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-- Attached file included as plaintext by Ecartis --
-- File: JF11-1.txt


	The rhythmic beating of a drum was like Commander Badru's own
heartbeat. It had been many years since the war drums were properly
sounded. While warriors marched to it, Badru harkened back to his past,
and his near future. Such auspicious and amazing times he had the
fortune to live in! Had the Spirits taken him just a year ago, he would
have died ignorant of the true face of his God. What a tragedy that
would have been!

	Commander Badru had always been a spiritual mobian.

	Perhaps, it all went back to his own near brush with death,
during the great struggle against the Jaguar Clan. He had been a second
tier sub commander at the time, and had earned the right to lead the
second wave against a well-defended Jaguar village. The fighting had
quickly turned to a melee, and while the village burned, he personally
fought face to face with his opposite number: a Jaguar sub commander.

	He had been a worthy enemy.

	Badru patted the strip of fur that hung from behind his
headdress. He had taken that Jaguar's skin as a trophy, as well as other
treasures and spoils. However, he had been wounded badly in the
fighting, and had lingered for many days at near death. By the time he
recovered, he was able to participate in the last few attacks against
the Jaguar, before that ancient enemy had been finally and fully
crushed.

	He had eventually risen to the rank of Commander in part because
he outlived all his peers. He had a slight limp, but his health was
otherwise superb. He had attributed it to the Will of the Spirits, who
(he always thought) had destined him to do great things. Just a few
months ago, he had figured that his long life was a reward from the
Spirits for helping to destroy the Jaguar Tribe. Now he knew better. The
Spirits had wanted him to live so that he would have the honor and
privilege of serving a Living God.

	And Lord Ysbaddaden was truly a God.

	Directing his troops, Badru grinned eagerly. His God was both
Wise and Powerful. The foolish invaders from the Far East had done
exactly as Ysbaddaden said they would. Whatever strange words had been
recorded in the God of Panther's parchment, it had scattered the foreign
filth who defiled the lands of the Panther Tribe. They sent out small
parties of soldiers to search the jungle.

	Another wave of Panther warriors moved past their Commander.

	They moved swiftly and silently, blending into the jungle bush.
Some elite parties traveled through the trees. Those would be dispatched
to destroy the isolated scouting parties of the enemy. The three enemy
camps would be bombarded briefly, and then swiftly overrun. All the
manpower of the Tribe had been set on this course, and volunteers had
been taken from nearby villages as well. Luckily, virtually the entire
warrior caste was already in the area, looking for the body or mobian
Lord Ysbaddaden so desired to find.

	Such an army had not been seen since the war with the Jaguar.

	Rank after rank of young warriors marched in step. They normally
would have chanted to keep the rhythm, but it was important to maintain
the element of surprise. Signal fires had been lit many miles in the
rear, to give the impression that the Panther warriors were someplace
they weren't. When the attack came, it would be sudden and overpowering.

	Badru's only real concern was the lack of veterans.

	Normally, an army like he had assembled would have almost as
many veterans as young warriors. This was not the case, here and now.
There had been little fighting between the end of the war with the
Jaguar, and the return of Lord Ysbaddaden. The army assembled was, then,
very large, but also very inexperienced. It was normal for any wave of
youths to be supported by a wave of veterans.

	Badru had only one full wave of veterans to spare for each of
the enemy bases.

	They, he would hold in reserve as either a Fourth or Third wave.
It was slightly unorthodox, but it would work. If the youths began to
waver, the older warriors would show them the courage and pride of the
Panther, and inspire them to further feats of greatness. Besides, the
Lord of Eyes himself had blessed their attack!

	How could it possibly fail?

	Though silent, all were filled with the zeal to serve their God.

	Commander Badru smiled broadly. "By the next moon, the jungle
will be cleansed of unbelievers and foreigners!"

	His sub commanders nodded eagerly.

	"It is a shame Lord Ysbaddaden forbid us capture any of the
females," one of them said, speaking up. "I have heard rumor that there
is a female feline among them. She may even be a distant descendant of
our tribe, by her coloring and her tail."

	"I, too, have heard this," another sub commander added. "She
would make a great trophy. One who could bear many children! And one I
doubt Lord Ysbaddaden would keep for himself."

	"Lest you forget, in your day dreaming," Badru chided. "Our Lord
God has ordered us to slay all infidels from foreign lands."

	More than one sub commander grumbled at that. The Panther Tribe
always took captives as trophies. It was part of the reason they went to
war in the first place. To be ordered to kill perfectly good females who
would otherwise have been taken as impressive trophies was a strange and
alien concept.

	"Any sub commander caught keeping a foreigner alive will be put
to the spear!" Badru insisted, angrily. "There will be no exceptions!
The wrath of our Exalted Lord is terrible and swift!"

	The grumbling quickly ceased.

	"Go now, and when the word comes, fight! The Lord of Eyes will
not brook failure! Death is preferable to disgrace in the eyes of our
Great Lord!

	One after another, the sub commander made their vows, and took
their leave.

	"Soon..." Commander Badru said, to himself and to the Spirits of
the Jungle. "Soon!"

	The drums beat on.

-----

	"I hope we find Rouge soon. The less time we waste in this
jungle hell the better."

	"No kidding, man."

	"What's not to love? It's hot, wet and sticky, and we don't have
to pay to get stuck in it..."

	"Shut up, Rocker."

	"Yes, sir..."

	"Eyes open, boys. This is a search party, remember? And let's
not forget that we're in enemy territory. Keep quiet."

	Four mumbles of agreement followed the statement from their
commanding officer. The team was operating at half strength, which was
normally ten mobians. They were a mixed bunch, the soldiers of Squad
Nine, of different breeds, but all served the Kingdom of Acorn and the
King that ruled it. All wore the Royal Seal on the left breast of their
combat vests: an acorn superimposed on a cross. Four were armed with
longer weapons than their leader. The mobian weapons where thin and
light, if a little unwieldy, and made with a woodland motif and finish.
The group's leader had a carbine, a shorter version of the normal rifle,
and moved with more confidence than his men.

	"Hey, Corporal Dan! Check it out!" One of the troopers yelled,
and pointed to a nearby plant.

	"What?" The leader paused and checked the area out. "What is
it?"

	"Look at the size of that frog!" The Private spoke just loud
enough for the rest of the team to hear. "He's HUGE! There! Behind that
bush! See 'em? Sucker's gotta be the size of my head!"

	The Private pointed eagerly. "I've never seen a 'phibian that
big!"

	The Corporal frowned, but played along. "Yeah? I've heard there
are spiders half again as big this deep in the jungle. They work in
packs. Kill anything that stumbles into their territory."

	Another Private shuddered. "Source alive, I fucking hate
spiders!"

	The group got moving again, but another of the troopers added,
"Hey, Rogers. What was that word you used? I've never heard it before.'"

	"Source, man! You ARE new to this outfit, ain't ya?" Another
trooper laughed.

	"Hey, I'm just curious," The mobian complained. "What's it mean,
anyway?"

	"'Fucking' is like 'yiffing'. The meaning is pretty much the
same. It's an overlander word."

	"You're shittin' me!" The other guy shook his head. "An
overlander word? Where'd you hear that?"

	"From Daniels in Company C, back home. He heard it from another
guy who was at Knothole when the fighting' there started. That guy heard
it from a dingo, who heard it from one of the humans," the other Private
explained. "It's an overlander word. Or it's dingo. But they yiff like
anyone else, so I doubt that."

	There was silence for a few seconds, as they hacked through some
heavy scrub.

	"So... uh," The curious Private started, again. "Is that like
the sound humans make when they're doin' the nasty? Fuc-Fuc-Fuc or
something?"

	"No way!" Another snorted. "I hear they hoot when they do it."

	"It makes sense, though!" The guy from before maintained. "I
mean, that's where the word 'yiff' comes from, right? That's like, the
root of it or something, right? So it should be the same for 'Fuck.'"

	"No no no..." The guy who had used the word first spoke up.
"You've got it backwards. Humans don't think like us. I heard that the
word originally meant something else, and that it just took on the
sexual meaning later. The opposite of 'yiff.' In other words, even
though the meaning is the same now, that wasn't always the case."

	A few more seconds.

	Another thick vine slashed down.

	Distant drums continued to beat.

	"I dunno. That sounds pretty crazy."

	"I'm telling ya, it's what I heard."

	"From Daniels. In C Company?"

	"Yeah."

	"Who heard it from some other guy, who heard it from a dingo,
who explained all this to him during the Battle of Knothole?"

	"Look, when you put it that way..."

	"What other way is there to put it?"

	"Alright, Mr. Linguistics Expert..."

	"I never said I was an expert! I just said it didn't make any
sense!"

	"Shut up, both of you!" The team's leader held up his hand, and
motioned for immediate silence. They paused in their patrol route, and
listened for a few seconds. The distant croaking of a large frog, and
the buzzing of an insect or two were the only new sounds to be heard.
The native drumming in the distance had been going on for hours, and
become little more than background noise.

	"Hmm." The Corporal slowly lowered his hand. 'Maybe it was just
my imagination playing tricks on me, but I couldn't sworn I heard
something... moving...'

	"Let's keep moving," he finally said, and continued hacking away
at the dense foliage. Many feet away, hidden by the jungle that was
their home, several pairs of eyes watched.

	And waited.

-----

	THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER

	CHAPTER THREE:

	God of Panthers, Prince of Lies


-----


	Rouge hung upside down from the branch, and adjusted the range
of the binoculars held to her face. Of the group, she was the only one
capable of scaling and maneuvering through the heavy canopy that was the
roof of the rainforest. Not only were her feet and ankles better adapted
to hanging for long periods of time, but her physiology protected her
from the sudden and numbing rush of blood to the brain. So she hung
around, and she watched.

	The village was large - much larger than Rouge had expected. She
was able to identify a central marketplace, built partly out of stone,
and two smaller temple like buildings built as miniature copies of the
larger one. The major Temple structure dominated the village easily. It
was incredibly wide at the base, and had several steep looking ramps and
stairs that led to the rectangular structure at the top. It looked old,
too. Most of the buildings in the village were huts of an especially
primitive variety, but the Temple looked truly ancient. Strange faces
and creatures adorned it at certain places - ones Rouge had never seen
before.

	'Ancient echidna' was her first thought, but she dismissed it
after a more thorough look. Ancient echidna usually used a circular
motif, and made extensive use of pillars. Here, there wasn't a round
shape in sight, and not even the ruins of a single pillar. Watching it
through the high-powered binoculars filled her with, if not a strange
sense of dread, an unexplained and unanticipated anxiety.

	On the up side, there didn't look to be any Panther warriors in
plain sight.

	On the down side, she did see more than a few Combots lurking
about. There was even an E-1002 unit perched on the Temple itself,
though it appeared to be in some sort of Sentry or Sleep mode. The E-
Series used a living core, while Combots did not, so they weren't always
100% active and alert. The primitive AI worked while the organic core
rested.

	There also didn't seem to be any fortifications or standing
defenses.

	'Well, it is just a village,' Rouge mused to herself, and kept
watching. Their target was almost certainly inside the main Temple. The
fact that it was more heavily guarded than the village itself made that
even more likely. There were several approaches to the Temple itself
through the village sprawl, but all had at least one Combot on nearby
guard duty.

	Clipping the binoculars onto her belt, Rouge slowly scaled down
the tree. The last twenty feet, she let go, and used her wings to
control her fall. Landing without a sound, she walked a short distance
to where he companions were waiting. She saw Omega first.

	It was hard not to. He was the largest of the group, and his
painting was difficult to hide completely. He had served well as a
distraction, keeping more vulnerable members of the team out of harm's
way, and continued to serve in that role without complaint. Omega, in
fact, had been eager to get into a scrap with anyone or anything, as
long as she and Fiona stayed out of his field of fire.

	Next to the big robot crouched in the bushes was Rouge's
bodyguard: Heinrich von Elbe. A former Master Sergeant in the Dingo
Hegemony, he had more than demonstrated an ability to handle himself in
tough situations. On the trek towards the Panther village, he had
silently eliminated two patrols which had been looking for them.
Luckily, he felt no need to gloat over his victories or his beaten foes,
and the only things he collected from the bodies were clips of
ammunition for Omega's chainguns, which he hand fed into the robot's
powerful forearms.

	Lastly was Fiona 2.0, who seemed little more than an observer.

	And a schemer.

	Still, she was the only one who had known the way to the
village, so she contributed in that sense at least. The Fiona Doll had
not shown any particular physical proficiency with weapons or hand to
hand combat, but Rouge doubted that she was entirely harmless. She had
no proof, but the she-bat was sure that Fiona probably had poison
lipstick, or cyanide tipped fingernails or something to that effect. She
just seemed the type.

	"Well, what's the word, Boss?" Heinrich asked first, almost
casually.

	"Fiona was right. Defenses are pretty light, unless the
villagers turn on us," Rouge answered.

	"They won't," Fiona assured her. "Their caste system was well
documented by the overlanders who mapped this region."

	"Then we're still left dealing with about twenty to thirty
Combots, and at least one E-1002. They'll be coming in ones and twos,
but from a lot of different angles, unless we take the time to sweep the
entire village."

	"Impractical, I'd say," Heinrich said his piece. "Omega?"

	"I would have to agree." The robot's voice was deep, but
modulated to an exact and appropriately low volume. "If we stick
together, the sweep could take hours. If we separate, our chances of all
reaching the Temple summit are low."

	"As I recall," Fiona said, softly. "Phyllostomids are native to
this general region of Mobius. A Tribe and village of this size would
surely have at least a few as slaves. With some rags, we could easily
disguise ourselves well enough to get close to the Temple. Sergeant von
Elbe could then seek an alternate route."

	"I don't like the idea of..." Heinrich began to say.

	But Fiona cut him off. "Females are not held in high regard in
Panther society. They would not see us as a danger, and most would
likely simply ignore us."

	Rouge snapped her fingers. "The Marketplace. The crowd."

	Heinrich frowned, not liking the possibility of leaving his Boss
by herself. Omega didn't seem pleased by it either, but he saw and
accepted that Rouge and Fiona were most likely going to support their
idea, regardless of objections, several seconds before his dingo
comrade.

	"Use me," Omega said, and the three (really just two) mobians
turned their heads to face him. "Use me to draw the Combots away."

	"Omega..." Rouge said, carefully. "There may be thirty of them
in the whole village. If even half go after you, you'll be extremely
outnumbered. You don't even have one hundredth of the ammunition you
normally carry. And you've already taken damage. Three or four Combots,
I'd imagine you could handle yourself well, but fifteen?"

	"If I am destroyed, then I am destroyed." Omega seemed
unconcerned. "Regardless, they will not be pursuing you or Fiona. If I
must be destroyed, let it be while achieving my mission objectives."

	"That is very brave of you, Omega," Fiona smiled knowingly.

	"No. Not brave," Omega corrected. "Logical. Besides, destroying
Eggman Robots is what I do best."

	"Fifteen to one," Heinrich smirked. "Logical or not, you've got
nuts. Nuts of steel."

	Omega's head bobbed in an amused gesture.

	"Alright,' Rouge turned towards the Panther village. "Let's do
this."

-----


	Commander Badru opened his eyes.

	And held up his left hand.

	Nearby, the drum beaters stopped, exhausted.

	Far off, other dumb beaters also stopped.

	The jungle, once again, was silent.

	With another wordless gesture, he motioned forward.

-----

	"Hey!" One of the Privates in Squad Nine cupped his long rabbit
ear. "Ya hear that? They stopped playing! I guess some kinda party's
over, huh?"

	Those were the last words he ever spoke.

	In a heartbeat, the deafening chatter of gunfire replaced the
rhythm of the drums. The Private who had spoken seemed to dance, his
limbs flailing, as automatic rain cut his life terribly short. Three of
the five mobian squad had the sense to fall to the ground. Another's
head jerked to the side in a spray of dark red, the rest of his body
untouched. He gurgled an incomprehensible word, or maybe two, and fell
on his side.

	"Return fire!!" The team's Corporal barked, and his two
remaining subordinates did so. The movement in the brush was more
distinct now, and with their systems pumped full of adrenalin, the
soldiers tried to track and hit whatever was closest to them. Firing
almost blindly, they still managed at least a single hit, attributable
due to the howl of pain that came from some hidden enemy.

	The staccato sound of yet more enemy fire came from two
different sides. Little fountains of mud popped out of the ground, as
stray bullets kicked up bits of the forest floor. When a line of fire
almost hit one of the Privates, a mobian squirrel just out of his teens,
he quickly scrambled to his feet, and despite slipping twice, tried to
make a run back the direction they had came.

	Watching this, Corporal Daniel Foxx, whose breed matched his
name, could only curse in frustration. He tried to trip the Private as
he ran with the end of his boot, but by (bad) luck or chance the other
mobian kept going. Panicked, he managed only his sixth step before
whirling in a full circle, bullets impacting his left side. Whether his
vest stopped any of the high-powered rounds or not, Corporal Foxx didn't
know. It hardly even mattered. One or two shots had found the Private's
face, and that - as they used to say - was that.

	"This way! Circle 'round!" He yelled to his last remaining man,
and started crawling towards the broad leaves of a jungle bush. The trip
of a meter or so seemed like a mile and a half when under enemy fire,
but fortunately whoever was shooting at them really wasn't doing so in
any coordinated fashion, or with any real accuracy. They also didn't
seem to be conserving bullets, and simply 'sprayed and prayed.' When he
finally found some modicum of shelter behind the cover of the bushes,
Foxx sighed, and checked his weapon.

	Next to him, another Private - Private Rocker, a mobian hedgehog
whose blue coloring stood out badly in the jungle greens and browns -
was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. How long had it been,
Foxx wondered watching the Private, since those damn drums had stopped?

	'By the bloody Source! This is probably happening everywhere!'

	Reaching for his radio, Foxx paused when he heard voices.

	"AFRAMMU!!" One cried, followed by another and another.
"AFRAMMU! BADRUKU!! YSBADDEDEN DRAA!!"

	"Surrounded," Foxx hissed, and raised his weapon, eyes searching
the jungle overgrowth. On one knee, his aim was steady and reliable.
Nearby, Private Rocker was on his belly, rifle ready. His view wasn't as
good from his spot on the ground, but he was better protected from
return fire.

	'Good lad,' Foxx thought, and it was the chance he had for idle
things. With a savage cry filling the air, the enemy charged. Foxx saw
them first, moving swiftly through the brush. They were felines, but
different from the ones back home. Without hesitation, he opened fire.
His rifle wasn't fully automatic; it fired in short bursts, and by
himself he dropped two of the Panther warriors, before return gunfire
made him duck his head. A bullet hit his vest, and he fell back.

	Stunned, but alive.

	Looking down very briefly, he saw that the round had flattened
against his combat vest, and kept it from digging through his flesh into
a rib or lung. Rolling onto his side, he aimed for the loudest war
cries, and fired blindly. From behind another broad-leaved shrub a
Panther emerged, wielding some sort of spear. He fell forward as a
hailstorm of bullets flew from the two Mobian troopers, but was followed
by another. And another.

	Acting quickly, Foxx rolled to his left, and avoided the initial
spearing.

	He saw, as he moved, that Private Rocker hadn't been as
fortunate. He let out a howl as the Panther drove the spear into his
prone form. It was obviously not a fatal blow, because he kept
screaming, even as Corporal Foxx tried to escape a similar fate. Raising
his rifle, he blocked a quick spear thrust, and while backpedaling, he
narrowly escaped another.

	"DIE! DAMN YOU!" Swinging his rifle, Foxx saw the Panther easily
avoid the attack. Instead of another thrust, the flat of the spear came
out of nowhere, hitting him in the face. Blinded, he cursed, and in that
second something (probably a root) caught his foot, and he fell
backwards. Firing wildly with his rifle, he felt but never saw the tip
of the spear that ended his life.

	He was just one of many dying in the jungles of Cat Country.

-----

	"What the Hell is going on out there?! Corporal! Corporal,
respond at once!" His Majesty's Captain of the Secret Service, Geoffrey
St. John, screamed into the hand held radio. "ANSWER ME!!"

	Nearby, Geoffrey's assistant, a lithe calico black cat named
Hershey, spoke in more controlled tones. "Come again, Corporal? Corporal
Matthews?" She tried another frequency. "Corporal Foxx? Is anyone
reading me out there?"

	She winced, her hand starting to shake. "Is anyone alive? Please
respond, over?"

	"...age garbled. Can't get... There! Agent Hershey?" A voice,
one she didn't recognize, came in clearly. "This is Private Luis Bose,
Squad Fourteen. Corporal Otto and Sergeant Razen are dead. I've assumed
command."

	Hershey shook her head sadly. Razen had been one of the four
Sergeants on rotation in the field. He was a veteran of Knothole, too.
"Private Bose - what is the status of your squad?"

	"Not good, ma'am. We were ambushed by natives. The Sarge and
Corp took care of a few of 'em before they went down, and so did Private
Iko; it looks like we got all of 'em." Bose paused, then added. "We're
got wounded here, Ma'am. Myself included. I'm just lucky I remembered to
pick up the Sarge's radio."

	Geoffrey, having heard Hershey conversing with something besides
static, quickly walked over. Without preamble, he grabbed Hershey's
radio. "Private - you are to return to Base Camp immediately! I am
recalling all patrols, yours included!"

	"Yes, sir!" Came the immediate reply from the young mobian on
the other end of the line, and a mile or three deeper into the jungle.

	"I know what you're thinking, Hersh," Geoffrey said, after
taking his thumb off the radio intercom. "But we can't afford to send
more troops out into another ambush, not in small groups. All available
forces are to stay at defensive positions. At least until we can
regroup."

	Hershey didn't much like it, but it was probably the right call.
"Alright, Geoffrey."

	"Just Geoffrey? No 'yes, sir?'" He asked, a little surprised.

	Hershey shrugged. "Bigger problems to deal with."

	St. John nodded. Then his eyes narrowed, not just at the losses,
but also at fact that he had been tricked. "Sixteen squads we had out
there. Sixteen!"

	"Maybe we should prep for immediate withdrawal," Hershey
suggested with only a second's hesitation. "We both know the base camps
are the next target, now that we're at half operational strength."

	"No. No." Geoffrey waved a finger at her, as if he was a teacher
and she just a small child. "Ambushing a couple of patrols is one thing.
Camps have defenses. Machine guns. We're safe enough as long as we stay
put."

	"Are you sure, Geoffrey? Suppose we do stay put, and suppose
they don't have the nerve to attack us. How long do we sit here?"

	He obviously didn't like the question, and answered it with one
of his own. "More to the point: why are they attacking us? And who wrote
that letter?"

	Hershey's eyes widened a bit when she saw where he was about to
go.

	"Rouge!" Geoffrey slammed his right fist into his left palm,
hard. "Rouge had to have done it! She's obviously behind this whole
thing! I wouldn't be surprised if she planned this from the beginning!
First, she lured us here by veering off course and avoiding Mercian
airspace. Then she blows up her supposed only means of escape to make us
think she was attacked by natives, and get us to land. THEN she forges
that letter! She's masterminded this whole affair!"

	"But why?" Hershey asked, trying to calm him down. "I mean: look
at this rationally, Geoffrey! She could've escaped if she wanted to. And
there were dingo bodies in the wreckage of that Transport we found!"

	"Don't you get it, Hersh?" Geoffrey shook his head as her
apparent blindness. "Those dingo were probably just dupes! She killed
them to make the illusion more convincing! Remember: this is the same
female who almost revealed the location of Knothole a year ago! She's
admitted working for Robotnick during the war!"

	"Yes, but.... But why do all this?"

	"To humiliate me!" Geoffrey answered, angrily, totally convinced
that he had cracked the mystery. "To discredit me and humiliate me! If
not kill me outright! I've been after her for three months now! She
knows the only way to get me off her back is to have me killed or worse:
shame me in the eyes of the King!"

	"Geoff, I..." Hershey started to say, before a voice from both
their radios cut her off.

	"This is Lieutenant Enders of Base camp One! We are under
attack! Repeat: we are under attack!"

	Geoffrey handed Hershey her radio, and used his own to respond.
"Come again, Lieutenant. Come again: Base Camp One is under attack?"

	"Yes, SIR, 'Special Agent,'" Ender's voice didn't hide his
dislike of the Secret Service particularly well. Very few officers in
the MAF had a good opinion of the King's Special Agents, who occupied
all higher echelon command ranks in the Mobian Armed Forces. The highest
real military rank was Lieutenant. All higher ranks were occupied by
Agents of the Secret Service, who insured that the King maintained both
political and effective control of the military.

	"The Base Camp is taking sporadic fire from the jungle," Enders
elaborated. "We are returning fire, but we've already had a few wounded,
and one killed. What is more disturbing, SIR, is that we are taking
plasma fire as well."

	"Plasma fire?" St. John asked, honestly surprised. "How can that
be? What would these savages be doing with plasma weapons?"

	"I think, SIR, that we are dealing with Combots acting in
concert with the native peoples. That is simply my opinion, however, as
we have yet to confirm the presence of any Eggman robots in the area."

	"Eggman robots?" Geoffrey pursed his lips. "No! Robots from that
base! Reprogrammed! But it hardly matters - Hold your ground,
Lieutenant! Teach them what it means to attack the Kingdom of Acorn and
the soldiers of the Golden Throne!"

	"I fight, as always, for His Majesty the King," Enders replied.
"You may wish to know that I have also informed Lieutenants Hacon and
Utler in Base Camp Three. If the fight comes to Camp Two, I suggest you
listen to Lieutenant Ollers, SIR, as he has field experience when it
comes to command."

	Implying, of course, that neither Geoffrey nor Hershey did.

	"Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all," St. John answered,
gruffly.

	Enders cut the communication from his end.

	"Insubordinate little..." Geoffrey growled, his eyes searching
the Base Camp. "Hershey! Find Lieutenant Ollers and bring him to me!"

	"Right away," Hershey said, and ran off.

	Not bothering to watch her go, Geoffrey St. John reached into
his vest, and pulled out a pistol. His new uniform, vest or no vest,
lacked the elegance of a hand crossbow, but he would do without it. He
had thirty-two shots worth of ammo to back him up.

	"If Rouge thinks I'll run with my tail between my legs..."
Checking the clip, he snapped it back into place. "She's wrong. Dead
wrong."

-----

	"I can't believe we're just walking in like this."

	Fiona spared Rouge a quick look. "Strange as we appear to them,
most of these mobians are more interested in our companion."

	Rouge and Fiona were amid a throng of Panthers. Here, in the
tail end of the Marketplace, they got far fewer strange looks than they
had when first entering the village. They had seen a few very young
Panther warriors, just children really, but those boys hadn't approached
them, though one had pointed and laughed.

	A meter or so ahead of them, Omega got the most attention.

	Aside from being large, and a bloody robot, the locals seemed to
keep a respectful (almost reverential) distance from him. It was more
than simple fear. They muttered softly, and some bowed their heads when
he got closer. It got Rouge thinking.

	'Do the Panther worship robots?' She wondered. 'It may explain
why there are so many of them in and around the Temple.'

	Fiona seemed the most anxious of the three. Rouge had seen
another Phyllostomid, if only briefly, and most of the natives didn't
give her more than a second look. Fiona, however, was unlike anything
they had seen. More than one child had grabbed her long furry tail and
given it a sharp tug. Fiona responded simply by snapping it back, and
hitting them in the face with remarkable strength and control. The
toddlers always ended up on their rumps, crying.

	Fiona had grinned happily.

	Watching her android companion, Rouge looked behind her at her
own tail. It was small and almost furless. The only Mobians to have less
of a tail were the humans and overlanders (and so much as call them
mobian, and you're likely to end up punched in the face or shot). Even
that Freedom Fighter girl, Amanda, had a little fluffy cottontail. She
normally wasn't too self-conscious about it, but growing up amid Mobians
who had more 'interesting' tails had not been fun in her childhood.
Idly, she wondered if her child would have her tail, or Miles' great
furred tails. If it was a girl, chances were that she'd take almost all
her physical attributes from her mother, but there was always the chance
of a true hybridization.

	What if the girl ended up with two of Rouge's tails?!

	She shook her head at the thought, and concentrated on the
present situation she was in. The Marketplace had a surprising variety
of things in it, from the interesting (one portly Panther was selling
some exotic and interesting wicker baskets), to the alluring (there were
more than a few fine smelling fruits being bartered for), to the
repulsive (skins and slaves). Were she not in the situation she was,
she'd have been happy to make a few acquisitions of her own of the non-
gruesome variety.

	Then, Rouge saw a young Panther with a spear heading in their
direction.

	Fiona saw him too, and nudged Rouge before motioning in his
direction. The two females tried to blend into the crowd, even going
near one of the food vendors and pretending to be interested in getting
something. The warrior, however, was persistent. He approached the two,
and said something in the Panther language.

	"Blatmu gami attu li ga!" He pointed his spear at then
threateningly. "Blatmu gami attu li ga! Annla! Annla!"

	"Epu chomma kee. Epu nin attu li," Fiona bowed her head, and
looked to Rouge. With a resigned look, Rouge acted similarly.

	"Matamu. Kacha ka!" He motioned for them to come with him.
"Annla! Annla!"

	"He wants us to come with him," Fiona explained, speaking
softly.

	"We don't have time for this. OMEGA!" She shouted, and the robot
was there in a heartbeat. Rouge pointed to the Panther warrior. "Get rid
of this guy, would you?"

	"Of course!" One of Omega's chain guns emerged from his right
forearm.

	"Ah!!" Rouge held up a finger.

	Omega sighed, and the chain gun retracted again. Not
particularly eagerly, he reached over, and picked the little warrior up
by the back of his neck. Seeing the robot acting in support of the two
females, the warrior (little more than a child) dropped his spear, and
started babbling.

	"Cammu Cammu! Effa Kappa Ysbaddaden ka! Cammu ka!"

	Omega looked at Rouge, hoping she'd give him an order he's like.
She didn't, and so Omega had to content himself with throwing the
Panther boy to the ground. The young mobian quickly scrambled away,
leaving his weapon behind. Rouge watched the expressions of the other
Panthers with amusement.

	"Omaga..." Rouge said, teasingly. "There'll be Eggman robots to
destroy. Don't waste your time on small fry."

	Omega perked up at that. "Yes. You are correct."

	"Of course I am." Rouge pointed to a stand with several beaded
body wraps on display. "Now: If you would, get me that red one with the
yellow beads. Oh, and that plain brown one, too."

	Omega reached over and swiped them. The Panther selling the
clothes bowed his head repeatedly. Rouge was tempted to clean him out,
but in a flash of humanitarianism (how did that word enter the mobian
language, anyway?) let him be. She quickly put on the red body wrap, and
handed the brown one to Fiona. The Doll looked at it with displeasure,
but sighed and put it on, while wrapping her tail around her waist. She
ended up looking like an overdressed portly female of an indeterminate
breed.

	Rouge tried not to laugh.

	"All right. Let's just get moving," Fiona grumbled, crossly.

	"Omega. Go on ahead. We'll head for the Temple once you're
gone." Rouge then added, "Good luck."

	"I, for one, do not believe in luck," Omega headed further down
the Market thoroughfare.

	"If we survive this, remind me to take him to Casino Night."
Rouge ducked into the crowd, followed by Fiona, and watched as Omega
picked up his pace. 'Luck or not, I hope he knows what he's doing.'

	Omega had no idea what he was doing.

	Well, that was inaccurate. He had a very general idea of what he
was doing. First, he would get the attention of the local Combot force.
Then, he would lead them on a chase through the jungle. And then he
would destroy them, singularly or in groups. And then he would head back
to the village, and the Temple, and make sure Rouge and Fiona were safe
and had accomplished their mission. Maybe he'd also see if Rouge's
bodyguard had made it that far. The dingo was a soldier, but he was, in
the end, expendable.

	Rouge and Fiona, by the dictates of his programming, were not.

	He no longer took any pains to hide himself, and soon enough he
saw one of the Temple guards, the one nearest to the Marketplace. Omega
was tempted to pick him off with a spray of lead from his chain gun, but
decided against it. His ammunition supply was extremely limited, and the
actual rounds were of the simplest design. If he had been loaded with
discarding SABOT rounds, then he would've squeezed off a few.

	He would just have to improvise.

	Checking to see if any of the Panther locals were close, and
seeing that most gave him a generous distance, Omega powered up the
rocket motors attached to his legs and lower back. With a roar, they
came to life, and lifted him into the air in a high jump. He didn't have
the power to fly, like an E-1002 could, but he had enough juice to make
impressive jumps. Without even having to fire, he got the attention of
several of the local Combots.

	They opened fire, and plasma bolts filled the air. Several
missed, but a few scored cleanly. One of the Combots in particular was
very accurate. Even though they were all externally almost identical,
there were small differences between Combot Models. The better shot was
probably a veteran, likely an A or B Series made before 3236. Probably
had a Combot cloak, too.

	Had Omega a mouth, he would have grinned in eager anticipation.

	Maneuvering himself to land in the jungle, he lowered his arm,
and took a few potshots. They'd never be enough to destroy one of the
Combots, but the former soldiers of the Eggman Empire would head out in
force if they knew he was still armed, and that was the point. As he
plummeted through leaves and branches, Omega performed a quick self
diagnostic. The plasma blasts that had hit him didn't do too much damage
(they were weapons meant to be used against organics, not fellow robots,
much less heavily armored ones), but enough pinpricks could kill an
elephant.

	And most Combot plasma rifles could be adjusted to fire 'hot,'
and damage other robots more effectively. Recalibration took a minute or
two, but the Combots would be smart enough to make the adjustment on
their way into the jungle. Heading deeper into the rainforest, the robot
codenamed E-123 only hoped he'd managed to draw enough attention to
allow his organic associates to penetrate the Temple defenses.

	And if Fiona and Rouge died...?

	Omega's programming didn't even let him contemplate it.

-----

	Looking at herself, Hershey began to wonder.

	It felt good to be minus her clothes, if even for a short while.
Fashions had steadily encouraged females, if not males, to wear more and
more. It wasn't called the 'overlander look,' but Hershey knew that was
the general idea. Instead, it was called 'dingo inspired,' as they were
the only mobian breed who wore the most over their furred bodies. Even
the echidna wore less (the males anyway). Her Secret Service uniform was
tight, confining, and not particularly comfortable. Changing into it was
a pain, and getting out of it a relief.

	Pulling the shirt over her head, Hershey then added a heavy
combat vest, and closed the front first with a zipper and then with a
set of nylon straps. Putting on pants was a more alien experience. She
had briefly worn a catsuit, but had not enjoyed the (ironic) experience.
The skirt that was part of her Secret Service uniform was a step up, but
still constricting. She inched the pants upwards slowly, careful to
position her tail so it fit into its brace at the back. Once at her
waist, she then tightened the rear strap over the base of her tail. The
belt came next, and that fit through loops in the pants, but first she
had to tuck in her undershirt.

	Vest and pants on, she then stepped into and strapped up a pair
of combat boots. She had always worn boots, and these were an old
familiar pair. Next, she slipped on the additional arm guards. They
would do little to protect her from a bullet, but would (slightly)
mitigate the damage from a plasma bolt hitting her arms. There, too,
there was irony. The guards, an advanced polymer fabric, had been
designed (at least in part) by Miles 'Tails' Prower, back in 3236, and
MilesTech was the company that continued making and selling them. And
MilesTech was the same company that they now had a Royal sanction to
raid for the profit of King and Country.

	As well protected as any mobian could be, given the
circumstances, Hershey started loading up on offensive firepower.
Grenades would be useful, but they were in short supply. She only had
four, and they went into straps on her heavy combat vest. A
semiautomatic pistol found a place on her right hip. It was a virtually
identical copy of the semiautomatic handguns that the Kingdom of Acorn
had tried (with limited success) to ban, many, many years ago.

	Lastly, came her rifle.

	The weight felt strange in her hands. She was a good shot with
handguns; Drago had taught her to fire personally, and he was handy with
them, too. She had gone on to become a crack shot with a traditional
bolt-action rifle, too, thanks to her former paramour. It was, she
supposed, the only good thing to come of her relationship with him.
Well, that, and the sex, which had been (to be frank) incredible.

	But an automatic, especially a cut down carbine, felt odd to
her.

	She regretted leaving her old rifle back in Mobotropolis, but
Geoffrey had insisted. As accurate as she was, her rate of fire was very
limited, and that was what seemed to count, now. Hershey disagreed,
especially now that the Kingdom's enemies were more likely to be mobian
than robot, but she kept her mouth shut and didn't make waves. She
picked up a few clips, and put them in two ammunition pouches. She then
loaded the semi-automatic rifle, and turned off the safety.

	Leaving the tent, she winced her eyes at the natural light.

	And the heat.

	The Base Camp was a mixture of tension and panic. Most of the
troops were at their positions and simply waiting. Those without a
concrete place to stay, walked, paced, and wondered. Geoffrey was
wearing a similar set of combat gear, the only real difference being
that he had a thicker tail, but the straps at the back of every pair of
pants could fit virtually any tail a mobian could have, so he didn't
need a different version. Hershey felt like a male, as covered as she
was by clothes. Like most mobian females who had attractive bodies, she
felt a little strange covering it up so much.

	"Here," Geoffrey handed her a helmet.

	"Thanks," She said, and put it on. The strap under her skin
instantly felt itchy, and it took a few seconds for her ears to find the
slots in the helmet and emerge. Now, she felt like a male *and* a
turtle.

	"You sure you want to do this?" He asked, more than a little
trace of worry to his voice.

	Hershey nodded. "I'm sure, Geoff. We need to relieve Lieutenant
Enders. Like you said, there shouldn't be more than a couple hundred of
these natives, and if they're smart they'll concentrate their resources
on one Base Camp at a time. We break their first attack, we break them
all."

	He frowned, still not totally liking the idea that she was going
to be leading the expedition. But Hershey had been adamant. She gave him
a quick wink. "I'll be back. Just hold down the fort."

	Nearby, four squads of mobians were checking their gear. She was
starting to turn, to walk towards them, when his hand took her shoulder,
stopping her. She pivoted, facing him, and saw that he had a strange
expression on his face. He dropped his hand from her shoulder, and
instead took one of hers in his.

	"Hershey," He said, after a moment's hesitation. "Marry me."

	"What?" She almost squeaked, and then whispered in a more
conspiratorial tone. "Not the most romantic of moments, Geoffrey."

	He shrugged. "I'm not the most romantic of guys."

	For a second, she remembered....

	'We'll be together forever, won't we, Drago?'

	'Forever, baby! Forever!'

	"I... I..." She blinked a few times, until all she saw, all she
heard, was the mobian in front of her. "I think I'll need to think about
it."

	"I'll expect a 'yes, sir' when you get back." He smiled,
charmingly, and she remembered why she had fallen for him in the first
place. She stepped forward, into his arms, and the two kissed. Never
before had they done so in public (Geoffrey was a prude when it came to
public displays of affection), but they did so now. Hershey felt good to
be in his arms again, and for a few wonderful seconds forgot about the
jungle hell that had ensnared them, and the battles that were ahead of
them.

	Then, it all came crashing back.

	Breaking the kiss, Hershey took a few steps backward, turned,
and signaled the volunteers she had assembled. A minute later, she led
them into the jungle. No more than ten minutes after she was gone, St.
John's radio buzzed, demanding his attention. A second later, without
his prompting, a worried voice began to speak.

	"Sir! This is Lieutenant Hacon. Sir, I'm afraid I have to report
that Base Camp Three is under stack from enemy forces." A pause. "I
believe the enemy is encircling us. And by us, I mean all three Base
Camps. You may want to reconsider ordering a withdrawal..."

	St. John slowly lifted the radio to his lips. "No, Lieutenant.
No retreats. Fight for the Crown. Die for the Crown, if you must."

	Another pause.

	"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" The Lieutenant asked.
Sporadic gunfire could be heard in the background.

	"Permission to speak freely... denied." St. John pressed a
button, cutting the conversation short. He had little interest in what
Lieutenant Hacon had to say. The male was a coward, but he would hold
his ground as ordered. Or he would hang when they got back to
Mobotropolis. The choice was, in the end, his.

	St. John smiled, crookedly. A male like Hacon... would never
have survived long in Overland. Would never have completed his mission
and lived not to tell of it. The Kingdom would not miss a creature like
him.

	Not in the least.



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