From darkside.buggeroff@buggeroff.sandwich.net Wed Jun 20 22:29:54 2001 Newsgroups: alt.barney.dinosaur.die.die.die Subject: Op: sUcK - Demolition and Revelation (Seg 4) From: "Nemesis the Feral (NYAR!)" Date: Wed, 20 Jun 2001 23:29:54 -0500 NOTE: Because of the narrow scope of this Operation, the project is closed to public participation. However, if you are a member of TRES Corps and interested in the possibility of joining the project, contact darkside@sandwich.net. This Operation is a work in progress. +-----------------+ | Operation: sUcK | +-----------------+ Demolition and Revelation Authors: Kurt Schiller Nemesis the Feral (NYAR!) Shadur t'Kharn --- ****** Somewhere In North America... ****** He hated coming down here. It was too dark, and there was a certain rankness to the air-- like compost, or even worse-- decaying meat. He didn't understand why their business partner had taken to hiding in such a dank place, nor did he understand why the Committee had even chosen to contract such a foul partner, but he knew that somehow, it was in the best interests of the Corporation. He strode purposefully, perhaps a bit hastened, through the passage. Things were moving in the dark at the walls, but he couldn't identify them. It was probably better that way. The passage soon opened into a high-vaulted chamber, lit from above via a single shaft allowing natural light to filter in during the day. Sunlight spilled onto a huge obsidian desk, but the large chair behind it was pushed back into the shadows. Keln cleared his throat and spoke. "M'lord?" The word reverberated off the walls in an echo that made him twitch. He hated using that word. But as long as their business relationship remained fruitful, he would have to maintain the respect demanded by their partner. He despised being Corporate Liason. He would have been much happier back in Marketing, where he wouldn't have to walk among the Market Segment. And they were plentiful in their potential partner's presence. He twitched again at the thought. After a silence that seem all-too-purposely drawn out, a thick, gooey, and far too cheerful voice finally responded from the darkness. "*giggle* Yes?" "We've just received a report from our ground units in San Francisco, m'lord." Twitch. "High casualties, but they believe the Maenad has been eliminated, despite their failed efforts to locate a body." A riotous fit of giggling erupted from the shadows, and the chair swiveled and spun into view. "Whee!" shouted b'harnii, spinning to a stop and hopping up to do a little victory dance. Keln's stomach churned. "Our contact within TRES was quite pleased with the result. He has forwarded a list with the remaining command staff. Given time, he will be inserted into the command chair, giving us near complete control of the organization. He is, of course, quite oblivious to our motives." b'harnii beamed. "That's grrreat news!" His celebratory dance stepped up a pace. The floor shook with every plod. "The Board is pleased, m'lord..." Twitch. "...but they wonder when you are going to fully license the Technology. They understand your need to perform trials with it, but they wonder when you are going to commit to the deal. There's much to be gained for both parties if a partnership agreement is signed. This.. 'Jihad' presents a formidable obstacle to market access, and our Technology in your hands could eliminate that barrier. So why concentrate only on TRES?" "In time, in time," It giggled, still under the influence of the rush that came with the overjoyous news. Keln frowned. "They also wonder, m'lord..." Twitch. "...why you have not relocated the device yet. They fear that Marketing Operations may be jeapordized should the device's location be discovered." b'harnii's dancing slowed. "You worry too much, Mister Keln! Be happy! We're gonna crush the Jee-haw-dee! *giggle*" Keln choked inwardly. "One last detail, m--" Twitch. "--lord. The matter of the misfire..." The Purple Messiah's dancing stopped. Its big foam grin twisted into a sneer. "The matter has already been dealt with," It said, gesturing to the wall. Keln peered into the shadow, and it became apparent where the smell of rotting meat came from. Some poor sap, probably the targetting officer was pinned to the wall. But not in one piece. He looked as if he'd been hanging there for a while now. Keln wrinkled his nose. "Very well. By your leave, m'lord." Keln twitched, and hurried his way back out of the tunnels. ****** Zeta Labs, TRES Headquarters 3:00pm, Mountain Time ****** Shadur was staring at a pile of miscellaneous bits and pieces, fingers drumming idly on his temples, when when the new Second-In-Command strolled into the lab with a thick sheaf of folders under his arm. "How's it goin' Rens?" "Mumblemumblegruntmumble," said Shadur. "Great. Keep up th'good work." DarkSide plopped the stack of folders onto a counter as the assembled troops began to stroll into the lab. "Gentlemen," he began, "gather 'round. And dinna touch anythin', lest ye want t'lose some eyebrows or worse." "Does this briefing have to be held here?" Shadur whispered to DarkSide. "It was yer idea," DarkSide shrugged, rifling through his papers. Shadur gave DarkSide a look of mild annoyance, then waved a hand. Paperwork leapt up and stuffed itself into a drawer, which slammed shut. Tables and chairs arranged themselves around the big holoprojector in the center of the room. Bodies were unceremoniously propelled into the chairs. "Gentlemen, thank you for coming. Please be seated. As you are probably already aware, several of our outposts have been destroyed by an unknown weapon that apparently uses gravity without mass." DarkSide nodded. "It appears th'Hell Wyrm has a new toy. We know very little o' it. That's where ye all come in." "Such a weapon is impossible by current physics; we have no idea how it works. Unless we find out, we cannot defend against it. Judging by the pattern of attack so far we have singled out two outposts which are probably next. Your job is simple - Go there, find that weapon and disable it before it blows, bring it back as intact as possible." Shadur pointed to the holotable, which is projecting a map of the US depicting two blinking dots. "Admiral --" Shadur stepped backward, giving DarkSide center stage for the tactical part of the briefing. DarkSide hefted his stack of folders, handing the dossiers out the the assembled grunts. "I've taken the liberty of evacuating the next potential target outposts," he says, gesturing at the holoimage. "The lot o' ye are t'be dispatched to th' surrounding areas fer surveillance. If ye see anythin' out o' th' ordinary, investigate. Disable th' weapon. Preferably before th' outpost is annihilated. I emphasize /disable/. Th' thing isna o' any use t' us if it's destroyed." Shadur stood with his back against a wall, arms crossed, almost-glowering at the grunts, NOT muttering "bunch of trigger-happy gungho maniacs" under his breath... but thinking it. "One unit each from Kappa an' Chi will be dispatched here," DarkSide said, gesturing at one of the dots, "Outpost Twelve in northen Nevada. Put that down, Lieutenant Wagnarb. Units from Omega an' Alpha will be dispatched here, t' Outpost Fourteen, in southern Montana." There was a zapping sound. DarkSide sighed. Garkle tried to extinguish his eyebrows. "One more thing," Shadur said, ignoring the idiocy, "As you no doubt have already surmised, neither Lyrans nor the Hellwyrm itself have any tech even remotely capable of this. So we are dealing with an unknown factor in here. Recording equipment is standard issue with your field uniforms; I expect you all to keep it online and recording 24/7." DarkSide nodded. "Ye'll be given standard combat loadout wi' th' addition o' two Autochunkers each, an' one portable armor-piercing cannon. Ye'll have no mechanized units, as ye would be too easily detectable, so stay sharp. Remember, /disable/ th' weapon. If it's destroyed, ye'll find that I can be /very/ unhappy. Yer transports leave in two hours. Dismissed." ****** 3:45 PM, Mountain Time ****** Lt. Garkle Wagnarb stepped out of the briefing, his eyebrows still smoldering very slightly. He grunted irritably, smacked them a few times to fully extinguish the miniature fire, and started making his way towards the exit from Zeta Labs. Various people narrowly avoided a head-on collision, including one carrying what appeared to Garkle to be a cheeseburger. A hand shot out, picking up the technician by the collar. Another hand pointed at the food. "Food." stated Garkle. The technician squealed, wriggled out of his labcoat, and darted into a side-room. "Lieutenant, what are you doing?" The voice was mousy, quite irritating, and directly behind Garkle. He turned around, and looked down to see Lt. Cmdr. McDaniels, who was attempting to look angry... he looked like a chihuahua whose rubber biscuit had been taken away, and was stuffed into a TRES uniform. Garkle shuffled his feet slightly. "Uhn. Food?" McDaniels snorted, and narrowed his eyes. "No, Lieutenant. This is neither the time nor the place... we leave for Nevada shortly. Get your gear together, a-" McDaniels stopped talking and looked around, but Garkle had wandered off. "I hate this job. I hate it," McDaniels fumed, and walked off to get ready. ****** Somewhere in Nevada. Day 3, 1:30 AM, Mountain Time ****** Lt. Wagnarb, Lt. Cmdr. McDaniels, and ten other men had set up watch behind a large outcropping of rock, roughly 200 yards away from Outpost 12, which itself was roughly 20 miles away from the middle of nowhere. The trip from TRES HQ had been dull, and they'd stopped several times, mostly due to Garkle's insisting for food. The final time, however, had been when McDaniels fell asleep at the wheel of his jeep and drove off the highway and into the Nevada desert. They'd lost another half-hour chasing down the runaway officer, but had no trouble from that point on. Garkle was standing on top of the jeep with a pair of binoculars, just peeking over the top of the large rock formation. The terrain was horribly dull, his armor was too small, and he was hungry again. His massive battle axe was leaning against the rock, and he presently only had an X-Rifle on him. Garkle's large hand, after several tries, successfully turned on the binoculars' light amplification circuitry, and Garkle's view changed to the green of the night-vision system. Suddenly, off in the distance, Garkle spotted a dim flashing. He increased the magnification to its maximum, and looked again: a small vehicle of some sort, flanked by five human-sized forms, was making its way towards the outpost. Garkle hopped off the jeep, and looked around for McDaniels. He spotted the officer lecturing one of the soldiers about how his Autochunker wasn't polished enough. "...an outrage against the discipline and hard work of the others, you buffoon! I want to see the Autochunker ammo polished, shined, AND GIVEN A HOT WAX!" McDaniels was busy shouting, so he didn't notice Garkle walk up behind him until the large creature poked him, perhaps a bit too hard, on the shoulder. The officer squeaked pathetically, and scrunched his face into a grimace of pain, then spun around and, with a shout that McDaniels had once heard in a kung-fu movie, threw a punch at Garkle. The punch wouldn't be considered very good by the standards of anyone over the age of three, but it was especially ineffective against Garkle, who just stood there. McDaniels snorted. "What do you want?" Garkle mumbled something incoherent about insects with sport utility vehicles, and then, seeing the look on McDaniels's face, picked up the officer and lifted him up to the point where he could see over the top of the rock. Garkle handed McDaniels the binoculars. "Nuhh...nuhh....I don't see any problem here. Nope. Nothing wrong. Let's go home." McDaniels was sweating profusely, as he tried to plead to flee the area. Garkle just shook his head and grunted, then unceremoniously dropped McDaniels back onto the ground. The soldiers immediately began gathering their equipment, and preparing to storm off and attack whatever it was that had been sighted. McDaniels ran over to one of the soldiers and snatched a grenade out of his hand, inadvertantly pulling the pin from the explosive device. The soldier looked at McDaniels, at the pin, at the grenade, and finally shouted, "Fire in the hole!" and ran around to the other side of the rock formation. The other soldiers grabbed what they could of their equipment, and quickly followed him. Garkle picked up the large two-man gun they'd brought and, with a last look at McDaniels (who was just standing there looking at the grenade in his hand in a terrified manner), took cover behind the rock formation. Half a second later, a loud explosion tore the desert's silence to shreds, followed by another explosion and a huge fireball as the jeep's gas tank detonated. The flaming wreckage of the jeep landed neatly on top of the rock formation, slowly revolving on what was left of its roof. --- A half-mile away, the five footsoldiers and the vehicle stopped dead in their tracks and watched as a flaming jeep appeared on top of a rock formation. In the light from the fire, they could clearly see a number of individuals at the base of the rock formation. The pilot of the small armored vehicle opened a hatch on the top, and peered at the scene that had just unfolded. One of the soldiers spoke up. "We've been spotted! I recommend we engage them immediately." There were nods of assent among the other four soldiers, and the pilot opened up the throttle, charging the immensely powerful weapon at his disposal, and steering towards the rock formation where the TRES group was gathered. --- Garkle took out his binoculars, and looked across the desert. He spotted the vehicle approaching them rapidly, and he hooted in alarm. "Kill! KillkillKILL!" he shouted and, picking up his massive battle-axe from the ground, charged headlong towards the approaching enemy. The other members of the group picked up their weapons and charged after, hollering like a pack of wild animals, all thought of their mission abandoned in the hope of self-preservation. Due to Garkle's large strides, he was the first to reach the vehicle. Fortunately, the driver had a limited field of vision, and hadn't seen him coming. The sponges only managed to get off a few shots (all missing) before Garkle was upon them. With a swing of his heavy arm, one of the footsoldiers flew twenty feet to the side, landing with a loud snapping sound. Garkle then jumped in the air, landing on top of the vehicle. Luckily for him, the footsoldiers abandoned the vehicle, deciding to take their chances with the rest of the group rather than face the hair-covered wall that was assaulting the vehicle. Small arms fire began erupting between the two sides, followed by the roar of the two Autochunkers. Meanwhile, inside the vehicle, the pilot was terrified. He couldn't see what was above him, but he watched the meters showing how much charge the weapon had built up: in only another dozen seconds, he'd be able to fire. Outside, Garkle was roaring furiously and attempting to tear the vehicle apart. He noticed a crackling noise coming from an oddly-shaped satellite dish on top of the vehicle, and decided it looked ominous. He gripped the dish by its rim and tore it off the vehicle, trailing wiring and conduits from its severed mounting. He snapped the dish in half, tossed it in the air and swung at it with his axe, shattering it. Back inside the vehicle, all the meters on the pilot's console either caught on fire, turned red, or went blank entirely. The pilot yelped, and frantically opened the top hatch of the vehicle, scrambling out through the opening. He only made it part of the way out before Garkle noticed him and lifted him by his wrists. "Heeeeeeeeellll-" shouted the pilot, but was cut short as Garkle swung him like an old carpet onto the armored plating of the vehicle. There was a loud cracking sound, and the limp body of the the pilot rolled off the side. Garkle hooted and stomped on the roof triumphantly, then noticed that he was about to crash into the flaming wreckage of the jeep, which had fallen off its perch on the boulder. Garkle dove off the side just as the vehicle hit the jeep, shoving the wreckage up against the boulder. Running as fast as he could, Garkle only got about twenty feet from the wreck before the explosion of the vehicle threw him nearly ten meters through the air. ****** TRES HQ, Zeta Labs Day 3, 1:23 PM, Mountain Time ****** Shadur looked up from a heap of twisted wreckage on a table as the doors to the lab whined open. Beside the table, a hologram emitter displayed a rotating image of what appeared to be the form of the device -- before someone let a crazed yeti loose on it. DarkSide strolled up, hands clasped behind his back. "How's in goin', dragon? Ye get anythin' outta that hunk o' slag, yet?" "Well, we've got most of the parts catalogued. FINALLY. Just what went through Wagnarb's mind when he opened up a can of the proverbial whoopass on that thing?" Shadur grumbled. "`As intact as possible' does not, in my mind, equate to 'no two parts larger than a square inch left together.'" DarkSide scratched the side of his nose, smirking. "Probably somethin' like 'Uhn. Kill!'" Shadur sighed. "Anyways, do you want the good or the bad news first?" DarkSide made himself semi-comfortable on the edge of a table. "Gimme th' good news." "The good news is that I'm reasonably sure I can come up with something to detect this thing before it goes off, so we don't have to comb every square inch of every outpost on the shitlist." "An' th'bad news?" Silence reigned as Shadur gave the Admiral a moment to let the implications sink in. "Err, wait," DarkSide said, as it finally hit him. "Ye're sayin'... that this... pile o' rubble ain't th'actual weapon?" "Yes and no. There's more than one part to it, I think. This is the final-stage emitter. It grabs the whatever-it-is and puts out the black holes. You need to place this thing wherever you want to go pop, but it's not the device that does the actual work." Shadur tapped an unnerved finger idly on a datapad. "It's more like a homing beacon for an airstrike than an actual bomb, to use a metaphor." "Fook me. So th'weapon is still out there!" Shadur swivelled around to face a terminal. "The bad news, in a nutshell, is that this thing is probably trivial to construct. Especially for whatever technology created the whole thing." "Which brings up a good question," DarkSide said, a deep scowl beginning to crease his ageless face. "Who made it?" "I'll leave that question up to the strike team we'll be sending to wherever the shots are coming from. Now, unless there's anything else you want to discuss," said Shadur, turning to his worktable, "I've got a weapon to reverse engineer..." "Carry on, then. Apparently I've got some briefing to do." "Hold on," Shadur called just as DarkSide met the door. A datapad was tossed to the Scot as he turned around. "There's what we have so far on what the wave form *probably* looks like. Get a couple of the techs to rewire a scanner or two to search for it. Then have the teams equipped with 'em -- should make their job easier. And in THEORY the thing should start emitting a lot heavier than normal well before it blows, so tell 'em not to nuke it if it's idling. Make our job easier as well." "Right. I'll get the boys on it." ****** Elsewhere... ****** ::This is a most unfortunate occurrence.:: Keln swallowed hard. Being in the presence of the Elders made him nervous. Moreso when he was the bearer of bad news. Another one of the Elders stirred within its semi-translucent shell. ::And what of the sister company's reaction?:: "He has, err, not been informed yet," Kelm muttered. ::Unfortunate. It is of little consequence, however. And what of potential new targets?:: "Our contact is being somewhat beligerent," Keln sighed. "He believes that he is not getting enough support from us to warrant further information." ::Very well. Comply to his wishes. But inform him that if our business relationship does not become more profitable, we will be forced to terminate it.:: "As you wish. In other news, we managed to recover most of our operatives from the San Francisco operation. One, however, seems to have fled his shell before we could recover him. We're still awaiting contact. It's possible that he has not found a new host yet." ::We will await further information on the matter. You are dismissed.:: Keln turned on his heel and left the hive, blinking as he stepped from the rather murky chambers into the sterile brightness of the Corporation's underground headquarters. Making a beeline to the communications center, his frustration surfaced as he barked orders to the comm officer. "Open the secure link to our TRES contact." The tech's fingers danced over the brightly-colored control panels, and there was a lull for a few moments as the link was established. "Channel open. Audio only again, sir." A quiet, angry "I told you not to contact me during these hours!" came across the channel. Keln took a deep breath and slipped into the pleasant fascade required when dealing with the customers. "Audio again?" he said in soft, airy tones. "When are we going to cease this silly cloak-and-dagger charade? Is it really necessary to hide behind the veil of anonimity? We are, after all, business partners." "I rather enjoy my anonimity, thank you. What is it?" came a sharp response. Keln took another deep breath and counted silently. "The Board has authorized the transfer of the specialists you require. You may do with them as you wish, but getting them into your operation is your responsibility. Now, the terms of payment for the assistance..." He was cut off. "You'll get your information when your 'specialists' prove themselves useful. Out." The channel went dead. Keln gritted his teeth. Such impudence from one whom would not be able to pursue his egotistical interests without the assistance of the Corporation. No matter how useful he was proving himself thus far in pursuing those interests, the assistance he was given warranted the utmost respect and gratitude! Simmering, Keln looked to the comm officer. "I must go to the weapon site to discuss licensing of the Technology with the lard-bag. If our mole contacts us with the information we need, route the message to my personal communicator." The door to the communications center slid closed behind Keln with a soft whisper. Taking a deep breath and releasing it in a heavy sigh, the liaison departed for the surface. --TBC -- --Nemesis the Feral (NYAR!) Grand Admiral Felton, C-in-C, TRES Corps Jihad 5000 Lord of the Race The Corps is Mother. The Corps is Father. Trust the Corps.