Operation: Pacifica, People of the Sun
by J. FoxGlov (foxglov@ksu.edu)




 The truck ambled through the narrow clear-cut road near the edge of
  the jungle. Verdescent shadows loomed on either side.


 "You have any idea where we're going, Admiral?"


 "Not a clue. But that city wasn't the place to stay. Besides..." J
  gestured forward. "Those mountains look more interesting."


 The forest would soon give way to a vast desert, as Richter could
  see ahead. Even farther than that, the hills rose into an immense mountain,
  visible from miles away.


 "Most unusual, sir. Why would a mountain be at the very edge of an
  island? And why would a desert be between it and a jungle?"


 "I know, Lieutenant. It's like someone designed this island with a
  wide paintbrush. Nothing about this is normal, and I'm starting to think
  we're being set up." J paused, and reflected. "But if any of those scans we
  took before the trip had a chance of being true... we have to find out."


 "You still think the missing Jihaddi are here?"


 J didn't answer at first, then only "Keep driving." He climbed onto
  the bed of the truck and stood facing backward.


 "Sir, what're you...!!" Richter got a glance in the rearview.
  Various unpleasant-looking creatures were advancing from the rear, visible
  only by brief flashes of gaudy color in the midst of gray dust clouds. Some
  were running, some rode vehicles.


 J closed one eye and squinted into the mob, then lowered the
  pistol, blinked, shrugged, and fired into the ground directly behind the
  truck.


 **RRUNNNCH**


 An enormous charred hole opened in the road where the blast hit.
  Seconds later, the entire mass gave a mighty, cacaphonous shriek, then were
  swallowed up. J grinned ferally and turned into the wind caught up in the
  wake of the speeding truck.


 Far ahead the desert issued forth from the jungle road, but the
  view ahead slowly shifted to include a few more sights. A solemn humanoid
  figure strode out into the road, to be seen many yards ahead. Behind it,
  another figure emerged from the trees, anything but humanoid. At a distance,
  it could be seen crawling out, the sun reflecting off shiny magenta plates
  that suggested armor, to sit up on its haunches high above and behind the
  other.


 "What is *that*?" Richter eased his foot off the gas, unsure what
  else to do. He glanced back, expecting to see J, but instead only saw a
  yellow-furred arm reaching down from the roof of the cab, handing the pistol
  to Andrews before retreating back up.


 Andrews blinked, then grinned hellaciously, slitted eyes sparkling.
  J emerged into view, crawling onto the hood of the truck from the roof.


 Richter leaned out the cab door in shock. "Sir?! What the..."


 J's only response was to spread his arms wide and straighten up,
  balancing in a crouch on the hood of the racing truck. If the two inside
  could have seen J from the front, they would have watched his eyes flash
  with energy and his mouth open wide. Instead, they only saw him raise one
  foot as a wave of painfully blue electric sparks arose as if from all around
  and envelop him in a flash so quick they only had a split second to watch
  him throw his arms, then his entire form spinning, and off the cab.  An ear-
  splitting yell began in that intense instant.


 "NRRRRRWWRRRYYYYAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRrrRrrRrrrrRrrrrr..."


 The sound alone shocked both lieutenants to their core, the sight
  galvanizing their reaction. What was once J was now a churning, whirling
  cyclone of brilliant blue electrical energy, speeding forward along the road
  at an incredible rate.


 In a moment, the realization came. The humanoid figure in the road
  ahead was a Lyran mage, now seen in the grey robes of a novitiate, slightly
  altered Bedouin-style for the heat of the tropics. He and ... whatever was
  behind him, which was looking more and more like a giant armored centipede,
  were in for a disagreeable surprise at the approach of a Maenad.


 The Lyran stood his ground for a full minute, holding his staff
  aloft.  He was a brave soul. No Maenad would pass by without a fight.


 A fine line forms the boundary between brave and foolish, and the
  realization at the last possible second, as the Maenad buzzed a path towards
  him, ruined any resolve he might have used to aid concentration. His spell
  of protection fizzled instantly, and in a mix of frustration and naked
  terror, he lunged to the left in an attempt to escape.


 Too late. The Maenad war cry all at once seemed to surround and
  fill his ears, reach a climax, then gradually fade. The Lyran blinked, and
  looked down in what he realized were his last remaining seconds of mental
  acuity, straight past what should have been the rest of his body, down,
  down, down into the dirt. His spinal column, along with a few flesh remnants
  left sticking to it, fell alongside the head in a heap.


 But J, or Hanover as he was known amongst the Maenads, kept going.
  In a raging haze, the outside world was only partially within his
  perception.  Yet he knew a solid wall when he felt one, even one less than
  solidly in semi-corporeal form. The creature that had sat behind the Lyran
  gave a series of startled clicks, then angled its body above the pulsing
  spark, and dove upon it, sucking it past its mouth parts.


 Whatever intelligence the Saethrian (as its limited memory could
  assign to species) still posessed immediately realized this was not the
  brightest move. Its body began to shudder, starting from the head and moving
  downward.  Blue light began to seep out from between its armor plates, and
  its body gave a vacuous rasp before crashing to earth. Eventually the armor
  plates flew off piece by piece into the trees, leaving nothing underneath.
  The cyclone swept itself up again and continued on.


 By this time, exhausted and numbed by an excess of stimuli, Richter
  cast eyes hard as obsidian upon the road and gave no expression. Nothing was
  going to surprise him anymore.


 Beside him, Andrews was trying to explain something. "You know...
  one of those... things, in the cartoons." He waved his arms in the air and
  put out his forked tongue. "Like thith! Blaghplabbbatbatblybbpthpt!!" He
  immediately felt silly, and put his hands down. "What d'you call those
  things? ...'zmmm... ayy-nee-un..."


 The truck bumped over a few remaining chitinous plates, and
  continued on.  Both stared forward, alert, and serious.


 A few more piles of remains passed beneath their wheels as they
  moved along the path. One Saethrian straggler bounded out of the trees
  behind them, and caught a blast in the head. A few minutes more, and the
  open desert lay before them.


 Andrews leaned out the back window, amazed at the piles of bodies
  scattered about the desert. "Wow... he couldn't have done All these."


 Richter shook his head, and gestured. "They've been sitting there a
  while. Look." He gestured toward a pile of three bodies, skin dried and
  burned a leathery brown by the sun where it remained, pieces of faded pastel
  cloth hanging around and underneath. "They're thinning out as we go farther
  in. Probably spongies who got lost and couldn't defend themselves."


 Andrews gave his driver an incredulous look. "I thought humans were
  a little more respectful for their dead."


 A tired, tired sigh. "I'm not in the mood for this, Chri--" Richter
  turned to his right and gave a penetrating stare. "'Chris.' 'Chris Andrews.'
  What kind of name is that for you to have?"


 Andrews returned an equal stare. "It's my name. I picked it up soon
  after I joined TRES. Once they and I realized I was officer material, it's
  what I wrote on the form."


 "That's not your real name, tho." Richter had found sense to watch
  where he was driving, but pressed on.


 A shrug. "I had another name. Once. It doesn't matter anymore. No
  one who knew me by that name is around to hear. So I won't use it."


 A silence. Andrews started again. "Aren't you going to say
  something?"


 The truck slowed to a stop, and Richter shifted to park. "Yes." He
  pointed out to the right, through the window. "Why don't you go gather one
  of those bodies so we can bring it back with us."


 "What?!" Andrews extended his neck forward into Richter's face. His
  arm was shaky, and his eyes were glassed over. All moisture on his brow had
  been erased by the heat.


 He frowned, gently. "The heat's got hold of you. Better let me
  drive."


 Richter shook his head, holding fast. "I am the pilot of this
  vessel!"  He paused, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed face first onto
  the seat.


 Andrews dropped his pistol, jumped out of the cab and hurried to
  the other side. He gingerly picked Richter up, turned him around, and guided
  his feet out the passenger window, to keep them elevated. He sighed, and
  prepared to take the wheel.


 "Ah...*ah-hem*."


 He whirled around. "Who th... uh..." He threw his head back, gazing
  upward into the lenses of peculiar reading glasses, perched on a saurian
  magenta patterned muzzle. Saber teeth grinned slyly down at him from a
  twelve foot height, and thin, almost useless forearms pointed a submachine
  gun at his head.


 "Tut, tut. Don't insult my intelligence by going for that toy of
  yours, young lizard. Kindly refrain from moving or I shall maneuver to sever
  this conversation most painfully."


 The "young lizard" did a double take. The voice coming from the
  massive allosaur was as polished and as articulate as a gentleman's, but
  with a bizarre use of vocabulary.


 "Wh...who are you?"


 The 'saur shifted its stance and reared back to its full height. "I
  am known as Periodontal the Overweening, Efficacious Rudiment representing
  the Most High Clan M.E.N.S.A."


 Andrews half expected trumpets to sound. "Per...i...o...?"


 Periodontal (?) gave a snort and sneered at the smaller lizard. "I
  did not expect you to understand, you who consort with humans. We MENSAns
  are given names from the modicum of terminology that passes from the pitiful
  minds of the humans that conceived it. Their stunted foundation of discourse
  is our triumphant gain."


 Andrews shook his head inwardly. _This guy's got a gun on me. I
  need to think a way out of this, and trying to figure out what he's saying
  isn't going to help. I'd better keep him talking._


 He smiled, hoping to look suitably amazed. "I'm in awe of your
  presence.  What is to be done with me?"


 "You are now my prisoner. You are to be escorted to the castle of
  Lyran Lord Charn'El, and to become subject to the righteous bliss of True
  Luv.  Any attempt to escape will be met with deadly force." P etc. waved his
  gun for emphasis.


 Andrews frowned, as if on cue. "You're going to take me? Unarmed?
  Without a means to defend myself?"


 A throaty laugh pierced the air. "Foolish child! If crude weaponry
  such as this is the only defense at your disposal, then you are a sad soul
  indeed."


 "Ah, yeah. Except that you've got one, and I don't."


 "Very well." The MENSAn gave his submachine a rueful glance before
  dropping it into the sand at his feet. "Stand forth, rapscallion! You'll
  meet your doom on the field of honor!"


 _I'm not feeling too honorable just now,_ Andrews thought to
  himself as he bent down to pick up the gun that was now out of his foe's
  reach.


 *BLAM* *BLAM*


 Two Teflon-coated slugs in its chest, Periodontal gave a gargling
  wheeze.  "Must... save... the brainnnn..." His body, lifeblood seeping away,
  veered to the side, slumped forward, and crashed.


 Onto the hood of the truck.


 Andrews jumped, but couldn't move fast enough to stop what he
  realized too late was happening. He angrily shoved the corpse off the truck
  and tore the hood off from where it bent inward.


 He gave a frustrated hiss. The whole engine block was cracked, and
  all manner of fluids now drained into the sand.


 Andrews looked north, in the direction of the mountains, squinting
  into the sun. He turned and looked back to the forest. Both were a long ways
  to walk.


 He sighed and regarded Richter's unconscious body. His breathing
  was shallow like it had been before, and he needed water. Badly.


 _There's nothing to do now,_ he thought. _The others will come
  soon.  I hope._


 Far north, leaving a trail of mutilated bodies behind, Hanover had
  reached the point where desert gave way to wasteland. A scattered platoon of
  Lyrans had not slowed the rage, and only fueled the fire of the electric
  tornado.


 Something stirred within the fragmented consciousness. Someone
  familiar.  Nearby. With the equivalent effort of a yoke flung off the back,
  excess energy was scattered into the air, dispersing the field, leaving what
  was left to sublime into form.


 J staggered a bit, his tails wagging for balance as he became aware
  of his body again. He stared back across the desert, unsure what to think of
  the trip he only semi-consciously realized. The sand had heated to glass,
  leaving a parabolic trough all the way back to the forest trail.


 He shook off a few stray sparks, and turned sharply to the north
  again.


 "*Uff*!" His face smacked against something large that he hadn't
  realized was there. Stunned, he fell backwards onto his hands.


 He stared upward. Blue and amber scales made a majestic pattern
  across and along ten feet of height and twenty of wing. A face bent down to
  regard him. A face he knew.


 "You... you're here!"


 Hamster sighed deeply, and folded his wings behind him, bending
  over the compromised vulpine. His countenance was as awesome as it ever was,
  with an unreadable yet still penetrating expression.


 "You shouldn't have come all this way, J. This was a mistake."


 J blinked, and continued to stare. _A mistake? This can't be
  happening.._



-tbc in "No One Knows"