Op Phoenix: A Game of Tag
by TRES Commander Jim Yearnshaw


Author's note: This story makes heavy reference to the University of Oregon
campus, if you're interested, one is available on my web page at
http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~jry/pics/campus-map.jpg


"The Angel of Death has been abroad throughout the land, you may almost
hear the beating of his wings."

                                --John Bright (1811-89)


        The Glenwood was one of the few places where the crowd noise
didn't bother Commander Yearnshaw.  The Clatter of dishes and blend of
voices kind of relaxed him sometimes.  But then he remembered the previous
night, the concert had been fun, even with Jenn having to leave early.  Had
voices kind of relaxed him sometimes.  But then he remembered the previous
night, the concert had been fun, even with Jenn having to leave early.  Had
he gone to the concert?  And what happened to the Glenwood?  Had he been
there earlier, or was he seeing the future?  He had clear memories, but
felt oddly detached from them.  The Glenwood, Jenn, Ian at his door after
class.  Ian had been there, he was sure of that.  Experiences were coming
together, linear constants were blending away and fading.  Then he was
rushing out the door with an alarm ringing in his ears.  He had fought for
his life outside TRES headquarters; he had never been in a major battle,
but the memory was there, shouting orders to TRES enlisted personnel as
huge black figures swarmed toward them firing plasma weapons.  That alarm
again, the Glenwood had been that afternoon with Gwen and Michael, the
concert last night, Ian knocking, Jenn left early.  Things were becoming
clearer, past and future were resolving themselves, but the alarm still
there, he couldn't push it out of his mind and in the hyperfunctioning of
his mind he suddenly became fully aware of the present...
        His eyes snapped open, attention immediately on his jihadlinker
across the room; the thing was going berserk, he was half surprised that it
wasn't smoking.  In a matter of minutes, he was up and in his standard
across the room; the thing was going berserk, he was half surprised that it
wasn't smoking.  In a matter of minutes, he was up and in his standard
issue TRES battle gear, the minimum that he kept around his apartment:
light armor, a couple of composite ka-bars, his sword, sidearm, and a
medium-range plasma gun he'd been toying with as well as a utility belt.
He felt that same weird alien presence he had earlier, only this time
closer and dangerous as hell.
        As he stepped out the door only his enhanced awareness and
reflexes saved him.  He sidestepped as three large needle-like
projectiles narrowly missed him and slammed into his neighbor's door,
though some sort of microfilaments had torn up the front of his armor a
bit.  Without hesitating, he snapped a grappled rope onto the third floor
railing and keeping the rope loosely in his gloved hands, dove over the
edge.  At the last second, he tightened his grip on the rope, his gloves
caught, and he slowed almost immediately to a stop, flipped over, and
landed safely.
        Ignoring the sudden pain in his upper arms and shoulders, Jim
disengaged the grapple and, without really thinking about it, headed for
campus, the closest thing he had to a "home turf" advantage.  When he came
disengaged the grapple and, without really thinking about it, headed for
campus, the closest thing he had to a "home turf" advantage.  When he came
on campus behind the education building, he noticed that there was no one
around but the buildings were still open and lit; an air of eery magic
almost palpably tingled at the back of his head.  He could *feel* those
things behind him, hunting him...  As he sprinted around the education
building toward the library he contemplated the sense of these things and
realized something, these things weren't just alien soldiers, they were
hunters, predators.  Probably a few million years of evolution had taught
these things how to hunt a prey, and kill it with utter efficiency.  He
felt a chill go through him as he turned and doubled back toward Kincaid
Street and to stopped to set a false booby trap to hopefully both slow them
down and lead them on a bit; this was going to be the fight of his life, he
hoped like hell that he could win it.
        He started off toward the EMU through a secluded section of campus,
all the while leaving a carefully placed trail of false trip wires and a
glove carefully "dropped" in his path.  When he came to Gerlinger Hall, Jim
left his first real booby trap; a happy little gizmo he'd come up with that
broadcasted the IR and audio signature of a human laying in wait which, when
silenced, blew up rather messily.  He set the activation timer and tossed
it on the roof of Gerlinger and continued toward the EMU.
        When he reached the east lawn of the EMU, he heard his trap explode
in the distance, but nothing else; he could only hope that it had taken out
at least one of the aliens.  When he got the EMU, he tossed his remaining
glove as far ahead of him as he could to try to set a false trail then went
inside to set up what would be the final battle, regardless of the outcome.
       The plasma rifle he was carrying was one he had modified from the
standard Jihad designs to experiment with new targeting methods in
conjunction with one of his current Zeta Squad projects.  His first
modification had been to attach a motion/IR sensor on the underside of the
barrel.  He popped open an access panel and with a minute of tinkering had
cross wired the sensor with the firing circuits; it might overload and blow
up when it did, but once he activated the sensor the rifle would on full
auto at the first thing to move in front of it.  After setting it for
maximum beam width and power for close up firing, he wedged it where it
would have the best field of fire and greatest chance of hitting one of
those things, activated the sensor, then went to find a perch and waited in
ambush.
        Before he knew it they were almost there.  He concentrated, reached 
out with his awareness, and sensed three of them coming into his ambush;
good, that matched his first count of four chasing him if his first trap
had got one of them.  He hoped that he was right about their numbers, he
was still getting used to his expanding awareness and wasn't sure if the
power could be confused or deceived; and he wasn't sure he could beat them
as it was and knew there was no way he could hold any sort of advantage
if there were more of these things out there hunting him.
        And then they were there, before he knew it, he heard the twin
thunderclap of first his rifle firing and overloading and then amazingly
the area around it being turned into a crater by the same alien that it
ended up killing.  At almost the instant of the first explosion he was
firing his pistol at one of the two remaining aliens.  He stopped firing
and ducked just in time to avoid two more of those projectile weapons
which instead lacerated his left arm above the elbow with some sort of
microfilaments and then out of the corner of his eye saw a grapefruit-sized
object sailing at him from his right.  A frantic dive for cover saved his
life from the grenade, but not much else.  The noise had totally blown out
his hearing, though hopefully hadn't actually ruptured his eardrums; his
left arm had been further damaged and was now near useless and his right
hamstring seemed to be badly bruised.
        He had also lost critical seconds recovering from the blast and
felt the growing danger of his hunter's advancing presense before he could
find much less recover his pistol.  he silently took inventory as the
remaining alien approached; he had his sword, one of his knives, and a
couple of "flash-bang" grenades in his belt.
        He again took position and waited for the alien to come closer.
Only seconds remained...

                5 .... "It should know where you are by now..."
                4 .... "Look hurt, draw it closer..."
                3 .... "Pull the pin..."
                2 .... "Roll the grenade..."
                1 .... "Just a bit more..."

                        <*BANG!*>      <*BANG*>

        The flash-bang distracted the alien and probably partially
blinded it having gone off in what was now almost total darkness.  At the
instant of confusion he hurled his knife at the alien's upper torso and
heard a cry of pain and/or surprise at being struck with the knife.  He
immediately attacked in near-desperation with the sword but was parried
seemingly easily and then felt his chest erupt in pain as several claws
raked across it followed by a sword thrust that he somewhat miraculously
managed to parry; his body was working sheerly on adrenalin and blind
willpower, one way or another, this fight had to be over soon.  He feinted
to the lower left then kicked with all the force he muster at the alien's
right knee and felt the crack of a connected blow.  Utilising whatever
brief advantage he had created he thrust high with his sword but was again
easily parried; in a sudden blur that said that the alien was not anywhere
near in as bad as shape as he was, it brought its tail around to strike at
Commander Yearnshaw's head.  Wether it was luck, coincedince, instinct, or
blind reflex brought on by the knowledge of imenent death he would never
know, but he managed to duck and bring up his blade at the exact moment he
needed to and lopped off a decent length of the thing's tail causing
it to scream in pain and partially lose its balance.  As the alien
stumbled, Commander Yearnshaw sprang up and thrust at its chest with every
bit of energy remaining in his body piercing its body armor and striking a
fatal blow.
        The alien sighed heavily, muttered something uninteligible, and
collapsed on the floor.  The Commander was near collapse himself, but only
fell to his knees and managed to support himself in that position with his
sword; he had lost a lot of blood, was physically and mentally exhausted,
as well as desperately mentally fighting some sort of poison that the
thing's claws had left in him.  He bound his wounds as best he could and
left.  Instead of going back to his appartment, which was probably either
booby trapped or guarded or more than likely both, he headed instead to the
private lab he had set up in the hills surrounding Eugene for his work with
Zeta Squad.
        It took him twice as long as usual to get there in his condidtion,
but he finally did.  After properly treating his wounds and then calling
TRES headquarters for a VTOL transport to come and pick him up, he sent
e-mail out to a few people telling them that he would be out of town for an
indeterminate amount of time and then sat down to concentrate on strange
poison that was still in him.  He sent his awareness surging inward until
in his mind he could isolate the working of the poison against his body
from everything else that was happening to him internally.  Still new to
the ability, he just sort of mentally nudged the poison inside that was
inside him, willed it to harmlessness...  He did it again, and kept
repeating the process and eventually felt its effects begin to lessen.  He
continued to heal himself, and waited, sure that he had experienced only
the beginning of a struggle...