Those Who Protect -- Author: Will Keith, Kappa Squad, TRES Corps.

   The man had been watching a flame in a wall lamp while he listened to
Kit.  Now, he turned to look me in the eyes.  "We will aid you in your
quest, Jihaddi."
   He clapped twice.  From stairs and doorways poured others, men and women
from eighteen to thirty.  Despite the robe their leader wore, they were
dressed mostly in casuals, blue jeans, shirts, blouses.  Altogether there
were about fifty of them.
   I looked them over.  "Depending on your skills, this could be an
adequate force.  I'll need to know what each of you are capable of."
   "Tell him."  One by one, they listed their skills.  They were
impressive, covering nearly all known disciplines and a few that the Jihad
hadn't thought of.  Not all of them leaned toward battle usefulness,
though.  A brief, non-comprehensive listing:
   Far-seeing, far-hearing.  The finding of described or partial objects.
Psychokinetic control of fluids.  The solidification of energy in
prearranged patterns.  Illusions of astonishing reality and complexity, in
all five senses.  Wards against almost anything that could be described.
The enhancement of personal senses.  The shaping of matter on various
levels of detail.  Where they excelled was in various metamagical
phenomena; for example, they could pass basic or partially-completed
constructs from one to another, something which most arcanists couldn't do,
but which helped them to work as a team.
   For my part, I was able to produce a few things they wanted.  Their
research into despongification had been limited, because as the Jihad knows
it's more difficult to do by power than with material tools.  It's
possible, though, and I showed them the principles involved.  I pointed out
that there were more senses than the five that could be fooled by illusion,
including psychic, sorcerous, time sense, proprioception, and others.  For
a while, we got to know each other, readying ourselves for the time when
would would be working together.
   A loud beeping filled the room - my radio, signaling me.  Most of them
looked a bit disgusted; all of them turned to give me a bit of privacy(or
for some other reason).
   "Hello?"
   "Keith."  It was the officer in charge back at the Tower.  "We've begun
negotiations, and he's got one demand before anything starts.  He says 'the
Jihaddi that killed one of' his men has to be out of town.  Does he really
think you're a Jihaddi?"
   "Yes.  I'm out in the suburbs right now.  Is that far enough?"
   "Hang on."  There was several minutes' silence.  "We told him we
couldn't find you and he says it wasn't good enough.  He wants to see you
and then he wants to see you airlifted out of he city.  He claims he's got
the equipment to see if a chopper leaves Austin."
   "I'd believe that claim.  Give me a moment to think..."  I put my hand
over the phone and addressed the goup.  "Is anybody here willing to lie to
some sponges and the police?  I need someone looking like me to get run out
of town for the sponge commander's benefit."
   "How well do they know you?"  A broad man, shorter than myself, pushed
forward.
   "Not well at all, only that I'm a Jihaddi, and the police know my name."
   "Then I'll go."
   "Right."  I returned to the phone conversation.  "I'll be there in...
oh, let me think."  I queried them - half an hour.  "Half an hour."
   The fellow was being worked over by an illusionist lass, whose hand I
recognized from the arcanogram that had greeted me.  The result was firm to
touch and moved almost like I did.  As she designed and sculpted my double,
I spoke to the volunteer about my experience upon coming into Austin and
with the police once the incident had started.  I assured him that everyone
in Austin who knew me would be unsurprised if I acted reserved and
preoccupied towards them, "at least until the immediate situation is over."
   Finally, it was done.  A tall, thin man came over to his side,
explaining that he was a "seven-leaguer," someone who transports things.
They both faced the direction of the street, stepped forward, and vanished
to reappear out there.  Turning toward the Tower, they stepped and were
gone again.

   It was time to begin the planning.  The first priority was information.
A team was formed including sense-enhancers, a psionicist, and a
seven-leaguer for transport.  To better my expectations, the group had on
hand some excellent camouflage, in a way "pixelized" - close up, it was
easy to tell that a person was there, because the pixels were about a
centimeter square, but from as far away as a hundred feet there was nothing
obvious to attract attention.  Their power draw was minimal, a few minutes'
work giving several hours of operation.  We sent them off.
   "Now then," I said, "I trust a lot of you aren't much aware of the Tower
layout."  There was general agreement.  "Prepare for a nasty shock.  The
Tower is /not/ an easy place to take when it's held."
   On a slate board I drew a large square.  On the center line, sharing
their top boundaries, I drew a smaller square.  "This inner square is the
Tower footprint.  The larger one is the larger building it's on.  Beside
the Tower-"  I drew each feature as I spoke - "there are two wells, bounded
on three sides by points of view from the building.  There's an entrance
each in these at the back.  Obviously, anybody trying to get in there will
be caught in a deathtrap, but we will need to post a perimeter guard in the
two buildings facing it, to make sure that no one gets out that way.
Rather, let them get out but incapacitate them once they've gotten away
from the building.  The more of them that retreat, the better.  The front
is a broad plaza, no cover at all once you get inside the boundary wall
about fifty yards away from the building.  Stairs lead up to a smaller
plaza, again flanked by two wings.  The entrances to the building proper
are overhung by a deep balcony and the main entrance is set well back.
It's a dickens of a place to get to, but an established beachhead could
hold out there for some time.  Still, we should only set up a perimeter.  I
don't think we should enter at either of these places."
   I marked two doors across from each other on a horizontal line through
the center of the building.  "We're going in here.  Both of these doors are
placed quite closely to buildings next to the Tower.  The one on the West
faces the Flawn Academic center, and the one on the right faces W. C. Hogg,
both less than a dozen running strides away.  Both of them are in a sheer
wall instead of an indentation.
   "Inside, they open on one long hall that splits off to either side.
Some small wards, less than a few hundred square feet, will suffice to hold
the place solidly - they'd have to bust a wall to get in.  Towards the
front are two wide stairwells which will be a problem to take, but right
now we don't want to do that.  I remain relatively certain that the Element
is located in the upper levels of the Tower, although hopefully this can be
confirmed or denied by the reconnaissance team.
   "Access to the upper levels of the Tower is through the elevators -
which will of course be impossible - or through two stairwells.  All three
avenues are reachable through a single hall, one on each of the bottom
floors of the Tower.  To secure our rear, we're going to need small groups
warding or otherwise holding this access area.  It's only exposed to a
small, long hallway, so it should be fairly defensible."
   "They're going to be trapped there."  A member near the back had spoken.
   "One group will need to hold the bottom of the hallways out to the
bottom of the front stairwell.  Once the group going up the Tower has
achieved its objective, they can exit through the bottom and then out to
the wide stairwell that reaches three floors in the front.  One flight of
stairs up, and it's a clear shot to the door and out, where we can take the
time to raise power and despongify the entire Tower at our leisure."
   "Why can't we do that first?"
   "It would take weeks if the spongies decided not to leave, since they're
habitually reinforcing their spongification with everything from the food
they eat to the music they listen to.  Spongies are cured unwillingly, and
you know how hard it is to cure an unwilling patient."  There was complete
agreement.  Needing their support, I didn't mention that the entire job
could easily be achieved with a straight-up invasion force armed with
common equipment in the Jihad.  "We may not have weeks.
   "Now, let us turn our attention to the team going up the Tower.  We will
have to make our way through one if not two narrow stairwells, and somehow
cover our rear as we go.  When we reach the top, we will need to break out
and neutralize whatever units are guarding the Element.  A simple thermic
will suffice to destroy it.
   "We will need to have an advantage making our way up.  Several methods
of incapacitating defenders before coming into firing range should be
prepared.  I have several ideas which should be discussed with the team
assigned."
   A pale blue light shone in the room for a moment and faded.  The leader
got up.
   "The reconnaissance team has returned."
   I was worried.  "That was fast."  The team entered through the front
door.  They were carrying one of them, barely conscious, and supporting
another one who was stumbling on his feet.  Two of the group who had
remained behind got up, obviously medically adept people.  One turned to
the walking wounded while the other ordered the group to lay their casualty
on the sofa.  He placed his hands on the patient's head - then drew back.
   "I... he's had some kind of a shock, but I can't identify the damage."
He addressed the seven-leaguer, who was still unharmed.  "What happened?"
   "Rick determined that the ward wouldn't interfere with an enhanced
hearing, and Robert tuned up.  The moment he made contact, he started
shaking.  Rick forcibly broke the enhancement and Robert collapsed like he
is now."
   "And Rick?"  He indicated the less-wounded man being helped by the other
medic.
   "You know how it is with breaking something somebody else set up..."
   "Yes.  But that does't tell me what just happened.  I'll deal with the
symptoms and I can handle the spell-snap shock.  As for the rest..."
   I bet I knew.  "Medic, I believe your patient has exposed himself, in a
sensitive and receptive state, to a standard tactic upon taking any area by
Purple Forces - flooding the area with multiple broadcasts of the War
Chant.  If you have anything like an IV, I should be able to reverse that
primary damage."
   He looked for permission to their leader.  "James?"  He shook his head.
   "We have no IV on the premises."
   "Then if you'll allow the slight risk of rejection-" I got out a couple
of Jolt solids - "getting this down his throat will do the trick.
Unfortunately, he'll be so jittery careful tasks are out of the question
for a while.  Factor in lost sleep, and he'll probably be in no shape for
an invasion any time soon."
   The medic sent a younger member running for a glass of water.  "How
could you even consider using this man?  In his condition-"
   "Peace, Devon," said James.  "Every man less when we attack is a setback."
   "Yes sir.  I'll be able at least to help him get this down."  He cradled
Robert's head in his hands.  "Robert... Robert, hear me.  I want you to
focus your attention.  Hear me, Robert.  Do as I say."  He brought the Jolt
solid to Robert's lips.  "Still your tongue.  Relax.  Relax your mouth.
Open it, Robert."  His mouth opened for the medic to insert the solid.  "I
am going to provide you water, Robert.  You are to swallow it.  Breathe
in."  He poured water into the open mouth.  "Swallow."  He stroked Robert's
cheeks and throat with a deft touch, ensuring that the solid and water went
down.  "Exhale.  Rest now, Robert.  Trust yourself to my care."  The
patient relaxed.  He spent a few more minutes healing the spell-snap shock.
I watched, as it was a tricky area I didn't know all that well.  When he
was done, I checked Rick, who was doing better.
   "James."  He turned to me.  "You know T.A.L.O.N.'s capabilities better
than I do.  We need to assign people to perimeter, some to holding the exit
route, and a team for the objective.  I've outlined the basic needs of each
group.  Could you divide T.A.L.O.N.?  I'd like to go over whatever supplies
you have - we'll almost certainly need to get some things."
   "I understand.  Quinn - show him what we've got."
   "This way, sir."
   He led the way into the recesses of the building.  We first looked over
the stored power, which thankfully was considerable.  It was enough for a
much larger battle than I expected, and was in storage units that each
person could carry several of.  They had no real weapons, however.  Some
makeshift items would do, and in fact several I saw potential uses for.
Our major weapons, though, would be straight damage and energies in various
forms.  He discussed with me the people likely to be assigned to the front
of an assault, who had some reasonably destructive forces at their command.
   Several materials were missing, though.  It would be necessary to
produce anti-spongification materials in large quantity.  Something to
blunt the War Chant would be a plus.  We would send someone to various
locations about town for headphones, earplugs, and other sound-absorbing
items which could be communicated around with appropriate preparation.
Jolt was available in standard liquid form at a nearby shopping center, and
it was the work of but a few hours to compact it for easy carrying and
ingestion just before and perhaps during the attack.  We considered the
possibility of gas, but decided that the risk to the opposing troops woud
be almost as great as to us; each person was reviewed - or, in my case,
briefed - on how to purify local air for sufficient time to get out of the
immediate area.
   The perimeter patrol consisted of some half-dozen of the
less-experienced members of the group - enough for what we needed.  They
were mostly capable of keeping out of sight and knocking unconscious any
escapee that eluded the perimeter the police were sure to have set up and
looked like he would cause trouble.  If necessary, they, along with some of
the warding contingent, were to provide cover fire for an entrance.  Also,
they were to keep an eye on the exit point and make sure nobody tried
anything sneaky like blocking it off.
   Assigned to hold our exit route were fifteen members who had skills with
warding and other defensive spells.  From the demonstration, they were
quite competent and, I was sure, would be able to hold well for any amount
of time needed.  Mixed in were a few with specialties adaptable to
offensive capabilities to keep the attackers occupied.
   The remainder was split into two teams, fourteen each, one under James
and one under myself.  We were going to be going up one of the Tower's
stairwells each.  It might at first seem like an eclectic group - one who
worked with sound, one who concentrated on heat and cold, a fluid kinetic,
illusionist, an E&M guy, myself, a medic - but everyone was there because
their talents were strategically valuable.

   It was no longer a question of how.  We had the materials, the people,
and the strategy.  The question was when.  As we stuttered our way through
space-time under the guidance of the seven-leaguers, this was the question
that occupied all of us, myself and James most of all.
   The usual conditions had been suggested.  Night-time - probably an alert
guard.  Dawn - how would our own response time be?  James clearly wanted to
wait as long as possible, though he never brought it up explicitly.  He
felt that they would be more vulnerable the longer they waited, more tired.
And it was a good point.  But I was still nervous about the implications of
taking such a public landmark as the University of Texas Tower.  I was sure
there was less time than he figured we had.
   And through it all, there was the variable of the police.  What kind of
perimeter would they have set up?  What if they decided to make an
incursion?  What would they do when they saw a battle starting?  Worse than
a failed incursion by the police would be if they expended themselves in
the process of thwarting us.
   We finally arrived at the Tower.  It was late afternoon, the skies above
us clouded over and gray.  The wind blew robes and jackets.  A final step
up by our transport, and we arrived atop the Flawn overhang, cloaked by
those astonishingly power-miserly constructs.  Most of us were below, I
hasten to amend, underneath the library's overhang or within the Hogg
building.  Only myself and James stood atop the building.
   The police had indeed set up a perimeter, a considerable one.  They were
not on every floor of Hogg and Flawn, though, so we were able to disperse
comfortably close.  Their main concentration was in the front of the Tower
on the South side, shielded somewhat by the stairs below the plaza.  Behind
huge screens of steel and bulletproof glass, streams of personnel going to
and from the site behind ported shields, the negotiator boomed out over a
megaphone.
   "Allright, we've done it.  Are you getting it?"
   He waited.  After a moment, a smug voice dripping with contempt sounded
tersely from the Tower, direction unclear.  "Yes."
   "Good.  Now see, we can be reasonable people.  We can work this out -"
   James turned to me as the negotiator continued talking.  "What's going on?"
   "I don't know.  I wish I did."
   About ten minutes passed.  The negotiator had been silent for a while.
Then he called out again.  "OK, guys, we held up the first part of the
bargain.  You made a good move with the first one, now send us out the
second."
   James stirred.  "Send us out..."
   "They're sending out someone they're claiming is a hostage.  Damn!  Did
they not listen to one word I said?"  James looked at me quizzically.  I
picked up the phone and was about to call the officer in charge when I
realized that I wasn't supposed to be around here to know what was going
on.  On second thought, I put it up and pulled out the MathAttackicus.
There was a clear space where I could see the path a hostage released from
the front would take to get to the police barricade -
   James cried, "You're not going to shoot the hostage they've released?"
   "Relax, it's a despongifier."  I moved to the corner of the roof to get
a better view and set my stance carefully.
   The man coming out wore the uniform of a University Police officer - no
doubt one of the guards that had been in the building when it was taken.
The remotest sensing by Kit once he passed the ward confirmed that he was
spongified, and moreover compelled to do something complex.  I aimed and
fired.
   Bet the police were wondering what the heck had just happened.  No
matter.  He broke into a run for the safety of the barricade, which opened
a tiny bit in one side to receive him.
   The voice sounded again from the Tower.  "Let's have it."
   "It's coming in."  A tank-like object with a cargo bay rolled into reach
of the Tower's front door.  It turned around and backed up the steps to the
wide plaza.  A contingent of four spongies wearing the Purple uniform and
carrying guns came out.  Two stood guard while two slung the guns on their
backs and started carrying in boxes.  One of the spongies on the side
facing us waved energetically to the news cameras set in the barricade -
grinning like a jack-o'-lantern, no doubt.
   The negotiator called out.  "How often would you like us to do this?  If
we knew how quickly you'd go through the food -"
   "- you'd know how many I had in here," the voice replied.  It laughed.
"I will request food again later."
   "A hostage for food trade.  Well, it's common enough," James said.
   "Among hostage situations, yes.  But B'harniian forces don't do it.  And
for that matter, why wouldn't they have brought their own rations, enough
to last them?"
   James looked at me blankly.  Then, like someone who has realized
something, he said, "They did."
   "What?"
   "They did.  It was in the debriefing from one of the unhurt ones from
the reconnaissance team.  There's a cache of food visible in a window -
middle of the West face, three floors from the top."  We were on the West
side; looking up, we saw a sponge at a window, carrying a gun, and...
and...
   chewing on a celery stick.  Behind him were obviously piles of large
coolers.
   I pulled out a phone.
   "What are you doing?"
   I hesitated a moment, then told him as bluntly as I dared put it.
"Sacrificing a knight to take a castle."  I entered the number I needed,
the one to contact the officer in charge.
   He answered it himself.  "I'm in the middle of a hostage crisis, so this
better be good."
   "Your second hostage is probably trustworthy.  Your first is almost
certainly not.  Their-"
   "This may clear up their conflicting stories, but who are you?  That
'Jihaddi'?  How the hell do you know what's going on back here?"
   "They lie to you.  Their hostage for food trade is a sham, a delay.  You
play into their hands by continuing to negotiate."
   "You don't dictate policy around here, mist-"
   "There is a food cache visible in the middle window three floors from
the top on the West side."  I hung up and explained to James.  "We agreed
that it would be worse to have them interfere with us.  I am removing the
possibility."
   "You intend to have the police prepare an incursion, get slaughtered,
and then we go in behind them after they've done whatever softening up they
can."
   I looked away.  "Not slaughtered.  There'll be casualties, but they
should have the sense to retreat.  They will be forced to regroup and
gather more strength; the sponge commander will be complacent thinking this
is the best they can do without Jihad aid; that certainly another attack
will not be launched immediately; and yes, they will have caused some
casualties."
   "Mostly their own."
   I didn't reply for the space of a deep breath.  "Take position on the
East in Hogg.  Get ready to start."
   He examined me for seconds more.  Then, without saying a word, he stood
up.  His robe swirled around him and its rufflings somehow ruffled into
themselves, disappearing.  I was alone under the gray sky.
   I sent Kit over to the police to determine the communications frequency
they were using.  He found out and came back.  I tuned my radio thereto.
   There was the expected uproar when the sniper's scope located the cache.
The conflicting stories of the two "hostages" were resolved in favor of the
second one thanks to my advice, the main effect being to drop the number of
presumed hostages to zero.  The steady stream of mobile shields to and from
the base encampment now brought people and equipment and left empty.  The
perimeter was "firmed up," brought to a higher state of alertness.  The
assault team was to go in, and work on the assumption that whatever goal
the enemy had, anybody armed was to be shot and anybody in there at all was
suspected to be working with the original sniper and thus was a suspect for
conspiracy to commit murder.
   Finally, all was in readiness.  It was just after nightfall.  The
negotiator continued to talk, providing cover.  After a point, though,
there is no disguising one's intentions.
   A block of the shielding split off and moved with deadly intent towards
the front door.  No tortoise was ever so well-protected or so heavily
armed.  The speaker's last-minute attempts to portray it as a harmless
repositioning were drowned out as glass shattered.  Gunfire peppered the
unit and ricocheted.  From slits in the mobile shield wall, answering guns
sprouted.  The perimeter blazed up as well, shots attempting to take out
anyone near a window.  Gas canisters rocketed from points all over the
circle surrounding the Tower into windows and onto the Observation Deck.
Eventually, the shield wall reached the stair steps, unfolding itself so as
to make an impenetrable redoubt, at least to the guns coming from the
outside.
   The radio crackled.  "We're in."  Scattered shots.  "We're receiving
fire - gas seems to be having no effect.  We've got a couple hit, but we've
taken the suspects out.  Securing front landing.  Johnson, stairs!"
Gunfire, more sustained.  "What the hell is that song - it's driving me
nuts!  Edwards - there's tons of 'em - how the hell..."  Blur.
   All in the valley of Death / Rode the six hundred...
   "They're firing everywhere... they don't even seem to care if they hit
their own..."
   Storm'd at with shot and shell...Into the jaws of Death / Into the mouth
of Hell / Rode the six hundred...
   "Oh man... they take a bullet to the gut and don't even slow down...
stop it; stop SMILING, damn you..."
   BARNEY MUST DIE.
   "Get out of there," I whispered between gritted teeth.  "Come on, say
the words..."
   "What the HELL!?!  There's lightning - what's in God's name is
electricity - " crackling obscured anything... "oh, sweet mercy..."
   ALL ELSE IS IRRELEVANT.
   "Get out of there!"  The commander's voice finally broke through the
storm.  "Get your men back!"
   "Oh my God, look what they did to Barnes..."
   I wondered how relevant it was to Barnes.
   "Stevens!  Acknowledge!  Get out!"
   "Stevens is dead, sir.  Retreat!  Everybody, back to the shell!  Move!!"
   The sounds of desperate retreat came over the radio.  Even when the
shell was finally closed, the sounds of gunfire pinging off the surface
never ceased, the sound of wounded men in pain only slowed.  The screaming
and the roaring and the incessant War Chant had stopped, but this brought
the others into relief.  There was no relief.
   I came back to myself.  There would be no relief, no surcease, no escape
in the entire world, if the Purple Demon succeeded in its plans.  That was
why I was here.  The fitness of my decision was a demon I could defeat on
my own time.
   "James; ready assault."

TBC