Here is yet another excerpt from Cradle.  Right now, I'm interested
in comments on writing style.  Once I get that down, I'll proceed
to post the rest.

-The Reverend Prez

*  *  *

CLOSE TO FIVE HUNDRED YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE HER FIRST ENGAGEMENT AGAINST
THE Enemy.  Still, only two-hundred years of memory remained with her; most
of the memories amassed before her recall-wipe had been deemed to dangerous
for any of her kind to retain.  The Overseers--amongst whom she was now
numbered--had assured her that it had been the right thing to do; debating
the Overseers fell beyond her purview.  She remembered her first thought,
three-hundred and sixty-eight years ago--one of the first "Sentries" to
enter into the education machines that had made her into an Overseer.  Her
loyalties to the Masters were strengthened, her combat ability maximized,
and her capacity of intelligence increased beyond that of her normal
brethren.  No longer did she wear the various styles of greys, greens, and
purple uniforms her fellow Sentries donned.  Instead, a specially tailored
blue-uniform, including a navy-blue cloak and a golden collar-crest, was
together an insignia of her new station.  An oligarch submissive to a higher
oligarch, in an endless neo-feudal chain that secured loyalties through
artificial means, rather than by appeasing to the darker and lighter saids
of human nature.
    <No,> she had once thought.  <That is the state of my brethren--my
former brothers and sisters...those who are now beneath me.>
    It was true.  Although her adjustment had ensured a propensity towards
loyal servitude to her higher oligarchs and the Masters themselves, she was
no longer the unwitting slave-warrior that the lower "Sentries" were.  The
adjustment had stimulated her mind, and her thought processes were slowly
but surely evolving towards a greater intellectual capacity.  Her new
station permitted and required such a highly dangerous level of
thought-capacity; for she was too understand the goals and intentions--well,
partially so--of her superiors and the Masters.  No longer was she
T'sientrati.  No longer was she the imposing giant that had engaged so many
of The Enemy--both in the vaccuum of space and on the various worlds The
Enemy saw fit to infest.
    She was a Micronian.  They were the "Asentriade-meluturoan"--the High
Overseers.
    "Serve'dellva," the Commander spoke in the Tiresian high-tongue.
However, she was neither Tirolian nor a member of the Free Races her Masters
had come into contact with.  As far as common knowledge was aware, no T'sen
was able or permitted to speak in the ancient tongue of their creators'
homeworld.  Even today, those secretive few who were selected for the honor
of the mind-adjustment, were still uncomfortable with their higher
abilities.  It was a dialect of romantic mysticism to the T'sen, one which
commanded a deep sense of reverence in the souls of all Zentraedi.  It was
the language of important matters--a High Tongue.
    Surprisingly, the Commander was merely requesting a status report.
    "We are currently moving away from the farthest lunar gravitational belt
of this system's fifth planet, Commander," her adjutant replied, also in
Tiresian and with confident swiftness.  "Seven standard days until we cross
into the asteroid field."
    "Probe telemetry?"
    "We haven't received anything definite as of yet, Commander," the
adjutant answered, "but all present indications point to an absolute
certainty.  If it ever really remanifested itself, it is here."  The
Commander nodded understandingly, knowing what her adjutant had purposefully
left out of his assessment.  <If she is here, then so is Breetai.>
    "Continue with the probe analyses," the Commander ordered.  "Remember to
maintain a safe watching distance--for now.  If the planet's natural
inhabitants have truly harnessed the technology onboard the ship, then we
must assume they've achieved some sort of space-travel competency."
    "Yes, commander," the adjutant affirmed, then passed the order to the
commo operator.  "At what point shall we send the Sentries for a manned patrol?"
    "Soon, Auella..."

*  *  *

+-----------------+-<The Badass Reverend of Funk Prez>---+
|    Presley H.   | Political Science / Computer Science |
|    Cannady II   | and Electrical Engineering Undergrad |
|<revprez@mit.edu>| at the Mass. Institute of Technology |
+-----------------+-<Anime Manga Development Group>------+
|_|"The art of war is of vital importance to the state"|_|