CHAPTER 20 - Changin' Yore Mind is Like Changin' A Dirty Diaper
Guardian H'minee had been asked to convene an emergency meeting of the high council of the Manifold Caretakers. Apparently, something unexpected had come up. Again. Probably those stoopid humans. It was pointless to ask why. The Lord of Intelligence would respond with some vague answer and save the good stuff for the actual meeting. Guardian H'minee was once again annoyed with the instinctive territorial behavior of her species.
Every time the Caretakers seemed to make a little progress, some group of humans somewhere would somehow do something to mess things up. True to the pattern, this was once again the case. The Lord of Intelligence began his briefing.
"Intelligence: Gathered. Analysis: Confirmed. Situation: Altered. Alteration: New pact. Factions: Consciousness and Hillbillies. Plan: Conquest. Target: Consciousness. Suggestion: Abort. Emotion: Imperative."
Guardian H'minee was shocked twice, first by the news of the new pact between the Consciousness and the Hillbillies, and also by the fact that the Lord of Intelligence had the audacity to suggest that a military operation be aborted. This would not sit well with the Lord of Military Operations.
The original purpose for the planned attack on the Cyborgs had been two-fold. First, the Cyborgs had occupied the Garland Crater. The Caretakers needed this area for mining and mineral production for their own development efforts, particularly the planned subspace beacon project. The second reason was to eliminate another group of useless humans. The Cyborgs were small, but they were efficient and skilled researchers. Under the right circumstances, they could grow into formidable opponents. It was simply better to eliminate them before that became a possibility.
As expected, the Lord of Military Operations was offended by the suggestion from the Lord of Intelligence that this planned invasion be aborted. She would not tolerate invasion into her territory; physically, emotionally, or organizationally. She argued back.
"Deal: Big, Fat, Hairy. Consciousness: Small. Pactmates: Far, Inefficient, Disorganized. Success: Rapid. Intervention: Impossible."
Guardian H'minee thought the Lord of Military Operations had a point. The Consciousness was small and their human pactmates were a long ways away and appeared to be both inefficient and disorganized. The well-planned attack by the Caretakers should quickly cut through the Cyborgs and eliminate them before the Hillbillies could intervene. However, there was no need for the Lord of Military Operations to preface her remarks with an off-color comment.
The Lord of Intelligence perceived that the Lord of Military Operations was an idiot. Did she not read his reports? How could she miss the obvious!
"Hillbillies: Powerful, Scrupulous. Other Pactmates: Spartans, Cult. Submissive pactmates: Usurpers. Assets: Chaos Needlejets. Quantity: Unknown. Believers: Hostile. Engagement: Probable."
That was the clincher. Guardian H'minee knew that humans tended to be unpredictable, but the Hillbillies had thus far been scrupulously fair in their behavior. They would honor their pact with the Consciousness. Even worse, they would bring the Spartans and the Cult of Planet into the fight. That was not a good combination. The Spartans were the finest warriors among the humans and possessed a superb, well-equipped military. The Cult was also a superb military organization and used native life-forms better than anybody else, including the Caretakers. The Usurpers were technologically on par with the Caretakers and would just love to have an opportunity to take out the Caretakers. While the Believers weren't exactly allied with the other factions, they were still one of the largest, most powerful human factions and had already proven themselves in battle against the Caretakers. They would love to bite off another large chunk of Caretaker territory.
The Caretakers could still proceed with the attack and hope for a quick victory. Once that was done, they could sue for a quick truce before anybody else got involved. However, even that was not a sure thing. The Hillbillies apparently possessed one or more chaos needlejets and these could be on station in Cyborg territory in a matter of a few hours, certainly far faster than the entire Cyborg territory could be conquered. Caretaker forces were not equipped to handle those needlejets.
Ultimately, there was a path to achieving the goals of the Caretakers that was far more certain with far less risk, especially because no human could suspect the possibility. The research into the technology needed to construct subspace beacons was proceeding nicely. Once the beacons were completed and their fleet summoned from the home system, they could easily eliminate human infestation and those pesky Usurpers at the same time.
Guardian H'minee made her decision.
"Attack: Aborted."
* * * * *
Proctor Zhakarov was ecstatic. He had managed to weasel a treaty out of the Hillbillies that allowed him to install a new, high-speed datalink between his network and the network he had recently sold to the Hillbillies. This high-speed datalink would allow him to download data from the Hillbillies at a much higher rate that the old link would allow. Using the technology the Hillbillies had obtained from the Usurpers, the University had made several technical leaps.
Of course, that high-speed datalink was a two-way link and the Hillbillies had used this to learn a thing or two of their own. But they weren't getting near the results out of the link that the University was getting.
On top of that, Proctor Zhakarov had recently published a new paper about a revolutionary database paradigm that he basically got off the Hillbillies. Because of his position of prominence, Proctor Zhakarov could almost blow his nose on a piece of paper and have it strongly considered for an Einstein Award. However, this time the praise and fawning was actually genuine. Zhakarov's paper had been particularly brilliant and the new paradigm was especially promising.
All in all, it was a good day for Proctor Zhakarov.
As CEO Morgan's primary technical advisor looked over the intelligence information coming out of University Base, she almost had to agree with that sentiment.
* * * * *
The Earnhart, Petty, and Gordon families had the singular misfortune of living fairly close to each other in the southern portion of New Appalachia. These three families had lived in this area since planetfall, and had developed a rather intense, but somewhat unusual rivalry.
The Earnharts, Pettys, and Gordons all loved to race. It was an innate, almost instinctive passion for them. They all loved to race and they all loved to win. And they all absolutely detested losing.
When they all first made planetfall, they engaged in various foot races. After they got a few head of livestock, they tried racing cows for a bit. When they got bored with that, they tried racing mindworms. The thing that really showed how addicted these folks were to racing was the sheep racing. Trying to teach a sheep how to run fast, cut a quick turn, or do just about anything other than chew grass was a difficult proposition. The fact that all three families eventually bred fairly successful lines of racing sheep is a testament to their sheer tenacious will.
Eventually, all three families managed to scrounge up a unity rover or two. These were stripped down, redesigned, and then rebuilt to produce some of the fastest vehicles ever seen on Chiron. They used to race these out in a cow pasture and, perhaps surprisingly, folks would wander out to the pasture to watch the races. A feller by the name of Samuel Morgan (a distant cousin of one Nwabudike Morgan) got the idea that he could make a little money if'n he made a dirt track, set up a few seats in some shade, and then charged folks a small admission fee to watch the races. After a bit of negotiation with the three families--plus a couple of others that were interested--Samuel Morgan built a dirt track and some bleachers in his largest cow pasture.
And folks came to the races and enjoyed themselves. Samuel Morgan also found out that he could make a bit of money selling refreshments to folks. All in all, everybody seemed happy. Folks really seemed to enjoy the races. The Earnharts, Pettys, and Gordons found it much more enjoyable to compete in front of an audience, plus the winner got paid for it. Samuel Morgan made an acceptable profit.
Then, one of the Petty boys found an old, weird looking rover with a busted axle and some kind of gun on it that he had never seen before. The rover was heavily armored and that told him that it must have a pretty decent engine in it. So he dug around in the chassis until he found the engine. It was much smaller and lighter than anything he had ever seen before. But the engine couplings and controls looked similar to those used in some of the fission reactors they were using in their race rovers, so he thought he should give it a try.
It was unbelievably fast.
The Pettys were suddenly winning all their races with ease. The Earnharts and Gordons were not going to sit still and get wasted in every race, so they determined to find the secret to the Petty family's recent string of successes. Samuel Morgan didn't much care who won the races, but when the Pettys started winning easily every time, folks started to get bored with the whole thing. This was not good. So he started trying to find out the Petty's secret.
It didn't take very long for Samuel Morgan to discover that the Pettys had some kind of new engine that the Earnharts and Gordons didn't have. It took a little longer to learn the name of the new engine.
It was a fusion reactor.
It took a bit longer to find out where it came from, but eventually Samuel Morgan found the mother lode for fusion reactors. Apparently there was a whole mess of them available. Samuel Morgan got hold of a few and saw to it that all three families got two or three of them.
Fusion reactors were unbelievably light and powerful. One of the Gordon boys nearly killed himself when he attached a fusion reactor to an old, electrically powered wheelchair and tried to drive it.
Even better, fusion reactors could be put in a wide variety of contraptions and then raced. Samuel Morgan set up a water track and some fellers started racing boats. Samuel Morgan set up a track that wound through a swampy area and some other folks started racing swamp buggies. Samuel Morgan saw other interesting possibilities as well. Basically, anything that could hold a fusion reactor and was heavy enough to stay somewhat attached to the ground could be used to race.
Of course, fusion reactors were really quiet and folks liked their races really loud and noisy. However, Hillbilly mechanics were good at improvising and managed to find several ways to increase the noise output to acceptably painful levels.
Thus, a new form of entertainment was born on Chiron.
* * * * *
Running Vulture Labonski was slipping quietly though the woods to the place where he had stashed the chain saw. Running Vulture was not going to keep the chain saw--that would be stealing--but he was going to borrow it for the weekend.
Running Vulture Labonski, a Hillbilly of Native North American and Polish descent, had a very annoying problem. His problem began when he first got a job working for Morgan Mining at their Tar Hollow mine. One of the things he learned on his job was how to use a chain saw. Running Vulture loved the way the chain saw made it easy to clear brush and dead wood. He had even used it, albeit reluctantly, to clear a portion of the forest to make way for a new ore processing facility. Running Vulture loved the chain saw so much and found it so useful, that he had gone to the nearest J-Mart store and purchased a chain saw for use around his own homestead.
It was a piece of junk.
Within a couple of weeks, the new chain saw was broken. So, Running Vulture Labonski took it back to the J-Mart store. They made him stand in line for two hours and then treated him like a common criminal or possibly an idiot. It had taken another 45 minutes of persuasion and about eighteen pages of forms before they gave him a new chain saw in exchange for the broken one. With great excitement, Running Vulture hurried back home to finish the chore he had been working on.
The new chain saw was busted before the afternoon was old.
So, Running Vulture took the busted chain saw back to the J-Mart store, stood in line for who-knows-how-long, argued with the service counter clerk, the service counter manager, the store manager, and finally the district manager (via one of them new telephone contraptions) before they finally replaced the broken chain saw. At the same time, they seemed to think that Running Vulture was an inept jerk who barely knew how to talk without drooling all over himself.
The third chain saw lasted two days before it broke.
Two facts became apparent to Running Vulture Labonski. First, none of the chain saws at work ever broke that quickly and easily. Therefore, Running Vulture concluded that it was possible to build a decent chain saw. Second, Running Vulture Labonski was not going to go back to that J-Mart store again and waste a bunch of time for no good purpose. They treated him like it was his fault that their chain saws were pieces of junk.
So, Running Vulture decided to borrow a chain saw from work to see what made those so good and the ones he bought at J-Mart so bad. Running Vulture had one busted chain saw and a couple of his neighbors had busted chain saws. Running Vulture would take them all apart to see what was different. Maybe he could do something to the busted chain saws to make them last longer.
Of course, one did not simply walk out the front gate at work carrying one of the company's chain saws. The security guards would catch him and he would get fired. Had the security guards been Hillbillies, he would have explained what he was doing and they would have been fine with that. They would have reminded him to be careful to not damage the chain saw and be sure to bring it back to work on Monday. But the security guards were all Morganites, deeply suspicious Morganites with hard, beady eyes. They would never understand.
So, at the end of the shift on Friday, Running Vulture had simply slipped off into the woods a ways, hid the chain saw in a clump of fungus, and then went on home like he always did. Later that evening, he circled around from his house and retrieved the chain saw.
Running Vulture was not going to keep the chain saw; that would be stealing and Running Vulture was not a thief. He wouldn't even use the chain saw. He would simply study it along with all of the busted chain saws he could borrow. By Sunday evening, the chain saw would be placed back in the fungus clump where Running Vulture would retrieve it again on Monday morning.
By the middle of Saturday afternoon, Running Vulture Labonski knew how to build a better chain saw.
* * * * *
All across New Appalachia, similar things were happening as people who had purchased things at their local J-Mart stores and found them to be of less than admirable quality began to tinker and fiddle around to see what they could do to make them better. A couple of women in the western part of New Appalachia figured out how to make better quilts and comforters. Another woman figured out how to make a better sewing machine. Two guys near New Nashville figured out how to make a better shoe. A particularly combative couple near Bugtussle figured out how to make a better handle for a kettle they enjoyed throwing at each other.
The attack began several months earlier by the Morganites had the potential of being absolutely devastating, in large part due to the fact that the defender had no idea they were under attack. Thus, the counter-attack had the potential of being at least twice as devastating. Not only did the defender not know they were under attack, but the attacker didn't know it either.
Guardian H'minee had been asked to convene an emergency meeting of the high council of the Manifold Caretakers. Apparently, something unexpected had come up. Again. Probably those stoopid humans. It was pointless to ask why. The Lord of Intelligence would respond with some vague answer and save the good stuff for the actual meeting. Guardian H'minee was once again annoyed with the instinctive territorial behavior of her species.
Every time the Caretakers seemed to make a little progress, some group of humans somewhere would somehow do something to mess things up. True to the pattern, this was once again the case. The Lord of Intelligence began his briefing.
"Intelligence: Gathered. Analysis: Confirmed. Situation: Altered. Alteration: New pact. Factions: Consciousness and Hillbillies. Plan: Conquest. Target: Consciousness. Suggestion: Abort. Emotion: Imperative."
Guardian H'minee was shocked twice, first by the news of the new pact between the Consciousness and the Hillbillies, and also by the fact that the Lord of Intelligence had the audacity to suggest that a military operation be aborted. This would not sit well with the Lord of Military Operations.
The original purpose for the planned attack on the Cyborgs had been two-fold. First, the Cyborgs had occupied the Garland Crater. The Caretakers needed this area for mining and mineral production for their own development efforts, particularly the planned subspace beacon project. The second reason was to eliminate another group of useless humans. The Cyborgs were small, but they were efficient and skilled researchers. Under the right circumstances, they could grow into formidable opponents. It was simply better to eliminate them before that became a possibility.
As expected, the Lord of Military Operations was offended by the suggestion from the Lord of Intelligence that this planned invasion be aborted. She would not tolerate invasion into her territory; physically, emotionally, or organizationally. She argued back.
"Deal: Big, Fat, Hairy. Consciousness: Small. Pactmates: Far, Inefficient, Disorganized. Success: Rapid. Intervention: Impossible."
Guardian H'minee thought the Lord of Military Operations had a point. The Consciousness was small and their human pactmates were a long ways away and appeared to be both inefficient and disorganized. The well-planned attack by the Caretakers should quickly cut through the Cyborgs and eliminate them before the Hillbillies could intervene. However, there was no need for the Lord of Military Operations to preface her remarks with an off-color comment.
The Lord of Intelligence perceived that the Lord of Military Operations was an idiot. Did she not read his reports? How could she miss the obvious!
"Hillbillies: Powerful, Scrupulous. Other Pactmates: Spartans, Cult. Submissive pactmates: Usurpers. Assets: Chaos Needlejets. Quantity: Unknown. Believers: Hostile. Engagement: Probable."
That was the clincher. Guardian H'minee knew that humans tended to be unpredictable, but the Hillbillies had thus far been scrupulously fair in their behavior. They would honor their pact with the Consciousness. Even worse, they would bring the Spartans and the Cult of Planet into the fight. That was not a good combination. The Spartans were the finest warriors among the humans and possessed a superb, well-equipped military. The Cult was also a superb military organization and used native life-forms better than anybody else, including the Caretakers. The Usurpers were technologically on par with the Caretakers and would just love to have an opportunity to take out the Caretakers. While the Believers weren't exactly allied with the other factions, they were still one of the largest, most powerful human factions and had already proven themselves in battle against the Caretakers. They would love to bite off another large chunk of Caretaker territory.
The Caretakers could still proceed with the attack and hope for a quick victory. Once that was done, they could sue for a quick truce before anybody else got involved. However, even that was not a sure thing. The Hillbillies apparently possessed one or more chaos needlejets and these could be on station in Cyborg territory in a matter of a few hours, certainly far faster than the entire Cyborg territory could be conquered. Caretaker forces were not equipped to handle those needlejets.
Ultimately, there was a path to achieving the goals of the Caretakers that was far more certain with far less risk, especially because no human could suspect the possibility. The research into the technology needed to construct subspace beacons was proceeding nicely. Once the beacons were completed and their fleet summoned from the home system, they could easily eliminate human infestation and those pesky Usurpers at the same time.
Guardian H'minee made her decision.
"Attack: Aborted."
* * * * *
Proctor Zhakarov was ecstatic. He had managed to weasel a treaty out of the Hillbillies that allowed him to install a new, high-speed datalink between his network and the network he had recently sold to the Hillbillies. This high-speed datalink would allow him to download data from the Hillbillies at a much higher rate that the old link would allow. Using the technology the Hillbillies had obtained from the Usurpers, the University had made several technical leaps.
Of course, that high-speed datalink was a two-way link and the Hillbillies had used this to learn a thing or two of their own. But they weren't getting near the results out of the link that the University was getting.
On top of that, Proctor Zhakarov had recently published a new paper about a revolutionary database paradigm that he basically got off the Hillbillies. Because of his position of prominence, Proctor Zhakarov could almost blow his nose on a piece of paper and have it strongly considered for an Einstein Award. However, this time the praise and fawning was actually genuine. Zhakarov's paper had been particularly brilliant and the new paradigm was especially promising.
All in all, it was a good day for Proctor Zhakarov.
As CEO Morgan's primary technical advisor looked over the intelligence information coming out of University Base, she almost had to agree with that sentiment.
* * * * *
The Earnhart, Petty, and Gordon families had the singular misfortune of living fairly close to each other in the southern portion of New Appalachia. These three families had lived in this area since planetfall, and had developed a rather intense, but somewhat unusual rivalry.
The Earnharts, Pettys, and Gordons all loved to race. It was an innate, almost instinctive passion for them. They all loved to race and they all loved to win. And they all absolutely detested losing.
When they all first made planetfall, they engaged in various foot races. After they got a few head of livestock, they tried racing cows for a bit. When they got bored with that, they tried racing mindworms. The thing that really showed how addicted these folks were to racing was the sheep racing. Trying to teach a sheep how to run fast, cut a quick turn, or do just about anything other than chew grass was a difficult proposition. The fact that all three families eventually bred fairly successful lines of racing sheep is a testament to their sheer tenacious will.
Eventually, all three families managed to scrounge up a unity rover or two. These were stripped down, redesigned, and then rebuilt to produce some of the fastest vehicles ever seen on Chiron. They used to race these out in a cow pasture and, perhaps surprisingly, folks would wander out to the pasture to watch the races. A feller by the name of Samuel Morgan (a distant cousin of one Nwabudike Morgan) got the idea that he could make a little money if'n he made a dirt track, set up a few seats in some shade, and then charged folks a small admission fee to watch the races. After a bit of negotiation with the three families--plus a couple of others that were interested--Samuel Morgan built a dirt track and some bleachers in his largest cow pasture.
And folks came to the races and enjoyed themselves. Samuel Morgan also found out that he could make a bit of money selling refreshments to folks. All in all, everybody seemed happy. Folks really seemed to enjoy the races. The Earnharts, Pettys, and Gordons found it much more enjoyable to compete in front of an audience, plus the winner got paid for it. Samuel Morgan made an acceptable profit.
Then, one of the Petty boys found an old, weird looking rover with a busted axle and some kind of gun on it that he had never seen before. The rover was heavily armored and that told him that it must have a pretty decent engine in it. So he dug around in the chassis until he found the engine. It was much smaller and lighter than anything he had ever seen before. But the engine couplings and controls looked similar to those used in some of the fission reactors they were using in their race rovers, so he thought he should give it a try.
It was unbelievably fast.
The Pettys were suddenly winning all their races with ease. The Earnharts and Gordons were not going to sit still and get wasted in every race, so they determined to find the secret to the Petty family's recent string of successes. Samuel Morgan didn't much care who won the races, but when the Pettys started winning easily every time, folks started to get bored with the whole thing. This was not good. So he started trying to find out the Petty's secret.
It didn't take very long for Samuel Morgan to discover that the Pettys had some kind of new engine that the Earnharts and Gordons didn't have. It took a little longer to learn the name of the new engine.
It was a fusion reactor.
It took a bit longer to find out where it came from, but eventually Samuel Morgan found the mother lode for fusion reactors. Apparently there was a whole mess of them available. Samuel Morgan got hold of a few and saw to it that all three families got two or three of them.
Fusion reactors were unbelievably light and powerful. One of the Gordon boys nearly killed himself when he attached a fusion reactor to an old, electrically powered wheelchair and tried to drive it.
Even better, fusion reactors could be put in a wide variety of contraptions and then raced. Samuel Morgan set up a water track and some fellers started racing boats. Samuel Morgan set up a track that wound through a swampy area and some other folks started racing swamp buggies. Samuel Morgan saw other interesting possibilities as well. Basically, anything that could hold a fusion reactor and was heavy enough to stay somewhat attached to the ground could be used to race.
Of course, fusion reactors were really quiet and folks liked their races really loud and noisy. However, Hillbilly mechanics were good at improvising and managed to find several ways to increase the noise output to acceptably painful levels.
Thus, a new form of entertainment was born on Chiron.
* * * * *
Running Vulture Labonski was slipping quietly though the woods to the place where he had stashed the chain saw. Running Vulture was not going to keep the chain saw--that would be stealing--but he was going to borrow it for the weekend.
Running Vulture Labonski, a Hillbilly of Native North American and Polish descent, had a very annoying problem. His problem began when he first got a job working for Morgan Mining at their Tar Hollow mine. One of the things he learned on his job was how to use a chain saw. Running Vulture loved the way the chain saw made it easy to clear brush and dead wood. He had even used it, albeit reluctantly, to clear a portion of the forest to make way for a new ore processing facility. Running Vulture loved the chain saw so much and found it so useful, that he had gone to the nearest J-Mart store and purchased a chain saw for use around his own homestead.
It was a piece of junk.
Within a couple of weeks, the new chain saw was broken. So, Running Vulture Labonski took it back to the J-Mart store. They made him stand in line for two hours and then treated him like a common criminal or possibly an idiot. It had taken another 45 minutes of persuasion and about eighteen pages of forms before they gave him a new chain saw in exchange for the broken one. With great excitement, Running Vulture hurried back home to finish the chore he had been working on.
The new chain saw was busted before the afternoon was old.
So, Running Vulture took the busted chain saw back to the J-Mart store, stood in line for who-knows-how-long, argued with the service counter clerk, the service counter manager, the store manager, and finally the district manager (via one of them new telephone contraptions) before they finally replaced the broken chain saw. At the same time, they seemed to think that Running Vulture was an inept jerk who barely knew how to talk without drooling all over himself.
The third chain saw lasted two days before it broke.
Two facts became apparent to Running Vulture Labonski. First, none of the chain saws at work ever broke that quickly and easily. Therefore, Running Vulture concluded that it was possible to build a decent chain saw. Second, Running Vulture Labonski was not going to go back to that J-Mart store again and waste a bunch of time for no good purpose. They treated him like it was his fault that their chain saws were pieces of junk.
So, Running Vulture decided to borrow a chain saw from work to see what made those so good and the ones he bought at J-Mart so bad. Running Vulture had one busted chain saw and a couple of his neighbors had busted chain saws. Running Vulture would take them all apart to see what was different. Maybe he could do something to the busted chain saws to make them last longer.
Of course, one did not simply walk out the front gate at work carrying one of the company's chain saws. The security guards would catch him and he would get fired. Had the security guards been Hillbillies, he would have explained what he was doing and they would have been fine with that. They would have reminded him to be careful to not damage the chain saw and be sure to bring it back to work on Monday. But the security guards were all Morganites, deeply suspicious Morganites with hard, beady eyes. They would never understand.
So, at the end of the shift on Friday, Running Vulture had simply slipped off into the woods a ways, hid the chain saw in a clump of fungus, and then went on home like he always did. Later that evening, he circled around from his house and retrieved the chain saw.
Running Vulture was not going to keep the chain saw; that would be stealing and Running Vulture was not a thief. He wouldn't even use the chain saw. He would simply study it along with all of the busted chain saws he could borrow. By Sunday evening, the chain saw would be placed back in the fungus clump where Running Vulture would retrieve it again on Monday morning.
By the middle of Saturday afternoon, Running Vulture Labonski knew how to build a better chain saw.
* * * * *
All across New Appalachia, similar things were happening as people who had purchased things at their local J-Mart stores and found them to be of less than admirable quality began to tinker and fiddle around to see what they could do to make them better. A couple of women in the western part of New Appalachia figured out how to make better quilts and comforters. Another woman figured out how to make a better sewing machine. Two guys near New Nashville figured out how to make a better shoe. A particularly combative couple near Bugtussle figured out how to make a better handle for a kettle they enjoyed throwing at each other.
The attack began several months earlier by the Morganites had the potential of being absolutely devastating, in large part due to the fact that the defender had no idea they were under attack. Thus, the counter-attack had the potential of being at least twice as devastating. Not only did the defender not know they were under attack, but the attacker didn't know it either.
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