Authors: Lt. Cmdr. Keith and Warrior A. Persephone

   Lights beckoned from in front and off to all sides.  Horizontal
floorings and balconies seemed to slope up from the ramp.  Tunnels, halls,
and large rooms branched off at every side and continued around turns.
   After barely a minute of descent, the sponge in front stopped.
"Ummm... does anybody know where Base Command *is*?"
   Pers muttered, "How the heck does this Army run?"
   Will raised a hand.  "Ooh!  I've got an idea!"  He was actually jumping
up and down in mock excitement.  "Let's all split up, and the first one to
find Base Command gets them to call everybody else!"
   "Why, that's a super-terrific plan, friend!  Everybody, split up!"
Caught up in the excitement, no one even noticed that Will and Pers were
unfamiliar.  In a moment, they were alone.
   "Nice call, Will.  Got any ideas where to go ourselves now?"
   "Whatever that cargo was, it was urgent, and big time.  Anything made
in an area this secured has to be important.  I vote we find out what it
was, and the first place to look would be the recent cargo manifests."
   "Sounds like a plan.  There's the truck lane stripes over there, they
must lead right back to Cargo."
   "Right."
   The two set off.  In about five minutes, they had descended several
stories and gone three or four turns into the structure, when a vast cargo
bay opened up in front of them.  Identical trucks in identical rows were
being loaded with identical cargo, but only one at a time was leaving, and
that infrequently and in different directions.  Will pointed out a piece
sitting on the floor close by and they sauntered over.  Pers snagged a
clipboard off the wall and pretended to take notes as Will examined the
item under the tarp.
   "Looks like a crystal-technology piece.  Main part is tetrahedral,
about three feet on a side.  It's sitting on a wooden forklift pallet, so
it's pretty heavy, but probably not more than a few hundred pounds.  There
are protrusions of variously colored crystals of all sorts of shapes at
odd points on all three upper faces.  Asymmetric.  All three faces have
identical satellite-dish-shaped indentations in the center, about... seven
to ten centimeters in diameter.  Where's the manifest - ah, here it is."
He picked up the tag on the tarp.  "Array Element number 1170, Paris, TX."
   "What do Paris and Texas both have to do with this, I wonder?" Pers said.
   "Paris is a city in Texas, too."  Will became thoughtful.  "And what's
this?"  He picked up a drawstring bag and opened it.  Several smaller
spheres of clear crystal fell out.  "Personal field negaters," he read the
bag.  "Weirder and weirder."
   "I don't think we're going to find out what this does without turning
it on, and I don't think we want to do that," Pers pointed out.
   "Maybe there's another way."  Will closed up the bag and handed Pers
one of the crystal spheres after taking one for himself.  "Just in case."
He read the tag again.  "Here we are.  'Delivery number E4-tyu680,
NNT#14306.'  NNT is the NeatoNewToy number.  With this, I'd bet we can
access R&D files and find out what this is."
   "Then we should get to R&D."
   "Just what I was about to say."  Pers hung the clipboard back on the
wall as Will replaced the bag and tarp - "Unless you have to have been
there, you weren't," the intelligence adage reminded them.  "We passed R&D
back on the main ramp down," Will said.
   It took them several more minutes to make their way back up.  R&D was,
at the outer point, minimally secured and the swipe cards that came with
the uniforms got them in.  The entrance was logged, Pers noted, but
hopefully it wouldn't matter.
   Getting into the deeper levels was only a slightly more challenging
task.  The time-honored method of borrowing the bathroom air vents worked
like a charm for about one level further before security measures were
encountered.  They dropped back in and looked about.
   Equipment of varying sorts - mechanical, chemical, electrical - was
scattered about, as were researchers.  Most were performing readily
identifiable tasks, the grunt work of development - testing, retesting,
taking reams of data on performance of batteries, energy-producers,
focusers, and other elements of weaponry.  To the left rows of cubicles
contained computers, some with doors closed signifying workers inside.
They made their way quietly over to the cubicles and Pers looked in one.
   "Login system.  That mecha of yours do hacking?"
   "Nothing major.  How about we get one of these nice people to do it for
us?"  He pulled out his emergency despongification kit from beneath his
loose shirt and removed a syringe, which he promptly hid in his hands.
   "Shall I knock or you?"  Pers reached over and knocked politely on the
first closed door.
   From within, they heard the sound of a scraping chair.  The door opened
to a sponge researcher's face(yes, they exist - even a minimally adaptable
brain has advantages over a computer system.  They mostly do the grunt
work described above).  "Yes?"  Will took hold of the sponge by the mouth
to stifle a cry and used his greater size to push him back into the
cubicle.  Pers entered and closed the door behind her, crowding the room
slightly.  Will injected the serum into the researcher's arm and he
struggled a moment, then slumped.
   "He'll wake up in about three hours, but we don't have that long.
Let's hurry."  He sat at the desk.
   "Surely something that puts you to sleep for three hours isn't
something that should be in an emergency desponge kit?"
   "That particular substance is normally used to prevent spongification
in advance if one anticipates being exposed to spongifying influences.
It'll work to clear his system but he'll be unconscious until then.
Little known side effect."
   Will examined the screen before him.  Big, clearly labeled buttons
reminded him of the Mac At Ease interface - basically, you could hardly do
anything with it.  He shut down the data-processing application currently
running and selected Neato New Toys List.
   The prompt responded: "Do you want to find a Neato Toy by name?  How
about by what it looks like?  Maybe what it does?  Do you have a number for
it?"  He selected that last.  "Type the number and hit the RETURN
button."  He entered 14306.  "Ooh, that's one of the new secret ones.  The
code you put in to tell me who you are says you can access a little bit of
information about this, but not much.  What do you want to know?"  A
listing followed: "What it's called, What it does, How to fix it if it
breaks, Where they should be, Who to call if something comes up that you
don't understand."
   "Guess we'll just go in order, then.  What it's called."
   "A Little Side-Part of the Real Big Nice-Making Array.  There should
also be some Personal Field Negaters with it - those are for bosses only."
   "Nice-Making Array," Pers quoted.  "If this is a spongification device,
it must be a big honking array.  Maybe they're transporting parts in
secret so that people don't notice something like they would a big supply
caravan.  The main problem is this - why would something major be going
down when B'harnii hasn't been resurrected yet?  That's not in character
for these guys.  I'd think you couldn't even get access to the high-level
coordination procedures."
   "I admit it's strange.  Maybe it's decentralized somehow.  Let's see
what else we get."
   "What it does: it makes people nice.  Lots of the elements work
together to pick up a thing like a TV show put out by a Central Generator
and bounce it around even more strongly."
   "How to fix it if it breaks: ask somebody higher up."
   "Big help there," Pers muttered.  Then they selected "Where they should be."
   The screen began to fill up.  First there was a map of the U.S.  A key
appeared below describing certain dots as Array Elements.  It also said,
"You can find out where the Central Generator is, but you have to ask
someone higher up."  On the map of the U.S. began to appear such dots.
The Jihaddi stared as more and more filled the screen.  Literally
thousands of the pinpoints dotted the entire U.S.  The globe rotated and
similar dots began to appear in Canada, the U.K., and many more countries
around the world.
   New heading: "Ranges."  A timer sprang into being in the lower left
corner and started counting up in real time.  Tiny circles began to appear
around the dots, expanding slowly.  However, each time a circle
intersected a new array element, it grew faster, the field bending along
the lines joining them.  It took about two seconds for this to happen a
few times, but by second number three the entire U.S. was covered.  By
four, the field had become a shell surrounding the entire world, to an
altitude and depth of nearly 200 miles.  Being in space or under the ocean
would not help; only those outside this world would fail to be trapped.
   "All those array elements down there in Cargo," Pers whispered.
"They're just a fraction of the total."
   "They have to get approximately in position to make the field into a
sphere - if enough aren't in place, they'll only be isolated circles or at
most a nearly flat hyperboloid with a weak field.  But the question is how
many?  How many do we have to prevent from getting to their destination or
deactivate before the central signal is put out?"
   "We don't know.  Therefore, we have only one possible plan of action."
   "All of them.  We're going to need to send the Jihad to every last one
of these areas to find and eliminate the elements.  That's a huge number
of separate task forces for a military.  A logistical nightmare."
   "And somehow we have to find the central generator.  If we don't
eliminate every last element, we might not have done enough.  Better use
whatever hacking that thing can do, Will."
   "I'll give it a shot," he said.  He activated the Blaze, computation
mode only, and replaced the keyboard at its port with the Blaze CPU.
"Though first let's save what we can get."  He downloaded all the files
they had seen in to the Blaze memory, then entered his request into the
computer: "Where is the central generator?"
   "Enter permission code."
   "Go for it, Blaze..."  He started up the codebreaker sequence.  The
entry bar started rotating through code approximations, up to 15 digits at
a time.  Tense seconds passed.  Then the screen cleared.
   "WARNING!  You have entered invalid codes for this operation!  Remain
at your station until the guards come!"
   Will and Pers took one look and sprang into motion.  Will detached the
Blaze.  Pers said, "Door's locked!"
   "Stand back."  Will crouched and leapt, smashing it open.  "Not now it
ain't."
   Researchers had all turned around at the noise.  Will and Pers ran for
the door leading to the next outer level, just starting to open from a
surprised researcher trying to run away.  They dashed through,
decelerating quickly.  As the door closed, Will pulled out his card and
swiped it through the door's reader, which immediately turned red.  He
pulled the card to the side while still in the holder, snapping the
magnetic strip off in the groove and locking the door to the frantic
researchers on the other side trying to call for the guards.
   One spongin had been in the hall to see.  He lunged for a wall
telephone, but Persephone was quicker on the shot with her disguise's
sidearm.  A clean shot, and he never made it.
   "Come on, Will, I'm sorry I had to do that not least of all because it
probably registered on internal sensors."
   "I understand."  The pair hustled to the outer door and were almost
there when guards came pouring through -
   - and passed by.
   They stood as unobtrusively as possible - just two soldiers in an area
they had clearance for, doing their jobs.  As soon as the cavalcade had
passed completely, the Jihaddi used Pers' card to get out of Research.
>From here, it was a straight shot to the outer door.  They climbed the
main ramp the remaining few hundred feet.
   Once they got to the door, they saw nothing but a blank wall.  No
controls, no guard, nothing.  There was no item to manipulate in any
fashion to get out of the base.
   "Where do you think they open this thing from?" Pers asked.
   "Probably someplace far away."
   "To prevent exactly this kind of escape from happening.  Now what?"
   Will thought.  "There's only one other place we know of that has to
lead to an exit."
   "Cargo."  They headed back down, this time being wary of guards that
might be looking for escapees.  Several times they ducked into side
tunnels and took long detours as guards passed by.  It took them nearly a
half hour to make their way back into the Cargo hall.  The priority now
was to find a leaving truck.
   "Remember," Pers said, "there's almost certainly going to be security
at the exits.  At the very least they'll look for stowaways in the storage
space."
   "Then why don't we hide somewhere else?"
   "Got any ideas?"
   "Plain sight."  Will stepped up to a truck whose driver was clearly
preparing to pull out.  "Hey there!  Hold up, will ya?"
   "What do you two need?" the driver asked.
   "We need to get in with you.  We were told your shipment is special -
it needs a couple of guards in the cab with you."
   "Does it?  Golly!"  The sponge driving the truck broke into a surprised
grin.  "Well, hop in, you two!"
   Under cover of turning to help her in, Will winked at Pers.  "Up you go."
   "Fast thinking, Will,"  she whispered on the way up.  Will got in and
closed the door behind him.
   "Off we go, guys!  Whee!"  The sponge set the truck into motion.  The
lights of Cargo soon dimmed behind, and only the truck's headlights lit
the long, dark tunnel.  The slow-driving truck went up for about two
minutes, by which time Pers and Will had lost all sense of direction.
Finally they came to a truck door.
   As they had feared, Security immediately swarmed the truck.  The least
mentally active of the spongin, B'harnese Security were notorious for
following absolutely the algorithms that had been precisely programmed
into them.  The cargo bed was checked with minute thoroughness and the
roof and underframe checked for passengers.  One guard shined a flashlight
into the cockpit, starting with the driver.  "Number?"
   "Cargo driver 456-MB, sir."
   "ID?"
   "Here you go."  The guard glanced at it and moved on to Persephone.
   "Number?"
   "I-18794-AT, sir."
   "ID?"
   "Right here."  Persephone flashed the ID just long enough to let the
guard read the prominent number and notice feminine features on the face
before putting it back in her pocket.  He turned his attention to Will.
   "Number?"
   "I-14238-AT, sir."
   "ID?"
   "Right here."  Will flashed his ID an even shorter time, keeping a
finger across the bottom so that the number was displayed but the missing
magnetic strip was not immediately obvious.
   The guard stood there a moment.  One of his subordinates signaled that
the rest of the truck was clear.  He asked all three, "Have you seen
anyone that looked like they were Jihaddi in the past few minutes?"
   All three shook their heads "No."
   "Have you seen anyone that looked like they were running from guards in
the past few minutes?"
   Same response.  The guard examined them a moment longer.  "Go."  He
addressed a subordinate.  "Open the door."  A moment later the door rolled
up and the night sky shone beyond.  To Pers, Zaph's internal sigh
practically screamed relief.
   The truck pulled out, and at the same time the sponge started talking.
"You know, I don't often have company on long hauls.  It's nice to be with
friends for once.  Why, just last time, when I was..."  Will reached into
his jacket, and was about to pull out another Jolt solid when Pers laid a
hand on his arm.
   "Why don't we let him drive?" Pers whispered.  "It's not like we know
where the closest refuge is."  Will saw the sense in that and replaced it.
   "What's that you said?" the sponge asked.
   "Oh, I was just saying that we really need to watch for mean Jihaddi,
and we'd really like if you were quiet instead."
   "Oh.  Sure, I can do that."  About ten seconds later, though, he said,
"Of course, when you don't have company a lot of the times you just talk
to yourself, since after all, you can't listen to yourself when..."  He
cut short, since after all Persephone had just banged his head against the
back of the cab.  "Hey!  What'd you do... that... for..."  He slumped.
   Will looked at Pers.  Pers looked back.  "Well, a road has to go
somewhere, right?"  Will nodded and yawned.  "I better take the wheel.
Here -" she shifted positions with the driver - "you fix van Winkle and
I'll get us to the nearest town."
   Will selected a less traumatizing agent than the emergency solution and
quietly injected the sleeping sponge, whose freakish smile slowly faded to
a more normal expression.  Next, he activated the Blaze com unit.  "What's
the shared frequency for DE and TRES, Pers, do you know?"  She quoted the
figure and the commonly used code, which he entered.
   "Well?  What are you waiting for?"
   "Nothing.  It's a psi interface.  Without the heads-up display I'm just
seeing it in my head.  Hang on - I should be able to... there.  The
Illusion chip will project it on a screen, but it's text only."  He folded
the jacket housing the Blaze and set it in the middle of the dashboard so
both could see.  He began speaking.  "Address to: Fleet Commander Samhain,
Dob-"
   "Commander Inagei's running DE right now."
   "Great.  Maybe he's wherever Marburger is.  Readdress: Commander
Inagei, Doberman Empire; Admiral J-Rock, TRES Corps.  From: Include
Warrior Persephone Aphrodite."
   "And Zaph, please.  She's a separate entity."
   "From: Include Morzxelna-Axelia-Quantificus-Zaphyre."  Perfect
pronunciation, thank you very much.
   *Oh, I am impressed, dear.*  Zaph broadcast so that all could hear it.
   *I practiced,* Will semi-proudly responded.  *It's rude to get people's
names wrong.*
   *You're sweet.  But Zaphyre is fine between friends.  And don't you
include Kit?*
   *I'm not interested,* Kit broadcast on his own.
   *Zaphyre it is,* Will thought, and continued.  "Body:  Sirs.  Warrior
Persephone and I have successfully determined the cause for the spongin
retreat.  It is in fact related to the lowering of general activity levels
among the Purple Forces as well as the unusual behavior of spongin on
other fronts.  A major operation is being planned..."  He spoke for a
considerable time, alternating with Persephone as the two debriefed and
described the planned attack.  "Attached: Files downloaded from B'harnate
base computer network relating to items.  Special attention to be paid to
location file.  Oh -  Append: Psi files on face, voice, and manner of
Liaison Rhyn."
   After attaching her own, Pers commented, "I've never been on a
two-person mission where getting intelligence on the identity of a Liaison
would have been considered of secondary importance."
   "Somehow... I think it may not be.  Why would a Liaison come to greet
an incoming troop movement?"  As he sent the mail, flagged "Urgent,"
neither could answer that one satisfactorily.
   Several hours before dawn, they pulled into a truck stop and ordered a
spot for the night.  The driver, having awoken tired but normal, had taken
over for the last way.  All three looked forward to a few hours' sleep
before getting to their respective goals.

   In Colorado, Admiral J-Rock was pulled up through the levels of sleep
by a tiny beeping.  As it continued, his tossing and turning became more
and more active, until the bedclothes were kicked off and he moved up to
one elbow to glance at the clock.  He blinked at that until it came into
focus, and then looked at the window and groaned.
   "If this isn't an insanely beautiful woman I'm hanging up..." he quoted
Independence Day.  He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, managing to do so
until he kicked the foot of the chair in front of his desk.  Massaging his
foot and laughing at his own irritability, he opened the message.

   Deep in the bowels of the Doberman HQ, Commander Inagei was
awakened quickly and fully by the first beep. Ignoring Shardik's growl of
protest, she murmured something soothingly before rising gracefully from
their bed.  The ashten looked around, still unable to fully believe the
changes their quarters had gone through since the last time they had
visited.  Somebody, it seemed, had decided to cover every possible
surface with little, yellow smiley faces.
   She shook her head, remembering Shard's reaction to the
new decor.  He hadn't been pleased to say the least.  Reaching her desk,
her mind returned to business, realizing that it had been awhile
since she pulled a wee-hours surprise inspection, and grinned.  Maybe this
wouldn't be so bad after all.  She accessed the mailing to find out what
was so important.

   Soon, neither was smiling anymore.

Next segments, Operation: Home Front breaks into full swing with its writers.