Operation: Home Front - Uptempo
        Author: Will Keith, TRES Corps

        Rhyn looked around the crew he'd assembled.  The pick of the Sponge
forces in this base, quick and strong, and a few that showed unusual
cunning under orders.  He suspected most Liaisons had found one version or
another of the process to twist the mindlocking so that a sponge would be
loyal to only one man, even ahead of Lord Barney, and buried it within
select troops' programming.  He'd have to kill
them shortly, to preserve the secret of his methods when Barney was
revived, but that was irrelevant.
        What *was* relevant was that he was going to use all of his
considerable intelligence and slender resources to thwart(the thought still
chilled him) the base Lyrans.
        Arill had every right to be aghast.  But, of course, Arill was a
sniveling little weasel whenever it counted, and he truly believed that the
Lyrans were some sort of superior race one had to get in good with.  Or at
least he had until Rhyn had awakened everybody to the necessity of this
plot.
        Still... he'd never trusted a couple of them.  Gherin's bunch had
been incompetents right from the start, causing problems he'd had to
correct, either because the man was a fool or he was sabotaging things.
And *that* one...
        Still, it didn't matter.  He was only a few hours away from
victory.  He only had to keep the Jihaddi from fouling it up and keep the
Lyrans and their pets busy anywhere except the Generator Room, which
unfortunately had been found by the third-party troops, which had to be
under his superiors' control.
        A sudden thought hit him.  If they were after the Wyrm-Minions that
had instigated this, they would almost certainly know to find him in the
Core.
        "Men - follow."  He strode off a short way, just a block off the
direct path to Core, then ordered a halt.  He hit a com panel.  "Arill."
        "Yeah?"
        "Seal off the Core physically.  Even to spongies without direct
permission from me.  And have a Group report to each of Junctions Core 12-A
and 10 and defend them against everyone.  Use those exact words."
        "Got it."
        Then he waited patiently.
        It took almost an hour, but sure enough, a troop of the specially
mindlocked sponges fought past the first Group(he hated those names for
sponge units, but you had to keep it simple.  This many was a Group.  This
many was a Bunch.  This many was a Lot.  Ad nauseam.  Sheesh).  They passed
him - interesting.  They were looking about, so they weren't just going
where they were told, they were
searching.  He stood back until they passed, heading for the more likely Core.
        He'd left the comlink on, so he heard what happened after they
passed the second set of guards.
        "Troops?  No, you can't come in - what?!?"  The tramp of boots in
his office.  "Oh, no."
        He heard the tapping of keys.  The computer recited, "Doors
Sealed."  What was the man doing?  Then the computer recited, "Are you
sure?"
        "Yes, godda-" The comlink blasted Rhyn's personal Emergency
Despongifier program, which he hastily shut off before it could affect his
own troops.  Not bad thinking, Arill.  He turned the volume way down and
opened the channel again.  Arill was talking at top speed.  "-to me.  The
guys who sent you here, bad guys, right?  They wanted me dead?  OK, if bad
guys want me dead and you're good guys you don't want me dead.  Look,
guaranteed, you stay here and protect me for just
a few hours and I'll get you out of this mess and back to your families.
Deal?"
        Lying maggot.  They'd be spongified in a few hours, of course.
Rhyn grinned.  Some impressive fast-talking had netted the little weasel a
protection force, and gotten at least a few of his superiors' goons off
Rhyn's own back.
        Next order of business - declare war on the Lyrans.  "Okay, you
alien pricks.  Time to show you what a human can do with the resources of
an army, a lack of moral qualms, and a really pissed-off mood."
        Screw the Maenads.  They were about to face a technologist.
        In a bare few minutes, he and his troops were in a small lab.  It
wasn't shown on the plans.  It wasn't accessible by any normally visible
door.  The builders were dead.  And the passcode was Arill's real name.  As
he'd expected, it was untouched.  Inside were choice selections from
captured Jihaddi technology, access to the vast
majority of human science, grudgingly doled-out alien devices, and
everything that his sublime genius could deduce or infer from all of the
above.
        He prepared several injections for his men.  A trial with one of
the cast-off experiments and a few expendable sponges had revealed that
some of their soldiers wouldn't attack something that sweated like a Lyran.
The hard part had been finding the proper bio-material to culture.  He'd
had sponges going through waste for months before he'd gotten the right
stuff, fresh enough - a gene-tampering race was amazingly cautious about
letting such things go.  He himself had to
forego the treatment, as going violently insane in a few days was not how
he usually celebrated his victories.
        Funnily, he mused, it was much like what Kajj did.
        A very small diamond attached to a watch battery and a computer
chip went in his front pocket.  He had no idea if it would work, but if a
Lyran tried to teleport within twenty feet of him he'd find out.  A few
more wonders of science were secreted about his person, and he was as
prepared as anyone could be.  Last but certainly not least, he ordered a
sponge to sling a pack on her back containing
a brain in a vat.  Still warm and electrically stimulated in the proper
fashion, it was rather fascinating the kind of psi-block a dead man's
telepathy could hold up.  Good old Moset.  Even lieutenants that betrayed
Rhyn still served him.
        Next, he checked a few monitors.  The Jihaddi were there... a
nearby power junction was here... the route from there to the Cage(he
didn't know what the Lyrans called the place where the kept their results
and didn't want to) was through /this/ transformer, and thus... there.
Wait until a stray shot looked likely... there.
        Tap.
        Surges of electrical power wreaked havoc on the denizens of the
Cage.  Transformers blew in random places across the base, carefully
sparing his Generator and, as a courtesy, Kajj.  "Oopsie, did we kill your
toys?  Maybe a few of you, too?  Good.  Do your own damn dirty work."
        They would either believe it was an accident - unlikely, given what
he knew of a Lyran frame of mind - or set out to hunting him.  Just to make
absolutely sure they knew it was him, he set off a ring of charges around
the Lyran section, hopefully blocking some things in, maybe killing a few
more.  Unless they cared to teleport their troops out, they'd have to do it
themselves.  Then they'd either be
together, in which case he could avoid them, or split up, in which case he
had a few ideas that were going to get tested.  In either case, remaining
stationary was a cause for death.  Once more, he commanded his troops to
follow.

        As he walked through the now-dimmed back corridors of the base, he
pondered.  The Jihaddi were not that much of a threat as long as Kajj could
hold them off, and he had every intention of ensuring this.  The troops
that had attacked Faide were probably out for the traitor Wyrm-Minions, not
the Generator, and it would take a conscious mind to take that down anyway.
The Lyrans might, but he was at this moment doing all he could to anger
them and keep them, not just their
grunts, occupied.  A few hours of hide-and-seek, and he was victorious.  He
should probably check on the Generator just in case, though -
        He stopped, and a raised hand commanded his troops to do the same.
The pad of furred feet became audible underneath the heavy breathing which
had caught his attention.  Signaling the group to copy him, he started
backing away from the intersection slowly.
        More slowly than he should have, it turned out.  Before he was
safely out of view in the darkness, something that looked like a giant spider 
felt its way around the corner.  At first, he could only think, "They're 
usually more imaginative than that..." until he realized that a spider's 
arachnid feet would have clicked, not swished.  Whatever it was, it had
radial symmetry, but it wasn't a spider.  He couldn't quite see where the
sense organs were...
        It could see him, though.  Accelerating quickly, it plunged toward him.
        He stepped back behind the line of his men, ordering them to the
attack.  At first, it tried to plow through them, but as soon as it cut one
of them(in half, it need be said), it raised an ululating scream and backed
off, waving terribly muscled pincers in what looked like fear.  His men
proceeded to cut the thing into pieces without it raising a... hand...
against them.
        Cheers, my Lyran comrades, he thought.  I wouldn't be alive unless
you knew how to inure something to so much pain from its creators, that
anybody can be a father figure to it.  You just have to know how to lie
properly.
        "Impersonating one of our race is a crime we punish severely, Rhyn."
        He spun around.  There was one of them, stroking a small potted
plant that matched its robe in deep green hue.  He was about to see if he
was worth what he thought he was.
        "Even more so than trying to kill us.  We *expect* everyone to try
to kill us."
        He unsheathed his sword.  The plant sprouted a small pod, at speeds
normally associated with condensed-time photography, which was plucked.
        Lightning-fast, the Lyran cast it at him.  He ducked, but it burst
in the air above him, showering powdery spores over him.
        There they met his deodorant soap.  An herbicidal formula of his
own creation, to be exact.  He'd worn it for years - a mild poison, but the
system got used to small doses after a while.  A sponge behind him, who was
a bad little boy and didn't wash as often as he should, turned into a
greenhouse and fell down.
        If the Lyran was surprised, he didn't show it.  He merely tossed
the plant aside and got directly involved.  Clawlike hands arched in front
of him, but seemed to be digging into his skull.  The pain was intense.  He
dropped to his knees, praying internally it would get just a little worse.
        The thing obliged.  At the new onslaught of pain, an implant in
Rhyn's brain released so much endorphin it would normally have accounted
for a cocaine high.  Jittery but in control of himself, he doubled over as
if in pain and put a hand to his hilt.  A second later, faking a scream, he
arched back up, whipping his blade out and
up.
        The watch battery in his jacket pocket discharged.  Oh, good, the
teleport blocker worked.  The next thing he was aware of, the sorcerer was
standing over him with his sword in its chest.  Well, he presumed that was
its chest.
        He yanked it around a few times to make sure, then pulled it out.
A soft "whumph," and a dead body collapsed to the floor.  Something
scuttled away from beneath it.
        He'd never seen someone survive attacking a Lyran before.  It was
vaguely satisfying.  He replaced the dead battery, checked to see that the
psi-blocker was still functioning, and took off for another station.


        Halfway across the base, the Jihaddi were bored.  It was becoming
relatively clear that the third-party sponge troops they were following had
about as much idea where Rhyn was as the Jihaddi did, and their search
pattern was either highly specific or a random walk.
        "We'd have as much luck searching ourselves," someone whispered.
        "Maybe more," concurred Burdoo.  "We walk just a tad faster than a
slow saunter."
        "But," said Will, "We don't have separate groups out there
searching that will contact us if they find Rhyn.  When one of them finds
him, they'll all go there.  And we'll be right behind them."  He smiled at
Selene.  "Turn your enemy's strength to your advantage - one of the best
principles of warfare."
        Selene returned the emotion.  "Ooh, strategy.  You really know how
to warm a girl's heart, Keith."
        He moved in a little closer.  "Shall I whisper sweet nothings from
Sun Tzu in your ear?  Thrill you with lines from B. H. Liddell Hart?
'L'audace, l'audace, toujours l'audace!'  In war as well as love..."
        She stifled a giggle.  "And it means?"
        He took her hand and spoke even more quietly.  "In everything be
daring."  She looked up, surprised, then slowly warmed to the sentiment.
        Around them, BaseCom suddenly turned on.

        Rhyn's eye caught movement down the hall.  Why was there a sponge
wandering around up there?  "You!  Come here!"  It complied.  Ah, that
insignia.  "You're one of Faide's troops, aren't you?"  She nodded.  She
was next to tears with confusion, but looking at him as if he was her
lifeline.  Which, to a large degree, he was.  "Why did you leave your post?"
        "Um... because... she... she..."  The sponge started sniffling.
"First they seemed like our friends, and then-"
        "Of course.  But Faide herself?  Is she dead?"
        The sponge nodded, then burst out bawling.  He decided to leave her
there.  If those troops had revealed the position of the Generator...  As
he walked off, she sniffled, "The mean ol' Jihaddi came an' they weren't
nice to her."
        Jihaddi?
        He came back.  "Jihaddi?  Are you sure?"
        "Uh-huh."
        "Did they do anything to the Generator?"
        "That what?"
        "The big glowing triangle."
        "Uh... oh yeah!  They made it white!"
        "White?"
        "Yeah.  They took the purple out and put in some white.  You know,
purple's the neatest col-"
        "I know!  Shut up!"  She shut up for a moment, then started bawling
again.  To keep her quiet, he smacked her with the flat of his blade.  She
fell, unconscious.
        He strode over to a BaseCom panel and hit the all-base, knowing his
code was untraceable.  "All right, listen up."

        The outsider sponges stopped, and the Jihaddi right behind them
backed up against walls.
        The Lyrans hunting held position.
        Kajj and Mitchell's bunch were so loud they didn't hear a word.

        "You are almost certainly aware at this point that I have
personally killed several of your number."  Well, one, but it's not like
they knew it.  Or if they did know about at least one, all the better.

        The outsider sponges were a little confused but dismissed it.
        The Jihaddi behind them figured he was talking about the third
party.  One or two wondered if he meant Lyrans.  Will and Selene exchanged
a look and shivered.
        The Lyrans knew he meant them.
        Kajj and Mitchell were still going at it.

        "I have been informed that a team of Jihaddi has altered the
central element of my plan.  You'll find it on floor B6, near Junction 3C.
While you may want me dead, you want to win more.  I suggest you send a
team there to fix it."

        Click.  The voice was obviously a Lyran's and not one that any of
the Jihaddi ever wanted to meet the owner of.  "You go."

        Click.  "And expose myself to your assault even as you repair my
plan?  Not bloody likely.  Oh, by the way, you might also want to find the
Jihaddi that did it.  Just a suggestion."

        He turned off the intercom, laughing in the security of his plans.
Even as they hunted him he turned them to his service.  Kajj was right, he
was about to force his own well-deserved apotheosis.  He just stood there,
laughing for sheer success, before moving off on the hunt.

        The leader of the base Lyrans turned to a subordinate, who knew the
order.  He lifted his head.  "Activate the Ghost subsystem."  Wraiths of
energy whispered along the communications lines.  No system sweep would
ever have found them - they were not computerized, not electrical.  Wisps
of fog coalesced from the walls in front of the caller, connected by
tenuous lines to the base's entire computer net,
a living link between the Lyrans and the dead wires of the human's world.
        "Locate the source of the last base-wide communication."
        "Communications panel [untranslatable string of Lyran alphanumeric equivalents]."
        "Dismissed."  It uncoiled itself and lay dormant again.
	The Jihaddi held a hasty conference, still following the third-party
sponges.
        "What if they reprogram it again?"
        "I don't see how," said Jambavan.  "The Generator's mostly running
off internal computations now, they'd have to reestablish connection to do
that."
        "Could they?" asked Will.
        "Well, I never want to leave something unstoppable in case we have
to amend something fast, but the method of doing it is... rather me."
        "Beg pardon?"
        "To create the networking protocol, you have to enter data in
response to a series of questions.  Riddles, in fact."
        "Like?"
        He told them.  Among the less blasphemous was "How many sponges
does it take to change a light bulb?"  (Just one, but it takes him forever
to get the idea so he can pull the light bulb off his head.)  We won't
/even/ get into the "three Hell Wyrms walk into a bar" punch line.  And I'm
not touching the Worldwalk pun with a ten-foot quarterstaff.
        "Okay, already," Will said.  "But think more directly.  Can they
just get around all that?"
        "You mean destroy it?  If they wanted to.  They're probably fully
capable of mustering enough attacking power, even with the enhancements."
        "Sirs," said Thaleia.  "The sponges just got new orders.  They're
heading off.  Which way are we going?"
        Selene looked at Will.  "I'd prefer to go after Rhyn, based on what
Jambavan said.  But I know that could be blood lust talking.  It's your
decision."
        He gave it all of a second's thought.  "Rhyn."  They returned
to following the sponges, moving more decisively now.
         Will fell back a pace.  "Trooper Thaleia," he said very quietly.
        "Yes, sir?"
        He pulled out a small crystal sphere.  "This is a Personal Field
Negator.  I picked it up on my first trip here.  It'll keep you from being
affected by the Generator's field if they manage to undo our work.  Now, it
was you who initially hacked the system.  I mean, we all helped, but from
what I saw you made the best progress.  If midnight comes around and the
thing goes on line, you're going to have to go back in and try to undo it.
Bring it back to what it was, if possible.  If not, destroy it."
        "But sir..."
        "Take my Mathattackicus.  If you manage to disable it, try to
despongify some allies and get out.  Selene has one, too, you'll need some
heavy support -"
        "It's not going to happen, Will."  Selene had spoken.
        "Selene, don't argue.  If that happens, we're not going to need
leaders, we're going to need the mission specialists."
        "She's right, sir," said Thaleia.  "There's no way I can redo that
thing you did."
        "More importantly," said Selene, "her computer has the necessary
files and programs for the hacking part, and if worst comes to worst..."
Thaleia uncomfortably realized they were talking about what to do in case
she was dead or sponged... "we can try to do it.  You're the only one with
the other half of the job.  I'll be there for the fire support, and you'll
do the real job."  She stepped closer.  "I told you, you need my permission
if you try doing that again, understand?"
        Together, they stalked off, on the hunt again.

        TBC in "Tacet"...