==Chapter Seven==

Operations

Hundreds of clones all around her… faces she had seen almost every day of her short life. Many of them she knew personally, and the rest were acquaintances.

Ivy carried her platter over to her sister's tables, where over a hundred of her kind were eating their meal. She smiled, nodded to a few, and sat down, noting that one of her sisters was discussing a new poisoning technique. Ivy raised her hand slightly, and the other girl stopped.

Ivy 10 nodded gratefully. "Every meal, we talk about a new method of killing or healing someone; the Ghetts over there –" she pointed to her left – "discuss tactics; the Boomers – by the way have, you noticed how funny that sounds? just a thought – anyway, they talk about explosives; the Jerecas compare sniping scores… couldn't we talk about something other than normal?"

Ivy 12 looked at her strangely. "Like what? What else, um, is there?"

Ivy 10 sighed – some of her sisters seemed to have no imagination. "Must I think of everything?" she said exasperatedly. "I just think there is more to life than saving and taking life."

Ivy 32 shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose, but what is that to us?"

10 examined her food. "What is this?"

"Dish Number 379."

"Hmm, we don't eat so badly sometimes – at least that's what our trainers keep saying. But I just don't know…"

"Number 122 was the worst," one Ivy ventured.

"122 was fine!" Ghett 10 called out from across the room. "It was 1703 that was the worst."

"Then I'll give you mine!" shouted a Fixer.

Some of the clones almost hoped for a second that there would be a food fight – they had once before, but they paid for it.

But if there were any lingering hopes for another fight, Ghett 0, the tactics commander, quickly dashed them. "Food waste is against Order 769, please remember that. Ghett 10, confine your comments to this table."

All the Ivies rolled their eyes.

"That's a Ghett for you."

"But it's not 10's fault that his ear got blasted off," Ivy 10 pointed out. "He hears everything. And even though he denies it, he can hardly help but add his own two cents whenever possible."

"Yeah, everything KP!" the aforementioned Ghett yelled. Ghett 0 had disappeared in the space of twenty seconds, and was thus unable to rebuke Ghett 10 for another shout across the room.

"Blast," Ivy muttered. "Make a man a sergeant and he thinks he can do whatever he wants."

Ivy 57 laughed slightly. "He can."

"That was the obvious answer, but couldn't you come up with something a bit wittier? I mean, if Jereca had been here…"

57 nodded. "She isn't."

"Mistress of the obvious."

"Don't worry, 10: we don't do KP – either the hornets or the Grubs do."

"I know it, same as you, but it disturbs me that one day he'll be able to carry out his threat."

"When will that be?" asked 62.

"Whenever we get into the galaxy proper."

"When will that be?"

"When we're fully trained, of course," 10 replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

"When will that be?"

"Say that one more time, 62, and you're some of Fixer's Saturday toast!" Ivy 10 warned jokingly.

"Okay, here's another topic to discuss," 23 ventured. "How are we all the same and yet different?"

Ivy 10 shrugged. "It stumps me."

"Maybe it's –"

"Team 10 report to Briefing Room 3 – repeat: Team 10 report to Briefing Room 3," a Grub said over the intercom.

"Team 10 this, Team 10 that," one Ivy groused. "You'd think you guys were the only team!"

Ivy gave them a superior smile as she rose. "Do not forget, dear sister, that we are the only team with interplanetary combat experience."

"Rub it in, why don't you, Ivy – rub it in."

They heard a squeal over the intercom, and a Grub came back on. "Uh, sorry," he said. "Teams 10, 3, and 85 report to Briefing Room 3 – repeat: Teams 10, 3, and 85 report to Briefing Room 3."

Ivies 3 and 85 jumped up, visibly bewildered – Ivy 10 just as confused, but saying nothing. All three teams ran to the room and filed in quietly, taking their seats. Ivy 10 switched her mindjack frequency to channel 10 and asked Ghett what was going on… but he was just as confused. She noted Ghett 0's presence and reasoned that he must have already known about whatever was going on.

The clones faces were blank, their posture perfect – even had there not been duplicates in the same room, it would have been easy to deduce that they were clones.

A trumpet blew, and in walked – or rather, hovered – the Evil Emperor Zurg. His gaze swept all the clones as he stepped up to the mike. "Testing: one, two, three," he said hesitantly. "Is it working fine?" He received a thumbs-up from the control room and smiled at the clones, a bit strangely. But then, any smile coming from their evil overlord was strange.

Folding his arms behind his back, Zurg began to pace. "You are probably all curious as to why you have been summoned here. I will tell you plainly. Operation Apocalypse, Phase 1, begins tomorrow at five-hundred hours." He paused dramatically, doubtless waiting for the clones to murmur and gasp. But if so, he was disappointed.

"However, it was rumored, I believe – and correctly – that Team 10 was getting this mission. And to a degree, they still are. But plans have changed. Hence Phase 1, a phase which I'd considered skipping, has come to the front of our agenda and requires three teams. Now I'll let Ghett 0 tell you what exactly you're doing - I'm not very good with the terms, language, and whatnots of military briefing. Not that I didn't take a class on it, mind you – my grandfather insisted that I take one – but I did about as well in that class as I did in grammar, and we all know how that went."

For a brief second, the Jerecas were tempted to say "we do?", but that would have been stupid – even during one of Zurg's "good" moods.

He glided down the ramp leading to the podium and sat on a throne placed carefully in the exact center of the walkway.

Ghett 0 walked up. "We are calling the phase Operation 'Chimera,'" he announced without any preamble. "This is why: we are going to create the illusion of various factions within the GA trying to tear it down, using three teams – and possibly more, should the need arise.

"This operation will include assassinations, training, and other small scale operations. The idea will be to make the GA think that there are several groups that would like to see their downfall – which is more or less true – but we will be bringing these groups to the forefront of the media and to the point where the government cannot ignore the fact that there is trouble in the camp.

"As a result, if our plans are carefully laid and executed, they will increase Ranger surveillance and police activity, old animosities will revive, fights will break out, people will really become disillusioned with the corrupt regime, the GA will start fragmenting, and from there we springboard into Phase 2. Any questions?

Ghett 85 raised his hand. "You mentioned training. Of what nature will this be?"

"Psy-ops, cell-resistance… everything covered in your Resistance Manuals and courses. We will actually be creating anti-Alliance factions, in the form of guerillas and terrorists – who will look like they belong to an actual organization."

"How much do they get to know about us?" Fixer 10 asked.

"Absolutely nothing. We cannot afford a connection to Zurg, to Planet Z – nothing. Consequently, you will have to wear something to prevent your forehead symbol from being noticed."

"Will we ever be able to operate without concealing our identity?" Jereca 10 and 3 asked together.

He nodded. "You will. Now unless you have a relevant comment or question, I suggest that you be silent."

"Yes, sir," they said respectfully, though a bit irritated at Ghett's attitude.

Ghett 10 raised his hand. "So, our assignments are…"

"Your orders have been deposited at your quarters. No dry runs will be possible, though – we need to move quickly." Ghett 0 waited a few moments for any more questions, but there were none, so he dismissed them. The clones silently stood and filed out. Ghett glanced enquiringly at Zurg.

"Stay a moment, Ghett," Zurg told him. "You are sure that all three teams are fit?"

"Yes, sir. 10 has the highest current score, though one of the highest casualty rates. Ghett and Jereca 10 seem to be survivors, as the others are."

"And 3 and 85?"

"3 ranks second, 85 third. I think they are ready – as am I, my emperor."

Zurg raised an eyebrow. "Not too modest are you? Just like your host." Ghett took that as a dismissal and, turning smartly, marched out.


Zurg returned to his tower and his throne room, where Warp Darkmatter was waiting – and had been waiting for nearly thirty minutes. But Zurg had summoned him early to have him wait longer – it would help show him who was boss. The Evil Emperor swept into the room and sat in his throne, glanced over a few documents presented by a Grub, and when he was sure that Darkmatter was ready to explode, turned to him. "Ah, Darkmatter, glad you came! You're a bit late though, aren't you?" He forged ahead before the annoyed mercenary could speak. "I would like your professional opinion on something."

"Always happy to help, my Evil Emperor," Warp said with forced calmness.

"Good," Zurg beamed, "I knew that you would be. I need a diversion, I need to strike a blow at Star Command, and it needs to look like it has been months in the making, more or less, and it needs to convincingly fail. Any ideas?"

"Well, uh, there's always a death ray."

"Been there, done that, no repeats," Zurg said in a bored voice.

Warp shrugged. "Hey, this isn't my line, okay? I smuggle, I blow up, I track down, and I don't scheme."

Zurg shook his head sadly. "You don't know what your missing Darkmatter. But be that as it may," he said a bit more sternly, "we aren't leaving this room until we have a feasible or at least pathetic plan to destroy Lightyear, Star Command, or something else! So! Let's think." He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

Warp thought for a moment. "How about –"

"No, Darkmatter," Zurg cut off, not opening his eyes or even moving, "think."

"How about a bomb?" a brainpod said tentatively. "We did test that new stink bomb successfully, my Evil Emperor."

"Stink bomb? It's not a bad idea, but… no, no, that won't do, think."

After roughly half a minute, Zurg raised his head and opened his eyes. "I have it!" he shouted. "We'll use that new stink bomb! Glad I thought of it. We'll blow it up right above the Capitol on Capital Planet, today."

"Brilliant idea, my Evil Emperor," the brainpod said with admiration in his voice.

Warp looked confused. "But you just –"

"Quiet, Darkmatter, and thank you for your help... such as it was," Zurg ended with a sniff, turning to the brainpod. "We can use it today, yes?"

"I'll get the dreadnought ready, Emperor."

"But isn't that a bit childish?" Warp objected. "A stink bomb?"

"Ah, Darkmatter, Darkmatter, that is precisely what they expect of me, isn't it? Besides, it will be amusing. I only hope Lightyear is there when it happens…"


Buzz pinched his nose. "What is that smell?"

"Somebody's laundry, probably," XR speculated, activating his fan.

"Maybe it's a barbeque," ventured Booster. "With, ah… too much barbeque sauce?"

"No," Buzz grimaced, "it must be the most massive and disgusting stink bomb every used. And if I were a betting man, I'd hedge my bets on Zurg."

"Buzz, why would Zurg use a stink bomb?" XR objected. "It's so childish."

"That's probably what he wants us to think," Buzz countered, "to cover a greater scheme… or else he just wants to raise a stink." His communicator went off, and he opened it. "Lightyear here."

"How is it, Lightyear?" said a too familiar voice. "Does it smell nice out there?" The voice laughed.

"What do you want, Zurg?" Buzz growled.

"Oh, nothing much – I just wanted to make sure that everything went as planned. I do love reeking vengeance upon you!"

The Ranger deactivated his communicator with a vicious jab before Zurg had a chance to start one of his laughing fits.

"Weeeell," XR drawled, "they're evacuating the capitol until the stench is gone, Madame President fainted… um, and, personally, I say we do the same."

"Faint?" Booster questioned, confused.

"No!" XR cried, waving his arms. "Evacuate! This is going to destroy my circuits! Mira sure is lucky," he muttered. "There she is on Tangea enjoying herself, while we have to deal with a putrid stench that just happens to cover the whole city!"

"So is this all that Zurg was working on?" Booster asked. "A bomb?"

"No, Booster," Buzz shook his head, "it's just a distraction."

"Yeah, and what a distraction!" XR ejaculated.

Buzz sighed. "Come on, Rangers – we have a duty to do."

"Which is…"

"Make sure everyone gets out of here."


"Here is the latest report," a Grub announced. "They have nearly finished evacuating the capital."

"Excellent, excellent – and Darkmatter is in place?"

"Yes, my Evil Emperor! He says that he is ready when you are."

"Tell him to commence," Zurg said gleefully. "Ah, Lightyear, you aren't really that smart. You never even thought about what would happen when everyone was out, did you?"


Warp keyed open the door and walked in, twelve hornets filing in behind him. After blasting the guard 'bots, they marched straight to Star Command's Capital Planet office, where Warp hacked into the computer (a bit too easily), copied the hard drive, and left.

The hornets then entered the Senate Hall and plastered large posters of Zurg. After that, they flew off, leaving a larger-than-life statue of Zurg on the podium.

"Darkmatter, have you started with the cat yet?" Zurg asked on the comm.

"No, not yet," Warp replied, wishing that Zurg wouldn't bother him while on a mission.

"Well, hurry up! They could be back any minute!"

Warp closed his communicator with a sigh and literally let the cat out of the bag. "They look like the real thing," he muttered. "Wait till old Buzz gets a load of this." He pressed a button hidden in the cat's fur and it sprang to life, immediately scampering up a tree and moaning pitifully.

"There," Warp nodded, pleased, "this cat will bring Lightyear running." He laughed. "There, Lightyear, there's your cat-up-a-tree."


Ghett picked up the papers, rapidly scanning them. "Our target is an SC scientist, Spiro Lepton. One daughter. His combat potential is zero, his NBC potential is huge – and he was already involved in one dangerous experiment."

"So he's gotta go," Jereca surmised.

"Yeah, obviously," Ghett said absentmindedly as he studied another paper.

"You'd think that, with all our digital technology, we could get our orders on something besides paper," Triss said distastefully.

"I don't know, maybe it's cheaper." Ghett put the paper down. "Fixer gets the active role – we're the backup."

Fixer punched the air with a fist, and Shirkill growled something unintelligible.

"Something you want to share with the group, private?" Ghett asked pointedly.

Shirkill turned to him. "It's just that I am assuming that this is going to be active assassination, right?"

"Correct."

"And what's more, it will be face to face."

Ghett nodded. "And that is more your special department right?"

"Yes, sir."

Jereca scanned the orders. "Fixer will be posing as a Rhizomian –"

"Not too hard, that," Fixer quipped.

Jereca shot him a dirty look before continuing, "Who happens to be the member of the AMPOO."

Fixer, Ivy, Boomer, and Racker burst out laughing.

"Which translates to what?" Fixer asked between laughs. "Soap or something?"

Jereca frowned. "Something… or the Anti-Mechanics, Pro-Organics Organization."

Triss shook her head. "That is so stupid."

Ghett shrugged. "It's not my name. Anyway, Fixer gets to be a member of this… organization. That is… unless Shirkill wants it."

"Never mind," she assured him, "Fixer can have the honor."

Fixer stood and bowed theatrically. "Thank you, thank you all so much."


Buzz swooped up on his jetpack to the mewling cat. "Come on, kitty," he called softly. "Come on, Buzz will have you out of there in a sec."

The cat just stared at him, so Buzz grabbed it. The cat sank its claws into the tree limb, and Buzz pulled in vain. "Talk about a temperamental cat," he grunted, straining.

"Maybe you should just let it be," XR offered.

"But that would be against the Star Command animal codes, Section 23, never leave a cat in a tree." Booster protested.

"Incidentally," XR asked nonchalantly, "just who wrote that rule – Buzz?"

"I'm not the type to point fingers," Booster admitted, "but his name begins with a B."

"I thought so."

Buzz gave a final heave, exerting all the strength that he could muster. The cat abruptly let go of the branch, and Buzz went flying into the pavement, still clutching the cat. Grimacing, Booster ran over and helped his captain up.

"Thank you, Booster," said Buzz, mopping the sweat from his forehead. "What a cat!" The cat came up to him and rubbed itself against Buzz's armored legs.

"Sheesh, that cat has nerve," XR commented. The cat hissed at him, eyes glaring balefully at the robot – promptly sending XR zooming behind Booster's legs.

Buzz picked up the delinquent and gritted, "Nice cat."

"That was very naughty of you," Booster admonished it. "Buzz was only trying to help you."

As if ignoring them all, the cat leapt down and walked away.

Team Lightyear headed back to their Star Cruiser – if they had just looked back, they might have noticed a cat following them…


Sinclair sat down and pulled a bottle out of his bag. "Care for a drink, Zurg? It be a rather fine one, packs quite the whollup."

Zurg waved the proffered drink aside. "No, no, I can't drink alcohol – it just mess me up for days."

"So, would that just be you – or your entire race?"

Zurg was silent.

"Sorry, I forgot about the old custom: nae talking about your race. So, why am I here?"

Zurg leaned forward conspiratorially. "You have heard of my sending out Teams 3, 10, and 85, I presume?"

The man nodded slightly.

"Good. I want your opinion on whether they are up to it."

"You couldnae have asked me before you got their hopes up, could you."

"You are too much of an emotional man. Sometimes, I question my wisdom in allowing you to stay, but you do usually come through. Still, I would suggest that you be careful how you address me, Sergeant," Zurg returned, irritated. "Now, your opinion would be…"

"They're ready, I guess," Sinclair said slowly. "They're as ready as they could ever be, I suppose. But…"

"But?"

"Why couldnae you just hire some mercs or something? What could have possibly possessed you to make and use mass clones? They're too… unstable."

Zurg carefully considered this before responding. "I… I had hoped that a pod of highly-trained – practically from birth – and extremely obedient and loyal assassins would have something that the Rangers and everyone else do not. You think it was a mistake?"

"I think it was a mistake to make those kids," the other man admitted. "They have such a bad life… you created them to suffer horribly, do your dirty work, and then… What? You throw them on the junk heap?"

Zurg smiled grimly. "They suffer less than I have, Sergeant – far less! You, as accustomed to horrors and death as you are, would flinch at what I could tell you." Zurg clenched his fists. "And they did it to me," he hissed. "All of them! Humans, Tangeans, Rhizomians, Bathyosians… all of them! And they'll pay… That is why the clones suffer: they suffer so that a corrupt regime will fall, that their evil will –"

"Zurg, I hate to interrupt a ranting tyrant, but you are, um, the Evil Emperor Zurg, right?"

The Emperor burst out laughing. "You wonder, maybe, why I call myself that. Here is the answer! And it is surprisingly simple:

"I call myself Evil; they call themselves Good. But… is the good government really 'good'? If you tell just one lie, if you allow evil things to be happening around you, if you do anything wrong, anything spiteful… can you really call yourself good? By those standards, everyone is evil."

"Conceded."

"Sometimes you choose to do good, sometimes what most people call 'bad' – but it's really evil, bad is just a word someone invented to ease their conscience. But evil is prevalent, and true good is unattainable, not to mention worthless.

"When did being good ever get anyone anywhere? My race tried being 'good,' and we were nearly wiped out. I cannot ever hope to really explain this to any other race… but I chose to label myself correctly – Evil. While they call themselves good, and are really evil instead."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

Sinclair rose. "Zurg, I'll buy that we're all bad… or evil. But your deciding that you won't even try to do something good is inexcusable."

"Fine words, coming from a mercenary, a murderer – a literal cut-throat," Zurg rejoined sarcastically.

"Even a mercenary and cut-throat can know that if there really is nothing good, that we are just there to suffer and finally have peace when we die, then there is no reason to be alive," Sinclair countered. "Just what are you alive for? Simply to make others suffer for something that their ancestors did? That sounds pretty pathetic." He turned and began to stalk away.

"Sinclair!" Zurg called. "I did not ask to be this way – I didn't want to be put in such a position. I had no choice. And these are hardly innocent descendants. And… I cannot possibly avenge and repair my race by being 'good.' I have no choice."

Sinclair stopped and turned slightly. "Why, Zurg, do you need vengeance? Will it bring your people, your former life, back?"

Zurg stood and clenched his fists again. "No, I do not need vengeance, but without it, I have no other reason to live."

"Then go die!" Sinclair shouted, not looking back.

The door slammed before Zurg could respond. He contemplated killing him… but no, the man was too good. He almost laughed aloud at his subconscious choice of words.

No, he decided, Sinclair would stay. He was human, after all – he couldn't understand. No one could.


Sinclair strode down iron walkways, through buildings and hallways. He couldn't put his mind to rest: something that Zurg had said nagged at him. Repair. That was the word he used.

What did it mean?

He had a feeling that Zurg was up to something bigger than what he let on. Whatever he was after, it wasn't just Lightyear or Star Command or even the Tangeans. So what was it?

For years, he had been on this benighted world, living in darkness, with nothing but a bunch of brains, insects, drones, and a few civilized humans and humanoids… and hundreds of clones.

Most of the time, Zurg doesn't even remember that we're around, he reflected. He summoned us, had us sign a contract, gave us huge buildings in the most abandoned part of the planet, and forgot about us.

That virus was at fault – Sinclair knew that much. It had made the emperor forget a lot of things.

He dropped the empty bottle into a seemingly bottomless abyss. He waited, but he couldn't hear it shatter on the ground below.

"Emperor!" he snorted. "Emperor of what – a dying world, a dead race, and a few slaves?"

He wondered just a little… should he be helping the power-hungry maniac?

But he didn't have a choice: he had signed Zurg's contract, and his honor made him keep it.

If only he had known what Zurg would do…

He headed back towards the barracks. Whatever happened, he needed to make sure that his boys survived.

It was the least "good" he could do.


It is angry.

It has been trying to break through for days, but the little beings will not listen. They are too busy worshiping it.

Which is why it decided to try the others – they are harder to touch but more likely to hear. They are receptive, they can hear, but they are also dull and stupid. Chasing shadows while Zurg-the-Desecrator grows stronger, preparing for the final push.

The thought makes it nearly frantic with rage and horror. It saw the near destruction of its own "world" – soon it will see all worlds crumble.

It pushes against the little beings minds frantically, but they still cannot hear. Some can almost hear, but they will not grab at the connection.

Weary, it gives up and turns its attention to Planet Z. It has several connections there, faint wisps of hope in a world of darkness. But it is careful not to let Zurg-the-Desecrator feel it search… that would be ruin.

It touches a mind, a mind-without-body. He has helped – he knows.

But the warrior will not trust him. He does not believe, or else he is nearly lost to the darkness.

As almost all that world is.

But there are many minds that feel alike… what are they?

Almost they seem innocent, their minds feeling surprisingly… clean. But it does not trust them. It knows that they answer to their Emperor.

No, it must put its faith in the young girl chasing shadows. It must make her see! It hurtles its consciousness across star systems and shoves against one mind, the Girl-Chasing-Shadows, the one who helped rescue… Yes! The other one, the Man-Chasing-Zurg-the-Desecrator! He will hear, but will he listen? Perhaps not, but it must try.

It is sure that everything that happened before were mere tests of strength, of will… probably brought on by the madness… The madness that now stalks in its consciousness, placed there by Zurg-the-Desecrator.

The darkness wants to see the Emperor again, wants to return, wants control.

But the first "it" does not listen. It holds the darkness in check, for now.

The little beings gasp: they feel pain in their minds, and they feel the pain of the one they revere.

So it holds back – there is no reason to make the little ones suffer. They shall soon enough, if its plan doesn't succeed.

It waits, silent. It waits for the Girl-Chasing-Shadows and the Man-Chasing-Zurg to hear. It can almost feel the connection coming… but it must wait, a little while longer…


Terms:

NBC: Nuclear, Biological, Chemical