I’m not off this stage, I’m toast!”  Overhead displays then ran down a countdown, and the audience shouted as the numbers rolled from three to zero.  Then, with yet another violent explosion, the two contestants charged into melee, clashing their weapons against each other as hard rock riffs blared.
	The muffled noise of the crowd echoed in a backstage area leading to a group of dressing rooms.  The leopard-woman Michelle wandered among the two dozen or so humanoid beings around her, singling out another young lady, with the blue skin and overdeveloped muscles of the progeny of Project Warlord.  “You’re Emily?”  Michelle asked, feeling confident that she was right, as it was unlikely she could be anyone else.
	“Emily Ingersol, The ‘other Warlord,’” She answered, referencing the fact that she was able to acquire a last name, but only by marrying into it.  She watched an old science fiction show on a monitor, cropped into the old 4:3 ratio popular until wider screens took over in the early part of the century.
	“We offered the world order!”  The character on the screen shouted, as ominous music established that the character was confirming the hero’s suspicions that he had ulterior motives.
	“Gary doesn’t get it,” Emily spoke.  “To him, this is all a big adrenalin rush.  They won’t admit it, but I think they engineered him that way.  Right now they’re asking us to compete in this stuff.  Some day, they’ll order us to, like gladiators back in Rome.  They’re afraid of us, and this way they can channel that fear into something more socially palatable—getting to see us beat each other up for the same idiotic reasons they do.”
	“If that’s how you feel,” Michelle answered, “what are you doing here?”
	“I’m here because they want Vivian’s band to play at the half-time.  What about you?”  She looked around, being careful that the other entities around her would not overhear.  “Surely you’re not buying into this demeaning game?”
	“I am here to find a would-be terrorist.  He was blue like you and Gary.  He was a man, so you’re off the hook.  But, someone with blue skin tried to plant a bomb on the spacecraft Prometheus.  Are there any other Warlords besides you and Gary?”
	Emily sighed, stopping playback on her show, guiding Michelle away from the corner of the backstage region and into a more private room.  “There’s Phil, Cassandra, and Paul, but they’re kids.  Paul is the oldest, and he’s only nine.”
	“Any chance there could be anyone else colored blue out there?”  Michelle postulated.  Emily replied with further speculation.
	“How do you know it wasn’t blue paint, to throw you off?”
	“He was blue.  My informant was pretty confident, and she got pretty close for a few moments before he got away.”  At that moment, a man wearing an ear piece computer and formal attire came in.
	“Michelle Stewart?”
	“Yes,” She acknowledged.
	“You and Gary are on in twenty minutes.”

	The arena flashed with bursts of effects and noise as another mad scientist introduced the next contest.  “Hand to hand, our reigning champion from the claws of Cat’s Paw, I summon Warlord Gary!”  In front of an oversized portrait of Gary and the teardrop-and-crescent logo of Shann Enterprises, Cat’s Paw’s parent company, clouds of smoke billowed as Gary rose from a trap door.  As the mists subsided, Gary’s bright grayish blue skin sparkled, revealing prominent musculature in a thick form, covered by slick, hairless gloss.  Then, the mad scientist directed his attention towards a dark, velvety red carpet being unrolled onto the arena.  “Our challenger tonight is unbelievably brave—weighing in at less than half his weight and being female, she and Gary would never have been put anywhere near each other in any human sporting events.  But, she signed the waivers, and she’s read what she’s up against!  From Sherman Laboratories, Michelle the Leopard!”
	Michelle briskly came onto the stage, with a sense of anxious anticipation as the imposing behemoth Gary looked down towards her.  The applause was of minimal reassurance, and the noise was almost painful to her sensitive, genetically enhanced hearing.  Though a coating of spotted fur covered her skin completely, she still felt nearly naked, wearing only a leather bikini.
	“The rules are simple.  Don’t leave the stage, unless you’re me.  On the count of three, I’m out of here!”  As the audience counted down, Michelle thought about how she would handle approaching Gary.  But, as explosions went off and the count reached zero, her first thoughts were how to keep Gary from barrelling through her.  The Warlord charged, his spiked head pointed forward, ready to bludgeon and impale Michelle’s seemingly frail form.  She ducked aside, allowing Gary to run past her, and extended her leg out, tripping the giant and causing his hairless body to slip across the arena floor towards the first row of audience down below.  People cheered, applauding the small victory of the underdog.  However, Gary quickly stood up and ran back around, grabbing Michelle by the neck and lifting her up.
	“Where were you…” Michelle gasped, “on the night of the fifteenth…around eight pm?”  She thrust her elbows into Gary’s, hoping a pressure point would be where it was supposed to be.  Gary’s grip weakened for a second, but he kept his grip on her for a few moments longer before hurling her across the stage, into the audience on the front row as they ducked and ran aside.  Michelle kept one foot anchored on the edge of the stage, thus keeping her in the game.  She pushed herself backwards and back-flipped up into the arena.  Gary bolted over and began throwing a series of rolling, continuous punches towards her.
	“I was…occupied.  I’d really rather not say.”  He answered, pummelling Michelle with a repetative series of blows.  She ducked down, cringing in pain and then taking advantage of an opportunity, thrusting her foot into the groin before her.  Gary responded with less pain than anticipated, but he still responded, stumbling back.
	“Were you on board the Prometheus?”  Michelle asked, standing up and slapping his face back and forth, until he grabbed her hand.
	“The space ship?”  Gary grabbed her by her arm, lifting her up as she reached and grabbed at his hand with her free arm.  “No, I was here in Vegas.  Why do you ask?”
	She lunged into his face, biting his nose and causing him to throw her aside.  As she tumbled to the ground, she wearily lifted herself up, rolling out of Gary’s way as he came at her again.  “Someone with blue skin tried to bomb the ship.”
	“Don’t look at me,” Gary answered, grabbing her and placing her over his shoulders before walking with a spin.  “I was rehearsing—I mean, practicing…I was getting ready for the finals tomorrow night!  My dance instructor….”  He stopped himself, rephrasing, as he continued to spin faster.  “My Kendo instructor—deathdancing advisor—he can give you my alibi.”  With that, he tossed her, hurling her several rows into an audience, who softened her impact as they caught her and cheered.  A team of bouncers appeared to escort her back stage as Gary gestured his dominance of the arena, amidst more noise and effects.

	“His alibi checked out,” Michelle mumbled to Nguyen.  “A dozen people saw him step out of the training room to go to the restroom less than ten minutes before your intruder showed up.  A Cozalien abduction couldn’t have gotten him to the Prometheus that quickly.”
	Nguyen inspected a few mats of fur on Michelle’s torso and face.  She appeared somewhat bruised.  “You took quite a beating.”
	Michelle’s ears twitched.  “I’m not quite human; my ribs don’t break very easy.  But, my ears are still ringing from all that noise.”  She sat herself upright, brushing off her injuries.  “The worst part of all of this is now I’ll be on that stupid show.”  She looked around for her personal articles and identified her mishapen, ergonomic handbag.  Upon finding it, she opened it up and keyed in a series of inputs.  “Agent Stewart, priority two, authentication by voice, code is one, one, seven, one, beta, five.”

	“Sector four clear,” the red-clothed guard replied into a control panel, before turning around and looking into Xau Zolan’s engineering station across a walkway platform, and at the wide, open cavern surrounding them.  Its pyramidal overhang and enclosed crystalline forms held his attention for several long seconds before he pulled himself back to the business at hand.  “All clear, Mr. Zolan.”
	“I’m not sure whether or not either Xau or Zolan would count as a last name.” Xau pondered, secretly continuing to communicate with his display panel.  “Many Cozalien-engineered don’t even have divided names at all.”  He frowned as he looked at the data flow across a kaleidoscopic image display on one of the crystalline devices floating near him.  “You may want to recheck the gravity floor generators around the fusion reactor; I’m getting some anomalous mass compensations—something is throwing off their calibration, and that’s an awfully critical area.”
	“I just did,” the officer answered, walking over to Zolan’s station.  “Look.  I may not be Cozalien like Elvedea, but I can still….”  He soon realized that Xau was not only ignoring him completely but in fact appeared unconscious, his eyes rolling back in a manner almost suggestive of seizure activity.  “Mr. Zolan?”
	Xau jolted back to consciousness.  “Condition red, now!  Get the bomb squad to the fusion reactor now!”
	“What?  Are you…”  As the guard studdered, Zolan sensed something more; he was hiding in his face and gestures an awareness of more than he was revealing.  Xau promptly shifted into a bestial form, throwing himself upon the guard and throwing him across the walkway and into the forest environment beyond.  He ran back to his station, gesturing a series of motions in front of one of the square kaleidoscopes, bringing up an image of Rhonda on one of the wide, rectangular displays built from human technologies.  “Condition red, bomb squad to fusion reactor, and detain our reinforcements from….”  Before Zolan could finish, the unthinkable happened.  A loud rumble rocked him and the room about, and a number of his displays went blank.  The lights flickered out, replaced by dim emergency switches as alarms fired.  He grabbed onto the railing, realizing that his magnetic gravity-field emulators had failed.  Then, the walls began vibrating.  Backup power brought back Rhonda’s display.  “What happened?”  Zolan asked, even though he already knew.
	“Sabotage,” she answered bluntly.  “We’ve lost the main reactor, and the explosion has knocked us on a trajectory towards Earth.  I’ll ask you how you knew later; right now, we need to find a way to stop this whole ship from going down, or at least calculate….”  Another series of explosions interrupted her.  Zolan grabbed onto the railing as he flung weightlessly around the causeway.  Rhonda’s image flickered briefly as she appeared to jolt about on screen.  She looked back up.  “They’ve just taken out our manouvering thrusters.  We’re going down!”
	Xau swallowed deeply.  “You realize that the fusion reactor operates at stellar surface temperatures, and there’s no way containment can hold it in place if we hit the ground….”
	On another panel, Captain Adamo’s image appeared.  “This is the Captain speaking.  All hands, abandon ship.  We have sustained critical damage and our orbit is decaying.  We will impact Earth in two hours.  Repeat, all hands, abandon ship!”  On Rhonda’s screen, Zolan could then hear Captain Adamo instructing her.  “Without the main reactor, I can’t self-destruct.  We’re going to have to break the ship apart somehow; it’s the only way to prevent our trajectory from throwing us directly into the North American Eastern seaboard.  Is there any way you and your team can do that in less than two hours?”
	“It took us three hours just to screw in the infrared radio post!”  Rhonda replied, trying not to allow the growing severity of the situation occur to her.  “I’ll come up with a way.”  She then looked back up towards Zolan.  “Xau, you’ve got an hour and a half to do something miraculous before you have to get out of there.”
	Xau looked at one of his other panels as he nervously pondered his surroundings.  On it, Captain Adamo was transmitting a general distress call and a warning to President Hazelwood.  Xau’s eyes lit up as he frantically began grabbing a cluster of wires.  He looked up at a floating crystalline object, flickering and blinking as it drifted overhead.  He tied the wires around his waist and took a jump, grabbing and hugging the object and then using the wires to pull himself and the crystalline cluster towards his station.  Xau wedged it between his legs and began tossing out and rearranging gems.
	“Inform me where the rest of Four One can be found,” the object chirped out in Xau’s native language.
	“You’ll see in a minute,” Zolan answered.  “And, you’re memory tracks are in error.  Your name isn’t Four One.  It’s Conus One.”

	“Yes, there was a security leak,” Thomas Shann advised the dark-skinned, silver-haired figure viewing him on a monitor.  “Seventeen years ago.”  Thomas Shann appeared in a number of ways similar to Scott Gardener in his youth, though his features were devoid of lycanthropy and considerably softer.  Shann was a lean man with clean, polished features except for a small beard.  He looked far younger than he should be; in fact he barely even appeared middle-aged, even though he had to be over 80 years of age.  His secret for longevity was in all likelihood related to one of several components of the new technology that Shann Enterprises was developing from once-hidden extraterrestrial and Earthly origin.  “Back in 2059, while preparing for the Cozalien invasion, there was a lot of industrial espionage that was overlooked and forgiven, given that our main concerns was building up humanity and Earth against a superior adversary.  A handful of Warlord embryos were stolen and a copy of the full Warlord genome was pirated, along with manufacturing methods and the plans for gestational matching.  I’ve wondered when a bootleg Warlord would surface, and I’ve suspected all along that Christopher Bartlett was the one responsible.”
	“You can count on it,” Elodea Taylor replied.  “The backup security team on the Prometheus was the sabateur.  The first bomb was to get the security team up there.  Bartlett used his Warlord, hoping you’d get blamed.”
	“I will enjoy splitting his empire with you,” Shann answered.  Though he seldom appeared very emotional overtly, he was obviously unsettled by the state of events.
	“First things first,” Elodea replied, dismissing the proposed opportunity.  “We need to save a hundred million people.”  Shann looked back, making an effort to maintain his appearance of emotional detachment.
	“I’m open to suggestions.”

	Captain Adamo held onto the command chair in the control room as debris flew weightlessly around him.  Outside, a blazing fire formed around the ship as it reentered the Earth’s atmosphere.  The rest of the bridge crew had already evacuated.  “Ten minutes to go,” he shouted into a display panel beside his chair.  “After that, even getting to the life boats won’t be enough.”  He looked over at a display of Rhonda.  “Anything?”
	“Nothing,” she sighed, weary and shaking.  “I got a few tons off throwing crap out the landing bay.  That’s about it.  We’re too well built.”
	“Zolan,” Adamo addressed another monitor, “that miracle of yours that you just promised me?  Now would be a good time.”
	“Any minute,” Xau answered.  “Come on…”  Then, something caused the ship to shake and pull upward.  Zolan began laughing and howling.  “Yes!”
	“Incoming transmission,” the computer instructed Adamo.  He pushed a series of symbols on one of his displays.  Then, Anderson Conus appeared, sitting at a central chair of his ship’s triangular control deck.
	“This is Conus One.  We’re attempting to use our electromagnetic force generators to tractor you back into orbit.  If that fails, I will have to destroy your ship to prevent an ecological catastrophy.  I strongly advise you to abandon ship and join me here.”
	“You heard the man,” Adamo replied to his network of skeleton crew members.  “Get your asses off my ship!”  He then jumped out of his own chair, throwing himself towards an overhead airlock with a nearly empty bank of space suits.  One had a red color and fire emblems, indicating it was for high temperature conditions.  As he threw one on, he stopped briefly to think.  The captain goes down with his ship.
Then, he thought about Elaine Conus.  She had talked with him at great length how angry she was with Anderson for suggesting upholding that tradition were something to happen to Conus One.  She advised Adamo, should that tradition ever come to mind, that he think of all the reasons he has for living.  Then, he looked at the Earth’s horizon on the monitor, surrounded by a window of atmospheric fire.  “Farewell, Prometheus.  As much as I loved you, I can’t abandon Earth to people like Chris Bartlett.”  He made his way through the airlock and tossed himself into the blazing inferno above.  Several other bodies flung out with him, along with a single octahedral object from the Cozalien module in the back.  Adamo felt a tug upward slightly, as he watched his ship drop away beneath him.  The bizarre, triangular Conus vessel then dropped down, pulling each of them inside.

	Adamo, Rhonda, and the rest of her security detail stood at the bridge of the Conus as Anderson and his lupine crew continued to work on the ship, coaxing as much performance as they could from its overtaxed electromagnetic systems.  Gravity began to give way on the bridge as power was redirected.  Zolan sat at one of the control stations, feeling at home negotiating with the ship entity.
	“She understands the importance of this,” Zolan called out, over the rumbling noise of the atmosphere.  “Conus One’s giving everything she’s got.”
	Adamo looked at a display depicting the ship, showing the underside module of Earthly design over the triangular main hull, as well as the two side arms.   “Are the weapons on this thing operational?”
	“They’ve been regenerating on their own, but we’ve been afraid to bring them online.  People are touchy about armed Cozalien entity ships.”
	“The second habitat ring is still under construction,” Adamo replied, thinking quickly.  “It should break up in the atmosphere with minimal debris reaching Earth.”
	“That would reduce its weight a little,” Xau added.  “I can negotiate with the ship’s tactical matrix.”
	“Do it,” Conus answered, leaning forward and watching before him the great hulking vessel below his continue its firey descent.
	Xau fidgeted with a series of instrument displays and flickering lights, murmuring his tongues to them.  The black panther hybrid Elvedea joined him in manipulating the flood of shimmering patterns.  “Retransmit without visual,” the ship responded overhead.
	“I think it just called me ugly,” Zolan sighed.  “There it is.”  Suddenly, blazing shuriken spikes fired out of the two side arms in rapid succession, impacting and slicing into the Prometheus’ incomplete habitat ring, causing portions to fall away and scatter.  The bolts continued to burst out in rapid succession, ripping the ring apart, but half-way into breaking down its four massive support struts, the Conus stopped firing.  “That’s all we had,” Zolan sighed.
“There’s supposed to be a pair of energy beam weapons,” Elvedea added, “but the plasma generators were never restored.”
	“That’s what I get for caving in to political pressure,” Anderson groaned.  “Noticing any difference?”  He asked.
	Zolan turned around and replied, “I think we can save the ship, but it’s awefully close.  How tall is the Trade Center Memorial?”
	“Forget the ship,” Adamo answered.  “If we ejected the docking module of Conus One, used it as a battering ram, could that be used to knock it safely into the ocean?”
	Zolan brought up a series of calculations.  “Our best trajectory would still cause significant tidal waves across the American Eastern seaboard.  Captain, we can do this.  It will work, and in two years’ time, the Prometheus can have its second habitat ring finished.”
	“We have no choice but to do it,” Anderson added.
Adamo then looked at a projection of the New York skyline and then at a tactical projection view of the ships’ projected paths.  “Can you do something about this fireball all around us?”
“I’m already working on it,” Elvedea answered.  “We’re drawing in excess thermalized air; I’m just needing a place to put it.”  She looked at Xau, and the two spoke in unison.
“The plasma for the weapon array.”
“It’s not hydrogen ions, so don’t fire the thing,” Xau explained, “but the intakes can direct it into the compression chambers…”
Adamo interrupted the technical exchange as he looked on the overhead triangular display, and then out the jagged series of windows before him.  “We’re still closing in on the skyline.”
“We’ll miss the Memorial’s top spire,” Zolan reassured, checking his calculations again.  “By a good meter if I do this right.”  Then, the walls of the command deck began to shake.
With a booming roar, the Prometheus sank through layers of clouds, passing over a sprawling city landscape below.  Conus One continued to tug upwards as it absorbed the last sparks of fire.  The blocky front end of the ship advanced forward, casting a looming square shadow over Manhattan.  Then, the one complete habitat ring passed over the skyline.  As the lowest part of the still-rotating ring dropped over the Memorial tower complex, wind from the ring’s motion caused the flag of the United States, housed prominantly on top of the highest spire, to flutter defiantly.  Then, the broken second ring portion passed overhead, followed by a cluster of utility modules, and finally, the damaged Cozalien powerplant mounted on the back.  The mile-long vessel passed overhead with rumbling force, shaking the windows of the massive array of skyscrapers over Manhattan and then the revitalized Bronx downtown region, but as the path of the Prometheus took it to open waters, it began to lift upwards again.  Down below, beyond the range of hearing of those onboard Conus One, crowds of New Yorkers were already cheering them.
Soon, the Prometheus was back on its way into space, its considerably smaller Cozalien escort continuing to pull as both vessels reentered orbit over Earth.  Finally, Conus One was able to release its tractor beam and pass over the larger vessel once before swinging around.

Captain Rick Adamo stormed into Christopher Bartlett’s office, slamming onto the professor’s desk a small cube of data.  “The log of the Prometheus, including the details of your security team—you wanted to do the same thing that happened seventy-five years ago—wreck New York’s skyline with a wild act of terrorism.  Why’d you do it?”
Bartlett, devoid of emotion, polished a glass paperweight with a handkerchief before responding.  “Humanity must be united, by any means neccessary.”
Adamo took the same paperweight and threw it across the room, shattering the glasses of his minibar.  “You’d sacrifice millions of lives, just to give you a reason to fabricate some sort of anti-terrorism scheme?”
“If it would save several billion lives, yes.”  Bartlett refused to yield his cold stance.  “We barely survived the Cozalien War.  We’ve taken fifteen years to repair what they did in a handful of days.  If they come back, humanity has to be together.  We used to be divided into squabbling nations, warring amonst ourselves over petty political issues.  That’s a luxury we can no longer afford.  Unfortunately, world unification is not happening on its own.  We have to bring it together.”
“We?  Who is ‘we’?”
“Myself, the STAR Corporation, Mr. Kim Huang—head of the Chinese Anti-Terrorist Task Force, and of course, Ronald Becker, head of the American Office of Homeland Security.  He officially answers to President Hazelwood, but in reality, he answers to me.  Together, we represent world unity and a fighting chance to survive another Cozalien attack.”
“Mister Nguyen, did you get that?”  Adamo spoke into his coat, revealing a small, diamond-shaped artifact.  He then looked at Professor Bartlett.  “Your people may confiscate my hand-held, but they can’t detect these.  That’s one reason why you’re afraid of the Cozaliens.”
Bartlett looked at the instrument, showing concern for the first time.  He began to make his way out of the office, but Adamo replied with an angry smirk.  “Oh no, you’re not getting away that easily.”  Several large diamond-shaped objects then burst through the ceiling, and from each one emerged an anthropomorphic creature.  Some held hand pistols, while others displayed quadrilads, flicking into place their radial starburst of blades.  “As Captain of the Prometheus, I’m placing you under arrest.”
Bartlett looked around but quickly conceeded that he had lost, surrendering himself to custody.  Soon, he was on board one of the Cozalien modules, his arms and legs wrapped in an organic goo serving as restraints as a pair of lycanthropes stood beside him.  One bared her teeth briefly as she stepped into the travel pod.
Adamo wandered around the room, inspecting Bartlett’s desk for additional information about his conspiracy even as his Cozalien allies exited.
	“Ever hear of the ‘Illuminati’?”  the old lycanthrope Gardener emerged from the shadows, becoming appearant to Adamo for the first time, in human form.
	“You mean the old conspiracy theories, back before you announced to the world that werewolves were real?”  the captain answered, still shaken from his encounter with Bartlett, as well as startled by the appearance of the famous shapeshifter.  “And, how did you get here?”
	Scott Gardener retracted the white hair over his forehead, taking on a more bald appearance.  “According to geneticists, I’d have started losing my hair in my thirties were it not for my lycanthropy.”  After finishing shifting his features, he continued.  “But, lycanthropy has done more for me than simply curing male pattern baldness.  It showed me that you can’t always take things at face value; but, it also showed me that you can’t dismiss conspiracy theories, either.”  He surveyed the room before sitting in Bartlett’s chair.  “As you probably already know, a group known as Blue Sentinel once held me and my dear Elodea for five years, trying to protect humankind from my existence.”
	“This is about Professor Bartlett—about what he just revealed.”
	“More than that, Captain.”  Scott allowed his hair to regrow and his eyes to shift from bluish grey to golden amber.  “This is about Thomas Shann, Anderson Conus, and all the others who dabble in power.”  Gardener stood up again, pacing about.  “Bartlett subscribed to the notion of the New World Order.  It is a concept that has been around for more than a century, but so far, it has failed time and again because of its sheer magnitude and the amount of cooperation needed to pull it off.  Most acts attributed to it have instead been revealed historically to be nothing more than short-term political acts of opportunity to seize power when the time was right.  However, it is becoming increasingly plausible, both technologically and socially—especially now that the Cozalien War has created desperation for leadership and invigorated fear of the unknown.  Please see to it that the Prometheus is fully operational for interstellar flight again as soon as possible.  The L.G.F.F. will back you on this endevour.  I just hope I don’t have to need you, but I fear I will.”
	Adamo’s eyes perked with a revelation.  “You’re an Illuminatus yourself, aren’t you?”
	“The L.G.F.F. is not just a therian advocacy group.  Elodea and I have dedicated our lives to ensuring the freedom of humanity.  In a worst-case scenerio, we want to be able to take as many good minds as we can as far as possible away from the grasp of technocratic dictatorship.  There is a planet orbiting Tau Ceti, which we have nicknamed ‘Utopia,’ with an atmosphere and conditions tolerable to human life.  With a little work, it could support a human settlement.”  Gardener’s lupine features took on a warm glow as he stared back at Rick Adamo.  His amber eyes reflected more the compassionate animal of nature preservations than the historic, beastial creature that lycanthropes once were portrayed to be.  “Yes, I’m involved in the great power games; the L.G.F.F. is my front.  I will not deny that I’m in this for personal gain.  I do this because I need to know that I will be free in the future to come.  I cannot allow the daughters and sons of genetic engineering to live as slaves in arena fights or underground government laboratories.  If I can stop it, I must.  In order to do that, I have to beat them at their own game.  Now, with Bartlett out of the way, I’m now going to be watching Thomas Shann very closely—as though he were the next episode of the Genetic Wars.”