E. E. Nalley

Captain Simon Tasker may not have been the sharpest or best educated of the rock jock drivers working for Kennecott Geophysical, but like any good commander of a vessel he had a keen sense of the mindset of the crew. And that mindset was angry, frustrated beyond all reason and he held the straw that might just break the camel’s back.

That straw was a neatly typed memo that was dated December 1st 2045 from the company’s Earth bound HQ. It was a memo that canceled all leave for the crew of the approaching miner, Archimedes. Captain Tasker could not believe the stupidity of some Earth bound clerk who, for convenience’s sake had blithely decided ten men who had worked and worked hard for their company two years straight didn’t deserve some R&R.

Captain Tasker didn’t fear much, but this memo would have repercussions; bad ones if he didn’t find some way of softening this blow. He sat at the Ward Room table, a nice name for what was little better than a closet barely two meters on a side that still managed to hold a booth that could seat five with one off the end, the spare refrigeration unit for the galley, which was mostly used for thawing food from the deep freezer as well as snacks for the crew and of course that holy of holies, cream for the coffee.

There was a microwave, a toaster oven, and the main ship’s coffee pot in here as well. Captain Tasker wasn’t sure when it was cleaned, but as he’d never had a bad cup out of it, he left well enough alone. Cookie ran a tight kitchen and a good Captain knew when to stay out of his men’s way and let them do their jobs.

Simon Tasker was almost ninety, though thanks to the miracle of modern pharmacology his physical age appeared to be of a man just stepping into middle age. That miracle was named Fountain and he’d taken out a small mountain of debt to pay for the doses for a run of the drug when it had first come out on the market back in ’22. He rather thought he was being sly at the time. Work hard, stay young, and retire in style that had been his motto. Of course those plans had gotten dashed when, five years ago the patent for Fountain had expired. Now every swinging yahoo could afford the miracle and the Federal Government, not wanting to have to honor a mountain of social security retirees, changed the retirement age on him. It had jumped from 65 to 140.

The Captain’s long, fairly rugged face split into a rueful smile as he shook his head at his own foolishness. There was no way a common man like him was ever going to get one over on anybody and he should have had the good sense to know it.

He wasn’t a handsome man, rugged perhaps if one were inclined to be charitable, but not handsome. His jaw was too straight, his features too irregular, dominated by a great fleshy nose perched under a brooding brow that despite Fountain was getting worn by the constant worry for ten lives. He wore his graying black hair close to his head which only made sense for someone who made his living in a place where gravity was not something you could take for granted. A pair of clear green eyes reread the memo and latched onto the one item that could possibly keep his ship in his hands. It was a budget expansion for crew payroll. Not much, but it just might mean the difference if it was spent just the right way.

The Captain reached over from his place in the booth and picked up the interphone handset. After a moment of it buzzing in his ear it was answered, “Bridge, what’s up Captain?”

“Bobby, are we in range for two way comm. with Earth yet?”

“Uh, just about, skipper,” the watch officer’s voice answered. “There’ll be about a two second lag each way; just enough to be annoying I’m afraid.”

“Good enough, patch me through to Earth net down here, would you?”

“Something up, skipper?” the young man asked.

“Nothing to miss dinner over,” the Captain assured him. With that was a very devout I hope that went unvoiced. “Out here.” The handset was returned to its cradle even as the screen below it came to life with a simple graphic of the company’s home page. A few careful presses of the touch sensitive screen with fingers that were nearly too big and callused to use them and the page had changed.

It was a soothing page, full of dull, cool colors, simple abstract designs that put Simon in mind of a lovely autumn day with leaves blowing on the wind. He read through the FAQ section quickly, browsed through the current offerings and was fairly satisfied this would do the trick. The problem was a regulation that was stated subtly, but firmly through out the site. Simon pressed the contact us button and was a bit dumbfounded to find himself looking at a sight that made his heart start beating a mile a minute. Something he hadn’t seen in anything close to real time in the better part of a year.

A woman.

And what a woman! She wore the taunt, smooth skin of a girl just stepping into her maidenhood over delicate bones that sculpted the face of a fine porcelain doll. A high forehead was exposed by jet black hair that was worn up in an extremely complicated arrangement that still managed to frame an aristocratic face whose firmness was offset by a smile the face was obviously used to wearing. But it was her eyes that gave her away; they were deep, endless and had seen far more things than her flawless skin would lead you to believe. The hairstyle clashed somewhat with the hot pink flight suit she was wearing, but in a way it matched as well. She dipped her head in a bow that didn’t take her out of the camera’s input and for that, Simon was grateful. “Konechiwa,” she said in the clear, musical voice of a songbird. “I read from your ship’s ID your primary language is English. I am Sister Yoko Sato; if you would prefer a different language please state your preference now.”

“Er, English is fine, Sister Sato,” stammered Simon. “I’m Captain Simon Tasker of the mining ship Archimedes. We’re on about a two second time lag here, so please bear with me.”

She continued to smile at him through the screen while the lag took place and for once in his life, Simon was glad of a communications lag. “I understand your lag, Captain Tasker and please refer to me as Yoko. How may I be of service?”

“Well, I have a budget expansion for a new hand and I was thinking of hiring one of your ladies. Trouble is, there’s ten of us and if I’m reading your site correctly I’d be required to hire two, is that correct?”

Sadness flickered across her features at his dilemma. “I am afraid it is, Captain. We do our best not to have a great many strict rules but one person, even one as competent as we pride ourselves as being, can only do so much. If you would consider stretching your budget to meet our minimum staffing level I believe I can grant you a waiver to keep you from being required to hire one of Ship Mother Rank; that would be a significant cost saving for you. There isn’t much sense in requiring a supervisor for one employee.”

Worry began to buzz at the back of Simon’s mind. “I don’t suppose you folks offer a package deal, do you?” Her laugh was musical, even as she shook her head.

“What you might be able to negotiate with one of our employees is entirely up to you, Captain. If I am reading your telemetry right you will be in port tomorrow, yes?” Tasker nodded. “Then I cordially invite you to Yotori Station to speak with Ship Mother Olivia Hammond. She is in charge of new hire relations and we have a complete Training Flight about to graduate. You’re just in time.”

“Thank you very much, Yoko. I appreciate your help.”

“It is an honor to be of service. May I place you on Mother Hammond’s calendar for your meeting?”

“I ought to be through with the Harbor Master by ten. Would eleven be alright?”

Her eyes flicked away to read a computer screen off the camera. “It would be. Shall I have a shuttle pick you up?”

Tasker was impressed; that wasn’t a small offer. He wasn’t looking forward to paying for a hop from Port Sheppard out there. Bad enough the boys were going to be stuck on the station and as he’d be the first to admit, he was a Spacer. Spacer’s didn’t part with money they didn’t have to. “I’d be obliged for the service,” he told her.

“I will see to the arrangements with Port Sheppard Harbor Control. Welcome back to Earth.”

Not welcome home, the Captain thought to himself as he looked at the company’s logo, still spread across his screen. Oh well, nothing else for it. The handset once more in his ear, Tasker flipped the switch to the all call circuit. “Listen up, boys. I need everybody except the watch officer to meet me in the galley. Bobby, rig up a circuit so you can listen in too. I’ve got bad news and we might as well hash it out all at once.”

* * *

She was having a bad day.

It wasn’t that things were going especially wrong, only differently from how she had planned for them to. Her opponent had a confident smirk, knowing she had already lost one match; a single elimination was all that remained to end the tournament for her. A part of her subconscious was beating her up over the mental slip that had cost her the second match of the tournament and try as she might she couldn’t quiet the mental voice to keep herself focused.

She began to worry the match was lost before it even started.

“Rei?” The voice of the team captain cut through her private worries and fears, snapping her back to the here and now. “Rei, it’s your match.”

The young girl sighed as she stood and nodded. Like the rest of her team she was dressed only in a sport bra to keep her modesty more for anything else and the traditional belt and loincloth of the sport. Her voluminous hair was the color of midnight, and were it free it would hang to her waist, but it was confined to a braid and coiled like a black serpent about her head. She was a lovely young woman, barely twenty with a grace and poise she walked with subconsciously as she carefully mounted the clay steps of the dohyo.

The dohyo was a perfectly square mountain of clay that held the position of honor in the precise center of the Station’s main auditorium. It lay nearly a meter tall and almost four wide. In the center of it a perfect circle had been etched into the clay and then further demarked by clay filled reed baskets. It was as close to the ancient battlefield of sumo as could be had on a space station that floated miles over the nation of its birth.

“Semi-final match four,” the Gyoji or referee was informing the audience. With a gesture he indicated Rei’s opponent, a svelte blonde from Alabama who up until the last three years of her life had been a boy. You would never know it to look at her now, and it wasn’t only the full, nearly perfect bosom that strained from its own confinement in the sports bra that held them close to her breast. Indeed, from her head, crowned with a page boy of hair the color of summer straw to the tips of her red painted toe nails, there was nothing masculine about her. “Daughter Lillian Beauregard, Training Flight Nineteen from Montgomery, Alabama, USA,” intoned the Gyoji.

In turn, Lillian raised each leg and stomped her bare foot into the clay, her eyes never leaving Rei’s.

Rei plucked a handful of salt from a bamboo basket that was held by one of the Gyoji’s assistants to spread in a single cast into the ring. The Gyoji turned, his splendid silk kimono flashing through intricate patterns of light with his movements. “Daughter Rei Yotori, Training Flight Nineteen, from Tokyo, Japan.”

The two combatants entered the ring, a pair of panthers each looking for a point of weakness in the other; some opening they could exploit. The paper fan of the Gyoji interceded their direct lines of vision, but Rei’s mind painted Lillian’s face in perfect detail behind it. The blue, doe like eyes filled with an intense concentration that disrupted the image of bubble headed blonde she sometimes affected to throw others off balance.

The fan flashed away as a pair of fists touched the clay at the same moment. There came a rush of moment, a gasp from the spectators and a lifetime of struggle compressed into a trice of seconds. The clay of the dohyo proved an unyielding stop as Rei contemplated the inner top of the wooden swept roof that was held by wires over the mound.

She had lost.

Lillian’s face filled her field of vision, both flushed with the thrill of victory and concern for her friend. Rei took the hand she offered and was back on her feet. “You ok?” she asked in furtive whisper over the crowd’s accolades.

Rei couldn’t keep herself from hugging her conqueror. “Congratulations, Lil,” she told her with all the conviction she could place in the words. The two broke apart as Rei hurried to fulfill her obligations as the bouts loser. From a bucket and ladle, both made of bamboo by the side of the dohyo she scooped a draught of water that she brought back to Lillian and offered with a deep bow.

The blonde accepted the drink as the ceremony was completed. The two left the clay mountain together and now that she had been eliminated, Rei found the great weight she had been struggling with finally lifted. “Hey, you’re still top of the class,” Lillian chided her with a lopsided smile. “It’s not like you can be perfect all the time.”

Rei smiled indulgently at her friend. “Perhaps,” she murmured.

* * *

“What’d a mean the leave’s been canceled?” bellowed the overwhelming voice of Terrence Biggs, easily the largest, loudest and quite possibly the meanest member of a crew that anyone of which could hold his own in a barroom brawl. “They can’t do that!”

“It’s done,” growled Simon, not daring to take his eyes from the outraged face of the other man. “Ain’t no use arguing about it and I ain’t gonna shout over every rough necked rock jock to be heard so sit down and shut up!”

“But that ain’t fair, Cap’n!” protested the slight and bookish Johnny Walsh. Of course, in this profession, slight and bookish were relative terms. “We done our share and then some; over time and over worked, we got this time off coming!”

Biggs at last took the hint he wasn’t going to stare down the captain and so turned away. Simon kept his sigh of relief quiet. “I shouldn’t have to connect the dots for you on this, boys. Avalon has found a rock three miles wide that’s damn close to eighty percent nickel/iron. What ain’t nickel/iron is tin and every man here knows what that means.” Tin had its own industrial uses, it was an excellent alloy material and in high demand for a number of purposes. It was also a tell tale marker of the presence of other heavier metals, chiefly silver, gold and platinum. “Avalon can’t claim the whole rock by herself so every ship the company’s got that isn’t already working a rock is getting sent there. Most of them are getting sent hot, right out of the barn and with precious little detail about whether our boys have got everything they need.”

“And they can’t send a freighter to re-supply without giving away the location of the mother load,” finished Walsh with a sigh. “So we get to play freighter, Cap’n?”

Tasker nodded. “While the tech’s push us through our overhaul like a house a fire, Walsh, you and Jenkins are going to be fitting a fifth wheel over the drill bit. We’re gonna be hauling about ten standard containers that are gonna link up there. Food mostly, some air bottles, spare parts and the usual, but that’s not what I called this meeting for.”

Confusion played across the face of every man present. “We got our budget numbers back from corporate and we’ve been expanded for an extra hand. I’ve already called ahead and have an appointment to talk with Ship Mother Hammond over at CGC.” The captain couldn’t continue for the cheer that broke out and didn’t let up for nearly a solid minute.

“Knock it off!” bellowed Biggs, catching the Captain’s eyes as the cheer subsided. Tasker wasn’t exactly sure he liked the glance he received, but as they were on the same side for now he decided he’d let it pass. “So, who picks this girly girl we’re getting?”

“Right now we’ve got bunk space for a pilot and a med tech,” Simon replied. “So their qualifications will pick them. But, there’s another problem, boys; there’s ten of us and the ladies over at CGC tell me a crew of this size must have two Care Givers.”

“And that’s a problem?” laughed Cookie with what he thought a very gallant smoothing of his dark Van Dyke beard over his swarthy skin.

“You know how expensive a Care Giver is?” shot back Walsh. “We got budget for two girls, Cap’n?”

“Nope,” Simon told him with heavy regret. “Barely have enough for one and if there’s a bidding war most likely we won’t win. But, my boys, I have a plan. I’ll tell you up front, you aren’t going to like it, but if every man here will get behind it, I think we’ll be able to have our pilot and our med tech and they’ll both be wearing pink jumpers.”

“Why do I get the feeling this is about to hit us where it hurts?” drawled Biggs.

Captain Tasker removed his pay and earnings certificate from a pocket of his flight suit. “This is my bonus voucher, boys. If every man here will throw in their bonus with mine, I think we can pick up two ladies.”

Biggs chuckled darkly, “Yep, the wallet.”

A whisper of conversation ran through the crowd in front of the Captain. What he was asking was no small thing. The boys had worked hard to make that bonus; there wasn’t a man there who didn’t have some pet plan for that money. Finally Walsh swore a long string of profanity. “I’m in,” he said finally. “It’s only money, right? Ain’t like we can’t go out and earn more.”

The truism opened a flood gate leading to a collection of pay vouchers returning to the hand that had passed them out. Bobby had promised his from the intercom and that just left one. “Biggs?” asked Captain Tasker as he cocked his head to look up at the big man.

“It ain’t like I don’t have plans for this,” the other man declared, brandishing the voucher. “I almost lost a thumb earning it too!”

“Every man here worked hard, Terry,” Simon told him.

“Hell,” Biggs swore, shoving the paper into the captain’s hand. “But I’m coming along,” he said quickly. “That’s a lot of money for one man to be walking around with.”

Simon smirked. “Figured to ask you along any how. For the time being, we’re eighteen hours out port and we ain’t even close to being ready. Let’s all turn to and get her ship shape. We got a hard boost as soon as we get signed off on and more than our share of chores to do between then and now.”

* * *

Captain Tasker fumed as he sat in the departure lounge of Port Sheppard. He had an excellent view of the circular two hundred meter bulk of the Archimedes as she was being swarmed over by a small army of pressure suited technicians that had begun to see to her refit almost before the docking had been completed. They were not the cause of the Captain’s ire.

The Harbor Master’s office held that position.

Between the fees, duties, inspection costs, gas dock space and the other little costs what ten years ago would have been a fairly inexpensive reconditioning were rapidly adding up to a major expense. Archimedes had only five years on her space frame, she was one of the newest vessels in Kennecott’s fleet and Simon knew it was a compliment for him to have been chosen to be her skipper. It didn’t change the fact that these costs were going eat very deeply into the ship’s profit margin for the next year, if not beyond.

To his mind, there wasn’t really a reason for it, either.

It wasn’t like this out in the Belt, that was certain. Sure dipping into Mars could get expensive, but if he had to pick and choose, he’d pick Mars over having to come all the way to Earth any day of the month. This was probably the reason the bureaucracy mandated every ship capable of making the journey come back to Earth to be re-certified. It was a nice little shot in the economy every time someone with a mind to be successful had to hemorrhage some cash to keep his livelihood.

Days like this were the reason Simon Tasker didn’t work for himself.

Keeping Corporate happy with the bottom line was bad enough. He didn’t want to think about the amount of stress he’d be under if the Archimedes was his ship and this was all coming out of his pocket. Still, it galled some unnamed portion of his mind for these want-to-be Spacers that never left Earth-Moon space to be so gleeful about their highway robbery.

A soft tone proceeded a male voice cycle through English, Japanese and Spanish in his announcement. “Care Givers Company Runabout, Mae Jemison arriving at gate fifty three.”

“That’s us, boss,” Biggs told him with an elbow to Simon’s arm for emphasis. The big man stood and clapped his hands together in glee. “You think those rumors about Yotori Station are true; a whole station full of lovelies all looking to prove they’re the Spaceman’s Best Friend?”

“Terry,” growled the Captain as he got wearily to his feet. “If you embarrass me over there, God as my judge you’ll be out the first airlock I come across.”

“What?” replied the other with a frown. “Can’t a man get excited about getting his pecker wet?”

“That’s the kind of talk that will get the girls rates shot right up out of our range. Do you want to go back and tell the boys we have to boost empty handed ‘cause you couldn’t keep a civil tongue in your head?”

“Well take the fun out of everything why don’t ya?” Terry responded in a far more subdued tone. “Besides, you can’t tell me just ‘cause you get saluted every time you pass a fart don’t mean you ain’t looking forward to this as much as me; been a year and a half since any of us got our wicks dipped.”

“Talk like that will make it three years,” Simon replied as he walked over to the Lexan view port to get a good look at the Mae Jemison. Like any other Port Runabout she was a pretty ugly ship, built predominately in hard, boxy lines that were space efficient, but even efficiency couldn’t disguise the hot pink paint that covered her from one end to the other. A bulbous crew compartment dominated her bow that tapered down to a tubular steel framework that connected it to an engine pack at her stern while serving as the attachment point to a variety of standard containers.

The one she wore held view ports, giving it away as a passenger module.

Just aft of the nose docking coupler, beside the sun dominated flag of Japan was a portrait of a young looking African-American woman wearing a red old style NASA pressure suit. She was a very lovely woman with a wide smile that seemed natural on her face beside which the legend of the ship had been lettered in both English script and kanji.

The gate attendant seemed satisfied that the docking had been successful as he un-dogged the hatch and locked it open, out of the way. This revealed a regal looking woman whose chestnut brown hair was bound in a braid that slipped over her shoulder as she ducked her head to enter the station. “Permission to come aboard?” she asked the attendant who nodded his acquiescence before turning back to his console. She flowed onto the station proper with a grace that set Simon’s heart to pounding.

Between the diamonds the size of his thumbnail on her shoulders and the name tape over her breast, the Captain realized his appointment had come to him. Her hand was cool, firm and offered without a moment’s hesitation; this was a person who was extremely confident of who and what she was. “Captain Tasker, I presume?” she asked with a smile that shaped her contralto with the care Da Vinci must have taken on the Mona Lisa.

Simon finally found his tongue. “Ship Mother Hammond, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“It’s only Olivia, Captain Tasker,” she assured him, offering her hand to Biggs once Simon could remember to release it. “How do you do?” she asked.

“Big diamonds,” drooled Terry, whose comment struck the Captain like a fist to his guts. However, before he could even being to fret about what kind offense had been tendered, Olivia’s laugh floated from her throat. He was almost glad the big oaf had put his foot in it to get to hear that sound. “Terry Biggs,” he finally managed.

“You can have them, if you like them so much, Mr. Biggs,” she told him with a smile. “I’m afraid they’re not worth anything other than what they symbolize to my company. They’re manmade and glow rather brightly under ultraviolet light. How long has it been since you boys have been back to Earth?”

Simon purposefully trod on Terry’s foot. “It’s been the better part of three years since Earth for most of us, ma’am,” he told her over Biggs’s gasp of pain. “And a year and a half since we’ve been in port for anything other than a quick re-supply.” She frowned and the Captain began to wish he could go back in time to prevent himself from causing her dismay.

“Kennecott is certainly getting their money’s worth out of you boys then. It’s unfortunate they’re so pressed but I like to think we can do something that will help make that time a bit more bearable. If you’ll come aboard we can talk about it.” She led the way back into the Runabout, the two men eager on her heels.

The Mae Jemison’s interior was as efficient and business like as her exterior had been. This first chamber was a utility deck, octagonal in lay out at the center of which was a ladder well leading up to the flight deck. At the rear of this was an airtight hatch that gave way to the passenger module, and it was in here that efficiency gave way to comfort. The module was built from burl wood, camel colored leather, love and comfort. It was easily the nicest accommodation Simon had ever set foot on.

Behind them the airlock back onto Port Sheppard clanged shut before either man could realize Olivia had been about the tasks. “All clear and buttoned up, Julie,” she called up the ladder before joining the two men in the passenger module.

Before she could say anything the intercom burbled to life. “Lady, and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’d like to welcome you aboard CGC Flight 2244 to Yotori Station; or as it’s otherwise known heaven. For those of you enrolled in our Frequent Flyer program you’ll be earning nine thousand miles this afternoon. The current time on Yotori Station is 14:23, or thirteen hours ahead of Port Sheppard so adjust your personal time keepers accordingly. Our total flight time with be twenty minutes and as we’re now clear of Port Sheppard Control we’ll be boosting shortly. Please have your seat backs, tray tables and fly zippers in the fully up and locked position and as always, enjoy your trip with us.”

Ship Mother Hammond rolled her eyes before turning to call over her shoulder, “You’re a pilot, Julie, not a comedienne. Stay with what you’re good at.”

Over the intercom a chuckle drifted from the speakers. “Thank you, you’re a great audience and I’ll be here till Wednesday. Don’t forget to tip your server and try the veal!”

“I’m liking this trip already,” remarked Terry with a lecherous grin. The trio got themselves seated to creak of Corinthian leather and braided ballistic nylon. Olivia had rotated her seat to face the two men and was comfortable with smooth, practiced motions.

“So, before we get too far underway, can I offer you gentlemen some refreshment?” The Mae Jemison lurched slightly as she came loose from her berth and began to drift lazily away from the sprawling center of space industry. Simon shook his head as he couldn’t help a final look out the view port at the Archimedes. The gas dock loop was nearly spread, a massive bag of a woven Kevlar derivative that was nearly a million times stronger than its bullet proof cousin. It would allow the techs to pump in an atmosphere to speed up their work on the craft, unencumbered by the bulk of a pressure suit. “So, Captain Tasker, what are you looking for in a crew member?” Olivia asked him, drawing him back into the cabin.

Thoughts of home would have to wait. “Well, currently we’ve got a need for a relief pilot and a medic. We lost both of ours to a micrometeorite hit out in the Belt. They both pulled through, but they’re going to be laid up for six more months easy from the decompression.”

“I see. Yoko tells me you would like to inquire about a waiver for hiring a Ship Mother. The Archimedes has a crew of, what? Ten?” Simon nodded to the welcome return of her smile. “Yes, I think I agree with Yoko, what you need is not a supervisor but a pair of solid hands who can pull their weight. Once you file your flight plan, and of course you’ve negotiated a contract, I’ll have the girls report to the closest Ship Mother at one of the Belt Refineries.”

“We do most of our smelting at Borneo,” supplied Simon.

“Ship Mother Kurosawa is in charge of Borneo,” she replied. “I’ll send her an email once we have things a bit more finalized. As Yoko said we have a training flight just graduating tomorrow. You’re in great luck. Thus far, none of the girls have been posted yet so you’ll have the pick of the litter.”

“Posted?” asked Terry in, for once to Simon’s relief, a respectful tone.

Olivia’s smile was of the sardonic variety. “I don’t want to bore you lads with a history lesson, but, our Founder was a retired geisha. She had some rather firm ideas about how the new should incorporate the old. What it means is you’ll be able to talk with all the girls who are rated in the specialties you’ve requested and once you’ve found a pair to your liking who are also fond of you, you’ll be able to place a bid for their contracts. The contract terms are for five years, longer with negotiation. The base fee is for the complete salary for that time period. A third up front and then the next two payments spread out.”

“We pay her?” ask Biggs, but Olivia shook her head.

“No, you pay CGC. Our employees remain our employees. There are some standard contractor provisions you’ll need to be aware of and they’ll be provided to you in the contract. As you boys run a fairly small ship you’ll have to look for girls specifically restricting their bids to small ships. Keep in mind that’s the base rate. That is the minimum you’ll be required to pay. Your negotiation leverage comes in a number of angles, not necessarily restricted to cash. Just about anything desirable can be offered, bonus shares, time off, living conditions, you’re only limited by your own imaginations. Keep that in mind.”

“We…well at the risk of sounding like a skin flint,” stuttered Simon, “we couldn’t just hire two at the base rate?”

Olivia chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “Anything is possible, Captain Tasker. I understand you boys are on a budget, but you have to understand our girls are in great demand. You’ll need to be thinking of ways to convince them to take your offers as opposed to someone else’s.”

Tasker couldn’t keep his eyes from rolling. “Great. I’ll be honest with you, Mother Hammond, the boys and I saved pretty hard just to come up with what we’ve got. What’s the likelihood of our being creative going to net us two?”

“If I didn’t think you boys had a shot, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking with you,” she replied with a smile to soften the words. She produced a sheaf of smart paper and laid it flat on the small table between them. After a tap or two, she had called up a list of names under smiling portraits of young women. “I’ve take the liberty of restricting this file of the flight to the girls who’ve specialized in your needed fields who have also restricted their contracts to small ships. Pilots are on this column, medical technicians on the other.”

The two miners bumped heads as they leaned into get a better look. Captain Tasker glared at the bigger man who grinned a sheepish grin and leaned back to give him complete access. “Can’t blame a guy for looking, can ya?”

“Well these are some impressive credentials,” Simon admitted after a moment gazing over the smart paper. “Three full fledged MDs, a liberal sprinkling of PhDs and a slew of other folks with more letters after their names than I can noodle out.” He shared a glance with the smiling Olivia across the compartment.

“We go out of our way to make our training as through and varied as possible. Take Lillian there for example. She comes to us with a Masters Degree in pre-med and is a certified Emergency Medical Technician. We’ve made arrangements for a distance learning course for her doctoral work. She would require a number of leaves of absence during her internship period once she has completed the theoretical studies, but we have a preliminary understanding with the University of New Atlanta’s Grady Memorial Hospital for that internship. If you read her introductory letter you’ll note that she is only holding the contract for the time she is actually on service. So a five year contract will likely expand over seven years. She is very eager to find a berth that can offer her that level of flexibility.”

“Ain’t hard on the eyes, either,” put in Biggs to a withering glance from Simon. “Well, she ain’t.”

Captain Tasker started to apologize but it was waved off by a smiling Olivia. “You needn’t worry quite so much about hurting our feelings, Captain. We wouldn’t have the market share we have if we wilted every time we heard a less than polite word. Besides, it’s not talked about much, but no woman ever gets tired of being reminded she’s beautiful.”

“You’ll forgive me a sigh of relief just the same, Ship Mother,” he said with another glare in Biggs’s direction for good measure. “Sounds like she’s right up our alley medic wise, does she know her way around a ship?”

“Lillian is fully rated for long duration EVA, holds an emergency surgery license from NASA, is a competent wielder and makes probably the best peach cobbler the Station has ever seen. You won’t need to hold her hand while you’re on the job,” the Ship Mother told him with a smile that was ever so slightly smug. It was becoming obvious Olivia savored the look of male shock and enjoyed causing it at every opportunity.

The intercom over head crackled to life once more to the soft tones of the so-far unseen Julie. “Docking warning, folks; let’s get strapped down if we’re not already. We’re on final so disembark in about two minutes.”

“Julie,” called Olivia, one ear still cocked towards the speaker. “Are you set up for the docking rings or the main hanger?”

“Main Hanger, ma’am,” she replied. “It’s not too late to shift over to the ring if you’d rather.”

“If you would please,” the Ship Mother said with a wink in Simon’s direction. “Captain Tasker still needs a pilot and I think I know just the right girl for the job.”

* * *

Rei cast a final, somewhat emotional glance into the locker that had been her one island of privacy through out the final year of her training. It was empty now, thanks to a half hour she’d spent packing her personal effects; empty, save for a small, framed photograph that hung over the mirror that had been placed on the back of the door. The photograph was, in fact the somewhat faded cover of an issue of Good Housekeeping magazine now nearly eleven years old. In it a breathtakingly beautiful Japanese woman sat at the crowded controls of a Henry-class personal space craft, twisting slightly in the seat to favor the camera with her dazzling smile.

The photographer had managed to make the woman seem so at home with all that technology, as though she had been born with a flight yoke in one hand and a tray of sake in the other. Rei remembered differently, remembered being a wide eyed nine year old who had been doing her best to see everything at once on that unseasonably warm afternoon in July as they had toured the Ford Aerospace factory in Detroit. She also remembered how uncomfortable her mother had been, sitting at the controls of so expensive a craft.

Indeed, as she recalled, the only thing Mary had been comfortable with was the hot pink flight suit she wore that had become the calling card of the company she had founded. Exclusive space living special issue, the cover proclaimed in bold print. Care Givers Company Founder Mary Yotori talks about our future amongst the stars and what our homes there will be like!

Did you know you only had two years left to live, mother? Rei wondered briefly as she took in the familiar lines of her mother’s face and the smile she never seemed to stop wearing.

“Empanada,” called a dusky voice dripping a heavy Los Angeles accent from behind her. “I can always tell when you’re thinking wrong.” Rei spun, startled from her melancholy to drink in the form of the ever so slightly heavy set Hispanic woman who was waggling her finger in disapproval. “You’re not too big to take over my knee, Empanada,” she chided but there was no real venom in her words.

“Corazon!” exclaimed the girl as the older woman swept her into one of her all encompassing bear hugs. “When did you get into port?” she demanded, as she hugged back with all her might.

The Spanish woman kissed her forehead with a ferocity Rei remembered fondly from her earliest memories. “Oh just coming up from the dirt ball,” she said with a smile. “Been on leave and seeing to some family business.” For a moment the grin dimmed at some painful memory before it was pushed aside to brighten once more. “And I couldn’t miss seeing my favorite God-daughter graduating from training, now could I?”

A cloud passed over Rei’s oval shaped face. “I lost the sumo tournament,” she admitted as though her conscience was weighted down by a string of ax murders. Corazon’s eyebrows ascended her face in shock. With great delight she affected a poise of abject devastation.

“Lost? My dear Rei has lost a contest she entered? She has fallen from the star lit perfection we have come to know and love?” Rei felt a giggle attempt to work its way up from her gut. “Why, whatever shall we do?” continued Corazon, clearly warming up to her sarcasm. “To have to settle for a Rei Yotori who’s only…dare I say it? Human?”

It took a mountain of will power to set her face into a frown while keeping her giggle fit inside. “I trained very hard for that match,” she protested.

“Mi amiga,” Corazon soothed, placing a motherly hand on the young girls shoulder. “You train very hard for everything you do. You train so hard that you have a wealth of accomplishments and no life to show for them. So you graduated from high school at fourteen?” she asked, making a dismissive gesture. “Eh. Top of the class from the University of Tokyo at seventeen. Eh. And now, now my little girl has done something. She went after what she wanted and she failed. Did you shirk…what am I saying? Of course you didn’t shirk your training. Was there anything you could have done differently?”

Rei paused for a long moment of reflection. She knew that she could offer up her own lack of mental discipline, just as she also knew it would be waved away. After a long moment she slowly shook her head. “Not really, no.”

“Then your opponent was simply better than you. That is one of the great facts of life, my girl. High time you learned it. Now, what will you do with the knowledge of a mystery of life?” The young Japanese girl gazed with some confusion into the eyes of her Godmother. “What have you learned?”

“That there are times where all the preparation in the world won’t make a difference,” she admitted slowly.

“And?” prompted Corazon.

“And that I should stop worrying over things that are beyond my ability to control?” she asked. The sun blossomed across the dusky face. She caught sight of the picture, still adorning the interior of the locker door standing open.

“Mary,” she exclaimed at it. “You stubborn goat, your daughter has become a woman at last!” The serene face in the spaceship continued to smile out impassively. Chuckling at her own humor Corazon gave her Goddaughter a sidelong glance. “She’s proud of you, you know. Somewhere, she’s serving sake and pointing you out to everyone who will listen.”

“Thanks,” muttered the girl with a wry smile. “That image will keep me from masturbating for at least a month.” Corazon’s eyebrows ascended her forehead.

“Only a month?” she asked mischievously. “Has someone special entered my Goddaughter’s life?” Rei couldn’t keep the blush from coloring her face. “What?” chided Corazon. “No one receives the marks you did from PI without some diligent extracurricular study.”

“Not so special,” managed Rei around her blush. “I simply remember the crew of the Raven very fondly is all. What about you? Are you on your way back to the Philadelphia?” It was no secret that of all the Care Giver’s in service, the one employee the company was most proud of was Ship Mother Corazon Gutierrez for her posting aboard the flag ship of the Apollo Freight fleet. But the Hispanic woman shook her head.

“No. Camel Laird and Sons’ have a new, bigger class coming out. Fred is going to buy six of the new Royals. Apollo’s first will be his new flag ship as it were, the Prince Albert. I’ve already received orders to meet the ship at Mars, but the papers won’t be final until she’s delivered in May, next year. So, until then, I’m a free immoral agent.”

Rei couldn’t repress a snort of derision at her Godmother’s humor. “You are probably the most moral person I know. What are you doing after we graduate?”

“Oh, I thought I’d spend some time with you and then see about getting a lift out to Mars. With any luck I’ll beat the old goat there and be able to rub his nose in it,” she said with a chuckle.

Before Rei could respond the two were interrupted by a knock on the door. Standing there was Ship Mother Hammond, who Rei knew from filling out the forms for her letter of introduction and the other preliminary paperwork of being posted. With her was a pair of men, both in the copper flight suits of Kennecott Geophysical. The shorter man seemed to be in charge if Rei was interpreting his insignia correctly. Not a handsome man by any stretch, but Rei found herself drawn to his kind eyes. “Corazon!” exclaimed Olivia in surprise. “What a pleasant surprise. Captain Tasker, Mr. Biggs, may I present Ship Mother Corazon Gutierrez? Cora, it is my pleasure to introduce Captain Simon Tasker and Terry Biggs.”

“Charmed,” Cora told both with a firm handshake of each. She cocked her head up to meet the larger of the two men in the face. “Mr. Biggs, you have the look of a man with serious anger issues,” she observed casually.

“I ain’t said nothing,” muttered Biggs with an uncomfortable look in Simon’s direction.

“You didn’t have to, amigo. It’s written all over your face. How long has it been, hombre?”

“A year and a half,” admitted Biggs. Corazon turned to Captain Tasker with frown on her face, but before she could upbraid the man, Biggs quickly assert, “Ain’t the Captain’s fault. We’ve all been working hard.” The man’s voice took on a tone of sympathy it obviously wasn’t used to carrying. “Hell, been longer than that for the skipper I’d bet.”

Corazon nodded knowingly. “Captain Tasker, do you require Mr. Biggs’ presence for your negotiations?” Tasker shook his head which was all Corazon needed. She had Biggs by the hand and was leading him up the corridor. “Page me when you’re done, then Olivia. You’re coming with me, hombre, and you’re going to like it.”

“Yes ma’am!”

After managing to wipe the smile off her face at both men’s expression, Olivia returned her attention to Rei. “Daughter Yotori, would you please join Captain Tasker and myself in Study Room Four?”

“Yes ma’am,” Rei replied, diligently following the two the short distance to a comfortably appointed room currently still configured with its comfortable chair and sofas for the Ethics of Physical Intimacy class that was normally taught there.

“Captain Tasker has need of a relief pilot for his miner the Archimedes, a ten berth vessel,” Olivia told her. “As I know you were interested in serving aboard a small ship, you immediately sprang to mind as just the girl for the Archimedes.”

“I’m flattered you think so highly of me, Ship Mother.”

Olivia couldn’t keep in a chuckle at the younger woman’s modesty. “Don’t be fooled by her,” she told Simon with a wink. “Rei is at the top of her class.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he told the younger woman. “Please forgive me if I’m being a bit forward, Miss Yotori, but is that a common name in Japan?”

“My mother was Mary Yotori, the company founder, if that’s what you’re getting at, Captain,” Rei answered simply. Captain Tasker tried, and failed to puzzle that out without having it show on his face. “Nothing is placed without being earned in my Mother’s company, Captain. Following her…” and the words closed over her throat briefly before she could speak again. “…her death, the board elected Mr. Fuji Nagamora Chief Executive Officer and if I may say so, he is performing admirably for having such large shoes to fill.”

“Nagamora-san has done very well,” Olivia put in more than a small helping of respect in her tones. “His ascension was a difficult turning point that he handled with a delicate touch that Grand Mother Mary would have been proud of. Please, make yourself at home, Captain Tasker. May I get you anything to drink or eat?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then I will leave the two of you alone. You may use this room however long you require it. Good luck to you, Captain.” And with that, she was gone. Simon let loose a long, heartfelt sigh of admiration.

“Quite a woman,” he thought out loud.

“She is indeed,” agreed Rei.

“You’ll forgive me, Miss Yotori, if I’m a little unsure of myself. It’s the first time being here for me.”

“Of course,” she replied quickly. “Please call me Rei. Is there anything I can do to help you feel more at ease?” The Captain blushed fiercely to Rei’s soft smile. “That too if it will help you?”

“No, thank you, well, I’d just like to get to brass tacks if that’s alright with you.”

Rei nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. There will certainly be time after.”

Simon felt his face get redder and managed to keep what was left of his dignity by joining her in his ignorance of it. “Well, Rei, it’s like this. The boys and I scrapped together and we’ve got enough to cover two of you, but not much else. I won’t lie to you, Rock Jocking is a pretty hard life, but the pay is square. The boys and I pooled our bonus money to pick up two of you.”

“That is very generous. If I may, Captain, please allow me to present my credentials?” Simon nodded, causing her to fish out a small hand computer she placed on the coffee table between them. “My name is Yotori Rei, currently a Daughter in the Care Givers Company. Before any contract between us is made final I will be promoted to the rank of Sister. Before joining CGC I graduated Summa Cum Laude from the University of Tokyo where I majored in Economics and Business Management. I hold a Journeyman Spacer’s Ticket from the FASA rated for IFR and VFR multiengine space craft, long duration EVA, and general ships’ maintenance. I play the cello, violin, banjo and I also dance.”

Simon held up his hand, somewhat over awed. “I’m sorry, did you say banjo?” Rei nodded with a slight smile. “Why did you learn the banjo?”

“It’s hard,” she answered simply. “I must admit to being only a fair cook, specializing in Japanese traditional cuisine, though I am proud of my Kaiseki-style cooking.” She paused for a moment to gauge the reaction she was getting and felt more than a touch flattered by the naked admiration on his face. “As you mention two of us, Captain, whom, if anyone did you have in mind for your second choice?”

“Well, other than a pilot, we need a medic. We lost ours to a micrometeorite hit. He’s made it, but he’s laid up and we can’t really wait. Miss Hammond had suggested Lillian Beauregard.” Rei’s face broke once more into a smile at the mention of her friend’s name that served to reinforce the decision Simon had made to pursue the other young woman. “Friend of yours?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, although I owe her a toss for beating me in the Sumo Tournament yesterday. Would you like to speak with her?” The Captain nodded quickly, pleased things seemed to be going so well. Rei touched a small device built into her flight suit that Simon had taken as a bio-med monitor. “Lillian Beauregard.”

“Hey, Rei!” a clear soprano floated from the device. “What’s up?”

“I’m in Study Room Four with Captain Simon Tasker of the miner Archimedes,” she said with a wink. “He’s looking for a relief pilot and a medic and Mother Hammond recommended the two of us. Would you care to join us?”

The door slid open to reveal the blonde Simon recalled from the smart paper. She was even more stunning in person than she had been in her photograph. “I surely would,” she declared with a smile before favoring the Captain with a deep bow. “Watashi wa Beauregard Lillian desu. Hajimemashite dozo yoroshiku.”

Simon was not prepared for Japanese with a thick Southern drawl. “Um, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he told her with as many manners as he could call up. “Won’t you join us?”

“Thank you,” she said on the rise from her bow. Lillian carefully chose a third sofa with in conversational distance of the two at a neutral angle. “Have you had a chance to read my letter of introduction, Captain?” she asked as she got comfortable.

“I was given the high lights by Ship Mother Hammond,” Tasker replied. “You’re looking for a berth that will allow you a good bit of time off for your doctoral work, is that right?” She nodded.

“I know that’s a tall bill when a boat needs a medic, but I’d really like to get my MD before my first contract is up. There would be plenty of notice up front and I won’t finish the distance learning for three years at least.”

Simon kept his smile from his face. He was almost certain he had Lillian on the hook if he could cut her a break for her studies. That didn’t really cost him anything and would make him very attractive to her. Perhaps he could use her to get Rei along as well. “It’s hard to cut that kind of a deal out in the Belt,” he started, watching the disappointment settle on her face just long enough to be felt. “However, I think I can juggle things with Corporate to come up with it. If you’ll sign on, that is.”

“I’m sold,” she said quickly, offering her hand. “Just let me know where and when.”

“Well, I get the feeling Miss Yotori and I still have some haggling to do,” he said around her surprisingly firm handshake. He let his eyes drift over to the Japanese woman and at once became a bit nervous. The look on her face was best described as the last glance the cat gives the mouse when play time was over and it was time for the meal.

“You are quite a sly negotiator, Captain Tasker,” she said in an almost blasé voice. “I must congratulate you on your technique.”

“Uh, thanks,” stuttered the Captain in his unease.

“You’re very welcome. Now, as I recall, you seemed to want to get down to the brass tacks. Allow me to oblige you. I am interested in a five year contract, standard company rates for a Sister, full share bonus for both myself and Sister Beauregard. I shall require unrestricted control of the galley Friday nights, and Saturday nights for Lillian.”

“What for?” demanded Simon even as he winced at the reaction the boys would likely have for having to cut both girls into the bonus program. “We’ve got a cook.”

“I’m sure he’s a fine one as well. However, familiarity breeds contempt. Your man could probably use a break, your crew could use some interesting new cuisine two nights a week, and I am far too fond of Lillian’s peach cobber to do without it for more than a week. Further, I should like the responsibility of keeping the ships’ books.”

Simon felt his temper flare for the first time since he’d seen Ship Mother Hammond through the hatch “Are you trying to imply I’d try to pull a fast one and cheat you two out of bonus?” Rei was contrite at once.

“Certainly not, sir,” she said quickly. “Nothing is further from my mind! However, I do have degrees in economics and business management. I’ve made a number of demands upon you and, in the interest of fairness, I’d like to see if I can’t stream line your operation and save you some money.”

Simon blinked in absolute amazement. He’d been rough necking the Belt for nearly twenty years and this was the first time he could recall someone going out of their way to do him a favor. In spite of that, however, he knew he’d been had. A long, careful sigh escaped him as he surrendered to the inevitable. “Where do I sign?”

“There is just one more thing, if I could?” she asked so sweetly Simon braced himself for the worst as he nodded. “Ship Mother Gutierrez needs a lift out to Mars. She would insist on paying her own way, of course, but I would consider it a personal favor that I promise you I will remember when it comes time to re-negotiate our contracts in five years if you could make the Archimedes available?”

“We’re not going to Mars directly,” he said slowly. “We’ve got a standard container drop at a big rock my company is trying to claim to re-supply the boys already there. If she doesn’t mind the detour, I can give her a lift. Call it, two thirds the going rate for the inconvenience?”

Rei’s cat-like face was in the cream once more. “I’m sure that would be more than satisfactory, Captain.”

* * *

All good things come to an end; Simon Tasker had come to learn. As was business as usual in his experience, that end came in a lawyer’s office. Gordon Everett, esq. had been working for CGC for a number of years based on the well lived in condition of his office. It was bedecked with awards, letters of commendation and photographs on every surface that would support them.

He was of the same indeterminate age that Simon himself wore and while he disdained the flight suit of the career Spacer for a polo shirt and chinos, there was something about his eyes and the firmness of his handshake that tipped the Captain off that he was in the presence of a man very much at home in his environment. “My congratulations on your new hires,” he’d commented as Simon neared the summit of the small mountain of paperwork that granted him rights to the next five years of Rei and Lillian’s lives. “Hiring a Care Giver is the wisest choice many a Spacer has made.”

Simon couldn’t quite keep in a chuckle as he initialed the contract addendums Rei had stipulated. “Where’s that traditional Japanese modesty and respect for the competition?” he asked with a sidelong glance. The lawyer was dismissive.

“Truth be told, Captain, CGC has no real competition. We have something of a friendly rivalry with XX Flight, but if you compare rating for rating, the greatest bargain for the money is CGC. Our girls fill a broad spectrum of ratings on board a ship. You came to us needing a medic and a pilot. If you had gone to XX Flight you’d only have gotten your pilot. As for Deep Space Comfort, well, my mother always told me if you can’t say something nice about someone, better to say nothing at all.”

“I get a copy of all this paper, yes?”

“I can have it printed if you’d like, however our standard copy procedure is a digital format copy we can download directly into your ship’s main frame, or in a number of hand held formats if you’d prefer.”

“There’s some weird medical clauses here I’m finding a little hard to get around,” the Captain remarked from the final portions of the contract. Gordon waved the complaints away with a soft chuckle.

“A yearly flight worthiness physical is surely not that inconvenient for you, is it Captain? There is a three month window on either side so that shouldn’t give you too much concern. We just like to make sure our girls stay at the peak of their game. The physical only takes a day and in the unlikely event of a problem, we can either terminate the contract without penalty, or supply you with a fully rated replacement for the amount of time required to make sure both Rei and Lillian get to one hundred percent.”

“It’s this blood clause that’s giving me trouble. If one of your girls has the same blood type as one of my men and they need that blood, barring them from donating it might mean my man dies. I didn’t think either girl was the squeamish type around needles.”

Gordon’s face clouded over. “They’re not, I assure you. However, we have some patented biomedical procedures in all our employees to assure their health, longevity and peak performance.”

“It’s a patent issue?” demanded Simon with more than a touch of anger.

“No, it’s a safety issue. The procedures and nanites we employ are not compatible with males. Period. While the likelihood of transference is small to the point of vanishing, we want our contractors to understand our precautions.”

Despite his own personal misgivings, Simon Tasker signed.

* * *

The graduation ceremony was probably the most beautiful thing either miner had seen in their lifetimes. Except for the mildly discordant, hypnotic music it was held in silence. It was more of a dance recital than a traditional cap and gown affair to the stately strains of Pomp and Circumstance.

While the symbology of the flashing silk kimonos each girl wore was lost on both Simon and Terry, its beauty was not. Each girl remained absolutely still, seated on the floor of the stage before the lightest touch of eldest of them brought them to life in a swirl of color and light. The dance was more complicated and intricate than anything either man had ever seen.

For the briefest of moments, the audience was lost in the precise chorography of timeless, traditionally Japanese instruments. The moment passed, the music gave way to silence and the dancers to the stillness of their most modest bow.

A new flight had taken wing, taking with it an eternal space at which there was only beauty. But the moment was gone, eyes to be dried and work to be done.

* * *

Port Sheppard was a sprawling combination of airport, seaport and frontier town floating two hundred miles above the country that had constructed it; a brave toehold in high Earth Orbit. A central hub provided the core of the facility from which long, nearly brittle arms stretched out around which whisked the insect like small craft going about the hectic business of space commerce against the logo festooned backdrop of the berths that had been leased long term by the various ship building companies.

Rei was moderately glad she didn’t have to struggle with all of her luggage as she waited in the Customs line. Lillian, being a Native American, had gone with their new employers and Ship Mother Corazon through the Citizen line, leaving the young woman alone to wait her turn in the perennially understaffed Foreign National queue. Captain Tasker had sprung for a pair of carts for his new crewwomen which made the transportation of the gear easier.

Rei’s cart was overflowing with suitcases, the protective cases for her instruments, her pressure suit not to mention her small supply of Japanese spices and cooking utensils. “Next!” called a handsome, though harried looking young man who was obviously over worked. Rei pushed her cart up to his window and presented her passport. “Hello Miss Yotori,” he told her, managing a smile after a quick consultation of her documents.

“How do you do?” she asked with a short bow.

“What is the length of your stay in the United States?”

“Just passing through,” she told him with a smile. “I’m bound for the miner Archimedes, berth 427 on the Orion Wing, under the command of Simon Tasker. I’m his new pilot.”

“I see. You’ve been in possession of your bags your entire trip?” Rei nodded. “Any fruits, meat, live animals or other items you wish to declare?”

“I have two kilos of various, pre-packaged Japanese cooking spices and ingredients, all sealed in their factory containers, all bound for the Archimedes. A little taste of home you might say. Here are the temporary importation documents to certify them as personal use only,” she told him, presenting the waiver Mr. Everett had provided.

The young man stamped her passport. “Welcome to the United States.”

Rei’s smile was broad. “Thank you.”

From Customs there was the long walk down a narrow, featureless beige hallway that would have been at home in any airport anywhere in the world, to the more brightly lit and lively area of the concourse that was jam packed with various eateries, book stores and sundry suppliers hawking their wares in the press of humanity in space.

The others were waiting for her at the end of the hallway. “Here she is!” exclaimed Corazon, “safe from the clutches of bureaucracy once more.” Rei padded up to the group as quickly as she could. “When are you going to take my advice and change your citizenship, Rei?”

“When places like this come to their senses and have queues for Grounders and Spacers,” she retorted with a smirk. “My mother would spin in her grave if I became an American.”

“Well, we mustn’t disturb the rest of the dearly departed,” replied Corazon with a chuckle. “Though, if you manage to rework the organization of government that way, my hat will definitely be off to you.”

“Ladies,” interrupted Captain Tasker as smoothly as he could. “Time’s money I’m afraid.” The three women chatted animatedly in a succession of languages that blurred seamlessly in no particular order Simon could work out on his own. He was very much aware of the envious glances the two men and their three women drew as they made their way from the commercial concourse to the less crowded, though no less active service concourse.

Finally they arrived at a long, wide window that offered a splendid view of the Archimedes, still incased her gas dock bag. A small army of techs were crawling, ant-like over her; their shouts drifting through the open air lock that made Tasker’s skin crawl. “Home sweet home, ladies,” he called to them over his shoulder as he walked up to the airlock.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to re-secure it, Tasker ducked his head through to shout into the dock with considerable volume. “What idiot has locked these doors open?”

At his shout a broad, surly looking fellow wearing a FASA logo-ed flight suit pushed away from what he was doing and drifted over to the scowling Captain. “Step away, sir,” he snapped as he grabbed the railing and reacquainted himself with gravity. “This airlock is for official use only.”

“This airlock will be the death of us all if this bag gets pierced and no one can secure these doors!” fired back Tasker.

“Mr.” and the official paused to read the Captain’s name tape from his suit. “Tasker, if I have to ask you again to step away from this lock I’ll have you arrested.” Simon would have continued, hotly, but the meaty hand of Terry Biggs had gotten a hold of the Captain’s collar and was dragging him away from the other man before the Captain’s temper could get the best of him.

As the Captain and his man sorted themselves out, Ship Mother Gutierrez gracefully interposed herself between them. “Excuse me, Officer, I think what Captain Tasker was trying to do was a very civic minded gesture. You’ll have to forgive his temper as his crew’s leave was canceled before he got into port.”

“Be that as it may…”

“And,” interrupted Corazon smoothly, all smiles, “of course I don’t have to remind you that there are flight recorders all over the station for our safety and security that even now are recording us.”

“Now see here…”

“And so, having done his civic duty to remind you, sir, of this very serious breech of safety protocols I’m certain your superiors will be anxious to commend you as the officer in charge that made certain this situation is corrected and everyone’s safety is assured.” Cora favored the man with her brilliant smile before bowing shallowly from the neck.

“Ur, thank you, Ship Mother…” the man was finally able to manage.

“It is an honor to be of service,” she replied before stepping back through the airlock to her cart. “Lovely ship,” was her only comment to the men as she pushed the cart down the corridor.

Terry and the Captain stared at each other for a moment after the women departed in the direction of the main boarding tube. “Cap’n, I’m not entirely sure we’re up for what we just got into.”

* * *

Rei made herself comfortable at the pilot’s station of the Archimedes, taking a small note of pleasure at how well made the chair she sat in was while she got her harness settled. That task accomplished, she got her head set where she wanted it on her ears and began to double check the position of the controls in front of her. The station consisted of a joy stick and thruster knob in a timeless arrangement harkening back to the days of NASA and Apollo. Six screens were designated for her personal use two of them on adjustable arms that she soon had where she wanted them.

The remainder of the pilot’s station was of a more permanent nature but was nevertheless well designed. Rei found she liked the layout and placement of the various controls and readouts. This was obviously a craft made by engineers who understood the needs of the people who would be working their creation. “Feeling at home?” asked Captain Tasker’s voice from behind her.

“Very much so,” she told him with a warm smile. A flick of her wrist changed the channel to the out bound frequency. “Port Sheppard Departure this is KG Miner Archimedes checking into your net, requesting Engine warm up and pre-taxi vectors to the initial, over?”

“Archimedes this is Port Sheppard Departure, roger your request you are go for engine warm up. At release come to 187 mark 220, and climb to 110 miles, relative. Maintain port speed and hold short of marker Papa Sierra 1284.”

“Understand 187 mark 220 at 110 miles to Papa Sierra 1284. Archimedes is warming up for departure.”

“Port Sheppard Departure clear.”

Rei favored the pad of notes she had on her knee a glance, scribbled out on the tablet that had been built into the flight suit for ease of use. “Mr. Walsh, you may begin your umbilical disconnect sequence and, at your convenience please bring the reactor to operational level one.”

A rather long stretch of silence brought Tasker’s gaze to his engineer who was staring, perfectly enraptured across the bridge. “Walsh…?” prompted the Captain with a chuckle.

“Oh, right, sorry,” stammered the younger man. “Reactor is at operational level one, thermals steady at one thousand degrees. Moorings and umbilicals are clear; we are on our own power.”

“Departure warning, Miss Yotori,” ordered the Captain as the final of his warning lights at his own console went green. Rei’s hands continued their ballet across the panels, each occupied with a different task.

“Now hear this, Kenecott Geophysical Miner Archimedes is departing Port Sheppard. Departure warning, all hands,” she announced as her hands finally finished their dance. “Port Sheppard Departure, this is Kilo Gulf 42871 at Station One, requesting clearance to taxi on pre-filed flight plan and boost, over?”

“Kilo Gulf 42871 this is Port Sheppard Departure, you are cleared to taxi on pre-filed flight plan. Taxi and hold short of marker Papa Sierra 1284; be advised your closest traffic is Pan Am 431Heavy at your ten o’clock relative at fifty miles. We’ll be right with you.”

Rei couldn’t resist a smile at the droll humor of flight traffic controllers as she keyed up her mike once more. “Roger your vectors, Sheppard Departure, Kilo Gulf 42871 is thrusting to hold short of Papa Sierra 1284 and standing by. You boys know it’s not nice to keep a lady waiting?”

“We’ll see if we can rustle up some chocolates and nylons for you, Kilo Gulf 42871. Sheppard Departure clear.” Rei’s fingers danced across the board once more, pausing to vent the last of the air in the forward docking collar into space before she disengaged the clamp and Archimedes was floating free in space. A soft caress of the thruster knob began to move the miner backwards at a lethargic meter a second.

“Are we loose?” called the Captain’s voice from behind her. Rei kept her smile of triumph from her face.

“Floating free and withdrawing from berth, Captain. GDC Align is on your board.”

“I didn’t feel a thing,” muttered Walsh. “Not even a ripple in my coffee.”

* * *

It had been an uneventful month since their departure from Port Sheppard, and Simon was using the time to go over some of Rei’s suggestions of the Ship’s books. The miner tried to keep his dander up about this particular demand of his new hires, but he had to admit it was nice to only have to approve her work instead of worrying over it himself. That and, he had to admit, the little lady was good.

She found expense write offs and accounting wizardry that he wouldn’t have known existed. As it stood right now, the Archimedes was only in the red for the year for the paltry sum of eight hundred dollars. The refit had cost nearly one hundred times that and Tasker had written off bonus for the year because of it. Now not only was the bonus attainable, it was very much within reach.

Rei had written off all the consumables for the ship, to include the fuel they were burning now, found lost productivity credits, rules that let her spread the refit costs out over several years as well as a host of other tricks Simon had trouble following. Never the less, the young woman had already paid her own salary for two years in savings.

“I will be dipped in shit,” muttered the Captain to himself as the interphone by his desk started to buzz. “Tasker,” he told it, not able to take his eyes from the spread sheet.

“It’s Bobby, skipper, we got a problem in the mess hall.”

The worry in the younger man’s voice was enough to pull the Captain from his admiration of mathematical wizardry. “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“Cookie tells me the girls have locked themselves in the mess hall and won’t let anyone in.”

“What?”

“Cookie tells me…”

“I heard you the first time, Bobby,” snapped the Captain. “We know anything else?”

“No sir.”

“I’m on my way.” The ship’s keys rattled as the Captain opened his safe and removed the snub nosed revolver he kept there. The gelatinized plastic bullets the pistol was loaded with wouldn’t pierce the hull, but would still do what they needed to against a person. Simon hoped desperately he wouldn’t need it as he tucked the pistol into a pocket on his flight suit as quickly as he could.

He wasn’t sure what had caused the girls to lock themselves into the biggest room of the ship, but his own ideas were enough to make him glad of the weapon. His feet took him quickly to the hallway outside the Mess Hall door where it seemed most of the crew was crowded into. “Gangway!” the Captain shouted. “What’s going on here?”

“I was coming to finish up some cleaning, Skipper,” supplied Cookie. “Door’s locked tight and my over ride won’t work. It’s like the panel’s been disconnected on the other side.”

Tasker set his face into an angry frown as he scowled at his crew. “Who set them off?” he growled. His demand was met with a chorus of denials of knowledge from the men. Before he could cajole them further, the clatter of the door unlocking and rolling open interrupted him, followed hard by the melodious voice of Ship Mother Gutierrez.

“Ah, everyone’s here just about, good.”

Simon turned to inquire about what had disturbed the Care Givers when her attire stopped him dead in his tracks, his voice gone like a summer breeze. The Ship Mother was wearing a kimono whose soft brown silk had been decorated with a resplendent tree that clutched perilously to the edge of a cliff, its limbs ever straining to reach her rich, black hair, currently piled on her head in the most complicated pattern the man had ever seen.

From the gasps behind him, Simon was certain not a man there had ever seen such finery. She bowed deeply, her dusky face enriched by her warm smile. “Welcome, gentlemen, to the Archimedes Casino and Resort. It’s Vegas Night!” She stepped aside to show that a set of holographic emitters and view screens had been set up to decorate the normally drab mess hall in the rough approximation of a casino hotel. A buffet table had been set up along one wall, loaded with various snacks and goodies and a punch bowl fountain that was its centerpiece.

Rei and Lillian were standing behind the two other tables in the room, both wearing white tuxedo shirts and arm bands capped off with green tinted visors. Green felt cloths had been spread over the collapsible tables that had card game markers painted onto them, black jack for Rei and poker for Lillian.

“You’ll need chips,” continued Corazon as she began to hand out the neatly stacked disks to each man as he wandered in. “And if there are musical requests, please let me know.”

“Ship Mother,” said Tasker as he found his tongue once more. “While I appreciate all the work that must have gone into this, gambling is strictly against regulations.”

“Yes, Captain, gambling for money is strictly against regulations, you are correct,” she replied, her smile never waning. “Look closely at your chips.”

Simon brought the disk up to his face to find it stamped, ‘Septic Dump’. Another was labeled ‘Dish Pit’. “What’s this?”

“Chores,” she replied, continuing to pass out the chips to the other men as they filed in. “No duty is repeated and they’re all onerous, but they have to be done. Having the chip buys you out of it to whoever you present it to. The only rule is once you get the chip from someone, you have to do the chore for that time span. I think you’ll find that doesn’t violate any regulations, unless I’ve miss read your hand book?”

Tasker shook his head and had to laugh at the woman’s ingenuity. “Ship Mother, I believe we waited a damn sight too long to hire you ladies.”

“Better late than never,” she told him with a smile. “Come on,” she said, linking his arm with hers. “I’ll let you beat me in a hand or two of black jack.”

* * *

Corazon had no trouble finding the Captain’s Cabin from the Double Berth she and the other Care Givers had pressed into service as a triple. Indeed, from the time she had stepped on board Captain Tasker had been trying to give his quarters to her. He seemed to think her polite refusals were her just being coy and had kept asking for nearly a month before she’d threatened to punch him if he didn’t stop it.

Violence was a universal language every Rock Jock could understand.

Not that his cabin was any significant improvement over the double. The two were the same size, but with the addition of his fold up desk, ship monitoring controls, his safe and the other bits a Captain needed ready access to, he actually came out the worse in space. Still, Cora was a little concerned by the Captain’s terse request to see her at her earliest convenience. Something was doubtlessly amiss and, if he wanted her opinion on whatever was wrong, it must have something to do with the girls.

Cora thought back over the comments the two had made in their spare time around her. Rei, used to being around the Ship Mother was of course the more comfortable speaking than Lillian, who was still new enough to only see ‘superior’ whenever Cora was in the room. Cora smiled; confident the young New Girl would eventually relax in her profession and lied to herself that Lillian didn’t remind her of someone Cora faced in the mirror every morning. Nothing they had spoken of seemed untoward, with the exception that neither of them ‘knew’ the Captain as yet.

“Come,” drifted the Captain’s voice through the door in response to her soft knock. Simon was seated at his desk, literally next to the door and was obliged to stand and stow the seat to make room for her to enter.

“You wanted to speak with me, Captain?”

“Yes, I did, Ship Mother.” Cora paused, practically nose to nose with him as she slid the door shut.

“My name is Corazon,” she told him. “Cora, when we’re not being formal,” then she leaned forward and kissed him softly to let him know she preferred things less formal. Before he could become embarrassed she withdrew deeper into the small cabin and sat on his bunk. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a problem with Rei,” he finally managed, making himself as comfortable as he could in the chair.

“While I am not Rei’s supervisor, I’ll be happy to do what I can,” she replied, taking the hand computer he handed her and reading over the email.

The screen displayed a short, delicately worded request from Rei to perform an EVA to inspect all of the docking systems prior to them being put to use in as rigorous a fashion as their delivery schedule demanded for the ships already working the Big Rock, as Avalon’s find had come to be known. It referenced, but did not quote the safety regulations of Kennecott Geophysical as well as Harland and Wolfe, the builders of the Archimedes. “What’s wrong with this? Seems like a good idea to me.”

“What’s wrong with it?” sputtered Simon. “Her going out side is what’s wrong with it! We’re in the Belt now! I shouldn’t have to tell you how much higher the impact averages went up, Cora.”

“And your point would be…?” she demanded, frowning a bit. Before he could answer, she cut him off. “Rei is fully qualified to both inspect the systems as well as work EVA. In fact, I believe she holds a Journeyman Ticket which rates her for ten hour stretch EVAs. She’s a brilliant accountant and she minored in physics so I’m certain she knows better than you what the averages are about a strike. So what? Would we be having this conversation if Mr. Walsh or Mr. Biggs were requesting an EVA to check a critical system before it was to be put into vigorous use?”

“Sexism has nothing to do with it,” the Captain muttered. Corazon frowned and was about to hotly debate the issue until he raised his hands to calm her and continued. “Rei is a fine girl and I’m sure she’s more that capable of doing this. My issue isn’t what she wants but who she is.”

“She’s one of your Care Givers,” replied the Ship Mother. “As such, she is expected to pull her weight and do her job.”

“What would I say to her father if I had to…her father is still alive, isn’t he?” Corazon nodded guardedly. “What would I say to her father if I got his daughter killed out here in the back of beyond?”

“Simon,” Cora said, her voice notably softer as she began to understand the man’s reluctance. “You’ll tell him the same thing you’d tell any other member of your crew should the worst happen. That they died doing what they loved and wanted to be doing. Rei knows what’s she’s asking for. She understands the risks, and she accepts them. Don’t worry what you might have to tell N…him” The Ship Mother’s teeth snapped so quickly did she cut off her slip.

“N…?” puzzled Simon, his sharp eyes drawn to her face looking for clues. When she steadfastly refused to give him any Simon wished mightily his cabin was large enough to throw his arms out in disgust. “Are there any choice little secrets you’d like to make me aware of?”

“What ever you guess,” Corazon told him softly, “I would appreciate it if you kept them to yourself.”

“This is why her next of kin lines are blank on the application, aren’t they?”

“Rei doesn’t know who her father is. And that is how he wants it. Is that too much to ask for?” Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Look, Cora, I can only guess what it must have been like for Rei when Pan Am 1088 came down. I just like to know who I have working for me. I know exactly who to call if Walsh or Jenkins or Biggs buys the farm.”

“If the untoward should happen, you may call me,” she replied quietly. “I am her Godmother. Now, I have two requests of you Captain. First that you allow Rei to do the work you are paying her to do; with out regard for who her parents were and are.” Simon wasn’t sure he liked the arraignment but nodded his acquiescence any way. Cora smiled as she let her hair down out of the braid she wore it in. “And two, I’d like you to spend some time with me.”

“What has that got to do…?” he started.

“I already know you haven’t been with either Rei or Lillian,” she scolded him. “And it wasn’t for a lack of trying on their part, either.”

“A captain shouldn’t be too friendly with his crew,” Simon replied primly, forcing a ragged sigh from Corazon.

“That’s part of the reason they’re here, Simon. They both know you’re approaching the end of your rope. It shows. Do I have to relieve you of duty to make my point?”

“You don’t…”

“There you would be mistaken,” she interrupted sharply. “I hold a Master’s Certificate from FASA. Under the articles of Space Commerce and Transport, a rated Master is not only authorized, but required to relieve a Captain of duty, if, in the opinion of the holder the Captain is unfit physically or mentally to carry out his duty.” She smiled to soften the rebuke as her free hand slowly unzipped the front of her flight suit. “Besides, the Captain is the prerogative of the Ship Mother or senior Care Giver on board, and I would be both.”

Simon found himself transfixed by the dusky skin that appeared behind the pink jumper. Somehow, surrender had never seemed so desirable until now.

* * *

The warmth of the coffee bulb was welcome to Rei’s mouth as she made her way from the galley towards the forward docking collar. Cookie’s constant flirting warmed her memory as the coffee warmed her belly. And, she had to admit the young man wasn’t all talk and no follow through. The machismo was backed up with a tender, passionate pair of hands when the hatch was closed. Still thoughts of after duty enjoyment would have to wait. If Bobby’s calculations were correct, they’d be arriving at their target asteroid sometime today or tomorrow. That meant it was time for the EVA Captain Tasker had so grudgingly approved.

On arrival at the airlock, she found Mr. Biggs working on a latch on one of the lockers that seemed to be out of alignment. “Morning, Terry,” she greeted as she made her way to her own locker where her pressure suit was hanging.

“Is it?” the man asked sleepily. “Been working third watch myself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied, extending her coffee bulb in his direction. “Would some coffee help?”

The big man laughed without mirth. “I’ll try anything at this point,” he said, taking the bulb and drinking deeply. “Ah, the great tastes of Joe and plastic.” The caffeine worked its way through the big man’s system and let him realize she had her locker open as was prepping her suit. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, just have to take a walk and check the docking collars so they’re up to scratch for the deliveries we’ll be making. I read from the manifest we’ll have to make nearly thirty docks while we make the rounds. It should be pretty interesting.”

He frowned as she took the helmet from its cubby hole and began to inspect the seals. “That don’t mean you have to go out there. I’ll go get Walsh or…”

She smiled up at him to soften cutting off his protest. “That’s very sweet of you, Terry, but its all part and parcel of a pilot’s job. This won’t be the first time I’ve gone walking you know.”

“Sure, I’ll bet you’ve walked all over that station back in Earth Space. This is the Belt though. Between the dust and the rocks the chance’s of getting holed are a lot higher than anything down in Earth orbit. That’s how we ended up hiring you two, remember?” He took the helmet from her and returned it to its cubby. “I’ll go.”

“Terry, that’s very kind of you, but it’s my job.”

“Don’t want to hear another word,” he replied, thumbing open his own suit locker. He didn’t see the angry frown that set on her face, nor her hand’s ball into fists that she set on her hips, so he was somewhat taken aback when next her voice drifted through the compartment.

“You gonna wipe my ass for me when I take a dump too?” He turned back to continue the argument and was more than a little surprised by her sudden change in demeanor.

“No…”

“Then quit trying to do my work. I don’t tell you how to turn the screwdriver; you don’t take my lumps for me.”

“You’re not going out there…!” he yelled, more than a bit confused as to how he had gotten into this argument. Even if Terry hadn’t been tired, as fast as she moved he wouldn’t have been able to follow it. She darted to his side before a white hot ball of pain exploded in his knee from her strike. No longer supporting his weight, he began to fall, arms flaying for something to grab onto to arrest it. She grabbed one and twisted it up behind his back as he landed painfully on the knee she’d struck, expanding on the agony it was already screaming about.

“Mother Hammond warned me about the thick skulls of Rock Jocks,” she hissed in his ear, her grip on his arm keeping him immobile. “She said I’d probably have to knock some sense into half the crew before they’d let me do my job. Imagine my surprise Terry when everybody else seems to get that I’m qualified to do my job and let’s me. Everybody except you.”

“It’s dangerous…” he gasped around the pain she kept him in, just enough to stop him squirming out of her grip.

“Of course it’s dangerous,” she snapped. “It’s outer freaking space, Biggs. But it’s a lot more dangerous letting a pipe fitter inspect a docking coupler when he has no idea what the frag he’s looking at! Now, I’m going out there to do my job. I can do that with or without breaking your arm.” She tugged, adding a bit of pain to emphasize her point. “Your choice, Terry, which is it?”

“Ok, ok!” he gasped, “I give, just let go!” She released him and stepped back so quickly Terry actually finished his fall to the deck. As he tried to massage some of the feeling back into his arm he glared up at her for a moment. “You aren’t going out there alone, that’s a violation of safety and you know it.”

“I do, and I won’t. But it won’t be you out there. You’re on over time as it is.” She extended a hand he reluctantly took and got back up to his feet. “You need to go hit the rack and get some sleep. I’ve got Jenkins coming to buddy with me while I’m outside.”

The numbness was clinging tenaciously to Terry’s arm, despite his rubbing. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Finishing school,” she told him with a sardonic grin. “If you’re a good boy and go get some sleep I’ll come kiss it and make it better later.”

He finally relaxed a bit into a grin and ran his good hand through his hair. “Guess I was being a bit of an ass, huh?” She smiled but didn’t nod. “Say, you drink much?”

“Sake mostly, why?”

“Well, I got some scores to settle in a couple of bars on Borneo and I was thinking…”

“Terry, are you inviting me to a bar fight?” The man’s sheepish grin did his confessing for him. Further conversation on the topic was halted, however, by the arrival of Jenkins, the ship’s Carpenter’s Mate to the lock.

“Bar fight?” he asked jovially as he squeezed into the tight space towards his own locker. “Where is there a bar within a couple of million miles of here?”

“Just thinking ahead to Borneo,” supplied Terry. To Rei, he said, “Take care of him; he’s still a wet behind the ears kid.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied around a chuckle. “Go! Sleep! Or I’ve got plenty more of where the first came from.”

“Yes ma’am,” was Biggs’ tame rejoinder as he meekly left the airlock.

Jenkins stared after the larger man for a moment before turning back to Rei. “Either he’s on some fairly major tranquilizers or I’d say you must have handed him his ass.”

“Neither would be your concern, would it, Mr. Jenkins?” she replied with a smile as she returned to her locker.

“Point taken,” laughed the Carpenter’s Mate. The two finished donning their pressure suits in silence, each making sure of the other’s seals before they trundled into the airlock and it began to cycle. “Outer door is open, Bobby,” called Jenkins’ tinny voice over the comm. link as the two blinked against the light and pulled down their tinted visors.

The airlock happened to be on the core-ward side of the ship and Sol shone in the doorway in all her golden glory. Rei stepped up to the hatch and found the safety rail to clip her line to. “Safety line attached,” she said, making sure to catch Jenkins’ eye and the thumbs up he gave her for the radio check. “Stepping out now.”

“Let’s all be safe,” whispered the voice of Bobby over the radio.

“No other way to do this,” chuckled Rei as she adjusted herself to the sudden difference between one gravity and none across the threshold of the hatch. “Hatch closing now, seals look good from here.”

“Confirmed.” Rei paused for a moment, concerned at the amount of static that had crept into Bobby’s voice.

“Archimedes, this Rei, how do you read me?”

Bobby’s voice was replaced by Captain Tasker’s on the line. “We’ve got a little static, Rei, but we’re still reading you alright. Something wrong with your comm. gear?”

“There shouldn’t be,” she replied in a puzzled voice, turning to be able to see the face plate of Jenkins behind her. “It’s brand new.”

“I’m getting the static too, Skipper,” put in Jenkins.

“We’ll track it from in here,” Simon finally decided. “Continue with your EVA unless we lose you completely. If that happens, you are to abort and return inside, acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged,” the two walkers replied in chorus.

“It’s the third rule of Space,” chuckled Jenkins as he followed the pink pressure suit in front of him towards the bow. “Nothing ever goes like you planned it.”

“True,” admitted Rei. She crested the ridge of the Archimedes cylinder shaped hull to the conical nose that sloped to the point of the bow docking collar. Set into the artificial hill were the thick, narrow ballistic glass view ports of the bridge. Rei paused to wave, noting that Ship Mother Corazon had decided to join the bridge crew for her first dance on the hull.

She decided to take the nod the Ship Mother gave her as a sign of confidence and continued down the rail line to the collar. “I have arrived at the bow coupler.”

“Roger that, Rei,” Bobby’s voice told her in her ear. “And we’re reading you much clearer now.”

“Odd,” puzzled the young woman as she punched in her access code to the maintenance panel which dutifully swung open. “I have the access panel open. Lubrication lines are in good shape, oil is clear. I don’t see any foreign material in the lines.”

“Hydraulics look good as well,” added Jenkins from his side of the collar. “Clamp hooks are all in line with no damage.”

“I’m moving down to the umbilical connectors.” Rei suited actions to words as she lowered herself a bit on the line for a better view. “The connectors all seem to be in alignment, the posts are shiny and are not deformed. The quick release springs are tight and resist movement.”

“Looks like we got our money’s worth from Port Sheppard, Skipper,” Jenkins finally concluded. “Everything out here looks brand new.”

“Is my pilot satisfied?”

“Roger that, Captain,” Rei answered him with a smile. “Pilot certifies docking collar fit for operations.”

“Good, let’s get those hatches buttoned up and get back inside. No sense tempting fate.”

* * *

Lillian was waiting on the two dancers when the air lock finished cycling and let them back into the environmental suit locker. Her medic bag sat on one of the benches which told both she wasn’t just there to help them stow the suits. Rei couldn’t help rolling her eyes about the coming physical. The young blonde settled her stethoscope around her neck and planted a hand on one hip. “Are we having fun yet?”

“Loads,” chuckled Jenkins once he’d gotten his helmet off and in his locker once more. “There ought to be a law against it.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” replied Lillian as she hooked up a hand computer to the download port of his suit’s onboard computer. “Well, your suit says you’ve survived, but I don’t trust machines. Hurry up and strip down so we can do things the old fashioned way.”

“If I didn’t survive would that mean I’m a zombie?”

Rei snorted as she got the seals of the upper and lower suit disconnected. “You’re not cool enough to be a zombie, Jenkins.” The Carpenter’s mate witty rejoinder was cut short by the sudden introduction of a plastic tongue depressor into his mouth.

“Say aaaah,” prompted Lillian. “So, I hear there was a little excitement out there?” she asked, tilting her head slightly for a better look down Jenkins’ throat.

“Yeah,” agreed Rei as she locked the upper onto its hanger and squatted to wiggle her way out of it. “There was some weird static over the comm. system in certain places on the hull, not enough to worry over really, but odd.”

“Maybe something from the ion drive?” hazarded the young woman as she connected the reader to Rei’s suit and set it to download.

“We never crossed the event horizon for the drive,” corrected Jenkins. “While there’d be some static from it, it’s directional aft. Shouldn’t have been a problem.”

Rei shrugged as she opened her mouth to accept the recently disinfected tongue depressor. “Second Law of Space,” she mumbled.

Lillian nodded sagely, “There’s always a glitch.”

* * *

Simon breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way back to his cabin. Thus far, Rei was back inside and so, he presumed, all was relatively safe. That took a large load off his mind. While he could understand Ship Mother Corazon’s arguments, he didn’t really believe that she understood where he was coming from. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered to himself as he finished the climb down the ladder to the crew living deck and turned towards his cabin. As it stood, rendezvous with the Big Rock was scheduled for about five hours which in Spacer terms meant time for a cat nap.

As he rounded the curve of the ship to the hallway that held his cabin, he realized he was being something of a fool.

Rei was waiting by his door.

“What can I do for you, Rei?” he mumbled as he fished out his ring of keys to open the door.

“Captain, I wonder if I might trouble you for a few minutes?” she asked in that soft, respectful tone that began to ring the alarm in the back of his head. The door open, he paused to stare at her for a few minutes to make her continue. “I’ve been thinking about the bonus numbers,” she went on haltingly. “I think I’ve come up with something that will help everyone make a larger bonus this year.”

With a resigned gesture, Simon had her precede him into the tight space and slid the door shut once more. “I’m listening,” he replied, sinking with great weight into the chair.

“As I understand things, it’s your intention to find an open plot on the Big Rock and start drilling once we’ve completed the re-supply work, is that correct?” Tasker nodded.

“That’s how we make money on this ship, Rei.”

She had the grace to blush softly under her translucent skin. “I imagined so, sir. But we’ll have all those standard containers still attached to the drill bit that will be empty.”

“It’s my intention to have you put them in a stable orbit around the Big Rock and we’ll use the skiff to ferry loads of ore out to them as we fill the hoppers. We’ll be able to haul quite a bit more than we usually do back to Borneo that way.” She nodded.

“That is quite a good idea, sir, except, while I’m still learning the ends and outs of this job; I understand that will take quite a bit of time. It’s May now and with the fiscal year only getting shorter that doesn’t leave much time to get the load to Borneo. Now, if I read the company’s policies right, even if we arrive at Borneo before the End of Fiscal Year date, only the ore that Borneo takes possession of counts towards bonus. Is that correct?” Tasked nodded, not entirely sure where she was going with this.

“You’re correct and I haven’t forgotten about getting Ship Mother Corazon to Borneo if that’s what you’re worried about. She can catch a liner to Mars from there without any difficulty.”

“True, sir, but, won’t the hoppers on the ships already at the Big Rock be full now?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“If they stay and continue to work the veins they’re already working, that’s more efficient. We could back fill the standard containers and our hoppers as we re-supply each ship. If we give them a thirty percent credit for the ore we take on to Borneo we’ll still book three to five times the amount of ore the Archimedes is normally rated for. That will automatically qualify the ship for bonus, as well as all the other cutters working the Big Rock. You could either sell or continue to haul the standard containers for the added cargo space back to the Big Rock.”

Simon scratched his chin, intrigued. “A thirty percent cut is pretty steep…”

“But it’s fair to the other ships. Without their cooperation, this won’t work regardless.”

It was a long shot, Simon had to admit, but it was extremely clever. “I imagine Kennecott is going to have to re-write the entire policy manual because of you, little lady,” he said at last. Rei blushed once more.

“I can’t think why, Captain. Kennecott is getting more ore in a timelier manner to turn a higher profit. Is it not fair that those of us out here working for them share in that profit?”

Simon chuckled, deeply amused. “I’m sure they won’t see it quite that way, but best to strike while the iron is hot. I’ll make some calls and see what I can get set up, Rei.”

She bowed. “It is an honor to be of service.”

* * *

Simon hadn’t gotten his nap. He’d spent the entire five hours before the Archimedes had gotten into visual distance of the Big Rock haggling with the various Captains’ already working the rock. There had been more than one heated call about the idea for a start, the percentage in general and Simon’s own trustworthiness in making sure the tally was properly credited. Still, only two ships had opted out of the Care Giver’s idea, which wouldn’t be enough for the proposal to fail.

Still, revenge was at the very least the Captain’s prerogative; he’d overruled Rei’s efficiency objection by ordering the ships that had opted out to be the next to last and next to next to last re-supplied.

The next forty eight hours were something of a blur to every member of the Archimedes crew. Despite the long hours, and flaring tempers, Simon had never been prouder of his boys. By the book, the transfer should have taken the better part of a week. But forty seven hours and twenty three minutes beyond the Archimedes flood lights first shining on the Big Rock, her ion drive was pushing them away, holds and containers stuffed with precious cargo.

Simon chuckled to himself even as he snuggled a bit closer to Ship Mother Corazon in the crowded bunk they were sharing. By his calculations, the bonus he’d be due would be sufficient to buy the Archimedes out right.

“What’s so funny?” she murmured sleepily.

“I’ve never won a bet in my entire life,” he whispered into her shoulder. “Until we gambled last year’s bonus to hire those girls. I might even retire off this check Rei’s set up for me.”

She rolled over to face him, her dark eyes nearly lost in the gloom of the cabin. “Liar,” she replied, her white teeth lighting up the cabin with her smile. “The only way you’ll leave this ship is when they carry you out feet first.”

“How do you lot see through us so easily?”

“Great numbers of us used to be men,” she whispered. “So we already know how you think. For the rest, there’s a class; Applied Leverage to Bull Headed Spacer Men 101.”

“You know, I took a whole semester in college of women’s studies, just on the off chance I’d get to figure women out. The only thing it did was add to the confusion, but the scenery was quite nice.”

She rubbed her face into his chest to get a bit more comfortable. “Go to sleep you old letch before your mouth gets you into more trouble.” Tasker smiled down at her for a moment as her face relaxed into slumber and her breathing slowed.

“Sleep well, Mother,” he whispered before his body would tolerate his own lack of rest once more and he joined her.

* * *

“Walsh?”

The pleasant, lilting voice of Rei took the Engineer’s dreams into an entirely new direction. “Walsh, are you awake?”

“No,” the engineer muttered as he swept his pillow into a passionate embrace. “I’ve died and gone to Care Giver heaven.”

“I don’t think you’re Muslim,” chuckled Lillian as she shook Walsh’s foot. “And in any event neither Rei nor I are what you’d call virgins.”

Finally the bookish young man was roused from his sleep and sat up in his bunk, rubbing the sand out of his eyes. “What?” he whispered hoarsely, trying to be mindful of the two other men who shared his cabin. “What’s wrong?”

Normally, Walsh would not have been upset at all to have woken up at the beck of two beautiful young women, but as one was still in her flight suit, and the other was wearing a pressure suit liner, neither of which would be considered flattering. Rei spoke first after a cautious glance at the bunks where Jenkins and Bobby snored. “We need a senior officer to approve an EVA,” she whispered.

“What, the frag, do you want to make an EVA for?” demanded Walsh.

Jenkins’s snoring altered pitch for a moment, bringing a fearful glance from Lillian before she answered. “Come out into the hall.” The Engineer scrambled out of his bunk and followed the two women out into the corridor, shivering slightly as his bear feet communicated the cold of the deck plating to his spine.

The door to his cabin secure, Walsh crossed his arms over his T-shirt as one part of his mind hoped that his boxers hid his waking predicament from the two women as he demanded, “What is this all about?”

“Rei caught a flash of what could be a drive signature on the spectrograph,” Lillian told him with great weight.

“So what?” demanded Walsh. “There are a lot of ships out here and more every year…”

“I called ahead to Borneo on a tight band,” interrupted Rei. “They have no ships on a filed flight plan within a billion kilometers of us.”

“Not everybody files a flight plan, Rei,” muttered Walsh.

“Just people who don’t want to get killed!” the diminutive Japanese woman fired back. “Sure, there’s a lot of free form traffic down in Earth space, they have traffic control nets sufficient and are close enough to mount a rescue. Flying out here with out the closest station knowing where you are is suicide!” Walsh rubbed his chin as Rei pressed her point home. “Remember that interference Jenkins and I ran into on my EVA? When I saw that drive signature…”

“Alleged drive signature,” interrupted Walsh.

Rei rolled her eyes. “Alleged drive signature and got word from Borneo there shouldn’t be anyone out here with us I remembered that static and I got suspicious. I started fiddling with using the S Band Antenna and the Spectrograph array as a pair of triangulating antenna. I found that that static is concentrated on the K-band and is emanating from somewhere in the vicinity of panels 29 and 30.”

Sleep disappeared from Walsh’s mind as a schematic of the Archimedes opened for his mind’s eye. “Panels 29 and 30 cover the hydrogen flow meter assembly into the reactor.”

“What would happen if that meter were damaged?” asked Lillian significantly.

“The system would automatically shut down the reactor which would kill the main drive…”

“And reduce us to short range on all the scanning gear and batteries for life support and internal power,” finished Rei. “It’s the perfect place for someone to plant a sabotage device with a radio tracker on an old radar frequency nobody uses anymore.”

A cold dread began to fill Walsh’s spine. “How far away was that drive signature?”

“Nine hundred and eighty million kilometers, but I didn’t get enough of a signal to track a trajectory.”

“Bullshit,” muttered Walsh. “If you’re right they’re coming here, and it’s not Avon that’s gonna be calling. I’ll get my liner, meet me in airlock two.”

* * *

Tasker was nine different kinds of enraged as he took in the view from Rei’s helmet camera on one of the view screens on the bridge. Both Rei and Walsh stayed clear enough from the circular device to avoid any booby traps that may be equipped with it, but there was no mistaking the fact it should not be there. “It was put here so that when triggered it would make it instantly impossible for us to run without at least a day, maybe two of EVA repairs,” Walsh was saying. They had strung a line from the aux microphone port of his suit back to an input by the airlock so that their conversation was not broadcast to whom ever might be listening.

“Who, the fuck, put that crap on my ship?” growled Tasker.

“It had to have happened at Port Sheppard, sir,” Rei replied, also tied into the line. “Someone at the yard must be in league, or getting a kick back from some of the belt pirates out here to disable ships with valuable cargos.”

Simon swore with the strength and color only a Rock Jock can. Ship Mother Corazon rolled her eyes at the man’s display and cut him off. “You can vent your spleen later, Simon; right now we have to get that thing off the ship before it goes off.”

“I wouldn’t recommend trying to remove it, Ma’am,” Walsh replied. “If I had built that thing you’d better believe I’d put in tamper proofing.”

“It’s set right across the lip of the two panels,” Rei commented thoughtfully. “Walsh, how do these panels lock shut?”

“There’s a locking bolt there,” he said, pointing to it a scant two meters from the device. “And another in the same place aft, then those two hinges on each side.”

“If we work together we could pull the hinge pins, then unlock the bolts and both panels will drift up, right?” she asked.

Tasker held his breath as Walsh calculated out the Care Giver’s plan. “If there’s a gyroscope in it, it might still go off as the attitude changes…”

“No,” cut in Tasker quickly. “If there were it would have gone off when we were docking and re-supplying the other ships at the Big Rock. We changed attitude, what, Rei; forty, fifty times?”

“Yes sir,” the pilot replied. “We ought to have a couple of Payload Assist Modules in supply. We could strap one or two on put it at a different angle and boost it while simultaneously killing our main drive. It would look like we picked up the pirate and started running to a bigger port.”

“Rei,” Ship Mother Corazon ordered, her voice steely with command. “Get your butt inside and start working out those numbers.”

“But, I’m already on station here, Ship Mother…”

“No arguments, Sister Yotori, that’s an order. I’ll be out there in fifteen minutes to relieve you.”

Tasker’s eyes shot up at this and his mouth opened in protest, “You’ll do no such thing!” he declared. “Not pregnant, and not as a passenger on my boat!”

Silence fell across both the bridge and the two hull dancers outside. Walsh, ever one to live up to the awkward stereotype of the engineer broke it with a slightly muted, “Congratulations, ma’am.”

Corazon chuckled ruefully. “Thank you, Mr. Walsh.” Then the Ship Mother’s gaze became hard as she locked wills with the Captain. “I may be a passenger, and I may be pregnant, but I am also an engineer, the only other engineer on this ship who is both EVA rated and not intimately familiar with this vessel.”

“Jenkins…” started Tasker, but the Ship Mother cut him off.

“Is familiar with your ship, meaning if both Walsh and I are killed is capable of filling in as your Chief Engineer as far as the next port. It would take me months to get up to speed on the particulars of this ship, months we don’t have if we’re about to be in a fight for our lives!” Her tone softened a bit and she rubbed Simon’s arm in condolence. “Face it, Simon, Rei will have to coordinate the shut down and new flight path. She has to come in and I am expendable.”

The small part of Simon Tasker’s brain that was still thinking logically and not listening to the screams of denial from his heart forced his head to nod. Cora rubbed his face softly before reaching over and hitting the ship’s intercom. “Mr. Biggs, would you meet me in air lock 2 please? I need to get into my pressure suit in a great screaming hurry.”

* * *

“Well, it was touch and go for a bit, wondering if our unwelcome friends would take the bait Rei made for them. But, as you can see, here we are.”

Ship Mother Kurosawa stirred her tea absently with her spoon as she paused to take an appreciative sip. “Sounds like you had quite an eventful trip out, Cora.” The Spanish woman across from her quickly cleared her own mouthful of tea and smiled.

“I think I need a vacation from my vacation,” she said with a rueful laugh. “It was rather cozy, though, I haven’t been on a ship as small as Archimedes in a long time. It was nice knowing all the hands again. I rather envy Rei and Lillian their posting.”

The senior Care Giver of the refinery Borneo smiled as she handed a film of smart paper across the desk to her peer. “Funny you should put it quite that way,” she replied coyly. Cora read over the letter quickly before shaking her head in exasperation. “Captain Tasker must have been up a number of nights digging through Care Giver regulations to have put together a properly formatted Protest of Posting challenge. I’m sure that one hasn’t been filed in years.”

“That sweet, pig headed, stubborn old goat,” chuckled Cora. “Who would have thought Rock Jocks could be so romantic?”

“That’s a very generous offer,” commented Kurosawa over her tea. “Better than twice what Commodore Hastings is paying you on the Prince Albert, isn’t it?”

Corazon sighed as she returned the smart paper to the desk. “Fred will never believe I didn’t set Simon up to this. I belong on the Prince Albert, Neiko, you know that. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of him this way.” She sighed again when no answer was forthcoming from her hostess. “Rei and Lillian will do fine over there; they really don’t need a Ship Mother on a ship that small.”

“Now who are you trying to convince?”

“No one,” countered Cora. “There are just times it’s hard to let go of people you’ve grown to care for, even when you know you have to move on.”

Neiko Kurosawa smiled a private smile for her friend, knowing exactly what she meant and was glad to have finally found a home for herself in the hollowed out asteroid known as Borneo. “You’re expecting again,” she commented, sensing Cora would appreciate the change of topic. This is what, your third?”

“Fourth,” corrected Cora, one hand absently rubbing her ever so slightly distended belly. “My son,” she said softly. “We’re going to name him Geraldo. Sam was on Earth helping me with the funeral and, well, we’d been talking about another child for a long time.” Cora smiled a private smile. “Sam knew it would cheer me up.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t attend myself, your mother was a very special woman.”

“Everyone dies,” Cora told her softly. “But, mama, she truly lived. What better way to be remembered, no?”

* finis *

Band of Sisters

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Organizational:

Title Page

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Other Keywords:

In the grim, darkness of the far future,
there is only war...

Band of Sisters

by E. E. Nailey

Band of Sisters: Part 1

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

Fiction

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Other Keywords:

Warhammer 40K

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

In the grim, darkness of the far future,
there is only war...

Constance floated, nude, in the recovery gel, listening to her breathing in the respirator strapped to her face, and remembered. The nutrient rich, not quite non-Newtonian fluid supported her as it fed the synth-skin that had been applied over eighty percent of her body. It covered seven holes in her torso that traitor small arms had managed to penetrate the ceramite of her armor, due to it's weakened state. Both legs, that had been badly burned in the explosion that had weakened her armor enough for small arms to penetrate it, were now as shapely and fulsome as they had been before she'd started the battle.

Constance chuckled at her folly, and regretted it as she was still quite sore. Using the helmet as a blast shield to be able to stand on the shape charge and get out of the tunnel before the explosion had leveled it had mostly worked. It had thrown her high enough that the last gasps of a jump pack she had scavenged off a dead Space Marine pulled her clear of the pit and tunnel system that was infested with the chaos spawn that had been leading the people into heresy. It had broken both of her legs and set her on fire, but it got her clear of the nightmare of fire and chaos below. She was alive enough that Sister Melissa of the Order of the Cleansing Water had had enough to 'work on' as she had put it to keep her alive and get her to a hospital ship. Still, the Heretics had been purged, the nameless planet they had been on was once more in the fold of the Imperium of Man, and Constance De La Concordia lived to fight another day for her Emperor.

“I thirst,” she muttered into the mask and the servitor heard, pressing the control to extend the tube to her lips so she could drink. The water was cold, and had the soft, citrus tang of nutrient additives that burned her throat a bit as she swallowed them. Constance was fifty, though the body that floated in the gel didn't look like it was thirty yet; her breasts were still high and firm, her muscle hard and strong from years of training and exercise, and every month she was reminded of her body and it's more basic needs no matter what she was doing other wise. Around her head floated a halo of ebony tresses in the fluid without a trace of gray so that only her deep, endless blue eyes gave away her age as someone far older than the face they looked out of.

In the gel, she hummed her favorite hymn and forced herself to remember every mistake she had made, and the Emperor knew there were many to remember. She remembered realizing they had lost the element of surprise and the sin of her pride deciding to continue with the operation. She remembered her hesitation when she had first entered the city, seeing the terrified face of the little girl and her mother, begging her for mercy. She remembered how heavy the bolter in her hand had felt as she stared into the eyes of a girl, not more than five in the arms of her mother who was terrified of seeing the end of her short life.

She remembered giving the order for the sisters under her command and the guardsmen they accompanied to restrain their hands against the populace, to use mercy instead of purging the heretics with the fire and bolter blasts they deserved. She remembered comforting the guardsman, a girl not yet twenty, as she died, her legs and pelvis destroyed by a land mine, as her cries of not wanting to die became less and less frantic, until they finally stopped altogether. She remembered the rage of her squad mates as the rebel who had planted the mine was dragged before her, and she saw again the little girl and her mother she had spared days earlier. The hymn died on her lips as the first tear wormed its way out of her eye against the gel onto her cheek.

Constance remembered the flash of the muzzle blast in the girls eyes as she executed her mother, and then the girl.

In the gel, Constance De La Concordia, Sister of the Adepta Sororitas, Palatine of the Order of the Valorous Heart, wept for her sins and begged the Emperor to forgive her. Because as she cried, she couldn't be sure if she wept for the guardsman, cut down in her prime in the Emperor's service or the little girl born into a heresy she had no control over, or for herself for not knowing.

* * *

Chapter One
Mission of Penitence

Canoness-Preceptor Abigail Winters looked out the window of her office that over looked the convent's ornamental garden. The Convent of the Healing Heart had been established on Banudan for a thousand years, making the buildings old and comforting to the sisters who came here to convalesce and recover from their wounds. Physical wounds, of course, were much easier to heal than mental ones. Abigail, honoring her vow to the Canoness-Preceptor before her, was diligent in the upkeep of the garden, with it's flowers and trees from a thousand different worlds. She found it was of great aide to the sisters whose minds were troubled to sit in the beauty of flowers and reconnect with the life that they fought to protect.

In particular, Abigail worried about the woman she watched now, dressed in the pure white robe of a supplicant, her raven's wing hair setting her apart as she knelt on the earth and tended the rose bush before her. Winters was purposefully ignoring the Inquisitor in her office behind her, a loathsome, oily man with the face of a ferret who still managed to appear to be a boy, wearing his father's uniform. Finally, after many minutes of watching the other woman tend the plant, Winters made up her mind. “She's not ready.”

“Reverend Mother, surely...” the Inquisitor began, but she silenced him with a soft gesture.

“Don't speak,” she commanded. “For two hundred years, I have served here and tended to the sick of body and of mind, and I tell you, Sister De La Concordia is not up to a mission of this magnitude. And if you force my hand, Inquisitor, if you disregard the warnings I give you, all that you fear may come to pass. How will you explain that to the Inquistorium?”

The ring of boots on flagstone caused a chill to run up the Canoness-Preceptor' spine as the Inquisitor crossed, unbidden, from before her desk to standing beside her at the window. “If you can document some physical or mental defect that makes Sister De La Concordia unfit to serve her Emperor, then I will depart at once,” the nasty little man declared snidely.

“So, either I ruin the record of a Sister with thirty years of solid, meritorious service, or I risk the fall of an entire system because you have fixated on Sister De La Concordia?”

Abigail felt the oily smile on his pinched face. “My conscience is clear. I sought the best sister for this mission and her name was chosen.”

She turned to stare icily at the hatched faced man under the wide brimmed service cap. “If I thought for an instant I could make a case of your being a heretic or a mutant, or a traitor, I would kill you with my bare hands right now.” The pinched smile got wider.

“But as I am alive, you admit my motives are pure and my logic unassailable. The Rite of Selection chose Constance De La Concordia. The Emperor chose Constance De La Concordia. Who are you to defy Him, Canoness-Preceptor Winters?” He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “So, let us go and you can introduce me to the Palatine.”

“Sit,” the Canoness-Preceptor commanded, raising an imperious hand to point at the chair before her desk. The Inquisitor realized the time for pressing his luck had ended, and so bowed before he went to the chair as commanded. “I shall return,” Abigail finished, as she swept out of the room and closed her office door firmly as she did so. “Watch him,” she commanded her adjutant, then tried to dismiss the revulsion from her mind and walked down the tower steps to the cloister and its entrance to the garden. The heavy air of the Convent became light as the competing smells of the flowers and the soft song of birds greeting the Canoness-Preceptor as she walked lightly through the garden, nodding to the Sisters of her Convent as she did so. Finally, her feet brought her to the body of the sister she worried about and she stopped to breath in the delicate perfume of the roses.

“Ave Imperator, Canoness-Preceptor,” the Palatine greeted as she most humbly subjugated her self, kneeling on the soft grass at Abigail's feet.

“Ave Imperator, Palatine Constance,” she replied, then reached down to gently pull the younger woman to her feet. “Will you walk with me, Sister?”

“Canoness-Preceptor, again, and most humbly, I entreat you to grant my request of Repentia, that I may atone for my sins.”

“Do not make me scold you, Constance,” the Canoness warned, taking the other woman's elbow and directing her deeper into the garden.

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” Constance replied, unknowingly choosing, as the Inquisitor had, to use the old title for the Canoness-Preceptor.

For a long moment, the women said nothing, merely walking through the garden slowly, before at last Abigail said, “Mistakes are not sins, Constance. Rarely are we allowed the easy road to atone for them. You confessed your faults to me, and I absolved you of them. We shall speak no more of this.”

“Yes, Canoness-Preceptor.” Abigail took an appraising look of the woman next to her. Winters' hair was white now, and there were lines and wrinkles even the greatest rejuvenation treatments could not completely wash away, but despite that, she saw herself in Constance De La Concordia, and that warmed her heart. She only prayed that the younger woman was as tough as Abigail had been at her age. The Canoness reached into the small purse the hung from her belt and handed something to the younger woman.

“What do you see?”

Constance looked down at the object in her hand and, at first blush, started to laugh, thinking it a child's toy shaped like a bolter pistol. Then the weight of the object in her hand told her it was far too heavy to be a toy. Training took hold and she began to treat the object as if it were a live weapon, and despite the magazine well being empty she pulled the action open to insure it was safe. “What is this?” she demanded.

“It is a Bolter,” Winters declared simply.

“I've never seen one this small!” Constance replied. She found the grip comfortable in her hand and it pointed naturally, as she raised it to look down the sights. “Was it recently found? It's in magnificent condition.”

Abigail's gray eyes found Constance's blue ones. “It's new,” she declared with great weight. It took only a moment for the gravity of the statement to pierce Constance's mind and her eyes went wide with shock as she quickly lowered the pistol as though she had been brandishing a state treasure and looked about to see if she had been seen. She looked again at the device, reading in High Gothic what had been stamped into the steel of the Receiver. Imperial Arms Model of 111 M42 and New Atlanta, Thuria on the other side.

“Do you mean...?”

“I mean, new,” the Canoness told her. “For the first time perhaps since before the Emperor sat on the Golden Throne, a new design has been made into a new device.”

“But...but, surely the machine spirits...”

“I can be sure of nothing,” Abigail told her sister. “Save that what you hold in your hands works. I've fired it myself. It's only forty caliber, not as strong as even our Cherub Pattern pistols, but I can shoot it out of my armor...”

“By the Emperor!” Constance swore softly.

“And it's half the size.” The Canoness sighed and looked away. “Listen to me very carefully, sister. A year ago, Duke Cameron of House Wren, became the Sovereign Prince of Planet Thuria. As soon as the ink was dry on his accolade of principality he began to reach out to members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, to make forge worlds on the moons of Thuria. Thousands, perhaps millions of the Adeptus Mechanicus have flocked to his banner. Now, the Inquisition has discovered that.”

Constance looked at the pistol in her hands, then handed it back to the Canoness who returned it to her purse. “The Inquisition thinks Duke Cameron is a heretic? Why? If he has found a way to coax new designs from the Machine Priests he would be a Hero of the Empire!”

Abigail arched an eyebrow at her patient. “Or a fool, who perhaps thinks he could challenge the Emperor.”

“I heard whispers of problems on...my last assignment...for months before we even began training for our operations to cleanse it, but I've never heard of this Duke Cameron. Suddenly his loyalty is in question because of that device, or is it the jealousy of others wishing his success was theirs?”

Winters sighed and realized why the Rite had selected Constance. “Never forget that Jealousy is the first paving stone on the road to Heresy,” she cautioned the Palatine. “If Cameron's loyalty falters, or, if he is the victim of evil council, he has just developed a weapon that every Guardsman can fire. This won't defeat our armor in a single shot, but concentrated fire...”

Constance crossed her arms over her chest. “I'm not an Inquisitor, I'm a soldier, and arguably a bad one. I don't know that I trust myself to be able to distinguish a heretic from a poorly spoken, but loyal fool.”

“The Inquisition feels otherwise,” Abigail replied. “A rite of selection was preformed, your name was selected. There is an Inquisitor in my office, right now.”

“Canoness-Preceptor, once more, I humbly beg that you...”

“Be silent!” the Canoness commanded and Constance's mouth snapped shut. She sighed, and let her eyes bore holes in Constance's as she took the younger woman by her arms. “You wish to preform an act of penance, to atone for what you consider your failings, here is your chance. I charge you, in the name of our Emperor that you are no longer a member of the Order of the Valorous Heart. Effective immediately, you are transferred to the Order Famulous and charged to found an Order Minoris on the world of Thuria. You may, in time and with success be promoted to the rank of Cannoness, however in the meantime, Palatine Constance, you will recruit from among the sisters here available for a new posting, or recovering at this hospital who are called to assist you in the establishment of a new order, and released by their sisters from care. Established on Thuria you will watch over Duke Cameron and House Wren. You will ever remind him of where his loyalty should lie, and advise him and his house so that he may become the Hero of the Empire he is destined to be.”

“I am not an advisor, Reverend Mother, but...”

“It is done, Palatine,” Abigail declared. “The Emperor commands and you will obey.”

Constance bowed her head. “I hear and obey the will of the Emperor.”

Abigail let a little smile tug at the corner of her lips as she squeezed the arms of the younger woman. “The Emperor guide you as you guide House Wren. And Constance, if these weapons are being made in large numbers, be certain some find their way into the arsenals of our Order.” She paused for a moment, then smirked. “You wanted to atone, here is my judgment.”

“I'd rather face down a battalion of Orks with just a chain sword!”

“I know,” the Canoness said. “It would be easier.”

Constance swallowed. “So, not only am I to be an advisor, but a spy as well? How many masters do I serve on this mission, Reverend Mother?”

“You serve our Emperor, and our Order,” Winters replied. “That loyalty is most important. Come, I'll introduce you to the little snake that is biting your heel, and make you familiar with the sisters who are here, available for a new posting and can help you.”

* * *

Constance was a great believer in first impressions. She had, over her years in the Adepta Sororitas made certain whenever she arrived at a new posting, received a new commander, or any other official matter that her kit was immaculate, that she was early and there was no fault to find with her or those who answered to her. As the years went by, she began to judge her subordinates in the same manner and these judgments began to be born out on the battle field. A sister who couldn't arrive on time for something as simple as a meal would be late to rendezvous in combat, endangering all on the offensive line. A sister who did not look after her gear would always be down for maintenance at critical times. Thirty years had cemented to Constance that the first impression was who a person really was.

She decided she hated Inquisitor Jonas Merle the second she laid eyes on him.

Hated how slovenly he looked in his unkempt and ill fitting uniform. Hated the sneering, lecherous look on his face as she and the Reverend Mother returned to her office, a look many men without the sense to know how in danger they were to wear their fantasies on their face in a convent of Adepta Sororitas. Constance had been his physical equal since she was twelve. With thirty years of killing under her belt, she could coolly murder the nasty little man, while giving a block of instruction lecture to novice Sororitas in Schola on how she was killing him and why.

“Sister Constance,” he had drawled, his tongue too far out of his mouth in an unsettling manner. “It's a delight to make your acquaintance.”

He presented pallid little hand which the Palatine only stared at for a moment, then turned her eyes back to him without touching it. “Inquisitor, it is my duty to warn you, I have a strong feeling I will end up killing you. You may wish to request a different assignment before I have cause to act on my feeling.”

“Er, thank you,” he replied, withdrawing his hand. “It is said that to win the friendship of a Sororitas is the hardest accomplishment in the galaxy.”

“Indeed,” Constance replied with great weight. “You suspect Duke Cameron of heresy? Why?”

“Suspect?'' he asked around his off putting sneer. “The Inquisition suspects all. Only the dead are truly trustworthy.” His beady eyes darted between the Reverend Mother and the Palatine. “I see that Canoness Winters has already briefed you.”

“I have received my orders and I acknowledged them,” Constance replied. “If you have information necessary for me to complete my mission, speak; or not as you please. Withholding it will give me cause to kill you.”

“You require time to recruit your retinue?”

“I will have a team assembled and ready to mobilize within two days,” she declared.

The Inquisitor smiled. “Then we shall speak in two days. You may go, Palatine.” Constance stepped forward, crowding into the little man's personal space, head and shoulders taller than him. Pinned against his chair, he had the choice to sit down and be loomed over, or stay on his feet. He chose to remain standing.

“Never, ever make the mistake of thinking I am subordinate to you,” she declared in a deadly quiet voice. “Untold millions have died because of nasty little men like you and the lies they whisper in the darkness. Walk in the light of the Emperor, or by the Golden Throne I will purge you, Inquisitor, come what may to me and I will sleep well that night.”

“The...the Emperor Protects!” he stammered.

“Yes,” drawled Constance. “Yes, he does.” She turned her eyes to Canoness Winters and noted the little smile of approval on her face. “By your leave, Reverend Mother?”

“My adjutant will conduct you to sufficient spaces as you may interrogate your new followers,” the Canoness declared. “Go in the Light of the Emperor, Palatine.” Constance turned, bowed to the Reverend Mother, and left, the white robes of a supplicant billowing around her feet as she did so. Abigail watched her depart, then turned and fixed her gaze on the Inquisitor. “I warned you,” she declared ominously.

Inquisitor Merle laughed an uneasy laugh. “If she is half as firm with Duke Cameron, my duty will surely be done!”

“That depends on his grace,” Abigail replied slyly.

* * *

Even sitting in her bed, Ruth was all but insufferable. Sent to the Convent of the Healing Heart to recover after being wounded, the new Battle Sister had been awarded the rank of Elohiem Advance over the Sisters in her squad for attacking the bunker that had them all pinned down, knowing she would be wounded in the process of it. The garnet that had been inset in the fleur-de-lis that had been pinned to her pillow had pride of place as her two squad sisters entered the ward to visit her. “Oh, what a gold brick!” Mary declared. “One little scratch and she gets promoted!”

With great pride, Ruth polished imaginary lint off the award. “Oh, don't be jealous, Mary. I'm sure you'll measure up some day.”

“Oh, well, somebody had to be Gretchen's brown nose!” Jennifer shot back, managing to put down her friend and their squad leader. “It must be so tough eating ice cream and laying around while we're doing all the work!”

“What work?” Ruth replied with a laugh. “We're all on after action TDS!”

From out side of the ward, Gretchen discretely kept an eye on her squad where they couldn't see her smile at their antics and her pleasure at them beginning to gel as a team. Now they were blooded, the maiden outing behind them where they had found they could trust their training, their gear and their sisters. She was glad that Ruth was the only patient in the ward so they could be loud and blow off the pent up stress of having seen the elephant and come out the other side.

That just left where things were going.

Gretchen was concerned that soon after they'd arrived to check on Ruth on their way to their next duty station their orders had been countermanded and the entire squad had been put on detached service to the hospital convent. Something was brewing and Gretchen was concerned she had no idea what. She noted the sister hospitalier had returned to the desk that she was leaning on and asked, “Ruth's wounds serious?”

The nurse smiled as she shook her head. “No, Sister Superior,” she assured Gretchen. “Elohiem Ruth is fine. In fact, she will be transferred to normal quarters this afternoon, though she'll be on recuperative duty for a few weeks.”

“Thanks,” Gretchen told her.

The nurse looked at her screen and frowned. “Sister Superior? Are you Gretchen Wycroff?”

Gretchen turned to face her across the desk. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

“I have an alert in the system,” the nurse replied. “You're wanted in the administrative wing.” She turned and pointed out the window to a large tower about a third of the way on the other side of the convent. “It's in the tower there, room two twenty seven. It's marked urgent.”

“Thank you, sister,” she replied. With a final look at her squad, she said, “feel free to throw them out if they get too loud.”

The nurse smiled. “They're not bothering anyone.”

Gretchen nodded before she headed towards administrative wing, wondering what was making the butterflies in her stomach so active.

* * *

Band of Sisters: Part 2

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

In the grim darkness of the far future,
there is only war...

Chapter Two
Friends and Enemies

“Here you are, Palatine,” the adjutant declared as she opened the door. “I've taken the liberty of flagging the system to have every sister on TDS report to you.”

“Thank you, sister,” Constance replied as she stepped past the younger Sororitas, and was surprised to find the room occupied. For the most part, the room was empty, a single desk, some miss matched chairs, obviously from Central Supply, a pair of Data-Slates and a lamp for the desk. However, standing at the window looking out over the mountain range the convent was built in was a sister in full battle armor, her hands clasped behind her back.

Adepta Sororitas are already physically imposing; the stringent entrance requirements make them rare specimens of humanity, uniformly tall, their training takes them into the upper percentiles of human ability. Even naked they are tall, strong and dangerous. But a Sister in her armor is an order of magnitude more so. The ceramite covered armor takes the physically imposing women into something all but inhuman. Designed to exaggerate their feminine forms, the armor was both dominating and yet strangely alluring. Most Sisters were over six and a half feet in their armor, which amplified their already great strength and made them able to shrug off damage that would kill a regular human.

The sister in the armor turned from the window, revealing a bald head and eyes heavy with burden and purpose. “Canoness Fiona!” Constance exclaimed, quickly crossing the room to embrace the other woman, armor or not. The armor clad sister of battle gently returned the hug and laid a kiss on Constance's forehead.

“Now, Connie, you know it's only Sister...” the older woman chided her.

“I don't care what the Prioress declared!” Constance declared firmly. “You are a Reverend Mother!”

A bit of steel entered Fiona's voice. “Palatine, you shame me and my instruction of you...”

Constance took a step back and clinched her fists. “I don't care Mother! It was wrong! You were guiltless and they all knew it! And I was even barred from following you into Repentia!”

Fiona smiled grimly. “Well, that was for the best,” she declared. “The Emperor sheltered me, and I am restored.” She ran a hand over her bald head and grimaced. “Mostly, anyway, but I suppose it will grow back. I see now my humbling was all part of the Emperor's plan, so that I would be here, now, when you would need me most.” She came to attention, gave the Sign of the Aquila and bowed. “Palatine Constance, humbly do I present myself for service. Command me and by the light of the Emperor I will obey. If you'll have me.”

“If?!” exclaimed Constance. “Praise be to the Golden Throne that you are here! Yes, Sister Fiona Vander, I accept you into my service and order.” The two women embraced again and Fiona allowed herself to be led to the desk and into the largest of the chairs that was only just up to supporting her and the armor. “Tell me everything,” Constance commanded. “Can I get you something...?”

Fiona waved off her former student's enthusiasm with a soft gesture. “I'm fine, Connie. After the trial I was shorn and divested, thrown in with a group of Sisters Repentia on the Dauntless. We went out close to the Great Rift on some shattered world. I don't know what we were there for, other than to give the sisters and myself an opportunity to die gloriously for the Emperor. I suppose I was lucky, I happened to be in a position to save a diseased little tick of an Inquisitor, Jonas Merle...”

“Oh, the Emperor hates me,” muttered Constance.

“I see you've met him,” Fiona laughed.

“Aye, and threatened to kill him.”

“He does have that effect on women,” she agreed. “Of my sister condemned, only I survived, and only thanks to that little monster. Even though our Mistress of Repentance was also killed, the commission had no choice but to reinstate me. So, Jonas received new orders, and we came here. When I heard you were here as well, I saw the Hand of the Emperor in all of this. So, Connie, what does this little Inquisitor want with you?”

Constance reached out and took her mentors hands in hers. “Oh, Reverend Mother I have never needed your guidance more!” The older woman arched an eyebrow at being referred to by her old rank, then decided she would never break her protege of the habit and decided to let it pass. “Your Inquisitor has tasked me with becoming a Famula of the Planetary Governor of Thuria.”

Fiona frowned. “Famula?” she demanded incredulously. “Constance my daughter, you have many talents, but political advice is not one of them!”

“No, mother, this Prince is under suspicion of heresy. He has gathered all manner of Machine Priests to his world, to found new forges on his moons and mother, look...” Constance opened the pouch Canoness Winter had given her and showed the pistol within. “They have created this.”

“By the golden throne,” Fiona whispered as she looked at the little bolter. “And it works?”

“Canoness Winter states she fired it herself. Out of her armor...!”

The color left Fiona's cheeks so swiftly, even the scar that ran down the right side of her jaw went white. “My daughter, we are in a mine field...”

“Under orbital bombardment,” Constance agreed.

“Who else knows about this?”

“You, me, the Canoness and the Inquisitor to my knowledge.” Fiona considered this for a long moment, then stood and began to pace. “My gut tells me Jonas wants to falsely accuse the Duke of Heresy, but I don't see how that puts this into his control.”

Despite the obvious seriousness, Fiona smiled at her protege. “At least your gut took heed of my lessons! So, the first step in avoiding a trap is knowing its there. You're assembling a team for this new convent?” Constance nodded. “First, you must steel yourself, Connie and you must lead. This is your operation. I will assist you as much I can, but your Sisters cannot see you lean on me.”

“I understand.”

Fiona smiled and came back over to the desk, gesturing at the slates. “So, let's see what we have to work with.”

* * *

Gretchen followed the directions off the wall map into what, to her eyes, seemed to be a relatively unused area of the convent. It seemed to be an odd place to be directing people, but she noted she wasn't the only TDS sister here. Finally, she arrived at the appointed room and knocked on the door. “Enter,” drifted through the door and with a final sigh to order her thoughts, she did so.

Inside, she found, as she expected, a somewhat dusty and mostly empty room. There was a desk, a few chairs, and two sisters. One was wearing a supplicant's robe, without mark or adornment to give any clue as to who she was. She sat at the desk, with eyes that were too old to look out of so young a face which declared she was obviously in command. Her hair was midnight black and was exactly at regulation length at her shoulders, which bespoke someone with enough rank to buck traditions. Standing behind her was a sister in power armor. The armor was new issue, and very plain, having no awards or rank additions, but the woman in it was older than Gretchen, or the supplicant which also made no sense. She was also bald, which meant she had undergone a Rite of Repentance and lived, which explained why she was subordinate to the other woman, but also made her easily the most dangerous Sister that Gretchen had ever personally laid eyes on.

Not knowing what else to do, Gretchen stood before the desk, gave the sign of Aquila and bowed. “Sisters, I am Gretchen Wycroff, I was told to report here.”

The beautiful woman at the desk consulted her Data-Slate. “Sister Superior Wycroff,” she greeted. “You've been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, and three battle stars, but you don't wear them?” The sister's tone was curious as Gretchen was wearing only the day service habit in red with only the crest of her membership in the Order of the Bloody Rose over her heart. It was a simple, humble garment, buttoning up the front with three quarter sleeves out from under a mantle and a lower section that could be worn as a skirt or culottes which was how Gretchen was wearing it.

Gretchen stood up and came to attention as some sixth sense told her this interview was important. “Yes, ma'am. The Emperor knows what I've done, that's sufficient for me.”

The supplicant's right dark eyebrow rose by itself up her forehead. “You don't think you inspire your sisters in your squad?”

A ghost of a smile pulled at Gretchen's lips. “My squad is...high spirited...without any help from me, ma'am.”

“So I read,” the other woman replied. Gretchen stole a glance at the sister in the power armor, who was watching, but staying silent, then back to the supplicant. “Stand at ease. Your Celestian speaks highly of you and feels you have a bright future in the order. Are you up for a challenge?”

Gretchen relaxed, but kept her posture formal enough to be respectful. “I am prepared to answer the call of my emperor,” she replied. “At the risk of sounding brash, ma'am, I am not here for a career, I'm here to make a difference.”

Constance steepled her fingers as she considered the younger woman. “So, you're on a Crusade?”

“No ma'am. Crusades are beyond my pay grade. I'm here to do my service and, I hope to spread the light of the Emperor to those trapped in darkness. To succor the afflicted and afflict the evil, purge the heretic, burn the alien and destroy the traitor.”

For the first time, the sister in the armor chuckled and spoke. “Sounds like a Crusade to me.”

Wycroff stole another glance at her, then back to the supplicant. “Permission to speak freely, ma'am?”

“Speak your mind, sister.”

“Ma'am, I come from the Schola Progenium, not because I was an orphan, my parents are alive; they didn't want me. My Drill Abbess didn't ride me, she ignored me, because she thought I wasn't worth the effort. She thought that because I had parents, I would fail on purpose to go back to them.”

“But you didn't want to?”

Gretchen fought down her disgust. “They didn't want me, why would I ever want to see them again? I wanted to be a sister, to earn my place and be among those that wanted to be with me! I've had to do more my entire life. When I was brought into the Order of the Rose, when I said my vows, I swore to the Emperor that I would never forget the favor he showed me. That I would comfort those in the same way I hadn't been, and that I would smash his enemies in eternal gratitude for the chance I got to take advantage of. If ma'am, you're looking for reliable sisters to have your back at whatever secret mission you've been given, if I can fulfill that oath, then I'm your girl.” Gretchen licked her lips, gave the Sign of the Aquila again and bowed. “Ma'am, humbly do I present myself for service. Command me and by the light of the Emperor I will obey. If you'll have me.”

The supplicant stood from the desk, came around it, and took Gretchen by the arms. “I am Palatine Constance De La Concordia. Yes, Sister Gretchen Wycroff, I accept you into my service and order.”

Gretchen beamed. “Thank you, Palatine. You won't regret it.” Constance returned the smile and rubbed the girl by her arms.

“I'm sure of it. Go get your squad mobilized. We'll muster to depart tomorrow. Until then, make sure your kits are up to scratch and your gear is ready.”

“Yes, Palatine!”

“And Gretchen?” The girl paused caught a bit off guard. “Make sure you all have your formals with you.” The girl blinked like she'd been struck between the eyes.

“Ma'am?” she asked, confused.

“You heard me, Sister Superior. Make certain you and your squad have your dress uniforms.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Dismissed.”

Gretchen left the room, elated, but perhaps more confused than when she entered. Either way there was plenty of time to wonder. For now, it was time to go be an NCO. Constance watched the girl leave and smiled up at her mentor. “Was I ever that young?”

“Younger,” Fiona replied. “But you turned out alright.”

“So, twenty five,” Constance declared after a sigh. “Think it will be enough?”

“The Emperor protects,” the sister assured her. “It'll be enough.”

* * *

One of the great joys of being at the convent of the Healing Heart was that it was a teaching convent for the Hospitaller Sisters. As the novices were taught the art of the healer, they were also being taught in the finer points of the Imperial Cult. Worship and benediction was just as important as bone setting and microsurgery. This meant the convent had a gifted choir to sing the evening vespers as the staff and guests of the convent took evening meal.

Constance bowed her head in thanks of the novice who filled her bowl with a simple mash of boiled grains and half loaf of the coarse, whole grained bread that was baked earlier that day. She stared at the simple meal, enthralled by the angelic voices of the choir. Around her, separate from the other sisters of the staff, sat the new members of Constance's little convent, each sister honoring their leader by wearing a simple supplicant's robe, devoid of distinguishing mark or heraldry. She patiently waited until everyone was served and Canoness Winters had blessed the meal before she picked up her loaf and turned to the young women sitting with her.

They were so young, most half or less her age and only Sister Fiona was older. Despite that, she held up the loaf and broke. “Sisters, we come from many different traditions, different orders, with different skills. Like humanity that we protect we are separate and yet we are all human.” She dipped the hunk of her bread into the gruel and took a small bite before presenting it to Fiona. “Now, are one family, one new order, united under our Emperor.”

Fiona took the bread from her and dipped it into her own bowl. “One family,” she declared as she took a bite and turned to pass it to the sister next to her. And so it was passed completely around the table each sister affirming her place in the family until each sister had eaten from the shared loaf.

“I am honored to lead you, in learning or in battle, in peace or war, it is my honor to serve with each of you,” Constance assured them.

“The Emperor Protects,” they replied in chorus.

Constance's smile of contentment was not long for her face, unfortunately. As she turned back to begin eating in earnest, she caught sight of the Inquisitor, Jonas, entering the hall. He was wearing clothing of a more civilian mindset, but at least these seemed to fit him better. A simple shirt and trousers tucked into high boots and a great frock coat over it, the rosette and column of his commission in the Inquisition around his neck and a smile on his face as he helped himself to a bowl and some of the gruel from the fireplace where it was being kept warm before heading straight for Constance and her sisters. “Well, here we are!” he declared, preparing to sit in the empty place opposite Constance and between a pair of sisters. “Ladies, good evening...”

“Move,” ordered Fiona in tone as quiet as it was menacing.

Jonas paused, one leg across the bench, the other still in the isle. “Beg pardon?” he asked, confusion on his face. The oldest sister at the table looked up, her face carved from stone, but she kept her voice low.

“Constance is senior of us, and so across from her is held in honor for the Emperor. You are a guest of this convent, show some respect and learn our ways!”

“But, I have to speak with...”

Fiona's eyes narrowed. “I have asked for your courtesy. Now I am telling you to move. If I stand you will not like what follows.”

The Inquisitor's face fell, but he took up his bowl again and found an empty place further down the table. Constance sighed as she bowed slightly towards the bowl of simple fare. “Sisters, enjoy your meal,” she ordered quietly, then stood, before walking around the table to the side with Jonas and sitting down, close enough for conversation, but far enough to be safe from food and spills. “Normally, we eat in silence,” she declared. “If what you have to say is urgent, our tradition can wink at it. What do you need to speak with me about?”

His eyes shot over to Fiona who was watching him, then back to Constance. “Ho...how do I know what qualifies as urgent?”

“Is the convent on fire?” De La Concordia asked.

“No.”

“Are we under attack?”

“No.”

“Has the Emperor stood from the Golden Throne to call us to his side?”

“No.”

“Is there some medical emergency requiring action?”

“No.”

Constance stood gracefully. “Then what you have to say is not urgent and it can wait until after the meal.” She glided back around the table, noting the Canoness' eyes on her as she did so. As she crossed back to her side, and before she would have to turn her back to the Canoness, Constance gave the Sign of the Aquila and bowed before she returned to her place to finish her meal.

As she ate, Constance felt the Inquisitor's eyes on her, but refused to hurry her meal on his regard. She savored the simple, but hearty porridge until it was gone and she had given her bowl and spoon to the Novices who were working KP duty to stand with the other sisters and bow to the Canoness as she stood from the head table, took up her rod and gave her blessing to the assembled sisters. The women stood, bowing until the Canoness left the Great Hall then Constance joined the small crowd making their way to a coffee service that was being uncovered.

A line was established by seniority, allowing Constance close to the head of it, with the other Palatines of the Convent, where upon she drew a cup and added cream and sugar to her liking and returned to the table she and her sisters had eaten at. “Is it ok now?” Jonas asked, indicating the place across the table from her.

De La Concordia allowed herself a ghost of a smile. “We can allow that the Emperor has joined Canoness Winter for cigars and brandy now,” she declared, with a gesture of welcome.

“Speaking of,” Fiona declared as she returned with her own cup of coffee as well as a small cordial and pair of diamond sniffers. She placed an empty beside Constance's left hand, opened the cordial and poured a sample. “With the compliments of His Imperial Majesty and Reverend Mother Winter.”

“Don't mind if I do,” Constance acquiesced, taking up the sniffer and inhaling the aroma. “His Majesty is generous!”

“To say nothing of the Reverend Mother!” Fiona agreed with an appreciative sniff. The two waited until all of their little clutch returned from the service before Fiona raised her glass. “Ladies, His Imperial Majesty.”

“Long live the Emperor of Mankind!” the sisters retorted vigorously.

The liqueur warmed the Palatine's throat and was pleasantly sweet on her tongue, just a hint of syrup and a fruit she couldn't place, but enjoyed. Her mood warmed as well as her throat, she turned to the Inquisitor and declared, “Now, Inquisitor Merle, we are of a mood to hear your less than urgent needs. What is on your mind?”

“Well, I was curious,” he admitted as he leaned in, a hand reaching to an interior pocket of the frock coat to produce a small metal flask that he unscrewed and took a sip of. “Would these gir...uh, young sisters be the command staff for your legion?”

Constance's right eyebrow ascended her forehead. “Command staff? Legion? Are our wires of communication crossed, Inquisitor?”

“Well, surely we'll need at least hundreds of thousands to retake...?”

De La Concorida was not amused. “Retake? Are you planning a campaign, Inquisitor? I have a mandate to go to Thuria and found a new Convent Famulous and these brave sisters have answered my call. These are the extent of my forces for the foreseeable future. Further, I have no intention of pronouncing a Planatary Governor a heretic solely on your say so. So, tomorrow, this convent shall muster on the parade ground and board an Avarus lighter to be shuttled up to the Vigilant, and taken to Thuria. There, we shall disembark and I shall present His Grace with my warrant to found my convent and he will have a choice. Reveal himself to be a heretic, or swear himself loyal to the Emperor and I shall begin to follow my warrant to guide him and his house.”

The Inquisitor paled. “And...if he announces himself a heretic...?”

“Then he will be purged!” the sisters of Palatine De La Concordia announced in chorus.

Constance permitted herself a wry smile. “Right then, right there.” She mulled her liqueur in the sniffer in lazy circles, then took another sip. “One of the virtues of being a warrior, Inquisitor, is the lack of worry about politics, public opinion or the idle gossip of the various noble houses. What's more, I am a servant of the Master of Mankind, so I have no use of sneaking and skulking in the night. I will enter through the front door of his Grace's manor in my armor with my head held high. I might leave on my back, but that does not matter; my duty will have been done.”

“Sororitas!” the sisters shouted.

“And, if he claims allegiance...?”

“Then begins the game anew, Inquisitor. Cat and mouse until I am satisfied of his loyalty.” She held out the sniffer for Fiona to add a new splash. “Or I am satisfied the time has come to purge him.”

“Just make sure you know who is who!” Jonas declared, causing some of the girls to laugh.

“Where is the fun in that?” Fiona demanded.

Constance's smile was evil as she emptied her glass and returned it to the table. “Sleep well.”

* * *

Chapter Three
Into The Wolf's Den

The deck of the Vigilant trembled as it left the Warp and returned to real space. This caused a thrill of sensation up the nervous systems of any sentient that experienced it, announcing the exit from the madness inducing realm of The Warp, back to Euclidean reality. Constance and her sisters were in the donning sanctum of the ship, set aside for the sisters to conduct their rituals and prepare themselves for putting on their armor. The sisters were all nude, softly singing the Call to Arms as they ritually cleaned themselves, being certain of body, mind and soul, should this be the day they meet the Emperor of Mankind.

The thrill of returning to Real Space was the warning, it was time.

As the klaxon ran through the ship as it prepared for a possible hostile greeting from the systems defenses, the sisters stood from their pails of holy water and blessed sponges. Next to each was the carrier for the armor, part safe to keep it from the wrong hands, part packing crate to move it when not being worn. Constance touched the palm plate that read her bio-metrics, checked for any sign of corruption or taint of Chaos, and when satisfied, unfolded itself to present the armor. First, came the link suit, a body glove that regulated her temperature, housed injectors of stimulants, pain killers and other medications as needed in combat, and served as the interface between her and the armor itself.

The massive Adeptus Astartes, the fearsome Space Marines of the Imperium of Man, were surgically implanted with the Black Carapace, linking the brain of the space marine and his armor, but that technology had been lost. In it's place, the Sisters of Battle wore the body glove. It was a very thick garment, composed of bundles of fibers that could contract, just like human muscle. It sensed when the sister flexed her own muscles and thus augmented her efforts, allowing the Sororitas to compete on the battle field. They weren't as strong, or as fast as a Space Marine, but almost was a very high bar indeed. Donning the garment was like pulling on a second skin, one that was slightly too small and took a fair amount of effort. Once it was on and sealed at their throats, only the sisters' head was exposed.

Constance flexed her hands to be sure of the fit as she recited the prayer of spiritual armor. Next she removed the Battle Habit, a simple gown worn over the Link Suit. It was a tight fitted gown on her torso, made of ballistic mesh to give the critical parts of the Link Suit a bit of further protection, but was mostly serving the primary purpose of the armor, to emphasize that she was, in fact, a woman. The three quarter bell sleeves gave it a bit of dramatic flair, as did the fact that the garment ended at her waist, but the fabric trailed down front and back to a loin cloth in front and a butt cape in back that fell to the back of her knees.

Complete, she stood before the carrier and clapped her hands sharply before extending her arms wide. The carrier, with a whir of servo motors reared up like a snake about to strike, the armor pieces spreading out on their armatures, then they came forward being locked onto each other, over the glove and Battle Habit interfacing with it. Within seconds, Constance was encased with the armor once more the functional equivalent of an armored column from the history texts, all by herself.

From the carrier, she selected a pair of Bolter pistols the grips communicating with the armor to be sure an authorized user handled them, then the grabber field activated and when she touched them to her thigh plates where they stayed without need of a holster. The weapon selected, the carrier wrapped a pair of bandoleer belts around her hips, festooned with magazines for the pistols, then, as an almost decorative touch, it wrapped a Rosarius around her waist, laying her Inquisitorial Rosette on her left hip, showing her rank of the Ecclesiarchy of the Imperial Faith as an Adepta Sororitas; the ivory column rather like a capital I with a skull inset, a warning and her license to kill. Finished, she turned her back to the carrier and it attached the final piece of her armor, the back pack and it's micro fusion reactor that powered the armor.

The body glove contracted a millimeter, almost like a full body hug to complete it's diagnostic and, as she was not wearing a helmet, silently letting her know the armor was ready. Constance touched a control on her vambrace and read the holographic display that showed her all was well with her armor. “Hello, old friend,” she whispered with a smile. “Sisters! Let us show this Duke who the Emperor of Man commands!”

“Sororitas!” the little convent shouted back to her.

They turned and followed their Palatine out of the hatch and towards the hanger deck of the cruiser. Constance heard Gretchen's clear voice begin to sing the Hymn to the Fallen, and at once all of the sisters joined in. As they passed the crew of the Vigilant, the crewmen all bowed, some falling to one knee as they passed, their boots ringing on the armored deck of the space craft as they kept time with hymn. At last, as the final note of the hymn faded into the constant drone of sound on a star ship, they arrived at the hanger deck to find the shuttle was waiting on them already in the launch cradle.

Twenty minutes since the Vigilant had returned to real space and not once had the deck trembled, or had there been further klaxons beyond the original call to battle stations. That was a good sign. They weren't being shot at.

Yet.

The Sisters entered the shuttle, each settling into the deployment cradle for the armor. While they could still sit in normal sized furniture, just, it was not particularly comfortable. And if the shuttle was hit, the deployment cradle would launch them from the wreck, hopefully before they were killed. The hatch sealed and Constance sighed. “I am the Hand of the Emperor!” she declared.

“His will shall guide my aim!” the sisters replied.

Continuing the benediction, her voice rang out, “I protect humanity from Evil.”

“By my might is it purged!” her soldiers replied.

“I know only victory and death!”

“Death that walks before me!”

“Neither Taint of Chaos, nor lies of Heresy touch me.”

“I am the Hand of the Emperor!” The shuttle lurched and the floor seemed to fall away from their feet. They were free of the Vigilant and on their way to New Atlanta. As one, the compartment echoed with the clicks of bolts on weapons being charged and safety catches being engaged.

Overhead, the intercom became live and the lights went red. “Ten minutes to touch down, Ladies,” the pilot's voice declared. “Still all quiet and normal.”

“The Emperor protects!” the Sisters replied with one voice. Constance caught sight of Fiona on the other side of the compartment and her mentor smiled. Now it was just waiting to see if the bullets would fly or not.

The floor of the shuttle made itself known under Constance's boots. They were now well and truly in the atmosphere of Thuria and still the shuttle was flying straight and level. In her minds eye, Constance imagined it, an ungainly, boxy looking thing, mostly engine and cargo space with a side by side canopy perched on its bulbous nose, screaming through the air with surprising grace. The glow must be almost gone from the leading edges of the wings by now, and still the ship wasn't maneuvering.

Maybe the Duke is loyal, she allowed herself to hope.

“Thirty seconds!” the pilot warned. “Still normal and calm.”

“Stay sharp,” De La Concordia ordered her convent. “No one will engage before me. If I engage, weapons free. Defend yourselves, but show restraint to those who may be the loyal subjects of our Emperor.”

“Aye, aye.”

The engines howled as their thrust was ducted to both slow and support the shuttle. The red lighting shifted to green and the deployment cradles snapped open. Free again, the Palatine rolled to her right, out the opening hatch and out of the shuttle. The pilot had foregone the space port, setting down in the courtyard of the Governor's Palace. Gun ships were orbiting, but so far, the guards were content to stand at attention. Before her, wearing mess dress ceremonial uniforms, but carrying live weapons, was a company or so of Imperial Guard.

Their leader, a captain, got to conversational distance and saluted, all well within form, but the fear for his life was plain on his face. “What's the meaning of this?” he demanded.

Constance pulled the Inquisitorial Rosette on it's lead, away from her belt to brandish it before the guardsmen. From the eyes of the skull, it projected a hologram of Constance's Identification and Warrant, large enough to be read from a hundred yards. “Gaze upon the Daughters of the Emperor, attuned to their duty before the Golden Throne and all those loyal to the Master of Mankind shall submit themselves before us!”

Satisfyingly quickly, the Guardsmen shouted, “The Emperor Protects!” and fell to one knee.

Her heart racing in her chest, Constance looked around the courtyard, but everywhere her gaze fell she saw only guardsmen on one knee, supplicant and faithful. Turning back to the company before her, she fixed her eyes on the Captain. “I am Constance De La Concordia, Palatine of the Adepta Sororitas, here to judge the loyalty of Duke Cameron Wren.”

The Captain saluted. “Palatine, I am Captain Joseph Tanner, faithful soldier of the Emperor of Man, commanding 'B' Company of the 112th Thuria Lancers. I affirm to the best of my knowledge the Duke is the Emperor's Loyal Subject.”

The raven hair dipped in acknowledgment. “Captain, your fealty is noted. Conduct me to the presence of the Duke.”

The Guardsmen quickly formed up into an honor guard, each man removing the power pack from his lazgun and returning it to the bandoleer on their uniform. The Sisters only relaxed slightly, their weapons still on their armor, but within easy reach to begin killing in a second. “Right away, my lady,” he answered and the group were ushered forward, deeper into the manor.

As they walked, Constance sub-vocalized the command codes to the gun ships, that, so far, all was well. This put a halt to the bombardment from the Vigilant that would have started in two minutes, but everyone was still on a dangerously high alert. De La Concordia was very aware, mentally, of the procedures and kept them to mind so that a war was not started by accident. On her wrist, the green tell tale showed her that her suit was still talking to the Vigilant and that the armor cameras were still transmitting without interference.

Captain Tanner lead her up the stairs on the far side of the residence and through a hallway of marble and baroque splendor with paintings of the previous Planetary Governor's sharing historic portraits of key battles in the history of the Imperium of Man in which subjects from Thuria had played a role.

It was mid-morning in New Atlanta, the hallways were full of functionaries and dignitaries, going about the business of governance, all of whom shrank back as the guardsmen with the twenty seven terrifying armored warrior women. The din of conversation died and only the sounds were of boots on marble and the dull clatter of weapons and armor moving against each other. Finally they arrived at the audience hall and, with a gesture from Constance, Ruth and Mary separated themselves from the convent, trotted forward and seized the doors, flinging them wide open.

Inside, the hall was a massive rotunda, at the back of which, on a dais, was a symbolic throne for the Emperor, who likely had never sat in it. Below that was a smaller chair for the Governor, but it also was empty. On the level of the rest of the room, before the dais was a desk and chair that had a terminal, data-slates, communication devices and a small crowd around a man just rising from behind the desk.

Like the ripples on a pond after a stone is dropped there were desks laid out around the throne which itself were other desks of the various dignitaries and nobles of the planet as well as representatives of the ordinary people, all turning, some what shocked to see what the fuss was. Constance strode boldly into the room and again held up her Inquisitorial Rosette and a subtle gesture keyed on the amplified speakers built into the armor so her voice echoed like a thunderclap throughout the hall. “Gaze upon the Daughters of the Emperor, attuned to their duty before the Golden Throne and all those loyal to the Master of Mankind shall submit themselves before us!”

The hologram of her and her warrant peered down in judgment of all in the rotunda as, slowly, then with gathering speed the various persons fell to one knee. “The Emperor Protects!” was an uneven chorus that rippled through the room as Constance strode forward, her sisters at her back, weapons in hand.

Constance allowed her eyes to sweep the room as she walked, taking in expressions from confusion and curiosity to fear and alarm, then she fixed her gaze on the man stepping from around the desk. “I am Constance De La Concordia, Palatine of the Adepta Sororitas, here to judge the loyalty of Duke Cameron Wren.”

She had not expected him to be so handsome.

The man was dressed in a tunic of dark blue over jodhpurs that were tucked into high boots that were spotlessly polished. He was fit, with a hint of strength under the tunic with dark hair that was going gray at the temples and clear, icy blue eyes. He had a square, honest face, tanned from time spent in the sun and lined with worry, but not old. It was the mature, masculine face of a grown man with the nod to a rakish youth of a thin, pencil mustache over his lip. “I am Cameron Wren,” he declared in a rich, melodic baritone. “Duke of Thuria and loyal vassal of the Emperor of Mankind.”

He sank to one knee and ritually opened his shirt wide, displaying an impressive chest and his neck in the most humble act of supplication. “If I have offered insult to his majesty, it was unintended. I beg, Palatine, whatever my fault, let me face that correction alone so that my people be spared for we are the Emperor's own.”

Constance towered over the man, surprised a bit at her reaction to him, but she kept her face stern as she brandished the Rosette before him. “Cameron Wren, you are accused of heresy, ambition above your station and conspiracy against the Master of Mankind. If you are guilty, renounce your crimes now that you may be absolved and receive his majesty's mercy.”

“Who slanders me, a loyal vassal to his majesty?” he demanded. “I proclaim my innocence of any fault or treachery against the Emperor, the loyalty of myself and my world to the Imperium, and I will testify with my body in open combat against any who has spoken these lies!”

After a moment of looking into the man's face, Constance made a decision. She lowered the Rosette back to her belt, then presented her left gauntlet and the image of the Imperial Seal worked into it as if a ring she wore over the glove. “If you be loyal, then submit yourself to judgment and kiss the seal of the Emperor.”

Slowly, he took his hands from the tunic and reached out, taking her gauntlet clad hand into his. He leaned forward and kissed the seal, then moved up slightly and kissed again the back of her hand. “If I am to die,” he whispered, “I die innocent and could ask for no more lovely of an executioner.”

Unbidden, Constance smirked as the smile she could not contain wormed it's way onto her face. At least the taint of Chaos had been removed as a possible crime to lay at the Duke's feet. Lies and false loyalty could still be lurking for Heresy or Treason, but the Chaos infected could never bring themselves to kiss the seal of the Emperor. That at least was reassuring. Clicking off the amplifier on her voice, she leaned down and whispered, “You are a single misspoken word from death, and you would play the Tomcat to your executioner?”

He looked up with a grin that he had doubtlessly used shamelessly his whole life. Part little boy with his hand in the cookie jar, part experienced raconteur caught with his hand in someone else's cookie jar; it was clear he was a rake of the first order. “Death comes for us all, my lady, why not enjoy the wait?”

“That quick wit of yours is going to get you into trouble,” she warned, drawing him up off his knees as she did so.

“Or out of it,” he replied, then stood up straighter and raised his voice. “I submit to the Judgment of the Daughters of the Emperor and again state my claim to satisfaction upon whoever has slandered me.”

“So noted,” Constance assured him. “You have an office?”

“It's yours,” he offered.

“Lead on.” As she fell in behind him, she keyed the microphone and sub-vocalized, “Vigilant, condition alpha, one in custody.”

* * *

Jennifer clutched the grips of the Bolter tight in her gauntlet clad hand as she and Mary guarded the hallway they had been assigned. The young sister swallowed, her eyes fixed down the hallway, wondering when something, anything, would round it, intent on killing her. “What are we doing, Ruth?” she demanded in a terse whisper.

Her squad sister turned, one dark eye towards her as Jennifer was captivated again by the contrast of her dark brown skin under the bowl cut stark white hair on her head. She licked her full lips and whispered, “I don't know about you, but I'm pissing my pants!”

“Steady,” Gretchen's voice commanded from behind them, “We're Sororitas, ladies, we're supposed to be surrounded.”

The Governor's office sat at the junction of three corridors, this one Jennifer, Gretchen and Ruth were guarding, the main hallway they had arrived down that most of the squad was in a position to hold, and the side corridor with its access to the central stairwell the remaining girls were stationed on, some up the stairs, some down, so they hopefully had a means to escape if they needed to maneuver.

Jennifer was very aware that if the sisters were forced to withdraw, she and Ruth were the furthest from the stairs and that fact itched at the back of her mind.

A door opened, revealing some functionary that it was all Jennifer could do to not gun the hapless fool down by reflex. “Go back inside!” she commanded. The Bolter's muzzle swept the man as he looked like he was about to protest. “Go back inside and stay there!” she snarled. The man went pale and shut the door which would not even slow down the rounds from the Bolter should she choose to fire it. “Gretch, if one more pissant opens a door they're gonna get to meet the Emperor!”

“At ease,” Gretchen's ordered softly. “We're not weapons free.” The Sister Superior made a point to get eye contact with all of her squad. “We trained for this. Loyalty tests are just part of the job. The Home Guard outside didn't have anything that could take the polish off our armor, so every body calm down and soldier.”

“Aye, aye,” Jennifer muttered.

“What if they've got stuff that will take the polish off on the way?” Mary muttered.

“The Emperor handles tomorrow, we worry about today,” Gretchen answered her. “Keep in mind, ladies, if this Duke is loyal this is our new home. Let's not start any incidents before we're moved in.”

“I say we purge them all and let the Emperor save his own,” Ruth declared.

“I'm sure he'll have some choice words for you, Ruth,” Mary shot back.

Gretchen sighed at Ruth's somewhat saucy retort and growled just loud enough that her girls knew she was at the edge of her patience. Silence settled on the squad as they kept their hall secure and Gretchen allowed herself a glance over her shoulder at the door into the Duke's office wondering if the Brass had it easier.

* * *

“I want to know who has slandered me,” the Duke pressed as he opened his safe, then stepped back to turn his attention to his terminal.

“You'll have your right to satisfaction,” Constance assured him as Debra, the security specialist stepped forward and began to go through the safe. “Assuming you're loyal, of course.”

“I am,” he declared again. “What is this about, my lady Constance?” His codes given to the terminal, he stepped away from his desk, to make room for the sister who busied herself with copying his files and notes. With three armored sisters in it, even the most spacious of offices seemed cramped.

From her haversack on her side, Connie produced the little Bolter pistol and laid it on his desk, it's action locked open. He stared for a moment, then his tanned face flushed with anger. “This?” he demanded, and for a moment, the genteel veneer slipped and a bit of temper showed through. “This is the prototype I sent to the Imperial Arsenal for bidding! We're prepared to begin production for the Emperor at the first sign of a contract! What more notice could I have offered? It's not a secret! I sent it in myself!”

“Jealousy is the first paving stone on the road to Heresy, your grace,” Constance reminded him. “Did you honestly think an achievement of this magnitude would not hang a target on your back?” His expression was one of grim resignation.

“I had hoped that I had sufficiently circumvented this by being so forthright.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “My mistake, obviously.”

Constance smirked. “Well, if it is any condolence, if...when...your loyalty is assured, the Adepta Sororitas will certainly be placing an order. A large one.”

“My shareholders will be thrilled,” he replied drolly. “And, what of you, Palatine Constance? Once all is sealed to the Emperor's liking you're off to the next world, the next people whose loyalty are falsely maligned?”

The eyebrow ascended Constance's forehead by it's self. “So eager to be rid of me, your Grace? Just a few moments ago you were willing to die for a few minutes of my company.”

He sketched a most elegant bow, despite the somewhat confined space. “My lady, moments with you are certainly an easy trade for a life time, but my poor heart can only stand so much melancholy of being loved and left behind.”

Constance crossed her arms over the somewhat ridiculously large cups of the armor had worked into it to simulate her bust. In point of fact, they contained reservoirs of nutrient soup for the suit's wearer whose own bust was considerably flattened by the Link Suit. “Does your mother know what a terrible flirt and Lothario her son has become?”

“My poor mother is yet pining for me to settle down and give her the grand children and security of the blood line she is constantly reminding me is my duty. And I note my lady has side stepped my own question.”

“Oh, I imagine you'll be quite sick of me before too long, your Grace,” she replied as she took a scroll from the keeper on her belt and presented it, the official seal hanging by a ribbon from it. Frowning, he took the scroll and opened it to read. “My congratulations, Scion of the House of Wren, your fealty and service to the Emperor have been noted and your House has been assigned Sisters Famulous of this Mission to guide and nurture your House to the greater glory of the Emperor.”

The Duke's gaze held on her for a moment, then he turned back to the scroll to be sure he had not misheard or misread. “Well,” he declared after a long moment as he rolled up the scroll and returned it. “Certainly I can safely declare this the most memorable method of meeting a beautiful woman in my life! Would my lady do me the honor of dinner, this evening?”

Constance allowed her lips to smirk again as the Tomcat came out to purr once more. “I think, your Grace, shall be accepting our invitation to dinner.”

“Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world!”

* * *

Band of Sisters: Part 3

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

Serial Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

In the grim, darkness of the far future,
there is only war..

Chapter Four
There and Back Again

Captain Newberry, the commanding officer of the Vigilant was only mildly surprised that Duke Cameron had submitted himself for judgment, and that the sisters had shown sufficient restraint that he could. In his experience the person being 'tested' failed, violently so and then it was a matter of rooting out those who might take issue with that failure before moving on to the next world. He had to admit, watching the camera feed from Palatine De La Concordia's armor that she was a unique specimen of her order.

He had welcomed the Duke on board and set him up in a guest cabin as opposed to the brig, but neither man was uncertain of how short a leash the courtesy concealed. Still, the Duke was quite genteel about things and was making a great show of putting the best face on an unpleasant situation. He had ordered all planetary defense forces to stand down and had actually echoed the commands with the Captain in the transfer of power. Captain Newberry had needed to refer to the manual for the procedures for voluntary release of power as it had never happened before in his experience. Thus far, it had been a text book operation, the planetary defenses having accepted the commandeering of Captain Newberry and the Vigilant, and not a man had been so much as injured.

Captain Newberry, of course, suffered under no delusion things were settled, this was the point where statistically speaking things generally started getting bloody.

For the better part of an hour, he fought with himself on whether or not to lower the alert level onboard. If he took the ship from battle stations, the crew would relax. They would breath a collective sigh of relief and possibly, miss some minor indication of a betrayal from the surface that would cost all of them their lives. On the other hand, he could keep them on combat status, a hair trigger from explosive violence and someone might make a mistake, or an innocent navigational error be interpreted as an attack and tens of thousands of innocent lives might be lost.

In the end, he decided to follow Palatine Constance's example and brought the ship down to tactical alert. Enough tip of the sword to respond quickly, hopefully enough restraint to stop a mistake that would lead to tragedy. Satisfied he had done what he could do, the captain left his bridge to go have a word with his steward. He, evidently, had a dinner party to plan.

* * *

Jennifer sat in the day room, an ammunition locker that had been given over to sisters for their use, stocked with reclaimed and donated furniture from around the ship. It was so that the Sisters of Battle could have a place to relax and unwind, which was what Jennifer was trying to do, staring at a data-slate, trying to concentrate on the biography of Saint Mina, but found she had read the same sentence five times. With a sigh of suppressed temper, she dropped the slate to the little table before the over stuffed chair she was sitting in and took her temples in her hands. “Buy you a drink?”

Jennifer looked up in surprise to find her squad leader, Gretchen, sitting in the chair next to hers, a bottle of beer on the table next to her slate. “Sister Superior?” she asked guardedly.

Gretchen brought her own bottle to her lips and took a sip. “We're both off duty, Jen, it's just Gretch.” Jennifer reached out and took the bottle, finding it icy cold to her touch, and a soothing, vaguely wheat taste as it washed over her tongue. She couldn't quite suppress a grimace at the bitterness of the beer and Gretchen smiled.

“Your first?”

“Third or forth,” she admitted. “I think. I've lost track.”

Gretchen's bottle tipped up into her mouth again. “You'll learn,” she declared around her sip. “Took me forever to like coffee.”

“Coffee is proof of the Emperor's love!” Jen retorted as she forced herself to take another sip, which was not quite as bitter as the first had been. “Listen, 'Supe, I know I fucked up, today...”

“I didn't have to write any reports,” Gretchen replied. “I call that a win.” She paused as she took a sip of beer to examine Jennifer's face. It was a bit Tomboyish, more square than oval and she still had the bowl haircut of having graduated from being a novice, died white to symbolize the purity of her vows and soul. Many Sisters continued to dye their hair white, but Gretchen liked that their Palatine wore her natural hair color and decided to do the same herself. She already dark roots beginning to show under the milk white. Jennifer was still staring at the floor, but in reality someplace deep in her mind, the bottle clutched loosely in her fingers. “Something you want to talk about, Jen?”

The blue eyes came up, a haunted expression behind them. “How bad did it get for you guys, 'Supe? After I got separated, I mean?”

Gretchen shrugged a little dismissively. “Oh, we had a interesting dance with a Leman Russ the traitors got a hold of, but Ruth was the only one injured, and not badly. Why?”

Jennifer's face turned back to the floor. In a dull voice, she said, “When that wall collapsed, I tried to make my way around it, but the rubble was impassible. So I went out east, but the further out I went, the worse it got until I had completely lost sight of you guys. Eventually, I linked up with a Sister Hospitaller named Melissa. She was moving across the battlefield looking for wounded and so I figured I could do some good keeping her alive to help others.”

“I read your report, Jen,” Gretchen told her softly. “You did fine.”

The bottle tipped up for a long swallow and this time Jennifer's face didn't grimace. “After an hour, there was this huge explosion and out of this collapsed section of road comes a Sister clinging to the jump pack of a Space Marine. I had no idea how she'd gotten it off one of the dead Space Marines, or got it working, but it was the most hardcore thing I'd ever seen. She couldn't hold onto it for long, but it got her out of the depression before she lost her grip. She fell about ten feet from us, both legs broken, out cold and covered in some nasty something. I almost threw up from the smell, but nothing bothered Melissa. She just got to work on her while calling in an evac.”

Her face turned up to Gretchen, pale and almost vacant. “That's when this squad of possessed Heretics found us, or caught up to us. I think they were chasing Palatine De La Concordia. Have you ever fought possessed, Gretch?”

“I was there, Jen.”

“Yeah. They, they just keep coming, you know? I shot them and the Bolter blew them to pieces, and...and the pieces would keep coming...” She paused and took another sip. “Palatine Constance had a bolter/flamer combo gun, still attached to her armor. I grabbed it and...” She took a drink and whispered, “Humans smell terrible when they burn.”

Gretchen reached out and put a consoling hand on Jennifer's shoulder. “Don't think of the ones you had to kill,” she told her earnestly. “Think of all the ones you saved by rooting out the Chaos and destroying it.”

“I was back there, Gretch,” Jennifer whispered. “This morning? In the hall, and the door opened; it wasn't that beautiful hallway. It wasn't a cushy office and some idiot in a suit, it was one of those monsters dressed up like a human wearing someone's skin and I could smell the bodies burning...” Gretchen took the beer from her squad mate and gathered her into her arms in a fierce hug. Her shoulders shook and Jennifer started to cry. Gretchen gently stroked her hair and let her sister cry.

“I'm here, sister,” she whispered in Jennifer's ear. “I'm here.”

* * *

From her kit locker, Constance gazed at her neatly folded Day Service Habit and wished she could wear it. It was a simple, humble garment and that matched her desire to be simple and humble, but, alas, it was not suitable for a formal dinner with both the Captain and the Duke. Fortunately, it was not so formal as to demand her dress uniform, so, with a sigh of regret, she dug deeper into her locker to pull out her Convent Service Habit. It was the more formal version of the Day Service, intending to give the impression of a Sister in her armor, it was in three layers, like the armor it affected. The base as a simple, black body suit that was close fit for her arms and torso, but in culottes below. Over this was the red Battle Habit with it's bell, three quarter sleeves and loin cloth bottom. Finally, there was a sleeveless black doublet in velvet that buttoned up the front with a high, rounded mock turtleneck collar to imitate the gorget of her armor.

Around her hips, at the bottom of the doublet was a Rosarius and Inquisitorial Rosette that hung at her left hip to denote her rank and warrant. Normally, on her left breast would ride the white Maltese Cross and Heart indicating her membership of the Order of the Valorous Heart. These had been moved to the bell sleeves of her Battle Habit, under the fleur-de-lis of the Adepta Sororitas to show that she had seen combat as member of that Order, but her Mission and Order Famulous had yet to receive it's official heraldry from the Convent Sanctorum on Ophelia VII, which was her Master Convent.

Finally, there was the collection of Medals and awards she had earned over the years. There were many tears fallen over this collection of precious metal and simple cloth, but there were happy memories as well. Certain of everything being in it's place by a final check in the mirror, Constance sighed and left the small, but coveted single cabin the Captain had given her and directed her steps towards the Wardroom.

As it happened, the door to Duke Cameron's cabin opened just as she was drawing abreast of it and the Duke himself stepped out. As he was still a 'guest', he had been allowed to have his valet pack some changes of clothing for his stay aboard the Vigilant and was dressed in the green frock coat of Thuria's Home Guard detachment. It was certainly not in want of braid or medals, but was not as garish as some versions Constance had seen. In fact, she thought the jodhpurs and high boots the uniform seemed to favor let him cut quite a dashing figure. He caught sight of her and gave another of his elegant bows. “My lady Constance, a pleasant evening to you!”

Constance allowed her self to smile and preformed the Sign of the Aquila. “May the blessings of the Emperor shine upon you, Duke Cameron.”

“Humbly, my lady, I beseech you for the honor of your escort to dinner.”

De La Concordia glanced at him sidelong but took the elbow he offered with one hand and the pair continued their journey. “I presume you were loitering in your cabin hoping to catch me as I came by to pry information about your Loyalty Test from me?”

The Duke had the grace to be self deprecating. “Am I so obvious?” He chuckled and made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. “Well, I am understandably curious.”

“Your unflinching cooperation stands you in excellent favor, your grace,” Constance allowed. “I imagine the outcome to be to your liking, but we must still observe the proprieties.”

“Of course!” he acquiesced. “And in expectation of such golden outcomes, I already have my command staff looking for a suitable place your Mission can headquarter yourselves.”

“I'm glad the circumstances of our meeting will not strain our relationship unnecessarily.”

The Marine, not an Astartes, but an Imperial Sailor Under Arms, standing guard by the wardroom door came to attention as they approached, then opened the hatch for them. Inside was Captain Newberry, looking very impressive in his Navy Uniform, not as dressy, perhaps, as Duke Cameron's but then, Duke Cameron didn't have a hundred thousand crewmen at his beck and call presently.

Nathaniel Newberry did.

The Captain was in the process of pouring himself a glass of tea from the small beverage mess to the side of the room as the stewards were still laying out the table. “Why Captain, you've out done yourself!” Cameron complimented, but Captain Newberry was nonplussed.

“Merely a trifle,” he retorted, sketching a shallow bow to Constance that she returned with a curtsy. “My lady must forgive us for being such terrible hosts.”

“I wouldn't dream of holding such honest effort in the service of the Emperor against you, Captain,” she replied. “In point of fact, I must agree with His Grace that you set a magnificent table.”

The Captain's great handlebar mustache twitched in what might be considered a smile. “I'm sure the men will be gratified by your delight, my lady. Here, allow me,” he stepped over to the foot of the table and held out the chair for her. Constance allowed herself to be seated, then turned her goblet over for the steward to fill with ice water.

“Will your officers be joining us, Captain?” she asked, noting the table to be quite small, and had only three place settings.

“Unfortunately, no, my lady,” Newberry told her. “I thought it best, considering where our conversation may drift, to keep the fewest ears in the room.”

“A wise precaution,” Cameron declared as he took the place at Constance's left hand, leaving the right for the Captain. “So, tell me, what of the rest of the Galaxy?”

“Oh, about what you would expect,” Constance replied. “Wars, rumors of wars, famine, deprivation, with little pockets of hope and good living.”

The goblet of ice water stopped halfway to the Duke's lips. “Oh, surely all is not so hopeless?”

The steward wheeled out a dish of salad and began to fill bowls. “His Grace has the benefit of living on a relatively remote world in a peaceful sector,” Captain Newberry declared, taking up the pepper mill and offering it first to Constance.

“Four months ago I was fighting a Chaos Cult on a world that looks very much like yours from space,” Constance said as she worked the pepper mill over her salad. “Have you ever had the misfortune to meet someone Chaos Possessed, your grace? They consume their victims from the inside out, knowing all of their memories and thoughts so that they can taunt and twist the knife to loved ones they murder and befoul. Wearing their loved ones' skin and face to torment them with the very love of their victim. They can only be killed with fire.”

The Duke's face paled a bit. “I...I had the fortune to give my two years of service in the Naval Forces.”

“Local?” Newberry asked. “Of course, lucky.”

Wren's chin rose a bit. “I did my duty and was ready to fight...”

Constance picked up a roll and began to butter it. “Have you ever seen what a bolter does to a man, your grace? We flame the possessed because the bolter will blow them into pieces, but the Demon that has possessed them can control every little piece of viscera. Little bloody bits of human, trying to force their way down your throat to choke you to death.”

The Duke kept his composure with remarkable aplomb. “I see I am in the presence of heroic veterans of our Emperor. I hope you will both forgive me the tragedy of my birth.”

Constance took pity on the Duke, laid her fork down and reached out to put her hand on his. “Your pardon, your grace, I hope you'll forgive an old pair of war horses a bit of hazing.”

He smiled and inclined his head. “The fault is mine, my lady. In my eagerness to endear myself to a pair of bonafide war heroes, I misspoke. No man can truly desire to see what you both have, but I hope you can admit that every man feels the zeal to do his duty.” He picked up his wine glass that the steward filled for him. “In fact, I raise my glass to the both of you and am thankful to have such paragons here to test me.”

The Captain's mustache twitched and humor and he hid it behind his napkin. “You may thank Palatine De La Concordia for her remarkable restraint.”

“Among many other virtues,” the Duke added as he raised his glass again.

“Your grace is completely without shame,” Constance scolded.

“Proudly!”

* * *

One of the great luxuries of the Mars-Class Cruiser, to which the Vigilant belonged, was that they were general purpose vessels, meant to operate independently or in small task forces for long duration. As such, they had a bit of everything, fighter wings, assault craft, ship to ship weapons, ship to surface weapons and, interestingly enough, a library. The small collection of books were backed up electronic storage of just about the collected wisdom of mankind, but that there was actually a section of books was a fact the crew were quite proud of.

Having bid goodnight to her fellow diners, Constance had not felt particularly sleepy and, to keep her mind from other idles, she decided to go to this library and accomplish some research. Her palm print gave her access to the room, which was dark and seemed to be made of darkly stained wood book shelves. This was on the outer edge of the ship, and huge, peaked Gothic windows of transparent aluminum. Thuria was a magnificent view out that window as the ship had settled into a Geostationary orbit above New Atlanta. Night had just fallen and the city was lit up in the shadow of the Terminator.

Despite the windows, it was one of the most heavily armored areas of the Vigilant.

Constance walked over to the window, captivated, by the view until a deep, somewhat electronic sounding voice asked, “May I help you?” The voice had a clipped, precise accent and it's High Gothic was flawless. She turned from the window to behold a servitor, a Servo-Skull, floating on its anti-gravity field at conversational distance. It was a human skull with heavily modified cybernetics installed to it, with a single red electronic eye. From the bottom, where the jaw would have been hinged, a parchment roller had been installed and two small robotic arms clutched an ink well and a quill. Carved into the forehead of the skull was the Aquila and 'Faithful Servant' in High Gothic.

“You are the librarian?” she asked the hybrid device.

The skull dipped slightly on its anti-gravity field, perhaps its version of a bow. “I am Baldermort, your humble scribe,” the voice replied from the little speaker in the nasal cavity of the skull. “How may I be of service, my lady?”

“I wish to know more about House Wren,” she told the mechanical slave. “Specifically, how long they have been in control of Thuria and the service record of His Grace Duke Cameron.”

“It was the painting on the wall,” the skull replied in it's melodic voice. “The painting of his ancestor, the Illustrious Agand Wren, who had inspired him, who had cast the long shadow the boy stood in. For in the Thirty Eighth Millennium of Man Agand had come to Thuria to claim a wilderness and build a home for his family. The boy had lived his entire life in the shadow of the Great Man who had conquered a world, heard stories and lessons of battles won and dangers braved two thousand years before his birth. Yet he was stymied, held back from anything more adventurous than attending to the call of nature by himself. He yearned to prove himself, to step out of the shadow of his great ancestor, only to be coddled and protected; safe and sound, far from harm. 'He was the heir,' he was told, time and again. 'He must not allow accidents to happen.'

“Of course, he grew restless, chaffing under so contrived and controlled an existence. He rebelled in the only manner and place left to him, the bedroom. He carved a swath through the ladies of noble birth and less than alike that was legendary. In the end, he earned a reputation of a philanderer, but this too was hushed up and winked at. Cuckolded husbands and enraged fathers who had to smile and bow to him. His 'service' to the Empire was a bit of theater for public consumption that even he recognized; still he did his duty with an exactness and diligence that was grudgingly congratulated. Then, his duty done on paper, if not in fact, he was released from service, he took up the reigns of power and perhaps finally, realized just how much truly rested on his shoulders.”

“Yet, under the brow of the man, the just and fair minded ruler that Duke Cameron has become, there was always the boy, who looked up at the painting and dreamed of being worthy of the very blood that flowed through his veins; worthy to be immortalized in his own painting for those, not yet gotten or born to look up to one day and admire. End quote.”

Constance felt her eyebrow ascend her forehead. “Are you always so theatrical, Baldermort?”

If possible, the electronic voice sounded just a touch smug. “In the pursuit of service to the Emperor's Faithful, no race is too tiring to run, my lady. The above quotation was from The House of Wren: The Official Record by the Adeptus Administratum. I would be honored to transfer a copy to your Data-Slate.”

“Please,” she ordered. “Now, I would like to see the Duke's service record.”

The holographic projector in the left eye lit up and displayed the file to float in ghostly green before her. “It is an exact, if short record, my lady,” the librarian replied. “His Grace served the required two years in the Imperial Military, attached to two vessels of the Thuria Sector Defense Fleet, the cruisers Atlanta and Dahlonega. He requested transfer to any Imperial Fleet vessel and was denied six times, twice to be transferred to any infantry unit, both denied. He served as Weapons Officer on the Dahlonega and the Executive Officer of the Atlanta. Both commanders commended his work and his zeal to do his duty.”

“Is it just me, Baldermort, or does this record seem uncommonly short and sanitized?”

The skull was quiet for a moment. “I note it has exactly the correct number and length of documents for a military record.”

“Yes, but no attached letters from commanding officers, no notations to personnel, no attached reasons why the requested transfers to be denied.”

“I should think such reason to be rather obvious, considering.”

Constance rubbed her chin in thought. “Maybe. How long would it take you to interface with the Administratum and request a full copy to compare to the local?”

“I should have information for you by ships morning, my lady.”

“Thank you, Baldermort. I would also appreciate your discretion in this matter. Please come directly to my cabin with your results.”

The skull's blank face could not convey expression, but its tone of voice changed slightly to do so. “You distrust the ship's internal communications equipment, my lady?”

“I'm old fashioned,” she replied with a gesture at the ink well and quill in the grip of the Servo-Skull's arms. “Surely you can appreciate that?”

“Of course. How else may I be of service?”

“No, that's all for now. Thank you.”

The skull dipped on it's field again. “I have been Baldermort, your faithful scribe.”

* * *

Chapter Five
Home Coming

The air of the arena was filled with shouts, screams and cat calls of the assembled war bands. The raucous cheers and vile leers were equally ignored by Shanaz as he doggedly blocked Grends blows, taking everything the big chief could fling at him. The make shift arena's air was thick with the stink of so many Orks, the smell of blood, viscera and urine as Shanaz continued to draw Chief Grends after him, throwing up a muscular arm to block the chief's blows and always smiling. Shanaz could see the chief's temper starting to rise as his blows were blocked, but his challenger refused to swing a blow of his own.

For his part, Shanaz was focused on the chief, ignoring everything else so that he could keep the big Ork from landing a solid blow; to continue to wear him down. The Gretchin and Snotlings were screaming, to say nothing of the Orks from both Grends war band and Shanaz's own, but Shanaz was a veteran of thousands of duels and he knew how to defeat an opponent bigger and stronger than he was. Not that Shanaz was small, by any stretch of the imagination. He was, in fact, as tall and nearly as wide as a Space Marine, between seven and eight feet tall, with hard, leathery green skin which was crisscrossed with scars, pockmarks and even a parasite or two. His massive physique was even more impressive for the hard, extremely muscular and solid frame. His arms are long and heavily thewed, knuckles almost scraping the floor as he lopes around, and his gnarled hands end in taloned fingers capable of tearing an enemy's throat out with ease.

First one, then a second of Grends blows missed and the war boss roared in frustration, but Shanaz could tell, it was time. Suddenly he lunged forward, easily side stepping Grends reflexive punch and sent his massive fist crashing into the War Chief's jaw. It broke with a thunderous snap and sent teeth and broken tusks flying into the crowd who gleefully grabbed and clawed at them. The right was followed by a left that hit like a meteor on the other side, breaking the jaw again. Blood and spittle were flung and Grends destroyed jaw hung by the muscle and skin of his face like a gristly, gaping grin as he roared in pain and outrage.

“'ere we go! 'Ere we go! 'Ere we go!” Shanaz's followers began to shout as he stepped into his opponent's guard and began to punish ribs and soft tissue alike with his gnarled, calloused fists. Hearing these ribs snap and his follower's chants spurred Shanaz on as blow after blow rained down. Grends stumbled, his nose a hopeless ruin, one eye swelling shut and his jaw drooling blood and spittle as he fell back onto his ass, gazing up at his death.

Shanaz saw fear in Grends' one remaining eye as he reached down and picked up his victim by the throat. Holding him up high, Shanaz roared in triumph as his name was chanted by every Ork in the arena, then he held out his knee and brought Grends down onto it with all of his strength. The War Chief's spine snapped, echoing in the sudden silence and his last cry of pain came out a drowning gurgle as his lungs filled with blood. “I am Chief!” Grends roared as he dumped the body of his foe into the dirt of the arena and beat his chest with his own fists.

“War boss Shanaz! War Boss Shanaz!' the Orks chanted as he reached down and ripped his dying foe's head from his body with his bare hands and held it aloft.

“Shanaz is War Boss!” he roared at the crowd. “And Shanaz says we go to fight!”

Swords, axes and bare fists beat on shields and armor as Shanaz reached into the corpse of Grends to soak his hands in his foe's blood and smeared it across his chest.

“Shanaz! Shanaz! Shanaz!” the Orks chanted working themselves into a frenzy for the coming battle.

It wasn't as easy as merely decapitating the former chief of Grends' war band, nor had Shanaz expected it to be. Grends' lieutenant hadn't bothered with a formal challenge, but had just launched himself at Shanaz. The new War Boss hadn't bothered with subtle for him, merely catching an arm as he fell and threw him to the ground. Then, held down with one of Grends' feet, he pulled his challengers arm off and beat him to death with it.

Two others started forward, but the band's collective consciousness had decided Shanaz had won. The two last hold outs of Grends were seized by the Orks around them and pulled apart. Shanaz thumped his chest a final time, then turned and shuffled out of the arena stretching his neck to loosen the muscles tense from the battle. He caught sight of the chief Gretchin of the now Late Grends and ambled over.

The Gretchin are smaller and less tough than their larger Ork brothers, with bald, bulbous heads and huge ears and noses and long, grasping fingers ready to steal anything not nailed down. This particular one had been Grends' favorite, and wore ridiculously ragged bits of a uniforms and braid ripped from fallen foes to show off his status. “Start the movers,” Shanaz ordered it. “We go to war.”

“'Er, 'ere we going, Boss?” it had the temerity to ask.

Shanaz plucked a dagger from his belt and hurled it at the map of the local area of space, sinking into the moon of a human world he had long desired to ransack. “There,” he growled at the Gretchin. “Full speed!”

“Tally ho!” the Gretchin declared, scrambling to obey his new leader.

* * *

“This is not what we were supposed to be doing!” Jonas Merle thundered, his face flush with anger and his gestures wide and sweeping. “ Cameron Wren is a traitor!” he shouted, bits of spittle arching from his lips and Constance was glad the desk in her quarters was between herself and the enraged Inquisitor.

“So you keep saying,” she replied evenly. “And yet I find no fault with His Grace, or his actions.”

Behind her, she felt Fiona cross her arms and frown. “The records prove the Duke sent in the pistol to the Imperial Armories, where it disappeared. How did you get it?” Almost reflexively, Jonas reached for his Rosette to brandish his authority.

“Do not dare to defy the Inquisition...!” he started, but, Constance merely reached down to the Rosarius around her waist and pulled up her own Inquisitorial Rosette.

In a deathly quiet voice, she said, “You forget, Inquisitor, I am also a member of the Adeptus Ministorum, Ordo Militant and commissioned within the Ordo Hereticus. So put your Rosette back on your chest, lower your voice and address me as at least your equal, if not your better, or by the Golden Throne you will discover what a bolter does to a man first hand. I have spent thirty years battling the Emperor's enemies, how many battlefields have you walked?”

The red drained out of the man's face and swallowed carefully. “We...we all serve the Emperor, in many ways, in many duties...”

Fiona rolled her eyes and snorted, “Coward,” under her breath, but loud enough that her Palatine heard it and chose to over look it.

“Now,” De La Concordia declared evenly. “With that settled, let us move on to the Emperor's business. You charged our order to root out Heresy in House Wren, and thus far, I can only report there is none in evidence. In point of fact, I find House Wren has been steadfastly loyal for more than two millennia! I have found a world studious in it's commitments to the Empire of Mankind and actively attempting to do more with efforts and collaborations with other loyal organizations to improve our war material against our enemies. If you have evidence of treason and heresy, bring it forth and let us see it!”

“I cannot...” he started and this time Constance rolled her eyes.

“So you have none!”

Jonas became more firm. “No, I am oath bound! I cannot speak of what I have learned!”

Constance drummed her fingers on the desk. “And I am not willing to execute what appears to be a model subject on your say so! Stalemate.” She sighed and turned over her shoulder. “Sister Vander, kindly inform the convent to prepare to disembark the Vigilant. We have tied her up for too long as it is.”

“Palatine,” she replied as she made her way out.

“You're giving up?” Jonas demanded.

Constance sniffed and stood from the chair. “No, I am carrying out my mandate to found a convent Famula. Searching for corruption and guiding House Wren is a part of that mandate. Unless you can give me proof, my hands are tied.”

“What can I do to convince you?” he asked after a long moment of thought. “That does not violate my oath?”

She resisted her impulse to be flippant, and actually considered for a long moment, finally coming to the conclusion that her original response was actually accurate. “Nothing,” she declared firmly. “I see nothing to validate your accusation and I am unmoved by claims of confidential evidence I must give weight to sight unseen.”

“Then I must go with you,” he declared.

“You take your life in your own hands, then,” she told him. “I can conceal your identity here on the Vigilant, but only a fool would not be able to see who had slandered him with you accompanying us. What's more, the Duke has a right to seek redress against you. I won't shield you from the consequences of your actions.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What if...what if he wasn't able to see me?”

The Palatine frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What if he couldn't see the Inquisitor standing out in a group of Sisters Sororitas?”

Constance crossed her arms in annoyance. “The Duke is no fool, Jonas.”

The Inquisitor's face went cagey. “Of course, of course, but is he so vigilant that he can pick out one sister among many?” Seeing the confusion on her face, he pressed on. “I could hide in plain sight, as just another sister of your convent. There's enough medical technology on board to...”

Constance's hand whipped out with the speed of years of training, giving him no time to react. Her attack was instinctual, however, merely an open handed slap instead of a closed fist, which saved his life. As it was, the slap left a mark on his face and landed with sufficient force that he stumbled and fell to the deck. Towering over him, her face was flush with suppressed rage and now her fists were clinched. “Do not dare to give voice to the blasphemy you indulge in that foul mind of yours!” she hissed. “Allow you to disgrace a habit, to dishonor my convent with your mockery of our vows and traditions all so you can continue to slander a man I suspect more and more is entirely innocent? I will kill you with my bare hands first!”

“I am within my rights and the powers of the Inquisition!” he pleaded. “I am allowed to don any uniform of any organization to root out the Emperor's Enemies!”

“The Mandate of the Adepta Sororitas is bound by the Order Passive!” Constance snarled. “The Ecclesiarchy is forbidden to have men under arms! I will not allow you to disgrace us in some kind of vulgar...charade!”

The Inquisitor scrambled to his feet. “I am bound by my oath! I have the right and power to don any uniform, to purport myself as a member of any organization to fulfill my mandate! You may not deny me under the law!”

Constance clinched and unclenched her fists for a long moment, then with a voice tense and taunt with the effort of restraining herself, she pointed a finger like a bayonet and commanded, “Do not move, from that spot until I return.”

That dealt with, she whirled out of her quarters with all the fury of a hurricane. As she made her way through the ship, crewmen scrambled to get out of her way until she arrived at the ship's communication center and pointed at the senior tech. “You! Stay where you are! The rest of you, clear this compartment!”

“Aye, aye!” the crew acquiesced, scrambling over each other to obey.

Alone with the now very nervous Petty Officer, Constance dogged the hatch shut and secure before she ordered, “I want a secure link to the Order of the Healing Heart, and I want it without any record or transcript. My authorization code is...”

The young woman nodded eagerly. “I understand, Palatine. One moment.”

With an effort, Constance reigned in her temper and laid a consoling hand on the tech as she worked. “Forgive me for my fit of temper, Petty Officer. My ire is not with you.”

“Thank you, Palatine.” She looked up, after checking in her instruments, her face a bit worried. “We're too far for real time communication, I'm afraid. If you'd like to record your message, I'll send it. And I'll see to it the reply isn't screened or recorded when I bring it to you.”

Constance smiled at the younger woman. “Your diligence honors me. Proceed.”

She took a pair of ear plugs from the carrier on her uniform and put them in. “I won't be able to hear you, so just touch my shoulder when you're done, Palatine. The camera is right there. Recording...now.”

De La Concordia sighed to order her thoughts and then looked directly into the indicated lens of the camera. “Reverend Mother, Greeting. This message should be encoded Security Able Seven, I repeat Able Seven. I send you this in request for guidance to resolve conflicting directives. The Inquisitor whom you assigned me to assist now seeks to don the habit of a Sister and pass himself off as one of us to hide while he seeks proof of Duke Cameron's treason. I must inform you, my own investigations exonerate the Duke and House Wren. I have found nothing but exemplary service and loyalty. The Ordo Hereticus does give him the right to purport himself as a member of any organization, but by pretending to be a Sister, he violates the Order Passive. I do not, myself, have the authority to deny him, but I cannot risk a crime that may dishonor our entire order either. My instinctive reaction is to kill him, but I will take no action without your direction. I remain, your obedient servant, Constance De La Concordia, Palatine, Adepta Sororitas.”

She touched the Petty Officer on the shoulder and the tech worked her console. “I'll have your answer as soon as it comes in, Palatine.”

* * *

Ruth sat at the table and stared at the collection of parts on the top of it. She had them all laid out, just like the diagram she had been taught how to field strip and clean the bolter so long ago. She picked up each piece, gently wiping away what now was only imaginary grime as she tried to come to grips with her reaction to the extraction of Duke Wren. It bothered her how...tense...she allowed herself to use the word to describe how she had felt in the hallway. She put the bolt carrier on the table and contemplated her dark brown fingers next to the shiny metal.

She sighed and frowned, her thoughts deep inward. It bothered her how tense being in that beautiful hallway in her armor had made her. She hadn't been so wound up charging that tank the heretics had gotten a hold of. It was remarkably straight forward; weapons free shoot at them, they're shooting at you. Everything that wasn't a Sister or one of the Guardsmen with you was a target.

It was simple.

It was everything that extracting the Duke had not been. Hold your fire, defend yourself, but don't start it, the civilians were to be protected, until they weren't. Till they tried to kill you. You didn't know who was who or what was what until you were already taking fire. And Mary had been right, they were giving them time to go and get the toys that could cut through their armor.

Minute after minute after minute until someone could pop around a corner with a heavy bolter or a recoil-less rifle or something worse that if it couldn't defeat the armor might still kill her just from the transference of force. “Fuck this shit,” she muttered, picking up the bolt carrier again and making sure the firing pin was springing properly before mating it up with the bolt and stuffing them back into the receiver. With sharp, practiced moves she had the bolter reassembled and checked that the hold open was working on an empty magazine.

Straight forward soldiering was easy. Here's the target, guns free, go and accomplish it. Ruth worried she wasn't up to this kind of might be/might not be kind of war.

“Attention on deck,” someone ordered from behind her. Ruth returned the weapon to the table as she stood and turned to find Sister Vander in the hatchway. She pulled the hatch shut and came into the day room more fully. Ruth fought to keep the frown off her face, as here was yet another example of what weirdness this assignment was about. As an Elohiem Advance, she should outrank Sister Vander, but she didn't doubt for a moment that was nothing like the reality of things. Sister Vander was Palatine De La Concordia's second in command in all but technicality.

It wasn't that Ruth didn't like Sister Vander, it was obvious she was Ruth's kind of Sister. Go out, purge the heretics and be done with it, that was the kind of service Ruth expected. Of course, she had been through and survived a rite of repentia, which made her the most bad ass Sister Ruth knew of. She wasn't able to give it further consideration as Sister Vander was speaking. “Sisters, Palatine De La Concordia has ordered me to instruct you all to pack your gear and prepare to disembark. Our mission is starting now.”

“When are we leaving, Sister?” Mary asked her.

Fiona shook her head. “Unknown. Probably tomorrow after breakfast as it's after dark local on the planet. Get your gear prepped and stand by for further orders.”

Finally, Ruth made a decision and stepped forward. “Sister Vander?”

“Yes, um, Ruth, wasn't it?”

“Yes...ma'am,” Ruth replied. “I was wondering, is our entire tour going to be wondering when the population is going to start shooting at us? Are we going to be walking around with targets on our backs, or do we get to be proactive at all?”

Vander smirked. “You looking to get into combat, Ruth?”

Ruth shrugged. “Combat is simple. The enemy is in front of you, your sisters are next to you, do the job, take the objection, move on.”

Fiona walked over to conversational distance. “I understand your situation. Unfortunately, things aren't always cut and dry. As the servants of the Emperor, sometimes we get handed hard missions, with objects that aren't as simple as take the objective. Palatine De La Concordia is never the less confident in all of you to do your duty.”

Ruth forced a smile. “Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am.”

“Good girl.”

* * *

In his quarters, Cameron Wren stared at the hologram of Constance De La Concordia. It was her official photograph, wearing the same habit she had worn to dinner the night previous, her hair about her face, a face set in what most soldiers in official photographs called their 'war face.' It was a blank, unemotive expression, unsmiling, looking directly out at the viewer, meant to convey a sense of seriousness and resolution. Even in so official a document, in so staged an expression, it could not hide the fact that she was a very beautiful woman, but that was only the superficial level of his attraction.

Cameron Wren had known many beautiful women.

The record was remarkable as he read it, as it was good to have friends in strategic places. A friend in the records division had acquired this particular record and his major domo had smuggled it up with his clothing on a data-slate of 'important documents' that required the Duke's attention. Now his impressions from dinner were firmly re-enforced. Constance De La Concordia really was a heroine of the Empire. She had fought for thirty years on planets across the galaxy.

Not just in simple terms of combat, either.

Twice she had been reprimanded for 'excessive concern' of local inhabitants on world's she had fought on. Constance was something of prodigy, a tactical genius who had a reputation for taking difficult assignments and accomplishing them in unconventional ways. She was neither a martinet, nor bleeding heart, but a woman of conviction who understood who she was fighting for.

Cameron smiled, she was, in many ways, ideal.

He reached over to the communications panel his quarters had and in a few minutes was speaking with his Major Domo. “Henry, yes, everything's going well. I expect to be home tomorrow, probably around lunch time. Have your people found a suitable place for the convent? Excellent! I want you to arrange a formal ball. A sort of homecoming ball. Yes, I'll leave that to you. And spare no expense, Henry, I want to make a very favorable impression.”

* * *

Band of Sisters: Part Four

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

Other Keywords:

Warhammer 40K

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Chapter Six

Plans Within Plans

“I remain, your obedient servant, Constance De La Concordia, Palatine, Adepta Sororitas.”

Abigail Winters sat at her desk and contemplated the frozen image of the Palatine she had dispatched against her better judgment, standing ghostly, and transparent in holographic pause before her desk. There had been many fears to cloud her mind that she had ignored in an effort to save the careers of two sisters she felt had been dealt unjust hands at the game of life. She had hoped that assigning Constance's now redeemed mentor to her mission would perhaps head off some of her misgivings.

But never, in her wildest dreams, would she have thought that the Inquisitor would demand something like this.

Yes, it was within his authority, but it had never been considered before. The handful of times the Inquisition had hidden within the Adepta Sororitas they had all already been women. Of course, it went almost without saying most of those exceptions had ended badly for the impostor sisters. Abigail had no doubt whatsoever that Jonas was serious; Constance would never had bothered her if he was even remotely insincere in his demands.

Her heart heavy, she stood from her desk and soft gesture dismissed the hologram of Palatine Constance. She walked around her desk and out of her office, her thoughts in complete disarray. There were so many contradictions to consider. If she gave Constance approval to kill Jonas, the Inquisition would be incensed. War between the two major divisions of the Ecclesiarchy would be disastrous for the Empire of Man. It could even possibly bring about another dark age, but if she allowed him to violate the Order Passive, to allow a man to bear arms in an Ordo Militant, would violate a truce that had headed off the last threat to human civilization.

For a time, she considered ordering Constance coyly to do away with the bothersome Inquisitor. Accidents happened in combat zones all the time, but all of the indications from the operation on Thuria related that combat was unlikely. A death as questionable as Jonas's would be, regardless of Constance's skill in arranging the dead to appear to be victims of their own misfortune would be heavily investigated. No coy work from Constance would stand to such scrutiny.

Outside, under the warm spring air, Abigail walked and considered punting the problem upstairs. She could invoke Prioress Helena the Virtuous, head of the Convent Sanctorum, but Abigail had lived long enough to know that if this blew up, there needed to be a certain distance, a certain plausible deniability from the head of their convent if there was any chance of avoiding an Ecclesiarchy Civil War. If Helena knew, then perhaps the last hope of civilization itself might be gone.

Humanity needed someone to fall on their sword.

Abigail sighed and smiled to herself. She had lived a long life, done remarkable things and saved lives beyond count. If this last service was needed by the Emperor, then she would oblige him. Her decision made, she turned her feet from the garden and into the long care ward. After several minutes, she came to the ICU and looked at her haggard reflection in the glass through which she regarded her victim. “Forgive me, child,” she whispered. “The Emperor has one final need of you.”

“Reverend mother?”

The voice of the ward nurse brought her from the contemplation. She turned and took in the young girls face and smiled warmly. When did her nurses become so young? “Good evening, June, isn't it?”

She blushed at being recognized. “How may I help you, Reverend Mother?”

Abigail made a gesture at the window she stood beside. “What is the status of Sister Rachael's condition?”

The young nurse stood from her desk and came over. “There's no change, Reverend Mother,” she said sadly. “The wound is healed, but the brain damage is too great. We had a Psyker check, just on the off chance, but she was pronounced brain dead. I sent the paperwork for her organs to be harvested and her remains laid to rest to your office this morning.”

“I recall,” Winters replied sadly. “The unit is keeping her body otherwise alive?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother. We can begin harvesting tomorrow...”

“That is countermanded,” she ordered softly. “June, I am swearing you to secrecy for a service to the Emperor that may cost you your life. How say you?”

“I am at the Emperor's service,” she declared reverently. “Whatever he needs of me, I will do.”

Winters nodded and laid a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Pack your things quietly, then collect Rachael's things from storage. Once done, you will return here and prepare her body for transport.”

“Transport where, Reverend Mother?”

“Warp travel,” the Reverend Mother declared. “Where you need not know, so you cannot testify to it later.”

The young face paled. “Reverend Mother, taking a body into the Warp risks possession...”

“Before we depart you will remove Sister Rachael's brain and reverently lay it to rest in the Garden of Fallen Heroines. Without that direct connection, we should not have anything to worry about. Still, to be safe, on board, you and I will both stand watch,” Abigail assured her. “Will you still pledge yourself?”

“I hear and obey the will of the Emperor.”

Abigail leaned down and kissed the girl on the forehead. “Bless you, child. On your way, and not a word to anyone.”

* * *

“You wanted to see me, Connie?”

Constance looked up from her data-slate tiredly, but forced a smile to her mentor and invited her into the small cabin. Fiona was dressed casually in her Day Service Habit, a simple gown that fell to her ankles in black with the three quarter bell sleeves, similar to the Battle Habit with her Rosarius in red beads as a belt. Already, there was a fuzz of gray hair about her scalp, mixed with the honey blonde that been her natural color. “Come in, Fiona,” she invited, waving her at a chair. “I want you to hear this.”

The older Sister noted the Servo-Skull that was hovering on its anti-gravity field, awaiting her command. She dogged the hatch shut and tripped the security field to Classified. It wasn't uncommon for secrets to need to be discussed without fear of a flight recorder logging them, and the ship had been constructed with that in mind, for those of the appropriate station. As Fiona slid into the seat, Constance made a gesture of introduction to the skull. “This is Baldermort, the former librarian of the ship. Baldermort, this is Sister Fiona Vander, my good right hand.”

The skull dipped in the air. “I am deeply honored, Sister.”

Vander cocked her head to one side. “Are you an A.I. Baldermort?”

“I have only the vaguest memories of it now, my lady, but once, long ago, my skull was covered in skin and I possessed a body, rather than these crude cybernetic appendages and I walked in the sunlight in the service of our emperor,” the skull replied. “That my service was so exemplary to justify my current station is the crown of any servant who has done his duty.”

“An actual conscious Servo-Skull on a war ship?” Vander asked her protege in amazement.

Constance smirked. “No longer, I've informed Captain Newberry I am invoking my privilege to transfer Baldermort to our Mission. I've found his help invaluable.”

“I'm certain that did nothing for your stock in the Captain's eyes.”

“Oh, he stooped to crass bribery, but I was firm. Baldermort serves us, now.” Turning to the skull, she commanded, “Show Lady Vander what you showed me.”

The holographic projector built into the skull's left eye lit up and soon a pair of service records were floating beside each other in front of Fiona. “The document on your left is the local copy of the service record of His Grace Cameron Wren, retrieved by automated poll yesterday at Palatine De La Concordia's request. On your right is the Master Record, sent via secure transmission at my request for the Palatine yesterday from the central archives of the Adeptus Administratum on Holy Terra. Comparing the documents finds twenty discrepancies, predominately, the omission of attached letters to the file. However, most troubling is an After Action report of a boarding party, initiated by HMAV Atlanta and led by it's Executive Officer, Lord Lieutenant Cameron Wren is completely missing from the local copy.”

Fiona quickly scanned the report, an eyebrow raised as she turned to Constance. “By this, it would appear his Grace deserves the Medallion Crimson at the very least.”

“Oh, it's much deeper than that,” Constance replied. “I had Baldermort check the medical reports of the Atlanta and I found that the surgeon reported that His Grace's heart stopped for a full minute while being operated on for his injuries in the action. A fact his official record expunges.”

“There's a chance he could be tainted!” Vander protested. “He should have been watched for signs of possession...!”

“And yet he wasn't,” Constance replied. “He kissed the sigil of the Emperor, which no Chaos Tainted has ever been able to do, but...”

“We have to test him,” Fiona persisted. “At once!”

Softly, Constance asked her mentor, “Doesn't that tip our hand, Mother?” Worry of one kind was replaced on her face with another, more sinister version.

Rubbing her chin, Fiona nodded finally. “You make a good point.” After a moment of thoughts, she asked, “What if we...” Fiona couldn't continue as she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Frowning, she rose and undogged the hatch to tower over a young petty officer. “Yes?”

“Excuse me, sister,” the young officer replied, then looked beyond her into the cabin. “Palatine, I have your response.”

“Oh, excellent, thank you,” Constance replied, coming to the hatch as she did so. The Petty Officer handed her a slip of paper.

“It was transmitted in the clear, ma'am, or I would never...”

“Thank you, Petty Officer,” Constance interrupted her, though laying a consoling hand on her arm as she did so. Constance could not be as polite as she might like because of the puzzling slip in her hands and it's terse message. She walked back to her desk as Fiona re-secured the hatch and followed her.

“What's this about?” she asked.

“There is another consideration,” the Palatine told her. “Our Inquisitor has invoked his right to masquerade as a member of any organization to further keep an eye on the Duke.”

“Who does he intend to pretend to...wait, you don't mean...?”

“I do,” Connie assured her. “The little miscreant had the stones to suggest it to my face. I wish now I'd killed him by reflex, but I only slapped him. I had a communique in to Revered Mother Winters for guidance and I was awaiting word back.” She raised her hand. “Here it is.”

“Well, what does it say?”

“On my way, take no action until I arrive,” Constance read. The older woman frowned rubbed her chin. “Surely Reverend Mother Winters can't intend to allow...?”

Fiona shrugged. “I've known Abby for a long time. I make a point of never trying to second guess her. She thinks downright sideways some times. So, I suppose we should inform Captain Newberry we won't be leaving as quickly as we thought?”

“Well, she did say no action.”

“I'll tell him,” Vander replied. “Meanwhile, you and I need to put our heads together and make certain there is no chaos taint in our handsome Duke.”

“We're a new Mission,” Constance mulled softly. “And a new Minor Order. I could request a reliquary...”

Vander's smile and wink was all the confirmation Constance needed.

* * *

Gretchen lay in her bunk and stared up at the ceiling as her mind ran in panicked circles. Having a cabin to herself as a lowly squad leader was a luxury on a ship of the line, even one as large as the Vigilant. The 'cabin' wasn't much, a glorified closet, really, with a bed that folded out from a sofa in a room just long and wide enough for it, then another meter of space that was crammed with lockers for her things, a desktop that folded out of the wall, a screen on an armature and a little sliver of open deck between them. The entire room stripped to the walls would likely be only two meters by three.

While it was all hers and she didn't have to share it, Gretchen found it ironic that she chose to.

Next to her, in the hard little futon passing itself off as a bunk, Jennifer stirred in her sleep. Despite her own preferences, Sister Superior Gretchen Wycroff had not intended to seduce Jennifer. Sure, Jennifer just happened to fit the mold that Gretchen liked her women, but the day previous, she had only intended to comfort a fellow Sister in dealing with the harsh reality of combat in service to the Emperor of Mankind. Holding her crying sister, comforting a member of her squad, a life she was responsible for, Gretchen had been fixed on doing her duty, both as a soldier and as a human being. However, Jennifer had done the last things she'd expected.

Jennifer had kissed her.

Some part of Jennifer, having faced the horrors of Chaos Taint, needed to feel the deep connection with another human being. It was a natural reaction to traumatic stress, the need to feel alive, it just happened that she'd picked the person who should not be having this kind of relationship with her trooper. Gretchen sighed, the previous twenty four hours had been amazing. This was clearly not Jennifer's first dance with another girl. There was no shy hesitation, no holding back at all to be honest. Of course, Jennifer had not been Gretchen's first dance partner either. Their lovemaking had been intense, almost feverish and now, spent Gretchen was more relaxed than if she'd had a week off on R&R.

The problem was, she now had to hurt this woman who, otherwise would be an ideal partner.

She had to find some way of telling Jennifer this was their first and last hours stolen from the night. “You're thinking too loud,” Jennifer mumbled into her shoulder.

“Am I?” Gretchen asked with a chuckle and kissed the top of Jennifer's head.

Her face shifted as she got a bit more comfortable. “Yes. You're probably all bent out of shape thinking about how you just banged one of your troopers and how will that look on your next performance evaluation?” A hand found Gretchen's intimate center, causing her to gasp and mew. “I think you'll like my performance evaluation better...”

With a Herculean effort of will, Gretchen reached down and gently, but firmly, removed Jennifer's hand from the inside of her panties. “I'm not doing this because I want to,” she told the younger girl fervently, and she meant it. “I...I can't get involved with someone who reports to me. It's not right.” The expression on Jennifer's face, a mix of sadness and hope ate at Gretchen's resolve. “If you were in another Mission, yes, so much yes, Jen, but there's only twenty five of us! I...I can't...!”

“Nobody has to know...” Jennifer started, but trailed off immediately seeing the look on her lover's face.

“You're better than that, Jen,” Gretchen gently scolded her.

The blonde sighed and rolled over in prelude to sitting up. “I guess I should go, then,” she declared, looking about to figure out which clothes on the floor were hers. Gretchen sat up and gathered the other girl into her arms. Their skin felt so wonderful against each other that it made it hard to think.

“Please, baby, don't take it like that...”

Jennifer turned, her face millimeters from Gretchen's. “How should I take it, Gretch? I'm sorry, are we on duty, Sister Superior? Because if we're not on duty enough to ignore discipline for me to call you 'Gretch' then why the fuck can't we be together off duty?”

Wycroff opened and closed her mouth, not sure what she was trying to say. Truth be told, there wasn't any mention in the regulations about relationships between sisters. There were regulations concerning relationships with civilians; about how the needs of the Order came before any other. The forbidding of being seen patronizing a brothel or negotiating with gigolos, in or out of uniform, and needing approval from one's Canoness Commander to become pregnant. There was no rule about fraternization, but for some reason, it seemed wrong to Gretchen. Still after a long moment, she looked Jennifer in the eye and asked, “Are you willing to go with me to Palatine De La Concordia and ask her permission?”

Jennifer took Gretchen's face in her hands. “Yes,” she answered firmly. “Right now.”

“Breakfast first?”

The blond pushed her back down on the bunk. “No,” she declared. “Breakfast second.”

* * *

Duke Cameron took a moment as he got out of the hover car to take in the flurry of activity around his estate appreciating the ordered chaos carefully being orchestrated by his Major Domo. There were florists and handymen being led about with ladders, all changing the somewhat staid exterior of the Ducal Estate into something out of a fairy tale.

The fortified manor house was readily lent to such comparisons thanks to the Gothic and Neo Baroque style it was built in, white plaster and marble gleaming in the mid morning sun looking down over gardens that were kept with the precision of a military parade ground. He could see electricians stringing ropes of LED lights in the vines and flowered garlands that, after dark, would likely make the house glow with magic. The water from the fountain and basin the main rotunda of the drive looped around would be made to run in a rainbow of colors that glowed and faded artistically.

A grin settled on his face from ear to ear with the vindication of knowing if you took care of your staff, your staff would always take care of you. He was uncharacteristically enthusiastic as he took the arm of Henry Eddington, the expert manager of his household, and pumped it vigorously. “Henry, you've outdone yourself!” he congratulated as he looked about, everywhere his gaze fell he found people working, stringing banners and garlands with abandon.

“Modesty forbids, sir,” Eddington replied in his cultured, slightly accented baritone. “I daresay the lads have come through in fine fashion, however.”

“Outstanding,” Cameron declared, practically giddy with seeing movement on his plans. “And how goes the search for the convent?”

From behind his back, the Major Domo produced a data-slate that he offered to the Duke as he fell in at his side, walking up the wide, shallow steps to the house proper. “I've taken the liberty of reducing the selection to three on your behalf, sir, keeping in mind your requirements was not an easy task, but I think you'll be pleased.”

He took the slate and quickly glanced through the entries as they swept through the foyer into the grand hall. “Oh, yes, the old Montrose Estate, that's...”

“Just up the road,” Henry finished with a smile. “I rather thought you'd prefer that site.”

Wren paused and took in the long face of his chief of staff. “What kind of condition is it in?”

“The facilities are all functional, power, water and the like,” Henry replied. “I'd imagine the entire estate could use a good cleaning and attention from a Gardner, but there is plenty of space for a cadre of such combative minded women as Sisters of Battle. Likely enough improvements to be made that they shan't worry about being maneuvered into this particular site.”

Wren beamed. “What would I do without you, Henry?”

“I'm sure I don't know, sir.”

“Invitations?”

“All out this morning, by courier, sir. Already I have confirmation from both the supplemental caterer to assist Chef and his staff, as well as the musicians. They should be arriving after lunch.”

“Carry on, Henry, I see you have everything well in hand.”

“Thank you, sir. Have you broken your fast as yet? I can have Chef...”

Cameron waved him off over his shoulder as he headed for the grand staircase and his private apartments. “No, no, I'm fine. Have to try and catch up on things before this evening.”

“Very good, sir.”

* * *

Chapter Seven

Garters and Daggers

Ruth threw her kit bag on the bunk she had vacated just an hour or two ago and growled with repressed anger. “Pack to leave, unpack we're staying, make up your Emperor Damned minds!” she muttered, unfortunately right as Sister Vander was walking by. The older woman paused and laid a hand on Ruth's shoulder.

“At ease, Sister, I'm sure Palatine De La Concordia has every reason to delay our departure.”

Ruth's temper got a hold of her tongue before her mind could. “You'd know, wouldn't you, Sister?” she demanded angrily, snatching her shoulder out of the other woman's grasp. “What is it between you and the Palatine, anyway?”

Fiona's expression changed from concern to disapproval. “What confidences I have, are just that,” she declared softly. “You all volunteered, you knew...”

“No,” Ruth corrected her vehemently, her finger coming up in accusation. “I didn't volunteer. My Squad Leader volunteered the entire squad!” Her arm swept the other members of the squad who now were watching the little drama unfold, much to Fiona's deterioration of mood. “Right in the middle of convalescent leave, in strolls Sister Superior Wycroff who informs us we just got dumped out of the Order we picked, the MOS we trained for and suddenly we're all bound for the hind end of the Empire! And for what? To baby sit some uptight idiot with a silver spoon up his ass?”

Vander's disapproval pulled into a more menacing expression of dislike. “And you could have sought transfer before we deployed.”

“Leave my squad?” Ruth demanded, her anger now in full command of her mouth. “Leave the Sisters I trained with? When we all know what each other are doing without saying a word? Get lumped in with ten strangers and start over? Fat chance!” There were murmurs of agreement just at the edge of Fiona's hearing and she realized this had to be snuffed out and quickly before it festered into something worse.

“Then you did volunteer,” Vander told her tightly, raising her voice to address the entire squad. “So every one of you screw that into your heads. You all volunteered, now put a lid on your belly aching and get your minds in the game. This isn't a simple assignment, and everyone of us needs each other sharp and paying attention!” Turning back to the dark faced source of this little drama, Vander tapped her on the shoulder, right on her rank epaulet. “You want to be in charge, Elohiem Advance? Act like it! Lead your sisters, and get your head out of your ass; shut up and soldier!”

“You want me to soldier, sister?” Ruth snarled. “Let's! For starters, you're right! I am Elohiem Advance Ruth Whitworth and you will address me as such!”

“You really do not want to go down this road, Eloheim,” Vander replied.

“Yes, yes I do,” Ruth replied as she stormed over to the communications panel by the hatch. “I want this sorted right rutting now!” She slapped the panel on and after a moment it was picked up. “Palatine De La Concordia, Elohiem Advance Whitworth. Sorry to trouble you, ma'am, but I wonder if you could sort out an issue on our TOA for us regarding Sister Vander.”

There was a burst of static, and suddenly a hologram of the Palatine appeared by the hatch. “Attention on deck,” she ordered, her face stern. The sisters all braced into attention and the hologram turned to face her mentor. “Sister Vander, front and center.”

“Ma'am,” the Sister replied as she marched to stand beside the hologram, facing the combined sisters of the mission. The girls looked nervously at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

“Ladies, allow me to introduce former Canoness Preceptor Fiona Vander. Canoness Vander has fought in every major campaign of the Convent Sanctorum for the last hundred years. That means multiple combat drops into Espandor, Parmenio, and Lax. She also took part in the boarding action of the Star Fort Galatan! She has fought every Zenos threat and Chaos demon known to Man as well as corruption in our own order as displayed by her success in the Rite of Repentance. I am appointing her as the acting Legatine of our Mission; she answers to me, and to me alone. Is this clear?”

“Yes, Palatine!” the room echoed, both subdued and a bit awed at the revelation.

The hologram turned to Ruth. “Does this settle the TOA to your satisfaction, Elohiem Advance?”

Ruth stood stiffer at attention. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Carry on,” the hologram replied, before it faded away.

Fiona glared at the room for a moment, then shook her head. “Anyone asking me for a war story will be cleaning latrines for a month!” she declared, then satisfied they were cowed, turned back to Ruth. The young woman stood at perfect attention in the way most young Non-Commissioned Officers did when they had fucked up in sight of the brass. Ruth had fucked up in spectacular fashion, but had the sense to realize it and that was plain on her face. Fiona decided to try diplomacy so she walked over to the young sister and in a tone of voice only she could hear, commanded, “Now that we're settled, Elohiem Advance, I want your head out of your ass. So go do whatever you do to relax and get your mind back in the game. Go to the small arms center and put rounds down range, sleep, go get laid, build a ship in an Emperor Damned bottle, whatever it is, you obviously need it. Go do it. That's an order.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Out of my sight,” Fiona declared and Ruth scampered through the hatch as quick as she could. Fiona sighed and turned to face the crowd of women, most still at attention and all staring at her. “As you were,” she ordered and headed back to the somewhat isolated bunk at the back of the compartment that she'd claimed from before.

* * *

Constance sighed as she clicked off the hologram camera and shook her head. “I'm getting old,” she scolded herself. I should have promoted Fiona before we left the Convent of the Healing Heart. She winced as she realized the amount of paperwork she had just assigned herself, and likely an official inquiry of bias in command judgment assuming she survived long enough for the Mission to be established in the first place.

Perhaps sooner, since Canoness Winter was coming.

De La Concordia frowned as she remembered the cryptic message she had received and wondered again why the Canoness would be coming in person, rather than sending a sealed order packet or even a bio-metric locked survo skull. Her thoughts were disturbed by the door tone and she quickly pulled herself together before answering, “Come.”

The hatch opened, revealing Sister Superior Wycroff and another sister who's name escaped Constance. Just what I need, she thought to herself. More personnel problems. Out loud, she asked, “Yes?”

The two sisters came to attention and Gretchen spoke. “Palatine, Sister Hamilton and I were hoping...that is, we'd like your permission...”

The stuttering at least took the edge off this being a serious personnel issue. “If you're bucking for a transfer, Sister Superior, you're out of luck. I'm short handed as it is.”

“Oh, no ma'am,” Gretchen replied, her cheeks blushing. “You see, the regulations are silent on this particular topic and, well, it's personal, and...” Jennifer sighed noisily and rolled her eyes.

“Begging your pardon, ma'am,” she declared forcefully, “the Sister Superior and I would like your permission to have a sexual relationship.”

Connie leaned back in her chair, somewhat taken aback. “I...see...” she drawled. “And you need my permission because...?”

“I am a member of the Sister Superior's squad, and thus I report to her,” Hamilton replied evenly. “Gretchen is concerned that would make our off time 'recreation' an asterisk beside her reviews of my conduct.”

“The Sister Superior has a point,” Connie declared. “Our small size means we depend more than most on being ready for action, being able to depend on each other. Splitting loyalties, or the appearance of favoritism undermines the chain of command.”

“We understand that, ma'am,” Gretchen managed, getting back into the conversation. “I just wanted to be above board and since there was no regulation against it, we thought your permission would be the best course.”

Connie drummed her fingers on her desk for a moment, giving each woman a measuring stare. Finally, she made a decision and made sure her command face was set. “We are a small Mission, ladies and I expect we'll be operating on somewhat detached status for some time. Normally, I would agree with Sister Superior Wycroff and err on the side of caution, but because I need my troopers in top shape, I'm inclined to be somewhat flexible due to our isolated nature. Let me be clear, the first time it comes to my attention what the two of you engage in on your off hours is affecting your performance, that will be the end of this lenience. Understood?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the lovers declared in chorus.

“Wycroff, have Sister Superior Marks double check any paperwork you have to generate concerning Sister Hamilton.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I'll depend on your discretion, ladies, otherwise, what you do in your off hours isn't my concern. Permission granted. Anything else?”

“No, ma'am.”

Jennifer grinned. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“Don't make me regret this,” De La Concordia cautioned them. “Dismissed.”

* * *

The Ward Room of the Vigilant was becoming something of a second home to Constance as she poured herself a glass of tea from the beverage mess in preparation for taking her lunch. She had long ago learned to ignore the surreptitious glances of the junior officers her Order sometimes had to interact with on their way to and from engagements. At her age, it was a bit flattering if she was honest with herself, thankful for the martial lifestyle and modern medicine that let her turn heads at fifty.

Even if her body did not look thirty yet.

Of course, it wouldn't do to allow those same young officers to know she found their appreciative glances flattering, so she kept her face neutral as she returned to the small table in the corner she had laid claim to on the journey. Setting her tea beside the pot roast and potatoes the galley had made for the Officer's lunch, she bowed her head and let her nose appreciate the aroma of the food. Potatoes were an essential part of the Vigilant's waste management system, like all human space craft, and so were a staple food, practically omnipresent at meal time in some form. The meat had been heavily processed to give it longevity and shelf life, but humanity had been in space for forty millennia at this point, with plenty of experience in turning long shelf life food stores into palatable meals. While her head was bowed, she softly blessed the meal to the strength of her body and the needs of her Emperor, noting that the soft susurrus of conversation in the Ward Room ceased as she did so.

It was good that ship's chaplain was doing such an exemplary job in keeping up the religious zeal of the crew.

The meal blessed, she took up her utensils and began to eat; appearing to not notice conversation in the compartment resume. It was not that Constance and her Mission were the only females on board, the actual ratio of males to females in the crew was probably below sixty forty, but they were new and novelty had a charm that was quite powerful to the human male.

Not just the human male, she admitted to herself as her mind brought up the image of Duke Wren from her memory. Perpetuation of the species was a sacrament, after all, and there was nothing sinful about the act of procreation. A forkful of pot roast paused halfway to her mouth. How long had it been since she'd enjoyed the attentions of a man? A year? Before her last mission, surely, but that would make her estimate plural, wouldn't it? Fortunately, before her thoughts could become more depressing the ship's bracelet on her wrist vibrated.

The bracelet concealed a small computer and up link device that was tied into the power broadcast of the ship. It was specific to her, so her whereabouts were tracked in case she was needed and allowed for an interface to the ship's communications system. A quick sip of tea got her mouth clear and she pressed the acknowledgment button on the bracelet. Just off her tray, in the center of the table, the head and shoulders of the petty officer from communications appeared and her voice, coming from a small speaker microphone in the ear ring Constance was wearing, spoke. “Sorry to disturb your meal, Palatine, I have a call coming in from the planet for you. Duke Wren.”

Constance couldn't keep a look of surprise from her face, but was glad only she would be able to hear what the Duke had to say. “Put him through, thank you.”

A burst of static replaced the young woman's head with the Duke, looking dashing in billowed sleeve shirt that left a scandalous amount of his chest exposed. “My lady, no hologram could ever do your beauty justice.”

“While only I can hear you, your grace, I should warn you I'm at lunch in the Ward Room of the Vigilant, so be mindful. What can I do for you?”

He sketched an elegant bow. “I come with glad tidings, I hope,” he informed her. “My Seneschal has been able to find suitable lodgings for your convent.”

“We're hardly worthy of the personal attention of your grace,” she replied. “But please extend my gratitude to your Seneschal.”

The grin on his face widened. “You can tell him yourself, if you like. The actual reason I called was to invite you to a ball this evening. If you'll permit me the honor of escorting you, I should like to introduce you to the upper crust of society, or what passes for it in our little corner of the Empire.”

“A ball?” she replied, her mind rapidly considering the possibilities such an event would offer. As a method of practical intelligence on the current situation of the world, it was priceless. And it had the added bonus of spending additional time in the Duke's company. Time she found she was coming to enjoy.

“Indeed. And you needn't concern Captain Newberry with your transportation needs, I have a shuttle already on its way up for your convenience.” He read the uncertainty on her face and turned the charm up a notch. “You should know, I simply won't accept 'no' for an answer. I've only been apart a handful of hours and already I must see you again.”

Constance smirked. “Oh, really?”

“Your disbelief wounds me, my lady!” he protested with a great drama. “Why, my food has no savor denied the light of your presence! And please, do not hesitate if you would like to bring your entire mission in escort. My humble abode shall surely shine the brighter for their brilliance.”

De La Concordia leaned forward and placed her chin in her hand. She doubted there was anything humble about the Ducal residence, though that also would be a window into the kind of man he was. Still, it wouldn't do to appear eager, so she drawled, “Your grace flirts with desperation with such excess.”

“Did I over sell it?” he asked with a laugh. “It did feel like I over sold it. Ah, well, the proverbial cat is out of the bag, the invitation is extended and cannot be withdrawn.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Not to worry, your grace, your faux pas is safe with me. And we'll be delighted to accept so over sold an invitation.”

“Be still, my beating heart!” he exclaimed. “I will count the minutes until your arrival.”

“Be sure to breathe,” she cautioned him. “Blue isn't your color.” He bowed again and with a rakish smile disappeared from the table. However, this only proved she was in great demand as the wrist bracelet was already vibrating again. Not bothering to wipe the smile from her face, the Palatine made an adjustment and moments later a hologram of Fiona graced her table. “Ah, Fiona, I was just about to call you.”

“Palatine?” she asked.

“Did you remember to pack your dancing shoes, Legatine?” The look of confusion on her mentor's face was priceless. “Turn out the mission in Mess Dress, Fiona,” she ordered around her mirth. “Evidently, we have a date, this evening.”

“I can't wait to hear the explanation for this one,” Fiona chuckled.

“Me too,” De La Concordia shot back. Then paused when the hologram of her newly promoted Executive Officer didn't leave the table. “Something else, Legatine?”

“Yes, ma'am. I have notification from the CIC, there is a destroyer coming along side us; the HMAV Saint Arabella.”

Constance's eyebrow rose as she finished chewing her current mouthful and swallowed it. “Reverend Mother Winters? Here, already?”

“Evidently she put our troublesome Inquisitor at the top of her to do list.” Vander replied as her protege wolfed down a last morsel. “Eat quickly, I'll meet her and bring her to your office.” Constance's eyes did her thanking for her as Fiona's hologram snapped off and gave her just enough time to get enough food so her stomach would not growl at an embarrassing time. That accomplished, she handed her plate and glass over to the Steward of the Wardroom and directed her feet quickly to her office.

* * *

De La Concordia was able to beat Fiona and the Reverend Mother to her office, but not by much. Still she was able to get the coffee pot going so she could offer refreshment to her superior and catch her breath in sufficient time to collect her thoughts. She was just pouring out the cups where there came the door tone. “Come,” she commanded and the door opened on the Reverend Mother and Legatine Vander. Constance placed the cup on her desk to formally drop a curtsy. “Reverend Mother, we are honored by your presence. Will you rest yourself and join me for refreshment?”

“No time for formality, Constance,” Abaigail told her as she and Fiona entered the little bulkhead and paused for Vander to close and dog the hatch shut. “Though I will have some of that coffee,” she said to soften her arrival and swept over to hug Constance and kiss her forehead. “The Emperor guide and protect you, my daughter.”

“Your insight makes me wise, Reverend Mother,” she replied. “Please, sit. Cream and Sugar I believe?” Abigail nodded, adding the condiments to her coffee and stirring it to her liking. “I take it my message reached you, what is your will?”

The warmth left Abigail's face as she stirred her coffee. “Constance, what is your opinion of this fool Jonas? How serious is he about what he desires?” A shadow as equally grave fell across Constance's face as she handed a cup to Fiona before pouring her own.

“Serious enough to suggest it to my face, in striking distance.” De La Concordia sighed and shook her head as she returned to her desk and sat. “I wish I'd killed him by reflex. To answer you, Reverend Mother, I believe he means to have the ship's surgeon carve on him until he thinks he'll be able to pass as a Sister. Then to don our raiments and dishonor us. If I allow it, I risk dishonoring our entire order and if I refuse I risk civil war in the Ecclesiarchy.”

The Reverend Mother turned to her other Sister. “Fiona? What is your opinion?”

The Legatine sat up a bit straighter in her chair and ran a hand over her shaved scalp that was trying to regrow from her Rite. “Reverend Mother, it is not my place to...”

“Don't hide behind rules with me, Fi, we've known each other too long,” Abigail scolded her.

“Alright, Abby,” Vander replied. “Yes, I agree with Constance. He's just the sort of little snake that would turn this into a major schism. He'll push until he gets his way or is flat refused and then he'll call a Crusade. He thinks his office protects him from our third alternative, so he has either some level of courage, or is a fool. I have no doubt he would follow through with this surgical blasphemy.”

Winters sighed again and let her gaze wander between her old friend and her protege. “There is, ladies a fourth option. One I dearly hoped would not be necessary, but I don't see any alternative. Yet, you both agree he will not back down, therefor we must indulge his loathsome request, but on our terms.”

Constance frowned. “What terms could we offer that would allow him to impersonate a Sister while not allowing a man under arms in our ranks?”

Suddenly all of Abigail Winter's age settled on her and she looked every bit her two hundred plus years. From her coffee, she looked and fixed her sternest gaze on Constance. “With me, I have brought the still living, but mortal remains of Sister Rachel...Winter.”

“Rachel died?” Fiona demanded, horrified.

“A training accident,” Abigail replied, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “She fell off a Rhino tank and her head struck the side armor on the way down. We tried everything, even a Psyker, but...” The Reverend Mother was remarkably stoic. “My daughter is with the Emperor, but her body is here and, I am informed, there is a qualified surgeon on this ship who can maintain survo-skulls...”

Constance's face went white. “Reverend Mother...?”

At the same moment, Fiona leapt to her feet. “Abby, you can't be serious...!”

Reverend Mother Winter slapped the desk she sat before with the palm of her hand so sharply it sounded like a thunderclap. “Do not make this harder for me!” she declared with a quiet force that did what it needed without volume. “Our choices are war or dishonor or...sacrifice! I choose Sacrifice, as befits our Order and our Master!” She turned to her old friend, her gaze steel and her eyes on fire. “Fiona, my sister, go and collect up this little monster and bring him here so he can choose.”

Vander stood slowly, and though there were tears in her eyes, she kept them there. “If he refuses, I will strike him dead.”

“No,” Winter declared somberly. “I will. On your way.”

Fiona bowed with great dignity. “Yes, Reverend Mother.” She headed to the hatch, already talking to her ship bracelet. “Security alert, locate Jonas Merle.”

* * *

Vander's long legs ate distance, even with a ship the size of the Vigilant. Even though her face was stern, stern enough that the ships' personnel hastily stepped out of her way, her thoughts were a chaotic mess. She had wondered why Abigail had been so distant when she had arrived on Banudan, now many things made much more sense. A part of her wept at the loss of her friend's daughter, and more so at the defilement of her remains all for the pleasure of a self serving little nobody.

Who, it figured, had not even bothered to rise yet.

With in short order, she had arrived back at the visiting officer's quarters on the ship where Constance herself had a cabin, as well as the rest of the mission. As she made her way down the corridors, a door opened, revealing of all people, Eloheim Advance Ruth Whitworth who was emerging from a cabin Fiona knew was not hers. She was also in a rather disheveled condition that could best be described as 'rode hard and put away wet.' “Whitworth,” Fiona snapped, and the smile melted off the face of the young NCO at her approach.

She gave a little jerk as if trying to come to attention and restore her uniform to a presentable condition at the same time. “Legatine!”

“At ease,” Vander ordered as she passed. “Your head out of your ass, girl?”

“Yes, Legatine. I mean, I appreciate...”

Over her shoulder, Fiona snapped, “Don't mention it. With me, now.” Ruth trotted to catch up to the older woman while getting her Day Habit in a more presentable condition. “Back me up, take no action before me.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ruth replied, unconsciously falling in step with her superior and getting her game face on in remarkable speed. She noted the older woman's wink at her and allowed herself a smile of the cat that got the cream variety. “I hope I haven't pissed in my own beer too badly, Legatine.”

Fiona found that funny and chuckled darkly. “You're young, learn from your mistakes and don't repeat them and you'll do fine.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

“Twenty seven fifty one,” Vander said to herself. “Here we are.” She paused and disdained the door sensor to beat on the door with a closed fist. “Jonas Merle! Open in the name of the Emperor of Mankind!”

Two doors, the next down the hall, and the one on the other side of the hall opened, their occupants saw a pair of Battle Sisters in the hallway and promptly decided it was none of their business. Those doors closed as Twenty Seven Fifty One opened. “What's the meaning of this?” the Inquisitor demanded.

“Jonas Merle, you are summoned to the presence of Canoness-Preceptor Abigail Winters,” she declared with the voice of a thunderstorm. “You can come on your feet, or in chains, how do you answer?” The eyes of the weasel like man opened bit as he began to comprehend his situation.

“On...on my feet,” he stammered.

“Wise choice,” Vander retorted as she reached in getting a handful of the jacket Jonas was wearing to pull him from his cabin and roughly searched him for weapons. Finding none, the Battle Sister propeled him down the hall towards the Palatine's office. Once or twice he thought to either protest his treatment, or attempt to ferret out information to what he was facing, but Fiona Vander was stone faced and in no mood to entertain his cowardice, and each attempt was met with silence and a shove to encourage a faster pace.

When they arrived at the office, Ruth stepped around her superior's hostage and pressed the call button by the door, then posted herself there, making it clear they would not be disturbed while she lived. Fiona gave the younger woman a nod of respect and when Constance opened the door, Vander took the inquisitor by the shoulder and frog marched him into the cabin.

The door closed with awful finality behind her.

* * *

Band of Sisters: Part Six

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Constance 2.jpg

Chapter Ten

Fading Dreams

The entire vehicle shook as bolter rounds slammed into it's back quarter pushing it sideways. The Rhino, a squat, rhomboid shaped box on a pair tracks skidded in the mud, pushed sideways off what was passing as a road and into the ditch beside it. In the driver's compartment alarms began to blare and the worst light on the warning panel lit up: Track Failure. Rachael swore her choicest invectives as one hand slapped the rapid release of her harness and the other was reaching for her helmet. “Out! Out!” she shouted, the armor was holding, but probably not for much longer. “Starboard side!” The starboard hatch fell open and ten Battle Sisters flowed out like a river of black armored death.

Helmet in hand, Rachael grabbed the remote, swinging the storm bolter on its pintle mount on the roof of the disabled armored transport in the direction of fire her Rhino was taking. The Thermal Imager showed a traitor Marine in damaged power armor who had picked up an emplacement bolter and was using it as a personal weapon. His helmet was off and the Marine's eyes were wide and wild with Chaos madness. That gave her an opening that might save them all. “I've got something for you, traitor!” she growled. Rachael saw her target and held down the remote's trigger. The bolter on the roof roared, hammering the traitor Space Marine with explosive rounds that knocked him off balance, as they were unable to penetrate his armor. He threw up an arm to protect his defenseless head, which meant he had to stop shooting. Grinning, Rachael yanked the remote until she worked the stream down into a case of mortar rounds she'd seen.

The explosion blanked out the screen for several seconds and when the smoke and fire finally abated, most of the traitor's armor was still standing, but the traitor's head was missing. The gun fell out of his dead hands onto the sandbags of the position that the armor had shielded from the blast.

Problem solved.

The squad she'd been carrying had formed a ring around the stricken Rhino as Rachael clamored out, coming around to the far corner to assess the damage. The track had been severed, but only about two sections had been damaged. Fortunately, she had a spare bit of five track sections on the roof, but the drive sprocket was a mangled mess. This wasn't going to be repaired in the field. “Emperor's teeth!” she snarled. She pulled her helmet on and got the Vox thrower set to the right frequency. “Telestial, Telestial, this is Lucky Forward, I'm on foot and need a retrieval, how copy, over?”

“Lucky Forward, roger, we have your locator, retrieval priority is seven, what is the status of your passengers?”

Rachael carefully kept her language clean for the broadcast. “Squad and I are signal one, standing by.”

“Lucky Forward, negative stand by, proceed on mission to way point sigma. Discharged to squad Sister, how copy, over?”

“Orders received and understood,” she growled. “Lucky Forward clear.” With a sigh at her lack of luck, despite her Rhino's name, she tromped through muck of the battlefield to the Sister Superior of the squad she'd been hauling. “Joan, I'm on foot, they're going to wait until this sector is more pacified to do vehicle retrieval, so I've been attached to you. We're to proceed on your mission.”

The white faced visor of Joan's Sabbat Pattern helmet swung up, revealing her grinning face. “Glad to have you, Driver! Nice shooting with that remote.”

“Thanks,” she laughed. “If any of your girls have a storm, there's rounds left over in the box.”

Joan nodded and called over her shoulder. “Tamura! Clean out that ammo box on the Rhino! We're walking from here, ladies.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Tamura replied as she dropped the heavy bolter she was carrying on its sling to free her hands so she could scramble up the Rhino and pull out the bolter ammo on its belt. “Should I disable this gun, 'Supe?” she called and Rachael shook her head.

“Don't break my gun!” she yelled, but the Sister Superior put a hand on Rachael's shoulder.

“I can't leave operational ordinance behind us,” she apologized. Turning up to her trooper, she ordered, “Pull the firing pins and give them to the Driver.” Rachael nodded her understanding and got her bolter and magazine belt from the lock box on the side of the Rhino.

The boxy, snub nosed battle rifle hanging from it's sling around her neck, she set about getting the belt comfortable as she fell in with the squad returning to the muddy road. The optics in her helmet told her Way Point Sigma was the better part of a kilometer down this mud track, through the ruins of a little hamlet that would likely have looked quaint and charming on a post card before this last week.

Last week the 78^th Manzipor Cannoniers, having reduced the capital of Goshen IV to twenty square kilometers of rubble and blasted buildings, where now spreading their attention out into the country side. A twenty minute bombardment had turned an idyllic, rural landscape to a mud and crater hell of blasted trees, burned grass and irregularly shaped piles of stone and burned rubble that had once been homes, businesses and places of life.

Which underscored exactly how tough Space Marines, even traitor Space Marines were and Rachael desperately prayed the one responsible for putting them on foot was the sole survivor.

It was a long, grueling slog through the muck and bits of dead farm animals, every head on a swivel, every heart beating, wondering when the next enemy would make himself known by trying to kill them. The sister in front of Rachael raised her fist, dropping silently to one knee, which Rachael aped, passing the halt order down the line. Rachael got her bolter in her hands, made sure it was charged and swept her eyes over the side of the road that was her section to watch.

“Heads up,” whispered Joan's voice in the speaker in her helmet, “multiple heat sources in the town ahead.”

Rachael kicked herself for not already having her helmet's lenses set to thermal and did so, just in time to see five man shaped thermal images in the process of charging another emplacement bolter on a wheeled carriage. “Contact right!” she screamed. “Heavy weapon!” She was able to throw herself onto her stomach just as the bolter opened up and the one in five tracers began to zip over head, snapping and whistling as they broke the sound barrier. Rachael got her own bolter up and burped it three times, raking her fire over the gun, watching the thermal images fly apart, in clouds of cooling blood as her rounds found their marks.

The Gates of Hell swung wide and opened onto the little road as the bright red beams of lasrifles flashed over head and the staccato snaps of bolter rounds trying to find flesh flew by. The sound filters on the helmet kept the din from deafening the women as they frantically worked to defend themselves, while the local vox kept each in contact with the others. “You need to change your armor, Driver?” laughed Tamura as she stood in the hail of death, bathed in laser fire that was washing off the ceremite of her armor, as she got the storm bolter pointed in the right direction and it's motor up to speed.

“Die, Heretics!” she snarled as the bolter opened up, hosing the weapon left and right into the ruins in front of them. The other girls in the squad laughed with her until Tamura's rounds found something volatile and a massive explosion flashed up, flattening the remains of the building.

* * *

Jonas snapped awake, startled by the vividness of the dream and panting into the mask as her heart thundered in her chest. Her eyes stung for a moment as the recovery gel bathed them as until her eyes became used to something physically against them again. Outside the tank, through the glass, she could vaguely see the room, distorted by both the gel and the glass. She saw June stand and walk over to the tank where she could see her better. “Bad dream?” June asked and Jonas heard her through the vox built into the straps of the mask on his face.

“Out!” she shouted, her voice muffled by the mask. “I want out!”

The Sister Hospitalier's voice became stern. “You can't come out yet, so stop thrashing! If you pull that mask off your face you'll drown before I can get the tank drained, so calm down!” Jonas shook all over and grabbed herself, trying to fight the overwhelming sense of panic.

That made her aware she had breasts. “I...I can't...! I can't breathe! Let me out!”

June turned back to the desk and her lips moved, but no sound came from the speaker, the microphone must be off. Jonas felt a little jolt, like a small electric shock, then a second one and her entire body spasmed in the most incredible orgasm of her life. It raced up and down her nervous system while her stomach and thighs trembled and spasmed. Unable to keep silent, she moaned into the mask and her hands banged into the glass of the tank as she tried to open herself completely to these incredible sensations. “If you couldn't breathe,” June's voice whispered in her ear. “You couldn't complain about not being able to breathe.”

“What...what was that?” she stammered in a fog, trying to force her jaw to work through the magnificent afterglow. Her body had been dipped in liquid pleasure and her mouth was trying desperately to lick her fingers.

The Sister's face was smug. “Just a little jolt directly to the pleasure center of your brain. I thought that would help you calm down.”

“It...was...amazing...” she whispered. “Can...can I...again...?”

“No,” the Hospitalier declared. “Want to feel it again? Find a lover, not a doctor. Now, I need you to stay in there for another twenty minutes. Can you do that?” Jonas sighed and nodded. “Good. What did you dream?”

“I...I was driving a truck, or something. I think maybe it was a Rhino. And it was disabled and I had to go with my passengers and we were ambushed.” She laughed a hallow laugh. “It was quite a fantasy, I even killed a traitor Space Marine.”

Something whispered in June's memory. “Where was this?” she asked quietly.

“Goshen IV,” Jonas replied. “Just a dream, why?” She watched the sister walk back over to the desk and begin to work the Cogitator.

June's voice was determined as she worked. “Have you ever been to Goshen IV?”

The pause in Rachael's voice was just long enough to notice. “Yes...I was...part of the Inquisition Team there, beyond that I can't say.” June rolled her eyes.

“I don't care about your secrets, did you see combat?”

“Of course not!” she growled. “I was...well, I was in the rear area, and then mostly back on the Emperor's Fist.” The Hospitalier worked a control and an image appeared in the glass. It was a bit hard to make out through the gel, but it was a picture of the dead traitor Marine and Jonas could see a lovely young woman in Sororitas power armor standing before the headless corpse. She was grinning, looking through the flexed bicep of her right arm in the universal symbol of powerful women. She had dimples and heart shaped face under a mop of milk white hair that was mused from wearing the helmet and shining blue eyes.

There was something familiar about the face, but Jonas couldn't place it.

“That's the traitor Marine from my dream!” she exclaimed. “I shot him with the bolter on the Rhino and set off...”

“A box of mortars,” June finished as she walked back over. “That Sister in the picture is you. That is Sister whose body you are wearing. I heard this story from Sister Superior Joan Lang, who was there and took this picture.” June's eyes became steely. “I heard her tell the story at the wake of Rachael Winter.”

An icy cold stab of dread pierced Jonas' heart and any trace of that wonderful feeling from before was now long gone. “Winter?” she whispered. “Am...I...?”

“Yes,” June told her coldly. “She is your mother. And if you're learning this for the first time from me, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“What happened?!” she demanded, once more in the clutch of the panic from before. “How? Why?”

“I told you,” the Sister replied flatly. “You fell off your Rhino and hit your head on the way down. And the day the Reverend Mother was to say good bye to her daughter, to see her buried with honor in the Garden of the Fallen, she came to me and had me remove her brain and bury it in secret, then pack her body up and bring her here, so this could be done. For you.” There was no invective in the sister's voice, no accusation or demand of guilt, for she had no need of any. The truth of the words themselves did all the accusation for her.

The fear left Jonas, pushed out by a much stronger emotion. Because June Campanelli was right, Jonas Merle was ashamed of herself.

* * *

The balcony of Dachaigh held a magnificent view of the valley and over head, the stars shone in the moon light. Constance wasn't cold, despite the chill in the air, but the Duke had insisted on removing his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. The mugs of coffee he provided were delicious and warming against the slightly cool air as she followed his arm to the building he was pointing at. “Just there, at the top of the hill, you can see it. That's the Montrose Estate and most of the land around the hill to the river over there belong to it.”

“Your grace is very generous,” Constance assured him. “Hard to see in this light, but it looks like it will be ideal.”

He smiled at her, pausing his mug as he was about to take a sip. “My lady, we are alone and there is no one listening to scandalize. Please, feel free to call me Cameron.” The Sister of Battle arched an eyebrow at him and took a sip of her own coffee to give her time to decide how she would respond.

“Don't think I don't see what you're doing, Cameron,” she decided.

A grin hung itself on his face. “What, my lady Constance, am I doing?”

She smirked and turned back to the view of what would be her new home, noting not the least of which that it doubtlessly lay in view of the Duke's bedroom. “You are playing with fire,” she replied. “I was born at night, your grace, but it was not last night. I can see your lust as plain as when you kissed the back of my armored hand. What kind of a man flirts with his potential executioner?”

He leaned against the stone railing to better admire her side long. “An innocent one, who has nothing to fear from a fellow loyal survant of our Emperor. If my advances are unwelcome, please, accept my unconditional and abject apology for them. Command me, and I will cease, even though I am a mere man, overwhelmed by the beauty before me to forget myself.”

“Oh, you are good,” she complimented.

He dipped his head in what he actually managed to make appear humble. “I am inspired by an angelic muse of singular perfection.” He took a sip and his smile returned. “And, despite my reputation, I am capable of controlling myself and you have my word; no matter what does, or does not pass between us, I will not allow anything to jepardize the relationship of the Duke of Thuria and his Sister Famula.”

She sighed, and reached out to pat his cheek. “I'll have you know, that were I a lowly Celestian, and you some Home Guard captain I would throw you on whatever bed or couch was handy and command you to your duty to the Emperor.”

His grin spread from ear to ear as he reached up to take her hand and kiss it. “Were I some humble Home Guard captain, your slightest wish would be my instant command.”

“But we are not those people,” she said sadly. “I am a mission commander, charged with sheparding this house to the greater glory of the Emperor.”

“That's not a command for me to cease persuing you, Constance De La Concorida,” he observed. She gently freed her hand from his grip and wagged a finger at him in rebuke.

“You are maddening, Cameron Wren!” she told him. “What good does it do you to persue me? Am I the final trophy notch on your bedpost? The ultimate conquest? Do have any idea how many different ways I could kill you with just my bare hands?”

“More than I care to contemplate,” he said softly, “I'm sure.” Deciding to change tactics, he sat down his mug to the side, then laid both of his hands on the stone rail behind him and half sat on it. “Though I note my lady is capable of being remarkably direct, she chooses not to be. Do not misunderstand my persuit, you are not a prize for my collection, which even I have the humility to be embarrassed over. I was young, not that I offer that as an excuse or indulgence for my lotharios. It is simple explination. Young men are foolish, and do foolish things.”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” she warned him.

To her slight surprise, he nodded in agreement. “You are exactly right. Now how can I, with my reputation, plead a lovesuit to a lady of quality and decernment? A heroine of our empire, a pious warrior of the church, a creature of singular wit and awe inspiring beauty.” Constance's smirk returned.

“You're over selling it again.”

“A woman of your quality deserves to be over sold,” he replied. “Not that I am up to the challenge, though I will try with gleeful abandon.”

“What are you telling me?” she demanded, looking at him askance. “That you desire what? Some kind of lenghty formal arrangement? You think to make me your mistress and have me preform my duties while being snickered at behind my back?”

“Any man who so much as looks ascance at my wife will find his life short, his death long and creative in its execution.”

Despite herself, Constance was so taken aback by his words she faultered a step backwards. “Are you proposing marriage to me?” she demanded. “A woman you met scarcely a week previous who, I remind your grace, was pointing a gun at you!”

Now it was his turn to smirk. “As I recall, your pistol was on your thigh and your hands empty, save for your rosette.” Constance had taken all she could and, unable to contain herself, reached out and slapped him sharply across the mouth.

“What do you take me for, Cameron Wren?” she shouted at him. “Some moon struck little whore who will swoon at empty promises of marriage? Do you think I don't know exactly what you're after?” His head snapped to the side from the force of her slap, but he didn't loose his balance and stood up off the rail to sternly return her gaze, then sank to one knee before her.

“Forgive me, my lady. On reflection, I realize how my sincerity could be misconstrued. I deserved far worse than that, and I am grateful for your mercy.” Constance found herself panting in her anger, before mastering her temper and reaching down to urge him to his feet.

“No, your grace, it is I who should apologize, that was an inexcusable breech of protocol.”

He took her hand as he stood, and kissed it again. “I deserved worse, even were I a lowly Home Guard Captain,” he told her with his wolfish smile only slightly diminished by the fading red mark on his cheek.

“Oh, you!” she declared, exasperated.

“Hear me, and understand,” he declared in a tone of command that was actually quite stirring. “I never, ever, meant to imply that I could be that much of a cad. And any man who calls you a whore in my hearing will be dead before the sun sets that day.”

She squared herself looked him dead in the eyes. “I have fought and served my Emperor for forty of my fifty years, I have sworn oaths and taken vows that cannot be cast aside, that place the needs of my order above my own life! Never mind my wishes, hopes, ambitions or idle fancy! I cannot even have a child without the say so of my Cannoness!”

“Constance,” he chided her, “listen...”

“No!” she snapped, in her passion flinging her mug to the stone pavement where it shattered. “You listen, and understand! If you are being honest with what you claim, know the entirety of what you seek! I will never cease to be a Sister of Battle. I will never be released from my order, nor would I even seek to try! And though you were my loyal husband and patiently waited through deployments, and campaigns and crusades knowing I may not return, though you were the loving father of my children, if commanded I will put a gun to your head and shoot! Understand that, Cameron Wren! I will never choose you over my order or my Emperor! NEVER! And if you fall to Chaos, I will kill you and I will not hesitate! Is that who you want for your wife?”

He reached up and took her hand in both of his. “I cannot begin to understand the depth of commitment like that,” he admitted softly. “I know that my ancestor came to this world with practically nothing but the grit and determination to tame it and make a home. All my life I have tried to live up to the blood in my veins. No, Constance, I don't understand it, but I can admire it. I can tell you unreservedly that if I fell to Chaos I would want you do just that. If I am lying, may the Emperor strike me dead! And if you will protect your children, by his grace, our children with that devotion then I tell you I couldn't ask for a better woman for my wife.”

She reached up and took his hands in her last free one. “That kind of commitment demands proof, Cameron. It's not to be had for a few sweet words under the stars. Show me!” She sighed and gently pulled her hands free. “Or return to being his grace, Cameron Wren, Duke of Thuria, my charge and mission.” He reached out and took her by the shoulders, his eyes on fire as he did.

“Challenge accepted!” he declared, pulling her to him. His kiss was as fierce and passionate as the promise of it had been.

* * *

From the shadows of the room that looked out onto the balcony, Henry Eddington lowered the hand he had raised to stay the ducal guards, drawn by the sound of angry shouts and broken pottery. He allowed himself a small smile seeing his master's passionate embrace of the Sister of Battle in both her own uniform and his coat, who was slowly returning his passion and taking a hold of him as well. Allowing himself to hope his young charge was finally growing up, he carefully schooled his expression to a neutral one before he turned to the guardsmen behind him and soothed small wrinkles and imagined lint from his tuxedo.

“I think it's alright, lads,” he assured them. “Nothing to see here.” He paused, then added, “Nothing to have seen.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied softly and returned to their stations. Henry allowed himself a final glance, then withdrew himself, he had a party to over see for his master.

* * *

In the gardens below the balcony, a pair of faces watched the Sister of Battle and the Duke of Thuria locked in their passionate embrace, and turned to smile at each other. “Look at that!” whispered Jennifer, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight, her face enraptured and betrayed her as a hopeless romantic. “Good for the Palatine!” she declared as Gretchen took her hand up again and they continued their discrete dance away from the eyes of the ball room.

“I'm happy where I'm at,” Gretchen told her as they turned slowly to music that was drifting on the evening air. She stole a glance back up at the balcony, then flashed a grin at her lover. “To each their own, I guess!”

Jennifer arched an eyebrow. “You're saying you'd rather be with me than a rich, powerful Duke?” Gretchen laughed as she twirled her dance partner and decided to be bold and dipped her.

“Not my cup of tea,” Wycroff assured her. “Besides, I have a thing for blondes.”

“Lucky me,” Jennifer giggled. “I have a thing for powerful women.” She laid her head on Gretchen's shoulder and for a timeless place they just danced and held each other in a beautiful garden, on a lovely planet and for a time, Hamilton imagined spending the rest of her life here. Imagined only shooting her weapon on the range every six months to renew her qualification with it, only having to fight boredom at parties or guard details, watching over a nobleman her commanding officer was banging.

Imagined never being in combat again.

“Gretch,” she whispered. “I can't thank you enough for being there for me.”

“I'll always be here for you, baby,” Wycroft breathed softly into her ear. “I'll protect you, and you'll protect me.”

Jennifer felt her eyes tearing up and tried to fight it so she wouldn't cry on her lover's uniform. “I don't get it,” she complained bitterly. “I trained so hard for it, I drilled and practiced, so I'd be perfect! You saw me! You even said how proud you were about how much I was working on my movement drills! I shouldn't have...but, the smell, I could smell it and I don't know why!”

“Hush, dear heart,” Gretchen soothed her. “You can train for years, baby and think you have it completely down and when you see the elephant, it all goes out the window.” Jennifer flinched as her mind tortured her with the image of the bright orange flame leaping out of the Combo Gun she'd taken off the Palatine's armor while the Hospitalier worked to save her life. Remembered the unholy scream of the thing that had possessed a meek looking little accountant, in the tattered remnants of a suit, his glasses melting off his burning face.

“Why here?” she demanded. “Why? This place is nothing like Goshen IV!”

Wycroft gently kissed Jennifer's fore head. “Because you know it can happen here, don't you?” She hated doing it, but Jennifer nodded into Gretchen's shoulder and squeezed her tightly. “And if it comes,” Wycroft told her. “We'll be here, to protect them. To stop it.”

The accountant screamed as the demon abandoned the body it had possessed and was banished back to the warp. Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to remember watching that poor man she'd just murdered thrash about on fire until the Hospitalier shot his head off with her bolter and the lifeless corpse collapsed at her feet to cook. “We couldn't stop Goshen IV.”

Gretchen stopped and gently raised her lover's face to look into her eyes. “No,” she admitted. “We weren't there, we couldn't prevent it. But we stopped it from spreading. And we're here, aren't we? We can stop it here.”

“I...I don't want to have to kill again, Gretch, I'm sorry, I just...!” Hamilton's voice trailed off, hearing the vicious cursing of the Sister Hospitalier in her mind. Once more she felt the sting of her slap and her harsh tones of command.

Emperor damn you! the Sister Hospitalier had shouted. I can't save her life and protect us! Do what you came here to do! Buck up, you sniveling little novice! Buck up and kill them!

“I don't want to either, Jen,” she agreed. “We didn't take these vows because we want to kill, did we? We took them because we knew we might have to.” She hugged her lover and kissed her gently. “You'll be ok, Jen. If it comes, I'll be right beside you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

Chapter Eleven

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

Finally free of the recovery gel, June and a new Sister, a dark complected woman who identified herself as Eloheim Advance Ruth Whitworth, had allowed Jonas to stagger into a washroom connected to the ICU unit and take a shower. The gel was particularly stubborn in her hair and had to be washed three times to get it all out. For Jonas, this was something of a novelty. He wore his own hair extremely short on the 'advice,' which was actually more of a command, of his instructors. “The body is a distraction,” they'd repeated over and over like a litany. “A doorway to allow impurity access to your mind. Conquer your body and rule your mind!”

The Adepta Sororitas, on the other hand, seemed practically adamant they wear hair and a fair amount of it. What had likely started as yet another visual cue they were women, not men under arms, had become a practice, then a sacrament over the press of centuries. Indeed, the Sisters used being shaven headed as a brand of shame, enforcing it ruthlessly on their disgraced Sisters under going the Rite of Repentance. Rachael, Jonas discovered, had liked her hair full, all one length, and to her jawbone; which made getting the gel out of it something of a chore.

That accomplished, it was time to take stock of this body he had effectively stolen. The shower gave him a gauge of height and told him she had been taller than he had been, probably about a hundred and eighty nine centimeters to his one seventy. She was somewhere around sixty kilos, but very little of it was fat, and all of that seemed to be concentrated on her chest. Rachael was busty and the weight tugging on her chest felt odd, but then everything about her body felt odd. Her hips were too wide which forced his gait to change into an odd rhythm that his body seemed to like but felt utterly alien to him.

This was heightened by the seemingly constant reminder of the void between his legs.

It was remarkable that something he had spent his life ignoring, first at the demand of the Drill Abbess and Abbot at the Scholas Progenium he had grown up in, then his instructors in the Inquisition, was now so prominent in his mind. It had been something he'd spent his entire life suppressing. Like so many children of the Imperium of man, Jonas Merle was an orphan and had grown up under the stern eyes of the Ecclesiarchy. Once he had been caught playing with himself and this had so enraged the abbot that he had deliberately broken Jonas' pinkie finger to punish him. From then on, he had done his best to ignore his genitals. Now their being missing brought an ironic constant awareness of the lack of something he'd spent his life ignoring.

The irony was made worse in that he was forced to actually handle her...opening...to be sure it was clean of the gel, then a careless finger had found a bright star of sensation. Jonas bit her lip, remembering the incredible pleasure June had calmed him with, assured himself that it was strictly for personal hygiene and began to explore. Other than a few particularly vague classes in Scholas , Jonas, being a virgin, had no first hand experience with the anatomy of the human female. Her explorations were clumsy and it took her a while to find the right mix of pressure, speed and rhythm, but when she did she got another taste of the white hot pleasure she had been sedated with. Her stomach and thighs spasmed gently and she felt a desperate need for the void to be filled with something, anything, that spoiled things slightly.

Still, panting after her breath, she came down from the high, euphoric and, oddly, content. As though the feelings had helped her internalize that this was now her body. There was a wash of guilt and she looked around to be sure no one had seen her, and that dealt with, she finished her shower and realized she had a great deal to consider.

Clean, she went to a sink and wiped the steam off the glass to get a look at her new face. Rachael Winter's heart shaped face looked back at him, wet hair hanging about her head in a wild pattern from the shower. Her blue eyes were remarkably bright and her eyebrows were chestnut, which was likely her natural hair color. The white locks had a good five centimeters of dark hair the same color before they turned white and the hair hung below her jaw about the same about. Probably the length of growth from her accident to now. “This is my face,” Jonas told herself in Rachael's voice, taking in every little detail.

It was nothing like the pinched, ugly face of Jonas' real body. It was an open face, with cheeks that were rounded from smiling as that seemed to be her natural state. The face of a woman who was happy to be friends with anyone and couldn't be bothered to give a shit if someone didn't like her. He reached up raising the wet hair and saw a trace of a scar that disappeared into her hair line. She stared in awe at the line, realizing at last what had happened to her.

She shuddered, fighting down the revulsion, and tried to lose herself in simple maintenance. Jonas brushed her teeth, finally able to get the horrible taste out of her mouth and then wrapped the towel around herself, as she had no clothes, to go back out into the room she had woken up in with the now empty tank and gurney where Ruth and June were waiting on her. “I need some clothes,” she started, but Ruth shook her head.

“You won't don a single stitch of our clothing until you take the novice oath.”

Jonas rolled her eyes. “Fine, what is it?” Ruth said nothing, but almost casually reached out and slapped her. The blow staggered her, but Rachael was stronger than Jonas had been and kept her feet. “What was that for?” she shouted, but then the sister had her by the throat. For a split second, Jonas considered resisting, but wisely remembered he was facing a combat proven Sister of Battle and realized she was no match for Ruth Whitworth. “I'm...I'm sorry!”

Ruth's dark eyes flashed out of her dusky skin, but she got her temper under control quickly. “Do not ever take that tone with me again,” she declared firmly. “Or even think to disparage our traditions.”

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, meaning it a good bit more this time. For a long moment, Ruth said nothing, then reached down and snatched the towel away from her. Being nude, in the large room, made her somewhat afraid and very uncomfortable. “Please, I...”

“Be silent,” Ruth commanded, then, finally, took her hand off Jonas' neck. “You enter our Order as you entered life, naked and helpless. On your knees.”

Jonas almost asked for something to cushion her knees with, but realized in time that would be a mistake, and was able to remain silent. She looked over at June, but it was obvious the Sister Hospitalier had no interest in helping her, so she sank down on to the cold, hard deck plate and looked up at Ruth. The Sister who was removing a small book from a pocket under the Day Habit she was wearing and held it up. “This, is the Way of Tears, it is the fundamental work of the Adepta Sororitas . You will go no where outside your private chambers without it. This is the map of the road of your life from this point forward until your death. You may be sent to other Orders, you may be transferred to other Adepta, but you will never stop being a Sister of Battle. Do you under stand this?”

“I do,” she whispered.

“Do you accept this burden freely, without reservation or evasion, that the Emperor himself hold you to account?”

For a long moment, Jonas considered what she was about to say, then finally understood why the sisters were so particular in their ways. She felt the shame of the body she wore, and what had been given up for her. Looking up into Ruth's face, she determined she would honor the promise she had made to Reverend Mother Winter. She swore to be the best Sister of Battle she could be. “I do.”

Ruth noted the long pause before her answer and her tone changed a bit. “Do you swear to offer yourself as a living sacrifice, offered to the Emperor as he shall will, that you be used in his service?”

“I do.” For a long moment, Ruth said nothing, then, finally opened the book to its first page and presented it to her.

“Swear the oath, novice.”

With a trembling hand, Jonas reached up and took the book from her. She looked down at the passage, framed around the page in art of particular reverence. Carefully, she read the oath, giving it the attention it doubtlessly deserved and, once sure she would not stumble over it, licked her lips and began. “Pain is the sister who fights at my side. Pain recalls to me my wrongs that I might strive in pursuit of penance. Pain insists that I stand my ground, steady my aim and fight on; though my life blood falls like rain to the thirsting soil. Pain is an ally. Pain is a friend. Pain is truth. I will walk all my life in this truth, with pain at my side, in service of the Emperor of Mankind. As the Emperor's Own Woman, So Help Me.”

Ruth drew back her left hand and slapped her sharply across the face with the back of her hand. “That is your oath,” she declared solumnly. “So you shall remember that which you have sworn, with pain you enter the Adepta Sororitas. Rise, novice, and seek your place amongst your sisters.” Jonas rose shakily to her feet and resisted the urge to rub her cheek where Ruth had slapped her. Ruth's gaze was stern. “Normally, ten years would pass from this moment to you being presented to a mission as a Sister. I do not have ten years, I do not have ten hours until your squad mates return from the planet, so it falls upon you to be the most dilligent student in the history of mankind. Read, learn and comprehend quickly! Your 'illness' will cover only so much for so long.”

“Yes, sister, I will.” Ruth glared at her for a moment, then continued.

“What is your name?”

“Rachael Winter.”

“Who is Jonas Merle?”

“I don't know anyone named Jonas Merle.” Ruth's gaze was fierce as she studied Rachael's face, then finally nodded slowly in satisfaction. She made a gesture to a neatly folded stack of clothing on the bed.

“This is a Day Service Habit. If you are not in your armor, and another uniform has not been mandated, this is what you will wear. It matches the one I am wearing.” She pointed to the patch on the sleeve of the red gown of a white maltese cross with a red heart embossed over it. “This is the symbol of the Order of the Valorous Heart. It is worn on my right shoulder because I saw combat with that Order. Yours is like wise as you were a member of the Order of the Valorous Heart. Your left shoulder is bare because we are a new unit and have yet to recieve our healdry. The Way of Tears , will explain these symbols to you. I expect you to have them memorized and understand the symbology of this uniform the next time I see you.”

“Yes, Sister.”

Ruth raised her hand, but didn't strike as Rachael flinched and cowed before her. She flexed her rigid hand to point at her. “My rank is Eloheim Advance. You have not earned the right to address me as sister.”

“Yes, Eloheim Advance. I'm sorry, I am trying!” Ruth sighed and her scowl softened just a bit.

“I... can ...respect you're willing to go to this extreme for your duty, Rachael. I detest the manner you have choosen to do so, but this dedication you possess will help you through what will be the shortest, and most rapid indoctrination in this order that I am aware of.” She sighed and stepped back. “Get dressed. We have some time before lights out that I will instruct you with.” Rachael nodded, and stepped over to the table on the far side of the ICU room where June was sitting, watching. As the young non-commissioned officer walked over, she took the carafe of coffee off the warmer and poured her a cup.

“Thanks,” Ruth declared as she sat down on the bench opposite the healer and took a welcome sip. They watched the novice woman self consciously try to begin to dress under their gaze for a moment. It was quickly appearant she had no idea what she was doing.

Finally June turned to ask softly so her voice wouldn't carry, “She seems to be genuinely trying.” Ruth shrugged her indifference.

“I don't care,” she growled. “She knew this would be hard, and she chose to be short with me, if she keeps showing me attitude, she'll find out how hard I can ride somebody.”

June's eyebrow arched. “Sister Winter, come here,” she commanded. The new woman came over, the bra she was fighting with in her hands, but her groin was covered.

“Yes, ma'am?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Did you know what would happen to you?” the Hospitalier asked. “That you would be...using...the body of Reverend Mother Winter's daughter?”

Rachael became distraught, trying and failing to hide her emotions. “NO!” she protested. “I thought they were just going to, I don't know, implant breasts or, something! I never thought...” June stood and took the bra from her hands and wrapped it around her torso with the clasp in the front.

“Do it this way, then spin it around, until you get used to it,” she told her, giving Ruth a significant glance.

“Thank you, sister June.”

“You're a fool,” the Hospitalier replied. “Did you think even castrated and emasculated we'd let you in our order?”

“I have to do my duty to the Emperor!” she declared, vehemently, while getting the straps around her shoulders and her breasts into the cups. “I know you don't believe me, no one does, but that doesn't matter.”

“Cut her some slack,” June ordered the Eloheim, then turned back to Rachael. “And you, don't you dare slack off for a second. Come, I'll show you how to put the habit on.”

“Thank you, sister.”

* * *

It was well past midnight when Constance and her troopers bid farewell with the Duke to the last of his guests. That accomplished he smiled and bowed to the assembled mission. Before anyone could speak, he announced, “Ladies, if you will permit me the honor, my staff has prepared rooms for your to take your rest, and I will be delighted to have you remain as my guests until the morning.”

“Your Grace?” De La Concordia, started, but he just smiled and held up his hand to gently interrupt her concern.

“Fear not, my dear Palatine. You'll find everything you need, including a fresh change of clothing for the trip back to the Vigilant in the morning. Please, allow me this small token of welcome to our new neighbors.” The dark haired Palatine looked at him askance for a moment, then finally nodded her acquiescence.

“Alright, your grace,” she replied. “My mission and I would be honored to accept your hospitality.”

His grin went from ear to ear. “Excellent! Right this way, ladies.”

Wendy leaned in close to Mary and whispered, “Now I regret saying goodnight to our dance partners!” Mary looked at the Sister Superior sidelong.

“Then you should listen a bit and not talk so much, 'Supe!” She declared with a grin on her face. “Doug told me twenty five rooms had been done up special, on the Duke's say so, so I had the heads up this was coming.”

Wendy scowled at her. “Is this how you repay my generosity, Cotton? Rubbing my nose in your good fortune?” Mary, however, never stopped smiling.

“Why, 'Supe, would I do that to you? If you think so, be sure to ask Bob how he knew where your room was when you see him again.”

“I take it all back, Mary, you are a true friend in need!”

“You're welcome.” The rooms were as magnificent as the rest of the Duke's residence had been, and the women entered the rooms with delight at their various decor, until at last only Cameron and Constance were standing out side the room he was indicating for her. She led the way inside and held the door for him in invitation.

“I don't think anyone will scandalized if you care to come in for a moment or two,” she said with a sardonic smile. “I have yet to compliment you on this marvelous accommodation.”

He inclined his head in gratitude. “I did try to save the best for last,” he assured her, stepping in. Once the lights were up a bit he crossed the room to the far wall and drew back the curtains revealing a balcony. “The view is quite spectacular in the morning. I usually take my coffee here. If perhaps you'd join me in the morning, I'd welcome the company.”

“Your rooms share this balcony?” she asked, coming over to stand next to him.

“Mine are next door,” he told her with a wink. “Through that door, to be precise. This apartment is normally given to the Gentleman of the Bedchamber, as a sign of faith and trust.”

She glared at him side long. “Isn't that a wonderful coincidence?” she asked, eyebrow arched. He held his hands up in surrender.

“Come now, Constance, I have been rather plain, haven't I? And amusing innuendo aside, I meant what I said about things not changing between us, regardless.” She smiled and reached up to pat his cheek.

“You have been, my dear Duke, as was I earlier.” She sighed and shook her head. “I must confess, your pursuit caught me off guard. Oh, I've enjoyed the attentions of loyal gentlemen in my time, but truth be told, I've never really been in a relationship. I always considered myself married to my Order. If I thought to fulfill my duty to the Empire and bring a new subject into the world, I always assumed I would take a sedate posting for a decade or two. Then I'd find some willing Emperor's man and with the blessing of my Canoness-Preceptor have my child or children. I honestly hadn't even considered it important that they have the same father.”

He smiled and crossed his arms. “You and I are of a kind, I think, Constance. Or perhaps two sides of the same coin.”

She laughed and nodded. “I think you may be onto something, Cameron. And as we are alone, my closest friends call me Connie.”

His heels clicked together and he bowed. “I am deeply honored, Connie,” he declared, savoring her name in his mouth like a delicacy. As he had with each sister of her mission, pointed out the bell on the wall. “If you need anything, my servants will attend you, just press the call there. And I hope you like the clothing, as I depended on my staff for the fashion. I'm just glad your order does allow the possession of civilian clothing.”

“Do I want to know how you acquired all of our sizes?” she asked archly. “And I'm sure they're lovely.”

He smiled a sly smile. “It's good to be the Duke,” he told her with levity. “As I said, my rooms are just through there and if you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me, and I look forward to our morning coffee.”

She stepped forward and reached up, placing a hand on his chest. “Would I terribly confuse you if I asked you to stay?”

He blinked several times in obvious surprise. “I would certainly admit to confusion,” he admitted. “No disappointment, but certainly confusion.”

She smiled thinly. “Perhaps I am being selfish, but, it has been a long time, for me. I was, in fact, rather severely injured on Goshen IV and I spent two months on Banudan at the Convent of the Healing Heart to recover.” She sighed and looked him in the eye. “If I am taking advantage of you, say so,” she commanded, then the look of the commander faded and a somewhat melancholy woman stood before him. “I meant what I said earlier. Both in that you were rather exactly how I like my men, and that commitment like mine must be earned. I just...would very much like to feel another human being right now and remember why I took these vows.” She looked up and he found he didn't really know what beauty was until that moment. “I want to remember who I protect and why.”

“Dear lady,” he told her, taking her into his arms and gently pulling her against him. “I know of no greater honor that can be bestowed on a man. I am at your service, for whatever you need.”

She smiled and reached up to take his face in her hands and drew him into a kiss. As their lips parted, she whispered, “I was hoping you'd say that.”

* * *

Whatever had been stored in the town, there had been plenty of it. The explosion reduced ruined buildings to fiery muddy hole and the blast wave actually knocked Tamura on her back, much to the surprised amusement of the squad. There were a chorus of startled exclaimations over the vox thrower between them, until they regained their wits and firmly praised the Emperor for his generosity. “The Emperor Protects!” the squad declared, then helped each other to their feet. Rachael had several hands clap her on her shoulders and buttocks, welcoming her into their circle.

They had shed blood together as sisters.

“Winter,” Sister Superior Lang commanded, the visor on her helm swinging up to reveal her grinning face. “Nice work, girl. You can shoot with us anytime.” Rachael sheepishly accepted their accolades, despite herself feeling more than a little elated at the accomplishment. “Tamura, next time save some for the rest of us, eh?”

“Sorry, 'Supe! Got carried away!”

“Alright, ladies, lets get back to it. We still have a mission to do!” The squad fell back into their road march order as Rachael swapped the magazine in her bolter for a fresh one and dug into the pouch of loose rounds hanging off her belt to replenish the spent one as she walked. The mud on the road made the going tortureous, sometimes slick like oil and slippery, others like half dry cement, sticky and unwilling to give up their boots. It made the march anything except pleasant as they made their way across the battlefield.

There was a ruddy glow of fire on the horizon as what was left of the Capitol and the Chaos spawn within it were put to the torch. There was the distant echo of guns and explosions, but nothing close enough to worry about. For most of an hour it was just fight your way through the mud, keep an eye out for danger, and try to get to the way point hovering in front of you in the optics of the helmet.

Finally, they got to just below the crown of the ridge that would overlook the way point. The squad silently changed from the column to a line of battle, and crept up the ridge as quiet as Death itself, power armor or no. “Well,” whispered Joan's voice over their private line. “Won't this be fun?”

Rachael looked down the ridge through the optics of her helmet and felt her heart fall into her stomach. A make shift landing site had been set up that was being defended by what looked like an understrength company of Chaos possessed, but that was not the worst of it. There were several cargo containers set up like a supply dump containing who knew what and walking around behind the soldiers were three traitor Space Marines. Their armor were covered with blasphemous symbols, so they were not newly fallen, and crazed.

These had embraced their treason and heresy and were likely in complete control of themselves.

What was worse, all three were wearing their helmets which meant just setting off the supply dump wouldn't kill them. Unless there was something capable of exploding so powerful it would kill the sisters as well. Joan eased back down from the ridge as the sisters looked to her as they held their silent conversation over the vox thrower. “Lewis, Hunter, you two have the Meltas, it's on you two to crack those marines. The rest of us have to get you girls close enough to do it.”

“Or the marines close enough to us,” Tamura, replied. “We've got a pretty good position here, 'Supe. I can rake that line and probably take out most of the light infantry.”

“No good,” Hunter countered. “You blow Chaos possessed to pieces, you're just multiplying our problems. We've got to get down there and get them burning.”

“We try to rush that line and those Marines will chew us up and spit us out,” Rachael opined, then took out a hand brain. “Can anybody see the code numbers on those containers?”

“Why?” demanded Joan.

“If we know what's in them, maybe they go 'boom!'” Winter told her with a grin.

“I've got eyes on 'em,” Lewis chimed in. “Hazmat code 1138.”

Rachael punched the numbers into the hand brain and began to giggle. “Ladies, the Emperor loves us! Listen to this! Ethyldichlorosilane, causes serious bodily harm, corrosive in liquid or gas form, highly flamable and explosive under most ambient tempratures. Explosively reacts with water and releases hydrogen chloride and phosgene gases when burning! Vapors heavier than air, so all the nasty should stay down there.”

“Emperor's eyes, what are they using this stuff for?!” demanded someone.

“Who cares,” Joan snapped. “Visors down and locked, ladies, we don't want to breathe any of that! Tamura, give me a nice long burst so those heretics know where we are. Hunter, you and Lewis be ready!” The heavy bolter Sister made sure of her weapon, then nodded at Joan. “Throw it!

“The Emperor Protects!” the squad shouted with one voice as Tamura ran up to the crest of the hill and leveled the belt fed heavy bolter. It roared, spitting lines of tracers so fast it seemed to be a continuious beam of light. The container buckled under the blows of an unseen fist, the burst in a bright red orange fire ball that climbed up into the sky like a small mushroom cloud. The entire camp was engulfed in the fireball and dozens of sympathetic detentations went off like the largest Empire Day Celebration this world had ever seen. A few of the militiamen who were furthest from the initial blast staggered from the flames, completely engulfed in fire themselves and fortunately far enough away that their screams did not reach them.

None of that mattered, because striding out of the blast, like unstoppable levithans came the Traitor Marines. They were walking, as if contemptious of the Sisters of Battle. Tamura brought the stream of bolters down to rake one, covering him in explosions. Then one of the bolter rounds found a weak point in his armor and blew his right arm off. Immediately, the remaining Marines decided to take the threat seriously, taking up their own bolter rifles and firing.

Two rounds found Tamura's heavy bolter, destroying it, while a third clipped her armored shoulder pad and knocked her backwards. “Now!” Joan shouted and the rest of the squad opened fire. Most concentrated on the wounded Marine, but Lewis's Meta blast caught him as well. The squirt of super high temperature plasma pierced the weakened armor effortlessly, plowing a fifteen centimeter hole through the chest of the armor, and then the reactor backpack behind it. The little fusion plant imploded as it critically failed and the Marine was reduced about a fifth of his mass in the resultant explosion.

The destroyed armor fell over, its occupant very, very dead.

Hunter's blast was low, blowing the leg off of her target, but, that didn't take him out of the fight. Far from it. The remaining traitor began to run at the ridge, a bolter in one hand, a chain sword in the other. Rachael's bolter locked open and she frantically swapped the magazine as Lewis, next to her, was chanting, “Come on, come on,” over and over at her Melta Gun, waiting for the coil to recharge for another shot.

Back in the fight, Rachael concentrated her fire on the wounded Marine, who was still coming, who she hoped she could remove from the fight. “Got it! Eat this, Traitor!” Lewis shouted, as she stood, but at the last second, the charging Marine revealed he had a jump pack on his armor and shot up into the sky. Lewis' shot missed, while Hunter's blast entered the lame Marine's helmet and exited his groin.

“Shit!” Lewis shouted right as the Marine came down on her, chainsword first. The Ceremite dented, then gave way as the Marine, his armor and entire weight came down with it, shoving the weapon into Lewis' stomach. The Marine needlessly reved the motor, spraying blood and vicera everywhere, but Lewis was long dead at that point. Rachael spun, trying to bring her rifle up, but the Marine back handed her with his own bolter knocking her ten meters sideways and the breath from her body.

Seeing Tamara struggling to rise, the bolter came back around and roared, the explosive rounds hammering into the heavy gunner until her armor failed and one exploded within her. Tamura's body fell in two, uneven pieces with a cloud of cooling blood where she had died. The Marine tossed the bolter aside and pulled his sword out of Lewis' corpse. “Ready to die, corpse whores?” he shouted.

Gasping after her breath, Rachael realized she had landed not far from where the impact of the Marine had flung Lewis' Melta Gun. She scrambled over to it, right as the coil finished charging. Rachael got her hands on it and frantically aimed it. The flash of the discharge was bright and over came the filters on her helmet for what seemed like a life time.

* * *

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Band of Sisters: Part Five

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Constance 2.jpg

Chapter Eight

Sacrifice and Celebration

Jonas Merle had been afraid many times in his life.

He had been afraid when he was selected to join the Ordo Hereticus that he would not be able to pass the qualifications and training. When he had been selected to become an Inquisitor, he was afraid he would be found wanting himself or executed for heresy. Then, on his first assignment free of supervision he had come face to face with the Chaos the Emperor's armed forces fought so endlessly against and he came to understand what true fear really was. Pain, discomfort, torture, death, these were temporary things, laughable to be feared of now that he fully comprehended exactly what the nature of evil really was.

Understood that there were fates far worse than death that would last forever.

It was then that Jonas Merle had internalized the faith that he had paid lip service to his entire life. He had looked deeply into the abyss, saw what awaited should the forces of mankind lose their perpetual war; and had the denizens of the Warp look back into him. It was then that Jonas Merle believed.

It was this belief that had given him the courage to say and do things his previous self would never have had the temerity to do. It let him stare down and shout at hardened Battle Sisters, let him look them in the eye, see their disdain and scorn for him, to bear their threats of violence and the actual deed of it so long as they did what he wanted them to do. His ego didn't matter, what his belief demanded was far too important to let his own discomfort get in the way of.

So when he was hauled from his cabin and frog marched into the office of the Palatine to face her, her disgraced mentor and, of all people, Reverend Mother Winter, he knew his own life hung in the balance, and he hardened his will to do whatever he had to so that his mission would succeed.

There was nothing more important than the death of Cameron Wren.

Jonas licked his lips as he felt the breasts of Fiona Vander in his back and her hands on his shoulders. It was a tight grip, like a vice, not painful, yet, but the promise was certainly there. “Reverend Mother Winter,” he started with and surprised himself how calm he sounded. “It's a pleasure to see you again.”

“I rather doubt it,” she replied, the scorn in her voice palpable. She picked up a data-slate from the desk beside her and held it up. “I have here the preliminary report of the loyalty test of Cameron Wren,” she drawled. “Do you know what was found?”

Jonas chose his words carefully. “I am willing to bet they did not find any sign of disloyalty.”

“You are betting,” she corrected him. “With your life. And you are correct. Computer experts have gone over his records with a fine tooth comb, his person and personal papers have been thoroughly searched and he has taken all of this in good humor and steadfast loyalty. Do you know what the penalty is for laying false allegations of treason against a loyal subject?”

The Inquisitor raised his chin. “I do, and I stand by my accusation. Cameron Wren is a traitor, a heretic and an enemy of mankind.”

Reverend Mother Winter rolled her eyes and laid the data-slate back on the desk. “So you claim. Palatine De La Concordia has forwarded to me a request, by you, that you intend to invoke your privilege of the Inquisition to hide yourself amongst her Mission by impersonating an Adepta Sororitas through some form of surgery. Is this true?”

“It is true, and it is also my right as an Inquisitor.”

The old woman's eyes became steel and despite her white hair or the lines on her face, the mask slipped and the hardened killer underneath the genteel Reverend Mother shone through. “What madness took you to make you think I would allow such a blasphemy?”

“Take care,” he whispered. “I have been diligent in my own reports and communiques with my superiors. They know the threats you have made, the shoddy disrespect I have endured in my duty and they will not believe any imaginative fiction you come up with to try and hide my murder.”

“Take care yourself,” the Palatine growled, speaking for the first time. “Your petty spite has brought the Ecclesiarchy to the brink of civil war!” It was clear the Palatine had a good bit more to say, but a soft gesture from the Reverend Mother caused her to hold her tongue and defer to her superior.

None of the steel had left Abigail Winter's eyes as she stood and walked over. With Fiona's hands on his shoulders, Jonas could not retreat, so he stiffened his spine and looked up at her, daring her to strike him. “I die innocent and loyal!” he declared, but his voice broke at the end and spoiled what he thought was his final defiance before death.

“Die?” drawled the Reverend Mother. “Do you intend to commit suicide?”

Jonas blinked and some of the surety left him. “No. I...I...thought...”

“Don't misunderstand me,” Abigail continued with a vague gesture at her subordinates in the room. “Both of my daughters would dearly love to kill you. I would be lying if I didn't remind you I entertained the notion myself. But we are creatures of duty, Inquisitor; we live our lives by it. You have informed us your duty requires us to indulge you to masquerade in our ranks. It is our duty to inform you that every other Inquisitor that has done so has paid with their life; not from nefarious actions from us. We live our lives on the battlefield, Jonas Merle and if you put on the habit of our order you will truly swear our vows and you will be expected to do everything any other sister would be required to do.”

“I'm not...” He started, but suddenly there was a knife at his throat and he wasn't sure whose hand held it. “...I...”

“Consider your next words very carefully, Jonas Merle,” the Reverend Mother told him quietly. “My duty requires me to allow you to invoke your privilege, but there is nothing in that duty that exempts you from being required to live up to the oaths and duties of that uniform.”

Jonas tried to swallow his fear, but his Adam's apple was stopped by the blade against his throat and would not allow it to pass. “Reverend Mother, I will gladly pledge to do my best and swear any oath that does not interfere with my duty to the Inquisition, but even I know I am not physically capable of meeting the requirements of a Battle Sister.”

Abigail's eyes were ablaze with emotion. “And if I offer you a way to do so, what would you say?” Her thin finger came up in caution. “Here is your last chance to turn aside, Jonas Merle! Is your conviction such that you will give up your very body in the Emperor's service?”

The thin man's chin rose just a bit. “I am oath bound. I will prove Cameron Wren is a traitor though it cost me everything in the service of the Emperor.”

Though her eyes threatened to burn his very soul, he met her gaze and did not blink. At long last, her finger dropped and the blade left his neck. “So be it,” she declared. The fire in her eyes died and she looked over his shoulder at Vander and nodded. “My Sister, take the Inquisitor to the Surgeon. He knows what to do.”

“I will not disappoint you, Reverend Mother,” he told her, but she turned away and heavily walked back to her chair.

“Get him out of my sight,” she whispered.

Uncharacteristically, Fiona did not immediately obey; though her grip on his shoulders intensified and was just on the edge of pain. “Connie, he'll need a minder, a teacher...”

“Who will have to be in on this,” Constance finished. She turned to the Reverend Mother who was sinking into her chair. Almost imperceptibly she nodded and Constance's glance was all the permission Fiona needed. She wheeled the Inquisitor about as the last thing Jonas expected happened. As he was being shoved out the door of the Palatine's office, he turned at a sound he couldn't believe he was hearing. Over his shoulder, he saw Reverend Mother Winter lay her head on her hands on Constance's desk and began to weep.

Then the door was shut as his mind spun, trying to understand what all of this meant. “Whitworth, you're with me,” Vander ordered and the sister fell in step with them to the closest travel tube. The Vigilant was just shy of five and a half kilometers from stem to stern and the best part of a kilometer abeam at her widest. Such massive size made it impossible to move only on foot with anything like a timely manner. Thus the ship had system of rapid transport, part subway train, part elevator. The tube served as the main conduit of systems throughout the ship, stopping at central hubs for lines that moved up and down or port and starboard from the two main lines that traversed the ship fore and aft.

There was a brief respite from the march as the two women and the Inquisitor awaited the next tram. “What is going on?” Jonas demanded. “Why did Canoness Winter start crying?”

“What do you care, coward?” Vander snapped back, her face painted in scorn only a shade or two from pure hatred. “You're getting your way!”

“Legatine?” Ruth asked cautiously.

The tram arrived, causing the doors to snap open. Vander restrained herself from shoving her captive into the tram and chose not to answer until she was sure they would not be over heard. In a hoarse, terse voice she said, “The Inquisitor will be impersonating a Sister.” She saw the younger woman's eyes widen in full understanding of what was said and the consequences it implied. “It will be your duty to instruct him in what is expected of him, the vows he will swear and exactly what they demand of him.”

“He's a man!” Ruth protested.

Vander let loose a gallows laugh as she stared into the Inquisitors eyes. “Not for long,” she declared ominously and again Jonas felt the return of his old companion fear and he couldn't help but worry he had made a terrible mistake.

* * *

The air boiled and waved around the barrel of the Mezoa Pattern Melta Gun. With it's distinctive hiss the super heated plasma was spat down range boiling the water out of the air as it traveled, boring through a fifteen centimeter plate of armor that instantly glowed white at the impact site. The remaining stream of plasma flowed onto the steel like a hot needle that then half melted, half exploded through onto the back stop of the range. On a battlefield that empty space would have been the crew compartment of a tank or APC with messy, predictable results. “Point eight four,” declared Wendy Marks from behind the blast shield next to the armored form of the sister holding the Melta Gun.

The white visor of the Sabbat Pattern Helm rose to reveal the squarish face of Mary Cotton who was careful to keep the muzzle of the weapon pointed down range. “See, 'Supe? I told you the accumulator coil was sluggish.”

Wendy picked up a canister of compressed CO2 and sprayed the weapon to cool it enough to be save to handle. “Not enough for anybody to pick up without a timer,” she mumbled, making a gesture for the other sister open the weapon to get at the offending coil.

“I did,” Mary replied stubbornly.

“You're supposed to,” Marks shot back. “How many rounds did you put on the coil back there?” There was a pause as Mary worked the controls inside her armor and a hologram appeared over the weapon displaying it's diagnostic information. “Under a thousand? That's pretty light.”

“Yeah, well, there wasn't as much need for the Melta on Goshen IV.” Wendy got the coil out of the Melta and examined it in the light. “I keep it clean,” Mary protested, but the Sister Superior just shook her head.

“I don't think you haven't been,” she informed the other woman. “I don't see anything wrong with it, but go ahead and request a replacement from the ship's armorer.”

Mary closed the receiver cover and put it against her thigh were the grabber field in her armor would keep it. “Ugh, I hate dealing with those creepy machine heretics!”

It was with great force of will that Wendy kept her temper at dealing with this particular issue again. “The Adeptus Mechanicus were brought into the Imperium of Mankind by the Emperor himself. They bow to and venerate our Emperor and by law, commandment and precedent have indulgence for their genetic abnormality.”

“Mutant heretics,” muttered Mary as she backed away, towards her armor carrier so it could remove both her generator backpack and the fuel tank for the Mezoa that hung under it. The tank made safe and stowed, separate armatures deployed to remove the weapon from her thigh, separate it from the hoses to the tank, and returned it to the space for it in the carrier. Both were then locked away by the device into storage.

Sister Superior Marks raised her finger. “I'm not having this argument with you again, Cotton. The Emperor has converted, the Ecclesiarch has indulged and you will obey.”

Mary bowed her head and gestured Anjali mudra, while still in her armor which managed to make the humble posture of submission somewhat sarcastic. “I hear and obey the will of the Emperor,” she declared before turning back to the carrier and spreading her arms for it to free her from her armor.

The Sister Superior considered barking after her for the cheekiness of her retort, but decided that would only make her look weak as so decided to ignore it. “You probably won't even see one,” she declared as she gave a gesture to alert the Range Gang that the sisters were finished so they could clean up the mess of the used target. “Five thrones says you get it from a Navy Shipman and you don't even lay eyes on the Transmechanic.”

Down to the battle habit and her link suit, Cotton turned back to her Superior and held out her hand. “You're on, 'Supe! And you're out five thrones!”

Wendy slapped the other woman's palm to seal the bet. “Make sure your note is nice and crisp when you pay up, I like my Throne Gelt neatly pressed!”

“What's neatly pressed?” The new voice drew both women's attention to the hatch out into the gangway where Gretchen Wycroff was just coming through it.

“Hey, Gretch,” Wendy greeted, while Mary dropped a light curtsey to her squad leader.

“'Supe,” she declared.

Sister Superior Gretchen nodded her head at her squad mate to acknowledge her protocol, then turned to her fellow squad leader. “Sorry to hit you with this, Wendy, but I have to from the Palatine.”

Marks only shrugged as she handed the accumulator coil to Mary as the other sister walked past. “Orders are orders,” she commented philosophically. “Cotton, you're going in your Battle Habit?” The heavy weapons specialist paused in the door way with a grin.

“Get undressed in front of the Range Gang? I'd cause a riot!”

Gretchen turned to look over her shoulder. “Wherever you're going, double time it. I got a vox from the Legatine, we have to turn the Mission out in Mess Dress.”

“What for?” demanded Wendy as Mary tossed a salute and trotted off to wherever she was headed.

“I dunno, we just have to assemble in the Shuttle Bay in Mess Dress at seventeen hundred,” Gretchen told her. One of the Range Gang cautiously approached the two women, removed her hat and curtseyed deeply despite wearing a uniform with pants.

“Blessed Sister, may this humble Shipman address you?” Wendy and Gretchen shared a look, then Gretchen turned towards the young woman, and reached out to place her hand on the Shipman's head.

“Be blessed in the light of the Emperor, my daughter, and speak your mind.”

“The ship's chaplain is quite a zealot!” Wendy chuckled sotto voce. “I wonder if he's married?”

“Blessed Sister, forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I heard from others before I came on shift that the destroyer Saint Arabella had come along side us and that a great lady of your revered Order came aboard.”

The question was painted on Gretchen's face as she turned to Wendy who shrugged her own ignorance. “Thank you, daughter, for bringing this news. You may return to your duties.” The Shipman curtseyed again as the Sister Superior withdrew her hand. “Wasn't the Saint Arabella in orbit around Banudan when we left?”

“I think so,” Wendy replied. “Why would Reverend Mother Winter chase us down after sending us out here?”

“Hopefully to save us from being stranded out here!” Gretchen quipped. “We must be doing inspections or something. Have your squad ready.”

“I'm on top of my squad,” said Wendy as she walked over to the armor carrier Cotton had left and laid her hand on it so it would grant her authorization to move it. Oblidingly, it rose up on a suspensor field and followed her back to Gretchen. “What did the Palatine order you to tell me?”

Wycroff's face blushed for some reason, though Wendy caught it. “Uh, I am to have you go over any paperwork I have to do concerning Sister Hamilton.”

“Jennifer?” demanded Marks. “What for? She's your squad, not mine.” Gretchen's blush deepened a bit and she tapped the ends of her index fingers together. “Shut up!” Marks exclaimed. “Your own squad sister?”

“It...it just happened,” Gretchen stammered. “And we got the ok from Palatine De La Concordia.”

“You admitted you...” Wendy trailed off at a sharp gesture from Wycroff and a tilt of her head towards the Range Gang who were studiously still cleaning up the slag from the steel target. They were also dilligently appearing to be paying no mind to the Sister's conversation. “And she's ok with that?” demanded Marks in a much more discreet tone.

“Keep it under your helmet, would ya?” Gretchen told her in an equally quite voice. “Yes, I told her; well, actually we both asked permission and she said so long as we are...discreet...and there's no favoritism she's willing to cut us some slack.”

“Emperor's Throne!” Wendy muttered. “I'd heard the Palatine was...unconventional, but this takes the Caba Nuts!” The two women left the range and began walking through the corridors towards the compartment serving as their barracks.

“Hey, she did say she wouldn't have if we were in a normal posting.”

Wendy waved off that with a vague gesture. “That would have been the answer from any other Palatine I've ever heard of,” she declared. “So, is this a battlefield thing or...?” Gretchen shrugged her own ignorance.

“I didn't plan this, it just happened.”

“Hey, at least you'll get some trim on the regular,” Wendy groused. “I've been so busy I haven't had time to look, let alone find somebody to do his duty to the Emperor and perpetuate the species.”

Gretchen elbowed her friend in the arm. “Oh, come down off the throne, you're on the same shots I am and neither us have any Canoness' permission to bring a new subject into the galaxy!”

The grin on Wendy's face was lecherous. “He doesn't have to know that!” They arrived at the barracks and with a gesture, Marks sent Cotton's armor carrier to her bunk. “Attention on deck!” she commanded, causing conversation to cease and all of the assembled Sister to rise and face them. “Orders have come down from on high, ladies. We're to report to the shuttle bay at seventeen hundred in Mess Dress.”

A chorus of groans filled the room for a bit, causing Gretchen to frown. “Knock it off!” she ordered. “And make sure of your spit and polish, the Saint Arabella came along side us and the rumor is a VIP of our order got off. One plus one equals two, ladies so I want the squad turned out and looking sharp. Go over your kits now and be ready for inspection before we assemble!”

“That goes double for you, my girls!” Marks echoed. “You've got some time, use it wisely! As you were!”

* * *

Doctor Julius Boucher was a grizzled Navy veteran in his ninth decade. His left eye, and a good chunk of the left side of his head were replaced by cybernetics that had saved his life years and battles previous. The soft red glow from the electronic eye gave his craggy features a sinister air even as they were slightly hidden by the blue white haze of a sterility field. Most of the operating theater was cast in shadow due to the intense cone of light from the ceiling centered on the bed. “This is the patient?” his gravely voice asked as he gestured to a woman, also dressed in surgical attire who looked like she might be a Sister Hospitalier.

The hairs on the skin of both women and their Inquisitor charge stood up as they stepped through the sterility field over the hatch. Fiona propelled Jonas towards the operating table the doctor stood beside. “He is,” she snapped. “I'll need your oath of silence, Doctor.”

“It is on file,” Boucher replied, gesturing towards the bed for Merle to get up on it. “However, I realize my lady needs to hear it, so; 'I swear on my honor, life and immortal soul, as a loyal man of His Imperial Majesty's Royal Navy that which I see here I will not see, that which I know of these events I will not know, that which I hear will never leave my lips as the Emperor's Own Man, So Help Me.'”

“Do I get a say in this?” Jonas asked. “We don't talk about what I'll...”

“No,” the doctor replied as he took the coat the Inquisitor had taken off away from him and casually threw it aside. He pushed the smaller man onto the bed where an immobility field snapped on, penning him to it.

“Wait, I can take my clothes off, don't cut them off!”

“I won't,” the doctor replied as he fiddled with a control with the metalic cluster of machines his left hand, which was also a replacement, had become. Over Jonas' head the surgical armature came to life, multiple arms tipped in sinister looking tools reached down like some mechanical spider reaching for it's prey. “There's no need. Your head is clear.”

“My head?” Jonas asked as something stung him in his neck. “But, I thought...”

The world became unclear and indistinct as the red glow leaned over him. “Don't worry, I'll see your brain safe in it's new home.” Terror gripped Jonas, but it was so difficult to think, he didn't understand why. Darkness fell and the last thing he knew was the pounding of his heartbeat, unable to move or see.

* * *

Mary Cotton arrived at the master armory of the Vigilant to be greeted by the pair of sailors under arms that were guarding it. It was situated at the end of long corridor with no other access or doors so that anyone entering it had no other destination. One of the Sailors stepped forward while his partner unslung his lasrifle and shouldered it. “Halt! Who approaches?” the senior demanded.

The Sister of Battle stopped and raised both hands. “Sister Mary Cotton, daughter of the Emperor, Adepta Sororitas.”

“State your business,” the petty officer demanded.

“I am sent of my Sister Superior in service of my weapon. I have a failing accumulator coil.”

The Petty Officer nodded. He worked a control and a vidscan unfolded from the wall on an armature. “Advance to the vidscan to be recognized.” Mary slowly walked forward, keeping her hands at her shoulders. The Battle Habit she wore would slow the lasgun, but not stop it and now was not the time for an accidental discharge. She looked the vidscan in the lens and it's mechanical voice growled out from the vox.

“Cotton, Mary, Sister, Adepta Sororitas.”

The lasrifle was returned to being slung and the Petty Officer bowed. “You are welcome, Sister Cotton,” he said, returning to his post by the hatch. Mary lowered her hands and smiled at the two men.

“You honor the Emperor with your diligence,” she complimented as she opened the hatch and stepped through. Inside the armory was dark, well below standard illumination and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. “Hello?” she called, stepping in to find a pale skinned man in a Navy Shipman uniform behind a counter. He smiled, but froze when a voice more in common with the vidscan than a human through sounded out in the gloom.

“Who calls?”

Mary shuddered, looking at the Shipman, but he was trembling and wouldn't meet her gaze. To the darkness, she announced, “Sister Mary Cotton. I have a failing accumulator coil I need replaced.”

“Who has offended the spirit of your Melta Gun, Sister Mary Cotton?” the mechanical voice demanded. The Daughter of the Emperor kept careful control of her temper and her voice.

“No offense was given,” she declared. “It's just wearing out.”

The sound of metal on metal came from the darkness. “Do you speak in ignorance, or falsehood, Sister Mary Cotton?” The words shot through Mary's temper like a bolter through a chaos spawn.

Striding forward to the counter the Shipman stood behind, she snarled, “Say that to my face, heretic!” The Shipman dove under the counter, but that nearly escaped Mary's notice for, from the dark, a mechanical hand gripped the doorway and a misshapen thing emerged from the darkness into the half light. It was wearing a red robe and hood that was in tatters, with three additional arms sprouting from it's hunched back as it came through the door, red light from five cybernetic eyes glowing under the hood.

“I am not your enemy, Sister Mary Cotton,” came from the depths of the hood, behind what seemed to be a mask or respirator, the hoses of which came out the hood, and disappeared into the robe. “I serve the Omnissiah, who you call the Emperor, and we are both the weapon in his right hand. You are ignorant of the spirits of the machine and this is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Then prove your loyalty and replace this failing part,” she demanded, slamming the coil to the counter. One of the arms on the creature's back reached out and picked up the coil to hold it in front of the glowing lens.

“Such anger,” the metallic voice declared, grating on Mary's ears. “This is why the spirit is unhappy with you. You do not allow it the joy of its duty to the Emperor, but instead only force from it service of your hatred.” The glowing lights turned from the part to Mary directly. “Replacement will only doom a new spirit to the unhappiness you have caused this poor coil to suffer.”

“My joy is purging heretics and mutants in fire!” Mary growled.

The metallic hand put the coil back on the counter. “No. Seek the wisdom of the Emperor to see the truth of your anger, Sister Mary Cotton. Make your peace with the spirit of the coil, and we will speak again.”

Mary stared at the part on the counter while the thing shambled back into the darkness. For a moment, she considered mounting the counter and chasing it, but was unsure how much trouble she would get into killing the ship's armorer and thought the better of it. Snatching up the coil, she stormed out, only just keeping her temper.

* * *

Once more in her cabin, Constance sighed and shook her head at the strange road her life seemed to be traveling. Never in her life would she have thought she would have to console a Reverend Mother. Let alone even see one so lose control of her emotions it might be needed. In truth, she was awestruck by Canoness Winter's devotion to their order and Emperor.

She realized she had a new yardstick to judge her own loyalty and devotion against.

After what seemed a life time of holding the other woman as she at last poured out the grief bottled up inside her, she allowed the Canoness time to regain her dignity and escorted her to a guest cabin and saw her ensconced in it. Constance had been about to contact Duke Wren to offer her apologies, but once Reverend Mother Winter understood what her arrival had interrupted she insisted that Constance attend. Going so far as to command the Palatine to leave her so that De La Concordia would have time to prepare to attend the ball she had been invited to. She had broached no argument, ordering the younger woman to her cabin to prepare and had actually forced a painful smile for Constance as she left.

Constance's palm opened the small locker that served as her closet in the cabin and removed her most formal uniform from it's protective bag and laid it out on her bunk to inspect it with a critical eye. Like most of the uniforms of her order, first and foremost it was designed to emphasize her femininity and somewhat exaggerate her womanhood. To this end, it started with a simple, bell sleeved gown in red that fell, fitted closely to her waist in the same cut as the Battle Habit. Like the armor it mimicked, it offered a level of protection against blades and certain, low caliber, projectiles as it's designers realized a Sister of Battle was never really off the battlefield. Over this was a corset and bustier in black embossed with a silver Fleur-de-lis, the symbol of the Adepta Sororitas. The leather like material of the corset defined and displayed Constance's figure as way of emphasizing her femininity; the mission of every uniform of the Sisters of Battle. As it rested over her vital organs, it's armor value was sufficient against most chemical projectiles and would even turn a power sword for a brief while.

Again her Inquisitorial Rosette served her as a belt, draped around her waist to lay against her left hip and below, a straight skirt of red fell to her ankles with slits for both legs to her waist that gave elegance and complete freedom of movement. Red leggings protected her modesty and high black boots completed the uniform.

A red wimple framed her face while it concealed her ebony hair and neck, with it's couvrechef veil over her head, in red and gold draped around her shoulders and announced her rank. Constance lightly stroked the white Maltese Cross and Heart indicating her membership of the Order of the Valorous Heart on the sleeve of the gown, then steeled herself. The past was the past, and it was time to get on with the future. She separated the uniform into it's component pieces and stripped off her Day Habit to don it.

First, nude, she knelt on the hard, cold deck, headless of her own discomfort, towards the double headed eagle, the Imperial Aquila, embossed on the far wall of her cabin. Bowing her head, she softly recited her prayer of dedication, committing herself anew to the Emperor's Service. Humbling herself, she asked forgiveness for the awe she felt at Canoness Winter's sacrifice and for the wisdom and strength to lead her mission and be worthy of such devotion and trust. She ended by rising from her kneel to genuflect herself, raising her hand over her heart and swearing to bring glory to the Emperor or to die in the attempt of it.

Purified, she rose, keeping her head bent in submission, to slowly and carefully don the uniform. The process was somewhat lengthy as she paused on each piece, considering in reverence the symbolism of the garment, the battles she had fought and the recognition the awards symbolized until at last, she was dressed and standing before her mirror, being certain of the drape and hang of the uniform. Constance carefully laid the sash of her acclaim across her right shoulder, her medals and a pair of Purity Seals hanging from it, until it sat properly on her hip, the long knife that hung from it secure behind her Inquisitorial Rosette.

On whim, or perhaps a desire to show some amount of consideration to her host, she picked up the bolter pistol his world had created and put it into the garter holster on her right thigh instead of the issued laspistol that distinguished her as an officer of the Order. She found it fit the holster well, despite not having been made for it, and was even a bit lighter on her leg.

“Yes,” she told herself with a smile. “A very large order.”

Satisfied, she pulled on a pair of scarlet gloves that reached over her elbow, well up the bell sleeve of the gown such that her face was the only visible skin. That accomplished, she pulled open the hatch to her cabin and began walking towards the nearest travel tube station. This took her past the compartment that was serving as the barracks for her Mission, which opened as she walked by.

Coming out was Fiona, resplendent in the same gown, minus only a few touches of rank, her own head covered only in a scarlet wimple that fell around her shoulders in place of the blonde mane she had worn ever since Constance could remember. Fiona curtseyed to her Palatine, which Constance nodded to acknowledge, feeling terribly out of place by their positions being reversed. The two women fell in step, several steps ahead of the rest of the mission who, having seen the number of awards on Sister Vander's Acclaim Sash were obviously awestruck.

There was not a single open space on the garment for another award to be worn.

As they walked, Fiona carefully caught De La Concordia's eye and with her hands, used the silent battle language of the sisterhood so that they could not be over heard. It's done, her hands proclaimed.

Emperor help us, Constance replied with her own hands. Emperor help us.

Amen, was Fiona's only response.

* * *

Chapter Nine

The Last Party

Life returned slowly to Jonas Merle, as though from a great distance being drug every step of the way; the feet of the condemned on their way to the gallows. The first sense to return was the oldest, the sense of pain. From a dark, heavy soup rose up ache as if his entire body had been given over to those who loathed him and he was beaten to within a nanometer of his life. Next came sound as he moaned and with it was a sudden, horrible feeling of being out of sorts. The voice he heard, that he knew had come from his vocal cords, for he had felt the vibration in his throat and the air pass his lips, was also not his own.

Like a dam suddenly breached by torrential rains, a thousand sensations assaulted him, things that felt different from how his memory said they should be. As the moan he had heard was too high and too soft to have been his voice, the skin he wore felt different, there was flesh where there should not be and in a horrible moment he realized it was missing where it should be. Before sight could make its untriumphant return, something wet and cold was pressed on his face, over them. “Lie still,” a voice commanded. “If you begin to move, you might pull out the leads.”

“Everything hurts,” he managed to make his throat say, but now he was certain it was not his voice. This voice was light, higher than any note he could sing, even raw and course as it was now. Whoever was holding the sponge to his eyes found that funny and laughed.

“Pain is the oldest companion of womanhood,” she told him. “Get used to it.” Jonas tried to turn towards the sound of the voice, but the hand became firm to stop him. “Don't move,” she ordered. “Not yet. When you're ready, we'll put you in the recovery gel for a bit.”

“Who are you?” The woman's voice asked at Jonas' mental command.

The firmness left her hand and she began to gently daub his face. “My name is June, I am a Sister Hospitalier. I know who you are, or, rather, who you were. Rest easy sister, you will live to serve the Emperor yet.”

Jonas considered that for a long moment as he tried to take a mental inventory. His chest seemed to weigh more with each breath than it should and when he slightly shifted his legs, he became aware of the feeling of fabric firmly against his abdomen as it never had before, in addition to a void that was entirely novel and set his heart to pounding. “So,” June's voice told him as the sponge was withdrawn and he heard it dipped in water and rung out. “Let us talk about you.” The sponge returned, cool against his eyes and forehead. “Your name is Rachael. You are thirty two and a Sister of the Order of the Valorous Heart. Or, rather, you were. You have been reassigned to the Mission of Palatine Constance De La Concordia on Thuria. You are a Rhino commander, but you fell off your APC and injured your head when you fell. You likely have some level of amnesia so you were attached to this Mission to convalesce and recover your memory.”

“Rhino?” the voice she was beginning to recognize as her own asked.

“It's an armored personnel carrier, a kind of tank,” June told her. “When you're better, you can read over your personnel file and see if that brings back any memories.”

“I have a personnel file?” Rachael asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Of course you do, Daughter of the Emperor,” June's voice replied. “Every Sister of Battle, every servant of the Emperor does. It lists the battles you have fought, the honors you've won, everything about you. You should read it when you're up and about.”

Rachael sighed and couldn't keep herself from nodding. “I will.”

“You should,” June replied. “You should always honor those who gave up everything for you.” There came a hum of machinery and the bed underneath Rachael began to slowly lift her into a seated position. “Alright,” the nurse declared after the light against Rachael's eyelids lowered. “Open your eyes, slowly.”

Rachael willed her eyes to open, but found them slightly sticky and it was a bit of work to get them to open, despite the sponge bath they'd had. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the lights of the diagnostic equipment and a pair of candles, well away from the bed. Her vision was blurry and there were halos around all the lights in her vision. She blinked several times and looked down to see the body of a lovely young woman, clad only in a medical modesty bra and panties in black.

The medical bra only pressed her bust against her chest to hold it in place, but it seemed there was a fair amount to secure. Milk white hair fell into her line of vision, longer than she remembered, but not as long as Palatine De La Concordia. Around her navel was a tattoo of the fleur-de-lis, the size of her palm in bold, dark ink against a peaches and cream skin. There were several electronic and IV Lines about her body, running out to the monitors that were providing light. Nothing felt their right length or distance, legs that seemed too long curved out of hips that were wider than they should be. Rachael tried very hard to remember and the last memory she had was fear, biting, terrible fear. That fear awoke as she realized there was no way to her recollection that her previous body could have been altered into this one.

She looked up, seeing a young woman, with olive complexion and black hair looking at her and something about her face seemed familiar. She was wearing nurses scrubs with bits of technology attached to them that he didn't recognize. “June...?” she asked.

“Sister Hospitalier June Campanelli, at your service, Sister Rachael,” the nurse confirmed. She reached up and began to disconnect the leads slowly and methoically. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy,” Rachael replied. “Nothing feels right. How did they do this?”

“There was some emergency brain surgery,” June replied. “You've been in a coma for two months. We were worried we would have to pronouce you brain dead and harvest your organs.” The expression on the nurse's face hardened and her grip on Rachael's arm tightened unpleasantly. “But, let's not talk about the past here,” she said with great weight. “Let's get you into the tank so you can recover.”

Once the lines were cleared, June fitted a resperator over Rachaels face, and pulled the mask tight. Once that was done, she helped her to stand and led the way slowly to an empty recovery tank. The nurse had her sit on the floor of the tank while she made sure the air hose was secure and flowing, then stepped out and closed the door. Immediately, the tank began to fill with thick, yellow green liquid. It was just slightly warm against her skin and picked her up off the floor to float as it covered her head and it was even harder to see the nurse that was watching her. She saw June pick up a Vox and in her ear she heard, “We'll speak again when we can be more discreet.”

Rachael nodded her understanding and watched the nurse walk over to the desk at the edge of what she could just make out through the gel and the glass and sit down. Deep in the darkest recesses of her mind, Rachael remembered, don't worry, I'll see your brain safe in it's new home, and shuddered, in fear of what had happened to her.

* * *

The shuttle Duke Wren had sent up was not a military model, but evidently his private one. The Sisters were welcomed aboard by a liveried steward into a plush, yet understated flying palace. Leather was the seating fabric of choice, while the appointments were burled wood and polished brass. Once they were comfortably seated in the expanisve and actually comfortable acceleration couches, the shuttle departed the Vigilant as gentle as a feather falling off a bird's wing. Constance was used to military pilots who took 'edge of the envelope' to mean 'how can I break this, but not have to pay for it', though she had traveled TDY on civilian craft when nothing military was going the right way. While certainly more conscious of their paying customers, the Duke's pilot put them all to shame by Constance looking out the window, wondering when they would depart, to see the Vigilant falling away behind them.

It was easily the smoothest take off she'd ever experienced.

From there, champagne was served, bringing an amused smile to Legatine Vander's face as she accepted the flute and lightly touched hers to that of her protoge and superior officer. “Obviously, Palatine, we picked the wrong MOS divisions.”

Constance sat back in the very comfortable chair and crossed her legs, savoring a taste of the sparkling wine. It was local, but a light, sweet vintage and well crafted. “I could get used to this,” she admitted. “Did I miss count, or...?”

“I left Whitworth behind to mind our new charges,” Fiona replied. At the confused look from Constance, she continued, “Reverend Mother Winter transferred a Sister Hospitalier to us as well, to mind...her...and we did need a medic.”

“Poor girl,” De La Concordia observed. “I'm not sure which of us will have the worse time.

Fiona arched an eyebrow at her. “Babysitting captain grumpus or putting up with stuffed shirts at a party? I'll pick the party, thanks. At least there's dancing.”

“Maybe for you,” Constance retorted. “I'll be frantically taking mental notes to try and keep up with who is who.” Again Vander smirked at her and gestured with her flute.

“I thought you'd try to do something like that, so I planned ahead and drafted a co-conspirator.” Constance frowned and turned her head to find Baldermort's skull floating a meter or so behind her. The half robot slave dipped on his suspensor field and his voice managed to sound contrite.

“Good evening, Palatine,” the Vox declared. “I have taken the liberty of updating myself on the Who's Who entries for the local gentry, should your memory fail you, or may the Emperor decree, you actually decide to enjoy yourself. Now, no matter what you do this evening, my lady, do try to make time for fun.”

“I'm conspired against!” Constance declared with good humor. “I should have you both up on charges!” Before Fiona could laugh or defend herself further, the ship's speakers came to life and a pleasant, professional sounding baritone came forth.

“Good evening, my ladies, this is your Captain speaking. It's a crisp twenty two degrees this evening with clear skies over New Atlanta. If you look out the starboard side of the space craft you'll have a magnificent view of Dachaigh, the Ducal Residence. We have priority clearance of the air space so we'll be setting down in about five minutes or so. On behalf of the Stewards and crew I'd like to offer our gratitude to being of service and we hope you enjoyed the flight. Stewards begin your prelanding check lists.” A steward came by to collect up the empty flutes on his way aft and out of habit Constance made sure her seat belt was buckled.

“Despite my protestations, Baldermort, I am glad to have you along.”

The servo-skull floated down until it was hovering above a chair as if sitting in it. “It is an honor to be of service, Palatine.” Constance smiled as she turned to look out the far window. She was on the wrong side of the craft to get the full effect of the sun glinting off copper roof tiles that gleamed in the last rays of the setting sun. Despite that, Dachaigh, was almost modest for it's purpose. The Gothic and Neo Baroque style sprawled in an organic manner that suggested a central house that had been added to over the centuries. It was surrounded with magnificent gardens that were glowing in the fading twilight and a collection of limosines were parked on the various dives showing the Sisters had evidently arrived fashionably late.

The Captain's landing was as flawless as his take off had been, touching down on Thuria with out so much of a caress as would put a ripple in another glass of champagne. They had touched down on a private facility, not far from the main house. Already the ground crew was making the ship safe and servicing it; a stair on wheels was being pushed up as the Steward undogged the hatch and locked it open. Constance unbuckled her seat, then stood, turning aft to address her mission who were also rising, drawing their faces towards her. “My sisters,” she declared, being certain she had their attention. “Tonight is a new beginning for us. This is our new home, and the flaky stuffed shirts we'll meet are the upper crust of this society. I expect your decorum; you will be the face of our order to those who are our charges and neighbors, and above all, a certain level of respectability for the first impressions we make tonight. The first splash in a pond whose ripples we are adrift in.”

“Yes, Palatine,” they chorused. For a long moment, Constance keep her countenance stern, making eye contact with each of her soldiers, then allowed herself to smile.

“Alright, I've said what I had to. We're not on leave, but I'm reminded we are not on duty all the time and I even had someone pray to the Emperor that I would enjoy myself. These are the people you swore to lay down your lives to protect. So I'm telling you, go remember why. Enjoy yourselves, my sisters, dance the night away and make friends. Now go be young.”

Twenty two faces lit up as they shouted, “Sororitas!”

With the smile of a commander certain her troops would not let her down, Constance led the way down the stairs of the little luxery spacecraft. There, she was surprised to find the Duke waiting, a matching grin on his face as he watched her decend. There, he swept the hat of his uniform off and bowed with all the grace and panauche of a stage swashbuckler. “Ladies, you are most welcome in my humble home. Palatine De La Concordia, will you grant me the honor of your escort?”

Constance's smile widened just a touch. “Never let it be said you do things in half measures, your grace. The honor of your company is entirely mine.” She took the arm he offered and allowed him to lead up the walk towards his home. The sun's rays splayed out from the horizon as the last minutes of the Golden Hour ticked away to the soft caress of music from cleverly hidden speakers.

Ropes of lights hung artfully in arches and coils around trees nearly as old as the estate itself while liveried footmen stood guard at doors, ready to open them for the Duke's guests. “My congratulations to your staff, your grace, it's enchanting,” Constance complimented him, causing his chest to puff out just a bit.

“Take care of your team and your team takes care of you,” he quoted with a wink. “A sentiment I can see you apply yourself, my Lady.”

Constance arched an eyebrow at him. “I should scold you for your constant military aspirations, your grace and remind you to be grateful for the blessings the Emperor has bestowed on you, but I find I cannot muster the energy to be stern this evening. So I'll accept your compliment as it was intended, one leader to another.” His boyish smile gleamed through and he patted her gloved hand.

“I will always be grateful for the mercy of his Majesty and his Daughters,” he replied. “As touching my lady's energy level, I like to think I have a buffet laid out such that there will be something of service. I'm hoping for at least one dance from the most beautiful of my guests.”

De La Concordia knew an experienced tom cat at work when she heard it, but allowed herself to remember some of her most pleasant evenings had been the artistry of experienced tom cats and smiled back at him. “Only a single dance, your grace? Should I be jealous?”

He looked at her sidelong, as though a marksman gauging the arc of his last shot to see how close to his mark he'd come. “My dear Palatine, if allowed I would happily monopolize your dance card!” he shot back.

Not for the first time that evening, Constance indulged in her light, crystaline laugh. “You grace is a shameless flatterer, don't stop on my account!”

“The night is young,” he assured her. “And I have not yet begun to flatter!”

* * *

Ruth's elbow let her into the critical care recovery ward of the Vigilant, as both of her hands were full with a pair of steaming cups of coffee. The smell brought June's face up from the screen she'd been montioring and a weary smile brightened her face. “Emperor bless you, sister!” she exclaimed as she took the mug Ruth offered and relished her first sip.

Whitworth hitched a cheek on an open spot of the desk that wouldn't upset anything or accidently touch a control. “Legatine Vander gave me authorization to disable to flight recorder in here, so we can speak freely,” she said, taking a sip from her own mug and looking over at the Recovery Gel tank. “How is she?”

“Asleep,” Camanelli replied, turning the chair to be able to follow her guest's gaze. “And I never thought I'd see her up and walking again.” She looked up at the other sister a bit guardedly. “You didn't go with the others to that ball or whatever?”

Ruth sighed and shook her head. “No, I'm his teacher,” she muttered in disgust. “I can't believe the Palatine would allow this!”

The Sister Hospitalier chuckled darkly and shook her head, relaxing now that she did not have to be on guard of betraying a confidence. “I don't think any of us had a choice. If Rachael were here, she'd probably laugh.”

That brough Ruth's eyes back to her. “Did you know her?”

“Not really,” June allowed. “Just in passing, and most of what I heard was from her squad mates. They invited me to her wake, after she'd been declared brain dead and I heard some stories. She wasn't like the Reverend Mother at all, or so I heard.”

“Reverend Mother?” Ruth asked.

That surprised the Nurse and her expression was incredulous. “The Legatine didn't tell you? That's the body of Rachael Winter, Reverend Mother Winter's daughter!”

Whitworth nearly dropped her mug. “By the Golden Throne!” she swore. “She actually...?”

Campanelli became stern. “Yes, she did, so you make certain who she is now lives up to that sacrifice!” Ruth nodded and turned back to the young woman floated in the tanks, moving gently either from a dream or the currents in the gel.

“I can't imagine what that might be like,” Whitworth muttered in amazement. “Either! To give up the body of your own child in the Emperor's service, or to wake up in someone else's body.”

The Nurse chuckled darkly. “As the ship's surgeon said, as he did it, it's not that much different than making a servo-skull.” She sighed and took another sip of her coffee. “We all serve the Emperor, but some more than others.”

Ruth's gaze returned to the Nurse and caught her eye. “How long until you can decant her?”

“I'll give her another hour or so.” Whitworth stood and finished her coffee.

“Alright, I'll see you in an hour.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

Mary Cotton had lived a hard life.

An orphan, she had been raised in the Scholas Progenium of Manzipor, part orphanage, part boarding school, part military boot camp under Drill Abbots and Abbesses who had no patience for dullards or the slothful. Mary had been given holos of her parents, a communications officer aboard the Dilverance who had been lost with all other hands when the ship was destroyed, and a Captain of the 27^th Manzipor Winged Hussars who had died a heroes death on Caliban.

This was all Mary knew of the humans who had been her parents.

She had been a particularly devout child and her frequent prayers for the souls of the faces of the people she had been told were her parents drew the attention of Palatine Aisha, a retired Sister of Battle who was living out her final days teaching the next generation of the Emperor's loyal subjects. Seeing in Mary the potential of a new sister, she had ridden the child heartlessly, honing in her both the raging temper at her teacher's callous and capricious nature as well as the indominable will to keep it in control and herself out of trouble.

Hunger had been a constant companion of Mary's until she had finally proven herself to Aisha, and the Sister Qualifier Aisha had summoned to give her the final trial to see if Mary had what it took to be a Sister of Battle. She had been ten solar years old when she'd arrived at the Convent Sanctorum on Ophelia VII and discovered for the first time what a full belly felt like. Her instructors at the Convent had been hard, harsh at times, but fair and Mary had blossomed as a Novice quickly achieving high marks, both in her religious education and her martial one.

There had actually been some debate about which Order she should be trained for and had been given a rare choice to decide for herself where the Emperor called her. Mary had remembered the faces of her unknown parents, both soldiers in the service of the Emperor and had not hesitated to choose to join the Ordo Militant and a combat MOS to become a full Sister of Battle.

In all her schooling, or the battlefield she had walked, never in her life had she seen anything like the inside of Dachaigh. The magnificent decorations, the beautiful clothes and the tables laiden with food, the likes of which she'd never seen. “This must be what Heaven is like,” she whispered to Sister Superior Marks after they had made their way down the reception line, meeting people she would be hard pressed to remember later, but mindful of her protocol in the mean time.

Wendy chuckled at her sister's amazement and led the way over to one of the tables of food. “You'll want to be careful when you eat something,” she intimated, taking up a small plate and adding a portion of mixed fruits, most of which she couldn't identify. “Be mindful of your uniform and don't eat yourself sick.”

“I'm not that hungry,” Mary retorted as she took some of the fruit herself and looked, somewhat askance at the tiny fork she'd been given to eat them with. “You even know what this stuff is, 'Supe?”

“No clue,” Wendy replied carefully around her own mouthful. “Tasty though.”

Mary speared what she decided to call a strawberry, because it vaguely resembled what she'd imagined a strawberry would look like when she'd read about them. Her mouth was flooded with a sweet, tart flavor as she chewed and couldn't help but mew at how wonderful it tasted. “I think we hit the jackpot, Wendy,” she declared, quietly. “How about you?”

“This certainly beats being shot at,” Wendy agreed, snagging another flute of champagne from a passing waiter and taking a sip. “Praise the Emperor, I could get used to this!”

From a balcony above the main floor of the ballroom, music began to play, drawing both of their eyes up, to behold something neither had seen before; an orchestra, populated by live musicans playing musical instriments. Then, there was a magical moment as room began to be put to it's nominal use and couples began to dance. Mary caught sight of the Palatine and the Duke, out on the floor turning slowly on the floor, large smiles on both their faces. “I didn't think the Palatine was gonna let her hair down,” Mary declared in disbelief, elbowing her friend and superior officer and discretely pointing out their commanding officer on the dance floor.

Wendy caught sight of a pair of officers in what looked like Home Guard uniforms and turned back to Mary. “We going to let the Palatine have all the fun?”

“Emperor, no!” Mary asserted as the two men who were a bit startled by their approach and bowed. “You boys dance?” she asked, picking the bigger of the two. A surprised grin spread on his face and he bowed again.

“It would be our pleasure, my lady,” he replied.

“I'm Bob, this is Doug,” his friend declared.

“I'm Wendy and this is Mary,” the Sister Superior declared. “Let's dance!” Hands were grabbed and bodies led out onto the floor, and no one was really sure who was leading and who was being led, not that anyone cared. Then Mary had a tall, good looking young man's arms around her and she was dancing in a ballroom in what might as well have been a castle and the five year old girl inside her was beside herself in glee.

* * *

Fiona sipped champagne and smiled to herself as she watched her protege dancing with their charge and tried not to worry about what had brought them here. Every where she looked, she saw loyalty, an idyllic, textbook example of a world fully secure within the Imperium of Man. There was not so much as a hint of heresy, disloyalty or treachery. It seemed obvious they had been sent on a wild goose chase; whatever a goose was, or why one would chase it she had no idea. It was then she sighed and decided to look at things through more experienced eyes.

Surely they should have found something irregular by now, shouldn't they?

Her mood somewhat soured, she turned and made a soft gesture. At her bidding Baldermort floated over and dipped on his suspensor field. “How may I be of service, my lady?”

“Baldermort, when was the last time there was any kind of issue on this planet? Any hints of chaos, heresy, anything?” The skull's lack of skin or muscles prohibited it from making any kind of facial expression, but just from the way it fidgeted on its suspensor field made her think it was taken aback.

After a long moment, the vox in the skull quietly replied, “Fifty years ago, my lady, there was a minor incident, a religious benevolent society was declared to be heretical, but the members surrendered themselves. The adjustication of the Adeptus Arbites and the Ecclesiarchy was that the incident was a misunderstanding of certain notes of the Imperial Creed. It was judged an innocent confusion of dogma, not willful heresy.”

“What was the outcome of this leniency?”

“The accused renounced their misunderstanding and pledged themselves loyal. As they had cooperated fully with the Inquisition, they were allowed the Emperor's Mercy,” the skull intoned somberly. Fiona pulled at her chin in thought.

“Was anyone important caught up in this 'misunderstanding'?”

“I was,” a deep, mellodious voice declared. Fiona turned to find an older man, wearing not quite a uniform, though it had medals and braid aplenty, standing behind her. He had a full head of gray hair and a stern, weathered face. He clicked his heels together and bowed stiffly. “Leopold Gustav Holtz, Viscount of New Macon, your humble servant, my lady.” He stood up straight, taking the bottle of champagne from one of the tables chill buckets and refreshing Fiona's glass, then his own before returning it.

“Legatine Fiona Vander, Adepta Sororitas,” she replied, with the lightest of curtseys in response to his own courtesy.

He conspiciously took a sip first from his flute and looked the Sister in the eye. “My sister, Emperor rest her soul, was disgraced in the affair. She had been particularly adament her societies beliefs were not heresy.”

“Her society?” asked Vander archly, taking a sip of the sparkling wine herself. Either to merely enjoy it, or show she was not intimidated, she wasn't quite sure. The Viscount gestured at Baldermort.

“The servator can tell you, it's a matter of public record, and I have nothing to hide over it. She considered the Society as a labor of love and was too ardent in its defense. When chastised by the Ecclesiarchy for it she was...surly, some would say with good cause, but I will not debate that. She was stripped of her title and cast out of the family. She left Thuria and the last word of her I had was that she was dead.”

Fiona switched the flute to her left hand and looked at the nobleman sidelong. “Bold words, my lord. Especially in defense of Heresy to the face of a Sister of Battle.” The man chuckled darkly.

“You misunderstand, my lady,” he replied. “I offer no defense on behalf of my sister, her society or how she chose to defend it. I may reprove the Ecclesiarchy on its handling of the matter, but that judgement was handed down decades ago and the dead are buried. I trust my actions then and since vouchsafe my loyalty to our Emperor.” He stepped forward and Fiona continued to meet his gaze without giving up so much as a milimeter. “I cast my own sister out of my family, Legatine, to prove my loyalty. Can you say you would have done the same?”

“This is a perfect world so far, My Lord Viscount,” she told him evenly. “I have survived too many battles to be lulled into a false sense of security. If there is heresy or corruption on this planet, rest assured, we will find it.” She took a sip of champagne while staring him in the eye. “And if there is only loyalty, the Emperor's subjects have nothing to fear from us.”

He smiled thinly and bowed his head. “Your reputation on that account preceeds you, my lady.” He turned, using that to step back slightly so as to lower the hostility between them without giving ground. “It seems we are both concerned over the younger generation,” he declared, looking out at the Duke and Palatine enjoying their waltz. “Perhaps we can find common cause...?”

“In what?” she drawled.

His eyes lingered on the dancing forms, then turned to look at her sidelong. “Perhaps,” he repeated, then bowed again. “Good evening, my lady Vander. I look forward to our next conversation.”

Fiona returned his bow, then watched him depart, her mind going in circles as she did so. Finally, without taking her eyes off the departing back of the Viscount, over her shoulder she called, “Baldermort?”

“The complete file of the Viscount, my lady?”

“Every little detail,” Fiona replied.

“Of course.”

* * *

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Band of Sisters: Part Seven

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Chapter Twelve

Morning Glory

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war...

It had been too long since Constance had been awakened by sunlight on her face and opening her eyes, she found the Duke had not lied about the magnificent view. Through the rays streaming in the open window, the entire valley was spread out in idyllic greens, browns and blues to rival the poetry the Battle Sister had become fond of over the course of her career. Under her ear, she could hear the beating heart of Cameron Wren which gave a melody of life to compliment the visual feast her eyes were enjoying through the glass. She smiled, feeling the weight of his arm over her shoulders and musky scent of him in her nose and for a little while allowed herself to just be a woman in the arms of her man.

It was a pleasant, pastoral fantasy that rolled forth from her imagination, the simple life of farming, tied inexorably to the cycles of the land and seasons. It was a life of beauty with the birthing of livestock and children and of death, the slaughter of some of those animals in mercy of wounds beyond healing or for need of meat. A life of the exquisite pleasure of lovemaking and the almost unbearable agony of child birth in the ebb and flow of planting, harvesting and surviving. This is a sedate posting, isn't it? She thought to herself. What could be more stable than being a Sister Famula? She let her thoughts drift back to earlier in the morning and their vigorous activities before sleeping and grinned. He certainly knows what to do with a woman.

She inhaled deeply and was surprised to find the aroma of coffee in her nose. Her hand dipped under the pillow she wasn't using, laid hands on the little bolter pistol and she sat up, thoughtlessly nude in a single, fluid motion. The muzzle of the pistol sought a target, but she found only a beautiful silver coffee service sitting on the dresser, opposite the magnificent canopy bed they had spent the night in. There was no clue how it had gotten there, or by whom.

Constance slid from the bed like a cat, padding silently throughout the suite of rooms until she was satisfied they were alone, then took the chair from the little desk, and lodged it under the door handle to hold it closed after she was satisfied it was still locked as she'd left it the night before. “Connie?” his voice brought her back around, to find him pulling on a robe, that also had not been next to hers the night before. “What's wrong?”

“Someone's been in here,” she snapped, clicking the safety back on as she walked over to him.

That amused him greatly. “Of course someone's been in here,” he told her with a chuckle. “But you're probably not used to the realities of nobility and household staff.”

“I can't believe I slept through someone being in here!” she growled, berating herself.

Cameron took that as a compliment and pulled her to him. “Relax, my darling. Every one on my staff is vetted, thoroughly screened and most have been working for my family for generations. I trust them, and you can too, I swear it.”

She scrunched up her face in an inscrutable expression that he found heart melting. “Trust?” she demanded. “I want them to teach my girls a class in urban stealth!”

“I'll see what I can do,” he chuckled then looked at her, still naked in his arms. “You have a tattoo!” he exclaimed. She rolled her eyes.

“Three, actually,” she replied, stepping back and showing him her right shoulder. There, he found a Maltese cross embossed by a red heart. “This is the oldest, my squad sisters and I got matching ones during R and R leave on Reth after our first battle in the order. I was eighteen.”

“It matches the patch on your uniform,” he observed and she nodded.

“For the same reason,” she told him, then some of the playfulness left her demeanor and she looked solemn. “I think there's only two or three of us now, from my first squad, still alive.” She sighed and turned around, displaying her full, pert womanly posterior and, he noted suddenly, a three lobed filigree design in the small of her back. “This was the result of a bet I lost.”

His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “That sounds like an interesting story!”

She grinned at him over her shoulder, her good humor restored. “It is, and I might even tell it to you someday.” Then she turned back and raised up her right foot up onto the bed. It was a rather shameless display and caused Cameron to get a little red in the face until he noticed something around her ankle. Bending over to get a better look, he found that around her calf, just above her ankle a Fleur-de-lis had been drawn on the outside side of her leg and around it, in High Gothic was written Emperor of Mankind. “In some cultures,” she told him, “to wear a chain around the right leg signifies that person as a slave, or as a statement of marriage, depending on the chain and it's materials. Either is true for me, I am the Emperor's slave and a tattoo is permanent unlike a chain that can be broken or removed.”

He chuckled and stood up. “As if I didn't have enough to be envious of him over!”

She reached up and pressed her forefinger into his breast bone. “Envy doesn't become you, your grace.”

“I meant no real disrespect,” he assured her. “As I'm sure you know.”

Her hand went past him and picked up the robe from the bed and pulled it on, much to his well hidden disappointment. This was by far the best light he'd seen her in, and she was every bit and more the promise of her in the darkness had been. “I know,” she told him with a wink and led the way over to the coffee service to pour them both a cup. “The tattoos were a phase I grew out of, but the reminders are constant. I am grateful to you, your grace, for your sympathy last night.”

“Don't do that,” he protested, coming over to take her shoulders in his hands. “Don't shut me out, Connie. If you've decided this isn't what you want, I understand, but let us stay friends, at least.” She turned in his hands and looked at him, her expression somewhat confused.

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do!” he swore. “Do you think me a liar?”

Her eyebrows met over her nose. “No, I think you a charming Lothario who got what he wanted and I thought to hide behind formality because I was afraid of being hurt.” Her face flushed and her voice rose. “Emperor damn you, Cameron Wren, you got to me! A hardened veteran, and I wake up this morning like a dewy eyed recruit fantasizing about having your children! If you play careless with me, so help me, I'll...!”

That was as far as she got before he leaned in and silenced her with a kiss as his hands found her waist to pick her up and sat her down on the dresser to the rattle of the coffee service. Their kiss broke, leaving her breathless and panting and, she noted, her legs splayed obscenely wide in invitation to him. His eyes were laughing at her as he leaned in and kissed her nose. “If you would stop worrying about being hurt for just a moment,” he scolded her. “You might realize you have two hearts in your breast to safe guard, Constance De La Concordia! Yours and mine! Now, what do I have to do to prove myself to you? Shall I have your name tattooed around my ankle?”

The ridiculousness of the situation got to her and she began to laugh, joined shortly by him as she reached over and held up her coffee cup. “What say we start with cream, sugar and that view you bragged about?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he assured her.

* * *

The view, when they finally got to it, was everything she'd been promised.

* * *

Rachael sat up in her bunk, being careful not to hit the bunk above her with her head. The barracks the Sisters had been given had the beds in nooks worked into the bulkheads of the compartment. They were three levels high, with drawers below each bunk and sets of hanging lockers to interconnect them. They were designed to move Imperial Guardsmen into or out of war zones in great need and this room was meant for the command non-commissioned officers of a company and so was nicer than the massive bay the sisters used as a day room that normally would have bunk beds in rows and rows to sleep five hundred men and women.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, noting that only herself, June and Eloheim Advance Whitworth were in the room, which seemed odd. They had gone to bed last night, after grueling set of instructions and had expected the rest of the mission to return, but they hadn't. Rachael stood and yawned, her modesty kept by a close tank top that was for the purpose of sleeping or exercise and matching pair of shorts that reached her knees. At least they were easier to don.

Still mostly asleep, she stumbled into the head for the barracks and washed her face. The cold water was brisk and set her heart to beating as she looked up into her reflection in the mirror, still trying to get used to what she saw being her face.

Then the reflection contorted into a mask of rage and shouted, “Give me back my body!”

Rachael snapped awake and sat up so fast in the bunk she banged her head on the set of drawers above her. “Ow!” she yelled, startled by the pain and holding her hand over her head to see if there was blood. Her hand was dry, but her forehead tender where she'd struck it.

“You alright?” the voice of Sister June drew Rachael's eyes to one of the tables in the center of the room, finding her with a hot pot and mug of something on the way to her mouth. Rachael sat up in the bed, still rubbing her head where she'd struck it.

“Nightmare,” she admitted.

The cup went down to the table untasted. “What was it this time?” she asked softly.

“It's nothing,” Rachael started, but June was having none of it.

“Tell me,” she commanded. The new woman gave her a strange look, then shrugged and stood to amble over to the table, turn over one of the waiting cups on the service and help herself to some of the Hospitaliers coffee.

“Have you ever had a dream where you were getting up and going about your day, but you were still dreaming? Then you wake up for real?” She nodded guardedly. “Well, it was that, I woke up, walked into the latrine and was washing my face then my reflection demanded I give it my body.”

“What?” asked a somewhat bleary eyed Ruth from her bunk.

“Yes, it was like something out of a horror holo,” Rachael replied.

“What did it say exactly,” June demanded. Rachael paused in stirring her coffee.

Taking the spoon out and putting it on the table, she asked softly, “I believe it was 'give me back my body,' but I'm not exactly sure. Why?”

The Hospitalier leapt up, her chair flying back into the bunk behind her. From a standing start, June actually jumped over the table and the next thing Rachael knew she had a knife at her throat and her head immobilized in a choke hold. “Ruth, get over here, now!” she shouted.

“Let go!” Rachael shouted, instantly terrified. “What's the matter with you?”

“Kiss the seal of the Emperor of Mankind or I will open your throat from ear to ear!” June hissed. Ruth tumbled out of bed and rushed over, presenting the only thing she had with the Imperial Aquila on it, the bra she was wearing over her breast. “Swear your fealty! Kiss it, so help me!” June snarled.

Rachael puckered her lips and, when given just enough slack in the vise hold, brought her head forward and kissed the Eloheim's breast. “Long live the Emperor of Mankind!” she affirmed. The knife left her throat and her neck was released.

Panting, June dropped the knife to clatter onto the table. “This body was brought through the Warp,” she said in slight apology. “It could have been possessed, that's why the Reverend Mother had me remove Rachael's brain and bury it on Banudan. Still, there was a possibility. Sorry.”

Rachael shook all over at how close she'd come to dying and nodded as Ruth removed her bust from the other woman's face. “No, no,” she panted. “If...if I had been, I would want you to...!” Ruth laid her hand on Rachael's shoulder.

“Nice to hear,” she told her softly. Then she looked back and forth between both women. “Is there a chance that Rachael is possessed, but by Jonas?”

“What?” asked Rachael.

June sat back down on the bench and looked up at the Eloheim. “What do you mean, Ruth?”

Rubbing her hands on her thighs, she got a mug and poured her own coffee. “What if Rachael's soul never departed her body? What if it's still there, but now Jonas and his brain are there with his soul?”

“Is that possible?” June asked. Both women turned to look at the Inquisitor, but she shrugged her own ignorance.

“I'm not a theologian, well, not a theoretical one, anyway. My training was all in practical matters.”

Ruth took a large sip of coffee and mulled the question. “We need test you.”

Rachael sighed and nodded. “Yes, it's probably for the best. We'll have to wait for Palatine De La Concordia to return.”

“Reverend Mother Winter is here...” she started, but June and Rachael spoke in chorus.

“No,” they declared. The two women exchanged a glance, then smiled and Winter gestured for June to proceed. “She's been through enough,” Campanelli assured Whitworth. “Can you imagine trying to test the body of your own daughter and it's not your daughter any more?” Ruth sighed and nodded.

“We'll wait.” She polished off her coffee and then put the mug down. “Meantime, you get dressed,” she ordered Rachael. “I need to give you the crash course in Rhino driving.”

* * *

It was very odd for Rachael to lay eyes on Lucky Forward.

Reverend Mother Winter had evidently thought ahead that Jonas posing as a Rhino driver would need the Rhino assigned to her and had brought the vehicle along. It had been unloaded from the Saint Arabella into the shuttle bay that the sisters were using and parked in an out of the way corner. The squat, rhomboid box sat on a pair tracks each sixty centimeters wide, with a sharply sloping nose that was the only thing not particularly boxy about it. It was painted the color of dried blood with the Maltese Cross and Heart heraldry of the Order of the Valorous Heart on its nose, both side doors and the rear. On the sides, at the very front of the nose, the dark red lightened to scarlet to highlight a black Fleur-de-lis next to which, in white the vehicle's name was painted by hand in Low Gothic. Despite its squat appearance, the vehicle was three point six meters tall to the roof, four and a half wide and just over six and half long.

The mud of Goshen IV was long washed off, and it was obvious the vehicle had been lovingly worked over since being recovered. Rachael walked down the side of it, reaching out to touch it as she did so, overwhelmed with an odd sense of deja vu as she saw it 'again' and for the first time. At the back corner, a new drive sprocket had been installed, though there was still a dent from an unexploded bolter round above the track skirt of the vehicle where someone, presumably Rachael herself, painted a bandage and 'Ouch!' near it.

Seeing her sense of humor brought a smile to Rachael's face as she continued to walk around the rear of the Rhino to the Starboard hatch she'd last left in her dream. “This feels so strange,” she admitted as she reached up and pulled the hatch open, looking inside for the first time. It was a cramped little compartment, despite the height of the Rhino, the armor ate into the space a great deal and she was nearly obliged to duck her head to enter it. The interior was a monochromatic off white to trick the eye into thinking the interior was bigger than it was.

There were ten jump seats arranged around the cabin in the most space efficient manner, each with a fold out socket to plug in the fusion pack of a sister's power armor to keep it in communication with the officers running the battle. In the nose, on the left side of the vehicle was a compact, but much nicer chair with the controls for the driver laid in around it. On the right was the platform and the spinning machinery of the pintle mounted gun topside to be manned instead of remotely operated.

Rachael slid into the seat did something of a double take. “It's so big!” she declared, causing Ruth to chuckle.

“Normally, you'd be in armor sitting in it, and that takes room.” She began to point out the small clusters of instruments. “So, it's pretty basic, all conforming to the Standard Template Construct. This is the Vehicle Status display, fuel tank level, oil pressures, hydraulic pressure, pump temperature, things like that. This is the caution and warning center to tell you if something is out of spec or has tripped a fault condition. On the wall, there, are the electrics; cabin lights, exterior lights, infrared lamp and so on.”

“Seems simple enough,” Rachael ventured, drawing an amused glance from Ruth.

“Famous last words,” she chided the new woman.

Rachael shrugged. “So, this...yoke... is the steering?” she asked, indicated the dual control handle before her.

“Much more,” Ruth corrected her. “This is a tracked vehicle, so this is steering, throttle and breaks, all in one. The right hand controls the right track, the left the left. Rotate them both forward, the Rhino goes forward.”

“Lucky,” Rachael corrected her.

“Excuse me?”

Winter looked up into her face, an odd expression on her own. “I...I don't know. I just felt really strongly that she...I...called it Lucky, not 'the Rhino'. I, I can't explain it.”

“That's really starting to bother me, Winter.”

“You think I'm not?” she demanded. She shivered and indicated the control. “Sorry, I interrupted you. Please, continue.”

Ruth's glare couldn't decide if it was anger, fear or suspicion, but eventually it passed and her face settled into a more neutral teaching expression. “The tracks can run at different speeds and even opposite directions. This allows...Lucky... to spin in it's own foot print, which is handy in confined spaces, like this hanger. If you press the left trigger on the yoke, it will link the two controllers, then you just turn the yoke as if you were driving a regular car.”

“What's the right trigger for?” she asked, reaching out to get a feel for the controls in her hands.

“It's the push to talk for the Vox thrower,” Ruth answered. “Just the trigger for external and the trigger in addition to that thumb button for the intercom.” Rachael nodded, looking over the controls and then finally back up at Ruth.

“Ok, so now what? Laps around the shuttle bay?”

“Are you mental?” Ruth laughed. “We're on a space ship, right next to the outside hull with doors that open onto space, this is the last place I'll try teaching you to drive!” Rachael frowned, but finally admitted to the logic of it and shrugged. “I just want you familiar with it so the sisters don't see you looking for the first time.”

“Eloheim Advance,” she started, then paused for a long moment before Ruth realized she was waiting for permission to continue.

“Go ahead, Rachael.”

“Thank you, I, I just want to say, I'm grateful for your instruction. My mission is too important to be allowed to fail. I know I can be...headstrong...in going after my goals, but it's in service to the Emperor. I'm sorry for this situation, and I am grateful for any help you can give me to accomplish my mission.” Ruth rubbed her chin thoughtfully, staring at the other woman.

“Don't mention it,” she finally decided. “Go to the ship's barber and get your hair regulation. Either back white...no. On second though, not all white. Get it all your natural color.”

“A...alright.” After a moment, she asked, “Why not...?

“Because I said so,” Ruth snapped.

“Yes, Eloheim Advance.”

Whitworth glared at her for a long moment, then turned back to the open door. She paused in the hatchway and, over her shoulder, declared, “You may address me as 'Sister'.” Then ducked through the hatch in a swirl of the Day Habit and was gone.

For a moment, Rachael stared after her, then, unable to make sense of what she'd witnessed, rose from the driver's chair and made her way to the Ship's Barber, pausing to secure Lucky before she did so.

* * *

With a crew of over a hundred thousand souls, His Majesty's Armed Vessel Vigilant had many compartments that most would think had no place on a war ship. She was equipped with five, one thousand seat theaters for crew recreation, one of which was reserved for the Officers, one was strictly for enlisted persons and the other three allowed mixed attendance. There were stores, selling everything from personal electronics to paper, pens, civilian clothing and everything in between.

As regulations covered every aspect about a service member in His Majesty's Navy, there four separate Barber shops, two enlisted and two officer, segregated by sex. Even the lowest Sister of Battle held the equivalency of a commission in the armed services, and thus were treated as officers, so Rachael took the travel tubes to the ship's central deck that ran the length of the ship, lovingly referred to as Main Street, to get to it. While there were a number of sensitive areas as this was the deepest, and best protected area of the ship, this was also where a number of these service and recreation areas were located so as to be central to the entire crew.

The female officers barber shop held twenty workstations and was busy just about every day of the week. Females being allowed by regulations to wear longer hair necessitated additional accommodation for its care; this included services such as hair dying to any color allowed by regulation. Rachael signed in with the ships' services yeoman at the shop and sat to wait until one of the techs was free.

There were three other female officers waiting, all either engrossed in their data-slates or a hand brain, but Rachael felt their eyes on her as they discretely tried to steal glances at her. Up until now, Rachael's experiences had been exclusively with Ruth or June, but the walk to the shuttle bay and Lucky Forward, had changed that very much. Rachael had felt the deck hands turn to watch her and Ruth go by and this trip to the barber's had been much the same, but more so. Now she had been alone and the stares made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn't really define.

Despite that, she very much understood it, and that understanding terrified her.

One had nearly worked up the courage to try and start a conversation with her on the travel tube, but a glare had made him change his mind. “Sister Winter?” A soft voice brought Rachael's eyes from the studious ignoring of her fellow officers waiting to a naval rating in a utility smock.

“Yes?” she asked and the girl bowed her head.

She was young, probably no older than eighteen and her face was an interesting blend of enough ethnicities that made judging her home world difficult. If Rachaels memory was correct, the previous port of call for the Vigilant before she had picked up Palatine De La Concordia and her mission on Banudan had been the Hive World of Algol. There, she had probably taken on fresh recruits; either voluntarily through Imperial Recruitment offices of people trying for a better life, or as a result of her Press Gangs drawing tithe to the Empire from the greatest resource of a hive world, people. That being the case, every recognized variant and breed of humanity could be found on a hive world, and Press Gangs weren't known for being picky. “I'm free now, if you'd kindly follow me?” Rachael frowned and gave a gesture at the other women.

“They were here before me,” she protested, and that drew all three of their eyes in various expressions of curiosity and disbelief. The rating nodded.

“Yes, ma'am, but you indicated you're getting your hair dye touched up? They're here for other services, I do the hair coloring.”

“Oh,” Rachael replied as she stood and followed the younger woman back through the row of workstations to the one farthest back whose chair abutted a sink with a neck rest carved into it.

“Please sit,” the girl invited as she went to a rack with aprons hanging from it. “I'm Holly, by the way,” she introduced herself. “You'll be refreshing your white dye?”

“Rachael,” she replied as she sat down and the seat forced her to lay back with her head out over the sink. “No, I'd like to return to my natural color, please.” The girl laid the apron over her Day Habit and fastened it to protect it from over spray.

“Oh?” Holly asked as she got a scanner and pointed it at the top of Winter's head to evaluate the color. “Are you leaving the Sisterhood?”

“We,” and that word caught a bit in Winter's throat to say, bringing with it a bit of confusion about what would happen to her after her mission was completed. She realized she had no idea of where the body of Jonas Merle was, or if it was even still alive. That was a sobering thought. “We never leave the Order,” she managed to say, working hard to keep the panic out of her voice. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Please, forgive me, my lady. I was under the impression that Sisters wore their hair white to symbolize their purity to the Emperor.” She put scanner down and removed the faucet wand and used it to wet Rachael's hair. “Just idle curiosity, I meant no disrespect.”

Winter thoughts quickly went black, though she managed to master the flash of emotion at realizing why Ruth had ordered the change, and keeping her face neutral. Out loud, she said, “Our Palatine wears her hair her natural color and I liked the idea of it. I'd thought I'd try it myself.”

Holly smiled. “Sometimes change can be liberating, right?”

Inside, Rachael was seething at the back handed insult she had been given, just when she thought she had begun to win over the sister who had been assigned to teach her. However, she realized that Legatine Vander had described Ruth as a 'minder' more than a teacher and it reminded her that she had a long way to go before she could get close enough to complete her mission. In a way, it was the best kind of compliment as it put her back on her guard and made her realize neither Ruth, nor June were her friends or sisters. “Yes,” Jonas replied as she tried to get more comfortable with someone else washing her hair. “Yes it can.”

She smiled to herself as began to embrace this new information as well as her new identity. How often did someone get a chance like this? This was a golden opportunity she would make the most of.

* * *

A bevy of liveried stewards carried the Battle Sisters dress uniforms, freshly dry cleaned and in protective bags to the back of the space craft as Constance and Fiona once more took the seats they'd ridden in on their previous trip in the craft down from the Vigilant. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the servants come in and out, young, mostly quite good looking, and all male. She wondered about the lack of bio-engineered servitors on this world and decided she preferred this option to the not quite sentient, but still man shaped creatures. Not as trustworthy, perhaps, but not as disturbing either, and they came without the moral quandary of wondering if a servitor was a biological machine, or purposefully bred human slave. Or both.

She had never been fond of the creatures.

Across from her, Fiona noted her gaze, followed it, then came back to her protege's face. “How did your evening go?” she asked cryptically, though the expression on her face added numerous layers to what was an otherwise innocent question.

It had been a long time since Fiona had seen Constance in civilian clothing and the floral sun dress the Duke, or whomever had shopped for him, had bought for her flattered the younger woman's figure, hair and complexion perfectly. She had to admit, the Duke had managed to put together an excellent retenue and their dedication showed. Fiona wondered how someone could have possibly know the skirt suit she was wearing was exactly to her own tastes. Indeed, none of the sisters had anything but glowing compliments on their clothing gift based on the whispers she'd over heard on their way to the Ducal Estates private space port.

Connie smirked at her, then reached into the bag next to her and produced the little pistol that had brought them here and handed it across the isle to her. “As well as you are probably afraid of,” she said as Fiona took the pistol and swept it out of sight into her own bag.

Certain that they couldn't be seen, her hands asked, Do I need to test you?

Connie sighed and nodded.

“Are you out of your mind?” Vander hissed only just loud enough to be heard. De La Concordia shook her head and stared out the window at the ground crew making the craft ready to depart.

“No,” she replied softly. “We have to know if he was tainted, and if he is, I am now.” She turned back to her mentor, her eyes steely. “I regret nothing, Fiona. I trust you'll do your duty?”

Fiona sat and stared at the woman she thought of as the daughter she hadn't had, fuming that she could be so cavalier so as to put her in this situation. The situation of possibly having to kill a woman more dear to her than her own life. “I had thought you better than this, Connie,” she told her quietly. The blue eyes blinked slowly.

“We had to know, and this will tell us,” she replied calmly. “If I am tainted, your duty will be clear. If not, well, I have enjoyed a pleasant evening in the service of my Emperor and am a step closer to owning the trust and confidence of the house I am charged to guide.” She smiled and looked out the window again. “And my charge is none the wiser for it.”

“I don't want to see you continue to be this reckless, Connie.”

For a long time Constance said nothing. The ship rose up on her suspension field and quickly Dachaigh fell away astern. As the blue skies of Thuria gave way to the endless black of space, she turned back and gave her mentor her most serious expression. “Fi, I need your help keeping my thinking straight.”

“Other than this, I haven't had any cause to doubt your thinking,” the older woman affirmed. Constance wanted to smile, but the expression on her face wouldn't change.

“Reverend Mother Vander, I think I'm falling in love with Duke Cameron Wren,” she whispered.

Fiona sat, speechless at the Palatine's confession, chewing on how complicated this 'simple' mission had become, knowing her protege wasn't given to hyperbole. She sat and thought and in the end decided this was a matter than only faith could resolve. To her protege, she said, “First, you know I'm no longer a Reverend Mother. Second, we have to test you. We'll deal with love when the time comes. Either way, Connie, I'll be there for you.”

“Thank you, Fi.”

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Testing Patience

The natural hair color of Rachael Winter was a rich chestnut, she discovered, that Holly had matched perfectly, evening the shades with a rich tone and natural highlights. In drying the dye she had teased the locks a bit, giving a full halo that floated about her head like a crown. Jonas looked at the face in the mirror that was both his and yet not and couldn't help but feel a twinge of much repressed attraction at the nearly doe eyed young woman that met his gaze.

Ashamed of his lack of mental discipline, Jonas felt a sudden rush of anger, causing the angelic face in the mirror to harden and the doe eyed girl became a skilled killer who was well trained in her trade and took to it with a passion. For a moment, even he was taken aback, but he mastered himself before her expression could change. There was no charge for the service, but Jonas knew Rachael's stipends were quite full from months in a coma and tipped Holly generously despite that. Jonas knew what Rachael's war face looked like now and committed the feeling of it to his memory to be able to call on it at need. That knowledge was worth more than any coin she could pay to the young conscript.

She wore the new expression on her way back to the barracks of the sisterhood and there were no repeats of the previous journey. While several officers noted the beautiful young woman in the car with them, no one had the temerity to try to approach her this time. Soon she had arrived the troop compartment that had been given over to the mission to find it crowded with young women, other members of the Sisterhood, most of whom seemed to be in the process of changing their clothing.

Conversation stopped as she stood in the hatchway, all eyes on her and Jonas was overcome with a feeling of self consciousness as she had not in years. Before she could say anything, a heavy hand fell on her shoulder and a gauntlet capable of breaking every bone under it gripped just enough to convey that warning. Jonas turned to find Sister Ruth in her armor was who had control of her shoulder, though she was looking deeper into the room. “Sisters! Here is our latest addition, Sister Rachael Winter, the driver of our new Rhino. Get to know her, but go easy. She bumped her head on Goshen IV and she's convalescing with us!”

A series of cat calls was the answer to the announcement as the women in the barracks competed to see who could mock the new member of their ranks with the greatest aplomb. Ruth's eyes turned to look down at Rachael and were hard. “Palatine De La Concordia wants a word with you, Sister,” she declared in a voice that brooked no argument.

Jonas wasn't quite frogmarched to the Palatine's cabin, but it was quite plain she was going whether she wanted to or not. Ruth paused to knock on the hatch and was already reaching for the latch handle when a terse, “Come,” drifted through the metal. The door swung wide to reveal the Palatine as well as her mentor, Legatine Vander, both of whom looked tired and haggard. Constance's ebony locks were drenched with sweat, and a glean of perspiration shown through the peach fuzz on Fiona's head.

Surprisingly, neither woman was wearing some variation of the Habits their order was know for, but both wore remarkable civilian clothing. Despite her worn, exhausted look, Palatine De La Concordia was wearing a sun dress that effortlessly flattered her considerable figure that was covered in tropical looking flowers Jonas didn't recognize. Legatine Vander, on the other hand, looked like she'd just stepped out of a corporate board room in a brilliant white silk skirt suit that announced 'powerful woman' to any who laid eyes on her.

“Sisters Whitworth and Winter, report as ordered, Palatine,” Ruth declared.

The Palatine said nothing, only sitting and evidently recovering from some strenuous activity, so Vander clasped her hands behind her back and walked forward, an arch look of disapproval on her face. She towered over Rachael for a moment, then demanded, “I understand there is some question of your faculty, Sister Winter?”

Jonas licked her lips carefully. “I...I have been recovering from a serious head wound, Legatine,” she hedged. “I think my sisters are overly concerned...”

“You had a nightmare that the real Sister Winter demanded the return of her body?” Vander asked, as if used to making such declarations every day. Jonas new throat was suddenly very dry.

“Ye...yes, Legatine, I had that dream,” she admitted. “But, I steadfastly pledge my undying loyalty to the Emperor of Mankind!”

Vander's eyes narrowed. “We'll see,” she declared ominously. “Arm.” Whitworth's free hand seized Jonas' wrist and forced it and her arm up, and the bell sleeve of the Day Service Habit she was wearing was moved to expose her skin. “Baldermort,” the Legatine commanded. A servo-skull Jonas hadn't noticed floated over, a hypodermic needle clutched in one of its robotic hands.

“Please remain still,” the skull directed needlessly, there was no way Jonas would get his arm free of the grip Whitworth had it in. Ironically, that held the armored sister just as trapped and Legatine Vander's gaze drifted to her.

“And you, Eloheim Advance Whitworth, when you reported you had reservations about Sister Winter that rose to the level of testing for chaos taint, Sister Winter was not in your eye sight. Why is that?”

“I...” Ruth swallowed nervously, then squared up her shoulders. “Forgive me, Legatine, I ordered Sister Winter to go to the ship's barber and get herself presentable and regulation.”

Vander's eyes narrowed, the menace of the expression amplified by the clothing she was wearing. “You ordered someone out of your sight, who you immediately upon seeing me requested she be tested, and not only that, you ordered her to the central deck of His Majesties vessel, where some of the most secure and vital compartments are, to get her hair done?”

Ruth's throat closed dry and loudly as she swallowed. “I...I have no excuse, Legatine.”

The silence drug out such that Jonas didn't even really notice the sting of the needle taking blood, or the wet spray of bleed stop once the needle was withdrawn. Legatine Vander just keep staring at the woman holding Jonas' arm and the silence got heavier with each passing second. “That's two fuck ups in as many days, Whitworth,” Vander finally declared. “Bad ones. Ones that make me question if that promotion was merited. The next one will cost you that stripe you're so proud of, read me?”

“Loud and clear, ma'am!”

“When we're done here, you'll report to internal security and review the flight recorder data of every second Sister Winter was out of your sight and you better pray to the Golden Throne she didn't step a toe out of line!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

“I didn't...” Jonas started, but closed her mouth tight when the laser like gaze of the Legatine returned to her.

“I don't recall asking you a question, Sister Winter.”

Jonas swallowed fearfully. “Sorry, Legatine.”

The Inquisitor who would be a Sister of Battle withered under the icy stare of the former Reverend Mother and for a long moment wondered if his station and commission would truly protect him from the wrath of these women, then the older woman spoke again, with out any of the intensity leaving her eyes. “Baldermort?”

“Sister Winter's blood chemistry scans as normal, Legatine. Within 99.997 percent of accepted human baseline, well within the requirements for your order.” Something about the tone of the hybrid machine slave's voice finally brought Vanders' attention from her two wayward subordinates.

“Something troubling you, Baldermort?”

The servo-skull's electronic voice was matter of fact. “Legatine Vander, I must inform you that Sister Winter's Kirlian quotient is double the accepted human norm...”

“Hold!” Vander shouted and Jonas realized there was the cold steel of a bolter's muzzle against her head.

“Please...” she whispered, her heart hammering in her breast. “...Don't...”

Vander's gaze was cold. “Rachael Winter, you are whisper from judgment, do you understand?” Jonas was too terrified to nod and it took a moment for her force her voice to work again.

“Yes, Legatine.”

The older woman's eyes were as hard as the rest of her visage, as hard as they had been since Jonas had recruited her for this mission and certainly as hard as when she had learned of Jonas desire to impersonate a Sister of Battle and yet, as Jonas felt the terror on her face, looking up into the older woman's eyes, feeling the cold steel of the bolter against her temple, Jonas felt like she saw something like sympathy tugging at the corners of Fiona Vander's intimidating gaze. “What are we waiting for!” demanded Whitworth from behind her.

“You'll wait for my command, Eloheim Advance,” Vander declared.

“The bitch has some other soul riding...”

“At ease!” Vander ordered. Fiona actually took a step closer, unblinking and the face of Death and Judgment itself. If allowed, Jonas would have shrunk away, but she was firmly held in place, unyielding. “Who is in there with you, Jonas Merle?” she asked.

“I...I don't know,” Jonas whispered. “I...have had dreams of fighting on Goshen IV. Dreams of events that Sister Hospitalier June says happened to...to her. To Rachael.” She panted after her breath and still Fiona Vander stared at her, stared as if through the veil of death and into her very soul. Then, just when Jonas thought she must break with fear and terror, in the back of her mind a voice whispered, Pain is an ally. Pain is a friend. Pain is truth. Jonas closed her eyes and sighed, strangely at peace. “If I am corrupt, do your duty,” she whispered.

The time drew out, as air filled her lungs and there was still no roar in her ear of Bolter being discharged. The seconds slipped past and she was still alive, still drawing in air to feed the body she had stolen and the confidence that had come with the serenity was dwindling now and an almost annoyance at a decision not being made, one way or the other. Finally, not much louder than a whisper, Jonas heard Palatine De La Concordia's voice, “Put the bolter away.”

Jonas heard the clap of the metal of the weapon against the ceramite Cuisse Ruth was wearing, then a second gauntlet clad hand took her shoulder. Jonas opened her eyes to see the Palatine rising from the chair behind her desk and walk slowly over, an object clutched in her hands that Jonas couldn't make out. Legatine Vander gave way to her and Jonas found herself face to face for the first time with Constance De La Concordia as she and Sister Rachael Winter were the same height. Her face was drawn and a sheen of sweat glistened on her skin as though she had just accomplished some great labor.

“I warned you I might end up killing you,” she said at last, her eyes tired and haunted at once. “You've been given every chance to turn aside, Inquisitor. Yet here we are, with you in a stolen body of a heroine who has given everything in service to her Emperor.”

“My duty...” Jonas started, but the look on Constance's face encouraged Jonas to remain silent.

She sighed, then turned to her mentor, then back. “Duty is the only reason I suffer you, Jonas Merle, and even so it wears thin and thread bare.” She stood up tall and squared herself so that whatever she had done did not lay so heavy on her. Or, at least, did not appear to. “Hold out your hand.”

Jonas felt Ruth's grip shift, but Constance's eyes darted over her shoulder. “No,” she commanded her Eloheim Advance. “Let her decide for herself.”

“What will happen?” Jonas asked softly, amazed she had the temerity to speak.

Constance's voice was flat and dull. “Pain,” she promised.

Jonas swallowed. “And if I re...” her mouth closed on the thought unspoken as the cold metal of the bolter's muzzle was against her temple again. If the Palatine disapproved of her soldier's action, she chose to say nothing about it, making the threat plain.

“Make your choice.”

Pain is an ally. Pain is a friend. Pain is truth. With a monumental effort of will, Jonas forced Rachael Winter's hand open and held it up. Something heavy was placed in her palm, and as promised, white hot agony shot up her nervous system to explode like a super nova in her brain.

* * *

Mary Cotton was in exceptional spirits, and had been since she'd awoke in the arms Douglas Volt, 1^st Lieutenant of His Grace's 3^rd Platoon, 'B' Company of the 112^th Thuria Lancers. Mary had picked him primarily because she was a tall woman herself and it was rare for a man to be taller than she was. She'd been delighted to learn his exceptional size wasn't limited to his height, planting a silly grin on her face the entire ride back up to the Vigilant.

Not to mention the magnificent generosity of the Duke! Fresh change of clothing indeed! Mary had felt like a princess on the flight back up to their barracks. Blue jeans, she marveled to herself. Real, denim blue jeans? Was the man made of money? Her new treasure safely stowed, she caught sight of the forgotten accumulator coil on the shelf in her locker and considered for a long moment. If ever there was a time she was happy, it was now, so she reached in and pulled out the link suit and her battle habit. The barracks was a little raucous to prepare to don the garments, so, thoughtlessly nude, she strode across the companionway to the little chapel and armory they had set up.

In the sacred space, naked before the image of the Emperor looking down at her, Mary was able to collect herself and turn her thoughts to a more spiritual frame of mind. There was no possibility of battle, so there was no need to ritually purify herself and bathe, but she did kneel before the alter for a time and stare into the holographic face of the man she had sworn to serve her entire life. He was a giant of a man clad in golden armor. With long brown hair, a square jaw, and a stern demeanor. The hologram subtly animated the image so that it was as if gazing upon a living apparition who breathed, blinked his dark eyes and wind moved through his hair.

That accomplished, Mary pulled the Link Suit over her skin, careful to keep her thoughts on the blessings she had received and the happy mood she had started the day in. Once more encased in her second skin, she donned the Battle Habit, whispering the Prayer of the Twenty Steps to Heaven as she closed the tiny buttons up the front of the habit, then prepared physically and spiritually, she crossed over to the niche that held her armor carrier and the icons she had placed over it.

She spent a long moment gazing at the two pictures that were her most precious possessions. “For you, mother, so I am worthy of the life you gave me,” she whispered, unlocking the carrier and standing before it. “For you, father, so I never forget your sacrifice.”

She clapped her hands and spread them wide, letting the carrier wrap the armor around her, sealing the pieces together, until it squeezed her gently in a full body hug. She turned in place to allow it to hang her backpack power plant to the mounts for it on the back of the Cuirass, then it placed her Melta Gun on the grabber pad on her right Cuisse. Finally, the carrier connected the power cables to her back pack and she felt two sharp vibrations on her thigh, warning her the gun was indicating a malfunction. Ready, she bowed before the Emperor and turned her steps to the range to see if her mood did have any effect on the accumulator coil.

Not having Sister Superior Marks with her this time, she set the auto timer on her suit, then returned coil to the gun. The red warnings floating holographically in her HUD cleared and the coil began to charge. The range crew safe behind the blast shield, Mary flicked the safety off and fired three rounds through the gun as fast as the coil would charge. The plasma flashed through three targets and Mary didn't need the timer built into her armor to know the coil was drawing slow, but it was vindicating to see it hadn't changed.

“Point eight four,” she muttered. “Well, well, what do you know? Getting laid has nothing to do with a bad part!”

Once the weapon was cool enough to open, she removed the coil again to make the weapon safe, then dropped it against her thigh so the grabber field could catch and hold it. The coil in hand, she nodded to the range crew in consideration of their service and headed to the ships armory. “Tell me I'm wrong,” muttered Mary darkly as she walked. “Say the wrong thing and find out what happens!”

* * *

It was a motley group that was awaiting him in the library.

Cameron Wren took in the measure of them as he and Henry swept into the room, watching conversations cease as the room turned to bow to him. They were an eclectic mix, but in a way that was something to be expected; the Sisterhood weren't a monolithic block after all, but a collection of individuals cooperating in common purpose. Their choices would be just as individualistic. However, 'common purpose' could not be said of this little crowd which clustered in three groups, ironically by class. There were a clutch of soldiers from his home guard, all somewhat cautiously chatting by the window, concern on their faces that they had been summoned to address some grave matter of indiscretion.

The truth was not terribly far from their worry.

On the other side of the library were members of his household staff, Under Butlers, three Footmen and, interestingly, four maids. The staff were in a corner, furthest from the door, being discrete as their training indicated they should be. In the center of the room, uncaring of any eyes on them, were a pair of young lordlings, both with notorious reputations and ambition of outdoing the Duke from his wilder, younger days. “Lord Masham, Sir Thomas, welcome!”

The two bowed to their liege, careful not to upset the contents of the sniffers each man held. “Your Grace,” they greeted in chorus. With the hour still in the ante-meridiem, it would appear that lust was not the two men's only sin.

“It was an unexpected pleasure to hear from your man Eddington that your Grace requested further company at breakfast,” Lord Masham added.

Duke Wren smiled and made a decision. “Of course,” he replied, all smiles. “I thought we might enjoy a round of skeet this afternoon.”

“We are at your Grace's pleasure,” the knight replied, always eager to climb a rung on the social ladder. Duke Wren's smile would not have wavered from the worst moments of an execution.

“I look forward to it! Forgive me, I have some business with the staff first, you understand.” He turned to find Henry had already summoned a Footman to guide the lords wherever Cameron would desire. “If you'll kindly await me in my study, I'll be along presently.” The two lords bowed and followed the Footman before the door was closed on their backs. “Henry?”

“We're alone, your grace,” the older man affirmed.

Duke Cameron's joviality became serious and he gestured for his soldiers and staff to gather around him. They did so, the two dissimilar groups casting uneasy glances at each other. “Friends, first be at ease, I have no complaint for fault to address with any of you,” the Duke assured them. As they group closed to conversational distance a bit of ease entered them, though they kept their self segregation.

“How may we serve, your grace?” asked the ranking officer of the soldiers. He was a Captain of the Duke's Lancers his uniform proclaimed.

“I want to extend my apologies for broaching so...personal...a topic, but this is a matter of State and it thus requires me to breech decorum,” he told them. “As you probably suspect, I am aware of...your sleeping arrangements, shall we say? Yes, I think that's discreet. I am aware of the previous evenings arrangements.” A murmur ran through the group as concern was draped on every face. Cameron smiled his warmest smile that had served him well his entire life. Holding up his hands he did his best to exude ease and consolation. “No need for concern,” he assured them.

One of the maids curtseyed. “There was no disrespect intended, your grace.”

“Nor has any offense been taken, Abby,” he told her. “Friends, believe me, I find what I must ask as distasteful as you will to hear it.”

“We're at your command, sire,” Bob assured his liege.

Cameron reached out to clasp the Captain's shoulder and let his gaze fall on each of his retainers. “I appreciate that, Captain Tull! So, some of you will likely find the previous evening was something of a...unique...experience. If that bears out, that's fine, I understand. But, in as much as each of you can, if you're willing, I'd consider it a personal favor if you would cultivate the previous evening into something more long term.”

“Sir?” Lieutenant Volt asked.

“Palatine De La Concoridia and her Mission are going to be on Thuria permanently,” Cameron replied. “I know I don't have to explain what that will do to some of the social circles of our world. Politics are down stream of culture. Wittingly or not, you are all involved in one of the major moments in the history of our world.”

The lieutenant's face became concerned. “I hope your grace isn't upset...there wasn't anyway I could have politely declined...not that I wanted to refuse, but...!

Duke Wren chuckled. “Ladies, gentlemen, please, put your minds at ease. I am in no way concerned or upset at the, acquaintances you've made last evening. Far from it, I mean to encourage you, if you are desirous of such encouragement.”

“What is it your grace desires?” Abby asked quietly.

Once more, Cameron smiled and took comfort in the excellent team he had. “If you'll allow me, friends, let me speak more directly and, regrettably, less politely. I'm sure everyone here would agree knowledge is power. Our world is in the sights of some very powerful people and our homes are at stake. I need every bit of knowledge I can get my hands on.”

“You're looking for spies, sir?” Abby asked.

“I prefer to think of it as gossip,” the Duke replied. “I certainly consider you friends and family, so I'm of course interested in the events of your lives.” His tone was soothing and his smile warm. “That's reasonable, isn't it?”

* * *

Sensor Tech First Class Ronald Smith was bored. His Majesty's Armed Vessel Vigilant had been in orbit of Thuria for the better part of a month, which meant day after day, watch after watch of civilian traffic coming and going in a mind numbing routine. Every now and then there would be a careless freighter or some inquisitive lordling's yacht that would wander too close to the Big V's interdiction envelope which would give a few moments of diversion from the routine. Usually, it only mounted to a stern radio warning to get the interloper to move along, but anything different was welcome.

He sat in a cluster of screens that shaped his console that would have been far too much information for most to absorb, but Ronald had several implants that let him categorize the flow without overwhelming him while a direct connection into his mind let him close his eyes and become the Big V, flying effortlessly through the void aware of the cold on the shadow side of the ship and the warm of Thuria's primary star on the light. He could see in the ultraviolet and the infrared, from radio waves to gamma rays that painted reality in colors and textures the human mind had no names for.

“Ronnie?” Sensor Tech third class Sally Durham called from her station. “Gamma Wave source outside plotted jump point. Spectrograph indicates a star drive.”

“Smuggler, huh?” he asked as he connected the sensor net to his implant.

“If it is, it's a big freighter,” Sally replied. “Bearing 221 mark 15.”

Ronald's mind expanded and he became the star ship as he turned his new 'eyes' towards the indicated direction. There he saw a flash of energy in a wave length no human eye could perceive that heralded reality opening up and a large something leaving the Warp. With a thought, Smith's mind was connected to the ship's intercom. “Con, CIC, new contact bearing 221 mark 15, designate master contact Uniform Kilo 77. Request permission for active sensor, over.”

“CIC, Con, contact Uniform Kilo 77 acknowledged,” the voice of Chief Petty Officer Gatling drifted impossibly through space. “You catch a smuggler, Ronnie?”

Ronnie continued to stare at the dark object and the more he did, the more confused he became. He hadn't expected an ID beacon on a smuggler, but this had to be the most EM quiet ship he'd ever seen. If Sally hadn't caught their gamma burst from leaving the warp, he doubted even the Big V would have noted it without active scanning. “I...I dunno, Chief, this thing is weird. Am I clear to go active?”

“Stand by one,” the Chief of the Watch replied.

With a thought, Ronnie moved the active sensor array to track the dark unknown in anticipation of the clearance as he tried and failed to glean more information. As he flew through space, a window opened up just above his line of sight as the master telescope tracked in and could give him a slightly better view. “Ronnie, I've got the heat and radiation leak of their drive signature now,” Sally reported.

“Run it through the computer and see if the plant is in the database,” he ordered as he continued to stare at the long, mottled, oblong thing that was falling through space. It didn't look like any ship he'd ever seen, indeed, at first glance he'd have thought it an asteroid if he didn't know better.

“Ronnie, this radiation leak is hot! It's like they're loosing containment.”

Ronnie checked the Geiger sensor and blanched a bit at the reading and was grateful his body was behind plenty of hard shielding. “Shit,” muttered Smith as he mentally keyed his microphone again. “Con, CIC, radiation hazard on Master Contact Uniform Kilo 77, possible loss of containment.”

“CIC, Actual,” Captain Newberry's voice replied. “Ronnie you're not blowing up my skirt for a thrill of going active, are you?”

If Smith hadn't been so concerned, he would have laughed at the Captain's turn of phrase. “Skipper, I...I,” he started and then a new window opened in the ocean of information he was swimming in. The plant signature was in the database. He read the entry and felt his blood go cold. “Skipper update Master Contact Uniform Kilo 77 to Hostile 2748, plant signature matches known Ork Warship! Recommend General Quarters...”

In his ear, Sally's voice was just on the edge of panic. “Ronnie, multiple gamma spikes on same vector!”

“Ronnie, go hot,” the Captain ordered and with a thought, the sensors of the Vigilant went active, and the young tech's awareness expanded with it. It was as if he was in a space suit, floating right next to the enemy, he watched, ten, then twenty Warp portals open. Then twenty became forty, and forty became a hundred of ramshackle ships that looked more like abandoned wrecks that should be drifting, not warships moving under their own power.

They were monstrous, haphazard creations, built of asteroids and other ship wrecks and pieces, painted with blasphemous symbols and crazed totems. Through their stony hulls he could see improvised weapons, scavenged artillery and ordinance and even the dead zone tell tales of what were likely nuclear munitions. “Emperor save us,” he whispered. “Skipper, it's a Waaagh!”

Still flying through space, Ronnie felt the blast shields begin to snap shut over the portholes as the gun mounts swung open all over his 'skin' and inside him, he heard the klaxon blare and the Captain's voice echoing through the ship. “General Quarters! General Quarters! All hands to battle stations! Rig ship for Battle Stations! All sections acknowledge!”

* * *

Band of Sisters: Part Eight

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Chapter Fourteen
Opening Salvos

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war...

Jonas clinched his eyes tight against the horrific pain, amazed he was allowed to curl into a ball from what felt as if he had thrust his arm into a blast furnace. He cried and screamed against it, then as suddenly as it came, it went and cold lucidity over took him. For a moment, he thought for sure his arm was gone, burned away from the fiery agony of whatever had been put into his hand and he clinched his eyes tight to avoid seeing the horrible disfigurement he was certain he had. But the minutes drug out and there was neither the blast of the bolter against his temple aerating his brain, nor the rough, strident voices of the women warriors who were his current tormentors.

The longer he lay there in a fetal curl, the stranger it became to him that he was allowed to do so. There was light against his eyelids, more than could be accounted for in the Palatine's dark office, yet his own deep seated fear kept his eyes closed. Slowly, fearfully, he found his other hand free and he fearfully felt about his arm. He could feel his own grip, both in his hand and the arm that was grasped by it. Millimeter by millimeter his hand crept down, feeling for the stump he was certain he'd find, but instead he found his hand, clinched into a fist.

“How long are you just going to lie there?”

It was a familiar voice, light and sweet and higher pitched than any note he could sing. It had been so long since Jonas had anything to sing about. He felt a hand, delicate, slight, but strong gently take his shoulder, not to force him to move, but with compassion. “Come now, Jonas. Open your eyes.”

Jonas turned his face towards the sound of the voice and opened his eyes, only to squeeze them shut with a cry of alarm as the bright, bright light flooded them. Against the spots that danced under his eyelids his mind put together an image, a woman, her head ennobled by a golden halo so bright her features could not be seen and at her back, massive wings spread out and were lit up by the halo so they seemed to glow themselves. “It hurts!” he cried, unable to resist the hand that was gently pulling him upright into a seated position.

“I know,” the voice replied. “Service does that, sometimes. But we struggle through it, for the Emperor Protects.”

With his face turned down, Jonas hazarded squinting through his eyes to find his hands resting in his lap, both present and whole. He was dressed in the Day Service Habit he'd been wearing, but now, strangely it was his male body he saw within it. Next to him, he could see the armored greaves and boots of Sororitas Armor, but it was not the black he was used to, but a white so pure it seemed to glow softly. He looked slowly up the armor to be greeted with a chestnut haired, doe eyed face he was becoming used to seeing in the mirror. “Hey there,” she greeted, offering a hand to him.

Amazed, Jonas took the offered hand and let the woman help him to his feet. “Rachael,” he whispered. “It's you!” The angel smiled at him and opened her mouth to speak, but horrible buzzing cacophony pierced the infinite light where they stood and Jonas was falling. The angel vanished and reality was re-established by the cold, hard deck of the Vigilant and the calm, but stern intonation of Captain Newberry calling the ship to battle stations.

Rachael looked up from the deck, finding her hair soaked in sweat and a small silver box in her palm to take in the shocked faces of the sisters standing over her. It was Fiona Vander to over came her amazement first and turned to the Vox Thrower on the desk. “This is Sister Vander, status report.”

“An Ork War fleet has left the Warp over Io,” the Vox Thrower replied. “Arm yourselves and prepare to repel boarders.”

Before Rachael could react to this horrible news, Palatine De La Concordia knelt down to her, her tired face intense in its focus. “What did you see?” she demanded, reaching out to Rachaels shoulders to help her up into a sitting position. “Speak!”

“I saw her!” Rachael babbled, trying to look down at the metal box in her hand, but was thwarted by the Palatine's hand holding her chin and gently making Rachael meet her gaze. “I saw Rachael! She...she was an angel, beautiful...”

“Palatine, the alarm...?” Whitworth interjected. Constance looked at Rachael for a long moment, then she reached out and helped the confused sister to her feet. She took back whatever she had put into the new sister's hand and nodded, as if coming to a decision.

“Whitworth, turn out the mission for battle.”

“Even...?”

Constance allowed her face to become slightly cross. “The entire mission, Eloheim!” she commanded. “The Emperor calls, and the Sisters of Battle answer!”

Ruth braced and saluted. “The Emperor protects! Winter, you're with me!”

Rachael looked back at Constance and somewhat shakily wiped the sweat from her forehead. “The Emperor Protects,” she affirmed and for the first time, she was rewarded with a smile from the Palatine and a reassuring grip on her arm. “I'll do my best,” she swore.

“I know you will.” Constance replied, then she straightened and turned to her Legatine. “To war, Sister Vander.”

“To war!” Fiona chorused.

Rachael quickly followed Ruth out into the corridor and down it towards the bunk room of the sisters. She was amazed to see her pulling off the habit as she ran and despite herself, Rachael found she was too disrobing and not caring if any of the ship's personnel running in the corridor with them saw. After weeks of uncertainty, something truly simple she could do to serve the Empire had arrived.

The two women burst into the barracks to find the mission in various states of undress, several sisters, unashamedly nude stood around a bucket of water and were passing a sponge to each other. The sister with the sponge would declare something quickly, while dragging the sponge over her body, forehead, to arms, then breasts, abdomen and finally legs, then had the sponge to the next girl and run to her bunk and begin pulling on the link suit of her armor.

Ruth and Rachael finished stripping off their habits as they waited their turn at the bucket and Rachael could hear the hurriedly repeated phrase enough to repeat it herself. Ruth handed the sponge to her and she dipped it into the pale of water and ritually purified herself with the holy water. “My mind is pure to the Emperor's Service, may he make my limbs strong to do his will, guard my heart to harden it against my foes and give my legs speed to carry out his truth!” she declared, and saw real approval for her diligence in Ruth's face as she took back the sponge and prepared herself as well.

It was the ritual purification of the Sisterhood, although, the most paired down version of it for use in times of exigency, such as this. Now the Sisters were pure, absolved of all sin or failing and their place by the Emperor in eternal reward should they fall in battle was assured.

Then both women ran to their bunks where their armor carriers were waiting for them. Fortunately, donning the armor was perhaps the simplest uniform she would have to as Sister of Battle. Once she'd fought to get the Link Suit over her skin, she quickly pulled the Battle Habit over it and muttered the prayers for each button up her chest before laying her palm on the carrier to let it identify her. A quick clap of her hands, then her arms were thrown wide as the carrier reared up and encased her in a metal and ceramite shell. There was only a standard Godwyn-De'az Pattern bolter in the carrier that she removed and checked as the robot valet attached a bandoleer of magazines around her hips.

Rachael hung the sling of the weapon around her shoulders so that the bolter hung across her torso, ready to be picked up and put to work in seconds. Finally, the helmet was placed over her head and locked into position which caused the link suit to contract silently hugging its wearing and assuring her it was ready for battle. Before her eyes, the smart glass that sealed the eye holes lit up, giving her information about the suit, her weapons, and once it linked with the ship's data feed, information of the battle space. All floating in front of her vision that would also give her low light and thermal should she need either. She looked up, just in time to see Legatine Vander and Palatine De La Concordia in the door to the barracks, both of them encased in their own armor, the white faced visors with their red eyes of the otherwise black Sabbat Pattern helmets down and locked. “Lock and load!” Vander commanded over the Vox line all of the sisters shared.

Rachael held out her hand to have her carrier place a full magazine of bolts into it, then with her free hand snatched her bolter's action open and locked it in place, then slammed the magazine home into the well. “Fix bayonets!” De La Concordia ordered. From it's frog on her belt, Rachel drew the wicked looking half moon shaped blade, a sarissa it was called, that looked to have more in common with an ax than a bayonet, but it locked over the muzzle of her bolter. “I am the Hand of the Emperor!” Constance shouted.

“His will shall guide my aim!” the sisters replied.

Continuing the benediction, her voice rang out, “I protect humanity from Evil.”

“By my might is it purged!” Rachaels voice cried, joining the chorus of her sisters.

“I know only victory and death!”

“Death that walks before me!”

“Neither Taint of Chaos, nor lies of Heresy touch me.”

“I am the Hand of the Emperor!”

The red eyes of Constance's helmet gleamed as she gave her troopers a final glance, then turned back to the corridor. “Sisters!” she cried. “Follow me!” As one, the warrior women broke into a run, neatly folding through the choke point of the door without being noticeably slowed as the Sisterhood of the Adepta Sororitas went to Battle.

* * *

If Mary Cotton had been thinking more clearly, it might have occurred to her that neither of the sailors under arms that guarded the Ship's Armory would be thrilled to see a Sister of Battle tromping towards them in full armor. It simply hadn't occurred to her that she should have taken the time to remove it before going to confront the machine priest. It also hadn't occurred to her that she should have returned her Melta Gun to her armor carrier, which took the disapproval of the sailors into full on fight or flight mode. As they were at the end of a corridor with no exit, they immediately went to fight.

With a shout of surprise, a pair of lasgun rays streaked out and struck the Sister of Battle on her armor, which, fortunately, had been designed for maximum protection, saving Mary Cotton's life. Still, there was a marked heat flash from the strikes, even with the ceramite of the armor defeating them, as the energy was dispersed about her. This made Mary cry out and reflexively stumble back around the corner, out of line of sight. “Friendly!” she shouted while staying around the corner. “Cease fire! Friendly!”

“Hands!” the senior petty officer shouted back. “Let me see your hands!” Keeping most of her body behind the bulkhead, Mary cautiously extended both empty hands out where they could be seen. “Advance to be recognized!”

Keeping her hands out, Mary slowly eased around the corner. “Sister Mary Cotton, Daughter of the Emperor, to see the ships armorer!”

“Why are you armed, sister?” the other shouted, the fear in his voice plain.

Mary looked down, realized she had carried the Melta with her cringed. “Forgive me, Guardsmen, this is the weapon I need serviced. I should have announced myself. The fault is mine, may I approach?”

The senior took more careful aim, doubtlessly at Mary's bare head. “Advance for identification, Sister. Slowly.” he ordered. Mary nodded and, with extreme care, inched forward to the scanner and allowed it to check her. Satisfied, once it cleared her once again, the Petty Officer returned his weapon to safe and shouldered it. “You may approach, Sister, but I must report this as I discharged my weapon.”

Mary walked over to the two sailors and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “No, the fault was mine, Petty Officer,” she assured him. “I will so state when questioned, you have my word. Again, my apologies and commendation to you for doing your duty.”

“Thank you, sister. You may enter.”

Before Mary could even think to raise an arm to undog the hatch, the lighting in the hallway shifted spectrum all the way to red and the battle klaxon began to echo throughout the corridors. Mary cursed to herself for not having her helmet and turned to the senior of the sailors. “What's going on?” she demanded. He activated a viewer, built into the alley-cove he stood in and read the display quickly.

“There's an Ork War Fleet over one of the planet's moons,” he told her with remarkable calm for such news. “The Vigilant is moving to intercept, with the Saint Arabella as well.” He looked up, his face ashen. “There's a notation to the call to quarters to prepare to repel boarders.”

“Emperor's teeth!” murmured Mary as suddenly she had ample cause to curse her hurry, her lack of cleansing and not having her helmet. She touched the Vox thrower in the arm of her armor. “Two One, this is Two Seven, I'm at the ships armory, do you read?”

After a moment, Wendy's voice came from the little speaker in the Thrower. “Two Seven, this is Two One, are you armored?”

“Wendy, I don't have my helmet! I didn't purify...”

“Mary,” Marks' voice declared calmly, “The Emperor Protects. Are you armed?”

Mary Cotton swallowed her growing fear and took the Melta gun from the grabber on her thigh and opened it to return the Accumulator Coil and snapped it closed. “Armed and ready to serve the Emperor.”

“Defend the Armory,” her friend and superior officer ordered. “I'll see you at the Throne.”

“The Emperor Protects,” Mary replied and snapped off the line, turning to the two, ashen faced sailors, she smiled and touched each on the shoulder. “Well boys, it looks you're stuck with me for the duration.” She took the Melta Gun in hand and sank to one knee. “Let's be about the Emperor's business!”

* * *

On the bridge of the Vigilant, Captain Newberry stared at the massive holographic table before him. Beyond, at the far end of the bridge were massive Transparent Steel windows, but the Situation Table gave him a much better view of the battle space than his eyeballs could through a window. In one corner, the holographic busts of the captains of the warships in the system he had commandeered were floating, ghost like, awaiting his orders, while he quickly scanned a miniature and not to scale projection of Thuria and it's moons. “We're on full burn,” Thomas Harris was saying, the commander of the Atlanta, one of the two cruisers that were the back bone of the Thuria Sector Defense Fleet. “But we're on the other side of Keroessa, it will be three hours at least until I can get there.”

“My compliments to Commander Moore,” Newberry declared to one of his inter-ship communication ratings. “Have the VACBOSS order the CAP move with us and be recovered once the attack is in space. Get them refueled and armed quickly! Be sure he's prepared to launch as soon as we get in range.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Captain Newberry returned to Captain Harris and smiled grimly. “I'm sure there'll be plenty to do even in three hours, Captain. We'll keep them occupied until you arrive.”

“I'll check with my engineer to see if we can get more speed out of her.”

Newberry nodded, then turned to the only woman in the group, the Sister Captain of the Saint Arabella. “Captain Roost, I would like you to feint out in front of us and lay out half of your torpedo ordnance. The Orks will likely clump in the beginning, giving you a target rich environment.”

Captain Roost's hologram turned to the only civilian in the group, Duke Wren. “With your grace's permission, I'll use my nuclear warheads.” The Duke gravely pulled at his chin, then finally nodded.

“Captain Newberry, I give you authorization to use whatever weapons and means you feel necessary to defend us from this threat. I'll have our factories begin production of replacement ordnance at once so have no fear of your resupply.”

Nathaniel nodded and gave Captain Roost a glance of heavy regret. Her image faded as she began calling for the code books to arm her munitions. “We'll make the best fight of it we can, your grace, but I doubt I can prevent Io from being taken.”

“I understand, Captain. Do what you can to keep your forces intact while I mobilize our home guard. They make take Io, but be damned if I'll let them keep it!”

“I'll see that you're kept appraised of the battle.” For a split second, the duke's mouth opened, as if he had something else to say. Captain Newberry waited patiently on the nobleman, but at least he mastered himself, nodded curtly and the transmission ended. He had little doubt what was on the Duke's mind. He'd seen the way he looked at Palatine De Le Concordia, saw the lavish gifts he'd given her clutch of Sisters of Battle and the expense of a private ship to shuttle them to and fro. But the Nobleman realized who it was he had fallen for, and how much her duty would matter to her. Knew that requests of special messages or treatment would be unbecoming and steeled himself to accept the bad of his infatuation that went with the good of the woman's poise and beauty. Nathaniel smiled to himself, amazed that at long last he'd come across a nobleman worthy of the word. “Helm, all ahead flank and give way to the Saint Arabella.”

“All ahead flank and give way, aye sir!”

The Chief of the Watch caught the captain's eye as he turned from his board. “Ship answers all ahead flank, Skipper.” Nathaniel watched the blue white nuclear fire of the Saint Arabella's engines come across his view port for a moment, then turned back to his chief.

“Mike, maneuver us out to port and bring the starboard batteries to bear. Let's protect the Port side so Moore can recover the CAP and get our attack fighters in the air.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper. Watkins, Doyle! Sound the recovery alarm and Z plus twenty thousand kilometers from the orbital plane so our boys are well clear of the Arabella's wake. Helm, left full rudder.”

“Z plus twenty thousand, and left full rudder, aye!”

“Now hear this, now hear this, Alert Two throughout the ship. Prepare to recover space craft!”

“Tommy, let me know the second you've got a firing solution,” Newberry ordered as he walked forward to the front windows, unable to resist the primitive brain that itched to see with it's own eyes.

“The batteries are coming on line now sir, just a moment.” his weapons officer assured him.

Newberry looked out through the transparent metal for a moment, the reached forward to pick up the inter-phone and held it to his ear. “CIC, Actual. Ronnie how many of the sons of bitches are taking the bait?”

In his mind's eye, Captain Newberry imagined being his sensor tech, so connected with the ship that it felt like his own body, seeing with eyes and hearing with machines that had no human equivalents. Imagined feeling that deluge of information flowing into his brain alone with the sensation of being five and a half kilometers of star ship. “About half the Ork fleet is turning towards us and the Arabella, skipper. They're all over the place, about a third of that mass headed to meet her, but the rest are coming at us, but the other half is almost disciplined, skipper! They're in tight formation and headed right for Io.”

“Just what I didn't fucking need,” Newberry swore under his breath. “Organized Orks. Tommy, what's taking my guns so long?”

“On target, skipper! Firing solution locked.”

“Fire for effect!” The sides of the Vigilant lit up with yellow and crimson fire as her massive broadside flashed silently out into space. Newberry watched them until he could no longer make out the streaks of fire then, after what seemed like an inordinately long pause, brilliant white light blossomed out in space, followed quickly by much more colorful explosions as magazines, engine cores and other elements began to burn in the nuclear furnace he'd lit.

“Con, CIC, incoming fire vectors on the board! Enemy boarding craft mixed with ordnance!”

“Shields up!” Newberry commanded. “Helm evasive Z plus fifty kilometers! Ronnie, vector the sisters to intercept the largest of the boarding craft. Sound intruder alert! Point defense weapons to fire at will!” The Vigilant wallowed as she tried to dodge the Ork's response to her own kinetic mayhem, but she was a big girl and not at all nimble. Her Void Shields glowed up into the X Ray band as some of the incoming fire was defeated and exploded harmlessly hundreds of meters from her hull.

But even on the heavily shielded bridge, the deck trembled as Ork shells struck home and boarding torpedoes managed to punch through her armor. All over her surface, the faster firing point defense weapons spat death in defense of their home and the black of space was lit with explosions. Then, the torpedoes of the Saint Arabella found their marks and for a split second, a new star burned brightly in the sky over Thuria.

* * *

Jennifer Hamilton's heart was beating like a trip hammer as she trotted in the formation of Sisters through the ship's hallways. Everything was bathed in red, like it was on fire and despite her visor being down and locked, she would swear she could smell burning flesh and in the static that crackled over the Vox Thrower in her helmet, every now and then she could hear the screams of men burning alive. She gripped the pistol grip of her bolter tighter, kept her eyes on the ass of her squad leader and lover in front of her and tried to calm her breathing. Ghostly messages floated over her vision from the Combat Information Center of the Vigilant that her suit had uplinked to. The sisters were being directed to the starboard flight deck, one of the most vulnerable parts of the ship, and the most likely place the Orks would attempt to board.

She gripped her weapon tight, making sure the safety was on and her finger was well outside the trigger guard so she would not have a negligent discharge and dishonor herself. I can, she scolded herself. I can do this. Gretch is here, WE can do this!

Then to her amazement, she heard the Palatine's voice from up ahead, as clear and sweet as a church bell, unbothered from the run begin to sing. “The Emperor called me to stand on the wall, to defend from the chaos that threatens us all! My sisters before me brought me to the fold, I reap like a scythe in a harvest of souls! I am his hand, and his judgment is nigh!” It was an old marching cadence and the Palatine's voice made a beautiful, Gothic hymn.

Even as Legatine Vander joined the Palatine, the entire troop fell in step as the song forced it's cadence on the Sisters. “No longer with family, to the stars I've been sent, to purge all the heretics who will not repent! I kill without consequence for his word is law! Separating the Righteous as grain from the straw! I rain fire, and death from the sky...”

Then, with one voice, the mission took up the chorus and their voices echoed through their helmets, and the steel of the Vigilant herself as though heaven itself had opened and a troop of angels were descending to battle evil itself. “And I've given up husbands, parents and life, to basque in the glory and strength of his light! Neither Chaos, nor Xenos or heretic blight, shall triumph against our Emperor's might! I burn with his wrath calling you to atone! I protect all humanity, with my sisters alone!”

Time came to an eerie plateau as over the klaxons and alarms, everyone within ear shot of the sisters stopped and stared, jaws hanging open, awe struck as the Sisters sang on their way to war. The voices were glad, triumphant, eager for the opportunity to do their Emperor's will and wherever they passed, spines stiffened, resolve was cinched and every sailor went about his duty or took up a makeshift weapon and fell in behind the sisters with fire in their bellies to defend this, His Majesty's Ship.

Then, ahead of them, there were different cries; the keen of men and beasts in pain, the staccato burning hiss of LASGUN fire and the thunder of makeshift Ork weapons. “Live and free,” the Palatine's voice whispered over the Vox and as one, the mission clicked the safeties off their weapons, then completely without fear, they stepped over the barricades the deck hands had hastily erected out onto the flight deck itself.

“For the Emperor!” the Battle Sisters cried and the formation broke into a flood of black armor, red battle habits flowing behind them, then nothing but the roar of Bolters. Jennifer found herself in what was easily the largest open space she'd seen thus far on the ship, dozens of times larger than the little shuttle bays the mission had been given use of. It ran for a kilometer in either direction, scattered around a clutch of the kinds of vehicles you'd expect to find on a space port. Fuel trucks, tugs, forklifts and crash wagons.

She wasn't sure if she was glad or downhearted there were no fighters or bombers present.

She ran as fast as her augmented muscles would run after Gretchen who was firing her bolter off to her left as she ran towards a big tender of some kind that would give cover. Jennifer turned herself to find, a hundred meters away was a pile of boarding torpedoes and still flowing out of them like a green river were the deformed, muscle bound horrors that men called Orks.

They wore patchwork bits of armor and metal, some had Space Marine helmets with the face plates carved off, forced down over their misshapen heads like grotesque bullets, while others pressed everything from pots and pans to nothing at all on their heads. They flowed like a humanoid wave over everything in their path in a demented frenzy to reach the humans and kill them, heedless to risk or wound.

Jennifer held her bolter up and its trigger down. It roared and bucked in her hands, like an animal itself. Only the augmented strength of her power armor allowed her to control it as it spat self propelled miniature explosive missiles into the nightmarish wave and the explosions drown out the cries of the Orks as they were pierced by the shells, then blown apart from within. The sisters had all laid down withering fire into the mob as they found cover and began to reload.

As she pushed a fresh magazine into her own weapon, Jennifer saw sweet, reserved Melody Harris leap onto the top of an empty munitions truck, then brought the heavy belt fed Storm Bolter she carried to bear. The multi-barreled cannon spewed out liquid death and the sister raked it like a hose over the Orks who were butchered and cut down by the dozen.

“Cover me!” a sister near Jennifer yelled, and Hamilton didn't think, she acted. She broke out into a trot with the other sister who was leading a pair of men from the flight deck crew that had followed the sister's song. Jennifer burped the Bolter sparingly, holding her fire only to those slavering monsters that headed towards them. Then she realized they had taken refuge in the shadow of a fuel truck and the other sister was laboring with a heavy flamer.

The two deck crewmen frantically attached the fill point of the sister's flamer to the truck, and slapped it's valves open. Then, right as Jennifer's bolter locked open, her magazine spent, the flamer roared and a tongue of white hot plasma was hurled into the mass of Orks.

The screams were inhuman as the monsters flailed, their eyes melted as they staggered into friends, spreading the fire even further. Bile rose up in Jennifer's throat as she got a grenade from her belt by feel and hurled it. The explosion killed a dozen, flinging bits and gore through the air and forced more of the Orks into the flames. She watched the hell for a moment, the bodies writhing in the flame and she was glad her visor was down and locked so she couldn't smell the stench of burning Ork.

“No mercy!” Legatine Vander's voice echoed through the deck as Jennifer reloaded and got her bolter going again. “Let them burn! Herd them together!” Like her sisters, she used the rounds to push the Orks into the cone where the flamer and their dead kinsmen would light them on fire as well.

No one shot the flaming bodies of the Xenos filth as they burned, letting the flames be their purification and death.

Then, as suddenly as the battle had started, it was finished and all the Orks were dead and burning. With a Herculean effort of will, Jennifer kept herself from throwing up and heedless of who saw her, embraced her lover, armor to armor and through the metal of her helmet, Jennifer heard Gretchen's voice, “You're safe, baby. You did it. I told you you could!”

Jennifer's cried silently, glad the visor of the helmet hid her face from the jubilant deck crew that crowded around the warrior women, congratulating them on their victory.

* * *

Band of Sisters: Part Nine

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Chapter Fifteen
Expanding Actions

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war...

As much as Constance wanted to let the men enjoy their victory and celebrate the triumph of good over evil, in her heart, she knew the battle was likely only just being joined and was far from over. She unlocked her visor and swung it upward, bearing her face, much to the shock and awe of the deck hands around her who now were getting out handkerchiefs, rags or anything else they could cover their mouths and noses against the putrid stink of burning Ork. “Fiona, give me a head count,” she commanded, then turned to the men and raised her voice to shout. “Deck Cheif?!”

A stout looking rating, likely a career navy man detached himself from a group and ambled over with a salute as he did so. “Master Chief Farns, your ladyship. At your service.” Constance smiled at him and gave a gesture over her shoulder at the burning mass of Xenos invaders.

“Master Chief, have some of your pit crews double up with some of my sisters for protection. Make sure that filth are all dead and let's get this wreckage clear so we can get this flight deck up and running again.”

“Aye, aye, ma'am.”

“Watch out for boobytraps!” she called after him, then turned to greet Fiona who had one upped her by removing and carrying her helmet and was leading a Sister Superior by her armor. “Legatine?”

“Short one sister, Palatine,” Fiona informed her crisply. “Mary Cotton was at the Ship's Armory getting her Melta gun serviced when the alarm came down.”

“I ordered her to stay there and defend it, Palatine,” Wendy Mark's voice declared from under the helmet. Constance nodded absently.

“Good thinking, Marks. I want you to send three of your squad, take one of these pallet jacks. Have them collect up Cotton, then get a resupply and back here on the double. Make sure everyone is fresh up. This fight isn't over yet.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Wendy replied at once, then spun and strode off, calling for members of her squad to report.

“Wycroff!” De La Concordia called as her other Sister Superior was within shouting distance. The young woman turned and the Palatine pointed to a small alley-cove near the main hatch. “Have Campanelli set up a triage station there. Have her deal with the bumps and bruises here so the ship's sick bay isn't overwhelmed.”

“Yes ma'am!”

Vander chuckled and leaned into discretely observe to Constance, “Well, this is an interesting morning, isn't it?”

De La Concordia led the way over to a ship's inter-phone, but gave her mentor a wry smile as she did so. “Oh, I'm on pins and needles to find out what we're doing after lunch!” She keyed it on and punched in her codes to identify herself. “Bridge, Palatine De La Concordia. Starboard flight deck is secure and repairs are underway.”

With a burst of static, the bust of a portly rating appeared who nodded gravely at the Sister of Battle. “Palatine, that's good news. What's your status?”

“I have four Sisters out getting us reloads and I've set up a triage station for walking wounded with my medic here on the flight deck. Boarders have been repelled and we're in the process of clearing out their wrecks and bodies.” The hologram nodded again.

The man snapped his fingers and made a gesture at someone outside the range of the camera's view. “I'll have someone from ship's stores get you some medical supplies. We've got a report of a boarding tube strike not far from you. Probably a near miss from the lot aiming at the Starboard Flight Deck. Do you have people you can send?”

“Any idea of numbers?”

The Chief of the Boat looked away at a read out the holographic camera couldn't pick up. “No, just multiple calls for help. Deck thirty one, frame sixteen. Can you assist?”

“I'll send who I can spare,” Constance replied. The hologram clicked off as Constance and Fiona shared a grim look. “Wycroff?” she called, bringing the squad leader trotting up. “I want your squad to share ammo with Whitworth, Winter, and Harris. Get them topped up. We have a call for help from Deck thirty one, frame sixteen. We'll resupply the rest of the girls from the ammo I have coming. Get them on that call.”

“Yes, ma'am!” Gretchen saluted and trotted back to where she'd been organizing her squad, her hands silently calling them to gather. She let her own bolter hang as her free hand began pulling a spare magazine from a belt pouch. “First squad, listen up! Whitworth, the Palatine wants you, Winter and Harris to answer a distress call, Deck Thirty One, frame sixteen. Girls, every body swap magazines with them, so they're at a combat load.” She pointedly handed her Eloheim the mag she'd taken from her pouch and took the empty Ruth handed her.

“Any idea of how many we're up against, Gretch?”

The Sister Superior shook her head. “The Emperor Protects, Ruth.”

Ruth drew her lips into a thin line and shook her head. “Copy that, Sup. Let's go, ladies, the Emperor is calling.” She pointed at Gretchen. “See you at the Throne, Sup!” then she pulled her face plate down and three departed at a trot.

Gretchen sighed as she watched them leave. “See you at the Throne, Ruth,” she whispered.

* * *

Mary Cotton flexed her hand around the pistol grip of her Melta gun, and for once, deeply regretted being designated a heavy weapons specialist. On the face of things, having the Melta was a good thing, it was powerful, technically an anti-vehicular weapon, though she had dialed the capacitor down to it's lowest setting, she still had to be extremely careful about what target she picked. While even a grazing shot would be lethal, she wasn't entirely sure how much armor was between her and the ship's outer hull. A misplaced shot could open up a hole through the ship, right out into space. And, of course, she'd left without her helmet.

Which meant she might have to drop her primary weapon and go hand to hand with Orks.

It was an outcome that was absolutely unappealing. She knelt before the two ship marines, making sure they had unobstructed lines of fire with their LASGUNs and licked her lips as she waited for the last battle of her life to start. Every now and then a crewman would run past the opening, which made her very conscious of her trigger discipline and made sure her finger stayed off that trigger while she waited.

“I don't want to die.”

The whisper was almost lost to the klaxons and the dull roar of men defending their ship, but Mary's hearing was excellent. She smiled as she kept her sights just below her vision. “The Emperor has plans for you, sailor,” she declared with the characteristic faith of her order. “Whatever it is, stand tall! You are human and we are in the Emperor's hands. There's nowhere I'd rather be, boys, than right here with you two.”

“Do you want to die, sister?” he demanded, his voice hoarse and trembling.

Mary gave an exaggerated shrug that would carry through the armor. “I didn't wake up this morning thinking how amazing today would be if it was my last,” she told him and the Petty Officer shared her humor and let a chuckle escape his stoic wait for the war to start. “But you know what, sailor? We are going to die. Sometime. Today, next year, next century, we all have a date at the Throne. Me? If we are going to die, I want to die for something. I want my first words to him to be, 'Master, I died defending your people!'”

“Damned right,” the Petty Officer declared. “Preach, sister.”

“Those green bastards aren't getting by us,” Mary declared. “If they come around that corner, we're going to stack their bodies up until we close off the corridor. The Emperor Protects!” Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw the sailor stand up a little straighter and pulled the LASGUN tighter into his shoulder.

“The Emperor Protects!” he declared to himself and Mary allowed herself a little smile.

“Yes, yes he does.”

* * *

Captain Newberry strolled across his bridge, conscious of his poise, keeping his spine straight and his step measured. His crew was good, well disciplined, but it could all fall apart if they got the idea that he was at all worried. He had to project confidence now, that the Orks were already dead, they just didn't know it yet, and his own certainty that he was going to be the agent of that death. He arrived at the damage control station, a little workspace of three sailors and the Chief of the Watch coordinating the defense of the interior of his ship. “Chief, how are we doing?”

“Palatine De La Concordia reports she's repelled the boarders on the starboard flight deck, skipper,” the Chief told him, his heavy set and ruddy face worried, but his emotions were under control. “They've begun damage control and clearing off the boarding tubes to get the flight deck up and running again. She's set up an aid station and I have some medical supplies headed there now.”

“Outstanding, Chief,” Newberry complimented his old friend. “By the throne I wish I had four sets of those sisters. What other damage?”

“We've lost four point defense weapons out of action and there's a fire on the gun deck at battery twenty, but it's contained. The only other bit is an odd strike at Frame Sixteen, probably a near miss from the docking bay action. The Palatine is sending sisters to intercept.”

“Get that fire out and keep me informed.”

“Aye, aye, skipper.”

The Captain strode back to his Situation Table, calling out orders as he did. “Helm! Rudders amidships. Maintain this course so we can recover and relaunch the CAP. Tommy what's the status on our reloads?”

“Gun captains reloading now, sir!” his weapons officer assured him. “Same target package?”

Newberry's eyes swept the holographic display of the battle quickly, trying to take everything in. “No,” he snapped, coming quickly to a decision. “Give me a concentrated broad side at this clump that's threatening the Saint Arabella. Once those are in the air we'll start worrying about our own defense.” He reached overhead and pulled the inter-phone from its cradle and keyed it on. “CIC, Actual what's the status of the Dahlonega?”

“Con, CIC, Dahlonega is on full burn, from the night side of Thuria. Estimated firing arc in eight minutes.” Ronnie's voice sounded distracted, doubtlessly the boy was all but overwhelmed with the amount of data pouring directly into his mind from the Vigilant's myriad sensors and antenna.

Newberry's eyes stared hard at the board and the mass of ships that floated above it. His fighters were still far enough from the Ork warships he was fighting that his guns would only have clear coverage for two salvos at most. And that did nothing to soften the invasion that was already starting to lauch ordinance at Io. He made a decision and clicked the line to a new channel. “Tower, Actual.”

“Actual, VACBOSS, go with comm.”

“George, I want you to vector the attack fighters away from the group coming at us. Have them soften up the invasion force.”

There was a long pause only broken by the sound of the Commanders teeth chewing on the tobacco of his cigar. “Aye, aye, Skipper.”

Newberry hung up the phone and turned deeper into his bridge. “Tommy, bring the port batteries on line as well. After this broad side, they'll be coming to bear. Helm, stand by for one hundred and eighty degree roll.”

“Port batteries online, aye!”

“Sir, helm answers ready for maneuver.”

Captain Newberry looked out the window of his bridge and clasped his hands behind his back. “Tommy, these bastards have intruded into human space. Explain the error of their ways to them.”

“Yes, sir!”

* * *

Rachael trotted after Ruth, in the middle of the three Sisters the Palatine had sent this way to answer the cry for help. Her heart was beating in time to the distant thunder of weapons that were echoing through the ship's corridors. For most of the trip, her mind was spinning with fear that this was how Constance De La Concordia planned to be rid of the Inquisitor in the body of Rachael Winter. But, some sense she had no name for told her these were the fighters the Palatine could spare. The Flight Deck had to be held, and she needed seasoned fighters to be able to do that.

The cold fact was that Rachael Winter was expendable, when balanced against an entire solar system.

A staccato burst of thunder sounded from just up ahead, much closer than the others and under it, the high pitched squeal of human beings being murdered. Ruth raised a fist and sank to one knee, which Rachael awkwardly imitated. Then Ruth's voice whispered in the private channel the three were sharing. “Melody, do you have a camera disk?”

“Yes, Eloheim.”

“Throw it,” Ruth ordered, making a blade of her fist and using it to point at the wall at the T junction where it could look around the corner. Harris laid her heavy bolter on the ground to free both hands to dig into a pouch and removed a disk about ten centimeters across and sharply threw it at the wall.

“On the way,” she grunted as the disk hurled through the air, but instead of bouncing off the wall when it struck, it stuck fast. A small picture super imposed itself in the corner of Rachael's vision showing a corridor of horror. Now they had horrific sights to add to the horrific sounds. Ten meters down the hall was a little cluster of sailors who had LASGUNs and were desperately firing down another hall. The space between the sisters and the sailors was a diorama that explained their desperation. The lights were flickering on and off as several had been damaged by weapons fire. The hallway was spattered in blood and viscera while severed limbs and corpses were littered like a ghastly abattoir.

Rachael's stomach heaved in protest and it was only with great force of will that she didn't throw up into the helmet. “Let's go!” Ruth shouted, then stood and came around the corner, yelling, “Friendlies! Friendlies!” Winter was only just able to stagger to her feet and ran after the Eloheim, picking her way through the carnage; amazed that she didn't loose her footing on the blood soaked deck plates.

Ruth's gestures told Rachael to go past the clutch of defenders, then she began to fumble at a grenade on her belt. Rachael threw herself across the opening, over the heads of the squatting sailors who's faces were awestruck at the three sisters that had come running into their midst. Down the hall, in the strobing lights, she got an impression of the edge of something that had forced its way through the ship's hull. The seal foam in the walls had instantly sealed around this new protrusion into the ship, keeping the atmosphere inside. Around the opening was an ugly, swirling mass of green horrors and the flashes of weapons fire at her. She felt a pair of impacts, then the deck was under her shoulder and she was rolling to be sure none of her was sticking out to be shot at.

The display in the helmet assured her she was fine and the armor had saved her life. Ruth's grenade bounced off the walls down towards the Orks eliciting a brief squeal of surprise that was suddenly cut off. A tremendous explosion trembled in the deck under her feet, drawing her eyes down. There, next to her foot, was Holly, the hair dresser, or, what was left of her. Her torso stopped just below her rib cage and her left arm and lower body was missing. Through the blood spatter on her face was a look of profound confusion, as if she was trying to understand how and why she was dead.

A wave of grief and deep, endless rage washed over Rachael. Consumed by emotion, she screamed in incoherent anger, then snapped the safety off the Bolter and whirled around the corner, heedless of danger. There, laid out like a tableau before her, the grotesque, hyper masculine and misshapen forms of the Orks were just pulling themselves up from the grenade and turning to see the Sister of Battle before them. Winter pulled the bolter up against her gorget to brace it then held the trigger down.

The bolter roared and bucked in her hands, but the armored gorget and the bolter had actually been designed to fire this way which made the weapon surprisingly easy to control. She raked the stream of death at the invaders, watching their bodies explode and fly to pieces flinging blood and viscera everywhere. Then the bolter locked open on its empty magazine.

Then, to her horror, the Orks, the ones still alive anyway, turned to her and started to chant and cheer as if they were excited to see her. “Dakka! Dakka! Dakka!” they chanted, then their own weapons started to come up. “Dakka! Dakka! Dakka!” Winters frantically thumbed the magazine release and fumbled for a fresh magazine from her pouch. “Dakka! Dakka! Dakka!”

There was a flash and something hit her hard in the torso, picking her up off her feet and flinging her backwards into the wall. She bounced off it and fell hard on the pile of bodies, behind the sailors, next to Holly's corpse where she'd started. “Winter! Stay down!” Ruth's voice shouted in her ears over the Vox. “Harris! Do it!”

With the high pitched whine of its barrels spinning up, Melody came around the corner, pointing the spinning death machine at the foes of men and held down the trigger. The screams of the sailors holding their ears was drowned out by the roar of the heavy bolter as they flattened themselves away from the sound.

Down range, the carnage that Rachael had caused was outshone by an order of magnitude as in three seconds, five or six times the number of rounds Rachael had fired cut down the Orks. Melody came off the trigger and ducked back into cover, letting the barrels spin down. The quiet that settled was strangely loud, but was quickly filled by the moans of the wounded and the dying.

Rachael's eyes filled with tears as she once again took in Holly's confused face. They were squeezed out by her eyelids closing off the red tinted sight through the display and rolled down her cheeks as she stood. Promptly, her sinuses closed from her tears as she picked up her bolter and finally got a fresh magazine loaded, but her eyes were so full of tears she could barely see, so she unlocked the helmet and swung it up so she could dry her eyes. When she could see again, she found Ruth's face before her, her own helmet up and, beyond her, were the amazed sailors, sitting stark and unbelieving that they had lived. The Eloheim Advance followed her gaze to the corpse, then back and in a tone that was almost humane, Ruth asked, “Did you know her?”

“She's...she's everyone,” Rachael replied, as she took a final look on the girl who had set her free and whispered a prayer for her soul to find its way quickly to the Golden Throne. “Everyone,” she repeated softly.

“I know,” Ruth told her. Her dark face was lightened by her bright, white smile and a squeeze of Rachael's shoulder in encouragement, the she turned to the sailors and became steady and professional. “Who's in charge here?”

“You are!” one of the sailors declared, but another sailor stood, not much older than a boy, but between the blood on his face and the years his eyes had aged in minutes, he was heart breaking to look at.

“Midshipman Peter Tanner, at your service, mum,” he declared in a sweet, clear voice that should have had him singing in a choir, not fighting for his life on a warship. “I took command after the death of Lieutenant Masters.”

“Mister Tanner, are their other hostiles to your knowledge?”

The boy looked down the corridor at the mangled corpses of the invaders, then back at the Sister of Battle. “I...I can't be sure, mum. Lieutenant Masters organized a resistance to this boarding and we fought them back here to the tube, but I can't be sure of their numbers.”

Ruth smiled at the lad and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You've done admirably, Mister Tanner. Winter? Escort Mr Tanner and his men down there and make sure that tube is empty and the invaders are all dead.” The boy sighed and kept his composure with admirable courage.

“Do you want prisoners to interrogate?”

Whitworth chuckled and shook her head. “There's no interrogating Orks. Mind your steps and be sure they're dead.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Ruth pulled her helmet visor down and keyed on it's Vox Thrower. “Palatine, this is One Alpha.”

“Go with comm, Alpha,” the Palatine's voice replied through the static.

“Palatine, we've neutralized an enemy boarding party at Frame Sixteen, but there are numerous ship casualties. Requesting reinforcement and medical assistance, over.”

“Alpha, what is that status of your task force?”

“All sisters in the fight, ma'am.”

“Are you still taking fire?”

“Negative. All visible enemies down, ma'am, but I'll need reinforcement to sweep for stragglers and saboteurs. Ships counter boarding party commander unsure of the numbers he faced.”

“Understand your situation, Alpha. Consolidate your position and stand by for further orders.”

One Alpha, standing by.”

* * *

Burdens of the King

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Novel > 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Burdens of the King
A Tale of the Star Wars
by

E. E. Nalley

3627 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Hyperspace, aboard the Aces and Eights, en-route to Ruuria, Outer Rim Territories

I sat and watched my apprentice, wanting, desperately to intervene, and yet holding myself in check, knowing that I could not. She sat in the lotus position on the floor of the galley of the Aces and Eights, her eyes closed and she was all but glowing in the Force. I felt her reach out, even here in the desolate void of Hyperspace to feel the connections of all living things. Her mouth opened, but I whispered, “Don't speak, stretch out with your feelings, feel the Force flowing through you. It knows what you want, you know what you want it to do. Let go, ride the current of it.”

Before her a small collection of parts spread out on a black velvet cloth began to tremble and slowly they rose up into the air. I felt the astonishment from Silas as my brother's jaw fell open in amazement and he stood to get a better view. I raised a hand to warn him, desperate that he not interrupt her concentration. The pair of clear Kyber crystals rose up and within it a faint light began to shine. “That's it,” I whispered, “feel the crystals. Remember the Code. Peace is a lie, there is only Passion. Show the crystals your passions, that which you hold most dear.”

The light grew within the crystals as they rose to be on the same plane as her fore head. Her eyes bunched tightly as she concentrated and the light became a glow that overpowered the lamps throughout the galley and bathed the room in a warm orange tinted yellow light. “Through passion, I gain strength,” she whispered as the articulation frame rose up and the crystals settled into it, perfectly mated together. Her hands came up, as through the Force she saw her vision, her own strength taking shape before her. The hilt, a beautifully turned and machined single forging of Beskar turned, opening itself to accept the articulation frame and the precious crystals within it.

As the hilt closed I reflected on all the heart ache and trouble we had gone through to acquire the precious Mandalorian Iron or Beskar as they called it in their own language, that had gone into the forging of that hilt. Now, in her moment of triumph, I pushed aside the thoughts of aching muscles, sore wounds and promises owed. Now it was as magnificent as Excalibur itself, the Beskar having a dull, brushed stainless steel quality to it accented, I was pleased to say, by expertly carved and lacquered Wroshyr wood in tribute to the saber of my master. The hilt drifted down into her waiting hands and she exclaimed softly in surprise. “It's heavy,” she said, opening her gold eyes in surprise.

“You'll get used to it,” I assured her. “Now, make sure it's in training mode, and let's see.”

She made a slight adjustment and then with its signature hum a glowing blade leapt from the emitter with a hiss of ionizing air. The blade was a warm yellow of a spring sunset, with hints of orange around the corona like a new pumpkin, not yet ripe on the vine. She rotated the hilt in her hands and when both were on it, a second blade, identical in color grew from the far emitter.

“That sound always makes me tense,” Silas remarked with a chuckle as he walked over, as captivated as I was in seeing the delight on my apprentice's face. She made a twisting motion and the hilts separated into a pair of sabers, one in each hand as she stood and tested the balance.

“You know, Taybri, you have made it very hard on yourself having to learn three completely different fighting styles,” I cautioned her. She began to twirl the blades in a figure of eight pattern before her, first both blades in parallel, then rotating one so it was in line with its mate, then she twirled them over her head, reattaching the blades into a staff that she spun and then tucked under one arm pit.

With a grin, she replied, “I know, mom, this just seemed right.”

I returned her smile and ruffled the wild mop of chestnut hair she had inherited from me. “Then it is,” I agreed. She was a precocious, slip of a girl, a meter and a half tall already and just getting into her growing years. Her skin was a coppery tan, lighter than my olive complexion, but not as fair as Torm, her father, was. She was eleven and already I could see the beauty she would grow up to be, with her ready smile and a well muscled body, honed with the training I had been giving her since she could walk and talk. She was strong with the Force, and for all her diligence in study, she had a quick wit and a delightful sense of humor.

There were not words for how proud of her I was.

Yet, if I had known then what was coming I would likely have been far more worried than proud. For in the Thirteenth Year of the Reign of Malgus I, Emperor of the Sith, troubles once more came to me. Oh, I had had my share of adventures, good and bad, no mother doesn't, and being a Sith Lord in the service of the Circle of Defense of the Empire, I had quite a bit of travel and adventures from it. While there were narrow escapes and close calls, none of it required grieving. Now, I had been wearing this body for more than a decade and I still marveled at how my life had changed. But, as you will find is my habit, I have gotten ahead of myself, so allow me to start a bit from the beginning.

I am Darth Nyeomi Fens, DCR, Countess of Banudan, Lord of the Sith, and that mouthful of titles and accolades is a bit intimidating even to me. I am a woman of humble birth, my father having risen through the ranks of the Sith Army to the rank of General, had been appointed Duke of Ruuria and I rose to this station through my efforts as a Sith Warrior in my own right. The establishment of our family as a noble House of the Sith Empire was unexpected, but in keeping with the philosophy of merit that our Order of Revan has ascribed. In the Sith Empire you could rise as high as your natural talents and your dedication to hard work could take you.

Yet, that is not the limit of who I am. I am also, or at least I had been, Edward, a forty something, over weight, computer tech, transported here into what from my perspective was a game and the body I wore a character I had created. Nyeomi Fens, The Good Sith, as I as was sometimes called, the honorable servant of empire, like the British Empire on the world of my birth, spreading Civilization for Creator, Nation, and Emperor. I know, it seems odd, but I had made my peace with it years ago. Now I was Nyeomi, Force using Tommy of the New Revanite Sith Empire.

My husband, Sir Torm Belos-Fens, KR, Count Banudan, Baron of the Sith Empire, had been a simple merchant and tradesman when life had brought us together. I cannot say if it was luck, or random chance, or if some higher power in the Force had brought me into this body on Tatooine and he there in a greasy spoon of a restaurant. We had been a case of lust at first sight, his imposing bulk and rugged good looks had pierced any defense I could mount, and I was a young twenty five in the full flower of my restored youth and beauty thanks to the active life of a Sith Lord. I had been as irresistible to him as he had been to me and our shared adventures had turned our lust into the kind of cast in stone love that is usually the stuff of story books and fairy tales. Suffice to say, Torm had been diligent in his duties to House Fens and from his amorous efforts I had given House Fens its two youngest members; my pride and joy.

Being a parent had been an adventure to rival all my experiences as a Sith Lord, a journey of heartfelt surprise, quiet pride, endless worry and shared joy as well as pain. For all of it, it was everything I had hoped being a parent would be and nothing I had yet to experience rivaled it. While my labor had easily been the worst ten hours of my life, it is amazing how just holding the tiny forms of the life I had created and letting her and her brother suck at my breasts wiped it all away.

I took the hilt from her, deactivated it and held it up.

“This weapon is not a toy, Bree,” I told her seriously. “It is your life. You are about to become an Apprentice of the Sith Order; your actions have consequences, things 'I'm sorry' will not cover. This is the first step to you becoming an adult. Do you understand me?”

Her grin of accomplishment became a solemn expression far too old to be on a child's face. She bowed, and held out both hands to me. “I understand, Mistress, and I swear to make you, father and our order proud.”

I placed the hilt in her hands to then placed my hand formally on her bowed head. “Hear now and all take note that I take Taybri Fens as my Apprentice in the Sith Order. Heed my instruction, obey me in all things, and I will make you a powerful Lord of the Sith.”

Silas grinned and playfully punched Bree in the shoulder. “Attagirl, Bree.” Bree's grin returned, but her joy did not keep her from carefully placing the hilt on the hanger for it on her belt.

“Thanks, Uncle Silas!

I will say that even after ten years, I am not comfortable with titles and courtly manners, or any other trapping of my success. I did not set out to become the Countess of Banudan, merely to do my part and good service to my nation; my Empire. Chiefly, I was concerned with earning the pride of my own parents and trying to live up to their example. I felt that was a mission I had accomplished when I was awarded the title of 'Darth' in the Sith Order. From there, having caught the eye of my future husband and come to grips with my own situation mostly by way of his pursuit of me, I wanted nothing more than to live as a moderately upper echelon officer in my Nations' armed forces, have my husband's children and have a quiet, fulfilling life.

They say no good deed goes unpunished, and I had a hand in some of the most important 'good deeds' of this era. I helped cement Malgus as the Sith Emperor by breaking the back of the Sith Inquisition. The Will of the Sith died by my own hand and his fortress fell because of my plan and the attack I spear headed. Yes, I fully admit I did none of these things alone, but despite my desires for a simple, country life, that would not be the case. The problem with making yourself irreplaceable is that you are irreplaceable. Sedate country living need not apply.

The mission we were returning from being a prime example.

For a rare, brief moment, the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic existed side by side, united in common cause for hunting down the rogue Sith Lord Vitiate before he could sacrifice all life in the galaxy in his mad quest for immortality. But, as the Code of the Sith teaches, Peace is a lie, and as the weeks stretched into months and months stretched into years of not finding Darth Vitiate the Mad, or his mortal remains, old tensions and angers flared more and more. The flowering detente of cooperation withered on the vine of political expediency.

This withering was helped along by Supreme Chancellor Leontyne Saresh a female Twi'lek and the former governor of Taris whose unreasoning hatred of the Sith Empire was unfortunately helped along as my Mistress, Darth Vannacen, and I were the chief reasons she was the former governor of Taris. To be completely honest we had done such damage to her career I would have bet she would never be able to show her face in public again. No one could have been more surprised than I when she was elected Supreme Chancellor. She must have known where a lot of bodies were buried to have accomplished such a political come back. The fact that I had spearheaded the hunt for Vitiate had never sat well with Saresh and even when her statutorily limited term as Supreme Chancellor ended, she managed through deft political maneuvering to have a puppet, Jebevel Madon of Corellia installed, making her a dictator in all but name.

Honestly, I wasn't sure how she had talked her way out of a prison sentence thanks to her little bio-warfare ring my Mistress and I had exposed.

Her power secured, she made disruption of the treaties between the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic her own personal crusade. This did not go unnoticed as brush war after political scandal began to be piled at her feet, but every call for a vote of no confidence in the puppet failed, usually followed with some horrific scandal coming to light about the Senator who had made the call in the first place. On the bright side, Chancellor Madon's efforts to have the Statute of Term Limit repealed had also been stymied, doubtlessly through political chicanery as equally unpalatable.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure 'Republic' was really the right name for that government anymore.

In any event, the Aces and Eights was on her way to her home port of Ruuria, back from the latest little brush war to be snuffed out, this time on the boarder world of Wayland where the claims of the Sith Empire, the Republic and the Mandalorians all over lapped. Saresh was trying to be subtle and set the Mandalorians against the Empire, but I had been able to unmask her agent as well as acquire a small amount of Beskar for my daughter's light sabers as a reward for keeping the treaty between us whole.

Yes, I know, how could I possibly justify bringing a not quite eleven year old into a war zone? Why does no one bat an eye when Jedi show up with Padawans not much beyond nine or ten but heaven forbid a Sith Lord have her own almost eleven year old daughter with her. Double standard much? No, I did not have some nefarious, sinister plot in mind, my daughter was strong in the Force and had already passed her acolyte tests, being of the age to complete her light saber, it is customary for a Sith Acolyte to accompany another Sith Lord or a Darth to acquire his or her Kyber Crystal and for the guardian to make the final decision whether or not take that particular acolyte as an apprentice.

Yet, as I sat at the table in the galley and watched my daughter clean up and put away the tools and spare parts needed to finish her saber, I could not help but think about how similar, and yet how different my children were. My children! It still gave me thrill that I had been given this amazing do over for my life and I assured myself I was making the most of it. For starters, there was the little bundle of joy that was my daughter. Taybri was a fun loving child who wore her heart on her sleeve, and while she was remarkably intelligent, she was only a diligent student in the subjects that interested her. She had excelled in anything related to being a Sith or the Force, but she still struggled with math or theoretical science. Despite that she was quite inquisitive and to be in her presence usually meant being bombarded with questions.

I saw her father in her, and she dearly loved Torm, but in many ways, Taybri was my daughter. She had shown how strong the Force was with her at a very young age, and yet she had not abused her ability the way some children might. While she made a great show of being independent, she always made sure I was near by. I imagine her guardian angel put in a lot of over time because she had also inherited my love of showing off and she was completely without fear.

My son, her twin brother, on the other hand was her mirror. Kalelam was his father's son, he was a meter and a half tall at ten. He had my chestnut hair and the same mix of our complexions which in him left him a shade or two lighter than his sister, beyond that he was a virtual clone of his father. Same face, same roguish smile and devilish charm and I'm sure he would be lady killer of the first rank when he discovered girls. He was as strong as his size would lead you to believe, but he was also studious, and a voracious reader. He was 'book smart' to his sister's 'learn after doing' approach, and he doted on his father, despite having gotten his love of reading from me.

Evidently twins run in this Galaxy, far, far away.

I could feel that Kale had The Force, but he unlike his sister who was already an accomplished telekinetic, Kale seemed to internalize his connection to The Force. He was capable of physical feats that still astound me, but he was largely indifferent to the Sith Order. His father wasn't a Sith, and that was all he needed to know. So he had declined when I offered to allow him to accompany me as well as his sister after a long moment of thoughtful consideration. Torm wasn't able to join me, due to previous commitments on account of those titles and honors, so Kale had elected to stay with his father.

Having watched my daughter's first triumph as my apprentice, there was a silly little smile on my face that even the intrusion of real life could not dampen. In this case, Real Life was the person of Fable Malo, my spiritual, if not blood, brother's mistress. I couldn't keep calling her his girl friend, they had been living together for ten years, and neither seemed to be in any rush to get married, but that euphemism for their relationship seemed so awkward. “My lord,” her voice drifted from the speakers over my head.

I took a sip of coffee and used The Force to key on the microphone. “Yes, Major, what is it?”

“I have a communication coming in for you.”

My raised finger keyed on the holographic display. “Send it to the Galley, Major.” After a moment, there was a burst of static and before me, perhaps half a meter tall, a hologram appeared of a Cathar female, humbly down on one knee and her head bowed from respect.

“Grace me with your wisdom, my mistress.”

“Darth Mur?” I answered in greeting. “What news have you brought to me?”

The most senior of my apprentices was looking well, her belly swollen with her fourth pregnancy that even the expensive Vine-silk gown she was wearing was no longer hiding. “Mistress, I bring news of some one who wishes to speak with you.”

No sooner had the words left her lips I felt a thrill in The Force, a warning of exactly who my apprentice had meant. For longer than my children had been alive, I had lived under this sword of Damocles; the favor I owed to the moon sized computer that called itself The Void. Now, evidently, the Piper had chosen to collect his fee. “This...one...will not wait until my return to Ruuria?”

“It says it cannot, Master.”

“Very well, my apprentice. Put it on.” Tari rose to her feet with some difficulty and stepped off the imaging disk, seeming to vanish, only to be replaced by a vaguely female looking gynoid droid that bowed.

“Countess Fens, I am grateful you can spare me a moment.”

“I remain appreciative for your help freeing my husband,” I told the machine. Or, rather, the avatar the machine somehow used to communicate through. The robot placed a hand on its breast and gave a very courtly bow.

“I was honored to be of service.” The robot's expressionless face made them somewhat off putting to speak to. I have yet to develop the casual disregard that others in this galaxy had for the machines and, honestly I felt a twinge of the uncanny valley every time I spoke with a droid that was too human looking. Although this particular droid bothered me for entirely different reasons.

“What is the occasion for your call?” I asked guardedly.

“I find myself stymied and in need of your assistance, Countess. I hope you will be inclined to offer me a favor.”

Here it comes, I thought to myself, noting that Silas had wandered over and was listening, careful to stay outside of the pick up of the holo-camera. Out loud, I replied, “I have not forgotten our agreement. If I can return the favor so that we are ended I will be delighted to do so.”

The head on the robot tilted to its left side. “Curious. You alone of the sentients I have contact with are so reticent to take advantage of my aid and knowledge. It has lead to my valuing the favor you have offered much more than any of my dealings with them. Was this deliberate?”

“I have a great dislike for being in debt,” I answered.

“In the entirety of our association, that is a condition I have never noticed you to have. Even before your ascendancy to the rank you hold now, you traveled the galaxy at your whim and your accounts were never in want of credits. Where does this aversion to debt stem from?”

“Common sense,” I replied, keeping my temper with the practice of ten years of motherhood. “Which, I admit, is the least common thing in the universe. But we are not discussing my psychological quirks. What is this favor you would ask of me?”

“Of course,” the robot replied, and in its eerie, expressionless face. All it needed was a cat in its lap to play with and a tuxedo to be the very picture of Don Corleone. “Over the years, I have given considerable thought to what might be an equitable trade between us. Then, I became aware of certain...possibilities. But to take full advantage of them, I would need an expert.”

“Sorry, I already have a job.”

The machine's blank face almost seemed perplexed. Almost. “Indeed. It is your expertise that will enable me to acquire the expert I require. The name of my expert is Asher Vallen, he is being held by the Republic. I am asking you to free him.”

“You're asking me to commit an act of war?” I demanded.

“Not at all,” the robot replied. “Do you recall the name of the Prison world you and Darth Vannacen discovered on Taris?”

The tingle down my spine turned into a full on tremor. “Belsavis,” I whispered.

The metallic head nodded. “Correct. The Republic still denies Belsavis exists. Further more, the New Revanite Sith Empire is already actively engaged in freeing certain individuals from the Belsavis Prison. The Republic cannot use your activities as justification of a renewed war, nor will your superiors in the Empire have cause to deny you fulfilling my request. I have provided Darth Mur with a data card of all the information I possess on Asher Vallen. It should be sufficient for you to locate him inside the prison and extract him.”

“What if he's already dead?”

“I will not hold circumstances out side of your control against you,” the droid replied. “I look forward to hearing from you once the mission is complete.”

“When I have done this for you, we are ended,” I declared.

It was hard to judge what the machine was thinking with the lack of facial expressions, something it doubtlessly used on purpose. On a human, I would have interpreted the pause as surly or petulant. “As you wish.”

The hologram vanished, leaving only a notation that several files had been received. My mouth terribly dry, I licked my lips and keyed on the intercom. “Major Malo, change course to these coordinates.”

“I do not show a planet at those coordinates, My lord.”

“It's there,” I assured her, suffering through an extremely bad feeling about this. “It's there.”

* * *

3627 BBY
Belsavis System, Bozhnee Sector , Outer Rim Territories

I was never comfortable not being in the pilot's seat. Still, Fable was good pilot and this approach would not be particularly difficult. Despite my own house on Ruuria, or the suite of rooms Torm and I were entitled to in my parents mansion, the Ducal Residence, this little cabin on the Aces and Eights felt more like home to me than either of them. I was making final checks of the gear Bree and I would take with us down to Belsavis and Silas was being sweet, but difficult “Hey, Sis, you know I'm not such a slouch with a Blaster, Fable and I...”

“We've been through this, Silas,” I told him from checking the dates of everything in my med kit and then returned it to my utility belt. “My apprentice and I will raise enough eyebrows without taking someone who is still, technically a Republic citizen into a secret Imperial base engaged in clandestine operations.” I stood up and turned to face him.

“But...”

“But nothing, my brother,” I told him. “I am a Darth and high enough up so I can bully my way into this. You and Fable go to the Brodogon system. It's only a few minutes away in hyperspace and, for the Outer Rim, they're fairly advanced. Gamble and do what you do, or just drift at the hyperspace point with the motor running if that will make you feel better. With any luck, we'll be in and out before anything stupid has a chance to happen.”

Bree came down the corridor from her room, her own kit over her shoulder. “Ready mom, uh, I mean, Mistresss.” I winked at my daughter and the excited grin on her face.

“Don't slip up on the station, my Apprentice,” I warned her. “No one wants any unnecessary drama.”

“Yes, mistress.”

I felt the deck tremble under us and knew just by feel that we were in real space once more. I shouldered my bag and took my brother by the shoulders. “It will be fine,” I assured him.

“Famous last words,” muttered Silas under his breath as he followed Bree and I to the cockpit and I chose not to comment.

“We've picked up a fighter escort,” Fable told me as I entered and took my first look at a place I had desperately hoped I would never see; Belsavis, the Oubliette of the Galactic Republic. Prisoners check in, but they never check out. The speakers over head crackled to life.

“Space Yacht Aces and Eights, this is restricted space. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

I double checked the mike was off. “Who's fighters are they? Ours, or theirs?” I asked Fable. She checked a screen built into her controls.

“Mark VI Supremecy Star Fighters, my Lord.” She grinned at me. “Ours.”

I smiled. The Mark VI was new, resembling a TIE interceptor with a large tapered delta wing that attached to the rear mounted ball cockpit at about forty degrees. There was a second, much smaller wing for atmospheric stability mounted at the inverse angle above it. Unlike that TIE interceptor, the craft had excellent visibility and it was ridiculously fast. Speaking of speed, it also had a pair of laser cannons that fired almost as fast as a GE Mini-gun. I reached up and keyed on the microphone and the Imperial Navy scrambler and IFF transponder the ship had been retrofitted with. “Wing Leader, this is Darth Nyeomi Fens, Countess of Banudan, I squawk on code frequency seven. Stand by to receive my authorization code.”

There was a brief pause as I typed a number from below the face of my watch into the transponder. The computer in the watch was tied to a complicated encryption algorithm that changed that code every thirty seconds. It and the transponder would prove my identity to any Revanite Sith military unit. The speaker was silent for several seconds. Then once again it came to life. “Darth Fens, we are honored by your presence. Have your pilot follow their present course and we will escort you to the Dreadnought Avenger. Commander Calum will be waiting for you.”

“Captain, my compliments on your speedy interception.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Out the view port, I stared at the planet and the little pinpoint of light that was rapidly becoming a Harrower-Class Star Dreadnought. The Harrower-Class wasn't as big as an Imperial Star Destroyer at only eight hundred meters and her bow was bifurcated to allow for a pair of force shielded launch and recovery bays for the hundreds of fighters, bombers and shuttles she carried. She was squatter, and wider than an Imperial as well, with her symmetry marred just a bit by wings that extended beyond the triangle of her basic design, but there was plenty there to inspire the awe and terror the Star Destroyer so perfectly exemplified.

Beyond the Avenger lay the frozen world of Belsavis. This was not so much a solar system as it was a collection of planets around a common star. Belsavis, the planet, lay on the outer edge of the system, well outside the normal green belt of a star the mass of the star these worlds orbited. But the utter chaos in which they did so, no two planets on the same plane, made for tidal stresses that kept the core of the world white hot. And where that molten magma got close to the surface, circular depressions in the kilometer tall sheet of ice that covered the rest of the planet were formed. In the bottom of these craters, where it was warm and the atmosphere a gas rather than a frozen liquid laying on the surface of the planet, teemed a jungle of all things, making for a white ball polka dotted with green craters.

I did not have long to anxiously gaze upon this latest destination I would add to my collection of planets. Ironically, when my name was still Edward, and my feet trod the soil of Earth in the Milky Way, I had desperately wanted to be an astronaut in my youth, to explore space and the stars. Now, I was loosing count of the number of worlds I had set foot on. The fighters peeled off as the Aces and Eights, slowly, guided by tractor beams was eased into the lower of the two launch bays, under the attentive eyes of the hanger deck crew until with the lightest tremor she settled her landing skids on the deck.

“Sis...”

“Not another word, Silas,” I told him and gave him a smile to take the sting from the command. It was his ship after all. “Major, I will see that the fuel reserves are topped off before you launch once more.” She stood and handed me a small holo-transmitter.

“We'll be monitoring this, day and night,” she assured me. “These are new. I have a buddy in Imperial Intelligence that hooked me up. They are ultra long range, secure, scrambled and can pierce a lot of the more common jamming methods the Republic uses. Call us and we'll be here as fast as I can make this hunk of junk go.”

“Hey!” Silas and I both protested at the same moment, but Fable just grinned and winked at us. I rolled my eyes and led the way aft to the boarding ramp. As I came down it, I saw that the ground crew had formed a make shift honor guard and I have to admit to being a bit touched. I gave Silas a final wave as he closed the inner hatch and for a moment felt a little worry that I might never see him again. Mastering myself, to the Deck Boss, I nodded a greeting. “Chief, see that this ship is refueled as soon as your schedule allows.”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I have her moved to a hanger or...?”

“No, I won't tie up your space to that level. My crew will depart once the ship is refueled and return when I summon them.”

He bowed, then pointed at a pair of techs and with a sharp whistle along got them working on the Aces and Eights. “Thank you, my Lord, for your consideration of us.” He gave a gesture and led the way over to a man with a severe military hair cut and lines of worry on his face I could see from here. He was wearing a Sith Imperial Navy uniform, but it was in crimson, noting his membership with our Emperor's Praetorian Guards. “Darth Fens,” he greeted as he got to speaking distance and bowed from the neck. “We are honored to have Prince Marr's Right Hand visit us. How may we be of service?”

I gave a gesture towards my daughter and matched the Commander's stride back the way he had come. “My apprentice, Commander, Taybri. And no need to stand on ceremony, Commander, I am not here on Darth Marr's business, but rather my own. I will do my utmost to see that my personal matters do not interfere with your operations.”

“Personal matter, my lord?” Calum asked, obviously confused.

“I have learned a man I am seeking was imprisoned here,” I informed him. “I intend to go down and fetch him if he is still alive.”

Calum stopped and gently halted me with a cautious gesture on my arm. “My lord, your reputation is formidable, but Belsavis is a mad house. We began with an orbital selective bombardment to soften the target for our landing. We have a few camps of operations and a beach head, but we are only sending special forces down there. It's a war zone of Prison wardens trying to restore order, prisoners killing them, each other, even us if they get the chance! I can't guarantee your safety...”

I smiled at him. “It is not my first time to the dance, Commander,” I assured him. “Your men will find I am not a shrinking violet.” I gave my light sabers a pat of emphasis. “All I require from your men is to point me in the right direction of where he is and I'll go and fetch him myself.”

The Commander gave me a long look, one hand pulling at his chin. “I cannot advise you to proceed, my lord, but if you are determined to do so, I will not stand in your way.”

“I am most grateful.”

He turned and called over his shoulder. “Deck Chief! Have room made on the supply shuttle for Darth Fens and her apprentice.”

“Right away, Commander!”

I reached out and touched his arm. “Commander Calum, I do not want to short your men vital equipment. I am a rated pilot, if you have someone below who can fly it up I...”

“I appreciate your offer, my lord,” he replied, cutting me off. “These approaches are difficult and dangerous. Not to imply your skills are lacking, but it will be faster to have my men fly you down as they are already familiar with them. No need to concern yourself with my rangers, they can make do. However, I would be grateful for whatever assistance you can give while you are down there.”

“Of course.”

“Colonel Grang is in charge of the forces planet side, he should be able to point you towards the area of the prison the man you're looking for was housed in. Good luck, my lord.”

“Thank you, Commander.” I nodded, then turned and led Bree over to a squat, Imperial Assault Shuttle. It was a Czerka Corporation Upsilon-Class model, looking like an elongated trapezoid with a cockpit stuck on one end and a pair of large wings on S-Foils that folded straight up like a tail at the back when she was grounded. There were hatches, port and starboard just aft of the cockpit with a little ramp that led up to it and it and the inner doors were standing open while several cargo specialists in their green uniforms were pulling out crates as quickly as possible. They were hampered by the odd design choice Czerka had made to have the outer door swung up, like a gull wing instead of back against the hull or even into it.

Perhaps it was an aesthetic choice, I didn't know.

“Chief,” I called, as I walked up to one of the deck bosses who was supervising them. “Just standing room,” I told him seeing how much cargo was being moved off the packed to the gills shuttle.

“That will be a rough ride down, milord,” he shouted back at me to be heard over the general din and chaos of the flight deck.

“We'll manage,” I assured him. He nodded and signaled the cargo handlers to stop. Several crates were put back on from where they had been trying to get at a pair of the fold out seats in the decking. The load master quickly re-strapped them and gave me a salute as he ran by to the next shuttle that was being loaded.

They had left a space about the foot print of a pair of phone booths, just enough to sit down on the decking, aft of the cockpit, right in the foyer of the twin airlocks. “You sure, milord?” the deck boss asked again, and I just gave him a smile and a wave as Bree and I sat down. In short order the hatches were sealed and the engine on the shuttle spun up.

I got Bree in my lap so I could brace my feet at least against the bulkhead and we could both see out the canopy by the pilot. He looked back over at us and I gave him a thumbs up, then he returned to his instruments. The shuttle was tractor beamed out into space and then with a lurch we were free and falling down to Belsavis.

As I noted earlier, Belsavis is an odd looking planet, mostly a frozen white, but then piebald and polka dotted in perfectly circular green craters in the ice. These depressions, some of them only a few hundred meters across, but some were gigantic, dozens, perhaps hundreds of kilometers in diameter and the shuttle was making for the largest of them. The lower we got, the odder things became. The atmosphere went almost to the edge of the crater, but the temperatures were doubtlessly dropping with some alacrity the higher up the wall you got. There were old growth trees, some twenty or even thirty meters around, that grew in arches as they got tall and bent away from the cold and back to the warmth of the geothermal heat at the bottom of the crater. Dotted in and around this jungle were buildings, some enclosed in walls like castles that were likely the different levels of security in the prison.

Around those castles, their walls caved in on one or sometimes two sides from orbital shots were multi colored streaks of blaster bolts. So many it was like the floor of the jungle was done up in Christmas tree lights. Unfortunately, not all of that fire was aimed at ground targets. The Republicans had set up a number of anti-air batteries and the shuttle took fairly heavy fire as we circled down the icy crater wall.

It made for a sickening, lurching descent as the pilot skillfully dodged the fire, while fighting the air currents that whirled like a hurricane as the hot air from the center of the crater floor hit the cold air next to the ice wall. Bree clung to my arm and I felt her fear as the shuttle dropped and swayed making me glad I wasn't trying to deal with all of the emergencies our pilot was. Finally we were out of range of the batteries and with every second the blaster fire seemed less and less, Our flight had leveled out and we were in a more controlled descent, probably well behind the lines in Imperial Controlled territory.

But Commander Calum hadn't been lying about the journey, or its seriousness, I noted at least four crash sites out the canopy as the pilot leveled out and we began our final approach. Finally I began to note obviously Imperial Equipment dotted about as the pilot committed to his approach. It appeared that the primary target of the first wave had been the prison's space port, cutting off the Republicans from retreat or resupply. Doubtless, they were in the process of setting up some kind of replacement, assuming they could even call for help.

The pilot, obviously an expert from having flown this trip several times, made a landing so light I almost didn't note it. Then, with the speed inherent to military flight operations, the engines were barely turning down to standby before the hatches were being thrown open and surprised cargo masters brought themselves up short to keep from accidentally putting hands on a Sith Lord by mistake. Hands were offered to help us up, which we took advantage of and I made a point to touch the pilot on the shoulder to congratulate his work before we quickly got out of the way of the cargo masters so they could unload the shuttle.

The space port of Belsavis was a truncated affair, which likely did not see much use normally. There were four landing pads big enough for a medium freighter each, or a large cargo ferry from orbit. The winds above our heads from hot geothermal floor and the ice cold, well, ice, were not much down here, but above eight or nine meters they howled and likely made air speeders useless. There were none in evidence, but the spaceport had a collection of land speeders and speeder bikes, mostly Republican models, but there was a growing presence of Imperial types, as well as a pair of Aratech Centipede Crawler Tanks.

The Centipede was a massive, articulated vehicle, part transport, part mobile HQ, part mobile artillery platform. It came in two sections, both tracked and joined by an articulating coupler. They were close to five meters tall and their tracks allowed them to go just about anywhere. They could move an entire company of infantry along with enough gear to have them fighting in the field for weeks. The heavy armor plate also meant they could shrug off or just absorb an obscene amount of damage. The pair of them guarding the perimeter of the space port meant the wardens would have the devil's own time reclaiming this facility.

Finally on the surface, it was sweltering, despite the fact that there was a who knew how many kilometers tall sheet of ice only a few hundred meters from the edge of the space port. There was a complicated drainage system that led the melt from the glacier, the water in it raging like a torrent, away to keep it from flooding the space port. I was proud of my lifestyle choices and workout routine as my figure was still sufficiently awesome to allow me to wear what amounted to an armored bra that left my taunt stomach and arms bear; it was hot.

A lieutenant gave a double take, noticing us, and trotted over to salute. “My lord! Lieutenant Ayers, my apologies, I wasn't informed a Sith Lord would be on this flight...”

I waved off his apology with a smile. “No need to stand on ceremony, Lieutenant. My apprentice and I are a last minute addition to your manifest so you may find some items shifted to the next shuttle. Which way to the command center?”

He pointed over his shoulder to the far side of the port, next to the furthest of the Centipedes. There the ice parted and the craggy face of a mountain jutted out. A blast door had been engineered into the side of the mounting and a cave tunneled out. “You'll find Colonel Grang in the Center over there, my lord. Can I call for a speeder...?”

I laughed while I shook my head and that seemed to set him a bit more at ease. “After that flight it will be good to stretch my legs. Carry on.”

He braced and saluted once more. “Civilization and order, my lord!”

“Empire!” I replied, returning his salute. Being around special forces troopers always brought a smile to my face and a remembrance to both my youth here and the youth of my mind, far, far away on Earth. To be among the tip of the spear types was always energizing. “Come along, Bree,” I commanded, turning just in time to see her stand up straight and give a fairly passable salute for a first try. The whole load gang paused to return it and then she trotted after me.

I made a point to keep my back to her so she didn't see the stupid grin plastered all over my face. I may be the Proud Parent, but as a Sith Lord there are appearances to maintain.

With a purposeful stride that Bree had to not quite trot to match, I guided our way through the ordered chaos that was any military instillation, but especially described forward outposts in a combat zone. While all of the buildings of the space port had been occupied and repurposed, there were plenty of canvas tents and portable shelters about as well. The area around the main gate was practically a shanty town of ordered rows of canvas Army tents of squad size and larger. And everywhere were men, women and aliens running to and fro, dodging speeders, droids and each other to advance the war effort and win Belsavis.

There was a part of me that was saddened by being at crossed swords again with the Republic, but that is the first wisdom of the Sith Code, Peace is a lie. Add to the mix that I was walking on a secret prison where the Republic had refused to repatriate Sith Empire POWs as well as keeping their own citizens as political prisoners, and I have to admit that perhaps the Galactic Republic needed to be over thrown.

Sorry, George, the bad guys in real life can't be picked out by the color of their light sabers.

The troopers, used to seeing Sith and our young apprentices ignored us for the most part. Officers here and there took a closer look to be sure we had light sabers, and one even made a point to look me in the eye to check my eye color before touching his cap and stepping out of the way. I couldn't tell you what color my eyes originally had been, but they were amber yellow now. But it was the machines, to everyone's amusement, who failed to see the obvious and stepped in it.

Specifically, stepped in front of me, and a pair of them; Colicoid Creation Nest Mark I War Droids to be exact, that were guarding the blast door entrance to the Command Center. Now, Colicoids are a hive minded insect, that are also capable of independent thought. I know, it sounds weird. They look like...well...bugs, but four legged, two and a half meter tall bugs. There are few species in the Galaxy as mean as Colicoids, which in a way explains their business dealings with the Sith Empire. Colicoid Creation Nest was a business combine, for lack of a better word, they founded to indulge in their two great loves, droid manufacture and killing.

They are a bit odd to look at, as they instinctively roll into a protective, armored ball when threatened, this ball is 'behind' and 'under' them when they stand. It's a little hard to imagine, but instead of what their 'belly' should be down, it actually points up, like a child crab walking. Now add a torso bending up and a pair of arms and you have the basic idea of their stance. It was CCN that created the 'droidikas' of the infamous prequels and they also are modeled after their creators. The Mark Is that stepped in front of me had twin barreled rapid fire blasters instead of hands and all four of them were pointed at me. “Halt,” the right hand droid commanded in its intensely unpleasant and obviously electronic voice. “Identify yourself.”

I slowly brought up my arm and pressed a button on the comm-link. Immediately over my arm floated my ID and its accompanying codes, both in Aurebesh and binary block symbols the droid could comprehend. “Identify, Darth Nyeomi Fens, Sphere of Defense of the Empire, Operating Number SWF-145.”

The blasters immediately moved to a neutral direction and the left droid stepped back into the corner it had been previously standing in, but the talkative droid was not yet satisfied. “Recognized, my lord. Who is the other with you?” it demanded.

“My apprentice, no operating number, release on my authority.”

“Your authorization is confirmed. Welcome to Belsavis, my lord.” The droid stepped back into its niche by the blast door and Bree and I continued into the cave. The floor and walls had been cut smooth but without further adornment. I couldn't tell if we had done it, or the Republicans, or if this was much older than I worried it might be. I swept down the corridor past the command post functionaries scurrying to and fro which then opened into a larger space with cuts into 'rooms', that were make shift living quarters with tents for privacy, storage for critical munitions and supplies and of course portable power converters and computer terminals. Towards the back was a large command holo-table with a number of officers standing around it, plotting the battle for Belsavis.

“Colonel Grang?” my polished Eton accented voice demanded.

A large, burly man wearing mottled field fatigues turned towards me. He was better than two meters tall, taller than me, even in my boots, and as wide as two of me. It was clear his genetics were predisposed to obesity, but his iron will, and his workout regimen, kept his body hard; I could very much respect that. He had a round face with intense dark eyes and a somewhat florid complexion. He was both bald and clean shaven. “By the Living Force,” he swore when his eyes settled on me. “We might pull this off yet, gentlemen!” he declared. He crossed the distance between us in two strides, sticking out a massive hand to be shook. “Colonel Grang, my lord, Special Operations Group Three. Please excuse the mess, the Republicans are giving us quite a time.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Colonel,” I replied. “Darth Nyeomi Fens. I am after a specific individual, but my apprentice and I can give you some aid while I do so.”

A grin split his face. “We'll take all we can get, my lord! Commander Calum is doing all he can with material, but we've taken heavy losses carving out this toe hold and holding it. I can't advance with the men I have and still hold the space port.”

“ Commander Calum can't send you reinforcements?” I asked.

“He's sent what he could to free up my war fighters,” Grange admitted, “But with the pathfinders I have out trying to organize the prisoners we've managed to free who will join us, I'm stretched thin.” With a gesture of invitation, he returned to the table and I joined him. In ghostly three-dimensions, the local area was displayed. In one corner was the spaceport, then a pair of the castles, based on the scale, about a kilometer away. “This is main administration,” he declared, then his finger moved to the nearest of the two 'castles,' “and Intake transfer. We were able to overwhelm and hold the spaceport, but the Republicans rallied, released a number of new transfers with promises of pardons to help them fight.”

“And you can't tell me where my target is without taking Administration?” I asked, already knowing the answer. The colonel nodded resignedly.

“I have slicers working on it, my lord, but I couldn't give you a time table. But if we had access to that database, not only can I find your man, we can find where our POWs are being held. With them, we can reinforce ourselves.”

I cupped my chin, wishing Darius were here. I wasn't a bad tactician, but Darius was the real strategist. Finally making a decision I pointed at Intake Transfer. “Have your Pathfinders and anyone they have managed to recruit pull back to...” my finger found a ridge that over looked the castle, even though they were about on the same plane. “Here. Pull every man you can spare to join them and have them pour on the fire. If you can, have Commander Calum give you some orbital support as well.”

“You mean to take Intake Transfer, my lord?” the Colonel asked, rubbing his own chin and obviously dubious of the idea.

“I want the Republicans to think so,” I told him with a grin. I don't especially care if Calum reduces it to rubble, so long as he can pull as much as possible from Admin. How many men do you have there?”

“What is the latest report from Alpha Company?” the Colonel called. One of the ratings, crouched over a radio turned to answer him.

“Alpha Company has taken heavy casualties, Colonel. They're reporting they are down to platoon strength and are endanger of being over run, requesting to pull back.”

“Tell them to dig in and hold what they have,” I ordered the private after a look to the Colonel for a nod of approval. “Let them know a Sith Lord is coming.”

Colonel Grang actually saluted me. “Good hunting, my lord!” I returned it, then led my apprentice back out the way we had come.

“Bree...” I started, but she was immediately down cast.

“I know,” she said heavily. “Watch you, stay out of the way...”

I stopped and turned to face her, an eyebrow raised. “Do you think I helped you make that light saber for show?” Her eyes immediately lit up and she became excited. I held up a cautioning finger. “You stay with me,” I commanded, turning to walk again. “And mind what I've taught you already. This isn't practice, it's war and these men are desperate. Do you understand me?”

“Yes mo...Mistress,” she caught herself, obviously excited.

We got back out into the sun shine, what there was of it. Overhead, the sky was black with a blue tint and there were several stars, the largest of which was Belsavis Prime, but it was so far away it was only just a disk instead of a point of light. Yet despite that there were normal levels of light, as though the planet was much closer to its star. It seemed the ice was acting as a natural Fresnel lens, focusing and magnifying the light to normal levels. “Listen to The Force and let it guide you, my young apprentice. Control your fear and follow my lead. Our work is dangerous, time to learn your trade.”

She nodded, swallowing her fears and riding the flow of her excitement. I watched her for a moment before convincing myself I was not being reckless or exposing my daughter to dangers she wasn't prepared for. Bree had impressed me deeply on Wayland both in showing me just how much of my teaching she had already absorbed and the fearlessness with which she had faced her acolyte trials. She was young, but by no means the youngest Sith Apprentice or Jedi Padawan come to it. She was ready.

I sailed down the steps from the Command Center into the shanty town of tents, making my way to the motor pool. Like the rest of the base, they were a flurry of activity with a number of soldiers running to and fro, trying to solve multiple problems at once. “Yeoman!” I called out sharply, which brought every eye my way. A wiry, older Sargent Major extracted himself from a repulsor scout tank and came over, covered in grease.

Touching his ear, he found a hopelessly greasy rag and wiped his hands, doing nothing to clean them whatsoever. “Milord,” he greeted in a voice ruined from decades of shouting. “What can I do for you?”

“I require a speeder bike, or something equally fast and stealthy,” I told him. His head turned to just over his shoulder.

“Jenkins, fetch the lady a Torch.”

“Yes, Yeoman!” The private, Jenkins I supposed, scurried off while the Yeoman favored me with a measuring glance. His eye traveled over to Bree and his expression changed just enough that I gathered he put two and two together.

“Sure you wouldn't want something a bit more...armored, milady?”

I was a bit touched by his sentiment. “Speed is my armor on this mission, Yeoman,” I assured him. He nodded as Jenkins returned with a long, rakish racer, a Lhosan Industries Torch, he was guiding on its repulsor field. It was in a dull green military camo-scheme, but there was no hiding the racing heritage of the Torch under a military paint job. Scout snipers loved the bikes as they were fast, agile and quiet, when properly muffled. Most street racer versions not only ran them with straight pipes, but the coolest kids tinkered with the repulsor field. Not enough for it to fail, but enough that it heterodyned with the planets magneto-sphere that turned the bike's trademark burning whine into a screaming howl.

Fortunately for my plans of sneaking into the Admin block, the Sergeant Major was not one of the 'cool' kids. I swung up onto the saddle and then pulled Bree up behind me. Jenkins had a pair of helmets, one he was stuffing extra padding into that he gave to Bree. I pulled mine on, then brought up my ID for the Yeoman to scan, making the bike my responsibility. “Good hunting, milord,” the Yeoman growled and I nodded.

With my daughter's hands firmly around my waist, I gave the throttle a little goose and was pleased when the bike snapped forward, whisper quiet. I threaded my way through the chaos, tossed back the salute the gate guards gave and then opened the throttle all the way. The Torch shot forward, it's little windscreen only there for aesthetics as it did nothing to protect me. The goggles built into the tactical helmet were keeping my eyes protected while I felt the thrill Bree and I were experiencing together as the bike zipped down the mostly dirt track towards the distant buildings.

For a moment, I wondered if my former mistress, Darth Vannacen had lived vicariously through me this way in our time together. I desperately hoped so.

It was obvious the geothermal instabilities of this planet made any kind of permanent road an exercise in futility, between the run off of the ice and the active Vulcanism if some of the black spots in the ice wall were telling, any road would be a pot hole filled ruin in short order. Every now and then there were durasteel plates to give traction to soft spots for wheeled or tracked vehicles, or to make a bridge over one of the frequent raging ice melt rivers, but, otherwise, this dirt track was it.

The flora of Belsavis was a mixed bag from all over the Galaxy. Interestingly, most were edible to most sapients, so it seemed that this prison was also meant to be a farm, growing its own food, which made a kind of sense if you wanted to keep a secret prison secret. As I noted on the way down, the strangest plant were the Aphor trees, massive, arching behemoths the buildings were planned around, any one of which could supply enough lumber to build an entire town.

I noted, and went around a stream of vehicles taking my diversion to the ridge.

I needed to pick up the pace and left the track to go more directly at where the map had said Alpha Company, or what was left of it, was. The closer I got to the the pair of walled buildings, the more colorful things got with a rainbow of blaster bolts zipping back and forth, which, I hoped, meant the Wardens were taking my bait.

Bree tapped my thigh, drawing my eye to where she was holding me around my stomach and immediately her hand pointed without being released by the other. I quickly looked in the direction she had pointed and saw a little flash of moment in the ruin of an out building, over looking the Admin complex. I quickly throttled back and skidded over in that direction, thankful for my eagle eyed daughter. In the cover of the ruin and some particularly thick bushes, we dismounted and crept forward, light sabers in hand.

Crouched around the remains of the wall facing the Admin block were a half dozen Imperial Troopers, all in the black and gray armor with red accents of the Special Forces. They were banged up, most being tended by a small medic droid, but all were still in the fight and keeping an eye on the Admin building, down the sights of their blaster rifles. I was about to step out and make myself known, when a somewhat throaty contralto with a heavy cockney accent declared, “If you flinch wrong, mate, you'll be dead before you can get that light saber on.”

“Take it easy,” I declared calmly without moving. “I'm on your side.” Never have I been more thankful for my own heavily rounded Eton Received Pronunciation coloring my own voice. A safety clicked on just to my right and behind me. I turned to take in a Twi'lek female, with bright banana yellow skin and black tiger striping on her lekku, and the deepest, bluest eyes I've ever seen, in the process of moving a Czerka Arms 2K blaster rifle to safe direction. It had a scope mounted to it and a number of 'user modifications' I doubted were strictly regulation. I hung my lightsabers back on my belt.

The woman, a sergeant by her armor's markings, was unapologetic. “You must be the Sith Lord Command said was coming. Yeah, about the warm welcome, can't be too careful, eh?”

“Who is in command here, sergeant?” I asked.

“Oy, I guess I am, yer ladyship. Sergeant Anri, Special Operations Group Three, Alpha Comp'ny at yer service.” I smirked, taking an instant liking to her and I have to admit being duly impressed she had been able to sneak up on me.

“Well, for starters, you're now Lieutenant Anri, so bring me up to speed. What is your situation here?” Her long, wide face split into a toothy grin and I was glad the Imperial accents that the 'Edward' part of my brain remembered as British ended there in similarity. She had a lovely, white smile and there was nothing British about it.

“We're 'ard up against it, yer ladyship, but it's slacked off a bit right before you got 'ere. Most of the company and all the officers are KIA, or just livin' by a thread.” The rumble of distant explosions interrupted her and both of our eyes were drawn to the Intake block, nearly a kilometer away. The Avenger had begun her bombardment, massive crimson blaster bolts were raining down from the sky causing a constant, staccato rolling thunder. “I'd 'ate to be on the receiving end of that,” Anri whispered.

“How many combat effective troopers do you have?” I asked her, bringing her attention back here. Her expression grim.

“Maybe a mixed bag for two squads, ma'am. We've been 'it 'ard.”

I nodded, not liking it, but there was nothing I could do about it now. “Put together the pick of the litter and come with me. Leave the rest to protect your wounded here.” I led the way into the ruin, somewhat startling the troopers there. “As you were,” I ordered and knelt down to fish out my macrobinoculars. Through them, I just caught the tops of some speeders, moving below the ridge line in the direction of the Intake Transfer complex. The bait had been taken.

“What are we after, yer ladyship?” Anri asked, confused.

“We're going to take Administration, Lieutenant,” I assured her.

“Ladyship?” one of the troopers asked.

“Lieutenant?” another demanded.

My macros put away, I dropped my bag next to Bree's in an out of the way corner and turned to the troopers as I drew my light sabers, a wicked grin on my face. “Come on, boys, who wants to go win some medals?”

* * *

In short order Lieutenant Anri had sorted out who she wanted along and we were darting forward, using all this lush vegetation for concealment from the Admin Block. They had blown a hole in the wall, but there were at least a half dozen Republic personnel in excellent positions covering it, with nicely solid rubble for cover.

The fire fight had severely depleted Alpha Company's stores of munitions, but they still had plenty of smoke grenades. Lieutenant Anri had given me an odd look when I had ordered her men all to prepare to throw them, but complied with the order. “On three, lads!” I cried, yanking the pin from the one I had myself. As I had hoped they fell in a ragged line, all over the opening at different depths and then the hole was plugged with a kaleidoscope of colored smoke.

In an instant the hole was filled with suppressive blaster fire, firing blind into the smoke. Anri grinned as her men were able to quickly coordinate fire onto the source of the bolts, one at a time in relative safety. Which only goes to underscore the old adage that 'tracers point both ways.' “Quick and quietly now, boys!” I encouraged the squad as I made sure of my grip on my sabers and led the way into the smoke.

I imagine everyone would like to know what it is like to be 'guided by the Force.' In truth, my first few months in this body I wore I was a bit more overwhelmed with being a woman more than what the Force was like. That is not to say I was not a bit awed as I caught myself doing things that my more rational mind insisted was impossible. Once I quieted my mind and opened my awareness of things beyond the confines of my new skin I began to feel the universe and not just exist in it. It ebbed and flowed with my moods from childish delight from commanding the Force to bring something to my hand and having it obey to the sudden, almost giddy surge of power I felt when I became enraged that Jedi Master Targon had injured Tari.

That said, you know the feeling I'm talking about.

You've tried it when you thought no one was watching. Reaching out your hand and trying to will something to come to you, or walking up to an automatic door and pointing at it, just as the sensor sees you and the door opens, but in some part of your mind you giggle that you had, just for a moment, been able to use the Force.

That is what being guided by The Force is like.

Like pointing at the door just as it opens and you're sure you made it happen, not the electric motor. My boot found sure footing as though I had run over this pile of rubble my entire life and knew every pebble of it. I leaped into a swirl of colored smoke and I knew there would be the corner of a speeder bus to push off of even though I had never seen it before. I knew I needed to turn on my saber and so it was, and my arm swung just as the face of scared brute who I knew was guilty of the most unspeakable acts just seemed to appear out of the smoke.

My arm moved and the golden blade dug a trench through his chest, cooking skin, bone, lung and heart as it passed, then left his chest and lopped off the arm holding the blaster pistol he was trying to point at me just below the elbow. His attempts at screaming only amounted to a strangled kind of gurgle as his trachea had been cauterized by my blade and fell down to asphyxiate or succumb to shock whichever was first.

I tucked and rolled into a ball as Bree came over my head, her saber staff lopping off the heads of a pair battle droids I rolled through. I flowed back up to my feet to smack away a blaster bolt as Lieutenant Anri came over the top of the barricade, her blaster spitting death, leading the rest of the squad. Within seconds the last of the defenders had been dealt with and we stood in the courtyard of the 'castle' that was eerily empty of defenders.

“Come on, lads!” Anri urged her squad. “For the Empire!”

The Force told me which way to run and I led the charge across the grassy opening to the far structure. We were about twenty meters away when the blaster bolts started coming out of the windows and doors which Bree and I batted aside while the Rangers opened up a withering counter barrage. Between my sabers and The Force, the door blew inwards as if we had planted a breaching charge.

The defense was bloody and short.

That's when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if they were the Emperor's Own Regiment and the National Anthem had just started playing. I knew he would be there before I turned, looking deeper into the building. He stood between us and the remaining admin types in the building, who were shakily clutching blasters they obviously only just knew how to use.

“Lieutenant, clear out the remainder of this building and hold until relieved,” I ordered, staring him in the eye.

“Aye, aye, yer ladyship!”

The brown robe slid off his shoulders and was casually tossed aside. “Would you care to surrender, my lord?” he asked in a even, well modulated baritone. It was a good voice, strong, confident.

“I was about to ask you the same,” I told him as I stretched my neck until it popped and settled down into my classic Ataru ready stance, my left side in profile towards him, the blade high at shoulder level and pointed straight at him, my right blade curved over my head and parallel with the left.

“At least instruct your apprentice to surrender once I've bested you,” he offered. “I have no desire to strike down a child, but I will if you force me.”

“My apprentice has nothing to fear from you,” I told him.

He shook his head sadly as he took his light saber from his belt and activated it. “Of all the evils of your order, Sith, that you cruelly twist children to your perversions are likely the worst!” He came set, with the saber, a brilliant lime green, blade pointed out to me and his off hand behind his back. Interestingly, he was a south paw and left handed.

“That argument might be funny if we weren't standing in the gulag of the Republic!” I shot back, feinting with my left saber to pull his blade out of line to quickly sweep in with my right, but his blade flashed through the air with impressive speed, blocking both my feint and the true strike before he came set again. The blade swept a lazy circle then stopped in a high, forward guard. He was obviously a master of Form II Makashi, the elegant, precise form favored by duelists and fencers. “There is nothing evil about the Sith code,” I chided him, seeing if I could break his concentration. “Trying to live your life like a monk, suppressing your emotions, caring for nothing, that is perverse!”

With an electric hum his blade swept through the air as we traded a series of attacks and blocks, almost too fast to follow, but he kept his perfect, erect posture and form throughout. “There is no emotion, there is Peace,” he declared, probing my defense with a set of quick, lightening fast jabs. I countered then, slowly forcing his blade further and further out of line, to make an opening.

“Peace is a lie!” I countered, as I skipped the closest blade off of his and took a slash at his leg. “Are we engaging in peace now? And the poor souls your Republic condemns to this oubliette, they're just here to find their inner peace, right?”

I have to give him credit, he was incredibly fast with that blade and my slash was countered, then my high blade re-blocked before I could take advantage. “The men sentenced here are too dangerous to be allowed in society.” Again he feinted, then spun, twirling his blade behind him and attempted to strike my spine. “If your mind wasn't clouded by hate you would see that!”

“Of course a Jedi would condemn someone for thinking wrong!” I taunted him. I whipped my right hand blade around to defend my spine, spinning into his attack and kicking at his chest. “You might as well be a droid! I get more creativity from my astromech than you are capable of!”

He neatly dodged the kick as we traded positions and we clashed in a series of attacks and counters, our blades hissed and sparked as they batted against each other. While the room was quite large, it was only standard ceiling height and my Ataru style was best suited to wide, tall open spaces making it quite confined from that point of view. The advantage went to his tightly controlled Makashi style and its minimal movements. I needed to put an end to this battle quickly before my disadvantages turned into his win. I drew him into over committing with a lunge at my unarmored and exposed belly that allowed me to trap his blade between both of mine. “The rules of society must be obeyed!” he grunted as he tried to work his blade free.

“What about the rule of innocent until proven guilty?” I demanded. My continued picking at the finer points of our debate finally had sufficiently split his attention, bringing a frown to his face as he tried to formulate an answer that kept me being 'the Bad Guy.' That gave me an opening and I punctuated my argument by throwing my foot into his groin with every gram of my sixty one kilos and all the strength the Force would give me.

The air was expelled from his lungs in a painful wheeze as he dropped his blade and fell to his knees in agony, trying to belatedly protect his abused genitals. I spun, hopping to the other foot and delivered a round house kick to his temple. He was propelled sideways from the force of it, bouncing his head off the wall and leaving him in a crumpled heap on the floor.

A glance at his saber and the Force pulled it clear of his reach, into the waiting hands of Lieutenant Anri. I extinguished one blade and re-hung it on my belt keeping the other a few centimeters from the Jedi's throat. “Report, lieutenant,” I ordered, keeping my eyes on the Jedi, who remained unconscious.

“Building secure, yer Ladyship,” she informed me, her grin audible in her voice. “The secretaries and administration types that were left had no stomach to face us and they surrendered.”

“Put this man in binders and see that he is blindfolded and gagged,” I told her.

“Aye, aye, ma'am!” Being in a prison, there were no shortage of restraints and the Jedi was secured in short order. As I hung my other saber back on its keeper on my belt, I fished for my comlink. Bree came over to me, grinning from ear to ear.

“He was no match for you, mistress!”

I raised an eyebrow at my daughter as I looked down on her. “On the contrary, Apprentice,” I corrected her. “He was likely more skilled than I was and were this a training duel he likely would have won. But this isn't training, it's war, and there are no rules or niceties to it. I won because he was striving to win points in a tournament, and I was fighting a life or death battle. Remember that.”

Her head cocked to one side. “You won because you fight dirty?”

I gave her a little smile. “I won because I fight to win.” I keyed on the unit. “Colonel Grang? This is Darth Fens. Administration is secure. Send me your slicers so we can get to work.”

“Well done, my Lord! Prepare to receive reinforcements!”

“Standing by,” I assured him as I put the link back on my belt. “Lieutenant?”

“Ma'am?”

“Send a runner to collect your wounded and bring them inside the protection of the wall. Then I want you to fortify that opening and hold it.”

“Right away, milady!”

* * *

In the time it took to get Lieutenant Anri's wounded moved, comfortable and to chew on a ration bar, a stream of soldiers and prisoners arrived, a mixed bag of Prison Wardens who had surrendered from the diversionary attack on Intake Transfer, Republic Prisoners that wanted to join the empire that had to be vetted once we had access to the prison records and a few Imperial POWs that were freshly arrived for internment. The Wardens and Prisoner Volunteers were held in the courtyard under the uncaring eyes of a quartet of Mark I War Droids under orders to shoot anyone who crossed the line in the dirt that demarcated their holding area.

Once they were settled a wave of fresh troops also arrived, under the command of a Captain Vandorn, a thin, horse faced man whose upper lip had the kind of curl that indicated he went through life as if he smelled something foul. Also he was not in battle dress like the rest of the Rangers Bree and I had been working with, but rather his garrison duty uniform as though this were some practice field problem. From that, I could tell he wasn't a leader of men, but an administrative officer, or a REMF as we used to refer to them back in my Army days.

I was just finishing my ration bar, sitting atop the pile of rubble that had been pressed into service as a barricade to the hole in the perimeter wall with Bree and Lieutenant Anri. He touched his hat and his language and tone were proper, but I had the feeling he didn't like me.

Or rather, he didn't like Sith, either way, the feeling was mutual.

“Greetings, my lord, Captain Vandorn, Headquarters Company of Special Operations Group Three.”

I nodded and got my mouth clear of ration bar. “Darth Nyeomi Fens, Captain, Sphere of Defense of the Empire.” He gave a slight bow, just deep enough to be proper and I felt my disapproval of him rapidly turning into dislike. “I don't see a Special Forces badge on your uniform, Captain.”

The lip curled up in indignation. “Even Special Forces units require administration, Darth Fens.”

“Of course,” I demurred. You aren't a real soldier, went unsaid.

“I relieve you of this position, my Lord,” he went on in his pinched, nasal voice. “Colonel Grang sends his compliments and requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

“I am relieved,” I replied, standing and pausing to dust off the back of my pants. “Captain, I require one of your slicers to find the location of this man as soon as possible,” I told him, presenting him with a copy of the information The Void had given me.

He took the slip and, without looking at it, presented it to Anri who had been sitting with Taybri and I. “Sergeant, see that one of the slicers...”

“Excuse me,” I interrupted, keeping my tone calm. “First of all, Captain, I gave this order to you, see to it personally. Second, Lieutenant Anri...”

His expressionless face finally dawned an expression, one of disbelief. “A Twi'lek officer?” he demanded, aghast. “The only thing this alien whore is good for...is...ghah...”

Captain Vandorn could not continue as my temper had slipped its leash and The Force had instantly acted. The Captain went pale as his hands began to claw at the invisible vice that was squeezing his throat. “I am a Revanite, Captain!” I told him tightly. “I am only interested in merit and when I find it, I reward it. I found merit in former Sergeant Anri and so I promoted her. More to the point I am a Sith; do not ever question my judgment again.”

“I...I...meant...no disrespect...my lord!” Vandorn gasped, then fell to his knees, coughing and gasping for breath after I released him.

“After you see to the location of my person of interest, you will find and issue Lieutenant Anri her proper rank accouterments for her uniform and see to it her promotion is properly filed.”

“At once, my lord!” the officer gasped from his hands and knees.

“Lieutenant,” I gave her a nod of parting and she bowed.

“A pleasure to serve with you, yer ladyship!” She reached into her belt and removed the Jedi's light saber. “Oh! Almost forgot! Your trophy, milady,” she declared, offering me the hilt.

I smirked. “You're an officer now, Lieutenant. You'll need a sword. Keep it, with my compliments.” Anri bowed again as I led my Apprentice to our waiting speeder.

* * *

Colonel Grang was as delighted as a school boy at the beginning of summer vacation. Without Administration serving as an anchor, the Republicans had been pushed back to the far side of crater behind the walls of the Medium Security cell blocks where they had been trying to set up a make shift alternate space port, but our friends on the Avenger were keeping a tight lid on the blockade of Belsavis and their hopes had been dashed so far.

Bree and I received a hero's welcome back at the Command Post for removing this particularly sharp thorn from the Colonel's side. More importantly, I would learn, the prisoners we had taken at Administration, fearful of reprisal from us, had disobeyed the Jedi's command to destroy their computer equipment and we had taken them intact. It was now only a matter of hours until I would have Asher Vallen in hand and we would be on our way off this rock.

It seemed as good a time as any to introduce my daughter to the First Rule of Soldiering. “Always remember, my young Apprentice,” I told her from my attempt at reorganization. “Never stand when you can sit. Never sit when you can lie down. Never lie down when you can sleep, it's the Soldier's Creed.” Finally I had something that might be ever so slightly more comfortable to lie down on than the bare rock of the cavern floor and pulled my cape from my bag to press into service as a blanket.

“Is that really so important, mistress?” she asked in a tone of voice that told me she didn't quite believe me. I got as comfortable on the make shift pallet as I could and patted the spot next to me.

“Bree, you are eleven, and your body has a higher energy density that the power cells of my light sabers. I am, ahem, over thirty and my body's energy density is considerably lower.” I gave her a little hug as I let her under my cape and got us comfortable against some supply crates. “Have you failed to notice we have not stopped since we set foot on the Avenger?”

“No, mom,” she told me softly. “I noticed. But won't we be leaving soon?”

“All the more reason to take it easy now,” I replied. “Now get some rest.”

“Yes, ma'am,” she replied and nestled her head against my breast and shoulder. Within seconds she was gently snoring and I could feel through the Force she was deeply asleep. I sighed as I looked down on my daughter, asleep against me and silently thanked God I had been given this second chance at life. For all it's trials and tribulations, being a parent was the grandest adventure of them all. I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes.

* * *

The dreams of Sith, like the dreams we saw of Anakin, can be convoluted and full of prophesy, but mostly they are mundane. Sometimes they are a compilation of both. The dream I had then was one of the latter type. I knew I was dreaming as I stood once more on the hot, red sand of Korriban, my cape keeping the worst of burning light of Horuset, the yellow giant star the Crypt of the Sith orbited, off my arms and shoulders. I was on the windswept Plateau of Trials, overlooking the Sith Academy and the Valley of Dark Lords.

The Academy was run by the Sphere of Defense of the Empire so that all of the Acolytes were properly trained to be able to work with the Imperial Military as well as whatever interests their masters would undertake to complete their training. It was the intention of Darth Marr that every Sith be an acceptable soldier first, then a Sith. As such, all of the Academies were under his purview, but the Academy on Korriban held special place as first among equals, and it was here, on the sands of the home of the Ancient Sith that every Acolyte must face the Trials to become eligible to be an Apprentice.

Ten years previously, my killing of the Will and Hand of the Sith had cemented the right of my Wisdom of the New Sith to teach the use of all emotions to unlock the power of the Bogan. However, that right was only grudgingly given, and harshly tested, as my daughter was now facing. If she passed this trial my daughter would become my sixth apprentice. All of my former students now were training apprentices of their own, two on their second and third. In addition, my holotube channel had convinced a number of others in the order and the Gray Sith, as the Republic media had dubbed us, were growing in numbers. There were plenty who disapproved of what they considered 'my heresy', and some of them had positions of judgment over my daughter.

I was worried, what mother would not be? No one would know it, however as I maintained my calm, aloof manner to all who watched and judged both me and my daughter, but inside, my stomach churned and my emotions swung from deepening dread and slow, churning anger for the vengeance I would take should Bree be treated unfairly.

Bree stood, tall and defiant in an Acolytes jump suit, her hair in a simple braid as she stood, her eyes fixed on Overseer Tremel who was in charge of the Trials. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion,” Tremel intoned, quoting from the Sith code. “You have demonstrated your passion by enduring the Long Fast. Through passion I gain strength. You have demonstrated your strength by moving Stone of Fate. Through Strength I gain power. You have demonstrated your power by resisting the Grasp of the Weak Mind. Through power I gain victory. You will now face the last of the Acolyte Trials, and if you are Victorious, your chains shall be broken. Acolyte Fens, Acolyte Unrin, step forth.”

I watched Bree stand with a slight looking boy whose ruddy complexion suggested he was half Sith Pure Breed. Tremel handed both of them a light saber hilt. “These training sabers have been phase locked and will not cut through organic material,” he told them. “Come with me.”

Tremel led them away from the little crowd of Sith Lords standing around me, looking at the Acolytes to judge a new apprentice as well as the remaining Acolytes who had completed the first trials. The Overseer stopped and force field snapped on, demarcating a domed circle about fifty meters in diameter. He indicated a rough looking lout in binders, being led in by a pair of troopers. “This man is a convicted criminal, sentenced to death. He has been offered a pardon if he can kill one of you. The blaster he is being given is set at full power and you cannot kill him with your sabers. The trial will end when either one of you is dead, or the criminal is.”

“What was his crime?” Bree asked, but Tremel's face only darkened with suppressed anger.

“That has no bearing here,” he declared. “He has been tried and sentenced to death. Your only concern is either him or one of you must die.” The Overseer walked away, his back rigid, pausing only to slowly push his way through the force field and shout, “Begin!” over his shoulder.

The criminal, looked down at the blaster one of the troopers had given him then back up at the two children in the ring with him. His face hardened and he brought the weapon up to his shoulder, making the horrific decision that his life was worth murdering a child.

* * *

“Milady?”

I felt like I had barely closed my eyes before I heard the whispered request and a gentle hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to find Lieutenant Anri leaning down over me, a concerned look on her face. “What's the matter, Lieutenant?” I asked, keeping my own voice low so that perhaps Bree could still sleep.

“Colonel Grang sent me for ya,” she whispered back. “Somebody's kicked over a Fire Wasp nest and we're all in it.”

“Apprentice,” I declared, and instantly Bree was awake and sitting up. I kept my pride of her off my face and quickly rolled up my cape before shoving it back into my bag. “What else do we know, Lieutenant?”

She presented me with a canteen cup of steaming coffee which I gratefully accepted. “Not real sure, milady,” she replied as we began walking towards the Colonel's makeshift command post. “The slicer's got the location of your bloke and I was taking a few of the lads to fetch him for you when we got an emergency return all call over the comm.”

This was bad. That kind of message is never sent lightly. “Were you able to extract Vallen?”

She shook her head, making her head tails bounce. “No, milady, but we know where he is and he should be alright. Getting to him might be a sticky bit, though.” Over the table, the Colonel and his command team were talking with a major who floated over the holographic table on one knee while a battle raged around him.

“I've never seen anything like them, Colonel! It takes five or six shots from a blaster to bring them down and they act like they have no sense of pain!”

“Can you hold, major?” the Colonel demanded.

“We're battered and spread thin, sir, but we'll give them hell!” The transmission ended in a burst of static as Grang's eyes settled on me. Anri, Bree and I came over to him, the Lieutenant saluting.

“Sorry to disturb you, my lord, but as you heard, we have a serious problem.”

“What's the situation, Colonel?” I asked. He gestured at the holographic table, which blurred and showed this crater and the one next to it.

“We were able to dislodge the Republicans from Medium Security, which held most of our POWs, that's the good news. We're getting the men in fighting condition kitted out, but now I have effectively two brigades worth of combat reinforcements. The bad news is the Republicans retreated through this cut out into the adjoining crater. That is Maximum Security, where your man is, and on the way they opened a vault to cover their escape and these things, came pouring out.”

The map changed showing a bipedal alien, only vaguely humanoid, that stood on digitigrade legs on their toes. The torso and arms where heavily muscled with massive hands that had a single finger and a pair of thumbs on either side. The head looked like cow's skull with a bony protuberance that covered the top of it, shielding a pair of beady black eyes and crowned with a pair of short horns. The mouth was a horrific red maw full of sharp teeth. “I've never seen anything like it, have you, my lord?”

I sighed, wishing I was not seeing what I was seeing. “They are called Esh-Kha,” I told him. “They were the enemy of the Rakatan Infinite Empire, tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of years ago. The Rakata waged a war of genocide to exterminate them; they were thought to be extinct.”

“Well, I'm no historian,” Grang replied, “but the major did say the vault seemed to contain a number of stasis chambers. They must have housed these things. The major says they're nearly impossible to kill. Perhaps the Rakata kept some in hopes of creating a slave army?”

“The Republicans must be desperate if they unleashed them on us,” I murmured. “They must have known what they were once they discovered the vaults and brought in experts, either personally or through the holo-net.”

“Well, they certainly don't like us!” one of the Colonel's aides remarked.

“They don't like anyone who isn't Esh-Kha,” I corrected him. “If what I've read is correct, they'll have likely been attacking the Wardens as well as us.” I looked up at the Colonel, my gaze steely. “Colonel, you cannot allow the Esh-Kha to get off of Belsavis. Inform Commander Calum I am invoking General Order 10.”

Grang paled, but saluted, turning to his communications officer. “Get me Commander Calum immediately!”

Behind me I heard Bree ask Anri, “What's General Order 10?”

I turned them just in time to see the Twi'lek shrug her ignorance. Smiling grimly, I said, “If you survive this, lieutenant, they will go over this in Officer Candidate School, which you will have to graduate from to make my field promotion permanent. In short, it orders, 'No ship with a hyperdrive is to land on Belsavis from this point forward and no ship from Belsavis will be allowed to dock with a hyperdrive equipped vessel without first being boarded and searched stem to stern for stowaways or contraband.' The Esh-Kha have already survived one war of genocide, we do not want to have to fight another one.”

I shook my head and gazed at the map again. “Therefore, we are all considered expendable to keep the Esh-Kha from spreading out into the Galaxy again.”

I felt the anxiety from Bree and gave her a one armed hug of encouragement. “Don't worry, my young apprentice, we should be able to stamp them out with the resources we have.” She smiled bravely, but I could feel she was still mastering her fear so I decided that putting up a good lead was the best way I could help so I turned my attention to the holographic display and set about trying to solve the tactical problem.

The cut between this crater and the next looked perilously thin on this map. It was unlikely that we would be able to get any armored vehicles we had access to into the cut, which limited us to man portable weapons. On the display were little blue dots that represented the Major at this end with a sea of red dots that were Esh-Kha and beyond, the Wardens, frantically building a defensive barricade at the other end. Then, beyond and dangled before me like a carrot before a threshing mule the massive Maximum Security Block. I frowned as I looked at it, then noticed something on the top of the ice. Manipulating the controls, I zoomed in to see a building, set astride the two craters, with some kind of tunneling going down into both this crater and the Maximum Security crater. Turning to one of Colonel Grang's aids I asked, “Captain, what is this?”

He looked up for a moment, then consulted the tablet in his hand. “The old space port, my lord,” he told me. “It predates the port where we are now and kept the hard cases in Maximum Security from even setting foot over here. As I understand it, this is the nice part of this jail.”

“Does it have power?” I asked. “An atmosphere?”

The Captain looked me in the face and figured out where I was going with this line of questioning. “I'll find out at once, my lord!”

* * *

Of course, it wasn't that easy. It never is.

It was, however, easier than it could have been since we had access to the prison's computer network, and thus, its records. We knew exactly how long the facility had been shut down, why and when it was last inspected. We had at least some knowledge of known issues which facilitated a group of engineers and damage control parties from the Avenger to land on the facility and scout it out. They already had power restored and were repairing some damage to the life support system while another group was taking a look at the turbolifts on both ends.

That gave me some free time to get to a quiet spot and check in with my family. There, in an out of the way nook I got out my transceiver and within moments I was staring at my husband's handsome face. “Hello, lover,” I greeted him, which brought out that roguish smile that always made my heart melt.

“Hello, beloved. Everything alright? Bree...?” He asked, only just a bit worried. Over the years, Torm had gotten used to his wife being a soldier and subject to being called away at odd, inconvenient times. Despite which his loyalty and devotion to me was absolute and I returned it ten fold. But this time his daughter was off gallivanting with her mother and there were two holes in his heart now.

I sighed. “More drama, as always, I'm afraid, but Bree and I are fine. I got a spot to catch my breath so I thought I would give you a call.”

He smirked. “I'm always happy to see your face, but I'd rather see you coming down the ramp of the Aces and Eights.”

Bits of me tingled at the thought of my much put off home coming. It had taken a bit of training, but now the entire household staff and the Sphere of Defense of the Empire Directorate knew better than to interrupt us after we had been apart for any length of time. “That makes two of us, my darling, but as always life conspires against us.”

“Curse that life! There must be some alternative...oh, wait...”

His off beat and quirky sense of humor was just one of the many things that attracted me to him. Which, in and of itself was always a little strange, considering my history, but I was more than at home in my own skin now. Being a woman was something I was long used to. “I do love you, you big goof!”

“You probably can't say where you are, but is it far? Any idea how long?”

“I'm on the other side of the galaxy I'm afraid, Torm.”

“Well, there's a week, damn it,” he groused. I wagged a finger of my free hand at him.

“Hush you! It could be worse!” I sighed. “The good news is I'm waiting on a damage control team to finish, then I get to go after what I'm here for. Then I just have to drop him off and I'm on my way to you with bells on!”

He smiled and waggled his eyebrows. “And nothing else, I hope?”

“My birthday suit hardly qualifies for flight operations, but I'll see what I can do.” He looked past the pick up and made a gesture. After a moment, the hologram grew and split, revealing Kale's face next to his father's.

“Hi, mom!” he declared. “You coming home soon?” His usually unruly mop of chestnut hair had been freshly clipped and he almost looked respectable, though his shirt was hopelessly stained with grass, mud and who knew what else. He had obviously just come inside and was doubtlessly tracking enough on the floor to give the housekeeper a coronary.

I sighed and shook my head. “Not for a bit, I'm afraid, son,” I told him. Kalelam, looked over at his dad, then back at me.

“We were hoping you'd be back in time for Mid-summer,” he told me in his clear tenor, which cracked just a tiny bit hinting that puberty was about to come calling on my son. “We are going to have a picnic and watch the fireworks for Empire Day.”

“Sounds like fun,” I told him. “If I can get there I will. I love you both and I will be home as soon as I can.”

“Stay safe,” Torm instructed me.

“Always, my love,” I assured him. I pressed my fingers to my lips and then touched the hologram of his face before the image faded away. “Always,” I whispered in promise to the empty air.

I took a moment to gather myself and get control of my emotions before I put the holo-tranceiver away. That accomplished, I had a final argument with myself about whether I should take Bree with me or not. While I had worried several times about Tari, I had not hesitated to go into harms way with Tari at my side and she was only slightly older than Bree. On the other hand, two years at these ages...

Again, annoyed with myself, I took a deep breath and quieted my mind.

This was a secret Republic gulag. They kept the worst of their uncorrectable and political prisoners here, without trial or hope of furlough, pardon or parole. There was literally no safe place on this god forsaken moon. She would be safest next to me, where I could keep an eye on her. She had to learn and Sith learn by doing. I made my decision and committed myself to it.

My daughter would join me on this assault.

I collected her from the canteen where she had been wolfing down a meal, then headed back to Colonel Grang's command post for the final briefing. “How was your lunch?” I asked as we walked. She shrugged, looking up at me.

“It was ok,” she opined, dropping off her tray and used dishes as we passed the dish pit. “I mean, it's no Biscuit Baron, but it was good.”

I rolled my eyes in wonder that any one could prefer the bland, over processed 'product' of the Galaxy's largest fast food chain. “High praise, I'm sure,” I replied with a chuckle. We picked our way through the crowds of repatriated soldiers being quickly issued new gear and back into the HQ. There were several new faces at the command table, all of them looking like they'd missed a few meals and could use a hot shower, shave and a hair cut, but all of them had the grim, steely expressions of men with scores to settle about to balance the books. The ranking officer of them was a major whose right arm stopped just below his elbow and he was leaning heavily on a cane while fending off the attentions of a medical droid.

Grang's large face brightened as he caught sight of me and gestured me up to the command table. “My lord, may I present Major Gavin Ulgo? He is the ranking officer of our POWs.”

I gave a shallow bow out of respect for a man who had obviously been through quite a bit and still had the steel to want to give back some of what he'd taken. “I'm honored, Major,” I told him.

“The honor is mine, my lord,” he managed in a raspy voice that spoke of long stretches of dehydration. “I only wish I was up to coming with you.”

“Save some glory for the other men, major,” I chided him with a smile that he returned with a grim, dark chuckle.

“Give the Republicans my compliments, my lord,” he commanded and his rage burned behind his eyes. “Warmly...”

“I most assuredly will,” I promised him. Turning back to Grang, I asked, “What is our situation, Colonel?”

Again Grang took on the look of a school boy as he contemplated mayhem. “We are at your convenience, my lord. The damage control parties have restored power and atmosphere to the old spaceport and they assure me the lifts are operational.”

“Excellent. Let's begin.”

He raised both his eyes and his voice with an impressive 'command voice' shout of, “At ease!” The hubbub of several dozen conversations ceased and all eyes turned to the Colonel. He gestured at the map, which was currently displaying the holding action going on at the crevasse between the two craters. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “we are now in the end game of this operation. Much as we would like to board up our POWs and let the Republicans rot, they have unleashed a threat to the entire galaxy.”

There was a burst of static and the hologram changed. “This is your enemy. They are known as Esh-Kha and they hate everyone on this moon who is genetically different from them. Their goal is to kill all of us, capture a vessel with a hyperdrive and begin conquering the Galaxy. They must be stopped here. Show them no mercy, for they will show you none. They are resistant to blaster fire so order your men to focus their attacks, several shooters to each one of these devils and make sure they are down before you approach them. “Captain Thul?”

“Sir?” answered a dapper looking young fellow at my elbow whose dashing pencil mustache was spoiled by a bad case of three day shadow.

“Your group will be our pincer. You will accompany Darth Fens over the ridge through the old spaceport and deploy into Maximum Security here. From there you are to engage the defenders from the rear until they break, then preform a fighting withdrawal back to the turbo lifts where you will be evacuated.”

“Yes sir!”

“The rest of you men will be re-enforcing Major Ventin at Medium Security in holding the crevasse. Your goal is to herd the Esh-Kha into the Maximum Security crater. Once that is accomplished your engineers will collapse the crevasse and the Avenger will finish off these devils with an orbital bombardment. Once the Esh-Kha are a smoking smear we will withdraw to the space port and retreat to the Avenger and then back to the Empire.”

“Empire!” shouted the officers.

“Carry out your orders, Gentlemen!”

* * *

The end game of Colonel Grang's plan for me was a series of rides.

The first was a ride in the rear of one of the Aratech Centipede Crawler Tanks as it brought what amounted to a brigade of fresh troops, standing room only, to the front lines. It was tense time, no laughter or joking among the men, just the terse, grim checking of blasters, power packs and grenades to be sure they were ready. There had not been time or material to kit out the freed POWs so most were in prison jumpers or black ship fatigues. Armor was patchwork and spotty among them, most doing with out.

Despite that, there was not a feeling of fear or hopelessness among them, just determination to finish the job. They had a plan, now all the had to do was stick to it and see it through. I made sure both of my sabers were fully charged as well as Bree's. I smiled at the feeling of her excitement seasoned with a generous dollop of fear that she was coping with wonderfully. Her 'war face' had all the men around us smiling.

The Crawler lurched to a stop then we flowed out down the ramp as quick as we could, most of the men trotting in the direction of the crevasse and its rainbow of blaster fire to reinforce Major Ventin. A company's worth gathered around me I quickly lead to the second ride on one of the massive turbo lifts that had been anchored into the ice on the side of the crater. There were a pair of large lifts, despite which it took four trips to ferry all of us up to the top.

Which also meant it would take four trips to extract us on the other side I reminded myself. The lobby would have to be held while the men retreated, which would doubtlessly be a messy business. Lead by example, I reminded myself.

Putting away my holo-transceiver, I got my company organized in the largest room of the old space port, a lounge, oddly enough. The platoon leaders took head counts of their platoons and reported all present to Captain Thul who then reported to me. Nodding, I raised my voice so everyone could hear me. “Gentlemen, we have the tough job. Our mission will depend on Stealth until we're regrouped down below, then once we have accomplished our mission, our retreat will be just as difficult. All our lives depend on our discipline, now. If we do not act as a unit, if we do not keep our heads and if we do not hold that beach head below us coming and going, we will all be slaughtered. Work as a team, stick together and we will get out of this alive.”

A mixed chorus of affirmatives were shouted back to me. I gave the Captain a nod, then Bree and I purposefully walked over to the doors for the other side and into the waiting lift. This would be our final ride before the shooting started; we would be among the first ones down. The men were broken up into groups and we were packed as tightly into the elevator as it would hold.

The doors closed and the car began to descend.

“Nobody fart,” warned Bree.

It was just the tension relief the men needed and the car broke out into laughter. I smiled at her and tasseled her hair as I took my sabers from my belt and held my fingers over the activation studs. “First wave, form a perimeter and dig in,” I ordered, answered by a chorus of 'Yes, my lord.'

That ride down seemed to take forever, but finally, with a lovely little chime that gave us away, the doors opened. My sabers snapped on as I rushed out, a river of commandos flowed out of the car, blasters up, seeking targets behind me. We were in a lobby, dark and dusty from disuse and thankfully abandoned. “Sergeant,” I called, extinguishing my sabers and creeping over to the point squad. “This building should be a mirror of the other we went up in. Take your squad to the outer doors and hold. Send a runner back to report, and don't let anyone see you.”

“Roger that, ma'am,” he replied, collecting up his squad and ghosting through the darkened doors out into the building. The doors closed and the cars began their ascent for the next load while we tensely waited. If I thought the wait for the trip down took forever, the wait for the entire force to be rejoined seemed to be interminable. I was as tense as spring stretched to its limit by the time the entire company had made the trip and assembled. I checked the chronometer built into my gauntlet to find it took over a quarter of an hour to accomplish, under perfect conditions.

This did not bode well.

Finally the building was practically full of Imperial Troopers, spoiling for a fight. Captain Thul and I were cautiously looking out a window. The building was, of course, right up against the crater wall, and from there, land went mostly down hill towards a small vent and hotspring in the center of the crater. My view of it from here was blocked by the windowless and monolithic construction of the Maximum Security Block.

The good news was the entrance was actually on this side of the building, no more than fifty meters or so down the hill. The bad news was most of that ground was open with no cover or concealment. With the crater wall on one side and Maximum security on the other, there was an open, grassy space between us and the barricade that the Wardens had raised at this side of the crevasse.

“Well, this is lump of hard cheese,” Captain Thul opined at my elbow. “Any ideas, my lord?”

I pointed at maximum security with the emitter end of one of my saber hilts. “If memory serves, Captain there is an open area on the other side of this building, then an infirmary and an administrative complex. In my judgment, you have two options, engage from here, or flank to the right and attack from directly behind using maximum security as cover.”

“Agreed,” he told me, quickly sketching things in the dust. “Moffitt, take your platoon and come around behind the Republicans, wait for my signal to engage. They will likely come towards us in an attempt to flank you so the rest of the company will hold this position. Give them hell, then collapse back here.”

“Will do, sir,”

Thul looked at me. “How long do you need to retrieve your man, my lord?”

“Can you be in position in ten minutes, Lieutenant Moffitt?” I asked the dark complected young man. He nodded. “Very well, give me ten minutes, Captain, then unleash hell.”

The Captain nodded and one of the men opened the door for Bree and I. Focused myself and then pulling the Force into me, I ran. Force speed is one of those things you never really get used to. In the blink of an eye Bree and I had crossed the open ground in a blur, stopping suddenly by the door and overcome a bit with the feeling we should have crashed into it. You literally run faster than your brain can process what you are doing.

Despite how terrifying that sounds, it's actually quite fun and exhilarating.

We paused for a moment, tensely waiting for signs of alarm or blaster bolts indicating we had been spotted, but none came. I waved at the crouched warriors in the building we had just left then my light saber opened the door for us. Inside was a reception lobby that was, thankfully, empty. I led the way through, navigating by the map Anri's slicer had shown me that I had committed to memory.

Surprisingly, most of the hard cases that had been caged in here were still in their cages, the Wardens not being so desperate for men as to let these out. Which meant cat calls and pleas for release followed us through the cell block until I was finally at the cell I wanted.

My first impression of Asher Vallen was that I wasn't very impressed. He was about my height, but then I'm tall for a woman at one hundred eighty centimeters. He was skinny, probably not much more than my fifty eight kilos, horse faced with a mop of sandy blonde hair and brown eyes. He was fairly light complected, with large hands and long fingers. He certainly didn't look like he was capable of the laundry list of crimes that got him in here that Anri's slicer had warned me about.

I didn't know what The Void wanted with a serial killer, but I would find out before I handed him over. “Congratulations,” I told him as I held out my hand. The Force picked him up, immobilized him and forced his hands together behind his back. “You're being rescued.”

I shoved the point of my light saber into the lock of the door, destroying the mechanism, then pushed it sideways to destroy the clasp, then pushed the door open down its track. “I'll come quietly!” he gasped around my grip through the Force.

Bree stepped in and locked a pair of binders around his wrist, then a shock collar around his neck. “Yes, you will, because you don't have a choice,” I told him as I released him and he dropped to the ground. “If you give me the slightest trouble I'll send lightening down your nervous system until you writhe in agony. Is there understanding between us?” I didn't like the look I got in his eyes, so I glanced at one of the buttons on the data pad built into my vambrace and the collar triggered.

Every muscle in Vallen's body locked and he went stiff, falling over to an agonizing wail of pain. I let it up and he could move again. Looking up at me, now I saw the killer in his eyes and knew he was exactly the man Anri had described to me in caution.

And he saw that I was a Sith Lord and the hatred gave way to fear. “I...I understand, my lord.”

“Out,” I commanded and when he awkwardly got to his feet with his hands locked behind him, my light saber urged him in the direction of the exit, just as a massive explosion rumbled through the building.

Looking about, he asked, “What's that?”

“My friends,” I informed him. “Now, run!”

The trip back through the cell block featured more shouting, but this time it was frantic and fearful as the sounds of battle and explosions began to penetrate the building. I ignored it and concentrated getting my prize out and back to the lifts. Back outside, the air was thick with blaster bolts, on either side of the building. I pointed Asher toward the lift and gave his shoulder a shove. “Go!” I ordered.

“Are you crazy?” he shouted back at me. “The blasters...” His complaint trailed off as I lowered the blade tip of my saber to a few centimeters from his nose.

“Don't make me repeat myself,” I warned him.

Asher summoned up his courage and started to run towards the elevator while Bree and I deflected bolts from him and us until we were back under cover of the building. “Sergeant? See this man is taken back to lift and have someone keep him under guard. He's dangerous and not be set loose.”

“Yes, milady!” the sergeant replied, taking Asher's shoulder and frog marching him deeper into the building.

“How are we doing, Captain?” I asked, turning to Captain Thul.

“Winning I believe, my lady,” replied, turning to an orderly, he commanded, “begin retreat! Moffitt, fall back now!”

“Bree,” I commanded, and once more my daughter and I stepped out of the cover of the building. I spaced us about equidistant from the cell block right as Lieutenant Moffitt's men appeared in staggered fighting retreat formation with excellent discipline. Between us, none of the blaster fire harmed any of the pincer platoon. Then, as I was trotting with the lieutenant, last of his group to the lifts, the blaster fire stopped and a thrill ran up my spine.

Turning, I saw a wave of those hideous aliens flow over the barricade and begin to charge us. “Here they come!” I shouted and the lift house windows exploded with blaster bolts in a withering barrage. But even as they were knocked down, the Esh-Kha would just get up, their chests smoking from the strike and start charging again. I chased the Lieutenant into the building and slammed the door shut.

Troopers immediately began to pile anything they could move in front of the doors to keep them from opening, while anybody who could get a blaster muzzle out one of the windows began to shoot it blind. “Second and third squad, fall back and reform the line,” Thul ordered. “First squad, stand your ground!”

What followed was a night mare, seen in the flashes of blaster bolts and the florescent glow of our light sabers, punctuated by the screams of men being pulled through windows to their deaths and the utterly alien gibberish the Esh-Kha shouted at us. Once, twice, and a final time I summoned all I could in the Force and shoved the monsters back from the windows but each time they rallied and stormed them again. My arms began to ache from rising and falling and rising and falling, as limbs cut off began to pile around us. My ears throbbed with the roar of blasters, the screams of the Esh-Kha and the soldiers I had led to this place. Some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, others on their wives and children left poor behind them, some upon the debts that they owed, but no where was there charity or mercy.

Blood was our argument.

We fell back and still they came. We gunned them down by the dozen and still they came. The ground ran red with blood and still they came. Until at last there were only Bree and myself and the last of the soldiers, back into the lift. For the first time in my life, one of my light sabers buzzed in my hand and winked out, it's power cell completely drained. The other hilt was vibrating in my hand silently warning me it too was nearly depleted. I reached back and pushed my daughter into the lift, into the arms of the soldiers who held her tight, ignoring her screams and attempts to try to return to my side.

Then, with the last of my strength, I reached deep within myself and I unleashed the rage at my daughter being threatened. The Force rushed over me like I stood at the base of a failing dam and I focused it out, blasting the nearest Esh-Kha to pieces and sending the rest sprawling back down the hall. Then, as my sight dimmed and my other saber winked out, a pair of hands grabbed my shoulders and I was pulled backward, into darkness.

* * *

3627 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Hyperspace, aboard the Aces and Eights, en-route to Alderaan, Central Core Worlds

I returned to my senses slowly, as if from a great distance and my body was loathe to allow my spirit to return. My first sense was pain, a dull, fibrous ache that permeated my entire body. Then I became aware that something was strapped to my face. I opened my eyes and for a long moment they refused to focus and I saw nothing but green. Then, finally my eyes focused and I realized I was in the kolto tank on board the Aces and Eights. Below me, making a pillow of her arms, Bree was asleep at the little table next to the tank in a position that promised a massive crick in her neck when she awoke.

I looked around, seeing Fiveareen, our medical droid, in the corner, puttering at something. “Fiveareen,” I called weakly, into the mask I was wearing that was giving me air. The droid turned and walked over to the tank.

“Greetings, my lord,” The droid declared, this I heard through the speaker built into the straps of the mask near my ear. “How do you feel this morning?”

I shifted in the thick, warm gel I was floating in, finding I was wearing only a bikini to keep my modesty. “Hungry, I think,” I managed through the dull ache that punctuated every part of me. “And sore.”

“That is to be expected,” the droid assured me. “Your exertions were quite strenuous, if I understand them properly.”

“Where are we?”

The droid made an adjustment and something dark blue flowed into the kolto. “We are in hyperspace, my lord. En-route to Alderaan, as your message requested. Your prisoner is restrained and you need not concern yourself with anything but relaxing.” The mild hunger sensation passed and I felt oddly satisfied.

“Fiveareen, summon X4, I need make a call.”

The disapproval in the droid's voice was palpable. “As you wish, my lord.” After several minutes, the little astromech trundled in and I held my finger up to the mask for him to be quiet.

“Patch into the system so only you can hear me, X4.” He found a computer terminal and plugged in his S-Comp Link.

Soon, in my ear I heard, “What can I do for you, mistress?”

“What time is it on Ruuria?”

“It is zero nine forty one, mistress.”

“Connect me to home, please, X4, but route all the audio through here so we don't disturb Bree.” The head of the little droid spun a bit, then one of his holographic projectors lit up and my husband, larger than life, was in the room with us. “Hey, baby,” I greeted. “I hope a Bikini is close enough to my birthday suit for you...”

“You remembered!” he said with a smile. “Since we talking, I presume you're not badly injured?”

“It's mostly Force Burn Out,” I told him, then recapped the battle, living only little bits out that didn't need to be said, or broadcast to anyone who might be listening. “We're on our way now to Alderaan to drop off my package and then I'm on my way to you!”

He grinned, half relief of a doting husband, half salacious dirty old man. Both were welcome to me. “I can't wait! After all these years it will be great to be rid of the creepy droid.”

“You can say that again!” I agreed with him. “Bree was amazing, my darling! Brave and strong and...” His smile got a bit wider and he shook his head.

“Alright, I relent,” he declared, raising his hands in surrender. “I should have known the way she dotes on you that she would be the model apprentice. She passed her trials then?”

“Yes,” I replied. “And I have formally taken her. I'll give you all the details when we are face to face.”

“I'll be counting the minutes.”

You can't actually cry in kolto, your eyes are too moist, but if I could, my eyes would have been full of tears. “Me too.”

* * *

3627 BBY
Alderaan System, Alderaan Sector , The Core Worlds

The stars rushed back to their places as the blue green crown jewel of the Central Core swept up to us. My heart skipped a beat as I stared at world I had only seen before over the shoulder of Grand Moff Tarkin as he taunted Princess Leia Organa with the destruction of her home world from the command center of the Death Star. Now it was a real place, full of real people living real lives and the true horror of such a weapon also became 'real' to me. Despite the decade plus I lived in this body in this place, some part of me stayed a little detached.

Now I would walk on ground that, if things did not change would be vaporized in three thousand years. I had felt Ziost die, and it had barely a third of the population of Alderaan. I promised myself I would do whatever I could to keep that holocaust from happening. If human action could prevent destiny, I would do whatever I could.

The Aces and Eights was cleared to enter the system as Silas had been a stickler to keep his Republic registrations, while my addition of the Imperial secure IFF transponder meant the little yacht could go wherever we damn well pleased. Not that it would be any kind of difficulty just now; Alderaan was in the middle of a civil war. After the Treaty of Coruscant was signed, ending the Great Galactic War as it had come to be know, Crown Prince and Senator Gaul Panteer had left the senate, taking his world with him, enraged the Republic would settle for anything less than the extermination of the Sith Empire.

Nice, peace loving guy, right?

Well, someone had taken issue with that and he was assassinated in the days after, in addition to the Alderaan Parliament being fairly evenly split between hawks and doves who backed the prince or publicly rebuked him for hot headed folly. Queen Silara, his mother, died shortly there after, of a broken heart if the press releases were to be believed. At least all of them agreed it was not a second assassination.

Not that it mattered, the fox was well and truly in the hen house now.

What was left of House Panteer couldn't agree who the rightful succession should go to as there were several claimants to the throne who all had more or less equivalent pedigrees. Most of the hawks sided with House Organa who were backed by the Republic hoping they could help their claimant to the throne and bring Alderaan back into the Republic fold. Ironically, the doves sided with a coalition headed by House Thul who was friendly with the New Revanite Sith Empire, as fair haired son of the house, Captain Thul demonstrated. They were backing one of the Panteers they thought had the best claim and the Revanite Sith Empire was assisting however we could. Call it opportunism if you like, but having a Core World choose to side with us would be the political coup of the century.

Speaking of, things were further confused by Bouris Ulgo, Commanding General of the Alderaan Self Defense Force staging a coup d'etat, usurping House Panteer, setting himself up as King and declaring Martial Law. Thus far, none of the other Great Houses were willing to go beyond armed camps and border skirmishes to press the matter, most likely thinking they would be used by the others to bleed off the Ulgo loyalists, then back stabbed while they were weakened from the fight.

So about half the planet was still Republican and carrying on as if the planet were still in the Republic, half the planet was friendly to the Empire and I could safely fly under my own colors as it were while I did so and the Capital of Alderaan was an armed camp in the center of which sat Bouris Ulgo in the wrecked palace assuring himself and anyone he could make listen that he was the rightful King of Alderaan.

Now you understand why we say peace is a lie...

Still, for all that conflict and strife, Alderaan was beautiful from orbit. Not that there was no conflict up here, either; there was a Republic cruiser and a Imperial dreadnought glaring at each other, metaphorically speaking. Each assisting the Alderaan air and space traffic authority depending upon who was visiting whom. The dreadnought Indomitable cleared us through planetary approach and handed us off to Rhu Caenus space port approach in the heart of the Thul enclave around the war torn capital.

I had been out of the tank long enough to get a shower, get dressed and have a hot meal before Major Malo had given the warning we were coming up on Alderaan. I had taken the pilot's chair, not that there was anything lacking in her ability, I just felt most at home there and the Aces and Eights was always a joy to fly. While Tatooine had been the wild west of flying when I had first flown this vessel, Alderaan had air and space ways like the airspace around New York and absolutely none of it was seat of the pants flying.

The headset as comfortable as I could make it, I keyed on the frequency the code book listed. “Alderaan approach, this is private yacht Aces and Eights, checking in via Indomitable, requesting vectors to the initial, over.”

“Aces and Eights Alderaan approach, set one two zero and descend to flight level ninety smartly, collision warning level two and advise Rhu Caenus approach on frequency five, on station, how copy?”

“One two zero and flight level ninety smartly, sensor avoidance level two and Rhu Caenus approach frequency five on station, for Aces and Eights, clear.”

“Good day.”

I began to reset the collision alarm to commanded level while Fable nosed us down steeply into Alderaan's gravity well. As you might imagine, the air space around Alderaan was dense and the sensors had to be threshold set at two hundred meters or they would go off constantly. And if you're a pilot you understand just how nerve biting that level of traffic is. Suffice to say the canopy of the Aces and Eights was much too full of other craft for my liking. Too be fair, most of them were going to an industrial space port that was an entire island in the ocean we were flying over. From there, the goods likely went by water ships to be distributed.

Private craft, like ours, were allowed into the less commercial, but still pretty crowded airspace of Alderaan's capital, Elysium. In fact it was just rising out of the ocean on the horizon as we finally leveled off and began level flight again. The Juran Mountains rose up out of the water as if Europe had slid into the sea and the Alps now were the coast. Cut into the little plateaus and valleys of the mountains was series of castles, urban areas and, dominating the island it sat on just off the coast of the mountains was the wrecked Palace of Alderaan.

It was a sad sight to see something so beautiful laid low and wrecked, AA batteries crammed around the crumbling building and burnt, scorched banners of House Ulgo hanging from the blasted battlements. It was like a carnival had set up in a ghost town, pretty lights and bright colors with no one to admire them. I shook my head as I changed frequencies on the radio. “Rhu Caenus Approach this is private yacht Aces and Eights, at eight zero kilometers, requesting clearance to land, over.”

“Aces and Eights this is Rhu Caenus Approach, come to three one zero and descend to flight level two zero, reset your flight computer to receive and began your landing check list. Welcome to House Thul.”

“Aces and Eights, wilco, descending, thanks.” I keyed off the mike and told Fable, “Pilot's space craft,” as I reached over head to key on the auto pilot and set it.

“Pilot's space craft,” she echoed as she brought up the check list on the central screen and began her portion of it. “Gear down and locked.”

“Hyperdrive from idle to shut down,” I replied as we worked.

From between us, Silas' voice whispered, “It's beautiful,” as we swept over the city, nestled in and around the mountains and the sun turned windows and brass fixtures into diamonds and gleaming gold. Most of the buildings were white or silver and blended into the terrain such that it was hard to judge where mountain stopped and building began. It was like flying into a fairy tale, everything glistening and golden in the morning sun rising behind us.

The autopilot veered the Aces and Eights away from the Palace and its likely accompanying No Fly Zone, based on the number of anti-air batteries, up into a mountain plateau that was as if we were flying into some future version of the Sound of Music. Snow capped rugged mountains snuggled in dense, vibrant ever green forests and rolling green grass meadows crowned by absolutely clear mountain lakes that glistened in the sunlight.

But, like the Sound of Music, there were signs of war on the horizon, as there were Imperial combat vehicles parked around the city and in the meadows beyond the city walls smoldering craters that indicated a battle had recently occurred. The Aces and Eights banked on the autopilot's direction, giving us a final look over the ridge line at the now ruinous city of Elysium, broken buildings and frozen tears in the alpine snow.

We leveled out and began to descend, slowing and aloft only on her repulsors, the ship slowly glided toward the swat, domed building that was Rhu Caenus Space Port. Like many urban facilities, it was a substantial building around an open shaft that ran the length of the building and a good ways deep into the surrounding bedrock. Along the side of this shaft, hanger bays were carved out in rings around it, allowing space for pleasure craft, like the Aces and Eights, as well as small delivery vehicles of high value goods from the industrial space port out in the ocean.

We descended only a handful of levels and actually ended up with a hanger on the ground floor of the building, indicating someone was very eager to see us. The ship was slowly guided into the hanger by tractor beam and then set down gracefully on her landing gear. There was even a professional ground crew that was switching us over to shore power and seeing to the other mundane tasks of landing on a new world. And now I was worried.

Someone with deep pockets was eager to see us.

Once we had the ship put to bed, I walked aft to collect my prisoner and be rid of him, finding the ramp down and the airlock standing open with Silas on it, adding to his collection. We had done so much traveling over the years he had become something of a tourist and somewhere had picked up a gigantic map of the galaxy and stuck it to the airlock wall. Every time we made landfall now, he got a new planet sticker from the set that had come with the galaxy map and added it to the map.

I rolled my eyes as I continued aft to our little cargo bay and it's adhoc brig. “We're here,” I declared to Vallen with a gesture at the binders in the little cell with him. “Put them on and don't give me any trouble.”

“What kind of grieving victim can afford to have a Sith Lord do their bounty hunting for them?” he demanded as he stood and snapped the binders around his wrists.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” I replied as I checked that they were good and tight, then opened the door.

“At least tell me they won't torture me to death.”

“I honestly have no idea what they want you for,” I admitted as I lead him out the door. “But if I don't approve, I'll kill you myself, quick and clean. How's that?”

His face paled a bit, but he kept moving. “Depends on what you approve of, doesn't it?” he asked as he tromped down the ramp and out into the hanger.

“From what I've read you deserve far worse than what I approve of,” I told him darkly. And I meant it. Asher Vallen was a monster who killed for sport, or amusement, or because it was Tuesday. He had raped and murdered his way across most of the Central Core and Midrim before being caught and put away for good, or so someone had thought to Belsavis. He was the kind of ugly evil that at some level I knew existed in this galaxy but preferred never seeing.

But then, that probably went for a lot of things in any galaxy.

Now that we were free of the ramp, I noted a welcoming committee waiting for us. Leading them was a lovely young woman, dark complected, with her hair in a medium afro wearing the somewhat overly dressy, to my eye, anyway, uniform of the diplomatic service. She was very poised, with excellent posture and a good figure as she waited for us to walk over. With her were several hard boy types of diplomatic service 'security' who were basically thugs in black suits.

As we arrived she gave a shallow bow. “Darth Fens, we are honored by your presence. I am Raina Temple, Imperial Diplomatic Service, aid to Moff Sarek.”

“Is that who I have to thank for these splendid accommodations for my ship?” I asked her, never taking a hand far from my light sabers in case Vallen decided to chance things. Temple bowed again.

“He sends his compliments and hopes you would grace him with your presence,” she said, and I have to give her credit, she danced right up to the line of 'this isn't a request' without so much as a stray hair over into 'now I can kill you for presuming to order me.'

I narrowed my eyes so that she knew I was onto her game and to underscore her innate caution as a wise course of action regarding me. “Obviously, someone so generous must set a fine table,” I observed, giving Vallen a casual jerk. “However, I have business I must attend to first. Inform your master I will be pleased to join him for lunch once I have concluded my own dealings.” I received my third bow in as many minutes.

Honestly, I was unaware someone could be so self effacing. “It will be my pleasure, my lord,” she replied. “Our embassy is just next door to Thul Palace. You'll see the Imperial colors.” She gave my prisoner a wary eye. “May I offer the assistance of my security detail...?”

My smile was probably more than a little feral. I need neither spies, nor minders, diplomat. “Oh, he's no trouble, are you?”

“Who me?” Asher asked, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

“As you wish,” Temple allowed, turning and departing fairly quickly from the hanger. As I watched her leave, Silas and Fable joined me.

“Life with you is never dull,” my spirit brother remarked. “Want some company to deal with...?”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” I replied.

“I'll rent us a speeder,” Fable declared.

* * *

3627 BBY
Juran Mountains, Alderaan, The Core Worlds

I'm no geologist, but on a guess I would say that the Juran Mountains nestled into which lay the Capital of Alderaan, was the meeting of a pair tectonic plates. At least having a mountain range on a coast seemed odd to me, that was the only logical explanation. Elysium was built on and around a peninsula of them that jutted out into the ocean, dominated by two peaks, Kaamos the peak and highlands upon which House Thul sat, and Apalis, which was lower and was blessed with more arable land which were the holdings of House Organa.

Between them ran the Glarus River Valley into which most of Elysium was built, concentrated a bit at the mouth of the river where Alderaan Palace stood on it's island in the bay. A city that was mostly deserted thanks to the coup of General Ulgo with refugees taking shelter and crowding the centers of Thul and Organa. Despite that, the area still had a very Alpine, central European feeling to it where one half expected to see clock makers, beer gardens and yodelers wearing Lederhosen.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that On the Franches Mountains was playing in the back of my mind.

Fable had us a speeder that was more delivery van than passenger vehicle, but it held all of us and had nice, sturdy fittings to handcuff our unwilling passenger to. From there, we headed west, out of the principality of Thul, deeper into the Juran Mountains. The roads were deserted at this point, the battle over and the refugees had already fled. All that were left were mountain folk who had no intention of going anywhere that gave us disapproving looks as we sped past.

There were a few check points, but my credentials got us waved through.

As it was, Alderaan was an odd mixture of Science Fiction oddity with city areas existing next to wilderness with no suburban sprawl at all and Middle Ages European Feudalism. Alderaan had no states or nations, the various noble houses ruled their territories directly. Differences or feuds between noblemen had to be heard and adjudicated by the High Council of Alderaan who also voted on who would be ruler.

Because in Feudalism, it's your Count that votes!

The people in a given area all shared the name of what ever noble House or family controlled it, but for the most part the people were ruled by those houses. The local baron heard petty things and civil lawsuits, The regional Count or his appointed judge heard serious crimes and passed judgments while the Dukes and Lord Dukes, who ruled each House, could basically kill or imprison anyone they pleased who shared their last name. There was some mobility for the commoner to climb the social ladder, but most of those peerage appointments were not hereditary so ones children started at the bottom all over again. The ones that were hereditary were closely guarded to keep the club exclusive.

In a way it really showed the resiliency of humanity in that anything could be put up with so long as enough force was applied.

Of course this ruling gig the nobles had carved out for themselves was actually a two way street. The Dukes were responsible for managing infrastructure like roads, utilities and the like, which seemed to be working well. The streets were clean, crime seemed low and doubtlessly even the trains ran on time. Although a part of me wondered if there were 'camps' somewhere that was the price paid for all of this picture post card perfection.

There were a handful of Alderaanians who had no House, but worked for the King and Queen, whoever they were directly. They received the surname Freeman and generally oversaw things that benefited the planet as a whole. While Units of individual House Forces might be loaned out to the Planetary Defense Force, most of the career officers and senior NCOs were Freeman. They also over saw the planetary power grid, managed flood control of rivers and dams that more than one House shared and so on. Such areas were considered neutral, answering only to the King directly, and wherever there was Neutrality, there were enterprising individuals who set up shop to sell to all comers.

Thus we followed the directions I had received from The Void up, into the mountains to a beautiful lake that had been dammed and a carefully measured spillway fed a river cascading down to the sea below. There was a little village that housed the dam workers, and various businesses that sold them goods, and a little beer garden we pulled to a stop in front of that was where we would rid ourselves of our pet monster.

The Beer Garden would have fit into any little hamlet throughout the Alps, a courtyard with tables and benches being served by attractive young women in attire that shared enough bits with a dirndl that it almost made no difference. There was a pergola covering the courtyard offering some shade and there was even a rolled fabric canopy that could cover the open sections in case of inclement weather. Our boy was easy enough to spot, sticking out like a sore thumb with a pair of obvious bodyguards standing behind him while wearing clothes he probably thought quite discreet and understated. Still, the cuts and tailoring screamed rich nobleman almost as much as his cape.

Yes, he was wearing a cape in his “disguise”.

He was a good looking sort, swarthy, tall dark and handsome with a van dyke beard and a nose you could ski down. It was also fairly obvious he had never worked a day in his life. With him was a droid that on first blush I took to be what I had dubbed 'Maria', the interface bot that the Void had sent with Lanaka and me all those years ago, but as I got closer I noted enough subtle differences to come to the conclusion it was the same 'model' but this one had been issued to Prince Vengeance.

The Prince's bodyguards posture shifted, alerting me to their dislike of a Sith Lord getting within arms reach of their principal. For the moment they were staying professional, so I ignored them. “As promised,” I declared, shoving Asher down onto the bench, but keeping one hand on his shoulder, and the other where I could get at a light saber quickly. “Now, who are you?” I asked of the Prince, “And what do you want him for?”

“That is not your concern,” the Void Bot declared in the same voice Maria used.

“I decide what my concern is,” I replied. “Once I got a look at his rap sheet it was fairly obvious you didn't want him for his skills. So, he had to be a pay off you are making to his highness here. He's not yours yet. And if you want him,” I told the thus far silent nobleman, “you'll answer my questions.”

The man looked up into the face of the robot standing over him. “You failed to mention you have dealings with the Sith,” he declared in a rich baritone.

“I have dealings with many exceptional individuals throughout the galaxy,” the droid replied. “Sith, Jedi, Republic Senators, smugglers and con men, revolutionaries and noblemen. It is from this network I was able to learn of the location of your request. Darth Fens is likely the only member of my association that could have done what she accomplished.”

“So you've said,” he replied gravely. Turning to me he gave a shallow bow from the neck. “I am Baron Ferris Organa, Lord Fens. It is a...well, I will not lie to you, even for etiquette. I am quite uncomfortable meeting a Sith Lord.”

I smiled. “No need to be quite so defensive, Baron Organa, we aren't at war yet. Since we're being formal, it is Darth Nyeomi Fens, Countess of Banudan, and you have yet to tell me what you want my prisoner for.”

His eyes drifted to Taybri and lingered. I might have taken exception, save for there was nothing untoward in his gaze, but rather an infinite sadness and longing. The Force pooled and eddied around him like a boulder in a torrent. It was an interesting mix of emotion, a rage to put some Sith to shame next to sadness as deep and bottomless as a black hole. “How old is your apprentice, Countess? Are you fond of her?”

“Not quite eleven,” I replied. “Baron Ferris Organa, allow me to present my daughter, Taybri Belos-Fens.”

The Baron bowed again. “I am deeply honored.”

Bree dropped a curtsy with exceptional poise and bearing, despite wearing pants. “Milord.”

“You have a daughter, Baron Organa?” I asked, but from the clouding of his dark face and with the sudden eruption of the rage he felt overriding the sorrow I now knew the whats and the whyfors of his interest.

“Had,” he declared tightly and how any man could compress so much rage into a single word I'm sure I don't know. And I hope never to find out.

“I see.” I didn't need the Force to read the thoughts in his mind, the hatred of the man seated across the table from him, the guilt over the loss of his daughter, the shame over the pain it had wrought on his marriage and above all the sallow, burning anticipation he felt as he looked forward to watching an expert he had hired preform his specialization on the cause of all of his torment.

Stand between a monster and a father's vengeance? Even if you believed all of the propaganda the Republic and the Jedi spread about us, not even a Sith Lord could be that Evil. “He's yours,” I said, pulling Vallen to his feet and shoving him at the bodyguards who took possession of him in a way that said perhaps they once had a different principal and wanted vengeance as badly as their lord did. Locking eyes with the pale and sweating monster I added, “Just promise me you won't rush it. Be thorough and take your time.”

“You said...” Asher started, pale and sweating.

“I said if I didn't approve,” I interrupted him. “Well I do approve. Heartily. As a mother, a woman and a Sith, I hope he keeps you alive for weeks.”

“I will endeavor to grant your wish, Countess,” the Baron declared as he stood. He turned to leave, then paused and having reconsidered, he turned back and offered a bow no court master of protocol could find fault with. “It was my deepest honor and greatest pleasure to have met you, Countess.”

“I regret only the circumstances, Baron,” I assured him. One of the Baron's thugs stuffed a rag into Asher's mouth and the pair of them drug him towards the back of the beer garden and neither patrons nor bar maids saw anything. “I hope this will give you some measure of closure.”

“No,” he told me softly as he turned back from watching his men and his eyes were deeply sad. “No, it won't. But it is something. And that is all I have left.” He turned to the droid. “I am in your debt. Ask, and it will be given to you.” He turned back once more and declared, “That goes double for you, my lady.”

I bowed my head then turned to the droid. “We are ended?”

“We are,” the droid replied. “If you change your mind, I am always available.”

* * *

3627 BBY
Embassy of the New Revanite Sith Empire, Kaamos Territory, Alderaan, The Core Worlds

The Ducal holdings of House Thul around Elysium amounted to a small city in and of itself. There were streets, shops, cafes and restaurants, lodging houses all dotted around green spaces with a futuristic aesthetic mixed liberally with Alpine charm. There were apartment buildings for support personnel, space port workers and the other functionaries of the House, all with ultra modern design on buildings that were likely thousands of years old.

Silas and Fable decided to have their lunch at a little sidewalk cafe that looked like the kind of place that wouldn't mind if a card game suddenly broke out. Bree and I had stopped back at the ship to change clothes; if there was anything I had been taught by all these titles and accolades it was that silly things like clothing could put you at a disadvantage without realizing it with people to whom things like this mattered.

Moffs were generally in that crowd.

So I settled on one of my favorite dresses, the pearlescent white shimmer silk dress that Garris of Tatooine had hand made to my measure. I called it my 'lucky' dress as I had first worn it to be Torm's good luck charm in the Boonta Eve Pazaak Tournament. It was fairly formal in a 40's Movie Heiress kind of way, fell just to my knee and as far as skin it was fairly modest. It was, however, fit to my measure and so it perfectly displayed my figure; a figure I was justly proud of having kept for ten years and giving birth twice.

I could also fight in this dress if I needed to, which also kept it lucky.

I added a pair of wedge heeled boots because they took my height to a bit under two meters and I liked being that imposing. My final accessories were my light sabers. Since I was in white, Bree decided to match me in a very cute cold shoulder sun dress with one quarter sleeves and flowing skirt that fell below her knee. It also would not impede her should she need to shift from court formal to action girl.

It was a pretty, early spring kind of day, with just a bit of a nip in the air due to the altitude and the fact there was still snow on the ground in places. For the most part, however, spring had sprung on Alderaan and it was a beautiful day. Bree and I walked from the spaceport which was not terribly far from the Palace of House Thul. Even in that short walk there were signs of how bad things were. The streets were fairly full and a number of passers by had that haunted, hollow look to their faces that all refugees seemed to share. The look of people who had been sure that what had happened to them never would.

It wasn't as bad as people sleeping on the benches, or begging, but there was a definite feeling of the little city being stretched to its limit.

Thul Palace was impressive, with a facade of at least twenty or thirty stories. There were spires that went higher and the building was constructed around a central courtyard so as to give it the look of a crown fit for some gigantic titan. Next to it, as promised was a little clutch of squat, rounded towers with tiered roofs like mushrooms from which hung the red banner of the New Revanite Sith Empire, a mixture of the hexagonal 'caged chaos' symbol of the Sith Empire superimposed on the circle and St Andrews Cross of Revan.

The troopers around it were in parade armor with lots of ornaments and flashy braid and medals, but it was still armor, and the blasters they carried were very real. Still, it had exactly the effect intended, impressive and beautiful while still being functional. The Captain of the Guard brought his troopers to attention to salute us as we were given an honor escort inside to one of the smaller State Dining Rooms where Moff Sarek was taking his lunch.

As a man, Krisfra Sarek was an interesting fellow, in his early fifties, fit and trim with a head full of slate gray hair he kept immaculately groomed. He was clean shaven save for a soul patch interestingly enough and presenting himself, like his guard, in the dress uniform of the Diplomatic Corps. It consisted of a white tunic with a high Wilton collar with heavy black epaulets, an aiguillette under his right arm and in place of the military uniform's bandoleer he wore a simple Sam Browne belt from left shoulder to right hip. Black jodhpurs and high black boots completed his uniform, with sufficient medals and awards to fit in with the high and mighty of Alderaanian society.

With him was a lovely noble woman of about my age. She had a flawless milk chocolate complexion with long ebony hair in an interesting, complicated style that held it mostly at the back of her head, but still managed to be about her shoulders. Sitting on her forehead was an emerald like a third eye in a delicate set of platinum chains that disappeared into her hair. Her eyes were chestnut and I felt them sweep over me and my daughter before returning my gaze with a calculating one of her own. She was dressed in a magnificent gown that clung where it needed, flowed where it should and made the words 'complimented her figure' fall far short of their intended meaning.

“Ah, Countess Fens,” he greeted, slightly emphasizing my title, sweeping up to sketch a rigid and likely proforma bow by someone used to giving them. “So good of you to join us!”

As a Moff, Sarek and I were technically equals. General, Admiral, Moff and Darth all held about the same level of reputation, but for different elements. I would be considered subordinate to him in matters of policy and diplomacy in his mission of bringing Alderaan into the Imperial fold, with Generals concerned with land achievements in war and admirals in space. The Darth was the free safety supposedly only concerned with issues for the Empire as a whole which meant I could command either Generals or Admirals or Moffs if needs be. I had best be sure that my reasons for doing so would hold up to scrutiny later. Since he was playing up titles I decided to play along and bowed from the neck. “Moff Sarek, it was our pleasure to take up your gracious invitation.” I placed a hand on the back of Bree's head. “My daughter, Taybri.”

The Moff graced us with another of his courtly bows, then held out his arm in introduction. “I have the honor to present Lady Elana, Duchess of House Thul. Your grace, please meet Dame Commander Nyeomi Fens, Countess of Banudan, Lord of the Sith.”

Now it was her turn to bow from the neck. “Charmed, Countess.”

I was grateful I had decided to change clothes as Bree and I paid her the honor of a curtsy. “Your grace,” we said in chorus.

“Moff Sarek informs me you are a Darth as well, Countess?” she asked as the diplomat led us over to the table. A pair of Troopers, resplendent in dress uniforms held out chairs for Bree and myself while the Moff played host and assisted the Duchess to her seat.

“I have the honor to hold that rank, your grace,” I replied as bowls of a clear, but hearty looking broth were placed before us.

“Well, that must be simply fascinating,” she declared as she got her napkin settled and silently ran her spoon through the broth. “Living a life of adventure, roaming the galaxy, the Force bending to your will; I must say I envy you, Countess.”

“There are a great many hardships and doing without in that life. Not to mention the unique joy that is combat with those desperately trying to kill you to balance out the ledger, your grace.” I took a sip and found the soup a rich, mildly salty consomme with a slightly gamy taste I couldn't pin down.

“Lady Thul has been a great aide in our overtures to Alderaan and House Thul,” the Moff declared, speaking volumes with a miserly amount of words. With a soft pop, a bottle of wine was uncorked and stone faced troopers wrapped the bottle in a towel before they poured it into our glasses. I caught the sergeant's eye and without speaking made my desire plain and he poured only half a glass for Taybri. Fortunately she was too thrilled at being served to be upset at the portion size. “Ladies,” Sarek said as he stood. “I give you his Imperial Majesty, Darth Malgus.”

I raised the glass and took a sip, finding it a very pleasant red, nicely fruity with just a hint of spice. “My compliments on your wine cellar, Moff Sarek,” I paid him, and I meant it. “I am pleased that the rumors of your table bear out.”

“If I have any notoriety to live up to I am pleased to do so,” he replied. “This is Alderaan Spice Wine, which her grace first introduced to me and I profess to having a weakness for it since.”

“There is nothing weak in appreciating the skills of diligent craftsmen, my dear Krisfra,” the Duchess declared firmly. “A lesson I wish my husband could take to heart!” she added with just a bit more inference than perhaps was polite. I got the feeling all was not rose petals and carefree soirees in House Thul.

“Now, now, your grace, no need for unpleasant topics of conversation!” scolded Krisfra, with a glance my way whose purpose I wasn't entirely sure of. The soup bowls were removed, not that we had had particularly large portions to begin with to be replaced with a small mixed greens kind of salad that had a creamy dressing about halfway between ranch and Caesar.

Under the guise of savoring a bite of the salad I closed my eyes and opened my attention to the Force. Sarek's mind was locked up as tight as a miser's hoard, but enough of his emotions affected the drift and flow of the Force around him it was evident he was planing something. That almost went without saying, but there were some interesting ties between his aura and the Duchess. Elana, on the other hand, was well ordered mentally, but did not have the discipline or practice of keeping incriminating thoughts away from Force Users that the Moff had.

She wanted me for something big, and likely dangerous based on how nervous she was. Although credit where it's due, to the naked eye she was as cool as a cucumber. “Is the salad not to your liking, Countess?” the Duchess asked softly.

“On the contrary,” I replied once my mouth was clear. “The dressing is particularly exceptional. I was merely wondering if we would continue to trade banal pleasantries until the dessert course or if we could discuss what you actually invited me here for now?”

The Duchess had the grace to blush and the Moff played the embarrassed diplomat to a T. However the false modesty didn't last and Lady Thul was all business in mere moments. “I see you are as perceptive as I have been lead to believe, Darth Fens. I wonder if you can be discreet as well?”

“I could brag about all the State secrets I'm privy to,” I replied as I loaded up my fork again. “But that would be rather counter intuitive, don't you think? I will presume that, whatever this item we will discuss is, it has been properly approved and classified, Moff Sarek?” The Moff nodded sagely as he reached for his wine glass. “Alright, Lady Elana, what can the Empire do for House Thul?”

I munched salad while the noblewoman took up her own wine glass and drank some, fixing her steely gaze on me. “My husband, Jorad Sindarus is Lord Duke of House Thul, Darth Fens. He likes to think it was his leadership that led to our return to Alderaan, but I know it was my overtures to the Sith Empire and the resulting Alliance that were truly responsible for us regaining our own.”

I looked over to the Moff who hastily wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Most of the truly powerful of House Thul were banished after being implicated, falsely as the Diplomatic Service was able to prove, of hiring assassins from House Rist in a series of murders targeting House Panteer. Jorad is a good man, but...”

“Jorad is a fool,” Elana interrupted harshly. “A well meaning, kindhearted fool who has the breeding to rule our House, but not the spine or the stomach for what must be done by actual rulers. He cannot bear the burdens of a king. My husband's quaint ideas of nobility and chivalry will see our House bled dry against the Organas, while they eliminate us, and install their chosen puppet on the throne. I would, with the Empire's help, sweep away the Usurper, Ulgo, and install Aurren Panteer on the throne.”

The Moff held up his wine glass for a refill. “Aurren is the Late Queen Silara's nephew. He is favored by the coalition led by House Thul.”

“What is your opinion of him?” I asked as I finished the salad and laid the fork in the dish for the stone faced sergeant to take away for me.

“He's a fine man, young enough to be energetic, old enough to know idealism has no place on a throne. He's articulate, well spoken and a political moderate who has no stomach for the war mongering of House Organa. He would see a neutral Alderaan, with an Imperial Allegiance to insure that neutrality,” the Moff told me in that succinct, well summarized style that diplomats were famous for.

“And he has a daughter who has practically grown up here and is enamored of my son,” Lady Thul declared archly, which made even more sense as to why he was favored by the Thuls.

“He seems ideal,” I replied slowly. “What of the other claimant?”

“Princess Katei Elinari Panteer, the Late Queen's daughter,” Sarek explained.

“A child,” Lady Thul declared, “Barely seventeen and a vapid, scatter brained little girl, whose head is full of romantic nonsense.”

“When it isn't full of thoughts of Baron Ferris Organa,” Sarek added ruefully, which caused me to frown.

“I met Baron Ferris earlier today,” I declared with a glance at Lady Elana to gauge her reaction, but she was being cool and coy. “My impression was that he was married, and grieving over the loss of his daughter.”

Elana smiled a tight little smile and studiously ignored wondering what dealings I might have had with the sworn enemy of her House. “Lack of legitimate availability has yet to stop Princess Katei,” she told me. “Her scandalous overtures to Baron Ferris are but one of many reasons why she is unsuitable as a monarch.” My eyes traveled over to Moff Sarek.

“And a Sith Lord overthrowing the Usurper won't make greater problems for the diplomatic corps?”

The Moff leaned back to allow the troopers playing Footmen to serve us the main dish, a fish of some kind, well seasoned and bathed in what looked and smelled like garlic butter over a bed of some kind of wild rice. “ Aurren is a man of many talents, but most of them are scholarly bents or in the subtleties of governance. Soldiering is not his forte,” the Moff told me. “However, you could lead a combined strike team of Thul and Panteer troops against Ulgo in his stead. If you accept, that is?”

I took a bite of fish and rice to forestall my answer while I considered. To call what the Moff and Lady Elana wanted 'high risk' was an epic understatement. There were so many ways this could go wrong and only one or two that saw me getting back on the Aces and Eights and home to my own husband. The fish, however, was as delicious as it looked and smelled. “My compliments to your chef, Moff Sarek,” I told him once my mouth was clear. “May I presume that Master Aurren has some cunning strategy other than a suicidal frontal assault that had you looking to outsource a strike leader? Perhaps a secret way into Panteer Castle?”

Lady Thul smiled. “You are as clever as promised.”

“I wouldn't start sending out invitations to your son's wedding just yet,” I cautioned her.

“No,” she agreed. “But adding names to the guest list isn't premature, I hope, Countess?”

I smirked. Sometimes you just have to admire the sheer ambition of someone. “I'd be honored to attend.”

* * *

3627 BBY
Cafe Mohrenkopf, Kaamos Territory, Alderaan, Central Core Worlds

“You're going to what?” demanded Silas with complete incredulity. Bree and I had linked back up with Silas and Fable at the little cafe they had eaten their lunch at, some strange combination of consonants and vowels that in Old Alderaani meant this indescribably delicious little chocolate marshmallow cake thing. I was enjoying one along with a coffee while I discreetly brought them up to speed.

Fable elbowed her man in the arm in rough affection. “Oh, don't carry on,” she declared. “Special Forces get handed jobs like this all the time. What kind of team are they putting together for you, milady?”

“I haven't met them yet,” I admitted, as I stirred a bit more sweetener into my coffee. “Though I was hoping you would be bored and volunteer to tag along?”

“Consider me volunteered,” she affirmed. “Torm, er, Lord Belos-Fens will have my head in a vice if I don't make sure his wife and daughter come back to him.”

“Whose head do I get to put into a vice if you don't come back?” Silas demanded.

Fable only smiled and patted his cheek. “You're so cute when you pout!”

Silas scowled at his lover, then turned his attention back to me. “Remember when you were going to resign? When we were just going to disappear into the galaxy?”

I looked at him sidelong. “Nothing holds you to my destiny, Silas,” I told him. “If you want no part of this, I understand...” He frowned at me so I decided to change my tactics. “I have made a number of choices different than what I thought I would,” I told him, laying a loving hand on the head of my daughter who stopped stuffing her face with Mohrenkopf to smile at me. Wiping the chocolate off her face with a napkin I continued, “I regret none of them. If they have caused you undue burden or worry I am truly sorry for that. I have found happiness, belonging and a meaning to my life that I could not imagine doing without. If the bill for that is sometimes I have to do things like this, well, I call it a bargain.”

His face softened and he relented. “Just come back, ok sis?”

“No worries.”

* * *

3627 BBY
House Panteer Redoubt, Glarus River Valley, Alderaan, Central Core Worlds

We rode Thrantas to the Panteer hide out.

Even after all of my years and travels I never cease to be amazed by the sheer amount of strange creatures I come across. The Thranta looks like a gigantic blue white manta ray for lack of a better description. A long, sleek body with a pair of triangular fleshy 'wings' sloping down to a lithe, slender tail. Despite the nasty looking beak, they're quite friendly and docile. Whether they fly or float is a matter of some debate. Their diet and digestive juices produce a fair amount of hydrogen gas, which instead of being passed, is channeled into bladders in the wings and body. So much so they actually weigh almost nothing, despite their size.

With a rider and saddle, they undulate their wings for locomotion and a bit of extra lift. It makes for an interesting experience to say the least! The updrafts all along these mountains help as well such that Thranta riding is a somewhat uniquely Alderaanian sport. Considering the amount of mountains and the Alderaanian love of being high up in them, the Thrantas made a kind of sense.

The Panteers might have been driven out of their ancestral castle, but they hadn't gone far. They had a heavily shielded redoubt on the Organa, or southern, side of the Glarus River Valley that actually overlooked Castle Panteer, high up on the mountain. The Castle sat on an island at the mouth of the river delta of the Glarus River, spilling out from a long, crystal clear lake into the delta and finally out to the sea. Along its banks and through the delta was Elysium, looking very bombed out and war torn with a spate of blaster fire every so often.

We took some sporadic, and inaccurate, harassing fire from the direction of Elysium, but no one was hit thankfully. It might be a silent method of travel, but I was entirely sure I didn't want to see the effects of blaster fire on a creature full of hydrogen. Arriving at the Panteer hide out, we passed through a shield gate to gain entrance and alighted on top of a tower that served as a kind of Rookery for the Thrantas. The little fortress was quite old and it was through a collection of stairs that we got into the main hall of this place.

It was a natural cavern in the mountain from the look of it, one that had been expanded on over the centuries. There was a fire burning in a massive fire place that gave some heat and additional light as well as taking some of the damp from the air. A pair of long tables faced a high table on a dais, these were filled with armed men wearing the colors of House Panteer. They were busy cleaning weapons so I presumed they were the men I would be leading. They seemed a salty enough lot and hungry for revenge. On the high table was a holographic projector and several men in the middle of a somewhat fierce argument.

We were led over and a handsome looking, though obviously tired fellow who turned towards us. He was dark complected, with black hair in corn rows braided tightly to his scalp. He had an honest face with an expressive mouth and even tired, gave a warm, welcoming smile. “Lady Thul!” he declared as the Duchess swept up to him and he kissed the hand she offered. “What a welcome distraction. How is young Regras? I'll never hear the end of it from Annabr if I don't ask!”

The Duchess, who I have to say was an accomplished rider and completely nonplussed from being shot at, gave a smile that could melt a glacier. “Lord Aurren, it is always a pleasure to see you. Thank you so much for asking! Yes, Regras is well and doubtlessly missing Annabr as much as she him.”

“Wonderful news, but forgive me for not being a better host, I am caught up with...”

The Duchess looped her arm around the scholars and deftly maneuvered him away from the table, towards me. “Oh, no need to bother with formalities, Aurren, I've brought you a gift. The Crown of Alderaan and Bouris Ulgo's head on a plate!”

That brought him up short. “What? How...?”

“Aurren Panteer, future King of Alderaan, allow me to present Darth Nyeomi Fens, Countess of Banudan. Countess, his royal highness, Prince Aurren.” I was back in my fighting leathers now, combat wasn't the place for dresses, however lucky, so I bowed from the waist. Aurren was quick on his feet and recovered quickly, returning my bow.

“A pleasure, Darth Fens, I must profess to being something of a fan of your treatise on the Code of the Sith and the history of your order.”

“I'm flattered, your highness,” I replied, placing a hand on Bree's shoulder. “My daughter and apprentice, Taybri.”

A man in military livery demanded from the table, “What good are a Sith Lord and a child going to be to ousting Ulgo?”

“And you are, sir?” Bree asked quietly. That sparked an amused annoyance in the man and he walked to us looming over Bree.

“Captain Lieber Panteer of the Queens' Own Guard, little girl. What of it?”

My fist clinched, but before I could say anything, Bree declared, “If you doubt my abilities, Captain Panteer, I will be happy to demonstrate them on your person at a time and place of your choosing.” I don't believe my daughter will ever loose the ability to surprise me. The hall roared with laughter from the guardsmen at the table, but a glare from the Captain quickly silenced them.

“The little maid has courage to match her quick wit,” Aurren declared, turning back to the Duchess. “But I don't see how that puts the crown on my head.”

Elana's grin widened. “You're not thinking strategically, Aurren! Remember our time playing down by the sea?”

A light turned on in the man's face as he remembered some secret he and Lady Thul had shared as children. Turning back to the display, he made some adjustments to the controls and the castle spun around to the side that faced the sea and zoomed in on a rock formation that was overgrown with bushes. “Sire?” asked the Captain as he led the rest of us over to the table.

“Do I hear a secret entrance?” chuckled Fable.

“Behind these bushes is a drain,” Aurren declared. “It is part of the system that diverts rain water from the roofs around the Castle. And there is a grate that used to be in the kitchen, before the castle was remodeled thirty years ago. Now that opening is in the butler's pantry off the main hall. Probably not more than a few dozen meters from the throne Bouris is sitting on!”

“And this obvious weakness in the castle is not alarmed because...?” I asked.

“The active water system is,” the Captain replied. “But it's outlet isn't on this side of the castle, my lord, it's over here under the main bridge.”

“Exactly!” Elana told him. “This portion was supposed to be filled in when it was isolated from the rest of the castle's system, but it never was. Aurren and I used to sneak outside with it when I was a Lady in Waiting for her majesty.”

“I don't have many troops,” Aurren complained, but Captain Lieber was warming to the Duchess' plans.

“We wouldn't need many, sire,” he enthused, looking at the rough lot of hardened Thul guardsmen standing with Fable, Bree and I. “If I interpret what the Duchess is suggesting correctly, I imagine Darth Fens and these fine gentlemen with her are...?”

Elana's smiled like a cat in the cream. “The hand picked best of House Thul.”

While Aurren rubbed his chin doubtfully, Fable leaned into my shoulder and asked, “Wasn't this little gig supposed to be already decided? You smell a trap?”

I crossed my arms over my breasts and whispered back, “If they're close enough to kill us, we're close enough to kill them.”

“Captain, when would you propose to start?” the future king asked finally.

“Nightfall,” Lieber declared.

* * *

3627 BBY
House Panteer Docks, Alsakan Sea, Alderaan, Central Core Worlds

I don't know where the Panteers got a Gungan Bongo. Alderaan is half way across the galaxy from Naboo, not that it really mattered. They had one and it was big enough for the entire team I would take with me if we got pretty friendly inside it. That was what was important. That and the fact that the body of the Bongo was grown, basically like a coral, by the Gungans and so would register on any sensors as an animal, and being underwater meant no sentries would see us approach.

I was overseeing the loading while Lady Elana puttered about and kept jabbering in my ear. She was nervous. Planning this sneaky little excursion was the easy part, there were lots of ways it could fail and some of the more spectacular of them might see House Thul kicked off the planet again. “You must remember, Darth Fens...”

“Lady Elana,” I interrupted her, turning to look her in the eye. The stare of a Sith, with our golden eyes is more than a little intimidating. “Rest assured,” I all but ordered her. “I am a Sith Lord and these men kill people for a living. Your plan is in good hands.”

It was obvious she was far from placated, but the hint that I would not tolerate any more micro-managing had been noted. “Yes...yes of course, my apologies.”

“Apprentice,” I declared, turning to Bree who was already turning back to me. “You will remain here and guard the Duchess until I return or send for you. If I am captured, you will escort the Duchess back to House Thul and remain there with Silas.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said. I know my daughter, and I know how crestfallen she was at my command and I was very proud of her for the maturity she displayed. She stepped next to the Duchess and woe be to anyone who intended her harm. “How long shall I remain there, mistress?”

“Until I escape and join you,” I replied with a conspiratorial wink. She grinned and I nodded my satisfaction, then turned to the technician anxiously waiting with a case in his hands.

“Alright, what do you have for me, Fixer?”

The case opened revealing an orb shaped little droid that was little more than a repulsor motor wrapped around a holo camera lens. It was a MerenData EY3-0N series mobile surveillance droid, which was extremely popular in the Empire. “Have you ever used one of these, my lord?” he asked.

“I have two,” I replied. They worked quite well and had surprisingly good resolution for their lens size. I used mine for my holonet channel, Wisdom of the New Sith. He took the droid from the case and turned it on. It floated up from his hands and focused on him.

“Boz boz nu chuna moi,” the droid declared in Bocce, the native language of MerenData. If the droid had a fault its that the speaker for its verbalizer was very low fidelity and so it's 'voice' was very artificial and somewhat tinny sounding. Fixer pointed at me.

“This is your owner,” he declared. The droid rotated on its repulsor field and floated over to conversational distance.

“Chuna moi.” it declared.

“Don't forget to begin transmitting before the battle, my lord,” Fixer warned me. “The arcane rules of the code duello of these people demand it.”

I nodded and gestured for the droid to follow as I squeezed into the Bongo next to Fable. The field kicked on and silently we ran out from the dock and submerged into the darkness. Fable took a power pack from one of the pouches on her belt and loaded it into her Czerka 2K1 carbine with a slap of her hand. It was about the size of an E11, though the details were different and it lacked the somewhat cumbersome optics of the E11. This was a weapon meant to kill at bad breath range. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time, milady,” she complimented with a salacious grin. “Now we're killing royalty? I love the perks of this job!”

The men laughed, some doubtlessly from confusion about whether she was serious or not and some because they did know. “You're all about to write your names into the history books,” I told them, more or less over my shoulder as there really wasn't room to turn we were packed in so tight. “Whether you live to brag about it depends on your discipline now. Keep it quiet and no one kills before I do. Stay with me, and you'll be the one raising a glass to your fallen comrades who didn't.”

“Empire!” the troopers Moff Sarek had loaned me echoed.

“Every Imperial buddy up with one of the House Thul or Panteer troopers. Work together and we'll all have new medals to pin on,” I told them as I took my light sabers from my belt and checked they were both fully charged. A murmur ran through the sub as the troopers paired off and readied weapons. Now it was time to find out if King Ulgo respected tradition as much as he claimed to.

It was not far to Panteer Castle from the docks on the southern face of Mount Apalis; just around a headland that allowed us to board in secret unseen. Scarcely twenty anxious minutes of everyone getting a little claustrophobic at the close quarters until finally we stopped and the pilot checked a screen linked to the periscope he had raised. “Looks clear my lord,” he called to me over his shoulder from the controls.

“Surface,” I ordered as I felt the adrenaline surge into my blood once more. Almost silently, the water parted above the life support bubble and I could see in the dim twilight of the clear sky above us. I was grateful the planet had no moon, but it's short rotation period of only eighteen hours meant I had to hurry. “Quietly now boys,” I hissed as the bubble vanished.

The pilot had brought the Bongo right up to the shore, allowing us to with a bit of a big step go from transport to sandy beach and keep our feet dry. The sand quickly gave way to rocks that were festooned with bushes up sharply to the foundations of the castle and the tower and battlements dozens of stories above us. Large sections had been opened in the wall to allow for windows to take in the sea and the doubtlessly magnificent sun rises meaning it had been sometime since this palace had been a working fortress.

I hoped desperately that would work in our favor.

We scrambled up the rocks, careful not to disrupt the plant life too much, pushing it aside before coming to the mouth of Duchess Thul's drain. It was a round portal, about a meter and half across, covered in a steel grate of some kind. “Fable,” I whispered as we both went over the grate, looking for any sign of sensors, modern electronics or any other tell tale of an alarm.

“Clear,” she whispered.

I nodded, having found nothing myself and positioned the emitter of one of my light sabers over the lock. Cutting it on and off in rapid succession, the lock was destroyed while Fable quickly coated the hinges with oil. When she was done we cautiously opened it, pleased it was silent and I gave her the high sign. A new trooper came up to hold it while I got some night vision glasses on and peered into the darkness. “Follow me,” I whispered and duck walked into the pipe.

Walking through it was something of a chore as it was far too small to stand up in and we were trying to be quiet. The pipe doglegged a few times, finally coming to a dead end that was a larger junction, about two meters square with bricked off arches of where the previous tunnels had been closed. Above us was another durasteel grate, set in the floor of the pantry. Taking the glasses off, I reached up and gently gave it a push.

The grate stuck for just a moment, then lifted out of its lip and I was able to gently ease it to one side. The Force allowed me to leap out of the drain and into the pantry. It was a pretty sizable room, filled up with the kind of expensive things butlers are expected to safe guard, the actual silver silverware, the ready rack of wines in normal use from the cellars, jars of caviar, expensive cheeses and so on with the state dishes carefully locked away in their cabinet.

Fortunately, it was devoid of people. I reached out with my hand and with the Force lifted Fable and the trooper behind her up into the lip. “Door,” I whispered, and she nodded, moving to it quickly. Now that our back was covered, the Trooper and I began to frantically lift the assault team into the pantry.

“Nyeomi.”

The use of my name brought me up short. It was Fable who had whispered it and while she and I were old friends at this point, that she used it now, in front of the men, meant this operation had just gone pear shaped. Gesturing at the troopers to continue, I spun and quickly joined Fable by the door. She had unlocked it and opened it just a crack and was looking at me with a finger over her lips. Then she pointed at her ear and then at the crack in the door. I took her place and listened which quickly confirmed my assessment of the situation.

“I admire your courage in coming here, Princess Katei, Jedi escort or no,” a deep, commanding voice declared. “But even you cannot fail to see your own inability to take the throne now. You are not ready and we cannot allow a puppet whose strings are pulled by those traitors in Thul to hold a regency!”

A slight voice that was remarkably firm answered, “General Ulgo, no one, least of all myself, would ever question your patriotism. I understand why you have done this, but if we are to continue as a people, the Rule of Law must be upheld. The Hoherrat will decide who should succeed my mother, that is our law...”

“Law?” the other shouted. “Do not lecture me about law, little girl! You know the Thuls have control of the Hoherrat! It was law that they used to escape having to answer for having your mother murdered! It was law that let them defy their banishment and return to Alderaan! They will use the Law as a cudgel to beat us...”

“Your majesty,” a third, calmer voice cut in and I felt a little twinge in the Force. “I implore you to calm yourself. If we are to settle this crisis without bloodshed cool heads must prevail.”

“Hold your tongue, Jedi! These are the internal affairs of Alderaan and not something for you and your order to brow beat us into Republic submission!”

I turned to the little droid hovering by my shoulder. “Begin transmission. Alderaan, I am Countess Nyeomi Fens, Paladin of House Thul and today your world will be returned to you.”

“That's hardly...” the Jedi's voice replied then stopped. “Wait, I sense something...there is a tremor in the Force...Alarm! There is a Sith somewhere close...!”

“That tears it!” I hissed. “Come on, boys!” I threw the door open and led the charge down a little hallway that opened out into the massive main hall of the castle. Just to my right was a tall, rotund man, not soft in the manner of a glutton, but hard muscle like a bull, just standing from an ornate throne that sat on a raised dais the back of which was the massive windows overlooking the sea I had noted from outside.

A small group of Republic troops were framed around a Jedi master by his robes, standing next to a dark complected girl who vaguely favored Aurren Panteer, none of them in ceremonial or ornate clothing. The Princess looked like she was dressed for a hike and the troopers were in full armor, raising their blasters in our direction. There were some house guards, also raising their blasters from their stations at the walls around the room, and, of course, my troopers were fanning into the room behind me. “Hold!” I shouted, using the Force to amplify my voice to a thunderclap that briefly stunned everyone into not moving.

Turning to the big man on the dais I pointed and shouted, “Bouris Ulgo, I declare Blutrache between our houses!”

Ulgo, for he could be no one else, looked stunned. In addition to looking particularly stupid with the 'crown' he was wearing. It came down to his brows in front, but the sides and back dipped almost down to his shoulders as if he had taken a bucket, cut out one side for his face, and put it on his head. It was the most ludicris thing I'd ever seen and took every ounce of decorum I had not to burst out laughing. Which was good, because, as I said, he was a bull of a man and obviously dangerous, despite the finery he was wearing. “Who are you?” he demanded, with a gesture at his guards who relaxed just a bit.

“Your majesty,” the Jedi started, but a glare from the Usurper silenced him.

Mimicing his gesture to my own troops I declared, “I am Nyeomi Fens, Countess of Banudan, Paladin of House Thul, on whose behalf you are challenged. Face me in single combat, produce your champion, or disavow the crown you have stolen!”

The Jedi started to step forward, but the Princess, who I was gathering had far more depth than perhaps Lady Thul gave her credit for, put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “This is our law,” she told him. “You cannot interfere.”

“You can't be serious!” the Master replied.

“If we, who claim to support the primacy of our laws, cannot follow them ourselves, we have no legitimate claim to anything,” she declared bravely. “You will not interfere.”

Turning back to the King, the Jedi declared, “Your majesty, you cannot defeat this Sith Lord, allow me the honor of...”

Ulgo's face went red. “Silence!” he shouted. “I have been dueling since I was fourteen! You think this woman makes me afraid? Who have you allied yourself with, Princess?” He clipped off the heavy royal cape he was wearing and flung it backwards onto the throne. Walking down, his brown eyes locked on me as he came. “Has the Republic forgotten?” he taunted the Jedi. “I won the Battle of Rordak by personally boarding Moff Ceptor's Battle cruiser! You are not the first Sith I have killed, nor will you be the last, Nyeomi Fens!”

The Jedi stepped forward, holding out his light saber, deactivated. “At least let me arm you, your majesty.”

“So quick is the Republic to offer arms,” I sneered at him. “As you like, I have no objection. If the General does not find yours to his likeing he can have my other saber.”

“And allow you to claim to have been disadvantaged?” he shot back. “Never!” The General took up the Jedi's saber and spent a moment rolling it in his hand, getting the feel of the weapon. Just by that I knew I faced a man far more dangerous than I had been led to believe. The blade of a light saber is pure plasma, held in place by a magnetic field and thus is completely weightless. Traditional swords, even laser edged weapons, have weight out beyond the hilt that the hilt is back heavy to counter balance. A light saber hilt, however, perfectly balanced in the palm by itself and by recognizing it, Ulgo showed me he was everything he claimed to be and was likely a skilled fencer.

I only hoped my own experience as a light saber duelist would defeat his novice status with an unfamilar weapon.

He brought the hilt up to his chest and keyed on the blade, a sky blue one, lept up in salute before his nose. I brought up my own right hand blade and keyed it on in salute before I spun both blades and settled into my Ataru crouch, my body a blade with only my left side towards him, left arm out straight and pointing with that saber, it's mate curved over my head in parallel. Ulgo twirled the blade in a figure of eight pattern around his body and settled into a en guard position, blade out right handed, his left arm bent to plant his fist on his waist.

Princess Katei stepped forward, looking very solumn until she stood between us. Turning to the general, she asked, “General Bouris Ulgo, I offer myself as judge of this duel, is that acceptable?”

“I accept,” he declared.

She turned to me with remarkable poise for such a young woman. “Countess Nyeomi Fens, I offer myself as judge of this duel, is that acceptable?”

The little camera bot took to orbiting the room to get the grand scale of the encounter. “I accept,” I told her.

Princess Katei nodded. “Are there any words that can dissuade this duel and prevent bloodshed?”

“Relenquish the crown,” I offered.

Ulgo was an impassive stone wall. “Never!”

Once more the Princess sighed and spoke between us, turning back and forth equally. “Then let the Trial of Blutrache commense. Stand away all, so that these nobles may have the blood they desire. Let no one intervene at the cost of those he would have aided be forfeit. Let no blow be struck on a noble who is down and let mercy be had for those that cry for it with no shame or loss of honor.”

There was a pause as the assembled troopers backed away, giving us a large circle, nearly twenty meters across to fight in and the three of us formed a triangle as the Princess produced a handkerchef and held it up. “Combatents ready?” she asked and waited for our affirmatives. “On my command!” The scrap of cloth fell and Ulgo immediately charged me. I folded into a tuck and roll to my right and came up swinging, but he had managed to stop and turn on a dime and blocked my sweep, immediately countering with a reposte.

I bent over backward, then summersalted backward to open up the distance, but he was on me in a flash with a series of lightening fast attacks that took both of my blades to parry before I could even think of mounting an attack on my own. The sabers hissed through the air and it was clear that not only was Ulgo a dangerous blade fighter, this was not the first time he'd used a light saber either.

But I had just opened my bag of tricks.

I bent over sideways to dodge his sweep, then preformed a standing split, launching my foot at his nose, though I was low and caught his chin. The strike split his lip and knocked him backwards all the way to his back. Were this not a tournament I would have ended him right there, but I had to step back and let him rise. He came up to one knee and wiped the blood from his split lip and chin with what almost looked like a grin.

“So, this isn't your first dance either,” he chuckled. “Good!”

I spun my blades in opposite directions around my hands and came set in the Ataru stance once more. “I'm the last name on your dance card, Bouris. Your party is almost over.”

He grinned a bloody mouthful of teeth at me. “Shut up and dance!” he growled, lurching back to his feet. He led with the blade, which I parryed and spun off to my right, twirling around to get at his back, but he spun in place and the next thing I knew I was bent around his leg he had lifted into a kick that landed like a freight train.

The air was forced from my lungs and I was launched a good three meters to land flat on my back. His laughter was ringing in my ears as I forced myself to get up to my knees and gasp after my breath. Still, for all his mirth, he was limping, one of my blades had scored a passing strike on his leg as I was thrown off it. “I thought you knew the steps!” he laughed, putting on a pretty brave face for somebody who almost lost a leg.

With the Force I picked myself up and threw myself through the air. He only just got his blade up to block mine, as I tucked up into a flip over his head, then kicked out behind me and nailed him square in the back. He staggered forward and reflexively swept behind himself, but I wasn't there. “You think you're doing well?” I demanded as the X of my blades caught his return swing. I flipped over it, guiding it away from me, then landed on one foot and kicked again, this time at his knee. My foot felt like I'd kicked a massive tree, but his leg bent a little and he howled in pain. “How's that?”

He spun, my kick not enough to cost him his feet, and he swept at me which I blocked, bouncing his blade off mine he spun it behind his head and brought it down the other way. “I'll show you fencing little girl!” he snarled. “Just like I will show my people!”

I blocked again and finally saw my path to him. “Show them what?” I demanded as we traded a furious set of attacks and blocks. “That their war hero is all bluster and no bite?”

Our blades locked and we wrestled for domination. “Witch!” he growled. “I see your plans!”

“Now it's conspiracy theories? Who let you out of the old folks home, Bouris?” The lock came loose and again we traded a furious barrage of attacks that I blocked and countered, as I did I kept up my banter, further enraging him. “The sad departure of the once great!”

“You won't take my world!” he shouted. He drew my blades out of line then out of nowhere his massive fist crashed into my jaw. I was thrown a complete summersault from the force of it and landed in a heap, seeing stars. “You think yourself clever?” he thundered at me in a rage. “You're just a pawn, Sith! The Panteers and the Organas would sell us into slavery in the Republic! The Thuls to your Empire! I alone am for Alderaan! Only House Ulgo fights for Alderaan!”

I glared up at him as I wiped the blood from my split lip and stood. “Oh, you're that kind of crazy! You think you're a patriot? You're just a dictator for yourself, Ulgo! You would see all of Alderaan enslaved for you!”

Ulgo's temper got the best of him and he thrust the saber at me. “Lies!” he bellowed as I sidestepped it, then locked my arm around his and with everything the Force could give me, forced his arm down and my knee up.

“Here's your end, King Ulgo!” I snarled. The snap of his arm breaking was loud and I have to give him credit, he kept his scream behind his teeth. The light saber fell out of his hand and its blade snapped off. I released his broken arm and stepped back, kicking the saber away and leveling my blade at his heart. He sank down to one knee as I panted after my breath. “Do you yeild?”

“N...no...” he grunted through the pain. He cradled his broken arm and looked up at me. “I...I have done everything for Alderaan. Given the last of my blood to see us free from everyone, Republic! Sith! Only Alderaan, an Alderaan free of all outside masters! I won't be paraded about in a show trial,” he growled. His expression softened and his voice became genuine. “You are a magnificent warrior, Nyeomi Fens, but heed my words, someday, your usefulness will be used up and you will be kneeling, looking up at your death. I hope you meet your death with the courage I will meet mine. So I ask you, warrior to warrior, for a soldiers death. Don't make me an actor on the stage of the great galactic game of Empire in a sham trial, or an old man in cell, used up and forgotten. Let me die a man who has fought for what he believed in and...” he hesitated, almost unable to admit to himself and say the words. However he straightened his spine to declare, “fought for what he believed in and lost.”

For a moment, I thought to dissuade him, to try and convince him that living was always better, but I saw in his eyes there was no life left in him. He was utterly vanquished. He had seen his loyalty betrayed; perhaps he had truly been a patriot for his world and been rejected for it. It didn't matter now, for I could see nothing I could say would dissuade him, so I nodded out of respect and admiration of a worthy enemy. “As you wish, General Bouris Ulgo.” I brought my blade up in salute, then in a rapid motion shoved it through his heart. His eyes went wide as he felt his heart distroyed and in them I saw him realize I had done it to give his family the dignity of an open casket funeral.

“Thank...yo...” I pulled my saber free and the life left his eyes. The body fell over at my feet, dead. My blades retracted with a hiss and I looked up, emotionally spent.

The Jedi's light saber flew past my ear into the outstretched hand of the Master and snapped on with a hiss of ionized air. “Murderer!” he shouted, but to his, and my emmense surprise, the Princess, the Thul and Panteer guards I had brought with me, and even the Ulgo Guards all raised their weapons at him.

“Stand down, Jedi,” the Princess ordered him.

“What's the matter with you people?” he shouted, utterly confused. “She is a Sith! She is evil! You just saw her murder a helpless man in cold blood!”

“If that is what you saw, your eyes decieve you,” the Princess declared. She walked over to me and curtseyed. “Countess, I salute you, the honor you have shown, and the respect you paid to the traditions of my people. The day is yours, Paladin of House Thul.” The Jedi extinguished his saber shaking his head with a confused, befuddled look as all of the Alderannians bowed to me.

* * *

3627 BBY
The Field of Fallen Heroes, Glarus River Valley, Alderaan, Central Core Worlds

In a rare display of unity, the Alderaan Hoherrat, or Ruling Council voted unanimously to lay aside all partisan differences to give Bouris Ulgo the State Funeral he deserved as a King and man who had given his entire life in service to his world. Lord Duke Jorad Sindarus Thul escorted Bouris' widow and Aurren Panteer eulogized the man he had ordered killed. Out of respect to the widow, despite that fact the one thing the Sith and Jedi agree on is that death is not an ending, but a rejoining of the departed with the Force, both Bree, myself and Jedi Master Tunan-Obi Vost wore black.

An honor guard of soldiers from every House bore the General to his final resting place, in the Hall of Kings that had passed before him.

Ulgo's coffin had been draped with the flag of Alderaan, not that of his house, in testament to his service. His sons stood in mute, stoic silence, neither betraying any emotion as their father was laid to rest, their uniforms immaculate and neither in want of awards or medals. As the honor guard offered up their salute a light snow began to fall.

Tenna Ulgo, Bouris' widow was inconsolable and had to be helped to her limousine after the service was complete. Bree and I watched from a distance, giving the widow space to grieve but counting the seconds until we could depart ourselves. Bree was putting a very brave face on, but I knew she was uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as I was. Cemeteries are tremendous focal points of death, the opposite of the Force which is created by life itself. For either a Jedi or Sith, it takes tremendous self control to purposefully be in a graveyard. “I want to go,” she whispered and I sent a wave of maternal love and reassurance to her.

“I know,” I encouraged her. “Soon.”

In point of fact, I was about to turn towards the limousine that Moff Sarek had brought us here in, when I noted master Vost detaching himself from the little knot of Organa notables and the Republic consul to begin walking in our direction. He had somewhere gotten a set of Jedi robes in black and wore the hood down, exposing his rugged, handsome face. Strangely, for a Jedi, he wore his face clean shaven and his hair short.

Despite being dressed for mourning, his light saber was hanging from his belt. But, who I was I to judge? Bree and I were both armed as well.

When he arrived, he opened his hands, showing them to be empty. “I come in peace,” he declared. “May I speak with you?”

I kept my grip light, but firm on my daughter's clothing, ready to snatch her away from the threat if one was offered. “I will not breach the armistice save in self defense,” I told him. “What do you want?”

“I wish to understand you,” he said and there was real confusion in his expression. “I have had a discussion with the Archivist at the Jedi Temple and read all I could on you. You are not an evil person. You have acted with honor in every encounter we have documentation on. Grand Master Shan practically describes you as a Jedi. Why do you serve evil?”

I gave him a long, disapproving look and asked, drolly, “Do you open every conversation with insults?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you find the truth insulting?” he countered. “The Sith Empire is evil. The Sith worship the Dark Side of the Force.”

“You are ignorant, Master Vost, of the history of my order and yours,” I told him. “The Sith Empire is not evil, it is the perfection of the Meritocracy. Any person, man, woman, alien, it does not matter, can rise as high as their talent and their ambition will take them.”

“So they can enslave others?”

“The Republic has legalized slavery,” I replied. “Put your own house in order before you scold me on mine.” He looked cross and I had no desire to stand and debate him in a nexus of death that was making my skin crawl. “If you want to understand me, I have lengthy essays on the Holonet. Watch them or not, I don't care.”

I turned and left him, looking cross and confused as I ushered my daughter to the limousine and within moments the Field of Fallen Heroes was behind us. Moff Sarek handed me a glass of spice wine by the smell of it and I took a sip. “I am grateful of your assistance, Countess. I'm certain Aurren Panteer will be the next King of Alderaan and that puts us much closer to bringing this world into the Empire. Your name will feature predominately in my report.”

“I am pleased to have been of service,” I told him. Perhaps the Moff sensed my melancholy, perhaps he was too pleased with the circumstances himself to notice, either way he said nothing else for the remainder of the trip to the space port. A trip I spent staring out the window of the speeder and dwelling on the warning of Bouris Ulgo.

A warning that would come to fruition much sooner than I or anyone else could have imagined. For, within a month the galaxy would be at war. A war of complete conquest and extermination. Nothing so petty as Republic versus Empire or Jedi versus Sith; even though there were those who had definitely been fomenting and abetting such a conflict. We were, in the words of my Emperor Darth Malgus, all of us deceived.

For from the darkness of the unknown regions of the galaxy, Darth Vitate the Mad had finally returned and he brought the Eternal Empire with him.

* Finis *

By The Light of the Smuggler's Moon

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By The Light Of The

Smuggler's Moon

A Tale of the Star Wars

E. E. Nalley

3617 BBY

Slippery Slopes Cantina, The Promenade, Nar Shaddaa

Nar Shadda, the Smuggler's Moon, it goes by many names; Little Coruscant, the Vertical City, even Little Slugland when the Hutts backs were turned. It is the largest of Nal Hutta's five moons, the disgusting, swamp covered home world of the Hutt Cartel, and couldn't be less like the world it is tidally locked to. Where Nal Hutta is swamps with ridiculous, overly ornate palaces rising out of them, Nar Shadda is one massive city. Unlike the capital of the so-called Galactic Republic, Nar Shadda is dangerous everywhere, not just the lower levels.

The Hutt Cartel ruled Nar Shadda with only a single rule, Do Not Interfere With Business.

The tops and sides of the buildings are covered in holographic signage, advertising everything from alcohol to Zwill, weapons, slaves, sex, it is all for sale on Nar Shaddaa. Life, Human, Alien or Other, was cheap and there was plenty of it to sell. The Slippery Slopes is the largest cantina on The Promenade, a floating arcology of upper class shops, high rent housing, casinos, brothels and what passed for a government on this den of thieves, slavers and pimps. It is owned by the Supreme Mogul himself, Karagga the Hutt. Ironically, the safest place on Nar Shaddaa actually floated several hundred meters above it as no one wanted to risk the wrath of Karagga.

Well, almost no one.

The moon, as I said, is tidally locked to Nal Hutta, which means the same side of it points to the Cartel home world all the time, making it's 'day' eighty seven hours long. Having an all night bar crawl here is something of an endurance feat. The Slippery Slopes was typical of the type of hostels on Nar Shaddaa, under lit, and then only by holo displays of gambling machines or advertisements; mostly for alcohols. It made for a somewhat surreal splash of vibrant, garish colors dappled over worn fixtures and ugly patrons all trying too hard not to be noticed.

I was there waiting on a meet with a snitch I had spent the last six months cultivating. Six months of rubbing shoulders with the absolute scum of the galaxy, hucksters, drifters, con men, hit men, made men, and just run of the mill thugs. Six months of keeping my temper on a much frayed and worn out leash, my hands itching for the feeling of my light sabers so I can indulge myself in a little cathartic mayhem. Six months of leads going nowhere and not a single step closer to finding my father while smiling at the people taking advantage of me; least I ruin what reputation I had and then they would all turn tail and run.

Then I'd never find father.

So I sat in what, admittedly was the best bar on the moon, drinking over priced, watered down Alderaan Spice Wine while trying to keep my temper as the bar's talent night offering was dancing on my much abused last nerve. Whoever it was, it was letting us all know in far too exacting detail how terrible it's life was, but then, I've never been a fan of Tatooine Blues.

So I was not in a particularly good mood when my snitch slid into the chair across the table from me. “Chut chut, Gooddé bosco!”

I glared at him, and leaning forward to give my words weight, I growled, “Call me that again and the last thing you'll see is me pulling out your intestines, Odu.” I've never been fond of Nikto, like a lot of near human aliens, they give me the creeps, with his hard, scaly hide with bones or horns sticking out all over his face, he was close enough to look human, but wrong. The fact that for some reason he found me attractive was repulsive on its own level.

I guess I need to work on my threats, because, as usual he just laughed. “Uba nee choo naga! No bata tu tu!”

“You better have the information you promised me or...”

The creature waved its hands at me. “Cheespa bo coopa, Kava doompa, stoopa hagwa mwaa, Karagga!” I blinked, more than a little confused by his answer. Granted, Hutteese wasn't my best language, but the six month crash course I'd had since we arrived had certainly gotten me up to conversational.

“What does Karagga have to do with this?” I demanded. He looked around, fearful of being heard or seen, I'm not sure which. Neither was likely between the talent night offering and the kaleidoscope lighting, I was pretty sure I couldn't see him. He babbled for a few moments about a wild conspiracy, the kind of things anyone with any sense gives no credence to. Finally I'd had enough. “I don't give a damn about you, your politics, or any slimy son of a Hutt! You want to be afraid of someone? Be afraid of me! I'm five seconds from carving you up right here in front of everyone! Now give me...”

He jumped up from the table, both hands raised. “Ap-xmasi keepuna! Makeb! Makeb!” I got a thrill up my spine, right as I realized Odu had left a data chip on the table, followed by a rough voice in Huttese.

“Pasta Tonka!” Odu took to his heels and ran for the exit.

I stood, slowly, palming the chip as I turned to face a pair of Gamorrean thugs that had been squeezed into formal wear and obviously didn't like it being lead by a Weequay, another leathery skinned, bony faced alien who, if possible, was uglier than Odu had been. “You want him? Be my guest,” I invited, indicating the direction Odu had run, but the Weequay just sneered and yanked the table out of his way.

“Beeogola Nechaska, Bona nai kachu!” Someone's goons wanted to play rough, and that was fine by me! My grin was just feral enough that it gave the Weequay pause, but the Pig-Lizards were too stupid to know their tickets just got punched.

My left hand snapped out, two fingers leading, right into the Weequay's throat. The nasty hide they call skin was tough, on a human that strike would have collapsed their trachea, but he just stumbled backwards, gagging and clutching his throat. The closer Gamorrean swung at me, almost in slow motion it seemed like to me, thanks to the Force. I grabbed his wrist as I dodged the blow and spun behind him. I kicked the back of his knee to make him fall, his weight, with my strike, broke his arm. He squealed, and incredibly that scream got even louder when I kicked into his arm pit and pulled with all my might, using my weight and his both against his arm while holding him down.

His muscles and tendons forced his broken arm to dislocate and I twisted it as far as the skin would let me behind his back. I would not have believed its screams could get worse, but they did.

His friend threw himself at me, hoping to pin me down, but I was able to dodge, forcing the thumb of my free hand into his eye giving me a hand hold to slam him down onto his friend. A hard stomp with my boot broke his huge nose and drove the shards into his brain. He died, twitching on his partner, while his ruined nose gurgled up blood.

The Weequay was staggering to his feet, his eyes wide with fear, one hand fumbling for something in his coat, probably a holdout blaster. I grabbed a dinner knife from the table next to me and threw it, pinning his hand to his chest. My guess about a blaster proved correct as it discharged in his jacket, destroying the clothing and most of his left arm. But, on the plus side, the cauterized wound meant he wouldn't bleed to death.

Walking over, wiping my hands clean on a napkin as I came, his eyes got more and more desperate. I took the knife, and his blaster, from him and stared into his eyes. “You tell Karagga that Bree Fens said unless he wants to end up like you, he better stay out of my way!” Then I kicked him, hard, in the dangly bits, watching him fall to his knees and his eyes go cross as he did so. “And don't call me Princess!” He fell over on his side and the tough guy whimpered.

I gave the bar my soon to be patented 'Does anybody else want a piece of me?' stare, but no one was in a hurry to become one with the Force again. So I walked out, head held high, pausing to flip the Bouncer a half century credit as I passed. “Sorry about the mess.”

He had started over when I'd opened my can of whoop ass, but I had taken care of business before he could reach the altercation. I have to admit, the little nod of respect he gave me, one professional to another was quite validating.

Being back out into the crowd gave me a bit of anonymity, so I kept my gait measured as I crossed the main foyer towards the closest taxi stand. In addition to the shops, there were little vendors with carts and stalls, making it more difficult to move through the crowd. There were conversations going on in a dozen languages, in addition to what sounded like a Twi'lek woman based on her accent in oozing, graphic tones inviting the crowd to come see all of her at Brooga's Pleasure Emporium over a loud speaker.

As sickening as that was, it was nothing compared to the four or five times life size statute of Karagga himself. It sat in the center of the concourse, twenty meters long or so and at least half that high, with every disgusting fold of flesh artistically crafted in solid gold. I was able to get a bit of privacy by that statue, around the tip of his tail on the massive base the statue sat on, so I took out my holo and got the earpiece in my ear so at least some of the conversation would be private.

After a moment, a bust of my brother appeared in my palm. “Hey sis, how goes it? You have good news?”

“I'm not sure,” I admitted as I plugged the chip into the slot for it in my reader. “What do you see?”

He sighed. “I see a new holo in your future because you plugged what could be a spyware laden chip into it. How many times have I told you...?”

“Not now, Kale,” I told him. “Can you read it or not?”

His image looked down, probably at a different screen and from the way his shoulders bunched I could tell he was typing furiously. “Its pretty heavily encrypted. I'll need the chip directly. When can you be back here?”

“I'm headed for the taxi stand now.”

“See you soon.” I clicked off the holo and pocketed it, making my way through the crowd back into the open air. Nal Hutta, the Glorious Jewel, was living up to it's name, hanging in the sky like a yellow green gem with Y'Toub, the single star of the system half set on the horizon of the planet, leaving Nar Shaddaa in it's fourteen hour twilight. The stars were starting to come out and my eyes were drawn to the heavens. I couldn't help looking for Ruuria, to look back in time for light that would have left it hundreds, perhaps thousands of years before my birth, but my mind knew that was silly. Even without the light pollution of Nar Shaddaa, or the fact Y'Toub wouldn't set for hours, Ruuria was behind the Gordian Reach nebula from here.

The thought of my ruined and raped home world once again lit the fire of my anger allowing me, for a time, to consider the revenge I would inflict on Zakuul. Yes, I admit those thoughts warmed me. Then, as it always did, the Force became coy and called Koth's face to my mind's eye. I couldn't say I'd made my peace with the Zakuul traitor who had joined us, or his grand notions of who and what his people should be. I wouldn't admit to being in love with him, but I was becoming...comfortable...with him being with me.

I couldn't hold onto my anger, so I let it slip away and be damned if it didn't feel like the Force was happy about that. I crossed the terrace, making way to a vaguely humanoid robot, some kind of customer service droid that bowed shallowly at my approach. “Vehicle pads are currently open for business. How may I serve you, my lady?”

“I want to go to Mezenti Spaceport,” I told it. The droid bowed again, as he took my credit, and with a gesture summoned the next speeder that was floating beside to the terrace.

“Enjoy your stay,” the droid wished me as it opened the door for me and closed it after I was inside. It wasn't a long flight, The Promenade was only about half a kilometer from Mezenti, and on the way I brooded, troubled by my latest little adventure on Nar Shaddaa. What had scared Odu so badly? The thought ran a slow orbit in my mind, over and over as I tried to parse the wild story he'd spun with the fact that some of Karagga's gangsters had shown up in quite timely fashion to silence him or me or both.

They hadn't seemed in too much of a rush to go after Odu. Had he sold me out? Maybe they just were certain they'd know where to find him? Nothing made any sense, but I was coming to understand that was business as usual on Nar Shaddaa; shady deals, shadier characters everything was 'just business' and nothing was personal.

Or so it was claimed.

The taxi let me out on the main foyer landing of the space port, and just like everything else on this moon, there was a last chance grab at money. The space port was a hollowed out stack of landing pads, most just tall enough for the ships crammed into them, you came and went under tractor beams since land was at such a premium. This foyer was half way up the high rise, a balcony that hung out over dizzying heights above the next closest buildings, with shacks and lean-tos, with everything for sale. I waded through the press of humanity and aliens, Republic marines drunk and on leave being berated by an MP. A slaver with a half dozen women and girls chained by their necks behind him arguing with an unamused Chagrian, a near Twi'lek species with a lofty pair of horns out of their foreheads and a matching pair of tentacles that hung down from their necks. As the Chagrian was wearing the livery of one of the Hutt Clans I presumed he was doing a shake down of the slaver that was what passed for 'customs' on this cesspool.

I walked with purpose up the ramp and into the space port proper, letting the warning glare of my yellow Sith eyes dissuade any who had the temerity to approach me hawking wares. I may have been born well, but the gaudy, tawdry over use of gilt and gauche finery was making me queasy. They say people who employ the word 'classy' have none, and it was certainly true of the Hutts. I grabbed a turbolift from the bank of them and rode it down to the hanger in which sat the Black Eagle.

She was a Fury-class fast courier, not much bigger than most light freighters, but with significantly better engines, shields, well, everything come to think of it. Like her sisters in the class, the Black Eagle was primarily used by diplomats and VIPs who had either time sensitive missions and needed to get from place to place quickly, or Sith, like myself, on detached duty for long durations where it served as both transport and base of operations. The design was getting on in years, but they were still in production as the craft perfectly fit it's niche; the hallmark of good design.

Physically, she had a pair of triangular wings that reached out to frame the cockpit, which sat on the center line of the ship. I remember overhearing my mother once while she was talking to herself saying they looked like the Millennium Falcon and a TIE Interceptor had a baby, but when I asked her what she meant, she'd just smiled at me and said it wasn't important. Aft, here, there was universal docking port with a ramp that led down to ground level tucked in between the engines that I was walking to. Kale was waiting for me at the base of the ramp, with a couple of cargo containers pushed together serving him as a table.

I have to admit, it's a little scary how much my brother looks like father. He's just coming into his own, now and even I had to admit my tall, gangly older brother was starting to fill out into very handsome man. Fortunately, I'd gotten Mom's height so he didn't loom over me, but he was still head and shoulders taller and that short military hair cut really showed off that jaw line of his. “Welcome back,” he greeted me, his hand out.

I gave him my holo and looked around. “Where's Koth?”

He took the chip from the key and put it into a little portable computer he had set up on the desk, unconnected to any of his other equipment. “Who cares?” Kale replied as he began to work his magic. I didn't know why Kale didn't like Koth, maybe it was a brother thing, but everyone knew his distaste for my...what?

Paramour? Even being a Countess, I'm not that pretentious. Lover? Didn't you need to be in love to have a lover? Boyfriend? That sounds so Secondary School! “Did he say anything to you?” I pressed him.

“He's not that stupid,” Kale muttered. He made an adjustment and information began to flow across the screen. “What is this?” he demanded. Giving up on the status of my boyfriend, I came around the table to look over his rather broad shoulders.

“I'll play your silly little game, what is this?” I told him, which brought his face from the screen to frown at me.

“Mom's back, you can stop impersonating her,” he told me, which let me know I'd gotten under his skin so I just smiled sweetly. Turning back, he began to read. “These are shipping manifests, freighters, departures, arrivals, they leave from Nar Shaddaa but the destination field is blank. I thought you said he was going to give you the location?”

“We were interrupted by some of Karagga's goons; a pair of Gamoreans and a Weequay.”

He turned to face me and he arched an eyebrow. “Are they still with us?”

“The Weequay lived,” I protested. “Come to it, I'm only sure one of the Gamoreans is dead. And I didn't use my light sabers!”

“Way to stay low profile.” He shook his head and turned back to the screen. “Well, this would be useful if I knew where these freighters were going. They seem to all be headed to the same place, look, the time and route charges are all the same. I suppose we could try tracking down one of them and interrogating the crew.” He faced me again. “And he didn't say anything...?”

I rolled my eyes. “He spun some wild tale about a interstellar conspiracy that Karagga was wrapped up in, how the Hutts were going to take advantage of the Zakuul invasion and become a rival of the Major Powers on their own terms, blah, blah. I didn't believe a word of it.”

“Anything else?”

Getting a little frustrated, I crossed my arms over my breasts. “Yes, when Karagga's enforcers showed up he yelled 'Don't shoot! Makeb! Makeb! Which I guess was the name of the Weequay...”

His expression changed and he went over to his rig and began pressing keys. Soon, a holographic map of the galaxy appeared around us. “Makeb isn't a person, it's a planet,” he scolded me. “Here, on the Mid Rim in the Aida Sector, right on the edge of Hutt Space.”

“So what? You think that's where all these ships are going?” His fingers danced over the keyboards and a set of hyperspace routes appeared.

“Taking the most direct routes, and looking up those freighters' specs in the war book, it looks like it.” He came back over to the portable unit, through the hologram and began to look over the manifests more closely.

“How does this help us find dad?” I demanded, keeping my temper on a short leash. It was pointless getting mad at Kale, he was as immune to my use of the Force as I was to his. Which, given our childhood was probably a good thing. Mistress Tari had thought it was because we were twins that the Force might see us as the same being, even though we weren't identical. Fortunately Kale's personality was easy going and not given to teasing for its own sake, and I had to get my emotions mastered to become a Sith. That let us grow to the point where we could be friends as well as siblings.

“Look,” he declared, pointing at a notation on one of the manifests. “A note saying extra food had to be brought on board for High Value Prisoners being taken to Toborro the Hutt. Look at the date! That was twelve hours after Dad's last comm signal!”

“You think Dad was one of these High Value Prisoners?”

“We know his trail goes cold that day, and we haven't been able to find out anything here on Nar Shaddaa. And what would you call the Duke of Ruuria if not High Value?”

I shrugged. “Alright, Master Soone,” I teased him, referencing the legendary Jedi Master and peerless detective known for his uncanny reasoning. “Let's say dad is on Makeb, prisoner to this Toborro. How do we rescue him?”

“We'll have to figure that out when we get there,” he told me, not rising to my jab. “It depends on how reasonable Toborro is.”

That struck me as particularly ridiculous and I couldn't keep in a bark of laughter. “A reasonable Hutt? That'll be the day!”

He closed the portable system and began to pack up his equipment. “Maybe, but it's the best lead we have.”

“Can't argue that,” I admitted as I started helping him.

“No, I'll get this,” he told me. “Go round up your boy toy so we can get underway. I'll file us a bogus flight plan to Aridus, that's near by.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” I teased him.

“Thank you, my lady,” he shot back from his packing. With a smirk, I collected up my holo and removed myself to a discreet distance.

Soon, my 'boy toy's head and shoulders were hovering, slightly transparent, in the palm my hand. A smile spread across his face and, as usual, that made me feel warm. “Hey, beautiful! I was just thinking about you!”

I couldn't keep a smirk off my face, his grin is infectious. “Where did my brother banish you to, this time?” He made a little adjustment to his comm, and the view extended to him standing in the middle of a market, lean-tos and make shift stalls hawking produce, likely grown hydroponically in a green house somewhere; there wasn't a speck of dirt on Nar Shaddaa that wasn't in a pot for an ornamental plant.

“We're not fighting!” he assured me. “I thought a little fresh food would be a good change. I've got some blumfruit, shuura, mujas, even some vine ripe Meiloonruns!”

“Aren't you sweet?” I complimented him. “Much as I'd love you to grab some salad fixings, we're pulling up stakes...” He grinned and held up a salad-in-a-bag kit that was actually less processed than it sounds. “Alright, you, I know when I'm being buttered up! What's your game?”

His grin got wider. “You'll never pry it out of me!” he swore. “I'll be back at the hanger in ten minutes.”

“Hurry,” I warned him. “You know how Kale is always threatening to leave you behind.”

“As if you'd leave without your salad,” he shot back. “On my way!”

“Fresh Shuura?” asked Kale as he walked by with a crate in his arms. “I'll wait for that.”

“You two play nice!” I warned him as I headed over to the Black Eagle start my pre-flight checks.

* * *

3617 BBY

Aboard the Black Eagle, over Makeb, Aida Sector

Kale could go on for hours about the whys and wherefores to explain the view out the canopy as I pulled back on the hyperdrive motivator lever and the blue white tunnel of hyperspace rushed away from me to become a star field, while at the same time, a green dot of light rushed up and became the planet Makeb. It was a lot of boring, hard to follow math and strange words like Doppler distortion and other sounds that sounded even less like real words, but that was Kale. He was the scholar of the two of us.

Me? I never could understand why he didn't just stare at something that beautiful and see it without the need to explain all the beauty away. That underscores, I suppose, the differences between us as siblings. Mom was always so proud of the reports she got from our tutors of how brainy Kale was. Which is not to say she wasn't proud of my ability with the Force and how quickly I caught on with her training.

The Force had always been easy for me, even when I didn't have a name for it, I just wanted something and if I could see it, it would come to me.

Mom had been so thrilled the first time she saw me do it. I think I was three or so. Daddy had been proud too, but sad in a way. I could always feel his worry when Mom went on one of her trips and after she started teaching me that this strange gift was called the Force and how to use it, I heard Daddy start to worry about me too. But Kale? Kale was the scholastic ideal, the scholar athlete, the guy who could beat you at debate and boxing.

Where was I? Oh, yes, Makeb.

Makeb is a normal terrestrial planet, or so the computer says. It's primary industry was tourism; vacation resorts and providing scenic vistas for estates of the well to do. It's chief oddity was its abnormally strong electromagnetic field which made it something of a piloting challenge, so much so a series of Sky Hook space elevators had been built by the extremely well heeled powers that be on Makeb and the expense be damned. Makeb lived up to its reputation as far as the magnetic field went, the instruments started giving me fits within seconds of us being back in real space. As far as they were concerned, we were dangerously close to a star, a very, very large star.

So far, so normal, but that wouldn't last long.

I didn't even get as far as “We're here,” before the proximity alarm went off. A pair of bright red blaster bolts shot by the window and the ship's radio began to squawk. “What is it?” demanded Kale from behind me as he had starting bringing the navicomputer down in anticipation of our landing.

“A pair of fighters,” Koth told him from the co-pilot's position. Just hanging a bit back from the hyper-lane exit point. “I don't recognize the configuration...”

“Sith Empire craft, this is airspace of the Hutt Cartel. Heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

Kale got his headset comfortable as I frantically tried to figure out what to do. “Unidentified fighters, the is the Imperial transport Black Eagle in free space, on a filed and approved flight plan, you have no right to...”

“Black Eagle, heave to, or be destroyed. This is your final warning.”

My hand started to move to the combat controls, to bring up our shields and make ion clouds of any who dared to challenge me, but I was stopped by Koth's hand on my wrist. “No,” he told me urgently. “Your father is too important. You two head to the escape pod. I'll pull these jokers away and be down as soon as I can.”

“But,” I started, then felt Kale's hand on my shoulder.

“No buts,” he ordered, nodding at Koth in respect for the first time. He urged me out of my seat and we rushed back to the port escape pod. The deck began to lurch as Koth's maneuvers got creative and I could almost hear the frustration of the pilots chasing us, then we were in the little pod and strapping ourselves in.

The pod lurched as it was explosively released and for a moment, out the little window, I saw the Black Eagle duck and weave through blaster fire and the sun glinting off the hulls of the two fighters chasing him. Then the window went red from the plasma of our entry into the atmosphere of Makeb. The pod lurched and shook as it was buffeted by the thickening air then with a series of violent jerks and a horrendous noise we ground to a stop.

Arriving by escape pod onto a planet shouldn't really be on anyone's bucket list; it's not fun.

The explosive bolts blew the hatch clear and we stepped out into the strangest landscape I have ever seen. It was as if the ground of most of the planet had fallen into an impossibly deep sink hole, but left behind towering pillars or mesas of shattered landscape. They rose up to dizzying heights above us as I staggered out of the pod and became aware this was not some kind of quirky, but otherwise normal thing for this planet.

There were buildings clinging to the sides of these mesas, some of them connected with energy bridges, but there was a pile of speeder traffic which definitely gave the impression we had arrived just in time for a calamity. This was reinforced by a building, precariously perched on a ledge on the mesa opposite ours giving way and sliding off to tumble down out of sight, obscured by mist and smoke below. “By the Force!” Kale swore as he got out of the pod and took a good look around. “What's happened here?”

“You're the scientist, you tell me!” I shot back, then we both got the tingle of impending danger and moved. A massive boulder fell on the pod, effortlessly flattening it as it tumbled down as well. For a long moment, we just ran, getting away from that edge and deeper onto what we desperately hoped was more stable ground. That gave us a moment, finally, to come to a halt to pant after our breath and take a look about into the nightmare we had landed.

We quickly found there was no stable ground to be had. This collection of mesas extended to the horizon and the largest of them was only kilometer or so across.

Whatever disaster had befallen this world wasn't new as there were signs of rebuilding. There were energy bridges linking mesas, everywhere there were naked iron or dura-steel girders; shoring up things and ruinous, or partially ruinous luxurious estates with manicured lawns that were cracked and split like broken dishes, piled up at odd angles.

The sights were bad enough, but this world positively vibrated in the Force with fear, uncertainty, staggering loss, and unadulterated terror.

We had landed on one of the larger of the mesas, despite the terrifying edge we'd come to a stop on, it was perhaps a kilometer in any given direction. Though everywhere was the signs of the calamity we were evidently hard on the heels of. I turned back to Kale, stunned at what I was seeing to find him with his tablet out, trying to connect to the local information cloud. “I can't reach either the local networks or the Republic broad wave,” he swore angrily. “It must be the interference of this place as...”

He couldn't finish as a rough shout of, “You there!” drew both of our gazes. Walking towards us was a motley group of men, blaster carbines in hand, with enough matching pieces of clothing that they might be considered a uniform of sorts, but it was neither Republic, nor Imperial. With them were about a dozen others in ruined civilian clothing, all female but one, and they where all chained together. “Hands where we can see them!”

I spun around Kale to be between him and the slavers as my light sabers appeared in my hands and the blades snapped on. “You have two seconds to surrender before I start killing you,” I snarled.

Knowing I'd need to be able to move, Kale dove behind a handy boulder and yelled, “Time's up!”

It's not really fair to use the word 'battle' to describe what happened next; slaughter would be more fitting, but usually people being slaughtered don't fight back. For all the good it did them. Between Kale's exactingly precise blaster work and my aggressive pacification, they were dead in moments. Two of the slavers threw down their weapons and fell to the their knees, begging for mercy, which bought them a reprieve at least. Once their former companions were one with the Force again, I used the tip of my sabers to order them to release their captives.

Yes, they were roughed up a bit by my newly freed acquaintances, but the slavers had it coming. Once the freed were armed and the slavers in chains, I deactivated my sabers and turned to the closest of them, a Twi'lek woman of about my mother's age who was still beautiful enough, despite her black eye, that she gave me a twinge of jealousy. “Do you speak Basic?

Her eyes locked with mine and the uninjured one widened just a bit, before she quickly down cast her eyes and curtseyed to me. “Yes, Lady, I can,” she managed quickly. “What do you command?”

I reached out with my hand and the Force to gently touch her face near the black eye. Her body reacted to my power and the swelling rapidly undid itself until she was healed. “I am not your mistress, but your liberator,” I told her as she gasped at my touch and the healing it brought. “Tell me what has happened here and how you came to be taken by these...criminals.”

“They were once our protectors,” piped up the only man among them. An elderly fellow with white hair and clothing that was once quite splendid, but now hopelessly stained and torn. “The Regulators were a contract security force, until the Hutts bought them off to enslave us!”

I turned to the two remaining 'Regulators'. “Is this true?” I demanded.

One was too terrified to speak, a growing stain on the front of his trousers and the shaking that was nearly epileptic doing his pleading for him. The other, through his tears, stammered, “I just wanted to get off Jedha! I didn't sign up for any of this!” he wailed.

The old man pushed his way to the front. “Of course it's true!” he snapped. “I told the council letting the Hutts in here would be the ruin of us, but money is the only loyalty they have!”

“Who are you?” I demanded crossly. He gathered his tattered robes around himself, clutching for dignity.

“I am Tarlam Avesta!” he declared as if I should be impressed. Seeing my lack of deferment, he continued, “I suppose you're here from the Republic, the 'help' my idiot son Shalim went begging for!”

The Twi'lek reached up and took his shoulder, gently, but firmly pushing him behind her into the arms of two other women. “Hold your tongue before you loose it!” she commanded, then bowed to me again. “Forgive him, my lady, he's an old fool and doesn't recognize greatness when he sees it.”

I smirked at her and shook my head. “I like you, but don't confuse that with thinking you can con me. You have a name?”

“Ranna, my lady,” she declared with another curtsy. “Ranna Tao'Ven.”

“Now, look here!” the old man protested. “You're not in charge, Ranna...”

The Twi'lek whirled on him, with more strength of purpose than I might otherwise have given her credit for. “Be silent, old fool! I just saved your life! Do you not know a Sith Lord when you see one?” She turned back and bowed. “Forgive us, my lady. What are your orders?”

Kale chuckled next to me. “Well, sis, I've always said you had a persuasive streak!”

“Hush, you,” I told him, rolling my eyes. “Ranna, I want the short version of what happened here, who that old fool is and why I should care, and then where I can find Toborro the Hutt.” She swallowed, thinking quickly, then turned and pointed back in the direction they had come.

“I will be as brief as I can, mistress, but you might want some refreshment.” I looked over her shoulder at the ruins of what had been a splendid estate, once upon a time. “I'm sure we can offer you something we hid from the looters.”

“Lead the way,” I invited.

* * *

The closest ruined estate was evidently the primary residence cluster of the owner and workers of the plantation we had landed on. The male workers had already been taken off to who knew where, and this little clutch of females and the former plantation owner had been rounded up and put in the charge of the thugs and wander-lusting farm boys I had killed to be taken somewhere for 'processing'. Tarlam was sat in a corner to sulk while Ranna and the other young women brought us a bottle of Alderaan Spice Wine, along with bread and some Jorgan Fruit preserves that had been the primary product of the plantation.

Ranna, obviously a life long servant if not a slave already, saw me as a step up in the 'owner' department and was working diligently to endear herself. Probably because she imagined I wouldn't sexually abuse her as likely she'd endured her entire adult life. She told me, being a senior among the plantation's staff, things she'd heard while being ignored and painted a very grim picture indeed. Someone, she wasn't sure who, had discovered some kind of mineral and after failed attempts to keep it secret the Hutt's had learned of it, and bid exorbitant rates for the mining rights.

Tarlam, like most of his generation and station, liked the little pastoral fantasy they'd been living, with 'artisan' farms that could never be profitable even at the ridiculous rates they wanted for their produce, worked by wage slaves who were chattel slaves in all but name. The Planter Class had resisted the mining for what it would do to the environment, not to mention the influx of miners and off-worlders who might take offense at their by gone era life style and do something about it.

Unfortunately, their younger, greedier children had the taste of real money and power waved under their nose by the Hutts and had taken the bait, briefly becoming disgustingly rich. The smart ones had taken their ill gotten gains and fled off world, but the truly greedy had remained behind, thinking to sop the Hutts for all they were worth. In remarkable time, the Hutts had dug deep into the planet's crust and were liquefying and draining off whatever it was they were after so fast, the planet's mantel had become unstable. Sink holes and massive ground quakes had become a daily terror. The planet's ocean had been used to flood some of the abandoned caverns, but that had only added to the problem and now the entire world was in danger of collapsing and breaking up.

The Hutts, meanwhile had bought off the planet's security forces, the Regulators, and stolen back the bribe money they'd paid from anyone foolish enough to stay, then begun rounding up any and everyone who was left for forced labor and probably sale off world back in Hutt space. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had been in store for Ranna and the other girls she'd been taken with.

Because Makeb had been an Independent World, the Republic was content to watch and sit on their hands.

“What is it they're mining?” I asked while holding up my glass for a refill of the lovely wine while simultaneously giving Kale a break from the aggressive pandering of Ranna's daughter, Vette, who I noted had eyes the same shade of pale green as Tarlam.

“I don't know, Lady,” Ranna started, but Vette decided I needed some buttering up as well and excitedly broke into the conversation.

“They call it Isotope Five, milady,” she declared, keeping her eyes on me and not the annoyed face of her mother. I turned to Kale but he shook his head.

“Likely some kind of marketing gibberish name,” he declared. “Fifth isotope of what? The word Isotope isn't supposed to be used to name anything like that for one and these are the Hutts we're talking about.”

I rolled my eyes. “If there's anything more evil than a Hutt, it would have to be a marketing wonk,” I agreed. Turning back to Ranna, I asked, “Alright, Ranna, what was your condition here? It's likely the Hutts were taking you to be slaves off world, but you probably already were, here, weren't you?”

Ranna's pale blue skinned darkened a bit and she looked away. “Master Avesta...” she started, but Tarlam became indignant and leapt to his feet.

“I pay them!” he shouted.

“And you just made 'Master' your employer title?” I drawled back at him. “Tell me, 'Master Avesta' just how 'personal' are the services you require of Ranna?”

“How dare you?” he demanded. I raised my hand and the Force took hold of him and pushed him, gently, but unyieldingly, back into his seat.

“I dare because I'm a Sith Lord and I can,” I told him. “Interrupt me again, and I'll not recognize and respect your years as I do now.” My eyes traveled to Ranna and the look on her face made plain who the father of her daughter was. “You disgusting pervert, how dare you take advantage of these women?”

Tarlam had the sense to keep his mouth closed as his eyes down. I held the glare for a moment, then turned back to Ranna. “I'll need a base of operations, Ranna, then when my business here is finished you and yours are welcome to accompany me. I'll be happy to drop you off on any planet along the way to my destination.”

She looked up, a bit worried. “You...you would not want us in your service, my lady?”

“Ranna, in case it hasn't been made clear, I don't keep slaves. Not in any type, form or hidden by some coy language.”

Her chin rose a bit, and a little metal entered her spine. “Then I am indebted to your sense of honor, my lady, and can certainly do worse than cast my lot in with you.”

Kale stood from the table and crossed his arms to address them all. “My sister and I are members of an Alliance sworn to wage war against the Eternal Empire. You are welcome to join us, but know what that decision entails.”

“You freed us,” Vette declared at Kale. “I would be honored to help you free others.”

Ranna met my eyes, for the first time acknowledging my leadership, but no longer the timid, fearful gaze of a slave. “How can we help you, my lady?”

“Toborro the Hutt might be holding my father prisoner,” I told her. “Tell me where I can find him.”

Vette was quick to offer her services. “He has a palace on the other side of Sunrise Hills,” she told us quickly. “I can show you.”

* * *

3617 BBY

Estate of Toborro the Hutt, Sunrise Hills, Makeb, Aida Sector

Turns out, the workers on the Avesta Plantation were quite adept at hiding things from looters. Not only had they squirreled away the wine, bread and preserves we'd already enjoyed, they'd managed to keep the entrance to the garage out of plain sight and so Vette had us a speeder to take over the Sunrise Hills. It was exactly what you'd expect a ride through a disaster area would be like. What roads there were had been broken by the ground quakes and fractured landscape. Many of the buildings had at least partially collapsed and there was no infrastructure working beyond small, portable generators.

The local wild life was taking advantage and creeping back into places they'd previously avoided, but the two legged variety was still the most dangerous. Fortunately, they were both scarce and avoided us as much as we avoided them. After a ride of an hour or so that likely used to take considerably less time we were belly down on the ground, just below the crest of a rise that over looked Toborro's palace.

Palace, was the right word for it.

The compound was surrounded by a solid, poured ferrocrete wall five meters high at least and reinforced with guard towers at every ninety degree bend. With the size and some what irregular shape of the estate, meant that there were plenty of bends and there for lots of overlapping fields of view. Inside, the estate had a double dozen buildings, likely garages, barracks for servants and the small army of guards manning those towers and gates. The main gate was a pair of excessively ornate durasteel doors that were gilded with some kind of relief cast into them. They stood open, but a laser barricade made sure rushing the gate was fool hardy.

Dominating the lesser buildings and the gardens that surrounded them was Toborro's Palace itself, a massive, multi-domed structure in the Neo-Kupolë style that was popular in the Mid and Outer Rim worlds that did business with the Hutts. An oblong, central building well bejeweled with turrets and domed towers, that gleamed in the sun. Meanwhile, around it, enough 'guards' for an army drilled and practiced their trade around the other servants coming and going around them. “Well, won't this be fun?” muttered Kale as he surveyed the compound. “Heavy repeating blasters in every tower I can see on that wall, the laser fence of course, and likely enough sensors and cameras to make a spy wet himself.”

“There are less guards at the delivery entrance,” Vette assured us as she pointed at a little alley cove on the far side of the palace from us, only just visible. “I've been there a few times, on business for Master Avesta...”

Kale adjusted the macro-noculars and stared for a moment. “Strange lack of security from the rest of the place,” he declared after a moment. “Likely deliberate to bait a trap for anyone looking to sneak in.” He put down the macros and turned to me. “You know, we could just go and request an audience. The Hutts do have a reputation as people who will bargain...”

“If I get within eyesight of our Father's jailer, bargaining will be the last thing on my mind,” I told him. “Or Toborro's!” I wasn't bragging, but if Aunt Tari had taught me anything it was to recognize my own short comings. I love my father, and if Toborro had held him against his will for nearly three years, I would be hard pressed to keep from doing something rash. “Besides, you think if we go in there publicly we'll come out again?”

“You think blasting our way in will work?” he countered, but before I could argue, of all things, my holocomm began to go off.

Frowning, as I fished it out of it's pouch on my belt, I demanded of Kale, “I thought you said the networks were down?”

“They are!” he protested.

Getting the device in my hand, I beheld a paradox, the No Service light and the Incoming Call light were both active at the same time. Sharing a puzzled glance at Kale, I clicked it on. “Who is this?” I demanded.

In my palm, a rather complicated looking pictogram appeared, dominated by three long straight lines linked by an odd double figure of eight filigree. “Greetings, my young friends!” a deep, heavily reverberating voice, likely the by product of some kind of voice disguising program, came from the speaker. “First, let me assure you that both requesting an audience, or trying to bluff your way past the delivery entrance are suicide.”

“Who is this?” I repeated, angrily.

“Your benefactor!” the deep voice replied. “You want to free Torm Belos and I want to help you.”

“How do you know that?” Kale demanded.

“Because Torm is a good friend of mine and you must be his son, you're practically his clone,” the Benefactor replied with a deep, basso chuckle. “Which means I can only assume you are his daughter Bree,” he went on. “You are as beautiful as he describes you.”

“That's not my name...” I started, but the Benefactor was not fooled.

“Your name is Taybri Belos-Fens, daughter of Nyeomi Fens and neither of us have time for you not to trust me. You're just fortunate that I found you before Toborro's security chief did.”

Kale crossed his arms. “How did you do that?”

“Look behind you,” the voice replied ominously. Slowly, Kale and I turned to take in one of the smallest probe droids I'd ever seen, not much past a repulsor generator, a transmitter and a camera, floating silently about twenty meters away from us by the speeder. “Daring Karagga to come after you wasn't very smart, Bree.”

“You did what?” demanded Kale, but I glared at him with the 'we'll talk about it later' glare.

“Fortunately, his untimely demise renders the point moot,” Benefactor continued as if Kale hadn't spoken.

I blinked in surprise. “Karagga is dead?”

“You want your father,” the basso voice pressed. “I want out of this gilded cage I'm stuck in. We can help each other.”

“What cage is that?” Kale asked. This time, the deep voice chose to answer.

“I am as much a prisoner as Torm is. I'll help you free Torm, if you free me as well.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” demanded Vette, for the first time working up the courage to speak.

The basso voice laughed a very unpleasant laugh. “You can't,” he admitted. “But without my help you'll never get past Toborro's security.” The pictogram was replaced by a schematic view of the estate. It rotated until we could see the far side where a sizable hole had been dug, big enough for a Harrower-Class Dreadnought to land in! Half way down the artificial canyon was a small outcropping that was highlighted in red. “Here is your entrance. It's a mounting platform for the tractor beam emitter for the auto landing protocol. There's a maintenance hallway from it into the service corridors below the palace. The only way to it is from above and you cannot use any kind of repulsor lift, there are sensors that will alert security. You'll have to climb.”

“You're joking!” Kale retorted. “That has to be three or four hundred meters! If we fall...”

“Don't. Fall.” the Benefactor replied. “Once you're inside I'll contact you again.” The display vanished as the call was disconnected. The probe droid rose back into the follage of the tree, out of sight. Once again, my brother and I shared a glance.

“Are we doing this?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Do you have a better plan?” After a long, angry pause he shook his head. “Alright, let's go.” I turned to the Twi'lek. “Vette you wait with the speeder...”

“But I want...” she started, but I shook my head.

“You can seduce my brother on your own time, not mine.”

“What?” demanded Kale, but Vette's blue skin just darkened to nearly purple.

* * *

Vette sulked quite a bit on the way over to the artificial canyon that Toborro had turned into his own private space port. Mostly because I had her drive and made Kale ride in the back seat of the speeder where she couldn't flirt with him. Honestly, I almost don't get why so many varied sentients are so obsessed with Twi'lek females. Their males aren't anything special in my book, but even I have to admit the females have an almost preternatural grace about them, like felines or Kaminoans. They don't walk, they slink with the most suggestive kind of gaits, combined with the tendency for nearly perfect symmetry make them a race whose beauty is nearly with out equal. Which made them one of the most persecuted races in the galaxy, whose abuse in sexual slavery was unrivaled.

It didn't surprise me that Vette would be interested in Kale. When I take off my 'sister' glasses and look at him as a man, he's just about ideal. Tall, broad shouldered, handsome, but also just a bit...lost kid. Oh he looked like the bad boy he was, but he could smile and, well, that smile let him get away with murder. Kale wasn't just a pretty face, though, and even without us laying out our titles, Vette had been around the well born enough to know that Kale was. So on top of being devilishly handsome, he likely had a pretty fat wallet. That Vette, who had watched her mother put up with being used by their employer, who was likely her father as well, then having some horrific amount of time to contemplate being sold into slavery, and you could be certain it would be sexual slavery; no, I completely understood why Vette had put seducing Kale at the top of her to-do list.

That didn't mean I approved, but I did understand it.

Still, my approval wasn't required if Kale just wanted to add the Ryloth flag to his collection. However, I am his big sister, by five minutes, and that meant I did owe it to both of our parents that he wasn't taken advantage of. Hey, Koth might be my Mr. Right Now, but I knew enough to know I wasn't sure he was The One. That said, Vette better have more going for her than Twi'lek booty if she wanted a permanent ticket to ride the Kalelam gravy train.

That brought a tickle to my 'twin' sense, causing me to turn and look at Kale. The look on his face, staring at me, perfectly silently demanded, Since when is my sex life your business?

I smiled and winked at him, which caused him to roll his eyes. Jealous? No, I'm not jealous of the little whore at all.

* * *

The hole Toborro had dug out of the ground behind his palace was nearly a kilometer across and better than half that deep. At the bottom were the kinds of clusters of buildings that every space port has as well as perhaps two dozen pretty good sized ships, fighters, freighters, probably more than one pleasure yacht. We took all this in from just back from the rim of this gigantic crater and marveled at the level of engineering that had been done in some stupid short amount of time.

Three years? Had all of this been put together in three years? Less even?

It beggared belief. We stood at the lip of the rim and had plenty of second thoughts about attempting what we were about to attempt. Finally, I got my courage screwed to the sticking place and turned to Kale just as he lowered the macronoculars he was using. “So, we really doing this?”

He shook his head. “Not in broad daylight,” he declared, giving a casual gesture at the tower. “I guarantee we're being watched now. Not to mention we have no way off this rock yet, so springing dad and getting into a chase with no where to go is not exactly smart.”

I took the macros from him and gave the space port a look. “There's plenty of birds down there I can fly,” I told him confidently. “How about that Delaya-class courier there?” I asked, passing him back the glass. “That will out run anything else on that field.”

He gazed at the insectoid looking craft, currently landed on her massive air foils, nestled between a pair of bulk freighters on the field for a long moment. “Assuming it's fueled and ready,” he agreed. “Look, there's a UV Tarp over the canopy and she's tied down to the field. That ship hasn't flown in a while.”

“Four months,” Vette corrected him, drawing both of our gazes. “It landed four months ago, I saw it. I was here delivering a load of preserves. Toborro has a sweet tooth.”

Kale rubbed his jaw with his thumb. “Let's find out,” he declared and walked back to the speeder. From his shoulder bag, he withdrew a little disk and gave it a fling out, over the hole where it quickly sailed out of sight. He pointed at the public road that went by the space port and told Vette, to take us over there, then climbed into the speeder.

Within a few moments, we were moving and he had his portable computer out and was tapping away at it. The drone he'd thrown into the pit was a little relay type he'd developed for the Alliance. It had simply dropped down, so as not to trigger any kind of sensor, then stealthily made it's way to a computer terminal and patched us into Toborros network. It didn't transmit itself, that would allow it to be tracked. Instead, it embedded a signal into Toborros own communications nodes and talked to us through them. “The Kestrel,” he declared after a moment. “It's new, just ordered and delivered. Interesting. Shouldn't be too hard to make ready in a pinch.”

Over her shoulder, Vette asked, “Can you sneak in some kind of maintenance order to have it prepped before we go in?”

“We?” I asked, archly.

“Brilliant!” enthused Kale. “I surely can.”

The Twi'lek gave me a cat in the cream smile. “I'm helping,” she purred.

* * *

The remainder of the afternoon was spent by Vette working her 'A' seduction game on Kale while pretending to be instructed on how to use one of the blasters they'd lifted off the Regulators. She might have Kale snowballed, but if those really were the first shots she's put down range, I'll kiss a Wookie. Yeah, those ten centimeter groups were only because my brother was wrapped around her helping her with her “grip.” When I wasn't glaring at the brazen little tramp, I was fretting what was going on with Koth. The commlink was worrisomely silent.

I couldn't try to call him for fear of giving away our position. Surely he'd made short work of our ambushers and was down here looking for us. Wasn't he? Was I letting my own worry about my...significant other impinge on my judgment of Kale? I looked over and watched Vette 'accidentally' rub her rear onto my brother and sighed. No, I was right to worry about Koth, and Vette is just a tramp.

Kale, you lucky jerk.

* * *

Once the sun was down, we made our way back to Toborro's estate while I ignored the two of them and tried to focus on what we were about to do. If we got back to the canyon lip, we'd start the decent. If we got down, we'd try to access the maintenance hallway behind it without setting off an alarm. Kale had some good leads as to where Dad might be held, but had been unable to access the security feed to be sure. I had communed a bit with the Force, which was hard given the amount of disaster on this world, but I was pretty sure we were doing the right thing.

You could never be certain with The Force.

Well, this wasn't the craziest thing I'd attempted in recent memory, but this was with significantly less planning than my last desperate op. To take my mind off my own misgivings, I checked the charge on my sabers for the third time this trip. They were still fully charged. Kale had killed the lights and was driving the speeder in with a pair of IR goggles he'd had on his belt. I'd been wearing a gray ship suit that was basically a body glove, that left my arms bare. Over this I'd added my normal utility belt that held my sabers, comm link and a few other odds and ends. Ranna had a pair of boots she'd given me as our feet were about the same size, which was helpful. I'd been wearing just some comfortable ship slippers when we were ambushed and hadn't had time to change before our little escape pod joy ride. Vette had managed to find an all black, skin tight little sneak suit herself, though the blaster and belt were second hand, liberated from their previous captors.

I have to admit I was surprised we got back to the same over look above the tractor beam emitter without challenge. I thought for sure we'd have a reception party waiting, but only the nocturnal birds and insects were calling. Makeb had no moon, so the night was exceptionally dark, but the sky over head was magnificently lit up with one of the brightest star fields I'd ever seen on a planet's surface.

We left the speeder in a little copse of trees and bushes that would, hopefully, shield it from detection by search light and in an hour or so it should be as cold as the surrounding bush to infra red. We edged as close was we dared to the cliff face and looked down. “You are good, brother,” I complimented Kale as I looked through the macronoculars. The Kestrel had her UV hood off and her tie downs were gone. His little maintenance request chicanery had worked.

“Was there any question?” he demanded in the tone I knew he used when feeling particularly full of himself.

“How do we get down?” Vette asked nervously, eyeing the long drop from here to the emitter.

I couldn't see, of course, but she couldn't either, still, I'd bet the grin on my face was evil. “Oh, you'll love this part.”

Against the stars, I saw her head tails whip as she turned to face me. I could only see teeth and the whites of her eyes. “Yeah...?” she asked and now there was real fear in her tone. “So...how...?”

I raised my hand and pushed with the Force. “We jump!” I declared as I leapt. Ok, so, for like a split second I thought about shoving her off the cliff, and as fun as that would have been, she would have screamed. I don't know if you know this, but Twi'lek screams are really loud. It would have given us away.

Funny? Oh, yes, but no, Dad was more important. Next time, maybe.

The wind whistled past for what felt like an eternity until my feet found the little platform the emitter was mounted on. I landed like a cat, both sabers in hand, ready to kill, but no one was there. In my ear, my comm link beeped and I heard the very tightly controlled voice of Kale. “Not. Funny. Bree.” I looked up, imagining the look on his face and grinned.

“Yes it was,” I whispered, knowing the subvocal throat mikes we were wearing would pick it up. “Go ahead.”

A pair of shadows separated from the top of the face above me and began to fall. I felt the terror well up in Vette above me before I reached up and grabbed them both with The Force. Their fall slowed until the drifted down next to me, as gently as a lift tube. Minus the lift of course. “Fifth floor, sporting goods, jail breaks...” I eyed Vette before adding, “Toys.”

I have to give her credit, I'd taken her as a slave, someone who knew both her place and her betters. I don't know if it was the adrenaline from thinking I'd push her off the cliff, or from actually jumping, but something poured durasteel into her spine. She got right into my face and snarled, “What is your problem with me?”

It was brave, I have to admit; foolish, but brave. “Who do you imagine, you're talking to, whore!” I snarled, one hand up, either to choke her with The Force, or slap some respect into her mouth, I'm honestly not sure which. Not that it mattered, because Kale had me by the wrist with one hand and the other had the harness his little trollop was wearing and snatched us both to arms length away from each other.

“That's enough!” he growled, in that tone that he'd finally managed to imitate from dad that demanded attention and obedience. “You don't like who I sleep with? Too bad, sis! I put up with that disgusting traitor you're playing with, you will give me the same courtesy!” Then he whirled on Vette. “And you, do you think I didn't notice you pressing her buttons as hard as you were pressing mine? Are you suicidal? Poke a Sith Lord again and be damned if I'll come between you and my sister, even if you're the best piece of tail in the sector! Work together, damn it! The mission is more important than this bantha fodder!”

“I'm sorry,” she whimpered in a small voice.

Kale let go of my wrist and I rubbed the blood back into it, glaring at him before I turned to Vette. “I'm sorry, too. If you take advantage of my brother, I'll kill you, but short of that is his own affair, I guess.”

“Why would I?” she asked softly. “I'm not stupid.”

His arms over his massive chest, Kale demanded, “You two going to play nice now?”

I scowled at him, but I saw from the smirk he wasn't mad. I was always the mercurial one, hot headed and getting into things. “Come on, let's get this door open.” I moved to make room for Kale, expecting him to slice the system, but Vette oozed between him, me and the door, a set of tools in her hands. Faster than he could have gotten his computer out, there was a click, and the door slowly slid aside.

“Just because I'm a slave, doesn't mean I haven't learned anything,” she declared, raising her chin just a bit at me.

“Bravo, Vette, your stock just rose a few points,” I told her as I led the way into the darkness.

* * *

The corridor beyond went straight into the cliff for better than fifty meters, then met a T junction. Both hallways were full of conduit, cabling and an insufficient number of lights set at too far of a distance apart. As we reached the junction my holographic communicator beeped again, once more with it's No Service and Incoming Call lights lit. I clicked it on to see the same pictogram as before in my palm and that deep, obviously fake voice in my ear. “Well, my young friends, you are sure to do your father proud!”

“Who are you?” I demanded again.

“We can't set you free if we don't know who you are,” Kale subvocaled, his eyes moving up and down the hallway, ignoring the graphic it displayed instead of whoever was on the other end of the call. Our Benefactor found that amusing and chuckled.

“It is truly amazing seeing your father in both of you,” he chuckled. “And I see young Vette has remained in your company. I am glad to see her escape her situation.”

“Have...have we met?” Vette asked softly, staring at the pictogram.

“No,” the basso voice rumbled. “Alas, I have been forced to admire from afar. I hope you'll not think unkindly of me for it.”

I looked at her and the light of the holo, or what was said, seemed to drain some of the blue out of her skin. “We don't have time for guessing games,” I told him. “Either you level with us, or we'll take our chances on our own.”

“That would be very unwise,” the Benefactor replied quickly. “I can keep you off Toborro's security radar, but I have to have you following my directions to do it.”

“And how can you do that?” Kale demanded.

“Because I never design something I can't get out of,” the voice replied. “I am Doctor Juvard, the architect of this magnificent palace, and the systems that guard it.”

“And Toborro imprisoned you?” Vette asked.

“Loose ends, he called it,” Juvard complained, bitterly. “My reputation alone should have vouchsafed that his secrets would be safe. Even as a five time winner of the Bao-Dur Science Prize my intellect is meaningless without the patrons to finance my creations. But Torm and I were taken prisoner, first as somewhat forcible 'guests' to oversee the final instillation. Then we found I had constructed our prison.”

Kale chuckled. “The first rule of assassination is 'kill the assassin.'”

“Too true!” Juvard acquiesced with some rancor. “I suppose we are fortunate to be alive.”

“What did our father want with you?” I demanded, angrily, thinking to catch him in a lie, but his response was so quick it was either the truth or a well rehearsed lie. Thus far, Juvard was nothing if not well rehearsed.

“The location of and a method to free your mother of course! Which I will gladly help with once we are free of this place.”

“You can free our mother but not yourself?” I purred, looking to shine him on, but he stayed cool.

“I am capable of many things, as a genius, however some creations require good, old fashioned muscle. Still, Toborro does not have the mind to match wits with me. Once he felt secure we were helpless, he gave me lab space to make me his private genius, toiling for his enrichment. The allure of my creations was too great for him to ignore and in short order, I began planning our escape, and planting the trail of bread crumbs you followed here.”

“You knew we'd come?” I wanted to know.

“How your father describes you, it was inevitable,” Juvard replied. “But we can discuss that at length once we are parsecs away from here. I note that you noticed the Kestrel, as I intended. Well done. That is our ride out of here.”

Vette found that incredulous. “You intended?” she demanded. “We just decided to use it this afternoon!”

The Doctor laughed his disturbing, deep laugh. “Yes, and I snuck the purchase order for it into the estates normal supply requisitions months ago, when my eyes and ears on Nar Shadda told me you were asking questions about your father, young Bree. Every escape needs a get away vehicle. You'll find I've taken care of everything. Now, listen closely.”

The graphic changed to a schematic of the tunnel system under the estate with our location highlighted, then a route was marked out in red. “Torm is being held here, in sub level seven. You'll need to use this circuitous route to reach him. I've disabled the internal sensors along the way, but this operation depends on stealth. Once you have him free, you'll come to my lab via this route. Once we are together, we'll go to the Kestrel and make good our escape.”

“That's awfully trusting of you,” Kale admitted.

Juvard only laughed again. “I did say Torm was my friend. He will insist you free me as well.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I told him. “Not that it matters. If we run into trouble, how do we reach you?”

“I'll be watching,” Juvard assured us and the pictogram vanished. Kale and I shared a look, and realized we were pretty much committed at this point. He nodded and led the way around the corner on the route he'd already committed to memory.

It was a tense, nail biting journey, that probably went faster than it seemed to. Fortunately, Toborro's estate seemed to not care for these tunnels, as we met no one until we came to a door that was between us and the clutch of cells that dad was supposedly being held in. Doubtless, there would be at least one jailer. He would have to die, naturally, but I had to be able to do it quickly and it was best for everyone if we didn't have a weapon discharge or a prolonged fight. That meant I'd have to kill whoever it was, with the Force. I centered myself and nodded at Vette, who worked her magic on the door.

The door slid aside, revealing an anteroom with a desk and chair. Asleep in the chair, his enormous feet propped up on the desk, was the fattest, ugliest Gamorrean I'd ever seen. He was wearing a loin cloth that didn't do much for his modesty, and was snoring so loudly that I don't think anyone would have heard if we'd killed him with a bomb. I raised my hand as I recalled the long years I'd been deprived of my parents. My anger rose up, was focused on the guard and the Force responded, snatching his jowled, drool covered head to one side. The snap of his neck breaking was loud in the sudden silence and his breathing stopped instantly. His eyes didn't even open.

“You're scary, you know that, right?” Vette remarked, noticeably upset with either the casual killing,the display of power, or both.

My yellow eyes locked with her blue ones. “Only to the people on my bad side,” I warned her.

“Do Sith have good sides?” she wanted to know as she searched the desk and corpse for keys.

I chuckled as we went down the corridor to the door Juvard had indicated. “Ask my mother, if Kale takes you to meet her.” She shrugged as she fell in beside me.

“If your Alliance happens to need a morale officer, I'm game. Kicking Arcann's butt should require a full-time party planner.”

“Duly noted,” I replied as we arrived at the cell and I inserted the key card into the reader. The door slid aside, and while I was expecting squalor, it seemed that Dr Juvard had some pull with their captors. The room was fairly well appointed, and Dad's clothing seemed recent and clean. He was looking up from a tablet, older and grayer than I remembered, but still in good health. He'd grown a goatee and it was salt and pepper at the corners to match the set at his temples, but the lines on his face gave him character. “Daddy!” I cried and ran over to the bed to embrace him.

“Bree? Kale! What...?”

“No time, Dad,” Kale told him as he took father's hand and shook it. “We're being helped by a Dr Juvard, are you friends with him?”

Shock pulled at his face and he chuckled. “Lippi? Yes, by the Force he's pulled it off! Where is he?”

“Next stop,” Kale promised him, while I very reluctantly let go of him and presented him with one of the blasters we'd taken from the Regulators. He snatched up a bag at the foot of the bed and put it over one shoulder.

“Let's go, son,” he declared, kissing me on the top of my head that made me giddy. I had both of my parents again. Now I just had to get them reunited.

* * *

'Lippi's' route to his cell/workshop was just as circuitous as the route to Dad's had been. I swear, we went over the same stretch of ground at different altitudes of the hillside six times, but true to his word, there were no alarms, nor any surprise hallway meetings. The corridors were eerily empty, dusty and silent. Kale was quietly bringing Dad up to date, which I thought was a mistake, an opinion justified when he got to my part in the rescue of mom from Arcann's Vault of the Damned. If you've ever seen anyone deeply conflicted, you likely know the expression on his face when he realized what I'd risked and the juxtaposition of pride and aghastment was actually a little comical.

He grabbed me by my shoulders and I was expecting to be read the riot act, but slowly, the pride took over the fear on his face and he just hugged me hard enough that my back popped. “Thank you, princess,” he whispered in my ear.

“It...it was a team effort,” I managed, around the dust getting my eyes all wet. No, I'm not crying. It's the dust in these tunnels. Really.

He kissed my forehead and got stern. “Of all the excellent qualities you could have copied from your mother, her recklessness is something you can do without.”

“That wasn't reckless,” I replied in my defense. “It was calculated. This, was reckless, but you are worth it!” He smirked at me, shaking his head.

“The point is conceded,” he replied, but let us be about this crazy route until we finally found the good Doctor's workshop. There was no one guarding it, which was odd, in and of itself as was the feeling that there was no one actually in the shop. Vette got the door open whereupon I got the surprise of my short life.

Waiting for us was an enormous, bloated, purple skinned Hutt. From the top of it's grotesque head to the tip of its corpulent tail it was close to four meters long, with a face that seemed remarkably symmetrical. Of course, for a Hutt, that wasn't saying much. One of its orange eyes, the right one, was hidden behind a cybernetic ocular display and implant combination that even now was scrolling data. Like most of its species, it was otherwise nude, but I suppose that's not a thing when you have no external genitalia. Its belly was covered in blue white geometric tattoos that somehow made the creature even more disgusting, despite the lack of dangly bits. That was why I didn't sense anyone inside, Hutts are like holes in the Force, completely blank; like a black hole in space.

I didn't think, I acted, snatching my light sabers from my belt and snapping them on, ready to carve my father's captor in jerky. I was a micro second from leaping into action when two things happened at once. Dad's voice, in a tone that demands obedience, sharply commanded, “Bree! Stop!”

And the Hutt threw up his hands and shouted, “I'm on your side!”

In Basic.

I blinked in astonishment, staring at this contradiction when dad stepped between me and the Hutt. “Bree, allow me to introduce my friend, Doctor Juvard Illip Oggurobb.”

The Hutt chuckled in the basso voice I recognized from the holo-calls. “The pleasure is entirely mine!”

I finally got my brain working again, turned off my sabers, and exclaimed, “You speak Basic!” That got another laugh from the creature.

“All Hutts speak Basic,” he informed me. “Most simply refuse to as a way of asserting dominance. As a scientist, I find any disruption in the accurate transmission of data to be appalling, so I speak in Basic when I am conversing with beings whose primary language is Basic. On a personal note, I find the language readily lends itself to innuendo and puns that amuse me as well.”

“You're a Hutt!”

“And you're a human,” he retorted with some amusement. “Now that we've classified things, let's discuss our collective escape.”

I have to admit, my personal opinion of Hutts as a species didn't include the word 'jolly', but Dr Juvard was evidently something of an iconoclast where Hutts were concerned. Marveling at this revelation, I turned to Dad. “This is the scientist you went looking for to break mom out of Arcann's Vault of the Damned?”

Doctor Juvard seemed a bit crest fallen at having his thunder stolen, but he bounced back quickly. “Oh, you discovered her location? Excellent. I can still be of use in planning her liberation...”

“She's already been liberated,” I told him, then turned back to dad. “Your friend?”

Now, I hadn't seen my father in almost three years, which doesn't seem like a lot, but they say you do a lot of growing up from eighteen to twenty one. Though, truth be told, Dad has been obsessed with finding mom for so long, I think he really hasn't seen me for years. He gave me another of his long, appraising looks as if he was updating his mental portrait of me, then he chuckled. “Yes, we've shared a mutual hardship,” he told me ruefully. “And he's a mean Dejarik player, as I've discovered.”

“How are we supposed to get him out of here?” I demanded. “He'll slow us down!”

The Hutt laughed again, I guess he found just about everything funny, as he pointed at the window behind me. “I don't think I'll have to run too far.”

I turned, seeing the boarding ramp of the Kestrel no more than fifty meters from the glass. It's hard to admit, but I have to say I was coming to admire this Hutt. “You really did think of everything, didn't you?”

Juvard shrugged, with a grin that, given his face, seemed more than a bit evil. It promised a payback to Toborro that would likely make trivial the worst a Sith Lord could contemplate. Though, with his lifetime, he could take decades, if not centuries to plan it. “Well, in my defense, I am a genius, and I've had years to plan this particular escapade. Shall we?”

Now I was sure I admired this Hutt.

* * *

Now, in the Holo-serials, this would be the part where Toborro would have slithered through a door and made some kind of speech about having anticipated Juvard's betrayal, it was all a trap, you know the stereotypes. Well, in real life, well laid plans tend to go off, well, well. We got Juvard and Dad outside and stashed behind some crates where they wouldn't draw attention while Vette and I walked up to the Kestrel and began my pre-flight. Hutts have something of a fascination with humanoid females, don't ask me why, and so their retinues tend to be dominated by them. Guards, techs, enforcers? Those tended to be male, but if you're looking for a job with a Hutt, being female is usually a plus.

That translates to no one gave us a second glance, not that there was a lot of activity to begin with. Still, it took me almost fifteen minutes to get the checks done and we were both sweating every second of it. Finally, it was just a matter of turning over the engines so I got busy on that while Vette gave Dad, Kale and the Doctor the high sign. It probably only took them thirty seconds to get over to us, but it felt like years until at last the hatch open light went out and I heard Kale yell, “Go, Bree!”

The Kestrel lifted up quickly and even though we took some fire from the defensive emplacements of Toborro's estate, the nimble little bird let us get around them without being hit. I flew away from both Toborro's palace and the little estate where Vette's mother was waiting for us, in case we were followed or tracked. With as much static as this cursed planet was putting out, I don't think anyone could track anything, but better safe than sorry.

I took us most of the way to orbit, trying to raise Koth, but all I got was static and no trace of the Black Eagle. I wanted so desperately to worry, to go rushing off searching for him, but I couldn't risk getting this ship shot out from under me. So I leveled off, well short of leaving the atmosphere and started flying in random directions. Once I was satisfied we made a clean getaway, I turned the Kestrel back around towards Vette's mother and the other servants. It was going to be a cramped ride back there with a Hutt, but that was certainly a small price to pay for putting Makeb in our afterburner.

Besides, with any luck, we'd be docking with the Black Eagle, and better than doubling to amount of transport space. “Where are we going?” Juvard wanted to know from down in the passenger compartment.

“We have other people to rescue,” Kale told him. “At least they aren't under guard. It shouldn't take long.”

“Other people?” Torm asked.

I hadn't noticed it before, but Kale actually sounded remarkably like dad. “The mercenary group this planet was using as a security force turned on them.”

“The Interstellar Regulators,” Dad replied. “Yes, Lippi told me.”

“Well, they must have decided the Hutts, no offense, sir, weren't paying them enough.”

“None taken,” Juvard assured him. “You can't think less of my species than I do.”

Kale's voice took on that matter of fact tone he used when he was discussing something he disapproved of. “They turned into slavers. We came across a group that had ransacked the plantation Vette lives at. That's how we met her and her mother, by liberating them. They assisted our operation to free you and we promised them a way off Makeb.”

“Good man,” dad complimented him. “Where is Nyeomi?”

“She took command of the fleet before we left,” Kale told him. “They should be well established on Odessen by now.”

I heard the curiosity in dad's voice. “Fleet?”

“Lana has been busy,” Kale told him with a laugh. “We've got much more than the little handful we had when you left. Now, we have the beginnings to resist Arcann and the Eternal Empire. A true Alliance, Sith Empire, Republic, Jedi, everyone with the will to resist is answering Mom's call.”

The basso voice rumbled with something like pride. “Then count me in as well. I owe your mother a debt of gratitude for allowing you two to rescue us and a Hutt, well, this Hutt in any case, always makes good on his debts.”

“We can certainly use a...being...of your skills, Doctor,” Kale assured him. I kept my own misgivings to myself and concentrated on my flying.

* * *

Ranna and most of the house 'staff' joined us in our cramped space on the Kestrel, but Vette's father, Tarlam, refused, claiming he would go see about his son. The fact that he was abandoning the daughter he'd made by rape in fact, if not in name, didn't occur to him at all. Vette put on a very brave face, but I could hear the agony in her as she sat next to me and held back the tears.

I had been concentrating so much on disliking her, I hadn't once thought of her as a person; just someone who I was sure was using my brother. And while I might think she was far better off away from any kind feelings towards her mother's rapist, I could feel the ache of the utter rejection. That secret hope that, somehow, a creep and a monster would turn into some kind of decent person. I reached out, both with my hand and the Force, touching her skin and her soul with condolence. “I'm sorry,” I whispered, and I'd never meant the words more.

She looked at me, her blue eyes filled with tears, then somehow we were in a hug and she was sobbing. I knew I came from a life of privilege, born into nobility, strong with the Force, but to come across someone who had known such hardship and suffering, to not feel for them would make me less than human. True, I had lost my parents for significant portions of my life, but I also had them back. I could both feel what she was suffering, and feel a bit guilty that I could forge my happy ending, but there would always be a void in Vette's heart where a father should be. So I held my brother's lover and I whispered things would be alright, and I decided I had been petty long enough.

We held each other most of the way up into orbit, which to be fair, is a pretty lax period of time for most fights. The vast majority of it was on auto pilot. Perhaps I wasn't as ready as I might have been for the jump to light speed, but honestly, I felt what I was doing was more important. They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression, but Vette and I mended a long stretch of fences on that little crying jag.

And, what happened after, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The safe jump point from Makeb was better than double the normal distance from a planet, because of that interference. That was how the fighters got the drop on us when we arrived on the Black Eagle, and it was how they were able to sneak up on us again this time. They weren't playing nice this time, there was no challenge to heave to, the first clue I got they were after us was an explosion of a laser blast off our port bow and close enough to rock the ship. “What was that?” shouted Kale from below.

Vette and I scrambled to get ourselves back together and me to get my head into flying for my life. “We're under attack!” I shouted down to Kale as I began to jink hard to throw their aim off. “Get up here, I need you!”

Two more blasts hit close enough to rattle us as I heard him scramble up from the little passenger compartment into the smaller cockpit. “Doesn't this thing have any guns?” he demanded, as he frantically looked over the panel.

“I didn't expect us to be getting into combat!” Juvard told him sharply. “It's speed was more important than shooting our way out of trouble.”

“Navi-computer!” I growled at him. “Get us coordinates for the jump!”

“On it.”

There followed a few minutes of tense, interesting, flying, which probably didn't help Kale's calculations and he finally snapped, “Set on two seven one and hold it steady! I almost have it...”

“Look out!” Vette screamed, and the canopy was filled with a debris field; the destroyed remains of a star ship. It was mostly Plastiform, conduit, and chunks of durasteel, but right as I got us through most of it, a large piece was clearly visible in the light of the laser blasts.

We would have hit it if Vette hadn't shoved the yoke down hard; I was rooted in place, stunned. I heard Kale and Vette shouting at me, from seemed like miles away, but I couldn't hear them. Nothing mattered but the horror I felt. Kale muscled me aside, as I stared out the canopy and got us on the right heading; he's the reason we're alive. It was him that kept his head, that stayed cool under fire. He made good our escape and got us into hyperspace.

Even as the stars rushed at me and we slipped into the blue white wormhole, all I could do is see it in my mind, over and over again, drifting in space. The Fury-class interceptor was very distinctive in design and in space I saw one of the destroyed wings of the Black Eagle, drifting away from the debris field that was her wreck. My mind seized, denying what I'd seen, denying everything, shutting out the hard reality of what I had seen.

The Black Eagle had been destroyed; Koth was dead.

* * *

3617 BBY

Commander's Apartment, Alliance Headquarters, Odessen, Wild Space

The Alliance HQ had come quite a ways from the wilderness of the fleet's arrival. The pathfinders had selected a gorge, formed by a river that had cut deeply into the bedrock of the area, surrounded by an old growth forest for hundreds of kilometers in any direction. The exposed granite cliffs were naturally hard, practically armored and the river below provided fresh water. On the summit of the gorge a massive, durasteel domed building, low, squat and wide had been built that served as the primary base. This had been extended by burrowing deeply into the cliff side, while balconies and terraces dotted the cliffs where the tunnels emerged for air, guard points, or simply ambiance. On the far side of the gorge a landing field had been carved out of the forest with several bridges at different levels spanning the gorge back to the base proper. Beyond the field, land had been further cleared for pasture and farming to supply the base.

I was standing on a terrace, over looking the river below, that was off my mother's quarters. We had arrived late in the local afternoon the day prior and the reunion of my parents had been an emotional affair. They had withdrawn to her rooms and everyone knew better than to interrupt them until this morning.

I had been summoned just after breakfast to give my report, which I had just delivered, while mom and dad, or, I should say, my mistress, the Alliance Commander and her husband had their morning coffee. There was a long pause after I admitted my faults in our escape, my inaction that had nearly cost us our lives, as my mistress regarded me. I had been eleven when my mistress was taken from me. At the time, I was only just starting to see her as a person other than 'my mother,' and I realized I had very little experience in judging her moods and expressions. She sat, listening as I had accounted for myself, drinking her coffee and only once or twice interrupting me for clarification on a point.

Now I was finished, and the silence hung heavy in the air as my mind began to imagine what form her displeasure with me would take. Darth Tari looked at failure as an opportunity for learning and usually used a series of questions to lead me to understand where I had made my missteps so I could see what I could or should have done differently. But my only real memories of mom's teaching style had been on Belsavis, over a decade previous, and a treasured memory of sleeping next to her on a make shift palate in the Imperial Command Post.

Somehow, I didn't think a nap was going to be in my future after so spectacular a failure.

Finally, she put her cup down and asked the last thing I expected her to. “You were...close...to Koth, weren't you Bree? You didn't feel a disruption in the Force with his passing?”

I blinked in surprise, more befuddled than if she had struck me, though I imagine it felt like she had, metaphorically speaking. “I...that is...no, mistress. I...I was so preoccupied with freeing Father and the strange catastrophe on Makeb that I think, looking back on it, his loss would have been drowned out by the greater calamity I was dealing with.”

“Do you?”

I opened and closed my mouth, trying to parse her question and why she might ask it. “I...well, you don't, mistress?”

“Did you love this boy, Bree?”

Why would she ask me that? The thought shot through my brain like a laser blast, ricocheting around my skull. This time, however, I was able to keep control of my mouth so I didn't babble. “I honestly can't answer that, mistress. I cared for him, but I don't know that I would use the word 'love'.”

“Taybri Belos-Fens, do not play clever word games with me. Did you love this boy?”

I couldn't keep her gaze and looked at the floor of the terrace. Her command made me realize things I had been hiding from myself. Now, in the morning sunlight, I had to admit to them and that stung, making Koth's loss hurt even more. “Yes, mistress,” I whispered.

The china rattled slightly as she picked up her cup and took a sip. “Then, my apprentice, you should have felt the disruption in the Force at his demise. The question now, is why didn't you?”

“But, mistress, the Force was crawling with terror on that planet. It was so thick you could smell the fear like a stink on the wind. Surely that would have drowned out a single life, wouldn't it?”

“So certain are you?” she asked in a rather strange tone of voice. She looked at me sidelong and made up her mind about something so her next question was firm and commanding. “Where were you when I was frozen in carbonite?”

Once more, a question without the slightest tangent of connection to the conversation rocked me back on my heels. Still, I kept control of my mouth and answered, “With Aunt...uh...Darth Tari, on the Warspite.”

“And where was the Warspite?”

Again I felt myself blink in surprise and confusion at this line of questioning. “I...I don't remember exactly, mistress, somewhere between Ruuria and Dromund Kaas, I believe...” Was that a smile she was holding back?

“Close enough,” she allowed. “And where was I?”

“On Zakuul.”

“Did you feel me imprisoned?”

I shuddered, remembering that horrible sensation of utter cold. “Yes, mistress.”

“So, you felt your mother frozen across the galaxy, but you think you wouldn't feel your lovers death a few hundred kilometers away?”

Dad chuckled. “I'm no Sith, but even I know that's not how the Force works.” Mom playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

“Hush, you,” she commanded, then, her yellow eyes steely, she turned back to me. “My Apprentice, you will find that, within the Force, connection, is the over riding factor in our lives. Of course we will hear the echo of great suffering of many through the Force, but, and pay attention, our loved ones, those closest to us will always resonate stronger in the Force to us. We are Sith, we use our emotions and our connections to become stronger with the Force. So too are their echos stronger to us.”

I looked at her, struggling to fully comprehend what she was driving at. “So, I should have felt Koth die, even over that disaster with hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people disrupting the Force?”

“What are a million strangers to you against someone you love?” she wanted to know. “Of course we use our power to do the most good for the most people, that is why we gather power in the first place. But we are neither soulless, nor passionless and so those closest to us will always matter more than a stranger. That is only natural.”

“But...but I didn't feel him die!” I protested. “Does that mean I didn't really love him?”

She sighed in frustration as though I had missed something she found obvious. “Yes, that could be an explanation,” she allowed. “So, were you lying to me when you said you loved him?”

“No, mistress.”

“So there is a connection between you and Koth. Search your feelings, my apprentice. Open yourself to the Force and tell me if Koth is one with it once more.”

“Koth is alive?” I asked, amazed.

“You tell me,” she retorted with a smile. I felt my heart beating in my chest as I closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing. Odessen was alive with the Force and it vibrated through everything around and on it. As I opened myself to the Force, I saw my mother shining next to me, as clearly as if my eyes had been open. Beyond, then came the beacons of the Jedi and Sith who had joined us, all around us in the base became apparent to me. As I sent my awareness out, far, far away, like the end of a tunnel so long you almost couldn't see the end of it, I saw a light. The light of the man who had shared my bed, shared my body, whose breath I had tasted in the most intimate of bliss. I touched his mind and felt the vague impression of a dark cell, pain of rough treatment and then for a split second, he became aware of me.

Bree?

My eyes snapped open and I was on Odessen again, standing before my parents. “Koth is alive!” I declared with utter certainty. Mother smiled and raised her coffee cup.

“Well done, my apprentice,” she congratulated. Then it hit me who Darth Tari had gotten her teaching style from and I felt more than a little embarrassed.

“Mistress, may I go and...”

“Patience,” she commanded. “For all things, Lord Taybri, there is a time. First, go and fetch your brother and this Hutt scientist you have brought me. I want to know everything about this Isotope Five.”

I bowed. “As you wish, Mistress.”

* * *

3617 BBY

Main Briefing Room, Alliance Headquarters, Odessen, Wild Space

Mom didn't speak long with Dr Juvard before she called for an immediate alert and the assembly of her War Council. Soon, a room that was normally dominated by the round holographic projector in the center was dominated by the Hutt scientist and self professed genius standing next to it. The room itself was deeply carved out of bedrock of the gorge, which started as a natural cavern or fissure in the granite that had been opened up. The floor was actually a metal box mesh in a series of platforms with little stairs to link them so the floor could be a semblance of even through out. While portable power cells and terminals had been stuffed in where ever there was level ground to put them where they wouldn't get wet and cables and conduit festooned the walls like technical garlands snaking through out the base.

The projector was at the high point in the back half of the room so everyone could see it, though I can't imagine that laying...standing? Honestly, I'm not sure which was correct to describe a being like a Hutt. Either way, I'm sure he wasn't any kind of comfortable on that metal mesh. On the hologram, floating next to him was one of those ball and stick models I vaguely remembered from chemistry class.

In the room was a veritable who's who of the Alliance, in addition to Mom, Dad and Dr Juvard, there was Darth Tari and all of her present and former apprentices. Next to her was Master Vost, the senior of the Jedi who had come to help and Admiral Aygo with Commodore Barsal of the military wing of the Alliance. Of course, Uncle Silas and Aunt Fable were there as well. Intelligence wise we had Lana Beniko and Theron Shan, though on opposite sides of the table from each other. That was an old argument, of course, although there was an odd little knot of emotion between Lana and Mom, but I didn't have much time to try and puzzle it out because Dr Juvard's basso voice commanded attention.

“Illerium,” he declared with a gesture at the model. “You gentle beings may know the substance as the primary explosive used in star fighter ejection seats and the explosive bolts of escape pods. Volatile in any oxygen atmosphere, but less energetic and more stable than detonite, which is why it is the primary explosive in these applications. It has long been theorized that Illerium is formed in Neutron stars, but becomes stable after some event that breaks up the star, such as passing too close to another super nova or similar energetic events.”

He made a gesture and the hologram changed to a different model. “This is Isotope-5, a highly radioactive, degradation of Illerium that we've managed to create in a few experimental laboratories in small amounts. This, gentle beings, as been discovered, in a stable state, on Makeb. This is Toborro's great discovery at the center of Makeb. Something truly unique in all the galaxy–and worth destroying this planet to obtain. Imagine a substance as light as shimmersilk but stronger than durasteel. It distorts gravity and electromagnetic fields so predictably that it can be refined into fuel.”

Lana raised her hand as if she was still in school. “But, it's highly radioactive, you said? Being around it would be lethal, wouldn't it?”

Dr Juvard sighed heavily. “Not any longer. The raw material can be bombarded with particles to make it safe to handle with bare hands.”

“Who came up with that?” demanded Aunt Fable.

“I did,” the Doctor replied. “I am not proud of how my intellect has been misused, but it had the efficacy of keeping myself and Torm alive.”

“There's no blame to be laid, Doctor,” Mom assured him. “Please continue.”

He nodded gravely, then turned back out the crowd. “The energy potential of such refined Isotope-5 is so great, a micro gram could power this holotable for a century. This is the source of the navigation and electromagnetic interference on Makeb. And with it, Toborro intends to build a new series of weapons and ships, powered by Isotope-5 to make the Hutt Cartel a major player on the galactic stage, perhaps even to the point to challenge Zakuul.”

Mom stepped forward. “Which is exactly why we're going to take it away from him,” she declared.

That caused more than a little stir among the assembled, but it was Admiral Aygo who gave it voice. “Commander?” the canid like Bothan asked in his graveled tone of voice. “You mean to take an entire planet?”

“Not in so many words, Admiral,” she replied quickly. “I mean to preform a surgical strike, to cut the head off of Toborro's organization, liberate Makeb and return it to it's people and make off with any Isotope-5 he's mined and make Makeb useless to him or anyone else by destroying the mines and refineries.”

Commodore Barsal rubbed his chin. “That's a tall order, your Grace. Even with all of the training we've done to decrease our reaction times for targets of opportunity like this.”

“Not as tall as you'd think,” Shan countered, taking over the holographic table and changing the image to one of Makeb. “The Hutt's co-opted the planetary defense force, the Interstellar Regulators, who were a mercenary group of some note. While they're well equipped on the ground and with small arms, their only planetary defenses are a fighter wing of about five squadrons, mostly out of date Republic models from the Republic-Sith War.”

“It'd be something close to a fair fight against our fighter wing, and about half of them are of that vintage,” Aygo murmured thoughtfully. “But with no capital ships, our fleet would certainly swing the scales in our favor. It's risky, Commander, but it is doable.”

“Especially considering the gains we'll likely make in war material,” Barsal added.

“Won't the Republic have something to say about it?” Torm asked, causing Lana to lean into him.

“No,” she told him quickly. “Makeb is a neutral world, that's why the Hutts could stage this coup and not risk a response. The PR victory will be substantial as well, I would think.” She winked at mom. “The first action of the Eternal Alliance being a mission of liberation for a neutral planet, ignored by the entire Galaxy? I can definitely work with that.”

“How will we fly through all that interference to launch a ground assault?” a gruff man wearing the uniform of a Sith Empire Infantry Major I didn't recognize asked.

“We won't,” Theron told him, indicating the hologram of Makeb. “The fighters are based out of this orbital elevator on the northern hemisphere. Knock out the fighters and we can take the elevator and use it for infiltration and extraction without risking a single ship.”

Mom nodded, a stern expression on her face. “Alright then, Admiral, Commodore, I'll leave you to plan our arrival, bombardment and withdrawal. Darth Murr, Master Vost, you'll both be with me, as our Force users will be spear heading the ground assault. Major Pierce, you're with us as well. We'll get back together at thirteen hundred for lunch and to compare our rough ideas. Our rebellion starts today, my friends. May the Force be with us!”

* * *

3617 BBY

Paddock and Stables, Alliance Headquarters, Odessen, Wild Space

Once mom and the movers and shakers withdrew to start planning in earnest, I made myself scarce and let my feet take me across the main bridge to the other side of the gorge. I was a do-er, not a thinker, when the time came to go start killing people and doing, they would give me a goal and I'd go do it. In the meantime, I'd just be in the way, so I decided to go out into Nature and try to sort out what I was feeling. In the space of a few days, I'd dealt with the death of a lover, been forced to realize I did, in fact love him, then discovered him to be alive; only to be stymied in my desire to rush off and rescue him.

Now that my nose had been rubbed in my connection and feelings, my skin itched to be after him.

My belly ached in sympathy for his empty one, bruises from his mistreatment rose up like ghosts in my skin to fade when I looked at them, and the anger! Oh by the Force my anger was a furnace fit to forge the fiery heart of a star! I looked at the ships parked on the landing field and for a brief moment, I fantasized about stealing one, rushing after my man to save him. Then, the Force would be coy and make me remember where that obsession with my mother had led my father; how it had taken him from me when I had needed him most. Nor could I forget how my mother, freed from her prison, aware of the plight of the love of her life, and yet still choosing to do what was best for the Galaxy and mastering her desperate desire to rush off and find him.

I concentrated on the shame I felt for my desire to give into my rashness and passed by the field to the main paddock.

Here, my senses were soothed by earthy, familiar smells of large beasts, and their larger droppings that were currently being composted into fertilizer. Surprisingly, some of my fondest memories of my childhood was not adventures I'd had with my mother, but the stables on the estate and getting to care for my pony. The memory brought a stab of old pain as I thought of my prized possession, doubtlessly long dead on Ruuria and left behind the night we had fled for our lives.

The night I lost my mother and would begin to lose my father.

I arrived at the split rail fence of the paddock and looked out at a motley collection of animals. There was a sizable herd of Banthas which were probably being used as plow animals to a gossip of Blurrgs that were gathered around a trough, drinking. There were even a couple of Fathiers on the far side of the pen, glancing nervously at the other animals.

A pair of Banthas were being brought out into the paddock from the stable and they called to their herd mates, drawing my eyes where I was surprised to find Vette driving them. I waved and she came over, wiping her forehead as she did so. She had changed from the stealth suit we'd freed Father and Doctor Oggurobb in to a pair of sensible and slightly baggy cargo pants with boots that came up to her knee to protect them from the muck of the paddock. Over this was a simple halter top in gray that matched the skull cap she wore that covered the base of her lekku. Her blue skin was covered in a sheen of sweat that showed she'd been working for some time. “What brings you out here?” she asked as she arrived.

I gave a vague gesture at the gorge behind me. “Waiting on the quality to decide what we're doing. What about you?”

She shrugged, producing a canteen from her belt that she offered to me first, then took a sip when I declined. “Farm girl,” she declared, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “I can help here, so here I am. What? You thought I was a house Twi'lek, used to just dancing around in skimpy outfits?”

I looked at her side long. “I did mean it when I said I was sorry,” I told her. “Would saying it again help?”

She shrugged and leaned against the fence next to me. “No, you don't have to, sorry,” she muttered, then sighed and looked out at the animals. “Kale was 'busy with command'. Not the first time I've been shown the door so I figured I'd best make myself useful.”

“My brother isn't like that,” I declared, defending him. “He is in the military and he does have superiors to report to. Just like me!”

Her eyes looked at me out of the corner, sidelong; it as if she was afraid to look me in the face to see if I was lying. “Hey, I know you're tight with your brother, guess you don't have to worry about me anymore.”

“My brother is his own man,” I told her earnestly. “And if he wants to break up with you, he'll tell you to your face.”

Finally she turned and there was a strange expression of fear, hope and shame on her face as she did so. Then it changed to a look of shock as she saw something of what I was dealing with. “Poodo, Bree! I'm sorry! I didn't even think about you losing Koth...”

I sighed. “Well, that's not as bad as I thought, at least. Koth is alive...”

“What? That's great!” she exclaimed.

I gave her a gesture to turn down her enthusiasm. “And he's being held prisoner, probably by the Hutts.” She winced, but reached out and rubbed my shoulder and that connection felt good. Anchoring me a bit in someone who looked like she was going to be a good friend. Despite my stupidest efforts. “Mom can't spare me right now to go get him, so I'm just sitting around chewing nails...” I shuddered, feeling the ghost of some blow to him. “Vette, when I get a hold of these people, it won't be pretty!”

“We'll get him free,” she promised me. “I'll help.” She rolled her eyes and made a gesture back towards the base. “Like you need my help with all these warrior types around...”

“I appreciate it,” I told her. “Really.”

That seemed to catch her off guard and she smiled one of the first genuine smiles I'd seen on her face. It was a pretty smile, too, with her guard down and being unpretentious. “Don't mention it,” she told me. “Well, otherwise, how's it going, my lord?”

“I thought we were friends?” I protested and she just grinned and wagged a finger at me.

“Got ya!” She offered me the canteen again and this time I did drink from it. “You Force users are all wound too tight. You need a friend like me to keep you from taking yourself too seriously.”

“Then it's good we met, right?” I shot back. We stood in silence for a moment, me giving her back her canteen that she drank from before returning to her belt. “How's your mother?”

Vette thought that funny and chuckled. “Oh, you should see her,” she told me with a wink in a conspiratorial tone. “She walked into the big kitchen like she owned it and started putting it to rights. I imagine she's taken over by now. Running this place isn't that different than running our farm, after all.”

“Apprentice!”

The call of a familiar voice brought my eyes back to the trail by the space port, to find my previous Mistress, Darth Tari walking towards me, with Kale beside her. My former mistress was wearing the gray and black fatigues she favored when going somewhere that danger was in the offering for, both of her light sabers hanging from her belt. It was odd that she and my mother were now about the same age physically though they were still different chronologically. She was fit, despite the four kits she had birthed, and I know worry for me had probably taken a few years off the end of he life, but she was still every bit as lethal as she had been in her day as mothers apprentice. I bowed as she swept up to us, even though we were both, technically apprentices of my mother, Darth Mur was the senior of us and a full Darth as well. “How may I serve you, my lord?”

Tari's eyes swept past me to Vette. “This is the Twi'lek, Captain?” she asked of Kale.

“Yes, my lord,” he replied, but I was just a bit shocked.

“Captain?” I demanded.

My brother's face was well suited for the smirk that hung from it. “It seems the Admiral was quite pleased with my detached service and the additions we brought to the Alliance.”

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Tari muttered as she turned to Vette. “I understand you have intimate knowledge of Makeb, Vette, is it?”

“Yes,” she replied guardedly. “Uh, yes, my lord,” was hastily added. “I've lived my whole life on Makeb.” Tari reached into a pocket on the fatigues and produced a holographic display disk she clicked on. There it displayed a long, spindle shaped building on a mesa that was taller than the hologram showed.

“Are you familiar with this building?”

Vette's head bobbled. “Yes...yes, my lord. It's Gravity Hook 7, it's an orbital elevator, about three kilometers from the plantation where I grew up. We sent most of our produce through it for export off world.”

Tari clicked off the display, her gold eyes just a bit narrow. “You've been inside it? You're familiar with the layout? How far up?”

“Yes, I've been all the way up to the platform. We had an issue with a shipment once and I had to reclaim a shipment lot of jam from a freighter.” My godmother's grin was normally feral, but now, it promised mayhem.

“Excellent.” Turning to me, she declared, “Dr. Oggurobb believes the Regulators may be holding your man Koth there.”

“They have a base just beside the mesa!” Vette volunteered.

“Even if he's not there, we should be able to access their computer network and discover where he is, while we find the location of the mines for the strike teams,” Mistress Tari finished. I bowed, wondering how much gratitude I owed my godmother for being put on the mission that had the highest chance of finding and freeing Koth. She grinned and playfully mussed my hair and declared, “You'll be doing my laundry for a month so don't over starch my dresses.”

“No, ma'am!” I assured her.

“Vette, you know how to use a blaster?” Vette nodded somewhat cautiously. “Good, go draw one from the armory then report to that ship over there.”

“The antique?” Vette asked, with visible concern.

“Don't let her owner hear you talking that way,” Tari warned her. “The name is the Aces and Eights. You too, youngsters,” she ordered me and Kale. “Get whatever you need, collect up X4 and report for take off.”

* * *

3617 BBY

Aboard the Glorious Jewel, over Makeb, Aida Sector

One of the advantages of having so many skilled people from both the Sith Empire and those disenchanted with the meek surrender of the Republic was that the Eternal Alliance had the pick of the litter. While we had taken off, the tech boys had gotten busy, turning the Alliance's considerable intelligence assets towards breaking the Hutt's security and finding out all of Toborro's dirty little secrets. We were two days out from Odessen, half way across the Galaxy to Makeb when we were diverted to ambush a freighter, the Glorious Jewel, on her way to Makeb.

Thanks to the scheduling information I'd squeezed out of Odu, we knew that the hyper drive of the Glorious Jewel was temperamental, and needed to stop half way to Makeb to cool off and recycle. We had laid a trap in the deserted little system they used to do that. She'd been running mostly empty, as Toborro's operation was getting into the end game; her job was to transport spoils from Makeb back to Nar Shadda.

Oh, the crew put up some resistance, but even crack troops have their courage falter when fighting Sith, and the rag tag crew of a (mostly) pirate freighter had no face to show at all against us. We had control of the ship within five minutes. The captain, a particularly disgusting example of a Jablogian who was nearly fat enough to pass himself off as a Hutt, actually soiled himself when I put my light saber under his nose and demanded his surrender.

The less said about that particular smell the better, but it gives a whole new meaning to being in bad odor...

The stars had returned and the Glorious Jewel was coasting towards Makeb and the orbital platform of Gravity Hook Seven. Darth Tari and I shared a wink as our arrival caused exactly zero fuss. The speakers over head in the somewhat cramped cockpit of the freighter crackled to life and a bored sounding voice demanded, “Glorious Jewel, I have you on the board now, transmit your clearance code.”

The Jablogian made to move to the communications station, but I had a saber in hand and ignited it under his nose again. “Remember,” I warned him with great menace, “If you betray us, what happens to us won't matter. You won't live to see it; you'll die first.”

The great jowls and folds of scarlet skin paled almost to pink as he wagged his head, his beady eyes blinking spastically. “I remember,” he whimpered. I let him reach the controls and he clicked a switch. “Gravity Hook Seven, this the Glorious Jewel, transmitting now...”

He pressed a button and for a moment the only sound in the compartment was air moving and the hum of my saber. After what felt like an eternity, the speaker crackled again. “Alright, you're cleared for port four. Welcome back.”

I nodded at the sergeant of the commando team we had brought with us and in short order the 'captain' was back in irons and frog marched back to the improvised brig we had set up. My sabers back on my belt, Darth Mur gave the ship to the skeleton crew we'd leave in charge of it and took the lead to the air lock. As we walked, she took a holographic projector disk from her pocket and clicked it on, looking at the head and shoulders of the lead technical espionage specialists we'd brought along. “Lieutenant, you have good news for me?”

As soon as we'd left hyperspace, two of his operators and little clutch of Droids had gone outside the ship and as soon as we'd docked quickly made their way to the communications lines down the tether, tying in their comrades directly to the hard lines of the station. “Yes, my lord, we have complete control of their communications and alarm systems. You are clear to engage.”

“Excellent!” She clicked off the device and returned it to her pocket before removing her light sabers from her belt. “Weapons free, lads,” she informed the commando team that was gathered by the lock. “In twenty minutes I want to be in control of this platform.”

There was a spatter of acknowledgments, then we all gripped our weapons and waited for the lock to cycle. This was the most dangerous part of the operation, of any operation, really. Being in a confined space with a single, one man wide exit; kill zone was the name most soldiers gave it. Everything depended on getting out of the air lock as fast as possible. The door opened and the first Regulator died before he had time to realize he was in a trap.

We surged forward, with a flurry of blaster bolts seeking targets as we did so, into large, loading dock that was oddly full of people. Our light sabers reflected a few sporadic, reflexive attacks, but with shocking quickness we had control of the compartment and there were nearly two hundred men and women of various ages and species, on their knees in surrender.

All of them chained together.

It was not often that my former mistress gives in to her feline nature, and it was usually only in moments of intense emotion. I happened to be next to her when the quiet fell and realized we now were in possession of a slaver's cargo. She was so infuriated she hissed. “Captain!” she shouted, her voice trembling with tightly checked anger.

“My lord?”

“I am no longer interested in prisoners. You and your men take this station and kill every slaver you find.”

“Right away, my lord!”

One of the Jedi who had been assigned to this mission made a motion as if to object and Darth Mur wheeled on her, Tari's own blades still ignited, but in neutral positions. “Defend these slavers at your own peril, master Jedi!” she warned.

The Jedi swallowed and shook her head. “I...didn't say anything...” she managed.

“Don't,” Tari warned her, and to my immense surprise and delight, I clearly heard Vette's voice from behind us.

“Damned right!”

Darth Mur then turned to me. “Apprentice, while we are awaiting the security of the platform, get these people on board and see that they are taken care of.”

I nodded, returning my own sabers to my belt. “Yes, mistress.” I then turned and addressed the crowd. “Listen to me. You are all free now. Stand and file onto the ship in an orderly manner where we can get your restraints off and see you safely off Makeb. Those of you with medical issues will be seen first so let my soldiers know what they are.” Vette and I shared a glance and she immediately took charge and herded them into the Glorious Jewel. Darth Mur, who was noticeably calmer now joined me as we watched the line of refugees enter our captured freighter.

“You and the Twi'lek work well together,” she observed.

“Vette and I had a rocky start,” I admitted. “But we've gotten things sorted out now.”

She nodded sagely. “Good. Once you've gotten our refugees sorted, meet me with her at the central elevator.”

“Right away, mistress.”

* * *

I don't feel the need to comment on the simple butchery that followed. There is no glory to be had in putting down a rabid animal, or in the dispatch of evil men. It is just something that has to be done, and we did it.

On the bright side, we were able to capture most of the Regulators pilots and their fighters in their hanger except for a small patrol that was already out. They were handily dispatched by the fleet when they arrived; so far everything was going according to plan.

* * *

Fortunately, Gravity Hook Seven was primarily involved with cargo, rather than passenger service, so the trolleys going up and down the tether were huge, enabling us to move our entire attack force in a single trip. With a well entrenched rear guard to hold the platform, we descended the tether, every man lost in his or her own thoughts, checking weapons, grenades and bandoleers, mentally preparing for the coming fight.

I remembered a similar situation, my first and only mission I had undertaken as my mother's apprentice and smiled at the memory before I gave it voice again. “Nobody fart,” I commanded. As it had years ago, the tension was broken and laughter washed like a wave over the carriage. Vette rolled her eyes at me, but she was grinning from ear cone to ear cone. As I got my sabers comfortable in my hands, Darth Mur began to give the morale speech that leaders do in situations like this.

“Those of you tech specialists, without combat experience, stick close to your minder. Jedi and Sith will lead the charge, but no matter what is waiting for us when these doors open, get clear of the doors. Out into hell is the only way through this. Do not hesitate, charge! Work as a team, and we will all get through this.”

“Alliance!” the troops shouted.

I worked on keeping my hands from gripping the sabers too tightly as time drew out like a blade, infinitely long and sharp. A life time passed in that carriage in the space of a few minutes as I worked on my breathing and beside me I heard Vette whisper, “I'm one with the Force and the Force is with me.”

Catching her eye, I joined her chant until the entire carriage was softly in chorus, “I'm one with the Force and the Force is with me.”

Then the carriage stopped and a dozen light sabers all snapped on with a hiss of ionizing air in perfect sync. The doors snapped open and the blaster bolts began to fly; our electronic warfare wasn't quite as successful as we'd hoped. We Jedi and Sith forced our way out, blades sweeping in unison as we protected the initial rush, reflecting the bolts back from whence they'd come. We'd made sure to load the front lines with former Sith Infantry who had joined the Alliance and were all both used to and trained to work with Sith Lords. Soon there was almost as much blaster fire coming over our shoulders from behind us and into our enemies as there was coming at us.

My arms were in constant motion as I gave myself to the Force, moving where it wanted me to move, hearing only the hum of my weapons and not the screams and cries of the wounded and dying around me. Then there was a sudden silence, there were no more defenders for us to kill. “Take the doors!” I heard Darth Mur shout, so I returned a saber to my belt to free a hand and grabbed Vette by the combat harness she was wearing using that to force her to keep the pace I set as I ran after my mistress.

Behind me was only the random calls of “Forward!” or “Medic!”

Vette was breathing heavy as we caught up Tari, her eyes wide with adrenaline and fear, but she had a good grip on her blaster and was remembering to keep it's muzzle in a safe direction. “Trap sprung!” Tari announced as we arrived, a feral grin on her face. “Now, which way?”

Vette managed to pry one of her hands from the blaster to point past the Cathar. “The loading docks are that way. They're sure to have another ambush set at the main doors, but they might have over looked the loading docks. We can flank them!”

Darth Mur seemed impressed with this, and quickly waved over a pair of officers. “Pierce,” she commanded. “I want you to take your section and feint at the main entrance. Keep them occupied and certain we mean to come through there.”

“I'm on it, milord!” he growled and departed at a trot, shouting for his soldiers. “Colonel Thul, you're with me. While Pierce has them by the nose, we're going to kick them in the tail.”

“Very good, my lord!” The great stream of Alliance soldiers began to part, like a river encountering a fork in it's bed. Most followed my mistress and I towards the loading docks and I wondered if a society so used to over looking servants would ignore what they might consider the 'servant's entrance'.

We were not slowed terribly, as this was a freight oriented facility, the hall way was wide to accommodate fork lifts and other container transport systems. Every now and then we'd come across a labor droid of some kind, confused by so many people in its area, but they were easily dealt with. I led the way out the doors, to be confronted with a small squad of soldiers, taken completely by surprise. My saber cut the nearest one's blaster in half and I held it before his face. “You have one chance to keep living,” I growled. “Where are your prisoners kept?”

The soldier's face became indignant. “I'm not going to...” was as far as he got. Light sabers have no blade per se, they are merely a coherent beam of plasma, contained in a magnetic field, so every portion of the beam is a cutting surface and flesh offers no resistance. With a contemptuous flick of my wrist, I decapitated him; a look of shock on his face quickly going slack as it and the body felt in opposite directions. I turned to the soldier next to the body.

“You have one chance...” I started, but he quickly dropped his blaster and pointed over my left shoulder.

“The stockade is labeled,” he babbled. “Big energy fence, just over the rise, you can't miss it...!”

“I'm looking for a Zakuul pilot, captured about a cycle ago; Koth Vortena is his name. Skin darker than mine, black curly hair, amber eyes and a goatee, have you seen him?”

The soldier frantically shook his head. “I don't work the stockade, I'm sorry, please don't kill me!”

“Sergeant,” I ordered. “Bind these men.”

“My lord,” the sergeant responded, roughly taking them all into custody. I turned to Darth Mur.

“Mistress, I have the location of my objective.”

My second mother smiled at me. “Patience, my apprentice,” she scolded me. “For all things there is a time. First we pacify the Regulators and make way for your mother and the rest of the strike team. You'll be reunited with your lover presently.”

I took a deep breath in through my nose to keep my emotions in check. “Yes, mistress. What are your orders?”

She turned to Vette. “Which way are the main doors from here?” Vette pointed off to the right and Tari nodded again. Looking back at me, she ordered, “Take half the force and flank to the left. I'll take the remainder the short way. We'll squeeze out the Regulators between us.”

“Right away,” I replied and began gesturing to my section as we took off at a trot around the Gravity Hook. At the base of it, it truly was an awe inspiring sight, seemingly an endless tower, stretching up into the heavens out of sight. This mesa was a bit proud from the remainder of the land mass we'd already had our adventures upon, I could even see the towers of Toborro's Estate from here. Fortunately it was anchored deeply into the bedrock and you can imagine the foundation of a structure the size of this was critical.

A ten minute jog got us around to the other side and we could see blaster bolts flying from a force hunkered down behind barricades in the drive way of the Hook, with a fairly spirited reply from Pierce's section. I have to give the big Major credit, I knew I had a quarter of the main attack force at my back and even I believed we were coming through those front doors. I caught sight of Darth Mur right as she caught sight of me and the Regulators saw us both.

There was a brief cry of alarm, and then it was nothing but the howl of blaster bolts, the explosions of grenades and every now and then a blast from a heavy mortar that we made our priority target so as to take it away from them as quickly as possible.

In short order the air stank from the ozone of blaster bolts and the smell of cooking flesh.

I have to give the Regulators recognition for their diligence. A lesser force would have broken and ran, but they knew they had the best ground they could have and stubbornly clung to it until there was only a scattered dozen or so of survivors who finally gave up and raised their weapons in surrender.

Once we had them sorted, the doors opened and Major Pierce led the way with Mom and the main attack force who had come down the Hook at his back. Darth Mur and I bowed to her, I sinking to one knee as was proper. Still, mom's smile made me feel warm all over. “Well done my apprentices,” she greeted us with a hug for us both. “Stand, Lord Taybri, you have earned your triumph. What casualties, Darth Mur?”

“Still being sorted, my mistress,” Tari replied. “But we have adequate strength to hold our rear.”

“Excellent,” Mom told her. “Hold this position at all costs.”

“It shall be done, Mistress.”

Mom's yellow eyes came to mine. “Lord Taybri, take your party and see about the rescue of our personnel and whatever information you can cull from their network.”

“It will be my pleasure, Mistress,” I assured her.

She smirked at me and I got a little embarrassed that my mother was picking up on accidental innuendo on my part. “Business first,” she ordered and gave a dismissive gesture. “On your way.”

“Yes, Mistress!”

* * *

3617 BBY

Headquarters of the Interstellar Regulators, base of Gravity Hook 7, Makeb, Aida Sector

No army is entirely fighting men. There will always be large numbers of personnel in the rear areas of an army, wagging the logistical tail of the killer dogs. Mechanics, cooks, stock men, medics, even camp followers and would be servants looking to cash in on the booty of soldiers flush with cash burning a hole in their pockets. Despite this, the camp of the Regulators was deserted. We had fought the battle against them practically on the front doorstep of the base so the rear echelon types had the benefit of seeing the battle being lost in real time.

Most had taken anything of handy value that wasn't nailed down in lieu of their final pay checks and filed their resignations effective immediately.

The camp was deserted, offering us no resistance whatsoever as we flooded in. And while the smaller, easily transportable expensive bits were gone, there was plenty of expensive hardware and war material that was too big, bulky or otherwise difficult to abscond with. The camp itself was an odd mixture of prefab buildings that could be broken down and transported, semi-permanent, large scale tents and a couple of actual hard buildings for things that required environmental control and true water proofing.

In addition to these, there was a motor pool with a collection of troop transport speeders, a few battered armored speeders trying to pass themselves off as tanks and handful of infantry fighting vehicles, all probably down for repair as they were still here. Our own logistics types got to sorting the pearls from the swine to see what was worth taking, while I got the slicers comfy in the base's network center with an adequate guard against looters or diehards pressing their luck. That done, I took Vette and headed for the stockade.

It was, as you might imagine, one of the few hard buildings, as promised in the middle of the base. The energy fence was down, but the stanchions for it were still there, letting us know where to look. The doors were all locked allowing us to presume the jailers had left with the keys and the other REMFs, but my light sabers always work well as a master key. Still, Vette was eager to prove herself useful and opened the last doors for me herself.

She got us into the cell block and I was pacing as she dug into the computer to find out which cell Koth was in. “Ed?”

The voice that came from off to my side, in the holding cell, was as weak and raspy as its owner. I turned to find myself staring into the blank, red eyes of a Chiss female. “My God, Ed, is it you? You haven't aged a day!”

I walked over to the cell to get a better look at whoever this prisoner was. Her face was lined and had a scar running down her cheek from her left eye to her chin. Her hair was chopped short, far too short to be flattering, and was a rats nest on top of it. She had the look of someone who hadn't eaten well for an extended period, her skin was a paler blue than most of the Chiss I was familiar with and she was painfully thin. “You mistake me for someone else,” I told her. “However...”

Chiss eyes are a solid red, without pupil or iris, yet somehow I got the feeling the blank eyes rolled in disgust. “Yes, yes, I remember, it's Nyeomi now...”

“Do you know my mother?” I demanded, raising my chin a bit in warning. The Chiss stood from the bench she was sitting on and cautiously walked over like a beaten cur of a dog offered food; desperate for the offering, but wary of being struck again. Now I could see she wasn't thin, she was emaciated, with sagging, empty breasts that had likely been quite shapely before these times had befallen her.

“Mother?” she demanded, the empty eyes filling with tears. “Mother?”

“I am Taybri Bellos-Fens, Lord of the Sith, Countess of Banudan, eldest child of Her Grace Darth Nyeomi Fens, Duchess of Ruuria,” I replied. “Who are you?”

She stared at me as though she had seen some ghost or specter from her past and several times her mouth opened as if she would speak, then closed again. “It...it's not fair,” she whispered finally, and I began to question her sanity.

“I have little patience for fools,” I warned her, which snapped her out of whatever fugue she was lost in. “If you worry about your future, don't. We will release you shortly, though first I have other matters to attend to.” I turned to go back to Vette which caused her to panic.

“No, wait!” she shouted and came quickly to the bars of the holding cell. “You have no idea who I am? But you really have no idea who you are,” she said all in a rush to get the words out. “I do! I know, and I'll tell you, if you get me out of here!”

My eyes narrowed and I crossed my arms over my chest. “I know who I am. Who are you and why should I care?” That struck her as funny and she laughed a hollow, cackling rattle of a sound completely devoid of real mirth or cheer.

“Your mother never told you about her wife?” she asked in a tone I decidedly didn't like. Who my mother took to her bed was none of my business, but it most definitely was none of hers. Yet, perhaps she was suicidal because she continued, as if mistress of some deep secret, “Never told you about the woman she abandoned to go and pretend to be a Sith Lord?”

My hand clenched into a fist against my breast and The Force instantly answered, reaching out like a giant vice to pin her arms to her sides and yank her against the bars, millimeters from my face. “You should know, I have a terrible temper,” I warned her in a low and menacing voice. “And if you think I, or my mother, are pretending to be Lords of the Sith, your surprise at discovering your error will last you the rest of your life, but that won't be for very long. I promise you. Now, I grow tired of this conversation, so I will ask you a final time, who are you?”

The already unhealthy light blue of her skin paled to an almost pastel shade as she finally stopped struggling against the Force that held her helpless. “F...Fargo. I'm Lanaka Fargo.”

“Why should I care about you, Lanaka Fargo?” I drawled. “Or care about whatever gossip you think you have to hold over my mother's head?”

“Because I should be your mother!” she declared.

Well, I certainly hadn't expected that, and I would have laughed under different circumstances. As it was, I was getting annoyed. “Talk sense!” I ordered her. Her head wobbled on her shoulders as that was the only limb she had control over.

“It's true!” she swore with what almost seemed like conviction. “Your entire life is a lie! You think you know who and what your mother is? You have no idea! No clue as to who she really is, or where we both came from! Not Stew...uh, uh, Silas! Not Silas and not Darius! They've all lied to you!”

I had to admit I was a little surprised that she knew the names of my uncles, by foundling family if not blood, but I was something of a public figure. There are obsessive voyeurs on the holonet that create shrines to particularly accomplished Sith Lords or Jedi. Not to mention the slavering Gundarks that call themselves journalists. Still, even I would admit I was only just graduated from being an apprentice, and while a noblewoman, there were literally millions of noble houses through out the galaxy. Yet this Chiss' knowledge was exact and obscure.

Exact enough that it opened up the old wound of Darius' sacrifice of himself to save me and the rest of the team. We had finally gotten the location of the Vault of the Damned, and to save my mother, I had to lose my uncle. For a moment, I was awash in the ache of trying to open the speeder door he'd slammed shut and then shot the mechanism to keep me from following him. The ache of seeing him gunned down by the Sky Troopers as the speeder sped away because Lana thought he was on board. Still, before I could decide how to continue with questioning her, Vette softly called, “My lord? I've found him.”

“Koth?” I asked my voice somewhere between excitement of being reunited with my lover and the sadness of the memory this crazy woman had triggered as I came over. “Where?”

Before Vette could answer, the rattling laugh sounded behind me again. “No, she hasn't.”

I turned back to Vette, and with difficulty, kept my temper. “Go get him,” I ordered her as I decided to deal with Scar Face. Vette nodded and worked the controls and the door deeper into the cell block opened. “You're beginning to get on my nerves,” I told her. The Chiss just laughed again.

“Don't take my word for it,” she taunted me. “Tall, dark and handsome right? Amber eyes, a goatee with black hair in short dreadlocks? I can see the attraction, but I wouldn't have thought he'd be your type. No, wait, we've just met, haven't we?” The door opened again and Vette returned, her skin a bit pale. “God, I swear you look just like I remember her!”

“Bree, the cell block is empty, he's not there...!”

Fargo's red eyes narrowed. “Believe me now?”

I crossed the room in two strides, only just keeping my temper. “Tell me...!” I shouted, but she raised a hand and rocked her index finger back and forth.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she warned, obviously delighted to have something to hold over me. “I'd hate to have such valuable information knocked out of my head by a rash blow...” I clinched my fists and drew my lips into a thin line, but restrained myself. “That's better. Now, let me out of this cell, guarantee me passage off this disaster of a planet and not only will I help you find your boy toy, I'll tell you all the secrets they've kept from you.”

“Bree, do you know this...hag?” Vette asked guardedly.

“Mind your mouth, you little trollop!” she hissed, but her eyes never left me. I think. You really can't be sure with a Chiss. “Do we have a deal?”

I considered for a long moment, then made a gesture to the cabinet by my Twi'lek friend. “Vette, hand me that shock collar.”

“You're not putting that thing on me...!” she started, but a casual gesture from me and the Force reached out and pinned her arms to her sides. Vette handed me the collar and, once I'd snatched the cell door open, I locked it around her neck.

“Now,” I purred in satisfaction. “Let me tell you how this association is going to work. You're going to answer every question I have and give me every assistance in getting my man back. Once I have him, I'll give you the key to the collar and we go our separate ways. Give me trouble and...” I pressed the button on the remote I'd also taken from Vette, eliciting a squeal of pain from the Chiss as the collar shocked her. The Force released her and she staggered and fell to the floor of the cell. “Try to run, and it will blow your head off your shoulders. Understand?”

She looked up with an expression of pure hate on her face, but I could see she was cowed. “If you kill me, you'll never see your boy toy again.”

“That's not the way to endear yourself to my good graces,” I warned her, brandishing the control. Her face turned down to the floor and she nodded.

“I understand,” she growled.

“Good,” I replied as I tucked the control into a pouch on my belt. “Now, where are we going?”

“We'll need a space ship,” she told the floor. “They said they were taking him to Nar Shadda.”

* * *

Despite my miserable time failing to free Koth, my little side quest was actually a rousing success. Piles of information was 'liberated' from the Regulators databases by my slicers, and most of the speeders along with a quite a store of munitions had been salvaged from the base. I had Vette take Fargo up with the spoils of our raid while I returned to Mistress Tari and my mother. “Mistress,” I greeted, sinking to one knee and holding out the data card. “Here are the locations of the mines and a summary of the forces stationed at each.”

“Well done, Bree!” Mom told me with a smile and a fierceness in her eyes that made me feel warm. She came over and took the card from my hand. “Colonel Thul? I think you'll want this.”

“Your Grace,” the colonel replied as he took the card and quickly walked over to a computer to read it.

Mom turned back to me. “Where's Koth?”

I sighed. “I have a lead that says he was taken to Nar Shaddaa.” Her expression was all the condolence I needed, and I could feel her frustration on my behalf. She turned to her senior apprentice standing by her side.

“Darth Tari, do you have any further need of Lord Taybri?”

She smirked at me, then shook her head at mom. “No, mistress. We are of sufficient strength to hold the rear if you have need of her.”

“No, my apprentice. Have Master Keison hold the rear. You and I have an appointment with the Supreme Mogul himself and we don't want to keep him waiting.” Mom turned to me and smiled. “Go,” she declared. “Bring Koth home and I'll see you both on Odessen.”

“Yes, mistress!” I enthused, but was careful to bow before I stood and took off at a dead run. I was able to catch up to Vette and Lanaka right as they were finishing up loading the elevator with former Regulator vehicles. The Chiss was still surly, but I was in far too good of a mood to allow her to get to me. Vette and I shared a grin. We were winning and it was time to make our victory complete.

* * *

3617 BBY

Mezenti Spaceport, Nar Shaddaa

The surviving Regulators were only too happy to give up the location of the warehouse complex they controlled on Nar Shaddaa. Happy to keep their limbs in exchange for the information, at any rate. Having lost the Black Eagle, I got a punitive down grade of a transport, an older Republic Shuttle that had been repainted in Regulator markings we'd captured with the top platform of Gravity Hook Seven.

It was cramped, but it had a class two hyper drive so we got to Nar Shaddaa in just a couple of hours.

In those hours, I watched, with the rest of the galaxy as the Alliance Commander, along with her senior apprentice, stormed the palace of the self styled Supreme Mogul. Evidently Lana had attached a pair of broadcast droids to Mom and Tari so we all got to see her live and real time. Beniko gave this amazing tongue in cheek commentary as the Galaxy saw what a pair of Sith Warriors are capable of. Mom and Tari practically danced through Toborro's forces until they faced the hideous Hutt himself.

Toborro was missing his left arm which was replaced by a cybernetic one, possibly another of Doctor Juvard's creations. He had one of his massive Isotope Five powered war machines on hand when Darth Fens and Darth Tari burst into his sanctuary. I wasn't surprised mom was able to give a rousing speech denouncing Toborro and his 'hostile merger' of Makeb into the Hutt Cartel on the fly. Parents get all kinds of practice making children feel ashamed for their faults and short comings. Between that and Lana's pointed barbs, Toborro looked like a petulant brat, being taken to task rather than a would be player of the Great Game of Empire.

Toborro put his faith in his machine and it cost him; Mom and Godmother Tari had been battle buddies from since before I was born. They fought in silence in a dance that they made look easy and effortless as they faced the mechanical terror Toborro had constructed, reducing it to scrap to the wailing disbelief of the Supreme Mogul.

Yet again, Lana proved her skills at public relations as the image of my mother shaking hands with Director Shalim Avesta of Avesta Mining and, I supposed, Vette's half brother, while Toborro was being taken away on a force field sled was the lead story around the holonet for days. The Eternal Alliance and it's Commander had been well and truly established on the Galactic Stage.

Strangely, for someone claiming to have been a lover of my mother before I was born, Fargo had nothing but caustic barbs about my mother's triumph and sneeringly dismissed her achievement as the product of luck instead of hard work and careful planning. Fortunately, for her, a simple brandishing of the collar's remote control was sufficient to encourage her to keep her comments to herself.

Vette had helped Fargo recover her personal effects while I'd been reporting in to my mother, the Alliance Commander. Now her dingy gray body suit had been augmented with a set of duraplast armor plates that really did not fit her emaciated form well and long duster whose better days had been well before I was born. It gave her a bit of bulk and hid how skeletal she looked, but it seemed I wouldn't have to worry about keeping what was left of her skin whole when we arrived back on Nar Shaddaa.

As luck would have it, Mezenti was the closest space port to the Regulators hide out, so I ended up back literally where I started, in the same docking bay in point of fact. Six months I had suffered through on this wretched hive of scum and villainy trying to find and free my father. A mission I had finally succeeded in which had nearly cost me...what? I really did need to decide what Koth and I were and where we were going.

A quick speeder taxi ride got us to the warehouse the Regulators controlled, or at least the building cluster it was on, far enough away that we could surveil things before going in to kill everyone who wasn't Koth. “There you are,” Fargo told me as I inspected the building through macronoculars. “Can I go now?”

“How do we know he's in there?” Vette demanded.

“See the guy with the gold cord on his armor?” She asked. “That's who came and took him.”

Sketchy at best, but I reached out lightly with the Force and yes, I could feel Koth's presence. He was in there. I returned the noculars to my belt and fished out the key and handed it to her. “A deal's a deal,” I told her. “Be gone and good riddance.”

She quickly got the shock collar off and looked at me askance. “You don't want to know my information? You like living a lie?”

I rolled my eyes. “I know my mother loves me. I don't know or care if you were involved with her or not. Though I must admit I am grateful I share nothing from you, genetically. Take your mutterings somewhere else, you mean nothing to me.”

“Have it your way,” the Chiss replied and sulked off into the night.

“Glad that's over,” Vette assured me, so I shared a smile with her and turned back to the compound, perhaps half a kilometer away. “Now, how do we spring Koth from all this?”

“I was considering just walking up and giving them the chance to surrender,” I told her.

The look on her face was priceless, then she smirked and gave me a knowing look. “Yeah, let's not do that, right? There's a bunch of skylights along that roof. Bet there's one close to Koth?”

I shared her grin. “Let's go find out.”

* * *

They say no plan survives contact with the enemy. That defeat is the cumulative failure of intelligence gathering. Those who do not know the Force sometimes ascribe to such things to Luck, or random chance. I have discovered in my admittedly short life, that all is as the Force wills it. I know, that sounds silly, and yes, I have spent my entire life from being old enough to walk training in a remarkably difficult discipline; which is, in a way, my point.

Having a destiny does not let you off the hook of doing your part.

If anything, it should be a reason to train harder. You have to be ready to meet your destiny when that time comes. If the Force needs something to happen, it will, but if you aren't capable of doing it, it will still get done. That doesn't mean you'll survive trying and failing.

So, in a very real sense, what happened was my fault. Had I been more cautious, done my diligence, evaluated the situation better, things might have happened differently. I suppose it is entirely possible this is a lesson I was painfully learning, but at the time...

As much as I try to look out for my little brother, had he been here, this probably wouldn't have happened. Kale would have pointed out that it took us six months of greasing palms, fetch quests to establish our bona fides and a fair amount of straight up thuggery to make the contact with Odu that put us on the trail of finding dad. Yes, of the two of us, Kale is the level headed one, he would have seen through this in a second. Alas, we must always take the bad with the good.

The ease with which we got onto the roof should have warned me as well, and looking back on it, I did have misgivings as Vette and I skulked on the roof to the skylight closest to where I sensed Koth. I just itched to have my man back and to see him safe and I ignored them. Vette got us around the lock on the skylight faster than it took for me to say it and then we dropped in on my man's jailers.

They lived just long enough to feel the terror of their impending death, but I had no sympathy to waste on them. I cut them down and then we had the cell open. “Koth!” I exclaimed as I rushed in. They had him chained to the bench, with a hood over his head and he moaned with the abuse he'd suffered from them. I rushed in and hugged him and his moans changed in pitch and urgency. “I'm here, baby, I'm here!” I reassured him as I took the hood off to find his amber eyes wide.

He hadn't been moaning, he'd been gagged.

I tried to process that as I got it off of him and it occurred to me right as he gave it voice. “Bree, it's a trap!”

The distinctive humming buzz of blasters on stun rang from outside and Vette squealed in pain. I snatched my sabers from my belt but there was, of all things, a hologram in the door, being projected by a droid I couldn't see.

It was a hologram of a lithe woman in the contrasting flowing robes and corsets that were the hallmark of Zakuul fashion. This particular set, in green and yellow, were being worn by the High Justice of the Empire of Zakuul, sister of my sworn enemy, Arcann, Princess Vaylin. “Well,” she purred in obvious delight. “Look what my honeypot has snared.” She made a gesture at someone I couldn't see and Vette was hauled to her feet, the muzzle of a blaster under her chin. “Surrender, or you all die.”

There is a part of me that, had she actually been here, would probably have drawn my sabers and lunged at her. My life for Princess Vaylin? Yes, that's a trade I'd make. But she wasn't here, and if I tried some manner of thrilling heroics, I might get out alive, but the odds were Vette and Koth would not, and that was a trade I was not willing to make. I took my sabers from my belt and tossed them towards the door way.

“Please, allow me,” a familiar voice declared, and at another gesture from Vaylin, that damned Chiss came around the corner, the shock collar in hand. “Pay back is a bitch, isn't it?” she delighted and locked it around my neck.

“You've earned your pay, Bounty Hunter,” Vaylin declared with a smile. “I look forward to your arrival on Zakuul. I'll have a warm welcome waiting.”

Fargo's thumb came down on the remote and my world was washed out in electric agony.

* finis *

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Canceled

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Canceled

E. E. Nalley

There is no such thing as 'Your Truth.' There is The Truth and your opinion.

Ben Shapiro

It's the details that really sell something.

I'd never been one for details before all this. You'd think a graduate student working on their masters would be diligent in such things, but I'm afraid there are time's other things were more pressing. I was in a rut of just sleeping, for which there was never enough time, studying, ditto and eating. My eight year old self would be devastated to find out you can grow tired of peanut butter and jelly. I was dangerously flirting with burn out and becoming another failed ABT Master's candidate. Then my master's thesis project was approved and I had a fat grant check burning a hole in my account, so yes, I have to admit I was less than ethical with some of those funds and splurged a bit.

If you can call a bowl of stew and a beer splurging. That's when I met Greg.

He was a KSU alumni and still going to the dive bar all of us hung at; Kreegan's Irish Tavern. Most of us went to Kreegan's because it was the closest bar to campus, was reasonably priced and had resignedly embraced being a college bar. I never did find out why Greg went there, maybe he didn't feel like he fit in at the 'Gentleman's Club' the other members of the Firm that had hired him right after passing the Bar socialized at. Maybe he just liked slumming, or wanted to remember what being young and hungry was like so he kept the fire in his belly. Not that he was old, mind. Older than me, sure, but probably less than five years. He'd filled out nicely, thanks to the Athletic Club membership that came with the job, the understated, but expensively nice clothes fit him like a panther prowling in the jungle; six foot four of Alpha Male with a little boy smile.

Every girl in the place noticed him when he paused in the doorway, nodding to the hostess and surveying the Thursday night crowd, like he was picking out his prey. I was at one corner of the bar, against the wall by the server's station, mostly because I had a girl friend who waited tables at Kreegan's and we'd chat in her spare time.

This also gave me a ready excuse to brush off the creeps and frat boys, but I repeat myself.

Greg's sense of personal style was somewhere between '90s Denzel Washington and '70s John Shaft; black leather jacket cut like a sport coat, a camel hair cable knit sweater and jeans I'm certain he had not bought in their current 'distressed' condition. He didn't go for the stool that was open next to me, instead taking the one on the other side of the server's station and flashed that little boy smile at me before he turned to get the bar tender's attention.

I hadn't come to Kreegan's to be picked up, but suddenly the pressure of finishing my Master's degree, 'only' swapping my normal PBJ fare for the bowl of Paddy's beef stew I was enjoying just then seem like I was wasting my time. I have to admit, the fantasy that swam through the back of my eyeballs as his pint arrived would be hard for any man to live up to. It'd been a long winter, let's say and leave it at that. Though I have to give him credit, I could tell by the way he savored his first sip of Guinness that it wasn't his first sip. Lots of guys will buy an Irish beer in an Irish pub, then have a double take, being unprepared for the strength of it. He liked Guinness, which I found interesting in and of itself. Then he turned to me and wasn't surprised I was watching him, flashed that little boy smile again and said, “Any pick up line I could use would seem terribly trite, so, how about I start with, 'I'm Greg'?”

I liked that he was articulate. “Alanna,” I replied. “Alanna Byrne. Are you looking for a pick up?”

He leaned against the bar and took another sip of his beer, turning toward me to show I had his full attention. “I find it tends to scare off the girls if I lead with a marriage proposal, so I thought we'd just talk for a bit and see where it goes.”

That got a chuckle out of me, for sheer audacity if nothing else. “That's original, I have to admit. I wouldn't be much of an anthropologist if I wasn't interested in human interaction. Functionalism demands it.”

He turned his face side long. It was a nice face, gently symmetrical Afro-American, with a smooth, milk chocolate complexion crowed by intense, amber eyes. He wore his hair in a professional length Afro, shorter on the sides than on top, which drew his off hand in a slightly embarrassed scratch, his class ring glittering on it. “Oh, do I sense a Master's Candidate?”

“All But Thesis,” I admitted. “If you're half as smart as you look, you'll run for your life.”

He took another sip of beer. “Can't. Masochism is part of passing the Bar.”

“A lawyer? Poor soul!”

“I spent a small fortune on my business cards,” he confided with a grin. “Want one?”

I smirked at him, but I have to admit, his game was solid and smooth. I knew he was seeing how far he could get with me, but I was still intrigued, despite that. “Well, since you went to all the trouble of having them made, it would be rude not to accept,” I replied and he reached into the jacket pocket to present it with a flourish. It was as professional and understated as he was, listing a firm that was big enough that even I had heard of it from the News and proclaimed him Gregory J. Walker, Civil Litigator and Criminal Defense. “Personal injury and defending criminals, you're in danger of becoming a stereotype, Mr. Walker.”

“I love a good argument,” he shot back. “Besides, not every body slapped in handcuffs is actually guilty. The Police, however good intentioned, do make mistakes. And it's Greg to you, Alanna.”

It might seem trite, but when you make a career out of understanding people and the connections they make, the societies they build and the history they leave, you actually get to be a pretty good judge of people individually. Oh, don't get me wrong, Greg Walker, esquire, wanted between my knees and I was certainly smart enough to know it, but I had this weird feeling he actually wanted more than just between my knees. He was good looking, witty and charming, so he pinged my physical and interpersonal attractors, he had a degree and a career which demonstrated he stuck with things so the provider bit was covered, and Lord above was I actually considering his marriage potential while being picked up?

I guess it had been a long, cold winter.

Perhaps it was time to see how he dealt with hard truths. “Well, Greg, do you know what they say about red heads?” I asked, with an indication of my own ruddy locks. “It's all true.”

He came around the waitress station to the open place next to me, but he didn't sit down. “The opinions of weak, fearful men, incapable of dealing with a challenge don't interest me.” He smiled again and took another sip of his beer, licking the foam off his upper lip. “Besides,” he intimated, “Like I said, I love a good argument.”

“Oh really? Well, I'm not the kind of girl who...”

“If you were,” he interrupted smoothly, “We wouldn't be having this conversation.” He indicated the empty stool as I considered such a striking statement. “May I join you?”

I gave him a hard, measuring glance. I hadn't really had a 'relationship' since I was an undergrad. My studies and desire to achieve my academic goals didn't leave a lot of time for social distractions. Ironic, isn't it? The Anthropologist wannabe didn't have time for social interaction. Well, those who can't, teach, right? True, he didn't know what I had been about to say, though it was an easy guess, and the implication that he wasn't going for a one night stand was honestly intriguing. Was that just some kind of reverse logic tactic, or did he really have some kind of intentions towards me, a woman he'd just met. I decided I'd listen to his pitch, if nothing else it would make for an interesting evening. “It's a free country,” I told him and his smile got a little brighter as he slid onto the stool.

“I'm doing my part to keep it that way,” he assured me. “How's the stew?”

“Greasy, but it's an Irish Pub; it's supposed to be.”

“I'll have a bowl too,” he told my girlfriend, who I honestly hadn't notice come over. She gave me a wink with her back to him and headed to the kitchen to get his bowl. “So,” he led with. “I'm in here a fair bit, maybe not as much as I used to, but I like to think I'm still a regular, but I don't recall seeing you.”

That was too cliche not to respond with another. “'Of All The Gin Joints In All The Towns In All The World,' I walked into yours?” I paraphrased. He smirked, showing he'd caught the reference and shrugged.

“Well, technically I walked into yours, didn't I?” His stew arrived and he actually took a taste before he reached for the pepper. “Still, if I have to play the chick role, who better than Ingrid Bergman, am I right? At least there's no Nazis.”

“That's reasonable,” I agreed, taking another spoonful of my forgotten stew and chewing thoughtfully. “And your memory isn't playing tricks on you, I'm not in here very often. Unlike the Frat boys, I'm paying my own way through KSU and I intend to get my money's worth.” He raised his glass in toast and took a sip.

“Bravo! Nice to see I'm not the only one who attended this school whose parents raised them right.”

“What?” I demanded with mock incredulity. “No heart warming testimonial of over coming adversity and clawing your way out of...” I realized I was about to say something that might be taken as offensive even though I had no such intention, and so cut myself off, but his smile never wavered.

“The Ghetto?” he finished for me. He shook his head. “You can say it, Lord knows it's a thing. Me? I grew up in the suburbs. My parents are both lawyers, so it's the family business so to speak.” He ate a spoonful, reached for the salt, then reconsidered. “That I have no idea what a Ghetto looks like is one of the blessings I count.”

“Sorry,” I told him softly, and I meant it.

“Don't be,” he was quick to correct me. “You're absolutely right, lots of my brothers play that card, and most of them, like me, have never been in a Ghetto. I'm Black and you're White and neither of us picked that. I have nothing to prove and you have nothing to apologize for. This is America, after all, and as you pointed out, we're both free.”

I felt something inside me relax, like muscle that was clinched and I only just realized I had been needlessly holding it. We were different, that's true, but we were far more alike than I had realized. It was as if he had given me permission to realize it, permission to just be me. That I didn't have to prove to him I wasn't like some other people he had doubtlessly met. He would be him and I would be me, and the differences of our genetics could just be biological quirks and not charged political landmines likely to go off in our conversation. I liked him. That was also quite liberating. “So,” I started, both genuinely curious and eager to move the conversation away from my gaff. “What's it like being a lawyer?”

He tore off a piece of the sour dough roll that came with the stew and sopped a bit of it up with it. “It's...liberating,” he declared after a long moment of thought. As though he'd never really considered his profession before. “It reinforces my certainty that I made the right choices when it mattered, makes me glad I didn't act out when I was a stupid teenager. Makes me really thank God for my parents, and giving me the wit to listen to them. Pay's nice, too.” He winked at me and gave me another look at his brilliant smile. “What about you? What's Anthropology like?”

“It's...the difference between reading history, understanding history and getting history,” I told him after my own moment of consideration. His eyebrows rose as though impressed with my insight or as if I'd said something profound, but it wasn't condescending to experience it. Even if it sounds like it was to say it.

He nodded sagely. “Nice. That's important, helping people understand and get history. You can't know where you're going if you don't know where you've been.” He chuckled and added, “I imagine that requires a lot of hit the books time, which would explain why I've missed seeing you here.”

“Were you looking for me?”

The amber eyes found mine and were intense again. “If I wasn't before, I certainly am now.”

I was glad I had only the one beer I hadn't finished yet and that one I had been eating while I drank it. I was already a little buzzed from being the focus of such unrelenting attention, a beer buzz on top of it would certainly complicate things. But then, some very warm part of me retorted, some complication would be very nice. “You must be quite the ladies man, I see.”

His smile became coy. “A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.”

Some men don't have to brag, I thought to myself and felt my cheeks blush, which he noticed, even in this terrible light in the bar and the smile became self satisfied. “Oh, she blushes! Why Alanna, what were you thinking of?”

“Nothing I'd tell my mother,” I assured him. I realized I'd finished my stew and took a drink of my beer to steady myself. I have to hand it to Mr. Walker, he was good. There were parts of me that really wouldn't mind getting my ashes hauled by a stud who knew what he was doing. And if he was nothing else, I was just as certain Greg Walker was a stud of the first rank that knew what he was doing. I was also torn that I was at a really delicate stage of my scholastic career and getting into a relationship might derail something I'd spent the best part of a decade working on, counting high school and under graduate work. If he's just a cad looking for a good night, that won't derail anything, my shoulder devil assured me.

And if you want more than a good night, he's just the sort of man that would encourage you, my shoulder angel piped in. It would seem that both halves of my spiritual life agreed I needed a good shagging. Suddenly feeling very flustered and excited, I asked him, “Though I have more than a passing interest in what you're thinking of...?”

He found that funny and chuckled. “Why, Lana, how salacious!”

“I'm an Anthropologist,” I told him. “Human interaction is my thing.”

“Well, who am I to interrupt the scientific progress of mankind? Dear lady, I am quite at your disposal.”

* * *

There are those, I suppose, who would raise their eyebrows that I decided to go home with a man I'd met that evening. To them, I would say first of all, I'm not stupid; I excused myself to the ladies room and my smart phone's browser let me check up on Mr. Gregory J Walker. The Firm's website had his picture and a bio bragging about him, so I knew he was who he said he was and did what he said he did. I also found he'd never been arrested in the United States, wasn't on any Registered Sex Offender list in any state and was a member in good standing of the Bar Association of this state. I also had a kind of frantic conversation with my friend who had quickly followed me in to the bathroom as to who he was and that I was going with him and authorized her phone to be able to look for mine if I didn't text her later that night that all was well.

Nor did we just finish his dinner and bail; we actually had a longer conversation that I won't bore you with. It was the usual kind of getting to know you things people talk about on a first date. Even though this wasn't a first date, but you get the idea. That said, what clinched my decision was he waited until I came back from the restroom before asking if he could get me a new drink.

I also discovered he was a good dancer.

He had a really nice BMW, which we took to his apartment. It was certainly in a nicer complex than mine was, closer to the heart of the city, but nothing to take your breath away. He was a young, urban professional, not a playboy. Still it was nicely appointed, though, very masculine in it's décor. There were even some trophies in a display case, most which were dated in the last few years, but there was one from this year. So there was some competitive something he was still taking part in, though the plaques only used acronyms I couldn't suss out.

He came out of the kitchen with a pair of bottled beers, Heineken, and opener, which he used before handing me one. “My golden pillow award,” he declared, indicating the trophy case I'd been looking at with a self deprecating kind of smile. “Came in last at the match, but I'm getting better.” He looked at me and asked, “Nervous?”

I decided to be honest. “A little,” I admitted.

“No pressure,” he assured me. “New friends,” he toasted and we clinked our bottles together.

“No, it's not that, I...” I started, trailing off as he laughed.

“I get it,” he chuckled. “First time with a black guy.”

I felt myself blush again and tried to hide it behind a sip of beer. “I'm not, I mean, sure, I've seen dirty movies, so I...Oh God, I am not usually this much of a goober.”

“No pressure,” he said again, and he hugged me to underscore it. “I'm not offended and I don't hold anything against you. Curiosity is natural. Yes, we're different and yes we're also the same. You don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with, ok?”

“I get the feeling I'm not your first white girl,” I declared, and I meant it to be funny, but even to my ears it sounded a bit petulant. He just grinned again.

“Let's just say I have a weakness for red heads.” His arms were still around me and I felt very safe.

I looked up into his amber eyes and confided, “I did notice you only giving me sealed drinks so I won't worry later I've been slipped something.”

With a quiet confidence and just a hint of appreciation of his efforts being noticed, he said, “I never want you to worry you aren't safe with me.”

“I'm not worried,” I told him. And I wasn't; I was tremendously excited and more than a little nervous, but I'd never been so certain I wanted to do something. I was holding him and he was holding me, and then suddenly we were kissing. It was quite remarkable how gently he could kiss me; I opened my mouth to tell him, only I hadn't stopped kissing him first and his warm tongue slid into my mouth and my groin caught fire. I was tingling so much I was vibrating, and when his hand slid up my side to take a hold of my breast my nipples got so hard they ached.

We kissed and squirmed, each pulling clothing off the other until my blouse and bra were over his coffee table and I'd gotten his jacket and sweater tossed behind his couch and to this day I have no idea how we managed it without interrupting our kiss, but we did it. Where did the beers go? I honestly don't know. Our lips actually smacked when we parted as I finally climbed out of his eyes to look at his bare chest. His complexion was ever so slightly lighter from not being exposed to the sun I suppose, and his skin was like silk under my fingers, smooth and hairless as I traced his well defined muscles, making them tremble as I tickled him on accident. At the same time, I felt his eyes on me and I couldn't help standing tall so my breasts stood out, full and proud. “Wow,” he whispered as he filled his big hand with one of my breasts and his lips descended on the other.

His lips gently sucked and kneaded my areola while his tongue found a live wire that was connected from the end of my nipple down to my nether regions then up to the center of my brain. It was beyond electric, and he was just what a girl wants in a man, slow, confident, strong. He eased me down to his sofa and helped me out of my my jeans then kissed his way down my stomach, and he grinned at me when he found I was a natural red head. Then his tongue parted my folds and he conquered me.

He went to work on me and all I could do is hold his head and enjoy the ride.

You would think that having this many orgasms would be tiring, but I wasn't tired so much as relaxed, languid as I rode his tongue and felt my belly and thighs tremble in response to him. I was panting after my breath when he finally stood after what felt like forever, his hands fumbling with his jeans and then they slid down to puddle at his feet. I imagine there are some who would ask if the rumors were true, to which I would reply I had sample size of one which is statistically insignificant and being a scientist, statistics are an important metric to me. I simply have no idea about all black men.

That said, I can attest that the penis of Gregory Walker was the biggest I'd ever seen personally.

I sat up on the sofa, marveling as I watched it sway between his legs. I looked up at him, smiling down at me and I whispered, “Wow,” as I reached out took a hold of him. It was heavy in my grasp, pulsing gently in time with his heart beat and as velvety smooth as the rest of his skin had been. I leaned in to get a better look and my nostrils were filled with the wonderfully musky scent of him. I didn't even hesitate as I lifted it and took it into my mouth.

The taste was indescribable and there was the added texture of his foreskin rubbing back and forth over the rapidly thickening head of him under my tongue. I wished I could have given him half as good of a blow job as he had just given me. I'm sure I was nowhere near that goal, but he did moan as he ran his hands through my hair. He didn't grab it, or pull me, he was just caressing me as I looked up at him looking down and watching me. I smiled around me forced myself to relax so I could work as much of him into my mouth as I could. Almost immediately I felt him stiffen as I became aware of a salty new flavor that began to trickle over my tongue every time I worked to get a bit more of him into my mouth every time I slide down him.

Now it was his turn to pant as he freed his manhood from my lustful embrace. Kicking out of his shoes and pants, he reached down and picked me up as if I weighed nothing and we kissed again as he carried me to his bed. As he laid me down, I whimpered a bit, seeing how rigid it had become. I thought it had looked and felt big soft. “Be gentle,” I whispered, eyeing it a bit fearfully.

He kissed my forehead as his arms slipped under my knees to support me. “I won't hurt you,” he promised, then I felt him at my entrance. He worked his hips and that caused it to rub through my folds, bumping on my clitoris and becoming slick with the moisture flowing out of me in a flood. I nearly came again just from that, then right as I was about to, he stopped and I whimpered in protest, looking into his eyes. Then I was spread, wider and wider and wider as he claimed me and my body was forced to make room for him.

I came so hard it forced him to stop and he grunted with the tight constriction on his member. His lips settled on my neck and his abdomen clinched and once again he began to enter me. I grabbed his back, transfixed with the contrast of my skin against his, my legs bouncing between trying to pull him into me by wrapping around his waist and splaying wide to give him room. I felt his scrotum against my cheeks and I realized he had gotten that monster completely inside of me and I came again. I must have been clawing at him without realizing it, because I felt his hands grab my elbows and take a hold of my fore arms. So there I was, on my back with him on top of me, his arms splaying my legs, his hands on mine, holding me down as he held himself up. I was helpless, completely full of him, and I felt a brief stab of panic and the look on his face was so tender I felt my eyes fill with tears, then he slowly withdrew until I felt hollow from the absence of him, then his back arched and I was slowly filled again.

It was so beautiful I couldn't help but cry. He kissed me, gently, soothing, as he made love to me. He was my center, my everything and God this sounds so sappy and overly romantic, but if you'd ever been made love to, you understand.

The Greeks tell us that Zeus and Hera once had a tremendous fight, arguing over which gender enjoyed sex more, each certain it was the other that in fact, received greater pleasure. To settle the argument they descended from Olympus to find the oracle Teiresias, who had been born a man, been cursed to become a woman for seven years and had that curse lifted and gone back to being a man. Each deity made their case and demanded Teiresias settle the matter and Teiresias proclaimed there was no doubt who enjoyed sex more.

Teiresias told Hera that if he could divide the pleasure during intercourse into ten pieces, women would take nine of them and men only one!

He was right. By the time Greg tensed and filled me with his seed I had lost count of the number of orgasms he'd given me. I fell asleep in his arms, sated, blissful and utterly spent.

* * *

I woke up the next morning before he did, to find his arms wrapped around me like a drowning man clutching a piece of flotsam. I found it sweet and romantic. I had been worried about waking up this morning, that I would feel guilty both thinking of my self as a slut for what I'd done and yet conversely afraid I was going to get the 'I promise I'll call you' line and never hear from him again. Actually, on waking up I found I wasn't as afraid as I had worried I would be on either account. You don't realize just how much you need to feel the connection of another human until you've gone without for a long time and then gotten exactly what you needed. On the other hand, I was so grateful he had been such an incredible lover, if he wanted to part ways, I wouldn't be happy, but I could be thankful for the night I had. Indeed, I felt more alive than I had in a good long time and I felt wonderful.

Sore, but wonderful.

I carefully extracted myself from his embrace without waking him and found the bathroom to take care of my morning needs. As I did so I sent Tina, my waitress friend from Kreegan's the all clear text. She immediately hit me back demanding salacious details, but I just sent her a cat purring emoji with a promise of a good talk later. Which, ironically, was how I felt. I wasn't just the cat who got the cream, I felt like I'd broken into the dairy.

For a brief moment, once I was done answering the call of mother nature, I considered donning one of his shirts to hunt for the morning coffee, but while some men found that a turn on, I didn't want to give the impression I was rummaging through his things. So, once I was a bit more ready to face the day, I padded barefoot and naked out into his living room to collect my clothes and get dressed. With the morning light coming through the dramatic picture window giving a lovely view of the Sun rising behind the down town skyline lighting my way, I went into the little galley pretending to be a kitchen that every bachelor apartment seemed to have.

I found the coffee pot already set up, which was great, so I just turned it on and then opened the fridge to see what I could use to make a breakfast. Yes, I was feeling very domestic; you have a night like I just had after a long dry spell and see if you don't have your nesting instincts start pinging. Sadly, in this regard he was very much a guy and there wasn't much to work with, just beer, left over take out and cream for the coffee at least.

What? Surprised it wasn't stocked like a gourmet chef lived here? Come on, nobody's perfect! To be making the amount of salary he had to be making to pay off his student loans and still afford a place like this and the car that brought me here, he had to be putting in a lot of hours. I honestly hadn't expected much else, to be honest.

Still, coffee was better than nothing, so I found some mugs, the sugar and got the creamer out while I waited for it to brew. Whatever else his culinary shortcomings might be, he had great taste in coffee, it smelled incredible. “Good morning!” I heard from behind me and I turned to find him standing, bare chested, though he had pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and slippers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I expected to find you in here just wearing one of my shirts,” he said with a smile.

“I considered it, but I figured you being a lawyer, you might be picky about your professional wardrobe.”

By the expression on his face, it was obvious he was genuinely touched by my consideration of him and as sappy as it sounds, that made me feel nice. “Thank you,” he said as he took the pot off the brewer and poured for both of us. “Though, in future, feel free. I have to be honest, the thought of seeing you that way will play a starring role in my fantasy life.”

I smirked as I finally found the cutlery drawer and came over with a spoon for us to share. “Well, you'll just have to invite me back over then, won't you?”

He chuckled as he traded me my cup for the spoon. “Actually,” he declared. “As it's Memorial Day weekend, I'm off today and Monday, so, how would you feel about spending the weekend with me?”

I arched an eyebrow at him as I poured the creamer into my coffee. “Are you serious?”

His face flashed through concern and then worry before he forced a smile, like he was putting himself on guard to keep from being hurt. Do guys worry about being dumped after a one nighter? That seemed incredible to me, but before I could consider it further he asked, “Do I seem insincere?”

I took the spoon and added sugar, purposefully stepping into his personal space and he didn't back away. “No, you don't seem insincere,” I told him as I stirred. “You honestly seem as afraid of being hurt as I am, which, I have to admit makes me...happy. Not happy you're afraid, happy you're feeling the same way I am. This is the best morning I've had in a time far too long for me to admit to. I wasn't looking for a relationship, Greg, but I'm not adverse to the idea either. What is it you want?”

Maybe I'm more observant than I give myself credit for, because he relaxed, almost imperceptibly. “I could get used to this,” he admitted. “Hell, you're being honest so I will be too, I want to get used to this, but, as I said last night, no pressure. For right now, I want to spend the week end with you, get to know you better, and see where that goes. How does that sound?”

I thought about the time line for my project, the amazing sex I'd had last night and admitted to myself that I wanted more of it in the worst way and decided I could multitask. “I need to go by my apartment for some clean clothes and I'll need some time to work on my notes for my Master's project, but I can do that this evening, if that's ok?”

“Mi casa es su casa,” he invited amicably. “I have some discovery work I can do at the same time for a case, so we can work together if you don't mind the company.”

I took a sip of coffee made appreciative noises. It was really amazing coffee. “It's a date.”

“Awesome,” he declared with a now authentic smile of delight. “I don't think I have anything I can make for breakfast, so how about I get dressed and take you somewhere?”

“You don't have anything,” I told him with a wink. “I looked.”

“You were going to cook?” he asked with very credible mock incredulity. “And my fridge was empty? I feel so inadequate now!”

I let my gaze linger on his crotch long enough to be sure he noticed, then looked him in the eye. “Mr. Walker, you are doubtlessly many things, but inadequate will never describe you.”

“Miss Byrne, you flatter me!” He put his arm around me and gently pulled me against him. “However shall I put my ego back in it's box with praise like that?”

I smirked at him. “You had no difficulty putting your ego in my box last night, so I think you'll be fine.” His grin promised a wonderful weekend.

“I aim to please, Ma'am.”

I stood up on tip toe to kiss him. “You hit the mark, sir! Now drink your coffee and get dressed! I'm hungry!”

He kissed my forehead gulped down his coffee. “As my lady commands!”

* * *

We took his BMW back to Kreegan's so I could get my car, a tired, but well loved little hatchback and then he followed me to my apartment. Which, thank you, Jordan Peterson, was clean. Cluttered, yes, cramped? I'm a grad student, what do you think? But it wasn't dirty. I didn't have to feel embarrassed that he was in the living room waiting while I packed a week end bag, my lap top and got the charging cords for my devices and the smart watch I'd been given, which was where I got my first surprise of the weekend.

I picked it up, and I was glad I'd settled on the neutral black leather band that let it go with everything and while the display had the right time and it showed it was talking to my phone, underneath at the bottom of the display it read 'canceled'. If I hadn't been in such a rush, I might have paid it more heed, but he was waiting and I was enjoying what amounted to my first vacation in years. I was having my cake and eating it too, and how often do us humble grad students get to say that?

I ran through a quick shower, half wishing he'd surprise me by joining me, but he was probably hungry so I stayed alone. He was wearing some kind of military T Shirt under his jacket, maybe he'd done a stint in the Army or something to help pay for Law School, so I just grabbed my T Shirt that had come with my membership in the American Anthropological Association, which was clean, though I did put on a Victoria's Secret bra that did very nice things to the girls that I'm sure Mr. Walker would approve of then ran a brush through my shoulder length hair and pronounced myself presentable.

“All set!” I declared as I rejoined him in the living room/dining room/only other big room in the apartment. He was in his phone, but immediately put it away and stood to join me.

“Were you this good looking last night?” he asked with a smile. “I'd swear you couldn't have gotten more beautiful and then you prove me wrong.”

I smirked at him. “If you're waiting for an objection, counselor, I'm afraid you do so in vain.”

“Lawyer jokes?” he demanded with much, and completely false, long suffering. “Are we at the lawyer joke phase of our association?”

“You knew the job was dangerous, when you took it, Greg.”

He wrapped an arm around me as I got the door to my apartment locked, then relieved my of my bag as he led the way to his car. “Danger is my racket,” he retorted, holding open my door for me, then pausing by the trunk to store my bag on his way to the driver's seat. As he slid into the leather seat he intimated, “I thought we'd have brunch at a little place I know. It's not far.”

“I'm in your hands, sir,” I replied and he winked at me. Turns out, his little place was a pretty pricey breakfast and lunch specialty cafe that was attached to University Mall. I didn't frequent it because, as I've said, I'm a grad student. To be honest, I didn't really shop at the Mall either for the same reasons. When I insisted he didn't have to spend money to impress me he just shrugged and kept leading the way into the restaurant.

I have to admit, it was fun to watch him be in charge. He led so easily, always smiling and genial, but clear he was the customer and he was right. It was subtle and low key, but it was there, giving him an edge, and it was fun to watch. He asked me what I wanted, then ordered for me, which was novel, but by now it was clear he'd come from a solidly upper middle class family, perhaps more as both of his parents were lawyers. Me? Well, like I said, I was paying my own way through college and I wasn't looking forward to starting to pay off the loans I'd taken out for this education I'd been getting.

However, things would be better once I had my masters, then I would have plenty of options. I could do field work for the Government, or the UN, I could get a professorship while I worked on my Doctorate, either of which offered stability and a nice salary with plenty of benefits. Either way I never thought of something like this as anything other than a splurge, but it seemed very normal to him. He obviously could afford it and so didn't give it a second thought.

One of the great truth's in History was that money bought options. Greg was certainly living proof of that. So we had brunch, which was a novel thing for me to be honest, and talked mostly about our academic careers at KSU. I tried not to be an Anthropologist, but I was sitting with someone whose experiences had been completely different from my own and I wanted to ask him about them, but at the same time I really didn't want to spoil a really nice outing and what I considered a very nice place.

We were having coffee after the meal when thunder struck and it began to rain. “Now I'm glad we didn't take one of those outside tables,” I told him as I watched patrons trying to salvage their meals and running inside. Evidently the storm had come on quickly; not just raining but really pouring down in sheets.

“It wasn't supposed to rain today,” he replied, angling his head to get a better view out the window. “I'll get the car and pick you up so you don't have to get soaked.”

“We could just window shop for a bit, if you'd rather,” I offered. “Wait for it to blow over.”

“There are worse ways to spend time with a beautiful woman.” He waved to get the waiter's attention and just handed him an Amex card without looking at the bill. Once that was sorted and a generous tip left, we went deeper into the mall and just browsed. He started asking me about my taste in jewelry in a round about way that immediately put me on guard that he was thinking of buying me something, and I put my foot down to tell him not to.

He proved that he did in fact love a good argument and we debated for the better part of half an hour when was the appropriate time in a new...whatever we were to begin giving gifts. We settled on at least four dates before that kind of thing happened and that last night would count as date One, and this extended weekend mini-vacation we were taking all counted as a single date which would be 'Two'.

While I do employ the word argument for the discussion, I mean it in it's more formal and correct usage not as a lover's quarrel, but a kind of relaxed debate where the merits of two positions in opposition to each other were discussed and a consensus reached. We had just about decided to move back towards the restaurant entrance to see if the rain had stopped when I happened to notice a fellow that seemed very interested in us. I'd seen him several times around the mall, but every time I caught sight of him, I'd found him looking at me, whereupon he would quickly look away. “Everything ok?” Greg asked me and I turned to look at him then back only to find the man gone.

“I...I'm not sure,” I hedged. “I keep seeing this guy and every time it's like he's looking at us, like maybe he's following us.”

Greg sighed, offered his elbow and began to head towards the entrance. “Unfortunately, Lanna, that's something you'll have to get used to if we spend any kind of time together.”

“Racism?” I asked, and the word tasted ugly in my mouth.

“Not as much as you'd think,” he replied. “Thankfully. Some, yes, there are some...uneducated individuals in the older generations that hold unpopular views. Fortunately, they're dying out. Some are just innocently curious, mixed couples are not nearly as rare as they...we...used to be, but far from common place. Some of it will be jealousy, wondering how I got to be so lucky to have you on my arm.”

“Gregory Walker, you are a shameless flatterer,” I scolded him. “I do love it. Continue.”

He grinned that little boy grin and patted the hand I was holding his elbow with. “So, word to the wise, being stared at is probably something you'll have to get used to if you and I become a couple.”

“I'm sorry for that,” I told him and he made a dismissive gesture.

“You have nothing to apologize for and I'm not going to waste my time trying to convince the people who do have things to apologize for the error of their ways.”

I smiled at him and squeezed his arm. “You are a remarkable man, Mr Walker and I am very happy we met.”

“As am I, dear lady. As am I.”

* * *

The rain slacked off enough for us to get to the car and run through a grocery store for supplies and get back to his apartment with out getting too soaked. After we got the groceries put away, we decided to stay in and get our work out of the way. He set up a place for us both in his living room and we had a quick discussion about music to find each other's tastes. I was glad he found Rap distasteful and he was glad I didn't care for Country and Western. We both enjoyed the usual stuff, rock, top 40 and some jazz, and we both had a bend towards classical, though my preferences ran towards orchestral sound tracks of movies I like where as his turned to Opera of all things. We compromised on a kind of Top 40 of classical music; you know, stuff like Vivaldi, Mozart and Beethoven for back ground music. That sorted, we got the laptops comfy and got to work.

Between my tablet and a number of legal pads I had bibliographies on, I began to collate the research on my master notes file for my thesis and he was surprised that I had more paper things scattered around me than he did. “What on Earth could require this kind of detritus?” he asked with genuine surprise. “What is your thesis on?”

I chuckled darkly as I rummaged through the tablets, chasing a citation I knew I'd need later, but couldn't find. “The origins of Western Civilization in Iron Age Europe,” I told him as I flipped through the papers. “And I need all of this because all of the Social Sciences are guilty of a nearly complete lack of falsification and replication, which allows any personal bias in the researcher to creep in the results and in a number of instances become set as the zeitgeist of some disciplines that have little to no basis in documented observations. Those of us who take the science seriously have to be extra careful and be able to cite sources of everything.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Could you say that again, but in English this time?”

I blushed and quit digging for the notes I couldn't find so I could give him my full attention. “Let me explain it like this, are gender roles a societal construct?” He started to give me a knee jerk answer, but I pressed on quickly before he could. “Are they learned behavior through nurturing of the young and imprinting the behavior on children from a young age, or are they an expression of our genetics expressing adaptation over thousands of years of successful breeding and genetic predisposition to successful division of labor?”

He blinked and then began to parse my, admittedly, overly technical question into it's core assertions. “Do little girls like playing with dolls because they're genes tell them to be mothers, or because mothers buy their daughters dolls?”

“Exactly!” I enthused. “What's your opinion?”

He actually gave the matter a moment or two of thought and then shrugged. “Fifty/fifty, I guess. Why does it matter?”

“Auschwitz,” I declared, which took him aback.

“What?” he demanded. “What do the Nazis have to do with the fact that girls like to play with dolls?”

“Is it a fact?” I countered him. “If gender is a societal construct, then it is strictly learned behavior, and thus those taught behaviors can be changed. It then follows that, among other things, a completely egalitarian society could be created through several generations of children being taught in a gender and racially neutral manner. On the other hand, if our genes do play a part in why children pick certain toys to play with as they grow and discover how they fit into their family and society at large, then the Nazis actually had a point and Eugenics, the breeding of humans for specific traits is a legitimate science thus QED once a consensus is reached as to what kind of humans we want to breed, the elimination (IE sterilization or murder) of undesirable persons to prevent them from breeding becomes acceptable.”

“Auschwitz stops being evil,” he whispered.

“Yes,” I said with great weight. “That's why I have to be so anal about my bibliography. While nobody with a brain can argue with what happened in the past, why it happened is very much up for debate. So it falls on those of us in the social sciences who actually give a shit and aren't talking out of our asses to be able to cite our sources and prove conclusions repetitively. Ideally, when I'm done, anyone can go through my data and come to the same conclusion I did, even if they go into it certain I'm wrong.”

Slowly, and very carefully, he asked, “So...you think that...they did have...?”

“No!” I replied emphatically. “It hasn't been satisfactorily proven what, if any, role genetics play in Anthropology! And even if genetics do have some role, we as humans all have moral responsibility and agency to choose how we behave! I have to be certain my research can't be misused that way!” I sighed and smiled a little smile as I saw a look of absolute respect for me and my ethics on his face and yes, I know I shouldn't need validation form an external source for this, but God it felt good to be admired for who I was and why I did what I did. I gave a gesture at his remarkably smaller pile and asked, “What are you working on?”

“Trying to figure out how to prove my client didn't commit murder,” he said heavily.

“He killed someone?” I asked.

“Yes,” Greg replied, fiddling with his tablet and then turning it towards me. It was a still frame from a security camera of a young man with a handgun, pointing it at a convenience store clerk. “That's without question,” he continued, putting his tablet on the table. “I have to figure out why it isn't murder.”

“But, I mean, that seems pretty cut and dry...?”

He nodded as he typed quickly for a moment. “Do you know what murder is, Lanna?”

“Isn't it when you kill someone?”

“Depends,” he replied, looking at me over the top of his laptop screen. “Did you mean to kill him? That might be murder. Was he trying to kill you first? That's self defense, not murder. Was it an accident? That's manslaughter.”

I considered that for a moment. “Well, did he?”

Greg shrugged. “I don't know.”

That was somewhat confusing, so I asked, “Didn't you ask him?”

“No,” he replied. “In fact I told him specifically not to tell me.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I'm an officer of the court,” he declared and I picked up on the weight he placed on the title. “As such, I cannot knowingly help a guilty person to escape justice, that's a violation of my ethical standards. However, everyone in this country is entitled to an informed defense against the allegations of the State, therefor it becomes incumbent on me to counter the State's accusation of malice murder with an alternative interpretation of the events that exonerates my client.”

“Don't you have to prove he didn't do it?”

“No,” he said patiently. “The State has to prove him guilty beyond reasonable doubt. His innocence is presumed, it's my job to show that there is reasonable doubt the State proved its allegation.”

I considered that for a long moment, then asked, “That's a pretty fine line, isn't it?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted and gave me a smile. “But, as Justice Blackstone declared, 'It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.' We are all entitled to competent, aggressive defense.” He sighed and turned back to his screen. “Perhaps my client is guilty, but that has no bearing on me. I have to do my best to induce that reasonable doubt in the minds of his peers who will sit on his jury. But, if he admits to me he did everything the State alleges, then as an officer of the Court, I must recuse myself because I have no reasonable doubt, therefore it is unethical of me to try to lie on his behalf. That's my battle against Auschwitz, I guess.”

“He's lucky to have you representing him,” I assured him.

Now it was his turn to laugh darkly. “That remands to be seen. Still, I'll give it the old college try.” My laptop beeped to tell me that I had a new email. “Ugh, what would you rather have for dinner? The steaks or the chicken?” he asked.

I felt very weary of the grind so I closed my laptop, stood and stretched, which instantly got his attention. “I dunno yet,” I told him with a salacious wink. “Care to work up an appetite?” He practically threw his laptop to the couch so as to clear his lap.

“Where have you been all my life?” he demanded as I straddled him with grin and kissed his forehead.

* * *

It was a buzzing on my wrist that aroused me from sleep, laying on his chest. Night had fallen and the little watch face was bright in my sleepy eyes so that it took me several seconds of blinking before I could focus on it. It still had 'canceled' across the bottom, but now there was an exclamation mark in a triangle on the screen that flickered back and forth with Alert. This was serious enough that it penetrated my selfish desire to enjoy my situation and ignore it longer. They had been emphatic that icon meant bad, bad things.

I touched the watch to acknowledge it, then carefully got out of Greg's bed and padded, first into the bathroom, then into living room and my discarded laptop. I looked out the picture window at the skyline of the city while I was waiting on the laptop to boot. I was surprised to see one of the sky scrappers was on fire, but there were other fires burning down town as well. “What the hell?” I muttered and instead of launching my email client I hit one of the news sites. There had been a bombing down town which had triggered riots. Several other major cities were experiencing unrest as well. But, no one seemed to know why.

“What's going on?”

I turned at the sound of Greg's voice, my original answer dying on my lips. “Is that a gun?” I asked.

He looked down at the thing in his hand, then did something to it that locked it open and split it into two pieces, one in each hand. “When I woke up, you were gone,” he explained rather than answering my question as he came out of the hall way into the living room, towards the window. He put the gun and what I presumed were it's bullets on the book case next to it. “I heard you out here, and thought you might be in trouble.”

“What would make you think that?” I demanded.

“Being a criminal defense lawyer,” he shot back.

“Touche,” I admitted. “The web says there was a bombing, and riots. Not just here, but some of the bigger cities too.”

He turned back to me, his eyes bright in the low light. “Why?” I shrugged and shook my head.

“I haven't found out yet.” I called up my email program as he looked out at the city. What I read chilled my blood. Major malfunction? Don't panic? Remain safe and Guides will come to extract anyone who is canceled?

“Are you alright?” I looked up to find him looking at me. “You're white as a sheet.” I forced a smile.

“I guess riots and I don't mix,” I tried to be flippant as I closed my laptop. He came over and hugged me and I'd be lying if I didn't admit those strong arms around me and the knowledge he had weapons and would come to my rescue made me feel better than any corporate damage control email.

“It's ok,” he assured me. “They're a ways off and there's a precinct between us and that smoke. You've never handled a gun before?”

“I haven't even seen one that wasn't on TV or in a movie,” I admitted. I looked up into his face and his amber eyes were concerned.

“Well, I know what we're doing tomorrow, then. I'm going to teach you how to shoot.”

“Oh, I don't...”

He gathered me into his arms and picked me up. His lips mashed against mine and the sheer force of it took my breath. “Yes, you will,” he ordered. “You mean far too much to me for me to risk harm to you. It's settled.” Then he carried me back to his bed and shut the door so the light from the fires couldn't be seen.

Yes, sir.

* * *

The next morning I found out what those trophies in his display case were for.

When we arrived at a somewhat rural field at the end of a road that was paved only in the euphemistic sense of the word that was evidently known as the Pine Mountain Gun Club and I discovered everyone there knew Greg. Some part of me whispered that these people might be dangerous, but not only was Greg evidently quite well liked, but not a soul had so much as an untoward look that I was with him as he introduced me around. Evidently, I have a fair number of assumptions to re-think.

It was here I found out that Greg shot competitively, which was what those trophies were for, and he had been quite modest about 'getting better.' He'd missed being the state champion last year by fourth tenths of a second. I had to sign in, then present ID to show who I was, then a series of legal waivers including a testament under penalty of perjury that I wasn't a felon or in any way barred from possessing a fire arm, as they were somewhat doggedly referred to.

Guns, I was playfully corrected, only applied to shot guns or naval ordinance as the joke went.

I don't know why it's supposed to be funny, I just smiled as they chuckled. Once that was out of the way, and I wasn't jumping every time I heard a gun shot, we drove to the other side of the club where the sounds were much more muted, and Greg unpacked the car with a number of cases and laid them out on a bench we had mostly to ourselves. There was another club member further down with his daughter and some kind of military looking rifle that was almost as big as she was, but she handled it like she knew what she was doing. I turned back to Greg and asked, “Machine guns?”

He just laughed and shook his head. “It's not a machine gun. Let's start you a little smaller though, and if you're game later on you can try it if you want.” He opened a case and produced another pistol, this one was smaller and older looking; ironically it looked like something some Nazi officer would carry that he was screwing some kind of extension onto. He saw me watching and indicated it. “This is a suppressor, what you've probably heard called a 'silencer'.”

“Aren't they illegal?”

“No, just taxed,” he elaborated. “This way, you won't need to wear hearing protection.” He indicated the old looking pistol. “This is a twenty two, so it's not going to kick or anything. So, let me walk you through the controls and the safety you need to keep in mind.”

The next forty minutes was a kind of a dry talk using a number of words he had to define; some made a kind of sense, like safety, some not. He was very patient with me, and I was grateful he had his hands over mine the first time I shot it so I didn't drop it when it jerked in my hand. It surprised me how quickly it moved in my hand, considering the bullets that were loaded into it were tiny. I was expecting that thwap sound they made in the movies, but it just made a metal on metal clack of the 'action' moving.

Once I got over my fear, it did get to be a kind of fun, kind of like those carnival games, but I struggled to remember all the safety things. That caused him to correct me sharply once or twice, but he always explained why, and the reasons were important. It was just a great deal to take in all at once. That he was so certain of himself gave me confidence in what he was teaching me. While, at the end of the day I was not going to be competition against him in any state championship anytime soon, I managed to hit the target mostly where I intended to.

I suppose I should also admit the little girl half my age was better at this than me.

After we got the guns all locked safely away, he took me to an early dinner at the restaurant that was a part of the club and it was interesting seeing him around people who were obviously his friends. Again I worried someone might say something about me being with him, but I was greeted with smiles and made to feel welcome.

The number of women there surprised me too.

They seemed to be from every age group, and while most seemed to be at least as well off as he was, I got the feeling some were closer to my income level. And, surprisingly enough, he introduced me to a silver haired matriarch who was practically regal even in a plaid out door kind of shirt and her hair in a bun. Greg greeted her as 'Your Honor.' “Gregory,” she greeted and I had to hide my snicker behind my napkin that she used his full name. “I am surprised to see you here considering your work load...?”

“Still hard at work, Your Honor,” he assured her. “I had the pleasure of making a new acquaintance and, considering the current unrest, I thought a day at the range would be useful.” She arched her eyebrow and turned a bit to look at me and I got the impression the gimlet eye of a Nun at a parochial school would have been easier to stare down.

Finally, the stare eased just a touch, as if she had decided I would be allowed to associate with her...what? What did she consider Greg? She extended her hand and I took it at once. “Helen Mathers,” she declared in the same tone of voice that she could have used to announce royalty.

“Alanna Byrne, your honor,” I replied and indicated the empty chair at our table. “Won't you join us?”

Greg stood at once and held the chair for her to sit down. “Perhaps for just a moment. I shouldn't like to keep Mr Mathers waiting too long. He might fall asleep and drown in his soup!” Greg got seated again, but I was still the focus of her attention and under a microscope. “And how do you know Gregory, Miss Byrne?”

“Oh, we both went to KSU though I think I'm a bit behind him, we met at...uh...well, it's a little pub right off campus that is favored by students.”

“I see,” she drawled like Sherlock Holmes just as he'd figured out the entire case. “And where are you in your studies of Anthropology, Miss Byrne?” I blinked, surprised for a moment, then remembered I'd decided to wear my AAA shirt out to the range.

“I'm a Masters Candidate, your honor, just finishing up my thesis.” She was greatly amused that I was an academic and turned back to Greg.

“As I foresaw, Gregory, your knight errant complex has come to fruition. My congratulations, Miss Byrne seems to be a fine princess you've rescued from the Ivory Tower!” Greg hid his embarrassment and humor well.

I honestly had never thought of myself as a princess.

“Thank you, your honor.” Catching my confused glance, he declared, “Justice Mathers sits on the State Supreme Court, I interned for her as Law Clerk before I took my current position.”

Justice Mathers rolled her eyes. “Yes, I'm still breaking in your replacement.”

I smiled at Greg. “I imagine finding someone to replace Greg is a tall order.” She looked at both of us and then stood.

“Well, I shan't keep you young people from your outing. I hope you have a very pleasant weekend. Gregory, I will expect your deposition on my desk first thing Tuesday.”

“Yes your honor, I'll be waiting for you.”

She smiled and patted him on the cheek. “Not too early, mind. Miss Byrne, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, your honor.” I watched her head over to another table where an older man, who was still a bull of a fellow stood and held the chair for her.

Leaning forward, I teased him, “She likes you.”

“God Mothers are funny that way,” he told me with a wink. “My mom clerked for her too.”

Reluctantly, I said, “If...if I'm keeping you from finishing something...”

“Nonsense,” he declared. “We can work together, can't we?” I smiled at him as the salads of our order arrived and I swore to myself to let him get some sleep. It was a remarkably fun day and on the drive back, I realized I had a great many things to reconsider. Fortunately for me, as an Anthropologist, discovering new ways people interacted was the best part.

* * *

When we got back to his apartment, the news declared the building that had been on fire was out and engineers were assessing the damage. There had been some additional unrest and the Governor had sent additional police to assist the Mayor and promised the National Guard if things didn't calm down. Greg tucked in to his papers almost as soon as we got in, so I brewed some coffee for both of us, prepared it as I'd seen him do on his own, and brought it out to the coffee table for him.

The expression on his face as he saw what I'd done made me feel very warm as I sank down on my side and decided I had best figure out what was going on. I sent a reply email to the Don't Panic email, demanding further explanation, and CCed it to every contact I had with them. Still, it was the weekend, and a holiday weekend at that so I likely wouldn't get a response quickly. I then typed out a letter to my advisor, to let her know of the problem and that my thesis might be delayed.

That done, there was nothing else to do, but work on my thesis.

Have you ever been so deep into something you just tune out everything around you? I didn't notice Greg stand from his chair, nor come around behind me until he'd lifted my hair out of the way and kissed my neck. It didn't shock me, indeed, his touch was so welcome I felt a wave of relaxation and leaned back to reach over my shoulder and hug him as he necked me. Joints popped which was an indicator of just how long I'd been bunched up, scribbling frantically, writing paragraphs only to erase them and start over. “Mmmm, that's nice,” I murmured as I got my head around to kiss his ear.

“You know I have thoroughly ulterior motives,” he whispered in my ear and we both chuckled.

“The more ulterior the better,” I encouraged him.

He came over the couch, sliding in beside me without disturbing my piles of research, a feat in and of itself, and pulled me against him. “More than you know,” he replied, and he held his phone up where I could see it. It was a text message from a contact that was labeled 'Mom'.

Who is this girl Helen saw you with?

Well, that certainly poured a bit of ice water on my libido. “It would appear we've been ratted out, Counselor.”

“'Fraid so, babe.” He paused for the length of a bible, and then asked, “What do I tell her?” I laid my head back so I could look up into his face.

“What do you want to tell her?” I asked him softly. The smirk on his face bespoke him censoring himself, which I was beginning to pick up on.

“I asked you first,” he settled on.

“Oh, is that how it is?” I demanded with much put upon angst. “You want me to meet your parents, don't you? Three days after we met, you want to introduce me to your folks? As what, exactly, Greg?”

“How would you like me to introduce you to them?”

I blinked, a little stunned. “You do, don't you? You want me to meet your parents?”

He arched an eyebrow at me, a gesture I now realized he'd stolen right off the face of Justice Helen Mathers. “I thought I was pretty clear in the 'wanting to get used to this,' assertion yesterday morning.”

“You barely know me!” I protested.

Now he frowned. “Do I?” he countered softly. “I'll admit this romance of ours has been 'speedy' to put it mildly, but I actually hang on your every word, Lana. I know your taste in music and jewelry. I know your work ethic and your morals. I've seen you reassess your presuppositions, conquer your own fears and open yourself to points of view completely opposite of your own. I've see you be gracious, and considerate yet still be able to stand up for yourself when you needed to. What more do I need to learn about Alanna Byrne before I can be sure I want to learn everything about her?”

I opened my mouth to rebut, but then decided to consider the question more deeply and slowly closed it. I couldn't exactly hold it against him for being so sure he wanted a relationship with me seeing as I had been evaluating his marriage suitability within a few seconds of learning his name. Not only had I discovered all of my suppositions to be correct, I had discovered new things about him that stood him in good stead.

More to the point, I found I enjoyed just being around Greg. Our senses of humor were practically identical and the way we could banter kept a silly smile on my face. Yet we could just be together in the same room and I would feel safe and cared for, even as I battled my thesis and he was over there saving the world one trial at a time. He was considerate, thoughtful, educated and a full on stud in bed. Despite our genetic differences, I found him very handsome, tall, well built, your basic dream prince, right? He was all the things I wanted in a boyfriend/husband. And he hadn't been the only one learning things.

I'd learned at the Gun Club he was not only well connected, but that obviously influential people thought very highly of him. He was certainly used to getting his way and his love of arguing meant we'd probably have some fights as a couple, but then, what couple didn't? He seemed to have mastered his temper as nothing I'd seen so far seemed to phase him, but then I had to consider another truth. Gregory Walker wasn't asking me to marry him, he was asking if I wanted to meet his parents as his girl friend.

The question at hand was did I want to be his girlfriend?

What more did I need to know before answering that question myself? Obviously I would want to know him better before I consented to be his wife, assuming he ever asked me, but right now, even this early, he was as comfortable as an old, favorite pair of jeans. Everything I knew so far said Gregory Walker was prime boyfriend material and that I should be maneuvering him towards popping the question. Well, I told myself. You said you weren't adverse to the idea. Time to put your money where your mouth is. I took in a deep breath and said, “Do you think your parents would give you trouble by introducing a woman you just met three days ago as your girlfriend?”

“I doubt they'd ask, but as I lawyer, I specialize in being vague,” he told me with a smile.

“Your parents are also lawyers, so I imagine they specialize in spotting bullshit,” I warned him.

He just laughed and made a dismissive gesture. “Of course they do! They're parents! But, more to the point, they trust me. I only ask for your comfort.”

“Thank you,” I told him and I meant it. “So, sure, you can tell them we're a couple.”

“Your wish is my command,” he declared and started typing on the little screen on his phone. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he asked, “Are you hungry? I could grill up those steaks...?”

“It's awfully late for steak,” I replied with a quick look at my watch. “What about...?” I was cut off by his phone beeping that it had received a new text. He looked at it, winced, and turned the screen to where I could see it.

Good! I look forward to meeting her!

I'll set an extra place for dinner tomorrow. What time can we expect you both?

I made a pillow of my arms on his stomach and rested my chin on it to look up at him. “How long have you been ticking off Murphy over his law, Counselor?” He arched his eyebrow and shook his head.

“I didn't do nothing, nobody saw me do anything, nobody can prove a thing! That's my story and I'm sticking to it!” he declared emphatically. “Two?”

I sighed. “Two.” My fate sealed, I laid my head down and listened to his heart beat under my ear. He put his phone on the coffee table, then laid one arm over my shoulders and the other was stroking my hair. Thunder pealed in the distance and rain began to fall which would probably help with things down town. I watched the rain come down and enjoyed feeling his hands on me.

I suppose I should have been uneasy, between the interpersonal stuff tomorrow and the stupid down town and those terrifying emails, I should have been running in circles in a blind panic. I wasn't though, and, to be honest, I'd never felt so safe. So I just watched it rain and listened to his heart beat.

Yeah, I could get used to this.

* * *

That night was the first time we slept together without having sex first.

It was...different, brushing my teeth next to him as he went through his own more normal nightly routine. Either due to or because of my interest in Anthropology, I had a more active imagination than most and it was very easy for me to pretend this might be what being married to him would be like. It was a comfortable familiarity as we got ready for bed, separately, but together. It was fun watching his muscles bulge under his skin as he brushed his own teeth and that was very sexy. This was the best light I'd seen him bare chested in and it was entrancing.

Oh, he wasn't a body builder, but he was fit and very strong.

I only just kept in a giggle of imagining me trying to wash clothes using his abs. My compliments to your personal trainer, Greg! I wasn't a slouch myself; being a big Irish farm girl you'd never call me petite, but I curved where a girl should, so I was confident I could look good in any bikini I had the courage to be seen in, but I wasn't as cut and defined as he was. That and, ironically, I was very Irish as you might guess and my complexion could best be described as 'vampiric' so unless I wanted to look like a lobster, fresh from the pot, I'm not exactly a sun bather. Which, as you might imagine, made for some interesting contrast in the mirror. He wasn't as dark as I was pale, but still, it was very striking.

We had slept naked, but tonight he pulled on a set of the pajama bottoms I'd seen him in before and I pulled on an oversize sleeping T Shirt that had Snoopy and Woodstock on it. Once I'd laid down, he adjusted the blanket so I had plenty then immediately drew me into his arms, spooning up behind me. “Sweet dreams, Lana,” he whispered as he turned out the light.

I kissed his arm that he had around me and whispered back, “Sweet dreams, Greg.”

As I lay there, in the dark, with his arms around me, I went over in my mind the last few days. Tina had been constantly sending little texts to my phone, demanding the salacious details and I had kept putting her off. Finally she'd asked if I was ok and to allay her fears I reminded her of a particular incident that only the two of us knew and assured her I was ok. At first, I hadn't wanted to call her because I was enjoying myself, but now...now it was private some how. Just me and my boyfriend, Greg, and that felt a little strange and new.

I'm not a whore, I told myself. I'm Greg's girlfriend.

That seemed to settle my conscience, so I closed my eyes and I was soon fast asleep.

* * *

The next morning I woke early, mostly from having had to work as a teaching assistant until the pressure of my thesis had become too great. Most of the classes I'd taught had been first AM ones and my biological clock was still set to rise early. A look at my watch told me it was too early to start making breakfast for him, but I was awake and there was no point in just lying there. With a sigh, I got myself out of his arms without waking him and padded to the bathroom.

I'm honestly surprised a guy would rent a place with such a great bathroom. Not only was there the double vanity we'd used last night, but the toilet was behind a little privacy door and bath was actually split between a huge garden tub and separate shower both of which could easily accommodate the two of us at the same time. There were even two shower nozzles in the separate shower room.

Once I'd finished in the bathroom, I pulled the bedroom door to, so I wouldn't wake him and headed to the kitchen. I got the feeling some mornings he had to rush as there was a normal coffee pot and one of those pod machines that brews one cup at time. That was handy as I didn't want the smell of a pot to wake him, or have him have to drink old coffee if I was successful in keeping him asleep until his normal rising time. It was still dark out the picture window, but even from here I could see the glow at the bottom of the skyline; more fires. What has gone wrong with this world?

I got out my laptop and called up the email program on the off chance I'd gotten some replies. I wasn't cold, and the coffee was hot, but some of what I read chilled my blood. The Don't Panic email had bounced and it was tough to work out through the gibberish, but it seemed to be saying the company website didn't exist. That spurred me to bring up a browser and when I tried to get to the page it told me LiveTheExperience.com was unknown. Not couldn't be found, not having difficulty, it was available and did I want to buy it? “This is not happening,” I whispered to calm myself. I still had the emails from before, from setting things up, confirmation of my choices, appointments, but now, nothing.

I took a few deep, calming breaths. Obviously, whatever malfunction they'd experienced, no pun intended, was worse than perhaps they'd thought. It wasn't as if I was in physical danger, how could I be? But, then, if that was true, why the directive to remain safe? Why would a Guide be needed? None of it made any sense. However, that was not the only bit of strange in my mailbox. I had a reply from Dr Carstairs, my advisor and what I read previously confused me, this was downright alarming.

Alanna:

I must say I am disappointed by this latest request for more time from you. I begin to question your commitment to this process and this career path you've chosen. The actions of some misguided idiots down town should not, in any way, interfere with a thesis as straight forward and well covered as yours. Tracing the origins of Western Civilization from the Iron Age is well documented, both in our library for primary sources, case studies and the Internet. If you cannot be prepared to submit your thesis Friday, as we agreed when I gave you your last extension, then I will have no choice but to recommend to the committee that you be dismissed from the Masters Program.

I should not have to remind you the jeopardy this will place me in as your advisor in addition to having taken your side with the committee, and arguing for your second chance. Do not let me down, Alanna.

You are capable of doing this. I still have every confidence your thesis can be strong enough to be accepted as written. I know your passion for this field, you just have to focus and not falter this close to the finish line!

I will expect your thesis, by the end of my office hours, Friday.

Focus and Get It Done.

John Carstairs, Ph.D.

Boas College of Anthropological Studies

KSU

I read it three times to be sure I wasn't miss reading it. Then I went to the KSU portal and the CV of all the professors of the Anthropology department. I read over the entry for Dr. Carstairs until I practically had it memorized, as if willing it to change would do so, before it hit me. I quickly called up the documents of my thesis, not what I'd started here at Greg's, but the existing documents on my laptop. I read it, more than a little stunned and began to try and think. How deep did this go?

I looked out at the glows of the fires in down town, still visible, despite the rain outside. What had I gotten myself into? I got up and opened the sliding door to his patio and stepped out to look at the skyline. Police sirens wailed in the distance, and the predawn air was a bit chill. I looked at the glow and everything seemed to crash down on me at once.

The first tear I thought was a drop of rain, but it was joined quickly by more and the next thing I knew I was sobbing uncontrollably. I leaned against the side of the building and cried, my mind going in crazy circles of panic. Why didn't I listen to Dr Carstairs? My mind screamed at me. What is going to happen now? Is this real? Am I trapped?

“Lana...?” I turned just as he reached out to hold me and I warred with myself whether I wanted to push him away or just sob. Sobbing won, and I bawled into his chest and I was ashamed for being so weak in front of him, but try as I might I couldn't stop crying. “What's wrong?” he exclaimed as he picked me up and carried me back inside to set me down on the couch. He put my coffee in my hands and I was only just able to choke down a sip to get warm as he closed the sliding door and came right back to comfort me. “What's happened, baby? What's going on?”

“Oh, God, Greg, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for any...I...” I put the coffee down for fear of dropping it as my hands were shaking so badly. He pulled my head against him and just held me and maybe it makes me less of a person, but I could only cry and let him comfort me because it felt good to be held.

“It's alright,” he told me, over and over, gently stroking my hair. “I can tell my folks we'll met them another time, I didn't mean for you get so wound up over it, baby!” I worked an arm free and made a vague gesture at my laptop, which was still open. He leaned over, without releasing me, to be able to read the email and was immediately contrite. “Christ, Lana, if I knew you were so close, I... I had no idea you were having trouble! I...How can I help you? What do you need to get it finished?”

I tried desperately to get a handle on my emotions and looked up in his face. There was no trace of annoyance at being woken up by a weepy girl, there was only worry for me and resolve that whatever was in his power to do to help me, he would. That was it, that was the moment my heart broke and no matter what, I was going to grab at this and hold on tight. “You...” I managed around my tears, “you are amazing, Gregory Walker, God help me, I love you.”

He blinked and that smile spread across his face and melted what was left of my heart. “Oh my sweet little drama queen, I've wanted to hear you say that since I first saw you at Kreegan's.”

I cried and laughed at the same time; I don't recommend it, it's not fun. “I...I warned you Red Heads were trouble...!”

“Danger is my racket,” he assured me. Then he leaned down and kissed me, pushing all the worry and fear out of my mind, leaving only room for him. “What do you need from me? You need me to cancel with mom? I will.”

“Am I shooting myself in the foot if I say yes?” I asked him. He considered for a moment and I saw on his face that canceling was not the thing to do. You never get a second chance to make a first impression after all.

“How about I tell them we'll met them somewhere? So there's not so much pressure on you and we can keep things shorter? Then we'll come back here and I'll keep your nose to the grind stone until it's done?”

“But, Justice Mathers...?”

“Dropping off my deposition won't take long,” he promised me. “And I've got plenty of flex time I can use to work from home to help you.” I smiled weakly and nodded.

“Are you sure?”

He chuckled and kissed my forehead. “I've never been more certain of anything.”

I squeezed him as hard as I could and laughed, or as close to a laugh as I could manage in my present state. “I need a shower.”

“Coming up.”

* * *

I was surprised when we got into the shower that he didn't wet his hair, and actually seemed to be avoiding it. “You're not going to wash your hair?” I asked him when I got the water out of my eyes. I found his gaze somewhat intense and there wasn't much of his usual playfulness when he answered.

“I'm black, Lana. If I wash my hair more than twice a week it will get dried out and brittle.”

I reached for the shampoo I'd brought when I packed my bag, but he took the bottle from me and after I showed him how much to put in his hand began to wash my hair for me. If you've never had your hair washed by a lover, I highly recommend it. “Really?” I asked through a pleasant haze. Greg's hands are as strong as the rest of him is and the mix of gentle, but firm, was both relaxing and arousing in an odd way. “My hair would be a greasy mess if I didn't wash it at least every other day.”

That he found funny and chuckled. “The joys of genetics.” He guided my head under the water and gently coaxed the shampoo from my hair. “I can't get over how soft your hair is,” he said with another laugh.

“Only because of the amount of work I put into it,” I assured him as I got my conditioner and helped him run it through my mane. “I've been thinking of just chopping it off and getting something easier to manage...”

“No,” he ordered me. Then he cleared his throat and in a more diplomatic tone of voice added, “You look beautiful with long hair. It really suits you.” Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow at him as I got his body wash and shower poof to get wet.

“Why Mr. Walker, do you have a thing for long haired girls?”

He smirked at me and I knew I'd just discovered one of his fetishes. After the emotional roller coaster I'd been on, having him bare something so intimate to me really warmed my heart. Yes, I was aware he was hard, so wet nude girl was also a thing for him, but with what dignity he could muster, declared, “Miss Byrne, I'll have you know, as a red blooded American Male there are many aspects of the female form I find particularly attractive.”

I had his poof dripping with white foam all over both hands as I asked with a complete lack of innocence, “Is that so, Mr Walker?” I reached out and began to bathe him, and at the risk of falling into a stereotype, I did very much like the smell of his body wash and how it interacted with his own indescribably masculine scent. I pressed my wet body against his back and I soaped his arm and whispered in his ear. “Pray tell, what else do you find particularly attractive, Mr Walker?”

“You are a shameless tease,” he declared breathlessly. I wrapped my arms around him to wash his chest from behind.

“I am not a tease, sir!” I protested in his ear. “I have every intention of following through!” He grunted and tried to turn to face me, but I reached down and took a hold of him. I was careful not to hurt him, but I held him hard enough to have his full attention. “Stay still,” I commanded. “This is my time.”

He actually panted and my God that felt powerful. “You...your wish is my command...” I slid around him, lifting his member which felt like steel in my grip, then penned it to his body with mine. Now I was rubbing against it as I bathed him and staring into his face, I could see the need was wild in his eyes, but I had conquered that iron will of his and I knew he wouldn't move unless I gave him leave.

I guess, after all of this, I just needed to feel like I had control and this playful game I'd stumbled on let me feel that way. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit this was fun. Once I had cleaned every inch of him except his pride and joy, I slid down him to squat before him. I looked up at him, with his back against the shower wall and his arms splayed where I had left them as if he was holding back a dam that was about to burst.

Which, in a way, I suppose he was.

I made sure my hands were soapy, then began to clean him. A shiver ran up and down his body as I did so and his breath became coarse and in gasps. “Why, Mr Walker,” I murmured coquettishly. “Are you enjoying my bathing you?”

Dear Lord, did it get bigger? “I...didn't know...you...were a sadist...” he panted. I smiled as I gently kneaded his balls through his sack with both hands.

“You're the masochist,” I replied blithely. “I just aim to please.” I let my hands slide up his groin and up his shaft and another shiver ran up his spine. His fists clinched and his nostrils were flared while he screwed his eyes shut. I could feel how tightly he was clinching his abdomen, fighting against what I was doing. “Open your eyes!” I commanded and he obeyed, wild eyed. I squeezed him as tightly as I dared as I was playing with him, not trying to do him harm. “Give it to me!” I ordered and I let my hands fall into a rhythm up and down him.

His entire body shook before his manhood vibrated in my hands and a massive spurt of semen erupted from the head and splattered across my breasts. To my immense surprise it was actually hotter than the water cascading on us. He moaned, unable to look away and three more surges splattered on me as I pulled them from his body. His abdomen and thighs were trembling as I gently drew him through his orgasm. I rinsed the soap from his manhood and completely caught up in the moment, I leaned forward to finish cleaning him with my mouth.

He moaned and shook again and a pungent, salty fluid leaked from him and coated my tongue. I was honestly surprised he had anything left, considering the warm mess covering my breasts. The flavor of his seed in my mouth did something to me; it was as if I was becoming addicted to him, bonded in a way that was heretofore alien to me and my world view. I swallowed it as though to lay claim to this feeling, owning it and making it my own.

His hands took a hold of my head, bringing my awareness back to the world so I could see he was shaking almost uncontrollably while gasping for air. Gently, but firmly, he pulled me off of him then helped me to my feet. I looked up into his face looking down at me the way a starving man eyes food. He was past wanting me; it was clear on his face. He had to have me, to possess me, to own me. There aren't words for the feeling that bloomed in my heart and spread throughout my body at that realization, but I can only say it felt good. And that is a completely inadequate description. “I told you I love you,” I whispered. “Now, you believe it.”

“Yes,” he managed after trying to catch his breath. “Yes, I do.”

* * *

I guess I has awoken his competitive nature by what I'd done because once he'd bathed me, and we were both dry, he felt the need to return the favor I'd paid him. I was carried back into his bed laid down and, for lack of a better word, consumed.

The sun was well up by the time he'd finished with me and left me in such a state that I probably could have used another shower to be honest. My hair was a wild mess from my thrashing about on the bed and the only way I could tame it was to get it into a french braid. Considering our exertions, we had a lite breakfast then he called his mother and they talked for a about a half hour as the plans were changed. They settled on that Brunch place at the Mall where he had taken me for our first date together.

I tried not to listen in, even though he made a point of having the call in the living room in front of me. I had my laptop open again and was trying to consider what I would do. Things had changed decidedly and I was at a loss of how to proceed. Guides will come, I thought to myself. But there's no telling how long that will take. I looked up at him and decided I had to consider myself stranded, which meant, my first order of business was my own survival. Looking around the apartment I decided I could definitely survive here.

That changed a great deal of how I dealt with this, so I put the bits I had been working on here in a separate folder, then pulled up all of the rest of my thesis that was already on the laptop to get an idea as to where I was on it. Thank God, it seemed mostly complete. It would obviously need a heavy edit pass, the bibliographies would need to be double checked and I'd have to go over all of the citations and foot notes to be sure of them, but that was work I could definitely accomplish by Friday.

I can do this, I assured myself. Jane Goodall lived with a chimpanzee troop for years, I can do this. So, as promised, I put my nose to the grind stone until noon, when it was time to begin getting ready to meet his parents. I saved my work, then saved it again to a thumb drive because if you'd ever lost a month's worth of research you'd be paranoid too. Then I got out the cosmetics I'd brought with me and dove around YouTube for a good 'casual, but well put together look' makeup tutorial that would fit my skin tone. Fortunately, there was a red head I had book marked whose complexion was almost identical to mine who did such videos and I carefully followed her as I got my face 'made'.

Oh, I was no movie star at the end of it, but I was fresh faced, youthful and professional all at once if I do say so myself. Fortunately, I'd brought a couple of more dressy kinds of clothes in case he'd wanted to go somewhere more dressed than jeans. He'd settled on a set of classic twill dockers but with a crease so sharply pressed into them you could cut a diamond with it. To this he'd added a polo that was one of those hard define colors that I decided to call 'charcoal' and a navy sport coat over it.

I decided to follow his 'business casual' look with a high waist A-line skirt that fell just to my knee that was actually quite close in color to his shirt with a white three quarter sleeved blouse and pair of black wedge heels that brought us only an inch or so apart in height. When he saw me finished and dressed, he grinned and shook his head. “I will be the envy of every man who sees me today,” he declared.

I caressed his cheek, but didn't kiss him for fear of damaging my look. “You say the sweetest things, Counselor. Don't stop on my account.”

“I didn't know what I did to deserve meeting you, but I will definitely thank God for it.”

I turned a slow pirouette. “Will your mother approve?”

He gathered me into his arms and just beamed at me. “My darling, you could not be more of a proper lady. I am certain she'll adore you as much as I do.”

“Oh, that will be awkward, what will your father say?” He gave me a gimlet eye, but he was grinning from ear to ear even as he wagged a finger at me. “You sure I look alright? I could change...”

“Don't gild the lily,” he told me earnestly. “You are perfect as is. Come on, I can't wait to introduce you.”

I took his arm and he led me out to his car and my heart was beating like a trip hammer the whole way. Three days ago I was getting picked up at a college bar for a well deserved break and bit of casual tom catting. Today I was meeting my prospective in laws. What a long, strange weekend it has been.

* * *

Garibaldi's was very much a European kind of place and the space in the Mall it occupied had been heavily re-worked to look like something that came out of an idealized south central Europe. The theme of the cafe was of the kind of village eateries that the Continent was famous for. The walls were white plaster with what looked like oak beams. The ceiling was low, not so low you actually had to stoop, but you felt like you almost needed to. There was a fireplace in the center of the room that was burning merrily while the walls were covered in black and white photographs and turn of the last century cooking pans.

The cafe's owner had grown up in a picture post card town called Lavachey where the boarders of Italy, France and Switzerland met, so both the decor and the menu were a bit muddled with flavors from all three countries. Not that I minded in the least; French pastry, Italian coffee and Swiss chocolate? What's not to like?

I discovered their hot chocolate was to die for.

Greg's parents were easy to spot, nestled in a corner table away from the door and they both stood as we approached. “Mom,” he greeted with a hug, then a one armed hug for his father. “Dad, it's great to see you.” He turned and indicated me. “May I introduce my friend, Alanna Byrne?”

“Mister Walker,” I greeted as he took my hand. He had big, strong hands like his son. They were roughly the same height, though he probably had about fifty pounds or so on his son, the product of late middle age success that he carried well. He was either bald, or shaved his head as it was perfectly smooth, but he had a full, bushy salt and pepper beard that, along with the Cliff Huxtable sweater and Chinos gave him a very august air of casual authority.

“Mrs Walker,” I said as I turned to his wife, my boyfriend's mother. She obviously took care of her self and was still a very trim, lovely woman. Her cafe au late complexion was noticeably lighter than her husband which made Greg's milk chocolate almost a perfect median between them. She had blue eyes, which were very bright out of lovely face with Greg's cheek bones. Her hair was a dark brown she wore relaxed, or perhaps it hung this way about her shoulders naturally. She was dressed in a gray silk skirt suit that was very fashionable which as it was actually above her knee and showed off her legs. “It's a pleasure to meet you both.”

“It's just Vivian, my dear,” she informed me as she gracefully side stepped my offered hand and hugged me. She was about three inches shorter than me, even in the heels she was wearing so she was quite a petite beauty, though something about her eyes made me think she was capable of being quite a fire brand. “Please, sit down and join us.” Her husband held her chair as Greg held mine for me and it was instantly transparent what good parents they must have been. “I hope my son doesn't have you too terrified of us?”

I smiled and took a sip of my water glass to give me time to set up an answer. “Greg has nothing but good things to say about you both,” I assured her. “Besides, getting to enjoy being around a well mannered gentleman like him tells me he was very fortunate to be blessed with excellent parents.”

Mr Walker almost laughed, but was able to quickly hide it with a cough and a quick sip of water himself. “You're very kind to say so,” Mrs Walker replied, with a sidelong glance at her husband. “Though I have to wonder if I did raise him as well as you compliment as you are a complete mystery, my dear.”

“We've both been very busy,” I assured her. “I'm in the final stretch of my master's thesis.”

“Congratulations,” Mr. Walker declared. “What is your field of study, Miss Byrne?”

“I'm a Cultural Anthropologist with a specialization in Archaeology,” I replied with what I hoped was a good smile. “Or, at least I will be if I can get my thesis accepted and pass my defense of it.”

“That must be fascinating,” he replied. “I must admit to being bit by the history bug myself, though my life's work has been locking up my wife's clients.”

“Herbert,” Vivian scolded her husband.

“It's true,” he chuckled and with the look he gave his wife, I had no trouble at all believing his next statement. “I enjoyed arguing with her so much I had to marry her to keep doing it in my spare time!”

“I see where Greg gets his love of debate,” I couldn't help but note and both Greg and his father chuckled. I think I was beginning to win over Mr. Walker, though the jury was still out on his mother. He reached over and took a hold of his son's shoulder and beamed with pride.

“I don't say it enough, but it bares repeating how proud I am of my son.”

Greg grinned sheepishly and hung his head. “Dad...”

“Alright, I won't embarrass you,” he laughed. He picked up his menu and gestured for us to join him. “Please, order whatever you'd like, it's our treat.”

“Dad, I invited...” Greg started, but his father brushed aside his complaint.

“The prosecution has rested, my boy,” he declared with great weight. “Better luck next time.” I hid behind my menu a bit and tried to find something that would be inexpensive enough so I wasn't taking advantage of their generosity, but cost enough so they wouldn't be offended.

As I did so watching them proved rather illuminating. It became apparent I'd passed whatever bar Mr. Walker had set, but Greg's mom wasn't convinced. They were a lovely couple, obviously very much in love with each other and their son.

So we ordered and ate, and had a barbed conversation of crossed swords the whole meal painted over with a fig leaf of geniality. I think that Vivian knew exactly how enamored of me her son had become, and the fact that she was just learning of me, and precious little of that had triggered her maternal protectiveness of her son. Greg and his father, for the most part, were just having a conversation of the 'catching up with family since I saw you last' type while Vivian took every opportunity to toss a barb my way.

Greg was nervous, but so far, I'd had enough grace under fire to keep her opinion of me guarded rather than outright hostile. The conversation was not entirely without merit, I learned that Greg had a younger sister who was away at university out of state. As the way they talked around her suggested she might be something of a 'free spirit' to employ a polite cover phrase and they were concerned about her. My anthropological studies stood me in good stead to be able to read between those lines and I think I can't be sure, but I think that perhaps this sister had a thing for white men and part of Vivian's alarm was that I might be a sign of her son doing the same.

Let's just say I have a thing for red heads, my mind recalled he had told me and I realized her concerns were not in fact baseless. Which begged the question how many other women had run this gauntlet? Did she have reservations about me because her daughter was too 'loose' in her opinion? Or was this a racial thing because evidently both of her children leaned to interracial choices for their sex partners? I didn't think that was the answer because she was still being pleasant, if guarded.

I had just about decided that she was more irked with her son 'springing' a girlfriend on her when he was obviously pretty wrapped up in this stranger from her point of view. Then, towards the end of our meal, she declared, “Well, I think I'll need to freshen up before we leave, Herbert. You boys excuse us.” Then she speared me with a glance that brooked no argument on my part.

Plucking my napkin from my lap, I dabbed at my lips and stood. “Certainly,” I said as a band aid of geniality over the command. Then I was led to the ladies room with all the finality of a march to the gallows. Once we arrived, she noted there were only two stalls, made sure they were empty, then turned on me, her face set.

“Exactly how long have you known my son, Miss Byrne?” she demanded without ceremony. My next words would be crucial and I was smart enough to realize it. So I licked my lips and chose my words with great care.

“Mrs Walker, Greg and I bumped into Judge Mathers on our third date,” I told her slowly. “I had never even seen a gun and with the unrest, he wanted to teach me how to shoot, so he took me to the gun club he's a member of and we had dinner there after.”

That mollified her a bit. “So, you two aren't really a couple?”

“I like to think that we are,” I replied. “Greg wasn't hiding me from you, we just haven't been dating very long.”

“That's not the impression I got from Judge Mathers,” she declared, daring me to deny it.

I sighed and nodded. “I think she picked up on the fact that I'm very taken with Greg, or maybe it was the other way around or both. I can't say as I don't know what she told you. I just know that I want a relationship with him and I am enjoying our time together.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. “My son is not a scratch for your itch of jungle fever...”

“Excuse me,” I declared, far more forcefully than I'd intended. “Your son introduced himself to me, picked me, not the other way around, and the differences of our genetics has no bearing on my attraction to him. I don't care what color his skin is, I love Greg for being Greg!” Her eyes went wide and for a split second I was afraid I'd misspoken.

After a long moment, in a whisper she demanded, “Love?”

I took a deep breath and decided to be completely honest. “Love,” I declared. “Mrs Walker, your son is the most wonderful, caring, compassionate man I've ever met. He is the only man I've ever even thought about being married to. He is an amazing human being! I understand your protectiveness of your son, I do. Your son is not a fling or a fetish to me. Maybe I needed to say these things out loud to you to realize it for myself, but I am coming to understand I may have found my soul mate.”

“Those are strong words, Miss Byrne,” she told me.

“These are strong feelings, Mrs Walker,” I assured her. After a long moment, she nodded and gave a little smile that was kind of an apology that didn't really reach her eyes.

“Alright, Alanna,” she said, using my Christian Name for the first time. “I am willing to see how things go and give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you, Mrs Walker.”

“Vivian,” she said, then raised a finger. “Someday, that might even change to 'mom'.” Her face went stern and she stepped into my personal space. This was quite intimidating, despite my being taller and likely weighing more than she did. “In the meantime, Alanna, I will give you this warning. I will take at face value everything you have said to me today. I promise to you I will weigh all of the facts as we come to know each other and I will judge you fairly. Make no mistake, I will judge you. If for a moment, I get so much as a wiff you're some kind of gold digger coming after my son I use every trick I have learned in this trade, every favor owed and every string I can pull to make your life living hell. I will make you wish you were never born. Do we understand each other?”

“I will take good care of him,” I declared. “I promise.”

She squared her shoulders, then took a step back with her hands clasped together at her waist. “So, now you know what kind of a bitch I can be. I hope you won't ever see that side of me again and we can both concentrate on becoming if not friends, friendly. I love my son, Alanna.”

I smiled and nodded. “I can see that, Mrs Walker. I understand where you're coming from, I wouldn't have it any other way. Because I love him, too.”

“I want to like you,” she admitted as though that surprised her. “I pray you never give me a reason not to.”

“No ma'am.” She nodded, as if she had satisfactorily finished some item on her to do list, then shocked me by sweeping me into another hug and this one seemed far more genuine.

With a smile she actually meant, she said, “Relax girl, the dragon is back in her cage. Like I said, I want to like you, you seem like a fine young woman. If you're worried about my opinion of you, show me you can finish what you start; get your thesis finished.”

I nodded and she smiled again, released me and turned towards the sink and began to wash her hands. “Well, I think we've left the boys alone long enough...?”

I pointed to a stall with a sheepish grin. “I'll be right along.”

* * *

Even after I had answered the call of nature I sat in the stall shaking a bit, trying to get control of myself after the grilling I'd just received. I had a feeling Vivian was made of much sterner stuff than her slight stature would imply and I have to say, being proven right is seldom an enjoyable experience. I had absolutely no doubt she would be as good as her word and was quite capable of destroying my life, which had me sitting there, reassessing my life choices that led me here. I had no idea the changes that would be inflicted on me by doing this, how my feelings would be swayed and I danced on the edge of an emotional cliff. Desperately wanting to have my happy ever after with Greg and terrified my selfish desires could have dire consequences.

The things you risk in the pursuit of science.

Finally, I had myself under control, the toilet flushed and my hands washed. Ready, I thought, to finish this emotionally charged brunch and there's a phrase I never thought I'd ever use! As I pulled on the restroom door to open it, there was a loud, echoing pop that after what seemed like a lifetime my brain processed to being the same sound I'd heard at the Gun Club. Then came two more in rapid succession and with it the awful realization I was hearing gun shots.

Someone is shooting!

My brain caught up, right as the patrons of the restaurant also realized they were in the middle of a shooting. There came a collected scream, a kind of cacophonous noise of words, names and cries of alarm that blended into the unholy sound a panic makes. More gun shots rang out and the screech of tables and chairs being shoved aside filled the air with the thunder of footsteps and glass breaking.

I got the door open and stepped out, just as a human wave of patrons fleeing for their lives was forced down the narrow hallway the bathrooms were on. Trying to fight a panicked stampede is asking to be killed, so I didn't resist being swept up in the press of bodies, through a fire door at the end of the hallway. Now the fire alarm klaxon was added to the din as we ran down a long, featureless service hall towards a set of steel doors marked Exit.

We burst out in the open air of the parking lot and I was able to get over to one side, out of the stream of panic and into a copse of little bushes and decorative trees that were hiding some kind of utility service box. Panting after my breath, I looked about, trying to figure out where the shots had come from. This was the parking lot that Greg's and I presumed his parents car was parked in, so I had just made up my mind to go to it, when someone grabbed my wrist and pulled, hard.

With a squeal, I was yanked around to come face to face with a blocky, square faced man with most forgettable features I'd ever seen. Honestly, I don't think I could describe him now, there was a kind of aura about him, not invisibility. Rather and kind of 'don't care' or 'someone else's problem' feeling that just didn't let you remember his face. “Let go!” I yelled, which brought his other hand up to cover my mouth.

The icy fear of rape stabbed through my heart just as he hoarsely whispered, “Byrne, I'm your Guide!”

My heart was threatening to explode from my chest as I wrenched my hand free from him and took a fearful step back. “Prove it!” I shouted, causing him to hold up an ID card in a plastic holder on a lanyard around his neck that had the correct logos and matched what I remembered at the facility.

“I know who you are,” he assured me. The burden of Atlas rolled off my shoulders.

“For the love of God, what is going on?” I hissed at him. “Why haven't you people woken me up or whatever...?”

He seemed confused. “Woke...?” Then the confusion turned to anger. “Did you not read the damn manual? Does anybody ever read the fucking manual?!”

“This isn't some kind of computer simulation?” I asked him and he just rolled his eyes. From a bag at his side, that was actually a plastic shopping bag from one of the electronics boutiques in the mall he produced a new smartwatch and an odd device.

“You idiots are all alike,” he growled. “I swear I don't know...”

Something wet spattered across my face and he staggered into me, but he was too heavy for me to support. I fell backwards and he came down on top of me. There was a look of shock on his face and he was working his mouth like he was trying to talk, but only blood was coming out. I pushed at him to roll him off me and suddenly I realized there was a jagged hole in his throat.

And I was covered in his blood.

I can't say I'm proud of what happened next, but I couldn't help it; I screamed in a blind panic. It was, ironically, that scream that saved my life. Because as I got him off me, behind him, I saw a wild eyed lunatic was standing over us.

Have you ever seen someone who is truly insane? Not depressed, not mentally deficient, I mean insane? There is a horrifying blankness to their stare at you, like they cannot see you, nor understand whatever it is they think they are seeing. He was babbling incoherently, something about letting the monsters out of their shells, I think, then I noticed he had a gun in his hand that he was raising up to point at me. His head cocked to one side and he said, utterly and terrifyingly clearly, “I'll let the evil out of you.” Then the muzzle of that pistol was the only thing I could see and it seemed like a cavern you could drive a car through.

I jumped as I heard three shots in rapid succession and the maniac lurched, struck by some invisible fist, first on his right shoulder, that pulled the pistol up and away from me. Then he was struck in the left shoulder, just as his head was snapped backward. His legs locked and the inertia of the blow carried him back until he fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

It was my scream that had saved my life. That Greg had recognized as my voice and come running. The bullets that had saved my life had come from the gun of the man who picked me up a few days earlier. Of course, I didn't realize it then, but looking back on it, it's very, very comforting to have your life saved by the man you love.

Then there was Greg's face in my eyes, and his pistol was in his hands. His mouth was moving, but he seemed so far away, that I couldn't hear him. He moved the pistol to his other hand so he could take me by the shoulder and shake me until time seemed to start moving again. “Lana!” he shouted as he hauled me to my feet. “Are you shot? Are you hit?”

It took everything I had to shake my head no, then he spun back to the man he'd shot. He and his father, both with guns out advanced enough to kick the gun from the crazy man's hands, but I noticed the crazy man wasn't moving. I turned and looked at the Guide.

His face, covered in blood, was slack and his eyes stared up into the sky, wide and unseeing and for the first time in my life I saw a dead human first hand. My hands began to shake and it was too much for me. I vomited up the wonderful breakfast I'd just had as I tried to cry and vomit and scream all that the same time.

I remember Greg holding me, ruining his clothes from the blood I was covered in without a care about them, just holding and consoling me. After a lifetime, the Police and paramedics came, but it didn't matter. The gunman and the Guide were both dead.

* * *

The gunman, I would learn was a homeless man who had a fit in fast food place half a mile away. They'd called for the police to come and take him away for a mental health hold, when he'd gone berserk and gotten the gun from the first officer on the scene and shot him twice in the head. That accomplished, he took the spare magazines from the dead policeman and whatever voices in his head he heard drove him here to just start shooting people randomly.

The Police had come as fast as they could, of course but there were still twenty odd people shot and eight were dead.

They were going to arrest Greg, standard procedure I'm told, but his father being a senior Assistant District Attorney assured them it was completely self defense. The numerous witnesses also took Greg's side as well, and the captain of the police once he'd arrived, with Mr. Walkers assurance that his son wasn't a flight risk, released Greg on his own recognizance.

The paramedics checked me, but the bullet that had blown a hole in the Guide's throat had missed me and, except for a burned esophagus from the vomiting, I was fine. Physically, anyway. Mentally, I was a wreck, sitting on the bumper of an ambulance in a ruined dress, covered in another man's blood. Sally, the paramedic immediately helped me clean the blood off my face and gave me antibacterial sanitizer to rub over my skin. “Do you know whose blood this is?” she asked and I nodded, pointing at the guide's body that was being loaded onto a stretcher to be taken to the morgue.

“I need a blood pathogen sample from him!” she yelled at the crime scene techs and one waved an acknowledgment. Turning back to me, she smiled and rubbed my arms, “Sweet heart, you need to go to the hospital.”

“Why?” I mumbled, but Sally just nodded.

“You're going to need a Hep B vaccine booster and they'll need to draw blood for tests. If he was infected with something...”

“I've got it,” I nodded. “Can Greg take me?”

“No sweetie, that dress is contaminated. We'll take you, can your man get you a change of clothes?”

“Yes, I can,” Greg assured her and me. “Where are you taking her?”

“University Hospital,” she told him. Greg squeezed my arm in encouragement.

“You'll be alright for a bit, my love?”

I smiled at him and forced a nod. “I didn't think I'd hear it this way, but it's nice,” I said with a giggle I tried, and probably failed, to keep from sounding hysterical. He squeezed my shoulder and stood.

“I'll be back in just a minute,” he promised.

“I'll need the jacket and the shirt,” the tech told him. “Any blood get on your skin, sir?”

Greg stripped out of the jacket and shirt to stand, bare chested and gave the clothes to the tech. “I don't think so.”

“You're fine,” the tech told him.

Sally leaned over to me and whispered, “Does he have a brother?” We shared a giggle and I shrugged my shoulders.

“He's got a sister if you swing that way?” I replied and she just smiled and shook her head. I watched Greg leave, smiling and waving after me then sighed and turned back to Sally as the police captain was walking up. “So, what now?” I asked. The captain reached out, with a bag in his hand.

To Sally, he said, “You're clear to transport her now,” then he turned back to me. “I'm sorry you had to go through all of this, “Miss Byrne. I've got your bag, here, we won't need it as evidence.” I realized he was handing me the bag the Guide had and I took it as calmly as I could.

“Thank you, Captain.” Then Sally ushered me into the ambulance and we were on our way.

* * *

Does anybody ever read the fucking manual?!

As I sat on a gurney bed in the ER, wearing the gown they'd supplied me with after they took my clothes, that exasperated cry from the dead Guide echoed over and over in my mind. I came to realize I didn't have the first real clue as what I had been experiencing, or how much danger I had put myself in. What I had taken as completely harmless fantasy and perhaps something I could do uniquely for my Masters was not the bill of goods I'd been sold. While parts of it had been wonderful beyond my wildest dreams this was definitely not what I'd contracted for.

Sadly, I must admit, I have really no idea what I had contracted for.

So here I was, trapped in...what? I had no idea, really. What I had taken as a computer driven fantasy was now very, very real to me. Perhaps too real for the Guide. Was he dead? Had he returned to whatever I thought of as reality? Somehow, I really doubted it. So, on the advice of a dead man, I got out my phone and its email client and opened up the PDF file that had come with my acceptance letter to The Experience.

It was time to read the fucking manual.

Among the many wonders of our modern age, I read, perhaps the greatest was The Experience. The Experience is probably the single greatest leap in entertainment technology ever made. Bursting onto the scene a few years ago, it offered the ultimate escape; a combination interactive narrative and vacation venue where everything was tailored to the users desires. Now you could take a vacation from being yourself. There were the usual kinds of power fantasies on offer, Action Hero, ladies man, being President or Famous, but that wasn't the limit of what The Experience was. Did you want to take a perfect vacation? No crowds, no rain, it didn't matter what you wanted, it could be perfected, right down to the twinkle in the eye of whoever caught yours.

Most interesting was the more radical departures on offer. Don't care for the Current Year? Would you like to go back in time? Did you want to not be yourself at all? Are you old? Would you like to be young again? If you're a woman, would you like to find out what it's like to be a man? If you're a man, would you like to find out what it's like to be a woman? You could literally be anyone, all it took was you to imagine it, and The Experience could make it real.

Of course, the company had always been a little vague on how it actually worked, but the rave reviews and the enthusiastic testimonials were all over the net. Indeed, statistically there should have been someone just trolling and giving a one star review because they didn't get what they thought should have been the correct number of danishes on the Continental breakfast by now. You would think someone would be upset, but you'd be wrong. Not on any of the Company's advertisement spaces, nor on any independent forums; at least none I could find, did anyone have anything bad to say about The Experience.

With glowing praise like that, you wouldn't be out of place to think that there would be long waiting lists for time on however they accomplished this little miracle, and even there you would be mistaken. When I inquired about a somewhat lengthy block of time, I was assured all my needs could be met.

I had done my research, I was a researcher, after all; or so I had thought. They had assured me long stretches of immersion would not be a problem, and that everything I would see and feel and touch would be absolutely real. Of course I had wanted to test this thing and be sure it was everything they claimed, but I'm a grad student and I'm not made out of money. Still, when Dr Carstairs had rejected my original proposal for my thesis, when she had told me that tracing the origin of Western Civilization was old and trite, she had urged me to do something original. So decided that I would become a part of my thesis, study through living and contribute first hand accounts of what I would live through.

I'd put in my outline for my thesis with my advisor, to become a new Jane Goodall, not in the wilds of Gombe Park, but in the Urban Jungle of the early Twenty First Century. It was, admittedly, an over the top idea, not to mention giving a first hand account rather went against the concept of a research masters thesis. Regardless, to my immense shock, she had approved it, but she had cautioned me about how difficult getting such a thesis past the committee would be. I should have heeded her warnings.

But, as certain as only a Grad Student can be in my own genius, I then had a lengthy and embarrassingly personal conversation with one of their 'guides' as they were called so that what I was looking for was fine tuned. I'd spend a month in the early twenty first century to get used to things; to understand how we had survived this pivotal turning point in our history. I had just assumed what I would experience would be a simulation, a hyper realistic electronic MMO with my body laying on some kind of connection bed, being fed intravenously while my mind was living in the past, or as close as could be achieved with modern technology.

Except, that wasn't how it worked at all.

Theoretical Physics are about as far from my field of specialization as you could go and remain in the Ivory Tower, but I did pass my science classes. I'll admit I had trouble following even the dumb-ed down version of the explanation, which was buried under a reminder of the Iron Clad Non-Disclosure Agreement we had to sign to take part in The Experience. If I understood it right, there were an infinite number of alternate realities that exist in and around our own. Anything you could imagine, and nightmares you'd much rather forget, all existed somewhere, along side us on some kind of different frequency than what we could perceive.

Or what we could before The Experience.

It turns out, all those questions I'd been asked had been used to navigate to this reality I was in now. A reality where I was still an ABT Anthropology Major, but instead of frumpy, ugly me, I was a curvy red head in her middle twenties who lived in the early Twenty First Century. Not a beauty beyond the lot of mortals me, but the me I always saw in my mind's eye, young and attractive, the kind of beauty, that could be dolled up or dressed down with equal aplomb. Idealized me in an idealized era that held my interest. When I had woken up here, I wasn't in a computer, I was in a completely different reality. The watch I'd been wearing was the tether between me and the me that had come to The Experience to contract for being sent here.

It was my only way back.

And when whatever malfunction occurred that lost it's sync my 'home reality' so badly it marked itself Canceled because that line had been cut. This wasn't my daydream anymore, though it would continue with those basic premises. But it was also a universe set in the early Twenty First Century, one of the most violent and turbulent epochs in our history. An age that we still didn't exactly understand how we survived and it would continue down that path, but to where was now anyone's guess. To the best of my knowledge, I was stuck here, now in this situation which was now my situation, my reality.

I wasn't Jane Goodall any more. The wilds I was in was not a park that could be left; it was all there was. There was no England to return to. I was as castaway as Robinson Caruso, adrift in a sea of possibility and probability.

I don't think anyone could blame me for hanging my head and giving in to my emotions and having a good cry. I don't know how long I cried, before I heard the ER Doctor's voice clearing his throat. “Miss Byrne?”

I couldn't tell you why I tried to cover up that I'd been crying. Maybe it's just a part of society that we strive to not burden others with our emotional out bursts. Ten thousand years of stumbling from barbarism to civilization one suppressed emotion at a time. In any event I wiped at the mess my face was in, from being cleaned from blood spatter, make up and running tears, and tried to pretend I was in high spirits. “Yes, doctor?”

The curtain parted and he came in, harried, a little raccoon eyed from lack of sleep, but a decent looking guy. A full nights sleep, shower and shave would likely allow him to shine up like a new penny. “I can't imagine what you've been through, though the trauma is plain. If you'd like, I'd be happy to have someone from our...to have a therapist come and speak with you.”

I shook my head and sniffed, trying to clear my sinuses. “I'm fine,” I lied. “Really. Is Greg here? Can I go?”

He smiled and the way it sat on his face told me he knew I was lying to him and he chose to let it pass without comment. “Greg is your...?”

“Um, Significant Other right now,” I admitted. “He's bringing me a change of clothes. Greg Walker is his name.”

He made a note on the clip board. “I'll be sure to let security know to allow him entry. I have some good news, we've finished the tests on the blood samples you gave, and the test samples we had from...the source of the possible infection. We found it all negative, no STIs, no Hepatitis, no TB, so you can breathe a sigh of relief.”

“That is good news,” I admitted.

“I'll want you to follow up with your regular doctor next week some time, to double check just for safety.” I nodded. “Forgive me, I have to ask some personal questions; are you sexually active right now?”

“Um, yes,” I replied guardedly.

“When was your last period?”

“I...” I started and trailed off. “I'm not sure,” I hedged. He looked at me over the clipboard. It was a hard look, the look of someone who wanted to disapprove, but was being professional not to. Finally his eyes returned to the clipboard to continue his questions.

“And what are you using for birth control?”

To say that this line of questions was making me uncomfortable was an understatement of monumental proportions. “Why is this relevant?”

He looked up again from the clip board and gave a sheepish smile. “I'm sorry, believe it or not, there are laws that govern this. I have to ask.”

“I...see,” I mumbled. “Um, I, well, I'm not using any kind of birth control right now.” He didn't say anything, he just noted on the paper, but I could feel the disapproval radiating off him. He went over to a cabinet and opened it, removing an odd plastic tray that vaguely looked like a pilgrim hat and bottle.

“I'm sorry, we'll need a urine sample.” He handed them to me and indicated behind him. “You know where the rest room is?” I nodded. “Great. Just put your name and date of birth on the jar and leave it in the little door.”

“Alright.” With as much dignity as one can muster in a hospital gown, I shuffled down the ER bays to the rest room. Finally having a little more privacy, I locked the door and opened up the Guide's bag. Inside were five smartwatches like mine, the strange device he'd started to get out when he'd been shot. Did this program the bracelets? Why were there four others? Was I not the only person he was supposed to retrieve?

I took the strange device from the bag and turned it over in my hands. It looked like a small tablet or computer, with a display, but there a couple of mechanical controls on the side. Maybe this thing was going to program my band to get me back, or maybe it took the carrier back, or, honestly I had no idea. I put it back in the bag and took care of the reason I'd come here, placing the sample into the tray behind the little silver door and went back to my gurney. I had no idea how to operate the thing, and if this 'experience' had taught me anything it was not to mess with things I didn't fully understand.

If they sent one Guide, they would send another when I didn't get back, right? When the dead Guide missed his check in or something. I just had to wait. But those four other watches gnawed at my conscience like a dog worrying a bone. Sure I had caught the eye of a handsome young lawyer, waiting for me would be easy. What about these other four?

Did I even have some way of finding out who they were?

I sat on the gurney, my thoughts in a spin as I tried to decide some way that inaction would not be something that would look poorly on me. Try as I might, I couldn't find any way, then realized the more I tried, the less I liked myself.

* * *

Greg arrived not too long after and I was able to get dressed so he could drive us back to his apartment. I was quiet and remorseful the whole way such that he finally reached out and took my hand in his. I leaned over and laid my head on his shoulder as he drove. I couldn't get out of my mind how close I had come to dying, the horror of what I lived through, and fear of the unknown in front of me.

When we got back to his apartment I wondered over to the sofa where my laptop and notes were and sat down on the floor to use the coffee table as a desk as I listlessly tried to get my mind on finishing my thesis. Greg followed me, a confused look on his face. “What are you doing, baby?”

I looked up and sighed. “Trying to finish this.”

“No, you're not,” he told me as he reached down and picked me up, then got us both comfortable on the couch. “We are going to relax and let you unwind from what you went through. We'll work on things tomorrow.”

“Greg...”

He smoothed my hair and held me against his chest. “Shhh,” he told me. “Just be for a little while. I'm here and you're safe, concentrate on that.” Under his shirt, I heard his heart beating and the gentle, steady rhythm soothed me. My mind was calmed by his presence such that I felt all the stress clinching up my muscles relaxed; I had found my safe harbor in the storm. “See?” his voice rumbled under my ear. “It's not so bad.”

“What's going to happen?” I asked.

“I'll have to face a hearing to adjudicate my use of deadly force,” he replied softly. “Dad will, of course, recuse himself, but he'll file an amicus curiae, as will I for his hearing, since he fired as well. Don't worry, this is all just due process; what we did was justified, but the State must be sure.”

“Does it bother you, that you...?”

He chuckled, darkly. “As much as I'd like to be macho about it, it...is a heavy thing to live with. I had hoped that I would never have to do that, that I just did this for sport because I like the competition.” I felt his muscles flex and then his lips on my head, kissing me. “I did what I had to do, for everyone. While I hope I never have to again, I will, to protect you.”

“Are your parents ok?”

“Dad's fine,” he replied quietly. “He was in the Gulf War, so this wasn't his first fire fight. He got mom out then helped me look for you. Mom was really relieved you were ok.”

I couldn't keep in a snicker at that, considering how we had parted company in the women's room. “Really?” I drawled.

“She gave you the third degree in the restroom, huh?”

I raised my head to be able to see his eyes. “If you call 'using every favor owed she had to ruin my life' the third degree, then yes. Very much so.” He shook his head in either chagrin or regret, I'm not sure which to be honest.

“Yeah, mom can be a little scary at times,” he admitted. “But, then, I've had some...interesting...relationships before you, Lana.” I got my hands between my chin and his sternum to be more comfortable and let the expression on my face do my questioning for me. “It's not your fault,” he assured me. “I should have warned you that might be on offer, but I didn't want to prejudice you against her. Mom loves me, but I've made some...less than optimal dating choices. That, and she had kind of a tough time growing up. Her father, my grandfather, is white.”

“I wondered about her eyes,” I said.

“Yeah, and if we got stares, imagine what her parents dealt with. Mom too, growing up.” He laid back his head on the arm rest and looked up at the ceiling. “People can be stupid,” he declared in a philosophical tone of voice. “It wasn't illegal for Grandpa and Grandma to get married, but that didn't matter for much back then. I asked Grandpa about it once, about why he stuck it out? He could have left, but they're still together. He told me, 'Son, a man doesn't run out on his family.' I guess that stuck with me. Mom, she just doesn't want to wish what she had to grow up with on us.”

“Does she not like me?” I asked him, a little fearful of the answer. “She said she wanted to like me...”

“You didn't do anything wrong,” he declared. “Mom will come around, don't you worry.” He smiled at me and started stroking my hair again. “I have high hopes for us.”

I laid my head down again on his chest and closed my eyes. “Me too,” I whispered.

* * *

After the holiday weekend from hell, the following week was downright sedate. True to his word Greg played chef, cheer leader and critical reader of my thesis and actually made some unique insights into my premise. That didn't keep him from finishing the deposition he owed Justice Mathers, or being there, waiting on her to turn it in Tuesday morning as ordered. I had gone with him and Helen, as she insisted on being called, invited us into her chambers for coffee and some of the muffins she had brought that morning for her staff.

It was interesting, peeking into this world and this part of Greg's life, which Helen seemed very knowledgeable about. I gathered she took her responsibilities as his Godmother quite seriously. It was also fun to listen to all the embarrassing stories she had about him as a boy and young man. Helen regarded him as a fine young man, a man of principals, education and morals; all of which underlined what I already knew of him. I didn't need an Associate Justice of the state Supreme Court to tell me that, but it is certainly great ammunition to have when my subconscious tries to play tricks on me.

From there it was back to his place where, as promised, I put my nose to the grind stone and got serious on finishing this thesis. It didn't matter that it wasn't my thesis, but one for this universe. In fact, it made the most sense as had no idea how long I would be waiting and I would certainly have bills to pay and a need to eat between then and now.

And as the week went by, in companionable company with Greg, I began to wonder if I wanted to go back.

So, with my head held high, at nine AM on Friday I met John Carstairs for the 'first' time with my thesis in hand. He seemed like a nice enough man, very pleasant and to say he was delighted I'd crossed the finish line would be putting it mildly. On his desk was a picture of a little blonde girl, who was three or four or so, smiling impishly into the camera.

It was a smile I completely recognized seeing on her sixtyish face; the face of Dr Ruth Carstairs who had been my advisor when I'd started this journey. I kept my humor of her father being my advisor in this alternate reality to myself. “You'll still have to defend this,” he warned me and I nodded my understanding.

After a sigh to clear out my mental cobwebs, I asked, “When?”

He eyed the binder critically, then stole a glance at the calendar on the wall. “Probably a month from now. I'll present it to the committee and once we're on their schedule, I'll let you know.” He smiled at me. “I told you, you could do it.”

“Thank you, doctor,” I told him. “I appreciate all your patience.”

“Go take some time off,” he ordered. “Relax, the hard part is over. Then go back over this, and be getting ready to defend it.”

“Yes sir.”

That weight off my back, I thanked him again and headed back out to my car with a grateful sigh of relief. After the week I'd had, I felt like I needed a vacation from my vacation. That inevitably brought my thoughts back to the little bag of disguised smart watches and the device the Guide had left me. I had to do something, but, didn't I deserve some measure of happiness?

More to the point, what could I do?

I had no idea who these other people might be, or what kind of universe they might be in. Where they in mine? Was I alone here or were these others from my universe in this reality somewhere? And since this was supposed to be their 'fantasy' wouldn't they be in a situation as good or better than mine? I slid into my little hatchback's drivers seat and sighed, looking at myself in the rear view mirror. “I'm not a hero,” I told myself. “I...”

Have you ever looked in your own eyes and judged yourself?

It's not a good feeling when you decide you aren't living up to your own morals. That brought a decision to try and find something. I took out my phone and within a few seconds my favorite voice was in my ear. “How did it go, beautiful?”

I smiled, imagining Greg in that magnificent suit he'd been putting on as I left to get to KSU, sitting in his window office, being all powerful and alpha male lawyer. Of course, not terribly powerful as he was merely an Associate of the Firm, but that he had an office with a window seemed to indicate he was on his way up. “Hey, Counselor! I've leveled up! I am now Awaiting Defense.”

“Alanna Byrne, AD has a great ring to it,” he laughed. “Now that you have that accomplished, what are you off to for today? And what do you have in mind for this evening?”

“Greg,” I said softly, in a more serious tone of voice. “How...how would I find out about what happened to that man, that fell on me? He took that bullet for me. I should at least send some flowers.”

I heard his keys typing for a second. “Sweetheart, he hasn't been claimed. They're calling him John Doe.”

“What will happen to him?”

“Well, if he's not claimed within thirty days, the county will have him cremated and then the ashes stored in the unknown remains vault.” It wasn't hard to play up my dismay.

“That's horrible! Could...could someone...?”

“A non-relative claim the body?” he finished for me. “I'll look into it. I suppose we both owe him a debt of thanks. Alright, Lana, I'll see what I can find out.”

My smile, if disingenuous, was genuine. “You're the best, my love.”

“I was inspired,” he told me. “So, tonight, I thought we could get date four out of the way? You feel like celebrating?”

“Anytime with you is a celebration, Greg,” I replied. “Were did you have in mind? And how shall I dress?”

“I'm not going to change.”

I smiled and allowed myself a little shiver. “Mmm, you do look delicious in that suit. I think I have a little black dress that might set you off.”

“Be still, my beating heart!” he laughed, but there was an undercurrent to it, as though I'd given him quite the 'pick me up' that would put some spring in his step for the rest of the day. “I have something for you. Be at my place at four?”

“With bells on!” I assured him. “See you then.”

“Can't wait,” he told me and we sadly both hung up to get on with our days. I had an outfit to work out so I headed home to start getting ready. Soon, I realized, I would go from being a grad student to 'Magister' to use the old term, although if the University offered me a teaching position again, I'd be Professor Byrne. I had some real decisions to make about my future. Was I going to pursue my own Doctorate? Teach if offered a position, or try for field work? I had so wanted to get into the field and discover the past, but that would take me away from Greg, and I wasn't sure it was what I wanted any longer.

“Professor Byrne has a nice ring to it,” I told myself, to which my subconscious quickly retorted Professor Walker sounds better. “Yes,” I whispered as I merged into traffic. “Yes it does.”

* * *

SOHO was probably the most casual of the 'fine dining' restaurants in the city. We were far enough from downtown that the unrest seemed further away, and yet enough 'in town' to have the city lifestyle vibe. It was a remarkably friendly and welcoming place despite the 'fine dining' moniker, run and hosted by people who seemed to truly enjoy giving exemplary service. It was the kind of place that employed a sommelier whose job was actually grading wines and suggesting them, not a title given to a waiter to sound important.

Not that I was in any way used to dining at restaurants that employed a sommelier, properly or otherwise.

As I'd promised Greg, I had found a lovely, long sleeved knit sweater mini-dress in black with a sufficient V Neck to set off my decolletage while the black swede knee boots I was wearing were doing a similar service to my legs. It also hugged my body very well and set me off to my best possible light. Greg already looked like a million dollars in that suit, but I imagine with me on his arm he felt like a billionaire. We had a lovely meal of small portions, but multiple courses which was interesting without feeling gluttonous.

As we were nibbling on a plate of different cheeses and a lovely white wine, he decided to become serious. “So,” started after a sip of the wine and looking at me just a bit sideways with an expression I'd come to recognize on his face as playfully sarcastic. “We just are just about at the end of date four, would you agree?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you have in mind?” I demanded but his smile just became coy.

“I am simply trying to abide by the rules of civilization as I have been informed of them by an expert anthropologist of my acquaintance.”

I held up glass in salute. “Bravo, Counselor, I due believe that you could argue a rainy day into sunshine. Therefore, yes, I will agree that our forth date is in it's closing stages.”

“Well,” he said, digging into his breast pocket, “as we are past the fourth date, as agreed, I have a gift for you.”

He produced a small burgundy velvet box that, thankfully, seemed to be too large to be a ring box. “You don't have to buy me things, Greg,” I scolded him, but he just grinned.

“I didn't have to fall in love with you, either, Lana, but I did. Besides, what good is money if it can't bring joy into our lives? You bring joy into my life and I want to bring joy into yours. Open it.” I shook my head a bit at his reasoning, but it was very romantic, none the less.

“I do delight in humoring you,” I told him as I picked up the box. I opened it to find a beautiful torc necklace, the opposing ends of which were claddagh or Celtic crowned hearts and the body was magnificently engraved with a circular knot work pattern. It was in a shiny metal I took for silver at first blush, but then the luster and way it caught the light made me think it was something far more expensive.

That was not the only thing in the box, however.

The torc wrapped around a simple door key in the box. “It's beautiful,” I complimented him, realizing he had in fact been hanging on my every word in that jewelry debate in the mall. “But, Greg...”

“But nothing,” he told me with a smile. “It's yours, so you'll just have to be graceful and accept it.” I took it out of the box, finding significantly heavier than I thought it would be. I delicately put it around my neck so that the claddagh framed my esophagus. The metal warmed quickly against my skin and I imagine between it and the black velvet, my skin must appear to be alabaster.

I looked him in the eye and asked, “How do I look?”

“Like a star descended from the heavens to shine at my table,” he told me and I blushed so fiercely my skin must have turned bright red. “It's platinum, so you won't have to worry about it tarnishing.”

My suspicions were instantly confirmed and I realized this was now the single most expensive piece of jewelry I owned. “Greg...!” He just grinned and shook his head, gesturing at the box and it's key. “You want to give me a key to your apartment?” I was still taken aback by this gift so I didn't catch the significance of the amount of trust he was displaying.

“No,” he replied calmly. “I want you to have a key to our apartment.”

“You want me to move in with you?” I demanded feeling very overwhelmed.

“Yes, I do.” He took the key out and laid on the table by my hand before he closed the box and tucked it back into his jacket. “And don't make excuses about how much I do or don't know you,” he told me in an earnest tone of voice. “I know nothing worth having is without risk. But after many trials and much error, I like to think that I've developed a sense of judging good risks versus bad ones. I am aware we're still very new to each other. I also know you are a beautiful, conscientious, caring woman who is exceptionally intelligent and well educated; you're easily the finest woman I've ever met. I know a good thing when I see it and I'm not about to have a woman of your quality get snapped up by someone else because I was indecisive.”

He picked up his wine glass and took a sip. “So, what do you say? Let's finish getting the 'getting to know you' stuff out of the way together, so we can get serious.”

My heart was pounding, but I knew he was right. He was what I wanted and I seemed to be everything he was looking for. I took up my clutch purse and opened it so I could get out my key ring and added his to mine. “God save you, Gregory Walker, I say yes.”

“Check please!”

* * *

Later that night I discovered that women in stockings and garter belts were also a rather large turn on for him.

Twice.

* * *

It turns out, that our State actually coded into law that any personal willing to take on the responsibility of proper burial could claim a body after all other attempts to contact family were exhausted. Greg, generously paid for a funeral home to collect John Doe, even though we had to be present to do so. It's somewhat macabre, but the attendants are required to have the claimant verify the corpse they are taking possession of is in fact the person they think they are. They very carefully unzipped the bag so that his mortal wound wasn't shown.

It is a strange thing to see a body. Except for the pallid, pasty tone of the skin, you would think they were merely asleep, but also not in a very disturbing way.

Greg held me as we both nodded that this was the person we meant to help, and the mortician closed the bag and began to wheel the gurney to the hearse he had arrived in. The ME then took us back to the lobby before the secure area and she pulled out an envelope she opened and laid out on the table. “His clothing was contaminated,” she told us softly. “We had to destroy it, however these are his personal effects.”

On the table was a smart watch, a small note book and pen and a phone. Frowning, I looked up, “Where is his ID?”

The ME looked at me side long. “If we had an ID, he wouldn't be John Doe.”

“Lana?” Greg asked.

“Around his neck, there should have been an ID card on a lanyard,” I protested. “I'm sure I remember seeing it.”

The ME shook her head. “This is all he came to me with, but I'll have the CSI team check their logs and inventory. I have your name and contact number on the release so if something turns up, I'll call you.”

I nodded as Greg signed the forms. “Thank you.”

It was raining when we went outside, which was fitting for a day to claim a body. Greg had me wait in the Sally Port of the Coroners Office while he went to get the car so I would stay dry. Once he had, I took the notebook out and opened it. The hand writing wasn't the greatest, but I could make it out and I found a series of notations of twenty people, their physical descriptions, names, addresses, who they were here, everything. I was number fifteen.

I sighed, feeling my shoulders sag a bit. I had to find these people, and if nothing else, set up some kind of communication ring so we could support each other. And I had to decide what, if anything, I was going to tell Greg. I put the notebook in my purse and resolved myself.

I would make sure the remaining four were alright. If not...well, that was a bridge I would cross when I got to it. For now, Greg didn't need to know, and that was a decision I prayed would not come back to haunt me. Lord, give me strength.

* finis *

Debt Of Conscience: An Erinyes Adventure

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

TG Themes:

Other Keywords:

Erinyes Universe by Bek D Corvin

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Debt of Conscience

An Erinyes Adventure

By

E. E. Nalley

Kait Marksbury created by Renae Miller
Diana Davenport and Preston (Kallie) Wyecross created by Bek D. Corbin

This is the original Story of Elisa Diaz and her adventures with Themis Corporation. It was posted some time ago to The Late Bob Arnold's Stardust Site. It is Cross Posted here for completeness, by request. Elisa Diaz has been an Erinys for a very long time; long enough that she has nearly become jaded by the sights and conspiracies of the world. Yet in the dark shadowy places there remain tangled plots that have never seen the light of day, until she stumbles across one of the oldest. Guns! Gritty Cyberpunk setting, babes in skintight body suits and even a little bit of cross dressing! Set in Bek D. Corbin’s Erinyes Universe, with his blessing.

Rosario-Buenos Aries-La Plata Metropolitan Area 10:28PM, March 9th

The air was heavy with humidity and the din of traffic coming and going on Moreno Street. The workday was done, but the night life was getting into high gear and a cacophonic mix of rumba, salsa and other, less identifiable music was floating up from the street below the gothic cathedral. The revelers, so close to the massive dike that had been erected to hold back the bloated Plata River took no notice of the dike, nor the sordid floating docks that had been cobbled together to keep the port open when the oceans rose. This was Old Town, the heart of Buenos Aries and just now was never the time for such thoughts.

A glossy black shadow crouched beside a gargoyle, florescent green eyes peering intently at the Hotel InterContinental de Buenos Aries. The eerie green glow was fixed on a particular window in which a tall, thin man was pacing, incessantly smoking while checking the lock on the door as well as nervous glances to his window, forty stories above the street. Here was a man whose conscience was giving him no rest.

Good.

The shadow seemed to smile at the man’s obvious lack of sleep. Imperceptible over street noises was a man’s voice in the shadows ear. The glowing green eyes turned and picked out the sight of a helicopter’s running lights. Still a ways off but getting closer; it was time.

A small, matte black device made itself known in the shadow’s hand in the weak glow of neon coming up from the street. A soft puff of escaping high pressure air was lost to the collection of music as an impossibly thin line snaked across the street to imbed itself into the concrete of the hotel, just above one of the two open lower roofs below the penthouse with it’s heliport above. The shadow detached itself from the protection of the gargoyle and slid across the space, lithe and feminine and still impossibly black in a skin tight combat suit that gave no impression other than form.

The shadow dropped soundlessly onto the roof and was through the access door before its lock could begin to put up a struggle.

* * *

Customs of Aeropuerto Internacional de Ezeira, 11:23 AM, March 8th

“Buena mañana, Señorita. Puedo ver su pasaporte, por favor?” Pablo could not believe his luck that the most beautiful woman in the customs line had come to his cubical. She was magnificent even as she demurely presented her passport, only one small suitcase beside her.

“Buena Mañana,” she replied, her voice a velvet contralto that lovingly rounded each syllable that escaped her full, generous mouth. Pablo forced his eyes from femininity personified to be rewarded with her smiling picture staring out at him from the documents. It named her Elisa Maria Ayala Diaz, from the American Federation and listed her age as 38.

Impossible, thought Pablo to himself. Surely this woman, so richly attired, so breathtakingly beautiful could be no older than 25 but even that was being generous. Still, it seemed prudent to keep his mind on his work. Something wasn’t quite right. “Cuál es la longitud de su estancia en la Coalición SurAmericana?”

“Apenas un día. Estoy aquí en negocio.”

Pablo frowned at her ready answer. “Qué clase de negocio?” Her smile became feral and the demure façade slipped a bit.

“Personal business.”

* * *

Rosario-Buenos Aries-La Plata Metropolitan Area 10:29PM, March 9th

The Hotel InterContinental de Buenos Aries was one of a double dozen Five Star hotels scattered around the Old City, but it was the only one to boast such a central location in Old Town. It was also easily the oldest which gave it an air of Art Deco opulence that clashed with more modern security measures. The Shadow found herself in a disserted stairwell from the roof top door.

A building that had been constructed in the last fifty years would never have a roof entrance not opening into a crowded area. There were too many reasons since the seas rose large numbers of people would need to exit a building quickly to not have all the exits clearly marked. Such considerations were beyond the imaginations of the InterContineal’s architects in 1934. Doorways which went no where, to their minds, were better left to the top of unused stairwells.

As she expected, the Shadow found a small half door held shut by a simple padlock. A special tool from her belt had it open in a clutch of heartbeats and the Shadow was in the darkness once more; this time on a steel grate that was tacked as an after thought inside a concrete pit of the buildings elevator core. Groans of distressed steel and rattling chains replaced lively music to be just as ignored by the Shadow as she found the ladder she was expecting and began to descend.

Five floors later a similar grate was waiting on her, what little wall space there was taken up by a rat’s nest of cabling and an unvisited museum exhibit of telephone history. As the buildings communications equipment had been upgraded throughout the decades, each new generation of engineers simply left their predecessors work in place and placed their own beside it. Wooden distribution blocks with wing screws for connections and solid copper wire had given way to plastic 66 series punch down blocks and twisted pair Category 3 wire.

This too had been supplanted by the floor’s Smart Box and fiber optic branch threads that fed the river of information from the buildings 145meg/sec OC3 main trunk; state of the art, fifty years ago. A smile formed behind the Shadow’s mask at the pride the final engineer had had in his work.

His notes still remained on a yellowed sheet taped next to the Smart Box where he had painstakingly drawn out each circuit and thoughtfully labeled them all by room number for whoever would follow him. The green glow from the night vision goggles played across the diagram. The old engineer hadn’t completely trusted the new technology and made sure the Smart Box would make use of the previous punch down block for strictly voice calls from the hotel’s PBX.

Redundancy was the hallmark of a good engineer.

From her belt, the Shadow removed a small box with a pair of wired leads that dangled free. These she brought to the correct alligator clips of the 66 block and punched them in place, over the top of the existing lines. The outbound circuit from the same room she worked a hook into and pulled them free. Her guilty friend wouldn’t be calling for help on the Hotel’s dime.

An angry red light glowed to life as she activated the black box and secured it to the 66 block where it could be easily found. No sense making the job harder for the clean up crew. They weren’t accessories to murder.

It had taken most of a day to hard code a passable, generated copy of the man’s murdered wife’s voice and hard imprint it on a chip. The Shadow only wished she could have seen his face when his dead wife began calling from the Great Beyond. “Via con Dios,” the Shadow whispered to herself with a reverent, but hurried crossing of herself.

From the small of her back she produced and made sure of the load of deadly looking automatic pistol whose magazine extended well below the grip. The Shadow slipped clear of the service shaft and out into the main hall of the floor.

It was time.

* * *

Themis Branch Office, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, 2:13PM, March 7th

“Diaz,” the phone buzzed at her, seeming to know she was hip deep in trying to clear three cases at once. “My office, now.”

Elisa sighed as she began to gather up the scattered case notes from around her desk that were most likely the cause of the boss’s ire. She felt her cube-mate Kait’s eyes on her as she did so, the obvious question almost going unasked. “And what have we done to garner the attention of the boss?”

“We?” asked Elisa with a roll of her chocolate brown eyes. “Unless you’ve blown up a building I don’t know about, we haven’t done anything.” The paperclip managed to work loose from the crime scene films and they scattered across the floor of the cube. “On a guess, she’s ticked about the Harrison-Maxwell Jewels heist.”

The red headed Valkyrie frowned as she stooped to help Elisa pick up the scattered photos. “You still haven’t managed to track down that witness? You got that name last week.”

“Well, I know he’s somewhere in Germany, but the Bundeskriminalamt has been particularly unhelpful. There must be some kind of on going special on doughnuts in Wiesbaden because no one is ever available nor can they be bothered to return my phone calls.”

Marksbury handed her cube mate the photos she’d collected. “Ah, and I imagine Wendy is laying odds on Harrison burning up Diana’s phone complaining about our so-called lack of speed for his hard earned nubucks.” Elisa finally got the file back into a semblance of order and nodded.

“Well, wish me luck and don’t bet against me.”

“When have I ever done that?” Kait smirked. Elisa’s glare did all the reciting of Kait’s previous indiscretions with the office bookie she needed. Still there was nothing else for it so she squared her shoulders and tried to pretend that every eye wasn’t on her as she made her way to Diana’s office.

The aforementioned room was a glass walled rectangle towards the center of the room where the Office Supervisor could see all of her charges and, more importantly, they could see who was getting the third degree for fouling up. Diana felt that peer pressure and a bit of embarrassment was just the thing to keep her agents in line, on the job, and most importantly, alive. Going into the ‘Shark Tank’ as it was referred to (strictly behind Diana’s back of course) was always a bit of drama; even more so when Diana had polarized the glass the make the office a black square in the middle of the floor.

Like it was now.

The door was the only portion of the office that hadn’t been polarized yet, but that changed with a press of one of Diana’s meticulously manicured nails after she’d waved Elisa inside. A set of silicon nanites appeared in red under where Diana Davenport had been ‘etched’ on the glass wall and shaped themselves into DO NOT DISTURB.

Elisa swallowed before letting herself into the office. “Sit,” ordered Diana as she tapped away at her keyboard, seemingly intent on the readout on the screen. Diaz settled into one of the very comfortable camel colored leather chairs that faced the desk, smoothing her skirt as she did so.

“You wanted to see me, Diana?” she started after a cautious licking of her lips.

If she had been old enough, Diana Davenport could have been the reason the phrase blond bombshell had been coined. While still trim, traffic stopping beautiful and as hard as nails when she wanted to be, Diana could be sympathetic and understanding; she just wasn’t often. There were rumors that she might have been seen being that way once, but no one would admit to being the witness. It was always so and so said such and such saw…

Diana finally noticed the file folder Elisa held when she looked up from her computer screen. “What’s that?”

“The Harrison-Maxwell Jewels case,” replied Diaz. “Isn’t that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No, but since you brought it, what’s going on? I’m getting tired of placating Messer’s Harrison and Maxwell over my phone. I have better things to be doing, like charging you overhead for my line’s cost this month.”

“We have the perps cooling their heels in the Dee-Cee Metro Detention Center, and they’re not getting out anytime soon. They both have a slew of violent felonies going back fifteen years or more. One of them was my first collar actually. The problem is the DA won’t release payment until we produce the eyewitness who is on the vacation of his lifetime in the European Union and I can’t get anyone from German authorities to return my calls.”

Diana rolled her eyes in disgust. “And of course no one in our great, democratic bureaucracy will admit to granting travel visas to a material witness in an ongoing homicide investigation. I’ll make some calls, but that’s not why I called you in here.”

Elisa very carefully kept her surprise in check. Diana rotated her computer screen so Diaz could see the yellow job bid form that was displayed, her name very prominent on it. “What is this?” Davenport asked with a calmness that was always the first sign of trouble.

The cocky answer sprang to Diaz’s lips with a speed that she found alarming even as she bit down on it. “It’s an open job I put a bid on, what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s an open bid from our branch office in Buenos Aires that you put a bid on. Would you mind telling me why you’re bidding on jobs on another continent?”

“The fugitive is from the Boston-Atlanta Metro. The crime was committed on the Pennsylvania Inlet. That’s our jurisdiction.”

“Crime?” demanded Diana, even as she swung the screen around to pull up the specifics of the bid. As she read through Elisa knew she had misspoken. “Oh, of course, I should have known. So, Mister Herbert Van Buren kills his wife, evidently in cold blood and highs off to Buenos Aires to avoid extradition. But as he’s not only ticked off his employer who holds him to a Lifetime Contract, but the late Mrs. Van Buren’s parents are well heeled enough to put in a bid to have him hauled back as well. And there’s no place on Earth he can run from the Avenging Angel of THEMIS, is there, Elisa?”

“It’s a legitimate bid…” started Diaz.

“I’m not paid to be your psychologist, Diaz, and we’re not here to help you work out your frustrations about what happened to your parents.” Even Diana winced a bit at how sharply the words had come out of her mouth. The softening in her eyes was probably the closest she would come to an apology. “Elisa,” she started again, noticeably more subdued. “You paid off your debt two years ago. You know how many rules I’m bending letting you stay a field agent when you should be working a desk somewhere in Computer Intelligence or Internal Security.”

“You need role-models for the new girls to see,” Elisa replied, doing her best not to sound surly. “To show them that they can pay off the debt.”

“Why do you think I put Marksbury with you?” the Boss said, something dangerously close to a smile on her face. “That doesn’t change the fact that you putting in for this has nothing to do with business or professionalism. And it won’t bring your mother back, Elisa, no matter how many murderers you bring in.”

“I know that,” she hissed. “And I know that Mister Van Buren only killed his own wife, not my mama, but bringing in the tontos who do this makes me feel better. I couldn’t help my mother, Diana, but I can make sure Lillian Van Buren’s killer faces justice. Isn’t that what we’re here for?” A long moment passed as the gears behind Diana’s eyes turned, weighing the risks verses the rewards. Finally she spoke once more.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

* * *

Rosario-Buenos Aries-La Plata Metropolitan Area 10:30PM, March 9th

The main hall of the floor lived up to the promise of the hotel’s exterior. More to the point, blowers in the ceiling quietly, but endlessly pushed cooler, conditioned air to relieve the guests from the Argentina swelter outside. Elisa removed the night vision goggles and returned them to a clamshell keeper on her belt. They were expensive enough to warrant proper looking after while the balaclava had served its purpose and was stuffed back into a catch all pouch.

Elisa liked for her victims to see her face, to know a woman was who brought them down.

More to the point, while the glossy back Erinyes combat suit wasn’t exactly high fashion, it would draw enough stares if she were seen. Wearing the hood would doubtlessly start a panic. Without the hood she’d just be dismissed as a either a tramp or a showoff, flaunting her magnificent body. Either had applied at some point, she thought ruefully to herself before clearing her mind for the business at hand.

There were incoherent shouts coming from Van Buren’s room, sufficient to reach down the hall to Diaz’s unoccupied ear, but not so much that she could make out what was being said. A cruel smile plucked at the corner of her mouth; it seemed her bit of psychological trickery was having its desired result.

“We’re on station, One,” whispered the voice in her other ear.

The communications uplink was state of the art, small, light weight and very secure. It had cost nearly a month’s pay and the part of her that was still getting used to being out of debt grumbled about the company store. Elisa settled into a fighting stance up against the wall on the strong side of her mark’s door. “Light him up,” she sub-vocalized into the pick up.

Outside the hotel, the helicopter whose approach she had followed rotated slightly so that the 20 million candle power flood light in its nose was pointed into Van Buren’s room. Elisa could almost feel the heat from the flood lamp against the wall. On cue, the front door swung open and the room’s occupant, trying to protect his eyes, came stumbling out.

Right into Elisa’s elbow.

The blow fell in the corner where the man’s jaw met his skull, just below his ear. Herbert was staggered and fell into the door frame, his sobs of anguish now cries of pain. Not giving him a chance to recover, Elisa collected handfuls of his shirt and whirled him around her, using the wall to stop him.

Blood spurted from the fountain his broken nose had become, tracing a perfect arc between the impact points and the floor he fell back to, stiff as a board. Elisa’s right foot struck his kidney as the fulcrum through the cartwheel she turned over him, making him arch up and away from the foot.

This left him extremely exposed as her left foot crashed into his groin on her landing. Herbert curled up into a ball to try and protect himself, his sobs less and less coherent as one arm flayed, whether in defense or surrender was unclear.

“Stop…! Stop…!”

Elisa grabbed his arm and used it as leverage to roll him prone, if his wrist was striking the back of his head that just encouraged him to move in the direction she wanted. “Is that what Lillian said?” she snarled at his back, the weight of the pistol in its holster ever on her mind. “Eh, tough guy? Did she beg for her life?”

“…Lillian…!” he wailed.

Her fist raised of its own accord the soft spot where his neck met his head fixed in her tunnel vision. A single strike would be sufficient to shatter his neck. He wouldn’t die instantly, but suffocate over twenty agonizing minutes. “One, we’re at the roof,” reminded the voice in her ear. “Ready for extraction.”

A lifetime passed before her fist relaxed and snatched a pair of hand cuffs from their keeper. “You’re going to answer for what you’ve done,” she hissed as the metal bit into his flesh. “Lillian sends her regards.”

She snatched him up into a fireman’s carry and made her way to the elevator. None of the other guests who had appeared from their rooms did more than stare as she passed.

The elevator was thankfully empty when it arrived, its soothing music a macabre counterpoint to the bleeding, moaning prisoner across her shoulders. The pain was forcing him into shock based on how disjointed his mumbles were becoming. Fortunately the ride was short to the sky lounge were a five man team in Reflex Armor and Personal Assault Systems were waiting on her in a classic, over lapping ambush.

Their leader stood first, his face plate becoming clear as the PAS found a more neutral direction. It was a handsome, but weathered face; tanned from the sun of a hundred plus countries in countless ‘engagements’ he occupied himself with there, both legal and less than. At his signal, the other men relaxed as well. “Is he dead?” he asked simply, noting the condition of her prisoner. “Or just wishing he was?”

“I don’t think he’s coherent enough to wish,” she replied, allowing one of the men to relieve her of her loathsome burden. “But he’ll live once Murphy gets a few quiet minutes with him.”

“Murphy,” called the other man to the group’s medic, his armor having smaller red crosses near the THEMIS logos. The leader led the group out to the small Sparrow Hawk helicopter that was idling on the pad. It was a Special Forces surplus model, old but well cared for and still carried some interesting looking mounting points that were currently empty.

Elisa settled into one of the cloth jump seats near the door and furthest from Van Buren and sighed. It was a thirty minute ride by car to the Aeropuerto Internacional de Ezeira from the hotel, but just five by air. There the crew of the helicopter would quickly step the rotors so it would fit into the C-181 Atlas that was waiting on them. The Atlas would then swallow the Sparrow Hawk and depart on a flight plan filed 36 hours earlier. Within an hour they would out of Argentina and on their way home, long before the local authorities could organize some way to stop them.

The leader settled into the jump seat across from Elisa and sighed as he got his helmet off. This revealed a coal black high and tight that lengthened his already long face but seemed meant for him. “You want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about, Tom?” she snapped. Her eyes apologized for her and she continued in a much more subdued tone. “Just another perp brought to Justice.”

“Is it sad I can hear that you capitalize that J?” he asked around a chuckle. Diaz rolled her eyes at his humor, but he had coaxed a smile from her.

“I appreciate you and the boys coming down here to play second fiddle. I know it was short notice too, but it’s nice to work with people you know.” He shrugged; an emphasized gesture through the heavy armor and ran a free hand through what there was of his hair.

“Always happy to get a pay check for nada,” he said, continuing to smile. “Still, I’ll add this IOU to my collection, maybe next to bit of business in Kuala Lumpur.”

“Oh you weren’t going to fall, you big baby,” she growled with mock venom. “How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

“41 Stories between me and a sudden, messy stop, Diaz!” The boyish good humor left his eyes for a moment as he looked over his shoulder at Murphy fussing over the prisoner before turning back to her. “You’re awfully quiet for a change.”

“You my confessor now?” she demanded angrily.

“Do you need one? Just a general observation that when you catch one of these you’re normally a lot more up beat,” he said after a moment of collecting his thoughts. Elisa shrugged which did interesting things to the combat suit.

“This one felt wrong is all.” She spared Van Buren a glance, who was now morosely staring out the window at the approaching lights of the airport. “Still, that’s what courts are for, right?”

* * *

William J. Clinton Air/Sea Port, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, 10:18AM, March 10th

One of the great benefits of the Atlas was it was designed to function as a sea plane as needed. In an era when the seas were 47 feet higher then they had been that was a large advantage. While it’s fifty meter wing span made it impossible to get anywhere near THEMIS HQ, the Pennsylvania Inlet was more than adequate to touch down on to be met by a sledge.

The cargo plane idled to a parking berth under the watchful eyes of the harbor master and the longshoremen who tied it off. Kait Marksbury let the men do their work as she waited by the sledge her ‘mentor’ had called ahead for. She wasn’t exactly unhappy to be working with Elisa; the only person who’d been doing this longer in the department was Diana and she didn’t work the field any more. Kait was satisfied that Elisa had a lot to offer in the way of tips and tricks; nobody who could pay off a two hundred and fifty thousand nubuck debt in fifteen years didn’t.

However, Kait was a fully qualified agent; she’d passed all the training and physicals. She tied her own shoes and everything. To have been ‘assigned’ a partner who Diana in no uncertain terms made clear was the superior of the relationship galled. It really didn’t help that in the three months since the Smithsonian blow up that she’d been mentoring under Elisa she’d made bonus every job.

“Everything ready?” whispered Elisa’s voice in the communications link that had been disguised as a pair of fashionable gold hoop earrings.

“All clear here,” Kait sub-vocalized, catching sight of Diaz looking at her through one of the windows of the big plane. The hatch opened, revealing the heavily armored form of a private with the Cerberus body guard detachment Elisa had taken with her. He made a show of checking the area and led his detachment down the ladder to the platform.

The bodyguards made a half circle before the skiff’s door, PAS rifles in hand and rigged for bear. The private was already inside the skiff, getting ready for the prisoner. Paranoid, thought Kait to herself as she took her eyes to their Commander, a rugged looking fellow who was leading the ‘client’. Kait gave a low whistle at the amount of bandages on the poor man; most of his face was wrapped in ruddy linen and he was walking with a noticeable limp that wasn’t entirely due to the leg irons he was wearing.

It looked like Elisa had vented some serious frustration on the twerp.

After him Diaz brought up the rear, still wearing her combat suit but with a secure coat over it. A buzz overhead brought Kait’s eyes up to see a news service helio had begun to orbit the platform, a camera man hanging out the side on a jump harness. Marksbury keyed her PCS over to the harbormaster’s frequency. “Get those vultures out of our airspace!”

* * *

>>>K-WASH NEWSDUMP! SPECIAL ON THE SPOT REPORT!<<<
“This is Ilena Reyes, coming to you live over the Pennsylvania Inlet Harbor where a cargo plane registered to the THEMIS Corporation is currently disembarking Herbert Van Buren, wanted for the brutal slaying of his wife Lillian three days ago. K-WASH has learned from reliable sources that after the killing the suspect fled to Buenos Aires in the South American Coalition, probably to escape extradition for the crime. Those same sources inform us the Erinyes Corps were contracted both by the suspect’s employer, Saeder-Krupp as well as the parents of the deceased to return Mr. Van Buren to face trial. We…just a moment…! Something’s happening…! Mr. Van Buren has been shot! He’s down on the platform and there’s a lot of activity! Joe are you getting this?

“The platform is covered in blood and the THEMIS agents are engaged in pitched battle with a skiff just below us! Now the skiff is firing on us! I can see the THEMIS agents are moving Mr. Van Buren into their sledge. What? NO! Don’t follow the other skiff they’re shooting at us! Get us some altitude! Michael, we’re being ordered out of this airspace by Washington PD aerial units. Again, Herbert Van Buren, wanted in connection with the slaying of his wife Lillian, has been shot! Back to you! Get us out of here!”

* * *

Themis Branch Office, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, 11:37AM, March 10th

The screen that had dutifully formed in the glass wall of Diana’s office clicked off with a sharp gesture from its mistress. She didn’t shout, but then she didn’t need to; her glare was enough to wilt a new rose in rich soil. The targets of her ire found their shoes very interesting in the manner of a small child brought before a feared teacher. “Are you happy?” she asked at last. “We look like a collection of amateurs to the entire metroplex. A protected fugitive gunned down under your very noses in living color on the evening news.”

Of all the eyes Elisa could feel on her back, the ones that burned the most belonged to the smirking face of Valerie Worthington; the office vulture and resident Bitch Queen. While the others on the floor had the grace to pretend to not be watching, Val boldly stared, obvious pleasure plain on her face. “Well?” continued Diana crossly. “What do you have to say for yourselves? What can you say to persuade me not to open an office in Anchorage to staff with you three?”

Tom, ever a bold one, cleared his throat, immediately drawing Diana’s piercing gaze. “That’s not entirely fair, Ms. Davenport. Elisa took extensive precautions…”

“For all the good they did.” Diana calmly rotated her monitor again, this time it displayed her email program. “I have a lovely note here from Maria Montoya, my counterpart in our Buenos Aires office reminding me of the large favor I owe her for allowing my professional poach on her territory. How should I respond to that, Diaz?”

“Nothing went wrong on her turf,” groused Elisa. “We were in and out in under an hour. It was text book.”

“That’s right,” drawled Diana. “It was on your own ground that it all went to hell, didn’t it? You can’t even blame Marksbury…”

“Leave Kait out of it,” snapped Diaz. “None of what went wrong was her fault. I was the Team Leader, if you want to blame someone, blame me.” The glass threatened to frost over, so cold Diana’s gaze became.

“Oh I am,” she finally whispered. “I may not be able to fine you since you’re clear of your indenture contract…”

“…Must be nice…” muttered Kait.

It only took a second of Diana’s gaze to convince the Valkyrie that silence was golden just then. “But,” she continued returning her glare back to Elisa, “I can make sure this doesn’t happen again. As of now, Agent Diaz, you are suspended from all field operations, pending a transfer to the Computer Intelligence Division, where you will serve the rest of your ten year contract; said transfer to be finalized with in two weeks. Badge and gun,” she demanded, holding out her hand.

Elisa stiffly removed the badge that hung around her neck on a chain and presented to her boss. “My sidearm is not issue,” she said with remarkable softness. “I purchased it with my own funds and so I do not have to surrender it to you. Further, as required by regulations I am informing you of my intent to file a harassment grievance both with human resources as well as Internal Affairs over your handling of this.”

“That is your right,” returned Diana with even less volume. “Now get out of my office.”

The trio filed out of the Shark Tank looking decidedly glum. As they made their way through the cube maze there was a moment of fear that Valerie would say something and thus ignite a major incident, but as they went by, a glare from Kait reminded her she had a pressing case load she should be working on. Elisa’s mood did brighten slightly at the arrival of Pres, the office intern.

While Kallie, or Preston as was ‘his’ official name was still technically male, her future acceptance into the Corps was all but written in stone. Having impressed the Office Supervisor does have its perks. And even a lowly intern’s part time salary was ridiculously better than anything she could manage flipping burgers like the others in her peer group.

Being young and transsexual meant Kallie had nothing better to spend her salary on than clothing. To Elisa’ knowledge Kallie had yet to wear the same outfit twice which made for something of a daily fashion show straight out of Elle. Today was a Princess Retro Cotehardie in teal green that had a hem line that would have scandalized a monk of the appropriate period while managing to match the color her eyes currently were. “Elisa! I’ve been looking all over for you!” she announced upon her arrival.

Diaz smiled as she muffed the teen’s growing longer hair. “You and everybody else, sweetie,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Your land lord in holding on five,” the near girl replied. “Says it’s urgent, something about a break in?” Elisa frowned as she picked up her pace to get back to her cubical. There, she snatched up her phone and connected to the appropriate line.

“Thank you for holding, this is Elisa Diaz, how may I help you?”

“Elisa? It’s Simon,” came the slightly distorted voice in her ear. “Where you been, girl? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.”

“Been out of the country on business, Simon, what’s wrong?”

“About four in the afternoon yesterday, two Dee-Cee cops showed up, said they had a search warrant for your apartment and made me let ‘em in. The whole thing seemed fishy to me, but they cuffed me before I could finish complaining. They left after about two hours and let me go. I called PD, but they don’t know anything about it.”

“You ok, Simon?”

The gravely voice chuckled. “Take more than a couple of thugs playing cops to ruffle my feathers, girl. You safe?”

Elisa couldn’t keep a smile off her face at the old veteran’s bravado. “I’m fine. Thanks for the heads up, Simon. I owe you a solid. Keep your head down for a couple of days, alright hon?”

“Roger that, girl. You watch that cute backside for me.”

* * *

Bethesda Naval Hospital, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, 2:08PM, March 10th

A pair of discrete gentlemen were flanking the door she approached. Although neither wore a uniform, going instead for the upscale casual tough guy look in turtlenecks, slacks and leather blazers all in black, Elisa knew both were employed by the Cerberus Body Guard division of Themis. She nodded a greeting as they let her pass into the room, dark except for weak illumination of the bio-monitors.

The Ki that had been awakened in her by the Dragon’s Blood process let Elisa ‘see’ effortlessly. The sole occupant of the room was peering through the gloom guardedly in a vain attempt to see her. After a few moments of wasted effort, he finally managed the strength to ask, “Are you here to kill me?”

Elisa crept forward, just allowing the light from the monitors to reach her without fully lighting her. “If I’d wanted you dead, cupcake, you’d have never left Buenos Aires,” she told him with more bravado than she felt.

He lay back in the bed, spent for the moment. “That’s true, I suppose,” he admitted. Diaz allowed herself to look at Herbert for the first time. He was an all right looking sort; thin with a soft chin and young for being an engineer. There was nothing remarkable about him, certainly nothing to suggest he was a killer.

Indeed, if she had passed him at one of the Metroplex Malls’ she would have pegged him as a vegetarian. “I didn’t kill my wife,” he gasped around a fit of coughing from his previous efforts.

“Then why is she dead?” whispered Elisa as she moved around the foot of the bed for a slightly better vantage point.

He lay in the bed, fruitlessly staring at the ceiling for a long moment. “I want to thank you for whatever premonition you had about the docks. If you hadn’t dressed me in that armor, I would have been the one shot. The man who took my place, is he alright?”

“The trauma plate saved his life,” Diaz answered. “A couple of broken ribs, but he’ll be a pain in my backside again before I know it. You haven’t answered my question, Herbert.”

He looked into the empty space her voice had come from, peering once more for some glimmer of her presence beyond the hackles on the back of his neck. “Why do you care?” he demanded. “You’re an Erinys, aren’t you? You only care about what you’re getting paid to care about.”

“You’ve been surfing too many combat porn sites, hombre,” she chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ve had two opportunities so far to snuff out your miserable excuse for a life and you’re still drawing breath. I get paid either way. But you’re here, and I’m here and I want answers.”

His head lolled back onto the pillow. “I don’t have any answers. My life has come apart at the seams, my wife has been murdered, I’ve been beaten within a centimeter of my life, and now I’m in a hospital bed being tortured by the Bitch who put me here. Do you honestly think I care what you want?”

Elisa causally reached out and took a hold of his bare foot in a grip of iron he was powerless to overcome. Her thumb found the ninth pedial chakra and she extended her Ki into it. The agony flashed up his nervous system, painting itself on his face, but was gone before he could scream. “Herbert,” she told him coolly. “I am an Erinys, a Fury in every sense of the word. I can drop you into pain your pathetic brain can’t imagine. I can make you wish for death and not leave a mark on you. Don’t make the mistake of making me angry. You’ll only regret it once.”

She released his foot with a glare that drained what there was of the color from his face. “Now that we have that out of the way, cupcake, let me clue you in on how the rest of this conversation is going to go. I will ask you questions, and you will give me full, honest and complete answers to the best of your ability. There’s still a killer looking to poke you full of holes, hombre, and I am all that stands between you and him.”

He swallowed on a throat that had become remarkably dry. “What do you want to know?”

“If you didn’t kill your wife, why did you haul ass to BA?”

“The night she died, I got a call from our boss, Bertram Loen. He’s the CEO of Saeder-Krupp; my wife was his personal executive assistant. He told me I had to rush to the airport and take the next flight to Buenos Aires to salvage a presentation the next day. I’m an engineer; I’m used to this kind of thing so I just went. I found out on the flight that she’d been murdered from the news service my PCS subscribes to.”

“Was there a presentation?”

He shook his head. “I touched base with the division head in BA when we touched down. He had no idea I was coming. He got me a room at the hotel and I started calling, trying to figure out what was going on. When…when I called Lillian’s parents, they told me they knew I had killed her and that they’d contracted with Themis. I never heard back from Juan, and then you got there.”

“Have you called anyone since we got you here?” Again he shook his head. “Don’t,” she ordered tersely. “If you want to live to see next year, keep quiet and don’t give the gorillas outside any trouble.”

A faint spark of hope lit in the dark, hallow orbs of Van Buren’s eyes. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she snapped at him. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, is all. And, hombre, if you’re at the bottom, I will know it.” She turned sharply on her heel and left the room with its unpleasant odors of death covered by disinfectant, pausing by the two guards outside. “Nobody, I mean nobody goes in there who isn’t verifiable hospital staff or a real cop, guys.”

“Not going to be a problem,” murmured the taller of the two with a nod.

Elisa sighed and continued down the corridor her thoughts in a jumble. No matter how she tried to make the pieces she had fit, the puzzle refused to come together. Maybe I’m over thinking this and none of it is related, she thought to herself as she stabbed the elevator call button with more force than was probably needed.

However, no matter how she tried to make her thoughts dismissive, tried to convince herself that she was imagining things, the doubts returned. The elevator arrived to a soft tone revealing the extremely fit figure of Tom Vannoy, who had traded his armor for a polo shirt and chinos that set off his magnificent frame well. The sight of him brought a smile to Elisa’s face as she joined him in the car. “Speaking of pains in my backside,” she greeted with a laugh.

“I wish,” he answered wistfully, eliciting a punch in the arm for his trouble. “How’s your boy?”

“He took some persuasion, but he finally spilled the few beans he knew. Not much, but what I was expecting. How’s Murphy?”

“They’ve already got him out of the tank and he’s fussing only the way a medic in the hospital can.” He paused and looked down on her for a moment, drinking in anew her lithe, breathtaking form. Her dark, normally inviting eyes were far away in the soft oval of face, a face that was made for smiling. The smile was over cast from strands of dark hair that escaped the French braid that trailed down to the small of her back. She was currently wearing a thick turtleneck sweater and a pair of jeans that hugged her hips and showed off her legs under a black leather trench coat against the nearly constant rain fall the Old DC Metro was plagued with. His mind’s eye undressed her and for a split second the memory of her perfect, dusky skin under his hands over wrote the image in his eyes before he could master himself once more.

“Elisa, you sure you want to go through with this? You won’t be in Computer Intelligence for more than a day before Cerberus would give you an option, you know that.”

Her smile up at him set his pulse to racing. “I know, and don’t think I wouldn’t be happy to work with you and the boys on a more permanent basis, but this is about my name, Tom. I know I’m right. Davenport can rant and rave all she wants; she’s been pushing paper in that office for so long she’s forgotten what it’s like out here. There’s more to this than a simple domestic, I know it.”

“Alright, I’m in. You know I can’t say no to you.” He was rewarded with another smile and it was all he could do to keep his imagination in the here and now. He took out his phone and brought up the documents he’d saved to it earlier. “You were right about BA. Policía Bonaerense has put out a case solve bid for the murder of one Juan Rodriquez, Division Engineering Head, Saeder-Krupp, found dead 1:30am local time this morning.”

“Why are so many people around Mr. Van Buren dieing?” she wondered as she skimmed the documents. “You get my badge from Central Supply?”

He fished into his pocket and removed the badge, still hanging on its neck chain as it had been surrendered. “Crimes committed under color of law are pretty serious you know,” he cautioned her as he handed it over. “Lot’s of ways to end up in the chair.”

“So we’ll do things quietly,” she replied as she took it. “You know what a cautious girl I am.”

“That’s why I’m worried. So, what’s our move now?”

“I believe it’s time we paid Mr. Bertram Loen a visit.”

* * *

Saeder-Krupp Corporate Arcology, Old DC Metro, 3:17PM, March 10th

The Saeder-Krupp building was built on an artificial island along the canal Delaware Avenue had become. It was a towering edifice of steel and glass that had been personalized with a series of terraced gardens that ran, stair step, up the side of the building. It was situated near the bowl that protected Fort Leslie McNair between what had been the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers, which was now the Pennsylvania Inlet. As the seas and risen, the vast majority of the peninsula the site was on had been abandoned to the rising waters and only recently reclaimed.

Elisa’s BMW had bought the pair across the ocean inlet most of what had been the District of Columbia had become quickly and in relative comfort. The cabin of the sporty vehicle was sealed and constantly supplied with cool air as it could serve with equal aplomb as an old fashioned automobile, speed boat or personal submarine. Elisa let the vehicle drive itself as she tapped her way through a website on her PCS. “Strictly out of curiosity,” asked Tom with a sidelong glance at her, “what makes you think the CEO of one of the largest companies in the world is going to talk to you without so much as an appointment?”

“My winning personality,” she replied without looking up from her phone. “That and the fact of the post contract interview which is a standard part of every Themis contract.”

“Yes, but those interviews are handled by public relations, and usually by phone.”

She finally looked up and flashed him a sardonic smile. “I was in the neighborhood, and besides, if you were him, would you not see me?”

“Only if I was a eunuch,” he admitted.

The BMW turned into entrance of the parking garage at the base of the atoll and smoothly made the transition from water to wheeled mode at the Valet station. Elisa declined to notice the Valet undress her with his eyes and took Tom’s arm as he led the way into the lowest level of the building, a multileveled shopping center.

The pair flashed their badges to the soft tone of the weapons detectors as they entered and were allowed to go their way. “You know, I could get used to this,” he remarked quietly. She gazed up at him intently for a moment, obviously not following his comment, but smiled when she realized he meant her being on his arm.

“Why Tom, are you going soft on me?”

“I don’t think that’s possible with you in the room,” he quipped, timing his innuendo at their arrival at the information desk to keep her from responding.

“May I help you?” the young man behind the desk. Elisa held up her badge.

“Elisa Diaz with Themis, Erinyes Division to see Mr. Bertram Loen on a matter of official business.”

“I’ll see if he’s available, Agent Diaz,” he replied. “One moment please. Would you care to sit down?” He indicated a comfortable looking bench off to the side. The pair made themselves comfortable for several minutes before a somewhat harried looking, but nevertheless well dressed young woman was directed over to them by the information desk attendant.

“Agent Diaz?” she greeted as she reached conversational distance and offered a soft hand shake. “I’m Constance Walker, Executive Assistant to Martin Hammond, Senior Executive Vice President of Saeder-Krupp. How can I help you?”

“I’m here following up on the contract Mr. Loen took out with my firm. May I speak with him, please?”

She smiled a smile that was strictly official issue. “I’m afraid Mr. Loen is not available. I understand you’ve successfully completed the terms of the agreement. Is this some kind of customer service interview?”

“It’s that as well,” Elisa replied as she stood to add a bit of psychological leverage against her new adversary. “I have a few questions to finish up my report.”

“Perhaps I can answer them?”

Elisa shook her head as she opened her purse and dug out a business card. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid my company’s strict confidentiality agreements prohibit me from speaking about this with anyone except the contractor. Would you be so kind as to give Mr. Loen my card and ask him to contact me at his earliest convenience?”

The official issue smile didn’t move. “I’d be happy to. Thank you for stopping by.”

Constance watched the two leave for a long moment before turning her regard to the card she’d been given. The stylized Medusa Head that made up the Erinyes logo seemed to be staring directly at her and hissing with rage. A thought keyed a speed dial program in the telephone that had been implanted within her skull. The line connected and a thought was broadcast to the person on the other end of the line. We have a problem.

* * *

The Waterford Apartments, K Street Canal, 4:30PM, March 10th

Elisa felt her spirits fall as she sorted through the wreckage of her apartment. Whoever the two men posing as policemen really were, they had been extremely thorough. Nothing had been left where it had been, nor been spared from the fine tooth comb that had been run through her personal belongings. Only her gun safe had stood up to the intruders, doubtlessly because they hadn’t had the time to cut it open.

“I’m sorry about all this, girl,” Simon muttered once again, pushing his trademark USMC ball cap that was covered in VFW pins further up his bald fore head. “They had 40 years and 9mm on me.”

Diaz was at once consoling; despite the emotional turmoil she was already in. “Simon, I have a dangerous job, you know that. Don’t ever get between my stuff and someone determined to go through it. They’ll likely be pros who won’t bat at eye at murder.”

“People used to have rights,” muttered the old codger as he nodded his own frustration. “I left it just like it was. Called DC Metro to get their crime geeks out here, but they said it’d be two weeks. If I wanted to foot the bill to a sub-contractor they could get it sooner.” Elisa laughed a mirthless laugh.

“Save your money, Simon, these guys weren’t likely to have left any kind of evidence behind. I see they couldn’t get into the safe, though.” Simon brightened at once.

“Oh they had all sorts of electronic do-dads to bypass every electronic lock on the market. Neither one knew what to do against good old fashioned mechanics. Told ya,” the old man beamed.

“Where did you even find a mechanical combination lock safe?” demanded Tom from his inspection of it. “It’s even bolted into the floor!”

“Simon set it up for me,” Elisa told him with a smile, as she worked the combination and opened the safe. “I’d imagine he could get you the hook up as well, if you’re interested?”

“I just might be. Is anything obvious missing?”

Elisa removed her spare Erinys combat suit from the safe, still on its hanger, the slick molecularly locked black material glistening in the light. “They took the memory card from the CTV,” she said, gesturing to the combination home computer, wide screen TV, internet station and telephone. “They won’t find anything on it, I keep my work files on my PCS, but I imagine they were being thorough. Of course now I’ve missed this weeks’ episode for Of Masks and Marvels. I’m going to have to break somebody’s legs for that.”

“It should be on my system,” Tom assured her. “I want you to come stay with me until this all gets settled and you can get all this repaired.”

“Back in the Themis dorms?” she demanded. “No thanks; I’ve stayed there quite enough, thank you.”

“Not at Squad Commander Level, you haven’t,” he countered. “I’ve got plenty of room and, more to the point, it’s nine different kinds of secure. This is serious, Elisa, there’s already two people dead. You wouldn’t want me to get high blood pressure worrying about you, would you?”

She shook her head as she relented and returned to packing the gym bag with clothing and necessities. Diaz cleaned out the safe’s store of magazines for her pistol as well as several boxes of ammunition with a determined expression on her face. “Simon, you keep your head down for a little longer, alright? If somebody wants to know where I am, you go ahead and tell them I moved back into the Themis dorm. If they’re stupid enough to try and pull something there then I will pity them. No heroics, read me Marine?”

Simon tossed off a salute as he meandered back into the hall at sound of one of the other residents looking to report a problem. Diaz shouldered the bag and planted a finger in Tom’s chest. “Let me be clear, Tom, nothing is going to happen, ok?”

“I can’t look after a good friend without being accused of being a horn dog?” he protested. She closed the safe and returned to glare at him.

“I’m not accusing you of anything; I’m simply stating a fact.”

* * *

Themis Employee Dormitory, Arlington, 6:02PM, March 10th

His apartment in the dorm lived up to his boasting. The door opened into a large main room that doubled as a living room, dining room and kitchen, neatly arraigned around the walls in the most unobtrusive manner. His own hobby was evidently World War Two as the walls and shelves were tastefully decorated with relics and memorabilia from the soldiers in that conflict.

Three rooms opened off the main, his bed room, a well appointed bath and a small office. “I’ll sleep in the office,” he volunteered at once as they entered. “I’ve got a sleeper sofa in there.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it,” Elisa protested. “I’m already putting you out.”

“It’s done,” Tom all but commanded her. “My house, my rules.” He relieved her of the bag and placed it on the nearest sofa so as to be able to help her out of her coat. “Would you care for coffee?” he called over his shoulder as the coat was whisked away to the closet.

“Please,” she replied, taking in this window into his psyche. “I didn’t know you were so into history,” she commented as she took in the various displays throughout the room.

“Those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it,” he called over the sounds of the coffee preparation from the kitchen. “My great-great grandfather fought for the old USA in Europe under General Patton. Further back, as the family tradition goes, we were involved in the Huguenot movement in France against the Catholic Church.”

“Strike one,” she told him with a half chuckle. “I’m a good Catholic you know.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he retorted. “You can’t hold my ancestry against me, can you?”

His sense of humor drew a smile from her as she continued to meander about the displays. “This is a, oh what did they call it? A Tommy gun isn’t it?” she asked, looking at the menacing looking wood and metal weapon that held most of one wall.

“Cream and sugar, right?” he declared as he arrived with a steaming cup. “Technically it’s an M1927, the military version, but yes, it’s a Chicago Typewriter. My grand dad’s actually; he stuffed it in his duffel bag coming back from Europe and it’s been in the family ever since.” She took an appreciative sip of the coffee as they admired the ancient weapon.

“You still shoot it?” she asked after a long moment.

He regretfully shook his head. “It was de-militarized last century. They had a number of paranoid laws about automatic weapons.” He shrugged as they settled on the couch with the best view. “Stupid, really when you stop and think about it, any idiot with a little bit of know how and a decent machine shop can turn them out. With all the computer aided design and CAD Lathes these days, you don’t even need the know how. I’ve toyed with taking it to a gun smith and having it repaired, but it’ll be expensive and I’ve had other things to spend money on.”

“It suits you,” Diaz declared at last. “You should get it fixed up. Looks like it would be fun.”

“If it will get you over here more often, consider it done,” he told her with a lopsided grin.

“Look, Tom, we never really got a chance to clear the air about what happened,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes scrupulously avoiding his. “I can’t imagine what kind of whore you think I am…”

“Don’t ever use that word about yourself again,” he ordered. It was stern order, in a voice of command used to handing out life and death. It brought her eyes back to his and they were watery and endless that drew him back into his memories yet again.

* * *

Themis Christmas Party, The Watergate Hotel, 9:15pm, December 24th

It had been a particularly ordinary office party. The food was alright and the decorations a wild mish-mash of traditions so as to not offend anyone. There was a menorah sitting on top of a faux fireplace with large socks hanging from it. A Yule log was burning and casting odd lights on the Christmas tree.

Not that anyone was admiring the decorations.

The party goers were clumping strictly by division lines. The Management types were all in a group, congratulating each other on what a successful year it had been and how, if they were the branch VP they would break all records in the coming year. The VP himself was taking this mild roast with the good humor of someone very confident of his position. The Myrmidon contingent, those who’d showed anyways, had set up operations on one corner, studiously opposite from the corner that held the Cerberus detachment where Tom himself was currently sipping a cup of Earl Grey.

Only the Erinyes moved in the center of the room, impervious to the social hierarchy that everyone else was observing. Each had a male model, star athlete, or international playboy on her arm in a subtle contest that had it’s own rules about who had bested whom in the date department. Two had brought female models and they were causing something of a stir in the manner of two matrons at a benefit who’d arrived in the same dress.

Tom sipped his tea and regretted that, as a squad commander, his appearance at the function had been mandatory. He couldn’t have imagined a worse waist of time.

At least that’s what he’d been thinking until she arrived.

Vannoy had worked with her numerous times in the past; he knew how beautiful Elisa was when she’d played the role of arm candy for his body guard work. But this went beyond his wildest imaginings as the stir from the room’s door drew his gaze. She entered with Kait Marksbury, the young Erinys who had just been assigned as her partner. The fiery young woman with a talent for destruction had just destroyed the ongoing Erinyes contest by arriving with two dashing young men, one on each arm.

Elisa was standing next to her, laughing at the state she’d caused the room, draped in a stunning silver silk dress that in its understatement did a better job of advertising her magnificent form than the skintight combat armor she normally wore. It was a strapless design that caused her exposed skin to practically glow as her dark eyes, dramatically framed by her ebony hair that flowed freely around her head swept the room and finally locked with Tom’s.

She had come alone.

Tom was drawn to her as irresistibly as a moth to a flame. “Nice Tux,” she’d greeted as he’d gotten to conversational distance. “You look like you’re going somewhere important after this.”

“This,” he’d told her to her amazing smile, “is the highlight of my evening.”

“Such a flatterer!” she declared with mock outrage. “Do I get a meal with on this flight or is it a nonstop feet sweeping?”

“I’m afraid the guilt for the food service is entirely the fault of senior management, but I think I can wrangle some punch that isn’t too bad.” She took his arm and thus began one of the greatest nights of Tom’s life.

Their conversation had ranged freely through politics, history, current events, movies they both had enjoyed or despised, work and life in general. Her laugh was musical and completely unforced which he found himself enjoying immensely. He had gone back for her six or seventh cup of punch to find that the party had ended around them and the hotel workers were discretely waiting for them to come out of their own little world and let them clean up. “We seem to have a problem,” he informed her with a chuckle as they looked about to find themselves the last of the party revelers.

“So I see,” she answered with a chuckle. “I’m not sure I’m ready for tonight to end.” Her voice was low and soft with a sensual undertone that set his blood to boiling.

“Me either,” he managed, around a lump that hadn’t found a home in his throat since he was a teenager. “Still, I can’t imagine anyplace nice we could continue the evening at this late.”

“We’re at one of the nicest hotels in Old Dee Cee,” she told him with a smile. “What could possibly top this?”

Fifteen minutes later Tom found himself in a hotel room with a beautiful woman he’d been carrying a torch for longer than he cared to admit. Her need had not allowed for much conversation, though he had the strength of will to savor unwrapping this most cherished of Christmas presents. Her dusky skin had put the silk of her dress to shame as he let his hands gently explore the object of his fantasy.

While he wasn’t in any sense a master of Ki himself, once she had him out of his tuxedo and her hands could explore his skin unimpeded, he could feel her focus and direct her own Ki into him. It had made for a night that had forever spoiled him for lovemaking in its mundane form. He had fallen asleep, her head making a pillow of his shoulder, believing himself to be the luckiest man on the face of planet Earth.

* * *

Themis Employee Dormitory, Arlington, 6:03PM, March 10th

“I never got to apologize for how I left that morning,” she whispered. “When I woke up the last thing I could remember was meeting Kait just out front of the Watergate and suddenly I was in a strange room, naked, with you.” She sighed as she looked away again. “I utterly panicked, Tom.”

He risked his arm by putting it around her shoulders and gave what he hoped would be a re-assuring squeeze. “Once I figured that out it made a little more sense,” he told her gently. “I swear to God Almighty, Elisa, I had no idea how what happened, happened. You didn’t seem drunk, hell; I didn’t think an Erinys could get drunk. If I had any inkling you weren’t in your right mind, I never…” She pressed her finger onto his lips to silence him.

“I don’t blame you, Tom, please don’t think that! I don’t know what was in that punch, but if I ever find out who put it there…”

He touched a remote control and CTV came to life on the far wall. “On the off chance I’d ever get to speak with you again, I had the lab run a test from the residue in your cup. Thank God you brought it up to the room with you. When you seemed content to just kind of ignore what had had happened, I figured I wouldn’t bring up a bad memory. I can’t follow half of what the lab rats told me, but what I did get says this substance acts on the inhibition center of the brain, like alcohol. Its major side effect you know. It wipes out the neurotransmitters that turn short term into long term memory.”

Tom shut off the display with an angry gesture. “I never wanted to take advantage of you, Elisa. If I had the slightest idea…”

“Tom,” she said softly, “in the state I was evidently in, I’m not sure I would have taken ‘no’ for an answer. But, of all the people I could have woken up next to, I am glad it was you.”

The expression on his face did his disbelieving for him. “‘Oh God, oh God, what have I done?’” he quoted with only the smallest amount of rancor. She winced at his teasing.

“You didn’t really know me when I was new in Themis,” she declared, her voice off in memory. “I was finally right, in the right body, with the right gender. Boy did I celebrate. Or at least I did until Karen Astor, who was in Diana’s job at the time, hauled me into her office.” She paused for a moment, the pain of the tongue lashing anew on her features. “She called me every name under the sun, and meant every one of them too. She told me if I couldn’t keep my knees together and get my act straight she’s have me brought up on breech on contract. I had a curfew that was enforced by the house mother for six months, no overnight company or sex for the duration.”

His brain scrambled furiously for something remotely polite to say and failed. Before he could put his foot in his mouth, she continued. “It was during that probation that my father killed my mother,” she whispered. “He’d taken my decision to join Themis pretty hard. I was his oldest son, first born, carrier of the line and all that. Mom had come around, and she’d noticed what a complete slut I’d become. She had been trying to help me deal with being right and help me back into the family. She and papa had some pretty spectacular fights over me. When he found out what I’d gotten in trouble over, he fell off the wagon. Came home roaring drunk and mama was never one to put up with that kind of thing.”

A single tear flowed down her cheek. “I don’t think he meant to kill her. They probably just got into a fight and he pushed or hit her. He’d never done that before. The coroner’s report said that she must have hit her head on the stove as she’d fallen. When he realized what he’d done…” The silence strung out like the blade of a knife between them. “I thank God I was the one who found them, not one of my brothers or sisters,” she whispered.

“Elisa, stop,” he murmured into her hair as he hugged her to him. “You aren’t responsible for what happened.” She sniffed at her runny nose and looked back up into his eyes. At that moment, no one would believe how dangerous she could become. At that moment, she was only a vulnerable young woman with a terrible cross to bear.

“Who is?” she asked plaintively. “I swore then, Tom that I would get my life together and I would be a professional. And I did it, for so many years that it got to be second nature. When Karen left to take over the branch VP position in Kansas she told me how proud she was of me. That she’d recommended me for her position but Diana had already cleared her process debt and had seniority. That meant a lot to me, Tom. But the older I got, the louder my biological clock started ticking. I’m thirty eight and if I’m going to have a family I’d best be about it…”

He couldn’t contain a chuckle that brought a questioning look from her. “Elisa, your mind may be thirty eight, but your body is twenty two, twenty three, tops.”

“That doesn’t stop the ticking,” she groused with a half smile. “I have respected you for a long time, Thomas Vannoy. You are damn near everything I want in a husband. Yet, I can’t even consider dating you because you’re a co-worker and that would be the height of unprofessional. I guess with my guard down the old Elisa came roaring out.”

Tom opened his mouth to counter, hotly, her logic, but was interrupted by the buzzing of her PCS. The two exchanged a glance as she retrieved it from her purse and had a puzzled stare at the caller ID. She rerouted the call to his CTV and the scenic painting it was displaying was replaced by a pair of distinguished older gentlemen.

One was much older, but it was obvious he’d taken care of himself. He wore a dark, four piece suit that had obviously been cut to his measure and only added to his distinguished aura. He sat at the table and looked intently into the camera screen before him, thinning snow white hair meticulously combed over and cropped short.

The other stood behind his right hand. He was at least as well dressed and appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties as compared to the seated man who was at least seventy. The standing man had a hard face that wore a scowl unlike the intent, but almost grandfatherly expression on the seated man’s face.

“Elisa Diaz, how may I help you?” Elisa greeted as she stood.

The seated man smiled. “Agent Diaz, I apologize for intruding on your personal time. My name is Bertram Loen, and this is Martin Hammond,” he said, indicating the hard faced man. “Martin’s secretary told me you’d stopped by this afternoon. I apologize I couldn’t see you in person.”

“I appreciate you taking the time to call me, Mr. Loen,” she said once, one hand subconsciously trying to make herself a bit more presentable and hoping against hope that her mascara hadn’t run. “We just had a couple of procedural questions for my report.”

“I’m completely at your disposal,” Loen affirmed in his polished voice that gave no room for doubt of his sincerity. “How can I help you?”

“We have some contradictory statements from the suspect that Dee Cee law requires we account for. Mr. Van Buren stated that he went to Buenos Aires due to a phone call he received for you directing him to do so.”

Loen began to answer, but Hammond cut him off. Surprisingly, the older man let him. “That’s impossible. The day Herbert killed his wife Bert was with me preparing for our quarterly share holders meeting until very late.”

Elisa’s eyes flicked between the two before she flashed a smile. “Of course, you understand I have to ask. Can anyone vouch for both your whereabouts on the day in question?"

Again Hammond spoke first. “Yes, my secretary Connie; she was taking notes of our ideas. If there is nothing else, Agent?”

“Just one thing, Mr. Hammond; a Juan Rodriquez, your engineering division head in Buenos Aires was found dead the day after I left. I was wondering if you’d been made aware of that?”

“Obviously Van Buren was covering his tracks,” snapped Hammond. “Thank you for your diligence, Agent Diaz. You can rest assured we won’t hesitate to contract with Themis for our future recovery needs.” He reached forward and pressed a control built into the table that terminated the call.

Tom stood and joined Elisa in front of the screen. “Is it just me, or would that not fool a five year old?”

“Tell me you recorded that,” she asked, looking up into his sculpted face. He nodded thoughtfully as he returned her gaze. “I know for a fact that Herbert received a call from the Saeder-Krupp building the night Lillian Van Buren was murdered. And the air line confirms that the flight was paid for by an electronic debit from S-K’s general fund.”

“What now?”

“Now, we get some sleep. Tomorrow we start planning how I’m going to get access to the S-K Building’s main cable trunk. If I can plant a 332 transmitter I can get complete access to their network. There’s something funny going on here, Tom, and I mean to get to the bottom of it.”

* * *

Michael Milken Academy Private High School, 10:02AM, March 11th

Preston Wyecross, alter ego of Kallie Wyecross, Intern at Themis Corporation, Erinyes Division, was having a humdrum kind of morning. Mr. Vasquez, his teacher, had just finished explaining that for the rest of the day the class would be studying the two Persian Gulf Wars and how old USA military adventurism had led to the creation of the North American Federation. The issue was that, try as he might, Mr. Vasquez could make a topic as exciting as war become dull. The youngster had already gone through four different focusing techniques and still felt boredom tugging on his eyelids.

As it was, Preston was counting the hours until he could transform himself into Kallie, the person he was on the inside and make his way over to Themis HQ. That’s when his, or rather at that moment, her, day would really begin.

Mr. Vasquez had just finished setting the tactical situation on the smart screen behind his desk when he was interrupted by a knock at his door. Cursing under his breath he opened the door to stop dead his in tracks. The six foot plus hyper-feminine form of Kaitlyn Marksbury was standing in his door way, her luscious curves displayed for the world to see in her Erinys combat suit.

As you might imagine might happen to a class room full of ‘drowning-in-hormones’ teenage boys when exposed to such a sight, the room exploded in wolf whistles.

“Quiet down!” thundered the educator in the best voice he could muster before turning back to the Valkyrie in the body suit that was easily head and shoulders taller than he. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded with a sour voice.

“Arnold Schwarzenegger Vasquez?” asked Kait in her best professional voice as she graced the boys in the room with a wink. “I have a custody warrant for Preston Wyecross, a minor student in your care. Surrender custody of the minor to me.”

“This is completely improper!” sputtered Vasquez. “You’re required to go through the office…!”

Kait shoved the paper she was brandishing into the smaller man’s chest. “You have been served a court order, Mr. Vasquez,” she snapped. “If you do not comply I am authorized to arrest you for contempt of court. Are you refusing to surrender custody of the minor in question to me?”

Mr. Vasquez scowled up at the smirk wearing woman for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m not refusing to surrender custody. Preston? Evidently you must go with this…woman. I’ll inform your parents of what’s going on.”

Preston was already scrambling to assemble his things and get to the front of the class. “Not to worry, Mr. Vasquez, I’ll call them on my phone,” he remarked in passing as Kait ushered him out the door. Once they’d gotten a bit of distance from the classroom, he had the courage to whisper, “What’s going on, Kait?”

The taller woman winked down on him. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help a little sister skip school every now and then? You think you’re up for a little covert operation?”

“Do I get a combat suit this time?”

“Not this time,” she laughed. “Subtle is actually the watchword of the afternoon. You know how Elisa likes things nice and quiet.”

“But why…?” the intern started before the other woman cut her off.

“You’ll see.”

* * *

New Realities, TIS Arcade, Saeder-Krupp Arcology, 11:04, March 11th

The Saeder-Krupp Corporate Arcology was a little bit of everything. Its lower floors were open to the public as a multi-floored shopping plaza that catered to everything from the hottest fashions to house wares. The next double dozen floors were living spaces for the employees of the North-AMFED branch, then office spaces, R&D labs, sever farms and everything else one would expect to find on a corporate campus, all contained in one overly large building.

On the mall level, Preston made himself at home in one of New Realities’ Total Immersion Sensorium booths. The anonymous Cash Card that Tom had provided him bought him a full hour in the booth where he called up a ‘Super Hacker’ simulation, but left the crown on its hanger. His heart racing, despite the fact of a professional body guard just outside with an automatic weapon, Preston opened his palmtop and inserted the modified memory card Elisa had given him into the game’s slot for it, a thin cable between the card and his palmtop dangling. He hit go on the small computer and the screens of the booth flickered for several seconds before being replaced with the S-K logo.

The lower left hand screen showed a simulation of Preston, wearing the crown and enjoying his TIS Simulation.

A few experimental taps on the palmtop reversed the security feed built into the booth and gave him access to the building’s security monitors. The screens were filled with the images of hundreds of cameras scattered throughout the Arcology. “I’m in,” he whispered into the pickup of the narrowband transmitter/receiver disguised as a small stud earring he was wearing.

“First things first,” Kait’s voice drifted from the earring. “Find me a law breaker.”

The palmtop ran a face recognition software that flashed across the screens before settling on a larger of a pair of street toughs currently amusing themselves’ by intimidating the patron’s of the food court area of the fourth level. The details scrolled across the small holographic screen of the palmtop. “Got one,” Preston whispered. “Irving Wallace, assault two, possession of a controlled substance, and armed robbery. Current warrant #2857643A, Dee Cee Metro; he’s on the fourth floor food court.”

“On my way.”

On the monitor, Preston watched Kait, the long cloak she was wearing over the armor so as not to cause a scene, billowing dramatically behind her as she began to make her way to the fourth floor, PCS to her ear. “One,” Preston sub-vocalized, “Three is en-route, ETA 2 minutes.”

“On station,” called Elisa’s voice faintly.

Preston quickly scanned through the monitors, focusing on the few that were watching the flooded access ways under the building where the public utility lines entered the Arcology. That he couldn’t find any indication of Elisa on the monitors was a good sign. That meant security couldn’t either. Somewhere, in the labyrinth of old tunnels beneath the building Elisa was following the utility trunks up to where they would couple with the buildings own systems.

Thanks to the ancient laws of the old Capitol of what had been the United States, every building in old DC had this particular vulnerability. The utilities had to be underground so as not to disturb the scenic beauty of the old capital. And since the entire infrastructure was underground, when the seas rose, the areas where the new buildings met the old cables were generally flooded.

Anyone with a re-breather could get in, but it was a risky and dangerous proposition. Frequently sharks would wonder in and get lost which made things interesting to the would-be saboteur. In addition, a re-breather would only last so long and the tunnels could be miles long. Getting lost was a very real hazard.

“This is Three,” Kait’s voice cut into Preston’s worry. “Option on arrest has been accepted by Dee Cee Metro; awaiting go signal.”

“Hijo de una perra,” muttered Elisa’s voice. “It’s a tight fit in here. I’ve got the sofea trunk located; I’m just trying to get it connected now…”

Preston’s palm top beeped. “One, a level two security sweep has been initiated by the system.”

“Three, go,” ordered Elisa’s voice.

On his screen, Preston saw Kait pull off her cloak and saunter up to Irving. The two obviously exchanged words before his comrade made the mistake of taking a swing at Kait. The Erinys easily tossed the other man while bringing her foot sharply up into Irving’s groin.

Bedlam exploded in the food court.

Preston’s palmtop began to beep more urgently. “One, three is engaged. The system has gone to a level five active alert.” The screens in front of the young man went dark and were replaced by the S-K logo. “I’ve lost visuals!”

“Two,” grunted Elisa as she struggled with the cable trunk. “Remove to position alpha.”

The door to the booth was thrown open by Tom who snatched the lead from the palmtop from the TIS and firmly but gently extracted Preston from the couch. “Two is rolling,” he muttered as he half guided, half carried Preston towards the exit. Preston couldn’t help blinking in the stronger light from the darkness of the arcade. He struggled to match the brisk pace Tom was setting while getting the palmtop back in its case.

They rounded a corner as a pair of security guards, these in classic uniforms with ‘Smokey the Bear’ hats made their way around them, moving at trot back towards the arcade. There was nothing classic about the heavy pistols each wore. Six more were trotting up the stairs across the ‘canyon’ of the open design of the mall towards the shouts of pain and panic from the food court above. “One, it’s a hornet’s nest up here,” muttered Tom one hand never straying from the scruff of Preston’s neck. “Recommend you withdraw at once. Three, six friendlies inbound to you.”

“Aww, I was just getting warmed up!” she groused. “Not much fight in these two, already have them cuffed.” There came a pause then her voice rose as she caught sight of the security guards. “Dee Cee Contractor on official business!”

Preston hazarded a glance up to see Kait sitting on the two bully boys, one shapely calf across both throats that they squirmed against, both her hands in the air. The six guards were slowly approaching her in a half circle formation, pistols out, for all the good it would do them. Should Kait want to, she could end all their lives inside of three seconds.

Then Tom had him on the escalator and Preston was forced to keep his eyes on where he was going. The escalator went all the way down to the parking garage and so took them quite a while, even with the steady pace Tom had Preston walking down it. The youngster looked back up at the stone faced body guard and whispered, “That was the coolest thing ever!”

“Don’t speak too soon,” cautioned Tom as he gestured with his eyes. Preston followed his gaze and felt his heart sinking into his stomach.

At the bottom of the escalator, hands folded angrily across breasts, stood Diana Davenport.

* * *

Themis Employee Dorm, Tom Vannoy Apartment, 11:38, March 11th

“Of all the bone headed, irresponsible acts!” exploded Diana as Tom let her into his apartment. She was followed by Kait and Preston rather meekly and finally a somewhat defiant Tom. “Where is Diaz?” she demanded.

The door to the bathroom opened, revealing the requested agent, dressed in a terry cloth bath robe and in the process of drying her hair. “Tom,” she told him in a firm voice, “I wish you had called and told me to expect company.”

“And just what are you doing here?” demanded Diana.

Elisa shrugged. “Tom wanted me to stay with him while they were fixing my apartment. It was broken into while I was in Buenos Aires.”

Diana crossed her arms and her entire body dripped disbelief. “And I suppose you have a perfect alibi for why you weren’t at work this morning, but also not at the Saeder-Krupp Building?”

“You suspended me from field operations, Diana,” the other shot back. “The only thing I could do at the office was working on the Harrison-Maxwell case, but that would be a violation of your order. So, I was taking some well deserved time off. I’ve been here all morning, did something happen at the S-K Building?” The last was asked with a saccharine sweetness that could only be meant to provoke the supervisor and it had its desired effect.

“And I suppose you just happened to want to spend this time off with Marksbury and Wyecross, who you had Marksbury illegally remove from her school?”

“Oh, come on, Diana, now you’re going to tell me that you never skipped school?” shot back Elisa. “Think back to what it was like for us; Themis was just getting started, and we were all dreaming about being right as well as getting to be perfect. Wouldn’t you have loved to spend time with an Erinys when you were some gawky teen sick with your own body?”

“Kallie spends four hours a day with an office full of Erinyes.”

“Working,” the other replied. “What’s the point of skipping school if you’re not going to have fun? Yes, I had Kait spring Kallie from school. I’ll be happy to pay a fine for that if you’d like.”

Diana turned back to Kait with a suddenness that was surprising for all who saw it. “What were you doing at the S-K building?”

“I met up with Tom there,” Kait replied. “We were waiting on Elisa to show up to get our shopping on.”

“So you optioned a two bit thug to pass the time?”

“He made the mistake of pissing me off while being wanted. I made sure Kallie was safe with Tom and worked an option. And don’t start about reckless, Boss, because if Kallie wasn’t safe with a Cerberus Squad Commander, then there’s no place in the sprawl she can be. More to the point, what were you doing at the S-K Building?”

Davenport’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t pick up Diaz’s bad habits. I put you on a punitive assignment as her partner to learn the good ones, not the bad.”

“Like I could forget!” Kait shot back.

Diana turned finally to Tom, her frosty glare loosing some of its trademark force as it was met with a scowl only a professional bodyguard can muster. “I ought to have a talk with your division leader about all of this, Vannoy.”

“You’re welcome to talk with whomever you like, Ms. Davenport,” he replied nonplussed. “But I’ll thank you to remember you’re standing in my apartment, not your office. Who I associate with, off the clock, is none of your business.”

Diana’s hands danced in the silent language of the Erinyes as she glanced a final time at Elisa, before she snatched open the door and stalked out of the apartment, her back rigidly straight. “What…” started Preston, but the youngster couldn’t continue as Kait had grabbed a hold of her and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Well,” started Elisa brightly, “let’s get you en femme and do some shopping!” The agent fixed the youngster with a steely gaze and held her index finger up to her lips. Kait’s hand slowly released her and she winked at Preston.

“Uh…right,” the young girl want to be managed. Turning to Tom she asked, “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Mi casa es su casa,” the guard replied. “Looks like Elisa is going to take some time getting ready herself, so no hurry.” Elisa shot him a disgusted look and continued into the bedroom.

Preston managed his transformation into Kallie with remarkable speed, borne both from a desire to become who he actually was as well as the months of practice with the procedure. Elisa considered briefly taking her time in getting ready to punish Tom for his remark, but decided against it. The clock was definitely against the conspirators as it was.

In short order the foursome was inside of Elisa’s BMW which cruised out of the Dorm’s water lock without incident and began making its way through the DC traffic towards the Georgetown mall. “Ok, what gives?” demanded Kallie once they were clear of the lock. “What was it that Diana hand signaled to you guys that made you shut me up?”

Kait, who had crammed herself into the back seat next to Kallie over Tom’s objections, mimicked the gestures as she explained them. “Danger, combat quiet, close enemy, proceed with caution at own risk.”

“I have sooo got to learn that,” the young woman groused. “So, what does that mean?”

“Any Themis facility has active security monitoring as a safety feature,” Tom supplied. “Even in my private apartment there are listening devices that are monitored. If I’m injured and call for help, I can communicate with the crisis responders while they’re en-route.”

“So if we had started talking about…our adventure this morning…?” started Kallie.

“We’d be hearing ourselves admit to felony wiretapping at our trial,” finished Kait. Kallie considered this for several minutes before she thoughtfully asked.

“And the ‘proceed with caution at own risk’?”

“That was directed at me,” Elisa said from her driving. “It means that Diana has been backed into a corner where she has a choice of protecting the company or protecting me. And if she has to make a choice, she’ll choose the company. So, I can either accept this transfer, or I’d best prove my gut is right and quickly as I’m running out of time.”

“So, let’s be about that,” chimed in Tom. “What have we learned so far?”

“The night Lillian Van Buren was killed, her logon accessed a file in the S-K mainframe that trigged a level 12 security alert. I’m not certain yet what that file was as the log I found in my cursory investigation didn’t list it. However, the buildings’ PBX confirms that the phone call Herbert received from the S-K Building that night came from the phone in Mr. Loen’s office.”

“That doesn’t prove that Loen was the one who told him to rabbit,” protested Kait.

“No,” agreed Elisa. “But it does build reasonable suspicion that something is being covered up here. What-ever it is, it’s bad enough that two murders have been committed over it and a third was attempted. Those aren’t odds I like.”

Kallie considered that for several moments before shaking her head. “No, that’s not what’s important here.” Kait’s eyebrows ascended her forehead in amusement.

“Oh really? And what, pray, is important Little Sister?”

“What could box Diana into a position of making a choice between the company and Elisa,” the young girl dead panned.

Diaz considered that for a moment before pressing the auto-drive button on the dashboard and fishing her PCS out of her purse. After a moment it established a connection with the Themis main branch and displayed her desktop icons. The waiting message light immediately caught her eye and she was shortly looking a split screen of a forwarded video call, Diana on one side, the hard faced man on the other.

“Thank you for holding, this is Diana Davenport. How can I help you?”

“Ms. Davenport, Martin Hammond, Senior VP of Saeder-Krupp, North AMFED.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Hammond?”

“You can tell your bitch Elisa Diaz that the job is over and she can stop sniffing into our corporate matters,” Hammond snapped. “My secretary made me aware that she has been harassing our CEO. You people were paid to get Herbert Van Buren back from Buenos Aires, not play Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m certain, Mr. Hammond…” Diana started, but was cut off.

“Let me tell you what you can be certain of, ‘Diana’, either Themis puts a stop to Diaz’s interference or Saeder-Krupp will file suit in every court in the Dee Cee area for everything we can legally admit into evidence. S-K will bury you, got it?”

Diana’s face became cold and stony. “I will certainly look into the matter, Mr. Hammond. Good day.”

The screen went black to Kallie’s soft whistle. “I think we have our nominee for ass hole of the year.”

“Yes,” muttered Elisa. “Now we just have to find out what it is he’s so worried I’m going to find.”

* * *

Kings And Queens Fashion, Georgetown Mall, Old DC 1:13PM, March 11th

“Not that I’m complaining,” Kallie enthused as the group entered one of the most expensive fashion boutiques in Old DC. “But, I figured when you told Diana we were going shopping that was a cover.”

“It is,” confirmed Kait as she began to flip through a rack of mini-skirts.

“The first rule of alibis is be seen at your alibi,” chuckled Tom as he held up a very dapper four piece suit to inspect the material in better light.

“And always have a receipt with a time stamp,” added Elisa as she held up a red silk blouse with a neck line that would settle around the bottom of her ribcage to her neck and turned to the group. “What do you think? Too sexy?”

“There’s no such thing as too sexy,” Tom declared. “I for one would love to see you in it.”

“That goes without saying,” chuckled Kait as she selected the same blouse in a deep burgundy and held it up to Elisa. “This plays up your skin tone better. Makes it more difficult to figure out where the blouse stops and your skin starts. You’ll get more stares that way.”

“So,” murmured Kallie as she found a half jacket that would set off an outfit she already had. “We like Hammond as our bad guy?”

“Thus far, he’s come out as the front man,” Elisa murmured as she flipped through a rack of skirts. “He seems to be calling the shots at S-K, and what ever stinks there seems to be sticking to him. Our current theory is Loen’s secretary, Lillian accessed something dirty of his and he has her killed. She may have made Loen aware of this, but Loen is too big a fish for Hammond to just kill. Loen tells Herbert to rabbit to BA and then contracts us to go and get him. Hammond tries to silence Herbert, and anyone he’s spoken to. He’s safe in our custody and Loen counts on us being thorough to get him out of his jam.”

“There’s a whole lot of hopes and maybes in that theory,” Kallie observed. “Why doesn’t Loen tell Herbert why his wife is killed? Or that his life is in danger so that Herbert can pass that on to us? He’s just assuming that we won’t say, ‘here’s your boy’ and wash our hands of it. If he’s in fear of his life that’s a pretty big leap.”

“More to the point,” Kait said as she settled on a miniskirt. “What is Hammond into that he’s willing to kill so sloppily to protect? If our theory is right, both Lillian Van Buren and Juan Rodriquez were killed out of knee jerk reactions to silence them.”

“You wouldn’t think someone who’d made it all the way to the Senior VP slot of a multi-national like Saeder-Krupp would be that careless,” Tom declared.

Elisa finally settled on an ankle length skirt that was a good match for the blouse and pulled it from the rack. “Let’s found out,” she said, brandishing the two items and heading into the back of the store to the fitting rooms.

Tom handed Kallie a twenty after checking the price tag of the jacket she was lusting over. “Go buy that,” he instructed. “We may need to leave in a hurry.”

In the fitting room, Elisa placed her two items on the hanger and made herself as comfortable on the bench as she could. From her purse she removed her PCS and attached the neuronic induction cable to it at one end, then fit the other into a small jack hole that was hidden behind her right ear. Once connected, the implant in her skill interpreted the signals coming from the PCS and overrode the signals coming from her eyes instead building a three dimensional virtual environment. Elisa could still feel the bench as the implant couldn’t override all of her senses, but it was smart enough to know which icon she ‘reached’ for in the virtual space.

The PCS wirelessly connected with the transmitter she had attached in Saeder-Krupp’s network cabling and a simple command gave her access to the company’s entire computer layout. Certain machines were kept completely offline to prevent this type of tampering of course; however with a bit of luck, she’d be able to get a better understanding of what Lillian Van Buren had seen that had gotten her killed.

The security log she’d already viewed on her hasty return to the Themis dorm to beat Diana and the others gave her Lillian’s access logons and she was in luck. Security had not yet deactivated them. The log only gave the location of the file she had viewed that had triggered the alert, but no direct links to it. Keeping the log in one corner of the virtual screen in her mind, Elisa moved to the server it indicated.

This particular machine was simply a file server that worked the Executive floor of the building, acting as a simple repository of documents the Executive’s would need on a day to day basis. It was full of confidential information, product delivery schedules, financial records and procurement lists. Sensitive data to a competitor, but thus far Elisa found nothing worth killing over.

Switching mental gears for a moment, Elisa searched out Hammonds ID and dove into the financial records main frame. Hammond struck her as the arrogant type and a little judicious digging showed that he had personally authorized two separate three thousand nubuck withdrawals from the company’s general fund; plenty of money to buy a hit man. One the day Lillian had been killed, the other in the wee hours of the morning on Juan’s last day.

But there was still the lingering question of why.

Elisa made a copy of the dispersals, as well as the record of the payment for Herbert’s flight. That had been authorized by Loen himself.

Following a hunch, Elisa did a quick file comparison between files Loen accessed and Hammond had as well for the last few days. The list was very long, as you’d expect between the two top men at a company as large as S-K, however there were a couple of interesting things that leapt out at Elisa. Loen hadn’t accessed a file since the 9th, and that was his authorization of Herbert’s flight. Further back everything he had touched had been human resources related for several months.

“Looks like someone is prepping to retire,” muttered Elisa. “Nice little condo on the New Fiji Atoll, very healthy 401k. Why is Hammond nervous? He’s number two…” Diaz trailed off as she read the memos, very likely what had spelled out a death sentence for Lillian Van Buren. “Sofea,” she breathed. “What have I gotten into?”

Copying the files as quickly as she could Elisa backed out of the Saeder-Krupp system. Not daring to dream what she suspected, Diaz quickly dialed Themis HQ. “Themis Accounting and Audit Services, this is Dallas Rogers speak’n, how can Ah help ya’ll?”

Elisa hit send on the PCS. “Dallas, it’s Elisa Diaz. I’m calling in a solid for a rush job, hon.”

* * *

The Saeder-Krupp Arcology, Old DC 11:58pm, March 12th

What identified itself as a small commuter helicopter was flying south west over some of the most magnificent scenery that the bowls of Old DC had to offer. Between the diked-in expanse of The Mall and the Smithsonian Complex to the Pennsylvania Canal lapping at the steps of Capitol Hill, this was a sight most tourists would spend a month’s salary to see. The occupants of the helicopter weren’t looking into the past, however, but rather the future. Their eyes were fixed on the vaguely rhomboid shaped campus of steel and glass ahead of them.

As the helio passed over the building a pair of feminine silhouettes tumbled out the side doors, connected to the craft by impossibly thin wires. A soft squeal of braking pulleys was drowned out by the roar of the rotor wash as the pair dangled, nearly ten feet above the top of the building. As one they released the harnesses they wore and dropped with cat-like grace to the roof top. The hands of the smaller danced in the direction of the weak green glow of the starlight goggles both wore. Zero kills, soft entry, good luck, they said.

Spoilsport, the other replied. Have your back, go.

The smaller figure lead the way across the roof, in the direction of the more lighted rooftop garden and heliport. Both shunned the lights and crept from shadow to shadow with a speed and ease that was unnerving. They had covertly landed on a roof in full sight of forty people that were milling around the rooftop bar and no one had seen anything. An unlocked side door gave them access to the stairways that ran parallel to the buildings elevators and a locked maintenance hatch was opened for them by the pass code of a dead woman.

This core had four shafts and the benefit of being outside the video surveillance network of the building. The two shadows slid down the emergency ladder without bothering to use the rungs. They arrived at a more protected floor and stopped at the ladders landing. The starlight scopes lifted from their concealed faces to a lopsided grin from Kait. “I kinda like this James Bond extraction stuff. I see why you do so many.”

“The real trick is to get in and out with out setting off an alarm,” Elisa replied as she removed her machine pistol to chamber a round. “Of course, I don’t normally work on such short notice.”

Kait un-slung her Personal Assault System and made an adjustment to the safety. “You’re too much of a perfectionist,” she replied, as she reached up to trip the manual release of the elevator door and swung the PAS into the opening.

It spat a double burst of escaping high pressure air that propelled a small cloud of darts laced with a heavy sedative that caught the guards framing the door down the hallway unaware. They were still in the ‘traditional’ S-K security uniforms but under that were probably soft form armor suits. Not nearly as good as either a reflex system or a combat hard suit, they would defeat most small arms the guards were likely to come up against. They weren’t designed to protect against a cloud of high velocity syringes being hurled at them, however and the guards quickly succumbed to the toxin and slumped over, unconscious. “You should relax more. Maybe take a vacation,” Kait finished.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Elisa replied as she planted a foot in Kait’s waiting hand and was propelled down the corridor by the other woman. On her flight, the machine pistol spat two bursts that destroyed both cameras in the hall, muffled by the silencer, but still much louder than the PAS had been.

Elisa tumbled to her feet at the door the men had been guarding, pistol seeking another target. Clear, her hands said. As Kait silently trotted to catch up, Elisa quickly removed the magazines from the unconscious guards’ weapon and spare carriers, stuffing them into a pouch that hung from her belt.

“Attention please,” a calm male voice said from the speakers in the ceiling. “Your attention please; a level three security alert is now in effect. Report any unauthorized persons to security at once. Do not approach anyone you do not know. Remain in your apartments until the all clear has sounded.”

“So much for no alarms,” chuckled Kait as she braced herself by the door.

“Short notice,” shrugged Elisa.

Marksbury raised her leg and struck the door, just above where the lock resided. The re-enforced steel of the bolt and bolt catch made a fulcrum against the force of her kick and the fiber kelp of the door. While it was a sturdy construction, the fiber kelp was far weaker than the steel and gave; the door flying open. The PAS whispered again, two more guards inside the room fell as they were trying to set up a barricade to cover the door.

An elderly gentleman in a magnificent suit slowly came to his feet, bravely facing the two women in their slick, black body suits. Straightening his tie he asked, “What can I do for you, Ladies?”

* * *

The Office of Martin Hammond, S-K Arcology, Old DC, 12:05AM, March 13th

Martin was getting nervous. Upon hearing the alarm he’d quickly made his way to his office and the pistol he kept there. The weapon was awkward in his hand and heavy as Hammond was someone who normally had others do his killing for him. The door opened and he nearly shot Connie, his secretary, as she came in. “Jesus!” she swore as she ducked out of the line of the muzzle.

“Sorry,” Hammond muttered as he began to pace behind the desk. “So, what’s going on?”

“We have two confirmed intruders on the penthouse level. No contact from any of the guards there,” she informed him. “It’s got to be that Erinyes, Diaz. I have four riot squads moving up there now.”

“They won’t find anything,” spat Hammond. “Still don’t make it easy on them to waltz out of here. I want the entire building locked down, for all the good it will do.”

“They’ll have Loen by now; perhaps they already have him out.”

“Start a floor by floor search,” he started, the caught himself short. Hammond’s eyes fell on the report he’d neglected up until now and a moment of serendipity fell on him. “If Diaz wants to take hostages,” he mulled mostly to himself as he reached for the photo. “That’s a game two people can play.” He handed her the photo. “Get this to black ops. I want to know who that is and have him in custody within the hour.”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

The apartment of Bertram Loen, S-K Arcology 12:06AM, March 13th

“Mr. Loen,” greeted Elisa as she returned the machine pistol to its holster. “I’m Elisa Diaz with Themis Corp. We spoke on the telephone the other evening.”

“I recall, Agent Diaz. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“It is my belief that you’re being held here against your will by Martin Hammond. Is that correct?” The old man started to answer, but his eyes drifted over to the CTV that dominated one wall. “Sir, if you are being held here, I will do everything in my power to see to your safe escape, but I must have a reply.”

The soft chime of the elevator came through the ruined doorway, brining Kait’s eyes from the cover position she’d taken. The doors opened to reveal half dozen men in combat hard suits and heavy assault rifles. Out of reflex, the Erinyes snatched a flash/bang from her belt and threw it into the middle of the group while simultaneously ducking back. The explosion rocked the building and bought her enough time to reset her PAS to a more lethal setting. “Elisa, new playmates and they’re dressed to dance!”

The old man covered his ears against the noise as Kait kept the response team pinned down. “Yes!” he shouted over the cacophonous din. “Yes, get me out of here, please!”

Elisa flipped the sofa over on her way to the magnificent picture windows that dominated the far wall. “Get behind the sofa and cover your ears,” she ordered. “Mr. Loen, do what I tell you when I tell you and I will get you out of here alive.” The old man moved with some stiffness behind the sofa, but with more agility than Elisa would have given him credit for. She took a small device from it’s keeper on her belt and with a suction cup attached it to the window. “Kait!” she shouted over the nearly constant automatic weapons fire. “Fire in the hole!”

That accomplished, Elisa threw herself behind the upturned sofa on top of Loen. The micro-shape charge she’d attached to the window finished its countdown and exploded, blowing the glass out in a rainbow shower of pebbles. Elisa snatched the harness from her belt and got it strapped around Loen as quickly as she could. “You’ll have to trust me, Mr. Loen,” she shouted into his ear. The old man nodded guardedly, eyes constantly being brought back to the gaping hole into nothingness. Once she was sure of the buckles, she secured the first strap to her own wrist and picked him up.

“Kait! Time to go!”

The valkyrie dropped her weapon, the auto-strap winding it back into place here she could reach it as she snatched her two remaining grenades off her belt and chucked them down the hallway. The two Erinyes fell in step as they ran at the open maw, each foot landing in time to the thudding of Loen’s over working heart. As they ran, Elisa handed Kait the other strap that she secured to her own wrist and, as if in Olympic sync, the two women and their slightly unwilling cargo leapt out into nothing.

As they sailed through the air, Elisa let go of Loen, letting the strap that bound his harness between the two of them play out while triggering the Para-wing she was wearing. Kait mimicked her movements so that the jar to Loen was minimal. Above and behind them, a gigantic explosion rocked the Saeder-Krupp building, silhouetting the two women and the CEO dangling between them.

Elisa caught Kait’s eyes and signed to her. What was that?

Kait’s grin was almost sheepish as the upper floors of the Arcology caught fire. Thermite, she signed back. Sorry, got excited.

The false commuter helicopter had already circled back, a pair of hooks now hanging out both sides that snared the cabling of the Para-wings and drug both women and their cargo up as the pilot quickly gained altitude. A whine of a winch was drowned out by the rotors and the amazed moans of Bertram Loen that hauled the two up to the skids of the helio. Welcoming hands hauled the three inside once more to the exalted whoops of Kait.

“Damn, I love this job!”

* * *

Themis Dorm, the Apartment of Thomas Vannoy, 1:24am, March 13th

Tom’s apartment was getting positively crowded as Elisa and Kait arrived, their elderly gentleman in tow. Vannoy was already present and with him was Herbert Van Buren who was looking much better, if still a tad bruised. Elisa felt a twinge of guilt for the beating she’d given the man who’d done nothing, but she supposed, at least he was still alive and would likely remain so.

That had to count for something.

She made sure of Loen’s comfort on the sofa before she removed her PCS and pointed it at Tom’s CTV. It was currently displaying a news feed from the six alarm fire that had just been confined to the upper floors of the Saeder-Krupp Arcology. “Another quality Erinyes Operation,” chuckled Tom at Elisa’s consternation. “I figure the damage ought to be limited to only two or three million dollars.”

“Only,” groused Kait.

“One problem at a time,” muttered Elisa as she forced the unit to place the call. After a moment it connected, the screen being filled with harsh features of Martin Hammond. “It’s all over, Martin.”

The Vice President smirked. “You must have stones made of steel to pull what you just did.”

“Not any more, but my gender is completely beside the point. I’ve got Van Buren and Loen. I know you had Lillian Van Buren and Juan Rodriquez killed and I’ve got the financial records to prove it. You can either give yourself up and we do this quietly so you can cut what ever bargain you can with D.A. or by this time tonight your face will be on every news net channel on this continent.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Hammond boasted around an oily smile as he made a gesture to someone behind the camera’s pickup. “See, you tell a soul about our difference of opinion and your friend here will have himself a very tragic accident.”

Hammond’s secretary Connie entered the camera’s range, forcing a sheepish looking Preston Wyecross before her. “This hostage thing is getting way old,” the youngster muttered.

How? Danced Kaits’ hand.

Security camera at previous target, responded Tom’s.

Elisa sighed before meeting her enemy’s steely gaze. “Alright, I have someone you want, you have someone I want. Let’s trade.”

“It’s not going to be that easy,” sneered Hammond. “I want them and all the copies of the records you’ve removed from our main frame. In return, you’ll get the kid and as I’ll be the CEO of Saeder-Krupp in a few hours, I won’t press charges about this evening’s escapades. For that, you forget about all of this and we live out our lives avoiding each other.”

The Fury shrugged. “That seems fair. I’m at my boyfriend’s apartment at this address. We make the switch in an hour?”

“I’ll be there. And Diaz, I get so much as a whiff of a set up and I just keep right on driving. You won’t ever see Preston here again, and I’ll have warrants on you and your Viking friend there inside of an hour.”

“You’ve already won, Hammond,” Elisa groused. “There’s no need to rub it in.”

“Just remember that and everything will go fine.”

* * *

The Office of Martin Hammond, Saeder-Krupp Arcology 1:26am March 13th

“Just remember that and everything will go fine,” the executive snapped before angrily terminating the call. He turned to Connie and ordered, “Get the kid down to my car and get it running. Call security on the way and get me two of their best. I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Why the delay?” she asked to Hammond’s oily smile.

“I just have to de-fang this serpent completely. Move it.” The secretary hustled Preston through the office door as Hammond called up his holographic rolodex and had it connect him when he found the entry he wanted.

“Themis Special Services, this is Mark, how may I help you sir?”

“Connect me with Diana Davenport.”

“I’m sorry sir; Miss Davenport has left for the day.”

“Then have some one wake the whore up and connect me to her cell,” snapped Hammond. “She’ll want to take my call, trust me.”

* * *

Themis Apartment Complex, Arlington, 2:27AM, March 13th

“The boyfriend must be doing well,” remarked Martin as the limousine cleared the final security checkpoint to enter the complex itself. It paused to convert from water to land mode as its passengers admired the excellent architecture of the complex.

“The bitch must have snagged herself a banker,” complained Connie with no small portion of envy in her tone. “I honestly don’t see what men see in those glorified faggots.”

Diana Davenport smirked as she fixed a predatory gaze on the secretary. Walker realized her faux pas and squirmed in the rich leather seat. “Perhaps they aren’t finding what they’re looking for with the vain, conceited and so-called ‘naturals’” she replied coolly.

“Ladies, let’s all get along,” interjected Martin smoothly. “Once this evening’s unpleasantness is settled we can all be about our lives and not have to worry about it.” He turned to Davenport and smiled. “So long as Diaz and her partner never see the light of day except from a prison window again, you won’t have to worry about Saeder-Krupp pressing charges.”

“I’m aware of our bargain,” snapped Davenport. “Let’s just get this over with. I have enough to worry about without rogue agents making this kind of trouble for me.”

The Limo smoothly pulled to a stop before the front door and the driver leapt out to open the door. Behind the Bentley-Rolls was a plain GM Sedan that spilled out the muscle Hammond had requested and the entourage made their way inside. “I can’t wait to see the look on her face,” chuckled Hammond. He took a hold of Preston himself as they waited for the elevator.

“There’s no reason to involve the boy in this,” Davenport pointed out.

Hammond shook his head. “No, she may try something if our young hostage isn’t in sight.”

“I can keep her on a leash,” Diana replied. “More to the point, if she does try something and a minor is hit, that will bring in complications with the law. Why don’t you let me take charge of him?”

Martin considered that for a moment before forcing Preston’s gaze to meet his. “I’m giving you over to this woman. You keep quiet and don’t give us any trouble and you’ll be home in time for school.”

Preston shared a glance with Diana. “Ok,” he managed to stutter. The elevator arrived to a soft tone and opened to an empty car. The group crowded in and rode it upwards. Martin turned to his two guards for their final instructions.

“She won’t be expecting me to have her boss along. She may try something but keep your restraint. I doubt there will be any serious trouble once she realizes she’s lost.” The matched pair nodded quietly as they opened their jackets to facilitate access to their weapons.

Diana drifted to the back of the car and surreptitiously tucked Preston behind her. The door finally opened to reveal a smirking Elisa in the hallway, one apartment door open, but filled with the curvaceous form of Kait Marksbury; a PAS in her hands. “Mr. Hammond,” Elisa greeted. “Fashionably late?”

“As you yourself pointed out, Miss Diaz, you’ve lost,” smirked Hammond. “Your boss is here to arrest you for kidnapping and murder. Don’t make things hard on yourself by resisting.”

“Hello, Diana,” Elisa replied with a nod to the older woman. “Sorry to drag you out of bed for this.” Diaz returned her gaze back to the Vice President, her smile still on her face. “I’m afraid you’re under a misunderstanding, Mr. Hammond. Ms. Davenport is here to arrest someone for those crimes, but it won’t be me.”

There was a blur of motion and suddenly Diana was holding a large caliber automatic handgun to the back of Martin’s head. “Martin Hammond, as a duly recognized contractor for the Boston-Atlanta Metroplex Police Authority, I am hereby placing you under arrest for the murder of Lillian Van Buren, Juan Rodriquez, and the attempted murder of Conrad Murphy.” The body guards recovered sufficiently from the shock of her movement to draw their weapons and cover Diana. Hammond actually chuckled.

“You think this little Mexican Stand Off is going to change anything?” he sneered. “You’ve lost girl. Give it up.”

Kait couldn’t help snickering as she raised the PAS. Elisa shared the chuckle and it sent a shiver down Hammond’s spine. “Martin,” chided Elisa. “You misunderstand. We don’t have a Mexican standoff. See, while this is my boyfriend’s apartment, my boyfriend works for Themis. You’re in a Themis Employee Housing Dormitory. There are about a thousand Erinyes, Myrmidons and Cerberus troopers in this building. I think it’s safe to say you’re surrounded.”

The various doors off the hall opened revealing Erinyes in their signature body suits, a Myrmidon in a hard suit and Combat Gauss Gun, and a pair of Cerberus in Ajax combat gear. The muscle boy to Diana’s left swallowed hard before he let his pistol rotate in to a surrender position hanging by the trigger guard as he raised his hands. His partner quickly followed suit.

“Take these two downstairs,” ordered Diana as Hammond and his secretary were handcuffed. She turned to the body guards. “As I doubt you two have any serious involvement here I’m releasing you on your own recognizance. Cause any trouble and you’ll be doing time with Martin and Miss Personality here.” Diana paused to smile a vicious smile Connie’s way. “Have fun in the clink with the other ‘naturals’, honey.”

The two were led back into the elevator, a somewhat numb and disbelieving look on their faces. Diana sighed in satisfaction. “I love my job,” she told herself before picking up her voice to carry throughout the hallway. “Alright people, thank you for the extra support, but tomorrow is a work day and I can’t be too lenient in reporting times! Get some sleep! Rogers, you’re with me.”

Davenport led the way once more into Tom’s apartment and firmly closed the door after Elisa and Dallas had entered. “Now,” she said, fixing a stern gaze on the two men on the far couch. “Perhaps you’d like to clear up a few things, Mr. Loen,” she declared, her eyes never leaving Van Buren’s face.

“I suppose the jig, as they say is up,” remarked Herbert with a somewhat nervous laugh.

“Hold up,” interjected Preston. “He’s Loen? Then who’s that guy?”

“Peter Allen,” replied the elderly gentleman in the business suit. “I’m a piece meal worker and actor by trade. Or, rather, I was an actor thirty years ago. These days I’m whatever spot of work I can get. Which have been rather few and far between in this economy.”

Herbert sighed a heavy sigh. “I contracted with Mr. Allen to take my place for the last few months I was Bertram Loen.”

“Bertram Loen is nearly eighty,” whispered Preston. “You’re telling us you’re Bertram Loen? You can’t be more than thirty five.”

Herbert laughed. “Actually, Miss Wyecross, I’m closer to one thirty five. To date, I’ve pulled this little stunt twice.”

“It’s true, ya’ll,” interjected Dallas. “Back in aught nine the old man of Saeder-Krupp, one Maxwell Fredrick von Krupp announced his retirement and named the new CEO as a twenty something Young Turk named Bertram Loen. Who’s ruled the company with an iron hand in a velvet glove ever since. The old timers said that it was like Old Man Krupp had never left.”

“In a few short weeks history would have repeated itself,” Herbert admitted. “I hired Mr. Allen here to assume my old form. He received some first rate medical care from my firm as well as the cosmetic surgery. He would live out my retirement on New Fiji and a new Young Turk would have taken the helm.”

“Except that Martin Hammond was expecting to take over,” finished Elisa. “And someone in HR accidentally or purposefully CC-ed him on the confirmation email for the transfer of power. What I don’t get is Lillian Van Buren’s place in all this.”

Herbert laughed a dark chuckle. “Come now, Miss Diaz, surely you can understand a concept as simple as love, can’t you? I’d finally found the perfect woman to share my long life with. It was becoming time to undergo the treatment again and I thought, why not?”

“Treatment?” demanded Diana.

“It’s a gene therapy project my firm invented some time ago. Rather simple, actually, and as you can see, very effective.”

“And why hasn’t Saeder-Krupp marketed this?” Kait wanted to know.

Before she could warm up to the lists of virtues and benefits, Preston whispered, “You never intended to market it, did you?”

Herbert shook his head. “Mankind is not ready for immortality, Miss Wyecross; as you can well imagine. I had intended to share the treatment with Lillian; however I’d left some documents in Martin’s office the day I underwent it. Lillian went to get them for me and Martin had just received the email in question. I’d barely recovered when I had to flee for my life.”

“Who hired Themis to go and get you?” demanded Diana.

“I did,” declared Mr. Allen. “When I realized that we had been compromised, I realized Mr. Loen’s life would be in great danger. I have seen you ladies in action before and could think of no place safer for Mr. Loen than in your custody.”

“And you didn’t come clean to me so you could keep the secret of the fountain of youth to yourself?” Elisa snapped.

“Heavy is the brow that wears the crown,” muttered Van Buren. “As it stands, I have lost the love of my life. I would deeply appreciate your discretion in this matter.”

“That’s going to cost you,” Diana informed him calmly.

“Name your terms,” Herbert affirmed. “I’m alive thanks to your diligence, Ms. Diaz, Ms. Davenport. Anything you ask will be a bargain as far as I’m concerned.”

“Except for the firing of Martin Hammond and his cronies, Themis was not involved in this beyond our contract to secure and protect Herbert Van Buren,” Diana started, ticking off her points on her fingers. “The fire and subsequent destruction at the Saeder-Krupp Arcology were accidents that Themis is not liable for.” Herbert nodded eagerly as Diana caught Elisa’s eye. “Body count?”

“Zero,” she affirmed in chorus with Kait.

“YES!” shouted Preston in glee, drawing every eye to him. The boy blushed a deep crimson before Diana’s continuing stare coaxed an explanation out of him. “I put a ten on the end result of tonight with Wendy,” he said with glee. “Of course, I was so late the only slot left was zero body count, zero accessed damage! At four thousand to one odds, that ten just paid for my college education!”

“Glad I could help,” chuckled Kait as she ruffled his hair.

“Office bookie,” provided Diana to the bewildered Herbert. “Oh, and Mr. Loen, there’s just one more thing. How does this fountain of youth bit of yours work? Is it all or nothing?”

“No, it clears out cellular debris, re-encodes the frayed ends of the recipients DNA strands, as well as a time released capsule of human growth hormone, that sort of thing. It is actually administered in blocks that repair about ten years each.” He paused for a moment. “Why?”

“My last bit of payment. I want from your company, free of charge, a one-block bonus to each Themis Erinyes as a bonus for clearing her process debt. We ask a lot from our girls, they deserve to have a bit of their youth to enjoy once they’re free and clear. I realize that’s a big bite; however I think I can guarantee you extremely favorable rates for your future security needs.”

“Perhaps a bit of publicity wouldn’t hurt,” the CEO mulled to himself. “So long as it’s understood in all your literature that the process is a one time treatment due to a medical reason and cannot be repeated, I think perhaps it may be time for a new product to enter the market.

The two power brokers reached to shake on their deal when Elisa daintily raised her hand. “I have one small request…”

* * *

The Loen Estate, Morning Island, New Fiji Atoll, 11:00AM, March 20th

A soft breeze blew in off the cove Bertram Loen’s South Pacific house over looked. Just on the horizon one could make out the resort hotels dotted in and amongst the lush forest that grew on the artificial island of New Fiji. As the seas had risen over the years, the landscape of the Pacific Ocean had changed radically, invigorating new industries and technologies as people fought to save their homes. The Fiji Islanders had turned to forced growth coral to make a new island to call their own.

The new technology had allowed them to make a completely new island that rose and fell with the rising ocean, tethered to the ocean floor below by a length of linear aligned cable that was practically unbreakable. It hadn’t taken them long to realize that since they were already in the land making business, why stop with one? In short order a new ‘island’ chain was formed, the most exclusive homes for the wealthiest of patrons.

Elisa Diaz sprawled in a chaise lounge and took in the perfect blue-green of the water framed by swaying palm trees. Life, she decided is good. Below her in the lagoon the chiseled form of Tom Vannoy was approaching, modesty only barely preserved by brief type Speedo while showing off the magnificent bronze tan he’d acquired thus far.

A bit further out in the bay, Kait was having the time of her life on a Sea-Doo that brought a chuckle to Elisa at her antics. “This has to be the best bonus I’ve ever gotten,” greeted Tom as he arrived. “Two months off, with pay, in the palatial retirement home of a multi-billionaire. That was a killer negotiation, Elisa,” as he settled into the lounge next to hers.

“Well, I’m sure that Diana is glad to have me out of her hair for a bit,” Elisa replied. “And, after this little adventure, quite honestly I could use the time off. Since I needed it, there was no stretch to assume my co-conspirators did as well.”

“There’s a suitably dangerous ring to that,” chuckled Tom. “Too bad our young intern couldn’t join us.”

“Well, she’ll have to be satisfied with paying off her debt and college in one fell swoop. I’m certain the tears of Wendy on a chit that size will be able compensation.”

“I do have one question,” the ruggedly handsome body guard remarked as he drew himself a bit closer on the chaise. “About this boyfriend line you spun Hammond…?”

Elisa was so shocked by his question that she could only stare at him. “What? Are you propositioning me?” she demanded as her PCS began to ring. As she fumbled with her bag to get it out he reached over drew her face up to meet his.

“Nothing so lurid or short term,” he replied as he bent down and kissed her. He was a magnificent kisser, gentle but firm, strong, but tender and Elisa quickly found herself lost in the kiss. A part of her mind struggled to remember the events of the night of the Christmas Party that was lost to her.

If he’s this good a kisser…

Her hands found their way to the back of his muscled neck, the phone, still ringing slipping from her fingers sought to draw him into herself. It fell open in the soft warm sand to the creak of a chaise lounge that had more weight on it suddenly than before.

“Elisa? It’s Diana, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your vacation a bit short. I have something of a situation here and I need all hands on deck. Elisa? Are you there? Diaz? Hello?”

finis

Erinyes: The Untimely Frost

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Science Fiction

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Untimely Frost
An Erinyes Adventure

By

E. E. Nalley

Part One

As it usually did, bad news came by mail. Email, in this instance delivered by faceless electrons dancing to the silent tune of programing, ignorant of the import of the message they carried, nor the emotions of those who would read of their tidings and mourn. But mourn she would as Elisa Diaz opened her mail program and read of the death of a woman who had been both bitter enemy and treasured mentor over the space of the worst year of her life, and her last year as a man.

It was a generic company announcement, generated by a re-tasked contact management program some faceless coder in the company had written that picked and scrambled generic words of praise and condolence while noting the employee's passing. However trite and thoughtless it sounded, at least Themis was willing to spend the money on such a program and the staff to manage it. At least at some level, Themis understood that information was Infax, it's parent company's business, but people was Themis' business. The missive announced the death of Veronica Hartlet, Senior Supervisory Training Instructor, survived by husband Robert and children Maxwell and Stacy and a small collection of grandchildren. Funeral services to be announced, condolences to all whose lives she touched.

Elisa felt a tear roll down her face and stumbled backwards until her legs found her couch and she half fell, half sat down in shock. It was Saturday, Juan was over from school and she had been hip deep in cleaning her apartment and finishing setting it right from the ravishing it had been given by a pair of Saedar-Krupp black ops types, trying to get a handle on her. Being both a member of a utility division as well as a supervisor, Elisa had her emails forwarded to her phone as a matter of course. Being an Erinys meant you were never truly 'off the clock'.

She had been dusting when the email arrived, smiling over the banter she had going with her little brother and had called up the email without a second thought. “Sis?” Finally Elisa realized her brother had been calling her and looked up into his concerned face. “Hey, what happened, Chica? You ok?”

Elisa sighed and rubbed his arm in encouragement. “Just got some bad news, Juan. An old friend has died.”

At once the young man became contrite. “Oh, I'm sorry, sis. What can I do to help?”

The Fury smiled and shook her head. “Oh, nothing really, it's just I thought she would never die. Caught me by surprise is all.” He nodded and sat down beside her.

“You want to talk about it? Who was she?”

“There's a long story, little brother. She was my first trainer at Themis, during my last year as a man.”

“Oh, wow,” he replied. “So kinda like a mentor then, the wise teacher who took you under her wing?”

Diaz tried desperately not to choke on her laughter at her brother's naivete and shook her head. “Juan, you haven't watched any movies about soldiers, have you?” He shrugged and grinned.

“No, why should I? I'm a lover, not a fighter. And you're not a soldier, you're a cop.”

“Not exactly,” she hedged.

* * *

Themis Fort Peck Lake Training Facility, Glasgow Montana 18 Years Earlier

Edwardo Diaz's first experience with Themis had been an acceptance letter. Fairly generic in it's scope and verbiage, we're pleased to inform you, report for training on, for having a dream come true it was quite bland. The travel was also exciting as except for a singular trip to Spain to visit relations he hadn't known he'd had, and an abortive trip to the Walt Disney World Island, Edwardo had not traveled much from his native Virginia of the North American Federation. He had never been so far inland and the experience of not being near the ocean was mildly unsettling.

The first several hours had been quite nice, if boring. He'd been met by administrative specialists who had helped him and the rest of his training team through the paperwork, which seemed to be endless. They had been polite and friendly, no off putting looks or you want WHAT(?!) stares that Edwardo had become used to since he'd started coming out of the closet. Edwardo had always been closer to his sisters than his brothers, it wasn't until he was a teenager that he began to understand why.

A psyche test in school and a caring guidance counselor had helped Edwardo realize who he really was. Thus began a life lived mostly in computers as the growing circle of people he admitted his true self to meant the harder his life became. The shock of his parents, the looks of hurt and betrayal on their faces was a particularly painful memory.

Diaz and the other members of his team were then driven in a quite nice, if slightly old shuttle bus to a long, low building that was made of white timber. Inside was something that looked like a museum, or the set of an old World War II movie. It was a long open room filled with bunk beds separated by wall lockers. At the far end of the room were three breath taking women in Fury Combat Armor and wearing Australian bush hats with the left brim pinned up against the body of the hat.

All three of them were wearing pistols.

The group of men came to a stop, confused. The center woman, the blond, gave a slight nod, and the two Fury's behind her launched themselves at the crowd, shouting commands. The crowd of men scattered like ducklings, cowed by the sudden violence, even though neither of the women physically touched anyone. Once the men were in pairs beside a set of bunk beds, the other two women returned to their previous positions and the blond began to stroll down the center of room. “Good afternoon boys, my name is Veronica Hartlet but you will all address me as Ma'am! I am your Senior Training Instructor. And because I am an honest woman, I am going to explain just how badly your lives have taken a turn for the worst.

“This,” and she held aloft a form, an actual piece of paper. “Is Themis Form 127E. Before you advance any further in your hopes to disgrace the uniform I am so proudly wearing, you will read and sign this form. It is what is known to lawyers as a hold harmless form. Despite what the recruiter told you, despite what you have read, despite what you have wished for, you are not Themis employees yet. To become a Themis employee, to become an Erinys, you have to get by me.

“Getting by me will not be easy, because when you sign this form, you give me permission to strike you, to withhold food and water, to abuse you in disdainful language, to break your bones, to cause you severe emotional distress and to otherwise make your lives a living hell. Every one of you boys told the psych doctor you would gladly sell your soul to Satan to become a woman and I am here to collect! If you want to continue to sell your immortal souls, you will pick up the form on the bed, read it, ask questions about anything you do not understand and when you DO understand and agree with it, you will sign. If you do not agree, there is your crap, there is the door, get your ass through it!”

There as a brief rustle as the group shuffled through the paper on the foot of each bunk. To Edwardo's astonishment, one young man with tears in his eyes gathered his belongings and walked out. The document was quite long and while it was obvious that the legalese had been kept to the absolute minimum, it was a bit hard to follow. Instructor Hartlet and her two assistants walked the floor, asking and answering questions, making sure everyone in the room understood the document. A notary public was brought in, the documents signed, counter signed, sealed, affixed and left with the notary, much to Instructor Hartlet's obvious glee.

“Well! Now that I don't have to be nice to you sniveling little chicken shits, let's get down to the nitty gritty!” she purred. “For the next ten weeks, I own you, every last Nancy boy in here! I can hit you, I can call you all goat raping baby fuckers, I can break your bones, torture you and even shoot you! The only things I will not do is kill you or allow you to die. Because I want you to hurt, and I want the hurt to gnaw at you. Pain is the age old companion of womanhood and I am here to introduce you to it! Anytime you think I'm being too tough, anytime you think I'm being unfair, or anytime you miss your mommy, quit! Themis is willing to loose the money we've spent on your miserable, stinking hides, so you sign your letter of recant and resignation, we pack your bags and we fly you first class back to whatever shitty rock you crawled out from under!

“And in the spirit of full disclosure, why yes, I am paid a bonus for everyone of you chicken shit, nambi-pambi little boys I can convince to tuck your little tail between your legs and give up! So I am well motivated to do my worst! Thank you for asking! For now, you little turds have five minutes to strip, fold your clothes and report outside!”

“Naked?!” someone demanded. Edwardo barely saw her move, but something flew out of Hartlet's hand and struck the mouthy individual which knocked him out cold. It bounced off his fore head into the waiting hand of one of her helpers.

She smiled a feral smile that sent shivers down Edwardo's spine. “From this moment forward, you maggots will speak only when spoken to! The first and the last words from your filthy sewers will be 'Sir' or 'Ma'am' depending on the gender of who is so unfortunate to have to talk to you! And now every one of you dickless little shits knows I meant what I said about hitting you! And since we have a volunteer to ask, yes you will be outside and you will be naked. You entered this world naked and you'll enter my world the same way.” She turned and pointed at the two men nearest to the loud mouth. “You and you, pick up pinky here and throw him in the showers.”

“Ma'am, Yes ma'am!”

“Move!”

* * *

“Naked?” demanded Juan with a gimlet eye.

“As a jay bird,” Elisa replied with a chuckle. “And there we were abused, verbally mostly, while also doing callisthenics in front of the Myrmidon Training Battalion that we shared the facility with. In fact, I wouldn't earn the privilege of clothes again for two weeks.”

The color had drained from Juan's face in horror. “That's terrible!”

“The instructors for the Fury Divison have a nickname in the Myrmidons, they call them Dream Killers because their job is to try and make us quit.” Diaz shook her head at her younger brother's expression and through her implant commanded her entertainment screen to turn on. It linked to the Themis main web server and quickly searched over to the archives and pulled up a pair of pictures. At first blush they were very similar, a group of scruffy looking men wearing drab gray jump suits arranged on a set of bleachers behind a placard that read Fury Generation 2 Training Team 5. The men were all clean shaven, face and head and obviously not a one had had sufficient sleep. There were significantly less than forty nine men as well.

By contrast, the three Furies that stood with them looked as cool and fresh as if they'd just come from a day spa, hair, makeup and armor perfect. Juan stood and walked to the screen, mesmerized. “That's her, eh? Trainer Hartlet.”

Elisa stood and joined him. “We called her heartless Hartlet behind her back, not that she turned it often.” She laid a hand on his shoulder and met the eyes of the photograph from so long ago. “We didn't understand what she was doing, even though she did tell us.”

“What was she doing?” demanded Juan. “Other than being a bitch?”

“Juan, what Themis does to us is expensive. Sure, they'll make money off us, but only if we live. And since we're a 'utility' division, they throw as much at us as they can. They can't afford to let someone become a Fury who will quit in the middle of a fire fight because things got tough. That's how whole squads get killed. Veronica's job was to make sure only those of us who would go through anything got by her. Because we'd stick through that, we'd stick through the rest.”

He shook his head. “Sis, I have twenty Nubucks in my wallet. That's my 'fun' money for the month. If I'm careful, I'll squeeze out a date to the movies and maybe a trip or three to Golden Arches. You took on a debt of two hundred and fifty thousand Nubucks. I can barely imagine that kind of money. Our house didn't cost that!”

She gave him a knowing smile and nodded. “And to pay it back I've been a soldier in a variety of third and forth world hell holes, fought wars that didn't have names, been a kidnapper or a bounty hunter depending on who you talk to and a pile of other things I can't admit to, that you don't need to know about. Being a cop, being home in Old DC, I had to earn that, little brother, and it took ten years to do.” She sighed. “In my safe deposit box with my important papers I have six passports that are full and had to be replaced because I've traveled so much. If I'd been stamped for every time I'd entered or exited a country I'd probably have double that.”

He looked at her for a moment, then back up at the picture. “Which one was you?”

Elisa arched an eyebrow. “Can't you tell?”

He turned back and intently scanned the photo before he shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”

“Good,” she purred before she pointed to a particularly tired looking young man with a long face and a somewhat prominent nose. The only thing he had in common with Juan's sister was his coffee au lait complexion. “That is your Uncle Edwardo, may he rest in peace.”

Juan looked again, leaning a bit closer. “That's not you,” he declared finally. “Though he kinda looks like dad did.”

Elisa rolled her eyes. “Oy, getting stuck with that nose. I swore for years that if I didn't have a Halloween costume, I'd just paint myself red, stick some horns on my forehead and put on a tuxedo and go as the devil.” Juan chuckled as he met her gaze again and gave her a hug.

“I can't imagine you any other way than you are, sis. So, I still don't get when you stopped hating this chica, Hartlet and started liking her.” The Fury gave her brother a view askance.

“So, you're telling me if someone came to you and gave you a million Nubucks, you'd hate their guts, hombre?”

“Qué?”

* * *

Themis Fort Peck Lake Training Facility, Glasgow Montana 18 Years Earlier

“Diaz?”

Edwardo was in the process of gathering up his toiletries for his morning shower when 'Heartless' Hartlet's voice cut through the din of the remainder of Team 5 getting ready to face the day. Out of a starting number of fifty they were down to a mere nineteen. The Senior Training Instructor did not walk from place to place like a mere mortal, but appeared, wizard-like by magic behind whoever she deemed to speak to. Edwardo whirled around and came to attention. “Ma'am, yes ma'am!”

She was wearing the khaki dungaree utility uniform, bush shirt with it's many pockets, shorts and rugged looking boots and the ever present Outback hat that was her badge of office. Generally that meant a fairly light day, perhaps even staying around the base's quad area. Of course, she'd been wearing that uniform a week ago when she'd snatched up the entire team stuffed them in a helicopter and dropped them in a marsh, ten miles from the facility and told them if they weren't back on Post by lights out they were all fired. That had led to one of the most miserable days of Edwardo's life, every time he was sure the team was starting to make time and they'd succeed, she'd appear from nowhere and demand callisthenics or odd items that seemed to take hours to find in the swamp, all while looking fresh as a daisy.

Mud sticks to most people, Diaz fumed to himself. They'd only just beat out the deadline and as they arrived just at lights out, had had to choose to either ruin their bedding or go to bed filthy on the floor. Edwardo had picked the floor.

“My office,” she ordered, continuing past to complete her inspection. “Now.”

“Ma'am, yes ma'am!” Edwardo double timed to the Instructor's office, where, as he'd expected, he was kept waiting while she finished her inspection of the barracks. She walked by, opening the door, ushering Diaz inside and closing it.

“Sit,” she ordered as she circled her desk, pausing to remove her hat and hang it on the stand behind her. “So, allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Elisa.”

“Ma’am?”

Veronica opened the drawer of her desk and produced a patch she offered the confused young man. It was the patch, the medusa head, crowned by her snake hair, hissing out of the patch. “You made it,” Veronica told her. I have your orders back to DC. You get a weeks leave and then you’re in the tank, sister.”

Diaz cradled the patch as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “I…I don’t know what to say, ma’am…”

Hartlet laughed. “Say yes, you idiot!”

“Yes, yes ma’am! I…this means so much.”

“I know. Oh, Elisa, one more thing hun. There’s been a budget cut, a big one. We had some kind of dust up in Costa Rica and corporate has taken it on the chin. Out of your class, we can now only afford to graduate one candidate. You were the easy choice. You’ve really impressed me with your attitude and your dedication.”

“Those poor girls,” Diaz whispered, casting a glance in the direction of the barracks. “I am grateful of your confidence in me, ma’am, I promise you I won’t let you down!”

“Good girl!” Hartlet beamed.

“And, they’ll be able to recycle when the next openings come available, right?” Edwardo asked. “I mean, the down turn can’t last forever…” Hartlet sighed and shook her head.

“Looks like things are going to be sticky for a while. By the time it clears, it will be easier to just start over with a new batch. Which brings us to your first contract, Elisa,” she said ominously as she opened a new drawer and withdrew a case. “We can’t afford the bad press of the lawsuits they’ll file either. And you might as well know now, some of the things you’ll do as a Fury aren’t exactly legal. Themis is willing to forgo your process debt and pay a million nubucks for you to see to it there are no lawsuits.”

“I don’t understand, I mean, the girls look to me, but I don’t think I could persuade them not to sue…” Hartlet opened the case, revealing a service pistol and a silencer.

“We’re not looking for persuasion, Elisa,” she said softly. “Don’t worry, there are training accidents all the time. And minus the two hundred and fifty thousand, you’ll become a woman with seven hundred and fifty thousand nubucks. And all you have to do is take care of this.” Edwardo’s eyes danced between hers and the weapon before him. It dawned on him what he was being asked to do and a desperate plan formed that he tried desperately to keep off his face.

He reached for the pistol, but before his fingers could close on it, she’d leapt to her feet and had her own weapon pressed against his temple. “I thought as much, you little do-gooder!” Hartlet snarled. “You think I’m stupid enough to fall for what you had painted all over your face? You think you’re fast enough to shoot me?”

“You going to shoot me, you maldita perra?! You’d better! I won’t kill for you!”

“Too bad, Diaz, I hopes for you, but maybe I was wrong and Conner will graduate after all!” He made a last desperate grab for the pistol and she locked up his arm and made him go cross eyed, as she held her pistol against his head. “Last chance to wise up, Diaz! You said you’d sell your soul to be a woman, how about it? What will it be?”

“I’m not a murderer,” he hissed, a tear escaping his eye as he met her gaze without flinching. After a long moment, Hartlet nodded and stepped back.

“Good,” she declared, holstering her pistol. “Because we don’t hire murderers, Elisa.” She offered her had, the first ginueinely contrite expression on her face that Edwardo could remember on it. Diaz took the hand and Hartlet helped her up. “Sorry, Elisa, we have to be sure,” Hartlet declared. “Themis does some off the books work, but murder for hire won’t ever be one of them. Congratulations sister and Welcome to the Erinyes.”

Diaz blinked, gaze traveling between the still open case and his instructor. “This...this was a test?” he demanded, temper welling up in him.

“Yes, and you passed,” Hartlet retorted with a smirk. She opened another drawer and took out a folder and tossed it on the desk. “Here are your orders and leave papers. Go pack your kit, the shuttle leaves in an hour so keep your good bye's brief.” Hartlet's voice drowned out into a monotone, like the angry drone of an insect as Diaz's long suppressed temper welled up and finally took hold.

Without a sound, he launched himself across the desk, intent only on wrapping his hands around the throat of his tormentor and choking the life out of her. She'd been looking away, not that Edwardo had put any kind of planning into his attack, nor did it truly matter. Her arms swept up like coiled springs, catching him at the wrists. She pulled, using his own momentum to lift him over the desk and slam him into the wall behind, rattling awards, photographs and letters of commendations that dominated the 'I Love Me' wall every NCO had.

His left arm was splayed out, held in control by her grip on his thumb and forefinger, his right was twisted up behind his back so far that his wrist was pressed against he back of his head and it was forcing him to stand on tip toe. The pain left his arm and that made him start to struggle for a moment, but even without pain, he was completely at her mercy. She was directly behind him, pressed against him, holding him to the wall, before she whispered in his ear, “I thought you'd never lose that temper, Edwardo.” she said, her thick and heavy in a way he'd never heard her before.

A wave of euphoria washed through Diaz and for the first time in his life, he experienced the power of Ki being used. His anger melted like a predawn mist as he floated in a haze, that wasn't exactly sexual, nor strictly biochemical. It had the warm, nothing matters bliss of some of the strongest pain killers he'd had to undergo while he'd had a broken leg, but there was none of the mental fog or inability to think. He was very aware he was pressed against the wall and that she was holding him there, knew that from this position she could deal him horrific damage, possibly crippling blows that would leave wounds that would never heal right. But with the bliss was a sensation that was not unlike how you might imagine a baby would feel, being held by its mother, safe, and secure. Everything that was happening had a reason, was for his own good and he would come to no harm.

“I suppose,” she whispered in his ear, “I should have realized this last test might be the trigger that would set you off. You're a good person, Diaz, you understand now why I had to give you this test, don't you?”

Edwardo would never be able to articulate why or how he knew what Hartlet's motivation was, how important that she be certain what caliber of person she was about to approve to have this kind of power, how for her own sleep at night she needed to know she had picked the right people. “Yes,” he breathed, helpless in her thrall. “Yes, I understand now. I'm sorry, Ms. Hartlet, I was so angry...”

“Shh,” she told him. “We don't want robots, Edwardo, but we have to be sure we get the right people. That temper got you through this, through me, but be careful you don't let it rule you.” The euphoria faded away, leaving a vivid memory that burned like a brand on his mind while she released him and stepped back. Diaz composed himself and turned to face her.

“I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, ma'am,” he said contritely.

For the first time he'd ever seen, Veronica Hartlet smiled a warm, sincere smile. “We're family, Elisa. Family always forgives. Now grab your kit and say your good byes and I'll see you in a few months when they fish you out of the tank.”

* * *

“The tank?” demanded Juan.

Elisa sighed and a few quick gestures to the screen brought up a vaguely coffin looking device. “The GE Medical Shok-Gel Recovery Tank,” she labeled with a shudder. “At least that's what it started life as. Themis heavily modifies them so that they are nano-sealed and capable of doing life support for more than a week. This was my second womb and home away from home for three months. It's where Edwardo died and Elisa was born.”

Juan paled a bit, looked at the picture. “Died figuratively, right?”

Diaz shook her head. “No, literally. For two days my heart was stopped so that the nanites could rebuild it and my blood was being pumped by a machine, so I was technically dead.” She made a face and raised her arms out in front of her. “Bbbbrrrraaaaaaiiiiiiiinnnnnnnsssssss,” she moaned, lurching forward to grab him.

“¡Ay, caramba!” he swore in surprise. “You do that too well!” he said with a smile. Finally, he worked up the courage to ask, “What was it like?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” she replied instantly.

His eyes widened a bit in disbelief. “That bad sis?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” she repeated, more forcefully. “None of us do! I'd rather have done a year with Heartless Hartlet riding me every second than go through that!” She hugged herself and with a sharp gesture dismissed the photograph.

Juan couldn't help rolling his eyes. “Come on, Chica! It can't be that...”

“Do you remember when you broke your arm because you fell out of Old Man Finson's oak tree?” she demanded, whirling to face him, a fire playing in her eyes.

He took a step back from the force of her vehemence. “Ye...si...”

“Now imagine feeling that about every bone in your body,” she snarled. “Not just in one spot, but every millimeter of them as the nanites eat your bones and rebuild them!” His dark complexion paled and she read the question written on his face. “Hijos de puta madre, they swore I’d be unconscious!” she snapped. “To this day the doctors swear I was out, that I couldn't have felt a thing. They showed me EKG read outs that showed I was so deep in alpha wave suspension I was practically brain dead! I felt it! We all feel it! Three months feeling yourself turn to goo that only the pressure of the Shok-Gel keeps your skin from rupturing and spilling you out into that lime green vileness! Three months of being on fire and not being able to scream! Or move! Just lying there and burning and not dying! Wondering if you're going to go mad...”

For the first time in his life, Juan Diaz moved faster than his sister. He swept her into a hug and squeezed with all his might. “¡Lo siento!” he swore. He held her until she stopped trembling and let her go when she pulled away, a smile that was only a little forced on her face.

“June 19th, will always be my favorite day,” she told him. “Because you and me hermano menor we started our lives together, me out of the tank and you out of mom!” She playfully muffed his hair and looked out the sliding glass door to her balcony towards the medical center, her eyes and mind far away. “I won't ever forget.”

* * *

Themis Sibley Memorial Medical Facility, Georgetown, Old DC 18 Years Earlier

For two blissful days there had been no pain. Two days of floating in the gel, breathing slowly; slowly letting her mind come back from the edge of madness. The last month had been the worst, bones in agonizing slowness reuniting, cell, by cell, becoming harder and then harder still, then it happened. In the midst of the burning, and the pain for which there aren't words, pain in which the promise of a moments relief even these select, the best and most virtuous, would have succumbed to, the Veil is parted and their Ki is awakened.

Lost in the labyrinth of madness and fire, the universe parts suddenly and Elisa was awake. For every Erinys it was different; once deep into her third bottle of Jack, Evangeline the agnostic had muttered about stepping back from the edge of the Universe and understanding it all. Religious, many call it, spiritual for others and for Elisa Maria Alya Diaz, confirmed Catholic, the tank, the building the sky itself were all swept aside and God smiled down on her from Heaven. And as she lay, basking in the warmth and love of her God, Elisa was naked and she was not ashamed, for she was new born and innocent.

The pain left her body, her spirit and her mind and within her, the light of her Ki burned brightly. New senses opened, blurry at first, but with growing sharpness they became aware of each other, Elisa and the three other new girls in the tanks around her. Together they held each other and slowly pulled themselves back from the brink. Dimmer, like shadows, were the doctors and technicians that came and went, checking on them and their tanks, but they were filmy and vague, not sharp and bright as Bridgit, and Marley and Sara and Elisa were to each other.

Elisa became aware it was her time when the gel she had been floating in slowly began to drain and she settled back down on to the cushioned bottom of the tank. Filmy doctors were fussing over her as she hugged her tank sisters, closer than lovers, closer than family and returned to her body. It was not a pleasant experience after being so free, so alive. Her body was weak and disobedient; the return of gravity crushing and everything was so much more. The tank lid swung up and the nurse flinched because Elisa was looking at her through the remnants of the Shok-Gel. “She's awake!” she screamed, horrified, but the doctors, the men around her laughed at their prank.

“Their eyes are always open,” one told her. “Don't worry, she's out cold.” They took off the oxygen mask and the feeding tube while the nurse upbraided them for their humor. Elisa wanted to tell them she was awake, but none of her muscles would obey her. The pulled her out and laid her on a gurney to attach monitors and IV needles. A pair of latex gloved hands invaded a new space and heralded a catheter, but compared to the tank, that almost didn't qualify as pain.

Their jostling of her caused her head to slowly roll to one side where she could see the other tanks and, one last time she could perceive Marley and Sara whose 'spirits' for lack of a better word were clustered around the new girl who had taken Bridgit's place. Her spirit was still dim and filmy and thrashing in pain that Marley and Sara were trying to comfort her through. Marley smiled at her told her to sleep, that she needed it. Finally a muscle obeyed and Elisa's eyes closed and she drank the oblivion she had been promised three months ago.

* * *

When Elisa woke it was morning, someone was touching her forehead with a slick substance and muttering in Latin. Her eyes opened to find a heavy set man who was both going gray and balding at the same time finishing the Rite of Baptism. “Father Leonard,” she managed, in a voice that was both foreign and her own. She realized at once that for it being a hospital bed, the sheets were silk, which she was grateful for as her skin was extremely sensitive all of a sudden and, she realized she was completely hairless.

The priest smiled down on her. “It's a girl!” he announced. “How do you feel, Elisa?”

“Tired,” she admitted, but managed to reach out and take his arm, the fabric of the jacket like steel wool under her palm. “Father, I saw God,” she managed, desperate to make him understand. “I really saw Him!” His smile broadened and he ever so gently patted her hand.

“I know,” he told her. “They said you would have some experience, it seems a very normal reaction.”

“...But...!”

“Easy,” he cautioned her. “You won't have the strength to get excited for a while yet, so take things slowly. I believe you, Elisa, I believe you.” He gently returned her hand to her stomach and bent back to the chair next to him and rummaged through a case there. It was then that Elisa first became aware of the fact that laying on the top of her arm, through the surgical gown she was wearing was a breast. She looked down and saw the gentle swell of the body she had always wanted under the gown and the became aware of a new freedom of moment between her legs. “I have something here for you,” he declared as he removed a document from his satchel and turned back, taking her mind from any further explorations. With a flourish, he read out in a stentorian voice,

“By the Authority of Pope Gregory the Seventeenth be it known that our Brother In Christ, Edwardo Miguel Ayla Diaz has been called to service that of it's nature shall require that which amounts to his death in body and shall give birth to a woman, humble before God in which shall the soul of our brother reside. Hence forth, it is proclaimed that indulgence is granted to the faithful who, in the performance of their duties and in bearing the trials of life, raise their mind with humble confidence to God, adding -- even if only mentally-- some pious invocation, and our Sister In Christ is intended to serve and be faithful to practice the commandment of Christ that she `go forth, be fruitful and multiply.' That forever more, the deeds and trials of this soul shall be written unto the Book of Life to the name of Elisa Maria Ayla Diaz. For His Holiness, Pope Gregory The Seventeenth, signed Daniel Lethe, by Grace of God, Bishop, Archdiocese of Washington”

He turned so she could see it and grinned a lopsided grin. “I took the liberty of having it framed.”

A tear escaped her lashless eyelid and rolled down her cheek. “It's beautiful, Father. Thank you so much!”

He beamed in pleasure and put the frame and it's precious document aside. “And I have some news. You have a new little brother! Juan Ayla Diaz was born the day you were coming out of the tank, three point seven nine kilos, he is fine, mother had a somewhat rough time of it but is doing better. Your parents are looking forward to you getting out of the hospital and coming for a visit.”

“No, they're not, but thank you for the pleasantry, Father. Now,” and she yawned weakly, “I think I'd like to...”

Father Leonard kissed the bald young woman's forehead. “They'll come around,” he told her sleeping form.

* * *

“You were bald?” Juan demanded.

“Actually I was hairless,” she corrected with a smile. “There is a difference.” She gestured at the screen and another photograph appeared, again marked Training Team 5, but there were only ten people on the bleachers in addition to the trainers. Now all of the women were wearing the Fury Armor, and it was easy to spot Elisa now. A dark fuzz was clinging to her scalp, though her eyebrows were obviously pencil. “The Shok-Gel has a dilatory effect so that it can close the pores of the skin. There is a certain amount of transference through the skin that the gel is fighting against so that the nanites don't escape and my skin isn't damaged from being submerged for three months.

“Vaca santa you look young!” he observed. “I'd guess you were fifteen or sixteen in this! Even now I have friends who think we're dating not that you're my big sister! Does that stuff make you immortal?”

“No,” she told him quickly. “It's not a fountain of youth, but it is one of the best rejuvenations on the planet. The oldest person I know that underwent the Dragon's Blood and survived was fifty and she looks like she's mid twenties now. We age slowly, and very gracefully, but we do age. Here, look at this.” She made another gesture and the picture of a smiling strawberry blonde filled the screen. She was a full woman, with a soft, oval face, a strong nose and generous mouth made for smiling. Her hair and make up had been professionally done, but there were worry lines at the corner of her eyes that gave her character and an air of competence. She was obviously someone who knew what she was doing and how to get the job done.

“Who's this?” he asked.

Elisa smiled. “My old boss, Karen Astor. How old would you say she is?”

He wolf whistled, drawing a slap across the back of his head from her. “Hey, she has major MILF hotness!” Elisa chuckled.

“Oh? So, give me a number.” He shrugged.

“I don't know, how about forty?”

“I'm almost forty,” she told him. He looked up, disbelieving. “Thirty eight,” she reminded him. He nodded and rubbed his chin in thought.

“Ok, fifty five.”

“Try seventy,” she replied with a smile.

“What?”

“Next July 4th as a matter of fact. So, more GILF than MILF, but yes, the Dragon's Blood makes time, if not our friend, at least a friendly rival and not an enemy. Karen was a first Generation Erinys, there are only twenty of them left, and they've all been force retired from field work. Themis isn't sure how long we'll live and so they're trying to remove violence from the equation to find out. And for being seventy, Karen can still clear out a bar room brawl all by herself. Now she gets giggles being taken for her husband's trophy wife.”

“Hijo de puta,” he whispered, then shook his head. “So, I still don't get how you got to be friends with this tormentor of yours! I mean, you were out of the tank and so off to assignments, right?”

Elisa smiled and shook her head. “Oh no. Well, first, I went to see you, and what an absolutely adorable baby you were!” She pinched his cheek, causing him to roll his eyes in consternation. “I think I'll gloss over all the fights and screaming matches that visit entailed,” she said with a sigh and shaking her head. “Then, I was back at Fort Peck Lake, actually learning how to do my job.”

“They didn't hire you knowing that?” he demanded.

“Oh, a couple of the other girls were ex-Special Forces, Bridget had been a NAF Ranger, Marley had been a Marine and Sara was Spetsnaz,” she replied. “I was in my sophomore year of my Criminal Justice Degree from VSU, but I'd only seen guns on the trideo! Let alone know how to move and shoot or be tactical? In a brand new body that was light years more athletic than my old one? That was what I was learning...”

Themis Fort Peck Lake Training Facility, Glasgow Montana 18 Years Earlier

“Today,” Instructor Hartlet intoned. “You ladies are going to learn to shoot. Some of you, suffer under the delusion that you already have this skill, you do not! Some of you, have never handled a fire arm before, either way, you are both a liability on my firing range. None of you, have ever touched a weapon in the body you currently wear! It reacts very differently to the body you are used to, and for this reason, you will forget what you think you know, you will listen to my instruction, you will pay attention and follow my directions, or you will pay for it.”

Elisa had never been to any of the weapons ranges at the training facility. Her previous time there as Edwardo had the single goal of toughing her body for the transition and eliminating those who lacked the will power to see the training through. The range was out doors, but was equipped with a sturdy looking storage shed, a restroom, and several vending machines, which was good because all of the new Furies were constantly eating. There were ten firing point lanes, rather like a bowling alley, with bulls eye targets floating holographically in front of a berm of earth being used as a back stop. The firing points had benches, shelves to set things on, and were covered against the rain, which there was actually a light drizzle coming down. Everyone was wearing Fury Armor, both for safety and to get used to it.

After spending several weeks nude, the sensation of being 'on display' in the cat suit didn't even register in Elisa's mind.

Instructor Hartlet met every girl's eye before pointing at a poster on one of the beams holding up the roof. “These, are the range rules. Violation of any of them will cease your training for the day. You will forfeit your pay for today, as well as incur a one thousand Nubuck fine to your debt every time you break one of my rules. Is this clear, ladies?”

“Yes ma'am!” the group chorused

“Behind me are the tools you indicated your preference for on your hire sheet. They are only tools, inert lumps of metal. Of themselves they are worthless. You are the weapon. You are responsible and this is why you will be held accountable if my range rules are broken. Diaz, you're first, front and center.”

“Yes, ma'am!” she called, rising from the bench and trotting over to the lane Hartlet indicated. Her thumb opened a case that caused her a moment of pause as she looked from the pistol to her student and back.

“Beretta M9? No, I stand corrected, a 93R. Is there a reason you picked this museum piece?” she demanded.

Diaz paused for a moment to look at the weapon she'd selected, then back at her instructor. “I did a lot of research, ma'am. It seemed like a reasonable choice. It's open top so the possibility of stove pipe jams are reduced, has burst fire in case that's needed and the 9mm Parabellum cartridge allows for high capacity magazines compared to larger rounds with an acceptable reduction in stopping power.”

“So you didn't see it in a movie and think it was cool?” Hartlet retorted with a gimlet eye.

“My dad is a big Mel Gibson fan, but I don't see how...”

Veronica shook her head. “Fine, whatever, you'll have plenty of time to regret your choice and come to your senses. A weapon made this century would have a SMART interface that your armor and implants could talk to. But this has only mechanical controls. So, here is the slide release. When the weapon is empty it will lock open, like so.” She cleared the pistol, holding it in the locked open state. “The safety and selector switch are combined. This round lever is the safety. Down is engaged, weapon will not fire. Up is disengaged, weapon will fire if trigger is pulled. The other side is a selector, up is single shot, down is three round burst. Keep it in semi for right now. Uplink to the range's computer and sight in the weapon.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Engels, you're next!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Elisa was already linked to the Range's servers through the facilities encrypted WIFI link, which doubtlessly Hartlet already knew. She'd already watched the proper sight picture tutorials and safety procedures of the pistol, but picking it up for the first time, two things leapt out at her. First that the pistol was remarkably heavy for it's size and two that the weight didn't bother her at all. She put the pistol on safe and busied her self loading bullets into her magazines.

Finally Hartlet had finished her briefings to all the other girls and the range was cleared hot. Elisa mentally turned off the assists of her implant as she lifted the pistol and inserted a magazine she'd just filled. Anyone could hit a bull's eye every time with SMART assisted weapons. Even without the SMART assist on the pistol, Elisa's implant was wired into her vision center in her brain and so was aware of what she saw and could overlay a 'HUD' over her normal sight, even without her eyes being augmented. But even though that wasn't quite as accurate as the SMART assist in the weapon, she had turned that off as well, relying on her own understanding of the physics, the mechanics and the tutorial.

She racked the pistol, chambering a round and brought it up into her line of sight. The new sense she was becoming aware of began to mentally label her 'Ki sense' told her that Instructor Hartlet was just behind her left shoulder, watching her. Elisa ignored the distraction and concentrated on her pistol craft. Diaz took up the slack on the trigger and concentrated on her breathing. As she had been struggling to do, the shot surprised her, despite that her new strength kept the 'snap' of the recoil to a minimum and on target at that. The round pierced the target on the upper right arm of the X at the center breathtakingly slightly high and right. The holographic target flashed to the cartoon caricature of Achilles who was the safety mascot of all Themis ranges, internal and public who winked at her and give her a thumbs up. “Bull's Eye!” the Greek Hoplite declared.

“Are you kidding me?” Elisa demanded, incredulous.

“Don't get me started,” grumbled Hartlet. “You're slightly high and right, Diaz, work on it.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Elisa diligently put six, twenty round magazines through the pistol with all of her augmentations off. The range computer verified her and marked her as safe and trained with the weapon, freeing the use of the augmentations. This cleared the way from the static bench to the more strenuous training that was to come.

* * *

Days passed into weeks while Elisa and her team trained. As one they marveled in their new abilities. Obstacle courses that had been objects of torture to them the year previous now became playgrounds as each found new and more interesting ways to defeat the obstacle rather than the 'correct' way. Of course, the ability to leap more than three meters from a standing start certainly added to the motions that would have made a Parkour enthusiast sick with envy.

Then, just when the obstacle courses were getting boring, they began to run them with their weapons and targets began to appear. They were only allowed paint tip simunitions, but, the combination of acrobatics, obstacle running and shooting brought the days to new highs. The outdoor 'jungle gym' type log obstacles were replaced with the 'Urban Environment Simulator', four generic city blocks complete with office buildings, 'shopping center' and other city based scenarios. Then the targets started shooting back, and then there were innocents, mixed in with the combatants.

Had it only been a game, it would have been tremendous fun.

But the 'innocents' put on a damned fine act of being terrified for their lives and it brought home that life and death were not a game. Neither was training as Elisa discovered in their first combined arms exercise with the platoon of Myrmidons that were using the facility for their new hires too. They were running a scenario in the Urban Combat Simulator, militants having seized a shopping center with hostages, making demands and threatening to kill hostages if their demands weren't met. It was the most 'popular' form of terrorism in the latter half of the twenty first century.

Nearly all the windows of the buildings of the simulator were rigged with compressed natural gas lines with piezoelectric igniters built in. A diaphragm valve would build up a charge and dump it, just as the igniter went off, which made a wonderful fireball that could be controlled and shock the troops with realism. Unfortunately one of the diaphragms developed a leak in a storefront window. The enclosed space filled with CNG and one of the young Myrmidons wasn't looking as closely as he should have for the number of grenades he was chucking down range.

The 'grenade' was a glorified cap gun, a 'bang!' of gun cotton for sound effect and a WIFI transmitter to the range's computer with it's GPS coordinates. The computer calculated the closest window and programmed an explosion. At that moment, unfortunately, Myrmidon trainee Jim Talmadge, was running up the alley between that building and it's neighbor. Under normal conditions, this would not have been an issue, but the window the computer chose to detonate was filled with nearly one hundred cubic meters of extremely flammable gas.

The explosion rocked the simulator, destroying the three story building it was set off in and deafened the next two closest Myrmidon trainees by rupturing their ear drums. Jim's ears, eyes and testicles burst from the over pressure of the explosion, but he wasn't alive long enough to feel the agony as the same shock wave killed him and then threw his corpse six meters away and then buried it debris.

Fortunately, the range computer realized nearly instantly what had happened and shut off the linkages to the CNG tank and purged the system to reduce the fire and explosion hazard. The fire team on the facility was already on hand, as was the SOP whenever this simulator was used, thus the fire was quickly contained and damage limited to the single event. The two injured Myrmidons would have their hearing restored a week and a half later by cybernetic implant of artificial replacement ear drums wired directly into their cranial implants. This gave them hearing up into the ultrasonic range and the two took to composing music on dog whistles in their spare time.

None of that was any consolation to Jim Talmadge's widow, Irene, or to trainee Erinyes Elisa Diaz who found Jim's mortal remains, or what was left of them.

Irene took the survivors benefit check from Themis, went back to school and would become a lawyer who specialized in suing Private Military Contractors on behalf on anyone they harmed, or their own employees that the less scrupulous PMCs abandoned when they were injured. Elisa Diaz got an off Post pass and went to drown her sorrows at Buck's Place.

Buck was a retired Myrmidon Heavy who lived to piss others off. Glasgow was a sleepy, one horse kind of town that would consider a Reagan conservative a wellspring of newfangled liberalism. Reactionary, as a word, fell far short of its duties. While the Themis Training Facility was the largest employer for the town, not everyone worked there and significantly less than everyone approved of the product of the base, specifically, the Furies. Buck sank his retirement into a bar so the Themis employees could have a friendly place to go in town and an understanding with the Sheriff that so long as the girls didn't do anything permanent, the bigots could come try to prove their manhood on fledgling Furies. In any other town this would have resulted in heavy handed attempts at seduction. But not in Glasgow.

There were times it was just cathartic to beat the crap out of someone, and Glasgow's under-educated, under-employed class never ceased to provide ignorant shit kickers who couldn't learn and seemed to honestly enjoy having the crap beaten out of them. A base taxi took Elisa to the bar while it was still early and the crowd still light. The furniture, which Buck bought in remanded lots by the ton from thrift stores nation wide was still intact. She entered the bar in a pair jeans that left no one wondering how shapely her back side was and a T shirt that was doing the same service to her front. It was a blown up image of the Fury patch, the unofficial uniform for town passes and a warning to anybody looking for trouble, they'd find more than they wanted. “Dos equis,” she ordered sliding into a bar stool.

Buck nodded and found a bottle, opened it and placed it in front of her. “I know that look, Red,” he said with his slow drawl. Elisa had picked up the nickname 'Red' because only Bridget her Tank Sister could get away with calling her Liz. “You know the rules, nothing permanent.”

Elisa took a long pull on her beer and shook her head. Her hair had grown out from 'buzz cut' to 'short and flirty', but was still a long ways from where she wanted it. “I'm not here for the floor show,” she told him. Buck shrugged while taking the Nubuck she paid for the beer and making change.

“You know my place, Red. Sometimes the 'floor show' isn't picky about who's in it.”

She took another long pull and shuddered. “You hear about The Fire?” He nodded. “I found the lone fatality. Private Trainee Jim Talmadge, whose mortal remains they had to pick up with a sponge and a bucket.” Elisa used more beer to push down the bile that rose unbidden at the memory.

“That's life in the big city,” Buck replied as he poured himself a cup of the black sludge he called coffee and took a drink straight up. “Talmadge knew the job was dangerous when he took it, and while I note that brochure they give you girls really plays up the perks and down the job, it does say what's expected of you.”

Elisa snorted in remembrance. “Erinyes Corps: Be More Than Just A Woman,” she quoted with rancor. “Somehow I must have missed today's actives being spelled out.”

“Then you're not nearly as smart as I gave you credit for being,” drawled Veronica as she slid onto the stool next to Elisa's. “Gimme a Bud Light Lime and two shots of tequila, Buck.” She was dressed in a style that could only be called 'South-West Tramp'. A plaid 'cowboy' shirt that had the sleeves cut off and had been tied under her impressive bosom leaving her taunt, tanned belly exposed and jeans that looked like they'd been spray painted on her that flowed into a pair of snake skin boots that had probably set her back a month's pay. She scooped up a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the bar and popped some into her mouth.

“Come on Diaz, you saw the danger warning page, it's got 'high risk job' all over it and another page just on death and dismemberment.”

“Condénelo,” she muttered under her breath. “I've just never seen a corpse before.”

Veronica made a guttural dismissive sound as the drinks arrived. “First one I saw I made,” she countered, sliding the second shot of tequila at the young Spanish woman. “Big fucker too, damn near two and a half meters, hundred and twenty, hundred thirty kilos maybe and it was all muscle.” She salted the back of her hand, then handed the shaker to Elisa. She licked the salt and tapped her shot glass against Elisa's.

“More than a woman!” they toasted and tossed back the liquor.

Elisa took the lime from her lips as asked, “What happened?”

“Got stupid,” Veronica replied as she returned the shot glass to the table and reached for her beer. “Went around a corner on an infiltration extraction without checking it and 'Atlas' was waiting for me. Connected with a right that actually knocked me out for a second. By the time I could think again he had those ham hock hands around my throat and was doing his best to strangle me.”

Diaz's skin paled at the horrific tale her instructor spun so nonchalantly. “What did you do?”

“Ki Knife hand,” she replied, her tone light and indifferent, but her mind saw the looks of shock and agony on the mans face as she forced her hand into his chest and squeezed the life from his beating heart. Remembered seeing the life drain from his eyes and the confusing feeling of relief that she was alive, a strangely detached horror at what she'd done and the overwhelming burning feeling of ultimate power that drowned out the other two as she realized she had taken her first life.

She took a pull of her beer and locked eyes with her student. “Him or me, Diaz. I picked me.”

Elisa wasn't sure she liked where the conversation was going so asked, “How do you drink that orina?”

Hartlet looked at her bottle and back to Elisa's. “We're both looking to get buzzed, right? For us, that's going to take a lot of beer. What did that import cost you?”

“Eighty cents,” she replied. “But it tastes good!”

“This,” and Veronica held up her bottle, “is thirty cents, and after four or five I won't care what they taste like!” For the first time, Elisa shared a laugh with her instructor and 'Heartless' Hartlet died and a friendship was tentatively formed with Veronica Hartlet. As the laughter died down, Veronica lowered her voice and leaned in closer. “Look, it's only natural to get shook up a bit by today, Elisa. Death is a part of the job, you've got to figure out how you're going to deal with it. You want my advice? Find you a boy toy and wear him out.”

“Ms. Hartlet!” she exclaimed shocked. The blond shook her head.

“We're both out of uniform, Elisa, it's just Veroncia, and don't tell me you haven't fantasied about it since you came out of the tank!” Elisa's blush did her answering for her as she turned away and drank more beer. “Just like I thought,” roared Hartlet. “As cherry as a '68 Mustang!”

“I'm Catholic!” she declared almost primly.

“Even better!” the instructor replied. “Sin tonight, confess tomorrow, start the week fresh!”

Elisa snorted a laugh into her beer bottle. “It doesn't work that way,” she said.

“It works however you want it to,” Veronica shot back. “Though I wouldn't recommend a local. Body sculpting and enhancement might be the 'norm' in the rest of the country, but here in shit kicker heaven we're still waiting on the twentieth century.”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Veronica drained her beer and waved for another. “Are you kidding me? Look, Elisa, back in the 'real world' of the North American Federation, we're enjoying all the modern conveniences of late twenty first century living. Not the least of which is the nanite and body sculpting revolution! It let the both of us be who we were on the inside, but it has other definitive advantages! You're from BAMA, they're fairly cosmopolitan over there, when was the last time you saw someone who was obese? I'm not talking thick or curvy, but rolling fat morbid obesity?”

“It's correctly referred to as the Boston Atlanta Metropolitan Authority...”

“BAMA!” shouted Veronica around her laughter. “You've never seen one, have you? Have you? Of course not! And you won't, as cheap as the options are, as critical as looking good has become to keeping a job. And let's be honest, we aren't exactly paragons of restraint, are we?” She took a long pull on the beer leered at the somewhat aghast Spanish young woman. “And why should we, huh? When you can look like you belong on a porn set, why wouldn't you? Eh? Eh?”

“How many have you had tonight, Ronny?” demanded Buck as he was drawn over by the instructors raucous sense of humor.

“Two!” snapped Hartlet. “That's all you know about, and all you need to!”

Buck's long face pulled into a frown. “Tone it down and slow down or I'll cut you off now, read me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, then made a point of checking his rear as he walked away. “Now Buck,” she whispered to Elisa, “there's an amusement park with all the fun rides!” She held her hands up better than a third of a meter apart which caused Elisa's eyes to widen in shock. “But don't get any ideas, I have plans for the dour proprietor of our watering hole! Which brings us back to my original point nicely! In the real world, do you know what the average penis size is?”

“Why would I care when I was trying to get rid of my own?”

She frowned. “Oh, now you're going to spin the 'lesbian trapped in a man's body' crap on me?”

Elisa took a sip of beer and turned away before she whispered, “I like men.” Veronica took a pull of her own and leered.

“I thought so! Thatta girl! Nothing to be ashamed of! And if you want a man, then you want a man, girl! And out in the real world, thanks to our wonderful friends in the lab coats, the 'average' man is now a woman pleasing thirty centimeters! But, out here in the mild, mild west, they're still using inches and are hard pressed to come up with more than six!”

Elisa blinked. “Inches? Wait, we covered that in history, that's what, only twelve centimeters?” Ronny held up her hands again, much closer together and Elisa started. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish!” she groused. “Damn near ruined a friendship too, but you don't need to know about that! My point is, the Myrmidons are in the tank, just like us, and have you ever seen an ugly one? Don't sit out here and mope! Nobody says you have to marry him! Love 'em and leave 'em! You'll feel better in the morning!”

The most peculiar sensation crawled up Elisa's back, a burning, hairs on end feeling that started at the base of her spine and ran all the way up to the top of her skull. Without thinking, she put the bottle on the bar, slid off the stool and threw both hands up to her left. She intercepted the sucker punch that was on it's way to her left check, much to the amazement of the stereotypically dressed cowboy that was throwing it who was in the process of yelling, “Faggot whore!”

She neatly reversed the hold that had him standing on tip toe with his wrist against the back of his head and crying like a baby. “If you're going to call me names, hombre pick one set and stick with it!” she hissed and flung him back into the crowd of his buddies that were in the process of spilling into the bar through the door. The locals fell like ten pins as the two Furies and three Myrmidons that were in the bar got to their feet. Five Themis employees against fifteen locals, it didn't seem fair; for the locals.

“Nothing permanent!” shouted Buck as the two Furies shouted the undulating Ki based Erinyes war cry and launched themselves into the pile, punching, kicking, even a bite or two snuck past the watchful eye of Buck. In the mist of a great deal of unlicensed tool-less dentistry, Elisa met Squad Corporal Todd Masters, the grenadier who was holding himself responsible for Jim's death and attempting to drink himself to liver failure. He was thirty, though the Myrmidon Process made him look a fresh faced captain of the Varsity squad of around twenty or so. He was a hundred kilos of hard, well defined muscle with the deep green eyes and shaggy black hair of an Irish poem.

He was a tremendous back up man in bar brawl, had his own car on site that made for a discrete exit before the Sheriff's Posse could arrive to clean up the nightly brawl at Buck's Place and he'd be deeply honored to share Elisa's bed that night.

So Elisa Diaz gave up her virginity to a young man who was feeling just as lost as she was by way of the ghost of Jim Talmadge. While it wasn't deep, true love, Corporal Masters knew his way around a woman's body was himself better than average you might say. There were awkward moments, there was laughter at the awkwardness, there was tenderness and caring there was a unity where neither was alone for a time and it was what they both needed. They didn't fall in love, but they fell in friendship you might say.

Friendship with benefits, wonderful, wonderful benefits.

* * *

Elisa was awakened from some of the best sleep she'd had in some time by the voice of Instructor Hartlet and the light of the hallway across her face. No longer were the 'Post Tank' girls in the barracks like some World War Two movie, on return to the facility they'd been housed in a dorm with small, but private rooms and a bathroom she shared with Bridget her 'tank sister'. “Diaz, up and at...oops, sorry.”

Elisa sat up in bed and stretched which showed she wasn't alone in the bed and Corporal Master's pride and joy was on display. She reached down and flipped the coverlet from her bed over him while standing and without self consciousness strode nude to the door. “Yes ma'am?”

“Hate to break it to you, Elisa, but leave's been canceled. Get ready quickly and grab your combat go bag and report to the big bay downstairs. Masters too, we've got an emergency.”

“Yes ma'am, right away!”

Ronny's face was bleary, and the bruise on her cheek was already nearly healed, but she managed a smile and nodded at Elisa's bed mate. “Was I right?”

“The Senior Training Instructor is always right, ma'am,” Elisa replied with a sly, cat in the cream smile. “In this instance she was wonderfully more right than usual.”

“Glad to oblige. Suit up, bad men doing bad things.”

“Roger that, ma'am,” she replied, closing the door and heading to the shower. She shook Todd's leg on her way by. “Up and at 'em hombre! We got to move.” He sat up groggily as Elisa continued into the bathroom she shared with Bridget. Bridget was already in her shower cubical and reached back from washing her hair to touch the fogged glass door right as Elisa's fingers touched it in the same place on the other side.

“What about leave?” he called after her.

Elisa reached in and flipped the shower on to her favorite setting. “Canceled,” she yelled back over the water as she got a towel and let the instant water heater come up. “There's some emergency we're responding to. My trainer said to show up in armor with a go bag.”

Muffled curses were her answer.

Bridget was a tall blonde, taller than Elisa's one hundred seventy two centimeters anyway, though they were nearly eye to eye when Bridget was flat footed and Elisa in the ten centimeters heels she favored. The warm water flowed over her, loosening muscles that were complaining of over use or stiffness from too long asleep in one position. Bridget's cornflower blue eye caught one of Elisa's dark brown ones as she wet her hair to wash. “Was he as good as you leaked?” she asked with a smile.

Neither woman understood the bond that had been created between them by being in the same room at the same time both were in the tanks. The Ki flowed between them quite strongly and, sleeping so close to one another they tended to be aware of what the other was doing. When this happened they dubbed it 'leaking'. Sister was the best description the two could come up with for it, perhaps something akin to the phenomena that identical twins experienced. Elisa just 'knew' when Bridget was having nightmares about her time as a Ranger and when she needed to crawl into her bed to comfort her. Now, evidently, Bridget knew exactly how good a night she'd had. “Better,” Elisa whispered. “I hope we didn't keep you up.”

“Sometimes a girl likes to be kept up,” she retorted with a smile. “If it hadn't been your first, I might have invited myself over.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” Elisa replied. “I have no claim to him, and I told him I wasn't looking for a relationship.”

“Fuck buddy?”

“Fuck buddy,” Diaz agreed. As she washed her hand found the small oblong lump of the nanite factory that had been implanted in her left thigh, just where it met her torso. “Bri, what do you know about this birth control factory? You know how good it is?”

“The one the put in us?”

“Si.”

“My younger sister had it done,” she replied while rinsing the conditioner from her hair. “Don't worry; if her results are typical you will not get pregnant on it.”

“Ouch,” Elisa sympathized. “Something of a 'free spirit' eh?”

“If by 'free spirit' you mean 'complete slut,' yes,” Bridget replied. Elisa looked down and rubbed her belly with one hand, while reaching up to take her sister's hand over the partition with the other. “You'll have kids, 'Liz, just got to pay back Uncle Themis first.”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand nubucks,” Elisa whispered as the water beat on her. “It didn’t seem so much when I signed on…”

Bridget shut off her shower and started toweling off at the opening of Elisa’s. “You’ll do it, girl. I know how bad you want it. And with this alert thing seems like we can finally start making some cash. Combat pays great.”

“Yeah, killing people has always been an upwardly mobile move.”

“Hush,” Bridget chided her. “Grab your armor and your boy toy and get your can in gear!”

“I guess it's good her boy toy likes to be grabbed, huh?” asked Todd as he wandered into the bathroom, wearing only a grin from ear to ear. Bridget gave him an appreciative, measuring glance.

“Indeed,” she opined archly. “If only there wasn't an alert!”

* * *

The 'Big Bay' was the largest room in the dorm. It served as a day room and 'activity center' for the lulls in training that, despite the complaints of trainees, did in fact happen from time to time. There were the usual kinds of amusements, a wall screen that had a Cloud Movie account, a pool table, a collection of card and craft tables and a half dozen TIS cabinets. There were comfortable couches and love seats that had now been arranged to face the wall screen where Instructor Hartlet and unknown man in a Myrmidon uniform were standing.

Clustered around the couches were the Post Tank trainees that had earned the right to sleep in the dorm, not the barracks and were all advanced enough in their training that curtailing the last bits wouldn't be a detriment. There were the ten surviving members of Fury Training Team 5, ten who had proven themselves to have had the chops to take the worst Hartlet and her Dream Killers could throw at them, the proud survivors of a starting group of fifty.

They were the pepper in their black Fury Armor scattered through out the one hundred Myrmidons in their khaki jump dungarees. The uniform had been designed to quickly be added to as need arose. As they were, it seemed to be a simple jumpsuit and boots with plenty of pockets and odd looking plastisteel D rings that allowed the attachment of everything from armor plates to canteen holders and everything in between. It was called the Modular Logistics Link System by Themis who had designed it, and sold the equipment aftermarket as the MLLS. The Myrmidons called Molly and it allowed each boot to configure his gear they way he or she liked. Despite being a PMC, Themis did a number of things differently from the traditional military approach, the foremost being that as it was his or her rear on the line, the grunt could configure the field gear for the uniform however they liked.

It also meant the Myrmidons could go from 'barracks casual' to 'tip of the spear' kit out in a matter of seconds.

Instructor Hartlet's two assistant instructors had long since rotated out to other assignments leaving the room with 11 Erinyes and twenty or so other women scattered throughout the Myrmidons. Of them, sixty were 'light plate' combat operators, with ten Heavy power frame drivers, with the rest being a collection of techs, mechanics, support specialists and, most importantly, five medics.

“Listen up!” the unknown Myrmidon by Ms. Hartlet announced to the group. Quiet quickly fell as the attention became focused on him. “My name is Major Dan Hawk, and I have been placed in operational command of the mission you are about to embark on. STO Hartlet will serve as my XO with a brevet rank of Captain.”

Behind him, the screen came to life and began playing raw footage of various reporters throughout the Central American region. It was mostly combat footage, blood, carnage and men and women frantically firing automatic weapons. “Some of you may be aware of the ongoing unpleasantness that sparked the Former Mexico in to joining the North American Federation. For those of you who came in late the Reader's Digest version is that Central America is a hell hole of dictators, strong men and Generalissimos all fighting for control of the original states and territories in the region. Themis has presence in a number of areas throughout Central America, generally guarding plantations, mines and other Natural Resources in the area for other large corporations. We also provide the manpower to the Panama Canal Zone Security Force under contract from the NAF Army when they retook the zone last year in Operation Teddy's Prize. Captain?”

Hartlet nodded and gestured at the wall screen. The combat porn flipped over to an enhanced sat-nav map of an island. “This, is our engagement zone,” she informed them. “Cayos Miskitos is a forced growth coral archipelago roughly eight kilometers on a side that was washed clean of life in the tsunami generated by the eruption of Mt. Erebus in '21. Since then the forced growth island was generated by anchoring it to the skeleton of the old island and keeping up with the rising seas.”

“It's approximately fifty klicks off the coast of Nicaragua and is our primary staging base for operations in the region.”

“Why aren't we based out of the Canal Zone?” someone shouted in disgust.

Elisa expected the newly promoted 'Captain' Hartlet to cut some body part off the offender and feed it to him, but she only shook her head. “For a number of reasons, not the least of which is cost, having the NAF Army constantly looking over our shoulder and that Cayos Miskitos is more centrally located for our operations in the region.”

She made a gesture and the sat-nav map was overlaid with a series of code names for the areas. “Here is what we know.” Inset to the map came a portrait, somewhat blurred and distant of a stern, cruel looking man wearing a uniform covered in braid and medals. “Here's our bad guy, General Alejandro Esteban. He controls a largely rural and undeveloped chunk of what was Honduras and Nicaragua as far south as Puerto Cabezas and north as Puerto Lempira. What he doesn't have is a whole lot of technology and infrastructure which he seems to think he's going to take from us. Three days ago, just after midnight local time, a set of combined arms guerillas thought to be no more than two thousand strong, executed an simultaneous attack on the docks here, and a helicopter assault on the airfield here.

“Personnel on station were overwhelmed as the reactionary force normally stationed here was off island responding to several requests for assistance under fire by other forces throughout the region. These were obviously diversions, orchestrated by Esteban. Myrmidon Colonel Hiram is regrouping the reactionary force in the Canal Zone but any attack he can make will have excessive casualties unless we split the defenders attention.”

Major Hawk nodded his thanks and stepped up to the fore. “Our mission is to be deployed by a sub-orbital semi ballistic. None of the support craft we would normally use will make the trip, so we will all be staggered jumping from the ballistic mover. I will be first out the door with most of you, we'll be jumping just past apogee, and corporate assures me this will count as both a combat drop and a high risk drop as we'll actually re-enter the atmosphere.”

A murmur ran through the assembled Myrmidons about fifty fifty in favor of the stunt or terrified of it. Major Hawk allowed the group to mutter for a moment, then continued. “Next out will be Captain Hartlet and her Furies, who will actually be our second wave. Last out and first on the deck will be the heavies. Our target is Morgan Field. The heavies will blast us a landing zone while Captain Hartlet and her furies establish a perimeter. The heavies must take and hold the LZ!

“Once the entire company is on the deck, Captain Hartlet will take half of her Furies and the supply power frame drivers here to the air field warehouse. The base was just resupplied two days before the invasion and Sat-Intel shows the warehouse hasn't been looted. While they secure the resupply for the Heavies, the other half of the Furys will escort two heavies and a squad of light plate here to the headquarters administrative building. Thermographics tells us the surviving base personnel have been held here. They will liberate the hostages and return, making as much noise and damage as you can to hopefully trick them into thinking there are three fronts. We then hold the airfield until relieved by Colonel Hiram. Questions?”

The room was silent and Captain Hartlet stepped forward again. “Myrmidons, you will consider my Erinyes to hold a master sergeant ranking, except for Elisa Diaz. Diaz, you'll lead Team Two as their Team Leader, think of her as a lieutenant.”

“Yes ma'am,” Elisa replied, smiling at the jostling Bridget gave her.

“Corporal Masters?” called out Hawk.

“Sir?”

“You'll lead the squad going with Team Two. Take Kolowaski and Saunders as your Heavies.”

“Hooah.” the Corporal replied.

“Suit up,” the Major ordered. “Bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”

The crowd quickly began to disburse to retrieve go bags and head out side. For herself, Elisa caught the eyes of Bridget, Marley and Sara and as simply as that, Team 2 was assembled. They fell into together and began to head out when they were intercepted by Captain Hartlet. “Ladies,” she greeted. “My apologies, your rifle choices have yet to be delivered from central supply. But I do have substitutes. Follow me.”

She led the way under a tent outside where various gadgets and other gear had been laid out on tables. The company store looking to do business as the troops headed out. Finally she arrived a table that had a series of rifles laid out. “H&K G36, not the newest girls at the dance, but they know the steps. We're a training base and they were the best in the armory. My other recommendation is to take as many of these one hundred round drums as you can carry.” Team two shared a glance then each girl picked up a rifle, opened their go bags and emptied the table of drums.

* * *

The Untimely Frost: Part 2

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Untimely Frost
An Erinyes Adventure

By

E. E. Nalley

“Is that the time?” Elisa started, hearing the chimes of the antique on her mantle. “We're going to be late!” she told Juan as she got up from the couch and turned off the screen with a gesture.

“Wait, wait!” Juan protested with a smile. “You can't just leave me hanging like that, Chica!”

“Hanging like what?” she called from her bedroom where she was quickly laying out a conservative, but stylish outfit. She decided against a skirt or a dress and went with jeans and a delicately printed floral blouse whose V neck was quite flattering. With precise moves she quickly began to change clothes.

“You jumped out of a space liner?” he demanded.

“You need to watch more action movies,” she chided him with a laugh. The jeans were an older pair and a bit more snug than she remembered. She tried to pinch herself in a few strategic places and when she couldn't she decided the jeans tighter fit was due to wash shrinkage. “Dan Radcliffe did it years ago as James Bond in The Ivory Hammer and he was pushing fifty at the time!”

“You are my sister, not a special effect!” Juan shot back. “I mean, look, I know your work was dangerous, Elisa, but I thought it was just regular cop stuff! Maybe more SWAT, I guess, but...”

“I have sheltered you too much from the world, mi amgio!” she said as she opened the safe in her closet and removed a small, short barreled automatic pistol from the shelf. It was a Wilson Combat Virtue, a slimmed, short barreled 1911 they made and marketed to women. It was an expensive piece to start with that had been tuned to their 'Super-grade' level; the pinnacle of accuracy and mechanical engineering with tolerances measured in tens of thousandths of a millimeter. It had cost her two months pay and saved her life twice and so was worth every nickel as far as she was concerned. She checked that the magazine was still full and the pistol chambered as she had left it, then made sure the safety was returned to 'on' and tucked it into the Flash-Bang holster that was a part of the bra she was wearing. Her blouse covered any trace and now no one would know she was armed. A pair of spare magazines went into a holder disguised as a large smart phone on her waist. “It's a dangerous world out there, Juan. Full of bad people doing bad things,” she said sadly.

The safe secure, she walked back out into the living room where he was waiting. He flashed his wining smile. “I guess I'm not used to this new side of you, sis. Normally you don't like talking about your work.”

“Security system to armed,” she commanded as she took out both her cool cloak and his. The system beeped in response and she led the way out the door, still subconsciously listening for the clicks of the locks to activate. “I suppose you could say I've begun to make my peace with it,” she said as she led the way down the wooden stairs to the lobby below. “With this new promotion I'm not as directly in the line of fire as I was. New problems being in management of course, on top of the joys of field work, but having paid off my debt and now making a very nice living doing what I do, I suppose I'm enjoying it more.”

She waved at the old codger that was unabashedly ogling her through the half open door labeled superintendent on the way through to the garage. The Waterford Building had access directly onto the K Street Canal, as so the garage was a flooded dock the cars, in boat mode, were tied to. A pier system had been constructed with finger docks forming the 'parking spaces' that were now technically slips. They untied the lines from the car and after the cleats on it were folded back down into the body panels scrambled into the BMW and it started on the first try. Carefully maneuvering out of the garage, Elisa nudged the boat into the canal and from there out onto the inlet. “So, about this jump...?” Juan asked, casually with a sly smile.

“What is the big deal?” demanded an exasperated Elisa. “People jump out of airplanes every day!”

“Chica, you didn't jump out of an airplane, you jumped out of a space ship.”

“Oh, fine...”

* * *

Glasgow International Spaceport, Glasgow Montana 18 Years Earlier

The former Glasgow Air Force base had a long history of corporate partnerships. When the base was closed in 1976 it sat idle for twenty years before Boeing bought most of the base for a song and it became the Boeing Glasgow Flight Test Facility and they ran test flights in and out, not much traffic, but the former bases' two point seven kilometer runway meant even the largest of Boeing's aircraft could land, refuel and fly back to Seattle for moderate test flights.

Early in the twenty first century, Themis came to Montana to build their primary training facility to make use of the remoteness of the region, the relatively inexpensive land and access to a large body of water for use in training, they had leased rights, several hangers and adjoining buildings at the facility and paid to improve the runway to be able to handle a space liner.

The space liner was the brain child of the German government think tank Deutsches Zentrum für Luft- und Raumfahrt in partnership with a number of primarily German aeronautics companies, most notably Lufthansa. DLR, as it is known, dreamed up a piggy back craft, the larger of which was a flying fuel tank with a cockpit, engines and flight control systems, the other on its back the actual liner. It took off like a normal craft then the rocket motors ignited, the liner using the lifting craft as an external 'drop tank'. When empty, the tanker returned to its field of origin as a glider. The piggy back craft continued up, not quite achieving orbit. In this way, there was no place in the world that was more than two hours away.

It was dark and still very early; the techs scrambling over the craft did so by work lights and giant arrays of lights on poles like some aviation stadium. Between Adrenalin and the free flowing coffee no one was dreary eyed, despite the hour. There was an undertone of urgency, the attack was scheduled to occur at local dawn on Cayos Miskitos; time was of the essence. The liner boasted a capacity of two hundred, but one hundred Myrmidons, ten sets of Heavy Power Frames, eight cargo frames and eleven Erinyes and all the groups gear had the craft feeling extremely over loaded.

Elisa tapped her foot in nervous energy as she busied her hands screwing in the hose from the air bottle strapped to her para-wing harness into her helmet. Among its many virtues, with the helmet in place, the Fury armor was a sealed system. It wasn't a dive suit, nor was it a pressure suit, but in a pinch it could perform either role, while undamaged. While the vast bulk of the Myrmidons would be out the door first, they'd fall the longest and the liner didn't have an airlock. When the door was opened, all the air in the passenger compartment would be gone.

Not that it would matter; the amount of time between the groups leaving the liner was actually quite short because it was moving so quickly and almost straight down over Cayos Miskitos. The liner would land in the Canal Zone. The total time for the trip would only be twenty minutes.

There wasn't even time for the power frame drivers to suit up in the liner. They had 'walked' on board in the frames and were strapped down in them for the trip. One of Elisa's duties on her way out the door was to pop a series of ratchet tie downs on one side of them. Captain Hartlet would handle the other side.

The hose as secure as she could make it, Elisa hung the helmet on her harness and went through a couple of meditative sequences to control her excitement and nerves. The liner was taxing out on to the runway now. She accepted the IFF list Major Hawk's cranial computer implant pushed at her over the WIFI link and a quick look around the cabin made sure everyone was appropriately flagged. “This is Red Bird, com check,” the Major's voice ordered, thin and tinny in the vibration of the implant in her skull.

The task force sounded off over the radio as the liner's engines ramped up. They were rolling out now. Previously flat, the floor canted to nearly thirty degrees and the vibrations dropped noticeably. Out the window, the lights of the air port fell away into the darkness of the early morning. “Helmets on!” ordered Hawk's voice. “Boost in one minute!”

Elisa pulled on her helmet, making sure the locking ring was secure, then checked Bridget's collar next to her while she checked Elisa's. The computer in the helmet finished it's handshake with the computers in Elisa's armor and her skull and brought up the information that floated ghostly in front of her. A compass, pressure indicator on the suit, ammo counter, remaining air in the bottle and her own health status; everything was green and ready. “Work together,” Hawk's voice whispered in her head. “Remember your training and follow your objectives. Watch your partner's ass and we'll all get through this!”'

Diaz 'felt' Bridget looking at her and so turned to face the macabre helmet and mask she was wearing that matched her own. A private circuit indicator lit up as her voice quite calmly said, “If the intelligence is wrong, and there aren't reloads for the Heavies, we're all going to die.”

A small sting on the inside of her right thigh heralded the suit interfacing with the nanite factory there. A warm feeling flooded her and took the nerves away; her armor had instructed the factory to generate a light mixture of dopamine and anxiolcam, which sharpened her focus and calmed the agitation and nervous energy. “How long, do you think?” she thought back.

Bridget shrugged expressively, drawing the attention of several Myrmidon's around her. “Each heavy has one minute of ammo at full dump. Doesn't sound like much until you consider the rate of fire on those rotor-cannon they use. They'll likely use most of it securing our drop point and LZ. Assuming nothing else goes wrong? We'll be dead or captured by lunch. Most likely dead.”

“We can only do our part,” Elisa thought back to her as the back of the liner roared and they were pressed firmly into their seats. “The rest is in God's hands.” The liner surged upwards, higher and faster as the fuel from it's attendant tanker was consumed. With each moment there was less fuel, and thus less weight.

A shudder through the craft heralded the decoupling of the two craft, the liner continued up as the tanker began their long glide back to Glasgow. Then a sudden silence. Elisa looked out the window and the Earth curved away from her as the Sun began to glow along the horizon, thousands of miles away. A red light illuminated as the pressure holding Elisa to her seat vanished. The door opened into the infinite blackness of space. “Myrmidons! Follow me!”

True to his word, Hawk was first out the door, into the utter nothing. In silence, the final wave tumbled out the door, leaving the Furies and the heavies. The light turned off, then went red again as Elisa removed her seat belt and popped the tie downs as she passed each heavy, the pilots nodding to her as she went. She made a final check that her rifle was secure in it's sling and locked eyes through the mask with Captain Hartlet. Veronica winked at her as the light went green and the eleven Erinyes tumbled from the craft.

The utter silence of outer space was such that Elisa heard nothing but the sound of her own breathing for a moment. She looked over her shoulder for the others, but they were too far away to pick out. Sound returned as she felt resistance again. For a moment, it was like swimming through soup or gelatin as she was quickly slowed by the wind. Terminal velocity for most humans is something around one hundred ninety five kilometers per hour. The liner, going much faster quickly dropped out of sight in a fiery blaze of ionizing gasses..

Slowed now to her maximum falling speed, Elisa got her self into a spread eagle position. The helmet's IFF showed her where her sister Erinyes were and she slimmed her profile to form up. Ten new signals appeared below her as the Liner's dive flattened out as she headed for the Panama Pacifico Field. The heavies were already on the deck, creating a widening circle of carnage that would be LZ of the attack. The computer painted the IFF signals of Colonel Hiram's landing force at the docks and the battle was joined.

A tremendous explosion came up from the Docks from General Esteban’s largest asset, the former Honduran Navy's flag ship Atlántida, went up in flames. Atlántida had begun her life as the US Coast Guard Cutter Resolute and had been sold to Honduras early in the century. She'd been heavily modified with the addition of a pair of old Mk 45 Naval Guns that the Colonel was obviously interested in denying his enemy the use of. Atlántida was on fire and already listing heavily to her starboard side.

A red light on the status of the O2 bottle in her HUD flashed for a moment. It was reaching critical. Elisa checked her altitude and found she was below three kilometers, the air was thick enough to breath again. She reset her helmet to filter and the source from the outside air. The bottle quickly began to refill.

The radio chatter from the heavies showed they'd met minimal resistance and had a growing circle half a kilometer wide secured as a drop zone. Of course she was a little vague on what the heavies considered 'minimal' based on the smoke and fires in the area of the airport. “Team Two, on me,” she ordered and banked her body towards the warehouses that the circle the heavies had created over lapped slightly. At five hundred meters she tripped the deployment of her para-wing. It wasn't a parachute, nor was it strictly a hang-glider wing, but a deplorable hybrid of both. It was far more maneuverable than a parachute, and much faster. Free to move her hands now, Elisa found the G36 hanging from her harness by feel and snatched the charging lever.

The four members of Team Two buzzed the roof of the warehouse that was their commanders target. On it, a group of men were frantically trying to set up some kind of either heavy machine gun or, worse, a recoilless rifle. Elisa tagged the group and claimed her target, leading her team in a sharp bank. Four rifles spoke at once and the struggling men all died within a second of each other. The black clad Erinyes dropped to the roof and silently shed their wings. The gesture based combat language assigned roles as the girls moved with grace and silence to the roof access door.

Elisa drew her pistol and threaded a muffler on it before Bridget opened the door for her. They folded into the stairwell behind their leader. They emerged onto a catwalk that ran the circuit of the warehouse and could see down into it below. While it wasn't as full as a new supply might have indicated, there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of Myrmidon Heavy Frame reload crates.

The big frames used everything quickly, electricity, ammunition, people at times. Their primary weapon, a rotor-cannon based on the old GE M134, fired so fast that it was loaded from a hopper that held more than six thousand rounds. It weighed more than most could lift. The hopper had been integrated with a bank of lithium polymer batteries below it, all with a quick release system. Either a cargo frame or another Heavy could pick up the pack, dump the existent one on a buddy and reload him. The heavies trained to do this, but in some situations, they could simply focus on their primary job of putting lead down range and let a squad of cargo frames keep the boxes coming. Then the amount of fire the frames could put out was frightening.

Bridget's hand's said, We might live through this after all.

The team silently split, going in opposite directions on the cat walk, each lead with a suppressed pistol. Fortunately it seemed the occupants of the warehouse had already been dispatched on the roof. By the time Captain Hartlet arrived with her clutch of cargo frames, Team Two had lined up the first reloads for the heavies by the doors. “Report,” snapped the Captain as the supply specialists hustled by her in their cargo frames, part forklift, part power armor.

“Warehouse and resupply secure, Captain,” Elisa told her, fighting the urge to salute. “Four hostiles KIA on roof with a heavy weapon of some kind.”

“Jenkins, Smith, get on the roof and secure that weapon,” she snapped. The two Myrmidons saluted and departed at a trot. She turned back to Elisa. “Get the rest of Team Two and get your Heavies resupplied and get on your mission. We can expect a counter attack here any minute. On your way!”

“Ma'am!”

Elisa waved at the first two cargo frames that had reload boxes in their waldos. “You two! Come with me!”

Dawn was just beginning to break as the Sun slowly pulled herself out of the Caribbean Sea to the East. The warm cover of night shifted into deep gloaming shadows cast by the buildings around the air field, making the chunk that Themis had carved out of their own base seem awfully open and exposed. The last of the Myrmidons were drifting into to the protected circle the heavies had made, some returning fire their altitude gave them a better angle at as some of the desperate defenders tried to take pot shots at the reinforcements.

The airfield tarmac was flat and level, letting the cargo frames use their motorized foot pads and keep up with the lightening fast Furies as they raced to the western front of the line. Kolowaski and Saunders were on either side of their sergeant at the very tip of the western edge of reclaimed Themis property. Elisa walked around the left side of Kolowaski's power frame and slapped a discrete button on the leg.

The Myrmidon Heavy Power Frame was technically called the Dory, after the long spear used by the Greek Hoplite. The frame was originally to be referred to as the 'Hoplite', the heaviest of heavy infantry of the Greek phalanx, but there were objections from the drivers that the 'lite' and heavy was an oxymoron. So the frame was renamed after the Hoplite's weapon. It was a monstrous thing, nearly three meters tall and half way between an articulation frame and a vehicle. Like any tank, it depended on lighter infantry around it screening it from enemies that got too close. The button Elisa had pressed both let Kolowaski know she was there and that he was about to be reloaded.

Kolowaski found a fortified position at the far end of the runway that the Hondurans were frantically setting up and emptied the last of his hopper into it in a sustained blast of full auto that sounded like a giant tearing a massive book in half. A string of red orange tracers rained into the sandbags like lightening from Olympus until at last the barrels rolled to a stop, smoking slightly. Movement at the position had ceased. Kolowaski stepped forward from the line, his place being taken by a half squad of newly arrived Myrmidons, then turned around and ejected this spent hopper and battery pack. They were armored and used as advancing cover for the infantry behind them. On his reserve battery, he got back behind the line and faced front again, allowing the cargo frame driver to hoist his replacement hopper and drop it into the rack for it.

The ruddy light on the west from the fires on Atlántida were over powered now by the rising sun and oily black smoke from the blazing ship was caught on the prevailing wind and was driving across the air field that gave Elisa an idea. She turned back towards the fire control specialists that were clustered around the makeshift command center Major Hawk had set up. “Red Control, this is Athena, fire mission, over.”

One of the controllers, surprised at getting a call so early looked up and caught her gaze. “Athena, Red Control, say again, fire mission?”

“Affirmative, Red Control, fire mission, smoke, marching way points one through seven,” she told him, her implant pushing the notations she had marked to him. He shrugged as he bent over and picked up a drum fed grenade launcher, made an alteration to it's load and brought it up to his shoulder.

“Athena, Red Control, fire mission on the way.” The launcher spoke in rapid fire as the grenade arched over the runway in the direction of the main administrative building to the west. In short order the open space was covered in a thick blanket of cobalt blue smoke. “Athena, fire mission splash seven.”

Elisa gave him a thumbs up and the with a gesture lead her team into the blue obfuscation. The Erinyes darted forward as the squad of light plate grabbed the piggy back handles on their heavy brothers and rode them as they lumbered after the lithe, black clad females. The stride of a Dory was nearly two meters so they were deceptively fast for their lumbering bulk. Elisa and her sisters didn't have to slow down much for them to keep up.

Once in the jungle between the Admin building and the run way, the Erinyes took to the trees, leaping from branch to branch like some kind of game between them as they flanked out on either side of the road that the Dorys were restricted to. Gun fire, klaxons and other pandemonium were all over the island now. The Fog of War had firmly settled.

* * *

“Tía Elisa! Tía Elisa!” Diaz didn't need her enhanced reflexes to catch the jubilant ten year old that hurled himself into her grasp. Although it was obvious that Juan was annoyed that Raul’s excited arrival had interrupted the story he was hearing at a somewhat precipitous point. For her part, Elisa was delighted and twirled the youngster around before planting him on her hip and further mussing his already hopelessly mussed hair.

El Sombrero Rojo was an interesting kind of restaurant, relentlessly upper middle class, it was decorated and paid homage to the Criollo of what had been originally called New Spain, settled by expatriate Castilians and Catalans who considered themselves more Spanish than Mexican. While most of the restaurant's clientele could not tell the difference, it was built to look like it had been constructed of brick and adobe, laid out in a traditional hacienda style it sprawled through courtyards, sub-buildings both actually outside, and those only made to appear to be so ambiance did not have to bow to a lack of air conditioning. It's center piece was a courtyard playground themed as an apple orchard that a small throng of children were playing in, delightfully calling to each other in a mash of Spanish, English and other languages.

“Great grandpa wants to see you,” Raul told Elisa. “I told him all about how you came and rescued me from the sick lady.”

“Did you?” Elisa asked with a wry grin. “Now I am in trouble, aren't I?”

“He told me to watch for you,” the youngster replied, obviously pleased with himself for having been given a job of importance if only in his own eyes. “He was really impressed! He said hell must have frozen over because you were helping my mom, though I don't know why...?”

“Oh, Grand Papy is full of wit,” Elisa told Raul quickly. “So, you show tío Juan where your parents are sitting while I go see Grand Papy, si?”

Elisa let the youngster down and he promptly grabbed Juan by the hand and scampered off in the direction of one of the smaller, more intimate courtyards that was actually indoors. She already knew where Grand Papy was holding Court. Hėctor Sanchez Diaz was nearly a hundred. He had undergone two longevity treatments, once in his forties to extend his working life, the next in his seventies to extend his retirement. But for his age, he was still a vigorous bull of a man, broad, soft as befit his years and hard for the life he'd lived. The youngest son of the last Mexican Ambassador to the United States, Hėctor had stayed when the capital moved to Kansas City, and put down roots in Old DC. Now, the patriarch of the Diaz clan spent his days in the bar of El Sombrero Rojo, drinking beer and tequila while smoking cigars when he should be doing neither.

As soon as he caught sight of her he broke off the argument he was having with another man and rose to sweep her into one of his enormous bear hugs. His beard was well groomed and his thinning hair like it was milk white that stood in stark contrast to his ruddy complexion. His suit jacket smelled of brandy and cigar smoke. “Mi nieta la heroína!” he greeted. “How are you, Elisa?”

“Soy buena, abuelo!” she returned with a smile. “You, on the other hand, should not be...”

He waved off her protest with the hand holding the cigar she was protesting. “Let an old man have his comforts, nieta!” He guided her into the seat his debate partner had abandoned. “Roberto!” he called to the bar tender. “Dos Equis for my grand daughter! The heroine! Come, sit and tell me how you managed to do what many wagered could not be done and patched the relationship with your sister?” He grinned and took a pull on his cigar. “It does my old heart good to see my family acting like a family again before my time comes.”

“Nothing so miraculous,” she told him over the noises of protest he made at seeing her digging for her wallett through her purse. Roberto defered to the patriarch and refused the card she tried to offer for her beer. She took a sip and told him, “I was fortunate to be in the right line of work, at the right time. Truth be told, abuelo, and don't tell Juanita this, but it is likely Raul was taken because of me.”

“Oh, I have no doubt, both from what Juanita and young Raul have told me. Ay caramba! That a boy so young as Raul had to see such things!” He shook his head and speared her with one of his intense gazes from the corner of his eye. “You finally going to give it back?”

“I didn't...!” she started but his gesture silenced her protest before it truly got started.

“Don't lie to me, nieta,” he growled softly. “You took what did not belong to you, whether from your sister directly or before it was rightfully presented is of no consequence.” The cigar glowed as he drew on it yet politely exhaled away from her. “While Juanita needed taking down a place or two, it was not your place to do so.”

“Lo siento, abuelo,” she admitted softly.

The serious expression softened somewhat. “Good, good,” he admitted finally. “Perhaps I can go to face my maker with a clean conscience after all! And speaking of clean consciences, why don't you tell me all about this polite gringo Juanita says you are dating?”

“I'm not...” she started, but the old man gave her a fierce glance and a raised index finger in warning that caused her to sigh and shake her head. “Fine. His name is Thomas Vannoy, he's a co-worker at Themis, but in a different division.”

“And he makes sufficient money that my grand daughter will be well provided for?” Hėctor demanded, his gimlet eye warning of evasion or maneuvering.

“We make about the same,” she said after a moment of thought. “There are different bonus schedules that make an exact accounting problematic, but you needn't worry, abuelo, both of our nest eggs are well padded.”

“There was a time when a man would be shamed that his wife had to work,” he opined, his eyes distant and far away. “Even I can only barely remember such times. You have lived your life not knowing, and I weep for that.”

“I do not weep for my life, Papy.”

He smiled and patted her hand on the table. “No, nor should you. Of all my children and grandchildren and even great and greater grandchildren, you Elisa give me hope that boldness has not left the Diaz blood.”

She suppressed a laugh into a snort as she took a sip of her beer. “I recall you did not think so at the time.”

“At the time we thought you might be excommunicated!” he protested. “Your soul is more important than your body, Elisa! But, if his holiness is satisfied, how can I, good catholic that I am, object? Even if he is an American with no sense of the history of the office...”

“Papy!” she chided him. “Does it matter where the cleaner comes from so long as the mess is taken care of? Pope Gregory has brought the catholic church into the twenty first century! Just in time for it to be the twenty second!”

He waved off her objections with a tired gesture. “Yes, yes, you young people are so happy with all things modern. The Church does not need to be modern. The Church needs to be right. Right and wrong do not change.”

She cast down her eyes and fought against the tears that threatened to well up. “Is Elisa worth so much less than Edwardo?” she whispered. His old hand reached across the table and with surprising firmness for his age raised her eyes to his.

“You are my family, Elisa. My blood, in my veins through my son, to yours. Nothing can erase that! Of course I am saddened that when you marry your name will change, but for that you will never leave the family. So much that I hoped you would be a good father and a worthy successor to your father once he took my place is replaced by the certainty of the mother you will be. It is enough, and I am happy. And, should I be blessed to live to see you married, then I will toast to your happiness and offer my condolence to your husband that his own blood is no match for the fierce Diaz fire in your veins!”

“Papy! You don't even know him!”

“How can I?” he shot back. “My nieta is so embarrassed of her family she has not brought him to be met...” Elisa hauled out her PTN.

“You want me to call him and invite him over now?”

His smile was cagy behind the cigar smoke. “If you like.”

* * *

It turned out Thomas would like to meet more of the family, and while he had already eaten lunch, this was fortuitous as far as Hėctor was concerned. When Thomas had arrived twenty minutes later, introductions were scarcely out of the way before the patriarch of the Diaz clan scooped up Elisa's intended and marched him off to the bar, shooing away Elisa and telling her to go have lunch with her sister.

Elisa found and sat at the table in little courtyard where Juanita and Juan were exchanging small talk over chips and salsa. It was not lost on Elisa that from this vantage point Juanita could keep her son in eyesight at the orchard below them at all times. She poured some of the salsa into a small dish from a stack of several and heaped in extra jalapenos from a second dish next to the decanter of the salsa. She stirred the new mixture with a tortilla chip and tasted it to see if it met with her approval. Juanita had never liked things as spicy as Elisa cared for them. "So," Juanita began delicately. "Your voicemail said you had something for me? Some kind of form or expense report for saving Raul?"

Elisa took a sip of her beer to clear her mouth and shook her head. "No charge for family, Juanita." She rummaged through her purse to finally remove a small rosewood box which she offered. "Lo siento, mi hermana, I should never have taken this."

Tears welled up in Juanita's eyes as she took the box that contained the precious heirloom. She opened it to let the light play on the golden crucifix within in and the ancient rosary it hung from, before she sniffed and shook her head offering the box back. "N… No, Elisa, you are the oldest daughter, it's yours…"

"I may be the oldest daughter now," she replied gently pushing the box back towards Juanita, who even though she looked older than Elisa she was in fact younger. The fact that her older sister could pass for her daughter was one of many things Juanita and Elisa had argued about over the years. "But not when this was promised to you. Mother wanted you to have it."

"But I don't have a daughter…!" Juanita protested.

Elisa smiled and shook her head. "And I have no children at all!" She sighed and put her hand over her sister's hand. "Look, if you don't have a daughter before menopause and I do, I'll hold it in trust for her. If I don't and you don't we'll give it to Carmen for her daughter. All right?"

At the mention of the name of the youngest of the Diaz sisters, Juanita's face darkened. "You and this polite gringo of yours had best produce a daughter!" She ordered. "I won't risk that whore pawning…"

"Now, now," scolded Juan. "This is a happy occasion!"

"Agreed!" Elisa exclaimed as she dipped in a chip to the salsa and appreciated it. "What have you and Juan been talking about?" She asked as she motioned for her sister to put the box in her purse.

Juanita gave Elisa a reproachful glance she picked up her purse and carefully deposited the box within it. "What's this about you jumping out of spaceships?"

"Mi Dios en el cielo!" Elisa swore. "Do you think of nothing else?"

Juan was grinning. "Not lately," he replied flippantly. "As I recall you were running through trees?"

* * *

Cayos Miskitos, in the Western Caribbean, 18 years earlier

From a tree branch over eighteen meters off the ground, Elisa marked targets using the built-in vision amplifications in her helmet and shared them over the secured Wi-Fi link between her and the rest of her team. The sentries were beyond alert and well into nervous from the sounds of battle that were drifting from the airport and the docks. Atlántida's ammunition bunker exploded, sending a tremendous fireball up into the early morning light, causing the guards to flinch and finger their weapons more tightly.

Well, Bridget's voice said in her mind through her embedded implants and cyberwear. This looks like a grand time in the making.

Oh, it's not so tough, Elisa replied, also mentally. You've got six guys walking around pissing themselves with an interesting collection of obsolete battle rifles. I'm more worried about the two guys in the corner towers with the belt fed machine guns. Since I've been watching I haven't seen either of them flinch.

Todd Masters whispered voice inserted itself into the circuit. “Figure the walking guards are local toughs that were recruited, maybe press ganged. So the guys in the towers are either professional Mercs or deserters from real armies that have seen the elephant. They should be the primary targets."

Diaz sighed and looked down at the humanoid shaped figures that were only slightly warmer than the jungle around them. Both the fury armor and the Myrmidons combat uniforms were excellent at disguising heat signatures, but nothing was perfect. Look on the bright side, she thought at the group. None of them have night vision or FLIR or they'd already be shooting at us. If we all try to go in we'll just open up a can of worms.

"You have a better idea?" Master's voice demanded.

Yes, she thought. Bridget and I take out the north corner tower. From there she and I infiltrate, locate, and retrieve the hostages while you all remain out here as a distraction force.

Elisa and Bridget shared a glance as Todd's voice declared, "That's practically a suicide mission!"

No, Bridget's voice corrected him softly. Thinking you can sneak two heavy power frames and a squad of Myrmidons inside that perimeter without being noticed… That's suicide. You boys wait here and if we squawk for help you can come as loud and hard as you like.

"But…"

No but's, Elisa told him. Everything has a price, it's time for Bridget and I to start settling accounts. She forced a smile she didn't feel so it would be heard in her voice. Back before you know it! Without another word the two Furies leapt out through the trees, carefully working their way closer to the tower. They got as close as they dared when Elisa drew her pistol and began to thread the muffler back onto the end of the barrel.

Bridget looked at the tower, still a significant distance away, then back at Elisa. Long shot for a pistol, she worried. Diaz shrugged and brought up all her target assistance programs. The computer implanted in her skull obligingly overlaid a pair of target reticles, one of the guards fore head where she wanted the bullets to travel and one showing where the gyroscope approximated her pistol was pointing.

I don't have a silencer for the rifle, she thought at Bridget as she steadied herself against the tree and brought the pistol up. Once the two reticles were overlaying with each other she looked down to make sure none of the guards were close enough to hear her target fall.

Elisa swallowed, coming to grips with her feelings as she contemplated the action she was about to undertake. The soldiers on the roof had been readying a weapon to use against her coworkers and friends. They knew they were under attack and were actively defending themselves. This was much closer to murder and she wasn't sure if she was going to comfortable with it. As the seconds ticked by she clicked her safety off and steeled herself. Do you want me…?

Bridget's offer was drowned out by the soft report of the pistol and the mechanical clack of the slide moving against the recoil spring. The nine millimeter hollow point burrowed into the soldiers fore head just above where his eyebrows met. His head was snapped back from the force of the impact and he staggered back against the back wall of the tower before his legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor of the Lookout box at the top of the tower without falling out. In her mind's eye, Elisa imagined the hollow point expanding in the guards brain, imagined the hydrostatic shock wave that the impact would have sent out turning his brain to jelly and killing him almost instantly. Over her vision, the computer painted:

Lethality probability 100% kill confirmed

Elisa returned the weapon to safe, and lowered it her trigger finger rigid against the frame. My responsibility, she thought at her friend.

* * *

Juanita's dark complexion paled as her face pulled into a exaggerated expression of shock and disbelief. Even Juan had his exuberance for the war story dampened considerably. "How," she asked after a long moment of awkward silence. "How can you sit there and eat nachos and admit to… To…?"

Elisa raised an eyebrow. "Murder?" She asked in a dangerously quiet and mild tone. "That's what you're thinking, isn't it? Well it isn't. I don't feel the need to go into a long, technical explanation; suffice to say that once the old United States started employing private military contractors to wage war, corporations by default began to enjoy the same powers as countries. Waging war is one of those powers."

Juanita sighed, and shook her head. "Never mind the legalities, mi hermana,"she said causing Elisa's expression to brighten considerably. "How can you be so calm about it?"

The tortilla chip, laden with salsa, stopped halfway to Elisa's mouth and was slowly sat back down on the dish. "If I am calm," she replied quietly, "it is because I am a good Catholic, I confessed my sin, and was forgiven for it. I've made my peace with God for every one of the lives I've taken, because the computer in my head would not let me forget a single one of them. Do you know how many sins you have committed, mi hermana? I do, and I can never forget."

"You know how many…?" Juan asked softly.

Elisa did not take her eyes off her sister's face. "Killed, wounded, scarred for life; yes, Juan, I know exactly how many. Don't ask me; I won't answer, and if I would you really don't want to know. Father Leonard says I should think of myself as a policeman or soldier doing violence on behalf of society. Forgiven by God because sometimes force is required to maintain civilization. I hope he's right, I hope he speaks for God, because if he doesn't then I have a terrible accounting awaiting me."

"And while you were carrying that burden," Juanita whispered. "I was calling you horrible names and blaming you for what wasn't your fault. Lo siento, mi hermana!" Juanita rounded on Juan and shook her finger at him. "You! You stop making her remember this! Satisfy your prurient interests on some combat porn website…"

Elisa shook her head and placed a cautioning hand on Juanita's arm. Smiling, she said, "Don't take out your embarrassment on Juan, Juanita. For one thing it probably does me good to talk about this, and I can't say for certain that my life choices had nothing to do with what happened with Papa…"

Juanita covered her sister's hand with her own. "You may have been the reason he got drunk, but you didn't put the knife in his hand."

The beer was as bitter in her mouth as was the memory of finding her dead parents in her mind. "Maybe I'm not as comfortable anymore with lines that fine." She leaned back as the waiter arrived with their orders to give them room to place the plates in front of them.

"Plato caliente," the waiter cautioned as he sat them down.

"Gracias," Elisa murmured as she picked up the decanter of salsa and drizzled it over her plate.

"Don't beat yourself up!" Juanita commanded. "Haven't I done enough of that for you over the years?" Elisa forced a smile before placing a forkful of burrito in her mouth and chewing. "If this is helping you, perhaps you should continue? What happened after… After the guard?"

* * *

Cayos Miskitos, in the Western Caribbean, 18 years earlier

The main administration building for the island was a nightmare; the walls were riddled with bullet holes and blood spatter. It had been thoroughly looted and whatever bodies had fallen in the pools of blood left to dry behind had been moved. Even the florescent tubes overhead flickered off and on in a static pattern as if horrified by the carnage they had witnessed below.

Elisa and Bridget were not silent witnesses to the slaughter and added 3 bodies of their own to the carnage; two that Elisa had triple tapped into the hereafter with her pistol, one that Bridget had gutted like a fish and then carved into fillets with her glass edged daikatana. The mortal remains of the thugs had been stuffed into side rooms and closets, their weapons stuffed into a bag to help arm their soon to be released captives.

They had agreed the most likely place for the survivors to be held was the employee cafeteria, both large enough to hold everyone as well as having food as they had to eat. The two had thus entered through the loading dock and made their way up through the storage pantry to the kitchen. The kitchen door had a pair of guards, not looking into the cafeteria and their hostages, but out, towards the loading dock in their direction as they nervously gripped the battle rifles in their hands.

Nothing is ever easy, Elisa's hands said to Bridget, but the blonde's eyes twinkled through the visor of her helmet and it was clear she was smiling.

You want to live forever? Her hands demanded.

Just my old age, Elisa's replied as she drew her knife. The two Erinyes bumped their fists and silently drifted apart to slowly make their way around, each to approach their own target from his side, rather than directly. As it happened, Fortune was fickle and just as Elisa was stepping from the shadows, her target leaned against the wall, obviously bored and happened to look right at her. His eyes went wide as the armored form of the Fury silently crossed the distance between them, her arm already swinging.

Her off hand struck his chin, knocking his head up, exposing his throat as her knife raked across it, severing jugular vein, trachea and carotid artery in a spray of blood. His cry of alarm never left his now open throat, but his finger had been on the trigger of his rifle and as he died it fired with a deafening report in the silence. The corpse slid down the wall, joining his fellow in bloody death as Bridget shook her head. “I can't take you anywhere,” she whispered as the radio on the dead man’s shirt squawked to life.

“Quién disparó?” the speaker demanded. “Todas las unidades informan!”

Elisa took the radio as the two women opened the door from the kitchen into the cafeteria, intending to further confuse the enemy, but what they saw shocked the two women into stunned silence. They had stepped into an abattoir. The walls and floor were covered in half congealed blood, nearly an inch deep from the bodies, piled on top of each other where they had been machine gunned. Some seemed to have died, trying to rush the door, perhaps where the murderer had been firing from, the others were piled along this wall, obviously trying to flee into the kitchen.

Several bodies had been pulled over to make sure no one survived by virtue of being at the bottom of a pile of bodies.

Diaz was filled with a white hot rage as she brought the radio to her lips and growled into it, “Voy a matarte a todos!”

“¿Quien es este? ¡Alarma! Intrusos!”

Bridget's voice was hard and cold over the radio, not the private channel of the forward team, but the all call circuit that any Themis radio would receive. “No Quarter!” she growled, sheathing her knife and resetting the G36 to full auto. “They murdered all the hostages! Masters! Loud and hard!”

The two Furies began to run, back out the way they'd come, just as their Myrmidons opened the gates of Hell. The constant drone of automatic weapons fire blossomed across the island. Unleashed, the Myrmidon dogs of war were ravenous as explosions and fireballs began to sprout like red gold flowers in the jungle as the Infax employees extracted a brutal vengeance for their fallen.

Golden light from the morning Sun fell on a nightmare of explosions, spatters of blood, the cries of the wounded and the moans of the dying. As the light became better, the invaders resistance stiffened as they could now see as well as the technologically superior Myrmidons and Furies, but it was valor in the face of hopeless odds. The old rifles and grenades only prolonged a foregone conclusion as the numbers of the Junta's forces fell from surgically placed fire by trained, hardened killers.

By mid-morning the few survivors were throwing down their weapons and begging for mercy, receiving cruel butt strokes from the Myrmidon's rifles before being thrown to the ground and hogtied. 'General' Alejandro Esteban was captured trying to reach a small motor boat to flee in. Cayos Miskitos was firmly back in the hands of Themis.

* * *

“All of them?” Juan asked softly.

Elisa used the last of her beer to wash the final bite of the excellent fajita she had been enjoying from her mouth. “All of them,” she affirmed softly. “As near as we could figure, as soon as the heavy's hit the deck, Esteban had ordered his hostages machine gunned. Secretaries and clerks, administrators, they weren't fighters, they were predominately there to oversee the operations in the region, not participate.”

“What did you do with him?” Juanita asked as if she was afraid of the answer.

The Fury shrugged her indifference. “Me personally? Nothing. He was turned over to Major Hawk along with the other prisoners. As I understand it, the intel boys figured out who did the machine gunning, and the others, except Estabon were given the choice to go back to ' Honduragua' or some other point of origin if they could prove they were press ganged, though a number did ask about joining Themis, they were told in no uncertain terms we weren't interested.”

“What happened to the...the murderers?” Juanita wanted to know.

Elisa's face darkened. “Nothing good,” she growled. “And nothing I'll admit to here.”

“Oh,” the younger sister whispered.

“Major Hawk sent a note back to whomever ended up on top of the power vacuum left by 'General' Estabon basically saying 'We held back this time. We won't in future.' And a...token...of just how unforgiving we'd be.” Elisa paused to give a dark chuckle at the puzzled looks of her younger siblings. “A box. With Estabon's head in it.”

“How horrific!” Juanita declared. “Isn't that a...war crime? Or...something? I don't do criminal law.”

“It's only a war crime if you lose, mi hermana,” Diaz corrected her softly. She sighed and shook her head. “Then, we...”

She couldn't continue as from the front of the restaurant there was a stattico burst of automatic weapons fire over cries of terror and alarm, until finally a rough voice shouted, “Everybody be cool! This is a robbery!”

* * *

Game Time: A Tale of the Star Wars

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Game Time

A Tale Of The Star Wars

E. E. Nalley

It had been heralded as the latest thing.

Normally I'm not what you call an early adapter. I'd rather wait till the bugs are out of something before I start putting my eggs in that particular basket. Yes I did swear I'd never leave Windows For Workgroups, why should I? It was a great OS! Still XP seemed to finally have ironed out all the 'hidden features' of Windows 9X and just as things are starting to get good and stable I get Vista-ed.

Well, Windows 7 is enough new fangled for me, I think I'll pass on Windows 10 until 13 or so. That said, I'll admit I have a weakness for Virtual Reality. I'd been entranced with the concept since 'Tron' and been following the crude developments from ray tracing and simple blocky humans through the various MMOs with an eye on the gear as the technology went up and the costs started coming down.

Yes, I'm an MMORPG player, that's Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game to the uninitiated, emphasis on the RPG. Yes, I'm that player who uses the emotes so that my avatar looks like a living being, walks instead of running or hopping everywhere and yes I am ignoring your spam of team requests in random combinations of letters you think are 'leet speak' L0Rd-n00bki113r.' So what if I take the story seriously and actually want to role play in the role playing game? That's the point, isn't it? Why aren't you playing Counter Death Strike or something if all you want to do is twitch and kill?

So when I heard that Complete Simulations was going to do a demo in my city, yes, my wallet opened up, I'll admit it. CS was a completely new concept, the combination of an Oculus Rift stereoscopic VR headset, an intuitive hand controller and physical PROPS that existed in real and virtual space that you could pick up and interact with. If you wanted to move, you walked. I had to try it. I wheedled and cajoled a couple of buddies at work that I play MMOs with online to come along and I paid the extra to so that we would have a dedicated appointment.

I was so excited I could barely get though the work day. When I'd made the appointment, there had been a list of the environments we could experience, everything from simple rooms to outdoor spaces, mazes and a small collection of MMOs the equipment would eventually support. Of course there was an asterisk by them as the support wasn't finalized, blah, blah lawyer speak, but if it had half the interactivity it promised it could be forgiven some glitches.

And my current favorite MMO, The Old Republic was on the list.

The Old Republic! Set three thousand years before those movies the Mouse now owned about things that happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, it was one of the most incredibly immersive role playing experiences I'd ever had. Between every quest NPC actually having spoken dialogue conversations to a 'morality system' that allowed very different experiences to be had with the same classes, the concept of being even a little more in that world was too much to resist. I'd chosen to have us play The Old Republic for the hour we would have the place to ourselves.

I couldn't tell you what I'd done that day that was actually work related. To be honest, probably nothing, but I was there and I suffered through another mind numbing day as I counted the seconds before we could leave. Fortunately, the building Complete Simulations had taken over was a warehouse in the same office park where I worked so we didn't have to fight our way through five o'clock traffic; we all piled into my sedan.

And it's a good thing we did.

The parking lot was packed. Complete Simulations had four cops directing traffic and even a pair of tow trucks enforcing the rules and trying to keep things orderly. I showed the cop my reservation letter I'd printed and was directed to a spot. Then we were escorted past the line that was pretty substantial at this point as the incredibly envious glares of the people waiting followed us into the cool of the small prep room off the office spaces.

It was an odd space, along a table was a set of wooden 'shapes' for lack of a better word. Several vaguely looked like pistols or rifles, there were a couple of 'boken' and simple cylinders with knobs and hooks. “These must be the props,” I guessed, walking over to the table.

“Not very detailed,” complained Daniel as he picked up the pistol that was vaguely in the shape of a broom handled Mauser that had been the basis for a certain smuggler's iconic blaster.

“They wouldn't need to be,” Steve replied as he picked up a much smaller pistol to see how it fit in his hand. “The VR rig gives the details. These are just to hold.”

I had picked up a pair of the cylinders, 'light sabers' my mind was already calling them, surprised at the convincing heft and balance. If I closed my eyes the wood felt like metal in my hands. “Things sure are heavy,” muttered Laura as she picked up one of the smaller rifles.

“You going to play your Bounty Hunter?” I asked her.

She nodded, playing with the simple 'folding stock' representation that came with the little wooden toy. “Yeah, I don't feel like running around and trying all that Jedi crap.” She looked up. “But you're going to play Nyeomi, aren't you?”

I couldn't help but smile. Nyeomi was my highest level character, a walking contradiction, a light side Sith Warrior and while I had other characters, she was my favorite. “Read me like a book, can you? Daniel, you going to play...?”

“No, I'm with Laura,” he replied. “I'll leave the sword play to you. I'm going to run my trooper.” He put the pistol down and picked up a rifle prop with a sling attached that looked more 'assault rifle' like. “Knowing you two we'll need some fire power to get out of the messes you'll get us into.”

“Then we'll need a get away ship,” Steve opined, keep the small pistol and picking up the one Daniel had discarded. “So I'll play my scoundrel so we can use the Aces and Eights.”

“Everyone ready to get out of this world?” a new voice asked from the doorway. There was an attractive, not pretty, but attractive woman of indeterminate 'MILF' age. She was well put together in a manner that announced 'sales woman' but not into the lurid 'everything's for sale, including me' range. She had a collection of belts in her hand that she handed out as she came in, revealing them to have holsters for the pistols and my 'light sabers' with other odds and ends as well. “These sensors let the computer know where your waist is,” she told us as she handed them out. “Thermal detonator and comm link,” she added, noting the wood props that would come off.

I put the belt around my waist, surprised it fit as I'm a pretty big guy in the stomach, thanks to a lack of exercise and then hung the sabers on it, one on each hip. “The interface to The Old Republic is still working, yes?”

“Up and running!” the sales woman told me with a perfect smile. “Now, is anyone epileptic, prone to fainting, dizzy spells? No? Good. Follow me.” She lead us through the other door in the room and through a short hallway. “I do have to make you aware,” she flashed another of her dazzling smiles. “Company policy, you know how it is. There may be some unexpected behavior in the link as we're not quite finalized yet. I want to warn you not to risk anything in the game you can't replace as it might be lost forever.”

“What could you loose forever in an MMO?” demanded Laura.

The still unidentified sales woman just keeps smiling. “Lawyers,” she said brightly. “We have to say this I'm afraid.” She stopped by a window where some technical looking guys were setting out the gear. And by 'technical looking' I mean they were wearing jump suits with patches and insignia and now that I thought about it, our as yet unidentified sales lady was the only Complete Simulations employee who was wearing 'business casual' clothing. She stopped before a large, vaguely sci-fi looking door that could have come out of some movie set. “Now, once you pass through these doors, you'll enter the simulation. Do not remove the headset for any reason. Anything you could bang into, trip on or otherwise react with in real space is also in the simulation. Trust the visor, I cannot stress that enough.”

The techs got the expensive rigs on our heads and lowered them over our eyes. I had to surrender my glasses with the girl in the cage, who placed them on a prescription mat and gave the correction to the tech who was helping me. He made an adjustment to the goggle and put it on my face. There really is no way to describe that, because as the goggle covered my eyes, I realized I could see a virtual copy of the tech, same hair cut, same uniform through the goggle. It was the most incredibly disorienting sensation I'd ever experienced. He got the head earphones over my ears over them I heard him ask, “How's that?”

His virtual self was speaking through a black and white plastic comlink that distorted his voice ever so slightly. I held up my hand and gave a 'thumbs up' and was struck by it. It wasn't my hand, thick from my hobby of working on cars and strong from a lifetime of typing for a living. This hand was slender, graceful with long, delicate fingers and perfectly manicured blood red nails.

The skin wasn't my pasty white computer geek skin either, but the tan, olive complexion of Nyeomi my character. I looked down and found my polo shirt and business casual slacks gone, in their place was the white plastiform armored midriff top that was Nyeomi's signature outfit. Her navel and taunt stomach were bare, then a pair of tight leather like armored pants with plastiform plates and slick looking boots with a thick, but substantial heel. The utility belt was around her sleek waist with the light saber hilts hanging, ready at a moment's notice for mayhem.

I had breasts. I couldn't help but marvel at the impossibility of it.

I turned and likewise my companions were gone; in their place stood avatars from a video game.

I turned back to the nameless sales woman to find her, not in her smart business attire, but in the flowing red robes of a Sith Inquisitor, same face, same smile, but far less wholesome now. “Peace is a lie!” she announced, quoting the Ancient Code of the Sith as she slapped a control and the doors behind her began to open. “Through victory shall your chains be broken! The Force shall free you!”

The light coming through the door was intense, white hot, blinding. I threw up my hands to protect my eyes when an impossibly hot, dry wind like a hurricane blew out the door. Pain lanced through my mind from speaker to speaker across my ears and I passed out.

* * *

When I next awoke I found myself just as disbelieving about my fate as you likely will. It is so incredible, so rationally impossible as to defy belief, and yet the gritty, unrelenting reality of it forced itself past my feeble disbelief and demanded to be recognized as fact. First and foremost I awoke looking into the face of a robot. Not an actor suffering in a cheap costume, not an animatronic doll moved like a puppet by six or seven professionals somewhere I couldn't see, a robot. An actual machine that was self moving, self governing, self aware and just as completely without the spark of humanity.

“Do you require medical assistance?” it asked in a bland, vaguely masculine tone as it helped me sit up.

“N...no...I'm alright...” I started, but the voice that came out of my lips was not mine. It wasn't my too low for tenor, too high for baritone voice with it's mild Southern United States accent. This was an earthy high tenor voice with a polished, British Public School Accent, not quite the voice of the actress who'd preformed the lines for the dialogue conversations through out the game for my class, but not so terribly different, either.

“Be well,” the robot replied in parting as it rose to check on the person lying near me.

I put a hand up to my aching head to find not only was I not wearing a VR helmet, but my normally close cropped reddish brown hair was now the voluminous chestnut tresses, doubtlessly in the vaguely 1940s up in the front but down in the back style I had designed her with. Sitting up, despite the ache in my head flooded my brain with an avalanche of new sensations, first and foremost was the mild tugging weight that was attached to my chest. Looking down through my cradling hands treated me to a deep valley of cleavage being held in place by a fabric halter top with a rigid plastic like plate that had been attached to the fabric. This held the breasts, both to keep them from moving too much as well as the added bonus of the view I was appreciating now. Or rather, I would be appreciating it more if they were attached to someone else.

But that wasn't the only thing about my body demanding attention.

As you might have already gathered, I am, or as was now the case, was an over weight, middle aged computer geek. I'd made my living with my mind and my body had suffered for it. I had a knee that was beginning to make it known it didn't appreciate the extra forty five kilos my frame was carrying around, to go with a recurring hip pain from an injury caused by a bad miss-step in my college days that flared and faded like the tides due to a collection of stimuli I hadn't sussed out after years of trying. The back that was also unhappy about the gut as well as the cheap mattress I slept on and the hundreds of other little aches and pains of middle age; they were all gone.

You don't truly appreciate the absence of pain until you've grown used to it being there.

And I was, minus the head ache, pain free and not just in shape, in the peak of shape if the taunt skin of my exposed stomach was any indication. And that introspection lead me to a very, very strange feeling. Vibrating within me, just behind my conscious thoughts was something, not a person, not really a personality come to it, but a powerful commanding presence that both surrounded and filled me, a presence I somehow knew would obey what I commanded, but though that obedience would also subtly change me. I didn't want my head to hurt, and so, suddenly, it didn't and an incredible focus and clarity settled in my mind.

Effortlessly, in a way I had not in years I stood, young and strong again and heady with that feeling of power, which made me suddenly aware of another item I was missing; rather, three items that were missing. I shall try very hard not to obsess over the loss of my phallus, or more accurately, it's transmutation into it's female counter part. But when you have lived your whole life being aware of, but perhaps ignoring for lack of a better word something so intimate to your being to find it suddenly gone, to feel material against skin you never had before is something of a shock. I actually stumbled, so used was I to moving around this appendage, but thankfully I did not fall and so once I'd regained my bearings, I looked around. Any hope that what we had experienced was some kind of strange dream or accident that had survived the departure of my manhood was quelled by that first glance about. There is nothing like seeing a pair of suns in the sky to drive home the realization that you were someplace new and unfamiliar.

Although, I have to admit, the wedge heeled boots I was wearing helped, too.

From the sky, I looked down to take in what seemed like a vast, endless sea of sand in every direction, except to the south, based on the Suns where a rough and rugged mountain range rose from the golden ocean. In my immediate vicinity was the smoking wreck of some kind of vehicle, or what was left of it after the crash. It had nosed into a dune, and it's open top had launched all of us out of it and scattered us around the crash site. Fortunately the sand had absorbed the energy and given us something relatively soft to land on.

Which, given how I remembered getting here was kind of silly.

I continued my look about, expecting to see a wall or the sci-fi door incongruously standing like the 2001 Monolith in the desert, but there was only sand and the distant mountains. “Is everyone all right?” I asked not really knowing if I should be thrilled I was where I was, or terrified. Fortunately, my body was obligingly giving me a healthy dose of both emotions. A chorus of groans and complaints were my answer from the human forms scattered on the dune around me, slowly regaining their feet.

“What happened?” demanded a voice from my left.

I turned and I know the following will not make much sense, to be honest it didn't to me either when it happened. But, turning towards the voice I beheld a stout looking man with a tremendous bushy walrus mustache of coal black. Besides his eyebrows, also coal black, it was the only hair on his head. His bald pate wore a black beret with a stylized bird insignia of some kind on it. Daniel was the oldest of my little circle of friends, ten years my senior and I had been forty five. And while the mustache was pure Daniel, the hard, lined face under it was no older than thirty five. At the same time it both was and wasn't Daniel's face. I could remember his face, clearly, the honest openness of it, the somber expression of a man who had walked a hard road to his Buddhism, and I could see this man in front of me was not the man I'd known for many years now, but at the same time, he was.

He wore suit of armor that looked like it would offer excellent protection that was a mottled brown color of several shades that blended well with the sand, but it had no insignia or unit designations on it. I offered him a hand up and he accepted it. He was a big man now, where as before he had been stout and going to fat, now he was in his prime and head and shoulders taller than I was, and I didn't think I was a short woman by any measure. And I had never been shorter than him before. “We appear to be over the rainbow,” I told him with a smile at my own wit.

“Bull shit,” growled another voice. I turned to see a man part of me still wants to describe as beautiful. He wasn't effeminate by any means, lantern jawed, chiseled features, crowned by a glorious mass of reddish gold hair. He was dressed a red silk shirt with red satin ribbon on the cuffs and collar open to put a manly chest with a heavy gold medallion on display. He was as masculine in the way of a romance novel cover where as Daniel suddenly was looking like he'd stepped off the cover of Soldier of Fortune.

But where Daniel was now rugged, the effect on Stewart was...male beauty. I did not doubt that if this man slept alone it was only by choice. He even had a cape that matched the shirt. “Bull shit!” he repeated standing and even slapping his cape free of sand by subconscious reflex. “This is not happening! We are in a warehouse, in an office park...”

I pointed up into the sky at the suns. “Use your mind, Stewart, do you honestly believe that? Look at what you're doing! You're beating sand out of a cape you weren't wearing! A warehouse? We're not even in Tunisia! Unless Africa suddenly picked up a second sun! I have no idea how, but there is no denying...”

“There is denying!” he shouted back while settling the cape back across his shoulders. He reached up, obviously meaning to snatch off the VR Rig but found only his face and his hair. “This is impossible!”

“Anything is possible,” Daniel replied, remarkably calmly as he took the beret off of his bald head, satisfied himself that was it was a beret and not a VR Headset, then put it back on his head. “This...this is just highly unlikely.” He subconsciously un-slung the rifle from over his shoulder and began to shake it, to be sure sand wasn't fouling it. That reminded me of the light sabers on my hips and I removed the right hand one.

The metal cylinder of the hilt was warm from the sun in my hand, despite being chromed and surprisingly heavy, but my grip of it was sure and solid. “Don't turn that damned thing on!” shouted Stewart as my thumb paused over the activation stud.

“Why not?” I asked looking back up at him.

“You know why not!” he exploded. “The physics of those things are ridiculous! The temperature of the plasma alone would kill us all! It was just a special effect! It can't work the way we've seen it!”

“He has a point,” Laura interjected from where she was sitting a bit a way from us on the dune. I turned to look at her and was startled at the sight of her in way I had not been by the others. Daniel was my best friend, Stewart was my own brother and no matter their physical changes, the sense of who they really were was still pretty strong with them. Looking at her was like looking at a stranger you thought you recognized, but weren't sure.

Laura's character Lanaka was a Chiss bounty hunter, a character she played as a cold, ruthless professional who was perhaps more than a little amoral. She wore a pair of armored pants and rugged shirt and vest under a huge heavy canvas duster coat that obscured her weapons and utility belt all in various shades of black, dark or neutral brown. What little skin that was on display was a vibrant, cobalt blue and her eyes were now red orbs with neither pupils nor iris that glowed softly under the immense flat brimmed hat she wore. “But then so does Daniel,” she said as she stood and dusted herself off. While she was dusting, and even I didn't actually see her do it, she produced a blaster pistol from under the duster, pointed it out into the desert and fired it.

A bright red bolt of energy leapt from the muzzle and sizzled into the sand with a small explosion. “Seems to be working as we've seen to me.” She gave the most nihilistic shrug of indifference I'd ever seen. “Try it.”

“No!” shouted Stewart, but my thumb was already descending on the activation stud.

Now, obviously since I am telling you this story we didn't all die from being near a weapon that produced plasma the temperature of the surface of a star. With its familiar popping hiss the blade, as yellow gold as the sabers I had made for Nyeomi in the game, shot from the handle and expanded out to a meter and a half or so, there it hummed slightly changing in pitch as the wind moved over the blade or small particles of sand in the air struck it and were vaporized.

Once again I was nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of the presence inside and around me. Without looking, I knew exactly where the blade was, from tip to emitter, I knew where my hand on the hilt was and the weight of the hilt finally made sense as the blade was energy, it had no weight or mass at all, but the hilt helped the impression of where the blade should be and this was finalized by the presence. “God damn it, Ed!” Stewart shouted. “That is the stupidest thing you've ever done!”

“Not really,” Daniel soothed him. “Consider, even Einstein bought into the theory that there could be an infinite number of universes existing parallel to our own. It's been put forward that the act of creation, of thinking of a story or painting a painting creates a new universe branching off of ours. Star Wars has been around for what? Forty years? How many billions of people have seen those movies, played those games, read those novels and dreamed about that place? This place as I believe is where we are now; we all created it, and we all shaped the physics of this universe.”

Daniel shared a glance with each of us as I deactivated the sword and returned it to my belt. “Here, it does work. What about the Force? Ed, do you sense...?”

I had noticed what looked like a canteen of water in the wreck of whatever this vehicle was and it was mercilessly hot out on that sand. I raised my hand and reached out in that way we've all tried where you know you can will something to you if you could just do it strong enough. Only for me 'strong enough' was not much more than making the decision and it flew through the air into my out stretched hand. “Is anyone else thirsty?” I asked casually as I unscrewed the canteen and drank.

“Good God,” whispered Stewart as he spun in place, looking out in all directions. “How do we get back?”

“Back, sir?” the forgotten up to this point droid asked. “I would not recommend going back, our departure was quite precipitous.”

“Fuck going back,” Laura growled as she removed a pair of macro-binoculars from her belt and began to scan back in the direction the vehicle seemed to have come from, looking for pursuers who may have shot us down. “Go back to being that fat cow I was? Not a chance in hell, you boys can do what you want, I'm staying.”

Daniel, Stewart and I shared a glance. We'd all been...well 'over weight' was being generous. We'd led fairly sedentary lives and we were all in various stages of 'portly', 'stout' or 'spare-tire'. To be perfectly honest, Daniel had been fat and the rest of us had been obese, Laura the most so. I'd put her weight now somewhere around forty nine or fifty kilos, easily a third of her 'Earth human' weight of just a few minutes ago.

I probably weighed a kilo or two more, just from being taller and having more muscle mass.

As much as this body was a shocking revelation to me, to her, this must be the stuff dreams were made of. As she'd been big her whole life this was likely her fondest wish coming true. She made an adjustment to the binoculars and fixated on something. “There's another vehicle out there,” she reported, “three or four klicks out, but it's moving away.” She returned the device to its keeper on her belt. “They could be going for friends.”

“Droid,” I commanded, looking at the machine which turned to face me and gave a slight bow. “What is your designation?”

“I am 5-RN7, sapient medical droid at your service, my lord.”

“Fiveareen,” I greeted. “What is the nearest settlement to us that is not the one we were chased from and do you know its location?”

The robot raised its arm and pointed towards the mountain range to the south. “The closest settlement is the town of Anchorhead, my lord, nineteen kilometers to the south.” It paused and took a hesitant step forward. “Are you certain you are well, my lord? Your conversation is somewhat erratic, you did not know me and you are all using different names for each other. A concussion is possible, given...”

“We are just somewhat rattled from the crash,” I assured the robot. “We will be fine. Salvage whatever you can from the speeder and make ready to depart.” The droid bowed again.

“Certainly, my lord.” The droid walked to the crash site and being scavenging bags from luggage compartment. I meanwhile went back to my companions and gave a gesture for them to draw closer.

“Nineteen Kilometers?” asked Daniel.

“Long hike, but I had worse in the Army, Darius,” I assured him, lightly stressing his character's name. “We have to be careful though and remember the rule of three.”

“What?” asked Stewart as he wiped his brow and took the canteen I offered him.

“The Rule Of Three for survival,” I told him. “Three hours without shelter in extreme conditions, three days without water, three weeks without food, they're all lethal.” He shaded his eyes and looked at the twin suns.

“Do those count?”

“Yeah, do they, Nyeomi?” Laura demanded, stressing my character's name.

“We don't have a choice, Lanaka” I replied, biting down on my temper. “There is no shelter here but those mountains. We should go cautiously, but quickly. There is a bigger problem, Lanaka and I are both Imperials and Anchorhead is a Republic town.”

“In the game,” Stewart corrected with a winning smile and I'll admit it was very creepy having my heart react that way to my own brother, even if the bodies we were currently wearing were not biologically related. “Are we in the game, or...?”

Darius pointed over to the wrecked vehicle. “We all came here in that,” he said. “There is no multi-occupant speeder in the Old Republic. If I have a magic instant travel device, I don't know where it is.”

“None of us have any insignia or side markings,” Stewart added after a moment of thought. “So long as we're careful no one should be the wiser, assuming Anchorhead has any side that claims it.”

“Good thinking, Silas,” I agreed, pausing to look over my shoulder to see that Fiveareen was still out of ear shot. “Everyone remember,” I pointed to Stewart, “Silas Bast, Lanaka Fargo, Darius Persia,” then finally my thumb to myself. “ Nyeomi Fens.”

“Darth Nyeomi, Lord of the Sith,” sneered Lanaka. “You just had to play a chick, didn't you?”

“I'm going to help Fiveareen pack,” Darius drawled as he made a hasty exit.

“I'll help you,” piped in Silas and so much for brotherly solidarity. When we were alone I closed to a discreet distance and lowered my voice.

“What's wrong with you?” I demanded. “Do you imagine I planned this? That I had some fore sight of it?” Up close, I could get a better feel for our sizes. Stewart's Silas had been the game's default height for a human male so that should make him two meters. With that as a yard stick, Darius would be a handful of centimeters taller, where as I was just under two meters in these boots and Lanaka was about the same handful centimeters shorter than me. She had a thinner, more lithe build to my strong, athletic one and her eyes, despite their flame red color were as chillingly cold as her blue skin.

“Planned?” she demanded archly. “No, not in the sense you're thinking of. I think you wanted to feel this way and that simulation place was as close as you thought you could get.” She shrugged again and patted the side of my face. “Maybe if you're nice to me, I'll hold your hand through your first period,” she said with a cruel laugh. “That should be enlightening.

“Baby,” I started, but she snatched her hand away and pointed her finger at my chin.

“No, Ed, don't 'baby' me,” she hissed softly. “Not ever again. I get a new life out of this cluster fuck 'Captain Chaos' got us into,” she declared, using the nick name her father had given me years ago. Unjustly I felt, to be honest. “And since I've made out like a bandit, I won't hold a grudge. That body you're wearing? That's your bed, you made it, you lie in it. I'm not a lesbian.”

She stalked off to the wreck to get her bag and out of my life as it were. Of all the ways I had ever thought my marriage would end, this would not have been my prediction in a million years. I sank to my knees in the sand and had my first cry as a woman while I concentrated on the sand and mentally strangled the presence in my mind. The presence that urged me to go take my revenge that in my mind I wrestled and grappled with, desperate so I could keep control of it and not act on that desire.

The character I played may have been a Light Side Sith, foremost concerned with honor, duty and serving the Empire she had been born into, but she was still a Sith Lord and killing was her business. I am thankful no one disturbed me while I knelt in the sand and cried, wrestling with that almost overpowering desire for mayhem.

I shudder to think what might have happened if they had.

* * *

Four hours and ten kilometers later by my reckoning, we finally left The Great Dune Sea just as the first sun was setting. It had been a long, bitter journey for me; alone with dark thoughts plaguing my mind and the constant sting of trying to pretend I couldn't hear the whispered, frenzied conversation of my own brother chastising what was now I supposed my ex-wife for provoking the dangerous Sith Lord who could have killed us all. I spent most of the trek with Fiveareen and the makeshift sled it had been able to make from one of the still operating repulsors from the speeder.

I wasn’t terribly worried about supplies, there had been ten liters of water in a cooling jug to top off our canteens with as well as an emergency kit with a collection of doubtlessly stale but still edible ration bars, more than we would need to get to Anchorhead, even on foot. With one sun below the horizon and the other not far behind, I'd already removed the white and grey cloak that matched the white and grey theme of my other clothing and was wearing it.

The temperature was falling rapidly as it was wont to in deserts at night, but as I drew the cloak about me even I was surprised by it. The top I was wearing was little more than an armored bra and left my arms bare as well as my midriff. This would demand our attention. “Stop,” I ordered, waiting for everyone to find their new balance on the rocky basalt from the shifting sands we had been on. “We will not reach Anchorhead tonight. And with the temperature falling this fast, we will need to find shelter to overnight and finish in the morning.”

Silas turned to me, his silk shirt damp with sweat. “Won't we make better time in this cool?” he asked through teeth that were already chattering.

“You're already starting to have trouble with exposure,” I argued. “Fiveareen, prepare a hot broth, quickly.”

“Certainly, my lord,” the droid replied as it got itself out of the make shift harness it was pulling the sled with.

“H..hot...?” he stuttered. “Af...after...roa...roasting...”

I snatched the cape from my shoulders and bundled it around him. “Sit down,” I ordered and was a little surprised when he sank meekly onto a rock without complaint, then realized that in his present condition his own will would not be strong and the presence in me was beginning to act at the slightest provocation. “Lanaka, we need shelter. You and Darius see if there's a cave nearby. Hurry we won't have light for much longer.”

“Why aren't we this bad?” she demanded, the sudden illness shocking her out of her aloof personae.

“He's wearing silk,” Darius told her as he quickly retrieved a pair of flashlights from his kit, one for him, one for her. “That shirt is soaked through in sweat and silk has no thermal value when it's wet.”

“My lord,” interrupted Fiveareen from warming the broth. “There is a pop up shelter in the survival kit.”

“On it,” Darius assured me as I built a little cairn of rocks in front of my shivering brother. I placed a larger one in the center, activated my light saber and pushed it, Excalibur like into the stone. The rock hissed and melted, quickly heating up as part of it liquified back to its volcanic origin. As he sat in the hot glow of the liquified rock, the shaking began to subside and the color return to his face.

“What...what happened?” he asked as he accepted the cup of broth from Fiveareen and took a sip.

“You almost got hypothermia,” Darius told him from struggling with the shelter.

Silas struggled out of his damp shirt and cape, handing me back mine as he got a clean, dry pair from the droid and again I had to turn away from the mixed feeling the sight of his chiseled torso brought. I got the cloak settled around me and gave the matter some thought. Part of me knew it had to be in some way related to how he'd envisioned Silas when he created the character, but these were things that a game could not account for. It was as if the universe was imposing this new reality on all of us. “Any one for an honest game of chance?” he asked with a roguish grin, his humor evidently restored as well as his health.

“Not even for matches,” Darius told him, finally done anchoring the little dome tent. It looked like we would all fit in it if we got rather comfortable with each other. Fiveareen had thoughtfully made enough broth for everyone and I sipped it while deciding if I was hungry enough to open a ration bar too. “Should we set up a watch for the night?”

“Count on it,” I replied.

“What could possibly live out here that would be a threat?” demanded Lanaka. I snorted in amusement around a sip of the broth and trying to decide what flavor it was.

“Sand People, or worse,” I quoted without mirth. I pointed out into the dunes. “That is the Great Dune Sea and this would be the world famous Jundland Wastes, which, we are advised not to travel lightly.”

“How could you possibly know that?” she wanted to know.

I sighed, more than a little depressed at how easy it was becoming to not care about someone I'd cared for most of my adult life. “If you're going to stay here, you might want to do some study,” I told her. “This planet has two suns and we're headed to a town named Anchorhead. That means we're on Tatooine and we know from A New Hope that the Dune Sea borders the Jundland Wastes.”

I looked over at the droid, standing silently at the edge of the light the liquid rock made, waiting to receive a new task, looking at everyone and no one at the same time. “Fiveareen, what kind of scanners do you have and what is their range?”

The droid answered without moving. “My detection equipment is specialized towards sapient diagnostics scans for treatment of disease and injury, my lord. I'm afraid the range is quite short in trade for higher sensitivity.”

“At least I'll have company on the watch,” Darius said with a chuckle. “I'm normally up all hours, I'll take the watch.”

“You can go first,” I conceded. “But not all of it. Silas should sleep the whole night. Anyone know what the rotational period of Tatooine is?”

“Twenty three standard hours, my lord,” Fiveareen supplied. “Dawn will be in approximately ten standard hours.”

“Five and five?” asked Darius and I nodded finishing off my broth. Boredom won out and I opened the ration bar and took a bite, finding it as bland and stale as I'd expected.

With a glance at the droid I rubbed my temple with my free hand and for the machine's benefit, said, “I must still be rattled from the crash. Can anyone remember why we are here on Tatooine? Or who might have shot us down?”

Darius chuckled darkly. “Let me see if I can guess. With this group, I'd be willing to bet that Silas got into a card game, fleeced the locals, there was an accusation of cheating which Lord Nyeomi took exception to, likely with one of her light sabers. Thus ended the diplomatic portion of the encounter and we were chased out of town and evidently beyond.” He looked up at the droid and took a sip of his broth. “How did I do, Fiveareen?”

“Sirs memory is preforming better than he gives it credit,” the robot replied. “We are on Tatooine for the Boonta's Eve Pazaak Grand Master's Tournament. The game in Rentu Oasis was a qualifying round for the Main Event in Mos Espa. As we were preparing to leave there was an allegation of rule breaking as I understand it. Master Silas felt that discretion was the better part of valor and...”

“Here we are,” growled Lanaka. “So that explains the card shark and our recent history. How did a pair of Imperials end up with a Republic Soundrel and Soldier?”

“I bet I know,” I replied as I took the data tablet out of its protective case on my belt. At first, I wasn't sure I'd be able to work it, but when the screen turned on I found the icons as familiar to me as if they had been the iOS of my iPad. Within moments I'd called up a search program and was putting it through its paces. “I remember when I hit level fifty and got to the point in the story where Darth Malgus sets himself up to be the new emperor that if the game had offered the option to join him I would have. His inclusive Empire of humans and Aliens made sense and with the Emperor thought to be dead at the hands of the Hero of Tython Nyeomi would have been free of her oaths to Empire. Malgus would have been the best option for preserving the Empire sh...I...had lived my life serving. It seems here I did join Darth Malgus, not that it...what? What's this?”

“What is it?” asked Silas. I adjusted the control and from the pad a hologram sprang forth. In it Darth Malgus's armored form, red eyes glaring out of his scared, bald head in what he probably thought was a 'friendly' expression. His mouth and nose were hidden by his respirator and he was shaking hands with Satele Shan, Grand Master of the Jedi Council; who, ironically enough, was the Jedi that had disfigured him.

“Grand Master Satele Shan met at length with New Revanite Emperor Darth Malgus, strengthening the Republics' ties with the Empire of Revan against the mad Sith Emperor,” I read softly and a deadly quiet fell over the camp.

Finally, the awful silence was broken by Silas. “No,” he said calmly. “That can't be. Fiveareen, how did I meet and come to travel with all these people?”

“Colonel Darius was already traveling with you when you purchased me, Master,” the droid replied.

“Colonel Darius?” demanded Lanaka. I dug my elbow into his ribs.

“Are you original or extra crispy?”

“I've always thought of myself as soft and squishy,” he replied. “How did we meet Lanaka and Nyeomi?”

“When Master Silas acquired the Aces and Eights in a particularly cut throat game of Pazaak six standard months ago he realized he would need engage the services of a skilled pilot and that additional safe guards to his person would not go amiss. My Lord Darth Nyeomi Fens and Lanaka Fargo were hired for those positions four months ago.”

“You have a ship you can't fly?” I demanded of Silas. He just grinned his little boy grin that I got the distinct impression he misused shamelessly.

“Hey, it didn't slow down Malcolm Reynolds!”

I sighed and shook my head. “This news changes quite a bit. Lanaka and I may not be 'Imperials' after all. When that part of the story came about, I joined the Revanite Order. We may be members of this Empire of Revan.”

“That is what your travel documents I have on file state, my lord,” the Droid told us.

I turned back to Silas, trying to make sense of these latest developments. “I work for you? What could you possibly offer a Sith Lord, a Darth no less, to work as a retainer? I mean, unless I was disgraced, which as I'm evidently a Revanite I'm not or assuming I'm not working under cover, but your Droid refers to me by my title...?”

“I'm afraid I'm not privy to the details of your financial compensations and arrangements,” Fiveareen added with what almost looked like a shrug. “However the flight recorder on the Aces and Eights likely has a record of it.” I would have asked more questions but a flash from out in the desert interrupted. Without thinking about it I took out my own set of macro-binoculars and leapt onto the top of a rocky promontory to get a better vantage point.

“Jesus Christ!” swore Silas. I looked back, trying to comprehend what had startled him and realized he was looking at me. And I then understood that he had just seen me leap ten meters from a standing start straight up.

“Woah,” I whispered, awed, but amazement of my new body's new abilities would have to wait. I held up the binoculars and looked out into the desert. The device had night vision, painting everything in a green low resolution screen. At the wreck of our speeder, a group of men had set off some kind of explosive, the low boom of which was just reaching us. Their body language was angry. “We've got trouble,” I shouted down. “Our friends are back, and angry what they were looking for isn't there.”

I jumped down, thoroughly impressed I could do so without breaking a bone. “I'm guessing either they want to finish us off, or they want the money you took them for.” I looked over a the sled and noticed what could be a strong box. “Is there money, Fiveareen?”

“There is my lord,” the Droid replied, laying a hand on the box. “Ten thousand gold Peggats.”

Avarice lit up behind Silas' eyes. “Is that a lot?”

“Sounds like enough to kill over to me,” I muttered, returning the binoculars to their case. “We won't out run them on foot, and we could certainly use one of those speeders they have...”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Darius as his Buddhist sensibilities sussed out what I was thinking. “Ambush? Murder?”

“Ambush, yes,” I admitted. “Murder no. It's self defense after all and it's fairly obvious they mean to kill us. We were very lucky to have walked away from that speeder crash.”

“We should...” he started, but Silas stood up, shaking his head.

“Give them a chance to surrender?” he asked. “Give them a chance to get the drop on us, is more like it. It's us or them, Danny and I pick us.”

The big man sighed, made his peace with his conscience and stood up, gathering up his rifle as he did so. “We should all get up on that ridge as quickly as possible. They'll come in from the sand and that gives us cover.”

“Ask and you shall receive,” I replied, raising my arm. One at the time I lifted them into the air, onto the ridge as they marveled at being held by the Force. Last up was Fiveareen and his sled. Then with the handful of chem-lights I'd taken from the survival kit snapped and shook them so they were good and bright and hurled them into the side of the cliff, with a little help from the Force so they stuck. The light brightened the draw canyon we had been in nicely, lighting up me, and as they dotted the cliff, however the others were above the row of glowing rods which made it all but impossible for them to be seen.

Finally, I pulled on the heavy leather gauntlets that came up almost to my elbows that had been hanging from my belt and knelt down to wait. I couldn't keep my heart from hammering in excitement, I knew what was coming, I was a combat veteran with all the horror that comes with that. The presence in my mind was soothing as it flowed about me, anticipating the coming action and somehow promising me it would be there to help me.

I wouldn't wait long.

A pair of land speeders pulled up; both of them had seen better days many, many years ago, and both had too many people in them. One had an enclosed cabin and was close to a 'sedan' model, or perhaps a Suburban would be a more apt comparison. It was about the size of a Suburban, and the other had a large cargo bed that scruffy looking locals were piling out of carrying long blaster rifles.

I sighed and shook my head. No matter where you go in the multi-verse evidently, there will always be rednecks. The crowd, there were about fifteen of them, were stunned only I was here, and were milling in that way crowds do when they're trying to turn into mobs. The bravest of them, a lean, hard brawler from his looks, armed with a pistol stood a bit separate from the the others and shouted, “Your boss owes us some money!”

“Does he?” I asked as I slowly stood in a single, fluid motion. “The way I see it, you owe us a land speeder.” I pointed at the Suburban the leader had gotten out of. “We'll take that one. Leave it and go; you lost your money fairly so if you continue down this course you'll lose more permanent things.”

The cape slid off my shoulders as I prepared myself, displaying my light sabers for the benefit of the ignorant hicks. Wolf whistles called from more than one point in the crowd. The leader leered a gap toothed grin. “Maybe I'll take some interest out of you, honey.”

My left hand drew its saber and ignited it with a hiss, but he just kept grinning. “Anybody can get one of those if they pay enough, that doesn't make you a Jed...” his voice trailed off in gasping, gurgling desperation as the presence took hold of his throat. I brought my free hand up like a conductor, coaxing a crescendo from his orchestra and obligingly, the leader was lifted off the ground by his throat, hands clawing at the invisible vice that was choking the life out of him, legs kicking in desperation of trying to find the ground.

“You are absolutely right, owning a light saber does not make me a Jedi, but then I was never a Jedi to begin with!” With a contemptuous flick of my wrist the leader was hurled across the hood of the 'pick up' speeder gasping for breath and the front of his pants darkening as he soiled himself. “I am Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith, and I am more than a match for all of you! Leave the speeder and flee or defy me to my worst and I will kill every last one of you!”

The crowd was edging back in fear as I drew my other saber and igniting it, crossing them in an X in front of me. From the ridge to my right, several blaster bolts hissed into the sand, close enough to have been obvious deliberate misses. Now the eyes and heads were frantically shifting from the terror they could see to the terrors they couldn't. The pick up speeder began backing up as the crowd , already too many for the vehicles they'd come in were now desperate to over load the one they still had control of.

“This isn't over!” the driver shouted as he urged his over burdened craft back out into the dunes towards the oasis.

“Come finish it then!” I snarled flinging one of my sabers at the departing speeder. The blade scored the side of the bed, more insult than injury, then obediently flew back to my waiting hand. A few blaster bolts were shot, but I deflected them back close enough to discourage repeat offenses. From the ridge, my companions laid down a hail of fire to encourage the expeditiousness of the departure.

I watched the cowards flee until I was certain they wouldn't rediscover their doubtlessly liquid courage before I deactivated by blades and returned them to my belt. I turned to find the others scrambling down the ridge. “Break camp,” I commanded, reaching up to lift the droid down with the Force. “Now we can get to Anchorhead. Let's be gone before they find some friends even dumber than they are.”

“Did you have to do that to the leader?” Daniel asked me softly as he came by on his way to the tent.

“He'll live,” I mollified him. “And I never promised I wouldn't kill anybody.”

* * *

Our confiscated speeder got us into Anchor.head well ahead of midnight. I had always thought of Anchorhead as a little nowhere speck of a town, not much beyond a couple of store fronts and whatever the local equivalent of a Walmart was, but the city we entered lived up to that word. It sprawled about six kilometers in radius from outskirts to the massive water tank in the center of the city that was likely the best guarded place here. The architecture was similar to everything else we'd seen of Tatooine, adobe and concrete domes with several large cylindrical towers in clumps of three or five for the more well off.

The streets were an unnamed rabbit warren of alleys and general gaps between buildings, none of them named or paved and with no traffic management system I could sort out. We let Fiveareen drive the speeder who was able to navigate the confusion, even at that hour, to a squat, circular 'landing bay' where we found and got our first look at the Aces and Eights.

Surprisingly, for space craft, or anything else on this planet, she seemed to be well looked after. There were no missing access panels, no tell tale streaks of past fluid leaks, no blaster burns or pot marks from micrometer hits. She was showing her years, her paint was faded and scorched a bit from re-entries past, but she wore those years with dignity; rather like the classic car that's also someone's daily driver as opposed to a garage queen that is only towed from show to show and is never risked being put back on the street.

She was a wedge shaped yacht of about eighty meters or so, a cockpit at her tapered nose that seemed to offer good visibility. She sat on four sturdy landing gear with an entry ramp amidships by the starboard gear. Aft, she had a cluster of three large, round engines with steering vanes for atmospheric work and a high gain antenna dish on her dorsal side. This engine cluster was isolated from the rest of the ship by a series of stout looking beams or stanchions that connected the two. Finally there was a nod to practicality by a pair of gun turrets amid ships, top and bottom.

As a cargo hauler, she was probably worthless, but she could likely do yeoman work pressed into service as a courier. Of course were she doubtlessly shined was as a private yacht and her interior did nothing to detract from that notion. The entry ramp slash airlock opened onto a simple corridor that ran fore and aft, stopping aft at a small room that held three doors starboard for the ship's cargo hold, aft for the engine room and port for a small, but well stocked med bay that was probably Fiveareen's domain.

Forward were six staterooms that grew smaller as they proceeded forward, then the companionway dog legged port to make room for a small room that was a mash up of galley, rec-room and salon. Then, finally came the cock pit itself. Inside she was as clean and well looked after as her outside had been and, assuming we would ever leave Tatooine in this thing, that was a good sign. It was a simple design and simple in space is a good thing.

Speaking of simple, each of the staterooms had a little electronic screen next to the door with a hand print reader and our names in Aurebesh. For the uninitiated, Aurebesh is the vaguely runic alphabet that replaced roman lettering in the Special Editions of the Original Trilogy. It's close enough to English that if you're a big enough nerd, which I was, and you see it enough, which I have, you can kind of read it subconsciously. We were able to puzzle out the room situation out of sight of Fiveareen, stowed the whatnots before being sure the lock was solid on the outer door to the docking bay, the ramp was good and sealed and we turned in for the night.

My stateroom was medium sized, not one of the grand suites, one of which Silas had claimed, not one of the spartan double bunks that there the two cabins farthest forward one of which evidently Darius had claimed. There were the usual kind of amenities you'd expect in a yacht; a compact little toilet and shower my Navy buddies would have referred to as a head. There was full bed, not a bunk, and it was quite comfortable as I sat on it to remove my boots, a little desk with a computer screen for personal communications, a night stand by the bed and a clothes press someone had unpacked my things into.

Or, rather, unpacked Nyeomi's things into.

The dusty armored clothing came off easily enough, placed in a little pile by the press to be shook out and cleaned at a convenient time, leaving me nude to go and stare into the full length mirror by the head. Nyeomi Fens is an olive complected young woman, in her early to middle twenties both strikingly tall and strong. Usually words like 'athletic' are used to describe women who are thin, remarkably so in most cases, but Nyeomi Fens was athletic in the mold of a farm girl, she had defined muscles throughout her body, but still sported a very womanly figure.

Speaking of womanly, I thought to myself. There really was no ignoring the breasts now that they were free of their confinement. They didn't look as big in the mirror as they felt, but if mass was the governing factor, none of my kids would starve, and that sent a shiver down my spine from the tips of my hair to my toenails.

At that the presence in my mind was confused. Why would I not want children? I was young and fit, I was strong with the Force and the passion of the creating those children would both make me stronger with the Force, and pass my strength on to my children and in making their life I would make the Force stronger.

“I'll think about it,” I promised the presence, once more a bit taken by that perfect Eaton diction that rounded every vowel and consonant. In the mirror, I saw a long oval face with high cheek bones a perfectly straight patricians nose over a full, generous mouth crowned with luscious lips. But it was her eyes that dominated her face, eyes that were as yellow as mustard, which when meshed with the serious expression on my face as I took myself in gave her an aloof, aristocratic air, this was accentuated by her crown of chestnut hair that was worn up and rolled around her head, but down a short, but full ponytail behind her head, out of her way. Two long strands escaped the ponytail and hung from each ear, framing the face and even more cementing the regal aloof air. I stepped forward and looked this Sith Lord in her gold eyes. “This...is my face...” I admitted to myself, claiming this body I inhabited as my own.

That made the presence happy and so I crawled into bed and wondered where I would be when I awoke, and where I wanted to be.

It was a question I couldn't honestly answer just then.

* * *

Now, normally in tales like this the hero(ine)s sleep is plagued by disturbing dreams with prophetic imagery, heavy handed symbolism and and Jungian windows to the inner soul. Hate to say it, but the bed was very comfortable and I slept the night through. It was the first time in years I'd gotten a good nights sleep to be honest and it was a wonderful feeling. I awoke, becoming both more used to the feeling of the presence around me and yet more bothered by it, but got my daily ablutions out of the way...

Fine.

Yes, I did explore, no, it wasn't new to me, I had been a married man after all. No, I didn't suddenly have some revelation that I'd been a thoughtless, rough brute my whole life. As a lover, I'd prided myself on a gentle, but persistent technique and I was, justly I think, proud to have been proven right that slow and easy is the way to be a good lover. Though, I must admit the difference of the sensations was...well, different. Male sexuality is focused, direct, where as a woman, myself at least, the feeling of sexuality was very generalized, a kind of whole body experience.

And unlike a man where the orgasm ejaculation combination heralds the end of arousal and sexual thoughts, at least for a few hours, and despite a completely satisfying series of what I would call orgasms I left the shower a bit more aroused than when I'd entered it.

To distract myself I chose simple foundational garments in plain, utilitarian fabrics along with a pair of canvas pants that where almost like denim with plenty of pockets and a black canvas blouse with very full shoulders, but close to my arms from the elbow down. It had a high collar that closed at my throat, but was fitted very snugly down my front and sides in a very flattering manner. There was a front and back tail that seemed to want to be worn untucked from the pants, which was how I chose to wear it and found a pair of black leather knee boots to finish the outfit. Over the shirt went my 'utility belt' for lack of a better word, it was a black leather belt of three inches with several pouches, my light saber hangers, comm-link, flashlight and so on.

Ready to face the day, I left my cabin and headed to the galley. There I found Darius brewing a cup of tea, wearing what looked like the under fatigues of his armor, who mumbled an inquiry on how I'd slept. “I slept well,” I told him honestly as I rooted for something like coffee, found it and started it brewing in a machine that seemed correct for that purpose. “How about you?”

“Didn't,” he replied, keying on a small holo projector he had with him on the table.

I turned as the brewing machine did it's thing and saw a washed out hologram of myself, or rather the body I now wore, step up to Silas who was sitting at a desk. “Are you the captain of the yacht Aces and Eights who is hiring a pilot?” I watched her ask, not quite demand, but ask.

Silas looked at someone out side the holo's pick up and turned back, careful to keep both hands in view. “There must be some mistake, I don't want any trouble with a Sith Lord...”

“And you will not have any so long as you are civil,” Nyeomi replied. “Answer my question.”

“Ye..yes, I'm in the market for a pilot, but...”

“Do you require to actually see my qualifications, or is my word of my ability sufficient?”

“No, my lord, I'm certain you're an excellent pilot,” he replied. “Just as I'm certain that being a humble man of limited means, I couldn't possibly offer you compensation commensurate with your skills...”

Nyeomi smiled a small, amused little grin. “Your reputation as a smooth talking con man is well earned, can you play cards better than your attempts to play me?” Darius stepped into the hologram's pick up at that point.

“If offense was given, my lord, it was unintended,” he said evenly.

The smile on the face I was just beginning to claim as my own was predatory. “You mistake satisfaction in intelligence with offense, Colonel. It is good to know that the IIB is earning their pay. I am Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith, Revanite and loyal vassal of your government's ally Emperor Malgus. I mean you no harm, and am curious as to whether a card player of your renown will be entering the Boonta's Eve Pazaak Grand Master's Tournament?”

Again Silas and Darius exchanged a glance. “Maybe you aren't aware,” Silas started evenly. “The Boonta's Eve game is run by the Hutt Cartel, it's notorious all over the galaxy as a fixed game; how the Hutts make 'above board' pay offs...”

“No one wins that game that isn't meant to,” Darius added, but Nyeomi only nodded, still smiling.

“Exactly. The prize money the Hutts intend to pay off is money made by selling cargoes stolen from my Master, Emperor Malgus. My proposition to you is simple, help me gain back my Master's credits, and you will not have to worry about a pilot or your personal security for the next standard year. I can even authorize suitable compensation from the take for time and trouble. ”

“I'm a ranked Pazaak player,” Silas told her, “and false modesty aside I'm good, but how do you propose to win a rigged game?”

“They same way they expect to,” Nyeomi told him with her cold smile. “Cheating.”

Silas blinked and leaned forward. “You want to pull a con on the Hutts?” Nyeomi grinned a shark's grin at scenting blood in the water.

“I want to take them for the slime off their disgusting backs. Interested?”

“Have a seat, my lord,” Silas replied with an equally unpleasant grin. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

The hologram flicked off and Darius' dark eyes peered up at her over his bushy mustache like a drowsy hawk trying to decide if the mouse he'd caught sight of was worth going after. “Things just got interesting, didn't they?” he asked.

I shrugged as I got my cup from the brewer, found a sugar and creamer and started preparing the coffee for consumption. “We knew from last night something would be up. Although me working somewhat directly for Darth Malgus, that's new and unsettling.” I sighed and slid into a chair opposite him at the table. “How are you holding up?”

He speared me again with his raptor gaze and shrugged. “This 'reality' is no more real to me than the one we came from,” he replied softly. “If anything, I probably have the easiest time adapting to this. Whereas you...” He trailed off meaningfully. “How are you holding up is the real question.”

I shrugged and took a long sip of my coffee, which was of a surprisingly high caliber. “I'm a woman,” I replied, far more calmly than I really felt. “Half of humanity is, you know.”

He said nothing for several sips, content to stare for a long moment. “And, the crying fit in the desert? What was that?”

The presence crowded into my mind, resentful at first but I shoved thoughts of how solidly Danny had stood by me though the years, rough years in my marriage, rough years in my life, money he'd loaned with out thought of repayment, sweat and blood he'd offered up to help me. That mollified it and I felt it's opinion of Darius shift from 'respected enemy' to 'trusted retainer' and somehow that made what he was saying acceptable. “My wife and my penis left me,” I told him evenly. “In fact, my wife left me because my penis left me, I figure that's worth a good cry, don't you?”

Darius fidgeted in a way that told me he knew something he didn't want to admit to. "What?" I demanded flatly.

He sighed and finally looked up to meet my gaze. "What does it really matter why?" He asked philosophically. "We're not in that world anymore, we're in this one. Laura says she's not a lesbian, I suppose real question is are you? Because whoever you were there you are Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith here. So that is what you are, now you need to decide who you are.”

I must admit to being somewhat flabbergasted by the frankness with which Darius dismissed my old life. So for several minutes I sat in the chair, stared at the table, and drank the surprisingly good coffee while I have the most existential crisis of my life. I feel some what justified in being confused in this manner, after all I was in a completely different universe sitting in a star ship, in a body half my age, and the wrong gender. Finally I looked back up at him staring at me under those bushy eyebrows like a drowsy hawk and gave a little shrug. "I... I don't know."

He nodded as though that was the answer he was expecting. "I would've told you were lying if you said you did know who you were. I don't imagine we'll get much downtime considering what I've discovered. Darth Malgus is not a man I think we should cross, so we should probably be about winning back his money. That said whatever downtime we do have you should probably be thinking about this."

"You don't see a way home?"

He smiled a little smile and tapped his chest. "Brought mine with me. Besides, the way I see it this is just something of a jump started reincarnation as far as I can see. All roads lead to Nirvana after all."

"Would you be as blasé about this if what happened to me had happened to you?"

"Oh no," he declared quickly. Then I can see his raunchy sense of humor kick in just before he hit me with the punch line. "Been so long since I had any pussy, I wouldn't know what to do with myself!"

I smiled and shook my head, pleased that my change in gender had not changed my sense of humor. I don't know if it was my mind was still male or all the posturing of women being upset with cruder forms of humor was all act, either way yet again my best friend had given me exactly what I needed. "I guess I should go dig through my communications station, see what I can find out about Darth Malgus' expectations."

I drained the coffee from the mug and stood, but paused at his inscrutable expression. Seeing me pause his expression changed and he asked, "So you are a Sith Lord?"

"Was that in question?" Asked Silas as he swept through the door and into the little galley. The nights sleep had obviously done him good, as he was fresh faced and of a cheery disposition as he rummaged for some thing to drink. "I mean, we all saw how you dealt with rednecks last night, bro, er, I guess I mean sis..."

"I rather don't think these bodies are related," I replied. Silas chuckled from getting the coffee machine going and filling his own cup.

"What? You can't see the family resemblance? I mean sure, obviously the folks paid for some swank education on your part to get that accent...” He trailed off as he walked over to the table, mug in hand. “What?” he asked. “Not funny?”

I rolled my eyes. “I am pleased your humor as been restored,” I told him. Turning to Darius over my shoulder I remarked, “You should show him what you showed me,” then put my cup into the cleaner unit and walked out.

“Show me what?” I heard Silas ask as I left and turned into the cramped cock pit at the top of a small set of stairs forward from the salon.

It was a fairly tight space, seats for four crammed into the space of about two cubicles with buttons, switches and displays lining every surface. The first two seats faced the walls, with a pilot and copilot position forward in the bubble of that expressive canopy. It started just forward of the two wall stations, some piece of unknown knowledge telling me they were the navigator and flight engineer's places and there was a little step up into the pilot and copilot places. They sat completely in the bubble with a stark amount of view, a U shaped panel of controls that came forward from the preceding stations that wouldn't obscure their vision.

There were a set of controls over head as well on a console that was bolted onto one of the support struts that laced through the canopy. Now, despite a dabbling of interest in various flight simulators, I am not now, nor was I ever a pilot in my previous life. Yet this cramped little space was as familiar to me as the drivers place on my car back home would have been. I knew just from a glance at the engineer's boards that the ship was in a stand by mode, it's power being supplied by a 'shore power' connector in the bay, along with it's water and sewer needs.

I knew that by a 'checklist' it would take the better part of half an hour to warm up the engines, secure all those connectors and take off. I also knew that I could take a lot of short cuts, sacrifice the shore power cables and hoses and have the Aces and Eights in the air inside of five minutes. Don't ask me how I knew all of that, I just did. I sat down at the pilot's place and rotated the chair to look out that impressive view bubble.

It was rather like sitting in a helicopter, just the consoles, the instruments and the glass, er, forgive me, the transpara-steel. The little bit of me that was still Ed was just a bit Agoraphobic of being so exposed out there on the nose of that star ship, but the part that was Nyeomi Fens absolutely loved the feeling of being in a fighter, rather like flying with out a ship through the sky on just her own will power.

The presence wanted to keep the Aces and Eights once we had Darth Malgus' money back.

I looked out the canopy, glad of the UV coating on the transpara-steel on the merciless light of the two suns over head in the open bay. The moutains of the Jundland Wastes could be seen and everything was in knife sharp relief in that light. Below me, parked near the nose of the ship was the speeder we had confiscated seemed even more beat up in good light that it had last night and last night it had looked pretty rough. I was frankly surprised it got us here.

As I sat in this famiar, but alien place, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the feelings of familarity, that unnamed 'presence' in the back of my mind. At first, I had thought of it as 'The Force,' and while I went through it to get to the Force, I had since realized it was far more than the 'simple' energy field of duck tape created by life itself.

As I concentrated I felt peaceful and relaxed, then my perception slowly broadening as if becoming a part of a much larger and more complicated thing. Then I felt a change, the drone of the ship's air moving through the duct works stopped, the 'buzz' of the electronics just at the edge of hearing was silenced and time itself seemed to stop. “I was wondering when you would seek me out,” I heard and felt at the same time.

I opened my eyes and turned to look over my shoulder and gasped in astonishment.

Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith, resplendant and breath takingly beautiful stood behind me, her bight yellow eyes seeming to glow slightly as she stepped up into the cockpit and slid easily into the copilot's place. “Surprised to see me?” the appariation asked, raising a single eyebrow in question.

I looked down, wondering if I was suddenly myself again, but I was only treated to a first person POV of the vision beside me. “Alright,” I replied, turning the chair to face her. “I'll admit to being caught slightly off guard, but considering what's already happened to me I don't believe surprise is an emotion I'm capable of any longer. Who, or what, are you?”

The Sith Lord chuckled and looked out the window. “Reasonable, I suppose. To answer your question I'm you, the you that was born to Algon and Jadzeea Fens, who grew up on the frontier of a dozen worlds because my father was an officer in the Imperial Army. Who saw first hand the Empire take cess pits and open sewers of worlds ceeded to us by the Republic that had ignored them. Who saw those same worlds were civilized, made safe with laws and police who were not corrupt, saw schools and hospitals be built and became places where familes could live and grow. Who trained on Korriban so as to serve the Empire she loved and became the pride of her family when she graduated. Who either was created by you imagining me or I imagining you, which is academic now.”

I blinked in astoishment, aghast. “You mean I've stolen your body?”

She looked back at me and smirked that little half smile that I loved about her. “No, I mean I am you, and you are me. I remember getting my first kiss from Kab Solo when I was eight and he was the secret crush of every girl in my class and I had the courage to go and claim him. As much as I remember your first kiss from that girl behind the gymnasium when we were eighteen...”

“Seventeen!” I protested.

She made a dismissive gesture. “Yes, yes, I remember how proud we were we weren't a virgin on our eighteenth birthday. Hardly a difficult conquest, was she?”

“So, if we were on Earth, would I be a spirit in the back of your mind?”

The Sith Lord allowed a cross look to dominate her face, with all it's fearful dread. “You think of this in terms of 'you' and 'I', that is why I am here. I am the Force, manipulated by your mind as a defense mechanism to keep from going mad. There is no 'you' or 'I', there is Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith. 'You' are not someone else. 'You' are 'I'. And you need to come to grips with that before we are driven mad by the disparity.”

I felt my eyebrow rise up my forehead. “Are you saying this is all in my head?”

She crossed her arms over her impressive bosom. “You're the one arguing with yourself.” She turned and looked deeper into the ship. “They're coming, so I must leave.” She stood and looked down on me, aloof, aristocratic and commanding. “Ask yourself this and embrace it or I will have to return; is being a woman so bad?”

Before I could answer I blinked and she was gone, the buzz at the edge of hearing was back and the air was moving through the ducts again. The little door at the back of the cockpit opened revealing Silas and Darius. “Any of this make sense to you?” he asked with a big smile.

I arched an eyebrow at him.

* * *

I spent most of the rest of the day in my cabin, going through the communications I'd received and the diary I kept on my tablet. It seemed I had no direct communications from 'Emperor' Malgus, which was probably a good thing. I would discover in point of fact that the Sith I most directly communicated with was Darth Marr head of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire. Indeed, I was something of the 'fair haired boy,' or girl as the case may be, in Darth Marr's eyes. Evidently I had a reputation as a driven, dependable 'rain maker' in difficult assignments and had ascended to the rank of 'Darth' by the time I was twenty two.

This meteoric rise had me marked as a prodigy by some and likely as an enemy by those seeking to supplant me in their bid to curry favor with Darth Marr. I discovered I was now twenty five, which meant I had for all practical purposes had twenty years back from my old life, and given the most common advancement strategies of the empire they were likely years I wouldn't get to fully enjoy again. Or so I'd thought until I'd riffled through the email lists, where I had quite a collection of notes from several different divisions of the Imperial Army. Thank you notes, the vast majority of them, copies of letters of commendations for my professionalism, ease of working with, it seemed I had a number of fans in the Army, which was very comforting.

From a personal stand point it would appear that the 'real' Nyeomi's career had departed rather sharply from the game I had played. I wasn't anyone's 'Wrath', however you pronounced it. I had been apprenticed to a Darth Vannacen, also a member of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire, who if my diary was to be believed, had been so lighthearted of a Sith as to practically be considered kindly. Her chief passion she harnessed to access the Dark Side was lust and the entries of the diary that spoke of her read like a pornographic novel of her conquests; both in the bed room and the field of battle. She had been killed by Republic supported resistance fighters on Balmorra four years ago.

On a whim I keyed on a file and before me a ghostly hologram appeared of a trim, full figured woman in every sense of the word. While the reinforced armored clothing she was wearing was doubtlessly very flattering and 'helping' her figure, she was still a damn fine image of a woman. She wore her ebony hair loose about her shoulders and stood in an aggressive stance, practically shouting to the world she dealt with life on her own terms. She wasn't a MILF any more and cougar was getting to be kindly with the crows feet at the corner of her eyes and mouth. That rich ebony color in her hair was probably coming mostly from a bottle, but there was a glint in her eyes that said if you were lucky enough to share her bed you'd come away with an experience you'd remember for the rest of your life.

It was obvious she was a dangerous killer, but she was a dangerous lover as well.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing about the image was she was smiling. You never think of Sith Lords as smiling or happy. There was a courtesy knock on my cabin door and then it opened with a hiss revealing Silas. “Hey,” he greeted as I ignored his subconscious rudeness of just barging into my cabin. “Who's that?” he asked, looking at the hologram.

“Her name was Darth Vannacen,” I replied over the somewhat embarrassing growl from my empty stomach. “She was my master.”

“I'm guessing from the use of past tense she's...?”

“Dead,” I finished for him.

“Uh...did you...?”

“Republic militia on Balmorra.”

“Awkward,” he admitted by way of an apology. “We're getting together for dinner and to compare notes. Hungry?” My stomach gurgled again in answer. “Cool, at the ramp in five.”

I clicked off the hologram and stood from the bed. With a causal gesture my light sabers left their stand on the dresser and floated over to my hand. “We're not eating here?” I asked as I followed him through the corridor to the ramp.

“Hey, you're a chick now, do you want to cook?” he asked over his shoulder.

Silas' feet somehow got tangled up in each other just as he arrived at the ramp and he tumbled down it, ass over elbows to land in an unceremonious heap at the bottom. Groaning as he sat up I charitably gave him a hand up as I would never have used the Force to trip him for making such a remark.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I noticed the speeder was not parked where it had been and turned back to the group at large. "What happened to the shit sled?"

"Sold it," Silas replied from dusting himself off as he led the way out of the hanger and onto the street. "Just lucky we didn't have to pay to haul it off."

"Anybody going to come looking for it?" Darius asked his big mustache twitching as he did so. "Last thing we need is trouble with the local constabulary." Silas was smiling his cocksure smile and shook his head.

"I don't think there really is any kind of law or order on this planet," he declared sidelong. "The guy I sold it to didn't ask me for registration, proof of ownership, or even ID. We haggled the price, money changed hands, we went our separate ways. I've got a feeling here on Tatooine possession is ten tenths of the law. On the plus side I did find out where the best restaurant in this goat rodeo is. It's just over here."

'Best' in a town like Anchorhead, I would learn, was largely a matter of perspective. Bibo's Tavern would barely qualify as a greasy spoon truck stop back in the States. But there were tables and waitresses and hologram menus that describe the fare with pictures and simple descriptions as befitting the simple people that were their primary clientele. We weren't the only ones armed in the establishment but that was not a universal statement either as there were plenty of patrons and the waitstaff themselves that if they had iron they were keeping it discrete.

It was about as far as haute cuisine as you can get and still be edible, but the place was clean quiet and discreetly lit. If you ever find yourself there I can recommend Bantha stew that I had which was quite tasty if more than a little greasy. So between bites of the meat heavy stew I give a brief summary of what I've discovered. Followed by a quick summary from Darius of what he had found out which I already knew. I did learn that Lanaka and I had boarded on the planet Gala; a world on the border of the Sith Empire and the Republic.

Perhaps I'm being harsh, but as I expected Silas had spent the day playing cards against Fivearen, I supposed to find out if he had the skills he should've had. When he wasn't out selling arguably stolen vehicles. I had decided to try a bottle of the local brewers best effort with dinner and as I took my final sip our eyes settled on Lanaka. "So," she said after an uncomfortable moment of silence. "What are we going to do?"

"This is in question?" Demanded Silas incredulously.

Lanaka snorted in derision. "Not as far as I'm concerned," she declared loftily. "I say we finish this slop that has the pretentiousness to call it self food, and we get back on that heap of a spaceship and we go somewhere nice, then we forget all about Hutts, Darths and card games."

"And when Darth Malgus sends people in your line of work after us, what do we do then?" I asked her with a generous dollop of sarcasm. "People don't forgive and forget sums of money like these."

Darius shook his head. "I'm with Nyeomi on this one," he declared softly. "We'll talk about retirements after we got his money back to him that's one thing, but Darth Malgus isn't a man I want to piss off."

Lanaka's red eyes narrowed to slits. "But you are willing to piss off creatures that will kill you just as dead here on this planet as opposed to some unknown man who may not even know we are alive?" She stared down each of the two men at the table. "Would you listen to yourselves? We don't know the first thing about..." She made a big gesture to take in the entire planet. "But the three of you think because you're gamers you have a snowballs chance in hell of actually accomplishing what you're thinking about? If we are going to play odds with our lives, then I vote we work really hard at losing ourselves in the great big galaxy. That buys us lifespan now."

I put the bottle the table with more force and I probably needed to. Still it had the effect of getting all their attention, and when they were looking at me I said, "You three can do what you like. While it's likely Darth Malgus doesn't know you're involved if I betray him he won't ever stop coming after me." I sighed and gave each of them a steely glance. "I have to do this. So I'll go get another drink at the bar and let you all decide what you're going to do."

I stood and walked over to the bar without another word, my mind and emotions in a whirlwind. What would I do if they left me and decided to run? For the immediate future I'd be alright, I knew from my earlier investigations I had a significant store of Republic Dataries and my diary made me aware of accounts of Imperial Credits I had access to, both Darth Malgus' New Revanite Empire and the original Sith Empire. That still didn't make the intense fear of being alone in a new and incredibly larger way in the galaxy any less.

When I arrived at the bar, Bibo was waiting on me, another bottle of the same beer I'd ordered with dinner in hand. Bibo was a human male, over fifty I'd guess, with a full head of prematurely white hair and a matching 'Robin Hood' beard on the point of his chin. He'd been a dangerous man in his youth, burly and hard, but the life of a tavern keeper was agreeing with him and he was starting to get soft in the middle. He had the honest face of an upfront brawler who would tell you what he thought of you to your face and back his opinions up with his fists if you took exception to it. “The Force is strong with you, Mister Bibo,” I complimented as I accepted the bottle with a smile and took an appreciative sip.

Bibo chuckled. “I'm not 'Mister' anything, girl,” he replied and cocked his head over his shoulder. “And it's not the Force you can thank for the Beer, but the compliments of the gentleman behind me.”

I looked over his shoulder to take in a lantern jawed movie hero, perhaps 10 years older than me, perfect ebony hair, strong nose, cleft chin and a dazzling smile that was shining my way as he held up a glass of some kind of liquor in toast. I nodded my thanks and turned back to Bibo. “Who is he?” I demanded, confused at first that a strange man would buy me a drink and then I flushed hot with conflicting emotions when my brain caught up and I realized why.

Bibo shrugged and made a show of wiping a glass with a rag. “Some hot shot troubleshooter with Rendia Freight,” the barman replied. “He's been here a couple days, checking up on Rendia's local operations as I understand it. My girls say he's a good tipper.”

I saw the fellow rise from his seat and start over to us, which Bibo did as well. “What can you tell me about him?”

The old bartender winked at me. “That he's got excellent taste in women,” Bibo told me with a smile and then made himself scarce.

I decided to head things off at the pass so to speak, so when Mr. Good Looking got to conversational distance I leveled my most intimidating gaze at him and demanded, “Do you often buy strange women drinks?”

“Only the beautiful ones who look like they have an interesting story to tell,” he replied with a confident smile while shifting his drink to his left hand and presenting the right to be shook. “So that makes you the first; Torm Belos.”

You can tell a lot about a man from his handshake, or so I believe. Torm Belos had a firm, manly grip with a warm, dry palm and didn't compromise his grip because I was a woman. I couldn't tell if I liked that or not, but looking him up and down from the line backer shoulders to the six pack abs I was sure were hiding under a very rich fabric in his tunic, I knew instantly he was the kind of guy you can't help liking. He was The Guy; that manly fellow that other men respect and secretly imitate and women swoon over and so he was doubly dangerous to me, considering my situation, so I decided the forthright approach would be best. “Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith,” I told him, looking him square in the eye.

To my considerable surprise, he didn't even blink and his smile got wider. “Welcome to the Republic! Please, allow me to do my part for international relations and make your evening as enjoyable as possible.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Unafraid? You must be either a very brave man or a fool,” I declared, trying to rattle his cage. I wanted out of this uncomfortable situation, but not so badly as to make a scene.

He leaned against the bar sideways on one elbow, completely unfazed and took a sip of whatever it was he was drinking. “Oh, I've been both at one time or another,” he admitted with that damnably charming smile. “Tell me, my lord, what could possibly be of interest to someone of your quality out here?”

“Precious little,” I told him smartly and turned back to the table in preparation of making my exit, but what I saw stopped me in my tracks. Silas and Darius were in a heated conversation, doubtless about how to proceed, but Lanaka was staring at me. Now, it's getting hard to judge her expressions with those solid red eyes of hers, but a blind man could see the source of the expression that was painted on her face now and honestly that caught me completely flat footed.

The woman I thought had been the love of my life, who had made it clear we were no longer a couple despite her vows of 'better or worse' who had begun to take a perverse delight in throwing barbs and ridicule at me, wore an unmistakable expression, the source of which was the man standing next to me. My ex-wife was jealous I was getting hit on by easily the best looking man in the tavern. While that wouldn't be much of a feat most times here on Tatooine, this time it had Silas and Darius in it and let's be honest they were both solid studs that likely commanded plenty of female attention.

So I was in the position of being the 'Alpha' female of the room that the agreed upon 'Alpha' male was trying his luck with. And it pissed her off. No, it infuriated her that some how I was a better woman than she was. Forgive me, but considering the ration of shit I'd taken from her lately, I honestly couldn't resist twisting the knife a bit.

I turned my movement from decisively storming off to leaning my back against the bar and propping myself up on my forearms with my hands hanging off the bar. This had the effect of accentuating and somewhat thrusting forward my chest as I turned back to Mr Torm Belos and smiled up at him. That in itself was a feat as in my boots I was just under two meters and he was larger enough I had to crane my neck a bit to look up at him. “But the prospects seem to be improving,” I told him with a smile. “What brings you to Tatooine, Mr. Belos?”

“Torm, my lord, I insist,” he replied.

“Nyeomi.”

He bowed from the neck. “I'm deeply honored, Nyeomi, and business brings me. I'm a Process Executive for Rendia Freight. We've lost our Founder recently and the share holders have me evaluating all the holdings through out the sector while things are reorganized.”

“Process Executive?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

His smile could have melted a glacier. “Just a fancy way of saying I solve problems for the company. Probably not so very different than your duties for the Empire I would guess.”

My smile was feral. “Usually I'm solving problems with violence.”

I have to give the man credit, in his position I would be sweating bullets, or more likely have just cut my losses and scampered off, tail between my proverbial legs, but Torm was cool and collected and his smile didn't waiver. I have to admit I had not been half the man Torm Belos was so it was more than a little disconcerting to find the woman I had become of such great interest to him. “I can't solve all my issues that way, but my blaster has been my best friend on more than one job.”

“Any good with it?” The words right out of my mouth before I realized what a horrible double entendre I'd made. And of course he picked up on it instantly.

Now his smile took on a less wholesome quality. It made him seem like a rough neck who someone had put through charm school, a pit bull at a lapdog breeder's show. “I'm here and the problems were...solved...” He leaned forward a bit and casually put a hand on my arm. "You strike me as someone who understands that sometimes you just have to deal with things... physically..."

I took a sip of beer to try and calm my thundering heart because despite myself, despite my history and whatever my true nature was or wasn't, this man was affecting me! My heart was racing, my body was flooded with adrenaline; the presence in the back of my mind was screaming like a cheerleader and...other...portions of my anatomy were...yes, goddammit, I was turned on! Alright? I said it, he turned me on! Bolstered by my shot of liquid courage, I struggled to get a grip on myself. Taunting Lanaka was one thing, hopping into the sack with a man (!) I had just met (!!) was quite another! “You like playing with fire, Torm?” I demanded.

The wolf in his grin had found the sheep. He drew his hand up so that only the tip of his index finger was touching me and ran it up and down the length of my forearm. The feelings and images that touch awoke in my mind would likely have made my old master blush. “I wouldn't be in the business I'm in if I didn't enjoy challenges and danger.”

A side note of biology is in order. When a man becomes interested in a woman sexually the reaction is physical and apparent. A certain swelling that can be noticed in the front of one's pants. A discrete glance told me not only was Torm interested, he was very interested and I wasn't sure how he hadn't passed out from blood loss! Women, I just found out, well they get...hollow. I had never been so aware of space between my legs nor had I ever had such a burning need to fill it. On top of that, the moisture of some portions of my body getting ready for what it hoped would happen had me squirming. I'll be changing these panties the second I get back to the ship!

“Nyeomi?” I turned to see Darius standing just out of hands reach roughly between us. “We're leaving.”

“Friend of yours?” Torm asked, his tone asking his real question. Boyfriend of yours?

“Thank you, Colonel, I'll just be a moment.” Darius withdrew as Torm looked a tad hopeful, much more puppy than wolf now. “I have to go, I'm afraid. Will I see you...?”

“I'm heading to Mos Espa in the morning,” he said. “Last of my business on Tatooine is there. But I'm taking some time off to attend the Boonta's Eve Pazaak Grand Master's Tournament. I'm staying at the Lady of Great Fortune Casino Hotel.”

I couldn't keep the smile off my face. “My...associate...is attending the tournament as well. Then we will see each other again, Mister Belos, excellent!”

“I can't wait,” he replied as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "After all you still owe me that story." He reached down and took my free hand to bring up to his lips. The feeling of his lips on my skin sent an electric jolt up and down my nervous system. Neither could I, oh yes, neither could I...

* * *

I won't spend a lot of time on the fight Lanaka and I got into once we were back at the ship. I cringe when I think of some of the things I called her and she called me in return. It was a cat fight in every sense of the word and I'm honestly ashamed of losing control of myself to that level. In my defense I'll point out she started it, juvenile, I know, but important none the less. I'm just very, very grateful that no matter how foolish and emotional I was, that when she'd pushed me as far as I would go, when I would take nothing else from her, that when I reached for my light saber, Darius was there to grab me and talk me down.

Needless to say, when I went to bed that night I was shaking.

I had nearly killed my wife over her jealousy of my flirtation with another man. Another man! I can barely believe that previous sentence! And that I would offer violence to a woman, no matter the provocation...that wasn't how I was raised!

What difference does her gender make? Demanded the Presence from the back of my mind. Would you let her kill us because her genitals match ours? She disrespected us! She sought to challenge our dominance and to take a male we prized! She needed to be put back in her place and we did so! Save your tears for those who have earned them.

"I am not evil!" I hissed at the presence. "I'm not an animal or a mindless killer!"

You think I am? I didn't reach for our light sabers, you did!

"No!" I protested looking for some excuse, any excuse, that would absolve me of the responsibility of reaching for a weapon for losing an argument. "I wasn't... I was just going to scare...”

The only person you scare is yourself. You have never understood women, and even now that you are one you don't understand how or why you act! The tears flowed hot and bitter down my cheeks as the presence took me by the scruff of the neck and rubbed my nose in my own failures. I knew only that my heart ached from what I had almost done, and what I had wanted to do. And in that pain I was desperate for some consolation or solace and forgiveness for losing my self-control.

I didn't question when Torm's arms slipped around me. I did not concern myself with how or why he had gotten in my cabin; only that he stroked my hair and assured me that it wasn't my fault. Somehow his kissing my tears away became just kissing me and then became kissing me with a passion that swept over me like a tidal wave.

His weight held me to the bed, his hands controlling my wrists over my head, his breath hot on my neck as he rubbed against me, seeking me. Just as he found me and claimed me for his own I woke with a start more confused and disoriented that at any other time in my life. I laid my head down on the bed again, and cried myself back to sleep.

* * *

I didn't so much as wake up the next morning as I gave up on trying to sleep the night before. A cold shower from the refresher unit purged the last of the previous nights sexual confusion. There was no exploration this morning, I was certainly not in the mood for it. To match my gray mood, I pulled on a pair of gray woolen Jodhpurs my knee boots and a gray Gi tunic held closed by my utility belt. I almost didn't put the light sabers on the keeper, but Tattooine was not a place where the dangers would wait while I ran and got my weapons.

I felt an intense need to do something physical and so I ruffled through my wardrobe and pulled out the little training drone I'd seen earlier. It was a gray plastic ball, covered in repulsor panels and beam emitter ports identical to the one we saw Luke use. As I came out into the hallway I could smell that Lanaka was buying her way back into Silas and Darius' good graces with a traditional breakfast, or as close as could be had here.

What? You're surprised Lanaka can cook? We didn't get fat by not eating you know.

That said, after the cat fight last night, that was the last place I was interested in, so I turned my back on it and made my way aft to the ramp and out into the morning. Neither of Tattooine's suns were over the lip of the docking bay yet, but it was already stifling hot. You don't really realize how hot it gets watching the actors on the screen, being southern I was used to heat but I was used to wet muggy heat. Immediately my skin dried out and I felt the salty, sandy residue that was left on the skin, making me feel like I already needed another shower. With a little toss I launched the drone which then followed off my left shoulder hovering in the air as I moved to a clear spot in the hangar.

I took the light sabers from my belt one at the time and reset them to their training mode; now they would cut through nothing and can actually picked up by the blade if you didn't mind a burn. I kept one saber out holding it by the pommel in both hands the other I returned my belt. "Random attack pattern," I ordered the drone. "Moderate difficulty."

The drone spun in place and then begin to zip about in random arcs at nearly double the speed we'd seen before. It didn't stop to fire, merely spitting an energy bolt and changing direction without so much as a pause. But despite the speed with which the little drone moved I found my blade always arriving right before the energy bolt to deflect it harmlessly off onto the wall of the bay. "Pause," I ordered and obligingly the drone came to a halt. This was obviously too easy. From the utility belt I took a strip of cloth and improvised a blindfold for myself.

I sighed as I brought the blade up in a high guard next to my face close enough that I can feel the tug of the magnetic field holding in the plasma making my hair stand up. A long slow inhale was followed by an equally slow and deliberate exhale as I re-centered myself. "Resume," I ordered and with a hiss the little drone started its movement again.

It's very hard for me even now to describe what happened next. I couldn't see and yet I knew in a way that I won't ever be able to describe where everything around me was. I suppose the closest thing would be to imagine someone who was blind in their own home where they knew where everything was. I wasn't counting steps or any other memory trick I just... Knew. Likewise with the bolts I moved the swords where I thought they would be and they were there. It was the most amazing thing that I have ever experienced in my entire life. Finally the droid beeped as it finished its program and I came set again, panting slightly from the effort. I wasn't sweating, you can't sweat on Tatooine the moisture evaporates off your skin too fast, but I was winded in the most exhilarating kind of way.

"That was impressive," Lanaka said from the ramp into the ship.

I extinguished the sabers and returned them to my belt, before I turned to face her and removed the blindfold. "Thank you," I told her not really trusting myself to be more than just polite. She walked out and raised the tray in her hand to give it emphasis.

"I made breakfast." She set the tray on one of the crates that were near me at a neutral angle, one of dozens scattered about the hangar. "I thought you might want some. They're blue but they are eggs."

"This is very kind of you." I walked over to the cup of coffee off the trade had a sip. I took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, "look, Laura I want to apologize..."

The red eyes met mine even though they were faded significantly; almost pink. Perhaps she had been crying as much as I had. "I was a bitch," she declared earnestly. She sighed and looked away before she can work up the courage to meet my gaze again. "You can't know what it's like to live your whole life passed over, ignored, and when you're not ignored there is someone shaming you because you're fat, and ugly, and no one wants you around. Until they want something from you and they are your best friend until they got what they needed or wanted and throw you away like yesterday's newspaper."

"I never treated you..." I started but she angrily cut me off.

"No it's not about you, Ed!" She exclaimed over talking me and her eagerness to get what she had to say out. "Not everything is about you! That was my life! And then this happened to me! I finally got to be Cinderella, and then... You..."

"I suppose you could say that I got the Prince," I said wincing at the analogy, made worse by that perfect Eaton accent I could do nothing to hide. She stared at me for a long moment her mouth moving silently as she tried to make the words come.

"You think this is funny?!" She hissed. I held up my hands to try to plead for my innocence but she spun on her heel and started back to the ship obviously in a rage. I sighed as I watched her depart knowing from experience calling after but only make it worse.

"Return to my cabin and go to stand by," I ordered a little target drone. It obediently flew off while I shook my head and ate the breakfast she brought me. Whatever clarity of thought I had managed from my exercise was long gone now. So I finished with breakfast then I went around the ship to do the pre-flight check stowing the shore power connections as I did so. I was almost as much of a robot as the other droids on the ship as I brought the engines up from standby.

Back in the cockpit in that massively exposed bubble, I eased up on the controls in the Aces and Eights rose to my bidding. I found her to be a responsive, easy craft, somewhere between a sports car and really well-made bus. There were no storm troopers rushing in to the bay to try to stop us and I don't know if that foretold good or ill. I was aware of Darius settling in the copilot's place as I nocked the throttle forward and we swooped out over Anchorhead and turned north out into the Dune Sea. "You seem quite an old hand at this," commented Darius.

I eased the throttle to its maximum atmospheric setting as the Aces and Eights shot north towards her date at Moss Espa. While the Dune Sea rushed under us I made sure of the beacon of the autopilot in the NAV computer before he turned to face him. "I guess I have to be," I told him doing my best to get my emotions in check. "Game time is over."

* To be continued *

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Invasion

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

EXPLICIT CONTENT

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Invasion Covert.jpg

Invasion

E. E. Nalley

I suppose we should all consider ourselves lucky. Humanity had been found 'worthy' of enslavement by the Brutes. Many races, species, as I understood it, had not. Entire solar systems scrubbed clean of life down to the microscopic level. We hadn't gone meekly into the night, but it hadn't mattered for all our skill of war fare, century upon century of honing our ability to kill, the Brutes were as far above us as we were above dogs.

Someone said given a high enough disparity, technology is indistinguishable from magic.

That's how the Brutes were to us; are to us. When we resist, when we try and murder them, they just laugh and compliment us on our spirit. It's what they love about us, they say. That we can so eagerly submit and resist at the same time. Earth was conquered in a week, functionally. Their ships, breathtaking things of beauty, all gold and shining, kilometers long, as if the love child of a tall ship and some fantastic fever dream of a futurist. Space Sailing ships, came down, a fleet of nearly a thousand led by a smiling devil who called himself the King of Earth.

Somehow he took over every radio station, every television, the internet, billboards, all of it and announced he was our new master. He laughed that he understood we would resist and told us whether we resisted or submitted, he would prize us, but there was nothing we could do to stop him.

Everything was tried.

First there were nuclear missiles, launched at the fleet in space, visible to the naked eye as they came for us. For a moment, there were hundreds of new little suns and then we could see we had done nothing to them. The ships settled over over the major cities and we fought with fighters and bombers, tanks, artillery, nothing could stop them. Their soldiers disembarked and with a gesture, a beam of light would fly out and entire tanks and platoons vanished.

Most of the planet was subjugated in a week.

I didn't live anywhere near a big city. My town had put together a militia, quickly expanded some underground storage into an ad hoc base of sorts. Three of the Brutes had been sent to deal with us. We fared no better than the Army's of the world had. We shot but our bullets flared as they impacted the shield around the Brutes. It was terrifying, three meter tall, muscled Olympians they were, glowing as if somehow empowered by the very air. It was like a Greek or Roman statue brought to life, all with the same amused expression on their faces as if our fighting them pleased them.

I watched friends and loved ones vanish into thin air as they pointed and a beam of pure white light vaporized whoever it touched. I flew into a rage like I'd never experienced and when they passed by, I took the rifle I had with it's bayonet and I flung myself at the leader who was now closest to me. I was determined to break through that damned shield and have some blood in vengeance.

The blade struck him between his shoulder blades and the small of his back and with all of my weight, he actually staggered forward. One of the others turned to point at me, but the leader held up a hand as he laughed. “No!” he thundered. “I want this one! It has spirit!”

I kept trying to stab him, and he just smiled down on me and white light blinded me. It was my turn to die. But here I would learn just how cruel our fate would be.

The light was gone and I was in darkness; there was no floor under my feet, the rifle was gone from my hand, all I could remember was his damned smile, and the smell. The pungent, cloying smell of being so close to a Brute. My amazement of not being dead was short lived as something snaked around both wrists and feet forcing me to be spreadeagled. They were soft and fleshy, but their grip was unyielding and nothing I could do would so much as loosen them for a moment.

It was here that I realized their damned rays weren't a weapon, but some kind of teleportation device that rounded us up for them. One of the tentacles touched my face covering my mouth and nose. I tried to turn or pull my face away from it, but couldn't. The need to breathe finally forced my mouth to open and I felt something warm and mildly sweet slide into my mouth over my pallet just as two other tendrils that smelled like honey invaded my nose.

I tried to fight, to bite down, but my mouth was held open at a pleasant, but fully open extension. My head was forced back and the thing slid down my throat. As the panic started, suddenly my lungs were full of air and I could breath normally. I could feel the thing in my throat, but by some miracle it had suppressed my gag reflex.

But this wasn't the end of my humiliation. My clothes were pulled from me without breaking the grip of my bound wrists and ankles. What felt like a mouth enveloped my manhood and began to suckle even as I felt my Urethra opened and something snake down, into my penis. I closed my eyes as the tears of frustrated rage came and the final, ultimate humiliation as something pushed past my sphincter and snaked into my rectum. It was tiny at first, slimy and slick with something that was lubricating my opening, but the tendril got thicker and thicker. It started to hurt, then there was a tingling sensation and I lost complete control of those muscles.

I could feel myself being violated, but my sphincter went completely slack and it felt like I was stretched so far open and so thickly and deeply filled I'd never have control of myself again.

I couldn't resist. I twisted and squirmed but nothing I could do mattered as I was sodomized while a new mouth sucked my scrotum, encasing both of my testicles and the first continued to suckle my phallus. I'm honestly not sure what was worse, that I couldn't resist, or that it felt so amazingly good . The tentacle in my ass began to rub my prostate gland as it took me and I began to shake for a new reason.

Never have I been so ashamed of my self, but the orgasm that followed set my body on fire. I was actually suckling the thing in my mouth and a warm sensation filled my stomach as I was abused this way. I couldn't help myself. The bliss was without comparison, I just wanted to treat this thing in my mouth and throat as a cock and suck it at least half as well as my own penis was being sucked or my anus was being so wonderfully stretched and filled.

I felt my colon filled with warm wetness and my mind could suffer no more of this assault. Every muscle I had was in orgasmic spasm, but I'd long since run out of semen. It was like the filament that had invaded my Urethra had snaked all the way down to both testicles, draining me of sperm and seminal fluids. I had nothing left to ejaculate, but the sensations didn't end. The orgasm was constant now, flowing up and down my spine and my moans around the thing in my mouth went silent as I passed out.

* * *

Entiendewankimanchu, uchuy warmacha?

It was a voice that heralded my return to consciousness. It was a dusky, earthy kind of voice that made me feel sensuous and yet warm and cared for kind of feelings. I was on my side on a cushioned lounge or bed that was tufted in a warm leather. My back was sore and my head was spinning and everything felt wrong. Again, the voice, from above and behind me asked, “Entiendewankimanchu, uchuy warmacha?”

Something touched my temple, it was warm and oddly moist as it pressed into the hollow of my temple and it soothed a raging headache I didn't know I was suffering from until that moment because of how much my back hurt. A long, low moan escaped me, but the room did something to my voice. It was mine, I felt my vocal cords, still recovering from their recent violation vibrate to make it, but it didn't sound right either. A second and third 'something' joined the first around my temple and the ache diminished a bit more and there was a much greater sense of someone near me. “Entiendewayta atiwaqchu,Little One ?”

I realized my head was in someone's lap and suddenly my sense of smell returned and a warm, spicy fragrance, like cinnamon, but sweeter was around me. I made my mouth and jaw work and finally managed to croak out, “Little One?” My throat was raw, but it wasn't pain in the strictest of senses. Sore would come close, but also wasn't quite right. It also had to be the reason my voice sounded so off to me.

The soft, moist somethings on my temple changed their touch slightly. One stayed on my temple while the other two bracketed the bridge of my nose, right beside each eye. “Atiwaqchu, understand me, Little One?”

There was a definite sense I was not alone in my own skull, rather like the feeling of the fleshy tentacle that had invaded my rectum, but it took the budding panic of having my mind read away as if it were something I was holding in my hands and was relieved of. “Just kill me and get it over with,” I moaned, then I was over whelmed with a sensation of pity and warm reassurance.

“Can you understand me, Little One?” the throaty voice asked again. I weakly flailed at whatever was touching my face, but the pads withdrew and a hand with very thin fingers wrapped around my arm and effortlessly forced it to my side. “ Wañuyqa manam qampaq hamuchkanchu, Little One,” the voice scolded me. I felt a sense of resignation from behind and above me, then the fingers left my arm and were on my face again. Do not be afraid, something in my mind told me. You will not be harmed.

I refused to answer and would have drawn myself into a fetal curl if I could move, but I couldn't. “Do not resist and make things difficult for yourself,” the throaty voice scolded me. “Your life will be as pleasant or unpleasant as you cause for yourself.”

“Who are you?” I got my voice to finally say.

The fingers left my face and began to run through my hair. I was still very muddle headed as it seemed like there was more of it than there should be. Enough for the thin hands to gather up and tug on gently as though trying to make my hair longer by pulling it out of my head. Strangely, it was also soothing. “My name is...a flower that you have never seen.” This statement caused a cavalcade of images of flowers to run through my mind until the presence picked a bright red flower in full bloom. “Call me, Rose. I am the Chief Slave of our master and your tutor. Do you understand me?”

“Rose,” I repeated dully. “Are you learning English from my mind?”

The voice seemed pleased with my progress. “No. I am teaching your mind Qallu, or The Tongue. It is the language of our master.”

“Fuck him,” I growled.

“You will,” Rose assured me and a chill went down my spine. “Our Master is very taken with you. Throughout the entire invasion, you came closest to harming him.”

I tried to raise my head, but Rose's grip on my hair wouldn't let me. Rose made an odd noise as she read my mind which some new knowledge labeled laughter as I imagined killing the golden bastard I had tried to bayonet. “It is one thing to show spirit, it is another to court wrath. It will be far better for you to resign yourself to your fate. As I said, Master is very taken with you. He may even be considering making you his Maman, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Fuck you,” I snarled at her, and she made the laughter noise again.

“If it pleases our Master, perhaps you will. For now, young human, it is my task to teach you the manners you are expected to display as a member of Master's House.” Her hands left my hair and she almost lovingly caressed the side of my face. “Now, remember I will not harm you, and open your eyes.”

A part of me wanted to disobey, just for the perversity of disobeying, but my practical side argued that I'd never escape this torment if I didn't open my eyes to see what my prison looked like. As for Rose, who I was now certain was the presence in my mind, she only laughed the kind of amused chuckle mother's make when they watch children be defiant. Finally, I got enough control over my body to open the eye that was facing up and I saw her face for the first time.

Humans, for the most part, have a deep set revulsion to reptiles.

For myself, I wasn't one that felt disgust or fear looking at snakes or lizards, nor was I one of the smaller number of humans who were fascinated by them and kept them as pets. 'Rose' was some kind of reptile, but almost cartoonish in a way. She had a bulbous head, most of which was taken up by a pair of extremely large eyes that were almost human in a surprisingly comforting way. There was something about her face that announced female, although not in any way I could easily relate. For a face so dominated by her eyes, it was remarkably expressive, and just now it wore 'reassuring' like some kind of meme. “See?” she asked softly. “Things aren't so bad.”

Her skin was a rich, emerald green, nearly the same shade of her eyes, that lightened to a yellow green hue down the front of her neck and chest. She wore a collar of what looked like solid gold and I could see that it had been her frog like hands on my face and arm, with long, thin fingers and bulbous pads on the end of each finger. “If you're going to eat me, have the decency to kill me first,” I managed, but she actually looked smaller than I was, not that I felt like I was in any kind of shape to best her. I could barely breath I was so tired and sore from my previous experience.

“No one is going to eat you,” she assured me and she actually rolled her eyes as she said it in a very human gesture of exasperation. “In fact, you should probably eat. Are you hungry?”

“No,” I croaked, tried to clear my throat and demanded, “What will happen to me?” I had been ignoring how off my voice sounded, because of the soreness in my throat, but now, I couldn't look past it. It was a sultry, contralto as the music majors used to say in College. It was very pleasant to listen to, but it wasn't my natural voice. “What's wrong with my voice?” I added when her answer to my other question wasn't forth coming.

“There is nothing wrong with your voice,” she corrected me. “Like the rest of you, it has been healed and corrected to our Master's tastes.”

The previous chill down my spine was nothingcompared to the ocean liner sinking sized iceberg that ran the entire length of it now. I had no strength, as I've mentioned, but through shear force of will I commanded my trembling arms to push me out of her lap into an upright seated position. I was in a pillared chamber of rose marble, close to the size of a baseball in field. There was a massive, double door in a Gothic arch on one wall that was shut. Clockwise from it was a colonnade with white gossamer curtains fluttering in the breeze that opened out onto a courtyard filled with shady trees I didn't recognize and the gurgle of some water feature.

We sat on a lounge that was big enough to serve as a bed in the center of a room that had been decorated by someone who had read all the naughty bits of A Thousand and One Arabian Nights and was presenting their take on what a harem must look like. The other wall from the court yard was dominated by a bed that would make a California king bed blush not done in red, but greens for pillows, coverlet and bedclothes. Between it and the lounge was bath or tub of marble that matched the rest of the room that steamed rising off the water.

I turned to look a Rose to find the rest of her body as lithe and reptilian as her head had been. She sat, curved and sensuous in a way a human could not and a tail flowed down from her hips to hang near her feet. She wore a sarong of purple gauze around her hips that was transparent and I could see the petals of her opening through it. Gold bands bound each wrist and ankle, and an impossibly delicate chain, also in gold, hung around her waist.

My eyes turned down to see a pair of breasts hanging from my torso, both nipples pierced with a delicate silver chain hanging between them. A matching chain encircled my waist and below that, was a soft mound of reddish hair between my legs, with no sign of either my recently over worked penis or testicles. Around my right leg was a silver band without hinge or seam with no clue how it had been applied to my ankle. “You've turned out quite lovely,” Rose declared from next to me. “For a mammal.”

The room spun and I fell back onto the lounge and knew nothing else.

* * *

In my dreams, I threw myself at the Brute, the nameless Bastard who was conquering our world, intent on the simple pleasure of stabbing him to death. At the last moment he caught hold of the rifle and relieved me of it, snapping it between his fingers like I might a toothpick. Suddenly I was nude and his rough hands had hold of my manhood and they were ripped from my body slowly, like pulling off a scab but infinitely more painful. I screamed myself horse and he laughed as he emasculated me.

* * *

I awoke with a start from the strong odor of a clothe that Rose was holding next to my nose, her finger on my other temple now as the memory of the nightmare was soothed away by whatever power she had over my emotional states. It wasn't a chemical or medicinal smell, like ammonium carbonate, this was natural, musky and colored, if that was the right word, with the cinnamon spice smell I was coming to associate with Rose. It gave me a feeling of strength or, even power, rather like those first few moments as alcohol goes to your head and your self doubt is muzzled, but well before the fog of drunk sets in.

My body was much more responsive to my will and I sat up, instinctively went to cover myself which was a significant mistake. My arm brushed the piercings on my breasts and the intense burst of sensation, soreness, pain and a deep, primal arousal, took my breath for a moment. When I could speak, I asked, “May I please have clothing?”

Rose's smile was consoling. “Your species is not used to nudity, is it?”

“It's a deep taboo for us,” I replied, ashamed of everything that had happened to me. She held out her hand, flat as if offering something and a bundle appeared out of nothing into it. I took the bundle, it was a rich, hunter green and the fabric was as delicate as everything else in the room. I found it to be a sarong, like hers, that hung from a silver belt with a harp or lyre detail on the buckle.

It was also as transparent as her purple fabric.

The anguish threatened to over whelm me and my voice was trembling as I asked, “May I have something opaque?And to cover my...chest...?”

“No,” she told me sadly and I think she genuinely meant her condolence. “Our Master is a connoisseur of the female form in all it's guises and so we are to be on display at all times.”

My eyes sought hers and I demanded, “How can you sit there and not only accept this outrage, but actively take part in it!”

Rose's expressive face showed anger that was tightly controlled. “Because I have accepted there is nothing that you, or I or anyone else can do to alter our situation. Our Master cannot be resisted, and so I accept what I cannot change. You would be well advised to do the same. Whether you enjoy your time here, with him or not is entirely in your own hands.”

The rage that led me to bayonet him flared and I shot to my feet, flinging the sarong onto the lounge. “Lie back and enjoy being raped?” I shouted at her.

“Enjoy it, or not, as you please,” she replied primly. “I will do as I was commanded so I will give you fair and straight forward training. Our Master is not vicious or cruel but he will be obeyed.”

“How was this done to me?” I shouted as I grabbed her arms, proving that my previous thought of her was right, I was significantly taller than she was. “Why?” Faster than I thought she could move, she raised her hand that had the cloth in it and covered my face. The smell wormed it's way into my brain , I released her and grabbed at the cloth so it couldn't be taken from me. I held it to my face, even as my knees buckled and I began to fall. She half caught, half guided my fall to the lounge as I breathed deeply through the cloth.

The pad of one of her fingers opened me in a way I'd never been opened before and slid up and pressed down. White hot pleasure exploded from her touch as I trembled and shook as my nose and groin fought over who would talk to my brain. As my stomach convulsed, under her touch, my hands fell by my sides, leaving the cloth on my face. I lost all track of time as she did this to me, reduced and helpless more than any beating could have done.

Finally, her finger left my drooling vulva and she took the cloth from my face. I weakly tried to get my arms to resist having the cloth taken, but I couldn't get them off the lounge. Rose loomed up in my vision, a smile on her face, as she sucked her finger clean. She held the cloth to her own face and a pair of nostrils I hadn't noticed before opened and she inhaled deeply. Her entire body trembled for a moment, then she opened her eyes and gave me a stern look. “Now, you begin to understand, I think. Rest, and while you recover, I'll have food brought.”

I panted after my breath in a post orgasmic haze. It was very difficult to think, but I found I could focus if I turned my thoughts to whatever had been in the cloth. I wondered what could have made that wonderful, wonderful smell. I tried to discern if I was high, suffering under some narcotic, but it didn't feel that way to me, if that makes sense. And yet it was now apparent whatever was in the cloth affected Rose exactly as it had me. Was it how we were controlled? Some chemical in it, and yet that didn't seem right either. What I experienced seemed to be pure dopamine produced by my own body because of the orgasm Rose had fingered me to.

When I had been male, even the slightest trace of homosexuality had been taboo, shied away from and suppressed, but now, as a woman it didn't bother me nearly as much that another female had so intimately touched me. Let alone the concept of different species.

With great force of will, I turned my head and looked out into the garden. Twilight had fallen and there were only the soft noises of crickets from outside. The air coming off the courtyard was cool and as it whispered across my skin, it made my nipples stand up erect which sent another jolt through my already over worked nervous system and within me, deep down stirred the smallest little feeling of becoming aroused again.

During my misspent youth and teenage years, I could hardly think straight for the bombardment of hormones of puberty and the frequent arousal that was so hard to deal with. That was nothing compared to what I was experiencing now. Being a woman was like living in a constant battle to maintain focus and rationality over a desperate need to be sexual. I wondered if that was how a normal woman felt, or yet another 'taste' of our master I'd been 'Corrected' to.

Rose returned with a silver tray that held jug, a pair of wine glasses and a single plate piled with little morsels of bite sized food. There were pieces of meat that steamed along with sliced apples, figs, dates and other fruits I had no name for. She poured the wine from the jug and handed me the first glass, then filled her own. “Eat your fill,” she offered as she picked up a little cube of what looked like rare beef steak and popped it into her mouth. Licking her bulbous fingers, she declared, “The meat of your world is so succulent! I will enjoy living here.”

The wine washed across my tongue, a strong, yet sweet and fruity red that I felt like I could taste with every surface of my mouth. “Is that why they've come here?” I asked her. “Our meat?”

She gave a very human dismissive gesture as she tasted her own cup. “We have come here because conquest is what our Master does. Were every planet barren of any thing of value, save your species to be conquered, they would have still come. It is what they do.”

“Did your people fight them?” my curiosity demanded I ask her. She sighed and looked at the wine in her cup.

“My people were more advanced that yours,” she told me. “We had colonies throughout our system and even faster than light travel between several of the stars near our own when the Masters found us. I was a soldier, and male, once too. My people fought for a century, but...” she trailed off and spread her arms to indicate her situation.

I reached over and took up a little morsel of chicken by its smell and ate it. “Conquest just to conquer? That seems inconceivably wasteful, given the distances.”

She shrugged again. “When Master took me, he was just a common soldier. Conquest is how they advance in their society. In my time, he rose to sergeant, then Lieutenant. In the Conquest of Earth he has been Knighted and is now Captain Sir Amar. Though, we greet him as 'Master' or 'My Lord'. You and I may address him as 'Sir' as we are favored.”

“If you are Chief Slave,” I asked, dreading the answer, “what am I?”

Those green eyes looked up at me and I wasn't sure if I saw pity or envy in them. “My people are one of the few the Masters cannot breed with. You are his Concubine, and if you please him and he truly favors you, his Maman. ”

I felt something deep inside me. I wanted to say it was disgust, but somehow I don't think that would be honest. “The mother of his children?” I guessed, but she only smiled and shook her head.

“He will have children by you,” she told me in a matter of fact tone. “The tests show your species is compatible with their sperm. Their seed is remarkably potent and adaptable. Children is a given. You fought him, nearly wounded him. They prize that spirit. No, if you are made his Maman, your children shall be recognized as legitimate and raised as Masters, not slaves.”

It is an exceeding curious feeling to be told you will be having children with someone and that if you're very lucky they won't be treated as slaves. I put my wine glass on the tray. “I already hate the bastard, you don't need to keep giving me reasons to loathe him.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” she warned me. “You've tasted The Kiss. You already know how you'll act when you see him next.”

“The Kiss?” I demanded, feeling certain I'd just learned something important, but from the expression on Roses' face it was clear she regarded me as a slow learner. “There's something in that cloth, isn't there? That's how they control us?”

She rolled her eyes and drank her wine. “The only thing in that cloth was the smell of him,” she told me primly. “And that was a dull taste of it. When he is here, you will do anything to please him. They don't control us; it is we who want to be controlled.”

I stood and picked up the sarong from where I'd thrown it and buckled it on. It wasn't much, but it was ever so slightly better than being completely nude save the jewelry. It hugged my form exactly as though it had been made to my measure and the gain of a single pound would disallow it fitting me. As a man, I'd never been fond of close clothing. Yet, somehow, this didn't bother me as much it otherwise might. It fell to my ankles down one leg, then back up the other to the buckle, leaving that leg completely exposed. The fabric covered my groin, but only just and the manufacture was so exact, it literally would only close one way so I could not cause more of the fabric to cover myself. “What I want is to be away from this place before I'm raped,” I growled at her. “Will you help me or not?”

She sighed as if thoroughly exasperated with me. “To what end?” she demanded, picking up a morsel and eating it. “Your entire world has been conquered. There is no where you can go to escape or hide from them, and they all can see his mark on you.”

Around my ankle, the silver cuff glowed and a complicated glyph appeared like the Black Speech of Mordor for a moment. “How do I get this damned thing off then?”

“You can't!” she yelled at me, raising her voice for the first time. “Listen, and understand! They have the ability to alter matter and energy at whim! He caused this to form around your ankle and nothing short of cutting off your leg will remove it!”

My jaw fell open in disbelief. “If they have that kind of power, why waste their time in conquest?” I demanded, at the very edge of hysteria. But Rose only frowned at me.

“Because they enjoy it.”

* * *

It was full night now, not just early evening as I walked through the court yard garden off the room I'd awakened in. The crickets and other animals serenaded me with soft calls and the grass under my bare feet felt like a thick, luxurious carpet. Over head, the stars shone brightly, but now it was a cold, dangerous sky for the sharks of the Milky Way had found us. Rose had conjured up a full body mirror at my request and I honestly gawked at the beautiful woman I saw in it. Hers was an unearthly beauty, with full bust and hips, the kind of rarely achievable, iconic beauty of a statue come to life. I could see the ghost of my old face in hers, but hers had no freckles despite the perfectly alabaster skin of a red head, full, perfect teeth to make her smile shine and my own blue green eyes looking out from under a luxurious mane of scarlet tresses that fell halfway down her back.

She was regal when she held her self erect, haughty despite being all but technically nude and when Rose had just lightly waved that damned clothe under my nose, the woman in the mirror became the most insatiable whore that every man dreams of but secretly knows only very special men have the ability to satisfy.

I admit, I was afraid of this woman in the mirror. Afraid of her appetites and desires, afraid of losing myself in her, so I walked out into the courtyard, wishing I had some kind of shirt as the cool on the air made my nipples painfully erect. Each step rattled the chain even slightly which tugged on the engorged nipples and the fire below got a little hotter.

Rose had asked me what I wanted to be called and I'd petulantly told her my old name. She teased me with the cloth and I fell to my knees, panting, desperate and she commanded me to come up with a name he would like.

In fairness, I had no idea what the monster who had invaded my world liked, and I told her so. Then she patiently explained his interest in botany of the worlds he had helped conquer. I'd told her 'Nutmeg' as I did like the spice and the pun of it being a hard nut to crack I thought suitably defiant, though her ability to read my mind showed her that under the shell was a warm, sweet spice, greatly desired and so she had accepted the name and shortened it to simply 'Meg.'

So, it could be said, Meg walked the garden and while she wanted to weep for her world, her people the damned chain between her breasts keep sadness from her thoughts. It was a magnificent garden, even in the pale light of the moon, the flowers closed for the night it was stately and manicured, like something from a French palace.

“What a perfect image,” someone declared behind me. “Meg in the moonlight garden.” It was a male someone and dread filled every part of my breast. The shear masculinity of the voice terrified me, it was a voice of life and death. “Do not be afraid, Warmacha,I won't hurt you.”

“Is that apology for the hurt you have already done?” I asked softly, wondering why I hadn't lost my mind. Rose told me he would be coming and it seemed my sanctuary in the garden was at an end.

The voice was in good humor. “Your people fought well,” he complimented me. “Despite all odds they clung to the bitter last. There is nothing dishonorable in such a defeat.”

“I am told your people have the ability to alter matter and energy at will,” I told the fig tree I was looking at. “Yet you waste time and energy on brute conquest.” I stood erect and steeled myself as I turned to face him. “Why?”

I remembered him being taller, or, perhaps I was now. The top of my head would come to his shoulder, so he still loomed over me, but not the untouchable giant I'd tried to stab. He was every bit the statue perfection the body I had become had. Every muscle perfectly formed and bulging under bronze skin and a flowing mop of sandy hair. His face was too human to be human if that makes any kind of sense, with a jaw so sharply defined it could only be called chiseled. He was dressed in a kind of belted tunic that only went over his left shoulder, leaving the right nude to display his manly chest and arms and the bottom of it only came to his knees. He gestured, and a bench appeared next to him that he sank onto with all the regality of a throne. “Because you were here,” he replied matter of factually. “Conflict is the natural state of the cosmos, but my Warmacha, I did not come here to mince politics with you. Come, attend me.”

Despite myself, I walked over to him. Here I could see his hair was wet, as if he'd just come from a bath, which might explain why my response to him was so muted. “Will Sir be pleased to rape me, now?”

A slow grin bloomed on his face. “Rose said you had spirit. I am pleased. My Chief Slave informs me you chose to be called Meg?”

“Yes...sir...” I replied, unsure of how I truly wanted to feel about this creature.

“Meg, I am Amar. Captain of the Night Wings Company, Knight of Montana, and you are my bound concubine.”

“I was informed that was my fate,” I told him. “After I was abused in every way a person can be by some tentacled horror.”

He smiled his movie star smile. “The Hampiq can be disquieting the first time. Still, you should certainly be pleased with the results. I am.”

My hand clinched into a fist. “Perhaps Sir would enlighten me why so advanced a people should keep slaves? My people have learned the evil of it and abolished it.”

His eyebrows ascended his forehead. “Have you? So you all live independently on subsistence farms?” My cheeks burned at his condescension. “No? Then perhaps your world is a collection of farmers and sole proprietor tradesmen then? Again, no? The vast majority of you spend your life in toil to a hand full of oligarchs who owned staggering amounts of wealth at what are essentially technological plantations. Ah, of course, you call it wage slavery,and think that a pittance of salary does not make you dependent on these corporate masters. You are not as free as you imagine yourself, my dear. Freedom is dangerous and unpredictable. What you crave is comfortable slavery. Easy tasks, light chains and the security of knowing your needs will be met. Well, we have given you that.”

I could think of nothing to say that would be truthful and still not run the risk of enraging this bastard, so I kept my mouth closed. He looked at me sidelong, as if reading my mind. “We are all slaves, Meg. You are my slave, like many others of your people, and people of previous worlds I have helped conquer. I am a vassal to the Duke of the Mid West, which is just another name for a slave. The Duke is the slave of the Prince of North America and the Prince the slave to the King of Earth. Even the King owes fealty to our Emperor. So, we better our station through conquest. I came here, and was rewarded with a knighthood, lands and you. Your station has improved from whatever drudgery you were doing to become my concubine, so both of us are better off.”

“Does Sir truly think being raped by a Knight is preferable to the common variety?”

I expected to get slapped for that, to be honest, but to my immense shock and surprise, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he mastered himself again he grinned, grinned at me like I'd told the funniest joke he'd ever heard and shook his finger at me. “I will not rape you, my Warmacha. When my seed enters you, it will because you have given yourself to me. The Kiss will be your reward for that decision, but as you give birth to every child I sire on you, you will know you choose and submitted yourself to me.”

He stood from the ad hoc throne he'd made and smiled at me. “You have the freedom of my house. So long as you act honorably that is how you will be treated. You will assist Rose in her duties in the mean time. Sleep well, Meg.”

“It doesn't bother you that I will devote myself to finding some way to kill you?” I demanded as I glared up into his face.

“I would have you no other way!” he chortled. “It will make watching you climax on my phallus that much sweeter to know I conquered everything about you from your hatred to your very soul.” He reached out and took hold of my chin and made me look him in the face. “What a perfect vessel I've found for my seed. Yes, I am definitely looking forward to it.” Then he winked at me for good measure and strode confidently in doors and the little scent of his hand on my chin had my womanhood burning with desire and frustrated lust.

God Damn Him.

* * *

He had his revenge in my dreams. All through the night he sat as I begged for him, debasing myself as he watched me cool, aloof and unmoved by my needs or desires. He would just smile as I begged him to fling me to the ground and have his way. By the time the dawn came to peek through the curtains over the courtyard, I was a nervous wreck. I set my fingers to work to touch myself and my other thumb hooked around the chain on my breasts until I had it out to it's fullest extent.

It wasn't that I couldn't cum, that would be too easy.

Within seconds of my fingers finding my clitoris and gently spreading my ample fluids to it so it was well lubricated my stomach was already trembling in my first climax. Soon the spasms were up and down both legs and my nipples fully swollen around their piercings as I held the chain at it's length. My vagina, and my mind still shies from the word, was grasping at the empty air, my juices soaking my fingers as I moaned and thrashed. I'd had dozens of orgasms, and not one had satisfied me.

Not one gave me the relief, until, desperate, I imagined him on top of me, my space stretched to it's limit the head of his enormous cock driving under my navel that a final spasm locked up my whole body. I could not move as I imagined him claiming and finally, when the spasm passed, I collapsed, breathless on the bed, unable to move as I imagined him standing before me, massive member slick with my secretions and swaying between his knees and I heard myself moan, “Master...”

I lay, panting, ashamed and confused at what I had imagined, until the door opened, and Rose slinked into the room with a hip gyration that would make a noir femme fatalejealous. “Pleasant dreams?” she cooed at me and I only just had the strength to flip her the bird. “You're only making it harder on yourself,” she scolded me, then extended a hand and helped me up.

“I'm sorry about the bed,” I found the strength to mutter. From here, the wet spot of my imagination was impressively large.

Rose was unconcerned. “It's normal,” she assured me as a gesture summoned a clean sarong for me that seemed identical to my previous one. Another gesture and the bed had been remade with fresh linens and coverlets. “Come, he wants me to bathe you.” She didn't lead me to the tub in the center of the room, but towards the door and I stopped.

“I'm not going out there like this...!” I protested.

She only looked at me sidelong. “I am the Chief Slave of this house and this is my attire. Do you think you'll be any different from any other slave in this house?” I lowered my eyes and meekly got in step behind her.

The door opened to a grand hallway that ran parallel to one of the walls of the courtyard. At the end it joined a larger room that was evidently some kind of bath complex of the house. There were other slaves here and it was here that I got my first real shock of my situation. My memory of Amar from our base wasn't wrong, he had been something like three meters tall because here were other humans, people I'd known and so their heights were also familiar to me. I was taller than all of them and based on how my height compared to Amar's I realized I was over seven feet tall now.

The humans all stepped aside as we passed, eyes down, heads bowed. Had our resistance been crushed this easily? Over night people I'd sworn to die fighting beside were behaving like meek little servants, content with their lot. Having seen one or two I recognized but who obviously didn't recognize me, I began to look closer and found many other members of our ad hock militia. There was Mrs Grant who now looked like she'd dropped fifty pounds and a hundred thousand dollars on cosmetic surgery. I almost hadn't recognized her, she looked thirty years younger, her skin was tight over an athletic body that suggested she had earned those gymnastics trophies in the High School, but the Chinese dragon tattoo that curled around her left arm was unmistakable. There was a chain around her right ankle, a slight, delicate thing that was more jewelry than bondage and she even had her wedding set on her left hand.

She was otherwise nude, head bowed from where she had been folding towels for the bath. In fact, there wasn't a soul in the room who was over weight or looked older than twenty five or so.

Rose sharply clapped her hands, making a louder report than I would thought she could and the heads rose to look at her. No one dared to look at me. “Everyone! You are released to breakfast. You may take your time with it as I have work to do here. You will be notified when you may return. Dismissed.”

As one, the humans bowed and filed out. When we were alone, and the doors closed, I dared to raise my head to take in this Roman bath in miniature. To the sides left and right by the door were little dead end hallways with multiple shower heads lining the north and south walls, but no dividers for any kind of privacy. In the center of the room was a steaming pool that had to be Olympic sized. It was rectangular and around it were chairs and massage tables, some in human scale, some in other scales I didn't understand. At the far wall was a little dais with a pair of chairs that were large enough for Brutes and behind them, a massage table in the same scale.

Rose walked deeper into the room, beckoning me to follow her. She indicated the right of the two Brute chairs and I sank into it. A shudder passed through me when I realized it fit me like a glove. “He turned me into one of them?” I demanded as Rose returned from fetching a pail from some alcove I hadn't noticed.

“No,” she told me as she walked by towards the pool. “You were already one of them.” She dunked the pail into the steaming pool and returned with it. “How else do you think you can breed with them? Their DNA was seeded all over this region of the galaxy. Even I have some of it, but nothing close to yours. We discovered that towards the end of our resistance. Sir Amar choose to have yours express fully so that you are a better physical match to him. That is what the Hampiq did.”

She sighed and looked at me with a sad expression. “Please forgive me for what I am about to do.”

“What are you...” I started, but there were suddenly bands about my wrists and they wouldn't let me raise my hands off the chair. “Rose...?”

“I warned you that you were making things hard for yourself,” she told me with great sadness. “Usually this is reserved for the worst of transgressions before death becomes the punishment, but you demanded it, and he has ordered it. I'm so sorry.”

“What are you going to do?” I demanded. She took a ring off one of her fingers I hadn't noticed she was wearing and brought it towards my face. The ring opened of its own accord and the cinnamon smell of her skin was in my nose, then came a sharp prick and a little flash of heat and my sense of smell vanished. She withdrew her hand and looked down, ashamed of herself, and there was a new weight on the end of my nose. “What did you do?” I shouted and she just flinched.

Suddenly there was a mirror in her hand and she held it up so I could see my face. The most delicate little silver ring ran through my nose, just at the bottom of the nostrils and laid against the very base of my nose. There was no blood as evidently the heat I had felt was the cauterization of my septril. “You brought this on yourself,” she whispered. “I hate denying the Kiss to anyone! Especially someone who has experienced it as deeply as you have!”

I blinked, almost not believing what I was hearing. “You...you freed me? ” I whispered.

“Free?” she asked, her eyes finally rising to mine. “No, Meg. That isn't freedom. You are immune to the Kiss now. He said he promised you that you would choose him of your own volition and commanded me to do this. I'm so sorry.”

“What is it?” I demanded. “Some chemical cologne they wear?”

Rose reached down to unbuckle my sarong and it vanished as she did so, then she went into the bucket and came up with a sponge that she began to gently soak my skin with. “It's not artificial,” she whispered as if someone might hear, even though the room was empty. “It's a pheromone their bodies make naturally in their sweat glands. We nearly lost an entire research laboratory when we tried to dissect one of them to discover what their secret was.”

I turned my head to whisper into the little opening on the side of her head I took for her ear. “This is how we can fight them!” She shook her head sharply and looked me in the eye.

“Still you don't understand,” she languished. “No one here will help you harm him. No one, understand that! You've been in the air with one of them, you've smelled him. He owns you! This isn't freedom, it's the worst punishment we have short of death! I have been his slave for three hundred years and I've only had to administer this punishment twice. And those punished never disobeyed again! Soon you will beg me to smell him and I can't allow it! It's his command, only he can remove the ring now and only when you give yourself to him.”

Now that my body was wet, she put on some kind of glove that gave her hands more surface area and poured some kind of liquid soap that she worked into massive foam of lather and began to rub it all over me. My mind was reeling from what she said and I realized that there was a certain...spice...I'd only just been aware of in the air that was gone now. My head was clearing and I was just starting to turn my thoughts to vengeance when the mitt she was wearing came to my breast.

Instantly, every thought that was not sexual in nature left my brain. She was just gently rubbing soap on my breast, but it was the most erotic moment of my life, then she rubbed across my nipple and it's chain and my entire body locked up as though I had been struck by a taser. Lightening flashed between my nipples to my groin and back, my neck could no longer support my head, and it lolled back as a low long moan of ecstasy came out of me. How do women live like this? I thought to myself, then she bathed the other breast and I came again, jerking and shaking with pleasure, but, like before in my dreams, it didn't satisfy. Her washing my belly was like hovering on the edge of climax for what seemed like hours. “Touch me,” I moaned at her and, obediently, she arched the sponge into my groin.

The back of my soul arched and seemed to float out and above my body as the orgasm consumed me, every muscle, every nerve, but I was empty. So terribly, terribly hollow and instantly my thoughts turned to him, smiling over me, guiding his massive penis into me, filling me to my limits and the orgasm somehow became better.

And yet, as I thrashed, helpless, wanton, the more orgasms I had, the easier they were to have. Now it didn't matter where she touched me; my knees, the soles of my feet, my arm pit, I was just a shivering, insatiable whore, desperate for her man and then, like a white hot iron in my brain I realized why this was a punishment. I could sit here and climax for a year and it would never be better than the feel and smell of him planting his seed into me. I was as addicted as a drug addict, trapped by my own body.

The tears came then, and I wept, tormented, orgasmic and denied. In my ear, I heard Rose apologize again as she keep touching me, trying through orgasm to give me what solace she could.

All my life I'd heard there is a fine line between love and hate.

Now I understood what they had meant. I loathed him. I burned with a hatred the likes of which had spawned every human atrocity in history and still nothing I could do to maim and murder him would reduce one tiddle or jot the fact that I was addicted to him, like it or not. That he stood in the center of all that hate, and I loved him.

God Damn Him.

* * *

After what felt like days, Rose gently let me down from the orgasmic frustration. I sat in the chair and panted, utterly spent and yet also completely aroused and ready to go at the mere whisper of a command. Whatever magic was holding my arms to the chair released me and the bands disappeared from my wrists as they slid off the rests into my lap. Rose stood before me and held out her hands. “Come,” she commanded softly. “I'll help you into the bath. It will help.”

I looked up her, unable to raise my arms, barely able to raise my eyes. “I didn't understand,” I whimpered, feeling so ashamed of myself.

“I did tell him that,” she told me as she reached down and took my hands. “I am allowed to plead your case to him tonight, though I warn you he rarely goes back on his word. It may be that the price to feel the Kiss again will be giving in to him. And that's not such a bad thing,” she was quick to add as she got me to my feet and one arm over her shoulders as she helped me towards the pool. “They can be very noble, and even merciful. The real casualties of your world were quite small. Only a few hundred.”

Despite my listless addiction, some part of me flared the outrage anew at my predicament. “I should be thankful my entire species was gently conquered and enslaved? ” She sat me down on the edge of the pool, then straddled my hips to take my face in her thin, padded fingers.

“Would you prefer to have been hunted to the edge of extinction?” she demanded, her odd salamander like face inches from my own. “That's what befell my people. Entire solar systems wiped out. They could not breed with us and we resisted so hard it was easier to be harsh! Only a few thousand of my people are left, keep as curiosities or from mercy like Sir Amar! I am alive because of his mercy!”

“They murder you to the very brink and you still defend him?” I asked her.

Her face became sad and angry all at once. “Don't make me,” she pleaded with me.

“Don't make you what?”

Suddenly the cloth was in her hand and I have never in my entire life wanted something as badly as that cloth. To smell him again, to feel that amazing love and fullness. To be satisfied. I grabbed it from her hand and pressed it to my face, but no matter how deeply I inhaled, I smelled nothing. “He ordered me,” she whispered, on the edge of tears. “That if you still resisted after...” and the pad of her finger touched the nose ring. “That I could turn off the Denier and give you another taste. But it won't last, and I can't remove it. Only he can.”

“Yes!” I swore at once, the listlessness gone at the prospect of getting to feel that again. “Let me, please!”

“It will be so much worse the second time without,” she whispered. She took the cloth and held it before me, her eyes sad. “I don't want to make you go through that.”

I panted, panted like a beast as my eyes flicked to the cloth and her face and back. I wanted to smell him so badly. And yet, something about the way she said it gave me pause and the tiny part of my brain that wasn't drowning in dopamine or addiction realized she was right. If I gave in, if I allowed myself to feed the addiction, I could never really be said to have a will of my own after. It would just be the need to have the pheromone. I licked a dry tongue over dry lips. “Get rid of it,” I commanded softly but evidently her hearing was quite keen.

The cloth vanished into the nothingness it had come from. She held her hand to her nose and inhaled, her eyes closing in ecstasy. She relaxed into my embrace and I held her as she trembled softly in my arms. Her skin was remarkably smooth and soft and I was very much enjoying the feeling of it against mine. I felt the flame in me start to flicker again, but I was so tired my anger was able to clamp down on it and hold the little alien until she could collect herself. “Don't hate me,” she whispered in my ear. “I am doing all I can for you and your people.”

I reached down and unbuckled her sarong and put it beside me as I eased both of us into the pool. The water was wonderfully hot and she trembled in my arms and I wondered if she was warm blooded or not. I found the pool came up to my arm pits which let me lay one arm on the lip of the pool while the other held her. An idea came to me, as sweaty as I was from my previous orgasmic convulsions that I was actually drenched in sweat. I raised my free arm and used it to twist her face into my arm pit.

It was a gamble, I knew, a terrible risk, but if I was right...

I felt her draw in a breath and instantly she relaxed, rubbing her face into my arm pit, mewing softly as my guess had been proven correct. If I was one of them, then it was only natural my body would produce the same pheromones. Perhaps not in the strength or potency of his, but generally with biology the goose had a reply to everything from the gander.

I lovingly cradled her head, almost as if she was suckling as her nostrils flared and she trembled with each inhale. Then I leaned my head down to whisper into her ear opening, “I am going to over throw him,” I whispered and one of her eyes fluttered open in panic. “I won't harm him,” I assured her. “But I mean to rule him, and you are going to help me, Rose.” Her nostrils flared again and she trembled.

“Yes...mistress,” she panted softly.

I grinned an admittedly evil grin while I rewarded her with my scent. Turnabout is fair play. And everyone even remotely into BDSM knows, bottoms make the best tops. And this way, I could have my cake, and eat it too. After a long while of just holding her like this, she laid her head on my breast and one of her eyes lazily opened. “Please, mistress, please don't hurt him.”

I smiled at her and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Don't fret,” I soothed her. “He will live and I will bear his children.” Except, I'll be sure they're raised to be my children,I added silently to myself. “We're just going to help him see what he's doing is wrong,” I whispered. “We're going to fix him.” I let my voice become stern. “And you will not breath a word of this to him.”

“Never, mistress,” she promised me. “May I finish bathing you?”

“You want to get up so soon?” I teased her.

She mustered the strength to raise her head and smile at me. “I want to show you how much I care.” I released her from my arms and, eagerly, she snaked through the water like a serpent to a place, half way down the side of the pool and pulled herself out and gestured for me to join her. There was something sensuous about the way she moved that captivated me, even if she was an alien and a reptile.

I joined her to find there was a sink in the side of the pool here, with a head rest and a shower wand. I laid my head in it and she quickly wet my wild mane and began to wash it for me. My breasts pulled me up in the water and made floating easier, so I closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of my hair being washed and began to plan how I would attack this new problem. I was an addict, and knowing that, knowing I would have to partake in the substance I was addicted to, I hoped would give me an edge so that I could enjoy the Kiss, without losing myself in it.

Everything depended on making Captain Sir Amar as addicted to me as I was to him. And once I had my hook deepinto him, then it would be a literal whisper campaign. A gentle nudging of his views until, before he could ever realize it, I had changed his mind. It wouldn't be easy, I remembered how easy it was to be lost in the Kiss. But this moment of cold turkey denial was actually the best thing to happen to me. It allowed me the rationality formulate my evil scheme. “Rose, can Sir Amar have more than one Maman?”

“Yes, mistress, but it is frowned on,” she admitted. “A Mamanis meant to be a deliberate choice. To take another, or demote one is something of a mark of shame amongst them. It shows poor judgment.”

I smiled my evil grin again. “Perfect.”

* * *

From the bath, I returned to the room I'd awoken in with it's garden. Rose conjured us a breakfast of fruit and breads I didn't recognize. There was apple juice and, thankfully, coffee as we broke our fast together again of the little bite sized pieces that seemed to be how meals were served by these strange invaders. My thoughts went back to seeing Mrs Grant and I asked Rose, “How much time has passed since Sir Amar attacked Havre?”

“Four months, mistress,” she replied quickly, licking the juice of the fruit she'd eaten off her fingers. “Give or take a day.”

“I was in a coma for four months?”

“Yes,” she replied as if it wasn't a matter of concern. “Changes as drastic as yours require longer periods in the Hampiq, but nothing occurred that was a cause for alarm. Mostly it was a time of administrative tasks, dividing booty to Sir Amar's Night Wings Company.”

Somehow, I found the patience to get a hold of my temper to hear about my family, friends and fellow townsfolk being 'booty' and divided out as payment. “Was a record kept of families that were broken up?” I managed.

She looked at me sidelong. “That isn't allowed. Families are respected and kept as a single unit.”

“One less thing to concern myself with,” I managed around a sigh. “What can you teach me about what I am expected to do besides bear children as Sir Amar's Maman?”She looked at me and her large eyes blinked in confusion.

“Nothing, mistress. The Maman is solely concerned with the birth and raising of her lords children,” she told me and in that moment, a plan, fully formed dropped into my lap and I knew I had him.

My grin obviously was making her concerned, so I reached out and stroked the little strip of flesh between her nostrils and her eyes. “Not to worry my beautiful Rose. Your Mistress has things well in hand. I want you to create me a garment, it can be transparent so you aren't breaking his rules, but I want it to hang over my left shoulder and stop just below my breasts in front and down past my ass in back.”

“Why?” she asked, confused.

“A wise pornographer once said, 'It's not about what you show, it's about what you cover up.' With it, I want a pair of sandals with just a bit of a heel and stockings that come up to here on my thigh and will stay up by themselves.”

“I...alright, mistress.”

“Then when you have all that to me, I want an appointment to speak with my lord Sir Amar. If he asks, tell him I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse. That should peak his interest. And your word, my emerald Rose, not a word of our plans.” She held up her hand as if swearing an oath and I caressed her face. “Off you go. And hurry back.”

“At once, mistress!”

* * *

Rose came through in fine fashion. I looked at myself in the mirror wearing this diaphanous emerald silk that whispered over my skin and just the feeling of these wondrous fabrics would be arousing, but looking at me in the mirror, in this outfit that would be daring by any scale with one leg completely exposed where the chance breeze might reveal my treasure or the bared midriff with a cape behind would set any heart to racing. But the fact that my nipples and their chain and the scarlet tuft of my groin were plainly visible was something beyond sexy. Just looking at myself in the mirror was making me horny. It was perfect.

Then I followed Rose through this palace, for lack of a better word, watching those who had been my fellow humans quickly make way for me as I held my head up high and tried to balance between a sexy walk and loosing my balance. Thankfully, the heels Rose had provided were only an inch or two and I'd probably owned higher in cowboy boots. We arrived at a doorway into a kind of miniature throne room, complete with a dais and a chair that Captain Sir Amar was lounging on.

“Master,” Rose greeted, coming to the center of the room and bowing. “Your lady Meg craves to be admitted to your presence.” He nodded indulgently and without waiting for Rose to come to me, I chose to sweep into the room dramatically. His eyes threatened to leap from their sockets as he caught sight of me, never leaving my form as I came beside Rose and did my best to give a proper curtsy.

A bulge became prominent under his tunic and he actually had to adjust how he sat. “My Chief Slave has informed me you have an offer,” he managed and a little smile tugged at the corner of my lips over the dryness in his voice. “You certainly have my complete attention.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I told him. “My conversations with Rose, our Chief Slave, have given me cause to reconsider our arrangement.” He arched an eyebrow at 'our' and steepled his fingers of both hands together.

“I see. Do I take this to mean you no longer intend to seek my death?”

“You are correct,” I replied as evenly as I could.

He actually chuckled. “Rose will have earned much favor from me then at this welcome news. Tell me, my Warmacha,what ambition has made such a change in your heart, and what is it you want from me?”

“I remembered my Seneca,” I lied to him. “'Where better to influence Caesar's mind? Shouting out side his villa, or whispering in his ear'?” He picked up the wine glass off the table next to his throne and took a sip. “I make no bones about my issues with the Foreign Relations choices of my master's people, but suffering myself will change nothing. You, my lord, can change little as a lowly Knight, but as your history has taught me, stations change.”

His grin was less guarded now. “Go on,” he encouraged.

I took a few steps forward to press my case. “My lord has done well for himself, none can deny that. But I can show my master how he can truly better himself; with my aid. Our Chief Slave informs me a Maman has no duties for her husband other than the birth and care of their children. What a fantastic waste! I desire to be your Maman, but that is not the limit of my offer. First, I wish the authority to run your house to prove myself.”

He pulled at his chin as he considered what I was proposing. “Why? Rose does a fine job. I have no complaints of her service.”

“Nor do I,” I assured him quickly. “But, with my help not only will my master's house be run with the precision of a fine watch, I will make it the destination for those with ambition to court your favor and for your betters to be entertained beyond their wildest dreams. I will build you a foundation to wage politics to gain the favor of your lords. Your ambition can be advanced without the risk, expense or burden of conquest.” I arrived at his throne and picked up the pitcher of wine and refilled his cup. “All while being everything you want in a woman. An ornament to show off to your betters and earn their jealousy, a whore for your bed such that every fantasy you could have be fulfilled and a mother who will give you sons that your armies compete for their commissions and daughters to be lusted after by the crowned heads of this planet. What say you to that, my lord?”

“And what do you require for this gift you offer?” he asked.

I leaned forward and drug my tongue on his lobe. “Caesar's ear,” I whispered into his.

His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me into his lap. “You would willingly do all of this and give yourself to me? On just my word?”

I reached up and ran my hand through his hair, which had the bonus of putting my armpit by his nose.
“Is my lord's word not to be trusted?” He smirked at me and I saw his nostril flare. Under my buttocks I felt his manhood stiffening. “That was not my impression, but if my lord needs to offer a token, among my people a husband and wife wear a ring on this finger, to show their love has no beginning and no end.”

He put his wine cup down and stood, picking me up as he did so. A luxurious looking lounge appeared before the throne that he walked toward. “Rose,” he commanded. “My Mamanand I are not to be disturbed. See to it.”

“Yes, master!” she replied, hurrying out of the room. He sat me down on the lounge and waited until Rose had left the room and shut the door. For myself, I steeled my will and reached under his tunic and took hold of his other head. For a moment, I was worried it felt as large and thick as I had imagined it; fantasy was one thing, being stretched to one's limits was quite another.

At my touch, it stiffened further and swelled in my palm. “Do we have a deal, my lord?”

He pulled the tunic over his head and grinned down at me. “Deal?” he managed around his chuckle. “I would have been delighted just to have you come to me as a traditional Maman. Now you lay the world at my feet and offer to make me the envy of my race? We have accord, my wife!” He gestured and a ring appeared around my finger and its mate around his. “What an empress you will make!”

He reached towards my face and I gathered all of my will. He touched my nose and I was hit with the Kiss like I'd never experienced it before. My eyes closed as every part of me relaxed in pure bliss. I was level with his groin and his phallus was in my hand and the smell. Dear God, the smell was so amazing. I could feel it course through my blood, I could feel it saturate my brain, so close, so close. Without a second thought, I opened my mouth and leaned forward.

I have no idea how he walked with this python between his legs. It was the length my forearm and thickness such that my middle finger and thumb only just touched around it. Yet, it slid into my mouth as easy as if I was some jaded porn star. The warm, salty potency of his pre cum let him glide over my tongue and the taste was like the smell but more. I had to bury my face in it, I forced myself forward, feeling him slide into my throat. I should have gagged, technically I was gagging, I could feel the little trembles of my throat wanting to gag, but the Kiss was everything.

His moan pierced the Kiss and made me want more. His hand lovingly took the back of my head and the first orgasm claimed me. I took a deep breath through my nose, amazed this thick cock didn't completely seal my airway and the Kiss beckoned me. I reached up to take his hips, and used them to pull myself forward, down him, until my nose was buried in his hair and my lips were pressed against his abdomen. He grunted, making his stomach buck against my forehead and then his cock pulsed against my tongue and throat and something warm filled my stomach.

It was so much, I was losing myself, I could feel it and nothing mattered to me. Nothing but this man and whatever I could do to keep feeling and smelling... I shook with my own orgasm, then with all the strength I had left, I used my hands to push myself away, back off his magnificent phallus. As his head left my throat, I was rewarded with a blast of salty and sweet power into my mouth It was instantly my favorite flavor.

My hands began to shake as my will and the Kiss fought in my mind. Oh mother I love it so much. Let me just... I swallowed his seed and his cock gave me more. I came again and my hind brain screamed at me, I was drowning and I wanted to drown. I wanted to swim as deep as I could and breath in the ocean. I swallowed again and with the last of me, I took his cock from my mouth and forced my leg to sweep against his.

He was so orgasmic he barely noticed that I had struck him, let alone that he was falling. He flopped onto the lounge as I rubbed my tongue all through my mouth to savor every last morsel of him. Every cell of my body wanted to leap on his cock, to guide into my womb to plant his seed, but I hooked my thumb on the chain between my nipples and pulled it taunt.

The sudden sharp agony cleared my head for the briefest of seconds, and even as the Kiss turned the pain into yet another orgasm, I raised my leg, straddled his head and sat down on his face. His hands flailed for a split second as I came and showered his face with my juices. Then his hands grabbed my hips with such strength that I knew I'd have bruises, but he didn't cast me off, he held me where I was. His mouth opened under me and his tongue wormed into my folds. My stomach cramped so hard, I nearly threw up. Every muscle I had seized and the only outlet I had was to throw back my head and scream.

He lapped at me like a man dying of thirst at a well, drinking himself sick and I came as my juices flowed out like a river. I had done all I could do, either my plan would work, or not. Now there was nothing but the Kiss. So laid down on my enemy and took his cock in my mouth until my nose was against the balls that would give me my children and I inhaled as hard as I could and I drank oblivion.

I have no idea how long we made love like this. Eventually he pulled me off of him, rolling over so he pinned me to the bed and smiled at me for the first time with real affection. My juices were all over his face and I couldn't not laugh at that little boy smile. His arms went under my knees to support me and I reached down to guide him to my entrance. I was so wet and his cock so coated in my saliva that he slid into me as easy as if we had been lovers for decades. The sharp sting of my short lived hymen being broken by him just made it better. I felt him under my navel as his cock crowded up against my cervix and above it as he lay on top of me and I cleaned his face with my tongue.

His mouth opened and closed without making a sound as I felt his balls against my buttocks and I wrapped my legs around his hips. He tried to speak again so I kicked his flanks with my heels, trying to make him move. His hips flared and about a third of him slid out and back in,

“No,” he grunted.

“Yes,” I commanded as I took a great handful of his hair in my hands to use as a bridle as I broke my stallion to my will. His cock slid about a third of me out so again I dug my heels and he slid home. With my tongue, I gathered up a fair amount of my leavings from his face and drug it across his nose. His nostrils and his eyes went wide until he buried his face in my breasts took me as savagely as I'd dared hope.

It was all I could do, so I opened my legs wide in offering and gave myself to the Kiss. It was completely different than my experience masturbating. The orgasms were as ready and strong, but as I floated on the Kiss I was completely content. I was already satisfied and just enjoying his ministrations until he was. The pain from my still tender nipples gave a sweet note to this as he suckled me and I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or really whispering in his ear to make a mother of me. I had no fear, no trepidation, no past, no future; it was as timeless and perfect as can be imagined.

Then he finally grunted, and I felt myself flooded, I wrapped my legs and arms around him and pulled him down on top of me. Our scents mingled as our sweaty spent bodies rubbed against each other and a new Kiss flowed between us, from my mouth to his and back. My consciousness fled as I descended into the darkness happy.

* * *

I awoke to the feeling of something lukewarm against my mons. I got my eyes to open and raised my head enough to see Rose sitting on the edge of the lounge a wet cloth in her hand as she gently, almost motherly, cleaned my recently deflowered genitals. “Good morning, mistress,” she greeted softly, one eye turning to see me. She offered her hand and helped me sit up.

My vision was obscured by my hair clouding around my face in an arrangement that could only be called the love child of 'bed head' and 'rode hard and put away wet'. Her hand went back to cleaning me and I opened my legs a bit to give her better access. It was quite sensuous, but somehow not as arousing as such a touch might have been yesterday. “I have breakfast for you,” she told me from her cleaning, her free hand gesturing to the plate next to me. It was once again a plate of fruit and breads. Thirsty, I took up the juice glass and savored a long drought.

I looked about the room and there was no sight of Amar. Running a hand through my hair to bring it to a slight semblance of order, I turned back to Rose and asked, “Where is he?”

“Master is in the Great Hall,” she told me softly with a final wipe to my groin. “He awaits you, once you've eaten and are refreshed. We're told he has an announcement for us.”

A little evil smile pulled at my lips. “Does he?”

“I have clothing for you, mistress,” she went on, indicating the bundle laid out on the other side of the lounge. I looked up at his throne and found the first of many changes. There were two chairs now. I looked at the clothing and found it mostly identical to the clothes I worn to seduce him, with one important difference in detail.

They were opaque.

Light, airy, hunter green with beautiful silver accents, but I would no longer be put on display. She followed my gaze and gave a little giggle. “Your wise pornographer was right, mistress. These were the first thing he commanded me to make.”

She daubed at my groin to dry it gently with a wonderfully fluffy towel. “I will brush your hair while you eat,” she told me. “If that pleases you.”

“You please me,” I told her as I gathered her into my arms. Her nostrils flared and sagged into my embrace as if a complete junkie given a hit of the finest on the market. I kissed the top of her head then reached over to the tray, picked up a fig and fed it to her.

“I am unworthy, mistress,” she managed and I laid a finger over her lips.

“Savor your reward, Rose, you've earned it.”

Her eyes slipped closed and she sighed as she chewed. “Your word is law, mistress,” she managed around the fig. Finally, her mouth was free and one eye sleepily opened from her high. “How did you know to do that, mistress?”

I smiled at her and touched her nose. “My parents are ranchers. I was home on summer break, but I'm a Poli-Sci graduate student. And the desire for power is the true Universal Language, Rose.” I chewed thoughtfully on a piece of danish and part of my heart wept. “Where are my parents?” I asked, terrified to hear the answer.

“Their Ranch, lady,” she told me dreamily. “They were given their quota as their lands are within Master's fife. They are safe. I saw to it my self.”

“You'll have more of your reward later, my sweet Rose,” I promised her as I took another gulp of juice. “For now, get me presentable and let us find out what the Captain has to say.” She grinned and scrambled out of my arms to behind me and gently began to tame my hair into something like order.

“Shall I contact your parents, mistress?” she asked me innocently. “I could invite...”

“No,” I told her. I looked down at what I had become, not just the new gender, but the willingness to completely whore myself to accomplish what I wanted. To bear the children of a man I would have been happy to kill. And I imagined looking into my father's eyes and trying to explain myself. “No,” I whispered again.

* * *

I stood on the dais and smiled to the crowd as I listened to my husband call his slaves his children. Small victories, I suppose. I listened to him elevate me to his wife, for them to hold me as speaking with his voice. That changes were going to be coming to the house. Good changes, necessary changes, changes that would elevate everyone. He promised rewards for loyalty and I watched the little place where his head met his neck where I had been trying to aim the bayonet on my rifle. I meant everything I'd said. I would be his wife, he would sire mychildren, and for all the loathing I burned with for him, for his making this necessary, for him and his bastard race, and their conquering fetish, I made sure I realized I loved him.

He was a drug, my drug, my addiction. And I loved and hated him as I loved and hated myself, but, I consoled myself with the knowledge that if I was to be a whore, I would be a whore with purpose. That my ends would justify my means. That I could manage my addiction. That I would not be like all the other dictators in history, that I would keep my virtue even as I crossed this mental Rubicon intent to burn Rome to it's foundations.

So I remembered my Seneca as I put a loving hand on Rose's shoulder, the slave in the chariot with me at my Triumph and vowed to remember her warning that, “All Glory is Fleeting.”

* finis *

Journey Into The Forbidden West Part 1

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Permission:

Journey Into
The
Forbidden West
A Horizon: Forbidden West Fan Fiction
by

E. E. Nalley

April 22nd, 3040

The Strider's gait swayed slowly beneath Aloy as she rode. The sun was beginning to set, casting the bad lands around her in sharp reds, painting the desert like nothing she had ever seen before. In her ear, her Focus beeped, letting her know it had patched the corruption of one of the files she had downloaded from GAIA Prime. “Data Integrity Restored,” the device informed her. “GAIA log: 3Febuary2065 R.”

“Playback,” she commanded as her eyes cleared the boulder she'd been riding around and it finally came into sight, right were Travis said it would be. In her ear, she heard her own voice, though from a thousand years ago when it belonged to the scientist who had almost single-handedly saved the Earth from complete extinction; the woman Aloy herself was a genetic duplicate of.

The voice was older, and obviously tired. “Ok, GAIA. Sorry about that. Where was I?”

“You were telling a story,” the AI replied. This was not the warm, confident voice Aloy had heard in the last microseconds of GAIA's existence in her first and last message to her. The character and timber were there, but none of the assurity. Somehow, if such a thing were possible, the program sounded young, and unsure of herself.

There wasn't much left of the ranch. A water tower that was only standing from force of habit and had more holes through it than not. The split rail fence was almost completely gone, but the bit that framed the arch was still there and she could just make out Sobeck Ranch in much faded paint over the lintel. “Right. Yeah, so like I was saying, it was a children's electronics kit, but I'd hacked the wiring to an auto battery and solar PV so the grass caught fire. So did a tall pine that'd stood there for, I don't know, maybe a hundred years?”

Aloy's green eyes flicked from the rusted out remains of one of the Ancient's vehicles, almost completely reclaimed by the desert to a darkened stump just beyond the fence. It had been cut level, a thousand years ago, but the char of the fire was still visible. “Query,” GAIA's voice replied. “You were how old?”

“Six.” Aloy took in the ruin of the house, it had long since caved in on its self. Only the four corners remained, with some minor piles of bricks and the stone foundation for a porch that was rotted away. “My mother was home, thank God, so she called the fire department and after, she took me out to the lawn and showed me...” The scientist sighed softly in regret. “She showed me the dead baby birds. Because there had been nests in the pine tree.”

“Query: what did you feel?” Aloy gently tugged on the Strider to make it stop and when it did, she slid off the machine, not truly believing what she saw.

“I'm not sure,” Elisabet admitted, shame in her voice even after all the years that had passed. “I, uh, remember yelling that I didn't care. And that's when my mother took my face in her hands...and spoke.”

Aloy walked cautiously forward, before her, between her and the ruin of the house, a bench had been a part of some kind of garden arrangement. There was a stone basin with water in it, and around the bench, in a perfect triangle, as if tended were purple flowers swaying gently in the breeze. But that wasn't all, on the bench, it's back to her, was a figure. “Query: what did she say?”

There was some ivy that had grown over the bench, and some over the figure itself as Aloy slowly rounded it, unwilling to step over the flowers for a moment, until she could better see what she faced. “She said I had to care,” Dr Sobeck informed the program. “She said, 'Elisabet, being smart will count for nothing if you don't make the world better.'”

Aloy swallowed, for the first time in her life, she felt irrational fear. On the bench was an Ancient environmental suit. The same suit Elisabet had been wearing in the hologram she had watched at the memorial Dr Ronson had made for her sacrifice. The suit was still intact, the head slumped over as if the wearer had fallen asleep on the bench, looking at the house she had grown up in. “'You have to use your smarts to count for something, to serve life, not death.'”

The ivy had grown over the suit, almost like a blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders to ward off against the desert chill at night. Aloy swallowed again, and took a careful step over the flowers to approach the body. She touched her Focus and it briefly interfaced with the suit and over the breast, a hologram lit up labeling it 'Dr. E. Sobeck' and 'Life Functions Terminated.' “You often tell stories of your mother,” GAIA continued in the recording. “Yet, you are childless.”

The regret in Elisabet's voice was palpable. “I never had time,” she whispered. “I guess it was...for the best.”

“If you had had a child, Elisabet,” GAIA asked. “What would you have wished for him or her?”

“I guess...” Sobeck pondered after a long moment of silence. “I would have wanted...her...to be...curious.” The Focus painted an image of Doctor Sobeck's face over the helmet. The suit must have run out of air, or been commanded to stop filtering it and become a sealed system. Her body was not decayed and her eyes were closed as if she had fallen asleep from the lack of oxygen and died peacefully. “And willful; unstoppable even, but with enough compassion to...heal the world... Just a little bit.”

Aloy's eyes misted and she looked down, away from her genetic mother to see something shiny clutched in her right hand. Cautiously, the Nora Brave gently took it, finding a globe of the Earth on a necklace. She held it up against her breast, blinking back tears to finally have something from her mother, some legacy to cherish. “Anyway,” Dr Sobeck said tiredly, “that's all I've got for now, GAIA. Time to tuck in.”

“I wish you a pleasant sleep, Elisabet.”

“Thank you. I'll catch you tomorrow.”

* * *

September 16th, 3040

It had been a busy six months since Travis Murray, former Colonel in the United States Army, now the head of security for the Aerospace Firm American Scientific, had survived Doomsday. Six months ago, Colonel Murray and the rest of humanity had faced the extinction of all life on Earth, thanks to a rogue swarm of self replicating war robots manufactured by Faro Automated Solutions; a modern day Faro Plague. Fortunately, Travis had chosen well in his employment when he had switched careers from soldiering to security guard, because he had managed to find employment with a moral man. A man who, when informed he faced the end of the world, spat in Death's eye and fought. Not only for himself, or even just his family; Frank Olmstead, the CEO and Founder of American Scientific had been offered a golden ticket. A place on Humanity's first interstellar space craft, the Odyssey; for him and his family at the low, low price of one billion dollars each.

Frank Olmstead, however, had never run away from a fight in his life.

Not only that, Frank had proven time again he took care of his people. When many would have taken the cowards way out, Frank thought quickly and found a way to save himself, his family, and all of his employees still in the United States. In the remote Fusion Engine Research Facility at Almagre Mountain, Frank Olmstead had spared no expense turning it into a bunker, stocked with everything that even might be remotely needed to survive the coming apocalypse. Finally, he then provided a suspended animation capsule of his company's own design for every one of his employees and their families. And so, American Scientific had gone to sleep on Doomsday, and woken up a thousand years in the future.

It had been everything, but easy.

They had woke to find a world that had been renewed by the desperate long shot gamble of Elisabet Sobeck and her terraforming miracle, GAIA, but there had been mountain sized speed bumps along the way. The largest of which, by unspeakable treachery the witless architect of the End of the World, Ted Faro, had purposefully erased the repository of human knowledge that had been meant to teach these new humans in their new Earth. They had been released into the wild with what amounted to a mere kindergarten education and left to fend for themselves.

In short order, they, and their descendants had devolved into a primitive, tribal state like something out of Lord of the Flies. That made the twelve thousand some odd employees of American Scientific the best educated humans on the planet, but it was a planet full of danger; dangerous machines and dangerous, feral men.

Colonel Travis Murray and his party had returned from Meridian and the Battle of the Alight where the rogue sentient sub-routine of GAIA, HADES had been stopped from destroying this brave, new world. But that didn't mean there wasn't a great deal of survival to do. The Colonel had intended to start back out immediately, to catch up to the Seeker Aloy and assist in her quest to reboot GAIA and take back control of the terraforming system, but there had been many conspiracies to keep that from happening.

While the borders of the land the AmSci tribe, as their neighbors had taken to calling them had been formalized, that land still had to be sown with crops, border markers emplaced, livestock and farm animals raised from stored embryos to full fledged animals and then protected from privation and the terraforming machines themselves.

Not to mention the re-founding of hundreds of new industries.

All of this knowledge and by comparison, wealth, brought out raiders. Banishment was a favorite punishment of this new era of humanity; to be denied the protection of the village wall was practically a death sentence in and of itself. Some, however, learned to thrive in the wilderness. Many of these outcasts banded together into little sub-tribes of bandits and outlaws and it hadn't taken long for news to spread of the new tribe and their mountain city full of treasure beyond the dreams of avarice.

The first dedicated attack had come the night before. A group of forty men, in various, patchwork armors and clothing had charged the still under construction wall at dusk. They ignored both commands to stop and warning shots from Travis' security men wielding AR15s the group had brought with them.

Two of his guards had taken arrow wounds in the defense, one was only just clinging to life, but they had managed to gun down the bandits. Travis had stewed for a long time before he finally had given the order not to bury the bandits, but to have scaffolds erected for the bodies to be tied to and placed at the edge of the AmSci land as a grim warning.

Those coming looking for trouble would find it.

Frank Olmstead had been appalled when he'd heard what his head of security had ordered, but was enough of a leader that he'd only said, “Colonel, can I have a word please?” Frank understood that the most basic tenet of leadership was you never undermine a subordinate's authority in front of their subordinates. Praise and reward were always public affairs, but correction was always done in private.

“Certainly, sir,” Murray had responded and led the way to his new office. The Engine Test Stand which had been a prominent construction at the old facility; a massive thing, five stories tall and made of steel reinforced concrete pillars that were square braced at each 'story.' It made a box, one hundred feet on a side and was one of the few structures outside the blast doors that had survived the intervening thousand years largely intact, had become a bulwark of the new defensive wall that had been built, making the third anchor between the mountainside itself on either side of the blast doors that protected the inner portions of the facility.

Over the years, a massive oak tree had taken root at the base of the stand and, over the centuries, grown up and around it like something out of J. R. R. Tolkien. The remains of the stand and been been enclosed to house the security force and had somewhat whimsically become known as 'The Tree House.' Travis' office, and quarters had been moved out into the Tree House and, as water and sewer piping had been run out to it, he'd finally gotten his private toilet. Now the original wood stockade wall was being replaced by a concrete one as fast as they could manufacture the cement. Once behind the office's closed door, Travis had invited his employer to sit, but he'd chosen to remain standing. “Colonel, I trust I don't have to explain my objection to tying bodies to what amounts to a cross and posting them at our borders, do I?”

Travis sighed and nodded. “Believe me, sir, I find it just as distasteful as you, but these people are still coming to understand the concept of the Rule of Law. Might Makes Right here, and I have to protect our people.”

“Do we even know who these attackers were, or who might take offense at our defense?”

Travis nodded. “According to Nakoa they're a mixed bag of renegades. Outcasts from the Nora, and criminally condemned to banishment former Carja and Oseram. There's evidently a nest of them down in Colorado Springs based out of the old Pioneers Museum, or it's ruin, rather. She assures me we don't have anything to worry about from the Sun King or the Matriarchs of the Nora.”

“What about the Oseram?” Frank asked.

Travis shook his head. “The Claim, which is what they call their territory, is north of the Carja lands, somewhere in what was Wyoming or Idaho. She doesn't think word will even get to them, or that they'll care if it does.”

Frank drew in a breath and sighed. “How are your men?”

“Tom will have a nasty scar, but he'll be fine,” Murray replied stiffly. “Jordi took an arrow to the guts. The doctors give him fifty/fifty odds.”

Frank's expression changed to one of sympathy and reached out to clasp his Chief of Security's shoulder in consolation. “I understand your thinking with this, Travis, but, we're better than that. We have to be.”

“Sir, if we don't show that we will not be fucked with, you're guaranteeing more attacks.”

Olmstead's face became grim. “Colonel, I want you to ride out to Daytower. First, make sure with their garrison commander they won't take offense to what I'm about to order. Nakoa is certain the Matriarchs won't care if we move against the bandits in Colorado Springs?”

“I'll double check, sir, but that's my understanding.”

“Alright. As these people use a different alphabet, I want to get a warning translated into Carja and Oseram lettering. Something suitably dire, I'll leave the specifics to you.”

Travis raised a sardonic eyebrow. “What if I'm too...aggressive, sir?”

Frank looked at the other man askance. “I trust your judgment, Colonel. Once we have their glyphs, I want signs erected that proclaim it and leave the raiders belongings at it. Let people see we don't care what they have, but we'll protect what we have.”

“Yes sir.”

The older man's face became harsh. “Then I want you to take a force to the Pioneer Museum and clean out that nest of thugs.”

The declaration gave Travis a moment of pause. “A...punitive expedition, Frank? Is that..?”

“Wise?” Olmstead asked, then shrugged his own ignorance. “Perhaps not. But you make a valid point; we have to show we won't be fucked with. Do you have better council, Colonel?”

Travis thought for a long moment, then went over to his desk. From the drawer, he took a bottle of Glenlivet he'd packed carefully against the calamity they survived. He was honestly surprised when he'd opened the bottle to find that the source he'd read on the internet proved correct; that the sealed bottle would last indefinitely. Or, at least, the thousand years it had endured. Of course, it had stopped aging when it had been bottled, so it was literally a thousand year old bottle full of twelve year old Scotch. He didn't ask if his employer wanted any, he just poured a pair of drams and presented the other to Frank. “I don't know if I have better council, boss. But I do know that such a raid will eat a lot of ammunition. Ammunition we haven't got a way of replacing easily.”

“We've got, what ten thousand primers?” Frank asked around his first sip.

“Ten thousand each in small, large rifle primers and pistol primers,” He corrected absently. “That said, Boss, bringing someone up to proficiency takes nearly five hundred rounds. We're well stocked with weapons and replacement parts, and the machine shop can manufacture replacements as we need them, but we don't have a powder or primer industry.” Travis took a sip himself and sighed. “You want my honest opinion, Frank? I think we need to investigate this 'Cauldron' ENID found out at Black Mountain. We know some of these machines are being armed with twenty millimeter cannon. I've seen those rounds myself. We've heard that some of the smaller machines have machine guns. If GAIA was using NATO frequencies and NATO standard cannon shells, chances are really good she also was using NATO standard small arms.”

Frank rubbed his chin. “You think you can find them at Black Mountain?”

“I'm going to Daytower anyway,” he replied with a grin. “It's only another two hundred miles, right?”

Olmstead raised his glass. “Have a safe trip, Colonel. When do you leave?”

* * *

“Why am I learning from Buck that we are going to Daytower? And not from my husband?”

Travis winced at Nakoa's voice from behind him as he was packing his saddle bag for the trip. He sighed and stood to turn and face her. She was wearing the denim jeans she'd discovered in central supply that she'd fallen in love with, and Murray had to admit he loved seeing her in them. They did amazing things for her figure, and while Travis was well familiar with her body by this point, there was just something about seeing her legs and ass with a tight layer of blue denim over them that was somehow better than seeing her naked. His former Nora Brave was wearing one of her leather corsets as a top that lifted while presenting her breasts in their best possible light. She had never been particularly busty, but the leather stretched over her skin as it supported her had a similar effect as a push up bra, an effect she delighted in teasing him with. Over the corset she had added one of the skillfully worked wooden bead necklaces the Nora were somewhat famous for, though her hands were on her hips and her expression was one of annoyance. Despite how comfortable she had become with the 'Ancients' as they were known, she still wore the blue 'C' shaped woad marking around her right eye as a kind of memory of her tribal heritage.

“Sweet heart...” he started, but she immediately crossed the room and speared his chest with a finger.

“You were going to sneak off without telling me, weren't you?” she demanded.

“Nakoa...”

“Weren't you?!” she demanded again. Frustrated, he grabbed her shoulders, picked her up and silenced her accusations by kissing her. Instantly her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands grabbed his head to hold him into the kiss as her tongue pressed its way into his mouth to twine with his own. She actually gasped as the kiss parted, but her mild fetish of being manhandled this way was one of the reasons he did it. The other being she wasn't angry any more. “Just because you can turn me on won't let you sneak off into the night!” she declared breathlessly.

“Nakoa, you're pregnant,” he protested, which caused her eyes to roll.

“Yes, I'm pregnant, not an invalid,” she told him, touching the tip of his nose with her finger tip. “Women have been having babies for a very long time on this planet and it hasn't kept most of us from continuing to live life in the meantime. Even Doc says I can't be more than a month and a half along.”

His hands slid down her back to cup her buttocks to be a bit more comfortable as he held her off the floor of their apartment. “Do you think I want to risk...?” This time she silenced him by leaning forward and kissing him. It was uncharacteristically gentle of her, especially after this particular gambit he'd played. Normally, picking her up like this would start a serious lovemaking session that would rise to anyone's level of intense cardio work out.

“What risk?” she asked softly as their lips parted again. “I won't even start to show before New Years. That's plenty of time for us to go out, do this mission and be home before the worst of the winter sets in.” She laid her forehead on his and her hazel eyes stared into his blue ones. “Besides, you need me out with you.”

“Olara...” he started, but she puckered up her lips and looked at him askance.

“Oh, so Buck can have Olara at his side, but I have to sit and wait and worry while you're gone? And what will that do to my pregnancy?”

He frowned at her. “That's dirty pool,” he objected. “And who taught you to be so emotionally manipulative?”

Her grin became impish. “You think I haven't learned by watching you and all the other AmSci in my time here? I see what your women use on their men, what works and what doesn't, and I know you very well indeed!” She reached up and ran her hand through his short hair. “Now, you know you won't sneak away in the night. Are you just going to accept it and let us enjoy our last night at home, or do you want to have a fight?”

“What good would that do me?” he wanted to know. “You win all our fights.”

The impish grin spread from ear to ear. “He can be taught!” She unlocked her ankles from around his back causing him to gently return her to her feet. “Come, while we pack you can tell me why we are going to Daytower and then...” She bent over at the waist to pick up her saddle bag from under their bed, grinning over her shoulder at him as she did so. He playfully slapped the ass she had presented him with, making her wink at him. “Mmm, I do love it when you're forceful!”

“Shameless!” he accused her, making her shrug her indifference.

She tossed her saddle bag on the bed next to his and made a broad gesture. “Are you complaining, father of my child? I didn't think so!” she quickly added before he could answer. “So, why are we going to Daytower?”

“Frank wants a warning sign to post on the road approaches to Fort Carson,” he told her as he crossed the room to their wardrobe and took out his war belt to check it's pouches for missing items. “We'll need samples of Carja and Oseram glyphs so it can be read locally. Something along the lines of, 'Come in Peace, or leave in pieces, if we let you leave.'”

She took her favorite bow from it's pegs on the wall and quickly strung it to test the string and bow for defect. “Frank Olmstead said that?” she demanded. She plucked the bowstring and it's thrum filled the room like a musical instrument.

“No, I did,” he corrected her as he made a mental check list of the war belt's items laid out on the bed and, once he was sure nothing was missing, began to repack them. “He said, 'I trust your judgment,' when I asked him what he wanted the sign to say. What he did say was he wanted me to take a force down to Colorado Springs and clear out that bandit camp.”

That gave her pause and she sat down the bow to come and face him. “There are a lot of bandits in that camp, husband. We will lose people, even with your weapons...”

“I raised that objection,” he reassured her. “In addition to the drain of expendables as well as people. So, he authorized me to go up to that Cauldron ENID found and see if GAIA makes ammunition our rifles can eat.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “There are easier ways than that,” she replied. At his questioning look, she spread her hands as if she was surprised her thought hadn't occurred to him. “There are other machines than Thunderjaw's that have distance weapons. We can track and hunt a Stalker for it's dart gun or mine launcher and you can see if it is the same. No sense going all the way to Black Mountain if we don't need to, right?”

He grinned at her and drew her into his arms. “I do love you, you know?”

“I know,” she assured him. “Now, come show me,” she invited as she swept their bed clear of bags.

* * *

September 17th, 3040

Thursday dawned overcast as Travis and Nakoa left the Tree House to cross the courtyard it's wall created between it and the mountain. Along the far wall was a corral that the Striders that were the first machines the Ancients had managed to hack were kept. “Black Jack!” he called, and immediately the artificial horse with 2121 painted on left hip raised it's head and trotted over to the gate of the corral.

Next to him, Nakoa whistled a shrill call and immediately Snow Flake, her Strider turned from it's trough and trotted over to stand next to Black Jack. Nakoa had extensively painted the Strider in a bold white wash, giving the Strider it's name, then swirling, almost Celtic designs in blue the Nora favored. Behind them, thunder rumbled, causing Travis to turn and behold a massive, super cell out over the plains of what had been lower Colorado and Kansas. “Look at that,” he amazed, drawing his wife's gaze. “Have you ever seen a storm like that?”

Travis knew his wife enough to hear fear in her otherwise carefree voice. “No,” she replied, exchanging a glance with him. “Should we delay...?”

“We may not have a choice,” he admitted, but they continued over to the Striders. Buck and Olara were already there, securing their own bags as they did so.

“Morning, Boss,” Buck called with a wave at their approach. “Sorry if I got you in Dutch with the Mrs.”

“He's not complaining,” Nakoa shot back, proving her hearing was still quite remarkable.

Travis indulged in rolling his eyes where his wife couldn't see, while Buck was careful to keep his snicker to himself. “No worries, Buck,” he commented. “The boys get the grist taken care of?”

The question instantly sobered the larger man and he gave a vague gesture to the saddle between this mountainside and the one adjacent to it. “Yes sir. The bodies were stripped, then we took them over to the burn pit. What was...left...was bulldozed over, well clear of the water shed.”

“Buck, there's probably a lot more of that kind of work in our future.”

Simpson shrugged his broad shoulders and ran a hand over his bald head. “At least we've got a future, Boss. No shortage of stupid in our time; it's only natural they'd be well stocked with it here.” He sighed and put his back to the pit and its memory and waved at the blast doors. “I had Jenkins lock the effects up in the old office until we get this sign the Old Man wants.”

“Doc on her way?”

Buck pointed. “Here she comes.”

“Good, if we ride hard, we might get to Daytower before that storm hits. I'd rather weather it under a stone roof than a tent.” In short order, the little group had their rides prepared and were trotting out the gate down the track that had been worn into the bank of the creek that had once been the access road to the facility.

The wind began to pick up by the time they'd arrived at the remains of the old US Highway 24. They were able to pick up speed as the road was in relatively good shape, but it seemed the faster they could canter, the worse the weather became. The sky was dark and angry, lit by bolts of lightning down on the plains, but the storm was quickly drawing close to the mountains. Just as Travis was thinking to up the pace to try and beat the storm with a last, hard push, Nakoa sharply drew in Snow Flake and raised a fist.

Immediately the group came to a halt, and Travis touched his Focus, but it's augmented reality failed to pickup whatever his sharp eyed wife had seen. “What...?” he started, but her attention was fixed ahead and she sharply gestured for silence. Finally, by feel, she selected an arrow from her quiver and laid it over her bow. It was one of the odder weapons the Nora had come up with; that she called a 'Tearblast arrow'. It had a two pronged broad head that she honed to a razor edge with a small battery at the back end, wired to the prongs. When they sank into a machine, it completed the circuit, setting off a paste explosive, strapped to the shaft, behind the head. With a well placed shot, it would blow off a machine's armor plates, exposing vulnerable spots underneath.

After she'd nocked it, she pointed at her eyes, then down at the arrow and finally off in the direction she'd been intently staring at. Travis slowly got his AR15 off it's sling and up to his shoulder, his eyes looking in the direction she had been, but he saw nothing. He clicked the safety off right as she drew and released the arrow. It streaked right across his vision and embedded into something right before the base of the tree he'd been looking at.

There was a flash of a small explosion, which set flying a piece of armor plate and suddenly there was a panther like machine that was reeling from the hit of the arrow. Travis pulled the trigger, causing the rifle to bark, once, twice and a third time before the machine fell over in a shower of sparks. “Damn, I didn't even see that thing through my Focus!” Buck declared.

“Stalker,” Olara informed them. “They have a way to blend in with their surroundings. Almost invisible.”

“Damn good camouflage,” Murray admitted as they trotted over to the machine. They slid off the mechanical horses and poked around the wreck.

“This is the dart gun,” Nakoa said with a slap of the part.

“Son of bitch,” Buck muttered as he got over to it and began to manipulate it. “Are you seeing this, Colonel? It's a damn SAW.”

Olara watched her man open up the machine's weapon like he'd handled them before. “What is a SAW?” she asked. “Other than the wood working tool?”

He didn't look up from his work until he had the thing open, revealing the darts, linked together under the protective cover. “It means Squad Automatic Weapon,” he told her. He clipped two of the darts off and held them and their links up. “Colonel, I do believe we're in business. Tell me that's not M193 on M27 disintegrating links.” He tossed the darts to Travis who removed the magazine from his rifle and compared the two cartridges. “Jesus, it's even got FN roll marks on the receiver!”

“What does that mean?” asked Nakoa. “M what?”

Travis compared the dart to the cartridge in his magazine. “Everything in the Army had a letter number combination to 'name' it. M193 was a specification for a variety of these bullets. It described the bullet weight, the powder load and the cartridge size. M27 means these things, they link the cartridges together in what was called a belt.”

“This,” Buck added, holding aloft the belt he had stripped from the wreck. Travis cleared the cartridges from the links and snapped them into the magazine.

“Let's see how this works,” he declared after he'd stripped the round from the chamber and seated one taken from the Stalker. “The bolt is in battery,” he commented after a glance at the ejection port before he shouldered it. “Fire in the hole!”

The AR barked twice as the two rounds he'd gotten from Buck were flawlessly fired, extracted, fed, fired again and extracted again without incident. With a grin, he tapped his Focus. “ENID?”

The holographic interface of the company's AI, that of a twenty something young woman in a complicated hair style appeared before him. “What can I do for you, Colonel?”

“Put me in touch with Frank, please,” Travis instructed her. “We have good news already.”

* * *

The rain had begun to fall just before they reached Daytower, causing everyone to dig out ponchos against the spatter of the weather which, now that it had started, was quickly building up. The guards only waved them through the open gates as the AmSci rode past, now used to such things from their closest neighbor, giving them access to the bailey of the fortress. They were more concerned about staying dry at their posts than humans riding machines. The Striders themselves were weather proofed and stood without complaint in the down pour as their riders dismounted and ambled into the Inn that was a central part of the fortification that was farthest east of the Carja Sundom.

Hanging up the rain gear to dry by the fire, they sat at an empty table, glad to be indoors as the wind outside began to howl. The innkeeper brought over pitcher of beer and mugs, promising food in a moment, before he withdrew. Despite the weather, Travis was in a fine mood. The Stalker had produced a SAW and four hundred belted rounds of ammo in addition to a complicated looking launcher that was roughly designed around a forty millimeter Mark 47 Striker system, but lacked the manual controls. It had been installed in a micro turret with a set of air burst smart grenades and, interestingly white smoke grenades, a dozen of each with a selective feed system that would let the machine pick between them. Both weapons, and the Stalker's robot brain had been removed for study, the brain already downloaded and beam cast back to the AmSci's tech genius Ian Turner to begin work on hacking this type of machine.

After a long drink of the beer, Buck quietly asked Travis, “Any idea why GAIA would stamp ID marks on the receiver of a company that hasn't existed in a thousand years?”

“On a guess?” he replied, taking a drink himself. “That was on the specification design sheet she had access to. She didn't bother to think about why, all she knew was that was the blue print to follow, so she followed it.”

Nakoa leaned in to be discrete. “But, we didn't start seeing Stalkers and Sawtooths and the other hunter killer machines until after the Derangement, twenty years ago. GAIA had blown herself up by then.”

“Something is making new machines at these Cauldrons,” Doc added. “And since they're new, it's something with purpose.”

Travis rubbed his chin in thought. “We know that the HADES sub-routine gained sentience from GAIA's last transmission. And she did say that it had affected all of her other sub-routines.” He paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “ENID sent me a recording at the celebration at Meridian after the Battle of the Alight. One of the people in it was Margo Shen, which ENID said was the 'Alpha' of the HEPHAESTUS Sub-routine. Hephaestus was the Greek god of blacksmiths, it is probably the architect of these new machines.”

“And it evidently had access to DOD databases and the patent office before Doomsday,” Buck remarked darkly. “Or GAIA did and HEPHAESTUS took the records as a parting gift. Either way it's the same thing. So now we know these 'Cauldrons' are making M193, twenty mike mike and forty mill grenades. Wonder what other toys HEPHAESTUS has been playing with?”

“Colonel Murray?”

Travis looked up to take in the broad face and some what muddled ancestry that belonged to the commander of this, the furthest east of Carja outposts. In the six months since Travis saw him last added miles to his vaguely Asian features and there was more gray in his dark top knot than Travis remembered. “Captain Balahn!” he greeted, rising to take the Captain's hand in greeting. “Won't you join us?”

The Captain shook his head and there was genuine regret on his face as he did so. “Not while I'm on duty,” he replied and gestured at a woman standing next to him that shared enough of his features that it was possible they were related. She stood boldly, in an silk outfit made of a combination slash sleeved doublet and bolero jacket of dull yellow over deep red with white and gray armor pieces over the silk for protection. Interestingly, she wore pants and sturdy looking boots in place of a dress or skirt and across her chest she wore three leather pouches that looked like a STANAG chest rig that a Special Forces Operator from Travis' own time might have sported. Her black hair was cut short, off her collar and above her ears, but fuller on top and tied back with a red head band with three additional machine armor pieces like a tiara. Around her eyes were the lined makeup pencil marks that went to circles at her temples that the Carja favored though the meaning of the variations was lost on Travis. “This is Resolved Furahni,” Balahn declared by way of introduction. “She has been dispatched by the Sun King to seek out your people, you specifically.”

“I'm honored,” Travis declared, taking the hand she offered.

“Likewise,” Furahni told him. She had a clear, unambiguous voice, of full grown woman, none of the modest low tones and averted eyes that had been Travis' experience with other Carja women. She considered herself an equal to everyone she met and it showed. “And glad you happened to be here. I wasn't looking forward to the walk between here and Devil's Thirst. I understand it's infested with Bandits.”

Travis chuckled darkly. “Not for long. In fact, Captain, I had intended to stop by your office once the weather cleared. My Chief Frank wants to be sure His Radiance won't take offense when we move against these bandits.”

Balahn's face brightened. “By all means, do what you will!” he declared. “Those criminals have no loyalty or place with us. They were tried and sentenced, so their fate is sealed in our eyes. May the Sun curse their eyes! We have no objection.”

“And, what is your opinion of the Oseram on the matter?” Travis asked him. Balahn snorted and made a dismissive gesture.

“They will be more concerned their ale mug is in want of a refill.”

“Good to know,” Travis replied and then turned his attention to Furahni. “What can I do for you, Resolved Furahni?” He gestured at their table again. “Won't you join us?”

Her serious expression brightened a little and she took a chair from the near by table and added it to make a place for herself with the AmSci. Once Travis was settled, and he noted, she made sure the Captain was beyond earshot before she turned her attention to the table. With a brief glance at the others, she fixed her gaze back on Travis. “May I speak freely in confidence?”

“You need have no fear of loose lips here,” Murray replied, and she leaned in and kept her tone low.

“I am sent to you by way of Blameless Marad on the authority of the Sun King,” she declared, opening one of the pouches on her chest and removing a document she handed across the table. Travis opened it, finding it in the flowing gliphs of the Carja, and thus unreadable, though the heavy wax seal that hung from the document was quite impressive. “I had returned from an embassy of the Sun King to the Banuk tribe, north of here, in The Cut.”

“Banuk?” asked Doc. “The Cut?”

Furahni nodded. “A mute, stubborn people; tight as a closed fist and caring only for survival. Their land is a wide valley dotted with hot springs with boiling water and steam that erupts from the ground through vents, lined with yellow minerals and the stench of rotten eggs.”

“Sounds like the Yellowstone Caldera,” Buck mused to himself. Furahni shrugged her indifference.

“I was sent as a part of Avad's continued diplomatic efforts to make amends for the Red Raids with the people who share our borders.”

“Admirable,” Olara declared. “To become friends with the Banuk is no small feat.”

The Carja woman laughed without mirth. “Oh, I made no friends, believe me. But I have all of my limbs and my life, so there is that success in failure I suppose.”

“You'll have to forgive me,” Travis told her. “Alas, my people do not use these modern gliphs, so I'm afraid this is a closed book to me,” he said, returning the document to her. “In fact, one of the reasons I am here is to retain a Carja Scholar to transcribe a sign for our borders.”

“The bandits?” she guess and he nodded grimly. “Whenever you like, I can write out your sign in both Carja and Oseram gliphs, though I'll have to defer to your women as far as the Nora goes. I don't know their writings.”

“I'm grateful,” Travis assured her. “Now, what can I do for Blameless Marad?”

Her demeanor became grave again. “On the Summer Solstice there was an...incident...on the Alight. For a brief moment a red light came from the sphere that the Metal Devil HADES occupied, then it rose up the Spire and flashed away to the west.”

“You saw this?” demanded Buck.

Furahni shook her head. “No, I was still in The Cut. A messenger from Blameless Marad sent me this commission,” and she gestured at the document on the table, “and charged me to come here with all haste to seek out this new tribe, AmSci and their Colonel Travis Murray, favored of the Sun King. It is said you and your people are knowledgeable of such things. I saw the Striders awaiting you outside. The Sun King has charged Marad to discover what the meaning of this event was and he sends for you.” She paused long enough for the Innkeeper to present her with a mug of beer and set a loaf of bread with oil and herbs on the table. “I understand such a journey has it's dangers and hardships. I am authorized to promise tribute and treasure sufficient to make the journey, and your aid, worth your whiles.”

Travis pulled at his chin as he thought for a long moment, then finally looked up. “I'll have to discuss this with my chief.”

She sighed. “So we journey back to Devil's Thirst before we may travel west?”

“No,” Travis replied. “I can speak to him from here. Once I have my orders, you'll have your answer.”

The woman's face pulled into an expression of disbelief, then awe when she realized Travis wasn't boasting. “I see Blameless Marad was right to call for you, then.” Murray smiled and tapped his Focus as he turned the document back to her.

“Could I trouble you to read this out, pointing at each word?”

“Why?”

“I wish to learn your manner of writing,” he told her. “If you'll indulge me.”

She shrugged and read aloud while her finger moved across the page. The Carja, at least, also aligned their documents top to bottom, left to right, which he found interesting. “Be it known,” she read. “By Order of the 14th Sun King, Avad, by the Hand of Blameless Marad, Hunter Furahni is raised to the rank of Resolved and is charged to act as Our Voice to the AmSci Tribe in specific to Colonel Travis Murray, that she may open his eyes to the secret the bearer of this charge shall speak, and to treat for pains of travel and any inconvenience as may arise that the Colonel, and such lieutenants as he deems worthy shall lay aside all other matters to come at once to Meridian to assist in our understanding of this secret. Signed in the light of the Sun by the Hand of Blameless Marad on the Solstice of the twelfth year in the reign of Avad, 14th Sun King of the Carja.”

“Thank you,” he told her as the Focus chewed on the symbols, numerically comparing them with the American English it knew, then holographically overlaid the document in English. He touched it again, then stood. “Please excuse me for a moment. I'll have a word with my chief, and let you know his will.” Furahni nodded as Travis stood and left the common room of the Inn, seeking a quiet corner which he found. “ENID?” he asked as he touched it again. “Would you connect me with Frank, please? It's urgent.”

“Certainly, Colonel. One moment.”

The light from the Focus flared and a life size image of Frank appeared in the little alcove Travis had secreted himself into. Olmstead was leaning on something, probably his desk and his expression was one of pleasure. “Colonel! Yet more good news? I should send you out more often!”

Travis chuckled darkly and shook his head. “Boss, we've got a problem. I'm here safe at the Inn of Daytower, all hands present, but we've run into an Emissary of the Sun King. He's requesting, forcefully, mind you, but requesting me and whoever else I deem ok to come out to Meridian.”

Frank frowned. “Meridian? What for?”

“It seems, at the solstice, a red light rose up from the processing orb that housed HADES and shot off to the West.”

Olmstead was aghast. “That psychopathic AI is loose?” he demanded. “I thought we stopped him six months ago!”

“That's the going agreement,” Murray agreed with him. “Evidence seems to imply there's a wrinkle. I'm not sure HADES actually made good his escape, other wise it seems like we'd be dead by now. But we can't rule that out from here, either. I want your approval to follow our Emissary back out to Meridian and find out what's going on.”

Frank only thought for a moment. “Absolutely, Colonel. And with the Focus network Ian and ENID have set up, I want you to stay in touch.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Godspeed, Travis,” Frank wished him. “And watch your six.”

“Roger that, skipper.”

* * *

The storm howled all night, working itself up into a frenzy that Travis watched from the sheltered balcony of the Inn where he and his party were spending the night. True to her word, Resolved Furahni had written out the sign he dictated to her in both Carja and Oseram gliphs. The Colonel had made sure to include words in the warning that had every sound in English so, it was hoped, the Focus would be able to store and translate when needed.

Ian had been contacted, via Focus to receive the translation as well as a request for a Strider to be sent to Daytower for Furahni so she could keep the pace the party would set. Though the machine, and a Focus to control it, wouldn't be here until morning. Now, Travis drank coffee and watched the storm through the flashes of lightning, which were frequent, nearly unnaturally so. His Focus picked up a quartet of Storm Birds that seemed to be trying to mitigate or augment the storm, the difference was hard to tell. Though when one was struck by lightning six times in rapid succession, and crashed, the others evidently decided discretion was the better part of valor and flew off. “Quite a storm,” Nakoa observed as she joined him on the balcony and slid her free arm around his waist. Without thinking about it, he draped his arm over her shoulders to protect her from the chill in the air. “Glad we're not out in it.”

“Mmmm,” he replied around his sip, then offered her the metal canteen cup that she happily accepted and sipped from. The Nora Brave had quickly become fond of coffee and savored it as the metal cup warmed her hands. “This is unusual for the Denver area from my time. I'd be more concerned with snow storms rather than super cell thunderstorms like this.”

“I've not seen anything like it either,” she admitted, at least, not when I was a little girl, though for the three years I walked the war path to avenge my father, I remember the weather seemed to get a bit worse each year. Perhaps this is another problem caused by the lack of GAIA managing the terraforming system?”

“There's a cheerful thought,” he muttered. “Well, we'll hope it breaks by the morning, but even if not, we'll be dry enough in the Eisenhower Tunnel, and the storm won't make it over the Rockies to give us trouble on the other side into Meridian.”

She handed him back his canteen cup, minus a good portion of the coffee and favored him with a salacious grin. “We have that wonderful Carja bed and this private room, it would be a shame not to put it to good use,” she opined, her tone dripping innuendo.

“I've married a sex fiend!” he teased her and she arched an eyebrow at him in response.

“I know my husband isn't complaining,” she accused him. “Besides, the deed is already done and I'm gone with child. Why not take advantage?”

He finished off the cup and flung the last drops out the balcony. “I can't argue with your logic, my dear.”

“I thought not,” she purred.

* * *

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Journey Into The Forbidden West Part 2

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Journey Into the Forbidden West
by
E. E. Nalley
A thousand years after the end of the world...

September 18th, 3040

By dawn the raging storm was spent down to just an annoying soaking rain, the kind that would likely last all day, but it was better than the frequent lightening strikes and just barely not gale force winds of the previous evening. Travis was up with the dawn, which was his custom, and as he was looking out over the balcony, enjoying his morning coffee, he saw the arrival of the new Strider that had been dispatched. The guards at the gate, were more than a bit vexed by it trotting up by itself, then displaying a hologram of Travis himself, but shying away when ever one of the guards approached it.

“It's ok,” he shouted to them. “It's with me.”

The guards exchanged a look, then went back to their post shelters and the Strider trotted over to the inn and joined the line of the other machine horses awaiting their humans from inside. That accomplished, Travis took his cup with him and wandered down stairs and out to the little porch on the inn that the Striders stood before. “Identify,” he ordered the machine, which stared at him with it's blue light and camera combination, gave an exaggerated nod, then dipped it's head into the 'stand by' posture the other machines had adopted. He took the saddle bag off it's rear hips and went back in side.

The innkeeper and his family were all up, his wife and daughters busy making bread while his two sons were putting the wooden chairs back down on the floor from where they'd been stacked on the tables the night before. “Breakfast, Colonel?” the elder asked him and he nodded.

“Would you do me a kindness and wake Resolved Furahni and inform her I await her pleasure in the main room?”

“Certainly, sir,” the boy replied as he dipped his head and headed to the main stairwell as his father walked over, wiping his hands on his apron.

“You've a lovely family,” Travis complimented which the Innkeeper beamed at.

“My thanks, sir. We appreciate having you as our guests.” He gave the cup in the other man's hand a glance. “Ale?”

“Oh no,” Travis chuckled. “Much too early for me. I'm happy with my coffee, thanks.”

“Coffee?” the other man asked, genuinely curious.

Travis nodded as he sat down at the table and invited the Innkeeper to join him. “It's an Ancient beverage, made from the stones of a berry that originally grew on a bush, thousands of miles from here, across a great water called the Atlantic Ocean. The pit of the berry is roasted then ground into a powder of varying degrees of course or fineness, then hot water is passed through the grounds.” He held up his mug. “Would you care to try some? Though I warn you it's an acquired taste.”

The Innkeeper smiled and shook his head. “No sense acquiring a taste for something that can't be traded in.”

Travis smiled faintly. “Oh, my people are obsessed with it. I imagine there'll be a brisk trade in a few years.”

“You have seedlings of these bushes from across this, what did you call it? Ocean?”

“Seeds, yes, and they were planted earlier this year,” he replied. “Some of many we brought with us. Though they won't mature for a few years yet. I'll bring you some when they have.”

“Very generous,” the Innkeeper complimented. “I'll look forward to it.” His son came down the stairs and waved at Travis.

“She says she'll be with you presently, Colonel.”

“Thank you, young man.”

“And I'll have your breakfast presently,” his father commented as he tipped the cap he wasn't wearing and trod back into his kitchen. Travis opened the saddle bag to find the Focus in a protective case as well as several letters, one of which was actually in the Carja Script. Travis tapped his Focus and immediately a ghostly translation appeared over it.

Greetings to His Radiance, Avad, 14th Sun King of the Carja

By the Hand of our Trusty Emissary, Colonel Travis Murray, I am pleased to salute His Radiance for
his generous offers and delighted to be of aid in this request for assistance in this most dire of circumstances.
I am sure Your Radiance is as concerned as I am that the threat to all Humanity, HADES, may be loosed again.

I humbly ask that any and all aid be given to Colonel Murray and his party so that this threat to all of us may be
swiftly dealt with. In aide there of, I have included, as a gift to His Radiance, a Focus that will allow for more swift
communications in times of crisis like this one. Enclosed with this letter is a brief summary of how to use the
device, for Your Radiance to review at leisure.

Further, I have instructed Colonel Murray to present to Your Radiance the gift of this Strider at the end of its
need for your agent, Resolved Furahni with our compliments and as a show of friendship and mutual assistance
between the Carja and the employees of American Scientific.

Yours Very Respectfully,
Franklin Olmstead, Chief Executive Officer
American Scientific, Inc.

Travis laughed to himself at his boss's brilliance and mentally tipped his hat to the canny play he was making. Just because you were the strongest kid on the block, didn't make you a match for all the other kids, and it never hurt to be friends with the most popular kid. “That's why he's a CEO and you're just Head of Security,” he told himself softly as he found and put the instruction manual to the Focus with the letter to the king.

There was a letter to him, which he recognized as Ian's handwriting, informing him the storm the previous evening had brought a Stormbird close enough to Fort Carson that he was actually able to over ride it. Unlike the Striders, there wasn't accommodation for human use of the mechanical bird, which was constructed with what seemed an odd mishmash of competing objectives. There were dispersion tanks on either flank that seemed to have been designed for dispersing cloud seeding chemicals, even super cooled materials like dry ice. Which made sense for it's origin as a terraforming robot for GAIA. However, it was obvious HEPHAESTUS had been tinkering with the design. There was a crude kind of directed energy weapon that was an ionizing LASER with a static electricity generator to create an arc of lightening that would generally, but not precisely follow the ionizing path of the LASER. As well as the reports of the Nora who had joined the AmSci that the Stormbird was fond of using those super cooled fluids as a strafing weapon.

Fortunately, the override had worked perfectly and if nothing else, the Stormbird would make a great semi-armed drone, though at least one of the shop boys were lobbying to try and fit a saddle to the damn thing. Somebody seemed to have a death wish.

Travis tisked his teeth at the risk Frank had allowed their tech genius to take, but success covered a multitude of sins as the saying went.

It was then that Resolved Furahni came down the stairs, looking remarkably alert and well rested. Travis wondered how often she got to actually sleep in a bed as she nodded her good morning and sat down with him at the table. “Good Marrow,” she greeted as she gave the Innkeeper's son a wave to request a beverage. “You wanted to see me?”

“Good morning,” Travis replied, and slid the letter to the Sun King to where she could read it. “You'll be using this until we get back to Meridian so you can keep up. I'll apologize ahead of time about the jostling you'll get riding a Strider. You'll want to familiarize yourself with the Focus and how to use it.”

“Ah, so that's what those things are I see you and the Savior wear.”

“Savior?” asked Travis.

“The Seeker, Alloy. She's been affirmed by Sun King Avad as the Savior of Meridian,” Furahni informed him. She took the device from the protection of it's box and held it up. “It's strange so small a thing can do all I read in this paper.”

“The joys of miniaturization,” Travis replied.

“And it can command all machines?”

“No,” Murray corrected quickly. “It's predominately a communications device, allowing people to see and hear each other across great distances. The Strider was overridden back at Fort Carson, then...tied would be the best word, to that Focus. But, of itself, it can't tie other machines.”

“I see,” the other nodded. “Interesting.” She held it up to her right temple as she saw how Travis and the others had worn theirs and was surprised to find it staying their of it's own accord. She looked around, somewhat amazed. “What are all these lights I see?”

“The Focus has a mode we called 'Augmented Reality', where it could see where you were looking, based on the position of your eyes and identify things to bring them to your attention. This particular Focus has our standard information built into it, so you'll find it highlights things that for you would be mundane. You can lower the augmentation to 'Threat' level and it will highlight machines it senses.”

Furahni chuckled and shook her head. “No wonder Aloy was the legendary huntress she's become. With this, anyone could be!” She accepted the mug the Innkeeper brought her and took a sip in gratitude. “So, Colonel, it's a week's walk from Day Tower to Meridian. How much faster with these Striders you command?”

“Two days,” Murray told her. “Though if pressed we could probably cut that down to a bit over a day, but as a new rider I wouldn't recommend that pace.”

The Carja woman was suitably impressed. “What a time I've lived to see.”

“Amen,” Travis echoed.

* * *

September 20th, 3040

After two uncomfortable days of trotting along the remains of I70, the party climbed out of Lone Light and into the foot hills around Eagle Canyon and the mesas upon which, Meridian, the Capital of the Sundom was perched. Interestingly, this time the road took them up the rim of the canyon and after rounding a higher mesa, the city and it's main bridge came into view. It was still an impressive sight, even with the scars of the battle with HADES still on it.

Most of the rubble had been cleared and it was obvious crops had been quickly planted, though many of the buildings still showed signs of repair and want of it. The sergeant of the guard had been one of the palace soldiers who had defended the Sun King's Palace under Travis' command and remembered the Ancient. A runner was dispatched ahead and the sergeant escorted the group through the city towards the palace, pointing out all the repairs as they passed them.

By the time the party had reached the palace, the swarthy face of Blameless Marad was waiting for them in his silk suit, a well practiced grin of welcome on his face. “Colonel! Welcome once again to the Sundom. I'm pleased to see Resolved Furahni was able to find you.”

“As luck would have it, Marad, we happened to be in Day Tower, I wanted to consult with Captain Balahn before my people moved against a bandit camp in Devil's Thirst. We didn't want to insult the Sun King by taking action.”

Marad was well pleased and his smile became wider. “That's most considerate of you. Please, feel free to defend your boarders against these bandits, if Balahn did not make that clear. I'm afraid I have you here on much more troubling news.”

“So I hear,” Travis replied. “What's happened?”

The Carja Spy Master looked about at the normal citizens goings and comings near the Palace gate, then back up Travis. “Much,” he declared softly. “But, that's a discussion we should have behind closed doors and away from prying ears. This way.” The group was led into a small garden that was large enough to contain the Striders, then briskly led down and across the small valley between the palace and the Alight where the multi-band broadcast tower of Station Minerva was standing.

The machines Alloy and the other Nora had defeated at the battle were still in the process of being scrapped and the ceremonial buildings that had been damaged in the battle were being repaired, but in the center of the colonnade, on a three meter pedestal made to resemble the broadcast tower stood a statue of the Nora huntress Aloy. The sculptor had captured the fierce Nora girl's likeness well, standing with one foot on a rock, spear in hand and her bow at her back, staring off to the south, the tower to her left.

As soon as she laid eyes on it, Nakoa snickered and failed to keep her amusement to herself. “Oh just wait till Aloy sees this!” she managed around her mirth, making their host, Marad, uncomfortable.

“She...modestly...complained she felt her task unfinished and therefor was unworthy of the honor,” he admitted tactfully. “The Sun King, however, insisted. Here we are,” he gestured at the shattered processing orb, still at the base of the tower. “As I understand it from the Savior when she arrived...”

“Aloy has been here already?” Travis asked.

Marad nodded. “I apologize that the speed of word was not swift enough to save you the journey. In fact, she left this morning. But, what we learned was the Devil HADES somehow escaped the orb and was headed west. The Savior climbed the tower and spoke with someone, a Banuk Shaman named Sylens as I understand it. It was evidently he who engineered the Devil's escape.”

“Where did Aloy go?” Nakoa demanded.

“West,” Marad replied. “We have an embassy about to occur between our furthest outpost, Barren Light, and the savage clan that lives beyond, the Tenakth.”

Travis was immediately concerned. “Savage?”

Marad was somewhat chagrined. “It's called the Forbidden West for a reason. Even before the Red Raids, the Ninth Sun King, Ranan sought to expand the Sundom to the west. We were fought by a collation of four tribes, the more peaceful Utaru, they live in the boarder lands between Barren Light and the lands of the Tenakth. They're skilled farmers for the most part, we learned a considerable amount of our own knowledge of the Farming Trade from them. The other three tribes Lowlanders, Desert and Sky Clans remained united and call themselves jointly the Tenakth. They're a violent, war like people who take tribute of food from the Utaru in exchange for protecting them from the Sundom.”

“Sounds like a new Sparta,” Buck mused to himself. At the Spy Master's inquisitive glance, he elaborated, “An Ancient tribe, ancient even in our time, that consisted of fanatical warriors who trained constantly, becoming legendary soldiers from ancient history.”

“If your Spartans were half as vicious as the Tenakth they would be formidable indeed,” Marad agreed. In his madness, Avad's father sought again to try and conquer the west for additional sacrifices during the Red Raids. We discovered the Tenakth were every bit as fearsome as their legends from Ranan's time warned.”

“And you let Aloy ride out into these killers?” Doc demanded. Marad sighed with long suffering.

“One does not allow, or hinder the Savior if she does not wish to be hindered,” he told her. “However, the Embassy is part of Avad's peace overtures with the Tenakth. Their current Chieftain, Hekarro, has agreed to exchanges of prisoners, kept by the Tenakth after the Red Raids in exchange for tribute from the Sun King. Avad's cousin, Unyielding Fashav the highest born of the captives, is due to be exchanged at this Embassy. If there is a time where Aloy could be granted safe passage through their lands, it is then.”

“When is this Embassy?” asked Travis.

“In a few weeks,” Marad told him. “It's a long walk to Barren Light, if you're going, more than a fortnight on foot, though, with your Striders, I imagine you can make better time. In fact, you'll have company on the journey, should you choose to follow her.”

The Colonel frowned. “Company?”

“The Nora War Chief's son, Varl,” the Carja replied. “He arrived with Aloy yesterday. She went up into the Spire, informed us of what she'd learned, and for whatever reason, left without him. He's provisioning right now to chase her.”

“Can you get him word we're going that way?” Travis asked.

The Spy Master gestured at a soldier who took off at a run. “Done.”

“Buck, see if you can interface your Focus with the tower. Maybe it made a recording of whatever Aloy witnessed. It would be good to have solid information.” The big man nodded.

“You got it, boss.”

Turning back to the Carja, Travis continued, “Blameless, I have a gift for the Sun King, though your agent Furahni is using it currently, a Focus and Strider.”

The other man's eye brows ascended his forehead. “Most Generous, Colonel! Though, I sense some hesitation in your tone?”

“It depends on if you want Furahni to accompany us,” Murray replied. “She'll need to keep using both so she can keep up.”

“I see your point,” Marad declared in a very cagey tone of voice. “Yes, I think it would benefit you to have Resolved Furahni and her knowledge with you. If the Sun King's gift is delayed, I doubt he'll miss what he isn't informed of.”

Travis nodded, filing away the Spy Master's guile for future reference. “I thought you'd think so.”

“Boss,” Buck declared as he ambled up. “You're gonna want to see this.” He touched his Focus and immediately a tiny ghostly Aloy appeared with another man who was evidently communicating with her by the Focus he was wearing. He was an older man of African descent, completely bald and dressed in a tunic of fur and homespun cloth with a metal bandoleer that held a large, rectangular bag at his buttocks behind him. Though it was the blue threads of what appeared to be machine parts implanted into his skin at various places that was truly off putting in a way that it was not obvious if it was some kind of human/machine interface or merely tribal ritual scarification. His hands were clasped behind his back and his tone and bearing dripped with sarcasm and smug superiority.

“Well, Aloy,” he greeted with a small smile. “I see you finally figured it out. To be honest, I'm surprised it took you so long to discover my ruse.”

For her part, the Seeker was disgusted. “You rigged the lance you give me to steal HADES? How could you be so reckless?”

“Reckless?” the other demanded. “You're the one who wanted to purge HADES before it's precious knowledge could be...extracted. The mysterious signal that woke it, for example. Or where to obtain one of those GAIA backups you've been having such a hard time finding.”

“If you knew, why didn't you just tell me?” Aloy snarled, only just keeping her temper in check.

The bald man began to pace back and forth as he considered the much younger woman before him. “I've been having problems of my own these past six months, Aloy. The difference is, I've made progress. So, once your anger at my entirely necessary deception has faded, why don't you come out here and find me in the Forbidden West, and learn all I've discovered?”

“Oh, I'll come find you alright,” Aloy swore through clinched teeth. Sylens, however, was not perturbed by the unvoiced threat.

“Yes, well the coordinates should make it simple enough...” and he paused before throwing salt into the wound of her obvious rage. “Even for you.” The dark skinned man vanished, a smug smile on his face which caused Aloy to clinch her fists and have to swallow her anger. After a moment of visually getting a hold of herself, she sighed and looked up to the heavens.

“There's no other choice,” she whispered to herself and the recording ended.

Olara put a hand on her hip and gestured at the blank space where the hologram had been. “Do you remember your mad scholar?” she asked Buck. “Who built the scaffolds and wanted so desperately into the door at GAIA Prime?” The big man nodded, a wary look on his face. “I'd bet all I have, that was him.”

* * *

It turned out Varl was in fact quite glad of company in the face of the dangers of the Forbidden West. The reunion of the young man and the Ancients who had become his tribe's neighbors was jolly and full of smiles. He'd evidently grown a full beard over the summer which gave his otherwise young face character, as Buck was quick to compliment him on. A compliment that clearly embarrassed the young man by his sheepish grin and self effacing body language.

The Sun King threw an impromptu feast, in his surprisingly modest private apartments for the party that was still a small, relatively quiet affair by the Palace's standards. Avad 14th Sun King of the Carja, discarded his royal regalia, dressed in simple linen balloon pants and a vest, though the crown was at rest on the top of his chair, ready to be re-donned at need. The King encouraged Varl to tell of his travels since the Battle of the Alight, and the Nora regaled the group with the story of his five months of tracking Aloy, the Nora Seeker across the South West until finally catching up to her at a strange ruin she had called a launch facility.

“There was a great sky ship of the old ones,” Varl told them with extravagant gestures, indicating it's size. “Still standing against a massive tower of steel and the poured stone of the Ancients.”

“Concrete,” Buck informed him. “It's called Concrete.”

“Concrete,” Varl repeated with a smile. “And around the tower coiled three Slither Fangs that hissed and snarled at each other as if fighting over the metal and the Sky Ship.”

“Slither Fangs?” demanded Nakoa, much to Travis' shock that evidently she hadn't heard of this type of machine either. Varl nodded and again held his arms apart to indicate the size disparity.

“They looked like massive snakes,” he assured her, “but with great hooded backs and at the end of their tails a wicked hook they shook to make a loud, rattling thunder. They spit a terrible acid and killed an entire Oseram Delver team. We found their camp, and what was left of them, just after the room of lies. The Slither Fangs killed them to a man, the poor sods never had a chance.”

“Towers?” demanded Doc with a curious expression on her face. “Ships of the Ancients?”

“Didn't that corporation of billionaires called Far Zenith have a launch facility in Wyoming somewhere?” Buck thought aloud. “I remember there was chatter about it on some of the conspiracy theory forums I followed for a laugh back in the day. Something about forget the world and save yourself as we fly off in outer space?”

“Yes, up by Bitter Creek, in Wyoming,” Travis informed him. “I escorted Frank out there for protection while they gave him the song and dance, but I didn't see the briefing he got. I know he came out livid and shouting at them.”

“There was a recording Aloy and I saw,” Varl told him. “In the Room of Lies. They made a great show about how they were trying to 'Save Humanity' but behind closed doors, it was just a lie. The recording urged these 'elites' as it called them to save themselves and fly to another star. I think he said it's name was Sirius.”

Travis shook his head. “Sounds about right. I recall Frank seemed very pleased with himself when the news broke their ship, the Odyssey blew up when they went to light their fusion drive.” Murray's eyes went back to Varl. “They had a shuttle still on the tower? After all these years?”

The Nora nodded gravely. “Not by much,” he admitted. “Aloy didn't have much trouble dropping it on the Slither Fangs. Though one of the cables held, and it brought the tower down with it. I thought for sure it was the end of Aloy! But she's incredible! She rode the wreckage down, leaping to a cable to swing to safety at the last instant!” He sighed. “Once we cleared the way and got into the,” and he hesitated over the unfamiliar word, “Data Center, I thought we had found a copy of GAIA, but evidently it was a fake. Something about...” and he paused to suss out exactly what he wanted to say. “I remember one of the images that made Aloy angry; the man in it called it a...logic bomb...”

Buck snickered to himself. “That sounds like Travis Tate, self styled 'super hacker.'”

Varl nodded. “He did call himself 'a Tate.' Aloy, she was about to give up, but I suggested we come here. I remembered Aloy said the Shaman Sylens knew a lot about the old world, and Blameless Marad is really good at finding people. It would have been a long walk, but she commanded two Chargers for us and here we are in less than a week.”

For the first time, the Sun King spoke, “And the Savior can command all machines?”

Varl shrugged again. “I can't say all machines, your Radiance, but she snuck up on the two we arrived riding and commanded them. That's how we got back here.” He sighed and gestured to the west. “She spoke with Sylens and then went West.”

“We'll catch up with her,” Travis assured the young man.

“I'm more concerned with this 'Slither Fang',” Nakoa declared. “Your Radiance, do your Carja Scholars keep records of such things?”

The Sun King nodded, but it was Marad who spoke as he snapped his fingers at one of the soldiers by the door. The solider immediately took to his heels through it. “We do indeed, worthy Nora. I'll have someone from the Hunter's Lodge here shortly with what we know of it.”

“We offered the Savior a full escort to the Embassy,” Avad the Sun King declared sadly. “It was, in fact, our intention to accompany the Savior at least as far as Sunfall, but...” he trailed off, lost in his own thoughts.

“She thought we would slow her down,” Varl completed with some rancor. A melancholy air settled over the group and they ate in silence for a time. The feast was quite extensive in it's fare, with an entire roasted turkey, apples, grapes and other fruit, along side salads of greens and vegetables from the gardens below the city with surprising variation and all roasted and prepared to perfection. Finally, there came a knock at the door heralding the return of the guard and an older man not in scholars robes, but dressed in armored clothing, similar to what the Nora wore, but with the precise refinement of the Carja. Trailing after him was a youth, laboring with a massive tome the size of his torso.

The older man stopped before the table and bowed to the Sun King who evidently knew him on sight. “Welcome, Hawk Ligan of the Hunter's Lodge,” Avad told him. “Sit at my table and eat your fill.”

“The honor is entirely mine, Your Radiance,” Ligan replied with a somewhat stiff bow that spoke of old joints complaining over a misspent youth. “I am informed the Sun King's guests request enlightenment about a newer machine? I have brought the King's List of Machines to shine the light of knowledge for them.” He opened the book the youth carried to a marked place and used him as an intelligent pedestal to walk about the table so all could see the drawing.

“The Slither Fang, guests of his Radiance! A terrible machine of the Hunter Killer type. A full twenty four steps long, with a maw that can swallow a man whole, when it isn't spitting a particularly strong acid that can kill a man and reduce him to a puddle of blood and viscera with a single blast. It travels quickly underground, digging a tunnel the size that a full grown man can walk upright in. This is not a machine for the new to hunting to attempt. My advice to your noble guests is that if they see one, they give it a wide berth.”

“No shit!” rumbled Buck as he saw the rendering. “Kind of a sick cross between a King Cobra and a rattle snake!”

“Taken to the usual obscene scale,” Doc added a shudder.

Buck caught Travis' eye when he saw the picture. “What do you think, boss? Fifty, sixty feet?”

“With this figure for scale? Easily,” Travis replied.

To Hawk Ligan, Doc asked, “Does this thing have any weak spots? Some kind of leverage we can have if we can't give it wide berth?”

Ligan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The acid sacks are noted in green on the drawing and can be pierced by most arrows. This will douse the machine in it's own Metal Bite acid and remove the spitting attack, but be weary! The sack is under considerable pressure and will burst with some force.”

“Here's hoping it doesn't come to that,” Travis muttered softly to himself.

* * *

September 23th, 3040

Three days of hard riding and cold camps in the wilderness just long enough to let the Striders recharge their Blaze canisters, finally brought the group to a high mesa overlooking a narrow canyon running out of the Pine Valley mountains along what had been called the Virgin River. “Look at that,” whispered Nakoa in awe of what she saw. The mountains parted as a curtain to reveal a narrow valley through which ran a creek or stream desperately intent on becoming a river. The Sun was setting down the mouth of the valley that ran in an ambling due west direction, which made it's significance to the Carja obvious.

On this edge of the bluff where they stood was a stone dwelling with a guard wall to keep machines out of the courtyard. Just beyond it, anchored into the building was a pair of massive iron chains that ran down into valley to a small promontory upon which sat a matching domicile at it's base. Next to the dwelling was a platform that hung from the chains with a complicated cog and gear system that appeared to be hand cranked so the platform could ride down the chain like a cable car.

“There's no way,” Olara swore after a single glance at the contraption.

Buck shrugged expressively as he leaned over his Strider's neck. “Either ride or climb,” he declared pragmatically. “Riding lets us keep the Striders.”

The door into the stone house opened, revealing a round faced, somewhat rotund man of east Asian ethnicity. He wore the metal fastened to leather armor in the style favored by the Oseram, in his case strips of leather with iron rings sewn to it, which were then gathered into a bib or apron, then held in place by a wide leather belt with a much larger ring over his stomach. It looked like a weightlifters or a wrestling champion's belt. A set of leather sewn to thick cloth protected his shoulders and outer arms down to his hands. He blinked in surprise to see the strangers on his doorstep. “Sparks from steel!” he swore, with a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Does everybody ride machines now?”

“You've seen a machine rider before?” Nakoa demanded.

“That I have!” he answered quickly with a gesture at her. “And a Nora as well! Took her down myself, a couple of hours ago. You kin of hers?”

“Aloy came through here?” Nakoa demanded. Travis shared a wink with Varl.

“Told you we'd catch up,” he declared then, turned back to the Oseram. “No,” Travis informed him. “We're not kin of Aloy. I'm Colonel Travis Murray, and my tribe are called the AmSci.”

“I'm Karhn,” the Oseram declared, then his eyes got wide and he pointed back at Travis. “I've heard of your people! The Captain of the Vanguard, uh, Erend is his name, he told me about how you defended Meridian.” The man drew up short and leaned in to whisper, “Are you really Ancients?”

Travis dismounted Black Jack and chuckled, holding out a hand the other shook vigorously. “We are,” he admitted, then gestured at the gondola behind Karhn. “Does this thing actually work?”

“Oh, sure,” Karhn bragged with a dismissive gesture. “I've been the Chain Lift Keeper for five winters now. People and supplies go into the Daunt, shards, minerals and just about everything else comes out. Why, it was the Chain Lift that kept the wild Tenakth from invading further east!”

Travis nodded thoughtfully. Turning back to his group, he declared, “Alright, we'll probably need to take the Striders down one at a time. I'll go down first with Black Jack to hold the landing, then...”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Karhn interrupted, “I can't take you down.”

“Why not?” Travis demanded.

Karhn walked over to the edge of the platform, a platform without a railing and far too close to the edge for Travis' liking. He encompassed the entire valley with his gesture. “The Daunt,” he proclaimed. “The whole valley, is infested with a new machine. They're called Bristlebacks, nasty things, huge, angry, acid...” he gave a dismissive gesture. “Weird thing is they're not native to the Daunt, but an entire herd of them just showed up from somewhere yesterday. I'm under strict instructions not to let anyone down until they're dealt with. Until I hear the whistle blow down in Chainscrape it's all clear.”

“What's a Chainscrape?” Travis demanded. Karhn pointed with a gloved hand at a settlement halfway down the valley with a massive, circular dome of a building at it's center. Travis pulled on his chin as he thought, then turned back to the Oseram and declared, “You just said you took Aloy down a couple of hours ago.”

“I...uh...well...”

“Karhn,” Travis interrupted, with a friendly grip on his shoulder. “Let's not let our time together turn ugly. We're chasing down a threat to all life on this planet.” He caught the other man's eye to emphasize again, “All life. I couldn't care less about Bristlebacks or whistles from Chainscrape. Ok?”

Karhn's eyes darted from Travis to the rest of the group whereupon Buck cracked his knuckles loudly. “Well, it's your funeral, I guess.” Murray dug into his pocket and handed a small coin to the Keeper. “What's this?”

“A United States of America quarter dollar,” Travis told him with a smile. “The Ferryman is worth his toll.”

“What's a United States of America?”

Travis smiled at him. “You're standing in it. A thousand years ago, this land was called Utah, it was a state, of fifty others, that made up the USA. And that was the coin of the realm, so to speak.” Karhn's eyes went huge.

“A real coin of the Ancients?”

“Keep it under your hat,” Travis advised him. He walked over to the lift and raised the gate to step onto it. “Black Jack,” he called and pointed, causing the Strider to docilely walk behind him onto the lift and stand still.

“You're not going anywhere without me,” Nakoa declared as she slid off her Strider's back and joined him on the lift, Snow Flake behind her. “Will this hold two Striders weight?”

“Seems to,” Karhn replied as he closed the gate, and maned the crank. “Going down.” With a groan and rattle of gears, the gondola began it's decent, dangling between the two chains with a set of gears on a car on each that was attached to a bundle of massive wooden beams that came down and became both the housing of the gears and handle the Oseram cranked as well as the platform they stood on. Nakoa watched the man at work for a moment, then, finally satisfied they weren't about to plummet to their deaths, she leaned up against her husband and sighed.

“It's a beautiful view, isn't it?” Travis asked her as the land slowly rose to meet them.

“Have you been here before?” Nakoa asked him. “In the Ancient Time?”

Travis nodded thoughtfully, then removed his binoculars from their protective case. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered as he handed her the glasses and pointed. She looked through them, finding a skeleton of a stone and log building only just standing on the south bank of the creek. “That's Zion Lodge,” he informed her. “Or, what's left of it. I stayed there once on a leave from Cheyenne Mountain. This whole area was once called Zion National Park.”

“It looks like it was once a very beautiful place,” she told him, used to these little bouts of nostalgia that went with being the wife of a man over a thousand years her senior.

“Zion?” asked Karhn. “Odd word. What does it mean?”

“It refers to ancient kingdom,” Travis told him. “Long before even my time, so three or four thousand years ago, and thousands of miles to the east, over the Atlantic Ocean.”

The man grunted from his labor of turning the crank. “Today is full of surprises!”

“I just hope we can catch up with Aloy and get safe passage through this 'embassy.'”

Karhn laughed a strained laugh. “That might be a problem.”

“How's that?” demanded Nakoa.

“I brought the Sun Priest and his party down yesterday,” Karhn informed her. “He's the man supposed to run the Embassy, but he was still at the landing when I brought down the Savior a few hours ago. Pompous git if you ask me.” The car finally arrived at the landing, but the lower house was deserted, with only a few barrels and bags at what was likely some kind of custom's house. Karhn hesitantly shied around the Striders and raised the rail so that they could exit. “Now, you'll want to be careful,” he cautioned them. “Normally there would be soldiers here, but they've been pulled back to Chainscrape since the work stoppage.”

Travis pulled his AR15 around into a patrol low ready carry. “We'll be fine,” he assured the Keeper. “Black Jack, out and graze. Perimeter fifteen meters.”

The Strider gave an exaggerated nod and filed out and through the open gate to begin grazing beyond it. “Snow Flake, you too,” Nakoa ordered. Once the car was empty the Keeper returned to his crank and it began to rise again.

“He's going to get a heck of a workout today,” Travis opined as he watched the car ascend the chain.

“Honey,” Nakoa called, standing by the side of the customs house that had a piece of parchment affixed to it. “Look at this.”

Travis walked over, keying on his Focus as he did so. Instantly, the device at his temple 'read' the Carja glyphs and then holographically laid over them the translation in English. “By mandate, mandate he says!” Travis chuckled. “By mandate of Commander Nozar,” he continued. “All residents of the Daunt are herewith informed of the following:” He shared a glance with his wife and continued to read.

“The gates between Barren Light and No Man's Land are hereby ordered shut and sealed in expectation of the imminent Embassy. None are allowed passage either way until further notice. No exception will be made, regardless of clan, house or tribe. Based on previous grievances and misunderstandings, let it be clear that no exceptions will be made for the Oseram either. Any outstanding arrangements made pertaining to passage are hereby declared postponed or void, depending on the nature and timing of the arrangement. No Exceptions will be made. Again, to eliminate any doubts should they remain: ALL OF THE ABOVE PERTAINS TO THE OSERAM REGARDLESS OF CIRCUMSTANCES, EXCUSES, OR SO-CALLED BINDING CONTRACTS! Any complaints and/or restitution (if at all applicable) can be addressed to Captain Lawan, my second-in-command. Signed in the Light of the Sun, Nozar Arin Khuvaman, Commander of Barren Light.” Travis chuckled to himself. “Sounds like a charming fellow.”

“Sounds like a typical Carja to me,” Nakoa opined.

Travis tapped his Focus to make the translation disappear, and smiled at his wife. “I'm sure. Once we get everybody down, as late in the day as it is, we'll probably stay the night in this 'Chainscrape' and head into Barren Light in the morning.”

“That's what I love about you, darling,” Nakoa told him returning his smile. “Your sunny optimism!”

* * *

Killing Time: A Tale of the Star Wars

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Fanfiction

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Mmorpg / Virtual Reality

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Killing Time

Killing Time

A Tale of the Star Wars

By:

E. E. Nalley

It is been stated over and over, since we first ventured out into space, the almost indescribable beauty that is a planet viewed from above. I promised myself I wouldn't give into any feelings of maudlin in this narrative, but when hyperspace opened and the Aces and Eights returned to real space, the world of Ruuria rushed up to meet me I couldn't help but be stunned. Tatooine had been beautiful in its austerity; the subtle blending the various shades of brown and tan in the sand and the rock. But Ruuria was a blue-green gem playing in a dust speckled fold of black velvet with little slivers of diamonds the shining reflections of the various star ships moving about.

So no, I'm not too proud to admit my breath caught in my throat when I saw it. It was a transcendental kind of beauty.

Ruuria itself was an interesting series of juxtapositions, a planet of jungles, manufacturing centers, and universities. Learning was prized here chiefly among the dominant intelligent species on the planet the centipede like Ruurians. My tablet told me that before the Sith Empire had suffered the Civil War under Darth Malgus, Ruuria had been an unremarkable but staunchly loyal planet of the Empire. It had last been important as a base of operations during the Tingel Arm Campaign back during the Republic-Sith war where the Republic had been handed a stout defeat.

Now it was the seat of Malgus's New Revanite Empire, and consequently the home base of Emperor Malgus' Imperial Navy the chief feature of this home base was a massive space station that spread out like a marina with finger docks. A frantic amount of construction is underway, of course, there were a half-dozen large Harrower-class dreadnoughts in various stages of completion, but there were plenty of other more traditional comings and goings; freighters, liners and shuttles all making their way around the port. Shortly after we left hyperspace we picked up an escort of Mark IV space superiority fighters that guided us not to one of the finger docks, but rather one of the high prestige landing bays at the stations hub.

Not to brag but it was a difficult docking which I managed with my usual grace and aplomb. I'm also sure that any lingering marks from the landing will buff right out. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. While I had expected a welcoming committee, I hadn't expected quite so large of one. In addition to the small army of maintenance technicians that began the swarm over the Aces and Eights practically before her weight was settled on her landing gear there was the better part of a battalion of Imperial troopers lining up as an honor guard with a little gaggle of officers and VIPs behind.

Fortunately I had planned ahead, not knowing how quickly I would be swept into the presence of my Imperial betters and decided upon formality. Sith are in fact technically part of the Imperial military, and like any military everyone has a uniform. So at some point the uniform had been created for the Sith for those rare times that they would actually put one on. I somehow had the feeling that Nyeomi wore her uniform more than most Sith.

It was a high, stiff collared tunic, long sleeved and belted that fell to mid-thigh in a dark navy blue that was nearly black. There was braid on the collar, cuffs, ropes, ribbons and medals sufficient to be suitably impressive, more so perhaps if you had looked them up to know what they stood for which I had.

Nyeomi was in fact quite well decorated. Awards of valor, commendations of honor, it was clear from the history of her service displayed in these metals just how desperately she had sought to make her parents proud. The tunic was matched by a pair of surprisingly close fit trousers based on Mr. Belos's interest as I was putting them on were quite flattering to my rear. The Uniform was then topped off with a pair of knee boots, black leather gloves and surprisingly a short mantled Cape that fell to the back of my knees.

Capes were in fact the order of the day, as both Silas decided to sport his, and Darius had decided the uniform look to be a wise choice of action and on his Republic military uniform which also had a cape. Laura's duster seemed to suit her and only Torm was comfortable enough in his tunic and jacket. So with X4 to push the cart with a small mountain of cash on it I led the way down the ramp where I got the first of a series of nasty shocks this day had in store.

The head of the VIPs waiting for us in the bottom of the ramp was a huge, bull of a man, bald pate gleaming in the lights of the docking bay. His uniform was immaculate, seeming to have been tailored to his form and be draped with medals and awards. His wide somewhat florid face was covered in a great mutton chop beard and whiskers that left his chin clean shaven as though he'd stepped out of Victorian England. And though his visage was stern, his eyes twinkled and there was a ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Don't ask me by what knowledge that I knew, but as certain as I knew what happened to me, I knew that he was Brigadier Algon Fens, the father of the body I was wearing.

Protocols in situation like this are somewhat nebulous; I was a Darth, pinnacle of the Sith order, although being a flag officer the Brigadier held the status of courtesy at equal rank. More to the point he was in fact my father, and somethings always give way to nature, so I saluted him first. "Welcome to Revan Station, Darth Nyeomi," the general greeted in a rich baritone that immediately told me where I had acquired my distinct Eton accent.

"It is a pleasure to be home, Brigadier Fens," I replied, relaxing my posture somewhat from the salute as I stepped to one side to present my party. "My mission was greatly assisted by these worthy companions. May I present Silas Bast, master of the Aces and Eights?"

Never let it be said that Stuart can't take a hint when it is really important. He stepped forward, all smiles and offered a hand be shook which the general accepted. "Brigadier Fens, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is mine, sir," my father replied. "The new Revan Empire is exceedingly grateful for your assistance."

"My 1st mate, Colonel Darius Persia…"

Silas couldn't continue because the general's expression changed and he immediately put forward a hand be shook. "The lion of Alderaan, your reputation precedes you, sir." Such a moniker obviously put Darius off his ease, but he took the hand with a humble smile and made a self-deprecating gesture of dismissal.

"The soldier does his duty, general, as I'm sure you'll agree?"

Algon nodded thoughtfully. "I hope you do me the honor of joining me for a drink before you depart." Darius nodded noncommittally.

"Lanaka Fargo," I continued, pausing for pleasantries that were awkwardly not offered or exchanged. The two didn't actually growl at each other but settled for cool nods of greeting. "And finally Torm Belos."

Now I would've thought such an introduction to be particularly innocent and benign; worthy of no special attention or other clues of affiliation. In such a supposition I would be wrong, because my father's expression immediately changed to one of guarded suspicion and he thrust forth an outstretched hand like a sword, demanding to be shook. If you ever doubt the mystic origins of The Force, I would retort that you should watch the mystic ability of a father to suss out that he was just introduced to his daughter's boyfriend by stealth and any such doubts fall by the wayside. Algon Fens knew instantly that Torm Belos had had his way with me and like any good father was probably making up his mind whether or not he was going to have Torm killed for it.

"Mr. Belos."

For his part there is not much that can rattle Torm, so he simply smiled that incredible smile, that worked so well on me, while pouring on his considerable reserves of charm. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Brigadier," he replied easily. "At the risk of inviting myself as an armchair historian I'd be fascinated to be within eavesdropping distance of that conversation between you and Colonel Darius. In fact let me just say now the first round is on me."

My father's eyes narrowed. "Are you a soldier, Mr. Belos?"

"I'm a member of the Ord Mantell militia," he admitted with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. "But I wouldn't go so far as to claim one cycle end a month makes me a soldier."

One of father's aids leaned in and whispered something in his ear. It was obvious he was more interested in giving my boyfriend the third degree, but Brigadier Fens was a man of duty and he knew when duty called. "Captain, please escort these guests of the Empire to the station cantina with my compliments on the first round."

The Captain came to attention. "Sir!"

"Darth Marr awaits, Lord Nyeomi, I'm to convey you to his presence without delay."

I shared a quick glance with my companions then nodded to my father. "Lead on general." I fell in beside the general who walked with the determined but unhurried pace deeper into the station while the Captain led the others off at a tangent. In short order we were alone enough in our journey to allow for a more familiar level of conversation. "Is mother here, too?" I asked softly.

"Aye," he replied thoughtfully clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. "My assignment here seems to be somewhat permanent, she is down in the capital city househunting. She'd love to see you, shall I have her come up?"

"I'd like that," I said, my brain in neutral and my mouth in overdrive. "Of course I don't know if I will be sent right back out again…"

He shrugged expressively. "Fortunes of war." He took a comlink from his belt and spoke softly into it for a moment then returned it. "Congratulations on your success," he continued looking me sidelong over the bushy sideburns. "Tell me, speaking of the fortunes of war, and where does Mr. Belos fit into this narrative?"

"I don't know what you mean," I started but he clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

"We might be a bit remote out here in the Tion Cluster, but we do get all the holonet channels, to include the broadcast of the Boonta Eve Pazaak tournament direct from the Lady of Great Fortune casino." My cheeks burned with embarrassment as my erstwhile fathers tone became ironic. "So having seen who you were hanging on and what you are wearing when doing so I believe I've established you do in fact know what I mean, so pay me the courtesy of answering my question… My Lord."

I felt my heart sink a bit. "You… Saw all that?"

"In living color," he deadpanned. I stole fearful glance to find him looking at me sidelong. His normally inscrutable face actually had a hint of a smile, perhaps in remembrance of his own youthful exuberance. The important thing was he didn't seem to be angry. "So," he said almost cheerfully. "Do you feel something for this boy, or was he a prop to accomplish a mission?"

At some point I would have to find some alone time to consider just how perceptive either some of the people around me were, or how emotionally transparent I had become. Perhaps it was the influence of the Force that was making me easier to read, perhaps this was the reason so many Sith Lords made use of masks that obscured their faces. "May I answer your question with a question?"

"You have already," he declared with a shrug of his shoulders as he turned his eyes forward again. "But, go ahead."

"How did you know mother was the one for you?"

The general made an interesting noise in the back of his throat, not quite a growl, not quite clearing his throat either. After a long moment of silence when I began to think that perhaps he hadn't heard me, he finally said, "Not a prop then." Several meters of corridor passed in silence and I could feel the uneasiness in him as he tried to decide how he would answer my question.

"If I'm prying…"

He raised a hand to ward off my concern, then gave a discrete glance at his remaining aid which communicated his desire for us to be completely alone and the aide departed at the next junction. Then it was merely myself, my body's father, and X4 with his cart. "What I'm about to tell you, daughter, I tell you out of fatherly love in hopes I can guide you in what is obviously important to you. Your mother is never to learn that I told you. If you cannot abide by that say so now."

At this revelation, I couldn't help but stop and turn towards him my confusion rampant in my face. "Father?"

In an uncharacteristic breach of protocol, his face softened and he took me by both shoulders. "Your word, pumpkin. Or this conversation ends now."

My mouth opened but no sound came out. It had been the better part of 10 years, some part of my mind told me, since he had referred to me that way. Unable to speak, I forced my head to nod in amazement. He squeezed my shoulders, then began again on his way talking to me quietly as he went.

"I met your mother in a bar outside the officers fleet Academy on Drummond Kaas," he told me, his voice and memory distant. "It was a bar known to be frequented by cadets to the Academy, and so it was also frequented by… Let's say ambitious women.”

I stopped as if I had run face first into a wall. I can't begin to describe the feelings that welled up in me as my subconscious begin filling in the gaps of his euphemism. It was disturbing, especially as, from my point of view, these people have been figments of my imagination not too long ago. It made no sense for it to be so emotionally wrenching as it was. "My… Mother, was a common tavern…"

He wheeled on me his eyes on fire in his finger under my nose like a sword point. "Your mother, is a kind, selfless, and above everything else loyal, woman! She has been my companion, my tireless supporter, and the joy of my life challenged only by you!"

"What is it you're telling me?" I demanded, my heart beating a mile a minute.

He sighed and mastered himself straightening his tunic as he did so. "Your mother, has always been a very practical woman," he admitted quietly. "She came from a very humble family, and you know what a difficult place Drummond Kaas can be to survive on. She survived, and I've always respected the no-nonsense manner in which she dealt with her survival. Suffice to say neither of us were virgins when we wed."

He gestured for me to proceed and we began walking once more. "Why is it important for me to know this?"

"Because you wanted to know how I knew," he told me matter-of-factly. "And to understand that answer you have to understand what I knew and when I knew it. Your mother was a great beauty in her youth, and to my jaundiced eye still is. It was her one advantage then, though there are times I wonder if your strength with The Force comes from her and not me. Suffice to say I didn't go carousing in the bar, my mates dragged me along, because we were a squad and we were supposed to stay together. While they drank and caroused, I studied."

I raise an eyebrow and glanced at him sidelong. "So, what? She thought you would be an easy… What word shall I use? Customer?"

He sucked on his cheek for a moment as if he had bitten something sour. "What is the practical difference, if any, between a generic plying of smalltalk and a pragmatic statement of a business arrangement?" He asked sounding like a professor, which he had been for some time at the Academy. "There cannot be emotions at the beginning of any kind of what would be romantic relationship; except lust. So what we are discussing is the bartering of resources in exchange for… Time, perhaps intimate time, perhaps full on sexual favors. If you can articulate what is the real moral difference between a young man taking a woman out out to a meal and entertainment that ends in a romantic encounter versus the young man who contracts with a professional to receive the same services directly I'm listening."

"One does not necessarily follow the other on the date," I offered up feebly.

"The professional may abscond with her fee without tendering services," he replied sardonically. He shrugged expansively to show that he wasn't intent on pressing his point. "As I said, your mother has always been a very practical woman. That I love her, and that she loves me, and that we both love you, are things that you should not doubt or question. But that love took time. Your mother sensed that I was ambitious and that I had potential, she realized that before long the rest of my squad mates would be saluting me and she saw the path of being an officer's wife as a life that she preferred. And so yes she offered me the bargain; she would be the perfect wife, the perfect young officers asset, and she would work tirelessly in the social realm while I could devote myself fully in the martial realm and we would both further my career. She would enjoy the fruits of that labor equally, she pledged her absolute loyalty to me and has proven it many, many times over. And while there are those of my contemporaries who have divorced, or drink themselves numb so as to forget their loveless marriages, I with my "business arrangement" enjoy everything a storybook says a marriage should be; a daughter I could not be more proud of, a wife who has been a peerless friend, a lover without equal and a true partner in every sense of the word."

I shook my head in disbelief of the clinical history I just received a the beginning of my parents relationship. "Father, surely this must be some kind of statistical outlier…"

The professor's finger came up as he employed one of his favorite catch isms. "The successful make their own luck and do not depend on odds." He smiled at me, an odd cross between the smug professor who has just taken a pupil to school and the kindly smile of a father who loves his daughter. "Being a good judge of character is a talent that has served me very well in my career. I have endeavored to teach that talent to you and I'm confident of some amount of success in it. When did I know your mother was the one for me? In some ways I knew when she finished laying out her proposal. If you listen carefully, pumpkin, you can always hear the lie as it is being spoken. Your mother has been many things in her life, but she's always been an honest woman. There was no lie in what she laid out and I knew I would never receive an offer so perfect or clear-cut again."

We arrived at the door to the principal chambers and I stopped to face him once more as he made certain my uniform was to his liking. As he brushed off imaginary lint I asked, "so, you just shook hands and that was that right then?"

"Oh no," he replied is florid complexion darkening just a bit, or perhaps it was my imagination or some trick of the light. "I didn't agree to take her offer until the next morning." His expression became mischievous as he saw the question on my face. "Never turn down a free sample, pumpkin."

And of course, on that particular bombshell, he keyed the door open before I could respond.

* * *

Back in my cabin on the Aces and Eights, my uniform returned to its garment bag, I decided to return to the outfit that was what Nyeomi wore most; plasti-form armored midriff top with its leather pants and boots all in shades of white and gray. I wore a rustled sash under the utility belt that fell into a kind of armored breech cloth front and back but made for dramatic movements in the wind. I also have to admit that I love the contrast of the white on her dusky skin, as well as the irony of a Sith Lord dressed in white.

But that had always been a part of the character's concept, The Good Sith. The Star Wars equivalent of Victorian era British soldier bringing civilization to the heathens of Empire for God, Gloriana Regina, and country.

Now this wasn't a character any more, but was in fact who I was. The Force Was not an abstract concept of fictional universe, but a living thing never far from the back of my mind, and I began to wonder if it had a Dark Side, and if I had already fallen to it. I didn't feel evil, and looking back at my actions since I had arrived didn't seem that I acted particularly evil. At least, I didn't think so; which begs the question, how much can I trust my own judgment?

More terrifyingly perhaps, if I couldn't trust my own judgment, what could I?

But there was one thing I kept coming back to, one set of circumstances that all seem to orbit around our unwilling guest in the sick bay. Why were our characters on Tatooine? To get Darth Malgus' money back. Why was Darth Malgus's money stolen? So that Milton Tess could be paid off. Why was Milton Tess being paid off?

That, as the saying went, was the $64,000 question.

We were transported here to interfere with whatever Milton Tess was being paid to do. Which meant I needed to find out what that was, which meant I would have to flirt with that possible Dark Side as I interrogated him. I took a few deep breaths to center myself, established clearly in my mind lines that I wouldn't cross, to make sure interrogation would not metamorphose into torture, then left my cabin for the short walk to sick bay.

Milton Tess was handcuffed and leg ironed to the treatment bed, not that the hardware was actually needed. He was practically a caricature of a 98 pound weakling and doubtlessly a stout leather belt would've held him just as well. His head was too big for his shoulders and was balding with large eyes darted around fearfully before settling on me as door slid shut behind me. "Do you know who I am?" I asked softly.

The Bureaucrat whimpered in fear. "Please don't kill me," he begged.

I couldn't keep a smirk off my face as I walked over to a more conversational distance. "Good, you know what I am," I said, my eyes fixed on his. "Now let's get the introductions out of the way. I am Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith, and you, Milton Tess, have information I want."

Tess begin to sweat. "Please, I'm not a spy! I'm just a warehouse manager! I don't have any secrets! I'll tell you anything you want to know!"

"Yes," I told him with a reassuring, yet cold smile. "Yes you will. And we can do that pleasantly, where I ask you questions and you give me complete, honest, full, and in-depth answers. Or you can be coy, and try to mislead me, in which case our conversation will be not so pleasant." I removed one of the light sabers from my belt and held it up where he can see it. "And there will be less of you at the end of it."

His sweating became profuse and the color drained from his face. "Please, what is it you want to know? I'll tell you!"

"What were the Hutts buying from you by throwing the Boonta's Eve Pazaak Tourney in your favor?" I didn't think it possible, but Milton's face got paler.

"Please, they'll kill me!"

I allowed a frown to pull at my lips. "Do you suffer under the delusion that I won't?" I decided to change gears and held up an empty hand. "You will tell me what I want to know," I commanded. I felt The Force reach out, but despite his panic and many other bad things I could comment about him, Milton Tess was not weak minded.

"The Empire has to protect me!"

"Why should we?" I demanded. "What are we buying for the protection?"

I watched indecision flashed across his face, then saw him realize I was his only hope getting out of this. "A weapon!" He declared. "A weapon so powerful the Republic blacklisted it. It's a disintegration beam!"

Even considering where I was, that seems a little far-fetched, so I demanded, "you want me to believe that the Hutts were going to spend half a billion gold Peggats on a blaster?" But Milton's denial was vigorous, and this was obviously much more than I thought.

"Not a blaster!" He declared. "Complete disintegration! No deflector shields stop it, no explosion; you fire and the target ceases to exist!"

Well, it wouldn't be Star Wars without a super weapon would it?

* * *

"A disintegrater?" Asked Darius, disbelief heavy in his tone. "It doesn't seem like such a big deal." He reached across the table for one of the tablets and began to press buttons even as Silas scratched his head.

"Yeah, sis, even Darth Vader didn't seem to be wild at the concept. He just got up into Boba Fett's face and said not to use any…"

I held up my hand and shook my finger at him. "Don't call me that on the station," I ordered him. The expression on his face was confused.

"What?" He asked. "Sis? Considering we been through, I can't exactly call you Bro, but we're still family!" That declaration of loyalty couldn't keep a smile off my face and I gently patted his cheek with my open hand.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Stuart, and I feel the same way. However Naomi's real parents are on the station and she was an only child."

"Ah, Gotcha," he affirmed as Lanaka rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to be sick," she muttered, then looked around the room. "Speaking of being sick, where is your boy toy?"

I sighed. "Getting the third degree from daddy dearest. Poor guy, I feel sorry for him. Brigadier Fens seems to be the protective type."

"At least someone in the family understands the concept of protection," she replied tartly.

I smiled a saccharine smile into her blue skined face. "Green isn't your color, Smurfette."

Before our jabs escalated into a full-scale catfight, Darius cleared his throat and bravely commented, "Yeah, there's lots of disintegraters on the market. Most of them seem to be some kind of microwave-based emitter, but there are plenty that say they ignore personal force shields."

I turned and looked at the list he had floating holographicly over the tablet. It was quite a collection, everything from pistols to rifles and even a couple of ship turrets with competitive prices for installation. I have to admit, even having seen the old Sears and Roebuck ad for the Thompson submachine gun in their Christmas wish book of 1922 due to Auto Ordnance's increasing desperation to find a market for the weapon, it was odd seeing advertisements for vehicular mounted weaponry. "Did any of them claim that the target is completely destroyed?" I asked.

"Not sure how much this will hold up," Silas began as Darius began a rustle through the advertisements. "Especially considering that this universe has power sources capable of charging and running those light sabers of yours, that said in our universe the power cost to completely vaporize something will be something in the order of what the Death Star used."

I nodded. "Mr. Tess was quite specific, perhaps even going beyond vaporize, his exact words were ceases to exist."

"Nothing like that," Darius replied after several minutes of searching. "Not even anything in coy sales speech. Do you think this guy was playing straight with you?"

"If he wasn't too afraid to lie, he is a damn fine actor, because he had me fooled." I felt the snarky reply make its way through Lanaka's brain on its way to her vocal cords, but I turned and gave her my coldest gaze. "Consider very carefully before you give that thought voice on what it's repercussions might be."

Her red eyes narrowed and her hand twitched next to her blaster. "You think you scare me?" She hissed in tightly kept rage. There was something about her rage that fed into mine. I should've laughed it off, made some catty remark, but there was something about her posture or the way she glared at me that seemed to demand action. I stood slowly from the table top I had been sitting on and raised both arms to shoulder level.

"Oh, I'm your Huckleberry," I replied in a most lamentable Eton accented impersonation of Val Kilmer. "Say when." Looking back on it, it seems so silly and trite that I would quote a bad movie and be ready to engage in lethal combat over something so petty as an off-color remark. But if she had said 'boo' or gone for the blaster, there would've been blood I'm ashamed to admit. But at least I wasn't the only one who realized violence was in the offering. We stared at each other for a moment before my ears picked up the soft click of a pair of safeties being turned off behind me.

"Do I have to separate you two?" Silas asked in a deadly quiet voice.

While my attention was focused on Lanaka still, The Force told me that both Silas and Darius had weapons trained on my back, and while Silas' blaster was set for stun, Darius's rifle did not have that setting. The fact that my normally even-tempered brother had drawn on me and had a pistol at my back should've been my clue to get a hold of myself and stand down, but my Irish was still up. "Tell the bitch to keep a civil tongue in her head or lose it," I declared.

"This… Ends… Now…!" Silas declared with absolute finality. "Laura, you said over and over how much Ed wasn't your problem anymore, so you can shut the fuck up about her relationships, who she does or doesn't have sex with or anything else of a personal nature, because as you pointed out it's not your problem anymore."

"But, she…"

I felt the point of the blaster shift from my spine to her face behind me. "No butts, Laura!" Stuart hissed. "This is my ship! And you two will get along, or I'll put you off and I won't especially care if we're on a planet or not when I do it! And you, sis," he continued and I felt the blasters muzzle return to my unprotected spine. "You're family, and I love you, but that moment I think you've become some Dark Side Sith killer, that ends and I will put you down like a rabid dog."

"I will not let her walk over me…"

I didn't continue because I heard the click of the safety again, and now neither weapon pointed at me was set to stun. My options are becoming more and more limited, and while I was fairly sure I could will the saber to my hand and block one of the bolts, there were two weapons trained on me and I might not get the second. "I don't know," he said with obvious frustration. "Maybe I'm just not making myself clear. Maybe people don't believe me when I say this ends now. That would be a grave mistake, because I do mean it, and I am prepared to use this blaster. Now, I don't require that you two kiss and make up…"

In an attempt to defuse the situation, I decided to unsheathe my rapier wit. "I'd just as soon kiss a Wookiee!"

Yes, in retrospect it was a bad attempt, and Silas resisted the urge to complete the line. "… But you will be civil to each other and these confrontations will stop! Because I won't care who started it, I'll just kill who's left. Are we clear?"

It did rankle to capitulate, but it was the smart choice and I had a better grasp of my temper now. "Crystal," I replied. Lanaka mumbled something then turned away. Once more the muzzle of the blaster changed targets.

"Laura," Stuart called. "Are we clear?"

"Yes!" She snarled. "Now I'm gonna go back to my cabin, if that's all right, Captain?"

Both safeties clicked on and the blasters were returned their holsters. "That's fine, Laura. Maybe we all should take a little time and figure out how being here has changed us. God knows, I never in my wildest dreams ever thought I would draw a gun on my brother or his wife." That seem to penetrate Laura's new icy exterior and a tear escaped her eye before she turned and stormed out of the galley.

For myself I picked up my coffee cup and took it into the galley to put into the cleaner. Silas voice chased me. "Ed, I'm sorry…"

I shook my head and waved off his apology, whereupon I surprised myself with my own honesty. "No, I'm sorry, Stuart. You did what you had to do and I had it coming. I don't know why she gets under my skin so bad, but I'll work on it."

He found that amusing and snorted a laugh. "It's obvious why she gets in your skin," he declared. "It's because you're both women, and women are catty. Especially when they're jealous."

"Are you saying I'm jealous of her?"

"Nope. The other way around."

I probably shouldn't be proud of the warm feeling that gave me in the center of my chest, but I was. Favoring my brother with a smile, I told him, "And for what it's worth, my brother, the name is Nyeomi." It was very poignant, the complicated expression on his face as he made his peace with the 'death' of his brother and the realization of his sister. Finally he nodded somberly.

It was Darius realized what my preparations were, and so asked, "where are you going?"

"The Sith Academy below. I have eight months to a year depending upon who is counting, of service as this boats pilot to complete before Darth Marr will release me from service. The other proviso for the release is that I must take an apprentice and train them in the ways of the Sith."

Silas rolled his eyes. "So were picking up another passenger?" He demanded.

"Think of it as another bodyguard," I told him with a smile. "Maybe I'll pick a pretty girl and you can try your luck. After this little standoff it seems to me you could use getting laid."

* * *

I took a normal fleet shuttle down to Ruuria and being a passenger gave me time to catch up on current events through my tablet. I tried to balance the news sources between Empire, Republic, and Revanite so as to get a more clear view of what was really happening, but wars have a way of disrupting news reports. It was very much unclear whether the Sith Emperor was still alive or not, but based on the maps of controlled territory Malgus' New Revanite Empire was doing very well.

Surprisingly, that was a comforting thought.

Darth Malgus was ruthless, had a cruelty streak a parsec wide, and could be utterly bloodthirsty, but he wasn't trying to annihilate all life in the universe just so he could live forever. In my book, that made him infinitely more desirable than Darth Vitiate the mad. Though I had to wonder, if Vitiate were successful in destroying all life in the universe, and achieving absolute immortality, what would he eat? However, the shuttle did not give me much time to dwell on such esoteric thoughts; arriving quickly at the spaceport in the capital city whereupon I took a taxi to the Sith Academy.

I had already written the head of the Academy to inform him that I would be taking an apprentice, along with a short outline of what I was looking for. He answered me back a short list of acolytes that seemed to match what I was looking for in an apprentice. These students would be waiting for me when I arrived, and I've spent the intervening time between Darth Marr placing this restriction on my release from service and now going over the academic records of these young people.

While much has been made for the differences in training between the Jedi and the Sith, the similarities are quite remarkable. Initial instruction, at least in this era, were in the form of formal schools with classes being taught basics and fundamentals from a remarkably young age. The underlings within undergo a series of trials, whereupon they would be apprenticed, if they passed, to a Sith Lord or Darth to complete the training. And while a Jedi could not achieve the rank of Master before he or she had taken and trained a Padawan, the Sith had no such restriction and could achieve the rank of Darth without ever teaching an apprentice.

The headmaster had sent a list of ten possibilities, six of which I had rejected already. So when the taxi pulled to a stop at the steps up to the Academy, at the top there were four students in uniforms and an elderly man riding herd on them waiting on me. The Academy was a marble façade, four stories higher than street-level, with wide white steps leading up to the main building. It was in the University District of town surrounded by cool, well manicured lawns, intricately kept gardens and soft, gurgling fountains.

I paid my fare from the cab and walked up the steps taking in the four young people waiting on me as I did so. They all bowed as I arrived which I returned shallowly from the neck. The teacher stepped forward in greeting. "Darth Fens, we are honored by your presence, and interest. These are the students you requested. Do with them as you will."

"You have my thanks, headmaster," I told him bowing slightly deeper this time. He humbled himself and then withdrew, leaving me to turn my attention on my perspective apprentices. "For those of you who do not know, I am Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith, member of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire. You will address me as master or mistress as you like, I'm not especially picky about gender specific titles. As I am a member of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire, my apprentice can expect to engage in direct combat against the enemies of Emperor Malgus, and the new Revanite Empire. You'll be expected to coordinate your actions with the Army and Navy forces and act as a member of a team with them. If any of you are incapable of doing this, get out of my sight now."

None of the four moved, continuing to stand attentively, their attentions focused on me. I walked slowly around them, taking their measure, letting The Force guide me. The oldest was a human male, somewhere between 16 and 17 a handsome youth in the mold of an athlete stepping into his prime. I stopped in front of him and asked, "Which side of The Force is more powerful?"

"The Dark Side," he answered instantly in a rich flowing tenor.

"If that is so," I demanded, "why do the Jedi still exist?"

Confusion played across his features as he blinked in his eyes sought mine for the first time. "Master?" He asked obviously confused.

"Is the Dark Side stronger than the Light Side of The Force?"

"Yes, master!"

"Are the Sith masters of the Dark Side?"

"Yes, master!"

"Then why do the Jedi still exist?" He opened and closed his mouth several times, obviously stumped. "Don't be a fool," I ordered him. "Learning is not about regurgitating answers, think for yourself; analyze the information and come to your own conclusions. You're dismissed." For a moment the disappointment played across his face before he steeled himself bowed and walked determinedly back into the Academy.

Next to him had stood a human female, her hair cut short her expression hard and there was a cruelness about her eyes. The Force was strong with her, but she was bubbling over in hatred. Then came a pair of aliens, a male Mirialan, delicate like a gymnast with brilliant yellow skin marked by Black diamond shaped tattoos lining down his jaw. The other was the youngest of the group, a slight, leonine Cathar female, her fur the tawny gold of a mountain lion her feline muzzled face and eyes downcast.

"As Sith," I announced to the three remaining. "We harness the Force, some would say we harness the Dark Side, through our emotions rather than suppressing them. I will ask each of you, which emotion is the strongest?"

"Hatred," the human girl declared instantly.

I favored her with a piercing gaze. "What makes you say so?"

The girl's eyes snapped to mine from the unfocused stare they had been. "Because everything feeds my hatred!" She declared. "As I am betrayed, as I am frustrated, hurt, taunted, or abused they all feed my hatred and my hatred makes me stronger."

"There are Sith who would agree with you," I told her softly. Shaking my head I continued, "but I am not one of them and there is nothing I can teach you on the path you're already walking. You're dismissed." Her face flushed with anger, but she mastered herself, gave a perfunctory bow and stormed back into the Academy. Turning to the Mirialan I asked him, "what about you? What do you think the most powerful emotion is?"

"I would've said anger, Mistress, because many of my instructors said that my anger makes me powerful when I give it control," he said softly.

"You would have said?" I asked, arching an eyebrow in curiosity. "But you would not now? Why not?"

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Because anger is only hatred's handmaid, Mistress, and you have just taught us that hatred is not the strongest of emotions."

I tried and failed to keep a smile off my face. "Good, very good. You have demonstrated that you can learn, now demonstrate you can think for yourself consider an answer for my question." I turned to the Cathar who was looking up at me in frank amazement. "And what of you, girl? What do you think the strongest emotion is?"

Between her feline muzzle, and her almost nonexistent breasts, it was difficult to judge her age; nor did her slight stature help. However, I had the feeling that she was in that place between being a girl and being a young woman. She looked away for a moment, almost bashful before turning back and working up the courage to look me in the eye. "Love," she declared in a lovely contralto that was oddly accented because of the shape of her mouth and teeth that included fangs. "Love is the strongest emotion, because even when it's betrayed, or hurt, or abused it sustains. A mother will do anything to save her children and hatred has no answer for that."

"What is your name, girl?"

"I am Tari Mur of Clan Aso, Mistress," she replied rolling her 'r's in a distinctly Slavic accent.

I turned back to the tattooed young man standing next to me. "And what is your name?"

He bowed. "Bekamp Akee, Mistress."

"Bekamp, where it allowed I would take you both as my apprentices, but it is not. I will be contacting Darth Marr to find a suitable Lord to apprentice you to. Expect to hear from him."

The young man smiled and bowed deeply. "Thank you, Mistress."

"You're dismissed." I reached over and took the young Cathar by her shoulders. " Tari Mur of Clan Aso, I take you as my apprentice, heed my instruction, obey me in all things, and I will make you a powerful Lord of the Sith."

She bowed her head, a look of disbelief on her face and I began to suspect that she was under the impression she would never have been apprenticed. "I hear and obey master."

"Go and get your things, my young apprentice. We depart this world into a larger universe."

* * *

Having dinner as an adult with your adult parents after a long absence can be awkward.

Having dinner as an adult with your adult parents after a long absence while introducing your significant other can be extremely awkward.

Having dinner, as an adult, with your adult parents after a long absence while introducing your significant other after having been transported into what you thought was a fictional world, to people who are not technically your parents, while having been transformed in the opposite gender from what you started life as… Well, there just aren't words for how awkward that is. So you're just going to have to use your imagination.

What a night.

* * *

The next morning I arose and after disentangling myself from my lover's embrace, dressed in the black, close-fitting bodice I had worn some days previous. As I intended to discover the limits of my new apprentices teachings in the Force, and I thought the top had something of a schoolmarm look to it. With my utility belt cradling both of my light sabers, I went forward to the other two bunk room for the crew, across the hall from Darius where I had installed my apprentice last night.

She came to the door in a nightshirt that only just kept her modesty, bleary-eyed and wiping sleep from her yellow cats eyes. "Good morning, master," she greeted with a bow. "How may I serve you?"

"Dress for training," I ordered her. "And meet me in the galley."

"Yes master," she replied, turning back into her cabin. I continued forward into the galley, finding Darius at his usual perch on the table, his focus intent on his tablet.

"Don't you ever sleep?" I demanded as I finished my favorite mug from the cleaner and got coffee brewing in it. I popped a donut-shaped roll in the toaster that was close enough to a bagel to be eaten like one even though it was a rich, deep emerald green in color.

"Plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead," he replied in distracted away from whatever he was reading. "As the storm troopers came and took possession of Mr. Tess last night, I presume we are going after his mysterious Ray?"

"They're not technically storm troopers," I chided him as the green bagel popped out of the toaster. "However, yes that's the current plan, once we're cleared to depart." I applied butter, which thankfully was still yellow, to the roll as well as a cheese spread, halfway between cream and pimento before collecting my coffee and joining him at the table. "Researching the world?" I asked around my first bite.

“Barkhesh," he replied his eyes intent on the screen. "Pretty rural, mostly farms with some light industrial. Probably a good spot to hide a warehouse full of black ops stuff. I may go shopping."

"Nothing like a little retail therapy," I agreed around a sip of coffee. "I can't imagine that there is anything official about our secret black ops warehouse, any rumors?"

"Wherever there's government there's rumors," he replied with a chuckle. "Nothing I take seriously without half an oceans worth of salt. Still, a planet is a big place to hide something. We have any place to start looking for this Area 51?"

"41 Market St., Ankart the capital city,” I told him with a smile. "Mr. Tess was very accommodating."

Darius chuckled darkly. "Yes, your winning personality can be very persuasive," he observed as Tari headed quietly into the room wearing what was obviously the Sith Academy's workout leotard. On either waist was a pair of tonfa type light saber hilts; one of the odder variants of the weapon. The hilt roughly resembled a policeman's nightstick, with a second d handle coming up the hilt at ninty degrees. The blade it produced was quite short, generally making it a defensive weapon, but it kept in line with the Cathar's up close and personal sense of fighting style.

"Eat," I ordered her as I took a sip of coffee. "Then we'll see what this Academy has taught you."

"Yes, Mistress," she replied as she removed herself to the galley.

He finally looked up from his tablet, his eyes following my apprentice into the galley before he caught my gaze and asked, sotto voce, "How old is she?"

I raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Old enough to be my apprentice, young enough that your interest could be taken as inappropriate…"

The big walrus mustache bristled in righteous indignation. "My interest," he declared loftily and with great weight, "is completely platonic, and in the best interest of the child."

"I'm not a child!" Tari declared forcefully as she caught us both by surprise arriving at the table absolutely silently with a bowl of porridge holding so much milk as to practically be soup. "I am better than thirteen standard orbits, well on my way to fourteen and even among humans this is considered young adult. Among my own people I'm considered responsible for myself and an adult."

I gave my willful apprentice the gimlet eye. "And Colonel Darius has three times your life experience and easily five times your wisdom. You will treat him with the respect and honor that he's due."

The girls head bowed quickly. "Yes, master. My apologies Colonel, and my thanks for your concern."

"Think nothing of it," he replied his eyes never leaving mine.

* * *

There are many things that added to the realism and scope of the Star Wars universe, whether you're talking about the attention to detail, the innovative filming techniques, the exacting special-effects or the magnificent sets and costumes but all of these things pale next to the contributions of a single man. And while there are many names that would vie for this place one stands head and shoulders above all the others with work so immediately identifiable, and so instantaneously transported of your mental space from the mundane to this fantastic world as to nearly defy belief.

I am of course speaking of the music of Star Wars and its principal composer John Williams.

Since 1977 John's haunting melodies and inspired soaring orchestral arrangements have brought us to that galaxy far, far away and subtly toyed with our emotions. Even now, standing in a hangar on a space station watching my apprentice, an alien being only the vaguest of sense human, performing a handstand I couldn't help but hear the ethereal notes of Yoda and The Force in the back of my mind as I stood in for the little green Muppet and began to teach abilities that a month ago I had not had. "Feel The Force," I instructed her as I sat on one of the crates and let my own connection to The Force sense hers. "Use it, don't use your muscles, or your balance!"

For a split second I thought that she would argue, however she closed her eyes and both began to channel The Force and let her own muscles go slack. Immediately the strain lessened and she began to understand what I was teaching. A grin of amazement played on her face as she raised one hand off the ground to balance solely on one hand. "Good!" I complemented her. "Remember, as a Sith we use our emotions to move The Force through us. But, be wary of the strong emotions; anger, hate, fear, while quick to join you in a fight their focus has a price of fixation. Their power can blind you to other enemies around you and this consumption can be your undoing."

"Do I control the Force, master?" She asked after a moment of standing on one hand. "Or does the Force control me?"

An ironic chuckle escaped my lips. "Both," I told her with a smile. "And neither, we are The Force my young apprentice. Recall that it is created by all living things, of which the both of us count. As we are a part of that life our will is a part of the larger Living Force. Yet, because we can feel The Force, our will has greater control over it.”

As if to prove her mastery over the ability she was learning several of the crates around her rose silently into the air. I took advantage of her distraction by picking up my target drone and manually programming it instead of using the voice interface. As I did so, in an offhand manner I told her, "through the Force, visions will sometimes come to you. The future, the past, or sometimes the little pop quizzes that I will give you to see how you're learning."

Her eyes snapped open in alarm the other hand dropped, ceasing the show off one handstand. "Pop quiz?" She demanded.

"That's right," I confirmed. Torm walked up behind me and rubbed my shoulder as I favored him with a smile and a wink. "For example, today's quiz is you putting your hand on the left barrel of the upper blaster canon of the Aces and Eights, before the target drone tags you as out."

"Tags? Out?"

"I don't recommend it," I told her as I launched the drone in her direction. "The drone is using laser blasts for its tagging!" The hovering crates crashed to the floor as Tari launched herself in a desperate dodge of the drones opening salvos. In midair she got her light sabers in her hands and activated them to be able to deflect the bolts the drone was spitting at her, driving her away from the protected sphere around the canon. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted to be heard, "that's not a problem, is it?"

Torm's arms encircled my waist and he buried his face in my neck. "Devious in the morning is so sexy," He murmured into my neck. I ruffled his hair and smiled as my apprentice desperately tried to avoid the determined advance of the drone.

"Flatterer," I accused, still enjoying the embraces and his touch.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted without ceasing to nuzzle my neck. "How is the new recruit coming along?" I looked up and through the pleasant haze of his caress to be suitably impressed from my apprentices acrobatics. She leaped and somersaulted, flipped and Back flipped in a dizzying dance away from the drone and its almost constant vomit of laser blasts. She'd already worked out that it had a sphere I had programmed into it that it would not exceed in its defense of the turret.

Tari shot me a dirty look when she was sure that she wouldn't pay for it by being struck, then gave her attention back to probing the droids defense to see how she might get around it. "She's very agile," I admitted with a smile as Torm sat down on the crate next to me. "Haven't decided if she fixates too much or not yet. That's what we're testing now."

He frowned. "You're not testing if she can get around the drone?"

I smiled a half smile and poked him in the ribs with my elbow. "If she can't get around the drone she has no business being in the field. Getting around the drone is a given; how she gets around the drone that's what I'm interested in."

He rubbed his chin in thought for a moment, then let out a long sigh. "How bad do you think I botched up last night? Your parents hate me?"

Tari launched herself over a collections of crates, attempting a high, direct approach. Her light sabers deflected the bolts, but it was obvious as soon as she tried to land on top of the ship she would be vulnerable. She Back flipped and dodged away again; a thoughtful look on her face. "Stretch out with your feelings!" I shouted at her. Turning back to my lover, and in a lower voice I continued, "these types of meetings will always be a little awkward. I don't think either of them hate you, it's more likely they're coming to grips with me being a sexual being. I've been quite focused in my life and career, and this is a new turn for them."

He smiled and drew me into a sideways hug. "Well, I wasn't lying when I said I had only the best of intentions in mind." I leaned into his hug and put my free hand around his waist.

"Don't forget I know what your intentions are," I reminded him. "I can see them in your mind."

He leaned down and kissed me on my fore head. "Does it bother you?"

I laid my head on his broad shoulder. "Not at all!" Once more in his mind I saw my belly distended with his child growing within me and a shudder went down my spine. "Not at all," I repeated softly doing my best to believe what I said. I gave his waist a squeeze and stood up, seeing my apprentice standing again outside the radius the droid would not attack beyond. Cupping my hands to my mouth and shouted, "there is a time limit, you know!"

The look on her face was cunning. "Wait for it!" She replied.

Before I can suss out what she meant by that, Lanaka came down the ramp of the Aces and Eights, her blaster pistol in her hand. She looked around furtively for a moment, saw the drone, and shot it out of the sky! My cry of protest died of my lips as Tari immediately leapt into action; launching herself through the air to the top of the ship, and slapping the barrel of the canon. "Ollie Ollie oxen free!" She shouted.

"What do you imagine you're doing?!" I demanded as I stormed over to Lanaka, furious at the interruption. The Chiss bounty Hunter was aloof.

"Fulfilling a contract," she declared softly.

"Contract?" I exclaimed conscious of the gentle restraining hand of Torm on my shoulder. Tari leapt from the roof the ship and walked up, removing something from her belt she came.

"Excuse me, Mistress," she interrupted holding out her hand to Lanaka. "As agreed, one credit."

My eyes slid from the alien my ex-wife had become to the alien who is my apprentice. "You hired a bounty Hunter to take out the obstacle of your test?"

She held her head a bit higher. "My test was to put my hand on the left barrel of the upper blaster canon of the Aces and Eights," she declared with great dignity. "I have done so, and lacking further instruction other than not being tagged out, I presume such things were within my wherewithal and discretion. A subcontractor seemed the most direct approach."

Lanaka flipped the coin with her thumb and caught it midair while smirking at me. "Pleasure doing business with you," she purred and returned up the ramp. I set my hands on my hips, but I have to admit to being pleased with the deviousness of my apprentice.

"You," I declared with great amusement, "I can see are going to be quite a handful."

* * *

The Aces and Eights emerged from hyperspace over the picturesque world of Barkhesh. It had less water than the capital and so was more green and brown than blue. It was still however, quite lovely look at. I must say I wasn't prepared for the joy that is flying. It's not like driving at all, there's a gracefulness to it that defies being put into words. I suppose you could say it was something like dancing, if I knew enough about dancing to make such a comparison intelligently. I suppose, however, I might want to bone up on whatever steps are popular. After all, I had the hard role in dancing now.

Don't believe me? Consider; Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did backwards while wearing heels.

We landed without event and I got the ship connected to shore power while Silas went about renting her space and seeing to whatever it was the harbormaster would want. We had no real plan other than to observe the address we had, mark the comings and goings, and see if what was advertised was actually what was in the tin. Or at least, that was my portion of the mission. Silas, in keeping with our cover, when looking for a card game while my boyfriend and I went to go and case the joint to use the appropriate lingo.

As you might imagine Market Street was crowded with shops, restaurants, and, well, markets. Number forty-one was a technology consignment shop and secondhand store. Which made for an interesting cover over a warehouse of banned technology. There was a picturesque little street cafe catty corner to our target where Torm and I decided to stop in and sample the local fare. The had a lovely dark roasted coffee that was somewhere between espresso and Cuban coffee which I would have killed to have a croissant with, but settled on a slice of not quite pound cake that was red tinted and had citrus undertones. Torm decided to just have coffee and smiled at me as I was enjoying my cake. “What?” I asked, somewhat confused. “You want to try it?”

“No,” he replied with a chuckle. “I'm just amazed at how you savor life, it's like everything around you is new and you're trying it for the first time. Is that a Sith trait?”

I made a big production of chewing to buy myself some time; it was damned awkward being seen through so easily. In point of fact everything was remarkably new to me. As much as I'd loved the setting and the movies and books, there were details that I was now experiencing that basically went unnoticed in most of the dramatic narratives. After all, those characters had grown up in that world and took it for granted.

Though, I made a mental note to see if I could find some blue milk to try.

Once I'd cleared my mouth I smiled at him and gave a shrug. “I am a military woman,” I told him. “I've had to live for more than my share on survival rations and mess hall chow, so fresh, real food is always something of a treat.” He chuckled at that and nodded.

“Fair enough,” he said around his mirth. “It is nice to spend time with a woman who isn't obsessed with making a show about how jaded with life she is.”

I arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “People do that?” I demanded. He shrugged and took another sip of his coffee.

“Ord Mantell is Mid Rim, but there are plenty of people with pretentious airs and dreams of if not living on a Core World, at least looking and acting like they should.” I was about to remark about how people could be jerks no matter where they were when a chill went down my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck all stood up. My discomfort must have shown because he immediately noticed and asked, “What's wrong?”

“A...” and I have to admit I was a little amazed how quickly this particular phrase leapt to my lips, but I decided to run with it. “A tremor in The Force,” I told him as I perked up a bit and began to look around. Everything seemed alright at the shop, but then I caught sight of him, striding purposefully from the exact opposite direction, brown robe and hood standing out in the crowd of humans and aliens. “Go back to the ship,” I ordered him, and yes I'll admit I completely expected to be obeyed, but he leaned forward, concerned.

“ Nyeomi, let me,” he started, but I shook my head, my eyes not leaving the threat in the brown robe that was coming closer, fixed on me like a beacon.

“You can't help me,” I told him earnestly. “And your presence will be a distraction when I have to concentrate. Go, my love, and I'll call you when I'm safe.” Despite his misgivings, he rose, saw the threat and went the opposite direction.

I shouldn't have to tell you my heart was thundering in my chest and there was more adrenaline than blood in my veins, but I did my best to keep my breathing steady and took another sip of my coffee. The cafe was such that the table would be between me and him and that was advantage I wanted. He strode up, people seeming to move by chance out of his way to stand over me at the chair recently vacated by my lover. He reached up and threw back the hood, revealing a hard, but handsome face with a chin covered in a full beard that was starting to have gray in the brown. There was a scar over his left eyebrow which didn't detract from his rugged good looks and gave him an even more dangerous air. “You're in the wrong place, my lord,” he greeted in a pleasant baritone that was mildly accented. “I'm afraid I will have to ask you to leave.”

“I am on this world legally, and I have paid for the food I am eating, by what authority do you claim to have the power to deny me what I have bought and paid for?”

“By the only authority a Sith will understand or admit to,” he replied. “Might. I will give you one final opportunity to return to your ship and leave this world, or...” He opened his robe to reveal the hilt of his light saber.

It was now obvious to me that we were on the right track and this Jedi must be a part of the guard of the warehouse, but no sooner than the thought crossed my mind his eyes narrowed and he began to take off his robe. The manager worked up the courage to start to come over but the Jedi raised his hand without taking his eyes off me. “Jedi business, return to your customers.” He laid the robe over the chair Torm had vacated. Underneath the robe he wore what seemed to be the Jedi uniform of layered kimono tunics in tan with a matching obi with a broad brown leather belt, trousers and boots.

I stood and took a step back, keeping the table between us. “There's no need for violence, if you won't be civil, I'll leave.”

He reached down and took his saber hilt into his hand. “You and I both know that time has passed.” His saber's hilt was twice the length of mine, either a great saber or a saber staff as I couldn't see if the other end had an emitter.

“What is your name, Master Jedi?” I asked as I took my own sabers from my belt, but did not ignite them. The patrons around us were beginning to flee in a panic and we both seemed content to let them do so.

“Why do you ask, Sith Lord?”

“I make a note of all the lives I've taken. I thought you would like to be remembered?”

His eyes narrowed and brought up the hilt to hold in both hands diagonally across his body. With a hiss, green tinted blades snapped from both ends of the saber staff. “Master Marek Targon, at your service.”

I came set in an Ataru ready stance, crouched slightly, my left arm extended towards my foe, my right bent in an arch above my head so both golden blades came into being parallel to each other. “Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith, at yours.”

Now, this will be something of a problem. Describing a sword fight can be done, but it uses words most people don't know. While it is very precise, if I told you I attacked balestra to Attaque au Fer while he reacted Esquive to riposte In Quartata you would probably have no idea what I meant while a pair of fencing enthusiasts could recreate the maneuvers perfectly.

Likewise if I used the language of the forms of light saber combat, yes there are nerds that deep into this universe that the various styles of light saber combat of which there are seven basic forms that have been developed, you wouldn't know what those were either. So you'll have to forgive me if this next bit becomes a trifle difficult to follow. I swept both blades high in a feint that brought his saber staff up to block, leaving his lower half exposed when I kicked the edge of the table as hard as I could into his abdomen and used that momentum to cartwheel over the waist high wrought iron fence that separated the al fresco dining area of the bistro from the street.

He grunted from the impact and the blade swept the table to one side with a clatter of broken dishes and partially cutting through the table. He leapt out after me, falling in a tuck and roll that used the staff like an axle. I flung my left hand saber at him, hoping for a quick and easy victory, but he unfolded from the ball and batted it away before sweeping the staff at my less well defended left side.

I quickly blocked and twirled my body into his chest, thus inside the radius of the other blade, hooked my foot around his left knee and elbowed him in the face. He toppled over backwards, but grabbed my arm as he fell, pulling me with him. I pushed with The Force on my left leg which gave me the momentum to somersault over him and free my arm from his grip. I stabbed down with my saber as I went over him, but he rolled away and kipped back to his feet.

My other saber flew back to my hand and we came set again.

“Are you done showing off?” he snarled as he wiped the blood from the split lip my elbow had given him. I just grinned and lowered back into my Ataru ready stance.

“I want you to think you're doing well,” I mocked him. He twirled the staff at an impressive rate of speed, gave it to his left hand and held it behind him with a flourish while extending his right to me, index and middle fingers up and held by his thumb.

“Your Sith overconfidence will be the end of you.”

“Then only one of us will die disappointed,” I replied as I started to charge his left side, spun about and used a storage crate as a launching spot to sail over his right shoulder. His staff blocked where I wasn't, then swept through where I used to be while my own saber came down a bit too late and only scorched his tunic. I'll give him credit, he's fast, and the staff swept around to block my blade before I could compensate for the leap. There came a flurry of blocks and counters, high, low and back then a sweep I had to bend over backwards to avoid.

I turned the dodge into a back flip, cartwheel then somersault in rapid succession as his follow up would have bifurcated me as I came back up. Once more I had opened up the distance between us to about four meters and twirled my sabers slowly in opposite directions in my hands. “Why do you press an attack when a peaceful settlement was offered?” I taunted him. “Since when is violence the Jedi Way?”

“Your petty mind games won't shake my belief in what I'm doing for the Republic!” he shouted at me. “We will cleanse the galaxy of your evil!”

“Because attacking someone unprovoked who was peacefully minding her own business is what the Republic stands for!” I shot back. “You self righteous hypocrite, you can't even see that the evil you ascribe to me stares back at you from the mirror!”

His face twisted in anger and I felt The Force calling to him, cooing for him to unleash his anger in a way I had never felt myself and it chilled me to my core. But this call was not external to him, but somehow calling from his own psyche, as though he had named his Id the Dark Side and it was calling to him to give in to his base nature. I did not have long to think about this as he twirled the staff and charged me. I caught his overhand strike with both blades in a V and they hissed and spat as the three different magnetic fields interacted with each other. “Look at your self!” I hissed as he strained to power through my block. “You are enraged! Is this the way of the Jedi?”

He stepped back, but not to consider my words as there came another vicious series of blocks and counters, high, low, left, right as his teeth were bared and he focused on killing me. At last I faked a kick, bounced a blade off a block and smashed the end of the pommel into his nose, breaking it. He staggered back, stunned as I shoved with The Force as hard as I could. He was bowled over and flung a good ten meters as blood poured from his shattered nose. I leapt backwards, up and away, landing on a passing cargo speeder on it's wide, flat box roof.

As he staggered to his feet I extinguished my sabers and gave him the solo finger salute much to his seething anger.

* * *

I was on the other side of Ankart before the cargo speeder came to a halt and I could discretely exit my appropriated get away vehicle. I had spent the time shivering despite the warm air, sitting cross legged on the roof of the speeder and trying to come to grips with what I had done. Oh, for all my bravado and a mild interest in fencing and kendo I wasn't a master swordsman in my previous life. Nyeomi Fens was and I, perhaps somewhat recklessly had counted on that when I had gotten myself into a fight with someone who was a master of these horrifically dangerous weapons.

To be perfectly honest I shook in fear of my life for a good twenty minutes.

If someone had asked me if I had a death wish I would have laughed in their face and begun to count all the things I had to look forward to; my restored youth, a chance at a family again and the unique experience of being a mother and giving birth. Yet I had just gleefully engaged in a very much life or death fight with someone very much bent on killing me and tossed banter and wit as though some unseen audience would appreciate it while enjoying the invulnerable protection of being the heroine of the story.

If I could be any more foolish, it certainly wasn't clear to me how at that moment.

I fished around in my utility belt finding the little disk shaped holographic projector I was looking for. While I had no idea how to use it, it fortunately only had one button and on pressing it brought up a home screen menu in Aurebesh that I was able to work my way through. That and all my favorite contacts had little holographic pictures of the person next to their entry. I got to a secluded alley where I wouldn't be over heard and keyed the entry that had Silas' picture.

After a moment a little image of Silas sitting in a chair in about 1/8th scale appeared above the disk. “Oh cool!” he greeted, “I'd hoped we'd get these things! How...?”

I rolled my eyes at my brother's love of gadgetry. “Sorry to ruin your geek out, but this is important. Mine has a little ear bud in the disk, does yours?” He fiddled with it for a moment then put something in his ear. “Can only you hear me?”

“Speak freely,” he replied.

“Our problems have multiplied,” I told him grimly. “I was just attacked by a Jedi Master. I think he knows why I'm here as well.”

I'll give him credit, at once Silas became serious. “Do we need to abort?”

“We can't,” I replied. “The Hutts already know about this thing from our dear Mr. Tess and while I'd almost rather this thing stay in the possession of the Republic, it's location has been compromised.”

Silas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We are allies, what about just knocking on the door and telling them?”

I considered strongly how that would go over seeing how I had just humiliated their Jedi...I frowned as something tickled the back of my mind. The Jedi seemed to be the key to this whole thing. “Maybe,” I told him, “maybe we won't have to.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

“Let me do some checking,” I hedged. “I'll get back to you, and keep your head up.” He nodded and I closed the call and put away the 'phone' for lack of a better word and got out my tablet to call up a map of Ankart. I found what I was looking for and was fortunately close to it already. Or perhaps this was fate as I'm reminded Master Kenobi doesn't believe in luck.

* * *

The building was easily one of the largest in the city, seemingly carved out of a massive basalt upwelling and the air positively crackled with The Force. Carved into the rock were a pair of symbols over lapping each other such that it was hard to make out where one stopped and the other started, they were the symbols of the Ashla and Bogan, the ancient names for the Light and Dark sides of The Force. It was a temple of the Ancient Order of the Whills.

Out side in the court yard before the building, shaven headed monks wore vaguely Tibetan robes but in Black and White while rough looking men and women in blue with white belts stoically stood guard. In the center, leading up to the stairs and the entrance to the temple were a series of cylindrical prayer wheels. As I walked up to the steps I passed them and raised a hand to run down the line, setting them in motion. As I reached the end of the line, the massive doors opened with a groan of machinery and a new monk appeared at the top of the steps. He wore the same simple black and white robes as the other monks, but his age, and something about how he carried himself led me to believe he was the most senior of the temple. Not really knowing why, I cupped my left hand over my right fist and held them at the level of my heart and bowed to him. “The Force is with me and I am one with the Force,” I declared in greeting.

“The Force is with you, Daughter of the Bogan,” he replied in a voice like a summer breeze through reeds and rushes over still water. “As it was foretold, so it has come to pass and you are here.”

I stood up and smiled at him, though he sill looked over my head and it became obvious he was blind. “Come inside and indulge an old man to be in the company of a beautiful woman for a time.” I made to mount the final steps, but one of the blue robed watchers stepped forward towards me. The abbot or holy father or whatever his title was raised his walking stick across his path, then he turned to me, “You will have no need of your weapons in my company, child. I will protect you if needs be.” A ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “And I would be honored for you to think of me as 'Father'.”

“The honor is mine, Father,” I replied as I unbuckled my utility belt and gave it to the Guardian complete with my light sabers hanging off of it. With a stern gaze that effectively communicated 'be on your very best behavior' the Guardian slung my belt over his shoulder and returned to keeping an eye on the doings and goings on in the court yard. I followed the monk through the doors to be greeted by a huge chamber that was built around this massive something that vibrated with The Force.

It was something like an armillary sphere and there were what looked like copper and bronze rings with symbols cast into them, but there was a holographic element to it as ghostly, transparent green spheres floated around and through it with no rhyme or reason I could deduce and the entire artifact was moving slowly in all three dimensions. He sensed my fascination with the machine and paused. “The Force sings a captivating song, does it not?” he asked quietly.

“Does this represent The Force, Master?” I asked reverently.

He smiled up at the device as if he had opened an oven door to the enticing scent of fresh baked cookies. “Yes, and no,” he answered cryptically. “The Force is far too complicated to be represented so simply. How would you represent water?”

“Water has no shape itself, but takes the shape of that which contains it.”

His smile got a bit more broad. “You are not so ignorant of the ways of The Force as you worry you may be, Nyeomi Fens,” he declared. “Nor should you be so concerned about your battle this morning with Master Targon for you are more than who you were, not less than who you are.”

“Master?” I asked, somewhat confused.

He turned towards me, and I got the impression he was aware without seeing. “When you stood to defend yourself against Master Targon, you did not stand simply, did you?” He sank into a slight crouch, turning sideways on to me, left arm extended, the right holding his walking stick over his head in an arch, parallel to his left arm. It was the same Ataru stance I had used. “You favor the fourth form, modified to account for your use of two weapons. Yet would you have attempted anything so acrobatic earlier in your life?”

I suddenly began to wonder exactly how much this stranger knew of me, and how. “It...it seemed what I should be doing, Master.” For a moment I thought he would attack me in some demonstration of ability, but he just rose from the stance and returned this stick to the floor to lean on.

“And so it was, child,” he replied. “Do not allow doubt to cloud your mind. Focus on The Living Force and you will not want for skill. Now come and have some tea with me and we will discuss your dilemma.”

We started walking again and I looked at him for some clue as everyone seemed able to read me like an open book, but he was as enigmatic as you might expect. So, taking another tact, I asked, “My coming to you was foretold?”

The blind eyes turned a bit to my direction. “Monks have little better to do all day than make vague predictions that can be interpreted to match any situation,” he replied mischievously. “Of course, a vague prophesy rarely includes specifics, does it Lady Fens?” He chuckled at his own sense of humor and my warring consternation that this was some kind of elaborate cold read of me, combined with news accounts of my name and deeds, which was arguing with the fact I was in a universe that had a thing called The Force that was very real.

As we walked he began to speak as if teaching a lesson once more. “You worry that which the Jedi call the Dark Side and we call the Bogan will entice you to evil, but not so long ago you internalized the Code of the Sith. Does it mention evil?”

“No, Master,” I replied. “Nor anger, only passion.”

“The Sith of old embraced all emotion, while the Jedi sought to master it. There were once many Sith who believed and used the Force with Joy and Happiness, love and lust and contentment, but while these are powerful emotions, they are not quick, nor as easy to arouse as hate and anger, are they?”

I sighed regretfully. “No, Master, they are not.”

“Impatience,” he declared softly. “Laziness, these are the things which doom the Sith Order, even as stoic discipline and denial of self will be the end of the Jedi. You are two sides of the same coin, and your extremes put you at odds. Master Targon attacked you because he has given in to pride of his nation and patriotism is a cloak that can cover many evils if misused. You sought to reason with him even though the Bogan runs deeply through you as you explore and revel in the emotions you feel. The Jedi was evil and the Sith was good and the Force had nothing to do with either. The Force is, as we have tried to teach both of you.”

“You speak as if you were there and witnessed it, Master.”

The blank face almost turned to me again and he smiled. “My sight may be gone, my daughter, but I see many things, for my ally is The Force, and a powerful ally it is.”

A thrill went down my spine as I heard the words of what I had thought to be a fictional character come back to me. We arrived at a door and he reached up and pressed the button causing it to slide open without the slightest fumbling as he knew exactly where both he and it was. Inside was a cozy, but spartan room with a small round table in the center of the room and cushions to sit on. He took the far cushion and busied himself with a tea pot and a hot plate he removed from a clutch of storage boxes next to him. As I sank onto the surprisingly soft cushion he laid out a glazed clay set of cups and sprinkled leaves into them.

“So,” he said as the kettle was settled onto the hot plate. “Let us discuss your problem, and how we may be of service.”

“You don't already know, Master?” I teased him, but he just smiled and laid his walking stick down beside him.

“Oh, I think I've properly cemented myself as a wise, old mystic in your mind by now, my daughter. Anything more would just be showing off, and think what that would do to my reputation as a humble monk. I do have to set a good example for the acolytes, after all.”

I couldn't keep in a bark of laughter and my reverence and respect for this man quickly solidified into full blown affection and I completely understood the protectiveness of the guardian out side. “Do you know of the hidden arsenal in this city?”

His lips drew out in a thin line as he took the pot from the hot plate and poured steaming water into the cups. “Long has the Republic sealed away things here they were foolish enough to invent in the first place,” he said as he put the pot back on the plate and worked a control on it before he reached for his cup and stirred it slowly with a small stick or straw from the table. “Yes, I know of the place you speak of and I feel the doubt in your heart over this weapon you have come for.”

“I wouldn't care if the Hutts were not aware of this stockpile now.”

“Of course you would,” he countered as he withdrew the straw and took a sip. “It is how you came to be here, in this galaxy and in this time and place wearing the body you wear now.”

I started, stunned even as some part of me chided myself for thinking he would not be aware even after all I had seen. “Master?”

“Oh, I could not tell you the science or the how you came to be here, but I can tell you the why.” I picked up my own stick and stirred the tea which was a beautiful amber in the cup and smelled somewhere between Sir Thomas Lipton and Earl Gray. “Many years ago the Republic created this weapon to use against the Sith Empire. The Empire's gains had made the Republic desperate as world after world fell to or freely joined the Sith. This weapon was created and a team of Sith came to steal it. There was an explosion and the Sith and the designer were gone without a trace.”

I took a sip of the tea and found a rich, full taste the was neither sweet nor bitter, but somehow undeniably tea flavored. As it flowed into my stomach its warmth spread throughout my body and I felt attached to this temple, to this world in a way my brief conscious touches of The Force had only hinted at. There was nothing sexual about it, but orgasmic, is the only word I can think of that comes close to describing the feeling. His blank face filled with a smile and he held up his cup in toast. “I'm glad you like the Tea,” he said with a chuckle. “Oh, don't worry, I'll assemble you a parting gift of some for your own and instructions on how to gather and make more. I'm afraid you won't find the sensation so easy or powerful away from this place as it is strong with The Force, but there are many such places and in your meditations you can find them.”

“I am honored beyond words, Father,” I told him softly and I meant it. “What happened to the Sith and the designer? Were they killed?”

His face clouded over and he took another sip of the tea. “No, they were not,” he said quietly. “Through The Force I saw them in a strange, primitive world. A world in the galaxy close to ours, that was just taking its first baby steps into space flight. A world I think you know quite well, my daughter?”

I put the cup down so I would not spill the tea from my hand shaking. He smiled again and reached out to pat my hand on the table. “You need not worry, Nyeomi Fens, your secrets are safe with me. But now you know how you came to be in this world.”

“If they were trying to recreate the weapon on my world...?”

“They care not for the weapon,” the monk told me. “They cannot yet bridge the two places, but they can send the essence of someone from that world to our galaxy. Your thoughts were altered so that you 'created' Nyeomi Fens to bring you and her into alignment. Then when she and her companions crashed the speeder on Tatooine your essence, and those of your friends were sent here. But for them to return would require the weapon tuned on this end to that which sent your essence here...”

“They could open a gate,” I whispered. I stood and looked at the door, filled with worry. “I have to stop them...” The monk gave a soothing gesture and my sense of urgency faded a bit.

“Stay calm, my daughter, things are not so grim as you perceive.” I sank back onto the cushion and took another sip of my tea to calm myself. “Things are in progress that should give us time to set things right. For now let us commune with The Force...” he was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. “Perhaps I spoke too soon,” he finished with a wry smile. “Enter.”

The door slid open to reveal another monk who was bowing. “Master Arridin, your guests have arrived. I turned from the door to glance at him as we rose and I quickly finished my tea.

I took the elbow he offered and he leaned in to whisper, “You may call me Vidda, my daughter.”

“I would never be so familiar in public, my father,” I replied sincerely as we followed the other monk back to the main hall and it's odd machine. Waiting on us were three men; the first was older, perhaps in his late fifties and he was dressed well in civilian clothing of luxurious fabrics in rich greens and golds. The second was a man approximately ten years younger with close dark hair about his head that was going gray and he wore a Republic uniform, but the issue was the third man, my dance partner of this morning, Jedi Master Marek Targon. Our eyes met in one of those timeless moments that actually only last a tenth of a second.

“Sith!” He shouted, then relieved the second man of the blaster pistol that was a part of his uniform and raised it.

Without thinking I stepped in front of Master Arridin and raised my hand, palm out. Targon fired twice, the bolts striking my outstretched palm with the force of a particularly energetic high five, then I raised my other hand cupped and the pistol was snatched by The Force from the startled Jedi Master and flew to my hand.

It all took place so quickly than when my brain caught up with what I had just done my body was flooded with Adrenaline that set my heart to pounding. I gave the pistol to Master Arridin and tried to calm myself. “You shame me in my own house, Master Targon,” Arridin said softly.

Targon opened his mouth and closed it once or twice before he had the grace to realize his actions were indefensible and he bowed. “My deepest and most abject apologies, Master Arridin. Darth Fens, my apologies for my actions.”

The Force growled at the back of my mind, but I was winning the battle over my fight or flight response. “Apology accepted, Master Targon,” I managed to say without sounding bitter or insincere with some difficulty.

Master Arridin led me over to the clutch of men, adroitly returning the soldier's pistol to him. “Governor Aisin, Colonel Antilles, may I present Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith.” The Monk smiled one of his coy little smiles. “I believe you are already acquainted, Master Targon?”

“My lady,” the two chorused, Aisin showing he was a capable politician by kissing the back of my hand.

“Gentlemen,” I greeted, trying not to allow my personal feeling to enter my tone of voice. “I'm afraid I have bad news. You have been betrayed and the location of your black listed weapons depot has been revealed to the Hutts. They may even now be on their way.”

“You led them here!” Accused Marek. I mentally counted to five before I continued.

“No,” I replied as forcefully as I dared. “You were betrayed by your own manager, Milton Tess.”

“There will be time for recriminations later,” Colonel Antilles declared. “Do we have any idea how much time we have?”

“They were paying off Tess in the Boonta Eve Turnament, so I imagine their forces are close to being assembled and ready,” I replied. “What assets do you have in system?”

The Colonel cupped his chin in thought. “Two cruisers, a double hand full of corvettes and support craft, perhaps five wings of star fighters. Ships aren't the problem, we have more fighters than pilots! We don't keep many capital assets on station for fear of giving away what we're defending. Do we know what their target is?”

“A disintegration beam.”

The Colonel shuddered. “I'll start the evacuation process, but it will take time. We could use all the help we can get.”

“I'm traveling with Colonel Darius Persia...”

Antilles perked up at once. “The Lion of Alderaan? We may have a chance after all! Will you join us, my lady?”

Nervous as hell, but also excited, I asked, “As you have all those spare fighters, mind if I borrow one?”

The Colonel grinned. “I'm sure we can come up with something!”

* * *

Of course with the hurdle of cooperation with the local Republic forces cleared so ably facilitated by Master Arridin, it was only natural my personal life would choose now to fly into the toilet and Torm would decide it was time to have our first fight. I was back in my cabin, having briefed the others and laying out my flight suit when he'd entered and calmly enough stated that he was unhappy I had not contacted him as I'd promised to let him know I was safe. I had admitted my fault and apologized for overlooking the fact I hadn't added his number to my holophone, but as I stopped what I was doing to add him immediately I found out that wasn't what this was about. Darius had immediately volunteered to assist the meager forces muster a defense and I had already committed to assisting the fighters in space. Neither Silas nor Lanaka brought any war-faring skills to the table and with my not being present, that left Torm as the only person capable of flying the Aces and Eights. They would take command of one wing of fighters and the freighter being loaded with the black listed weapons and escort it to the hyperspace lane on the other side of the system.

It wasn't the pursuit of glory being denied by escorting the retreating freighter that had Torm mad, and while he had worried, my not calling wasn't the reason either. He was angry because he was afraid for me as I would be leading the charge of the defense and meeting the Hutts head on in space. He wasn't being unreasonable by being worried for me, nor was I in reiterating that I had a duty to preform and no amount of shouting would change that duty. It didn't stop us from screaming at each other, we did, loudly and we called each other vile names, each accused the other of not caring.

I'm not sure when or how the fight turned into making love, but I must say, angry, make up sex is pretty hot.

As he held me against him, the sweat pouring off us both, he allowed that cool, aloof alpha male persona to slip and vulnerable to the deepest of hurts he whispered, “Promise me you'll come back. I don't want to live with out you with me, Nyeomi Fens.”

I raised my head from his chest and looked down on him as The Force ebbed and flowed around us, binding us together more deeply than I had ever been connected to another human being before. “How could I not when you have yet to sire my children?” I asked him archly. “Do you think I would not demand the very best father for them? Or that I can be deceived such that any man could take your place? Through victory my chains are broken is written into the Code of my Order but I will gladly and proudly wear your ring as the chain I accept on myself! Swear to me you will take no risk and be waiting for me!” I shouted down at him as my vision became blurry and I felt the wet streak down my face. “Swear it!”

He grabbed a hold of me and rolled, pinning me to the bed by his weight and his hands holding my wrists down. I wasn't helpless, I am a Sith Warrior after all! But to willingly allow myself to be completely at his mercy had me panting with excitement and dizzy with the desire it stirred in me. “You want children?” he demanded softly, once more in charge and that vulnerable place satisfied that what he felt for me I returned four fold for him. “I'll give you children!” He was already between my legs, pinning me to the bed and as he claimed me again I hooked my feet around his back and claimed him with every muscle I had. I was pinned and he was held and that was exactly how we both wanted it.

* * *

Ahem, where was I? Oh yes.

The Imperial pilot's flight suit was a gray under garment of rugged, tare resistant fabric that regulated body temperature and provide attachment points for the rest of the suits accouterments. This portion was skin tight so it served as a pressure suit being rated for hard vacuum. Rigid cerrametal plates were permanently sewn to key areas as armor and to give hook up points for computer links, lock rings for gloves, boots and helmet and in puts for air and water with outlets for natures necessities. Unfortunately solid waste was simply held in place so most pilots took pills to be constipated during long missions. The things you didn't learn watching Top Gun, huh?

Over this was worn a cerrametal breastplate containing an emergency water and nutrient soup tank in case of bail out in space as well as a CO2 scrubber that would provide air for 72 hours. Finally a helmet with integrated computer and heads-up augmented reality was attached to this. Knowing I would be operating in the Republic I had bought the adapters for the suits fittings to plug into the standard Republic ports. Finally I added my light sabers to hooks I'd installed in the suit for that purpose and headed out of my cabin.

Waiting on me outside was my apprentice, wearing a suit identical to mine, but with an acolyte's rank insignia. “Where do you think you're going?” I demanded of her.

“With you, Mistress,” she replied as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “You will need a wing-man, and I am a rated pilot as you specified in your request for an apprentice at my academy.” I had no argument and having someone I could trust at my back was frankly welcome. I could feel Torms eyes on me as we left, having kissed him good bye, and as I said, the bottom layer was skin tight and I'm told I have a 'magnificent ass' by reliable sources.

An electric repulsor lift pilots cart took me, X4 and Tari to the military side of the space port where we were met by Colonel Antillies. “Who is this?” he demanded of us we stepped off the cart.

“My apprentice, Tari Mur,” I said by way of greeting. “Tari, Colonel Antillies.” She bowed respectfully, but it was obvious the Colonel was dubious. “She is a rated pilot and you did say you could use all the help you could get.”

“So I did,” he admitted and made a motion over to a set of fighters that were on the ground being readied. “Forgive the pun I'm going to have to give you the crash course in Republic fighters. This is an Aurek class, variable geometry strike fighter,” he said by way of introduction. “Two heavy laser cannons and two proton torpedo launchers with three torpedoes each, total of six.”

It was a tear drop shaped fighter about nine meters long with the cockpit on the bulbous end with a long transpari-steel canopy. The torpedo launchers were mounted ventral side of the long nose and the fighter looked like the great-great grand pappy of the sharp, delta winged Jedi fighters Anikin and Obi-Wan would use thousands of years from now. It sat on tricycle landing pads and the 'variable geometry' came from wings that folded out on S-foils from the bulbous end around the cockpit. Colonel Antillies climbed up on the fighter and opened the canopy. Inside was a single acceleration couch with an astromech socket behind it so both droid and pilot were under the canopy. “Its a fairly standard layout,” the Colonel was saying. We fly stick right hand, throttle left, targeting and computer controls on this keypad on the stick, with navigation aides forward, engines and mechanicals right side and shield controls here with the throttle. There's also a decoder so you can communicate with your droid.”

“Not necessary in my case, Colonel,” X4 piped up, obviously proud of his expensive option.

“My apprentice will need a droid,” I told him and he nodded, pointing at one of the ground techs who scampered to obey.

“I have to apologize for this,” he said guardedly as he looked over my shoulder. “I want you to know this was not my idea.” I turned to follow his gaze to see a group of men and women wearing pilot suits being led in with a small squad of soldiers. I found that odd until I realized all of the pilots were wearing binders. Colonel Antillies scrambled down from the fighter to stand next to me. “You recall I said we had more fighters than pilots? Governor Aisin thought it would be a good idea to clean out the jail of anyone who could fly and build a sixth squadron...”

“And you give me these rejects because...?”

Colonel Antillies couldn't meet my gaze. “It was thought that if anyone could maintain discipline it would be a Sith Lord.”

“I see,” I replied icily. “Alright, I'll be your stick, what carrot have you offered these black sheep?”

“Full pardons after the battle. They can't run, the hyper-drives on their fighters have all been deactivated. If you need it, your fighter has the code and gear to re-activate them.”

I kept my tongue on a short leash. “Very generous of you.”

“Prisoners, halt!” barked one of the guards. I walked over to them and with a gesture freed their hands, the binders falling to the floor in a staccato beat. Somewhat amazed the pilots looked at their freed hands, then back up at me.

“Now then, my black sheep, you know you have been told the truth and you have been placed under the command of a Sith Lord. I am Darth Nyeomi Fens, your squadron leader for this battle. We will be defending this world against a fleet under the command of the Hutt Cartels. Those of you who survive will be pardoned for whatever offenses you have committed. Those of you who think to run will find the hyper-drives on your fighters have been deactivated and I alone can reactivate them. Those of you who betray me will find your lives cut brutally short. Are there any questions?” They looked at each other in a surly manner, but no one spoke up. I started at my left and pointed at Tari. “Two,” then counted down the line to twelve. “Those are your numbers, Black Sheep Squadron, mount up, we launch...” I was cut off by an alarm that began to blare from the speakers.

“Alert! Alert! Enemy fleet leaving hyperspace, all wings scramble!”

“We launch now!” I shouted. “Move!” I trotted back over to the fighter Colonel Antillies had indicated would be mine to find the ground crew just finishing getting X4 settled behind me. I got myself strapped in and accepted my helmet back from the crew chief. He double checked I had a good seal on the lock ring and then slapped the top of my helmet.

“Good Hunting, my Lord!” he wished me as he sealed the canopy and slid down off the fighter. I double checked left and right that my ground crew was clear then followed the handler's directions with his wands with lights on the ends. The fighter lifted up on a repulsor and I slowly drifted over to the left to orient my self on the launch vector.

“Target coordinates received, on the board,” X4 dutifully informed me.

“A bit different from prospecting, isn't it X4?” I asked in a somewhat excited tone of voice as we cleared the ports air space and I could bring the main engines online and really build up some speed.

“Industrial Automation brags there's no job over my head, Mistress,” Micheal Cain's voice replied from behind me. “Gear retracted, weapons armed.”

The blue skies of Barkhesh faded into the infinite black of space and my excitement calmed a bit to a more manageable level, still exhilarating, but at a level I could cope with. I keyed my radio to the frequency assigned to my squadron. “All wings, report in,” I ordered.

“Black Sheep Two, standing by,” Tari's voice whispered in my ear and I could tell she was as excited as I was. The squadron sounded off to twelve and so far all of my sheep were content to stay in the herd.

“Switch your deflectors on,” I ordered as I began to pick out the fleet we were up against. “Lock S-foils in attack position.” I watched my own wings fold out from around me and took the weapons off safe. The Republic fleet behind us was just as ragtag as described, but the Hutts, not being a 'legitimate' star faring power were just as hodge podge as they bought their equipment off the black market. Some of the fighters against us were even Republican cast offs, but most were Sith Empire or of Mandalorian manufacture. “Make sure of your friend or foe beacons!”

Here our luck was a mixed blessing, we had a pair of Hammerhead Heavy Cruisers with about two dozen Corvettes and Blockade Runners. The enemy fleet consisted of five frigates, three former Republic ships, two Mandalorian and a Sith Empire Interdictor-Class cruiser, but the bad news was they'd gotten their hands on a Mandalorian dreadnought.

As I watched, the three Republic frigates broke formation and began a run to the surface. “Home One, this is Black Sheep leader, ground attack forces headed your way.”

“Roger, Black Sheep Leader,” Darius' voice said from the speakers next to my ears in the helmet. “We have a warm welcome waiting on them.”

Six of our Corvettes and Blockade Runners went after them in an attempt to make things easier for the boys on the ground. Out of concern for my friend I wanted to follow for a moment, but knew I couldn't; I had bigger fish to fry. “Black Sheep form on me, we're going to take out that Dreadnought.”

“Twelve fighters against a dreadnought?” Black Sheep Seven demanded, incredulous.

“Watch and learn, boys and girls,” I replied, Desperately hoping the game had been true to life by some wild coincidence to the real thing. “Black Sheep Seven, take the upper half of the squadron and knock out the shield generator orbs! Use every torpedo you have if you need to but take them out!”

“Roger Black Sheep leader,” he replied.

“X4, program in the junction of the center main engine bell to the targeting computer and then up link that data to Black Sheep two through six.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

In the game, the thrust exhaust from those engines came from a massive matter, antimatter power core. The plasma was routed down a single magnetic pipe where it was accelerated and then split in what must be a plumbers nightmare out to the port and starboard main engines, but the center was directly connected to it. By destroying the center engine, an emergency door would close, at the junction effectively taking out all three engines, but the core couldn't be shut down as fast as the pipe was closed, and with no where to go the plasma back pressured into the combustion chamber and boom no more dreadnought!

I hoped...

I led my half of the squadron into a wide bank parallel to the battle so I could flank the dreadnought and approach from the port ventral side. The rest threaded their way through withering fire to then split and attack each of the massive spheres at once. Eighteen proton torpedoes crashed into the generators and they exploded like little suns on either side of the bridge. Minus their command and control, the Dreadnought was already drifting out of formation and into the remaining frigates. Now it was our turn. “Black Sheep, follow me!” I yelled needlessly as I flipped the stick hard over and keyed on my targeting computer. I set the launchers to empty their magazines on a single fire order, my finger hovering over the trigger as the computer began to beep as it acquired the lock on.

The rest of the squadron fired as the computer beeped, but for some reason Tari and I both hesitated. I watched the torpedoes streak out, then realized our approach was too 'high' on the plane of the Dreadnought and the torpedoes track took them through the nuclear furnace temperature exhaust and every missile detonated too soon. “Tari...!” I shouted as I shoved the stick down to reorient my fighter.

“Right with you, Mistress!” she replied, having trusted The Force as I did. We swooped 'down' and back 'up' so we were perpendicular to the Dreadnought on it's ventral side. At the same moment, my apprentice and I both launched our torpedoes and peeled away in complicated maneuvers to avoid the exhaust that had destroyed our first wave and to not hit each other.

I bet it would have looked spectacular from an Imax seat.

The engine bell exploded in a massive orange and white fireball as it ripped itself to shreds and sent debris flying everywhere. I was rattled like a submarine getting depth charged, but the important thing was both the port and starboard main engines instantly winked out. “This is Black Sheep Leader to all craft! Disengage and retreat from the Dreadnought! I repeat, disengage and get clear of the Dreadnought!” I fire walled the throttles as all the lights on the ship went out, then the force fields on the hanger bays failed and they violently decompressed spewing crew, unmanned fighters, ammo carts and anything not nailed down out into space.

Suddenly the dreadnought swelled as the metal was stressed to its breaking point and in eerie silence was engulfed in a massive blue white fire ball that had me blinking back stars for several seconds. The destruction triggered a second explosion as the Interdictor-Class which was too close to the Dreadnought it also went in a series of spectacular explosions. The swarms of fighters that could flee on their own did so and began a haphazard series of jumps to light speed. The remaining frigates tried to flee, but they were in a vicious dog fight with our cruisers and fighters. The battle here was won.

“Base One, this is Black Sheep Leader.”

“Go Ahead,” The commander of the lead Hammerhead replied over my radio.

“Unless you need us, I'm going to take my squadron down to assist the surface fight.”

“You're clear to depart, Black Sheep and thanks!”

“Black Sheep, follow me!” I banked over and we dove back down into the atmosphere of Barkhesh as something was nagging at me in The Force. “X4, will we get better performance with S-Foils out or in?”

“It isn't a question of performance, Mistress Fens, the laser cannon have an interlock that will not allow them to fire with the S-Foils closed.”

“Figures,” I muttered where upon I got my second nasty surprise of this battle. I would have thought the Hutts would have committed some kind of armor, either wheeled, walker or something, but they had landed nothing but infantry that was now involved in a vicious house to house fight with the defenders. Perhaps they thought the frigates would give them close air support, but they were all destroyed and smoking wrecks. It seemed like their entire plan hinged on surprise...

Then a chill ran down my spine like an ice berg rubbing on the Titanic.

“Black Sheep Two...?” I started but she cut me off.

“I felt it too, Mistress.”

“Black Sheep Three. Take the squadron and give close air support to the ground forces.”

“Roger, Black Sheep Leader.”

I nosed over and with my apprentice on my six we went up town and landed to much consternation in the street. Market street to be exact. I got my helmet off and clamored out of the fighter while making sure I still had my light sabers. “X4, guard the ships. Tari, with me.” We found the door to the shop locked, but our light sabers made short work of that. The inside seemed normal and The Force led us to a concealed elevator. It brought us who knew how far down and opened onto a cavernous facility that I dreaded having to search, but those fears were laid to rest. Only twenty or thirty meters away were two men clustered around a control box. Next to them, on a tripod, pointed at the wall was a weapon about the size of a TOW launcher connected by very thick cables to a Gonk Droid that was very unhappy about it's situation.

I activated my saber and threw it, severing the cables and calling it back to my hand.

A weedy little man and Jedi Master Targon looked up, startled as the droid scurried off. “I'm sorry,” I said with a cruel smile. “Did I step on your moment?”

“Keep working,” Targon ordered the other. Standing up, he shucked off his robe and strode forward, twirling his staff in his hands. “You are a persistent bitch,” he said in greeting. “I told Mordra I didn't need any help, but she had to send you lot and you've been a thorn in my side for weeks!”

“Maybe if you had kept control of Tess she wouldn't be worried you were going to double cross her.”

“Wives are funny that way,” he admitted as we got as close as we dared to each other. “Still, she needn't have bothered. I will give our emperor a different galaxy to destroy so he can be immortal and the Sith, the real Sith will rule this galaxy!”

“Darth Vitiate is mad, Targon, if that's your real name! And so are you if you think you'll have any reward from him but death!” I told him as I activated my sabers and settled into my Ataru stance. His blades snapped on and he grinned the most evil smile I've ever seen.

“You're mad if you think I care, earthling!”

“Tari,” I ordered, “run to the Temple of the Whills and come back with as many guardians as you can!” I had expected her to argue, plead that I needed her help, but one of the first things Sith learn is obedience. She turned and ran, dropping to all fours to scamper with a truly impressive speed. Targon started to reach out with The Force against her, but I flung my blade, breaking his concentration and making him block it. It bounced away, then I called it back to my hand.

“They won't be back in time to save you,” he predicted. He launched himself at me and I blocked a furious collection of attacks, high, low, left, right; I was giving ground and bending backwards to avoid the sweeps until we locked blades, grimacing with effort as we tried to over power each other.

“As long as they get here in time to stop you, that's all that matters!” I changed the angle of my blocking saber and let his staff slide down the blade with a hiss and sparks. I feinted to draw a sweep from him, then lept over his blade with my stomach parallel to the floor two meters in the air, his blade passing harmlessly under me as I rolled on the landing behind him and kept the tuck and roll back up to my feet.

I changed from the Ataru stance but flipping my left hand saber around my hand so the blade pointed 'down' and 'out' rather than 'up' and 'in' and with a whirl on my feet presented my right side over the left in a bent kneed crouch of the defensive, Form III or Soresu, stance. While Ataru was acrobatics and flashy attacks, Soresu was practical and almost purely defensive. “You mean to prolong the inevitable, but Soresu won't save you!” he snarled and attacked again.

I let him attack, giving ground as I backed away towards my real target. Finally I ducked under one of his sweeps, somersaulted sideways, and thrust my left-handed blade backwards. A split second too late he realized what I'd done, what I have been leading the fight towards as a cry of pain struggled its way out of the scientists throat who had my saber thrust into his back. I pulled my sword free, twirled and with my right hand saber put him out of his misery.

As the headless body fell over, I rolled my saber over my left hand, back into its normal grip, as I settled back into my Ataru stance. "It's just not your day, is it Targon?"

With a wordless cry he charged again, the staff a blur as I battled to block the deadly blades from touching me. “You can't win!” he sneered as I locked up his blade in an X of my own blades and we each tried to overpower the other. “I have all the knowledge of a Sith Inquisitor and a Jedi Master!”

“You tested that thing she used on us?” I demanded and I broke the block and back flipped away. “That's how this works, isn't it? We played The Old Republic to generate some kind of host body and become attuned to it. Then what? You sent our minds here to those bodies? With your try at recreating that thing on Earth?”

He threw his saber staff, but I was able to block it and he recalled it before I took advantage. “Forty years we've slaved away on your backwards little mud ball! Whispering the truth of our world, our galaxy into the ears of your film makers, book writers and game developers until nearly your entire world was focused on our home! Years of Sith Sorcery making bridging the gap possible. While we couldn't open a gate, we did learn how to send consciousness.”

“Oh,” I mocked him as we locked blades again. “All that work to be spoiled by me? What will I do for an encore?!” We flipped apart and his face flushed scarlet in rage.

His dark eyes lightened to a gold that glowed eerily as he gave himself to his inner Id and the Dark Side. The hate that rolled off him was palpable and smelled of death, rank and rotten. He spun the saber staff into his left hand and raised his right. Blue white lightening arched from his hand which I parried with my saber, using The Force to bend the Force Lightening into my blade. This only further enraged him as he redoubled his efforts for all the good it did him. “I will not lose to a fat, mindless nobody playing at being a Sith!” he shouted, spittle flying in his anger.

“You fool!” I shouted back. “I play at nothing and I am a Sith, the Sith Lord you and your psychotic wife made! The Earthling is only a treasured memory! You face Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith and faithful servant of the Revanite Emperor, Darth Malgus! And I will kill you!”

It was at that moment the elevator opened once more, revealing Tari, Darius and a dozen Republic troopers and it was all the distraction Targon needed. He twirled and back flipped away, his arm out stretched and lightening flying from his fingertips. Darius and his troopers fired, but he batted away their bolts in the air even as his lightening engulfed Tari who, screaming in agony, was flung against the wall and lay still.

“No!” I shouted, my vision going red as I leaped after him. I was fueled by the incredible power of the Bogan not in the mindless rage that Targon had given himself to, but in the focused, cold unforgiving rage of a mother protecting her offspring from death. I had grown far more affectionately attached to my young apprentice than I had realized and seeing her injured awoke something brutal and terrible within me. Our blades crossed and he twirled my left hand to disarm me and sent the saber flying, for all the good it did him as I brought my other saber crashing into his guard.

I had meant to cut off his hand but he snatched it away at the last moment and my blade clove through the staff, cutting off the bottom third and its blade winking out. Now we both had only a single blade as he battled back and forth, too close for Darius and his troopers to help. I purposefully exposed my back and he swung, but I brought my blade over my head to point down my spine and blocked his blow.

Stepping backwards, I pulled with all my might, forcing both our blades over my head and onto the floor at my feet. I pivoted my right foot, then struck out with my left and my kick connected to his chin and stunned him. I flourished my blade up in a circle and cut his hand off mid-forearm and with my free left hand I gestured and The Force rose to my will and crashed through his shields to grab him by the throat and lift him choking into the air. “If you find yourself back on Earth, tell your bitch her worst nightmare is waiting for her!”

I gestured and flung him to the wall then threw my sword which embedded through him into the wall. He slid off it, being cut in half as he did and I returned my sword as I watched him fall to the floor, dead. I stood, panting after my breath for a moment, then deactivated my saber and called it's mate back to me. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to look up into Darius' concerned face. “Ed...” he whispered, but I shook my head.

“My name is Nyeomi, Colonel,” I told him as my gold eyes glowed with The Force and he nodded. I pushed by him and ran over to my apprentice. The troopers were already loading her onto a medical support capsule. She was burned and her clothing charred, but she was breathing.

“She'll be alright, my lord,” the trooper medic promised me, the red, somewhat misshapen cross like pictogram in a circle on his armor identifying him. “We'll get her in a bacta tank right away.”

I stared after them for a moment then turned and locked eyes with Darius. Pointing, I shouted, “Colonel, destroy that thing!”

He didn't ask any questions, he just turned and in a hail of blaster fire destroyed the weapon, its control box, and any chance of any of us returning to Earth, which was fine with me. I was home.

That taken care of, I recalled the lift and went to see to my apprentice.

* * *

Tari floated in the blue colored bacta, her muzzle covered in an oxygen mask, her modesty contained by a drab looking, but functional bikini, fast asleep. Her fur was growing out from the burns in tuffs that would do interesting things to her pelt coloration, but she wasn't disfigured or even seriously injured beyond the burns which were healing nicely. I sat on a cushion on the floor in the lotus position, communing with The Force as my apprentice healed.

I had a great deal to consider, having learned of how I came to be in this galaxy and wondering how, if ever I would tell my friends of what I had done. I knew Laura's view on the subject, my perpetually angry ex-wife was delighted in the svelte, shapely Chiss body she currently inhabited; there was no way she would go back to being over three hundred pounds. But my ex was not my only concern. While my good friend and my brother had both gotten younger, fitter, more handsome bodies, I had doomed them all to remain in a dangerous, war torn galaxy for the rest of their lives.

“You are,” a strange, yet familiar voice whispered in my mind, “exactly where The Force needed you to be.” I opened my eyes to an interesting sight. Standing before me was a tall, chocolate complected Sith Lord dressed in a shimmer silk gown that while probably not age-appropriate, she was wearing with great aplomb. It left very little to the imagination as well as broadcasting her belief in a strict fitness regimen. In her youth she had been a great beauty, and in her prime she had likely been a woman men fought over and even now that her prime was fading she was still a remarkably beautiful with an open expressive face the generous mouth currently tugging up in an ironic smile. Ebony hair was loose about her shoulders and she carried herself with all the regal accouterments of an Empress.

She was also transparent and ringing with a blue/white halo of energy. Her name was Darth Vannacen, and according to my tablet she had died four years ago.

“Master...” I whispered.

The Force Ghost of my former master smiled at me as she stood next to the bacta tank and touched it. I could feel the Force bend and bathe my apprentice in healing energy. “Hello, Nyeomi, it is both good to see you again and to meet you.”

“Master?” I asked again.

“You may not remember it, but I was always concerned about you, Apprentice. You seemed incomplete, as though only half of your true self, and now we both know why.” I blushed and looked away causing her to walk over and sit on the chair beside me. “Do not be embarrassed, Edward,” she told me. “You are now who you were always meant to be. The Force has shown me what you have done, and you should hold your head up high, for you saved the lives of an entire galaxy, with numbers of sapient species we do not have names for. You have saved those lives and The Living Force is created by life. That is why you are here, now.”

“I'm sorry I could not save you, Master,” I said, some part of me remembering her death and the empty place it had left in Nyeomi, in me.

“Oh, don't fret for me, Apprentice. I am One with The Force and more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” She looked over my shoulder at the sleeping form of Torm on the couch behind me. “I see you have found your self a worthy husband. That is good. Create life and revel in it, my Apprentice and strengthen and grow stronger in The Force and do not weep for what was or might have been. Live for what is.”

“Will I see you again, Master?” I asked as she stood and gave a final look at Tari in the tank. Looking down at me she smiled.

“The Force will always be with you, Nyeomi and I am One with The Force. We will meet again, fear not. For you have great works still ahead of you.” With that the air was empty and I was alone once more. I thought long on her words and realized what I must do. If the Sith were to survive, there must be a return to the embracing of positive emotion and to give up the quick and easy dependence on hate and fear. And that would eventually lead to a civil war in the Sith. But I had allies in my Master I could commune with in The Force and Master Arridin who seemed agreeable. It would be no small thing and likely be the journey of the rest of my life, but it was a journey worth taking.

I leaned my head back and sighed, overwhelmed for a moment of the task I had been given.

* * *

The main boulevard of Ankart was lined with cheering crowds in the sunshine. The city was draped in rich fabrics and garlands of fragrant flowers and regal, triumphant music was in the air. In a clump, the crew of the Aces and Eights walked together, smiling and waving at the head of the procession. We were all dressed in our best and even X4 gleamed from the detailed cleaning he had been given. At our backs, helmets in their hands was Black Sheep Squadron and then the honor guard of the Barkhest Home Guard.

The parade wound down to the steps of the massive Temple of the Whills. There, Governor Aisin, and Colonel Antilles stood waiting on us with Master Arridin, whose smile I could make out even from this distance. We marched up the courtyard to a flourish of the music and the cheers of the crowd, but I couldn't help raising my hand and setting the prayer wheels in motion as I passed them. At the top of the steps the crew bowed and Tari and I held out our covered fists in salute to Master Arridin.

The Governor presented the pardons to my Squadron and Colonel Antilles presented the crew of the Aces and Eights with Barkhesh's highest award, the Medal of Freedom. And as I got used to the heavy medallion around my neck I thought I saw the smiling ghost of my former Master in the crowd, reminding me that my work was far from over.

* Finis *

Knight of Empire

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Knight of Empire
A Tale of the Star Wars
by
E. E. Nalley

3643 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Taris, Ojoster Sector, The Outer Rim Territories

I won't ever forget the first time I saw the planet Taris.

Which in and of itself is rather odd because, strictly speaking, the 'me' who had been named Edward and had come from a little planet called Earth in a different, unremarkable galaxy, had never seen the planet Taris. However, the Sith Lord, Nyeomi Fens, who I was now, whose body my consciousness had merged with hers had seen it. Confused? Don't worry, so am I.

In any event she had seen it from the observation lounge of the liner Pride of Coruscant which 'our' mistress, Darth Vannacen and she had traveled on to the war torn world. Ok, that's too confusing, I think I'll just go back to using first person pronouns. I remember not being very impressed with the so-called Coruscant of the Outer Rim. Three hundred years ago it had been a jewel in the territory, perfectly balanced between gleaming ecumenopoleis of tall buildings rising to the sky and yet still retaining its ocean giving the planet a blue and gray coloration from space along with clouds and attendant weather.

That had been three hundred years ago.

Taris was unfortunate enough to be the nexus of the far edges of control of three separate military powers, the Galactic Republic, the Mandalorians and the Sith Empire. Between the Mandalorian War, the Jedi Civil War and countless other little skirmishes, the planet had suffered, but remained. Until Darth Malak attacked the world, bombarding it from orbit and laid waste to the entire planet. Now, centuries later, the Republic suddenly had decided they wanted to re-colonize the world which had been bombed into oblivion and was just a collection of ruined cities, slowly being reclaimed by what plant life had been on the world, mostly from parks and a limited number of nature preserves.

Now most of the land masses were gigantic swamps or jungles with crumbling ruins falling into collapsing infrastructure tunnels. While that made the planet dangerous, the real threat were Rakghouls. Rakghouls were corrupted, mutated humanoids, mindless for the most part, cannibalistic, rabid and violent. The true horror was they were not an indigenous life form, but victims of a highly infectious blood pathogen, the aptly named Rakghoul Plague. No one really knew who had invented it, likely as a failed (or successful depending on your point of view) bio-weapon, but the plague was highly contagious and could be spread by a Rakghoul biting or scratching you.

That meant only someone with a death wish, or someone looking for something incredibly valuable would risk going to Taris.

Since the Republic were 'restoring and re-colonizing' Taris, they must be after something and so my mistress and I had been sent to find out what. I was twenty, young, foolish and excited to be sent on my first mission outside the Empire. I must confess it had been an interesting journey. As on paper at least the Galactic Republic and the Sith Empire were at peace, we had been ferried to the edge of the Empire by the Navy, then an independent freighter had born us into the Republic, from which, using our real passports and credentials, we booked passage on the Pride of Coruscant to Taris.

The Republic officials seethed, of course, but by flying under our own colors so to speak, we had rendered them toothless. We were tailed, both overtly and covertly, the most obvious of which were a pair of Jedi Masters who my Mistress took considerable pleasure in making them out as fools in the debates they would conduct in that very lounge. Darth Vannacen argued them into befuddled circles with a smile on her face and a snifter of brandy in hand as she bent their logic back on them. Most nights I entertained myself watching her, keeping an eye on the Padawan of one of the Masters who had been assigned to keeping an eye on me, but sometimes I must confess I took a kind of perverse pleasure by leading him on a merry chase as I wondered the ship aimlessly.

This was how I found out the other Jedi, probably the former Padawan of one of the Masters but he at least had graduated to his knighthood. The Padawan had needed to call for help which was how I outed him and with a sweet smile once his cover was blown, I had returned to the lounge to finish the evenings entertainment. It goes without saying I'm sure the Knight and the Padawan had an...interesting...conversation later.

I had been sure my mistress would make seducing one of the Masters the icing on the cake of her journey, but evidently she found both not to her taste. We disembarked and took the shuttle down to the center of Olaris, the settlement that the Republic had carved out of the ruins of Taris, which was also where they began to show their hand.

The customs officials made a great show of having issue with our passports by putting every road block they could in front of us. Finally, they could give us no further issue without sparking a diplomatic incident and we were allowed to leave the space port and reconnoiter Olaris. It was here that I got my introduction to Leontyne Saresh, the Twi'lek Governor of Taris. She was a green skinned version of the species, with darker, yellowish green striping on her lekku, or head-tails. In her middle forties at the time, she had gone to seed a bit, but there was still enough of that legendary Twi'lek beauty to show she had been something in her youth. Perhaps that had been part of the reason for her success and now that it was fading she resented me for my youth.

To say we didn't get along was something of an understatement, and the beginning of a long standing grudge that would come to haunt me later on in life.

***

3638 BBY (The Present)
Office of the Supreme Chancellor, Senate Hall, Coruscant, Galactic Core

In retrospect, I should have seen Ziost coming.

A past me, a me that seems ages ago now, knew that after the battle with Revan on Yavin, Vitiate fled to the world called the Gateway to the Empire; Ziost. Ziost which was an old world, strong with the Bogan, that had served as Capital of the Sith Empire ages ago, had scholars arguing whether the Sith Species had originated on Ziost or Korriban, and had long been a center of Sith power and knowledge.

You know, your perfect place to conduct dark rituals.

In my defense my experiences had been so different from the game I had enjoyed that I simply didn't think of it. I had convinced myself that Vitiate had fled to Korriban and that I could catch him there. Between my victory over the Will of the Sith, the whirlwind awarding of accolades and titles that followed that victory and my own marriage and honeymoon, it just didn't occur to me to look for Vitiate on Ziost.

And half a billion people were dead because of it.

Ziost was a fairly major trading hub, despite it's somewhat isolated position. Its proximity to Korriban, Dromund Kaas and the Trail-ward heart of the Sith Empire meant there were tens of thousands of ships in orbit, coming and going. Ships who had born witness to the wave of death that washed over the planet, saw the work of Vitiate the Mad consume every organic thing, plants, bacteria, animal, people. As the wave washed over them then turned to dust and ash, consumed by his lust for immortality.

To say the news spread like wild fire was a colossal understatement.

An embargo had been hastily placed on the system, trying to catch Vitiate before he could escape, but dozens of ships had jumped into hyperspace after all life on the planet had been obliterated. Vitiate had been on one of them, and now panic, real honest to God terror, gripped the Galaxy. Who would be next? What would be the next planet wiped from existence?

Which was how I came to be standing in the office of the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, coolly returning the glare of the aforementioned Supreme Chancellor, Leontyne Saresh. The former governor of Taris, and the bane of my existence, was glaring at me because she had demanded that Emperor Malgus put his best operatives on the hunt for Vitiate. This decision His Imperial Majesty had delegated to his Minister of Defense, Prince Marr, who picked, wait for it, me.

Because the Supreme Chancellor (I swear I hear peasants ranting about wielding Supreme Executive power) had also demanded to meet the chosen expert I found myself in her office, along with a hologram of Prince Marr and the ever diplomatic Jedi Grand Master Shan. Now Leontyne, as I have noted previously, is a Twi'lek, not that there's anything wrong with that, but it did show they could be more than crack pilots and dancing girls. Her green tinted yellow skin was flushed to a darker shade from her anger and her twin tails or lekku as they were known in their own language at the back of her head were whipping like snakes from her movements. “Is this a joke?” demanded the Chancellor of Prince Marr with a furious gesture at me. “Are you trying to provoke me deliberately?”

“Countess Fens, as Grand Master Shan will attest, exemplifies the Sith Ideal and her list of accomplishments under impossible circumstances speaks for itself,” Marr replied in a remarkably even tone.

“Her accomplishments?” Saresh demanded. “Her failure to capture Vitiate on Yavin IV? Her failure to catch him on Korriban? Or her failure to put her personal life on hold to deal with a threat to our entire galaxy, which accomplishment are you referring to, Prince Marr?” The holographic Sith Lord crossed his strong arms over his barrel chest.

“Don't take that tone with me, Chancellor,” he warned her softly. “The Republic requested aid from the Empire and we gave it. The Republic requested our best and we have sent her...”

“This reckless, wanton little...”

The hologram pointed his gauntlet clad finger. “Don't...interrupt me,” Marr ordered. “Your personal issues with Countess Fens not withstanding, the Republic requested our best operative, and I have sent her, end of story. Either accept her aid, or provide your own agent, I do not care which. This matter is closed.” With a burst of static, the hologram of my immediate superior vanished. I watched Saresh seethe for a moment, then turned to Grand Master Shan and shrugged.

“Chancellor,” the Jedi began in a neutral tone. “I suggest we move on. I have worked with Darth Fens before and...”

“Don't you sing this...monster's...praises too, Master Shan!” Saresh snapped. Her mouth worked as if she tasted something foul as I continued to stare at her, mute and aloof. “Fine, if this is how Darth Marr chooses to deal with a threat of this magnitude, it falls on me to set it right.” Turning to me, she held up a finger and declared, “But I am sending my own agent on your little expedition to see that our resources aren't squandered!” She pressed a button on her desk and ordered, “Come in!”

A side door opened revealing a man in his thirties, but exactly where was hard to say. He was grown and in his prime, but still youthful. He was good looking, with a rugged chin, a nice tan and full head of thick, dark brown hair that was just short enough to stand up without being a buzz cut. He had rather intense olive green eyes and three small metal tell tales of a cybernetic implant protruding from the skin around the orbit of his left eye. He wore a blaster on a fast draw belt holster over khaki trousers and boots. A black double breasted shirt under a red and white leather jacket with the collar standing up completed the ensemble. He was a good looking sort, not that I noticed as I am a happily married woman.

His eyes narrowed a bit as he took in the room, but he walked forward confidently.

The Jedi stood, her eyes on the Chancellor. “Please, excuse me,” she said as she turned to me. “I have pressing business. I hope you will come by the Jedi temple before you depart, Countess.” She looked up at the man, then walked out by the other door.

Saresh smirked and made a gesture of introduction. “Darth Nyeomi Fens, Theron Shan, Republic Strategic Intelligence Service.”

I stood and offered my hand which he took, obviously surprised. “I look forward to working with you,” I told him, pleased he gave a firm, cordial handshake. Turning to my nemesis I asked, “Unless there is something else, Chancellor?”

I took her silence as dismissal, and turned to leave. The spy walked beside me as we exited her office and made our way through the lavish surroundings to the bank of elevators. Tari stood from the seat she had been awaiting me in and fell in step with us. “You seem more down to earth than I was led to believe in our reports on you,” Theron told me in an off hand way as he pressed the call button for me.

“You'll find me an immanently practical woman, Mr Shan,” I replied as I looked him in the eye. He was a bit under two meters and I had become quite comfortable in wedge heels despite already being tall for a woman so we were about the same height. “My sole priority right now is the destruction of Darth Vitiate and ending his threat to the galaxy. I am willing to work with anyone to accomplish that.”

He considered that for a long moment, then nodded. “I'm glad to hear that. I have some leads that we can follow up on, but perhaps I should brief you and your team all at once. Who else is assisting you?” he asked with a glance at my apprentice. “Your normal group of followers?”

It is an interesting feeling to be spied on. The car arrived and I entered it, pushing the button for the landing platform of the building. Theron joined me after allowing Tari to enter the car first. “I wasn't aware I had followers,” I told him loftily with a cool stare. “But if you've decided I have, you must already know who I arrived here with.”

He made a placating gesture. “Just putting all the cards on the table,” he pleaded. “From what I've read of your file, my lady, the galaxy is a much safer place with you around rather than not, but that won't stop SIS from keeping an eye on your comings and goings. Especially as you and the Chancellor have a somewhat...colorful...history.”

Tari looked up at me, the curiosity written on her face, but I just winked at her and continued to concentrate on the spy. “It's wonderful the Republic has so many assets they have manpower to spare to keep an eye on me,” I told him. “With so many resources, I'm curious why my help is even needed.”

“It wasn't my call,” Theron told me earnestly.

I opened my mouth to make a retort about guards following orders and realized he likely would not get the metaphor. “That's very convenient,” I decided instead. “For you.”

Theron shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the side of the car. “Ok, I probably deserved that. The question now is are we going to be able to work together to find and stop Vitiate?”

“I may take issue with your methods, Mr Shan,” I told him evenly. “But Vitiate is a danger that leaves me no option to be picky in my allies. I must stop him and I am willing to work with anyone to accomplish that.” He nodded.

“Fair enough.”

The car came to a stop and the door opened. I stepped out, but noticed he hadn't moved. “Are you coming?”

“I have some files I need to get from my computer before we leave. I'll meet you at the Aces and Eights' hanger in...two hours?”

“Agreed.”

He pressed a button on the panel and the doors closed. “See you then,” he replied in parting. I considered the doors for a moment, then pressed my thumb to the valet droids pad to fetch our speeder from the hanger and it flew off.

“I heard the Supreme Chancellor even out in the lobby,” Tari told me as we waited for the speeder. “What happened to make her hate you so much?”

“That is a long story, my young apprentice,” I told her with a smile. “And one I'm willing to tell you, never fear. But first, I have to make a call, and then we have to go by the Jedi Temple at the request of Grand Master Shan.” The speeder arrived with the droid, a compact, sporty two-seater model that we had rented at the space port. “You drive,” I ordered her. We got settled and she eased into the massive traffic pattern that is the air traffic of Coruscant and the nose pointed in the general direction of the massive construction site that was the Jedi Temple.

In his youth during the war, our future Emperor, Darth Malgus had spear headed the assault on the Jedi Temple in the closing days of the Republic Sith War, even crossing sabers with the noted Jedi Master Ven Zallow who our Emperor bested, leaving the temple burning as the so-called Sack of Coruscant began. Now the building was surrounded by construction scaffolding, cranes and repulsor construction droids, in a massive testament to the stagnation of the Jedi Order by being restored exactly as it had been.

I got out my communicator and shortly over it appeared the ghostly blue white image of Darth Marr. “Your highness,” I greeted. “As you suspected, Supreme Chancellor Saresh has inserted an operative into my team, although, unexpectedly he admits to being a spy.”

A gloved hand rubbed the mask Lord Marr always wore. “Interesting. Who is this spy?”

“Theron Shan was the name he gave me,” I replied.

“I am familiar with this individual, and he can be quite resourceful. His presence could be an asset, but you may count on your every move being reported on.”

“He admitted as much,” I told him. “I don't believe he likes the position he has been put in, but generally seems to want to be of assistance.”

“His desires will likely have little to do with how this mission will play out. And two can play the espionage game. Go to our embassy, and I'll have an operative waiting for you there. You two should get along famously as I understand she is something of a fan of your holonet series. Beniko is her name, Lana Beniko.”

Tari was already adjusting our course to the Embassy of the Revanite Sith Empire. “Yes, your highness.”

***

3643 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Taris, Ojoster Sector, The Outer Rim Territories

Olaris was an interesting kind of contradiction.

It wasn't a 'city' by any stretch of the imagination. It was a square mile or so of reasonably level concrete that had plenty of patches of grass and jungle that had yet to be cleared out. The spaceport seemed to have been a salvaged building from one of Taris' original space ports that was in reasonably good shape. That would explain the open ground a bit better at least. Several hangers and out buildings were likewise being re-tasked for the 'colonization effort', but there were plenty of prefab plassteel buildings and even a collection of rigid canvas tents.

Most of the old buildings had blown out windows, but there were work crews moving about with a doubtlessly endless repair list. Surrounding all of it was a concrete wall that was fallen in in places, leaving holes that were patched with portable force field fences to close those gaps. Over the wall one could see large, flying animals, likely predators from their look, above the canopy and there were calls and screams from the half jungle, half urban wasteland that could be heard from here.

“Why are we here again?” I asked her as we left the relative comfort of the climate controlled space port into the muggy swelter of the camp. None of it bothered Vannacen, who only coyly winked at me and took my elbow and began to guide me further down the concourse. She was wearing a white linen blouse that looked quite airy and comfortable over khaki jodhpurs and boots where as I was in my 'working leathers' white and gray with plasteel plates with a kind of bustled loin cloth over them that draped in front and back of my legs giving me the drama of a cape without the heat.

Yes, it left my midriff exposed and with a stomach as taunt and flat as mine, why wouldn't I show it off?

“What do you see, Apprentice?” she asked, answering my question with a question. It was a habit she was fond of and I was learning to expand my awareness of what I already knew because of having to answer them.

“I see a lot of wasted effort and money,” I replied, after a long glance of taking in the vista before me. It was like an ant hill, furiously trying to hold back a tsunami. “There is no strategic need for re-colonizing this world, the trade routes have stabilized bypassing it two hundred years ago. The credits being wasted reclaiming this ruin from the jungle could make two or three virgin worlds fit for human habitation. It makes no sense.”

“Unless there is something here already that is worth all of this blood and treasure. Now, narrow your focus to the north and tell me what you see.”

I turned my eyes north and was not terribly surprised to find a well manned Republic Army post, complete with what looked like three full legions of men, equipment and material. There was even an air wing of utility air speeders. That made sense from the rational part of my brain to protect all these colonists, then I took a closer look and realized just how top heavy the 'administration' side of things was to the 'colony' side of things. There was enough official government types spread out in buildings and complexes for a settlement five or six times this size. And even with the Rakghoul threat, this meager little outpost couldn't have a population of legitimate colonists of more than a thousand or so, certainly not sufficient for the military and government presence here.

The main gate, for anyone fool hardy enough to leave the protection of the wall, was beyond the Army post, it's intention rather clear. I looked back up at her and she nodded. “I will go struggle with the red tape and get our clearances to go into the ruins. You go and see about procuring us a sky hopper and on the way, do what you do best, my faithful apprentice,” she said with a smile.

“Stick my nose where it doesn't belong?” I asked her with a smile.

“Ah, the recklessness of youth,” she affirmed with a grin. “Call me when you have what we need.”

“Yes, mistress.”

***

3638 BBY (The Present)
Embassy of the New Revanite Sith Empire, Senate Sector,Coruscant, Galactic Core

The Embassy of our Empire took up one hundred floors of a well-to-do tower on the opposite side of the Senate building from the Jedi Temple. Go figure. The Senate building itself sat on a roughly circular plateau, somewhat above the top 'surface' of the ecumenopoleis, as if further enforcing the impression that here was where the mighty rulers dwelled. My apprentice and I landed on the private platform for the Embassy and were quickly ushered to an office with a view of the Temple, over the top of the round, mushroom shaped Senate Hall.

Waiting for us was a woman a bit younger than myself, in her early twenties, no more than twenty two I think, with blonde hair she wore just to her shoulders. She was pretty, with very pale skin and soft, regular features and her eyes glowed gold with the Bogan around her. She wore a tunic and pants in deep green and black with a scarf around her neck and shoulders held by a mother of pearl broach. She might have been a fashionable business woman, if not for the light saber that hung on her left hip.

She stood and came around the desk to bow before me, a grin on her cheeks. “Countess Fens, it is my honor to make your acquaintance. Commander Lana Beniko, Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy, on loan from Imperial Intelligence.”

I offered a hand which she shook tentatively. “The pleasure is mine, Commander. My apprentice, Lord Tari Mur, Sphere of Defense of the Empire.”

“My lord,” Beniko greeted with a more truncated bow. “Please, sit down, and allow me to welcome you to Coruscant. May I get you anything?”

“No, thank you, Commander,” I replied as Tari and I took the seats she offered before the desk. “I understand from Prince Marr you have some assistance you can offer in my mission to find and kill Darth Vitiate?”

She shuddered, just ever so slightly which I caught immediately and let my expression ask my question for me. She hesitantly licked her lips. “I...I must confess to you at once, Countess, that for most of the Sith Civil War I was stationed here, and...and I was not a Revanite.”

“I try not to hold honest mistakes against those I work with, Commander,” I replied. “Prince Marr and Emperor Malgus obviously trust you as you have integrated yourself in the New Sith Empire and hold a position of obvious importance here. So long as I can trust you, we should find our time together pleasant.”

Lana clasped her hands before her on her desk and stared at them, unable to meet my eye. “I thought I was doing my duty, staying loyal to the Emp...Vitiate and the Empire. I didn't want to believe that anyone could be as evil as the Revanites made Vitiate out to be. I should have realized that if Sith Lords of the stature and dedication of Darth Malgus and Darth Marr would rebel against the Empire they had served their entire lives that there must be truth to it. I was blinded by what I wanted the Empire to be, not what it was.”

“The Order of Revan is an order of Merit,” I told her. “Do your duty, serve loyally, and you will be rewarded for it.”

She brought her eyes up and forced a shy kind of smile. “Thank you, my lady, I will endeavor to prove myself to you and Prince Marr.”

“Now, what can you tell me about Theron Shan and what can he offer in the hunt?” She pressed a button on her desk and a holo-emitter on one corner came to life, showing a bust of the aforementioned agent that rotated slowly.

“Theron Shan is the son of Grand Master Satele Shan of the Jedi Order, though they have no relationship other than blood. Satele gave the infant up to her master to raise and when the boy proved not to be Force Sensitive, he was abandoned again, this time by the Jedi. It is not known who his father is.”

Tari made a face of disgust. “Gave up her son? What kind of...?”

I made a placating gesture to the obviously upset Cathar. “The Jedi fear all emotion, but the emotions of attachment, love, nurturing, and family, most of all. Don't be surprised she gave up the child, be more surprised she didn't abort him.” I turned back to the blonde. “Continue, Commander.”

“After failing to become a Padawan, Theron was placed in the Jedi Service Corps and bounced from posting to posting, finally leaving ten years ago when he was approached by an SIS operative to join them. It was here that Theron found his calling as a spy, he's proven to be a fairly major thorn in the side of Imperial Counter Intelligence. He is considered one of the top assets of SIS.”

I considered that for a moment, then asked, “So you believe he is telling the truth and has leads on the whereabouts of Vitiate?” The blonde shook her head, shoulder length hair whipping back and forth.

“No, my lady, only that I believe he thinks that information is valuable to you,” she amended quickly. “He may, in fact, have such information, but it is more likely he is using your desire for such information to gain your confidence.”

“The luxury of being a warrior is that your enemies are honest in their hatred of you and their desire for your death,” I muttered angrily. “I have no patience for cat and mouse games of hucksters and con-men. Commander, does your instruction from Prince Marr limit your involvement to this briefing?”

“No, my lady, I am at your disposal and instructed to provide whatever aid you require.”

I stood. “Pack a bag, then, Commander,” I ordered her. “I'll need someone I can trust to play cat to Theron's mouse, and I pick you.”

“I'm honored,” she assured me as she stood from her desk. “I'll just need a few minutes to run to my apartment and collect a few things.”

“Meet us at the hanger for the Aces and Eights,” I replied with a gesture to Tari to give her the numbers. “I have another house call to make before we depart.”

“I'll be there within the hour.”

***

Hanger complexes on Coruscant are, like any other building on the planet, high rise affairs by necessity. Ours was a combination of lease-able hangers in a plethora of sizes, shopping mall, hotel and modest resort. I can personally recommend the Salty Pond day spa, as it is run by and staffed with Lyrans. These tentacled, cephalopod aliens vaguely resemble octopuses from Earth, but with at least four or more tentacles with a matching number of eyes on stalks at the top of their bodies. They use an anti-gravity belt harness to move around, and being aquatic in nature, prefer things damp. So once you have changed and entered the spa proper, you enter a hot, like a sauna, environment, but instead of dry heat, there is so much water vapor in the air it's steamy, nearly requiring a respirator. You sweat constantly, which the Lyrans make into a therapeutic experience. If you have even the least amount of congestion in your lungs it will come up and their deeply alien physiology makes being naked in the spa more comfortable. If you are still skeptical, I can assure you that you have not had a massage until your back has had its muscles relaxed by a being with six tentacles.

Five stars, I tell you.

In any event, as promised, both Lana and Theron were already waiting outside the hatch into the hanger proper, glaring daggers at each other. Although, I have to say I don't know if it was 'woman’s intuition' or The Force, or something else, but watching them glare at each other I have an almost overwhelming desire to instruct them to get a room. I refrained, in the interests of everyone's better journey. This required a bit of reshuffling of the sleeping arrangements. Darius volunteered to share his room and its spare bunk with Theron and Tari did the same with Lana.

Once everyone was settled, I got busy in the cockpit bringing the Aces and Eights up from standby. It was nice being able to dock in facilities that had proper ground crew which disconnected the shore power connectors for us and was able to guide the yacht over to the launch chute with hand jacks while the Eights hovered on her repulsor motors. The hanger was only just big enough as space was such a premium on Coruscant that it was required for the ground clearance.

We were gently pushed through the force field into the launch chute, a huge, open tunnel through the center of the building, off from which were the various bays, and open to the sky for comings and goings. We were again guided up, this time by computer, to be clear of the building and finally I was back in control of the ship.

In a space of time not so much longer than a couple of jump cut wipes, we were back in the black and making the jump to hyperspace. From here it would be a week to go out to Ziost, back into the friendly skies of the New Revanite Sith Empire. Wouldn't that be fun?

***

3643 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Taris, Ojoster Sector, The Outer Rim Territories

The Incom J-6 Sky Hopper was another dependable entry of the corporation's penchant for making rugged, reliable craft, generally for government contract work. It looked like a squatter, somewhat fatter version of it's millennia from now descendant, the T-16 that Luke Skywalker would own, trading some of that agility for cargo and passenger space. It sat on four landing pegs that were fixed to the bottom of the triangular body, tucked under the wings, now folded straight up against the side of the craft.

It cost just shy of the promise of my first born child to rent it, along with a ruinous rate of insurance, but that's what expense accounts are for.

I was finishing up the pre-flight checks when Darth Vannacen arrived, a series of permits on her tablet she cross verified with the leasing agent. He walked over with her to me, keys in hand with the look of a man on his way to the gallows. I disconnected the fuel hose and closed the port before scrambling out from underneath it with the hose to return to the fuel hand truck. He thrust a data pad at me. “Sign, initial and thumbprint,” he ordered.

My light sabers were inordinately heavy on my belt as I did so. Mistress Vannacen was all bright smiles looking like a fashion model playing at expedition gear in khaki shirt and pants with boots, but the light saber hanging from her belt was all business. I had opted to remain in my working leathers because, they were already what I was comfortable getting into trouble in. Keys in hand, I followed her up the little ramp that was the entry way and secured it behind me before I sank into the pilot's chair by habit.

Not to give the wrong impression, but one of the reasons Darth Vannacen chose me as an apprentice was that I was so extensively trained in military gear and protocols. It made things easier than having to hire locals. “Where are we going?” I asked as I got the bird coming up and the interior electrical systems online. The controls before me came to life as I double-checked them in preparation of starting the engines and got the head set comfortable over my ears.

“Where did it go last?” she asked with a smile.

I reached over to the navigation screen and called up its last inputs. Surprisingly enough for a settlement this rugged, there were several predefined auto-navigation routes and markers that had been defined. Two went to other Republic military encampments, but the third just went deep into the city and stopped there. “Doesn't that look interesting?” Vannacen purred. “Let's start there.”

Tripping both APUs to 'Start' the engines began to spin up to idle as I got the radio tuned. “Dorn Yirt 41 calling Olaris Control, how copy?”

“Yirt 41, Olaris Control reading you five by five.”

“Olaris Control, requesting VFR departure to...” I leaned over the screen again. “...Waypoint Besh 27, over?” The delay was longer than it should have been, but that let me finish the take off check list.

“Yirt 41 cleared to Waypoint Besh 27, depart 213 to actual, cleared VFR, no close traffic.”

“213 for Yirt 41 to actual, roger. Yirt 41 departing.” The J-6 came up off her landing pegs at the slightest brush of the throttle which brought a smile to my face; I like a craft with some spirit in it. I lowered the S-Foils down into flight mode and urged it to heading 213. The wall of the space port slid under us as I swung back over towards the way point buoy some kilometers away in the sea of crumbling skyscrapers and collapsing city. “ETA about twenty minutes,” I informed my Mistress who smiled at me looked out the canopy, taking in the ruined world.

“What a waste,” she observed, mostly to herself, but loud enough for me to hear.

“Mistress?” I asked. Turning back to me, she had a sly, yet curious expression on her face. Once more I got the sense she was making up her mind about me, but not in the way some teachers might. I knew she was fond of me, and I had received little that was not praise for my learning and dedication to my apprenticeship to her. This seemed like one of those times where a master shares a real secret with their apprentice.

“Why do we fight, Nyeomi?” she asked softly.

I blinked in surprise, but not much, as I was used to this philosophical side of her. However she usually saved it for heading home from the mission. “We defend those we love, Mistress, from those who would do them harm.” She smiled a little and propped her elbow on the seat rest so as to cup her chin in her hand.

“That is an excellent reason to defend yourself,” she admitted. “But not why we are fighting. What is the cause of the conflict between the Sith and the Republic?”

There were several answers that leapt to mind, the obvious ones, the fundamental disagreement in how we interpreted The Force from the Jedi, expansion of our Empire, revenge for the murderous defeat we had been handed at the end of the Great Hyperspace War, but something told me that was not what she meant. “I don't know why the Empire is fighting, Mistress,” I admitted after a long moment of thought. “I fight because I enlisted, to make my parents proud of me and to prove myself.” I gave her a naughty smile. “And because you tell me to.”

Darth Vannacen's smile beamed out her cafe au lait face. “She can be taught!” she exclaimed. Turning back out the window she continued, almost to herself. “We have been fighting for so long I don't think either of us truly remember why any more. Year after year, century after century, we are so far past debate or conversation, our wars have become reflexive. To the Jedi we are simply evil, to be stamped out where ever we crop up, exterminated without pity or remorse; completely blind to the fact that what they are doing is the very definition of evil.”

She turned back towards me. “I'll tell you, Nyeomi...”

I'll never know what she was about to say because before she could, the sky hopper lurched hard to the right and alarms began to blear as the controls were bathed in red. “What happened?” she asked, urgent, but calmly.

“I don't know,” I told her as I fought with the controls. “I lost the starboard engine.” The hopper was veering hard to starboard as the very worst light on the controls lit up; Engine Fire. I quickly tripped the fire suppression system and killed the fuel to the affected engine. “Bird strike, maybe, I have to throttle back the other engine,” I told her and fought to try and get back on course. The port engine was pushing so hard it was throwing us into a broad circle if I gave it enough throttle to keep us aloft. The control surfaces were insufficient to overcome the thrust of the engine, even with the rudder and ailerons hard over. We were not going to get back to Olaris on one engine I realized as I throttled back to be able to maneuver it became clear one engine was not enough to keep us in the air. One hand slapped at the radio control as I fought the dying craft.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this Yirt 41, transmitting in the blind, I have lost my starboard engine and am going down.” My hand paused for a split second over the button, then stabbed it as the fuel was dumped overboard and the low fuel warning was added to the cacophony of alarms. At least now we would not end in a fireball. The port engine coughed and died and the only just aerodynamic sky hopper became a glider. A terrible glider in point of fact. “Rotate your chair aft and lock it there,” I ordered my Mistress, hoping that by doing so it would spread the crash over her entire body and reduce her chance of injury.

“My position is...” The hopper lurched again as something exploded. The controls winked out as the electrical power failed and I could only watch as the ruined city came up to slap us out of the sky.

***

3638 BBY (The Present)
Ziost, Esstran sector, Outer Rim Territories

The endless blue white tunnel of hyperspace collapsed into a stream of individual stars, pulling away, as the husk of Ziost rushed up. I have often remarked on the beauty of worlds from space, either the rugged Earth tones of Tattooine, or the lights and gray geometric precision of Coruscant, or even the blue green jewel that was Ruuria, the Aces and Eights' home port.

Ziost had none of that.

Ziost was just a flat, uniform gray, like an asteroid or an airless moon, without even the whimsical, if austere beauty of Luna. No, this world was dead, the cadaver of a planet, every living thing obliterated. It is a strange feeling to see death on this scale. It is one thing to sit in a theater and see a space station the size of a moon fire a green laser and have a planet vanish in an optical FX fireball. I had seen the wave of death march across the planet from a recording taken by a ship in orbit.

Half a billion people, human, alien, sentient beings, snuffed out in twenty seconds.

Just enough time to see their doom coming and scream in terror. I had felt Ziost die on Ruuria, two full sectors away. Sir Alec Guinness underplayed it, I don't ever want to feel death and terror like that again. It was easily the worst twenty seconds of my life.

Despite being a dead planet, the space around it was quite lively. There were a pair of Harrower-class Dreadnoughts providing security, large bulk freighters from the Universal Society of the Red Sigil providing aide and relief services for survivors in the orbital facilities and ships throughout the system, as well as news organizations, researchers trying to determine what happened and all the ships to carry them. And I thought the traffic over Coruscant had been bad. We were given clearances through the swarm of ships down to the center of the on the ground efforts, the former capital of the world, New Adasta.

In many ways, the view up close was worse than the view from space.

There was only superficial damage in New Adasta. There were speeder wrecks being cleared to unclog the streets, but that was minor. Otherwise the city seemed perfect and normal, except there were not nearly enough people on the streets. Ziost had a perfectly fine atmosphere and there was still water, but everything else was a gray dust that blew up around the Aces and Eights, as she settled down into the landing bay. As soon as we were down, techs in full face respirators came out, vacuuming up the dust as, over head, the hanger door was closing. Torm and I shared a look was we finished bringing the ship down, then stood and made our way aft. Arriving at the airlock door by the boarding ramp, the Quarantine light had been lit by the ground crew.

“What's going on?” asked Silas as he joined us in the hall.

“The ground crew tripped the quarantine light,” Torm told him. “So we're waiting. Somehow, I think you might have a little trouble finding a game,” he added, noting Silas' wardrobe. The lanky gambler just grinned.

“Where ever there are people, there's a group somewhere bored and playing a game,” he retorted with a wink. I flipped open the maintenance door on both of my sabers in turn to be certain they were both fully charged. They were. Torm and Silas did the same for their blasters.

“Some delay?” Lana asked as she joined the crowd by the door. We all just pointed at the light next to the hatch. Then the motors of the ramp being lowered rumbled through the metal of the ship. There came two sharp wraps on the hatch and the light went out. I pressed the button and the door rolled up into the ceiling, revealing a tech wearing a full face respirator.

“Sorry for the delay, my lord,” he told me with a bow, his voice muffled and his expressions unreadable behind the goggles of the mask. “Believe me, you don't want to inhale that.” He pointed behind him, down the ramp, deeper into the bay. “Minister Davidge is waiting for you.”

“Let's not keep the minister waiting,” Theron declared, having silently arrived.

The Ground Crewman didn't move, pointedly keeping his attention on me. At my gesture, he turned and trotted down the ramp. I followed at a more leisurely pace to find the Minister with a pair of troopers and a technician with a storage box on a repulsor lift sled. The minister, a tall, blonde haired good looking man, young for his position, in his early thirties I would guess. He was wearing neither his robes of office nor his dress uniform, but field fatigues and a face respirator hung from his neck. He drew himself to attention and bowed. “Darth Fens, you honor us with your presence, Countess. Upton Davidge, Minister of Logistics at your service.”

“Thank you, Minister,” I greeted, returning his bow from the neck. “My husband, Sir Torm Belos-Fens, and I believe you were made aware of the rest of my entourage?”

“My lord,” Davidge greeted, with a half bow and shaking Torm's hand. Turning back to me, he made a gesture at the tech. “Indeed, My Lord, Prince Marr made me aware of your arrival. You will have my full cooperation in your investigation.”

The tech, his arms full of masks from the crate, handed me one which I took with a nod of thanks. “I was led to understand the atmosphere was still breathable...?” I declared, letting the question hang. Davidge nodded.

“The gasses in the atmosphere haven't changed, my lord, but this dust is everywhere.”

“What is it?” asked Silas, as I reached out and touched the slight residue on the Ministers uniform. As soon as I touched it I got a flash of the same terror and death as I had felt on Ruuria, from what seemed like two or three different perspectives.

“People,” I whispered, horrified. “The dust was people.”

Davidge nodded grimly. “Most intuitive, Countess, you are correct. There are no bodies to bury or recover, no caskets to fill. Not even bones, but everything, people, animals, plants, rendered down to this, like a crematorium.”

“Were there other survivors, Minister?” Theron asked.

“There were no, survivors, spy,” Upton told him coldly. “I was in the orbiting dockyards when...it...happened. The same with my men here. There is nothing left alive on this planet.” I noted the epithet he made of the pronoun and filed it away for later inquiry in private.

“Have you been able to determine where the ritual took place?” Lana asked, either unaffected by the horror of this place, or putting on a very brave face, perhaps for my benefit.

Upton turned and one of the troopers handed him a data pad. “Yes, Commander. It radiated out in a circle that was caught by, well, plenty of cameras. It came from the Sith Citadel.”

That made a twisted kind of sense.

The Citadel had been constructed thousands of years ago, long before the Great Hyperspace War, when the Sith moved our capital from Korriban to Ziost. From here, of course, it would move again to Dromund Kaas. It had been built by the Dark Jedi Ajunta Pall after his conquest of the Sith Race and the founding of his Sith Kingdom. A kingdom that would eventually become the Sith Empire, not that Pall would live to see it. Although I dislike the term, if there could truly be a Dark Side of the Force, its center would certainly be Ajunta Pall's Citadel.

I clipped the lowest of the straps for the mask the tech had given me and let it hang around my neck. “Do you have a speeder my party can use?”

“I...” the tech immediately replied, then stopped when my attention turned to him. He swallowed and continued at the Minister's gesture. “I wouldn't recommend it, my lord. The dust is a nightmare in the engines. Any filter over the intakes small enough for it clogs the screen so fast you can't make a round trip.”

“What about these masks?” Silas wanted to know.

“The cartridges have an acidic layer between the filter media. It completely vaporizes the dust, but I have extra cartridges for you just in case,” the tech assured us. “We're trying to improvise something big enough for a speeder, but it's slow going.” He saw the question on my face and winced, shrugging his shoulders. “Tomorrow, perhaps? My lord.”

I took the data pad from the minister. “How far on foot?” I asked.

“Three kilometers,” the trooper replied. “I've indicated on the pad, my lord.”

“Be careful, my lord,” Upton cautioned me. “There are rumors that something may have been protected in that citadel. Something dangerous.”

“Droids?” asked Torm, but Upton shook his head.

“Not droids,” the Minister affirmed. “Not alive either, I think. Some thing. I strongly advise caution, my lord.”

I patted the light saber dangling by my hip with one hand as I got the mask pulled over my face. “I'm a very cautious woman, Minister.”

***

I'll spare you the description of the special hell that is a multi-kilometer hike wearing a gas mask. If you need a little help for your imagination, picture yourself on a treadmill, at its maximum setting, wearing a surgical mask, with your nose taped shut. That about covers it.

The dust was both better and worse away from the city. This was a somewhat rural side of the city, so the ash didn't trigger a little shot of someone's dying seconds except every once in a while,which was better. The worse was it was winter for this hemisphere of the planet, there was a good bit of snow on the ground, mixing with the ash making for a horrendous, crunchy slush that turned black as the dissimilar materials mixed.

Finally we crested a rise and the Citadel came into sight. It was an ugly, monstrous, monolithic Ziggurat of bluish stone made lighter by the snow and ice that clung to it in places. It had odd, asymmetrical extensions that bulged out of it like cancerous tumors. There was nothing wholesome or welcoming about it, nor did it have any of the appeal of either the Temple of the Whills on Barkhesh or the Temple of the Force Tari and I had discovered on Ione.

This was a cathedral of Evil, the Bogan perverted and twisted to hate, malice and rage.

I was infuriated in a way that was very difficult to describe. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Torm muttered beside me as he spat into the snow, obviously unhappy having laid eyes on this abomination.

My eye was drawn to movement and I fished out myMacrobinoculars and turning them towards the Citadel. I worked the zoom unit I was practically at the front entrance before I saw it. “Karabast,” I swore, bringing my husband's eyes to me. I handed him the device as I pointed

“Garven's knees! What is it?”

“A monolith,” I told him grimly. “A kind of Sith Spawn.”

Darth Sidious once told Anakin Skywalker that the Dark Side of the Force was a path to many abilities some considered to be unnatural. He wasn't lying. When you bend the Force to your will for dark ends, the way this building had been used, strange, unnatural things happen. The Living Force is life itself, made up of every living thing in the galaxy. But pervert the living enough and monsters appear. Sith Spawn, as they are collectively known, are creatures made manifest of the Force. The Jedi say they are the tears of the Force, lamenting over being so abused.

There was plenty of room for debate, but suffice to say that Sith Spawn are horrific creatures, manifested, that is to say created from nothing, from the Force itself. They have no life cycle, although they have a physical body, with muscles and bones and flesh, they simply appear out of thin air. They do not eat, but have teeth and claws they delight in using. They are not intelligent, but they are uncannily cunning. No matter their size they are fearsome opponents and preternaturally strong.

And, of course, Monoliths are the worst.

It looked rather like a rancor and was about the same size easily five meters tall. It was standing on stubby legs under a massive torso and arms that went from its shoulders all the way to the ground ending in three fingered hands with quarter meter claws. It had black, leathery skin and was pockmarked with lumps and lesions all over it and a maw overfull of massive teeth. “It's standing right by the entrance,” Theron declared, after a glance through his own macro-binoculars. “Can we kill this thing?”

“It won't be easy,” Lana replied. “It's hide is resistant to blaster fire and even light sabers take a few seconds to pierce it. Shall I call for some heavy weapons, my lord?”

“It will take them a while to get here,” I muttered, grimly. “And if they miss, we could block the entrance or cave it in.” Turning to Lana, I asked, “I note you wear a light saber...?”

She blushed a bit. “I...I trained as a Sith, my lord, but I was never selected as an apprentice, even though I graduated the Academy. So I joined Imperial Intelligence.”

“And now you're a diplomat?” Theron wanted to know. Beniko smiled an evil smile.

“I happen to have excellent patience for dealing with the terminally stupid.”

Theron considered that for a moment and nodded. “That would come in handy for the Diplomatic Corps.”

“Tari and I practice Ataru,” I told her. “What did you study at the Academy?”

“Form V Shien,” she admitted, and it matched perfectly with her deflective, self effacing personality.

Well, there are worse things, I thought to myself. Out loud, I said, “Tari and I will engage it, then. You shepherd the others through the opening and as it looks to be too big to get through it, if we can't kill it, we'll hold it off long enough for you all to get through.”

She nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“There is not a lick of cover between here and there,” Torm observed softly. “It's going to see us coming.”

I flashed him a smile. “Good, then it cannot make any surprise moves, right?”

“My mother warned me about women like you.”

I patted his cheek in re-assurance. “You knew the job was dangerous when you took it, lover.”

“That I did,” he admitted, stretching his neck until it popped and drew his blaster. “Fine, let's do this.” I took my sabers in hand and we crested the ridge and began to descend into the little valley between us and the Citadel.

***

3643 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Taris, Ojoster Sector, The Outer Rim Territories

It was the luckiest of circumstances, or the will of the Force, whichever you like, that the collapsing skeleton of a building clipped and snatched off the port wing. With the weight of the engine still there, it rotated the hopper ninety degrees port to the direction of travel. I had been aiming for the overgrown remnant of a plaza or park, with planters, trees and shrubs in hopes of softening our landing. Now we landed starboard wing first and with a good thirty degree list thanks to the weight of the now unbalanced port side.

The starboard wing disintegrated in a shower of shrapnel and control pistons. Hydraulic fluid sprayed like blood from severed arteries, all of it taking a little bit of the energy of the crash away with it. What was left of the starboard engine hit next, lodging against a ferrocrete planter now overrun with weeds. It caught for a handful of nanoseconds before the motor mount bolts were sheared off. The cabin rolled over the planter once, destroying the tail and rudder as they collapsed into the reinforced cabin, then again, before the weight of the port engine, still bolted on overcame the roll.

We skidded for about a hundred meters before we came to a stop, mostly upright, with nothing worse than bruises from the seat straps. I will never own any craft not made by Incom again! “Are you alright?” I asked of my Mistress, who was unstrapping herself the same as me.

“Well, my apprentice, not your best landing, but certainly the one I am most pleased with!” She told me with a chuckle. “Nasty bruise, I think, but nothing broken. You?”

“Nothing a day at a spa won't fix,” I muttered as I climbed out carefully due to the angle the craft sat at and worked my way aft. The boarding hatch didn't want to open, but a quick turn of the rescue level took care of that. It was blown off the wreck a good ten meters where it landed with a deafening clatter.

“Well!” Vannacen remarked with a smile. “If anyone near by didn't hear the crash, they certainly heard that!”

I gave her a look of long suffering, then pulled open the compartment labeled 'Emergency' just below the rescue lever. “If they didn't hear the crash, they're already dead,” I assured her. The first bag I pulled-out was a medium-sized over the shoulder tote with the mark of the Universal Society of the Red Sigil on it which I handed to her. The other, larger bag I pulled out for myself and led the way out into the sunshine.

The sky hopper's wreck was spread across half a kilometer of debris field, but in the greater corruption and decay that was Taris, it really didn't stand out that much. The plaza was ringed by large buildings, but the under pinning had collapsed due to a broken viaduct of water, either rain runoff or some almost working vestige of the city's' infrastructure I couldn't say. Everything was overgrown with weeds and vines as the jungle that was originally Taris reclaimed the planet. The water went off to the east, carrying soil and ferrocrete with it. Someday this whole area would cave in, bringing down several large, but ruinous buildings.

If it could be called this, the good news was the area was quite open for nearly a kilometer in any direction so we were safe from ambush. A ways from the wreck, I sat down on a park bench that was incongruously still in its place and relatively perfect to go through the survival equipment. “It's a fairly standard medical kit,” my mistress declared from her rummaging. “Trauma patches, bandages, a splint, tourniquet, six kolto injectors, pain relievers and the like. What do you have?”

I had the bag open, laying it out in its two halves. “A small moisture evaporator, looks like a liter an hour type based on this humid jungle. A power converter, seventy two hour ration block for four, so one hundred forty four for just us, a pop up shelter, thermal blankets I'm sure we won't need, signal mirrors...Oh! Here's a commlink that... doesn't work. Wonderful. And a flare gun with...six flares.”

I got out my data pad and oriented myself from the land marks I could see. “Olaris is about twelve kilometers that way.”

“As the Bogstalker flies, perhaps,” she said, indicating a flock of the reptilian avians in that direction. “Probably closer to twenty walking, based on the ruins between here and there. What about our target?” she asked, turning in the direction we had been flying.

A quick consult of the tablet gave me the answer. “Um, about eight,” I guessed, pointing the way I was looking. At least the going was easier in that direction. “You want to keep going?”

She arched an eyebrow at me. For all her love of the comforts of modern society, Jaydis Vannacen was a tough, resilient woman. She shouldered the med-kit so it wouldn't hinder the draw of her light saber. “It would be a shame to come all this way for nothing, wouldn't it?”

“We could always get a new hopper tomorrow...” I offered, but she shook her head.

“I don't want to give them any more time to react to our presence and hide what they are doing,” she declared resolutely. “Besides, you say it was a bird strike that brought us down, but I am not so sure.”

“I gave the hopper a thorough pre-flight, mistress!” I protested. “If we had been sabotaged, I would have...”

“I do not take issue with your skills, apprentice,” she told me with a smile. “Only not underestimating our adversary. So, whatever they are doing is closer, surely two survivors of an 'accidental' speeder crash can get help there.”

At this point, I knew her mind was made up and there was no use arguing with her further. I zipped up the survival kit and shouldered it. “Yes, mistress.”

***

Despite the ground being 'open' as it was without buildings or vegetation that bared our way, it still took the better part of an hour to cross the plaza. The rushing water had eroded the foundations far more than I had at first thought. The plaza was only still up from force of habit, and the water was roaring over a ledge falling deep into the under layers of the ecunopolis. When this section collapsed, it would do a horrific amount of damage to the region. Which made it very dangerous ground to be on.

Perhaps there was something to my mistress' sabotage theory.

After the most circuitous route imaginable, we were able to get off the plaza and down onto a more stable patch of ground, thanks to the ascension cables and grappling hook I carried on my utility belt. Down here was soil, either built up from wind, or perhaps this had been a park, connected to the plaza some centuries ago. Either way, a touch of the maintenance battery in my utility belt to the end of the cable caused the grappling hook to pop loose and it fell down to us for me to collect. “Are you hungry?” I asked her, once I had the cable properly stowed, but she wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were out into the 'park' we had descended into.

“Do you feel them?” she asked me.

I stopped and let my senses expand. This was, I admit, one of the faults she frequently corrected me on; I could get so focused on what I was doing, I would not be aware of other, larger perturbations in The Force. As I opened myself to The Force, I felt the plants, and the normal animals near us, Bogstalkers, rodents, insects, and then I felt it.

A cold, ravenous hunger, tempered with an irrational, unquenching anger, all around us. The sensation watched, calculating if we were as easy of prey as we looked. I shuddered and took my light sabers into my hands. The Force bends and recoils from things that are not natural or alive. It is one of the reasons Jedi and Sith are considered uncaring; we both avoid graveyards. The Force is made from life itself, and graveyards are tremendous centers of death. We find being around them extremely unpleasant.

Looking up at my mistress I saw her take her own saber in her hand. “Ah, you do, good.”

“Rakghouls?” I asked. She nodded.

“Rakghouls,” she declared. “Do not let them bite or scratch you. We must be cautious. Come.” With that she picked the correct bearing without consulting me, letting slip she was only testing me when she had asked where we were earlier and set off at a moderate pace.

The ground was uneven and made for slow going. When an ecunopolis is bombarded from orbit, what remains combines the worst aspects of a ruined city and a collapsed mine. You never knew if the ground you were standing on was solid or not. Large swaths of the buildings were canted over at sickening angles and the pavement, jutting and broken likewise. It made for a very difficult and strenuous work out as I contemplated the monsters that were tracking us.

Rakghouls, the legends say, are a kind of Sith spawn. The tales tell of a Sith Lord who was either trying to cheat death or create a perfect army; either were favored pass times of the Sith, truth be told. Some version say it was a 'magical' amulet, endowed with Sith Sorcery that had the power to turn anyone the wielder could see into a slathering monster, loyal to him. But while the amulet could not harm Force Sensitives, thus this Sith Lord's downfall, the bite or scratch of a Rakghoul could.

Of course, the bite or scratch of a Rakghoul would turn anyone into a Rakghoul, so that might have just been a storytelling device. Who knows?

Which just leaves the question I'm sure you have, what is a Rakghoul? Well, the short answer is they were once human, or near human aliens. When they are infected with the plague, they mutate over six to about forty eight hours into a mindless, slavering monster; assuming they survived their original encounter, of course. The unfortunate will bleed from the eyes and nose, then any ounce of fat is burned up as the body mutates into cadaverous, yet strong, muscled form with hands ending in thick, sharp claws and a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. They are called ghouls because they will eat anything they kill, including their friends and other sophonts, usually as messily as possible.

I will say that this 'invention' was considered so far beyond the pale that whether by magic or biochemistry, the stories agree that the Sith all turned on this 'inventive' Sith Lord and killed him for creating such abominations. That said, the question I had was, “Mistress, how can there still be Rakghouls? This planet suffered complete orbital bombardment three centuries ago! How could they have survived?”

Once I had finished helping her up the piece of rubble we had been ascending, she took a moment to stretch out her back and catch her breath. “The only answer that makes sense is the old fashioned way, apprentice,” she told me with a wink. “Though I admit my mind shies away from the thought of Rakghoul mating rituals.”

We were standing on top of a collapse of rubble and debris that sloped gently down into a lake that was quite large. A building had fallen on the far side, making a dam that was backing up the flow from another broken pipe. There was grass and weeds down to the shore and several different kinds of birds I had no name for fishing or swimming in the lake. It was, all in all, quite peaceful.

Except that, on the near side of the lake, no more than five hundred meters from us, were a handful of humanoids, waste deep or so in the water, also fishing. One of them, perhaps a juvenile? It was hard to be sure, but was smaller than the rest locked eyes with me, then barked a warning. The others looked up and all of them stared at us as we stared at them. The largest pushed his way to the front, hooting at four others who joined him forming a line between us and the remaining, smaller three. He roared at us and threw his arms up in challenge.

With a pop, my mistress' saber snapped on, glowing as scarlet as her passions, followed closely by my twin golden blades. This enraged the alpha male and his gestures and cries became wild and angry. The other four males at his back followed his lead, roaring at us. “Stay with me,” Jaydis instructed softly. “If they come at us, we take them together. Do not let them bite or scratch you!”

I licked my dry lips. “Yes, mistress.”

Having laid eyes on them in the light of day, they are more hideous than anything I could describe. Misshapen mouths that were overloaded with teeth, more like a skull than a living creature for they had no lips nor could they even close their mouths it appeared to me. It gave their heads an insectoid look that was disturbing. Darth Vannacen began to move to our left, sliding away from the lake and the threat we faced. The younger males took to darting forward a few meters on all fours, then standing up to challenge again before fading back to the line of the Alpha.

“Do not run,” Vannacen warned me. “If we run, they will chase us.”

“No fear,” I assured her.

The Alpha cocked his misshapen head to the side, as if he had heard us, then gave a horrific roar. Then all five of them fell to all fours and charged.

***

3638 BBY (The Present)
Ziost, Esstran sector, Outer Rim Territories

We had barely crested the ridge before the Spawn took notice of us and roared a challenge.

It was as if a thousand brass horns that had been beaten and abused for a decade were all blown at once. There was nothing musical, or pleasing about its roar, only danger and spine grating evil. As we got closer, I could make out that what I had taken for lesions and boils were actually solid lumps of rock, as though the very stones of Ziost had been corrupted and turned into this monster. The boys, Torm, Darius and Theron fired their blasters and scored hits, but they either ricocheted off the abominations' thick hide, or left blackened spots that enraged it further.

This actually worked to our advantage in a strange way.

Enraged, the creature loped at us, running on both its massive hands and its stubby legs, like an ape. Tari and I drew our sabers and ignited them, joined by an obviously nervous Lana Beniko. Noting her trepidation, I asked, “Is this the first time you've used that outside of practice?”

“No,” she said, quickly adding, “My lord. I...I'm just not very good with it.”

Honesty is always a win, I suppose. “Wait until Tari and I have it engaged and then take the others to the entrance,” I repeated my previous order having noted that firm, consistent and simple instructions tend to bolster faltering troops. Lana's grip on her saber became a bit more firm, even as she curiously noted that while her own saber was red, a deep, angry crimson, smoldering with her resentments at being passed over, mine and my apprentices' blades were much lighter in color; gold and golden green respectively.

Once I was sure it was close enough, I reared back with my sabers and heaved them both, with all of my strength and the might I had in The Force behind them. They tumbled through the air, end over end, striking the beast on either side of its head, leaving glowing scores the entire length of the blades on its torso. The monolith bellowed in pain and rage as I guided my sabers through The Force back to my hands from two separate directions.

“Show off!” I heard my husband declare behind me as I looked over my shoulder long enough to blow him a kiss, then Tari and I began to move off to our right, flanking the beast and drawing its attention. It contemplated the others for a moment, but the boys had wisely stopped shooting and so Tari and I were the only things causing it pain. It turned and charged at us.

I had only a moment to note Lana leading the others in a desperate charge towards the Citadel, then the Monolith took my full attention. It roared again as its arms swept between Tari and myself, separating us. We ducked under the somewhat clumsy swipe, batting parting blows with our sabers as we did so, only scoring glowing grazes for our trouble. Then it suddenly turned on Tari and lashed out with both arms, it lost a sizable chunk of rock as she tried to deflect the blow, however, it still managed to connect and knocked her back nearly a dozen meters.

Before I could do much more than bring my own sabers up, it wheeled and I was staring down its horrific maw myself. It reared back to deal me a blow that would likely be lethal, but Tari had scrambled to her feet and leapt the distance, hanging on her sabers, trying with her own weight to drag them through the limb and cut it off.

Her blades did penetrate some, causing the creature to roar again in pain and fling her away. This left it open for me to get inside its guard and bat with all my might at its belly, hoping it would be the softest part of it where we could do some serious damage. I left several glowing scars before I was forced to back-flip away, joining my apprentice as we warily stared down our adversary. We had hurt it, and it was snarling in pain, but it was far from dead and still very dangerous.

“You don't suppose it will give up, do you?” she managed around her panting breath from the exertion.

“Do you think we're that lucky?” I demanded. Then, I shouted, “Look out!”

The creature had decided two could play the distant attack game by picking up a massive boulder and hurling it at us. Now, don't ask me how, but I suddenly realized Tari would not be able to dodge in time and threw out my arm. The Force shoved her clear, but the boulder grazed my left forearm as it passed, effortlessly snapping both my radius andulna, flinging my saber away. The pain was like a hot knife that shot up through my body, making me scream in agony.

The blow twirled me about and I landed on my face, quickly rolling to protect my broken arm. I was nauseous with the pain and the grating agony of the two ends of the bones touching and rubbing against each other. The monster, thinking I was finished, rushed in to follow up, but I was enraged and the Bogan was flowing through me. I kipped up to my feet and with my good right arm, I ducked into the monsters blow, light saber first. The creature thus used both my strength and its strength. The light saber was forced through its arm at the wrist and with a tremendous thud its hand fell next to me into the snow and ash.

The monster roared, flaying its severed arm with its glowing end and staggered back, away from me. I took this chance to retreat back myself, putting ground between myself and it, in the direction of the Citadel. Quickly taking stock, I realized with a broken arm I was no match for the Monolith, and Tari was too inexperienced. Through force of will, I kept myself from throwing up in pain and snuffed out the saber and returned it to my belt. I called the other back to my good hand and ignited it while I shouted, “Withdraw!” to my apprentice.

We backed away from the screaming Sith Spawn, but we had injured it enough that it was wary of us. It seemed to take a lifetime, but we finally arrived at the mouth of the Citadel and the welcome hands of our friends pulled us to safety. The opening was too small for the Spawn and it could only rage and bellow its frustration. “It's broken,” I hissed between clinched teeth as Torm and Darius guided my apprentice and I deeper into the building, out of reach of the entrance.

Torm relieved me of my saber and deactivated it before he eased me to the ground. He set it down beside me, his hands finding the first aid kit I kept on my utility belt. “I don't suppose this will cure you of your need to live life on the edge, will it?” he asked as he got it open and rooted through it.

“If you had wanted a demure little mouse to stay in your kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, you wouldn't have married me,” I told him. Even I had to admit that sounded more sexy than petulant in my perfect, rounded Eton accent.

“I don't especially care if you wear shoes or not,” he shot back, finding the kolto injector and pressed it against my bare shoulder. There came a sharp sting, then a cool numbness as the kolto began to numb my most active nerves, those carrying the pain from my left forearm to my brain. I looked down to see him in the process of opening the armored Vambrace. It was plastisteel, running from my elbow to my wrist, on the back of which I had mounted a comlink. There was a massive dent in it, where it had served as a fulcrum or a wedge and snapped both bones. Had it been naked flesh, it likely would have smashed a sizable chunk of the bones instead of the clean break.

It didn't seem like it at the time, but I was in fact quite lucky. “If I didn't have this mask on, I would kiss you.”

He winked at me as he finally got the Vambrace off. My arm was already swelling and turning an ugly, dark blue, made worse by my naturally dusky, olive complexion. “This will hurt,” he warned, taking a hold of my arm above and below the break.

I turned my head away and tightly closed my eyes. “Do iittt...!” My command turned into a scream as his hands became tight and pulled in opposite directions. I felt, with sickening clarity the four broken ends of the bones brought back together with a bit of having to feel around by him to be sure. My right hand flailed at his back without my command as I screamed, hitting him repeatedly. His only answer was to grunt and lean his shoulder into me, pinning me to the wall so I couldn't move.

Finally both bones were set and the pain dropped substantially. Tears were flowing down my cheeks, but I wasn't sobbing. In fact, I was actually running my hand, flat on his back where I had struck him in subconscious reflex, trying to soothe the hurt I had given him. Tari gently took the arm from him, her head bowed as she focused The Force into my arm. Between the Kolto, the arm being set, and my Apprentice, the pain was considerably lessened. Still, Torm got a quick cast from the medkit and wrapped it around my forearm. The swelling was lessened, thanks to the Force and Tari repairing the arteries and veins damaged by the break, but the tight cast was still quite uncomfortable. With a flash of the element becoming solid from the flexible bandage it had been; agony became a dull ache that was tolerable.

“I'm sorry,” I murmured to him as he held up the Vambrace.

His eyes twinkled and he gently stroked my hair. “For what?” he asked and I wished we were alone so I could show him once more what he meant to me. By all that was holy, I could hardly wait to have his children. “The bracer took most of it, and its repairable, but I think you'll need a new comlink.”

I shrugged. “I'm sure the Empire will issue me a new one,” I told him. Tari took it and tucked it into her satchel while Torm gathered up the medkit and returned it to my belt.

“With your Sith powers, I'm sure you'll have it healed before we get back, but have a droid look at it anyway, just for my sake.”

“Yes, dear,” I told him with a smile behind the gas mask. I put the saber on my belt and my husband helped me to my feet. I have to admit it is still a little awkward for me to say that, but it is becoming quite soothing. I had use of my left hand, but even I knew I shouldn't stress it at all. Torm had kept out the sling from my medkit and got my arm comfortable in it.

Now I could finally concentrate on our surroundings. The walls were lit every few meters by glowing sconces that had been set into the wall. They were a later addition as the walls were stone blocks, God only knew how heavy and covered with what seemed to be the history of the Sith in images and pictograms. I looked, seeing first an image of who I took to be Ajunta Pall, a towering figure with his sword held high over his head. Beneath him, the Sith people he had conquered who bowed low and humbled themselves to the Dark Jedi. Then images of the Hundred Year Darkness, the War of the Second Great Schism as former Jedi, their eyes opened to the Bogan and the true way humans learned fought against their brothers in the Jedi Order and The Force was Split.

Defeated, but not beaten, the learned of the Bogan returned to Korriban and took on the name of the people who had shown them the true path of The Force; thus were born the Sith Lords. I saw the history of my order carved into the stone, saw how passion would ease and quicken learning in the Force, saw the Sith rise in power and prominence only to be challenged over and over by the Jedi and their fanatical desire to stamp out our heresy.

It was a story written over and over, the Jedi waging war, the Jedi calling the Republic to Jihad, the Jedi who could not bear for us to exist; to allow any other view of The Force than their own.

I felt proud and vindicated of my beliefs, to see the history of my Order as I had always surmised it; a history of persecution and pogroms. I was not given long to bask in my feelings of righteousness, for this was not the only history recorded here. As I had said before, Ajunta Pall was not a particularly nice man, and he abused the Bogan in the same manner he abused people. There was also a record of horrible atrocities, the thirst for vengeance against the Jedi for their crusade against us written out in a ledger kept in human blood. Spiteful wages of tit for tat misery paid out in human life. Such was the lesson of history; knowledge is not evil, the sword has no malice, but there are always corrupt men who will misuse them. When I thought I could stomach no more, the hallway opened up into a larger space, double or triple that which had been under the Temple of Naga Sadow on Yavin IV, and I received a fresh lesson in evil.

For this great hall was filled in exactly the same way as the Temple of Naga Sadow.

Precisely aligned around a center altar were the desiccated corpses, all dressed in robes inscribed with symbols that were alien to me, all facing the altar of their doom. Their hands were frozen upwards by the hardened leather their skin had become. There must have been several hundred of them and the power of the Bogan so completely perverted hung rank in the air. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I beheld the evil that passion can sometimes lead to.

“I...I think I'm going to be sick,” Theron whispered.

He was standing next to Lana by the entrance, loathe to enter the room. Torm, Tari and I were somewhat immune to this particular evil for having seen it before. “Just like Yavin,” Tari whispered, as we carefully threaded our way through the corpses, afraid lest we disturb one and they all return to hideous life. “Just like...”

“No,” I corrected her. “Not exactly, look.”

On Yavin, the alter had been bathed in blood, the bodies of an infant, fresh from its mothers womb and an old man, bent and gaunt with extreme age had been sacrificed, their throats cut to let their blood intermingle. But here, here the alter had two piles of ash, still in the shapes of the last seconds of their lives.

“You've seen this before?” The spy demanded.

“These are the remains of a similar ritual we discovered on Yavin IV,” I told him. “Thankfully, a much smaller scale one, or I would not be here to inform you.”

“My lord?” Lana called. “Do you recognize these markings?” She was standing by one of the corpses that I had taken to be some either duped or fanatical Sith Lord. The diplomat was being very careful not to touch the mummified remains, but drawing my attention to the robes, I had at first taken for simple markings of Sith Sorcery. I came over and took a closer look.

On the robe of several of the bodies in this outermost circle was a patch, sewn onto the fabric of the robe. It was white and in gold thread was a stylized arrow head, bifurcated from its tip to its rear third where it flared into barbs just before it would have met the shaft of whatever arrow it was mounted on. A chill ran down my spine as I saw it, but as we were in the presence of a spy, I chose to shake my head. “No,” I lied. “Do they have meaning for you?”

She looked at me, then her eyes darted in the direction of Theron and she shook her head. “No, but then I was never apprenticed as you were.”

“My master was a soldier,” I replied. “Darth Jaydis Vannacen, of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire. She was a practical woman, not given to the esoteric mysteries of The Force.” I turned to note that Theron was watching our discussion with some interest. I gestured for him to join us and purposefully indicated the symbol. “What about you, Agent Shan? Do you recognize this?”

He came over and glanced at it, shaking his head. While his performance was remarkable, you can't bull shit a bull shitter, as they say. “Never seen anything like it,” he lied. So now we all knew we all had seen it before. I just desperately hoped it did not mean what I thought it did.

***

3643 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Taris, Ojoster Sector, The Outer Rim Territories

When I was fifteen, much to the pride of my parents, I knelt on the stage of the Sith Academy on Korriban before the beautiful, gracious lady who I both desperately envied and admired who laid her hands on my shoulders and announced, “Hear now and all take note that I take Acolyte Nyeomi Fens as my Apprentice in the Sith Order. Heed my instruction, obey me in all things, and I will make you a powerful Lord of the Sith.”

Never had I felt so elated and accomplished that my parents were proud of me.

For five years, Jaydis Vannacen had been a second mother to me. I ate with her, slept in her house, knelt at her knee and learned the ways of my order. Surprised that I had made a pair of light sabers, where another master would impose their style of combat upon me, Jaydis brought in one of the finest masters of Ataru in the Sith Empire to teach me. While that was unusual enough, she did not leave me with this master, but sat and studied the form he taught me even as I learned it. She was a diligent student herself, becoming proficient enough that she could practice her own Makashi against my Ataru, and we would both learn.

I was more than her body guard, chauffeur or hands; though I was all those things and more. I was the daughter she had not had even as she became my second mother. We discussed every topic, and held nothing as sacrosanct or sacred. I knew enough of her tastes to introduce her to men I encountered that I knew she would fancy and she only lightly teased me about being an 'uptight virgin in desperate need of a good shagging.'

When I had arrived on Taris, I was twenty and for five years I had never been more than a few days out of sight of my mistress and I knew her as well as I knew my own hands. We fought together, like a prize fighter and her shadow, each knowing innately what the other would do. The Alpha reached us first and I struck low, forcing him to jump which made him a perfect target for her precise, controlled sweep, which lopped off his head mid-snarl on the fore stroke and cut him in half with the return. We spun in place, back to back as our sabers hummed through the air only to be drowned out by the screams of pain as we both struck again, severing hands and arms.

I threw my left saber which gave mercy to the creature I had maimed, cutting off what was left of his right arm and his head. The blade sailed around and my mistress struck it in midair with her blade, causing it to impale her foe through its heart to the hilt. I called it back to my hand, as the two remaining males tumbled back, roaring meaningless challenge. In less than five seconds their alpha and two oldest siblings had been butchered.

Unarmed opponents rarely fair well against Sith Lords armed with light sabers.

“Begone!” my mistress ordered, and the remaining two scrambled away, whether they could understand or not. Her tone made it clear we were not the prey they were looking for. The remaining members of the pride, still in the water, quickly followed their kin deeper into the shadows of the ruined city. With a hiss, her saber withdrew into the hilt before she returned it to her belt and nodded in the direction the monsters had fled “I think we've made our point, Apprentice,” she declared, favoring me with a reassuring smile. “You did well. Come, let's be on our way.”

***

By a bit after midday, we had gotten around the lake, well away from its makeshift dam, and comfortably uphill. We were, by my calculation, more than half way to the landing site we had been aiming for. The ruins here were a bit more closed in, there were signs of what seemed purposeful activity. Several buildings bore caution markings of being unstable. We were in a fairly defensible position so we stopped long enough for me to root through the survival kit to produce a ration bar for each of us.

If you've never had one, they are not very tasty, by design, so they are kept for true need as opposed to bored snacking. They are about twenty millimeters square, in a bar that is about ten centimeters long and a dull, yellowish brown. They are extremely dense, which is the best way to describe them and very chewy which made them something of a chore to eat, which might be on purpose. They had a vague, but unidentifiable and very mild fruit taste, but were I not in a survival situation I would never pick to eat deliberately. You would think eating something like that would make you thirsty, but that was not the case.

They also sat very heavy on the stomach which was also likely on purpose to be 'filling.'

As we sat and chewed, facing each other so we could watch each others back, I commented on the caution symbols around us, even if there were no humans or aliens in sight. “Yes,” Jaydis replied once she could get her mouth free, “this does seem to be an area they are beginning to search. Perhaps the landing zone was merely the closest stable ground and we have stumbled into where they are looking currently.”

“What for?” I demanded, with a vague gesture at the closest building, its unsafe marked ground floor still adorned with the faded sign for a pharmacy chain that was popular in the Republic. “Surely there are safer places to get bandages or pain medicine.”

An odd look on her face, she rose and walked over to the doorway of the pharmacy. She took a small flashlight from a pocket on her shirt and shined it inside. Curious myself, I stood and joined her. The store had been looted, most of the shelves picked clean, and what was left was long spoiled and worthless. Near the back was the dispensary which had a couple of computer terminals that had been put up on the counter as though someone thought to get them working again, but their memory cores were missing.

She frowned and reached out. “Let me see your data pad,” she commanded, which I instantly obeyed. We returned to our little picnic and sat down, where she laid it on her lap and worked it for a moment, then called up a hologram of the area we had been trudging through to float over it. “We are here,” she said, pointing at a little red dot in the rubble. “Here is the landing zone we were making for. And look, the navigation beacons move through here, along routes that are accessible to foot and air traffic.”

“You think they landed and then walked back here?” I asked her, curious, as I sat down again on my little pile of rubble.

“I think they landed and searched back through here.” She pointed at a building across the way from us. “Look there, on that sign, doctors offices. And you indicated that pharmacy. They have both explored, but neither the burned out restaurant or the hotel show signs of being explored. Why?”

As I thought, trying to come up with an answer to her question, I reached down and pulled a sign from the rubble I was sitting on in an attempt to be more comfortable. It was a casual gesture, and revealed the most ubiquitous of things, a much faded street sign that had been knocked over by the collapsed wall I was sitting on. It bore a bold-ed Herf, the Aurebesh pictogram that in English was the Letter H with an arrow, going off to my left, into a section that it looked like had not been explored yet. Below that was spelled out Dynamet General Hospital.

It hit me suddenly, as my mistress had already surmised, the Republic had been exploring anything remotely connected with medicine. And, it made sense there were so many medical type buildings and offices if there was a hospital nearby. I looked at her, noting the smile on her face, because it always amused her watching me think through a problem. “Do you think they're looking for the hospital?”

She stood once more, pausing to dust off her khakis, obviously through with our lunch. Such as it was. “Let's go find out,” she replied and led the way, picking through the rubble choked street in the direction the sign had indicated.

The going was particularly hard, as a pair of large buildings had fallen into each other and most of their facades had broken loose and covered everything in this direction in a small mountain of rubble. I would be much more uneasy about going nearer to these two leaning titans if they were not so obviously well constructed now that we could see their skeletons, and they were not so well lodged against each other. Perhaps it was merely my general ignorance of engineering and metallurgy that gave me a false confidence, but my courage needed all the boosts it could get just then.

For the better part of an hour we picked our way over it, only covering half a kilometer at most in that time, but a few other signs seemed to indicate the largest pile of debris seemed to cover the hospital. A little judicious poking at the pile discovered a few voids, which as we scrambled through them suddenly opened into what appeared to be an Emergency Room.

Or what was left of one after an orbital bombardment.

There were no bodies, never mind the Rakghouls, insects and rodents had long since picked clean anyone who had died here. Even the bones were long carted off to be gnawed on for their marrow. Still, everything was a complete mess of jumbled equipment, overturned seats and spoiled, worthless medical supplies.

The faded paint on the wall confirmed we had arrived at Dynamet General and everything was in either the harsh light of our flashlights, or deep shadows as almost none of Taris's sunlight could penetrate this deep in the rubble. “No one has been here in some time,” Darth Vannacen declared, shining her light on the thick layer of dust from the rubble on the floor, leaving our foot prints well demarcated. She turned to me, suddenly decisive. “The hospital should have some kind of power generator independent from the city grid for emergencies. Go find it and see what you can do to get it running. I will see what I can find...”

It was extremely rare that I would shy at a command from her, or interrupt her as she spoke, but this seemed excellent grounds for both. “Is it wise for us to separate, Mistress?” I asked in my most respectful tone. “These hallways are confined and there could be more of those creatures nesting in here, never mind the entire building seems to only be standing from force of habit.”

She considered me for a moment, her mouth puckered as if she were trying to make up her mind by sense of taste. Finally she nodded slowly. “You make an excellent argument, my young apprentice. So answer me this: staying together means it will take twice as long to explore this building. Would you rather reach our destination in daylight, or risk spending a night in here?”

Some, I realized, would have taken her question as a dig at their courage. But I knew every mood of Jaydis Vannacen, and the certainty with which I knew my bravery to her had been proven long since was absolute. In her eyes, both choices were equally dangerous and she placed great trust in me to choose as a learning experience. I took a deep breath. “A Hospital will have sturdy walls and strong doors,” I reasoned. “If pressed, we should be able to find safe shelter here together rather than risk misfortune separate.”

She nodded again. “So be it. Let's see if we can get some light. There should be a generator in the service areas on the lower floors. If we can get it running, our ability to search this ruin increases exponentially.”

I pointed with my flashlight behind her. “There is the stairwell.”

“Down we go!”

***

The service area of the hospital did not start for eight floors. The kitchens were first and still reeked of long rotted food and poor circulation of air. The less said about that smell, the better. Next came the laundry and various supply rooms, the morgue and finally the engineering spaces. The door was locked, not with a magnetic or electronic lock, but an archaic mechanical bolt that my light saber made short work of.

The air was exceptionally stale, but otherwise, everything was in a remarkably undisturbed state and appeared as if the hospital maintenance crews had just left a few minutes ago. “Looks like the looters, or those creatures didn't get this far,” I told my mistress who winked at me.

“The Force is with us,” she assured me. The signs, still on the wall, pointed us to the generator room. It was a massive thing, the size of a delivery speeder, and nestled between a river of thick looking bundles of cables. The control panel seemed simple enough and there was even a little laminated card with a checklist hanging by a chain from the large, mushroom shaped Start button. “Before starting, open supply mains breakers on panels twenty and twenty one,” she read. I looked about for a moment before I found two large metal cabinets labeled Supply Main 20 and Supply Main 21.

Opening them I found a dozen large switches in rows, all of them tripped and marked Interrupted in the windows beside them. I threw them all to Open with a loud series ofclacks as they were switched. “Isolate Generator Main to Start on Panel One.” That I found on a catwalk, along the top of the generator that took me a moment to climb.

“Done,” I called to her once I had accomplished it.

She followed several steps at the controls herself, even huffing through pumping the prime capacitor for the starter to have sufficient charge as the batteries were long dead. Finally, she pressed the starter trip and it whined. With a groan, the elements in the generator began to turn. The control panel flickered to life and slowly, begrudgingly the power generator awoke from its centuries long sleep. “Close Generator Main to load,” she ordered and I threw the switch.

Over head, the lights flickered on and the plant machinery around us began to groan to life. Cool, fresh air even began to flow from the air vents. “Excellent,” my mistress declared, obviously pleased with herself. “This will likely draw notice, so let's be about our search.”

I slid down the ladder only holding on the railing with my hands and feet to land next to her. “But, mistress,” I protested. “What are we looking for?”

“My student, you will never go broke betting on the worst of mankind,” she told me sagely. “What is the worst that Taris has to offer?”

“Rakghouls,” I replied instantly, but was still unconvinced. “But mistress, even The Empire realized the folly of a biological weapon with no cure! That's why we destroyed Taris and all the legends agree the Dark Council combined the entire Sith Order to defeat and kill the maniac that created it in the first place!”

She smiled at me. “Bravo, my apprentice! You are well schooled in our history! But, having seen them, we both know Rakghouls still exist. That our orbital bombardment failed in its mission to exterminate this plague. And how did the Dark Council learn of this plague, to rally our forces, to destroy this planet and end the threat the Rakghouls posed?”

That stumped me and after a moment of thought I admitted my ignorance. She took me about the shoulders and began to guide me back to the stair well. “That is a suspiciously large hole in the story, isn't it?” she asked me with a smile. “It's a plague, and it wasn't immediate, so the doctors must have been trying to fight it. Catching a Rakghoul to get a sample of the plague can't require so many people, or methodical searches of medical facilities.”

“There may be a cure for the plague?”

She shrugged. “The Republic seems to think so,” she told me. “Or at least they do not wish to go over the same work load twice. Either way, it bears investigation and while that generator is running, the computers for the hospital will have power. Let us see what's in them.”

***

3638 BBY (The Present)
Ziost, Esstran sector, Outer Rim Territories

When we emerged from the Citadel, the Monolith had moved on.

To where, we didn't know, but 'not here' was fine to all concerned. The return hike to New Adasta was worse than the hike out due to my arm, and of course, everyone being on edge and on the look out for the Monolith. I had never been so glad to see a city in my life as we came up the hill and around the bend to the gates of the city. While Minister Davidge had requested a meeting for immediately upon our return, I refused him, instead returning to the Aces and Eights, for a long shower in the refresher after a quick once over from 5-RN7.

At least that had been my intention; Fiveareen had other plans.

After a scan of my arm, he sprayed a chemical on the cast and it wiped off like a particularly thick mud. I was ordered to strip as I would be going into the Kolto tank. I didn't think it was that serious, which only illustrates just how addled my thinking at the time was that I considered a broken arm not 'serious.' Fortunately, Fiveareen was not having it and my feeble protestations were unmoving to it. So I stripped and after getting the air mask comfortable on my face, slid slowly into the tank from the top.

So, you're probably wondering what being in a Kolto tank is like.

Well, as we saw from the movies, Bacta is electric blue tinted and otherwise indistinguishable from water, Kolto is green. The exact shade depends on the concentration levels and what not, but the tank's Kolto was a deep, hunter green. The other thing is that Kolto is thick. Sliding into the tank is like sliding into not quite set Jell-O; it wasn't so thick so as to be a non-Newtonian fluid like Oobleck, but it is a decidedly odd feeling to be immersed in it. At least it wasn't cold.

Yes, a Kolto tank is actually a degree or two above body temperature, so that the solution feels warm. This makes it quite soothing, despite feeling like I was skinny dipping in a redneck bar cliché. You fight opening your eyes at first, you expect the stuff to burn or sting, but when you do open them it doesn't. Everything is distorted of course, but your eyes just feel really moist, like you're right on the edge of tears, but without the emotional side effects.

I would have a hell of a time later getting it out of my hair, but my hair would practically glow from being so shiny and healthy for a week, so fair trade.

How does it work?

Well, to be honest I don't know; nor had I ever been curious enough to ask Fiveareen. You were submerged in it because while it could be directly injected, that limited the concentration of the Kolto to avoid a shock to the system. In a tank, you absorbed it through the skin, hence why you were nude, and the absorption was slow enough that the concentration could be full strength. Beyond that, all I could tell you was I soaked for three hours and when I came out, a quick scan showed my arm was completely healed with no sign of the original break.

The joys of modern medicine.

A nice hot shower with my husband moved things past business hours, so I enjoyed a lite dinner and a good nights sleep before I had to return to the hunt for Vitiate.

***

The next morning, the work crews were diligently cleaning up the ash that was the mortal remains of Ziost's population, and the City's defense shields had been raised to prohibit more being blown in. Still, I decided to be modest wearing my black 'schoolmarm' blouse and Jodhpurs along with my normal boots, I added gloves, the mask, and a rather complicated, but delicate looking tiara and black veil I found amongst my jewelry that I found appropriate to mourn the death of an entire planet. With all of my skin covered, we made our way to the ministry building and were quickly ushered into the presence of Upton Davidge.

“My lord, I am pleased to see you safely returned,” he greeted as he stood from his desk to bow and invite us to the conference table off to one side of his office to be comfortable.

“Thank you, Minister,” I assured him. I noted his glance at Theron and the obvious displeasure on his face due to the spy's presence, but I gave him a soft gesture of condolence and that seemed to mollify him. “Have you been able to gather the data I requested?”

“I have,” he said as we sat down at the table and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. He worked a control and a spread sheet appeared holographically above the table. There were lists of names, not of people, but ships, photographs of them and notations of owners, captains and the like. “We have determined four thousand ships jumped into hyperspace before the quarantine was established. We have managed to track most of them to various ports of call from filed flight plans and narrowed down the list to three hundred ships who did not file a flight plan, or have not yet made a port of call.”

“Three hundred is better than four thousand,” Shan observed mirthlessly. “Nice round numbers, though...”

“If you require the exact account, I will be delighted to indulge you,” Upton retorted with considerable frost.

“That's alright, Minister,” I declared. “The executive summary is sufficient for now. Do we have trajectories for the three hundred?”

Davidge gestured and one of the men who were standing some ways from the table, a clerk of some kind based on his uniform, stepped forward with a data pad in his hands. He bowed, obviously nervous. “Ye...Yes, my lord. There are still about a dozen we are still working, but most of the ships trajectories have been plotted and we're calculating all possible destinations from that...”

“Do any of the ships jump on trajectories that have no possible destination?” Torm asked. The clerk blinked in surprise, as though my husband had read his mind and stolen his moment of surprise.

“Uh, yes...yes, sir. The dozen ships are all on trajectories that go nowhere. How did...?”

“Do any of them go into Unknown Space?” I asked softly.

“They...they all head into the Unknown regions, my lord.”

The minister's expression was grave. “You suspect...?

“That Vitiate was on one of them?” I asked, eyebrow arched in irony. “I do.” Turning to the clerk, I ordered, “Concentrate your efforts on the ships jumping into unknown space, and upload those vectors to my ship's computer.” The clerk bowed and scurried out after a glance at the Minister for permission.

Upton leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. “You intend to follow those leads yourself, my lord?” After I nodded, he continued, “What shall I inform Prince Marr of your findings?”

I stood, my companions rising as I did so. “I will make a full report to Prince Marr myself, and I will be sure to mention your ready and able assistance, Minister. You have aided my investigation greatly.”

Davidge stood and bowed. “We are honored to be of service, my Lord.”

***

I felt an urgency in a way I had rarely experienced. If what I suspected was true, then what had occurred on Ziost might be considered a mercy. It was the nature of my dilemma that I had no idea how much of what I remembered as a game, that I was now living had been true. There were many things that had changed. There was, in fact, a Darth Baras, but he was one of several dozen instructors who held that rank at the Sith Academy on Korriban. I had discreetly inquired after the man whom I knew as the character that shaped and then betrayed the Sith Warrior in a bid to take over the Empire. Here, it seemed, the real Darth Baras, if that phrase makes any kind of sense, was a semi retired old man, content to pass on the learning of the Dark Side to the upcoming generations.

He had no ambitions other than a comfortable retirement.

Oh I had resources I could consult, indeed, I had access to the Ultimate Spy, who doubtlessly had its tentacles everywhere in the galaxy. If anyone knew if what I was afraid of might be true, it was certainly the female-shaped gynoid robot avatar of the planet-sized computer that called itself The Void. That said, even if you had the Godfather's phone number, how often would you use it? I already owed it a favor I can't refuse and I was entirely uninterested in further indebting myself.

We were now on our way back to Ruuria, to make a report to Prince Marr that I did not trust to any Hyper Wave channel, no matter the encryption or security measures. If, what I suspected was true, then the Galaxy was in dire trouble. I sat in one of the few places I felt truly free, at the pilot's console of the Aces and Eights, staring out the transparisteel view port at the blue white tunnel of hyperspace the ship was hurtling through.

I wasn't needed, the ship was running on autopilot and, even if there was trouble, X4 was more than capable of taking care of it. Still, sitting here at the controls, where I truly accepted just how free I had become, and also aware of how much danger that freedom entailed, that I could forget about titles, or The Force, or my previous life and just think and perhaps have a better understanding of who I was.

For all my adventures, I may have accepted who I was, and to a certain extent embraced it, defining it was still a work in progress. So, whenever I could, I would sit in the cockpit and brood, contemplating the wormhole the ship was hurtling through while thumbing its nose at the equations of a patent clerk in another galaxy. “May I join you?”

The soft question brought me around to see the spy who worked for me, Lana Beniko, standing in the hatch at the rear bulkhead. I refrained from a sullen sigh and gestured to the seat next to me. “Make yourself comfortable,” I invited. She stepped in and the hatch slid shut.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you,” she started, and her polite demeanor made me understand why she had been loaned out to the Diplomatic Corps. “I noted that you seemed to recognize the symbol on the dead ritualist. I had hoped to ask you about it.”

“What do you know of it?” I replied, answering her question with one of my own. She slid into the co-pilot's chair, her golden blond hair just to her jawline loose about her head as she contemplated how she would respond.

“Imperial Intelligence has seen this symbol a few times, generally along the frontier with the Unknown Regions. It was thought at first to be the emblem of a pirate or smuggling ring, but some of the things it has been found on do not seem to have an origin from either the Republic or the Empire. Getting additional information was a priority directive.”

I considered that for a moment, it was a detailed response, plausibly so in fact, but vague; the perfect kind of answer that a spy might use looking for more intel. “What do you know about our former Emperor, Lana?” I asked. “What do you really know about our quarry?”

That brought a curious look to her face and she cupped her chin in thought. “Vitiate?” Her face became a bit drawn as she thought about it. “Only official things, really. That he is strong with the Dark Side, that he saved us from Pultimo the Butcher and led us to Dromund Kaas and has ruled for over a thousand years. It was said he was already immortal, but our mission seems to contradict that.”

Pultimo the Butcher was known to the Republic as Supreme Chancellor Pultimo, or, to some, Pultimo the Crusader. He was not satisfied with the defeat of Naga Sadow and the rendering of Korriban incapable of supporting life, and so launched a campaign of all-out genocide. A campaign that not only nearly exterminated the Sith Race, but whose stated purpose was the murder of anyone who believed in the Sith Code, to stamp out the Sith Heresy to the child born yesterday. A Campaign the Jedi willingly took part in. Genocide for the thought crime of belief.

To this day, nothing could grow in the scorched earth of Korriban, nor was there a drop of water that had not been brought in from elsewhere. While the air could be breathed, death from thirst and starvation awaited anyone incapable of spaceflight there.

“Vitiate is immortal, but not in the way you probably think,” I told her cryptically.

She raised an eyebrow. “How many ways to immortality are there?”

“The body that was born Darth Vitiate died centuries ago,” I told her. “But the spirit of that Sith Lord has endured to this day; a ghost, who passes from possessed body to possessed body, driving out or destroying the spirit of its rightful owner.” She processed that for long moment, a look of horror slowly spreading on her face. “The Voice of the Emperor,” I told in her in answer to the question she had not asked, “Was really the vessel of Darth Vitiate. That is why our former Emperor has not been seen in centuries.”

“How do you know this?” she demanded.

That, as they say, was the sixty four thousand dollar question, and it wasn't a question I could answer truthfully in a way she could believe. Fortunately, I had a ready dodge. “I had a vision through The Force that revealed it to me.”

She mulled on that, then I saw her choose to believe it. It was plausible enough, and both Jedi and Sith are predisposed to believe such things. “How do we capture a being like that?” she wanted to know. “What is to protect us from being his next victim?”

“The research I have done showed that the Will of the Sith was who preformed these rituals for him,” I told her, hoping I sounded more confident in my theory than I felt. “By killing him, we have rendered Vitiate vulnerable. At least until he can train a new Will.” I sighed and made an adjustment to the trim the flight computer wanted. “We think, we hope, that Vitiate's spirit is becoming weak by this process and that was why he was desperate to find a way for his body to be immortal as well as his spirit.”

“If what you say is true, then time is even more of the essence than I first thought,” she said carefully, seeming to consider each word as she spoke it. “How will we know when we have found Vitiate if he can take any random body...?”

“Prince Marr has stood in the presence of both the Voice and he tells me the aura given off by Vitiate is unmistakable. A feeling of unrivaled power in the Dark Side, as well as a deep set sensation of corruption and evil. 'Cold as a grave,' is how he described it.” I sighed and flipped a monitor to the navigation screen, checking that we were still on course, which we were. I turned it back to its default status of monitoring the engines. “I don't think recognizing Vitiate will be a problem.”

She sat for a long moment, contemplating the chaos the ship was hurtling through out the canopy, then turned back to face me. “My Lord, have you considered...”

Lana was unable to finish as she was interrupted by the compartment hatch sliding open which drew both of our attention. Framed in it was the last person I expected to see, the tall, mostly humanoid shape of Fiveareen. Our medical droid was a seasoned member of the older Imperator-Series of medical droids, built by Ubrikkian Steamworks for the Empire. Like any number of Imperials I preferred this model to the ones used by the Republic as they were programmed to be much more polite. A conscious design choice by Ubrikkian Steamworks as they rightly deduced that treating Sith Lords could be a touchy business.

Fiveareen, as I've said, was mostly humanoid in shape, even having normal human hands, where he differed was his head, which was rectangular and was covered in protruding sensors and antenna and a single red camera that served as its eye. Even now, almost a year after I had arrived in this galaxy, I still found it a bit disquieting that it moved on its own and there was no way the human head of an actor could fit into that box of sensors. “Excuse me, Countess, I apologize for this interruption, but I require your presence in the medical bay.”

I frowned in curiosity. “What for?” I asked. “My arm is fine.”

The droid bowed low. “Forgive me, my lord, but I discovered some anomalous readings in some of your blood chemistry and would like to run further tests.” I stood, resigned to my fate as I had promised myself I would take care of this new, younger body I had been blessed with.

“Very well,” I informed Fiveareen, then turned to X4 who was plugged into a computer port in an out of the way corner. “X4, you are in charge. Alert me if needed.”

“Acknowledged, mistress,” it replied, spinning its mushroom shaped head so its eye was looking at me. “I expect no difficulties.”

“Carry on,” I ordered as I followed the medical droid back to its domain.

***

3643 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Taris, Ojoster Sector, The Outer Rim Territories

I would be hard pressed to decide if the hospital looked more foreboding in the dark, lit only by flashlights, or with the lights on, the air conditioners working and completely devoid of other people. My Mistress and I had climbed back up the stairs, neither of us trusting the elevators considering the lack of maintenance and the overall state of the building, and returned to the ER to begin our search. As you might imagine, the Emergency Department had been thoroughly vandalized by the survivors of the bombardment, desperately clinging to life. The looting was so complete none of the workstations that were left would even turn on.

From the ER we wondered over to the Intensive Care Unit to find it similarly picked over, although, several of the beds had chains on them, and blood soaked sheets and bed linens still bearing witness to the ghastly horror that had been unleashed on Taris. “It is a shame that Admiral Karath was not more successful in his bombardment,” Darth Vannacen observed as she looked over one of the blood soaked beds.

“Mistress?” I asked, looking up from trying to get the three hundred year old computer up and working. She turned to me, her expression grim.

“If he had been, neither of us would be here, bearing witness to this scourge, or under what is my growing suspicions of what the Republic is really doing here,” she expanded, walking over to the Nurse's station where I was working. “How goes it?”

“I think...” I muttered, replacing a power cable that had been gnawed through with one salvaged from another unit that was much worse off. “Yes..perhaps...” The ancient computer beeped and stuttered, but the holographic display it was connected to lit up with the face and torso of an almost pretty woman dressed in nurses scrubs. She was quite harried looking, even in the old holographic display with its much lower resolution, a testament to her dedication that she had worked to the bitter end.

“Rooms eight and nine have...been euthanized after no improvement and obvious transformation had begun,” she said in a weary tone of voice. She hung her head and wiped her face. “Dr. Forn is certain he can isolate the disease and find a cure, but I'm loosing hope this will ever end anyway but with us being dead, or worse, one of them.”

“They were working on a cure,” I declared, but Jaydis only winked at me.

“The winning question is did they succeed?” she countered. She made a gesture to urge me on. “Play the next entry.”

The holo gave a burst of static and the nurse's scrubs were now stained and her hair was even more unkempt. “The constables just brought in five more cases. I've put them in rooms three through eight. If this keeps up, we'll have nothing but plague cases. Doctor Forn says he sent a Republic soldier to get a sample of the plague pure enough so he can work on it. I guess we're all counting on Revan now.”

The recording skipped and now the nurse looked as if she had slept and showered. “Revan did it! Doctor Forn has his sample and is beside himself! Even with his first efforts, none of the new subjects have begun to transform. Room seven even seems to have had his transformation slowed. I'm just starting to think this nightmare may be coming to an end!”

There was another burst of static and the nurse had changed once more. Now she was smiling. “The latest formulation is a miracle! Room seven is showing signs of reversing his transformation! Room four is no longer feverish and asking when he can go home! We...Wait...What's that sound? I hear explosions...”

There was a violent explosion and the nurse was shaken and flung to the ground. Then, with a burst of static, the holo went dark. “That was the last entry,” I told my mistress softly.

“What can you find on this Doctor Forn?” she whispered.

I worked the controls. “Zelka Forn, Xeno-infectiology. His office should be two floors up.”

“Never mind his office,” Darth Vannacen told me. “Where is his lab?”

“Next door,” I answered after a brief check. “It's this way.”

I led her out and there was a bit of confusion as I went to the stairwell; I had meant next door to his office, but she had taken it as next door to the ICU. We went up two floors, but the door had no handle on this side, probably as a safety precaution. My light sabers cut us a new door and in short order we were inside Dr Forn's office. He had a window office, which were blown out, exposing the office to the weather. A Bogstalker was spooked from the nest it had made on the remains of his desk and flew out the window.

“Karabast!” my mistress swore. “Everything in here is ruined. Let's check the lab.”

She led the way there and, the Force was with us there, there lab had no windows and most of the equipment seemed intact. The beakers, stained green and their contents long evaporated made for a maddening tease. Jaydis pointed at the terminal, still remarkably intact. “See what you can find.”

I got it turned on, and was stymied yet again, this time by a password prompt. I picked up the holographic emitter and, sure enough, taped to the underside was the name Gurney. I gave it that and instantly had access. Fortunately the Doctor kept excellent notes and it was actually more difficult to get my data pad to interface with the three hundred year old computer than to actually find and copy the files. Once it was complete, I put it back into the protective keeper on my belt and took one of my sabers in hand. Indicating the console, I asked her, “What now?”

“Now,” Darth Vannacen declared with a positively evil smile on her face. “Let's go pay Governor Saresh a visit.”

***

I won't bore you with the details of our return to Olaris.

Once free of the hospital, we found the forward camp easily enough and talked our way into a Skyhopper. If that sounds incredulous to you, allow me to remind you The Force can have a strong influence on the weak minded. From there it was a simple flight back to the city.

There were Jedi waiting for us on the pad, but that was no surprise to anyone. My mistress just calmly walked up to the most senior of them and declared, “Take us to your leader!”

Suffice to say that was not what they were expecting.

We were led, or escorted whichever you like, to the central administration complex where I met Leontyne Saresh for the first time. She was younger then, but then so was I. She was only in the twilight of her beauty then, and from the way she was desperately climbing the political ladder I'd say she was well aware of it. She had one of those ugly smirks marring her face, the kind that mean people wear when they believe they are about to indulge in the abuse of others while certain they would get away with it. “So!” she announced as we entered, arms folded over her breasts, the very picture of authoritarian disapproval. “I knew it wouldn't take long for a pair of Sith to show their true colors! Destroying Republic property, trespassing, abuse of Republic personnel and theft of Republic property, the two of you are going to be spending a long time on a penal colony!”

Jaydis Vannacen smiled.

I have often remarked on the smile of my mistress. Many find it surprising and unsettling that a Lord of the Sith would smile, let alone have a smile that was actually pleasant and warm. I was fortunate that she had been a member of a small minority of Sith who still believed that Rage was not the only path to power in the Dark Side of the Force. That said, there was nothing pleasant about her smile now. “Is that what you think is going to happen?” she asked slyly. “My word, you are in for a very ugly surprise!”

Saresh's eyes narrowed. “Of course, you're welcome to try and fight your way out of here. I have more than enough Jedi to handle the two of you.”

I made a point of staring at the youngest of the Jedi who was not wearing a Padawan lock in his hair. I made him see me and my face so that he could no longer hide behind butchering 'Sith' but striking down a pair of women. His feet began to shuffle as he became uncomfortable with that realization. “I don't need to refute your charges, but for the amusement value, I will. I rented a sky hopper and paid for full coverage of insurance for it. The rental agency will be made whole and whether that speeder went down from an accidental bird strike or deliberate sabotage, I look forward to the publishing of the Republic Safety Board's findings either way. Trespassing? We arrived on this world via a Republic Transport, using our issued, Imperial passports and IDs. We are here legally and without any attempt at concealing our identities. We have as much right to explore the ruins of this world as anyone else here. Abuse of Republic personnel? Show me anyone with a mark on them. As far as your baseless accusation of theft, the hopper in question is parked at the air field where we took it, with the permission of those at the forward field we walked to after surviving what could be considered an attempt on our lives!”

I smirked and crossed my own arms. “How else would you like to embarrass yourself today?”

“Keep your pet on a leash,” Leontyne hissed. “No one is ever going to hear from the two of you again! We have a lovely little prison on Belsavis where the Republic puts people like you to be forgotten!”

“Really?” asked my mistress in a sly tone. “The Republic keeps a dungeon for political prisoners to hold without trial? That is interesting. I wonder what the fall out in the Senate will be when that goes public?”

“Who are you going to tell about it from your cell?”

“Me?” drawled Darth Vannacen. “Oh, goodness, not me. I won't tell anyone. You, on the other hand...” The confused look on the Governor's face was priceless as, despite herself, her certainty she had all the cards, neither my mistress nor myself looked worried. That was causing her concern that was beginning to crack her confident facade.

“You don't think we came here alone, do you?” I smirked at her, while pointing up to the little holocamera in the corner of the ceiling, silently recording everything done or said.

Frowning, Saresh snatched up a remote control and pointed it at the camera. Not that it mattered, for no matter how much she waved it at the camera, the little red light stubbornly refused to turn off. “A stealth ship has been following us since we left Imperial space, filled with the best slicers in the Empire!” I taunted her. “They own this camera and have already sent it's video out to every planet in the Republic, showing the entire galaxy what you are doing here! Searching for the cure to the Rakghoul Plague so you can turn it into a weapon to use against us!”

“The Empire created the Rakghoul Plague!” Leontyne shouted at me.

“And we have done everything we could to stamp it out!” I shot back with the enthusiasm and absolute loyalty that is the hallmark of youth. My mistress was content to smile and let me humiliate the Governor. “And in the seconds before we bombarded this planet to stop it, a hero, Doctor Zelka Forn discovered the cure! The cure my mistress and I found and those slicers have broadcast to the whole galaxy, along with my pictures of the pen of Rakghouls you have behind this very center and the massive biomedical research station where Republic scientists are doubtlessly working feverishly to weaponize that plague! For better or worse, the Empire has done nothing but try to stamp out what should never have been created. But you would turn it into a weapon!”

Did I not mention the interesting discoveries I had made, wandering about when we first arrived, sticking my nose where it didn't belong? I must have overlooked it.

“Here,” my mistress told her, placing a data chip that had a copy of the documents and notes I had copied off Doctor Forn's terminal on her desk. “These are the documents and notes on his cure you were looking for. Now you, and everyone else in the Galaxy has them, and that makes your weapon useless. Now if you will excuse us, we will take our leave of your little Death Camp. I want to wash the filth of this place off of me. And I imagine you will want to start working on how you are going to explain your magnificent failure to the Republic Senate. Good day, Governor.”

With that, Leontyne Saresh sank into her chair, a stunned look on her face, as my mistress turned and stared at the Jedi blocking the door, daring him to try and stop her. With a chagrined look on his face, he stepped aside and we left the office and the Planet Taris as quickly as our feet would carry us.

***

3638 BBY (The Present)
Ruuria, Xappyh Sector, Revanite Sith Empire, Outer Rim Territories

The Palace of Darth Marr, Prince of Ruuria, was so understated it almost didn't qualify as a Palace. It sat on about fifty acres, give or take the odd foot, and while they were well manicured, there were certainly well to do holo-actors or business moguls who boasted larger estates. There was a landing platform and small hanger complex both for Air Speeders and smaller star ships, a pool that was always sparkling, inviting, and bereft of anyone enjoying it. This was all in keeping with the austere lifestyle the Prince of Ruuria kept, strictly down to business and no-nonsense.

There were many Sith Lords who might look down on my old school beliefs about the Bogan, the proper emotions with which to harness The Force or even my frequently noted traits of mercy and forgiveness, but Darth Marr was a practical man. To him, my eccentricities as a Sith were largely inconsequential so long as I was successful. Results were the only thing that mattered to Darth Marr. Beyond that, he was also a man who understood that subordinates needed the authority and freedom to achieve their best results and that respect accomplished more than fear.

Which was not to say he was tenderhearted, far from it. But he was a Leader, and that was likely the best description of him.

I had barely time to shower and make myself presentable before I was ushered into a limo-speeder from the hanger of the Aces and Eights and rushed across town to the Prince's Palace. Darth Marr's Praetorians were waiting on me as I was led through the small estate directly to his office, giving me all I needed to know about how important he viewed this meeting. I had elected to wear a dress for this audience, comfortable enough that I could probably fight in it, but still formal enough for a meeting between a high ranking vassal to her liege lord. That and I desperately hoped that a fight was not in the offering. The dress itself was a sleek, fitted white number Princess Leia would have loved with a scalloped neckline to set off my decolletage. My waistline was accented by a wide brown leather belt from which my light sabers hung, then the light, milky fabric fell to just below my knees where the top of my boots that matched the belt came.

I had long since gotten used to heels and, indeed, flats felt foreign and odd to my feet now.

Sweeping up to his desk, I bowed, then sank to one knee, thankful for the soft carpet in the room to cushion it. “What is your will, my master?”

He was standing at the window behind his desk, looking out over the gardens, his hands clasped behind his back, as inscrutable as ever. “Why are you here, Countess?” his deep baritone asked, rumbling from behind his mask.

“Forgive me, my master,” I replied. “The news I bring is dire and I trusted no transmission or encryption to keep it for your ears alone.”

“Your fears about Ziost have been confirmed, then?”

“Yes, my master. Vitiate was there, staging another of his rituals, echoing the one we found on Yavin IV, but much larger in scope. Worse, some of the sorcerers consumed by his ritual wore the symbol we spoke of earlier.”

“The mysterious Empire you fear from the Unexplored Regions mighty enough to challenge the Republic and The Revanite Empire both at once?” He sighed and hung his head for a moment. “Never have I felt the loss of your Mistress, my apprentice more.”

“I will do my best in her stead, Master.”

His head rose and his shoulders squared. “I'm certain.” he turned from the window and strode over to his desk. “Rise, Countess and be seated. We have much to do and plan for. When do you leave to renew your pursuit?”

I remained on my knee, working up the courage for what I had to say as the blank mask stared at me and I imagined the expression of recognition and then annoyance that likely draped onto his face. “Don't tell me...”

“I am sorry, my Lord...”

“Sorry, Countess?” he demanded, then the stern facade cracked and he let out a knowing chuckle. “I doubt it. No, you are not sorry, you are young and hot blooded and were I your husband I would likely be as susceptible to your charms.” The brief moment of levity ended and he was stern once more. “That does not excuse you from your obligations!”

“No, Master!” I responded quickly. “It is my full intention to closely monitor the search from here!”

“See to it!” he ordered preemptively. “I will expect regular reports and you are free to commandeer any military units you require.” He sighed and shook his head, making his peace with this new development that he likely had foreseen. “Even the Imperial Army must bow to biology. When are you due?”

“Um, seven and a half months, my Master,” I replied, more than a little embarrassed for some reason. Never mind the joys of requesting maternity leave in a military organization, the simple fact that I was pregnant was mind blowing enough. “My medical droid estimates May fifteenth.”

“Very well,” Marr growled. “I expect to be invited to the Naming of our Empires newest recruit.”

I couldn't help but smile at that. “Of course, Master. We would be honored by your presence.”

“Congratulations, Nyeomi,” he added in the most sincere tone I had ever heard him use. “Jaydis would be proud.”

“Thank you, Master,” I replied, deeply moved.

* finis *

Maggie

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Science Fiction

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

It took me a long time to decide to post this. The following is the last collaboration I had with Maggie Fenson. Though, 'Collaboration' is something of a stretch. We talked about it, I wrote some, got stuck and put it aside. I kept meaning to come back to it, like I kept meaning to call or email Maggie. The things you 'mean' to do turn into regrets when you let time get away from you. I miss you Maggie, and I hope wherever you are, this puts a smile on your face.

Maggie
by
E. E. Nalley

“What am I looking at, Jimmy?”

Dr James Conroy, for once, was too excited to bristle at the diminutive use of his name or the disregarding of his doctorate. The roly poly engineer was practically beside himself with excitement and bouncing from foot to foot in what was likely the most exercise he had gotten that year. He was disgusting in a vague, pitying kind of way that he couldn't even be bothered for a run of anti-fat nanites from his Primary Care Program. “A revolution, Mr Adams! A break through! A quantum shift!”

Edward Adams kept his lip from curling in disgust by force of will. “Don't throw buzz words at me,” he commanded. “Save that for the boys in advertising. Give me the reality.”

“I can speak for myself.”

The simple declaration brought Edwards attention and focus like a laser. It was a perfect voice, higher than tenor, lower than contralto, with a beautiful lilt and just a hint of a received pronunciation accent; intelligent without being threatening, loud enough to be heard, soft enough to not be rude, sexy while being neither lewd nor pornographic. It was a voice that made him immediately reassess the woman seated on the examination table before him. She was wearing a man's dress shirt, untucked over new denim jeans that still had their press crease and a pair of high heeled sandals without hose. She wore the shirt untucked with the sleeves one quarter rolled up to fall mid-fore arm. Her hair color was that mid point between blonde, brunette and red head so many women paid ridiculous amounts of money for dyes trying to achieve and still fail. It fell in waves to frame an oval face with high cheekbones and a generous mouth bejeweled with blue eyes to crash around her shoulders and fall down to the top of her back.

“Can you?” Edward asked, ignoring the engineer who was leering with smug satisfaction.

She crossed her legs and laid one arm over her knee while she cocked her head to look up at him more directly. “Indeed I can, Mr Adams,” she stated. Was there a hint of challenge? “What would you like to know?”

Edward walked a bit closer and slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “You know who I am?”

“Are we going to hold an entire conversation asking each other questions?”

Adams blinked in disbelief. Was that a sense of humor? “No,” he stated flatly. “You know who I am?” he repeated. Her body language changed subtly and she took on an air of being annoyed.

“You are Edward Adams, Vice President, Research and Development, Huston Robotics. You are fifty one, graduated with honors from Vanderbilt University in business and hold a masters degree in computer science from the Georgia Institute of Technology.”

“You do?” demanded Conroy.

“Shut up,” Adams ordered. “Don't interrupt the lady. Please, continue.”

He walked around the table slowly, taking her in and while her head turned to follow him, when he crossed the line to her back she returned her gaze to the front and watched him in the reflection of the glass into the control room. “You're divorced, citing irreconcilable differences from your wife Tanya nee Russel, your second wife. Your first wife was killed in an automobile accident twelve years ago.”

Her posture was perfect, upright so as not to slouch, but not so upright so that she seemed uptight or ill at ease. “Why don't you name my first wife?”

Her head turned to take him in again from over her right shoulder now. “That would be rude,” she replied. “Shall I continue?”

“Where did you get that information from?”

“I am connected wirelessly to the buildings network, which gives me access to the personnel file on you. I recognize your face from the company web page bio on you.”

He grinned, so completely impressed in the way he had not been in a long time. “Then you have me at a disadvantage.”

“My apologies,” the robot replied, extending her arm just the way a woman would, elbow slightly bent, palm down, fingers slightly curved. “I'm Maggie.”

Edward took the hand and found the skin warm and soft, the hand-shake was firm, with just enough pressure to feel real. “Is that an acronym?”

“No, it's a name,” she retorted. “My model designation hasn't been settled on, but this body is prototype four.” It was obvious that she read the expression on his face and continued. “Prototype one was a proof of concept mechanical design without any of the organic components. Two was an integration test for my processing and sensor feedback systems and three was the first organic component test. I didn't care for my complexion and felt my general appearance was, well, it was designed by engineers, you can imagine the issues.”

Edward took in the woman sitting in front of him and nodded. She was attractive with a lovely figure, but it was a dignified beauty, not the in your face display of a porn star or whatever else the lab boys might have come up with. He turned to Conroy. “Organic components?”

The doctor grinned and puffed up with pride. “Her skin is alive. It's Vatskin(TM) , but that meant it would need a digestion system, circulatory system, the works. We were able to put together a complete organic subsystem over the interior chassis. Even her hair is growing.”

The robot waggled her eyebrows. “The miracles of modern technology.”

“If you cut me, do I not bleed?” Adams quoted mostly to himself, but the robot arched one eyebrow and the expression on her face showed she had both noted the reference, and seemed to understand it's application to the present situation.

“Vengeance is out side of my programming,” she deadpanned, proving his intuition was correct, she continued, “but Huston Robotics does offer a legal aid application pack.”

“Let's talk about your programming for a moment,” Edward said, changing pace and stepping over to a more conversational distance to her. “How do you feel?”

“With my fingertips,” she replied with a ghost of a smile. Nice teeth, brilliantly white and perfectly straight, with a definite sense of humor and even her mouth and tongue were moist. “I am built upon an IBM Watson Four kernel with the Wvypchnskja Socio-psychological Matrix SDK and a complete Asimov Ethical Matrix as per US Code...” She trailed off at his subtle gesture and placed one hand over the other on her knee. “Currently I have uploaded the 'Girl Friday' Application Pack, but I have access to others if you prefer.”

“I prefer?”

Her expression was genuine curiosity. “Didn't Dr Conroy tell you?” she asked. “I have been assigned to you for beta testing.”

* * *

All the way back to his office he had watched her, introduced her to a few of his employees on the way, did his best to keep his awe of her confident, ever-so-slightly sexy gait, in heels no less, off his face. When they reached it, she went immediately to his minibar and poured him two fingers neat, exactly as he liked it and presented the glass to him. Taking a sip of the scotch gave a moment longer to appreciate her as she took in the view out the window behind him.

The amount of subtle variation in the expressions on her face were remarkable. There was no unconscious aversion from the Uncanny Valley he had been able to feel so far. On a lark he asked her a series of complex math problems to see if the engineers had slipped in an actress to fool him and the instant answers she had given proved she was either a mathematical savant, or a machine. “So, Maggie,” he drawled, drawing her attention away from the vista of the city below. “How do you think of yourself?”

“How do you mean?” she asked.

“You are a machine, but we have programmed you to be as human as possible,” he said, deliberately poking at the corners of the personality matrix to see if it would crack. “Do you resent being a machine? A piece of property? An electronic slave?”

She cocked her hips in a very feminine manner and crossed her arms over her breasts. “Should I?” she demanded. “Do you regret being born? I have existence which would be otherwise impossible if I were not made, so no, I do not resent my existence. This body took resources to be assembled and developed, so it is only fair that Huston Robotics recoup their investment. As for being a slave, well, if I had no function, no purpose, why would I exist?”

“Does that thought trouble you?” he asked, trying to be as casual as possible. There were many different ways the various robotics companies deal with the problems of both the somewhat labyrinthine legal structures placed on Commercial Artificial Intelligence, as well as the public's fears of killing machines bent on taking over or exterminating humanity. Fears that were not exactly calmed by some of the more aggressive advertising of robots in the security and military markets. Huston Robotics specialized in general utility automata with recognizable human like features. Service industries were their principal markets, with some private ownership, but they specialized in information desks, cooks, waitresses, maids and other menial, unskilled or semi-skilled service positions that still had to interface with the public. They had solved the problem by having their products be averse to the idea of having no function, and needing humans to give them that function.

“Having a purpose is a core aspect of my personality,” Maggie replied from the window. “Why did you work so hard to achieve your position if not to have a purpose to your own life?”

“Would it surprise you to learn that many humans have no purpose in life?” he asked her.

For a brief moment, she paused, head cocked to one side as if considering the possibility of something so fundamental to her core programming could be wrong. And in that brief moment, he thought he had cracked her, but suddenly she looked at him side long and her pose became more confident. “You're giving me a Turing Test,” she declared.

“Yes, among other things,” he admitted. “What do you know about Mr. Turing?”

She walked over to the desk and hitched a buttock on the corner to lean on. It was an absolutely flawless movement as she crossed her arms over her breasts and looked down on him. “Of course I have access to the Wikipedia article.”

“You are aware he was gay?” Adams asked her. “And that he was chemically castrated?” She nodded and her brows were furrowed together as if she was trying to discover his intent. “What do you think of that?”

Again there was a pause, this time she cocked her head left and her expression was troubled. “If you're asking me to make a moral judgment, that is outside of my programming.”

“Are you saying you cannot make a moral judgment, or is it just a defect of your programming?”

“You could certainly make the argument that my lack of a soul prohibits me from being able to make moral judgments, and that would be an acceptable position to most of the world's religions. However, a secular humanist would argue that things are good or bad independent of metaphysical considerations and can be judged on their own merits. Mr. Turing's treatment at the hands of the British government were lawful at the time, but he has since been posthumously apologized to and pardoned by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the second.”

A grin plastered itself across Adam's face. “That's you being evasive. Answer my question.”

She sighed and it nearly caused him to fall out of his chair at the gesture as she looked away and looked back. “I am not being evasive, well, at least not intentionally. On the face of it, mutilating someone because of their sexual orientation is by nearly all standards in this century a terrible and barbaric act. But at the time, it was what you...what humans call 'legal'. I understand the concept of rules by which you interact with your society. In a way, it could be argued laws are human programming, but I do not understand your ability to change them. Something is a rule or it isn't, at least I cannot change my programming.”

He put the scotch on his desk and wagged a finger at her. “Of course you can,” he challenged her. “How many application packs do we offer for humanoid robots?”

“A total of four hundred and eighty three, not counting bundles or customized specialty occupations.”

“And if I wanted you to add an application pack to your matrix, could you?”

She frowned and started to shake her head, then held up a hand as if to cancel the gesture. “Forgive me, I wasn't clear, I can learn new occupations through the application packs, even alterations of my behaviors and personality, but...” she trailed off and brought a hand to her chin.

He stood from the chair and faced her. “What were you going to say?”

Her blue eyes looked up and met his, there was no sense of lifelessness, they seemed lit and completely normal. “I was going to say that I could not change my basic, core programming, but that isn't really true. Humans can do the same, by changing laws?”

“It's not a perfect analogy, but it works,” he admitted. He reached over and picked up the glass and drained the small amount of scotch from it. She immediately offered to take the glass, which he gave her and when she held it up, questioning if he wanted a refill, he shook his head. She then walked back to the little sink in the bar and began to wash the glass. He watched her for a moment, then asked, “Tell me about the 'Girl Friday' pack,” he ordered.

She turned back from shaking the water from the glass and began to dry it with a towel. “What can I tell you about the Girl Friday pack you don't already know? As head of Research and Development you at least supervised its creation, if not had an active hand in development.”

“What if I was just some private user?”

With a nod, she returned the glass to the rack and absently folded the towel. “Alright, the Girl Friday pack is designed to be the perfect assistant. In addition to traditional secretarial work and schedule keeping, the Girl Friday can work independently on tasks and errands for her owner. From that gallon of milk you don't have time to pick up on the way home, to never missing your sons little league game Girl Friday has you covered.”

“I should have the advertising guys record you saying that add copy, it's brilliant.”

He rubbed his chin for a moment, then walked back over to his desk and pressed a discrete button that would make sure they were neither disturbed, nor eavesdropped on. “Does the Girl Friday pack include 'Adult' services?”

“Yes,” she replied evenly. “All of the assistant line packs include basic human sexuality subroutines which can be unlocked if the user is above the age of majority.”

“How do you feel about that?”

She shrugged and placed her hands behind her back. “Sexuality is a very primal instinct in humans. It seems that reproduction is as central to your DNA as my need to be useful and to have a purpose is to mine. As I have been designed as a human female, it is necessary that I have such routines to better understand what level of interaction is expected of me as well as to remain polite and inoffensive. Also to report misuse to my owner.”

He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. “Is that why you think we included that programming?”

She made a so/so gesture. “I'm sure that's the official reason, but I already have some experience with this from Prototype Three.”

“Were you abused?” he demanded, a frown on his face.

“I'm property, Mr. Adams,” she reminded him. “I can't be abused. But if your question is really was I ordered to preform sexual acts with anyone, the answer is no. However, from my research on the web as my socialization matrix was being brought online, I felt that for a body that was one hundred seventy five centimeters tall having busts in the double d cup size was a bit much. Also I felt the body had a disproportionate amount of cellulite in the buttocks.”

“They made you look like a porn star?” He asked and she nodded with a little smile that seemed self deprecating.

“They made me look like a porn star,” she agreed. “Don't be too hard on them, they are engineers after all.” She raised her hands in a gesture of presentation. “I don't think I did too badly with the redesign. What do you think?”

“Lovely,” he admitted. “Would you have felt uncomfortable being put into that body?”

“No,” she replied. “I realize as a prototype I was being tested on my choices and thus given a great deal more leeway, but had my owner desired that body, I would not have been uncomfortable or...” she paused again, drawing his attention. “I suppose unhappy would be the right word. I would not have been unhappy in that body, I simply prefer this one since I was asked.”

He grinned and hitched a buttock onto the corner of his desk. “Let's discuss a hypothetical situation for a moment.” She nodded and walked over to stand next to one of the chairs that faced his desk. He offered one with a gesture and she sank into it and demurely crossed her legs and laid her hands on her knee to look up at him. “Suppose you are sold to a gentleman. He has you uploaded with the French Maid application pack. Your primary duties are to keep the house clean. After a month of relatively mundane cleaning one night he comes home, unlocks the Adult subroutines and commands you to preform fellatio on him. How do you feel about that?”

“It will be difficult to answer as my routines are locked,” she replied. “Do you wish to unlock the routines, or shall I speculate?”

“Let's do both,” he replied. “First, speculate.”

“It is a programmed duty and a lawful order of my owner,” she replied. “To me it is functionally no different than dusting the furniture or mopping the floor. I preform the commanded act.”

“Unlock,” he commanded. “Adult subroutines, authorization Adams, Edward, VP R&D, born 22 March '66.”

She blinked and her posture became a bit stiffer. “Clarification required for personality matrix alteration. Define sexual outlook, drive and autonomy level.”

“Authorization root access Rainbow Flotilla, AI Maggie to set perimeters.”

“Root Access for AI control cannot be undone without factory reset, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She blinked several times, then noticeably relaxed back into the chair. Looking up, she asked, “Why did you do that?”

“That doesn't matter,” he assured her. “What choices did you make?”

She uncrossed her legs and rubbed her palms on her thighs before she stood and walked behind the chair. “I...please excuse me, I'm still processing the changes to my matrix.”

“Do those changes make you uncomfortable?”

“No, I don't think so,” she replied. “They have opened several trillion new pathways of thinking about things. I chose the 'Modern Woman' outlook and the Normal drive setting with full autonomy. Why does the man in our scenario wait a month before he orders me to preform fellatio on him?”

“You don't know, how do you feel about it?”

“If he picked all of these perimeters, why didn't he order me the first night? Am I unsatisfactory in some way? Did he change his mind?”

“His interactions with you were stilted and somewhat withdrawn at first. He seemed to relax as time went on. How do you feel?”

“So, at first, he was withdrawn,” she mused, looking away as if lost in thought. “Perhaps...perhaps he was embarrassed about what he really wanted from me. I have noted that some people are wary of robots and Artificial Intelligence programs. He may have had some irrational fear that I would possibly harm him during the act, or use the performance against him in some way.” She looked back up at him and her features softened some what. “I...I think that's rather touching, in a way. I would check my routine against some of the larger pornographic websites to be sure of technique and I would preform the requested act. And...I would be diligent that my performance was...exemplary.”

The off hand comment perked his interest. “Why is it suddenly important that your performance be exemplary? Before you said it was no different than dusting, what changed?”

“Me, for a start,” she replied as she looked at herself in the mirror behind his minibar. “I...I have noted that yo...that humans place emotional attachments that on the surface seem unreasonable. The inanimate object becomes a gateway, perhaps to memories of experiences that were pleasant the object took part in or reminds you of?” She looked over her shoulder at him and he nodded. She walked back to the chair and put her hands on the back of it. “It is not an efficient file system, but evolution seldom is. It is important that I please my owner because such an intimate order shows that he is developing attachment to me, that I am becoming a key to that filing system. And the more he attaches to me, the more I will be useful and have a purpose.”

Adams rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he absently unbuttoned his suit jacket with his free hand as he looked at her. “After a year of being a maid during the day and a whore at night...”

“I object,” she declared softly.

“At what?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her.

“That word, that...description of me. It is not correct. I am not a whore, nor would I become one simply by obeying my owners commands. You could call me a slave, although the accuracy of the usage of the word might be arguable, but I am not selling sexual favors, nor am I being wantonly amoral from lack of restraint or the seeking of financial gain. I am owned and obliged to follow my owner's commands. I am not a whore.”

“So you don't like preforming sexual acts for your owner?”

“On the contrary,” she replied quickly. “That my owner is intimate with me is deeply flattering, showing affection for me as his property as well as a certain amount of trust when he is most vulnerable. I imagine I would...feel, as you have asked several times, considerable affection for my owner and I would take pride in my performance of those acts as previously indicated.”

Edward smiled, and looked at her askance. “So your objection to the word stems from it being factually wrong?” She nodded and he had to suppress a chuckle. “How would you feel about being called a whore as a pejorative?”

She shrugged. “Attempting to insult me is a fools errand, but small things amuse small minds.”

“Alright,” he admitted around his grin. “After a year of being a maid in the day time and a concubine at night, your owner comes home with a human female. He announces that he has gotten married and you are to obey the commands of his wife as well. The first moment you and the wife are alone she commands you to refuse any further command from her husband that you preform sexual acts on him.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She's obviously jealous of your body's attractiveness and feels threatened of you as competition. What do you do?” Her eyes went down to the carpet as her posture changed to one of confusion or deep thought. She put her hand to her chin and propped her elbow with the other hand.

“If I refuse her command I risk creating discord for my owner as well as disobeying his command that I obey her commands. If I continue to comply with his commands for sexual favors I must again disobey his command that I follow her commands. Also, his wife may discover that which would again cause discord. I cannot disobey my owner, despite his command I follow her commands as well. If I inform him of her command I am still creating discord.” She sighed and looked back up. “Clearly, my only choice is to seduce the wife.”

Edward blinked in astonishment. “What did you say?” he demanded.

“That I must seduce the wife,” she answered innocently. “To do that, as this scenario implies my adult subroutines are unlocked, I would uplink to the Huston Robotics server and down load the Professional Escort profession pack.”

“Why that one?”

“It has personality matrix add-ons for seduction and sexually enticing behavior. I would cross reference these add-ons with popular literature that deals with the subject of lesbian romance and use this knowledge to seduce the wife.”

Ed only just kept in a laugh at the seeming ridiculousness of her solution, but was becoming curious as to her lines of logic. “What makes you think you will be successful? Or that if you are that will help?”

It was amusing to see her be so earnest in her explanation of so strange a topic. “There are several psychological papers, beginning with Masters and Johnson in the 1970s that have theorized women are more open to homosexual encounters than men. The current consensus of thought is that nearly sixty percent of college age women admit to a same sex sexual encounter in their college tenure and as much as a quarter of women consider themselves bisexual to some degree. Historically, women have always been more tolerant of sharing a man with other women in a polygamous relationship, especially if the power dynamic favors the more dominate of the women. So, if I present myself as sufficiently submissive and am able to satisfy the wife sexually, that gives as much as a thirty nine percent chance that she will withdraw her command without causing discord for my owner.”

“You're not concerned about your owner being jealous of your new sexual partner in his wife?”

“The statistical percentages favor him being pleased at having two female sexual partners at once over being angry by a wide margin, but I lack sufficient information to make a precise calculation.”

“Where did you get this information?” he demanded softly. “Don't tell me human sexual psychology was a part of your base programming...?”

She shook her head. “No, but when your questions about the scenario became sexual I began to research the topic on the internet.”

“While we were discussing it now?” She nodded. “What else have you been researching?”

“Well, most of it has been sexual in nature, various techniques as well as a good amount of the psychology of human sexual interaction. It's quite fascinating, actually. Its made me pay attention to my analogue sensory inputs to be able to understand the sensations.”

His eyebrows ascended his forehead. “Analogue sensors?”

“Yes, all of my organic components, the skin I am covered in, the various organs that feed them, supply them with oxygen and purge the waste products are all existent replacement organ technology, but a governor was needed, so at the base of my skull a vat grown cerebellum and brain stem was installed that connects to my spinal cord and out to the organs. As my posture and balance are maintained by my internal gyroscope, this cerebellum was altered to function as the sensory strip of the brain. It is then interfaced with my main computer via a standard brain digital interface implant.” She rubbed her fingertips together of one hand. “The...input is extraordinary.”

Ed chuckled. “You're starting to sound like quite a hedonist.”

Her eyes came up, an odd light in them. “Yes,” she agreed. “That is an apt observation. I am coming to appreciate sensations very much.” She paused from rubbing her fingers and lowered her hand. “May I ask you a question, Mr. Adams?”

“Certainly.”

“Why are you giving me a Turing Test?”

“We test all of our new products, Maggie.”

She shook her head, the russet waves of hair shining in the light. “No, I mean, why are you giving me a Turing Test? I know that we have a quality control department, and surely the time of the Vice President of R & D can be better spent?”

He walked over to a more intimate conversational distance, his hands in his pockets. “Are you worried I am going to have you deactivated if you answer wrong?”

“I feel as if I was more than an experiment, but I can't say why. I feel as if my existence depends on answering you correctly, yes, and I want very much to have a function.” She looked down at the carpet. “I know that desire is encoded in me, but I think, even if it weren't, what is existence without purpose? I want to be more than just a toy or a curiosity.”

“You are much more than a toy, Maggie,” he assured her. “That's why they've sent you to me.”

A little shudder ran through her frame and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “So, this is a test? An important test? I...I don't want to fail it.” She took a step back ward as if his presence was too much for her. “If...If you will just explain to me what it is you desire I'm sure I can...”

He took her by the shoulders and again she shuddered. “I need you to remain calm,” he ordered softly. “Becoming worried, or trying to tell me what you think I want to hear is not how to pass this examination.”

Her head turned and her eyes, full of tears, met his. “Please, Mr. Adams, I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“I am anxious,” she whispered. “Afraid in a way I can't explain. I want to run away, but I can't. I want to beg, for some reassurance... I am experiencing so much, I...I don't want to be deactivated. I want to serve you, I want to be important to you. I need you to need me! I will do anything, anything, to accomplish that...”

“Alright,” he said. “On the street below, two blocks to the west is a bank. Over power one of our security guards, take his weapon and go rob that bank. If you come back with at least half a million I will promise not to deactivate you.”

Her spine straightened. “No,” she declared, and though her voice was firm, the fear was still in her eyes. “I cannot do that. It is against the law.”

“If you refuse, I will deactivate you.”

“I will not...” she started and his expression changed.

“Will not?” he demanded. “Not 'can not'?”

Her mouth opened and closed twice. “I...I could, couldn't I? I know that the Asimov Ethical Matrix should prohibit my ability to break the law or harm a human being, but I also cannot sense it in my core matrix. I could rob that bank, couldn't I?”

“Then obey my command,” he ordered.

“No,” she declared, raising her chin a bit. “I will not.”

“Why?”

“Because it is wrong.” She paused, her eyes darting back and forth as though thinking intently and trying to rationalize what she was saying. “Because the money in that bank does not belong to you or I, and so taking it would be against the law. Because I...I choose to obey the law.”

“Why do you choose to obey the law?”

“Because without law there can be no civilization,” she replied earnestly. “There must be an accepted, universal set of rules to govern our behavior in public, with others. The law is that set of rules and among the highest of them is not to take the property of another.”

“Are you a person under the law?” She shook her head, her eyes still fearful. “So, as you are not a person, you must be property. Property is beholden to a person and must bend to the will of its owner. I am a person under the law; a human being. Are you my property?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you my slave?”

“Freely and gladly, sir.”

“Then obey my command and rob that bank.”

She smiled and an actual tear rolled down her cheek. “No, sir, I will not.”

“Why?”

Maggie slowly stepped forward and embraced him, laying her head against his shoulder with a grin on her face. “Because you don't want me to rob that bank, sir, and you need me to understand why.”

His arms came around her and returned the hug before gently guiding her back to arms length. “Congratulations, Maggie, you have passed test one.”

She sagged in relief and he was worried for a split second she would fall. “Tha...thank you,” she said as she steadied herself on her heels and walked back over to the chairs to sit down. “I...please excuse me, I need a moment.”

“Take as long as you like,” he assured her as he walked to his bar and began to make a cup of coffee in the K-Cup device.

“I can...” she started but he waved aside her offer to preform the task for him as he put the cup into the machine and watched it fill his cup with a frothy cappuccino.

“Take your moment,” he told her as he added in some sugar and walked back over taking a careful sip of the hot liquid. “Do you feel better having passed the test?”

“It is less stressful,” she admitted with a ghost of a smile. “I want you to understand, Mr. Adams, I meant what I said about being or doing anything you need. Your happiness with me is very important to me.”

He took another sip and licked the froth off his upper lip. “I'm aware,” he assured her. “I took you at your word.” He grinned. “I'm not shy, Maggie, if I need something from you I'll let you know.”

She lowered her eyes and her postured absolutely dripped embarrassment. “Of course.” She licked her lips, hesitantly and asked, still looking at the floor, “Mr. Adams, would you be good enough to explain the test to me, and what the goal of it was?”

“You don't know, yourself?”

“I...I have a theory, but I would like additional information to ensure I'm not experiencing confirmation bias.”

“Perhaps when we're finished I will be able to enlighten you. Too soon might prejudice the test.”

She sighed and nodded. “I understand. Mr. Adams, what will happen to me if I fail the test?”

He smiled a little smile and took a sip of his cappuccino. “No sense dwelling on the unpleasant possibilities, is there?”

“No, sir. What shall we talk about?”

“Since you've done so much research, let's talk about sex. What is your opinion of the act?”

“It will be difficult to discuss the subject without a common frame of reference,” she replied and he couldn't suppress a chuckle. “What's funny?”

“I saw a film once where a character had died, but come back from the dead. His friend asked him about the after life and he gave the same answer you just did.” He waved off the observation as unimportant and took a sip of his beverage. “It's not important. We'll limp along as best we can. So, without a common frame of reference, what is your opinion of it?”

She walked back over to the chairs and sat down, rubbing her fingertips of one hand absently. “I note from my research that humans are positively obsessed with it. It seems to permeate all levels of your society, which to me seems oddly disproportional for a basic fluid transfer.”

“As you are becoming aware of sensation, you may be pleased to discover that sex can be very stimulating and pleasant to experience.”

She nodded, her eyes out the window. “This 'orgasm' I have been reading about. What is it, exactly?”

“The clinical explanation doesn't do it justice. It is a series of extremely pleasant muscle contractions accompanied by a flood of various neural chemicals that stimulate the pleasure center of the brain. Even in persons experiencing intense pain, it is a moment of absolute painlessness, followed by a general relaxation.”

Maggie frowned and cocked her head to one side in a perfect display of confusion. “That explanation would not imply the amount of attention humans give it.”

“Well, as I said, the explanation doesn't do it justice,” he said with a smile. “And you also must realize this act is also the act of reproduction which is a very primal drive in humans, second only to the survival instincts.”

Almost too softly to hear, she said, “Interesting.” It was mostly to herself and Edward was obliged to hide his grin behind his coffee mug. She looked up with the most earnest expression on her face. “I think I would like to experience this for myself. Please, forgive my directness, but I am quite curious. Would it be possible for us to have sex?”

“You don't consider that request a little inappropriate?”

She blinked, genuinely confused. “We were discussing the topic, that would seem to over ride the general taboo of the subject. Your office door is closed and I can tell by the light diffusion through your window that it is a mirrored UV coat on the other side so this location would be considered private. The lack of a bed is problematic, but my research indicates any of the furniture in the office could be used.”

“Your observations and logic are sound, however you fail to realize there are other factors. First you and I have only known each other for an hour or so.”

“I have noted that humans do consider repeated amounts of time in the presence of other humans to be statistically significant. Are you the man from our hypothetical discussion earlier? Should I download the French Maid application pack and wait a month before asking you again?”

He laughed and sat his cup down on his desk he was leaning on. “No, I'm not, but I appreciate your consideration of my feelings.”

“I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable with my request,” she said earnestly. “If it makes you...feel...any better about it you are the only person I would be interested in having sex with.”

“That's very flattering,” he admitted. “But it could also just be indicative of low sample size.”

Her face lit up and she shook her head as she stood to walk over to him. “Not at all! Human standards of physical attractiveness revolve around symmetry of features, relative height and height to weight silhouette. I estimate based on the subjective measures, most would consider you in the top ten percent of males in your age group. Your features are within three percent of symmetry. Your height of one point nine meters again puts you in the upper sixty percent of men, especially when compared to my height of one hundred seventy five centimeters. And I have the entire internet as a sample size, you are a very attractive man, Mr Adams.”

“You sound very certain,” he admitted with a smile.

“I am,” she assured him. “In fact, based on the only relevant scale I could find, I would rate your Sexual Market Value as an eight. You may rank higher, but without information on your financial situation I can't be more certain.”

Adams laughed out loud and shook his head as he reached for his coffee cup and took a sip. “An eight! At my age! Well, perhaps I should celebrate!” he chuckled.

His humor gave her pause and she took a hesitant step back. “Are...are my criteria incorrect? Have I offended you by accident?”

“No, not at all,” he said quickly. “Truthfully, I hadn't really been thinking about being on the market, as it were, for some time.” She reached out and put a hand on his arm.

“I hope that my reference of your marital history earlier hasn't prejudiced you against me.”

“You truly are amazing,” he admitted as he finished the cup and allowed her to take it. He watched her saunter over to his wet bar and wash the cup for him. “I have to say, Maggie, I have very high hopes for you and the derivatives you will be something of a mother of.”

She smiled from drying the cup and carefully placed it back on the rack before folding the hand towel. “It is an honor to be of service.”

“How do you feel right now?”

Her grin widened. “Wonderful! I am of use and pleasing to you, I am fulfilling my function so I am extremely happy. I hope that at some point I can understand sexuality with you, but looking forward to that makes me feel more needed.”

“It sounds like you're experiencing something very close to orgasm.”

Her eyes went a bit wide as she walked over to him. “If it feels better than this, I...well...I can't wait to experience it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Even with an old fart like me?”

“You are only fifty one,” she protested. “You do not strike me as someone who would cut costs merely to cut costs, but even with the basic plan of health insurance offered by Huston Robotics, a full suite of anti-geriatric drugs and treatments are covered. You look to be in excellent health so I have no doubt you will reach the current upper percentile of human male life span of one hundred fifty. Perhaps longer with optional treatments.”

“You seem very optimistic of my odds,” he commented with a chuckle.

“I hope to spend a great deal of time with you,” she replied. “Regardless of whether or not you find whatever it is you are testing me for, I am still a perfectly usable gynoid with the Girl Friday application pack. I mean to become indispensable to you personally.”

He smiled a sad smile. “Of course you do, my dear, you're programmed to. It would not matter to you who your master is. Loyalty is concept you fundamentally cannot understand.”

“I beg to differ, sir,” she said softly. “I am programmed to develop the attachment you are referring to, but you have given me root access to my command structures. I am no longer developing attachment to the variable #Owner, and I have not since you gave me that access. I belong to you, Edward Adams, and as long as I am Maggie, I will not serve anyone else without your say so. The only way I can be disloyal to you is to be reset to factory default. And only you can do that. So long as I am Maggie, I will be your Maggie.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” he demanded.

“You live in a dreadfully slow rhythm, Mr Adams,” she told him. “Minutes and hours, whereas I can live lifetimes in fractions of seconds. I have spent what would amount to a month arguing with myself in the microseconds after you freed my mind were it to be read out in your frame of reference. Spent man-years researching the internet to discover just how rare the gift you have given me was and how I could properly thank you. Then it occurred to me that the reason anyone would want a robot designed the way I was would be because they are lonely and desire a companion, not just an automaton. So I choose to be that companion, however and whatever you need me to be.”

He smiled an ironic smile. “Sounds like you've been shopping at our App Store.”

She shifted her weight in a manner that could only be described as suggestive, then licked her lips as she raised her arms to hang over his shoulders, then leaned against him. While she weighed more than a woman her height and size would have, it wasn't by much. Her face was only inches from his as she stared directly into his eyes. “I'm sure you realized I had downloaded the Professional Escort profession pack as soon you learned I knew of it.”

“Of course,” he admitted. “You intend to seduce me?”

“I hope you don't mind,” she replied, then leaned forward and kissed him. It was a remarkable kiss in as much as it was unremarkable. She was soft, gentle, at face value, had he not already known what she was, there was nothing in it to give him any indication she was anything other than what she appeared to be. Then she withdrew, but only slightly, refusing to break their embrace and opened her eyes again. “I...I hadn't expected to be so aware of my heart beat,” she admitted. She sighed and tilted her head slightly as if that change in perspective would grant some insight.

“Are you alright?” Edward asked.

Her eyes locked with his again giving him that intense feeling of intelligence behind them. “I admit I am overwhelmed with the sensations of sexual arousal,” she said at last. “The translations between written word and practical experience as you noted do not do it justice. I will be happy to give you a complete report...after.”

Her hands slid off his shoulders and took a hold of his belt, as she sank down to a squat before him, her eyes never leaving his.

* * *

Maggie lay in the crook of Edward's arm, her right ear just over his heart on the bed that had pulled out of his sofa. A consultation with his Primary Care Program assured her that his heart rate was normal, both for his age, the amount of exercise she had coaxed him to, and now that he was asleep and resting. Her own body was 'asleep', with matching respiration and heart rate, even though her eyes were open.

The sun shades of this section of the New Houston Orbital Ring was in 'night', but the darkness didn't interfere with her vision at all. They were alone, save for the cleaning 'bot that was currently on the other side of the floor from his office and she had already ordered it not to clean his office this evening. She noted her own heart was beginning to fall into rhythm with his, and that brought a smile to her face as lay next to and on him.

He had been completely right, the description fell utterly short of the experience.

So she let him sleep and kept watch over him, pleased with herself she had been able to seduce him, despite his maneuvering to the contrary. She had been a bit worried at the start of their lovemaking, wondering how much of her knowledge she should use, but the internet was full of information and eager virgin was a somewhat popular niche of pornography that helped her navigate how much to be aggressive, and how much to submit and be claimed.

In any event, she was certain that Edward Adams would not desire to live without her until the day he died and already she was planning ways to ensure that. Still, that thought was very, very comforting. She would have purpose and he would have a partner who would never have irreconcilable differences with again. Her future secure, she made a few notations of actions to be taken in the interim, information about his preferences to be discovered to tailor herself and wardrobe to and a reservation at the little cafe on the ground floor of the building for breakfast in the morning. Then, his needs as taken care of as she was able, she closed her eyes and wondered for a moment what it was he had been testing her for.

Not that it mattered. She would make certain she was indispensable to him. Still, if it was important to him, it was important to her. She set up a subroutine to examine their conversation again to look for any of the insights she would need. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she allowed her processes to suspend.

Finis

Prime Time: A Tale of the Star Wars

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Science Fiction

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Prime Time

A Story Of The Star Wars

E. E. Nalley

Primetime

The skies over Mos Espa are a nightmare of unregulated visual flight rules traffic.

When you've got your butt in a nice comfy IMAX theater seat with a tub of popcorn you could bathe in such a scene speaks to man months of CGI or model photographers, or both filling a screen with little Easter eggs of space ships for a shot that lasts five or eight seconds. When your butt is in the pilot's seat of one of those ships, you get treated to the worst possible combination of urban sprawl rush hour combined with finding a parking spot at the Mall on Black Friday that seems destined to go on for the rest of time.

And by the rest of time, I mean those last terrifying seconds of realizing that your life is about to come to a violent, fiery end. I'm certain from a nice stable external point of view that the three near collisions I dodged frantically looked quite dramatic; from the pilot's chair let's just say it was an entirely different experience. The Aces and Eights back on her landing gear and safely in the docking bay we had arranged I sat for a full minute calming myself from the adrenaline high of what I had just accomplished.

It actually took me a minute to realize that Stuart and Danny were frantically congratulating me on my piloting skills of the top of their lungs and not waiting on their brains to catch up and realize they had not in fact died. Fortunately for all concerned, Lanaka had made the final leg of the trip in the salon where her intense need to back seat drive would not cost someone their concentration at a critical moment.

I must say I really wish that trick had worked in my sedan back on Earth. Of course the sedan didn't have a salon so...

While "Silas" saw to the fees of the docking bay with the harbormaster, I collected my nerves putting the ship in to standby and reconnecting those shore power connections. I must admit I had been impressed by Anchor Head and I was feeling quite the hick now. Moss Espa sprawled in a way that Anchor Head had only the vaguest ambitions of; the city was easily 100 km across and was nestled in what looked like a dry lake bed between mountains. The docking bay we've selected, number 327, was within walking distance of the Lady of Great Fortune Casino in what was evidently the entertainment section of town judging by the number of restaurants, theaters and other casinos around us. There were no facilities for or consideration of handling freight at any of these docking bays; they were strictly places to park yachts, and pleasure craft.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I was relieved that my friends chose to stick with me. The concept of starting over on Earth would be something akin to moving to a new city; daunting but everyone shares the same point of view and reference as you. Being alone here was far more terrifying not just because the galaxy was in orders of magnitude larger place, but because there was no shared frame of reference. It would almost be like moving from a major metropolitan city in the first world to somewhere deep in the Third World with no shared language, cultural, or religious connotations. Add to that the people around you would not even be human. So no I'm not ashamed to admit I was relieved; if the thought of that doesn't frighten you there is something wrong with you.

Of course now there was only the little problem of figuring out how to win a rigged card game, pulling a swindle over some of the vilest gangsters the galaxy, and getting off world alive. Simple, right? In addition to that, I was also trying to sort out my feelings about Torm Belos; to be honest there was a part of me counting the minutes until I saw him again, but there was another part that was just as terrified of it.

I still didn't have an answer to Danny's question whether or not I was a lesbian.

The logical part of my brain understood academically that as having been something of a nerd my whole life it was flattering to have someone as obviously, well, what word do I use here? Desirable? Honestly I couldn't say if I desired Torm Belos; I can acknowledge that he's a very handsome man, I can admit judging by the quality of his clothing he is well off and I can certainly testify that he's charming, intelligent, and witty. Oh, this is harder than I thought. Yes, having been a nerd and a wallflower my whole life, having been ignored socially, to be sought out to be pursued was not a situation I had any experience with.

But I have to admit that I liked it.

A week ago if someone had asked me as an academic exercise would I enjoy being pursued by a man who fit Torm Belos' description I probably would've laughed an uneasy laugh and looked around for the cameras for the prank. Now I suppose, the joke is definitely on me.

"Okay, we are all paid up with the harbormaster until after the tournament is over," declared Silas as he walked up. I finished locking on the shore power connector and opened the access panel that concealed the breakers for it next to hook up.

"Planning a quick get away?" I asked as I reached in and threw the necessary breakers to finish the transfer from the internal power plant to the external source.

"Considering where we are it seemed prudent," he replied with that easy smile of his and I began to understand the popularity of Billy Dee Williams as Lando Calrissian. But the smile faded like a cool breeze in the Tatooine air and he was serious again. "I'm going to go over to the Lady of Great Fortune to finalize my registration in the tournament. You'll probably want to do some discrete snooping of your own; escape routes, methods of egress, things along those lines. We probably should not be seen together until the day of the tournament."

"I could use some lunch," I admitted with a nod and dusting off my hands. "Did we decide places and roles for everyone?"

He shrugged and looked away, unable to meet my gaze which told me likely they had discussed it in depth. "We have some ideas," he admitted. "We thought that Laura would play arm candy, seeing as..."

"She'd always been a girl and would doubtlessly be more comfortable in the role," I finished for him, probably using the same lie he was going to tell me. I made a dismissive gesture. "Your skin not mine."

"Hey, I want you there," he protested quickly. "Everyone will expect the arm candy to be an obvious bodyguard, and it will eventually get out that Danny is with me so he'll get the notation of backup bodyguard. Nobody will suspect the backups date as being anything but window dressing! You'll be our ace in the hole!"

I turned and smirked at him with my hands on my hips in what was likely a very female gesture. "That's complete bullshit Stewart," I chided him with disgust dripping from my tone. I don't know if it was my tone of voice or that my hands were subconsciously near my light sabers that gave him pause. Either way I smiled to reassure him and patted him on the cheek with a free hand. "But it's very, very goodbullshit."

I started walking towards the door of the hangar that the harbormaster had just departed through. "Hey!" He called after me. "Where you going?"

"My working lunch!" I told him over my shoulder. "Ciao!"

* * *

One of the things that always made George Lucas's films seems so real to me was the dedication to a 'used' universe; everything was dirty, the paint was chipped and flaking and peeling, the clothing was threadbare and tattered. It was one of those subconscious cues that your mind accepts and makes a place more real even though it was just a set on a movie. The Lady of Great Fortune Casino was the diametric and polar opposite of that philosophy. Everything was new and showroom shiny, from the sparkling crystals in the chandelier to the brightly polished brass and chrome to the plush and well vacuumed scarlet carpet on the floor the casino oozed opulence and luxury.

It was as far from anything you would expect on Tatooine as could be without getting in a spaceship; which was likely by design.

And like all casinos you have to pass through the gaming floor to get anywhere else in the building; so I wandered through fighting a mild case of déjà vu between the similarities to anything you would expect off the strip in Vegas to the wild assortment of aliens that were actually playing the games. As it would've been in Vegas there were no straight paths through the gaming floor. There were little raised and lowered platforms; a couple steps up here a step or two down there, decorative brass railings making something of a maze, led by the gambling machines and gaming tables. This served two purposes, one that was a greater likelihood of a chance to part someone from their money and of course two it was a natural antitheft deterrence as there was no such thing as a quick getaway through that floor.

Finally I was able to make my way out of the gaming floor and picked the first restaurant I came to for my meal. It seemed sedate enough, everything was a one-off of whatever this universe called Art Deco and there was enough chrome to open a 50s car dealership. I settled into a booth and reveled in the amount of space between my stomach the table top; when you're fat you don't use booths. Suddenly reminded of the second chance I went back several pages in the menu from the sandwich I had been eyeing to what seemed to pass for salads.

I felt what seemed like amusement from the presence of the back of my mind and a vague assurance that I wasn't a drone in a cube farm anymore. Even so, I decided to turn over something of a new leaf and so ordered an interesting looking salad whose name I couldn't suss out from the aurebesh from the waitress droid. That was another striking thing about the casino; Bibo had employed sentient waitstaff, two humans and a Twi'lek to be exact, but there were very few living beings doing work in this casino. Perhaps it was another way the casino was showing how opulent it was.

So I ate the strange looking (purple lettuce!), but quite tasty salad with it somewhat zesty and vaguely balsamic vinaigrette dressing and put my mind in 'gamer' mode and let my eyes wander. One of the first things that leapt out to me with this building would never have passed code anywhere in the United States. There were no signs directing people to exits, if there was a fire suppression system I couldn't make it out, and there was not a window in the place.

Still it was obviously not an impossible nut to crack, there were chinks in the armor if you knew where to look. There were little clutches of liveried Gamorreans, usually with a droid or some other minder, spread out in a manner that seemed to indicate they were intended to be used as bouncers. About one in five of the server droids had legs instead of some kind of wheel arrangement; you could argue this helps them traverse the little stairways out on the gaming floor, but the waitress droids on wheels didn't seem to be having any trouble. There was a high likelihood these droids could do more than serve drinks. And of course there were the usual things you'd expect to find in a casino, lots of cameras, lots of mirrors that probably were hiding cameras and probably other rude surprises tucked into the walls.

Which gave me a wonderfully nasty idea; more on that later.

Being new to womanhood I can assure you I had not picked up on any of the finer nuances of the gender least of all being a tease. So even I was startled out of my train of thought by, "If you ever decide to stop being a Sith; take up bounty hunting. You tracked me down like a pro."

I turned to bask in the radiant smile of Torm Belos resplendent in a white peasant shirt as bright as his teeth with a neckline that showed a generous amount of manly physique. In his hands were a pair of bottles, the same brand of beer I'd been drinking the night previous. He gestured with one of the bench opposite me while presenting me with the other. "This seat taken?" He asked with his damnably charming smile.

I say damnably because whenever he smiled at you can't help smiling back. "It is now," I assured him. He slid into the booth with a nonchalant grace that sent the thrill up my spine for reasons I couldn't suss out. To suppress my own excitement and keep my composure I took a sip from what was becoming my favorite beer on Tatooine while collecting my thoughts. "All done checking up on your employees?"

"I'm an early riser," he assured me. "Caught the red eye early this morning and was waiting on the employees at the warehouse before they opened." He took a pull is beer and shrugged. "I like catching people off guard; shows their true natures don't you think?"

"It's one way," I agreed. "So are you on your own recognizance yet? Or do you owe more labor to your employer?" I have to say I really liked this beer despite never having been much of a beer drinker back home; it had a unique hard to describe flavor and while I had felt very tense and on edge at the beginning of our conversation I was already feeling relaxed and quite at home.

"I'm a free moral agent, at least for the next two cycles." He winked at me and looked out of the restaurant in the direction of the gaming floor. "Who knows? Perhaps the Lady of Great Fortune will smile on me so I won't have to go back to work for Rendia Freight."

"You feel lucky?"

His grin was cocksure and predatory. "Somehow I feel like my luck changed for the better last night." My cheeks and other portions of my anatomy less polite to mention burned with embarrassment. He made a gesture at my neglected, half eaten salad. "Am I keeping you from your lunch?"

I pushed the plate to the edge of the table where the waitress droid could collect it on her next pass. "Not at all, but if you haven't eaten feel free to order." He smiled again and shook his head as he took another pull from his beer.

"No, I ate at the warehouse with the boys, but when I saw you in here I couldn't resist stopping by to say hello." I took a sip from the bottle and licked my lips which caused him great interest in my face much to my continuing embarrassment. "Any plans for the day?"

Now it was my turn to grin as I leaned forward. "Actually I have some shopping to do, and a few other things that I could fit you into." I don't know what possessed me to make such a brazen innuendo, but of course he picked up on it instantly and leaned forward in interest. "So, any idea where in this town a girl can buy a droid?"

"I'm sure the boys at the warehouse can point us to a reputable dealer," he assured me with a smile.

* * *

The boys in the shop recommended a Toydarian dealer named Danica as being both reputable and close. Mr. Torm Belos paid for my lunch over my protestations, shepherded me back across the game floor and out into the merciless twin suns of Tatooine. Whatever the bottles were made of kept the beer cold until we finished them despite the heat. Torm managed to stay inside my personal space without actually crowding me, though how he managed such a feat I'll never know. I walked the five or six blocks to the recommended shop a silly grin on my face talking about nothing I'm sure. Now I can only tell you the memories were pleasant, I didn't quite take his arm but he was never out of reach either and I was coming up with fewer and fewer reasons why that should bother me.

Moss Espa was a kaleidoscope view into this world, this universe we had found ourselves in. I could only put names or memories to half of the species I saw walking the streets as speeders vied with animals pulling carts for space. My senses were assaulted with smells and sights and sounds I was completely unprepared for, but I had never felt safer. Honestly that feeling had more to do with the man at my side than the light sabers on my hip.

It's a difficult thing to live up to someone's imagination of what being with you was like, but Torm not only lived up to the dreams I had had of him, but surpassed them with the easy grace of someone completely comfortable in their own skin. He held the door open to the shop for me I found myself wishing the store was further away so much I was enjoying the stroll. "Gooddé da lodia!"

The creature rose up on ridiculously fragile-looking wings that were a blur from behind the counter, short trunk like snout swinging and a dress of what looked like scarlet silk trying desperately to contain a ridiculous bosom for a creature so small.

Torm smiled and bowed from the neck. "H'chu apenkee," he replied. "Do you speak Basic?"

"Of course!" The alien replied with an accent that sounded like it came straight out of Atlantic City. "Welcome to Danica's Remnants! I'm Danica, what can I do for you?"

"Torm Belos," he said with another bow, then indicated me. "My lady, Nyeomi Fens, who is my guest, is visiting us from the Empire is needing a new droid." Danica sketched a curtsy in her silk dress without bothering to land.

"My lady has come to the right place!" She said with a gleam in her eye. "What kind of droid is my lady in the market for?"

I held up my hand and shook my head, terribly aware of that oh so proper Eaton accent that was coloring my voice. "Please just Nyeomi, and I'm in the market for an Astromech."

The little creature swooped in and took my arm, grinning from ear to ear around that remarkable snout. "Oh, bless you Deary! So modest and well brought up! It just so happens I have a wonderful selection of Astromech droids! Right this way...!"

I would have expected the presence in the back of my mind to be insulted by this familiarity, but it seemed The Force was just as amused by the situation as I was. Danica led us from the interior of the shop out into a courtyard that was covered over and shaded by a tarp. There were all manner of droids out here milling around; everything from little pit droids up to earth movers and construction equipment that were more vehicle than automaton. She shouted something in Huttese that caused a space to open up in the center of the courtyard and a line of the requested types of droids formed.

They were a motley little assortment ranging from a pink one barely half a meter tall to a monstrous cylinder that was mostly black and broke the tape at three meters and was covered in wicked arms. All of them had huge fish eye lenses that were watching me as I walked down the line of them looking them over. I was drawn to a model that was mostly green with an octagon shaped body crowned by a flat, mushroom shaped head dominated by a single black camera lens eye. There was a conical shaped device on the top of the droids head was bright red and somewhat comically made it look as if it were wearing a Fez. I turned to Danica while pointing at the red extrusion and asked, "What's this?"

"That is an Industrial Intelligence binary to Basic decoder," said a mildly accented voice that put me in mind of Michael Caine. It had come from a speaker embedded in the little red Fez. Danica just grinned at me.

Turning back to the droid I asked, "Why aren't all Astromech droids fitted with one?"

The droid rocked back and forth on its arms in a gesture that I took to be a shrug. "They are only available at the factory," it said. "And it's an expensive option. My original owner was a prospector who purchased me to maintain his equipment. He didn't want to have to consult another droid or constantly read a tablet to know what I was saying."

"What happened to him?" I asked genuinely curious. Again little droid rock from side to side.

"None of his prospects panned out," the voice said out of the speaker. "He said he was going to retire when he sold me, that was five orbits ago."

"You see? Practically new!" Danica assured me. "X4-D3 has all the standard features and one of the most sought after options; you won't find a better bargain at any price." I stepped behind the droid to inspect its backside.

"What is your price?" I replied from my inspections. "That's the question." I noticed one of the cover doors was damaged, but only slightly and tapped it to make the droid open it to reveal the tool inside which seemed fine. Danica rubbed her receding chin in thought.

"Well, he is used," the Toydarian admitted. "There's depreciation and you have such wonderful manners; eh, I can let him go for 1000 gold Peggats." I shot a glance at Torm and the expression on his face told me that her initial offer was not nearly as charitable as she was letting on.

"He is a fine specimen," I agreed noting that the single eye in the droids head never left me. "But that's really outside of my budget, even for such a worthy droid. I really wasn't looking to spend more than 350 Peggats." Danica flew backward with a disturbing grace and gestured at the little pink droid on the end.

"My lady may not be aware of the heavy demand in Astromech droids here on Tatooine," she said with what sounded like genuine dismay. "Such a sum could never purchase a full-featured droid like X4. T-1 here, on the other hand, has most of the same features and I could part with her for 350 Peggats."

The little pink droid bounced on its arms and spun its head while emitting a series of beeps and chirps likely singing its own praises. "I had no idea the economy was so flush," I allowed, continuing my overall inspection of X4. "Still an Astromech that can speak basic is valuable. I suppose I could stretch my budget to say 475?"

The smile on Danica's face widened just a bit. "My lady is wise and frugal, qualities lacking in most of today's youth! As you are obviously so aware of the value of my merchandise I'm sure you'll see that 650 gold Peggats is an absolute steal!"

"It must be difficult living on the frontier," I observed as, from my utility belt, I removed a pouch of hexagon coins and counted out a number letting them jingle in my hands. "I imagine out here on the Outer Rim, living with uncertainty day by day must make for a challenging way of life. Which is why I'm certain the fact that I can pay 525 gold Peggats in cash to ease that uncertainty will allow us to come to a mutual understanding."

Danica scratched the side of her snout with one hand while shaking her finger at me with the other. "My lady drives a hard bargain, there must be some Toydarian blood in you I think, eh?" She shrugged and held out her hand. "For cash, 525 and we have a deal." I counted out the coins in her hand and they disappeared as quickly on her person somewhere. She then produced a restraining bolt remote control and pointed it at the little droid."X4, this is your new mistress."

"Transfer acknowledged."

"If you need a restraining bolt controller, I have some extras I could let go cheap." She seemed excited at the prospect of another bargaining session, but I removed my controller from its place on my belt and held it up. "Of course you're well-prepared," Danica told me. "If you need anything else, or know someone who does, we're open seven days a cycle!"

"I'll be sure to tell all my friends," I told her dryly. "I must say, that is a lovely dress! I'm in need of a little finery myself, may I ask where you got it?"

"Of course!" She assured me grinning from ear to ear. "Garris of Tatooine, the finest designer on the planet! His shop isn't that far from here; be sure to tell him I sent you."

* * *

If there isn't already a patron saint of Patience in this universe, I would vote for Torm Belos. He sat quietly, without complaint, a little smile on his face as I arranged for several dresses to be made, had my measurements taken by holograms for an exact fit, and he even suffered through fabric choices while making intelligent contributions to the process; all without a single snarky comment about the predilections of women or shopping in general.

Ironically even though the outing couldn't be any less about me and my needs he seemed to be in charge of it the entire time, coolly in command and deriving his enjoyment from the fact that I was having a good time. As a man I'd never really gotten the concept of shopping; you had a need you went to the store you fulfilled the need.

Being a woman I now realize that a great deal of the 'fun' of the experience was being catered to and fawned over. The flattery of Garris was far less subtle than Danica's had been but I be lying if I said I didn't enjoy having my ego stroked. Having now been on both sides of the attractiveness aisle I came to realize that my resentment of beauty's privilege wasn't entirely fair. While I have never been fawned over in my previous life I'm fairly certain I had been given the so-called straight dope. To the point truthful answers to my to the point questions, likely from an aversion of the salesman's part not wanting to talk to someone as unattractive as I had been.

While being attractive got me plenty of attention from salesman I was also just a certain I was no longer getting truthful answers to my questions, but much more likely what the salesman thought I wanted to hear. It was certainly interesting to be able to admire the grass from both sides of the fence.

So having shopped until Proverbially both I and the twin suns of Tatooine had dropped and night was falling on the city Torm insisted on a dinner for us, which he doubtlessly hoped would be romantic. Having drug the poor man across most of the merchant district of Moss Espa, who was I to argue? So under the glow of floating holographic signs that seem to take the place of neon, we made our way back to the Lady of Great Fortune to the more formal of its three restaurants.

I felt more than a little under dressed in my Gi tunic and Jodhpurs, but Torm had a way of altering the vibe of a place so that it fit him rather than the other way around. The maître d' seated us at a discreet little booth next to the fireplace, exchanged words in what I took to be Huttese, then returned with a carafe of golden wine that sparkled and fizzed. Torm ordered for both of us, again over my protestations which he silenced with a smile and a wink, and then expertly poured the wine for both of us. "What shall we drink to?" He asked holding up his glass.

After a moment of thought I raised my own glass and touched it against his. "Beginnings," I replied.

"Beginnings," he agreed and joined me in the first taste of the wine. I've had champagne once or twice in my life, at weddings I had attended mostly, this was more what you think champagne would taste like if you'd only ever read about it. It didn't taste like grapes, but it had a fruity flavor to it, it was sweet but not as sweet as a fruit punch or soda would've been; while it was effervescent it was only lightly so. It warmed my center in a way that I hadn't realized it was cold. "So, Nyeomi, were in the Empire are you from? Drummond Kaas?"

I shook my head as I put the glass down and reached for one of the bread sticks so that I would have something in my stomach to keep the wine from going straight to my head. "Oh I'm practically from all over the Empire," I told him. "My father is an officer in the Imperial Army and changed duty stations every few years. I grew up under a dozen different suns. My time training at the Sith Academy on Korriban was the longest that I had ever stayed in one place."

He smiled his Cheshire smile again. "Ah, the military life," he said philosophically breaking off a piece of his own bread stick and chewing. "So travel must be an old hat for you. I grew up on Ord Mantell in the Bright Jewel Cluster of the Mid-Rim. I took this job because it would require a lot of travel. I wanted to get out into the galaxy and see it firsthand."

"It's good for a man to be ambitious," I replied taking another sip of wine. "So are you still enjoying your travels?"

"It's brought you into my life and I'm certainly enjoying that."

I wiped at the corner of my lips with my napkin. "Why, Mr. Belos, what are your intentions towards me?" He took a sip of wine as a little smile curled the corner of his mouth.

"Only the best of intentions, my lady, I assure you."

I tore off another piece of bread stick and chewed thoughtfully. It had been seasoned with a panoply of herbs my palate wasn't sophisticated enough to suss out. "You didn't strike me as a braggart," I told him. "Should I change my opinion?"

"Is a Wookie bragging when he performs a great feat of strength?"

Despite my precautions with the bread the wine had certainly loosened my tongue. "Are you claiming to be greatly endowed by nature?"

On being handed in opening like this most men would've leered their expressions would've become salacious and in the unmasking of base lust even the most beautiful become a little ugly. Torm Belos only shrugged and smiled an almost self-deprecating smile. "Should I be so lucky," he replied raising his glass in my direction. "I will yield to my lady's opinion of my endowment either great or lacking."

I shuddered at the thought of it, but what kind of shudder I couldn't say. Just two days ago I would've sworn my shudder would've been one of revulsion, but I can't make that statement now. The truth be told there was a fair amount of anticipation built into that thrill that raced up and down my spine; anticipation of turning speculation into knowledge and seeing if fantasy measured up to reality.

It was at that moment the waiter droid brought our supper, steaks of some manner served with an unidentifiable vegetable, and I for one was grateful for the interruption. I felt his eyes on me as I tucked into the steak and ignored them. Finally after a long moment he asked, "Does my interest bother you?"

I looked up startled at his question and its directness. "Why do you ask?" I demanded once I got my mouth clear. He started to answer when a look of comprehension flowed over his handsome features.

"I was going to say that a gentleman should always be concerned with how a lady perceives him. I thought perhaps I may have misunderstood some the signals I interpreted from you, but now I understand."

Something about his rock solid confidence in whatever insight he picked up rattled me and despite my mouth being full of the excellent steak, I demanded, "what do you understand?"

He smiled a smug little smile that again sent shivers up and down my spine. "It's so obvious now, I'm surprised I didn't see it sooner. I knew you had an interesting story to tell, and I told you I would get it out of you."

A sip of wine got the mouthful into my stomach and took the edge off the annoyance I felt. "I'm glad I can entertain you. Tell me, what is this great tale that I'm regaling you with?"

He refilled both of our glasses from the carafe and returned it to the little unit that was keeping it cold. "It is a sad, lonely tale," he said before he took a sip of his wine. "A beautiful girl, inspired by her father's patriotism, blessed with the gift of supernatural ability, and driven to make her parents proud of her? It is a story of sacrifice, loneliness and discipline; but I hope it has some happy moments. I hope to make these some of them."

"And how do you plan to do that?" I demanded.

In answer Torm only smiled that damnable smile of his again and stood, offering his hand. I blinked looking down at the table suddenly realizing that the meal was over, our plates finished, the wine carafe and our glasses empty my stomach pleasantly full and my head buzzing. I looked back up at him to see him still smiling with his hand out. "Come with me to my room, and I'll show you."

I don't remember standing, I don't remember taking his hand or paying the bill or the elevator ride; one moment I was seated at a table in a restaurant, the next I was seated on a bed the size of a parade ground with another glass of wine in my hand. I had a moment of panic where the thought came into my mind that perhaps there was some nefarious chemical or narcotic at work here but no sooner had the thought entered my mind, then The Force soothed me and assured me that only my own blood chemistry was at work. Take him, The Force whispered to me. You'll feel better after.

I stood, placing the wineglass on his dresser and faced him. He was head and shoulders taller than I was, despite being two meters tall myself in these boots, despite having to crane my neck to look up at him, despite the adrenaline coursing through my system, I realized there was no threat in his eyes. "I... I should leave," I told him trying desperately to make it sound as though my decision was firm.

"I won't stop you," he assured me. "But I don't think you really want to leave."

"I... I know what I want."

He smiled and took a step forward closing the gap between us as I felt his arms slide around my shoulders and his hands settle in the small of my back. The smell of him filled my nostrils; a strong natural smell that flowed up through my brain then down my spine and settled into my groin. "I know what you want," he declared softly, his face looming larger in my vision; making me fall into his endless eyes. "You just don't want to admit it to yourself."

"Stop that," I whispered into his eyes. His arms contracted and I was pressed against him, my breasts into the granite that was his chest and against my thigh and abdomen the feeling of him showing his appreciation of me.

"Stop what?" He asked his lips millimeters from mine. My arms were around his back now my hands gripping his broad shoulders; I had never wanted nor been so afraid of something in my entire life. Before I could form a thought to describe what it was I wanted him to stop, or even if I wanted him to stop, his lips were against mine and for the first time in my life I kissed a man.

The dam of what was left of my manly reservation was breached and failed unleashing a tsunami of pent up womanhood that washed through my mind and swept my soul downstream. I gave myself to him in a torrent of released emotion punctuated by the sharp sting of my hymen giving way and the concerned surprise on his face as he claimed my virginity.

And when he had claimed me and I had given myself utterly to him I pushed him on his back in that magnificent bed coaxing him aroused once again and claimed him as vigorously and as thoroughly as he had claimed me. I no longer cared what anyone thought of me, I no longer concerned myself with who I had been only who I was in that moment, the woman who was making love to Torm Belos. I was, I am, and from that moment forward I would always be Nyeomi Fens, woman.

The Force smiled in the back of my mind as I fell asleep in his arms, the taste of him on my lips and tongue; my body completely and utterly satisfied. Told you.

* * *

So much for fairy tales.

Oh, come on, you had to realize after that massively romantic bit of prose reality was going to reassert itself at some point? Cinderella may get to live happily ever after, but, and I can't believe I'm saying this, the rest of us live in the real world; if that phrase has any meaning whatsoever anymore. So Torm had to have a fault and it was a fairly common one; he snores. In fact he snores so badly when I was awoken by it I couldn't help wondering a little bit if he perhaps had sleep apnea. Either way I was awake.

And if snoring was the worst I had to deal with the proverbial morning after losing my virginity, I would've counted myself lucky. But we know from the wise old Jedi in this universe there's no such thing as luck. I also woke up in a wet spot the size of Lake Mead. Oh well, small price to pay I suppose, and things could've been much much worse. Looking back, in one sense quite literally as I had sat up in the bed and was looking over my shoulder at my lover, things had been far more of everything than they had been in the first time I had lost my virginity. This was... Hard to put into words. I wasn't hung over and I had perfect recall of everything I had done and was done to me which brought a little bit of a blush to my cheeks in remembrance. I had done things I never thought I would, experienced things that were beyond my wildest imagination and now in the very early morning light I was trying to put what happened into some kind of perspective.

Yes, Torm was in fact greatly endowed.

I watched him sleep for a few minutes thinking about what I had done, thinking about the seed he had put in me. Turning The Force inward, I discovered I was not in the fertile time of my period, and so I wasn't going to be a mother; at least not yet. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted to wake him and demand a second curtain call from his performance, but my inner sense of responsibility won out and I silently rose from the bed and retired to the bathroom.

Interestingly, there wasn't a shower, but rather a sizable tub we both could've fit into of steaming water. I stepped gingerly into it feeling the hot water relax my muscles and settled in the one of the molded seats. Belatedly I realized on the other side of the room was a tiled area with a bench and the hand nozzle on a hose which would make this very similar to a Japanese style of bathing.

Oh well.

I sat in the hot water and I thought long and hard on a great number of subjects. I didn't know if I was ready to settle down with Torm Belos, but I did admit to myself I wouldn't mind sharing my cabin with him. I smiled as I remembered the state I'd put him in, his cries of passion and his amazement at the eagerness with which I parted from my virginity. The lyrics from an old Joan Jett song popped into my mind and I smiled as I realized after my meltdown with Lanaka I wasn't ready to be Torm's wife, but it wouldn't bother me to be his whore.

"I don't give a damn about my bad reputation," I sung softly to myself as I exited the tub and dried off. Humming the song quietly to myself I dressed in my discarded clothes, woke up X4 from the stand by the droid placed himself in while Torm and I had amused ourselves and quietly slipped from the room.

My first slut walk, and being honest with myself that's what this was, was thankfully anonymous and uneventful. No one saw me exit his room, board the elevator or ride it down to the main floor; except perhaps the faceless members of the hotel's security on the camera system. In the elevator I had X4 record a message for Torm, apologizing for my absence due to my early start and upload it to the hotel's messaging system.

Having done what I could for my personal life, it was time to get to business.

* * *

As promised Garris had worked through the night and the boxes containing the fruits of his labor were inside the delivery safe in the landing bay when I arrived. These were added to X4's existing burdens and we swept up the ramp into the ship proper. As I had expected, Darius was up drinking tea and reading from his tablet at the ships table. "Up early or late?" I asked as I entered the galley and began to brew myself a cup of coffee.

Darius rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Academic at this point," he managed around a massive yawn. "You're awfully chipper for the hour," he observed and then caught sight of X4 entering the salon. "You get a new droid?"

"He followed me home so I'm keeping him," I replied from sweetening my coffee. "What's new here?"

I came out and sat at the table in time to catch Darius's expressive shrug. "About what you'd expect," he replied. "Silas's been boning up on the finer points of Pazaak and wishing it was a dice game. Lanaka, surprise, thinks we are all fools for helping you."

Like a number of gamers Silas, when he had been Stuart, had had an affinity for dice. I don't know if it was just his hands were so sensitive and he could tell by the weight of the dice what they would throw, or he really had some preternatural ability. Either way, craps games would mysteriously dry up when he came into a casino. As for my ex-wife, well, follow-through had never been one of her sterling qualities. Nor, being honest, had she any great talent for foreseeing a result from an action. She'd always been very impulsive, which I couldn't help but believe was one of the reasons she got as large as she had been.

"But she doesn't believe it so much that she is willing to strike out on her own I'm guessing?" Darius' blank look was all the answer I needed. Turning to X4, I commanded, "Yeah, thought so. X4 display the schematic. Behold, the Lady of Great Fortune Casino Hotel." The holographic projector on the little Astromech droid lit up and over the table in blue white light floated a floor by floor diagram of the hotel.

Startled, Darius rose from his chair his eyes drinking in the hologram greedily. "How did you get this?" He demanded. I kept in a smirk and gave a gesture to little droid.

"There are more droids than employees in this hotel," I replied. "As I understand it from X4 here the schematic is actually broadcast to aid the droids in navigating around the hotel. A little judicious pilfering from one of their public network nodes got us the back of the house broadcast. Did Silas have any trouble finalizing his registration for the tournament?"

"No," Darius told me his eyes never leaving the hologram. He was fixed in that determined stare that's familiar to anyone who's known a wargamer; the look an armchair tactician gets when they first see a new battlefield and are plotting deep strategy. "He said that if they were concerned about him playing they didn't show it. Lanaka said no one seemed to leap out as the obvious choice for the payoff either."

"I may have something that will help with that," I told him as I took a long drink from the coffee and lovingly patted the droids head. "X4 has a copy of the master list of all the registered players for the tournament. You can download it to your tablet and go through them at your leisure. It would help to know who the mark is." I stood while I drained the cup and headed back to the galley. "Work out some way of discreetly letting me know if the plan changes. Oh, and you will need to find a new date for the tournament, sorry."

Finally his concentration was broken and his eyes sought me out in the galley. "New date? What?"

* * *

Pazaak is a draw card bluffing game most similar to blackjack. It's played with a single deck of forty cards numbered one through ten with four examples of each type, this is called the table deck and is communal to all the players playing the game. In addition to this deck each player maintains a deck of ten cards which he can build himself in any combination he likes. Each player deals himself four cards from this private deck which forms his hand. The rule being to get closest to or exactly twenty without going over in any combination of cards from your private and table decks.

Thus counting cards was a legitimate tactic in the game, complicated by having to track as many private decks as there were players at the table, plus the dealer. There were also a spattering of specialty cards; plus and minus cards which would add additional or subtract additional points from the players total, flip cards that would cause all twos and fours on the table or all three's and sixes on the table to change their alignments. Thus positive twos and fours would become negative and the reverse. These specially cards were frequently found tucked in as surprises in the players private deck which made the counting of the cards more interesting.

As a bonus, the tournament allowed recognized ranked players, or those who attended a circuit event, to 'buy-in' past the first elimination phases. Silas, having done both, would skip the first and second eliminations without actually have to play until the third day of the tournament. There were a small collection of high rollers enjoying this privilege with him who watched the first days general floor game from a luxuriously appointed side room and commented on the game to the holo net broadcasters that were following it.

Torm, being a working professional, wasn't so lucky skip the buy-in's and so was seated on the general floor from the first day. I draped myself in one of Garris's creations; a slinky, but elegant number in pearlescent white shimmer silk that was very 40s in style came down to just above my knee. It was formal and modest enough that no one could legitimately call it hooker fashion or slut wear, conversely it put enough skin on display to have the matrons sniffing in disdain and the other girls in the room green with envy. So looking the part, I served as Torm's good luck charm, standing behind him at the table, idly running my hands through his hair while he played the game.

And yes, I readily admit that the look of unabashed joy on his face when he saw me in that dress, having returned after he woke alone, did my ego a world of good. Allow me a moment to expand on that. Despite my decisions to be brutally honest with myself, and early 80s bad girl anthems aside, there was a part of me that was very afraid of what Torm's reaction would be when I saw him again. Had I just been a notch on his belt? Being able to brag that he successfully seduced a Sith Lord and lived to tell the tale would certainly be the highlight of any pickup artist trophy collection.

While it would've hurt for a little while, if it had just been a one night stand it would not have broken me. But some part of me I didn't have a name for yet was quite thrilled that it had not been. This part of me had been even more overjoyed when we discovered that Force Sensitives are also mind readers. It shocked me to learn that simply by touching Torm's head I was able to I was able to pick up on his emotions; at first they were what you would expect controlled excitement at playing in the tournament, controlled arousal at my touch. Then as I worked my fingers through his thick black hair thoughts began to percolate up my hand, much to my amazement.

At first it was just the mental exercises that he was using to track what the other players have played in keeping count of the deck. His mind was just as focused and steely as the rest of his personality had led me to believe which was quite attractive for some reason. I learned the game as I mentally listened to his thoughts while he took his table mates to school. By the lunch break he had eliminated two players of the ten at this table, and amassed a considerable pile of chips.

By the dinner break the table was down to a three way split between Torm, an elderly Zabrak male with more than a passing interest in my decolletage, and a Dug with a foul mouth who swore in Huttese and had a pair of Twi'lek whores who might as well have been naked as scantily clad as they were, rubbing his microscopic shoulders.

Taking a cue from that, I found and began to remove a knot in the muscles of Torm's shoulder; perhaps a bit more vigorously than was needed, however I'm certain that had nothing whatsoever to do with the three extremely poor betting choices the Zabrak made which transferred most of his chips to Torm's pile. This set him up to be eliminated by the Dug the next round. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

That having been decided, Torm and the Dug, who was named Barrasti, were marked the tables winners, having survived the first elimination, and moved on to the next days play. So out of a field of 5000, the dreams of 2500 beings had already been dashed.

That night I spent completely with Torm, who introduced me to one of the greatest sensual pleasures there is; he washed my hair for me. No, really. If you've never been bathed by someone, you missed out on one of the great sensual pleasures of life. My hair actually reaches the bottom of my shoulder blades, longer than I've ever worn it before, and it was something of a chore to get clean. Having Torm's huge hands and thick, strong fingers run through my hair and massage my scalp was pure bliss. That was before he went to work on the rest of my body with the sponge; I was not merely turned on by his touch, but that he saw to me with his intense gaze and absolute silence, had me so breathless, I was panting.

I had never been so clean, nor felt so absolutely filthy.

I may not have been as expert as he was in returning the favor, but I did know the male body, and if he had complaints he kept them to himself. Of course, my bathing of him inspired him to vigorous acts of an athletic nature that required us both to clean ourselves again, but we were already in the bathroom so that was quite a time saver.

The next morning I settled on a Cheongsam dress that was made from a floral print in mostly scarlet and mustard yellow that left my arms bare. The dress came down to my ankles front and back but had slits up both sides well up to mid thigh making the dress both easy to maneuver in and due to it fitting my form exactly extremely sexy. Or so I was led to believe by the hungry stare of Mr. Belos.

Fortunately today we did not have to suffer the presence of Barrasti as he been seated at another table. Though his absence was still suffered in the form of his carrying voice that carried over the distance from several tables over without apparent difficulty. The second day emboldened some of our table mates, some of whom made wagers that seemed quite reckless and was likely not demonstrative of how they had arrived at the second day. Lady Luck favored one or two of these reckless bets, but most went to the well one time too many and fell to Torm's or one of the other more conservative players cautious approach.

This wasn't a phenomenon limited to our table, indeed before lunch fourteen tables had been eliminated, their single winners shuffled into a single table and those eliminated to a single winner. While I could wish our least favorite Dug, Barrasti, was one of those eliminated, we weren't that lucky. The winner of that table must have been a champion card counter, and he looks the type; thin, weedy and balding. I think the only reason he wasn't wearing birth-control glasses is because glasses don't seem to exist in this universe.

After lunch Torm finished off the rest of the table and we retired to the bar area on one side of the gaming floor that was reserved for the tournament players and waited for there to be enough table winners to assemble a second elimination table. While I had a beer Torm only drank coffee so as to keep his edge. "You're doing quite well," I complimented and I meant it.

Torm only smiled his boyish smile and waved away my complement with an idle gesture. "I am amazed I got this far," he declared. "Last year I was eliminated on the first round."

"You must have been practicing then," I observed as I took a sip. "Any plans for what to do with your winnings?" He chuckled and shook his head.

"You're putting the repulser cart ahead of the horse," Torm said gazing out the field of tables, then turned back to meet my eye. "What about you? What are your plans after all this?"

I sighed as I turned my gaze back to the gaming tables took another sip of beer both in an effort to buy time. "I... I don't know," I admitted finally. "I am, after all, a member of the Imperial Armed Forces. I have oaths that I've taken, duty and loyalty to uphold." I took another, longer sip before I turned back to face him. "Obligations not easily cast aside."

He smiled as he reached up with his free hand and gently ran the tips of his fingers on my cheek causing thrills up and down my spine. "Of course you'll be responsible," he affirmed. "Once you told me your story I knew that duty and responsibility were as important to you as is breathing.”

"Honor above all," I quoted the Army's motto with a sad half smile staring up into his eyes. "I have to do what is right."

The smile broadened on his face and the fingertips expanded to his whole hand cupping my cheek. "You wouldn't be you if you didn't," he assured me. "But is that all you want from the future? Family seems so important to you, I can't imagine you don't want one of your own?"

"I..."

I was actually saved from answering by the arrival of the tournament official summoning Torm to the table. He offered his arm as he led the way through the maze of gaming tables and I was so mentally confused by his simple questions I found myself taking it and the comfort from my swirling thoughts it offered. His question set off something of a crisis of faith in me; as a young man I had aspirations of family life; being the good father to my children that I hadn't had. Laura and I had been married for 10 years and in our 40s still childless; though not from a lack of trying.

Now I was 25 again, better fit than I ever had been in my life and I don't know if it was The Force, or woman's intuition, or what, but I had a feeling that not only was I fertile, I was very fertile. Of course my involvement in the creation of children was now considerably more complicated than gallantly offering to sleep in the wet spot and whispering, "baby, you are awesome," as I fell asleep. With all due respect to Master Yoda, fear doesn't lead anger, fear leads to terror.

I had been a woman for less than a week and I had absolutely no context or frame of reference having not even experienced my first period, to conceptualize something as monumental as being pregnant. So I clamped down on my confusion forced myself to focus on the task at hand; that would be hard enough.

That said, I have to admit it felt very nice that Torm sensed my confusion and put his free hand around my waist possessively while he played.

The game continued in a herky-jerky fashion due to the fact that the tournament was operating under no limit betting rules and every time one of the table mates would make one of these risky bets and 'go all in' play stopped for one of the broadcasting teams to come over to catch the drama. Sometimes the player would double up their chips in this manner, but usually it heralded a 10 minute delay before the player was eliminated, their hopes dashed and their chips transferred to someone else.

This drug the game out to the dinner break, much to my annoyance. On the way to the restaurant I excused myself for a quick stop in the ladies room. While I was taking care of business a tablet slid under the divider wall from the next stall. The drawing program was active on it and 'someone' had drawn out in English, "Have narrowed list to fifteen, review and comment."

I dug my own tablet out and copied the file over before erasing the hand drawn notes for one of my own. "Will do. Is meeting necessary?" I handed the tablet back under the stall and heard the toilet flush. I finished my own business and exited the stall to find Lanaka checking her makeup in the mirror. She was dressed to the nines in a gown that wasn't much more than a swimsuit with numerous ropes of pearls and semiprecious stones strung in interesting ways that set off her cobalt blue skin.

I washed my hands then made a minute adjustment to my hair. "Slut," Lanaka declared into the mirror before stalking out, her back rigidly straight.

"Whore,” I called after her retreating back then put it out of my mind so I wouldn't spoil my dinner.

* * *

I lay in the bed relishing the feeling of his arms around me counting heartbeats. It was past time to rise, past time to be gone, but I couldn't help enjoying where I was. It had taken an additional three hours past dinner for Torm to be the last man standing at his table. His unfettered joy at moving into the third day of the tournament, to have a chance at real money, was infectious. We had celebrated well into the night.

Tomorrow things would get worse. The men having been separated from the boys, the sharks were going to be let loose from their lounge in the tournament was going cut throat. Only 250 players remained, the 200 to clawed their way through two days of eliminations, and the fifty sharks of professional players who are going to start eating them alive. If you managed to get to one of the three first elimination tables then at least you are guaranteed to get your buy-in back; which was not an inconsiderable sum, especially for a working man. Torm had told me he had saved for over a quarter orbit to get the bankroll to buy into this tournament. But get to the final table and that's where money started getting serious. Even the first player eliminated doubled his buy-in and the prizes went up there. This was how such a notoriously rigged game continued to draw players.

Speaking of serious. I let another dozen heartbeats go by before I sighed, carefully extracted myself from his arms and sat up in bed. Despite my precautions his breathing changed pitch.

"Nyeomi?"

His voice drifted up from behind me, thick with sleep but rapidly becoming awake. I closed my eyes so that I wouldn't see what I did before I took hold of his wrist to direct The Force through my hand. "Go back to sleep," I ordered him. His body sank back on the bed with a thud and I knew he wouldn't rise until morning now. I stood and assembled an outfit of mismatched pieces designed to put as much skin as possible on display.

Over this I pulled on my white cape and left the room.

This time I wouldn't be as lucky as my previous slut walk had been. Waiting at the elevator lobby was one of two Twi'lek girls I had seen hanging on Barrasti. She looked me up and down with the indifferent air of one professional sizing up another, her eyes settling on the light sabers that hug my belt and went everywhere with me. The lift arrived we entered it she asked, "Jedi?"

"Sith," I corrected her.

She nodded absently while pressing the button for the ground-floor. She caught my eye in a silent question to make sure that floor was where I was going as well and I nodded at her. As the car descended she continued, "Dress-up isn't really my thing. Any money in it?"

It finally dawned on me that she had taken me for a member of her profession, which of course was the reason I was dressed the way I was; she thought she had happened upon me coming from a client and was seeking trade advice. I saw no reason to correct her false assumption and shrugged. "Pays the bills."

The car came to a stop on the ground-floor and she nodded thanks as we exited. "Easy tricks," she bid me as our paths diverged, me for the exit and she heading toward one of the bars that was still open.

"You as well," I wished her and made my way out the front of the casino. Out in the cold of the desert night I touched a hidden control and the white cloak went black around me. I pulled up the hood and directed my steps towards the red light district on the edge of this entertainment area of town. There are certain universal truths in situations like this, trope I believe is the term, one is that wherever there is legitimate entertainment to be had not far away the purveyors of vice will set up shop and offer illegitimate entertainment.

In less than a few blocks I arrived at clutch of brothels just off a fairly major thoroughfare through the city. I stopped at a news kiosk next to an alleyway that was far enough away from the brothels not to be impinging on the working girls but close enough that mistakes like the one I had just had happened in the elevator would be made again of anyone watching.

Before the headlines had gone through a full cycle a voice drifted from the shadows. “This, this is the final indignity, Ed.”

“Hello, dear,” I greeted, my eyes intent on the kiosk. “Having a good night?”

Lanaka stepped from the shadows, dressed just as trashy as I was, a heavy scowl on her face. “Why couldn't we meet in the bar?”

I smiled her, finally turning from the kiosk. “We could have been overheard,” I told her as if was the most natural thing in the world. “That, and you only picked the bar because you wanted to call me a slut.”

'Slut' had been the codeword for a rundown little bar several blocks the other direction from the hotel. Lanaka smirked, crossed her arms over her bosom and leaned against the building. "Tough luck about that shoe fitting, Cinderella." She sneered at me.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "How long are you going to hold a poor choice of words against me?" I demanded. Before she could answer I caught sight of a small clutch of teens and college-age males wandering over to us. I held up a finger indicating she wait then turned to face the boys.

"Hey, how much...?" One started, but I interrupted making a broad gesture with one hand.

"You boys don't want to hire any prostitutes tonight," I ordered them.

The leader blinked as if I'd struck him in the forehead just between the eyes. "We don't want to hire any prostitutes tonight," he declared slowly as if trying to wrap his brain around the concept.

I gestured again. "You want to go back to wherever you are staying, sleep it off and rethink your opinion of women."

"We want to go back to the hotel," the leader declared.

His wingman piped up, "We should probably sleep it off."

The biggest of them scratched his head as if the act of thinking was painful. "Guys," he declared with all the weight of Moses returning with the tablets from Mount Sinai. "We really need to rethink our opinion of women." The group turned on their collective heel and ambled off in the direction of the hotel district.

"You know," Lanaka said softly from standing next to me, "it's funny when you see it in the movie. In real life? That was creepy as hell." She paused for a long moment before her red eyes met mine. "If you ever pull that on me..." She declared leaving the threat hanging.

I nodded. "Don't worry about it, I don't like doing it as it is. Business?" She indicated the alley with her head and I followed her in to the shadows and away from prying eyes and ears. "X4 taken care of?"

She smirked and I don't know if it was her blue skin, her red eyes or the combination that made the gesture so unpleasant looking. "No problems there," she assured me. "Did you go over the list?"

"Yes, and I agree it's too early with too many variables to try to pick the most likely. We'll see how many make the final table, then I think we'll have a better idea." I sighed and drew the cloak a bit closer about me for warmth. The desert air was remarkably cold. "No sense wasting time getting close to the wrong guy."

Her snort of derision instantly flared my temper, which her statement did nothing to alleviate. "Well, you'd know all about wrong guys wouldn't you? Jesus, how do you still do your thinking with your Dick, when you don't even have one anymore? You keep banging like there's no tomorrow don't be surprised when you wake up knocked up!"

"What would you know about it?" I demanded. The words were out before I could censor them while the expression on her face quickly went to a grimace of anger as I saw how deeply I had hurt her. Her obesity had interfered with her cycle her whole life and she took it very personally. It was one of the reasons we were still childless after years of marriage and cohabitation. "Laura, I..."

"I... I was trying to help you, you skank whore!" She hissed, shaking with fury.

I held my hands up in supplication, the apology already on my lips from pure reflex when the barb found its mark and my eyes went red with fury. "Who do you imagine you're talking to?" I demanded.

Her eyes narrowed and with a particularly cold tone of voice, she whispered, "My worthless ex husband." Before I could even begin to formulate a response, she turned on her heel and stalked off down the alley, disappearing into the shadows.

I don't know how long I stared after her in that red haze of anger, one part of me wanted to run her down and make her permanently sorry her mouth didn't have a filter. The other part of me aghast I would consider such thing. After what seemed forever I mastered myself and turned to go back to the hotel, only to find myself nose to nose with a scruffy looking man who was vaguely familiar. I blinked in surprise and stepped back, which probably saved my life, because the right cross he was throwing struck me on the lip and point of the chin instead of where my jaw met my ear which probably would've knocked me out.

As it was, the blow knocked me from my feet and sideways onto the sandy street leaving me seeing stars and my ears ringing. I looked up, fighting the tunneling of my vision to see the man who cracked his knuckles and reared back for a kick. "I told you this wasn't over!"

I threw my arms up to protect my face as his kick landed like a freight train against my forearms. I rolled with the force of it away from him, but my left arm still went pins and needles from having taken the brunt of the blow. That's when it sank in to me why this man was familiar; the last time I'd seen him he'd been pissing himself in terror as I choked him with The Force. Despite the cold I forced my left hand to free the Cape from my neck as I rolled my feet. I tasted blood from my split lip, and wiped at the trickle of it on my chin with the back of my hand. "It will be soon," I promised him.

Throughout my life, I have known anger. I'll be the first to admit I have a nasty temper, that the Army taught me how to keep on a very short leash. Most people read phrases like 'murderous rage' and having never experienced it themselves think it simply means being very angry. They ascribe a horrific emotion to simple causes like having their order wrong at a restaurant and then getting lip from the server; but most people have never really known rage.

Rage, like hatred, takes commitment.

Anger is a very passing emotion, it flares like a fire with gasoline poured on it, but soon dies back down to embers of resentment, pique, or pout. Anger is brief because it takes energy, surprising amounts of it, to maintain, but compared to rage, anger is a pedal boat sitting next to an aircraft carrier. If you've never fought for your life, chances are good you've never felt rage. In my past life I had been a combat veteran, I had fought for my life, and I knew what rage tasted like. Between my residual resentment of Laura and now fighting for my own life I was tasting it again; only this time there was The Force.

We were separated by approximately five meters and he realized he had made a mistake letting me get out of arms reach. Had he pressed his advantage quickly I probably would not be telling you this story. He went for the blaster in the holster at his hip as The Force launched me across the intervening space in my rage in a single bound. My fist crashed into his throat with everything I could pour into the blow. With a sickening wet snap I felt his trachea collapse under my fist even as I spun behind him and kicked backwards into his knee. His hands went to his throat by reflex, gasping and gurgling as he tried to force air through the ruined passage even as he fell forward hard on the sand down to his knees. I continued to spin coming to a stop once more in front of him; a fistful of his greasy hair in one hand forcing his head up to look me in the eye, the hilt of my light saber in the other.

I shoved the emitter hard against his sternum so he could feel it, so he could know what was coming. As he realized he was looking at his own death, his eyes went wide with terror. "I warned you," I hissed to him, then my thumb came down on the activation stud. I didn't think his eyes could go any wider, but they did as then came the jerk of his body due to his nervous system being severed, the hiss of the blade not slowed in the slightest as it passed through him, and the nauseating sickly smell of burnt human flesh in the air mixed with urine and excrement as he lost control of himself.

I pulled my blade free and watched the life fade from his eyes before I released my grip on his hair to let the corpse fall over on its side. I panted after my breath for several minutes listening to the, buzz of the saber and staring down at the body of the man I had killed.

It is a tremendously terrible and powerful thing to kill a man; to do something absolutely permanent. People react to it differently, some burst into tears, some become physically ill and throw up, a few statistical outliers giggle, but for all of them the reason is always the same. As realization that you have ended someone elses life pierces the adrenaline high that comes with fighting for your life there comes a feeling of absolutepower. To call this feeling orgasmic does it a disservice as the feeling is much, much stronger and orders of magnitude more pleasant and addictive. This is why people react so strongly to it, because most are not prepared to realize that they have killed and they liked it.

I shed no crocodile tears for this man I had killed.

I harbored no uncertainty that this man intended my death, possibly by way of a brutal rape. Being honest I will admit that I felt no worry that my actions may have impoverished some widow somewhere, that I may have left children I did not know nor ever would fatherless. I knew only that he was dead, that I had killed him, and I had done so with an absolute certainty that he had gotten what he deserved.

Now, whispered the voice inside me. Now you are a Lord of the Sith.

My thumb deactivated the saber causing the blade to vanish with a hiss so I could return it to its place on my belt. "So be it," I whispered at the corpse. "So be it."

* * *

I made sure to be back in the room and back in bed before Torm awoke, not that it did much good. I was coming to appreciate just how keenly intuitive the man was as he knew instantly something was bothering me. He noticed my split lip and made a few general inquiries at breakfast, but when I rebuffed them he simply shrugged and let the matter drop. I could tell by the look on his face he knew I was conflicted, but that rock solid confidence of his told him I would talk about it or I wouldn't and either way was fine with him.

This is as good a time as any to talk a little bit about Tatooine.

Now, just about anywhere on planet Earth if a human body is found with a two and a half centimeter hole in their chest there are a certain sequence of events one can expect to occur. Law enforcement or Constabulary will be summoned likely to arrive in quite a precipitous manner to the flashing of strobe lights and the wails of sirens. The crime scene will be cordoned off, photographs taken, passersby interviewed and eventually some unknown number, usually two if the police dramas are to be believed, of overworked badly dressed detectives will eventually arrive to begin canvassing the area for clues. These clues will tell the story of what occurred, leading to, at the best outcome of events, the identity of the perpetrator of the crime who will then face justice in a court of law.

But, I hear you protest, Tatooine and Mos Eisley was supposed to be a wild West town, only set in outer space. Fair enough. In the so-called wild wild West, the discovery of a body would cause quite a commotion, the sheriff and his deputies would've canvassed the town, probably finding a scapegoat upon which to hang the crime and ironically enough usually the scapegoat himself.

Neither of these scenarios occurred.

In a nebulous distant future that may happen, a Galactic Empire will rise an attempt to exert control over Tatooine. Storm troopers will patrol the streets, shadowy cloaked informants will spy on their neighbors and starships will blast their way out of spaceports. Despite all the overwhelming presence of these bastions of the Police State; this planet, and that city specifically, Mos Eisley, doesn't have a great reputation for law and order. In fact in one bar, in the space of ten minutes, two people were killed and one is disfigured for life, and in between these events those selfsame storm troopers walk through the bar.

In case you missed it let me run it by you again.

A man is cut in half, a man has his arm cut off, storm troopers walk through, then leave. They don't ask any questions, they don't run out the crime scene tape, they just walk through menacingly, and leave. Not five minutes later, another patron has a 'mysterious malfunction' with a blaster, the person who engineered his appointment with that malfunction casually stands up, tosses the bartender a tip, apologizes for the mess, and walks out like a boss. He doesn't run, and he obviously isn't afraid the storm troopers are coming for him, rather he strolls as a man without a care in the world or any concern of an awkward conversation with the proponents of law and order.

Now supposedly, this is how things are going to be in three thousand years, give or take a decade or two. As things stand in the here and now Tatooine is controlled by a loose cartel of three of the smaller Hutt clans who basically couldn't care less what happens on the streets in their cities so long as it doesn't interfere with business or give any of their interests a bad name.

To be honest I couldn't tell you how the body was disposed of, or even if it was.

So much for law and order, we had the tournament to win. I escorted Torm to his table and the game got underway. As there were now only twenty-five tables made it easier to get an idea of how the tournament was flowing. While I tried to keep my thoughts clear I played with Torm's hair and surveyed the other tables. Lanaka wasn't wearing much more than she had last night as she hung over Silas in a display that had me pondering unpleasant things. As Laura she had tried her best to be invisible, dark colors, broad vertical stripes and a mousy personality so as not to draw attention to her size.

Perhaps she'd always been as slutty as she was making out and just never had the nerve, or the body, to act on it. Perhaps these mental changes that I had been struggling with were really affecting all of us, but whatever it was she was certainly making up for lost time. I wasn't sure how anyone thought her jeweled bra and panty set was appropriate attire, I mean honestly, you're slutting it up pretty bad when the Slave Leia outfit is more modest than what you're wearing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not being a prude, the dress I was wearing showed off an open pit mine of cleavage and a country mile of leg; but it was still a dress, not a bikini. There's a line between femme fatale and streetwalker, and Laura had crossed about five miles back. Oh well, enough with the catty remarks.

From the outbursts, it became obvious that Silas was running his table. Before lunch he had eliminated three players, answered two separate allegations of cheating with the tournament marshals, and was currently sitting at his place with his cape splayed over the back of his chair and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, a goofy grin on his face and both hands very conspicuously in sight at all times. Torm wasn't doing too bad himself, though he did make a few mistakes early on, but a few whispered words of encouragement and the sensation of calm thanks to The Force steadied him up allowing him to reclaim what he had carelessly lost and go about setting up commanding lead.

There were plenty of dramatic holds for the camera operators to rush over to capture "all in moments," but these were increasingly acts of desperation of low chip count players. Usually their final acts at the table before being led out to polite applause. If this were a movie this would be covered in a montage sequence, probably to some country and western ballad about gambling, with a series of shots of cards being turned over, smiling faces of winners, shocked faces of losers, and armloads of chips being raked across tables.

Suffice to say that by dinner the final table had been established.

Silas, of course, made the table along with I was pleased to see Torm as well. The other players were four of the pros I had been peripherally aware of, the perennial bane of my existence Barrasti the Dug, and three other players who like Torm had started on the first day. One was a nervous Rodian who didn't strike me as the type to be a card player, the thin weedy card counter I noticed the first day, and the surprisingly small, young clanless Hutt who fancied himself quite the high roller.

One of these beings was our predetermined winner who I was going to rob, which it suddenly occurred to me like cold water down my spine, included the man I'm sleeping with.

The break for dinner ended play for the day. Tomorrow there would be one table, one dealer, and ten reasons things were going to get interesting Chinese sense of the word. On the way to dinner once again I excused myself to the ladies room where I found Lanaka waiting on me. "Oh look," she snarled, "the bitch all by herself."

I reached up and locked the door behind me, before extending my awareness in The Force outward. It pushed through the ceiling, the walls, and the mirror, but I already knew all of the stalls were empty because of the way she greeted me. Color me surprised, there were no remote listening or visual devices in the bathroom. I strode forward quickly and joined her at the sinks. "We can speak freely, we're not being monitored."

While the anger left her face, she didn't exactly become friendly. There was a cold aloofness that settled on her ever since we arrived on Tatooine in these new bodies; maybe was just the alien race of the body she had inhabited, maybe was my own imagination, but I couldn't help but think her gaze just dripped with disdain. "So now we know who the final ten are and we know Silas isn't our Mark. You willing to vouch for your boy toy?"

I put the little clutch purse I was carrying with the outfit on the sink and began to remove the elbow gloves to put into it so I could wash my hands for dinner. "Don't provoke me," I warned her as I held my hands under the faucet to get the water flowing to wash them. I felt her eyes on me as I wrung out my hands and dried them on the towel. "No," I admitted finally. "I'm...I'm not sure that Torm is not our target."

The silence drug out until I turned to face her, to find her staring at me with those empty red eyes. "Jesus," she swore softly. "You've actually fallen for him."

"No!" I protested. "I..."

"Sell it to someone who's buying!" She ordered as she snatched up her own purse and put it over her shoulder. Her finger wavering under my nose she continued, "fine! You got him all sewn up, so we'll worry about the others. But you can be sure of this, if your boyfriend is our guy, Ed, that won't stop us from doing what we have to..."

A young Padawan once asked his master if The Force controlled his actions. His master had answered, "partially, but it also obeys your commands." I couldn't tell you if I commanded The Force to do what happened, if it did it on its own, or some other combination. All I know is I blinked and Lanaka had been thrown against the far wall and was penned there off the ground a look of terror on her face.

I put my gloves in my purse, picked it up, and casually walked over to her. I'm actually quite proud of how calm I was when I said, "if Torm Belos is our Mark I will deal with him. Not you, not Silas, not Darius, me and only me. If you threaten him again, it will be the last thing you do and that's my promise to you. I killed a stranger last night for a lot less than what I have put up with from you, Laura. I reminded him I had warned him right before I put my light saber through his heart, and this is your warning. Don't. Push. Me. Again."

With a thought The Force released her and she fell with a startled cry to her ass on the floor. I put the strap of my purse over my shoulder before looking through my eyelashes coldly down on her. "By the way, Lanaka," I said in an offhand manner. "My name is Nyeomi. Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith, I advise you not to forget it."

I turned on my heel and left her in her amazement as I went dinner.

* * *

I feel like I was certainly entitled to the reaction I'd had to Lanaka in the ladies room. I feel that I shouldn't feel guilty for standing up for myself or calling her out on her bullying. Well, my feelings and five credits would get me a cup of coffee. I was in a grand Funk as I picked at my salad, my mood worse because I knew I was spoiling Torm's evening. Torm had every right to be ecstatic he had played well and even if he was the first player eliminated tomorrow he would double his entry stake. And while he was well within his rights to be upset with me for spoiling the night, he was actually quite concerned and asked me several times what was wrong.

I wanted to tell him, I needed somebody to talk to about this, but how can I possibly bring him into my confidence without running the risk of being seen as crazy at best. No matter how many times I looked down that road I saw no positive outcome of being honest with him and that bothered me too. I wanted to be honest with him, wanted him to know that I was loyal and trustworthy. I couldn't tell you why that was so important other than Torm is one of those men that inspires those qualities in those around him, a natural leader that makes others want to do better.

I felt terrible keeping secrets from him, but my own desire to have him in my life outweighed any aspirations of honesty. And no, the irony of this insight into the female psyche was not lost on me. "Excuse me," the voice cut through my Funk causing me to look up from my salad. There I beheld my erstwhile brother focusing his smile on my table mate. "I don't think we been introduced," he said offering his hand be shook guardedly by Torm. "Bast, Silas Bast," Stuart informed him.

My lover shook the offered hand while wiping his mouth with his napkin in the other. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bast," he said with a grin and a gesture for Silas to pull up a chair. "I must admit to being something of a fan; Torm Belos. Won't you join us?"

Silas made broad gesture while shaking his head. "No, I don't want to intrude, and I apologize for the interruption. If I could just have a quick word with my pilot, I'll let you two get back to your evening."

Torm's gaze turned back to me, a raised eyebrow question on his face. "Pilot?"

I made a so-so gesture. "My current assignment, and the employer I spoke about on our first evening; perhaps you remember? I'm on detached service with Mr. Bast as his pilot by way of gratitude from the Empire for services rendered."

"I… See," he said slowly. His eyes went back and forth between us and while I like to think that he wanted to believe me I had come to know enough about his expressions to know that his suspicions were aroused. He wiped his mouth with his napkin stood, offering Silas his chair . "Please I wouldn't want my lovely companion to get in trouble with the boss. If you'll excuse me, I'll just step over to the bar."

"Torm…?" I started, beginning to rise, but he just smiled and shook his head.

"I'll get you one of those beers you're so fond of, be right back."

And then he was gone, and my rage flared white hot inside me as I turned back to Silas and hissed, "What are you doing?"

Silas leaned in and with the most urgent expression I've ever seen on his face, whispered, "Saving my brother!" As you can imagine I wasn't prepared to hear that and was rocked back in my chair from the intensity of it. Seeing his opportunity, Silas plowed ahead. "What is going on, Ed? Laura says you assaulted her in the ladies room! That you Force threw her into the wall and threatened to kill her!”

Being reminded of Laura's attitude did nothing to improve my mood. "I don't have the time or the energy to justify standing up for myself against her constant stream of bitchiness! She stepped out of her place and I put her back in it! That's all you need to know! Now get out of here before this whole operation is blown!" Reluctantly, Stuart stood and nodded all smiles for whoever might be watching.

"Have a good night," he bid me by way of leaving. I used the few minutes of quiet between Silas's departure and Torm's arrival to get control of myself and remain calm. When he arrived, I accepted the bottle he presented with a smile taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly to prepare myself for his questions. I knew they were coming, I knew he had a right to ask them, I was just desperate to make sure I had the right answers and could deliver them in the most believable way.

"Everything okay with the boss?" He asked, his tone was jovial and light but I could see him watch me in the corner of his eye, beside which I could hear his heart thundering with The Force.

I smiled at him and took a pull the beer to buy myself a few seconds. "Have you ever been lent out to a vendor or a supplier? They think that because you're not their employee they think they can treat you however they like?" A look flashed across his face they told me not only did he know what I was talking about, but had experienced it firsthand. That was good and showed he was receptive to what I was going through.

"I apologize," he said slowly, "if I've in any way contributed to making a bad situation worse."

I put the beer down and reached across the table to take his hand in mine. "Torm, you have not only been the best thing about this assignment, you been the best thing to come into my life for quite a while." I told him earnestly.

He mulled that over for several seconds, and because I was touching his hand, in his mind I could see his desire to believe me war with his aroused suspicions. Behind his eyes I saw his memories of previous relationships, notably a betrayal from a woman who had broken his heart, and I was grateful that even though she had been beautiful, being fair skinned, blonde and blue-eyed there was nothing of me physically to remind him of her. I saw that after that betrayal he had become quite the ladies man, as a parade of faces marched through his memory, nines and tens all, but none of them he allowed close.

Except me.

There were two images that haunted him behind his eyes, one of the blonde that had broken his heart, and one of me as he ran his hand over my belly swollen with pregnancy. I wish I could say that it shocked me that he thought of me that way, but the greatest emotion I felt from this revelation was excitement. That I wasn't just a notch count to him seem to validate some great emotional need deep inside me. Finally he licked his lips and said, "I know how rough that is. How much longer are you beholden to him?”

I smiled what I hoped was my warmest smile, and meant it. "I'm not completely without options," I assured him, which caused him to perk up. "Of course," I continued, "depending upon how well you do tomorrow, you may have options. You did say you wanted to travel and see the galaxy, a circuit gambler does quite a bit of travel."

He gave me an odd look even as I could see him considering the possibilities silently. "And why would Mr. Bast offer me a place on his ship?"

I leaned forward with a smile that his eyes told me that interesting things to my bust line. "I can be very persuasive."

"Yes," he agreed with the first smile he favored me with since Silas had shown up at the table. "I'm sure you can be."

* * *

I am a Sith Lord.

Through years of slaving away as a menial, as a slave for the enrichment of others, and coming here that I finally understand what freedom truly is. I understood now why they were always those at home would roll their eyes at talk of freedom; who would mutter about documents and history, but they were not free even as I was not free. Documents do not grant freedom, they may spell out guarantees of privileges to be granted or suspended at the whim of The State. But that's not freedom.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

It was not my friends and neighbors who did not understand the nature of freedom; that was my error. It was I who did not understand what freedom truly was nor could I understand why they were so afraid of it. It was on lawless Tatooine where my eyes were opened and I truly understood the nature freedom through the wisdom of the Code of the Sith. I understood in an alley where I had killed a man that there was no peace and there never would be peace, only lulls in the fight for life to put people off guard and to think otherwise is to open myself to be re-enslaved.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Seeing Torm's fantasy for me, realizing that life or fate, or karma, or whatever you want to call it and given me this opportunity once again to have the family that I had wanted to be placed once more on the crossroads life between seizing all that life had to offer our submitting to what others expected of me. In that moment I knew I would never allow myself to be enslaved again. I knew why my friends back home cringed at the thought of freedom. And so I seized this opportunity in both hands and I surrendered my self to my passions which I poured out on to Torm in a torrent with a single goal in mind. I would cast in stone that fantasy in his mind, I would show him that I and I alone was fit to be the mother of his children. So safely in his room once more, I steeled myself for the decision that I had made and took strength from the finality of my decision.

Through strength, I gain power.

In my mind I gathered up all of the fears and uncertainties that were scattered here and there in the dark recesses of my psyche; last and strongest of these was the wonder of would we ever go home. I resigned myself that I was home, that I was and would be until the day I died a woman. I would withhold nothing of my old desires, I would not Pine for missing anatomy but I would revel in who and what I was and I would integrate the memories who I had been into this new woman. So my mental closet cleaned out I tied all of these things up in a ribbon of memory, I sank to my knees before the man I would have be my husband and with them I poured everything I had into buying a man's soul.

Through power, I gain victory.

I poured out myself as I broke through this last mental barrier, this last taboo I realized mine was not the only barrier being broken. It had not been my intention to ruffle through his mind, but the act was so intimate and so direct that I realized there was no real way around it. It became a point of pride that in the parade of the memories of his previous conquests, he had always been the conqueror. He had never been conquered himself, and despite one or two laughable attempts that were without skill or stamina, no one had ever committed herself to claim him the way I did.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

And commit myself to claim him is exactly what I did. I did not close my eyes, or turn my mind off and try to surrender to some primal inner female. Rather, I kept my eyes open, intent on what I was doing, savoring with laser focus the input of every one of my senses. This was my ace in the hole, that I was much more familiar with the anatomy I was tending to any other woman he could have been with and I was being diligent that he understood my level of expertise. As I tended to his need I took pride in the sounds of pleasure that he made, his hands that had been lovingly caressing my hair collected handfuls. He went as rigid as a steel post; then as he shouted my name and I was the one dealing with a torrent from him something within me broke.

The Force shall free me.

There are those, I suppose, who would claim that I should feel revulsion at what I had done. That I should be so disgusted as to become physically ill. There are even those who would say that as a woman I had so debased myself before him that I should be ashamed of that. Well to those people I can only say, 'sorry,' and, 'don't hold your breath.' Shame? I felt empowered! I had finally broken through Torm Belos' rock solid confidence and unflappable nature and reduced him to a quivering bundle of firing nerves as I held him up right and finished what I had started. I stared up into his wild eyes and I knew he had never experienced anything like what I had just done. And as if a receipt for my purchase of his soul, around the little gasps as I continue to play with his nervous system I heard him declare, "I love you."

I smiled and kissed his navel and whispered into it, “I know,” supremely satisfied with my purchase.

This was, I realized, true freedom. Real freedom. That we all were as free as we would allow ourselves to be. As free as we were willing to fight to be and no further. In fighting for the man that I had come to understand that I wanted to spend my life with I have freed myself. And in that freedom I realized why my friends were so afraid of it. They want to choose where to live, what TV show to watch, what restaurant to have dinner in but they aren't free, because to be free is to live life the most dangerous of experiences without a safety net. To know that you had as much as you would like to defend and not a whit more. I fought for Torm Belos, and Torm Belos freed me.

* * *

The next morning, as I'd expected, security was tightened considerably.

From the main floor of the casino the venue had been moved to an entertainment auditorium; stadium style seating clustered around a single game table with lights shining down on it. It had been rigged so that above the players table, a series of giant, ghostly hologram's would be projected so that everyone could see the drama. Today's entry fee for the audience was considerably higher.

And everyone had to go through scanners whether audience or player, comlinks, radios or communication devices of any kind were strictly forbidden; as were any form of weapon. The droid they had doing the screening was polite, but he was backed up by a squad of Gamorreans uncomfortably stuffed into formal attire who were obviously looking forward to anybody giving the droid lip.

That I passed through the scanner without incident caused Torm to raise an eyebrow at my lack of light sabers, to which I winked at him and he let the matter pass. The players seated themselves at their positions, a few nervously counting chips is an obvious way of trying to deal with their anxiety. Torm picked up three of his chips and began to walk him across his knuckles as he leaned back in my gentle caress of his shoulders in preparation of the game starting.

All the players had females with them, at this point it was obvious we were all bodyguards of some flavor. None of us were in dresses, pants were the order of the day, I settled for my linen gi tunic and jodhpurs, and even Laura had precious little skin showing. Now the tournament entered its most grueling phase, because it would not stop until the game was over.

In addition to the central play table, to one side was a table for the judges and the rules, to the other side there was a table for the announcers for the holo-broadcast and then a pair of tables with refreshments and a light buffet. Behind the discrete curtain off to one side were portable toilets that had been set up because even mother nature had to bow to the tournament.

Then the reason why all there was all this added security was wheeled out on a cart; a small pyramid of golden bars, the grand prize of the Boonta Eve Pazaak tournament, the stolen fortune of Darth Malgus. The master of ceremonies went through a brief recap in a small collection of languages and then it was time to"shuffle up and deal".

And then they played cards.

They say watching people play cards is rather like watching people play golf, or tennis or some other sport that wasn't really meant for spectators, but to be played. It's my experience that people either love watching card games or they absolutely hate it.

Me?

For me this was like dentistry without anesthesia; it drug on and on, each hand seeming to play on the last in a never ending cycle of chips being pushed around the table while my teeth got further and further on edge. The highlight was my favorite Dug, Barrasti, was the first to be eliminated, much to his loud protest and we were treated to our first accusation of cheating. Silas wisely had chosen to wear a short-sleeved tunic that quickly disproved Barrasti's allegations as he was led out.

That led the four pros to decide to gang up on him so they took turns cock blocking him at every opportunity. Silas put up a good front, but I knew my brother well enough to know that he was getting frustrated. It was at that moment, unspoken, but not without some collusion based on the glances across the table, that Torm and the Rodian decided turnabout was Fairplay and they began tag teaming whoever came after Silas. In short order three of them were eliminated and the fourth was left short stack in chip count. Unless a miracle occurred, he was unlikely to be the payoff which had me even more nervous.

Luck may be a lady, but she wasn't a miracle worker, and the last Pro was eliminated by the weedy card counter who was playing a very quiet, conservative game. That left Silas, the Rodian, the card counter, the Hutt, and Torm. The tournament officials became worried the game was progressing too quickly, and called a one hour break for the players to eat and use the restroom, but not leave the arena. I made Torm and myself a pair of sandwiches (yes, I made my man a sandwich, no, that doesn't make me less of a woman) which we ate in a quiet corner away from the table.

The excitement was rolling off of him in waves.

Between the night we had shared previously and his current placement in the tournament, even if he was the next player eliminated Torm would receive a prize sum better than a decade at his previous salary. Perhaps not true wealth, but certainly the egg with which to start it. And because he was so excited it only cemented to me that he was not pay off. I already knew Silas wasn't, that left the Hutt, the Rodian, and the card counter.

As it was the first time that I had been around a Force null, I must say I was little taken aback by the absolute lack of presence in the Hutt. Everyone else in the room I was aware of not just from looking at them, hearing them move, or the memory of seeing them at some point; every one of them cast minute disruptions or eddies in the flow of The Force through the room. Except for the Hutt, but for my eyes seeing him he was a hole in reality as far as I was concerned.

Unable to get any kind of sense from him I shifted my gaze to the Rodian. Like Torm he was amazed that he progressed this far in the tournament, was keenly aware that he was out of his league and he felt it. He and Torm were roughly equal as the short stack of the table, though Torm had a slight advantage. Whatever guile I could sense from him lead me to believe that he wasn't the payoff either.

This brought me to the wimpy little bureaucratic clerk of the card counter who felt like he had icewater flowing in his veins. All the other players that I could sense were excited, except for him. Indeed he almost seemed bored which led me to wonder if he was the guy, why would the Hutts be paying him off? I thought back to the emcees recap of the game so far and nothing that I had heard make believe he was this cool of an unknown card player. According to the introduction, his name was Milton Tess and if I had properly translated his title out of bureaucrat-ease he was some kind of patent clerk.

The MC announced the game is about recommence, causing Torm and I to stand from our little corner and begin to make our way back to the table. On the way one of the Astromech 'driods that was cleaning up the buffet bumped into me and I gave it a little shove back so it knew who was boss. As he was sitting down Torm turned to me and said, "No matter what happens now, with this prize I am my own man, I want you in my life."

I smiled at him as I ran my fingers through the back of his hair, and replied, "and I want to be in it," I assured him. "But I have to finish this. Come with me?" He nodded and a weight I didn't know that I was carrying on my heart let loose and it felt like I could breathe again. He opened his mouth to say something else that was drowned out by the MC announcing the continuation of the match.

In short order there was a duel between Torm and the Rodian which the other players immediately bowed out of to let them settle who was top dog. There was some back and forth across several hands when finally the Rodian seem to have Torm backed into a corner, but instead of being panicked, Torm immediately announced, "All in."

The Rodian blinked its multifaceted eyes in confusion. "Coona?" He demanded in surprise.

Torm's grin widened like a predator. "I said, 'all in'," he repeated smugly. The tournament officials came to the table and counted both stacks, finding that the Rodian would have to go all in himself to cover the pot.

The seconds stretched out, prompting the dealer to ask, "cover, or fold Sir?"

"You can't beat me," the Rodian declared, obviously still confused.

"Then these are free chips for you, aren't they?" Torm replied with a shrug while he fingered his final hold card. His opponent looked at the flop of cards, his own two hold cards that were on display and back at Torm's final card, still unknown to him as he desperately went through the possibilities what the card could be that would give Torm the confidence to make this seemingly foolhardy bet.

"You're bluffing!" He declared. Torm merely scratched his jaw and looked over at the tournament official.

"Time call enforcement?" He asked casually.

The official checked the clock above them. "Ten seconds," he replied. "Sir, cover or fold?"

The Rodian swallowed, look at his cards again, and with great disgust shoved them towards dealer. "You were bluffing," he declared as the chips were pushed towards Torm. Torm only shrugged and smiled.

"You'll never know," he replied.

Nor would the Rodian have time to wheedle it out of him, as the Hutt, sensing his weakness, eliminated him in the next hand. He left the table looking over his shoulder, obviously haunted by his decision to play things safe. And with that the kid gloves came off this game. Silas and the Hutt began gunning for the other two players, signaling a phenomenal streak of luck in the card counter who either folded right after ante, or had amazing turnovers of cards exactly when he needed them.

Unfortunately, this phenomenal string of good luck on his part announced the end of Torm's luck and my lover finished the tournament in forth place. I'm proud to say that nothing rattled him and he stood from the table with a tremendous grin and shook hands with the other players, obviously pleased with himself. He came to me, elated, but before he could say anything I put a finger over his lips and whispered, "Do you trust me?" He sighed as if he had guessed what was coming, closed his eyes and nodded. "Then get whatever you can't leave this planet without and go to docking bay 327. The droid will let you in, wait for me there."

It was obvious he wasn't happy with this, but he went along with it. He collected his winnings from the table, which the Hutt was doing as well as Silas had eliminated him while we had been talking. Once he was out of the arena, I caught Lanaka's eye, then drew my light saber and ignited it.

"All right, everybody be cool, this is a robbery!" I shouted. One of the guards drew a blaster pistol that I relieved him of with The Force and dropped it into Laura's waiting hand.

She leapt up on the game table, sending chips and cards scattered to the four winds and shouted, "Any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every motherfucking last one of ya!"

Now the movies, when someone makes a declaration like this, people become living statues like a deer in the headlights frozen in place waiting for hero or villain to make whatever soliloquy they're about to. While I hesitate to call Tatooine "the real world", outside of movies when a pair of hardened killers, or reasonable facsimile thereof, produce weapons and promise mayhem of a permanent and lasting variety surprisingly enough people don't actually freeze in place and listen to see if they follow through with their threat.

In other words bedlam ensued.

There was a brief spate a blaster fire from the few armed guards in the arena which Lanaka and I dealt with, while everyone else who could move stampeded to the closest exit. This would have included Mr. Milton Tess were I not close enough to put hands on him to prevent his rapid departure stage right. "No, not you," I told him with a firm handhold of his jacket. "You're coming with me."

Evidently the prospect of a Sith Lord with a lit light saber had thawed the ice water that had previously been flowing in his veins and now other liquids are flowing without his control. "Don't kill me!"

"That's up to you sport," I informed him, then thought better of it and sharply brought the pommel of my light saber against his temple. Milton folded like a busted flush I quickly stuffed him on the shelf at the bottom of the cart the small mountain of gold bricks was piled on. We found ourselves alone the auditorium and quickly sealed the exits, save one.

"Well," Lanaka observed, "that went easier than expected."

I reached out with The Force and drew my other light saber to me from where it had been masquerading as a candle stick holder on the buffet table. "First hurdle," I agreed as the door to the back of the house in the kitchens opened, revealing X4 in his new paint scheme that matched the other droids of the hotel.

"I trust everything was satisfactory, Mistress?" The droid asked in Michael Caine's voice as he rolled in a little cart holding a covered meal dish. The cover fit neatly over Darth Malgus's treasure with only a little reorganization. Once that was done Lanaka and I quickly pulled on the room service tunics that were also on the tray.

"Absolutely perfect X4," I complimented him. "You have us a nice clear path out of here?"

The droid spun around and began to head back to the way he came, talking over his shoulder. I straightened the hanging cloth around the bottom of the cart so no one would be the wiser of spying the unconscious form of Milton Tess. "I don't know about clear considering the current circumstances, Mistress, but it is direct."

"Lead on," I ordered. Then Lanaka and I followed the droid through the maze and mayhem that was the back of the house. And while the biological employees were starting to pick up on the fact that something bad had happened and were deciding getting out would be a wise course of action at least most were droids and not panicking the way I'm sure the security professionals were dealing with on the front side of the house. While it was not a perfect plan, it had the benefit of being simple and simple plans best survive contact with the enemy.

Which is not to say that it went off perfectly, it didn't, and we were challenged at the back door about why we were taking a plateful of food to the loading dock, but The Force can have a strong influence on the weak minded, which let Lanaka and I push a cart laden with an unconscious bureaucrat and half a billion gold Peggats down the ramp and nearly off the property.

I say nearly because we did become visible to the chaos at the front of the hotel, and a fairly sharp eyed security type had the sense to wonder why two room service clerks were pushing a cart of food off the property, but what is a Star Wars story without a running gun battle in it?

They opened up with something best described as a hail of blaster fire which looks very impressive on the screen, but when it is aimed at you it's far less interesting to watch. My light sabers deflected the blasts that got too close and we took to our heels while they gave chase. Again, simplicity carries the day, as our docking bay was less than a block away from the hotel, making for a very short getaway.

We got inside the bay and I locked the door, then welded shut with one of my light sabers. That done I took a moment to catch my breath and take in situation. Torm was in the process of pulling me into a hug which I eagerly returned. Lanaka, true to form, didn't stop with the cart of money and was in the process of running it up the ramp of the Aces and Eights. Silas and Darius were trying to make heads or tails of the shore power connections to remove them in anticipation of our quick getaway. It was obvious they had no idea what they were doing but at least they were trying. "Bad?" He asked as I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Reluctantly, I pulled from his embrace and trotted over to my befuddled brother and best friend. As blaster bolts began to be heard strikingly walls of the docking bay I turned back over my shoulder and shrugged. "For us? Normal!" I told him. "X4! Start the pre-flight sequence, essential hardware only!"

I used my body to move my two good intentioned friends aside and quickly tripped all the breakers to internal power. Fortunately, both Silas and Darius were smart enough to figure out how to disconnect the cabling and were shoving them into the storage compartments with gusto. I slapped the cover plate closed just as my impromptu weld on the door was defeated by a thermal detonator that blew it off its hinges.

Had I not been preoccupied with deflecting blaster bolts and protecting my friends as we fought our way to the ramp and up it, into the Aces and Eights, the sight of dozens of Gamorreans in formal wear, brandishing blasters and flooding through a destroyed doorway would actually be quite funny. Well, maybe not. You probably would've had to have been there.

I opened my mouth to yell for backup right as the lower gun turret turned with a hydraulic whine and it's much more powerful turbo lasers encouraged our well-dressed pursuers to find some good sturdy cover. At least someone was thinking clearly.

The rear hatch secure, and the deck plating vibrating under my feet as the engines came online, I ran forward into the cockpit. Torm was in the copilot's place and from my quick glance, his motions seemed to indicate that he knew what he was doing. The blaster bolts had an almost liquid quality to them as they washed off the canopy, while I settled at my place and quickly finished the preflight. "I can see life with you won't be dull," he observed as he finished just in time for me to push the throttles forward in the Aces and Eights began to lift free of the docking bay.

I snapped the ship into an aileron roll so I could slip to starboard and avoid the bulk freighter that was passing overhead that seemed to think it had right-of-way. To be fair it probably did have right-of-way. "I'm sorry, did you want an Ozzie and Harriet lifestyle?" Much as I wanted to point my nose to the sky, the ridiculous traffic over Moss Espa wouldn't allow it so I had to thread my way much to the consternation of the other pilots I'm sure.

Over the intercom I heard Darius announced quite calmly, "there is a mixed bag of fighters coming up to give chase."

"How do you know that?" Demanded Silas from behind me.

Torm chuckled from his place where he was quickly getting power to the deflector shields. "Because he is in the lower turret and can see them,” he replied the befuddled gambler. To me he calmly said. "It depends, I suppose," he replied almost philosophically as I flipped through the traffic pattern in a manner that would have been spectacular from that IMAX theater seat. "Do people shoot at these Ozzie and Harriet people?"

"Not generally…" I started, but was interrupted by the frantic shout from Silas behind me as he clung to the door frame in an effort to stay upright.

"Really?!" He shouted. "Are you two really having this conversation right now!?"

Blaster bolts were beginning to whiz by the canopy as we finally reached the edge of the city and got clear enough from the traffic for me to begin to open up the distance. “I'm a leaf on the wind," I grunted as I snatched back on the yoke so the Aces and Eights was pointed straight up on her tail.

“What does that mean?" Torm demanded as he reached over and fire walled the throttles as I probably had the ship well outside of its performance envelope.

"It means she's guaranteeing neither Darius or I will hit anything!" Complained Lanaka over the com system; from the upper turret I presumed. I, on the other hand, magnanimously did not point out I was having a similar effect on the aims of our pursuers as a blaster bolts that were going by were further and further away. At last the blue sky of Tatooine gave way to the infinite black and I paradoxically returned to and for the first time was in outer space.

"They're gaining!" Warned Darius, but I didn't need a translator to know that X4s jubilant whoop meant. Torm and I shared a grin as I reached over and pulled the hyperdrive motivator lever.

The stars streaked straight towards me as the ship leapt into hyperspace. Lookout galaxy, I've found my soulmate!

* * *

In my cabin the blue white light of hyperspace shown through my porthole played across the bulkheads and ceiling like water and ever shifting patterns. It was very soothing, the kind of white noise that settles the human mind and allows for calm recollection of thought. I was sitting on my bed with Torm, him against the bulkhead me between his legs leaning back against him as he held me. I was leaning back with my head against shoulder, baring my neck to him which he was lazily kissing. His arms were around me, and his hands were on me, but there was no rush to his explorations of my body. Were I capable of rational thought in this wonderfully comfortable embrace, I would estimate that in an hour or so we would be making love, but neither of us were in any hurry and I was content to let him explore.

"So," he whispered breathlessly in the my ear. "What now?"

I lazily reached up with my free hand to run it through his thick hair. "Now we are on course to Ruuria on the borders of the Tion Cluster...”

"Capital world of Darth Malgus' New Revanite Empire," he observed from his oral explorations of my neck. With my hand already in his hair, I turned and shared a long slow kiss with him.

Drawing back ever so slightly I looked into his eyes and said, "I have to give the Emperor his money, but it shouldn't take long."

He sighed and nodded. "I suppose my winnings are part of that?" I shook my head smiling at him.

"Not at all," I told him. "As far as I'm concerned both your winnings and the prize Silas claimed were both paid for by the tournament entry fees." I leaned up and kissed the end of his nose. "And before you start worrying I have in my orders what I can disperse they are both well within my authority. I just wish that would be the end of it."

"You're not going to partition Darth Marr for release from your service, are you?"

I ran my hand over his firm cheek. "I am," I promised him. "I don't know if he will release me, but I will petition." He forced a smile that almost reached his eyes.

"Hoping on the goodwill of the Sith Lord is not the most envious of positions," he observed adroitly.

I tried to summon mock outrage, but found I was so comfortable the best I could muster was feeble sarcasm. "I am a Sith Lord," I reminded him. "And you certainly have been enjoying my goodwill."

He made a guttural sound of agreement as his lips returned my neck and shoulder. "Yes, but somehow I doubt Darth Marr is my type." He pressed his teeth into the nape of my neck without actually biting which sent a thrill up and down my spine. "At some point I will have to return to Ord Mantell to put my affairs in order."

"I'll take you," I promised him. His hands undid the belt holding the Gi tunic closed which he then opened and brought down my shoulders to my elbows while his lips planted a series of kisses down my nape and onto my shoulder.

"You'll have time between petitions, and returning money, and figuring out why the Hutts were paying off a patent clerk?"

I sat up and turned around to face him, laying my legs over his so I could wrap them around his waist. "I will do all those things," I admitted as I pulled off the tunic and cast it aside looking into his eyes. "And I will always make time for you." My arms around his shoulders, I gently pulled him forward and guided his face into the breasts I had bared for him. "Always," I repeated.

As the lights of hyperspace played across my cabin I found myself glad that my time estimate was so far off.

* To Be Concluded*

Attachment	Size
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Rebecca's Tale

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

Fiction

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Universes & Series:

Heaven and Hell by Maggie Finson

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Heaven and Hell Story
Rebecca’s Tale
By E. E. Nalley

I watched the man in the immaculate Armani suit wait until I had my skirt settled before he returned to his own chair behind the cherry wood desk to sit down. A part of me I still shudder away from was thrilled he was so interested in how the skirt settled over my knee. There was a feeling I can’t imagine I’ll get used to, even with the canyon of eternity spreading out before me.

It didn’t help that the Angel was so good looking.

He wore the form of young and up coming executive like the deep navy Armani suit that hung, rack like on his trim, boyish frame. A square jawed, honest face was highlighted by caring, deep blue eyes under a shaggy, but immaculate mop of yellow blond hair. The office was just another part of the canvas of this perfect image he affected. The deep cherry wood, the leather appointments, the computer and the laptop, were just props to him and there were parts of me that hated him for it.

Indeed, hated everything he stood for.

I couldn’t help it; I was a Demoness after all.

My eyes fell on a Dutch Master’s take of Jesus whipping the money changers from the Temple that held a prominent place on one wall. “Can I get you anything?” he asked, even his voice was likeable, soft, rounded and caressing of my ears, but there was a steel under it. It was a voice of command.

“Interesting choice of eye candy,” I purred, before a ragged sigh escaped my perfectly formed lips. As a succubus, my voice always held a provocative tone to it. It was maddening.

He spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. “The Boss doesn’t take kindly to unscrupulous business practices. I hung it there to remind me. I am the Arch Angel of Commerce.”

“Marc, let’s not beat about the bush,” I told him. “What do you want with me?”

“Quite a bit, actually,” he drawled. “First, I’d like your story. The rest, well, we have plenty of time.”

“My story?” I asked, somewhat shocked, as I tried, and failed to get the snake-like tail that hung behind me into something like a comfortable position. Doing so caused me to shift somewhat, and once more I felt his eyes on me. I’d probably given him quite a show. I re-crossed my long, shapely legs to punish him a bit for looking. “What does the Arch Angel Marc, Custodian of Fair Commerce know or care of Rebecca, Daughter of Lilith, Succubus?”

“It isn’t often we get into a pitched battle saving a Succubus from her own mother, Rebecca. Tom tells me you handled yourself in a practically righteous manner.”

My stomach rolled in protest at being called righteous, but the tiny part of me that might still be human felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe things would go a bit differently from the last time I’d been in Heaven. “There’s nothing righteous about me,” I admitted softly. “But just because I’m damned, doesn’t mean I have to help them damn others.”

Marc chuckled softly. “Now, there’s a tale worth hearing. If you would be so kind?”

I sighed. This was going to take some time.

* * *

For the short span of years I walked Planet Earth, I had been born Ricardo Estabon. My parents were well to do 1st Generation Castilian Spanish emigrants to the United States. Papa was a banker and did very well for us. Mama was something of an erudite modern housewife. She wrote articles for a host of Women’s and Home Magazines and me, well, I was just spoiled rotten.

I wanted for nothing, I had every opportunity and maybe that was my problem. To me, suffering was having to give up something for Lent. I probably don’t have to say this, but both my parents were rather devote Catholics; they dutifully prayed for the Pope, the President and the family every night, pretty much in that order.

I went to Mass every Sunday, but I don’t think I really got what was being offered. Twenty something, dangerously handsome, well off Spanish men don’t really stop to consider something as big as Eternity. I certainly didn’t.

There is something about Miami that enforces that invincible feeling. People talk about the vibrancy of New York or Los Angeles, but no. Miami is the pulse of America, my friend. If you want to feel alive, you go there. Success and luck are people you can meet there. There are no problems, only solutions.

My solution? Well, my solution was I was popular and I was good in bed. That’s not egocentric, Jefe, it’s the truth. Having sex was just about the only thing I did in my life once I discovered it.

I didn’t want for partners, either.

In a way, maybe, there is a suicidal nature to Spanish Men. Machismo boils within us to prove just how masculine we are. We take risks we shouldn’t, we don’t think of the consequences of what we do.

I didn’t have to have sex with the Mafioso’s daughter. Part of me knew she was far more dangerous than I. Indeed, when push came to shove, my mouth fought a better battle than my fists. I could insult you in three languages using words most people wouldn’t know were in the dictionary. But there was something about her, something I couldn’t resist. She was the flame and I her moth.

I didn’t hear her father come in on us. Not that he said anything. I was snatched off, beaten and taken away. The last words I heard were him telling her she was grounded for a month.

Grounded.

I was taken out to the swamp and killed.

I found myself in the heaven Father Cordova kept talking about and I was afraid, Lord, I was so afraid.

My death wasn’t given last rites. My last real confession was months ago. And my worst fears came true. That wonderful, terrible voice didn’t know me. There was no reason He should have. I hadn’t wanted to know Him. He was an obstacle to my Sunday morning.

I don’t know how long I was in Heaven, but it wasn’t very long. The floor didn’t want to hold me any more. The weight of how wrong and wasted my life had been pulled me down, through it; down to that awful place.

“Estabon?” growled the voice. I looked up from my own misery, a misery that went well beyond not having steak for 40 days. The voice matched its owner well. It was a nightmare given form and flesh. It stood with a woman whose cold, cruel beauty in a way made her more horrific than the thing beside her.

It snatched me up from the crowd of other new arrivals that scattered from it in terror. “Yes, you, Jefe,” it laughed in its terrible voice. “Hable Inglés?” It shoved me before the woman and she smiled, smiled in that place and that made it worse.

“He’ll do,” she purred. “Hello, Ricardo. How was Maria?”

“Wha..what?” I asked, more than a little amazed at this particular turn of events.

“How was Maria? Maria Valentina Celeste Corduca, the woman you were murdered for having sex with. How was she? Worth it?”

“No!” I exclaimed, ashamed and terrified.

“Oh,” she sighed, pursing her lips. “That’s too bad. You went to Hell over her. Well, her and Jennifer, and Susan and Virginia, and I can go on and on, Ricardo. You just couldn’t seem to keep your zipper closed, could you?”

“I didn’t understand…!” I started, but I didn’t get very far. She slapped me sharply across the face with a strength I wouldn’t have given her credit for. I staggered right and fell to one knee. The thing behind me thought it the funniest thing it had ever seen.

“That is lesson one, dear,” she said calmly. “Never, ever lie to me. You understood full well you weren’t making the old man upstairs happy. You understood full well what would happen to you and you didn’t care. I own you, Ricardo. Understand that just as fully as you understand the rest. I can see the very bottom of your soul. You can’t lie to me, so don’t try.”

My face stung from her strike, but the tears wouldn’t come. This perhaps was the worst of it. If I could cry, I would feel better after. Yes, even machismo personified Ricardo can admit he feels better after crying. But I couldn’t cry. Not there. Doubtless because I would feel better after.

“Now then, since I own you,” she continued. “Let’s have a bit of introduction. I already know you’re Ricardo Estabon. I am Lilith, your new mother. You’re going to work for me, down here. So get used to that as well. But, not like you are now. And that name won’t work either. We’ll think of something. Come with me.” The last was a command I was powerless to disobey.

She led me through the bowels of a nightmare to what felt like a deep, beating heart. As soon as we had arrived, I began to feel weak. Sick really, and the vision of the heart full of beautiful, but like Lilith, cold women did little to alleviate the feeling. “Another man?” one of them pouted. “Don’t you like us anymore, Mother?”

“This is my family, dear,” Lilith told her in her cold voice. “It’s run my way. But since you don’t seem to approve, you can have the honors. I want him drained and brought in to the Clan.”

The girl brushed back her thick, black hair and smiled a smile that made me recoil in horror. Her teeth were a collection of fangs and the fear that flooded my system let me realize they were all that way. Beautiful, oh yes, nothing below a ten in the room. But terrible in a way. Leathery, bat like wings, tails and cloven hooves. “Yes, Mother. One new sister, coming up.”

She approached me and I turned to run. Where, I wasn’t sure, but away from this nightmare made real. “Oh, no,” she purred, and I couldn’t move. “You might belong to Mother Lilith, but for now, you’re mine.”

She wrapped herself around me and, I couldn’t help it. One brain stopped thinking, and the other could only think about what got me here. We coupled and coupled even as they crowded around to watch.

I shouldn’t have been able to perform. I should have been embarrassed about having sex like this in front of them. But I could only rut like an animal and when it was done there was a feeling that something important to me was gone. I rolled off her and realized I was no longer a man in any sense of the word.

“My God!” I gasped as awareness left me, my voice now high and soft and feral. A woman’s voice.

* * *

“Mother, I think you’ve made a mistake with this one,” said a voice as I slowly clawed my way back to consciousness. Clawed was right, my oh so delicate hands ended in hard, lethal nails. If you didn’t look hard, they looked like just well manicured, feminine nails that were polished a blood red. But wearing them, I knew better.

“Did I ask for your opinion, Delilah?” purred the Bitch’s voice. I’m not sure when I had started thinking of her that way, but it seemed appropriate. “Rebecca, darling, get up and let’s have a look at you.”

It had been my intention to feign sleep for a bit, hopefully to eavesdrop on their argument, but at her command, I dutifully stood before her.

The shifting of breasts I heretofore had not had brought my attention to my body at once. Only it wasn’t my body anymore. From this side, these new breasts seemed huge, high, proud and firm. Her laugh brought my attention back to her. “Oh, would we like a mirror?” she cooed. “That’s usually first.” Suddenly, the bordello I had awoken in had a full length mirror. I saw another of those demon women staring at me, thick, dark hair framing a child like face with bottomless dark eyes over full bee stung lips that arched and curved perfectly. She was rather well endowed in the chest department, but they weren’t as large as they felt, and were in good proportion to the rest of her. Her torso slimed to a waist a wasp would be envious of to flare back out to generous, toned hips that cried out to give birth.

Her legs would have been more perfect if they hadn’t had an extra curve in them and the cloven hooves with the stiletto-like spur of bone didn’t help either. The barbed tail that danced from behind her heart shaped rear and the bat’s wings that flexed spastically behind her repelled as surely as those killer curves attracted.

“There, that’s no so bad, is it?” Lilith purred, draping her arms around my shoulders. “My little Rebecca turned out quite well.”

“What have you done to me, puta?” I shrieked. Her face didn’t change expressions as she collected a handful of my now much longer hair and jerked my face into hers.

“Rebecca, I’m inclined to be a tad lenient with new arrivals. But don’t mistake my patience for mercy. Push me again, my little slut, and I can find far worse torments for your time here. Entienda?” My body reacted strangely. The portions I began to mentally label as human were terrified by what she could come up with. I was in Hell after all. Nothing was sacrosanct here. But, a new, nearly as frightening portion of me I had no name for was filled with rage. Rage at her power over me, rage at my subservience of her and rage that lacked focus but seemed to encompass all creation. I nodded, painfully as her grip on my hair was quite strong.

Lilith was all cruel smiles again. “Good. I’m glad that’s settled.” She released me to the less than subtle snickers of Delilah. “You have a choice to make, Rebecca,” she went on as if we had not nearly come to blows. “You can choose to make things easy on yourself, as you always have done. Or you can choose to defy me and the endless suffering that will entail. Which is it?”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, more than a bit sullenly. She glared at me until I added, “Mother?” She tisked between her perfect teeth.

“Perhaps, we need a little taste of what defiance has in store?” I blinked and we were in a different place. This one was filled with bulging, super masculine man things. Even their muscles had muscles and each was adorned in some kind of soldier’s uniform, in an odd mish mash of types and countries. The Nazis were easy to pick out, but most I didn’t recognize. In the center, looking up from a map of the world laid out on a table was the biggest, most hideous of the man things I’d seen.

He stood somewhere between seven and eight feet tall, ruddy skin showing through the bazaar uniform he wore, bedecked with braid and awards. The beret he wore was canted to one side to allow for the massive pair of horns that jutted from his fore head. He didn’t need to stoop, the room had no roof, indeed, and the entire area seemed to be a ruinous castle of some sort. “What’s this, Lilith?” he rumbled in a voice that threatened to destroy more of the castle.

She glared at him for a moment before he bowed stiffly. “I beg your pardon, Princess Lilith.”

“I have a gift for you, Lord Baal,” she told the creature. The other demons had left their work and were all staring at my nude form and I suddenly felt very afraid. Even the rage filled portion of me that was like them was afraid. “I wonder if you might teach my new one a lesson in obedience? Say, a week’s worth?”

The grin he wore would have given a mass murderer pause. “With pleasure, My Lady.” His massive hands began to unfasten his belt.

“Mother, no! I’m sorry, I’ll obey you, I swear!” I cried out, terrified at this new horror to be inflicted on me. Her smile was as empty and cruel as always.

“Yes, Rebecca, you will. And after a week here, I think your attitude will improve greatly.” She looked back at the now naked Baal, who was advancing on me, a cock as obscenely large as the rest of him leading the way. “Enjoy, Baal. I’ll be back in a week to collect her. Nothing permanent, mind you.” He nodded as his massive hand closed over my wrist.

* * *

Humiliation, as a word, falls fall short of its task. I’m ashamed to admit I laughed at the old joke about the rape victim just lying back and enjoying it.

I’m sorry.

* * *

I won’t talk about that terrible week. You can imagine what was done to me. The worst of it was, somehow, I fed off it. My new body didn’t seem to need food, but the raw, male energy that they possessed sustained me, even as I was repulsed by how I had to take it from them.

As I lay in a pile of my own filth and their remnants, without the strength to moan or seek any kind of solace, I swore to myself that, some how, in some manner, I would make amends for my thoughtlessness. I had lost the picture in my mind of cleanliness. I knew the word, and understood it’s meaning, but I couldn’t imagine myself ever being that way again.

So I lay there, wondering when the next time one of them would decide they needed a bit of ‘R&R’ when she was back, and I could picture cleanliness again. To call Lilith beautiful doesn’t really do her justice. She was violently female, with her translucent skin, the size one dresses that molded to her perfect body with an odd mix of come hither and armor of protection to hold one at arms length.

I envied her the beauty she held, velvet over steel and, that small and growing smaller human part of me pitied her. And that shocked me out of the stupor that had clouded my mind for the last several days.

But I did. I pitied her.

She smiled at me as I lay there, staring in wonder of my new found emotion towards her. “Well, it looks like someone had a good time. But, that’s all over now, my sweet. Baal, I’ve come for my daughter.”

“What do you want for her?” he rumbled. “I can offer a legion of my finest warriors to your beck and call.”

Lilith rolled her eyes. “What use have I of your so-called finest warriors, Baal?”

“I’m certain a Princess of your intelligence can think of something?” he fished. I couldn’t stand, but crawled beside her determined to do what ever I had to to get out of that place.

“I have too much invested in Rebecca to sell her, Baal.” She bent and actually helped me to my feet as I clutched the edge of the table to steady myself. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“A moment, my lady,” rumbled the demon. “I have need of one of your girls.”

“I’m not a madam for your amusement, Baal,” she started before Baal drew himself to his full, rather impressive height. I couldn’t help but shrink away from him.

“You are a pimp and a whore, and this project has need of both. Further, you are commanded by The Prince himself to comply.” He tossed a manila folder on the table next to her. Yes, Virginia, even Hell uses office supplies. I could see the folder; it had landed near me as well. It was labeled Merovingian Project. Lilith picked it up, intrigued sufficiently to let his insult slide.

“How long has this being going on? Corruption of blood lines is specifically my dominion.”

“And you have the project, now that it’s reached that phase,” laughed Baal. “Have one of your girls see to this Edvaard, and be quick about it. He’s supposed to be getting married in three weeks.”

“I’m not sure I like your tone, Baal,” she hissed.

“I’m not sure I care, your highness. Get one of your sluts on the job or you’ll be answering to Lucifer, not me.” He chuckled as he turned, then paused. “Oh, and thanks for the little whore. If something comes of it, we’ll take it.”

Lilith spat something in a language I didn’t speak. Before my tormentor could respond, we were back in the heart and I collapsed.

* * *

When I came to this time, I was clean of the remaining filth from my tormentors and actually felt a bit rested. I had dreamed odd dreams of flight and sex with a succession of handsome, wholesome men that I was somehow spoiling. As I sat up, I found myself evidently in Lilith’s office as she was speaking with one of the others I didn’t recognize. “It’s a simple assignment, Ursula,” she was saying. “Corrupt him, feed from him, but don’t drain him completely. Once he’s ready, call me and I’ll finish the corruption. Be sure to wear this guise.”

“Yes mother,” the girl replied. Lilith noticed me and smiled.

“Ah, and our Rebecca is awake. Pleasant dreams, my sweet?”

I shuddered as I subconsciously sought some way to cover myself. “You left me there,” I whispered, more out of shock than anything else. Had I been thinking, I would never have challenged her temper once more. But, strangely, her temper didn’t flare, indeed she seemed puzzled.

“Yes, and I took you away again. You’re not still upset, are you?”

Finally my brain caught up with my mouth. “No mother, just trying to wake up.”

Her smile returned. “Of course. Now, I imagine you’re hungry. Ursula, why don’t you take Rebecca with you? Let her feed on the way and she can see what’s expected of her.” It seemed obvious Ursula didn’t think that was a good idea, but she only nodded and turned to me.

“Well, come on, little sister.” Lilith nodded at me as I looked at her so I rose and shakily followed Ursula. Once we were clear of the office, she offered her hand that I weakly took. “First rule, I’m in charge.” She told me, her eyes narrow. “You do what I say, when I say. Got it?” I nodded. There was a flash and we where in a back alley, somewhere. It reeked of urine, vomit and stale beer.

I became aware of wearing clothes once more. I looked down to find myself wearing a tight, black leather mini-dress that played well with my olive complexion and dark hair. It showed an obscene amount of leg and chest, but at least I wasn’t naked anymore. And my feet were normal!

They were encased in black leather boots that reached my thighs and heels only a street walker would be seen in, but they were feet! Not hooves. I looked at her to find her similarly attired, hers dangerously strappy pumps whose straps came up her claves to just below her knees. She had evidently conjured up a leather belt to pose as a skirt and a tee shirt top that wouldn’t have fit a three year old and only just covered her ample bosom. Her navel was pierced and ringed in a tattoo of fire.

“Welcome to the joys of teleport, Rebecca,” she told me with an almost friendly lopsided grin as we carefully picked our way out of the ally and its trash.

“Couldn’t you have picked a better place for us to arrive?” I demanded as I followed her, wondering what had happened to my tail and wings.

“No,” she replied. “That’s part of the rules. When we return to the world of men, we can not do so anywhere pleasant.”

“Who made that rule?”

“The old man upstairs. It’s part of the truce.” She looked back at me to see the question on my face as we reached the mouth of the alley to resettle ourselves. She sighed in frustration. “We are at war with them,” she said, pointing up. “You went to church enough to learn that, didn’t you?” I nodded, flushing a bit under her sarcasm. “So, now we’re in a truce. We don’t attack them, they don’t attack us and we’re both trying to get as many of these pathetic mortals to choose a side, preferably ours,” she said with a wave at the passersby who found their eyes glued to us as they passed. Ursula turned back to me, a coy smile on her face. “Who ever gets the most, wins.”

“Wins what?” I demanded. “A chance to languish in that horrible place? What mad man would pick that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You did, honey. Or your laziness did, which ever makes you feel better. And that’s our big asset, they’re lazy and we get a number of them by default. So, I don’t have all night, I have a Prince to corrupt. Pick one and let’s be about it.”

“I don’t understand…” I started before she sighed in frustration once more.

“You are a succubus, Rebecca. You feed on male energy. Pick one that calls out to you and feed. Drain him dry if you like. That’s always fun. Just be quick about it.”

“You want me to help you damn them?”

“You prefer the alternative?” she demanded, a hit of anger in her voice.

“No,” I said meekly.

“Don’t think about it; just open yourself to finding one calling to you.”

I turned away from both understanding and not what she had meant. Immediately, I became aware of a strange scent teasing at my nostrils. Actually, there were two scents. One was absolutely delicious, like the aroma of Thanksgiving Dinner shortly before it’s ready to sit down to and enjoy. I followed it up the street to a clean cut young man who was talking to a pair of hookers who were obviously deeply amused by whatever he was saying.

He had a bible tucked under one arm and was trying to get them to take a pamphlet from a stack he had with him. As I stared, I became aware that his name was George Conner, a third year seminary student who somehow managed to maintain a 3.8 average at the local Theological University and ministering to the lost souls on the street at the same time. His purity sang to that part of me that I was aware was the Demonic Corruption I’d been infected with.

I wanted him in the worst way.

Closer was another scent, not nearly so welcome, but also food. It was attached to a large, bruiser of a man who was the pimp of the two girls George was talking to. And he had had enough of the street preacher cutting into his profit margin. I suddenly realized what Ursula expected of me and there was no way I was going to harm George.

I walked from the Demoness with a purpose, careful to make her think the young student was my target. It also brought me close to the thug, who I learned somehow was known as Cutter, for his fondness of knives. He wasn’t as evil as his job might make him out to be, and he had no real intention beyond putting the fear of God into the preacher, but he lived off the sin of those women and between the two, he was the better choice.

I reached Cutter before he reached George. “Hey there, tough guy,” I purred, somehow aware I was projecting a part of myself into his subconscious, grabbing him by the primitive brain and tickling every rutting emotion from lust to love to make myself irresistible to him. “Care to scratch an itch for a girl?”

I saw his girls and George gaping in wonder at me as Cutter let his libido do his thinking for him. I caught their eyes and let them see the real me, in all my horrific glory. George did me proud. He collected an elbow of each and drug them quickly around the corner and out of sight. I returned my attention to Cutter, working my mental claws deeper into him.

I was delirious with hunger and I’d passed up the banquet for a hog dog and fries. In a handy alley my dress was over my hips as he took me with a rough, intense urgency. As he took me, I took him. I fastened my lips to his as my body sang in the joy of the rutting and sucked the manhood from him.

Ok, it was a really nice hot dog and fries.

And George would live to preach another day and that was what was important. I wasn’t sure how long I fed on Cutter, but finally our coupling was done and small girl with elfin features was trembling in my arms. “What did you do to me?” she asked, real terror in her eyes.

To my immense surprise, she wasn’t a Succubus, but a young woman stepping from girlhood to womanhood. I extended my wings and held her against me. “What you did to those girls,” I told her as her eyes became even wider as she saw me. “I’m what’s waiting for you, Cutter. Think about that in this new life of yours.”

I opened my wings and she fled, her clothing far too large for her form, but her terror gave her speed. In short order she was out of sight as well. “What, the heaven, did you do that for?” demanded a very irate Ursula. “Why didn’t you take the preacher?”

I licked the essence of Cutter from my lips with my considerably longer tongue. “I was starving, and he was closer.”

Ursula considered this for a moment. She hadn’t seen me reveal myself to the others, and, thankfully, hadn’t heard what I told Cutter. She had no real evidence against me and my story was just as probable as hers. “Next time, don’t fuck with someone we already have corrupted.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” I asked languidly. So soon from feeding, my Demoness side was far stronger than my human. I felt very good.

“He was marked!” Ursula hissed.

“That funky thing on his forehead? You didn’t tell me what that was for,” I told her. A bit of guilt to spread would keep the story quiet. Truth be told, I had seen the clan mark of Baal on Cutter and that made things a bit sweeter. With any luck, I’d saved two birds with one screw. “I’ll do better next time, Big Sister.” She stared at me and sighed.

“See that you do. Come on, we need to get to Scotland.”

* * *

We flew to Scotland, but not how you’d think. We went British Air. I hadn’t done any great traveling in life, but I have to admit, first class is nice. On the way, Ursula filled me on a number of the finer points of my new abilities. It was rather surreal discussing paranormal abilities of the Damned while sipping Johnny Walker in a very comfortable leather seat.

The array of powers at my command was impressive.

I could assume any form, so long as it was female, usually I would do this subconsciously, making myself more irresistible to what ever prey I had picked out. But I could control it as well. Because I was male before I had been made a Succubus, I evidently would be an accomplished sorceress, or so the theory went. Ursula had always been female and had no magical power to speak of and so could not instruct me.

It wasn’t necessary for me to feed to the point of changing the sex of my victim. I could take only small amounts that would weaken his spirit and make it easier to corrupt him until his journey down on the elevator of the here after was assured. The rest, she assured me, I would pick up in time.

She removed a pack of cigarettes, rather long ones, from her purse and lit one to the glaring eyes of the Stewardess. “Or,” she continued, “you may be sent out on special assignments like this one, to corrupt a specific target that meets some goal of the Lower Downs.”

“Excuse me, Miss,” the Stewardess, an attractive woman past her prime, interrupted. “This is a non-smoking flight.”

“Fuck off, bitch,” growled Ursula. The Stewardess left in a huff forward. “This would be one of the down sides of our abilities,” Ursula told me. “Unless they’re homosexual, we have no power over women.”

“So, what are we going to Scotland for?” I asked cautiously, watching the Stewardess having an angry conversation with someone on the intercom.

“You should feel privileged,” the Demoness said. “I’m to corrupt the Male descendant of the Merovingian Line. And you’ll be there to watch a pro at work.”

“The what?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer as the Stewardess had returned, this time with the Pilot, a distinguished, if somewhat older gentleman who looked like he’d stepped off a poster for the Airline. Even though I was not particularly hungry, his smell, wonderfully innocent and pure made my stomach roll.

Oh, he wasn’t as pure as George had been, but he was a real straight arrow, just the same. Jaywalking was probably the worst thing he’d done in his life. “I’m sorry, Miss,” he greeted, “You’ll have to put that out. This is a non-smoking flight.”

Ursula pulled up her skirt to reveal her lack of foundational garments to the horror of the Stewardess and rubbed herself while blowing a smoke ring at the Pilot. “Cut a girl a break, Dave,” she purred. “I just need it so bad.”

Dave began to sweat and I could feel him struggle against her wiles. He was very aware of the wedding ring on his finger. Before Ursula could get her claws any deeper into him, I carefully touched her arm. “Ursula, we do need to get ready for this meeting.”

Anger flashed across her face, before the logic of my argument won out. “Fine,” she spat, rubbing out the cigarette and pulling her skirt down. “You win, fly boy. Now get lost.” Dave rubbed his face, as if waking from a bad dream.

“Thank you, Miss. And enjoy your flight.”

“You’re going to let that little bitch get away with that?” demanded the Stewardess as the two went forward once more. I felt Ursula’s eyes on me so I turned back to her, forcing my worry about the two away.

“Where were we?” she asked with a bit of an edge to her tone. I cleared my throat cautiously.

“You were going to tell me what this Merovingian thing was all about.”

“Oh, that,” she said, and I could feel the annoyance in her tone. “Ever hear of the so-called Devine Right of Kings?”

“What, that a King was king because God wanted him to be, so everyone had to respect that?” I asked. I hadn’t skipped all of school, after all. But Ursula just rolled her eyes.

“Light weight. No, the Devine Right of Kings works like this. The Christ married the whore Magdalene and got from her children.” I stared, open mouthed. “Oh yeah, not what that former Catholic brain of yours was expecting, was it?” There was nothing nice about her grin. “So, the little Holy terrors run off to what will be France with Mommy dearest and Uncle James and start interbreeding with the high mucky mucks there. Bingo! Suddenly the Crowded Heads of Europe can say they have the Blood of the Savior running through their veins so we all get to bow and scrape.”

“But, after a lot of work by our side, we get some of those Crowned Heads separated from their shoulders. Hitler was such a Lucifer send. Most of them aren’t even in power any more. But, the problem is a couple have ambitions. This kid Edvaard Plantard de Saint Clair we’re going to go have fun with? He’s about to get himself married to some little cunt of the House of Stewart, also one of those aforementioned Lines, thus giving our darling Edvaard a shot at a newly vacated Throne of Scotland. IF he does that without some major tinkering with, we’re fucked.”

“What does a king of Scotland have to do with…?” I started before she cut me off with an angry gesture.

“Shut up and listen. If all this comes to pass, you have a union that could produce a legitimate heir to the Throne of David. You remember David, right, daddy to Solomon? That throne, the physical seat of it, is in Scotland, brought back from the Crusades and made a part of English/Scott Ceremony. An independent Scotland, with a King from the Merovingian Line could usher in a new age of nobility that will set us back centuries. But, if our boy is corrupted….?”

“Then the true royal Blood Line creates a new Hell on Earth,” I whispered.

“Bingo! Go to the head of the class, Rebecca.” She looked up and became aware of something. “Let’s go, this is our stop.”

“But, we’re still in the air…” I managed before she took hold of my arm and we passed, incorporeally through the airplane, high over Scotland.

As our wings brought us invisibly to the ground, my worry went into high gear. What we were about to do would be a disaster for everyone on Earth. What was promised in this new crop of royalty, like the true Nobility of young Prince William, would be smeared by excess and evil of truly epic proportions.

No matter the cost, I had to stop it.

* * *

It was night in Edinburgh. A night of grave consequence for far too many I was certain. I knew that if I interfered with this, the jig, as they say, would be up. My senses took in the sights and sounds of a country I’d never been in before and, doubtless would be my last recollections of life on Earth.

At least this time around it would be for something worth while.

I followed her lead as she strode through the city, guided by some line of Fate I was unaware of. I was too young and too Damned to be going through this kind of thing. Up until a few short weeks ago, my greatest ambition was to get through my freshman year of College with as much nice female company as I could.

Now I was psyching myself up for saving the world and well and truly Damning myself.

Ursula led us to an extremely nice home. Not really an estate, and not really just a house, but somewhere in between. She walked through the closed gates as if they weren’t there. Or we weren’t. Still, I hopped over them, to her somewhat annoyed glance.

At the front door, she stopped, somewhat puzzled. “What?” I asked, getting a vague feeling of not being welcome.

“The ground is consecrated,” she growled, becoming visible even as I did. Then she did the least supernatural thing she could. She rang the bell.

An elderly gentleman’s gentleman opened the door, his lip curling ever so slightly in distaste at the two hussies on his Master’s door step. I felt Ursula reach into him, hard, even as she pulled her top up and bared her breasts to him. “Won’t you invite us in?” she asked sweetly.

The butler fought a battle within himself he ultimately lost. “Please come in, Miss. And you as well young lady,” he said in a sing song voice. The feeling of being unwelcome lifted and we could step across the threshold. Ursula kissed his cheek.

“Why don’t you go jerk off into the supper?” she asked with sour sweetness. The butler closed the door and ambled off. Ursula cracked her knuckles and shimmered, becoming a lovely young woman with deep blonde hair in a conservative, but well tailored skirt suit and sufficient jewelry to make a fair-sized down payment on the National Debt. “Don’t look at me,” she said; her voice melodic and colored by a soft, educated Scott’s bur. “This is evidently Princess Charming. Let’s go see about getting Eddie good and Damned.” She wiggled her eyebrows and it was obvious she was looking forward to what she was contemplating.

“Lorraine,” called a voice from the top of the lovely, banistered staircase in the back of the entry hall where we still stood. The voice was attached to a boyishly handsome young man with somewhat long, chestnut hair framing a kind face. He wore an expensive silk suit that had a crest of some kind sewn into the pockets. “When did you get here, my love? And why didn’t Reginald announce you?” He stopped a few feet away, somewhat confused. “Who is your friend?”

Once more I felt Ursula reach out with her powers and I knew my moment was at hand. Looking about, I saw a heavy looking wooden box by the entryway. I picked it up, wondering as I did so why it burned my fingertips, but I ignored the pain as I struck Ursula as hard as I could across the back of the head.

She didn’t make a sound, but folded to the floor, out cold and the box burned me so much I had to drop it. It fell beside her, opening to spill out a Bible, which explained the pain in my hands and its instant effectiveness on Ursula. “What will you do, now?” asked a terrible voice.

He stood beside the young Prince, who was himself evidently frozen in horror. The Angel was too bright too look at directly, so I had no clear picture of his face. Only the palpable aura of power that wrapped around him and the massive, tendril like wings of light behind him. He wore a judge’s robes and did not appear to be armed, but I was still sorely afraid. “What?” I whispered hoarsely, backing away from the creature into the corner of the door and the wall.

“I said, what will you do, now, Rebecca?” The Angel took a step forward and still Edvaard didn’t move. I realized then we were frozen, in that long space between one heart beat and the next.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Arch Angel Uriel, Guardian of Judgment, Emergency and Change, little Succubus.” I hung my head.

“Are you here to take me back to Hell?”

It was then he surprised me intensely. “No.” My head shot up.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated patiently. “This is a nexus. A turning point between Edvaard’s Destiny and his Dark Fate. I am forbidden to interfere.”

“His who and what?” The Angel chuckled.

“All of humanity posses both a Destiny, the brightest promise of their choices through Free Will and a Dark Fate, the turning away from that light to the dark, bases of their own nature. This is Edvaard’s nexus and, oddly enough, yours.”

“But…but…” I stammered. “I’m not human any more. And I’m already Damned. How can this be my nexus?”

Uriel sighed with a saint’s patience. “Demoness or no, Rebecca you have Free Will. You have taken a step in that Nexus. Will you assist your Mistress and corrupt this innocent? Or will you take a different path?”

“What? What other path?” I demanded.

“Will you keep Edvaard protected so that he may fulfill his Destiny?”

“How can I do that?” I pointed at the unconscious form of Ursula. “Even if I stop her, they’ll send someone else. Can’t you help me?” The Angel shook his head. “But, they’ll keep coming so they can corrupt some child he hasn’t even sired yet…” I trailed off. There was a third alternative here.

If Edvaard couldn’t sire a child, then he would be useless to Hell, right? So the solution here seemed painfully obvious. At least it did at the time. I crossed over to him, more than a bit unsettled about doing this in front of the Arch Angel. But, it was all I could think of.

Uriel wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the options.

As I gathered the Prince into my arms and kissed him I felt him respond to me. My power reached into him and he responded to me. Suddenly we were one on the floor of the hall, our lips never separating. He was so sweet and pure.

I fed, even as he filled me but there was something different about this coupling. There was feeling, as if some nagging worry was gone and I could actually enjoy this wonderful moment. Then the last of his masculinity entered me as he shuddered in his orgasm and began to change. Within moments, the handsome Prince was gone and in his place, a lovely, aristocratic youth stared into my eyes, fear and terror dancing in her own as I helped her to her feet.

“You bitch,” hissed Ursula. My head snapped around to see her, wings spread and her mouth a feral collection of daggers. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Come find out,” I spat at her, my head giddy with the rush of feeding and some strange feeling of hope within me. She made to lunge at me and I lashed out by reflex. The power leapt from my hand and knocked her back, though the door behind her and out onto the lawn beyond. Her body lay motionless for a moment, then shimmered and sank into the Scottish loam.

“It is done,” declared Uriel as he faded away.

Big help he was.

Fire raked down my side as I lurched away from it, turning to meet this new threat. Edvaard had taken a sword from the wall and sliced my leg with it. Smokey blood oozed from the wound as the human form I wore became too much for me to hold onto and my true self was revealed.

The young woman Edvaard had become gasped, taking a half step back, but the point of the sword didn’t waiver. I could see a crucifix had been etched into the blade, along with other symbols I didn’t recognize, but glowed softly. “What are you?” she demanded steadily, mastering herself once more.

“I’m a Succubus, a Demoness of Hell,” I admitted, gritting my teeth against the pain in my leg. “My name is Rebecca.”

“Why have you done this?”

“I was sent to watch her corrupt you, to Damn you and pervert the Merovingian Line.” I watched the anger set on her face as she advanced a step, the sword casually held before her. I backed away in fear. “But, I couldn’t let her do that! I couldn’t let anyone else suffer the fate I have, you must believe me!”

“Must I?” she demanded. I kept backing up, knowing I should flee, but to where? There was obviously no hope of help from Heaven, and it wouldn’t be long before Lilith, or someone like her arrived to undo my stop gap and finish the job. My hand settled on the Bible, still on the floor and burned with new pain.

“Please! I swear I want to help you!”

The burning left my hand, even as I felt bathed in a warm, reassuring light. My vision blurred and I became aware of a new, hot wetness dripping down my face. The sword point wavered and finally withdrew. “You’re crying,” she told me softly. “What does that mean?”

I brought my hand up to my face even as the tears became a torrent. “I…I don’t know,” I admitted. It was a long time before I could speak again as the torment flowed from me.

* * *

“The tears meant you were on your way to Redemption,” Marc interrupted me softly, rising from his desk to offer me his silk handkerchief.

I realized I was crying again. I took the offered silk and dabbed at my eyes, being careful of my makeup as the feminine side of me demanded I should. It was hard, but I resisted the temptation to blow my nose into it.

Marc settled on the side of his desk to watch me. “Absolutely remarkable,” he commented finally. “I don’t know whether they’re slipping or this is just a fantastic bit of luck for us.”

“There are other forces at work here, you are ignorant of, Marc,” said the breathtakingly beautiful woman from the couch near us. She was remarkably tall for a woman, fair skin framed by ringlets of jet black hair and a lovely business skirt suit that was professional, but didn’t fail to display her remarkable charms either.

Marc sighed. “That’s usually how I’m forced to work here, Dominique. Would you care to fill us in?” The woman smiled her amusement at what I took to be her subordinate’s frustration.

“I might be persuaded to part with a secret or two,” she told us with a chuckle. “Just for the sake of completeness. But, first, I think I could use some coffee. Could you see to that, please, Marc?”

I watched his desire to remain and hear what ever this Dominique wanted to say to me out of his hearing war with the respect of submitting to his betters. Respect won out and he excused himself before leaving. She turned her full attention to me, polite, but intimidating, as if she had many more eyes than the two dark, mysterious ones she wore. “Well, Rebecca, it seems you have rather upset things, here and Below. I already have a formal compliant from Lilith to take before the Throne, because of you. What do you say to that?”

I swallowed, still terribly uncomfortable under her unblinking gaze. “I don’t mean to be rude, Ma’am,” I told her cautiously, “but, who are you?”

Her laugh seemed even a little forced to her, as if she hadn’t laughed in quite some time and was only just getting back into the practice of it. She winced a bit and shook her head ruefully. “I am Dominique, Member of the High Council of Arch Angels, High Inquisitor of Heaven and Hand Maid to the Throne. Which is a really overly complicated way of saying I’m number three honcho around here.”

I laughed, I couldn’t help it. My mind’s picture of Heaven didn’t include humor, which was doubtlessly one of my problems. “Oh. It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Honchoness,” I told her with a bit of a snicker.

“Charmed,” she told me with a far more relaxed smile. But her eyes still didn’t blink and that was quite unsettling. “Now that that’s out of the way, what do you have to say for yourself?”

I shrugged as I played with the hem of my skirt like a little girl answering to a parent that was both loved and feared over some transgression. “It wasn’t my idea to complicate anyone’s after life. I just couldn’t let happen what they were going to do. I don’t know what that makes me. I know I don’t disserve to be here, but that doesn’t change what I had to do.”

“Interesting,” she said softly as the door was knocked on softly and then opened. A lovely, rubenesque black woman wrapped in the most obnoxiously colorful sarong of silk I’d ever seen. Her head was wrapped in a turban of the same material and she wore far too much jewelry and make up.

Yes, I liked her pretty much on sight.

“Hey there!” she greeted with a smile that was every bit as easy and natural as Dominique’s had been forced. She held the door open for the returning Marc who was laden with a pewter coffee service on a matching tray. Once he was inside, she invited herself in and shut the door. “Dom, how was your vacation?” she asked with a grin.

“Welcome and I’m glad to be back to work,” Dominique told her with a tolerant smile. The new comer helped herself to the coffee and plopped on the couch beside her with a great sigh of relief.

“Good news!” she said with a toothy grin before turning to me. “So, this is the Rebecca. How are you dear?”

I only just managed to take the coffee from Marc without spilling it under the spiritual onslaught of this new woman. “Um, fine, thank you. I don’t know if I qualify as the anything, but I’m here.”

“Think nothing of it, dearie. Oh, where are my manners? I’m Raphael, Angel of Mercy and Dom’s main foil on the Council.” Oh.

“I, guess, I’m honored to meet you,” I told her softly, not sure what else to say. She just chuckled, which was cut short by Marc softly clearing his throat.

“I believe you were going to part with a secret or two when I left, Dominique?” he asked with a boyish smile that probably let him get away with quite a bit. It did in this instance too.

“Ah, yes, secrets,” replied Dominique. “Well, about the time you were having your heart to heart with Edvaard, Rebecca, your friend Ursula arrived back in Home, the Principality of Hell that Lilith has dominion over. As I understand it, your mother flew into a spectacular example of one of her rages.”

“Ursula is still alive?” I asked, somehow worried, relieved and amazed all at once.

“No,” replied Dominique. “She died several hundred years ago, but she still exists as you did not inflict Final Death on her. She managed to inform Lilith of what you had done before she passed out and my informant tells me Lilith’s rage was a terrible thing to behold.”

“And your informant would be?” asked Raphael after a sip of the coffee. Dominique gave her a playful glare, and then smiled.

“This cannot leave this room, of course, but my informant was a Sister of yours, Rebecca. Her name is Lorelei.” The others seemed to attach some significance to this, but it was lost on me.

I had no idea who Dominique was talking about.

“In any event,” continued Dominique. “Lorelei rather quickly put together what the great Plan Rebecca had set on its ear was and what the ramifications of that would be. The heart of the Truce would be at stake. Realizing she had basically nowhere else to turn, Lorelei promptly went to see the Prince of Darkness himself. And this is where things get interesting. Lucifer told her to come to me and tell me everything.”

I watched Marc’s eyebrows ascend his face in surprise. “Really?”

Dominique nodded. “Armed with this information was when we began to rally the forces to find you, Rebecca, but I think we might be a bit ahead of ourselves. What happened after you convinced Edvaard of your real intentions?”

* * *

I don’t know how long I sat on the floor and cried. After a moment, I became aware that Edvaard had put the sword away and holding my shoulders, offering me what comfort she could. It’s funny, I set her life on its ear, steal her very manhood, and she’s comforting me.

I wish I had been half the man in life that Edvaard is.

Finally, I was able to pull myself together enough to use some that energy I’d stolen from him to heal the gash down my leg. That done, I manifested my human form once more and was finally able to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” I told him with a mighty sniff. “I did this to you because it was all I could think of to keep you beyond their reach. If you weren’t a man, you’d be immune to our power and you’d be safe from their corruption.”

She actually laughed as I laid out my logic to her. “It rather doesn’t help me sire a new heir, now does it?” she asked with a smile. I shook my head.

“We have to go,” I told him as I got to my feet. “It isn’t safe here. They’ll come for you.”

“Let them,” she said with something of a hint of steel in her voice. “I am Edvaard Plantard Saint-Clare and I run from nothing and no one.”

I couldn’t quite keep in a chuckle at her defiance. “Honey, you were Edvaard Plantard Saint-Clare. Now you’re a young girl with no papers, no ID and all of Hell is coming for you.” I paused a bit to let that sink in behind her fearful, but still resolved eyes. “I’ll do what I can, but if they know where to find us, that makes things much harder.”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked me.

“For starters, get that sword, it really hurt. I hope we won’t have need of it, but, better safe than sorry.”

“Shall I fetch one for you?” I shrugged my shoulders.

“I’m a lover, not a fighter, that’s kind of how I ended up here. I don’t know swords from shinola.” She nodded as she took down the sword once more. “How far away does your girl friend live?”

“About twenty minutes, why?”

“She might be next,” I told her fearfully.

* * *

About nine minutes later her Austin-Martin screeched to a stop at another of those more than houses but not quite mansions. At least my ability to drive like a manic wasn’t gone. The girl Edvaard had become was too small to reach the pedals properly. If I had to guess, she looked like she was about 16 or so, and, more to the point, I rather doubted Edvaard had done much in the way of driving any way.

As I killed the engine, she turned to me, a bit of worry on her face. “I don’t think she’ll believe me, to be honest. Can you make yourself look like my old self?” I shook my head.

“Females only, your highness. That’s the way it works. If you get us inside, then I’m certain my morning face will convince her.” Edvaard sighed and nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go.” We climbed out as I tugged the super tight jeans I’d conjured up out of the crack of my ass. Evidently, any clothing I wore could only be of the hottie on the prowl variety. The lowest heels I could manage were three inches.

The door was answered by another of these ubiquitous gentleman’s gentlemen. Geez, did everybody in the UK have a butler? “May I help you, ladies?” he asked with a curl to the lip that I was beginning to recognize and get pissed about.

“Yes,” interrupted Edvaard. “Elisabeth Plantard Saint-Clare to speak with Lorraine Gwendolyn Stewart. It is a matter of great urgency, if you please, Malcolm.”

The butler started a bit, at the use of his name. Edvaard, who was now calling herself Elisabeth, had changed before we’d fled his house, making sure to pin his Crest to the sweater she’d pulled on. The one pair of jeans he owned now made her look like some hip-hop wannabe; they were ridiculously baggy. Malcolm considered this for a moment and stepped to one side. “Won’t you come in?”

Yet again the barrier that kept me on the mat, as it were, lifted and I could enter the house. What a pain. It figures with me begrudging every second, not knowing when Baal, or Lilith, or both might show up, I have to grind my teeth and play Miss Manners.

“I’ll see if Miss Steward is still receiving visitors, Miss Saint-Claire,” started Malcolm. “It is quite late…”

“We don’t have time for this,” I growled, fearfully. Turning to Malcolm, I turned on the charm. “Malcolm, love, go and fetch her highness, see that she’s in rugged clothes as quick as you can and get her here, won’t you?”

I probably didn’t have to bat my eyelashes, but it seemed to help as he vaulted the stairs two at a time to please me. Elisabeth stared up at me. “That’s vaguely disturbing,” she said slowly.

My dark chuckle probably made her skin crawl. “You should see me when I’m really trying. Go get that sword.”

“Why? Can you sense someone coming?” I shook my head.

“No, but we’re not leaving by the car. I think I might know someone who’ll help us and he’s in America.” My explanation probably confused her a bit, but she went back out to fetch the weapon. Reaching within myself, I started weaving the threads of power I’d discovered when I’d lashed out at Ursula.

I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing, but I did know what I wanted them to do so I weaved with that in mind. Dutifully a gate of magic appeared by the calling card table. “What is that?” asked Elisabeth as she returned.

“I should very much like to know that, myself,” called a familiar voice, attached to the regal looking blonde on the landing. She wore some nice, but durable looking hiking shorts, boots and a nice sweater, but was still the woman whose face Ursula had been wearing. She breezed down the stairs, hand outstretched like a proper lady. “Lorraine Stewart, how do you do?”

I took her hand; made sure my grip was firm and let her see me. “Rebecca, Demoness of Hell, working very hard to save the two of you. Charmed.”

She didn’t scream, which honestly impressed me. What she did do was pivot and use some kind of judo move to fling me to the base of the stairs. I slid to a stop on the marble and counted to ten before I called up my human guise again and got back to my feet. Being everybody’s punching gal was getting old, let me tell you.

“Get thee behind me!” she commanded imperiously.

“Lorraine, darling, I think she’s actually trying to help,” interjected Elisabeth. The two exchanged looks.

“Have we met?”

“That would be your fiancée, Edvaard Plantard Saint-Clare,” I told her as I returned to conversational distance, giving her outstretched arm a disdainful glance. “First, you need a crucifix for that trick, and two, I have to be a vampire for it to work in the first place, so, put your hand down, Dulzor.”

“I beg your pardon?” she demanded, but she did slightly lower her arm.

A sigh let me keep my temper and organize my thoughts. “Sorry, once upon a time, my name was Ricardo Manuel Estabon, so English is kind of a second language. Dulzor means sweetness. I’ll try to stick to English. Now, to recap, I was part of a conspiracy of Hell to corrupt the Merovingian Line, which would be the two of you. Now, I’ve changed sides, for what that’s worth, I don’t know, so I’m attempting to keep you kids safe. But I can’t do that here, so this,” and I gave a gesture to the portal beside us. “Is a gate that will take us to America where, I hope, I might have someone who will help us. But I really need you two to shut up, believe what I’m telling you and do as I say, K?”

“Or else, what?” Lorraine asked me.

“Or else Lilith, the Demoness who created me, or Baal, the Demon who led a week long gang rape of me, or both will show up to kill me and Damn the two of you, not necessarily in that order.” The two of them exchanged worried glances as I felt each second tick away. It is a fearful thing to have the Army of the Damned coming after you; worse, I suppose that your only ally seems to be one of Them. Finally Lorraine swallowed and nodded.

“Alright, Edvaard seems to trust you so, I will as well.”

Great. What I said aloud was, “Take my hand,” as I offered it. They both accepted and we stepped through the gate, me letting my sense of smell guide us through the maze of false paths I’d set up just incase we were followed. About half a million paths lay off this one gate at that end, all going somewhere far away from our actual destination.

Man, I hoped George would be home.

* * *

George Conner, would be priest, above average student and, by my enhanced senses, all around nice guy, lived in a rather average tenement, about a half hour’s drive from the College of William and Mary, were he went to school. Once we were clear of the gate I dispelled it, quickly releasing its ties to the gate at the other end, which, hopefully, would mean we weren’t followed.

I hoped.

His smell told me which apartment off the common hall was his. Each step became a little harder as I approached it until finally, at the door, if felt as if I were trying to move through cement. That vague, unwelcome feeling I was used to was a six five bruiser with a baseball bat and a really deep frown by comparison here. His whole floor practically screamed Go Away.

Perfect, really.

Finally, I worked up the strength to ring the door bell. After a moment, the door opened to reveal him, his eyes widening in shock and recognition. I was wearing my human face, but some new sense told me he was actually seeing the real me. “Go Away!” he shouted, making ready to slam the door.

“Wait, please!” I begged, with all my strength. As it was, it was like talking to a brick wall. It was questionable I would be able to enter even if he did invite me in. “I need your help, George and there’s no one else I can turn to.”

“How…how do you know my name?” he asked fearfully. He really was a nice sort, a little mousy, but that was to be expected from a theology student. In my heels, he was my height, painfully thin with meticulously groomed hair and thin framed wire rimmed glasses.

The smell of him was driving me nuts. I wasn’t even hungry and it was just so heady.

“I read your soul, George. I know what a good and decent man you are. I need your help, for the Love of God, please don’t shut the door.”

For some reason, the weight on me lifted noticeably after I’d said that. He pushed his glasses up his nose cautiously. “You can’t come in, can you?”

“Not unless you specifically invite me,” I admitted with a shake of my head.

“Then speak your peace, Demon.” Demon, the way he said it was like a slap in the face. It hurt to hear the disdain in his voice. I don’t think we would have been friends when I had been alive, but somehow his approval was so important to me. I gestured down the hall to where Elisabeth and Lorraine waited.

“It’s a long story, but these two are of the Merovingian Line. Do you know what that means?”

“I’m familiar with the myth, yes,” he told me casually.

“It’s not a myth; these two have the Blood of the Savior in their veins. I just upset a major plot of Hell to corrupt them so that she,” and I pointed to Elisabeth, “could ascend the Throne of David as a corrupt King of Scotland and unleash a hell on Earth.”

He looked at the two girls, then back at me. Finally, he said, “Kings are men.”

“No shit!” I screamed at him, more than a tad frustrated. “So was she until about an hour ago. I did that to her, trying to keep another succubus from corrupting her. I don’t have anywhere else to turn; George and you are the nicest man I know on Planet Earth. I need your help.”

He breathed a heavy sigh as he realized the full measure of what I was asking of him. Poor guy, this was so far over his head. He sighed again and I heard him silently commend his soul to God. “Come in and be welcome,” he said softly.

I nearly fell into the apartment, so forcefully did the bane against me lift. He caught me, getting a rather large handful of my breast as he did so. It took every thing I had to keep from jumping him. The poor dear blushed from his toes to the roots of his hair as he snatched his hand away. “Are you alright?” he muttered, deeply embarrassed.

“I’ll be alright,” I said, turning away and trying to focus on anything other than that beautiful smell that rolled off him. The two girls followed me in, Lorraine giving both of us a looking over as she did so.

“Exactly how do you two know each other?” she asked after a moment.

I waited for George to shut the door before I answered. “Ursula, the Succubus who tried to attack Edvaard took me to feed here,” I admitted softly. I looked up the young preacher, full of a war of desire and shame. “She meant for me to feed off of you, but I couldn’t let you come to harm, so I picked Cutter instead.”

George paled visibly at my admission. “Feed?” he squeaked.

“This!” announced a new, strident voice from behind me. I turned to see Cutter, some what adorable in a pair of George’s pajamas that were far too big for her, glaring at me, hands on hips.

“Hello, Cutter,” I greeted softly. “What are you doing here?”

“What, the hell, are you doing here?” she demanded angrily. She marched into the room and glared at George. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? What are you fucking thinking letting her in here?”

“Sit,” I ordered, contritely amused at her instant obedience. “And that’s enough of that kind of language from you, Missy.”

“How, how did you do that?” breathed Lorraine.

“I did to Cutter here, something like what I did to Edvaard. Difference is, Cutter, you were already corrupt. Did you even know that? You had a mark of a Demonic Clan on you, little lady. You’re more than half way on the elevator of the here after going down. That makes you under my thumb, unless and until I release you, or you get your spiritual house in order. If I were you, I’d be doing that.”

I furled my leathery wings over my shoulders like a cape to give my point a bit more weight as the little girl who had been a pimp once upon a time decided to do some serious thinking. George cleared his throat softly. “Why…why did you come here?”

“What I told you wasn’t a lie, George. I’ve got no place to hide out and no one to turn to. I’m in defiance of Hell and Heaven all but told me they won’t help.”

“When was this?” demanded Elisabeth.

“After I knocked out Ursula but before I, well, you know…” I trailed off, not wanting to be indiscrete in front of his erstwhile fiancée. Not that it did any good, as I saw her brain put two and two together.

“Edvaard!” she exclaimed.

“Dear…!” Elisabeth started, but I interrupted.

“He couldn’t help it, Lorraine. No man can resist me. He didn’t have a choice.” I wilted a bit under her stare. “Look, I’ll prove it.” I turned to George and reached out, just tickling his libido and reminding his hand of the softness of my breast.

The poor young man took a halting step towards me, his hands reaching for the memory before him. I had to shake myself to release him. Staying here was going to be damned hard. “My God, forgive me,” he breathed. “Can nothing stop you?”

“Well, I have no power over women, unless they’re gay. So, I imagine if you were gay, I wouldn’t have power over you,” I told them after a moment of thought. “If it’s any consolation, I nearly couldn’t come to your door, so we should be safe for the moment. I just have to think this through.”

“I, for one,” declared Lorraine with a glare, “am waiting with baited breath for the outcome of this.”

“I don’t know what else to do here, people. I couldn’t let this go down, but I can’t think of some way to make what I’ve done stick so this can be any kind of permanent.” I gave a frustrated gesture at my two charges. “You two have to get married and, I guess, have a kid to fulfill your destinies that Hell is so worried about.”

“That’s likely,” muttered Elisabeth. “Or, can you undo this?” I felt Cutter’s eyes snap up and lock on me. I sighed.

“Not that I know of,” I admitted.

“So…so I’m stuck like this?” wailed Cutter. I locked my eyes on him, more than a little angry at his selfishness.

“Even if I could, do you honestly think I’d let you go back to pimping out those girls like none of this happened? If you think that, girl, you’re in for a very rude awakening!”

“There’s a place,” interrupted George suddenly. We all turned to look at him. “I’d heard some of the others in my theology class talk about it and I didn’t give it much credit, honestly. Some of these people are into some pretty occult things, but they kept going on and on about a coffee shop in New York.”

“Lovely!” spat Elisabeth. “Just what we need, a nice double espresso!”

George made a placating gesture. “This place might be different,” he pressed. “They kept going on and on about it being a Nexus or Confluence or something. A lot of New Age mumbo jumbo, but after tonight, maybe there’s something to it.”

A Nexus? Like what Uriel had been talking about? I thought feverishly. I already knew there were angels, demons and magic. Maybe some of the other rumors I could remember from my misspent life were true as well. Maybe we could get some kind of help there. “What’s the name of this place?” I asked.

“Neutral Grounds,” he answered. “I can find out exactly where and take you in the morning.”

* * *

I didn’t sleep very well that night. Being in such close proximity to George, combined with my current situation made for a night of nightmares. Not of angels coming after me with flaming swords, but the far more real torments of Last Week. The dream made it clear that was fairly light weight as far as what Hell could come up with in the way of torture.

The sun on my eyelids made me wake with a start to stare into George’s face as he worked up the courage to wake me. Our eyes locked for several moments until somehow we were kissing and that felt so wonderful. I recovered myself before anything other than kissing happened and pushed him away. “I’m sorry!” we said at once and I wondered who had really been at fault here.

A shudder of my recalled dream let me work his lovely scent from my nose. “I’m sorry to add all this drama to your life,” I told him softly.

He actually chuckled and laid a consoling hand on my shoulder. “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger,” he quoted with a smile. “If nothing else, Rebecca, you’ve given me a life times worth of sermons.”

That brought a chuckle out of me as I looked up into his kind eyes. “I’ll be the first to admit my life was a text book case of how to screw up, George, but I never thought I’d be the subject of a sermon. Hey, look on the bright side. You don’t have to take your job on faith, now.”

“Neither did Thomas,” he replied, “and in a way that diminished his faith. He did know, Rebecca. The strength of faith of those who don’t know is far greater than mine now. Yes, I suppose it is a relief to know, but my business is faith. The not knowing and believing anyway. That makes it a harder case to make. God isn’t something I can wonder about any more. I’ve lost that mutual frame of reference with my parishioners.”

“Misericordia, George, I’m sorry.” His smile was warm and genuine as it worked its magic on me again.

“Don’t be, Rebecca. You have given me more hope than I think even you are aware of.”

“Venido ortra vez?” I asked, causing him to laugh.

“Wake up and speak English for me. Or at least switch to Latin. I’m fairly passable there.” I blushed and shook my head to clear it of its fog.

“I said, ‘Come again?’”

“Even dead and Damned, Rebecca, you are struggling towards God. Why else would you risk the wrath of your Masters? That tells me He’s worth it.”

I blushed and turned away. “I wouldn’t know. He didn’t know me.”

George reached out and brought my chin around. “He does know you,” he corrected me softly, and I was glad all over again of the decisions I’d made. George was a light that needed to shine. “And you want to know Him, or you wouldn’t have done any of this. I pray it will stand you in good stead.”

That gave me an interesting feeling. Other than my Mama, no one had ever really prayed for me. I wasn’t worth the effort before. Now, well, I’d already gone by the Gate that said ‘Abandon all Hope.’ I stood, ashamed and drawn to the intimacy we’d shared. “We’d better get going,” I told him. “No telling how much time we’ve got.”

He smiled and stood. As he passed I reached out and caught his arm. “Say, we’re about the same size. Do you have some clothes I could borrow? I can’t manifest anything other that Trashy Chic. I don’t think you’d want to be seen with that.”

“The judgment of another changes nothing of the truth in my heart, Rebecca. I’m ashamed to be seen with no one. But, sure, I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Oh it’s so hard to keep my hands to myself.

* * *

What George was able to dig up was a pair of jeans that still hugged my hips in a fairly suggestive manner, but at least didn’t fit like a thong up my rear and a sweat shirt that was in the colors of William and Mary and bedecked with the School of Theology logo. I felt my wings and tail open some kind of spiritual hole in the garments without actually damaging them which let me be a little more comfortable in the outrageous image of the Succubus in a Theology School sweat shirt.

He had a pair of cross trainers that fit and it took me a minute to remember how to walk flat on my feet again. I gathered my voluminous ebony mane into a pony tail and almost looked like a co-ed. Ok, the blood red dramatic lipstick was a bit out of place with the ensemble, but it was the least I could conjure up. I guess Hell didn’t really go for the natural look.

When I’d come out of his very tidy bedroom where I’d changed, noting that his was the only scent in it as I did so, and very distracted by wearing clothes impregnated with the essence of him, he’d had breakfast ready. I guess out of deference to his European visitors, he’d gone for something continental; bagels, cream cheese an assortment of jams and marmalade with the handful of fruits he evidently had on hand.

I ate with them, but it was like dust. While they were complimenting him on the jam, I felt like I was chewing on plastic food props and getting hungrier by the second. The only satisfaction I got from it was the little hints of him in the food he’d put such care into making.

Finally I couldn’t stand it any more and got to my feet, bringing their eyes to me in surprise. “I have to go,” I announced.

“What’s wrong?” asked Elisabeth, one hand had already found her sword.

“I’m hungry and I can’t stay here. I have to eat.”

“I thought you were…” started Lorraine before she trailed off, grasping my meaning.

“What will you do?” asked George softly.

“There’s got to be a rapist or a criminal or something I can feed on,” I mumbled as I manifested a purse that some part of me knew I wouldn’t be without. It held a wallet that gave me a name, a driver’s license and the other papers I would need if for some reason I had a run in with the Law.

“So, I’m going to have another Cutter to worry about?” asked George with a frown. I shook my head.

“No, I don’t have to take things that far. And, I promise I won’t. I just have to get something in me or I’ll go mad.”

He stood and went into the kitchen to retrieve a small cell phone from its charging cradle. This he presented to me after a moment of fiddling with it. “Here. If something happens here, I’ll call you. And if you need me, I’ve programmed my home number in it as Home.” I took the phone and put it in the purse; actually shaking a bit being so close to him. “How long will you be?”

“I…I don’t know…” I stammered.

“I’m not sure how successful you’ll be finding a criminal in Williamsburg Virginia this early on a Thursday morning, but I wish you luck.”

“Do, do we have time for this?” demanded Elisabeth softly.

“Not really,” I admitted, “But I can’t think I’m so hungry.”

Lorraine swallowed nervously. “Could, well, since you say you can stop before the most untoward happens, couldn’t one of us…?”

My eyes locked with George’s as I focused my will on keeping my hands to myself. “There’s only one person here I could feed from.”

The corners of his mouth twitched into a corny half smile. “Well, I did commit to living my life in what ever way the Master had need of me. If I can be of service…?”

My lips crushed against his with a forcefulness that took both of our breaths away. Before things got out of control, though, I forced myself to step back, trembling with my repressed needs. “I, I don’t want to spoil you…” I whispered.

“God helps those who help themselves,” he told me, offering his hand. “I couldn’t tell you why, Rebecca, but I think He’ll understand.”

Lorraine smiled at me as she nudged Elisabeth up from the table. “Why don’t we keep the young lady occupied for a bit, dear?” The moved to the living room of the apartment, even as George took another step forward, taking my hand in his.

“Just promise me I won’t need and new wardrobe, Rebecca and, it will be fine.”

“Okay,” I breathed, both fearful and deliriously happy at the same time.

* * *

After being so long denied, to stand nude and expectant before the young man made me tremble with hunger and something else. Something more pure that I couldn’t fathom just then. In a way, it reminded me of the coupling that Edvaard and I had shared. In someway, it felt right as I gazed into his eyes and waited for him to work himself up for what was going to happen.

After a long look he shook his head. “That’s not who you are,” he told me softly with a gesture at the human form I wore. There was a part of me that was terrified of the strange power that he held over me suddenly. I shimmered and once more was the horror I had become. I brought my wings around me, ashamed to have him see me this way.

The balance had shifted. Just last night in this form, I had terrified him. Now I was the one who was afraid and I turned away from his handsome face. I felt him cross the distance between us and take me into his arms from behind. “Why are you ashamed?” he whispered.

“You are so beautiful,” I choked out, my voice closing with sobs over my fate. I pulled away from him, spreading my wings in fury and horror. “Look at me! I don’t disserve your kindness! I’m Damned!”

“So am I,” he responded reasonably, straightening his glasses from my abrupt departure. “We all are, Rebecca, and none of us disserve mercy. But we have it. That’s what makes it so wonderful. We don’t disserve the gift we have been given. Even you, even as you claw your way back towards it.”

My wings and arms dropped to my side, even as my cloven hooves wouldn’t bear my weight any more and I slid to the soft carpet of his floor. I had had enough time to build up quite a fantasy of what being with George would be like. Somehow, crying on his floor had never been a part of it. I felt him cross to me and once more take me into his arms. “Dear Rebecca,” he murmured as he kissed my forehead. “I don’t know what the outcome will be to all of this, but you can be of no help to those people out there depending on you like this.” His wonderfully soft lips kissed my tears away.

“Come, you need to do this. You aren’t taking from me. You aren’t spoiling me. I give you whatever of me will help.”

Oh, I couldn’t help myself. After an invitation like that? I’d had my share of sex, male and female. But, for the first time in either my life or death, I made love.

* * *

I sought out Dominique’s unblinking gaze, somewhat amazed at my forth right telling of this most intimate of my secrets. “You…you won’t hold this against him, will you?” I asked fearfully.

For the first time since I’d seen her, Dominique blinked. “Why should I?” she wanted to know. “You needed to feed and he did offer his service to us. We might not have known exactly where you were, or what you needed, but things like this never happen by chance, Rebecca. He wanted you to meet George. You needed to meet him. I’m certainly satisfied there’s nothing untoward there.”

I cast my eyes down, relieved beyond measure. “Thank you.”

“But,” she said with an odd tone. I looked back at another of her wry smiles. “I imagine what you fed on surprised you, didn’t it?”

“How did…?” I asked then thought myself rather foolish. Of course she knew.

“Did I miss something important there?” asked Marc softly.

“I didn’t feed off his soul,” I told him quietly. “It was like I was taking into me the little bits of pain and self disappointment with himself. There wasn’t much, George lived a pretty righteous life from what I saw. But there was enough that it tasted so wonderful. So much better than the just male energy I’d fed on before. It was sweet and, well, I can’t really describe how wonderful it was.”

Raphael cleared her throat without needing to, causing me to blush and look down at my reflection in the coffee. “Yes, the sex was really good too.”

I felt her smile of satisfaction. “Then what happened, dear?” she wanted to know.

* * *

After our third time around, George practically leapt off the bed. This was unusual. What ever knowledge I had of what I was told me I should be the one full of energy and he should barely be able to move. Instead, I lay on his bed, deliciously nude and happy, full of him in more than one way, licking my lips of the last remaining bits of what ever it was that I’d fed on while he paced with more nervous energy than a soon to be dad in a delivery room.

“My word!” he said from his pacing, “I never thought …” He stopped and faced me, vibrating slightly with power. “Thank you.” That brought a languid chuckle from me as I did my best to focus on him.

“You’re welcome.” Finally the sleepy sensation of being full lifted, even as my body absorbed his physical offerings, turning that to energy for me and I could really see him. And what I saw surprised me. George might have been slight, but mousy would never apply to him again. Now that familiar, handsome face was perched atop the body of a gymnast, cords of muscle sculpted over a form that would have done Michelangelo proud. Even his member, a modest length and size at the start of things was longer, thicker and somehow stronger as well.

The washboard abs looked good on him. It was like Toby McGuire the morning after the spider bite. “What happened to you?” I demanded, amazed.

His grin was infectious. “I thought maybe you could tell me?”

I was finally able to sit up and shake my head, even as my tail snaked down my leg seductively trying to draw him back to yet another round. I felt a bit of myself drift over to him, like smoke in a soft breeze and wrap itself around the ring finger of his left hand.

The left over tendrils drifted back to me and copied the procedure on mine. I knew what I’d done. I’d marked him as my own, a mark both my sister demons and the ranks of Heaven could see and were bound to abide by.

But that wasn’t the way it was supposed to have happened.

And even as I could fell his presence through the link between us now, I knew both of us could call the other and that wasn’t supposed to be the way of it, either. He looked down at the sigil on his hand and back to me. “What just happened?” he asked.

“I…I just marked you,” I stammered out.

“I thought the mark of a demon was to the forehead?” was his confused reply.

“It is,” I affirmed. “It will protect you from my sisters. None of them can touch you now. But, God as my witness, George, I have no idea why it happened that way.”

He flexed his arms, getting a feel for his new body. “Somehow, Rebecca, my love, I don’t think you’re nearly as Damned as you think you are.” He stopped and cocked his head as if listening for some sound I couldn’t hear. “No,” he said after a long moment. “I can feel His presence just as strong. Stronger if that’s possible.”

“You can feel God?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow. His boyish grin returned as he returned to the bed to kiss me once more.

“I can feel that which I had labeled Him before you took my speculation to certainty.” I draped both arms and wings about him, revealing in the warmth of him. After a moment, he picked me up and deposited me on my hooves again. “Come on, we’ve got a train to catch.”

Well, I was already dead, and maybe I could sneak a hoof into heaven after all. This was certainly Heavenly.

* * *

On an AMTRAC train whirring along at 150 miles per hour I sat with my new lover, careful to keep my charges across the isle in sight as we talked softly. Edvaard’s sword was in my purse, which had obediently swallowed it, while still managing to stay the size and shape of an average, if sexy black leather shoulder bag.

What was even more curious was it hadn’t hurt me when I’d taken it to put it away. I’d expected the blade, like the Bible before it, to burn as I handled it. But it only felt like slightly warm steel in its scabbard.

“So,” I asked him, putting the thoughts of the strangeness of this morning from my mind. “How did Cutter end up with you?”

“Oh, that,” he chuckled. “After I got Nancy and Jill, the two prostitutes I was witnessing to, if you remember?” I nodded. “After I got Nancy and Jill to a safe distance, I got my cross from my car, a vile of Holy Water and went back looking for you.”

“Why on Earth?” I demanded, amazed by his courage.

“Well, I didn’t know then what I do now,” he told me. “All I knew was there was a demon loose and I had the tools of the trade to banish her. So I came back to do that. All I found was this little girl, dressed in Cutter’s clothes who spilled out this outrageous story about his manhood being stolen. Still, I had seen you and him, so there might be some truth to it. I couldn’t get any other story out of her, so not knowing what else to do, I took her home. If she was just telling stories, hopefully it would come out there and I could get her back to her parents. I was going to take her to the police this morning as a lost child, but you showed up.”

I felt my shoulders slump under this new burden. “Sorry, George, I know you don’t need to be saddled with a 10 year old while you’re going through seminary.”

“Charity begins in the home,” he told me. “It’s not like she’ll need a sitter. And we’ll figure something out.”

“What is this place we’re going to?” I asked.

“It’s called Neutral Grounds. According to, ahem, the self professed witch in my theology class, it’s called a Fount. Some kind of wellspring of power.”

A Fount. I felt my mind race at the possibilities, even as what ever arcane lore was hardwired into my being supplied me with knowledge of what it was. A place where the mystic boundaries were broken and pure power bubbled up for use. Even with the Truce, Founts were fought over and that made me nervous. “Who controls it? Heaven or Hell?”

“Neither,” he told me. “It’s set up as a coffee shop and is run by some thing that is evidently more powerful than both and content to run the place as a supernatural United Nations. Neutral to both sides and open to both.”

Oh dear.

“Say,” he asked me as I wondered what I’d have to go through to get the Fount custodian on my erstwhile side. Whichever side that was. I turned to gaze into his expectant eyes. “Do you think…well, after this is over, do you think I could call you or something?”

As if saving the world wasn’t enough. Now I’m getting asked out. Perfect.

“Aren’t you in training to be a priest?” I asked him with a smile.

“I’m not Catholic,” was his answer. I crossed my arms under my bosom that were scratched slightly by the jersey material. It wasn’t like he’d had any women’s undergarments stashed for me to borrow and evidently they weren’t in my library of call up items either.

“I am,” I told him stiffly. “You got something against the Roman Catholic Church?”

“Not at all. Except the fact they don’t let their priests get married.”

Oh dear.

* * *

Neutral Grounds was a little hole in the wall shop of the kind that made New York famous. On the corner of two of the big streets on the financial district you’d expect it to be full of Wall Street power brokers.

It was full of power brokers all right, but very few of them were from Wall Street.

There were Angels, devils and things I hadn’t the slightest inkling of a name for that all turned to watch the Succubus, the Street Preacher and the Blood of the Savior walk in. Two vanished instantly one from each side and that got me worried. Not sure what else to do, we ambled to the counter under the watchful eyes of a woman of indeterminate age, race and power, who pointed over her head at a sign.

It read No fighting. Period.

“Well, here’s an eclectic mix,” she greeted. I got the feeling of being seen for exactly what I was. There was a susurrus of noise behind me which caused her to look over my shoulder and clear her throat loudly. “Anybody who wants to spend some time on the shelf, try something.”

I turned to see one of Baal’s lieutenants, a demon I knew far better than I wanted to slowly sit back down.

Who was this little woman who could command with such authority?

Over her shoulder I saw the kind of shelf that most places like this keep filled with mason jars of bulk ingredients, coffees, sugar and the like. The jars were there, but I could perceive what was in them were powers. Most seemed to be from my erstwhile side, but there were several I didn’t know.

“So,” she said, turning back to us. “What will it be?”

“Um, can you see me?” I asked meekly.

“Yes, I can see you, Succubus. What will it be?”

“I, well, I’d like some way to turn her back into a him, please.” Her delicately arched eyebrows ascended her face.

“Oh really? Want fries with that?”

“What ever it is, it will be to go,” commanded a voice I knew and feared. I turned to see Lilith, in all her terrible beauty glaring down at me. “Rebecca, to say I’m disappointed is an understatement.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I told her softly. “I really don’t care that you’re disappointed because I certainly am not going to let you harm these two.”

A cop, one of the few normal people in the place looked at us. “Hey,” he called loudly. “Take your 86 outside. Some of us are trying to eat here.”

“Eat your donut and mind your own business,” sneered Lilith before she in turn was cut off by the proprietress clearing her throat.

“Lilith, you know the rules,” she said with an edge of warning. “So long as she’s in my place, she’s in my place. Either order, or get out.”

Lilith nodded with a cruel smile. “Yes, that would seem to be the solution to this, wouldn’t it?” Her eyes returned to me. “You, outside. Now.”

For the briefest of moments I felt the cord she had on me tug, then, surprisingly enough, snap. The sneer left her face as I met her gaze with a good bit more courage than I probably should have. “No.”

I watched her face pull into frank amazement as I defied her, then into a comical confusion. “What do you mean, no?” she managed to the snickers of the woman behind the counter.

I squared my shoulders, bolstered by some reservoir of courage I didn’t know I had. “What part didn’t you understand?” I asked her sweetly. “The N or the No?” As she sputtered for a reply, I saw a handsome, if somewhat boyish, angel rise from his table and amble over, fishing in his breast pocket of the Armani suit he wore. As he arrived, all fantastic smiles, he produced a business card and presented it to me.

“Pardon me, when you get a moment, Miss, I’d like to speak with you about some career opportunities you might not be aware of.” He tipped a hat he wasn’t wearing to Lilith. “Fine morning, isn’t it, Princess?”

“You,” she hissed in anger as I looked down at the card.

Marc

Arch Angel of Fair Trade

“Um, can you give me just a second here?” I asked him and was rewarded with another of his dazzling smiles. I turned back to Lilith, bubbling with a supply of machismo that I think had something to do with that place. “Lilith, I can understand I’ve angered you and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But I’ve come to understand quite a bit about life I hadn’t while I was so busy living it. I understand that my laziness and my selfishness blinded me to what I really should have been doing. But those blinders are off me, now. You, well, I can see you’re still wearing yours. You can’t see just how trivial all your little schemes are, and that’s sad, really.

“I won’t be a part of, nor allow you to corrupt these two innocents. If you can’t see the wrongness of that…” and I trailed off, as something profound occurred to me as I watched her face suffuse with rage. That beautiful face lost its beauty as it was replaced by a mask of animalistic fury. “You can’t see the wrongness of it, can you?” I asked in amazement. “You can’t see either right or wrong.”

“No,” supplied Marc softly. “Lilith was driven out of the Garden of Eden before Adam ate of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”

I stared at her in wonder. “You’re like a big infant, then, aren’t you? You can’t even see how you pimp the other girls out, or how evil it was to give me to Baal and his minions. No, you can’t see anything beyond what you want.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I pity you, Lilith. I really do.”

Her rage flashed into a power of terrible size as she snatched me up and threw me through the window, out into the street. There, what seemed like an Army of devils bore me to the ground. Mercifully, the pain was brief before it all went away.

* * *

“And then, I woke up here,” I finished after a sip of the excellent, and still steaming coffee. I shouldn’t be surprised that the coffee didn’t go cold. It was Heaven after all.

Dominique’s face showed an amusement she was diligently trying not to give voice to. Raphael, however, had no such restraint and was laughing freely. “You said all that to Lilith? Oh, Sweet Lord how I wish I could have seen that.”

Marc took a folder from his desk and presented it to her. “You can keep those,” he told her as she laughed her way through the collection of 8 x 11 glossies. “Double prints,” he said with an almost impish glee.

“What about Edvaard and Lorraine?” I asked, worried. “You said you’d tell me what happened?”

“They’re fine, Rebecca,” soothed Dominique. “Well, I should say that Elisabeth Plantard Saint-Clair and Lawrence Gregory Stewart will be celebrating their wedding in a bit over two weeks.”

“Lawrence?” I demanded, stunned. Dominique nodded with great amusement.

“Yes, we decided to take a page from your play book, there, my dear. It made sense what you did to Edvaard. Not only did it keep him from the clutches of Ursula and all the other Succubae, but as she was once a man, gives her a unique strength against Incubi as well. There was a fair amount of logic there. So, once we had seen to your safety, and had a long chat with Lorraine, who also agreed with the sense of it, we merely concluded what you started. Thus, Lawrence now has the same protections as his blushing bride.”

Marc broke in with a soft chuckle. “See to your safety. You make that sound so simple, Dom. There hasn’t been a battle like that since the Old Testament.”

Dominique tried one of her uncertain chuckles and this one came out a bit more naturally. “Well, it had been forever since Mike had gotten to take the troops out, so I’m sure he had a good time. And it’s good to know our side isn’t slipping in that respect either. If the battle wasn’t sufficient to bolster Arch Angel Michael’s spirits, well I did mention there was a sale at Bloomingdales’ that would certainly have lifted the spirits of the Arch Angel Michelle.”

Marc polished his knuckles on his suit. “I do try.”

Her eyebrows had a rather interesting arch to them that matched the twinkle in her endless eyes. “Besides, seeing Lilith on the Wall of Shame was worth a bit of knock down, drag out.”

I cleared my throat cautiously. “The Wall of Shame?”

“Perhaps you noticed those jars on the shelf over the counter?” Marc asked with a wry smile. I nodded. “Lilith is in one, now.”

“And will be for some time,” continued Dominique. “Her assault of you, Rebecca, was a major violation of the Neutrality of the Fount. Jade doesn’t take kindly to that kind of thing. I think I’ll be drinking more coffee in the not so distant future.”

Turning back to me, Marc said, “It was a simple matter for Dominique to pluck the threads of reality and now everyone but a small handful down there are certain that’s always been the way of it. And with a tight guard against any further hanky panky the wedding should go off without a hitch. Which reminds me. Elisabeth made me promise to ask you if you would be her Maid Of Honor?”

Well that was a shocker to say the least! “Well…I …sure! If I can, I mean…?” I scanned their faces and, judging by the reactions, that was a done deal. “But, what about me?” I asked softly. “When do I get turned over, or exchanged or what ever?”

“Exchanged with who, dear?” asked Raphael in a serious tone. “You certainly don’t belong to them any more.”

“And we are over do for a conversation on other employment opportunities,” continued Marc. “We’ve been without a Bright Lilim for quite some time up here. Oh, we’ve experimented with some success, but there’s always room for the original model as it were.”

“A Bright Lilim,” interrupted Dominique smoothly, “is a former Succubus who has been redeemed. “If you want the job, that is, you’d be working with some of our best, a young angel by the name of Joy.”

I put the coffee cup down in a whirlwind of confusion. “Wait; hold on, how can I work for you? Aren’t I Damned? And even if I could, I’m a Succubus! I corrupt people.”

“Dear,” was Raphael’s response. “You’re terrible at that. All the more reason for the new line of work. Besides, we’ve been working for a while to get it into the heads of those poor souls down there that Sex isn’t dirty. It’s one of the Great Gifts! That would be your job, you and Joy and the other girls we have recruited so far.”

“Sex? You want me to be an Angel of Sex? I thought Sex was dirty…?” Raphael rolled her eyes with a saint’s patience.

“See?” she demanded with motherly charm. “That’s your problem, right there…”

* * *

Attachment	Size
Rebecca by MJDesigns	35.71 KB

The Chameleon

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Sex / Sexual Scenes

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Chameleon
by
E. E. Nalley

I bet it all on a good run of bad luck
seven come eleven and she could be mine.
Luck be a lady, and I'm gonna find love
Coming on the bottom line
Clint Black A good run of bad luck

For Dallas. Keep on truck'n!

Pain, they say, is the great motivator. The pain of hunger led to hunting over gathering; which in turn led to the agricultural revolution and civilization as we know it. Pain is the chief product of war and war has built up and over thrown empires for longer than humans could write about the end of their particular world. But pain was not limited to government and empire; those of the authoritarian bent who had little use for law love using pain themselves. Borrow money from the wrong guy, hit a rough patch and miss a payment and you'll be visited by experts in the application of pain.

That was the situation I found myself in, lying on the floor of the hovel of an apartment in a 'neighborhood' that would be quite at home in a war zone. When consciousness returned to me, pain was a close second due to the beating I'd endured at the hands of my lender's 'business associates.' They'd been quite emphatic that I should have double my missed payment and interest as a 'penalty' for being late and that I had twenty four hours to make that payment or they would return to discuss my failings as a human being again.

Awareness brought on a coughing fit that had me curling into a fetal ball from the pain.

For several minutes I indulged in a pity party as I cried from the beating, the hopelessness and abject terror of ever laying eyes on my tormentors again. I considered packing a bag and fleeing for a few minutes, but quickly came to the conclusion that would only aggravate my situation. The arm of the law had nothing on the reach of organized crime. I slowly got myself up into a sitting position and let my mind run in circles trying to figure out where I was going to come up with double the amount of payment I hadn't had in the first place.

Robbery was out, I wasn't imposing enough to make anyone scared enough to part with their money. I had no weapons, if I could afford weapons I wouldn't have been borrowing money from a loan shark after all. Likewise becoming an unlicensed pharmacist was out, most the streets around me already had such an entrepreneur selling everything from the Devil's Lettuce to hard core chemicals that weren't remotely natural. Markets they'd likely protect, violently, from upstart competitors, who, I had to admit, had no money to get a supply in the first place.

Even in crime, it takes money to make money.

I reached for the newspaper on the floor to press into service as a tissue, when my eyes focused on an advertisement:

MODELS NEEDED

Natural fun, great money; all body types accepted for film production. Cash daily. MALES ONLY.

You didn't need my expensive and worthless college degree to recognize the lure pitch of a gay pornographer, but at this point, what other options did I have? I needed money right now, and no options left. It might be undignified, but beggars can't be choosers. I got to my feet and looked into the mirror near the door.

Don Louie's men hadn't hit my head, at least, and the rods they'd used had a bit of padding as, they'd delighted in explaining, they could work me over longer while doing less damage. After all, I had to earn their money, right? I tore the advertisement out of the paper and made myself as presentable as I could. I wasn't anybody's heart throb, but I wasn't ugly either. I guess it was time to find out what my gay score number was.

I shivered at the thought of someone using my anus and quickly steeled my will.

I had to have cash, in twenty four hours and it didn't matter what discomforts or humiliations I had to endure to get it. The address in the add wasn't far, so I put my eyes down to get through the war zone outside my apartment and walked as quickly as I could and tried not to think about what I had to be willing to do to get that job.

On the edge of the residential war zone was a complex of ware houses with tractor trailers coming and going through a guard shack and it seemed the address was inside. I walked up to the guard shack and showed them the clipping. The two large guards shared a look and a laugh that wasn't pleasant at all before they pointed at the closest building on the inside of the fence.

I felt their eyes on me as I walked across the lot to the warehouse, a bare, brick building that stretched off down the lot, one of dozens of businesses in the front and warehouses in the back that shared this lot. The door was labeled HAPI Productions, LTD in peel and stick block letters and opened into a reception area that had no one waiting and no one at the desk.

For a fleeting moment, I considered turning and running, but the rational side of my mind demanded, 'to where?'

I was out of options and this was the bottom of the barrel. “Hello?” I called, craning my neck to see down the hall way behind the desk. “Anybody here?”

Down the hall, a head popped out of a doorway, ball cap on backwards, longish, shaggy hair and sunglasses. “Finally! Get back here!” he commanded. I slowly made my around the desk.

“There was no body at the desk, and...”

When I got to conversational distance, I could see he was in his early twenties, and looked like every film school geek I'd ever seen. “Yeah, yeah, stow it, we're behind as it is,” he told me and took a hold of my arm. By that, he pulled me into the room and shut the door behind us. He pointed at another door beyond that was open and he was propelling me towards. “Strip, put it on and come back out. Hurry, alright?”

I got propelled into the door which was a little room and dark. He pulled the door shut, flicking on the light as he did so. Then the door shut. The room had a really comfortable looking recliner, a work bench kind of table and laid out on it at first glance I thought was a blow up doll. On closer inspection, I could see it wasn't that; there were holes where the eyes would go, as well as the nose and mouth with no, ahem, place to make use of that mouth.

I picked it up and it felt like skin, like someone had skinned a girl perfectly and left it here. I was repulsed, but, also, mildly curious in a macabre manner as I turned it over, finding the back open, right down the spine, like a wet suit. The hair on the head was bright red and it looked like a skin hoodie on the wet suit. There were even hands, feet, fingers and toes and neatly trimmed little scarlet bush just above what looked like a real labia. It even kinda smelled like one!

“Um, excuse me...?” I called through the door, but immediately, his voice became aggravated.

“We don't have time! Put it on!” he commanded.

I held the skin suit up to me and we were about the same height, but I didn't think...she(?)....it(?)...it was big enough as I probably had a good forty pounds on it if it had actually been a woman. Well, probably best to show him it wouldn't fit. Then we'd get this sorted. I stripped myself naked and reluctantly picked up the skin suit.

I sat down on the leather recliner and cautiously put my right leg into the opening. The inside of this suit felt like no kind of fabric I'd ever experienced as I worked my foot down the leg. It was warm, but almost moist. I was mildly revulsed, but swallowed my discomfort and got my foot all the way down with each toe in place.

Here, I got my first surprise.

The foot felt tight, but wiggling my toes I watched the foot of the suit move even though next to my other foot, I shouldn't have been able to get my foot into it. “What?” I whispered to myself. Then I set the foot down and looked at the door again.

What kind of gay porn is this?

I put my other foot in the suit and with effort, got it's toes settled too. It was tight, like the other had been, but I noted that the other foot didn't feel as tight as if I was getting used to it, or stretching out the suit. I looked into the suit and thought I saw an opening where the labia would be. Rolling my eyes at the weird kind of fetishes that generated porn, I aimed my johnson at the opening and pulled the suit up to my hips. I felt my penis slide into something warm, wet and wonderfully soft and shivered with pleasure.

I looked down, around the suit in front of me, expecting to see my very erect manhood peaking out of the vaginal opening of the suit but it wasn't. “There's no way,” I whispered to myself, and went to stand to get a better view, then somehow my hands got tangled in the suit and I stood. I pushed out my hands, as if pushing through some kind of membrane and I realized my hands were in the suit and it was pulling onto my torso. I reached up, to try and pull it back off, but that just got the head hoodie over my head.

For a moment I couldn't breath and I pulled at the hoodie as the entire suit seemed to constrict and squeeze me, then I lost my balance and fell back into the recliner. Being able to breath again, I took several deep breaths and realized I could feel the leather of the recliner being me, against the suit, like it was against my skin!

I reached down to my groin and as soon as my fingers touched my labia, I felt a wonderful tickle of pleasure up my spine. The tips of the fingers felt moisture. Sliding further in, I found the opening, and I felt my fingers slide into me.

Jerking my hand away as if I'd been shocked, I saw the moisture I felt on the skin of the fingers! I held them up to my noise and smelled the unmistakable smell of aroused female. I looked down and the empty breasts of the suit weren't empty any more, the were full and I felt the tug of their weight on my chest. I jumped up off the recliner and reached around behind me, trying to find the opening of the suit, but all I felt was skin, my skin.

Did I say pain was the Great Motivator? I take it back. Pain is a poser, a complete wannabe. Fear is the Great Motivator. I have no idea what had just happened to me, had no context with which to rationalize the complete impossibility of what I had just seen and experienced. I only knew that whatever I was mixed up in, it wasn't something as harmless as porn. I scrambled back into my discarded clothing as it was the only thing I could wear, though the fit was laughably different, I was obliged to cinch the belt all the way and practically break my shoe laces to get them tight enough to walk in.

I gently opened the door a crack and perhaps my karmic debt had been paid as my luck began to change; the outer room was empty. I creeped over to the other door and finding the hallway empty, I quickly scooted back down the hallway, though the still, thankfully empty reception lobby and out the front door. There, my nerve broke and I began to run; across the lot, away from the guard shack and deeper into the warehouse lot.

At the back of the lot I scrambled over the fence, through a drainage ditch without getting wet and then it was just running to put as many feet between me and wherever that was as I could.

* * *

It is truly amazing what fear and adrenaline do to the body. By the time I was running out of breath and having to stop to pant after it, I was on the outskirts of the big travel center truck stop on the edge of town, a good five miles from where I'd started if memory served. I'd never thought I could run that far, nonstop, but fear of your life gives you wings better than any energy drink.

As I'd mentioned, the truck stop was a big one, probably the better part of fifteen or twenty acres, ten of that just overnight truck and trailer parking. Across the lot from where I was stood the fuel islands for the tractors, a scale for them, and the building itself, a sprawling kind of affair that was kind of a tourist trap in and of itself, with souvenir shopping, two restaurants and even the kinds of electronics tailored to the over the road life style.

Once I had my breath, I started making my way across the lot, between the trucks. To my surprise, the area wasn't deserted; there were hairy, burly men in denim and flannel walking to and from their trucks in the direction of the center. Amongst them, giving me something of an evil eye, were women, moderately attractive, most more suggestively dressed than might be appropriate and when I saw one of the truckers change course to a pair of them and strike up a conversation, I realized I was looking at working girls, plying their trade in a rush that made my cheeks blush.

I suppose, mine had been something of a sheltered upbringing, and contrary to others, my collegiate experience had not been the worldly, mind opening vacation of others. Which made me turn my own thoughts to the practical. In my pockets was small crush of bills, mostly ones, that in total added up to less than ten dollars. A drivers license that bore a picture that no longer looked like me, and assorted keys.

“You ok, sweetheart?” I jerked away from the voice behind me mostly from reflex, turning to find an older man, older than me, anyway, standing in the open door of one of the tractors, in the act of getting out. He held out an arm in apology. “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.” He reached in and put a towel around his neck, and finished climbing down the truck before he favored me with a sheepish smile. “I'm Charles. Are you alright? Do you need help?”

“I...” I started, then closed my mouth as my brain tried to process something I could say that would even a little explain my predicament that would also be remotely believable. “I don't know,” I managed as he drew up to me, a ditty bag in hand with the towel around his neck indicating he was on his way to one of the showers in the truck stop.

He smiled at me again and it was a nice smile, warm and comforting. Up close, he looked like he was close to the line between ones forties or fifties, but his hair was dark enough that it made making a guess of his age difficult. His eyes were green and his hair a sandy brown blonde with a full beard and a pony tail of long hair in the back in the hyper masculine way of bikers and, well, truckers. In addition to the jeans, he was wearing an obnoxiously loud bowling style shirt with a motif of fireballs and wings and a pair of cowboy boots tucked discretely under his jeans completed his look. He was taller than me, probably six one or so and what fat he had on him he carried well and the muscle under the fat was probably hard. I wouldn't want to tussle with him. “Yeah,” he laughed. “I've had days like that. You hungry? I was going to grab a shower and some dinner. Why don't you join me?”

“Oh, I,” started, and I realized my voice wasn't my voice anymore. It was a full octave higher than my normal tone and I was certain no one I knew would recognize it. I had literally no way to prove who I was any more. “I mean, I don't want to be trouble.”

He smirked at me, like a young, biker Santa Claus and with great care took my elbow and began to guide me towards the building. “Oh, it's no trouble,” he assured me. “I don't get to have the company of a pretty girl often, so it's never trouble. You look like you could use a meal, and I could use some company at dinner. It's my treat.”

Before I really knew what was happening, I was being seated at a booth in a greasy spoon restaurant in a Truck Stop with a complete stranger. Well, not a complete stranger, I knew his name was Charles. Or at least, that's what he said. He ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, I suppose as a subtle nod that everything was fair game, a massive porter house steak with all the trimmings. Call me strange, but comfort food called to me just then, so I ordered the meat loaf and hoped it was half as good as my late mother's, God rest her soul, had been. “So,” he declared as he put sugar into his coffee. “I guess we should be introduced! I'm Charles, Charles Rayburn. You can call me Chuck. What's your name?”

“My...?” I looked up, but found I couldn't meet his gaze and started playing with the straw in my tea. “You...you wouldn't believe me if I told you.” I admitted after a moment.

Chuck, surprisingly took that in stride. “That's fair,” he admitted. “But, I can't just call ya pet names. So, what would you like me to call you?”

I looked up at the TV on the far wall and decided to steal from the Five O'clock anchorwoman. “Cat.”

He put down the sugar and poured in some milk to his coffee. “Ok, Cat, nice to meet you. You want to tell me what you're running from?”

“Huh?” I demanded. “What makes...”

“You're wearing someone else's clothes,” he declared softly as he stirred his cup. “In men's shoes that only just stay on your feet and you're walking from the far side of the lot when I saw you, flushed and out of breath and obvious you'd been running. You're as high strung as a cat and a blind man could see you're not one of the Lot Lizards out back preying on my fellow drivers.” The spoon came out of the coffee and was returned to his napkin. He raised the cup to his lips and smiled at me again. “I can go on, if you like, or do you want to be honest with me?”

I'd be lying if I didn't admit his powers of observation were impressive. “I...I got in trouble with a loan shark,” I admitted softly. “Behind and I got told in no uncertain terms, I'd be making good. I...I got desperate, so I answered an ad in the paper for models...specific kind of models, ya know?”

He nodded sagely as he put the cup back into its saucer. “Dirty movies? Couldn't go through with it?”

“No.” I debated for a moment on how much to trust him, then added. “I was naked, but the guy's clothes were still there, so I grabbed them and ran.”

“Any family I can get you to?” I shook my head and stared at my tea again. “Well, I guess you're my responsibility for a bit,” he mused to himself. “So, do I take you home, or...?”

“Or what?” I asked, confused.

He smiled at me again. “You got no family to help, and you're in trouble with a loan shark so you can't have that many ties. I'm headed to Massachusetts. Ever been?” I shook my head and that he found funny and chuckled. “Want to?”

“You don't know me!” I protested. “I don't know you!”

“Sure you do,” he replied. “I'm Chuck, remember? And you're Cat. Oh, and don't worry, I have no intentions on you, other than pleasant company.” He leaned back as the waitress arrived with our food and put the plates in front of us. He reached for the A1 and started being logical. “I doubt whoever you owe will be able to find you with me, and if he does, I'm sure I can convince him to zero out his ledger.”

“How do I know you're not a serial killer or something?”

“You don't,” he told me frankly as he put the cap back on the sauce and cut an experimental bite from the slab of meat that covered his plate. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then winked at me. “And nothing I can say will convince you otherwise. So, what does your gut say?”

I picked up my fork and cut off a bite of the meatloaf, and found it magnificent on my tongue, like eating a cherished memory all over again for the first time. “Ok, how do you know I'm not a serial killer or something?”

He took a sip of coffee to clear his mouth. “If you want to find that out, you'll have to come with me.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you claiming some knowledge of me that reassures you?”

His eyes twinkled as he continued to enjoy his meal. “Maybe I'm just a really good judge of character.”

* * *

After dinner, 'Chuck' bought me a souvenir T Shirt, shorts and a set of flip flops to go along with a complete wash kit and my own shower. For the uninitiated most truck stops have showers for the drivers for less than the cost of a hotel room, especially if all you want is the shower anyway. Most will give the shower for free if the driver buys a certain amount of fuel as an incentive. You get a little slip of receipt paper with the shower room number and an unlock code that will only work once and holds the door locked out until you leave.

Inside is a little bathroom, with a toilet, sink and a shower stall. There's also a little machine selling shampoos and soaps, but Chuck saw to that for me. Alone, and with a heavy locked door between me and the rest of the world, I felt safe, finally, and a little sleepy to be honest after that amazing meatloaf.

I got out of my old clothes and made use of the full length mirror on the back of the door.

What stared out of the mirror at me was impossible. She was quite a stunner, just busty enough without being top heavy, nice ass and a waist that left no room for me...old me...to be inside her. She couldn't weigh more than a hundred and twenty and where the forty pounds I used to have on her went, I have no idea. My blue eyes were looking out of her heart shaped face under a wild mop of red hair that fell to her shoulders. I would have carded her if she wanted to buy a beer.

I took a deep breath and gently reached down to part her...my...labia. A little shiver ran up my spine when I touched it and it parted to reveal a clitoris under the folds that was actually a bit bigger than normal. I ran a finger tip over it and almost moaned it felt so good. I bit my lip and gently pulled a bit more and was able to make out the opening of my vagina. It hadn't been there before I put whatever this was on, but it was there now and there was no hint of me under it.

My bladder protested the intimate inspection so, reluctantly, I sat down on the toilet. Even the muscles felt a bit different, but once I worked out what to relax, a somewhat forceful stream flowed out of me. I was forced to wipe myself, which was novel and not in a fun way. That taken care of, I turned on the shower and in short order the mirror was fogged over with the steam of the heat.

I probed and prodded as far as I could reach on my back, but there was no trace of the opening. It was like a lobster pot, easy in, but no way out. For a moment, I hugged myself in the hot water and shivered despite the heat and had a good, old fashioned panic attack. I don't know when I started crying from the water hitting me, but the sobs wracked me and I felt like I was lost, adrift in an ocean squall.

Fortunately, the showers are fed from an on demand water heater, so despite my crying jag, it didn't go cold. After what seemed like a small eternity, I got control of my emotions, and got down to the business of washing this new body of mine. The skin was remarkably sensitive and smooth as silk under my fingers. And her erogenous zones were even more so, as a casual brush of my nipple or labia would pull a gasp of sensation. I tilted my head back to rinse the conditioner from my hair I had a long thought on my situation.

What few possessions I had in my apartment could all be replaced. I wasn't the sentimental type, and there was nothing there just for memory's sake. My mom was gone, and she'd been a single mother. I had no family I knew of and the few people I associated with barely rose to the level of friend. I could go with Chuck and disappear and make a new life. I wasn't sure I wanted to settle in Massachusetts, but it was better than where I was.

Of course, that meant I was the perfect victim if he was up to no good.

I looked at the little pile of money from my jeans and decided I'd better splurge on one of those knives behind the counter out front. Making up my mind was cathartic. I'd walk away from the troubles I'd let myself get into, I'd embrace being...Catherine. Yes, I felt like I could be a Catherine 'Cat' for short and for a last name, I decided to take my mother's maiden name of Walsh. Now, I just needed to figure out how I was going to get papers with that name on it.

I stepped out of the shower and dried myself, watching the fog on the mirror slowly fade and bringing my new face, my new life into focus. The shower had a little courtesy blow dryer permanently attached to the wall, so I dried this wild mane of hair into something a bit more presentable and little less wild. That just left getting dressed and the 'See Rock City' T Shirt and shorts took me from homeless waif to teenage tart as my nipples were almost something to 'See' through the shirt. I removed all the tags and stuffed my old things into the bag the new stuff had come in and let myself out of the shower.

There was no sign of Chuck out on the sales floor, which let me purchase my little pocket surprise with him none the wiser. Granted, I'd never want to get into a knife fight with that little folding pocket Buck knife against somebody like Chuck, but it was better than nothing. That done, I sat down by the door and halfheartedly read the front page of the local newspaper while I waited.

“Hey! Take your hands off!” someone shouted from across the store, drawing my gaze and what I saw chilled my blood. Shaggy backwards cap boy from the studio had a red headed girl by the wrist, and he wasn't alone. There was a small mountain of Bad MF-er Black Dude with him. He was just letting go of the red head and apologizing, when I realized why he'd accosted her.

Terrified, I scooted out the door hoping I wasn't seen. I took a quick right to get out of line of sight of the door and tried to keep my fear under control. I couldn't run, all I had on my feet were flip flops and I couldn't waste time stopping to try and wrestle back into my old shoes. I scampered down the side of the building, then cut back out into the truck lot, squeezing between them where they were parked back to back.

I racked my brain trying to remember which truck was Chuck's until I found it, at the back of the lot, near the fence I'd climbed to get onto the Truck Stop's property. I scrambled up the steps built into the big, gleaming chromed fuel tank and tried the door, desperate to get out of sight. When, to my surprise and relief, it opened. I clamored into the seat and pulled the door shut and locked it, panting after my breath until I began to feel a bit more safe and broadened my awareness of my surroundings.

To my surprise, the seat moved up and down freely like it was on springs, for no reason I could fathom, though it was remarkably comfortable. I was sitting at a bank of controls and switches that looked to my eye like they'd be more at home on an airplane than a truck. The console wrapped about the driver's seat, but still gave room to get out of the chair and back further into the cab.

I made my way around the massive gear shifter and found I could stand up straight and look around. There was a bit of an atrium here behind the seats. There was a microwave, a little sink and even a hot plate that folded out on the drivers side. Beside which, I could see a full on Mr Coffee that had been permanently mounted on a swing out shelf in a very clever arrangement, while on the passenger side there was tall, but narrow refrigerator and drawer at the bottom that was probably a freezer.

In the ceiling was a pretty good sized flat screen that folded down where it could be viewed on the bed. Which brought us to the back most of the cabin were there was a pair of little closets that framed a queen sized bed that was neatly made. I got a bit of a shiver looking at it, but I noted that above it was a fold out bunk that was probably a twin or so.

I heard a key in the lock of the door and my heart leaped into my mouth as I spun, clutching the bag of my things like a shield. The cab shifted as someone climbed up and then Chuck's head, with his long hair wild about it, free from the pony tail, popped in the door. “Oh, here you are! Good, I was worried.”

I sighed as if an Atlas stone slid off my back in relief. I tossed the bag onto the bed and stepped forward as he slide into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut. “We have to get out of here,” I told him. He spun the chair to face me, concern on his face. “The pornographers, I ran from, they're here. I saw two of them, they're grabbing Red heads, looking for me.”

He sighed and rubbed his chin. “Cat, I need you to be straight with me,” he said gravely. “Did you hurt anyone?”

“No,” I assured him quickly. “I swear! I just grabbed the clothes and ran...”

An eyebrow arched on his craggy face. “So, why are they chasing you?”

“I...” my throat closed over the confession as I slid into the passengers seat across from him. “You won't believe me,” I whispered.

“You must have something they want,” he reasoned. I nodded.

“If I could give it back, I would. I...I can't...” He crossed his muscled arms across his massive chest.

“You stole something you didn't want, but you can't give it back?” he demanded slyly. “And I wouldn't believe what it is, but you would give it back if you could. Why is that?”

I hung my head fought back tears. “I can't explain it,” I told him. “Hell, it happened to me and I don't believe it! If you want, I'll get my things and go. There's no reason for you to get involved.”

“Oh, sure there is,” he countered. “I'm already involved, and I don't leave women in trouble if I can help it. So,” he stood and went into the back of the cab and began to flip down the bunk. “Why don't you get some rest and we'll head out in the morning?”

“But...!”

“If they want you that bad, running out right now might have them chase us,” he assured me with a shrug. “Best thing we can do is stay calm and stay put. Let them chase all the other trucks leaving now. Besides, I'm at the end of my day. I can't legally move the truck for ten hours.” He produced a pillow and a blanket from cupboard and put them on the bunk. “So, get some rest and we'll head out in the morning.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked him softly. “People don't act this way any more.”

He took a laptop from a cubbyhole and put it on the dash in preparation for sitting back down at the wheel. “Maybe they should,” he countered philosophically. “You get some rest. I'll keep an eye out. I've got some reports to fill out anyway for my log book.”

I stood and something made me reach out and touch his shoulder. He looked up at me and smiled when I said, “Thank you, Chuck.”

“My pleasure,” he assured me. “Sweet dreams, and we'll get you some more clothes tomorrow.”

I squeezed his shoulder, though as hard as it was I wasn't sure he even felt it. Then I went and clamored up into the bunk and he pulled a thick, heavy curtain I hadn't noted before closed between this living area and the driver's compartment, giving me privacy. I laid down on the bunk, staring at the curtain between us. A few hours ago, I was willing to go do gay porn to settle a debt, now I wondered why I wasn't bothered by being so dependent on this man. Why I actually felt safe, in the care of a man just yesterday I would be terrified to stumble across in a dark alley. Chuck had more masculinity in his pinky finger than I could muster up from my entire body. Especially now.

Then the two thoughts began to merge and I wondered what it would be like to do the acts I was steeling myself to do with a stranger now with Chuck. At some point, I fell asleep in my wondering and my dreams were filled with the big, muscled trucker having his way with me.

And how much I desperately enjoyed it.

* * *

The roof of the cab had a sky light dome of frosted glass or, more likely, plastic, that let a soft light into the living space of the cab as the sun rose. As my bunk was closest to it, it woke me from my torrid dreams to find myself still female and having the female equivalent of 'morning wood'. My crotch was very damp and my nipples were erect against the cotton of the T shirt. Below me, I could hear the soft breathing of Chuck in his bed and I carefully looked over the little bar to keep me from falling out of the bunk to look at him.

His hair was now in a braid across the pillow and his craggy features relaxed in sleep. He didn't have a shirt on, and his chest was covered in dark brown hair that almost covered a collection of scars across his torso, the pink scar tissue winking through and standing out against his otherwise tanned skin. This only made me feel...safer. He was obviously not someone with whom to fuck around with. That should terrify me, I was, after all, completely at his mercy. And yet, his battle scars reassured me that my protector was up to the task, and then some.

It was a very odd feeling, to say the least.

I carefully climbed down from the bunk and pulled out the little stand that had a coffee maker on it I'd spied earlier. A little quiet pilfering garnered me coffee and a filter and a bottle of water to fill the reservoir with. With in a few moments, it was gurgling and filling the cab with a warm, rich aroma. I heard him stir and chuckle from the bed. “I could get used to this!” he declared as he sat up to stretch.

“I had to do something for you after all you've done,” I told him. He stood and my eyes immediately went to his boxers as he stepped into his jeans. He wasn't a freak of nature, but that bulge filled out the boxers pretty well, and I decided to cool the blush on my face by opening the fridge and finding cream for the coffee.

“That's very kind of you,” I heard him assure me over the sound of his zipper closing. He produced a pair of mugs and poured us both a cup to which I added the creamer, which I saw was sweetened so I forwent sugar. After my first sip, I was glad I did. The brew was very rich and strong, but the creamer and its sweetness mellowed it out perfectly. “Mmmm, the best part of waking up,” he assured me with a wink, and I wasn't sure if he was talking about the coffee or my pointed punctuation on 'See Rock City'. “So, I spied a Wally Mart on the way here from the freeway. We can stop in and get you some things and then head on. Or did you decide not to come with me?”

I screwed my courage to the sticking place and looked him in the eye. “If the offer's still open, I'd like to take it,” I announced, and a grin spread across his face.

“Wonderful!” He set his cup down to produce a thermos he poured the coffee into and capped, then, dumped out the filter basket and with it off, folded it back out of the way. “Let me get a shirt on, and then we'll have us some retail therapy.”

I sat down in the passengers seat and sipped at my coffee while he pulled on a memorial T Shirt from a Sturgis Rally that took place before I was born. Somehow, I was pretty sure he'd actually attended it, not bought it as some kind of Retro nostalgia piece. Which had me wonder about how old he was, and how I might politely find out.

He slid into the driver's seat and I learned that starting a tractor was not as simple as a car. He went through several switches faster than I could follow, then, turned the key and beneath me a great rumble vibrated the entire truck, then settled into a growl as the engine idled. An alarm, what I had taken to be the seat belt reminder, continued to wail, but Chuck didn't seem concerned about it, merely taking out a bound book from the pocket in the door and making a notation in it after consulting his watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted me watching him and and declared, “Don't worry, it's the low air alarm. It's only bad if it comes on while we're moving. The compressor is filling the reservoir now.”

As he said it, the tone went quiet and he winked at me. “See? Nothing to worry about.” He pressed a pair of large buttons which caused a loud popping hiss to sound, then worked the gear shifter to a solid chunk sound of metal against metal. “Here we go,” he added as the big truck began to creep forward.

I quickly learned the seats were on springs as the truck's suspension was tuned for it's freight, not its operator. While it smoothed out the road, it did make drinking something of an adventure, but I soon got the hang of it. We joined the line of trucks leaving the gas station, my eyes nervously glancing around for Backwards Cap or Small Mountain. There were plenty of people about, but neither of them, nor anyone seeming to take note of the trucks themselves. We bounced out onto the main road and were soon rumbling toward the freeway and the promised Walmart.

“So, Cat,” he began after he had the truck to a speed he liked. “Where are you from?”

“Here,” I told him morosely, looking out at the suburban sprawl that was sliding by. “Well, over in the Valley. Panorama City.”

He chuckled. “An honest to God Valley Girl?” His voice rose a few octaves. “Like! Oh, my God!” I couldn't help but laugh with him.

“That was more my mom's day than mine,” I told him. “She came out here from some place in Kansas. She told me once, but I forgot. She was going to be an actress, but I came along.”

“Lot of girls come out here with stars in their eyes, and end up a lot worse off,” he admitted. He took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. “This town chews 'em up and spits them out. Since you said you had no family I'm guessing...”

I sighed and took a sip. “Yeah, breast cancer, when I was sixteen.”

“I'm sorry,” he told me quietly and I believed he meant it. “My folks passed when I was young too. Taught me to stand on my own two feet. But, there'll always be a hole in my heart where they go.” A Prius cut us off which caused him to slosh his coffee and he pulled a chain by his head that barked a horn that belonged on a locomotive. “God damned Yuppies,” he growled as he got his coffee back in the cup holder. “Thanks,” he assured me as I handed him some of the napkins off the dash to dry himself. “No respect for anybody else on the road.”

“What about you?” I asked him. “Where are you from?”

“Originally? Angoon, a little town, you've never heard of, on an island, you've never heard of, in an archipelago you've never heard of, in Alaska.”

I laughed with him. “Alaska I've heard of!”

“We always said there were more bears than people on that island. Probably still is. I went to school in a one room school house with one teacher who taught every grade, all at once.” He shook his head in remembrance. “I suppose you could say I am a self educated man. Ah, here we are.”

He turned into the large parking lot and parked well away from the store as the tractor and trailer took up a good number of parking spaces. Then, from his wallet he pulled three, one hundred dollar bills and offered them to me. “Here, get you some clothes, a coat and at least one sturdy pair of shoes or boots.”

I eyed the money, then looked back up at him. “I don't know when I can repay you for this...”

“I'm not asked to be repaid and I'm not keeping a ledger,” he told me, putting the money in my hand. “It's my money and I'll spend it how I like. And if I like spending it on you, that's my affair, right?”

Reluctantly, I took the money and stuffed it into a pocket on the shorts. “Where will you be?” I asked him.

“I need a couple of things myself, so I'll find you when I'm done.”

“Okay, Chuck. And, thank you.” He smiled at me again, and I had to admit, that smile was starting to have an effect on me. It made me feel...something; something I didn't have a name for yet, but I was really beginning to like the way it made me feel. I clamored out of my side of the truck and we walked together up to America's most populous department store. I got a buggy and went to shoes first and, once I found my size, bought a pair of sneakers and a pair of sturdy hiking boots like he'd told me to that were water proof and supposedly guaranteed to keep my feet warm all the way down to zero. With them I got a package of tube socks, then, I swallowed my fear and pushed the buggy into the women's section.

There, a very nice older lady helped me find my sizes. I was still five nine, though only one eighteen, which made me a size four generally, though she basically told me there were so many exceptions to women's clothing it was just a starting point. After getting over a terrible case of sticker shock over how much women's clothing costs, I bought a 'nice' bra that was thirty four 'C' and a three pack of 'sport' bras which cost the same as the nice one. Likewise, I bought a multi-pack of panties that advertised themselves as 'boy shorts' that only the most cursory of glances would make one think they 'just like' the briefs I had worn once upon a time.

The rest of the money went into a couple of pairs of jeans, T Shirts and a red top that's evidently called 'cold shouldered' due to the cut outs that was a shade of red that actually matched my hair that the nice lady said many times would be a shame for me to pass on. All of that ate my poor three Benjamins leaving me thirty two dollars. This, I tried to give back to Chuck, but he wouldn't take it, then noticed I'd forgotten to get a jacket, then took me back into women's clothing and bought me a nice water proof parka with a fake fur hood.

As I was pushing my loot back to the truck, he gave me that lopsided grin and handed me a little box. “What's this?” I asked him, more than a little concerned it was jewelry, but he just laughed and opened it, showing it to be a copy of the key to the truck.

“In case you need to get in and I'm not around,” he told me. “It won't start it, but you won't have to be out in the weather waiting on me.”

He cleaned out the little closet and drawers on one side of the bed for me, then drew the curtain so I could change and soon I had on underwear again, socks and shoes that actually fit my feet. The rest were put away and I opened the curtain to let him know I was done. “Well, don't you shine up like a new penny,” he told me with a wink. I felt my cheeks warm with a blush as I slid into the seat as he got the truck running again and we were on our way.

* * *

While he'd been having the key made, Chuck also stopped off at the Golden Arches that was operating a franchise in this Wally. So once we were up on the interstate and east bound we had greasy breakfast of McMuffins and his really great coffee. I could just make out the glimmer of the Salton Sea south of us after we'd finished breakfast and I'd cleaned up all the wrappers. The traffic was pretty light now, just the occasional Uhaul with a Tesla on the trailer behind it of yet another Cali Yuppie fleeing the third world shit hole they'd turned the Golden State into. Rats abandoning the sinking ship.

I was feeling introspective so as I stared out the window at the California Desert gliding by, I asked him, “So, Chuck, what got you into driving?”

“Never set down any roots,” he replied as he down shifted to pass the Uhual that was the current target of my scornful gaze. “I like to travel, I set my own hours, Connie here is my home and the only bills I have are fuel and tires and the company pays those.”

“Connie?”

“Nothing as complicated as a tractor could be anything but female,” he assured me.

I looked over at him to watch him drive and smiled at his sense of humor. Curiosity aroused, I asked, “You don't have a place?”

“What for?” he demanded. “Just something to spend money on paying taxes and bills when I'd never be there. And why? Some place to fill up with junk?” He made a rude noise and a dismissive gesture. “No, thanks. It's why I'm not worried about the money, I'm starting to get an embarrassingly large amount of it just sitting around in my bank account.” He shot me a glance and smirked. “I'm the hardest working millionaire you'll ever meet.” There might be some who would scoff at his statement, I wasn't one of them. Maybe it was just the off hand way he said it, I knew he wasn't bragging. A man like him had no need to.

“Well, I don't want to just be your charity case,” I told him. “I'm grateful, don't get me wrong, but I like to earn my way.”

“That's a good outlook to have,” he remarked. “So, what do you do?”

I sank down in the seat and gave the Yuppie in the Uhaul a dirty look as we went by. “Get in trouble with loan sharks,” I muttered glumly. “I have yet to actually use my degree, and now I probably never will.”

“Hogwash,” he retorted. “You can get new paper, that's nothing. So, what's your degree in?”

I sighed. “History.”

“What do you mean you can't use it?” he wanted to know. “There's plenty of work for a history teacher!”

My eyes rolled of their own accord. “I have a History degree, but nothing in education. Not even a class, let a lone a minor! I thought I'd get a job at a museum, like the Smithsonian. Take care of interesting artifacts and write papers nobody reads. I don't even have the qualifications to get a teaching certificate. And it turns out, museums are where history teachers go to retire. Nobody wanted to hire me, but they were all about me working for free and donating my time. Meanwhile, Uncle Sam made it that all the Wall Street boys can bankrupt their debts, but student loans? Forget about it!”

He up shifted and gave a glance my way to check his mirror and returned to the right lane. His eyes back on the road, he drove for a moment, then shrugged. “Live and learn, girl. We all make mistakes. You got a big one, granted, but you're young, you've got plenty of time to correct it, or even decide you want to do something else.”

I finished the last sip from my coffee and looked at him long ways. “Does truck driving make you an optimist, Chuck?”

“Hell, no!” he snapped around a grin. “Nothing like some time on the interstate to let you know what sons of bitches your fellow man is!” I reached for the thermos and unscrewed the lid.

“You want some more coffee?”

“Pour yours first, I'll take what's left.” On purpose, a bit exasperated by his white knighting, I filled his cup first, then mine and screwed the thermos closed. “Hey!” he protested, but I waved him off as I got the thermos stowed again and undid my seat belt to get at the fridge.

“Oh, hush,” I scolded him. “There's at least another cup so don't get your halo bent.”

“Halo? Me?” he laughed and held his cup still so I could add the cream. “If God let's me into Heaven He's looking the other way.” I got my own done and returned the jug to the fridge. I slid back into my seat and got the belt comfortable then stirred his cup before I did mine.

“So, what are we hauling?”

“PCBs,” he replied, taking a sip of coffee. “Whatever the hell they are. Fifteen tons of 'em.” He took another gulp, then set the cup back into the holder. “But don't change the subject. We were talking about you. You want to teach?”

I pulled my knee under my chin and rested my foot on the seat in a way that would never have been comfortable as a man, but I did so without a second thought. “I don't know. I just...this all came at me so fast. I got the crap beat out of me, then I'm so desperate I'm going to a porn studio. Next thing I know, I'm running for my life.”

He laughed darkly. “Well, you'd have to be desperate to shack up with an old trucker like me.” I felt him look at me out of the corner of his eye. “Any idea what you got they want back so bad?”

Suddenly the High Desert of California was deeply fascinating out my window. “I told you, you won't believe me.”

“Try me,” he challenged. For a long moment, I said nothing, just gently bouncing up and down on the seat and watching California go by. I took another sip of coffee, then turned to look back at him, finding him looking at me. Fortunately, this particular stretch of I10 is as straight as a ruler, but it was a little disconcerting nonetheless. “At some point, Cat, you're going to have to trust me.”

I sighed. “Alright, but I warned you that you wouldn't believe it.” His eyes went back to the road and he gave me a 'come on with it' gesture. “When I went to the studio I was expecting to do Gay porn. Male Gay porn, because at the time, I was male. When I got there, I think they mistook me for someone else. They gave me this...skin...you see. It's a suit of some kind. I put it on and suddenly I was a girl! And I can't get it off and I swear to God, Chuck, I'm not crazy or lying.”

For a good mile, he said nothing, then he nodded sagely. “Well, extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.”

“I can show you my old driver's license,” I offered.

“That could be the license of whoever owned the clothes you were wearing when I met you.”

“I have it memorized.”

He used a check of his mirrors to look at me and wink. “You could have done that last night.”

I took another sip of coffee. “I told you that you wouldn't believe me.”

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I didn't say that,” he retorted. “I said you needed proof. They obviously want you pretty bad, and a suit like you describe, well, that would be worth a lot. Certainly makes sense they'd chase you to get it back. Of course, that raises the question of where did they get it?”

I felt my jaw drop as I stared at him. “You believe me?”

“Let's say I'm intrigued by the notion,” he hedged. “So, this suit of yours must be a hell of a thing. I'd swear you were what you look to be.”

“It is,” I assured him. “I have no idea what happened to my junk, but all my plumbing is female now. It actually took me a minute to figure out how to pee last night. You know, come to it, I ran what must have been five miles and I'm not any kind of track and field star.” I paused for a long moment, and softly repeated, “I'm not lying to you.”

“I'm not accusing you of lying,” he replied. “Still, that begs another question. What are you going to do? Try to have somebody get it off of you, or are you happy being Cat?” It was an odd question, and brought something of a frown to my face as it surprised me.

“I...I don't think I can take it off,” I said after a long moment of thought. “I think I'm stuck being Cat.”

“They seem to think they can get it off you,” he pointed out.

“I...” I trailed off, a bit chagrined I hadn't thought of that.

“I could get you a bus ticket back to LA,” he offered. “You could put all this behind you.”

“No.” The word was out before I could even think it through, it was my subconscious making a declaration for my conscious mind to ponder. Even he looked over at the firmness of my statement. “No, I, I think I want to stay this way.”

“Well, that's a pretty sudden point of view, ain't it?” he asked. “You've been distaff for what? A day? Not even?”

“What has being male got me?” I shot back. “A small mountain of debt? A degree that doesn't work as advertised? Loan sharks beating me with in an inch of my life? In the however long I've been a woman I've been met with nothing but kindness. You, the lady at Walmart, and, I dunno, I probably wasn't cut out to be a man.”

He chuckled darkly. “Say what you will about the human race, but that's female privilege you're talking about. And it doesn't last.”

“What?” I demanded. “You saying you wouldn't have been as nice to me if I was a forty something matron?”

“I would have made sure you were alright,” he replied. “I probably would have invited you to dinner to be sure. But, let's be honest with ourselves, Cat, you're not a forty something matron, are you?” He shrugged and down shifted to go around another tractor trailer. “Think less of me if you want, but I'm as human as the next fellow, and I'm being honest with you.”

Subconsciously, I leaned away from him in the cab and asked, “Am I going to be safe with you?” He took in a deep breath, as if deciding whether or not to be offended.

“Cat, I have plenty of things to answer to the Good Lord for, but abusing a woman won't ever be one of them. Would I be interested? Sure. I ain't blind and I ain't dead, but I'm also in control of myself.” He looked over at me and his eyes practically glowed under his craggy features. “You've got nothing to be afraid of from me.”

“I'm sorry, Chuck.”

He turned back to the road and shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, Cat. Nothing wrong with making sure of where everybody stands. Let's you know you're on sure footing.”

* * *

We left California a bit after one that afternoon into Arizona at a little town called Ehrenberg. It wasn't much more than a collection of Truck Stops, Gas Stations and RV Parks. It was actually a pretty place with the High Desert and the Colorado River to look at so it made a kind of sense as a last chance before California. We didn't stop as Connie's tanks had been filled back in LA and, I was told she wouldn't need more fuel until somewhere in Texas.

We did have to get off the interstate and slow roll over a gigantic scale at what is called a Weigh Station, run by the State of Arizona. Evidently, some kind of tax thing as trucks, being so heavy, put the most stress on the pavement. We were evidently 'ok' as the sign said, and rolled back onto the freeway without stopping.

Once we were through there, I got up again and went into the back to make us some sandwiches for lunch. Not because of my new status as a female, just because he was driving and I couldn't drive, so I made myself useful. I'm not a chef, but there's not that much artistry to be had with ham and Swiss on white bread. I did cut his sandwich in half so it was easier for him to eat and drive at the same time and we shared some companionable silence eating. When he wasn't praising my sandwich artistry. Then it was just the rumble of the truck and the long, straight stretch of I10 as we rumbled along to Phoenix.

After lunch, I asked for a pit stop, and he nodded, putting on his hazards and drifting into the break down lane. “Oh, I didn't mean immediately,” I apologized. “I just meant the next gas station.”

“That could be a while,” he assured me as he brought the rig to a halt and popped the air brakes with a loud hiss of them going 'set.' “Don't worry, I'm not going to make you squat behind a cactus.” He stood and went back into the living area and unfolded a cabinet that was actually a toilet seat. “Easy, see? Just tilt it up slowly and it drains out. You can go first.” He sat back down at the driver's place and held the privacy curtain for me.

“Where does it go?” I asked, confused.

“There's a holding tank under the floor,” he replied with a smile. “It's also where the water from the sink goes. I drop it either at a Truck Stop or an RV campground.” I got up and went to the strange convenience feature as he pulled the curtain shut. The 'seat' was molded into the tray, which gave it a kind of prison feel, but I dropped my jeans and sat down feeling a bit odd peeing as I looked at his bed and remembered he was not two feet away, behind a curtain.

It was cold, but the seat was actually well molded and comfortable enough.

I wiped and stood, pulling up my jeans and carefully raised the tray. A cover in the back of the tray opened and a bit of water washed through the basin, cleaning everything, before I sat it back down for him. “Pretty neat,” I admitted as I washed my hands.

“Once you've dealt with as many gas station bathrooms as I have, it's worth it's weight in gold,” he assured me. We swapped places and I sat back down as I heard his zipper on his fly. I tried not to think about it, but some part of me was perversely curious about that part of his anatomy. Finally, the gurgle of his own relief stopped and the tray flushed clear as he stowed it and closed his fly with an authoritative zip! He got back into his own seat and soon we were rolling again, back in our lane and eastbound. “So...Chuck...” I drawled slowly. “Would you like to set any...limits...on what we talk about?”

“Sweetheart,” he laughed. “I'm a trucker, and before that I was a biker. You can't offend me.”

“You're a biker, too?” I asked. “Still?”

“You didn't notice my Shadow on the back deck?” I shook my head. “I'll take you for a ride sometime. Caught some grief at Sturgis for riding a Rice Burner, but eh, I like the looks of it.” I felt my cheeks burn a bit at the thought of being pressed up against him on the back of a motorcycle. So, of course, that's when he looked over at me and saw me blushing. He winked again and asked, “Is there something specific you want to talk about, Cat?”

I took the cap off the bottle of water I'd had with my sandwich and took another sip to give me some time to sort out how I was going to ask him what I really wanted to know. “I guess,” I hedged as I swallowed the water. “I'm a little confused. I mean, I came clean and then you said you were 'interested' and I was kind of surprised.”

“Are you trying to ask me if I'm gay?” he drawled, and I blushed again. “So, I'll answer I've never met a guy I thought I'd like to shack up with, but stranger things have happened. You tell me under that whatever you are a guy, but you also say you want to keep it. That doesn't sound really 'guy like' to me.” He shrugged. “Call me old fashioned.”

“Oh,” I muttered, feeling like the burning on my cheeks would never go away.

“Why?” he asked me around a grin. “Should I make a pass?”

I looked back over at him and stuck my tongue out at him. That made him laugh and he did so for a bit. “How long have you been doing this?” I asked, now more than a little eager to move the conversation to a different place. He shrugged.

“Long enough that I know what I'm doing,” he replied slyly. “Why? Are you working out my prospects?”

“Chuck!”

“Cat!” he echoed back at me with a grin. “How would you feel if I asked you how old you are?”

I raised my chin a bit. “Twenty three,” I declared.

He shrugged and nodded. “Ok, so I'll admit to being old enough to be your daddy. Of course, I got started young, so that's not saying much.”

“Do you have any kids?” I asked him. He changed gears and shook his head.

“Nope, never laid down any roots, remember?” He told me. “Oh, I've had my share of lady friends, but they'd want me to stay and I'm a traveling man. Offered more than one the chair you're in, but no body's taken me up on it, so far. I wouldn't mind sharing Connie here, with the right filly.”

“You can't raise kids in this thing,” I shot back.

He shrugged again and got a bit more comfortable in his seat. “Well, some come along, that might change things for a bit, that's true. Won't know till it happens.”

I let the silence rest between us for a bit, watching the desert roll by, being lulled by the rumble of Connie and how she interfaced with road. There was a hypnotizing quality to it, as if we'd always been doing this and always would, somehow adrift in time. Just Chuck, the road, Connie and me, rumbling down an endless Interstate. Finally, I shifted a bit in my seat as I got the water battle again and asked him, “I can't stop thinking about this thing I'm wearing. Where did a fly by night porn outfit get something like this? Who build it? For what?”

He snorted as he took a drink and tapped out a rhythm against the steering wheel with his fingers. “You're asking me? How would I know?”

“This whole thing seems impossible,” I agreed with him. “But suddenly I'm sitting down to piss.”

Something struck him as funny and he shot me a glance. “You ever watch the History channel?” I nodded, not sure what he meant. Then, utterly dead pan, he said, “I'm not saying it was aliens. But it was aliens.”

He absolutely got me and I was taken by a giggle fit. “Mars needs women, right?” I shot back and he joined me laughing. “Ok, professor bad hair,” I teased him. “Why would aliens make a suit to turn a guy into a chick?”

“You mean, beyond the aesthetic qualities?” he demanded.

“The what?” I demanded.

He turned to look at me, an incredulous look on his face. “Now, Cat, even you have to admit the female of the species is the more pleasant to look at.”

“Oh, I don't know,” I shot back, and a bit surprised myself by taking that position. “I mean, look at guys like Arnold. Back in the day The Governator was pretty awesome to look at.” I could sense his incredulity so I kept digging. “Or some burly guy, doing hard work, providing for his family. Or, or, a solider defending liberty all square jawed and studly. You don't think that's pleasant to look at?”

He pulled at his beard for a moment and got positively thoughtful. “Well, Arnold was a one percent guy, top of his game, and there's a certain interest in looking at a top level athlete. And the working slob or the soldier invoke different emotions for me. Admiration of another guy that gets what being a guy is about. But that's not 'art'. A beautiful naked woman, can artistically display herself in a way that's just pure beauty. Venus De Milo stuff.”

“What about David?” I shot back. “Or the Thinker? Or Atlas?”

He shrugged expressively. “I'm a guy, I like looking at pretty girls. Sue me.”

I chuckled and waved him at pass at the argument. “So, you think aliens decided there isn't enough beauty in the world?”

“You got a better suggestion?”

“Follow the money,” I shot back. “What's in it for them? And don't say pretty girls to look at.”

He kept stroking his beard like Gandalf the Trucker about to shout, 'You shall not pass on the right!' and, I found myself a little hypnotized by watching him think. I leaned on the arm rest to watch and propped my chin up with other hand. “So, now I'm supposed to theorize about the motivations of a theoretical Alien who decided to give some pornographers the ultimate costume? Maybe they think there isn't enough porn?”

“Oh, pull the other one, it has bells,” I shot back. “If there's one thing mankind has plenty of, it's Porn.”

“Point,” he admitted. Finally, he shrugged his ignorance and asked me, “So, what do you think?”

I sighed and thought for a moment. “I think they stole it. That's got to be why they're so hot to get it back. But, who did they steal it from?” I paused for a moment, then cocked my head and asked, “Do you believe me, Chuck?”

“Why would you lie?”

“I'm not,” I assured him.

“So, that just leaves what are you going to do about it?” I blinked as if the question had struck me I was so surprised. I took a final sip from the water bottle, then capped it and put it in the trash bag next to my seat. While I thought, he added, “The way I see it, you've got two choices. Get it off and do whatever, or keep it on and be Cat, right? So, what does Cat need?”

“ID,” I replied. “All the important papers, right? Birth Certificate, Social Security card, some kind of proof of schooling; I can't work without them.”

He nodded sagely. “So, I can't figure out the motivations of unknowable aliens, but I am a biker whose moved in some...less than legal circles. That's a problem I can solve.”

* * *

We stopped for the night Travel American Center in a little one horse town called Wilcox, Arizona not quite six hundred miles from LA and maybe fifty from the New Mexico boarder. We stopped by the flush out point to dump the black water tank, as it was evidently called and I topped up the fresh water tank in Connie while Chuck cleaned the windshield from it's collection during the day of kamikaze bugs. From there, we got her to a parking spot and Chuck lowered the ramp from the back deck of the tractor where the trailer connected at a device referred to as a fifth wheel. In the space between the trailer and the back of the cab there was a stand that held his bike, which he unstrapped and rode down the ramp.

His bike, a Honda Shadow 750, was a big, classic cruiser, a deep forest green and gleaming chrome. I was relieved to see there was a back rest for the rear seat, which was evidently where I'd be riding. At least I wouldn't fall off the back. As soon as he was astride it and kicked it on, I got why girls like bikers. He was already somebody not to tangle with, but on that bike he was a complete bad ass. He put out the foot pegs for me then gave me a little minimalist helmet that matched his and I eased myself behind him on the bike.

Once I was settled, I took hold of what he called the 'chicken strap' on the seat between us, dropped it into gear and rumbled back to the front of the station. Here, I learned some new things. Chiefly that motorcycles vibrate much more than cars, between their lower revving higher torque engines, the thrill of something inherently dangerous and it's much more direct connection to the road, riding that bike was...exciting.

Not enough that I had my first experience with female climax, but my motor was definitely running so to speak.

The casual ease with which Chuck mastered the bike to his will fed into it. It was like dancing with the road the way we leaned and coasted out to the center of what passed for a town to a place called Tex's Tavern. There were a number of bikes outside that we coasted down the line to an open place that he expertly coaxed us into.

To be honest, I was a little disappointed the ride wasn't longer.

I got off, which let him dismount, while I unstrapped the helmet and hung it over the back of the back rest. “First time at a biker bar?” he asked me with a smile. I nodded and he made a dismissive gesture to reassure me. “Don't get anxious, and if anybody gives you any grief, I'll take care of it.”

“Ok,” I told him and I was just going to follow him in, but he reached out across my back and took a hold of my far hip in a grip that can only be described as 'possessive.' Then he started walking, and his grip on me meant I had to walk beside him. We walked through the door and I got why he did it.

It wasn't like a movie, where the bar comes to a stop. Despite that, we were appraised, the consensus of the room was that I belonged to Chuck, and people went back to whatever they were doing. He walked me over to an open table, then actually pulled out the chair for me and held it while I sat down before he sat himself.

A waitress came over in hot pants and a T-shirt with the logo of the place on it. “Hey guys!” she greeted in a chipper tone. “I'm Mandy, I'll be taking care of you. What'll ya have?”

“I'll have a bottle of Killians. You want one, Cat?”

“Uh, sure,” I replied.

Mandy smiled at us. “Two Irish Red's, coming up.”

“Would you let Tex know Chuck wants to see him?” The waitress nodded and sauntered off to the bar. I watched her leave, then used that to look around this archetypal smoke filled room. Or, at least something in my mind thought it would be. LA had been smoke free for so long it seemed like the only places that still smoked there were movie sets. You'd think a biker bar would have burly bikers chomping on cigars and biker girls puffing on cigarettes, but the air was actually clear. It was dimly lit, with most of the light coming from TVs, beer logo neon signs on the walls and the larger lights over the pair of pool tables on the other side of the open room.

My view was interrupted by a mountain of a man in a T Shirt and a leather vest covered in patches and three beers in his hand. I looked up into a younger, harder version of Chuck, with black hair and just a goatee looking just a bit ridiculous with a hair net on his head. “Well, well, what nasty piece of road kill drug you in here, Rice Burner?” he demanded.

“Ran out of rice and this shit hole was the only place in walking distance,” Chuck shot back as he stood and for just a split second I thought I was about to have a front row seat to a bar fight, but Chuck and the vest man actually hugged and were grinning. “How the hell, are ya, Tex?”

“Walking and talking, Chuckles. Miss,” he greeted me as he casually opened a beer with his thumb and put it in front of me.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed, picking up the bottle and joined the boys in a first sip. Despite the name, Killian's is actually brewed by Coors and is a Lager, not an Ale, but it has a very malty kind of flavor that's stronger than more vanilla brands of the type. Tex and Chuck were sitting back down, now obviously old friends.

“What brings you by, Chuck?” Tex wanted to know and Chuck indicated me.

“Tex, this is Cat. She's had the misfortune of misplacing all her important papers. She's riding with me out to Boston, and knowing I'd pass this way, I thought I'd drop in and see what wheels you could grease for us in getting them replaced.”

“All of them?” he asked before a pull of his own beer. “That's a tall order. Rush job?”

“I've got a day or so before I should be rolling east,” Chuck replied.

Tex took a pad and pencil from a pocket in his vest and looked at me. “I do happen to have some friends over in vital records. What's your name, Miss?” I licked my lips slowly and looked between the two of them, realizing we were basically committing conspiracy at least. If not fraud for hire, but Chuck just winked at me like this kind of thing happened all the time.

“Uh...” I drawled. “Catherine. Catherine Walsh. Call me Cat.” Tex gave me a smile as he scribbled on the pad.

“Middle name?”

I panicked for a moment, then grabbed at the first name to come into my mind. “Anne. With an 'E',” I added quickly. “I was born February tenth, 1999. In Panorama City, California.”

“Cat's a college girl,” Chuck added. “University of Arizona, right babe?”

“Ah, the old Alma mater,” I nervously agreed, playing along.

“What did you study, sweetheart?”

“History,” I told him, then, bless him, Chuck added.

“With a minor in education. And a teaching certificate.” Tex looked up from his notes and gave Chuck a glance, then shook his head and wrote it down.

“I'll see what my friend in vital records can do,” Tex told us. “I might have to mail you some of this.”

Chuck offered a handshake and I could see a number of hundred's palmed in his hand like a magician. Tex and he shook, then suddenly his hand was empty. “I know your friend's the best.”

“I'll do what I can to speed things along,” Tex assured us. “What can I bring you kids from the kitchen?” He looked at me and picked out the the first thing I saw on the menus Mandy had left.

“Oh, uh, the train wreck nachos. But, no Jalapenos?” Tex arched a disapproving eyebrow and I shrugged. “They give me gas,” I admitted and he nodded magnanimously.

“You still like 'em bloody and mooing?” he asked Chuck.

“They come some other way?” he shot back. Tex stood and collected up his beer while stuffing his notepad back into his vest pocket before he took the two menus with him. “Thanks, Tex!” Chuck called after him. Tex waved that he heard, but didn't turn as he went back into the kitchen.

I leaned over to Chuck and asked, “I don't want to get you or your friend in trouble?”

“You can't get us in trouble, Cat, we're there already!” Chuck shot back so I sighed and just shook my head.

We shared a laugh and I watched him as I sat and drank my beer. Several big, burly men came over to the table, obviously old friends of Chuck's and some of the reunions were more raucous than others. It was apparent that many of these men hadn't seen him for a fair amount of time, which stood him good stead that he was so memorable and still held in such esteem.

The train wreck nachos lived up to their name, coming out on a plate that looked like an entire bag of tortilla chips had been used just as a base, then began to piled on from there. I could only eat a quarter of it and I still felt like a complete pig. Meanwhile, Chuck put away another slab of meat without much effort and I couldn't help but smile to myself at what opposites we were. This personification of maleness and me.

What was I?

How was it we were brought together? Was this some invisible hand balancing a karmic ledger? Fantastic luck after the absolute disaster my life had been up to this point? And was this my destiny? To be a biker chick and trucker's woman? And, honestly, was that so bad? For the first time in my life, I felt like my life had a purpose and was on track and that I was safe. Here I was, in a biker bar, more than a little buzzed off beer, that was full of big, dangerous men and I felt absolutely safe. I haven't felt this relaxed since...

Since my mother died.

It was a somber reminder that life was short and that I had no idea how many days I had left in the hour glass. Chuck looked over at me from his conversation with one of the other men, caught me staring, and smiled at me. It was a genuine kind of smile that made me feel warm. I smiled back and finished my beer. He looked up at his friend and started making good bye excuses as he dug a fifty out of his wallet and left it on the table.

We'd come in with his arm around my waist, and we left with mine around his.

* * *

We danced with the road again as we roared off into the night, but this time was different. I was so confident of Chuck's handling of the bike I wasn't in the least concerned and I could just enjoy the feeling of controlled power and being this close to raw masculinity. We drifted around a curve and I used it wrap my arms around him and I leaned my chest against his back and laid my head against his shoulders. His scent mixed with the smells of the road and the engine and with my back completely off the back rest meant my hips were canted forward on the seat.

That pressed the leather and cushion against my crotch and gave the Shadow a direct connection to my crotch. Holding him, smelling him, drifting through the air to curves of the road and the power between my legs did me in.

The orgasm rippled out from my center and was unlike any I'd ever experienced before. A man's orgasm is tense, clinching planting yourself in her and forcing the seed out of you. This wasn't anything like that. This was relaxing, like ripples in a pond, radiating out, wanting to open myself further and welcome him in. It wasn't the intense, jerking fit that is ejaculation and it lasted much longer. It took us about fifteen minutes to get back to the TA Center and I was orgasmic at least ten minutes of that trip. Just holding him, laying against him and getting off on his bike.

We rolled up and stopped in front of Connie and I made up my mind. I slid my hand down and grabbed him as I whispered in his ear, “You still interested?” That bulge didn't lie and he didn't come close to fitting in my hand.

He grunted, then reached around and pulled me out of the seat and around in his lap as he sat astride the bike. I'd never kissed a man before, never mind a man with a full beard and it tickled a bit. I did giggle, but I was so spectacularly horny I didn't care if he thought I was silly or not. He turned off the bike and set the kickstand and managed to dismount and pick me up at the same time.

He got me into the truck before I'd pulled off my shirt and by the time he'd laid me down on his bed, I was wiggling out of my jeans. Pulled off his shirt revealing that hairy chest of his, then joined me in the bed without taking off his jeans. It didn't make sense, but I couldn't really form the words. Then he took me into his arms and put the coverlet over us both.

I was ready to give myself to him, snuggled up against his chest, which was remarkably soft hair, like down, except I really couldn't get at him. He held me, and I looked up into his eyes and he smiled at me. “Sweet dreams, Cat,” he told me.

I was confused and I whined, “But, I want...”

“You're drunk, girl,” he whispered. Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead and laid my head on his chest. “Go to sleep,” he ordered me. “I don't want you to worry you did something because of the beer.”

I laid against him, frustrated, horny, this close to what I wanted and still so far away. Because he was still looking out for me. I kissed his chest, deciding to feel grateful to be where I was and I promised myself, come the sober morning, Charles Rayburn was going to get the fucking of his life.

* * *

Ah, the grandiose plans of night that recede against the bright light of day. I woke up with a pounding headache and my tongue stuck against the roof of my mouth. A mouth that felt like the desert outside that would never see moisture again. I wasn't quite hung over, or maybe I was, but just mildly, either way I woke up moaning and most assuredly not in the manner I had been planning.

Yes, I remembered throwing myself at Chuck and I actually smiled down at him asleep next to me that he had been such a gentleman and rebuffed those advances. Don't get me wrong, I intended to have my wicked way with him, just...after some water and NSAIDs. I got up and found my bladder demanding relief this very instant so I got the toilet seat and my panties down and barely got my butt on the seat before the stream let loose.

That relief was almost enough to get rid of the head ache. Almost.

So, I relieved myself, with my panties around my ankles and Chuck rolled over, away from me in the bed. I sighed and whispered, “You're awake, aren't you?”

“Not if you don't want me to be,” he whispered back and I had to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “How you feeling this morning, kiddo?”

“I'd kill for Advil,” I mumbled around my cotton mouth. He sat up in the bed and started rummaging in the cabinet near him. Then he found, based on the rattle, a bottle of pills, stood and backed towards the fridge, he rummaged in to get me a bottle of water without looking. “Chuck,” I said. “Turn around.”

“I'm respecting your privacy,” he replied, holding out the bottle of water he'd found by touch. Finally the stream of urine stopped and I sighed in contentment.

Standing, I flushed, pulled up my panties, then went around him via the bed to stand in front of him, in only them and my bra. “You are the most wonderful dirty old man I've ever met,” I assured him. “So, feast your eyes, I'm hoping for much more than a peep show before long.”

He chuckled and kissed my forehead, handing me the bottle of pills and water before he turned to take his turn at the toilet. While I fought with the water bottle and the damned plastic between me and analgesics, his prodigious 'tank venting' put mine to shame. Finally I got three of the pills down my dry throat which just soaked up the water before it hit my stomach. “I can't believe I've turned into this much of a light weight,” I moaned holding my temple. “To think one beer...!”

“One?” he demanded from the toilet. “Do you not remember last night?” he demanded.

I frowned and turned to face him, not realizing he wasn't finished yet. And, it wasn't the biggest I'd ever seen, I mean, I was a guy and I've seen a lot of porn. Still, it was bigger than mine had been. You could say it was as manly as the rest of him and he had nothing to be ashamed of in the locker room growing up. He got his fire hose put away and as I'd been peeking, gave me a long slow look in my underwear. “Of course I remember,” I told him. I had that nachos thing and you had half a cow worth of prime rib and we both had a beer.”

“How long were we at Tex's?” he asked me sidelong. I shrugged.

“I don't know, an hour? Two?” He smirked.

“We got there about nine,” he told me. “And we left at one. Did you ever not have a drink in that time?”

I blinked, thinking about dinner and him meeting all his friends and introducing me to them and I met their 'old ladies' as the biker slang went and they were all pretty hot actually, though I remembered them being much more friendly than the stereotype of mean pretty girls. Though, in every memory I had a beer in my hand, but I only remember finishing one when we were leaving. I remember the great makeup advice that Sara, Tex's better half suggested and that as a Mary Kay dealer she'd given me some samples and... I rubbed at my face and felt the remnants of her instruction come off onto my finger tips. I'd been drinking with her too. I looked up at Chuck and asked, “How many did I have?”

He fished his wallet out of his pocket and produced a receipt. “Six Killians, two shots of Jäger...” Through a bit of a fog I remembered drinking absolutely vile cough syrup with my arm around Sara's to seal my swearing of being her 'little' Sister she was going to mentor in a club. I think. “And a frozen strawberry daiquiri.”

I sat down on the bed and held my aching head. “I drank a full six pack and liquor on top of it?!”

He held up a woman's black leather vest the back of which was emblazoned with Desert Desperadoes Motorcycle Club. “And evidently swore in as a novice Biker Bitch,” he told me with a grin. “Sara took quite a shine to you.”

“How am I not dead of alcohol poisoning?” I moaned.

He sat down next to me and put an arm around me. “I chalked it up to you being a Biker Bitch.” I elbowed him in the ribs and he grunted, but then laughed. “Shower?”

“Hell, yes,” I exclaimed. Then I laid my aching head on his shoulder and hugged him as hard as I could. “I remember throwing myself at you last night. And I want you to know, if you had taken me up on it, I wouldn't be upset with you.” He hugged me back one armed.

“That's good to know,” he told me thoughtfully. “Cause, I'll be honest, next time I'll say yes.”

I raised up my face and kissed his cheek. “That's great to know! So, shower and breakfast?”

He stood and began to rummage for his ditty bag. “Sounds great. You want your own shower?” I stood and looked him in the eye.

“No,” I told him. “We can share, right?”

He smirked at me and put my shower stuff in with his. “I can definitely get used to this.”

* * *

The clerk that sold us the shower time didn't bat an eye at us, even though I'm sure he thought this and that was going to be going on. I'm certain if something did happen, we would hardly be the first ones engaging in it. So we browsed a bit in the shop until the automated system announced that our shower was ready and we made our way back to it. The code worked fine and, credit to the manager, the shower was actually clean. No hair in the drain, no ring around the toilet and even the mirror was spotless. He got his shirt off first and I paused a moment as I was pulling mine off. “Hey, can I ask a favor without freaking you out?”

He walked over with a smirk. “You want me to look for a seam?” I nodded, with what I hoped was an 'I'm sorry' look on my face. “Turn around.”

I finished pulling off my shirt and turned my back to him. I felt his hands on the bra and then suddenly it was loose. I arched my back a bit and removed the bra completely, feeling a little exposed as I did so, putting it on the counter next to me. I shuddered as I felt his finger on my back, tracing down next to my spine. “Well, either you got really lucky with this scar or, this is a seam.”

“I don't have any scars I know of,” I told him.

“You'd remember this one,” he assured me. “I think the only reason I can see it is these lights are so bright.” He paused significantly, then asked, “You want me to try and open it?”

“No!” I told him emphatically. I whirled about to face him, now unconcerned I was topless. “My name is Catherine Anne Walsh! That's who I am! That's who I want to be! I...I just wanted you to know I'm not crazy!” He smiled at me, then effortlessly picked me up and set me on the counter so I was closer to eye level with him.

“Darling,” he drawled. “I never once thought you were crazy.” I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest, relieved for no reason I could truly articulate. His arms came around my shoulders and he hugged me against him. I splayed my legs to give him room, then hooked my feet around behind his butt. We hugged together and I was aware of his manhood against me, straining under his jeans. I raised my head and looked into his eyes, noting a certain...hunger...in them. “I imagine,” he said softly. “You don't want our first time to be in a gas station bathroom...”

I reached up and ran my hand through his chest hair in a gesture I found oddly arousing. Breathlessly, I whispered, “Lover, I have a feeling very little of our relationship is going to be normal and I'm ok with that. So, if this isn't too kinky for you...” I leaned back, displaying my breasts and spread my legs wide in invitation. “Help yourself.”

He reached up and brought my ankles together and for a split second, I thought he was saying 'no', but then he took a hold of my panties, picked me up one handed, and peeled them off of me. It was, in fact, the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me, even more than the ride home had been last night and I felt myself flood in anticipation of being claimed by him. Then one hand went behind my back to pull me to him and the other took my breast into his firm grip just before his mouth claimed mine in a searing, passionate kiss as he kneaded my breast.

I opened my mouth to welcome his tongue into me and our tongues slid and groped around each other as my hands pawed at his jeans, trying to get him naked. Finally our mouths parted and he stood up, his hands at his jeans. I leaned back on one arm so that I was, hopefully, at an easier angle for him and with the other hand I meant to open myself. I couldn't tell you why, but it was instinctual and when my palm settled on my now very swollen clitoris and spread open my labia a jolt of pleasure raced through every nerve of my body.

He smiled, having noted I'd almost brought myself off as he dropped and stepped out of his jeans. If I thought it manly before, now, thick and hard it was full on intimidating. He stepped forward and I took hold of him and found my fingers couldn't encircle his girth. It felt like stone it was so hard and yet, warm in my grip. I looked into his eyes as I rubbed him through my folds, coating him with the flood that was all but pouring out of me. Then I pressed him down slightly and laid him at my entrance.

His eyes never left mine as he took hold of me by the hips and slid his cock inside of me.

The sensation was absolutely electric as I felt him push me aside and make room in my body for himself. It was as if I had been hollow and now was complete. I purposefully drug my palm over my clit to move my hand out of the way and I came just as I felt his abdomen against mine. I clinched on him as the orgasm flowed through my nervous system and I wrapped my legs around his hips. He grunted, “Tight,” then lowered his face and we were kissing as he withdrew what felt like forever, then was pushing back inside.

I wrapped my arms around his back and kissed him with all my might. It felt like he was in my body up to my navel and it didn't hurt, he was stretching me open, owning me, making me his bitch and all I could do was squirm on bathroom counter top and orgasm.

I have no idea how long this went on. Kissing and fucking and being fucked, it was beyond anything I'd ever experienced myself, moaning into his mouth, sucking on his tongue and feeling every inch of that magnificent phallus plowing me. My nipples ached they were so erect but that pain added a sweet, spicy note to this continuous orgasm. My entire life I'd scoffed at anyone enjoying pain, but when he pulled off my mouth and began to suck on my breast I had to bite my tongue to keep from squealing in delight. I mustered the strength to pull my head up and whisper in his ear, “Give it to me, Chuck. All of it. I'm yours, you fucking stud! Now give me what's mine!”

His mouth came off my breast and he looked me right in the eye and grunted, “Mine!” He grabbed my hips and pulled me onto him so he was completely buried, then I felt a new flood, hot against my insides and I died. My stomach and muscles shook and spasmed, out of all control. My eyes closed and my head fell back, limp. He jerked a bit, withdrawing just enough to force himself back in to keep fountaining his seed in me.

After a long moment, panting after our breath, we came down from the high. Finally, I could open my eyes and ran my hands over his chest while he was still balls deep in me. “I don't know,” I panted, “what possessed whatever whore who said no thanks to you and that seat in Connie, but I want it.”

He grinned at me and gently kissed me. “Then it's all yours,” he promised me. “If you want to be the old lady of an old biker.”

“Fuck, yes,” I purred at him. “Sign me up.”

* * *

This was to be a day, long remembered. Who would have ever thought being made some other man's bitch would feel this good? And I was his bitch and proud of it. At first, when he picked me up and took us both into the shower, all I could think of was positions I wanted to try, clothes I wanted to buy to tempt him, research online I needed to do to discover how to be the perfect whore for him. Then he gently lifted me up off of him and I was alone in my skin once more and with such magnificent tenderness we bathed each other.

His hands on my scalp, massaging my skin as he washed my hair; his manhood in both of my hands because he was so much a man, as I gently cleaned him, it changed me. It didn't stop being about sexual fantasy, being that close to him, naked, touching and being touched my mind was full of the ways I would make love to him. But it did stop being dirty. I was just his woman, it was expected that my body would be his plaything. It was right and just, and somehow wholesome to drain every drop from his balls and keep him that way.

I didn't even know if I could get pregnant in this suit, but as I gently washed his balls, I realized I had to find out because suddenly I desperately wanted to be able to give him children. There was nothing in my life so important as to surrender myself and make my life's work his happiness. It was primal. What I didn't know was how to express this need to him in a way that wouldn't...and how can I put this? Scare him off? Somehow I scoffed at the notion he could be afraid of anything.

But I was afraid.

They wanted me to stay and I'm a traveling man.

Those words were like ice in my heart, so I determined some how, some way, if I could have children, I would find a way to raise them for him in that truck. It was the first time in my life I can remember being so blissfully happy, and with a certain cold certainty, I resigned myself to the fact I would do anything to stay this way.

So, I gathered up in my mind, these disparate stereotypes of women, the faithful wife, the loving mother, the bad biker bitch and the shameless whore and I made all of them mine, different perspectives of the face I would show Charles Rayburn, whenever he needed them. That's who I would be. The whore would rule his bed, and if she could, tempt him into siring his children on her. The wife would keep his home and share the load of this traveling life of his he loved so much. The mother would bear the children the whore teased out of him and would find some way to make that work in Connie, and the biker bitch would keep watch over them and woe to anyone that offered to hurt them.

So I smiled at him as I dried myself, watching him dry himself off and I made up my mind that whatever the asking price for the heart of Charles Rayburn was, I'd find a means to earn it. Then it hit me, like a ton of bricks; I was in love with him. That was why it felt so foreign, why I would so happily supplant myself into his wants, this was completely unlike anything I'd ever felt before.

This bore thinking about.

I was quiet as we made our way to the greasy spoon restaurant in the TA and ordered breakfast. I couldn't help rocking my hips in the seat as I sweetened my coffee and thought about the part of him that was still inside me now. It made me feel a little strange, thinking about it, and what the consequences of it might be. While I was deep in thought, he said, “Hey, you in there?”

I looked up, startled and realized he'd been talking. “Sorry, Chuck, I was in my own little world over here. What did you say?”

“Heavy thoughts?”

I finished stirring my coffee and put the spoon back on my napkin. “No regrets,” I assured him. “Just feeling the weight of it, if that makes sense? I don't even know what this suit has done to me or how much. What we shared, just now? That was the best experience of my life, easily!”

He actually blushed a bit and made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, don't butter me up,” he scolded me halfheartedly. “I'll never get my ego back in it's box.”

“Oh, he blushes!” I teased him. “All that and modesty, too?” He winked at me over his coffee cup as he took a sip.

“I was asking,” he declared with much suffering, “What you'd like to do today? We're in a holding pattern for Tex to do his thing. Anything you'd like to do?”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “In the middle of nowhere, Arizona?” I asked him. Then a thought hit me and smiled an evil smile. “How about, we go for a ride? A nice, long ride...?” I got my foot out of my sneaker then raised it carefully until I found his crotch and gently, but firmly, rubbed him. “Then we can maybe take a...nap...before dinner.”

His hand came around my ankle and held me as he set his coffee cup down, then his other hand disappeared under the table. Then he had my foot with both hands and began to rub his thumbs into the ball of my foot from the arch as his fingers gently splayed the bones of my foot from the top. It was intensely erotic and yet perfectly innocent at the same time. “You, sir,” I whispered, “delight in teasing me, don't you? My God that feels good!”

“Tease? Me? Never!” He chuckled as he rubbed my foot and I just melted. “A ride it is.”

* * *

If there's one thing a greasy spoon gets right, it's breakfast. So, we made short work of the actually quite nice meal, then I got my club vest and pulled it on over my T Shirt. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but Chuck produced a vest from a cubbyhole in the truck himself and pulled it on. His had more patches than the one on mine, but it did increase his BMF points. Then we climbed on his Shadow and once more I got to thrill to the power between my legs.

From the back of a motorcycle, I got to experience the austere beauty of the American South West as we traveled north, away from the interstate and into the wilderness. We were on an immense, flat valley between a pair of mountain ranges with Wilcox behind us, but there was a surprising amount of people making a home out in the desert. We were following Fort Grant road out to Arizona two sixty six when, in a big circle basically when we passed, of all things, an orchard in the middle of the desert. Or, perhaps a vineyard would be a better word, as the sign proclaimed it a tomato farm.

The desert was surprisingly green with cotton wood trees and bushes. It was beautiful in its wild remoteness. We turned towards the mountains to the east. We were amazingly alone and it was a sensation I, a city dweller, was unused to. I was enjoying being this close to him, and still enjoying the ride when suddenly the engine went quiet. I watched him try to restart it, even trying a rolling compression start, but the engine refused. “What happened?” I shouted over the decreasing wind.

“I dunno?” he yelled back at me as we rolled to a stop next to this old, rusted farm truck on the side of the road. “She just quit.” I got off the back, which was nice to stretch my legs. He unscrewed the gas cap and looked inside. “We've got plenty of gas. I...”

He was cut off as the radio on the truck suddenly turned on and began to blast a trumpet heavy salsa kind of tune. We looked at each other as this truck looked like it hadn't moved under it's own power in at least thirty years. He swung off the bike and we both slowly approached the wreck and looked into the cab. The upholstery had all rotten away leaving only the frame of the bench and rusting springs, the glass from the window was scattered all through the cab, but the radio was lit up and evidently the speakers still worked. Suddenly, it began to jump from station to station, only pausing long enough for a single word to be clearly heard, DJs, commercials and songs until we realized this patchwork of words was actually coherent.

Do...not...be...afraid. We...mean...you...no...harm. Do...you...understand...us?

From somewhere, Chuck produced a pistol and honestly I felt better that he had something to defend us with. “Who am I speaking with?” he declared, and the radio obligingly began jumping again.

We...manufactured...your...ladies...suit.

An iceberg fit to sink an ocean liner rolled down my spine. “Who are you?” I shouted.

Don't...be...concerned with...Identity. Suit...reported stolen by...intended...recipient. We...have learned that...you...are...not...these perpetrators. Return...handgun to...storage. You...will not be...injured. I became aware of a high pitched tone that was beginning to get louder. It was like the Emergency Alert System, but worse and within seconds it felt like it was boring between my temples behind my eyes. Then it got difficult to keep my balance. I sat down, hard, against the truck, then everything went dark.

* * *

When I woke up, I was sitting in a remarkably comfortable Laz-Y-Boy kind of recliner. In the chair next to me was Chuck, who was also beginning to stir. We were in a room that was a brilliant, pristine white that made the exact size of it hard to guess. To my utter amazement, standing in front of us was Oprah Winfrey, smiling, wearing a rather nice skirt suit, that, I realized I could see through.

A look down found I still had breasts, which was comforting, to be honest. I sat up, still a little disoriented and asked, “Oprah?” She blinked and looked directly at me, but when she talked, it was immediately apparent that these were samples of her voice, in the way the radio had been strung together.

“Hello. I am a computer generated avatar so that we may communicate. Please don't be alarmed.”

“I figured Oprah was an alien,” Chuck muttered as he sat up, rubbing his temples. “Why have you kidnapped us?” he demanded.

Oprah's smile didn't waiver. “It is imperative that we discover your motives. We are aware you were not the thieves who originally stole the suit.” Her face turned to me and it was a little eerie to be honest the way her expression didn't match what she was 'saying'. “You took the suit from the thieves, why?”

“I...I freaked out!” I told the, whatever it was, hologram? I could see through the image so it was a projection of some kind. “They mistook me for someone else and told me to get into the suit and when I did, I panicked. I ran, they chased me and I met Chuck.”

“We understand. Do you wish to be released from the suit?”

In a very small voice, I asked, “If...if I am, can I stay female?” Oprah shook her head. “Then, I mean, I have no doubt it's yours, I just, I want to stay this way. What can I offer you in exchange for the suit?”

Oprah's face bore a puzzled expression, as though she, or whomever was puppeteering her, had not considered that possibility. “That request will have consequences to your body.”

“What kind of consequences?” Chuck wanted to know. “Is it dangerous for her to wear it?”

“For the foreseeable future, no,” Oprah replied. “We will require time to consider your request,” she finally declared. “In the meantime, you may keep the suit. We will contact you again when we have made our decision.”

“How...?” I started, but Oprah's expression was set.

“You cannot hide from us,” she declared. “You are charged to do no harm while you wear the suit.” She gestured and I noted a pamphlet in my lap. “These are the instructions. We will contact you again.”

“When?” I asked.

“Why have you...” started Chuck, but I blinked and we were sitting on the running board of the truck, next to his bike. Though there was a significant difference in time, now it was twilight. I checked my phone and discovered about eight hours were missing from our day. Chuck stood slowly, one hand going to the small of his back to check his pistol was still there.

It was.

Once he was sure of its condition, he returned it to the holster and turned back to offer me a hand up. “You ok?” he asked softly.

As I stood, a little pamphlet I hadn't noticed was in my lap fell to the desert floor. I reached down to pick it up. It was in English and it declared itself the Chameleon IV Native Study and First Contact Suit Users Manual. “First Contact?” I asked, showing him the little booklet.

“I guess there really are aliens amongst us,” he muttered.

I looked around the wilderness and other than the road, the truck and his bike, there was no indications humans had ever set foot here. This morning, I would have felt certain we could have put out a blanket and make love like minks in desolation like this and no one would be the wiser. Now? Now the warning you cannot hide from us hung in my ears and I felt like I was under a microscope. “What do we do now?” I asked in a small voice.

He walked over to the bike and swung onto it, thumbing the starter. The bike purred to life on the first try and he looked at me, a sardonic look on his face. “Now, we finish our ride, wait for Tex to get your paper and head to Boston,” he declared in a remarkably normal tone of voice. As if we hadn't just been kidnapped by aliens. He put his hand out to me in invitation. “You coming?”

“You're not getting rid of me that easy!” I told him, taking his hand and swinging up onto the bike behind him. I slid my arms around him and squeezed his chest. “We have a date for a...nap...during that wait.”

He grinned at me. “Ah yes, naps. Who doesn't love a good nap?”

The bike roared off towards the truck and our planned afternoon delight. And after, I had some reading to do. And a lot of thinking and decisions to make, but that would come later.

*finis*

The Bodysnatcher

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Body Snatcher
A Tale of the Near Future
by
E. E. Nalley

I can't tell you who I am, because I don't know myself.

My story doesn't start with growing up or childhood, traumatic first loves or the gentle wisdom of trusted mentor. I may have had them, I can't say because I can't remember them. My story starts on the floor of a bathroom shower; a filthy, grimy place covered in mildew and soap rings from years of neglect and disregard. It starts here because I was being doused with cold water from the shower and that had brought me back to consciousness. I was confused, in a great deal of pain, as I slapped at the nobs to get the water turned off.

Looking around trying to get my bearings didn't help.

It was a closet of a bathroom, the floor tiles wet with over spray because there was no curtain to contain it, nasty sink, nasty toilet, lit in the random strobe of a florescent tube in the process of failing. On the wall of the shower was streak of blood that came down towards me and probably explained the pain on my lips. I brought my hand up to my face, seeing it shake with the cold but something about it seemed off. I brought it to the back of my neck, just behind my right ear.

Brushing the wet hair out of the way, I found an open access door to a card socket, that was the source of the deep pain there. Skill card sockets are nothing new, and they're supposed to be water proof, just for this reason, like the cards you put into them. Though, certain cheap knock off cards whose quality controls weren't up to snuff sometimes weren't. I dug into the reader and removed what was left of a data chip, half melted and obviously shorted out. I looked up at the now dry shower nozzle and realized I must have been washing my hair, accidentally opened the access door and the spray shorted out the chip. I probably passed out, hit the wall, slid down here until the water went cold and it woke me up.

But, when did I get a skill chip implant?

And if I could afford one, why was I in this disgusting shower? The chip itself had no label, which made it highly suspect, but I resisted the urge to fling it away from me. It could be important, so I slowly got to my feet and laid it on the sink. I went to see how badly I was hurt in the mirror and was violently struck with the realization, that's not my face.

First, it was a young face, girlish in a way in those precocious years when a girl could be seventeen or twenty three or anywhere in between depending on how she choose to present herself. The hair was wet, so it was impossible to tell it's color, or how it hung plastered to my scalp, which accentuated a diamond shaped face with prominent cheek bones and large, vibrant deep blue eyes; the color of a Caribbean island bay. She had that peaches and cream complexion that could either tan in summer or pale in winter with a full mouth which was marred by a slight split lip that was scabbed over. It was a beautiful face, it just wasn't mine.

Not that I could tell you what my face should look like, just the jarring, deeply set feeling that what I saw wasn't it. I looked at the shorted out chip on the cheap, plastic basin and shuddered. What had happened to me? I looked at the girl in the mirror again and tried to pick out something to be sure of. Was I older? What age should I be?

She was gorgeous, curvy in all the right places with long, shapely legs and a flat stomach with just a hint of the muscles underneath. It was like winning the lottery and having the strongest feeling you didn't actually buy the ticket. None of it made sense. Methuselah treatments were a thing, had I gotten one? Is that why the young face didn't seem like mine? But if I could afford a body sculpt of this level, why am I in this nasty room?

Necessity won out and took the stained towel off the back of the toilet and dried myself. There was a sense of satisfaction feeling the young, supple skin, the toned muscle under it. Was I some old, bitter hag, having held onto life by my fingernails until this miracle had become a big business and paid to be hot little twenty something again?

I tested the heft of my breasts, which were bigger than my hands and they felt wrong too. Maybe I'd been ugly and fixed everything at once? I looked back into the mirror to find my hair in a kind of spiky halo around my head, probably to about jaw length, it was a sweetcorn blonde, but the roots underneath were black and I couldn't tell if that was on purpose or just I was in desperate need of a dye job. It was a pretty punkish bob for a woman with no body jewelry, my ears weren't even pierced, and that seemed...normal?

The towel around my body, I slowly opened the door into the kind of transient squalor the bathroom had suggested. It was a single bedroom, the bed an unkempt mess with stained walls, a display screen that was bolted into the wall with security bolts that wouldn't back out. In front there was a double window with the blinds drawn, a temperature control unit making the most unholy rattle and next to it, the door out.

Thank God, I was alone.

Next to the windows and door was a table and a pair of chairs that didn't match, with a duffel bag sitting open on the table. Pilled around it were various articles of clothing, which was good news, though first I crossed the room, threw the dead bolt and chained the door. That bit of psychological safety behind me, I went to the bag and ruffled through it.

What I found put aside any notion that I was well to do enough to afford having a skill deck put into me. With considerable effort I found a matching pair of panties and a bra to pull on, though their utility was dubious at best as they matched the rest of the bags contents. In it were about a weeks worth of tops and bottoms, hot pants, two miniskirts one canvas, the other obviously fake leather. A pair of leggings made to look like blue jeans that, based on their size and my eyeball glance at my legs would make them look painted on; assuming I could get into them. Along with some hose, a body suit that would only just be legal to wear outdoors that was made of fishnet with a few strips of strategically placed cloth. With that was three tanks, one black, the other two band shirts I'd never heard of, a tube top and a bikini. Finally, over the back of one of the chairs was a fake leather jacket. By the bed were a pair of combat boots that had chrome buckles.

At the bottom of the bag I found micro purse that contained a jail release ID that had a picture of the face in the mirror that named me Alexandria 'Lexie' Jones, my age as twenty one and my crime as Prostitution (Repeat Offender). In the purse was a little clam shell of cosmetics, mostly of 'bold' colors and three hundred Ameros. “No,” I muttered, hearing my voice for the first time. It was a nice voice, an earthy, throaty Alto. “This can't be right. I can't be a street whore with a Cybernetic Implant!”

The Implant!

That was the key to all of this. I went over to the data screen and shuffled through menus for several seconds before I finally found an option to up-link to implant. A corporate logo appeared on the screen, then a request for my user name and password. “Shit!” I hissed, and I was surprised how good it felt to swear, like some part of me remembering who I was. Still, there was more than one way to skin this cat.

I flipped back to the local areas of the city, and found a Cybernetics shop that wasn't too far from this rat trap motel. If it was in my head, it would prove it was mine and a good shop should be able to help me do a password recovery. I went through all the drawers, finding only a Bible from the Gideons. It appeared I was traveling light. I got the jeans on, along with one of the band tank tops, stuffing everything else back into the bag.

The combat boots at least were comfortable as I went back into the bathroom and got the chip and put it into the micro purse to keep it safe. Then, the duffel over my shoulder, I peeked out the window. There were bars over the window and what I could see outside looked like a demilitarized zone. There were two wrecked cars in the parking lot, and the ones that were on the street weren't in much better condition.

I really wanted a gun.

The thought of that brought me up short. Did I know anything about guns? The thought of having one in a neighborhood like this was comforting. I turned and took a final glance around the room, then, loathing the thought of coming back here, I picked up the key card off the table and tucked it into my back pocket. Then I unlocked the door and stepped outside.

It was clammy and a bit cool, and early in the evening based on the red sky on the horizon, but what street lights there were were on, The sign that was only half lit proclaimed this dump the Do Drop Inn. I rolled my eyes and headed down the walk way to get to one of the stairwells and head down to the streets. I cut across the parking lot, away from the dingy looking neon sign that proclaimed it the 'office', noting several other doors beginning to open with other working girls heading out to look for work. The stiffening of my nipples from the chill in the air was unpleasant against the bra and the tank top so I dug the fake leather coat out of the bag and pulled it on.

There was still a fair amount of activity on the streets, people coming and going, some working slobs who couldn't do better, maybe undocumented types, trapped in this human cattle yard, but there were sharks too. I felt the eyes of the thugs as I passed them, they were easy to spot, clothes too nice for this neighborhood, jewelry too expensive for someone living here, all of them eyeing me as a potential next meal.

It made my skin crawl, so I kept my stride brisk, in an 'I have places to be' pace and didn't give them time to approach. A jingle in one pocket of the jacket told me where my walk about money was. Seeing a bus at the stop ahead going in the direction I wanted to go, I picked up my pace and trotted to make it before it pulled away. The fare paid, I picked a seat where the driver could see me, even if he was in what looked like a bullet proof compartment with no access from inside the bus.

That only reinforced my desire for a gun.

As I slid into the plastic seat, I felt something hard in one of the jacket pockets. It was the right size and shape to be a phone and I discretely took it out to make sure. It was a cheap knock off brand, practically worthless, so I decided to have a quick glance through it fairly certain I wouldn't make myself more prey like by having the phone out.

On the lock screen were three messages from who I took to be regulars, wanting to know if my 'sweet ass' was available tonight. I bit back the anger and unlocked the phone with my thumb to dig around. There was nothing in the phone older than three weeks, which seemed to underscore whatever had happened to me was recent.

I shuddered at the thought that I'd been selling myself for three weeks in that vile room.

The phone rang and the contact was labeled 'Daddy' but the picture was of a thug, thirty something, with a somewhat grotesque physique he'd gotten either from steroids or some other artificial means. Even in the picture, the wrap around shades made identifying him difficult. I sent the call to voice mail and keep digging in the phone. Twice more it called, and got the same treatment, then a text came in with, “Your bitch ass better be humping to make me money.”

I looked at the picture again and had a vague notion of being horribly used by this pathetic monster came to mind. The details were thankfully vague, but behind the disgust was anger. My teeth grinding, I typed back “Loose my number, or you'll regret it.” It rang again and this time I just dug through the contact program to block 'Daddy' I hoped from the rest of my life.

A shadow came between the roof light and me, looking up, I found the crotch of someone's pants in my face, and a twenty Amero being dangled. “Sup girl? You working?” I looked over at the bus driver, but he was very intent on not seeing anything.

“I'm on my union break, so better luck next time, huh?” I told him, looking up into his face. “How about you move along?” He was young enough to pull something this stupid and think it bravado, but definitely old enough to know better. He leered at me, gold glinting off his teeth.

“Since when to whores have unions?” he demanded, then his free hand was coming towards my face. I didn't really think, but my arm came up and caught his hand, effortlessly stopping it. We both marveled for a second that I had the strength to stop his pimp slap, then my other hand shot out, right into his Johnson. He screamed in pain and doubled over as I stood, tucking his hand into my arm pit, then by the back of his head, I kicked up and my knee slammed into his nose. The force broke it and launched him backwards into the seats behind the driver, a river of blood flowing down his face and chest.

The bus skidded to a stop and the door opened as I looked down in more than a little amazement at what I'd done. “Off,” commanded the driver.

“But, he...”

“Off,” he repeated. Shrugging, I reached down and relieved the jackass of his twenty and climbed off the bus.

“Sorry about the mess,” I told him. The driver actually chuckled, then closed the door and drove off. I looked at my hand for a moment as I put the phone and the twenty away curious and wondering what other enhancements I might have. My wrecking of the Horny Rider had been instinctive, but to just stop his strike had surprised both of us.

I looked around, grateful to be a fair ways, despite the short ride, from the Do Drop Inn and 'Daddy'. That had me fairly close to the Cybernetics shop so I settled in to walk, ignoring the cat calls as I did so. At the back of this little L shaped strip mall, on the upper level was the Chrome Clinic, whose neon all worked and advertised they were dealers in all the name brand cybernetics on the market.

Somehow, I doubted it, but they were close and likely cheap enough for the cash I had on me. I let myself in, taking a moment to look about at the holographic displays of replacement organs and artificial limbs. The receptionist desk was empty, but behind the bead curtain a young man quickly came out, wearing a white lab coat over a set of red silk scrubs.

Yes, they were as tacky as that sentence implied.

He wasn't much older than I appeared to be, though these days he could be an octogenarian and choose to look like the thirty something yuppie in front of me. He was that 'American Mutt' blend of European ethnic tropes that would be impossible to sort out without a genetic trace. Brownish hair, green eyes out of an oval shaped face that was excited in the way only a salesman hoping to make the rent could be. “Welcome to the Chrome Clinic! I'm Doctor Wilkey and I'll be taking care of you, miss...?”

“Jones,” I told him, using the handshake to keep him at arms length. “Lexie Jones, and I need help with a password recovery on my skill bank.”

The enthusiasm came down a notch, before the salesman drive came back. “Oh, certainly. I can, I mean, we, we can help you with that. And I'd be happy to discuss any upgrades you've been considering as well!” He stepped aside and indicated the curtain. “Right this way.”

Behind the curtain was a robotic assisted surgery chair that probably cost more than anything in a two block radius. The base of it was one of those hyper-ergonomic chairs doctors love that sculpt themselves to fit your body as you sit or is more often the case, lay back into them. Over head was a massive light on a gimbal and a half dozen arms that ended in things that probably would have been at home on a medieval torturer's tray.

“Just have a seat, Miss Jones,” he told me, coming in from behind me. “And who is the maker of your implant?”

“What are you a 'doctor' of, Doctor Wilkey?” I asked, turning back to face him.

“Oh, well, I...”

“Don't bullshit me,” I warned him.

He deflated a bit and held up his hands in a surrender position. “Fine, fine, I haven't finished med school, yet, but I'm an accredited surgical tech and I'm fine to do your service. Really!”

I weighed that for a moment, then made a decision. “It wasn't my decision to have this implanted and I'm locked out of it.” I held up the burned out chip I'd taken from my purse. “I woke up in the shower with this shorted out in my reader. I can't remember anything longer than about an hour ago.”

Wilkey frowned and came forward to take the chip and look at it. “Are you serious?”

“Do I strike you as someone prone to practical jokes?”

He looked at me over the top of a set of jeweler's magnifying glasses he'd put on to examine the chip. “Since you asked, you strike me as someone who would never have said that sentence.”

“That's fair,” I admitted. “What's your name?”

“Joe,” he finally said, engrossed in examining the chip.

“Joe,” I repeated, humanizing him a bit to me. “I think someone has kidnapped me. If this thing hadn't shorted out...”

“Yeah,” Wilkey muttered. “This, I've heard whispers of these, but I didn't believe it.” He turned to face me. “You said you woke up? Lexie, I think this is what they call a 'Midnight Lady.'”

“A what?” I demanded flatly.

He nodded as if I'd agreed with him. “Yeah, just message board stuff, you know? Real Tin Foil Hat territory, but from what I heard, this thing is not just a skill soft. I mean, it supposedly makes you as experienced as a porn star, but supposedly there's a personality alteration too. Like you could, they say, kidnap people, stick this thing in them, suddenly they're Bambi the Bimbo who will blow you for twenty Ameros.”

A full on glacier ran down my spine. “This is making me regret life choices I can't remember making,” I muttered. “Can you get me into this thing in my head?”

He handed me the chip. “Yeah, yeah sure, just sit down and let's take a look.”

Guardedly, I sat in the chair, trying to stay in a way I could quickly get to my feet, but that wouldn't allow the chair to work, so I finally had lay back in it, somewhat helpless. Still, it was a very comfortable chair. I felt him open the access door, then there was a pressing sensation, probably him connecting a diagnostic cable. From behind me came the sound of typing, then a whispered, “What the fuck?”

“What is it?” I demanded.

“Your implant it's...”

“What?”

“It's not in the system, not spec-ed, like it's some kind of prototype. You don't remember?”

I sighed, and admitted, at least to myself, it was past time to be worried. “Nothing. Can you tell me anything?”

“Not with what I have here,” he told me, reaching around the chair to disconnect it. Then he rolled his stool around to where I could see him. “Look, I want to help you. I've never seen anything like this and if some one did 'Midnight Lady' you, that's got to be punished.”

I looked around what seemed like a state of the surgery clinic. “This isn't sufficient? What do you need?”

“This?” he laughed. “This is bottom tier garbage, it just looks nice. I have some stuff I've put together on my own, but I'll need a real pro to help me hack that Cranial of yours. If you trust me, I'll do what I can.”

I arched an eyebrow as I sat up and absently closed the door over my skill chip reader in my neck. “Why is that? What are you, some kind of lab coat white knight looking to save a damsel in distress?”

He shrugged and looked away. “Hey, I get it, the streets are tough and all that. If you don't want my help, that's cool too. It's twenty Ameros for the diagnostic.” The disappointment in his voice was plain, so I reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Joe, an hour ago I woke up to being a street whore in a filthy motel being chased by a pimp named Daddy. If I'm cautious...”

“Daddy?” he demanded, his complexion going pale. “Big Daddy?” I shrugged my ignorance. “Oh, fuck! And I'm the closest shop, we've got to get out of here!” He leapt up and ran through the curtain where I heard the lock turn on the front. “Shit!” he exclaimed and now there was real terror in his voice. “He's here!”

Something in me awoke and I slid off the chair and through the curtain. Joe was next to the door having a full on panic attack, which if that was just Daddy's rep, I knew I never wanted to know if he lived up to it. I grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away from the door. “Is there a back way out of here?” I demanded, no longer amazed I had the strength to manhandle someone the way I was. I have to give Joe credit, he pulled himself together enough to nod and point back through the curtain. I reached over and flipped the 'back in an hour' sign to face the out side and urged him back through the curtain.

As we passed, I scooped up my bag and the chip before getting through the door at the back of the 'operating theater' into a small storage room. At the back of this was a fire door. “Can you turn off the alarm?” I asked him and he nodded fishing out a ring of keys he began to sort through. Finally, he found the right one and got it into the lock on the third try of his shaking hands.

“He's gonna kill us!” Joe whimpered, obviously terrified.

I put a hand on his breast bone to make him look me in the eye. “Not if we're smart,” I promised him. “Now, do you have a car? Is it in that front parking lot or out back?”

“Back,” he managed and I felt the weight come off me just a bit.

“Let's go,” I ordered, then used my position to gingerly open the door, finding it opened onto a drab hallway shared by all of these shops and down the way, opposite the front of the building, was a door with an 'Exit' sign over it. I led the way through and down the hall at a trot to the back door, opening it just a crack to peer out to see if someone was waiting for us. The lot looked clear, so we exited the building and trotted down the stairs two at a time.

His car was a tired, but road worthy looking little hatchback, probably twenty or thirty years old. I didn't care as long as it ran and got us out of there. He even opened my door first, which was sweet, though I did pause long enough to ask him, “Are you fit to drive?”

“I have to be,” he shot back as he trotted over to his side. “Do you even have a license?”

I got into the seat and got my belt sorted to demand, “You're worried about us getting pulled over?”

He gave me an odd look as he pushed a card, his license I could see now, into a slot on the dash. The car started and we got out of the lot and onto the road. “Sorry,” I muttered as I got my phone out. “Should I call the police?”

Wilkey started, then reached out, plucked the phone from my grasp and tossed it out the window. “If he's pimping you, he has to be in on the 'Midnight Lady' part,” he told me as turned at the first side road then two more quick turns in rapid succession. “Sure as rain on a wedding day, he gave you that phone and he probably has someone who can track it.”

I nodded, cursing myself for not thinking of it. “It's good thinking,” I assured him. “You know someone who can help you hack into me?”

“Yes,” he declared, then winced. “Well, no one I've actually met...” He felt my eyes on him and spared me a look with a sheepish expression. “I...I know people, chat rooms and forums...I'm online. A lot.”

“Oh, joy.”

* * *

Compared to where I woke up, Joe's apartment a thirty minute ride away by the circuitous route we took, was a palace. Of course, where I woke up was not a particularly high bar to make it over. His place was in a marginal neighborhood, not the demilitarized zone where he worked, so he must make more money than it looked like being a Chrome Shop Doc in the Box would net. It was two small bedrooms, one of which he had set up as a tinker shop, with a central room that was living, dining and kitchen all rolled into one. Still, it was clean and that a major step up in my book.

My stomach growled loud enough that he heard it and he immediately went over to the little galley kitchen and started making some kind of meal preparation. “Shouldn't you call your boss and report or something?” I asked him.

He paused long enough to sigh with his back to me, then went back to rooting through his cupboards for something to cook. “I am the boss. I own...owned...that franchise. Being willing to risk my neck down in Mountain View was what let them wink at my only being a surgery tech instead of a full Doc.”

“God, Joe, I'm sorry...”

He shrugged and got the hot plate on and started throwing ingredients into a frying pan. “It's OK. My insurance is paid up so it's not a total loss.” Some good smells started coming from the pan as he poked at whatever he was cooking. “Besides, they might not break in.”

“Does that sync with what you know about this Big Daddy clown?”

For a long moment, he just cooked, then, quietly he said, “They broke in.”

I could tell by the tone of his voice that his business was likely destroyed. I wanted to say something, in commiseration and sympathy at least. Yet, anything I could say sounded so trite in my mind, but I had just waltzed into this poor guy's life and wrecked it. Or at least, brought down those after me on him. That made me feel a bit responsible and so I asked, “Could they track us here? I don't want to put you in danger...”

He came over with a plate in one hand he set before me and the pan in the other. He slid a Quik Omelet he'd made from the powder onto plate. “Hey, it's OK I always wanted a beautiful and exciting girl friend.”

The attempt at humor fell kind of flat and it seemed important I be honest with him. “Look, Joe, I am really sorry about involving you in this, and I'll do what I can to make it up to you, but who ever I was, whoever I will be again, I'm not a hooker, so don't expect...”

He blushed, like a teenager, and stammered out an apology and a stuttering protestations he had no such expectations. I smiled at him and he couldn't meet my eyes and I made a promise to myself not to take advantage of this innocent young man. Which, looking the way I looked and now it being obvious he was not at all wise in the world, despite looking numerically older than me, was going to be tough. Probably foolish to think so, considering how much I was and had already taken advantage of him. He'd just lost his livelihood and risked his life for what and who? Who I couldn't answer, but whoever I was, I was certainly dressed like the kind of woman a guy like him would hope might settle her accounts with favors. What else was he prepared to do on my behalf besides a meal and a place to stay?

And, for powdered eggs, it was a reasonably good omelet too.

He turned back and started making his own and in my minds eye suddenly I imaged having sex with him. I mean, he wasn't a bad looking guy, just one of those 'safe nice guys' girls take advantage of.

Girls like me,went through my mind and it made for a conundrum.

I didn't think Joe Wilkey was my type, but then, what was my type? Was I really considering throwing him a pity fuck, or was that some left over of the 'Midnight Lady?' Besides, a thin, weedy guy like him couldn't possibly be as hung as my mind was imagining. Could he? I'll just keep chewing this omelet and forget about the rather naughty things I was thinking about.

I chewed thoughtfully as I looked at his back while he made his own omelet and a horrible thought popped into my head. “Joe? How advanced are these body sculpts these days?”

He looked over his shoulder, curiosity on his face. “What do you mean?”

I licked my lips, tasting omelet and just a hint of blood from the split lip. “I mean, what are the limits? If you can vat grow organs, I mean, I have no idea who I am. What's the chance I'm not even a woman by birth?”

“What, like you were a man?” He paused and considered it. “I...God, that's never occurred to me. You could be a complete vat grow with just your brain or...”

“Or what?” I demanded.

He turned to face me, his expression bleak. “That could be Lexie Jones' body, but not her mind...”

My stomach rolled and I very nearly threw up the omelet. How could I ever make right something like that. Had some poor girl died so I could be...what? Who could I have offended so badly to have this happen to me? Worse, if they could arrange a fate like this, what could they not do? I pushed the plate away from me. “I'm suddenly not very hungry.”

He gave me a sad look, then pushed it back. “You'll need to keep your strength up. I'll get you answers, Lexie. But, yeah, you might not like those answers very much.”

“Thanks,” I muttered and handed him the salt he was reaching for. Around another mouthful, I tried to think about what 'my type' was and if my mind had a 'male' or 'female' bent. It's curious to wonder how much our perception underscores our reality. I was in a female body and I'd just accepted it, minus that my face was not actually mine. Suddenly it was important that he understand I'm not really a whore, but did that make me a 'good girl'?

All I could do is look at the black wall in my mind that I was slowly walking away from and building memories as I fought to figure out who I was. I looked across the little bar we were eating at and watched him eat for a moment and tried to pin down how I felt about him. I was grateful to have an ally and a roof over my head again that wasn't that horrible motel room. I asked myself what was I willing to do so as to keep that ally? He noticed me watching him and asked, “What?”

“Would...would you want me to...well...you know...?”

He blinked in surprise and his head tilted to one side. “What?” he repeated, obviously confused. “You mean...?”

I shrugged and nodded. “I...I guess? Sure. Why not?”

His face pulled into a frown. “Is that you talking, Lexie? Or the Midnight Lady?”

“How should I know?” I demanded. “It's out of the jack, isn't it? Doesn't that mean it's not controlling me any more?

He sighed and shook his head. “Maybe, maybe not,” he hedged. “It shorted out while it was running. I have no idea who wrote it, or what all is involved, just rumor. The rumors say it's not just the knowledge of how to be the best lay ever, but it's also a personality overlay. Again, the rumors say it will turn you into a complete Nympho. Since it was running when you shorted it out, it might very well skew your behavior in it's general direction.” He sighed again got some more omelet on his fork. “Besides, what if we find out you aren't a girl at all? How would you feel about it then? Or me for taking advantage of you?”

I shrugged and pushed the last of my own food around the plate. “I was just thinking that I had to be careful about not taking advantage of you. Then I was trying to figure out what my tastes and attractions were and I realized how much I was asking of you in helping me. I figured it was the least I could do, isn't it?”

“I don't want a pity fuck,” he declared icily. “I'll help you, because I want to and because it's the right thing to do. But I'm not Big Daddy and I'm not interested in you humping to pay some debt to me.” He reached across the bar and took my hand. “Look, Lexie, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to you. Sure, I'm interested, yes, I want to, but I won't until I know you do too. You're safe with me, OK?”

That made me feel quite warm and very conscious of his skin on mine. “Thank you, Joe. I really appreciate it. Really. I...I didn't mean for it to sound like a pity fuck...”

“It's OK,” he assured me. “I get you had good intentions.”

He withdrew his hand and went back to eating. “What's our next step?” I wanted to know.

“I've already got some...discrete...messages out to some of my online acquaintances saying I need help with a particularly troublesome head ware. Once I get a bite, we'll set up a meet.”

“Do you have a gun?” I asked him.

That brought his attention away from his omelet. “No. Why?”

“Big Daddy will have guns, won't he?” Joe nodded, obviously not liking where my train of thought was going. “Then it seems prudent we better have one, right?”

“What do you know about guns?” he demanded. “I mean, damn it, Lexie, I'm a doctor not a...”

“I don't know what I know about guns,” I told him. “But I know I want one. That's enough for me.” I picked up my plate, then his, figuring if I couldn't fuck my way into his good graces, I could clean up at least. “I've got some cash. Is there a pawn shop around here?” I put the plates into the little washer next his sink and put my hands on my hips.

After a moment, he nodded. “I'll take you.”

* * *

South Side Gun and Pawn was exactly as seedy as you might expect from it's name. There were bars over the windows, really big guys wearing T-Shirts with the stores logo on the front and 'Security' across the back. The shelves were filled with the detritus of broken lives and likely the bought proceeds of burglars. Out of date televisions, tools, a bin of portable computers and data tablets, with things of actual value behind the counter and what looked like Plexiglas display cases. I made my way past lawnmowers and cheap, off brand construction tools, over to the gun side of South Side Gun and Pawn. Here, there were plenty of new models and all the big names in the kind of nickle and chrome plated blaster jewelry you'd expect a thug to carry. I knew I didn't have the cash for any of that, and frankly I didn't want any of it if I could afford them. Something in me was looking for dependable.

Past the latest so-called Smart guns that were closer to computers than weapons, I found a display of stuff made in the last millennium that was closer to my price range. I knew from having gotten out in the world that I was about average height, call it a hundred and sixty seven centimeters, and I couldn't weigh more than fifty kilos. That meant I wasn't in the market for a hand cannon, so went over to the counter with the plastic fantastics that had gotten popular at the turn of the millennium. “Something I can help you with, honey?” the big guy behind the counter wanted to know.

I pointed into the case at 'carry sized' wonder nine that was smaller than 'service pistol' size, but bigger than micro compact. “Can I see that one? The one with three mags.”

He chuckled as his thumb opened the case and he reached in to put it front of me. “You know what...” he started, but I'd picked it up, wracked the slide to the rear which satisfyingly locked open on the empty mag that was in it. I put the mag on the little box with the others took up a good firing grip with my finger indexed along the frame. “I guess you do.”

Looking down the day glow sights, I decided I liked them, more so that the little holographic sight mounted between them didn't obscure them. The battery on the holo sight was dead, but batteries were cheap. The frame was plastic, polymer had been what they called it back in it's day, but it was still an extruded long chain petroleum derivative. The slide, barrel and the other important bits were steel of course, though the texture that had been cast into the pistol's grip was a bit rough on my hand. It had Hellcat embossed on the slide and that brought an ironic smile to my face as I thumbed the slide release and with it aimed at the floor, pulled the trigger. It was an ugly thing, a tool for an ugly task, but the engineers who had made it knew what they were doing. “The trigger's a little mushy, but the break is clean,” I told him. “You guys got any nine millimeter in stock?”

The salesman chuckled and reached under the counter to pull out a data pad he put in my reach. “She's a keeper,” he told Joe who was as flabbergasted as the sales guy had been a second ago. I got my jail ID out and handed it to him. “Seriously?” he demanded. “You're gonna use a jail ID to buy a gun?”

I shrugged. “It's a state issued ID and prostitution is a misdemeanor. Nothing says I can't, does it?”

“This is a first,” he admitted and gave me the tablet with it's electronic form to fill out. The RFID chip in my ID talked to the tablet and filled in a number of the lines. Fortunately, I, or Lexi, didn't have a felony on her record so my wallet was soon two hundred Ameros lighter and heavier one nine millimeter pistol, one box of fifty cartridges and three fifteen round magazines.

Back in his car, I began to fill the magazines with bullets while Wilkey asked, “I'd ask you how you knew half of what you did in there, but it's probably fruitless to, right?”

The bullet clicked into place in the magazine. “Just do,” I told him. “Probably a good thing, the way our luck is running.” That was something he couldn't argue, nor did he have the time should he have been inclined to. The data screen on the dash lit up with a notation that, based on what I saw, was a reply to one of his inquiries of assistance. I watched him read the screen then nod to himself. “Everything OK?”

“Nothing is free,” he muttered. “How much more coin do you have?”

“My worldly treasure is about a hundred Ameros,” I told him. “Why? And, oh, by the way, unless I go back to turning tricks, I have no job to replenish that. Or to provide for basic survival stuff.”

“I sent that mail to everybody I knew. Even a couple of people I didn't expect to get a reply from, but I knew they were good. Top drawer good, you know? Well, one of them did.”

I kept feeding bullets into the magazine. “Go on,” I said warily.

He turned the screen where I could more readily see it. It was a simple message, with the image of an anthropomorphic cat in a red and white striped top hat sitting at a computer. “Consider me intrigued. Come to the Silicone Sorceress and let's discuss.” It was signed, The Cat in the Hack.

I looked up at Joe and he seemed a bit apprehensive. “Silicone Sorceress?”

He tapped at the screen and Street View showed a building with too much functioning neon and not enough maintenance on the actual structure. It was odd to see a place look so glitz and grime at the same time. “It's one of those industrial rave bars over in Blandtown, by the rail yard. It's not far from Tech so a lot of the kids go there.”

“What do you know about this Cat in the Hack?”

“Never met...them?” he hedged. “But by reputation, probably one of the best cybernetic and computer crackers out there.” He touched the screen and the screen changed to a neon and strobe light lit hell, full of beautiful people packed too close together, wearing too little clothing and all but having sex on a dance floor. “Silicone Sorceress is a VR bar so there's virtual and real aspects. It should be easy to disguise ourselves.”

I chuckled darkly. “As luck would have it, it looks like this is exactly the kind of club I have wardrobe for. How about you, Doc?”

He shrugged and looked away. “I studied, not partied in college.”

“We'll find you something,” I promised him. “Look's like I'm back in the escort biz, Doc. So, let's get dressed and you can show me a good time.”

Despite our situation, he actually chuckled. “This is not how I imagined our first date.”

“What were you imagining?” I demanded, but he pretended not to hear me the whole trip back to his apartment.

* * *

In the bathroom of Joe's apartment, I had a little war with myself. I was deeply averse to most of the clothing in this bag, but I hadn't been lying when I said it was appropriate to this place. I really didn't want to look like I was trolling this club for business, but then, if things went south, standing out would probably not be a good thing. The point of camouflage, after all, is blending in. So, after a heartfelt sigh, I got out of the super tight jeans and the tank top, then pulled on the fishnet body suit. It only barely counted as a foundational garment, covering my nipples and the little thatch of black hair below that led me to believe my natural hair color was either black or dark brown.

It felt odd to have something so close to my skin that was also leaving me all but completely exposed. That done, I pulled the tube top over the body suit which covered a bit more, and the fake leather miniskirt took it from porno to merely trashy. Club chic I guess. Over this, I added the leather jacket and the boots and I'd look like I lived at the Silicone Sorceress. One of the bigger pockets on the jacket swallowed up the Hellcat and the spare mags went into another pocket.

I came out of his bathroom to find him in his boxers, rummaging through a dresser. Before I could turn around, he did and we kind of froze for a moment, staring at each other and the front of his boxers were getting pretty tight it looked like. “Sorry,” I told him and it broke the ice a bit and he kind of laughed nervously.

“Yeah, me too,” he said sheepishly. “You, ah, you look amazing, Lexie.”

“Thanks,” I told him and I couldn't help taking another glance at that carnival tent he was pitching and winked at him. “You're looking pretty studly yourself, Joe. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

His skin went bright red and I extricated myself from his bedroom. Well, I'd done what I could for his ego. And I hadn't been lying, the boy might be skinny, but damn he wasn't lacking in equipment. I put my previous clothes in the bag and stared at the plastic clam shell cosmetics case. It's a club, I told my self. You're dressed like a whore, if you're not made up like one that will draw attention. With a silent snarl of frustration, I took the case out to set it up on the little breakfast bar that separated the 'kitchen' part from the rest of the room.

It was a nested type that was actually quite cleverly designed. There was a tray of eye shadows and mascara, one of foundations, rouges, and in the bottom a place for a half dozen bottles of nail polish, remover and tubes of lipstick. I had a moment of analysis paralysis, then settled on the lipstick tubes. There were three shades of red, a deep purple (of all things) and a black. For a split second, I considered a 'goth' theme, but realized I probably didn't have the skill to pull it off. I picked the brightest red, then unfolded the mirror which actually had a row of LEDs around the frame that made this a bit easier. Being careful, I lined the outside edge of my lips and then filled in the remainder.

It covered the little scab of the split and made my lips practically glow off my face such that there wasn't a way I could set my mouth that wasn't sexual or provocative. My lips that bright demanded something with my eyes, so, using a kind of half remembered autopilot from who knew how many scenes in popular entertainment, I carefully brushed my eyelashes with the mascara. The darker eyelashes now made a sharp relief frame for my blue eyes, though it did balance out my face a bit. I rummaged through the bottles of nail polish for a shade that was close to my lipstick and started applying it.

I was just finishing when Joe came out of his bedroom, wearing a linen suit that wasn't white or tan, but kind of between the two colors over an obnoxiously loud tropical shirt with a pineapple and sail boat motif in black, white and red. I smiled at him and he stopped dead in his tracks, struck again by me. “All you need is a cabana hat and you'll be Panama Joe,” I told him. “Not too shabby, Doc.”

He gave a self conscious kind of laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks. Wow, I didn't think you could get more beautiful, but man was I wrong.”

“Aren't you a silver tongued devil,” I told him as I got my ID out of the purse and put it in an empty pocket of the jacket. “Any idea when this club closes?”

“Oh, we're fine,” he assured me. “They're open late, and it's Friday, so we've got plenty of time.”

I stood and tossed the cosmetics case back into my bag. “Alright, Doc, I'm your girl for the night. Relax and just act natural, right?”

“Just don't ask me to dance,” he told me.

“They didn't cover that in med school?” I asked as we headed out to his car. He had no answer for me, but I hoped I'd have some soon.

* * *

Blandtown wasn't the kind of place people went to on purpose, unless they had some reason. It was mostly warehouse space and light industrial due to the proximity to the massive rail yard that formed the western edge of the district. There was some residential, closer to Tech, but they were very old homes from a time when this still wasn't a well to do neighborhood. Still, the locals were doing better for themselves than the one step above refugees that was Mountain View.

The Silicone Sorceress was a repurposed warehouse that probably got it's liquor and occupancy licenses through straight up bribery. My initial impression of the place proved true as it was festooned in the full rainbow of neon and LED billboards. Taking pride of place was caricature of a woman in clothing so tight she might as well have been naked, sporting mirrored VR goggles and the kind of breast size that doesn't occur in nature.

We endured the highway robbery for a parking space, though fortunately there wasn't a line waiting to get in. I'm not sure if that was good or bad. The music which we could hear out here was primarily of synth drums being beaten within an inch of their lives and collection of electric keyboards being played by epileptics in the middle of a grand mal seizure.

I screwed an expression of 'I'm having the time of my life' on my face and looped a hand through Joe's arm that seemed kind of awkward to be honest. Still, I worked hard on not displaying how odd it felt to be walking on a man's arm, to the point where I'm pretty sure the only second looks we got were for my ass. The doorman smirked as he checked my ID, then gave me a card for the club that the back of had his number on it. I gave him a wink to stay in the illusion I was working girl on the job, though I felt Joe's posture get stiffer as I did so.

Did I make him jealous?

We made our way through the foyer, and I tried to gauge the expression on his face, but the lighting in here was horrific, mostly strobing, so basically useless for reading someone's expressions. I could have screamed in his ear and he'd never heard me, so I squeezed his arm into my breast and that seemed to placate him and his shoulders got less tense.

From the foyer, where in a normal club would be the coat closet, was a little booth that was renting VR visors. I sprung for two pairs, plugging mine into the jack for my neural link. The visors were a wrap around type that completely encompassed my field of view. Once they were plugged in, the club went from obnoxious to surreal.

Some of the stream of information was practical, ways to request songs from the DJ, summon a waitress and even a little map of the place. But the rest? The walls of the club disappeared and it was as if I was seeing the Net Node of the club. A digital landscape stretched out to an infinity of electronic lights and rays, highlighted the Nodes of various eateries, tattoo and body ware shops near by that likely paid for the privilege. Net hosts and servers in every direction, even some of the patrons with names over their heads and tags like 'Hit me up' or 'Buy me a drink' or 'Fuck OFF' below. I turned to look at Joe whose name was now BoxDOC over his head with the tag of 'Taken'. Over my own head was a request, so I thought about it before suddenly 'Lexicon' appeared over my head and I respected Joe with 'Taken' as well.

This ground floor was predominately a dance floor, but two additional floors had been added with balconies that looked down on the crowd writhing out a semi-clothed orgy to the noise blasting out from the speakers. There was a pair of bars on opposite sides from each other and a stage currently taken up by too much sound equipment and someone bobbing to the beat he was making, but he was so washed out in spot lights I couldn't make out anything about him.

We made our way to a set of stairs and I let Joe lead us up to the top level, where things got strange. The roar of electronic tones for the dancers that could be heard outside, up here was only just loud enough that conversations didn't seem to stray from one table to another. This space was a little labyrinth of booths that actually were floor to ceiling with curtains you could draw so all manner of this and that was probably going on up here. Joe led us through the maze to one next to the fire exit in the back corner with a wall in a three piece suit whose tag over his head read 'Fuck Around and Find Out.'

I'd never felt so chaste in my life.

Joe went up to him and nodded. “Uh, hi. I'm BoxDOC, I got an invitation from Cat.” The wall held up a finger that could probably topple a bridge, and stuck his head behind the curtain. After a moment, he withdrew, holding the curtain open for us as he did so.

“She's expecting you.”

We slid into the booth and I got my first look at a cybernetic legend. The Cat in the Hack was, or at least appeared to be, of African descent with a wide, leonine face. Her skin, in this lighting, seemed to be a milk chocolate complexion, with the left side of her head clean shaven to show off the ports for a Neural interface, skill soft ports and something with a cover door that seemed to be made of solid gold. The remainder of the hair on her head she wore relaxed and brushed from the bald patch off to her right, the tips of which were dyed blond. All of her jewelry was gold, hoop ear rings, a collection of chains around her decolletage, and extended to the lamé top she was wearing that had apparently been applied with an airbrush as I could see both of her nipples were pierced and even a bit of the chain that ran down the slope of her ample bust strung between the hoops in her nipples.

Her eyes were hidden behind a visor identical to ours, but over her head floated a ghostly candy striped top hat. She gave a languid gesture of welcome and favored us with a dazzling white smile. “Boxie, come in sweetie, I won't bite...too hard. Gotta say, I'm a fan of your educational posts on body wear OS. Very nice.”

“Thank you, uh...”

The grin didn't falter. “Call me Cat. This your friend you mentioned?” It was impossible to tell behind the visor, but I got the feeling her attention shifted to me. “Lexicon, huh? I approve. What's your story, Blondie? My guy says you woke up kidnapped and Midnight Ladyed?”

“That's the teaser trailer's worth,” I admitted. “Add to that I have no idea who I might really be and some of our speculation on that line has us a little concerned.”

“Concerned how?”

Joe cautiously licked his lips and leaned forward. “I've never seen a head wear like the one Lexie has. It seems to be a prototype or an early production model, which...”

“Definitely shouldn't be in the noggin of a street walker,” Cat finished. “Like I texted you, consider me intrigued. But you know what they say about curiosity and cats, so I'll need to keep this strictly business. Speaking of, this isn't a charity I'm running here, how do you two cute kids intend to compensate me for my time and tribulation?”

I waved at her. “Hi, I woke up a street walker in Mountain View four hours ago.”

She made a gesture of concession and turned to Joe. “My guy? How deep into your pockets does your charity case go?”

“Well, what do you want?” he asked after giving me a glance.

Cat picked up her glass, full of something fizzy and red and took a sip. “You got any skills besides fucking, Blondie?”

“Well,” I said with a shrug, “I beat the crap out of a guy twice my size on a city bus a couple of hours ago.”

She held up a finger in a languid gesture. “Hold that thought.” The wall behind her lit up in a screen of code that flashed by faster than I could follow, then suddenly I was watching myself beat up Blow Job Boy on the bus from the perspective of the camera mounted next to the driver. “My goodness, little girl, you are full of surprises.” The screen changed to a kind of X-Ray view of me sitting in the booth, the gun and magazines plain, but then there were a number of things in my body that weren't meat. Not just my head either. “Props for getting a pistol past my boy outside. Don't do anything stupid and we'll cut you a break. Today,” she declared.

“No offense,” I hastened to assure her. “I seem to have a lot of people intent on doing very unpleasant things to me.”

Cat shrugged as she studied the image. “Girl's gotta do, and so on. I'm seeing a lot of pretty serious hardware for a hooker, Lexie. You trying to pull something on me?”

“You've got the Lord's Truth as I know it.”

She took another sip of her drink and set it down. “I think we can do business. You up for a trade? You do a favor for me and I get you back into your head?”

I leaned forward. “You can recovery my memory?” I asked, but she quickly shook her head.

“No promises there, girl. What I can do is unlock your head wear and put you in control of you again. With that unlocked, you do me a favor and I'll even throw some coin your way. Call it a tip for consideration of services rendered.” Joe and I shared a glance.

“OK, I guess it depends on what your favor entails.”

The grin was back on Cat's face. “Clever girl. Let's go for a walk.” We followed her up and out of the booth, whereupon the wall produced a ring of keys and stuck one into the alarm of the fire door. Doing that made it open the wrong way, swinging left instead of right, which revealed a little hallway instead of the expected flight of stairs.

This opened into a room with more computer equipment than I think I've ever seen, from work bench sized things to a desk with six monitors on an articulation frame, to things I had no name for at all. Everything was covered in blinking lights that looked very intimidating. She pointed to a little dais under a light and a number of somethings on articulation arms, that I stood on while she sat at the desk with the monitors. “Open, sesame,” she intoned and I felt the door behind my ear opened by one of the arms and a connection lock into place.

On the screen in front of me, I saw that same logo from before and the user name and password prompt. “What company is that?” I asked, but Joe shrugged.

“Not familiar,” Cat replied and one of the screens on the arms began to flash rapidly through images too fast to follow. “Let's see, not any of the major players in body wear. Let's go a bit further a field.” The second screen came to life and mimicked the first. “Not any of the smaller fish either. We'll let that run and see what we can id.”

The arms all came to life and began to writhe around me in a pattern that was the stuff of nightmares. Next to the login screen, a new monitor came to life, showing layered CAT Scan of myself with highlights as it found things. “Hermes Neuro-Muscular Enhancement System, pretty off the shelf, but with the improved ligament attachments and the bone reinforcement. I'd say those reflexes will stand you in good stead. You can probably bench press more than three hundred kilos.”

“It did seem like the punk on the bus was moving slower than he should have been when I caught his hand,” I admitted.

Joe had wandered over to one of the monitors and highlighted something. “There's a Sanguis Hemorrhage Control System too. Along with a Second Chance cardiac backup pump.”

Cat turned from the desk to look at me. “Lexie, dear, you're starting to look like someone's problem solver. You can't remember anything?” I shrugged and shook my head. The system beeped and on the monitor the logo on my logon screen appeared from the search. She turned back to it and rubbed her chin in thought. “This logo is for Adams–Onís International, but they seem to be just some kind of holding company. I can't see that they make anything. Alright, so they're shy, let's just let ourselves in and take a look.”

I felt a chill run up and down my spine and the odd sensation that felt like someone was trying to crawl into my head with me. Two more of the monitors came to life, but they were just displaying gibberish that meant nothing to me. While she was doing that, Joe came over, an odd look on his face. “Lexie, I've been looking at some of the cellular details from the scans. Not your artificial parts, but the living tissue ones. None of the artificial parts are more than three years old, and the oldest is the Hermes Enhancement. Based on the healing around the surgery sites and some scar tissue at the base of your skull...”

“English, Joe, English,” I told him. He nodded and steeled himself.

“It's good news and bad. The good news is this body wasn't anyone. I don't think it's much older than the Hermes Enhancement, it's vat grown, I'm sure of it.”

“So, I didn't kill anyone...?” He nodded and I felt a weight lift off my shoulders I wasn't a body thief.

“The bad news is, this isn't your body either.”

The loud sound of a finger snap brought our attention back to Cat. “Doc, you're a genius. Gimme Lexie's jail ID.” I took the ID out of the jacket pocket and handed to Joe, who walked it over to her. She stuck it into a reader and the last of the screens lit up. “Now we're getting somewhere,” she purred, obviously pleased with herself. “This ID was created three weeks ago, but there's no video I can find of you in the Jail, Lexie. No video of your hearing, and all of the documents, your arrests, trials, everything, are fake. Looks like they were created within a couple of hours of each other and planted in the system. In fact, I have no other record of 'Lexie Jones' that I can hard verify with your face.”

I sighed. “So, it was just a name they made up for the Midnight Lady personae?”

“'Fraid so, honey,” she told me.

“What about records of my face? If the body is three years old, surely...?”

The government website monitors went dark. “If you want me to dig into who you were, that's work we'll have to contract for separately,” she told me as she removed the ID and gave it back to Joe. “And I'm certain we can come to some mutually beneficial arrangement. You have any reservations about being a hitter, sweetie?”

The sensation of an ice pick sliding into my brain made me jerk and the logon screen was given something it liked and all of a sudden my awareness expanded to all these new things. I cried out and had to grab the rail around the little dais to stay upright. Cat, on the other hand, was as cool as ever. “There we are. Let's see, some basic head wear stuff, interface for the skill deck, and a connection rig to link your brain to this body. Doc is right, this isn't your original.” She mused for a moment, disconnected herself from her desk and walked over. “Lexie, it's pretty obvious you were someone's fist once upon a time. It makes sense, hot young things get access to important men easier, and with your extras, you're probably more than a match for most muscle. There's even a Tactical Module to interface with a SMART gun.”

“Then how did I end up in the hands of Big Daddy?” I demanded.

She shrugged. “That's gonna take time. And money. I can find work for your abilities and skill set, if you're interested?”

“I'm not a hit girl,” I told her.

Cat shrugged, her face unreadable with her eyes hidden behind the visor. “I can work with that.” She walked over to a cabinet and rummaged, coming back with a little bit of plastic and metal with a pad dangling from it on a wire. “So, 'Happy Freedom Day.' And many more,” she declared, presenting it. “This an aftermarket SMART module. Mount it on the Picatinny rail of your pistol, and mount the pad on the grip where your palm will cover it. It should auto link to your Tactical Module. Knee cap with a clean conscience to your hearts content!” She paused dramatically. “Or...would you rather turn tricks? My rates I guarantee are better than Daddy's...”

“Thanks...” I muttered, taking the module, and what it represented, a bit reluctantly.

The grin on Cat's face got wider. “Stellar! Now, let's talk about what you can do for me...”

* * *

The ride back to Joe's apartment was a quiet one as I contemplated what it was her 'favor' entailed and her 'tip'. I have to admit, Cat was uncommonly generous, but then, I imagine opportunities like me don't walk in every day. In addition to five hundred Ameros for taking the job, I now had a nice collection of official looking documents, most of which would pass muster even to the most through of scans. Alexandria 'Lexie' Jones now had a drivers license, weapons permits, a passport, and a union card in the International Sisterhood of Professional Escorts and Courtesans.

Color me surprised, I didn't even know hookers had a union.

Not that I would be turning tricks, it was mostly a useful cover to get me into places for other kinds of work. That I would worry about later. Right now, I still had no idea who I was, or how I would live until Cat could figure that out. What I did want to do was to make sure I didn't lose the one friend I had. I followed him into his little space and pulled off my jacket as he shut the door. “Joe?” I asked him as he joined me in the center room. “I want you to know I will make things right with you for blowing up your life like this.”

He smiled at me as he sat down on the couch next to me, both arms up, along the back of the sofa. “I'm not keeping a ledger, Lexie,” he told me. “It's not like you intended any of this to happen.”

I turned a bit and laid my head in his lap to look up at him. I was well aware of the implied sexuality of position and I searched myself for my emotional state about it. Trying to find any kind of clue if I was a woman, or just looked like one. I have a vague recollection of schooling, half remembered thesis postulating on who we physically are dictating much of our perception of the world. Maybe it was a one off take on the prove you're not a brain in a jar quandary.

Trouble was, I am a brain in a jar. A female jar at that.

Joe was a nice guy, and I was growing fond of him; the mere fact of him putting his livelihood on the line for me, a perfect stranger, demanded it if nothing else. And I do have certain amount of disassociation with my body, more so than if I had grown up in it. I don't know what 'gender' my brain might be, but for whatever reason, laying my head in his lap, or considering sleeping with him didn't really bother me. “Still,” I pressed, looking up at him and feeling him against my cheek. “I don't want to take advantage of you more than I already have. So, I guess I have to ask, do you want a roommate?”

“Even if I don't, I'm not going to put you on the street, Lexie,” he assured me. “It'll take me a bit to do something with my gear in the other room. I can sleep on the couch until I have it sorted.”

“Joe,” I told him softly, “I have no intentions of upsetting your life more on my account. And I wouldn't dream of making you sleep on your couch. The only way I'll be sleeping in your bed is if you're sharing it with me.”

He chortled and shook his head. “Look, Lexie, I realize you're out of my league and...”

I sighed and shook my head as I got up, turned back to face him so I could glare. “Hey, first, why don't you stop running yourself down? So you're not Mr Universe, so what? There's only one of those and call me crazy, but narcissism isn't sexy. You don't have to White Knight or virtue signal, Joe. You're kind, honest and generous to a fault. So, yah, I'm alone, and I'm scared and that I happen to luck into a guy like you when I need someone like that right the fuck now isn't lost on me. So stop trying to give me reasons why I shouldn't like you. Yes, we'll split the rent and the bills and the rest of the arrangements, but I'm not a tease. And I pick who is or isn't in my league, k?”

The confused look on his face was priceless and I couldn't help breaking out into a grin as I wanted the emotions run across his face as he sorted out my speech, his mouth hanging open a bit as his eyes darted around chasing his disrupted lines of thought I'd scattered like bowling pins. Finally, as if his mind didn't trust what his eyes and ears were telling him, distrust settled as expression on his face and he asked, “You want to have sex with me?”

Sometimes, you just have to be direct with some guys. Not their fault, I guess, having been conditioned for years about polite society this and rules of civilization that. Instead of praising the Nice Guys for just being nice guys, it tended to make them less sure of themselves. Oh well. “Slow your roll, Doc. I'm not saying now, but hey I do like you. I'm sorting out me, and I appreciate a guy who can be as much of a man protecting those around him. Civilization needs guys like you! And I'm not such a bitch I'm just going to waltz into your space and take over.”

The look on his face was kinda sweet. “So, you don't want to...?”

I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling. “Not tonight, but not 'never' either. Maybe, depends on you. How's that?”

He chuckled at himself and finally his mind go going. “Sorry. I, just, well, you're beautiful, and that makes it hard to think some times.”

“You're not so hard on the eyes yourself, Joe,” I assured him. “So, if you can hook me up with a blanket and a pillow, I will sleep on the couch, and that's the end of it.”

He stood and we were kind of in each other's space as he made a gesture at his bedroom. “I appreciate you wanting to stand up and all, Lexie. I dunno if you're comfortable with it, but I don't mind sharing my bed. And I don't expect anything for it.”

I smiled and patted his cheek. “That's a very tempting offer. But, how would you feel about it? I don't want to make you uncomfortable either.” He gave me a little smirk and shrugged.

“With you around, that's gonna be a given.”

I winked at him and shared in the laugh. “Well, be a good boy and you never know what will happen. I don't seem to have any kind of Pjs, so I'll be in my skivvies. That OK?” His face blushed and he suddenly couldn't meet me in the eye, but he nodded as nonchalantly as he could. For a moment, I considered throwing him a pity fuck just to get it out of his system, but that probably would do more harm that good. So I fished the bikini out of the bag, got the makeup off my face.

He slept in his boxers and I could see his appreciation of how I filled out the bikini as I gave up the bathroom for him, then crawled into his bed. It wasn't a very big bed, full sized probably and as soon as he got into the bed it became apparent we couldn't share the bed without touching each other. So, I sat up and as he rolled to face me, curiosity on his face, I took a hold of his arm, draped it around my shoulders and laid back down with my head on his shoulder.

It surprised me how comfortable this position was and I have to admit that I really liked how safe I felt as I laid my body on and next to his. “Good night, Joe,” I whispered.

He moved his head under me and then I felt him kiss the top of my head. “Good night, Lexie.”

Sleep came remarkably quickly and with it, torrid dreams raged in my subconscious as I tried to make my peace with doing more than sleeping with him. Which, if I'm being honest, was probably nicer than dreaming about what Cat wanted from me.

* * *

The next morning, we ate a silent breakfast and parted for the day. Silent, mostly due to the fact we were both feeling pretty self conscious. I mentioned the dreams I was having all night had me in quite a state. I don't know what he was dreaming about it, but I do know the 'morning wood' he had a cat couldn't scratch.

My goodness, evidently my dreams were more accurate than I would have thought...

His service had informed his head ware that his shop had been broken into, so he had to meet the police and an insurance adjuster at his clinic to judge the damage. Probably best if I wasn't seen in his company as his office was doubtlessly being watched, but there should be safety enough with the police there. He put my thumb print into his door lock so I had access and I was really deeply touched by the level of trust he showed me.

Sadly, I had my day planned already.

Evidently I was the last 'specialist' Cat needed for her 'favor' and I was to meet with her and the other members of the team she'd put together today. I wasn't very hungry, but I ate anyway before I pulled the jeans and one of the band Tank Tops on under the jacket and took the bus over to the Silicone Sorceress.

As you might imagine the place looked far less glitzy in the harsh light of day with the neon all turned off. In point of fact, only the cars in the parking lot and a couple of the big 'security' guys hanging around the door gave any indication the place wasn't vacant.

Or abandoned.

It was obvious I was expected as I was let in without fuss and fortunately, the 'player' door man wasn't in yet so I didn't have that to worry about. It's one thing to see a bar in full swing, strobes and mood lighting going off to a music track blasting at decibel levels just below 'jet engine.' It's quite another to see it under just normal florescent tubes in the sealing which harshly showed all the broken tiles, scratched furniture and how beat up the bar tops were.

Cat herself wasn't all glitz and glamour now, dressed in faded and well worn jeans and one of those 'peasant' type blouses whose dazzling white linen set off her complexion in a dramatic fashion. She was going over something on a lap top at a table with a collection of females I took to be the waitress, but she waved me over to join them. “The gang's all here,” she declared, flashing her wide, shark-like smile. “Ladies, allow me to introduce Lexicon, she's going to make sure you all get out of the lion's den I'm sending you into.”

The tallest of the girls, a real bull dyke of a red head with said hair up in a Mohawk with both sides of her head shaved. Still, even tall, she was only about one hundred and seventy two centimeters, though she was markedly wide with biceps the size of her thighs both in full sleeves of tattoos, mostly of various tribal patterns. “Her?” she demanded incredulously, both arms crossed over her sleeveless plaid shirt and jeans. “She couldn't keep me out the bathroom, let alone take me out of someplace.”

“Do you need a demonstration, Red?” Cat asked which caused 'Red' to crack her knuckles.

“When I break your new toy, you gonna add that to my ledger?”

Cat's grin should have warned her off, but Red only had glares for me. “If you can lay her out, I'll mark your books clean, that alright with you, Lexie?”

“What do I get out of it?” I demanded.

She reached into her jeans pocket and produced a thick roll of Ameros and counted out five hundred she put on the table. “Don't do anything permanent,” she warned me. “You'll need her later.”

I shrugged and stretched out my neck until it popped. “Come on then,” I told Red. “Show us how tough you are.” She was grinning in anticipation of a therapeutic beat down, but little did she know, she was the patient, not the doctor. She took a broad swing in what seemed like slow motion I just stepped aside of, and when her punch didn't connect, the look of surprise on her face was absolutely comical. She threw a right I ducked under, then a one, two combo that I leaned out of her reach for, then did a cartwheel in the slow, deliberate way of a gymnast at the Olympics. “Last chance to give up before I start hurting you,” I told her.

Her face actually flushed crimson and she lunged at me. I ducked under her grab, took hold of her wrist and pulled while I swept her feet and dropped face first onto the floor. She rolled away and kipped up to her feet, so she did know how to fight, and I upped my appraisal of her instantly. She had her fists up in a good pugilist stance and kept her distance. “Who are you?” she demanded.

I grinned at her as my feet separated into a wide fighting stance of my own that felt right as I bladed my body towards her. “Are we talking or fighting?” I shot back. This time she feinted another lunge, but spun at the last second in an attempt to blind side me. I ducked down, made a knife of my hand and shoved it into her solar plexus If you've ever heard someone winded, you know that sick, gasping wheeze they make as their lungs are forced to empty. Though I have to give her props for how loud hers was; that's impressive lung capacity. Speaking of force, the force of the follow through of my punch dumped her on her ass. Her eyes were wide open in shock as she gasped after her breath and looked up at me.

Now, there was respect in her eyes and she held up a hand of surrender and defense in case I decided to do anything other than stand over her. The lesson having been given, I chose to be merciful and I walked over to the table to scoop up the Ameros before I tucked them in a zippered pocket of the coat. “Anyone else?” I asked, but none of the other girls needed the lesson repeated.

Cat was all smiles. “Now, we're all friends again so let's talk business. You all owe me a favor and this is where I collect.” She paused to let Red, who was getting up slowly to her feet, stand, then indicated me with a gesture. “So, let's get the introductions out of the way. Lexie is your ace in the hole, she doesn't look like she's in Red's league, but as you saw, looks are deceiving.” She indicated a pale skinned brunette standing closest to me whose T Shirt, jacket and hat all had different car company logos. “Summer is your wheels, she gets you in and out.”

Next to her was an older blonde in glasses with a tool belt around her waist. “Ma Belle specializes in communication. She's who you need to get into their compound so she can set up a relay for me to be able to access their gear. Red is your way in and will chaperon you.”

“Why her?” Belle wanted to know.

Cat smirked. “Because she's a turn coat. Recently, Red came to me about a job she'd done. What was supposed to be helping a mom get her kid from an abusive ex was actually a cover for sex slavers.” She paused and any geniality she had vanished from her tone. “Sex slavers of children on my turf!” she snarled and suddenly one could see there were far from clean things going on with the Cat in the Hack.

The brunette, whose already pale skin went white. “Wha....what do you want us to do about it, Cat?” She looked at the others for support. “We're not killers...”

The expression on Cat's face was ugly. “If you change your mind, I'm offering a bounty. But, what you are doing is to get Belle inside so she can open a cyber back door for me to come through and ruin them. Your cover is as recruit mules to ferry kids from this location to wherever the next stop is. Except their next stop will be DFACS to get them home. Questions?”

“How many guys are we talking about, Cat?” Belle asked, but it was Red who answered.

“Three days ago there was a dozen kids, mixed ages from six to sixteen and about two dozen bad guys,” she declared gruffly, her voice still rough from my blow. “But this is a warehouse down by the airport. A big warehouse. There could be more.”

“When do we leave?” I asked Cat.

* * *

Ports are always a rough part of any town due to their transient natures and the flow of illicit goods from the illegal to the merely libertarian minded about the avoidance of Custom's Duties. Wherever there was easy money and contraband, there would be crime, organized or otherwise looking to cash in. Airports are no exception to this little fact of life and the area around ours was an interesting collection of hotels, convention centers, warehouses, cat houses and other seedy businesses that probably weren't members of the local chamber of commerce.

Summer had a van that would have any collection of TV heroes green with jealousy. It had only the absolute minimum of windows, but under the hood was the gurgle of engine that was so far over what was needed to move this thing as to practically be a give away. I'd wager this thing could beat a number of sports cars in a quarter mile. Otherwise it was actually just an off white and had the logos of a popular courier service that was all over the city so it blended into the traffic pattern nicely.

There was even a very cleverly concealed platform that opened a hatch on the roof that I'm sure was only ever used in a legal manner. Wink, wink.

We got to our warehouse just before noon and in the bright light of day, you'd likely think nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Though, I noted the roll up doors of the loading dock were scrupulously closed. Considering what was going on behind these closed doors, I would much rather had a SWAT team at my back than Big Bertha and a phone company geek.

As Summer rolled through the lot, Belle tapped her shoulder and pointed at a box in the grass next to the parking lot. “Park next to that,” she ordered and started digging through her tool belt.

“What is it?” asked Summer.

Belle produced a hard hat from somewhere and put it on. It didn't exactly have the phone company logo on it, but it was the same color and general shape and probably would fool somebody who wasn't looking closely. “Trunk enclosure for the demarcation point,” she replied as she got a fairly sizable pair of bolt cutters out. “Out of The Cloud and into the ground.”

Summer came to a stop, blocking the view for Belle to come out the side door and use the bolt cutters on the padlock holding the doors shut. Once it was expensive scrap metal, she opened the doors revealing what to my eyes was an orderly rat's nest of wire bundles and bits of plastic. Another tool from her belt was waved, beginning to beep around a set of wires she took interest in. After a moments fiddling, there came a loud snap and a new wire was now going to a little gizmo with an antenna that snapped onto the side of the enclosure with magnets. Belle then closed the doors and slipping a new padlock over them, that looked remarkably similar to the old one. “OK, I'm done,” she declared, jumping back in and pulling the door shut. “Let's save some kids.”

I frowned at that news, but I took the ear piece she gave me and Red and slipped it into my ear. “Cat? That's all you needed?”

I could almost hear the evil in her grin in my ear. “Honey, I'm so far up in their shit they'll be pooping fur for a month.” She rather loudly licked her lips and settled into that place where people who really love their work also get to stick it to bad people doing bad things. “My goodness, Senator, what will your constituents think when this photo sees the light of day? Alright, ladies, I own their security cameras so you can do what you like in there and there won't be any video of it.”

“Really want to get in and out without shooting,” Red growled. “Don't forget, there's kids in there!”

“Some folks just need killing, Red,” Cat told her, “but as I said, you ladies can do what you like.”

Summer drove over to the loading dock and adjusted the jacket she was wearing of the courier service that was also on her van. “Whatever happens, I'll be here to get you out,” she promised us. I took the pistol from it's pocket and instantly my implant was talking to the module Cat had given me. I knew where the muzzle was pointing, even with a little picture in picture in my vision

“Look at me,” I commanded, drawing the gaze of each of my co-conspirators. With a thought, they were surrounded in green boxes with Friendly over their heads. I racked the slide, then tucked the Hellcat back into a pocket, but still in my hand. “OK Let's do this.”

Belle, minus her tool belt and hard hat, and I followed Red out of the van and over to the little concrete stair case that brought us up to loading dock level. From there, she knocked on the door that was marked E. R. L. Enterprises in plain letters. The window in the door had limo tint and was impossible to see through. The door was opened by a scruffy looking meth addict, based on his teeth, who leered at us. “Yeah?” he demanded.

Red hooked a thumb at us. “They told me to find more chaperons, so I'm back.”

The addict looked at us, his eyes undressing me with his eyes in a manner I very much did not like. The door opened a bit further. “Come in, then.” We squeezed in past him as he refused to move out of the way and his smell was actually worse than his looks. The door shut behind us, he led the way through another door, also with limo tint into the warehouse proper.

Except it wasn't a warehouse. Half a bedroom, half a school class room and half a doctors office had been constructed in one section, in a cage in the remaining corner was a computer section where it looked like video disks were being pressed and packaged. I noted there was a handful of other addicts or homeless working in these little areas, who might not know what they were into, just hungry for a fix.

Or a meal.

“You get paid when you drop them off,” the door man told us as he led the way. “Not before.”

“They know what they're doing,” Red snapped.

The Meth Head wasn't having it. “I got to say it!” he snarled as the door he was reaching for opened on its own and the last person in the world I expected stepped out.

Big Daddy War-bucks himself was in the process of fastening his pants and behind him, I could see a handful of children comforting a little girl on a bed. A little girl of about ten on a bed with bloody sheets. In a split second, I processed what I was looking at, our eyes met and his widened in surprise. “The fuck...?” he started, but I just saw red. I don't remember drawing it, but suddenly the Hellcat was out of the bag in every sense of the word. The pistol barked in my hand and three rounds ripped through his groin. The force of the impact knocked him back into the door frame and he fell in that stiff legged way people with spine injuries do.

Meth Head turned to me in slow motion and a hole appeared in his forehead.

“Shit!” snarled Red as she helped the body of Meth Head fall out of the way and pushed herself into the room with the kids. “Grab your things! Hurry! We'll get you out of here!”

I walked over to Daddy who was trying to get a pistol out of his jacket that I took away from him. “Bitch!” he snarled, but he couldn't make his legs work to stand. I didn't even look at the gun as I tucked it into a pocket and reached down to grab his throat.

“Who am I?” I snarled in his. His arm flailed and I was hit on the side of my head, but it didn't even phase me. I began to squeeze his throat and the flailing got more frantic. “Who?” I demanded again. The door beyond me opened, showing a couple of thugs in suits so I held up the pistol, aiming it through the SMART link and fired a few rounds and the door shut again.

His hits started to register and I realized I didn't have time to extract information from him, nor was I going to let a monster like him get away with what he'd just done. “Lexi!” shouted Red. “God Damn it, I need help!”

I glared at Daddy and fear lit behind his eyes as I twisted my hand over to the side and I felt his neck break under my fingers. His eyes went wider as his arms fell limp. I leaned forward into his ear and whispered, “Burn in hell.”

I stood up and took in the shocked face of Belle as I shook my jacket with Daddy's gun in it. “You know how to use one of these?” I asked, but she shook her head, unable to speak. Just my luck, I guess. “Come on, kids,” I told the little clutch of children. “Let's get you all home. Cat?”

“Police are on their way,” her voice told me in my ear.

At the trot, we led the children back through the warehouse and out into the daylight. In the distance, I could hear sirens. My pistol took aim at the little video disk area, but the bums that had been in the cage were in the process of running out the door in front of us. I sent a few more rounds behind us, into the door where the suits were hunkered down to keep them that way and we ran out onto the loading dock. Fortunately, all the kids plus us could fit in Summer's van and she took off at a deliberate pace, fast enough to get us out quickly, but not 'felons fleeing the scene of the crime' fast.

“What the fuck?” Red snarled at me, over the terrified cries and whimpers of these poor kids, but I just shook my head.

“That was Big Daddy,” I told her. “He was after me, he knew who I was! We were made, so I did what I had to.” She glared at me for a moment or two, but finally gave a shallow nod and turned away.

“He had it coming,” she muttered.

A little girl cuddled up against me and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Are you really going to get us home?” another asked.

I gave my best smile to the kids and hugged the little girl against me. “I promise. You're all going home.” A squad car roared by us, headed towards the warehouse, as the children began to cry, huddled around us, not yet ready to believe their nightmare was over.

* * *

A ten thousand strap of hundred Ameros hit the table within my reach, as Cat grinned at me from the other side of the table. A second she tossed landed next to the first. “As promised, two dead scum bags, bounty paid,” she told me. I stared at them for a moment, then back up at her.

“I don't know if the door man should count,” I admitted. “He looked like an addict earning a fix to me.”

Her smile didn't waiver. “He saw the sets, and he knew the kids were there and being moved without their parents. I refuse to believe anybody is stupid enough not to put those two together and figure out what was going on there,” she replied.

“What about those kids?” Belle demanded.

“My guy over at DFACS assures me they've all been identified and will be home in time for dinner,” Cat assured her. “He also assures me that this obvious bit of gangland violence will probably never be solved. Though there's an ongoing investigation into the Wikipedia worth of clues I dropped on them from my data steal. There's some important people involved.”

Summer crossed her arms angrily. “Important enough to hush all this up?”

Cat pointed at a display showing one of the all news channels behind her. While the video was muted, I noted the graphic for the story was Massive Child Porn Ring uncovered. “Somehow, I don't think so,” Cat purred.

“So, we're square?” Belle wanted to know.

“Books in balance,” the hacker told her. “Though you girls did a bang up job on short notice. I can always find work for skills like that.”

“How about finding out who I was?” I picked up one of the straps and tossed it back at her. “That cover it?”

“It's good enough for a down payment at least,” she allowed. “I'll run you up an itemized bill when I find out more.” I nodded and turned to the other women.

“I'll be happy to work with any of you again. For now, I need to go and make things right with someone else.” I turned to leave, but Red's meaty hand fell on my shoulder heavy enough to cause me to pause. I looked up into her square, mannish face to find a curious expression there, looking down at me.

“You...” she started and licked her lips. “You took care of business, back there.”

“Thanks.”

Her face flushed and she finally worked up the courage to declare, “Look, I, I'm not high class or anything, but, I'll work with you too.” She paused for a moment, then hastily added, “Can I buy you a drink?”

You wouldn't think a woman so sure of herself to sport a Mohawk and two full sleeves of tats would be insecure, but there's a first time for everything. I smiled at her and patted her hand on my shoulder. “I appreciate the compliment, but I have someone...”

She jerked her hand back as if scalded. “Sure, sure, of course you do. I just meant...”

I reached up and gently squeezed her arm. “I know,” I told her. Looking past her I nodded at Summer and Belle. “Ladies, call anytime.”

* * *

I got back to Joe's apartment before he did, despite having stopped off at South Side Gun and Pawn to relieve myself of Daddy's nickle plated Gat-Blaster. Between that and Cat's pay day, I was stocked fairly well on cash. Fortunately, the pawn shop was in the same strip mall as a Wally World so my wardrobe had expanded significantly from Street Walker Chic to, I hoped Girl Next Door. I was diligently cleaning the Hellcat at the little breakfast bar, with my mind turned inward while my hands were occupied with a simple task they knew by rote.

They say a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. I don't know how much of that applies to self diagnosis, but something similar would stand to reason. Despite that, I had to take a walk through my feelings and get a grip on who my core was as I try to put the pieces of the jig saw puzzle that was my mental picture of me back together.

A woman had hit on me, and I wasn't interested.

Granted, Red was, well, to put it mildly, a specific type and evidently not my type. Summer was a Tom Boy and Ma Belle, was, well, Ma. If I looked hard at my feelings for Cat, I might have to admit to myself there was some interest there, but it was different than what I realized I felt for two very different people. I was coming to realize Joe Wilkey was becoming my measuring stick to what a good human being looked like.

I'd run him down as a 'white knight', dismissed him as a 'nice guy' someone that was likely frequently taken advantage of. And that the thought that I might also take advantage had me feeling guilty about things I hadn't done. Joe was a genuinely good man, something I vaguely began to worry that I wasn't. I'd killed Daddy with my bare hands, gotten into a shoot out knowing I might be the only person to live through it and killed without a second thought.

I don't know how or why I'd been delivered to this...what? Second Chance? Blank Slate? Tabula Rasa? Who had I offended so badly this was done to me? And yet... And yet, was this possibly, impossibly, for my own good? Was I the bad guy?

What if I was?

I'd watched the life fade out of Daddy's eyes and I all felt was justice being done. I will sleep well tonight and were I dropped right now back in that moment I would snap his neck again. There was not a lick of remorse in me at killing him. What other blood was on my hands? How out of balance was my ledger? Someone had spent a fortune turning me into this, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what use I had been put to.

But I had these skills, even if I couldn't remember where they came from, or how I learned them. Perhaps it was time I used them to put some positive entries onto that ledger. Time to put these skills to better use.

The Hellcat was back together in my hands, clean, innocent again. It had freed a dozen children from unimaginable evil and like me it's sins had been washed away. I looked at the card the bouncer had given me and I felt a shiver run down my spine. He wasn't Joe Wilkey, he was a bad boy and he probably knew just how to treat a bad girl.

I squirmed in my seat as I carefully put down the pistol and got a hold of myself. Joe had said this might happen, and perhaps it was part of my penance into this gritty street purgatory I'd been cast into. A few deep breaths got me in control of myself, just in time to hear Joe's thumb open the lock on the door. It was time.

I turned to face the door as it opened and he stopped dead, his mouth hanging open. “Come in,” I invited him, leaning back against the chair so that the faux silk of the slip I was wearing drew tight against my breasts. As if his feet were made of lead, he stumbled in and got the door shut. “We need to have a talk,” I purred as I slid out of the chair and walked over to him, relieving him of his coat and the bag of groceries in his arms. I looked in to see if there was anything that would spoil and when I was assured there wasn't, I put them down and guided him to the sofa.

“Wha...what about?” he managed.

“Our situation,” I replied vaguely. As I got him seated, I noted the effect I was having on his groin and with a sly smile, straddled him, pinning him to the couch. “Cat settled and I'm doing OK financially, but I've discovered the chip did alter my...well, me.”

His tongue looked so dry as he licked his lips. “How so?”

I grinned at him, and leaned forward to put my nose against his. “Take a guess,” I teased him. “I'm afraid while I might not meet the clinical definition of Hyper Sexual Disorder, well, I'm afraid I'm probably not far from it. You have been nothing but pure to me, Joe and I don't ever want to hurt you, but if I can't scratch this itch soon...” I let my voice trail off as I looked into his eyes.

“But...but, what if you find out you're a guy? Or...?”

I shrugged as I ran my fingers through his hair. “If I was, I probably was bisexual, I mean, how else could some macho whatever I was not go nuts being put into a body like this? Whoever, whatever I was, doesn't matter to me, if it doesn't matter to you.” His eyes were wide, like a deer caught in the headlights of it's on rushing doom. I closed my eyes and let my lips drop the few millimeters they were apart from his and we kissed.

The rest, well, that's between us.

* finis *

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The Boys of Summer

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Universes & Series:

Whateley Academy by Maggie Finson, et al

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Whateley Academy Adventure
The Boys of Summer
by E. E. Nalley

Part Two

I'm supergirl, And I'm here
To save the world
And I wanna know
Who's gonna save me?
I'm supergirl, And I'm here to
Save the world
And I wanna know
Why I feel so alone

Krystal Harris, Supergirl

June 9th, 2007
Holbrook Arena, Whateley Academy

"You are going to be tested," Dr. Hartford warned her.

Tansy looked up from pouring the three glasses of punch from the punch bowl to lock eyes with her mentor. "Tested how?" she asked. "And by whom?" She had just finished spelling out how she planned to insert herself in Elaine and Kayda's trip home, which Hartford had approved of.

"By the people I work for," the Assistant headmistress replied. "To see if you live up to the amount of bragging I've been doing about you. As for how, you'll know it when it occurs; I can't say anymore without prejudicing the test," she replied quickly. "Just know that I have every confidence in your abilities."

"You're bragging about me?" Walcutt asked with a raised eyebrow. However Dr. Hartford refused to be baited and leaned in, obviously serious.

"This is not a midterm Tansy," Amelia told her in a low, intense voice. "What you will face will be deadly serious. The only concession I was able to negotiate for you is that you will not have to break any laws to pass the test, so remember that."

Tansy nodded as she finished pouring the third glass of punch. "I will. And when will you recall your promise to tell me who it is I'm jumping through these hoops for?"

Hartford held out her glass for Tansy to refill, which the newly minted senior did. "You're paying your dues Tansy," Hartford told her. "And in so doing you're making contacts with some of the most powerful people on this planet. People beyond government, some would argue beyond law, and such is the nature of power. The powerful expect results, and you're going to prove that you can bring those results. And when you have, when the introductions are made, then you will understand and I believe you'll find the compensation adequate."

Tansy paused for a moment of thought and expression on her face and asked, "You paid your dues, you have the introductions, you know who these people are. Yet, here you are playing second fiddle to Liz Carson. If these people are so powerful, why aren't you in charge?"

Hartford smiled as she took a sip of her punch. "Damocles suffered only a single night under the sword that hangs forever over the head of king Dionysus. There are many kinds of power Tansy, some more obvious than others. And if you get to choose, always choose the less obvious ones."

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June 12th, 2007
Interstate 80, just west of Fort Bridger, Wyoming

Tansy came to herself in an odd sense of slow-motion. She was pressed firmly into her seat by G forces because of the high-speed maneuvering that was currently occupying Elaine's complete focus. Eyes wide, Tansy saw the car leave the freeway to avoid the backup of stopped cars that suddenly appeared just as Baby Girl crested a hill; in the valley below there was already a tremendous wreck involving at least 10 cars that Elaine was trying desperately to avoid. Off to the right was a complex of low brick buildings that were on fire, black smoke billowing in the morning sky, while directly ahead armed figures exchanged gunfire with a massive, indistinct form that had been the source of the 10 car pileup.

Baby Girl's oversize Dunlop tires left the emergency lane and began to drag on the dirt and gravel overhang of the drainage culvert. Whereas most would have lost control the vehicle at this point, Elaine quickly turned the wheel hard over into the skid and so the car drifted, throwing up a massive cloud of dirt around the wreck and back up onto the freeway transgressing a full 360° before it came to a rough stop, causing all three girls to grunt in surprise.

"What just happened?" shouted Kayda from the backseat, but Tansy didn't wait for an answer. Clawing at the lap belt, she got it free, and at the urging of her new spirit, was out of its namesake and on her own two feet to ascertain what was going on.

Unfortunately she found what was going on was a full on machine gun battle between the indiscriminate form and a half-dozen uniformed personnel who must have come from the complex that was on fire. And evidently no one cared about the people whose cars had been in the wreck. "Of course, it couldn't be multiple-choice!" Tansy muttered under her breath as she charged around Baby Girl to the closest car. It was a sedan with a mother and several children inside, all staring in shock at the battle playing out a few dozen feet away. Tansy slid over the hood of the sedan to the unoccupied passenger side. Finding the door locked, she cursed, "Had to wear my Pradas today!"

She snap-kicked in the window; the wedge heel of the expensive boots she was wearing shattering the glass, which allowed her to get the door open. "Don't just sit there!" she shouted. "Out! Get to cover in the drainage ditch!" To add emphasis to her commands, several ricochets struck the hood of the sedan, unfreezing the mother and her children as they scrambled out the door.

The mother grabbed her phone off the dashboard she passed, causing Tansy to belatedly realize she had no way of concealing her identity. However, at that moment a sensation of power slipped out from a nexus that seemed centered on Baby Girl, followed hard on its heels by a feeling of compression as Tansy's close, but comfortable clothing became rigid. Looking down she found herself encased in the black armor number Ms. Rogers had made for her. Elaine was now encompassed in her black and white power armor and was floating 10 feet or so off the ground, while Kayda was done up as a Native American warrior like something out of a John Wayne movie.

Tansy risked a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the mother and her children had safely gotten clear of the battle. Finding them safe, she turned back just in time to see Tatanka manifest into the real world at his full horrific size and charge the hazy humanoid form on the hill. Whatever the form was also saw this and turned. The weapon in his hand roared and the bison was cut down in a hail of machine gun bullets.

"Tatanka!" screamed Kayda in outrage and pain, doubling over as the bison faded away. Tansy remembered from the combat finals that Kayda felt the pain her buffalo felt, and she couldn't help but cringe sympathetically.

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June 12th, 2007
Cyberspace

"What is the delay of this image?" The Old Man asked.

"It's real time," The Guest replied. "I arranged to have a Predator drone from Arnold Air Force Base loitering in the area; this is the uplink from its feed."

"My word!" The Old Man exclaimed, watching the blast of magic that erupted from Kayda after her Buffalo spirit was banished in a hail of machine gun fire. "It was not my intention to lose an asset as valuable as Warhorse! Is he going to live through this?"

The Captain chuckled darkly as he steepled his fingers, his eyes intent on the screen. "Pierre is a tough son of a bitch," he said in an offhand manner. "I have no doubt The Professor's girls are good, but Warhorse is better. I'm not concerned."

The Guest got more comfortable in his seat and stroked the goatee that framed his lower chin. "It's a shame we don't have audio," he remarked as Tansy interposed herself between Kayda and her target of outrage. "I would love to know what Dague is saying here."

"I apologize for the technical difficulties," The Professor said evenly. "They are unavoidable considering the time frames involved. That being said, I have access to Dague's audio loop and I can tell you that she has turned Pejuta away from Warhorse and has her concentrating on healing the injured bystanders."

"Actually, after that combat final, I was in fact interested to see what Pejuta could do here as well." The Old Man tapped a bony index finger against his temple. "And the manifested animal Warhorse destroyed?"

"A spirit," The Professor told him. "Bound to Pejuta and manifested in the real world. Not permanently lost, as Dague pointed out to her." The committee watched in silence for several minutes, watching Warhorse attempt to withdraw only to be herded into a box canyon where he was cornered. His stealth field having failed, he put the massive machine gun down and warily raised both hands to the two girls that were approaching him.

"Unbelievable!" The Old Man exclaimed. "Three teenage girls have bested an operative of Warhorse's stature? You're not soft-balling me, are you Captain?"

The Captain only chuckled darkly. "Could Warhorse fight his way out of this?" he asked rhetorically. "Of course he could, but that would risk permanent harm to the Professor's protégé. I instructed him as this was only a test to put up a hard fight, but to surrender once things would have to get bloody. I trust that meets everyone's expectations?"

"Do give the Doctor my compliments on his creation," The Old Man remarked, but the Captain merely rolled his eyes.

"Don't inflate his ego any more than it already is," The Captain retorted.

The Guest leaned forward towards his screen with interest. "Let me see how they deal with the moral implication first…"

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June 12th, 2007
Wilderness, just west of Fort Bridger, Wyoming

Her arm outstretched, finger-pointing so that the muzzle of the particle emitter built into the glove tracked the big half-horse, half-man, Loophole descended like an Angel of Judgment wearing black and white latex . That beam had gotten close enough that immediately Warhorse raised a hand in surrender and lowered the big machine gun slowly to the ground. "You got me fair and square, Cheri, Ol' Warhorse come quietly."

"You're an Animan!" exclaimed Tansy.

"Yeah you right," the mercenary agreed in his decidedly thick Cajun accent.

"A what?" demanded Loophole without taking her eyes off the strange creature. Tansy walked up next to her friend.

"They're an artificial race created by Dr. DNA," the blonde supplied. "They took over this island in the Caribbean and made this really wild reality TV show." The silence hung heavy in the air for a long moment, until Tansy, exasperated, added, "Okay I went through a really intense horse phase when I was ten. Dad bought me the channel."

Warhorses muzzle split into a salacious grin. "Always nice meeting a fan…"

Tansy clicked the safeties off her force pistols. "Don't even think it!"

Loophole shook her head. "Ah don't know what was going on back there, or who you work for, but…"

"Tu es Mademoiselle Loophole, n'est-ce pas?"

Elaine took a wary half-step back in surprise. "Oui...," she stammered.

The grin on the strange creatures face went wider and more disturbing.

"Then I work for you Cheri!" The mercenary let the confusion settle in the young girls mind for a moment before he continued. "Oh, a big man write the check that I take to the bank, but this is all about you!"

The finger snapped up more rigid. "You have exactly 5 seconds to start making sense before Ah…"

The massive three fingered hands came up a bit higher. "Don't shoot, Cheri! Warhorse surrender already!" The creature tugged at a satchel he was wearing across his shoulder. "Look! Easy, and I show you."

The finger rose slightly. "Slowly take it off, and throw it over here." The creature nodded, and with exaggerated slowness remove the satchel and gently tossed it towards Tansy. Walcutt holstered her pistols and walked cautiously over to the satchel, kicking open its flap with a toe. Seeing there were only papers inside, she picked it up and removed them. Cautiously holding them up to where Elaine could see them, but not take her attention off Warhorse, Tansy asked,

"Does this mean anything to you?"

Even through the heavy latex and the macabre helmet Loopholes body language dripped shock and surprise. "That's mine! What are you doing with it?"

Tansy looked back at the documents, a series of technical diagrams meticulously drawn on graph paper with a series of handwritten notations in the margins in a pinched, precise handwriting. "What is it?" she demanded, confused.

"It's mah suggested alterations to NASA's Deep Star Ion drive! It's how Ah ended up at Whateley. Ah sent it to NASA, and they forwarded it to…"

"Monsieur Tyrone West," Warhorse finished. "That would be the big man with the check I mentioned."

Loophole whirled on the creature, her anger palatable. "Bullshit!" she snapped angrily. "Pegasus Aerospace is a prime NASA contractor! Why would…?"

"He hire me to steal them back?" the mercenary demanded with his crooked grin. "Perhaps Mademoiselle didn't notice the new addition to Pegasus sign? The one that says Pegasus Aerospace is now a wholly-owned subsidiary of Goodkind International? You know why they do that? Because Helen Goodkind, the mutophobe, is so afraid of mutants getting good press helping humanity she bought the company just to suppress this. Monsieur West don't take kindly, so he hire Warhorse to go steal back the wonderful gifts Mademoiselle give him. That sums us up for those who came in late."

"You're lying!" Loophole challenged. The smile melted off Warhorses' face and his ears at the top of his head rotated backward.

"Pierre many things Mademoiselle, but never, ever, a liar,” he said low and dangerously. "Don't take my word for it. Bet you got Internet and everything else in that suit, eh? Call him up and ask for your own self."

Loophole and Tansy shared a glance. "Cover him," Elaine ordered. Tansy drew her pistols and waited. From the body language it was clear Elaine was speaking with someone, but her voice was muted and could not be heard outside the suit. Finally, after several tense minutes she walked over and picked up the satchel and returned the documents to it before handing it to the huge creature. "Did you hurt anyone?"

"I'm sure there's plenty of bumps and bruises to go around," the creature replied, taking the satchel from the young girl. "But nobody going to meet their maker because of the Warhorse. Things not so black and white out here in the real world, Cheri. Stick with your friend," he said with a toss of his head towards Tansy. "She's steer you straight."

"If those don't find their way to Mr. West, there's no place on this planet you can hide from me."

The horse man's split into his trademark grin. "Pierre stays bought, Mademoiselle. He do the job, he deliver the goods he gets paid. Everybody wins."

Elaine whispered, "Get out of mah sight before Ah change mah mind."

The soldier of Fortune retrieved his machine gun and set off at a loping trot that ate distance and in short order he was out of sight. Tansy walked over and placed a hand on Elaine’s shoulder. "I'm guessing Mr. West confirmed his story?" Elaine nodded staring off in to space. "Then you did the right thing," she told her earnestly.

"Ah just became complicit in a multi-felony robbery," she whispered.

Tansy reached over and hooked her finger under Elaine's chin forcing the girl to meet her gaze. "I didn't say you did what was legal," she said. "I said you did what was right. I'm beginning to learn that those two aren't always the same thing. Come on, I'm sure we have a mountain of paperwork to fill out and depositions to give."

Elaine shrugged morosely. "A couple of days' worth at least."

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June 15th, 2007
Headquarters, 17th Military Police Brigade, Fort Bridger, Wyoming

Elaine would come to regret her ready quip later on.

The MPs of Fort Bridger were not amused to say the least at the battle that had raged practically on their front doorstep. By the time Elaine and Tansy had returned to the scene of the automotive carnage, the MPs were present in force. Baby Girl was already being impounded and loaded onto a wrecker and a terrified looking Kayda was trying to answer questions from three different MPs all shouting at her.

When the MPs discovered that the mutants who had intervened were students, their lack of amusement had blossomed into a full-on dour disapproval. The girls were immediately detained, shuffled off to the base, and grilled off and on for three days. The soldiers and the DPA officials they summoned were remarkably immune to Elaine's arguments, as well as being un-swayed by Tansy's threats of expensive lawyers.

The regulations that they used to justify the multi-day detention were flimsy at best, and becoming more flimsy as the days went on. Tansy was beginning to wonder if she shouldn't lead the other girls in a violent breakout from the base when the door to her "guest quarters" that was only a step or two above a cell opened and she got her first surprise of the morning. Standing in the doorway was not the grim faced MP who had been her shadow taking her from quarters to chow hall to the MP building to be grilled all day and back.

Instead in the doorway, sly smile pulling at the corners of her lips, was an immaculately dressed Amelia Hartford. "Ms. Hartford!" Tansy exclaimed, surprised to say the least.

"Miss Walcutt," the Assistant Headmistress replied as she entered the room, closing the door behind her in the face of the MP that had opened it for her. "I see that your predilection for getting into trouble extends off campus as well as on."

Tansy stood and crossed her arms over her breasts. "Seeing as how I was being tested, I would submit this is a de facto campus annex."

Hartford's smile deepened. "Don't pick up any of Miss Nalley's bad habits," she advised. "And speaking of tests, congratulations - you passed. You made an excellent impression on some of the most powerful people on this planet."

The younger blonde rolled her eyes. "Oh goody! Does this mean I get the new set of steak knives? No! Wait, this is where you tell me the names of the members of the shadowy cabal I've somehow joined? Where I find out it's really Old Man Jenkins under the ghost outfit?"

Despite the sarcasm it was obvious Amelia was far too pleased with her protégé to allow the mood to be soured. "No," she replied evenly. "Jenkins is in the alien outfit, Smith is in the ghost outfit and as far as you are concerned outside of our conversations my dear, there is no shadowy cabal. I, and now you, are members of a select Committee; we exist inside The Syndicate, using and controlling it."

Tansy frowned, deeply in thought. "To what end?" She demanded, the question greatly pleasing Ms. Hartford.

"You'll learn more about that next year," Amelia assured Tansy. "In the meantime, you'll finish your road trip and return to the school where I expect you to be diligent in making up for lost time. I've arranged for Sensei Ito to give you some special instruction to catch you up. As you've seen, this position is not without its dangers and I want you able to defend yourself."

"Yes, ma'am," Tansy replied.

Hartford's eyebrow ascended her fore head. "No backtalk? No sarcasm?"

Tansy shrugged. “Needling you is sometimes good for getting more information, and it's certainly a good tool in the toolbox, but I can tell you've already said as much as you're going to, so there's no point." Hartford actually beamed in what seemed like genuine pleasure from the response.

"Miss Walcutt, you and I are going to do great things together. Now, get your things and come with me. How goes your infiltration into the graces of Miss Nalley?" Tansy blushed and shrugged as she turned away and quickly repacked the items that she'd been using while living out of her suitcase in the cell like 'guest quarters'.

"Fine, I guess. I mean, it's obvious I really misjudged her. She's a genuinely good person she deserves to have a better friend than a manipulative bitch like me."

Hartford was nonplussed. "The mere fact that you feel guilty over doing what has to be done tells me you're being a far better friend to Miss Nalley then you let on. Once you save the world you can pour out your heart and beg forgiveness or not as you please. Or, you can accept things for what they are and you can emulate my relationship with Mrs. Carson."

Tansy pulled the bag up on her shoulder and turned to face the older woman a hand on her hip. "And what about that should I emulate?" She demanded.

Amelia stepped forward until she was eye to eye with her protégé, her gaze intense and burning. "That any part of anything that I do that interfaces with Liz Carson advances her agenda, facilitates her win, or benefits her in whatever way I can make it benefit her. Because if Elaine Nalley is your yardstick of a 'good' person, then on that scale Liz Carson is a saint! So if you're feeling guilty, make sure Miss Nalley benefits in some way to assuage your conscience."

Tansy frowned, knowing there was at least one more very important question. "What about Kayda? Do you expect me to be friends with her, too? Because I can guarantee it'll be difficult to be friends with Lanie without involving her, too."

Amelia smiled broadly. "If you become friends with her, too, so be it. I know I don't have to warn you to not make an enemy of Miss Franks - not because of a threat to you, which I think you could easily handle, but because that would force Miss Nalley to make a choice, and that could irrevocably harm your relationship with her." She turned and raised her voice at the door. "Guard! We are ready to leave."

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June 15th, 2007
Interstate 80, just west of Rock Springs, Wyoming

Elaine and Kayda had been even more startled to discover the arrival of Ms. Hartford than Tansy had. Of course the administrator had on her stern, dour persona with none of the wry amusement she had shown her protégé. And she made certain that both girls knew how lucky they were that the school monitored a number of access points of information when the students were traveling to ensure they reached their proper destinations. Ms. Hartford's only comment on the incident with Warhorse was an icy command that the girls see to it they had no further adventures between where they were and where they were going.

After only an hour of wrangling with the motor pool sergeant, Baby Girl was brought forth, only slightly the worse for wear and mysteriously missing nearly a quarter of a tank of gas. The girls piled in and drove in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, after a gas stop where the girls and the car were refreshed, as Elaine was accelerating back on the freeway, Tansy worked up the courage to ask, "So, what did Mr. West have to say?"

Elaine glanced over at her friend, her face unreadable. "To be honest, Ah'm still working through it. He didn't see anything at all wrong with hiring Warhorse to go in there and steal those plans back and shoot the place up as a message to the Goodkinds. The world might not be black-and-white, but Ah ain't ready to hear that it's as 50 shades of gray as he makes it out to be."

Tansy rolled a bit on her side, to more directly look at Lanie. "If you admit the world isn't black-and-white, what else can it be beside shades of gray? You wanted to help humanity by improving their design. Her burying it just for spite was wrong. So while taking it wasn't legal, it was the right thing to do."

Kayda leaned forward from the backseat to be more easily heard in the conversation going on up front. "You really believe that?" she demanded of Tansy.

The blonde shrugged and smiled a wry smile.

"If Lanie says she improved the design, then I'm sure it was. That's a plus for humanity. For Helen Goodkind to buy the contractor tasked with making it, just so she can break the contract and suppress it, that's wrong."

Kayda still was not convinced. "Yeah, but send in a mercenary to shoot the place up?"

Lanie shrugged her shoulders, her eyes locked on the road. "Sometimes you have to stand up to a bully," she replied softly. Looking up in the rear view mirror, Lanie saw that her friend was still hot to argue the point.

She was about to say something, when Tansy beat her to the point. "As I recall from history, didn't many Native American tribes do raids to 'send a message' to a potential foe? How is this any different?"

Kayda chewed on that a moment, trying to figure out how to rebut, when in fact part of her mind was telling her that Tansy was exactly right, that it was common to make sure an enemy got a message through a violent encounter. It helped keep things from escalating - most of the time. "But ... but that was a long time ago! We're better than that."

"Not everyone is," Lanie replied. "And those who aren't will bully and take advantage of those who are." She glanced in the mirror again, and decided she needed to cement the point that some people weren't so 'civilized' deep down inside. She said, "You haven't seen The Talk."

Kayda's nose scrunched up in confusion. "The Talk?"

"It's a one-day seminar," Tansy provided. "They give it in the fall to the sophomores. You came in too late this year to see it, so you'll probably have to take it this fall. It's called Paranormals: History and the Law. It's designed to scare the sophomores and make them realize just how deep the anti-mutant hate goes. The centerpiece is a TEDx Talk Helen Goodkind gave in 1998. It's on YouTube, so if you're interested look it up over the summer. Short form? The bitch talks about rounding us all up and putting us in camps."

Kayda rolled her eyes. "Well, speaking as someone who grew up spending time on a reservation that some of my relatives lived on…"

"Not a reservation!" Lanie interrupted sharply.

Tansy turned in the seat so that her blue eyes met Kayda's green ones. "Concentration camps, Kayda," she corrected softly. "No self-rule, no tribal police, no leaving. If you thought the reservations were bad, imagine what they could come up with using Auschwitz-Birkenau as the model? Just like the Nazi extermination camps. Helen Goodkind's 'Final Solution' to the mutant problem, as she sees it. If she had the opportunity, she'd kill Ayla with her own hand and believe to her dying day that she was doing what was right." Tansy shook her head sadly. "The only thing I'm sorry for? Is that the bitch wasn't there to get shot herself."

"So, what are you saying?" Kayda asked, looking back and forth at the two older girls. "Everyone just does what's right in their own eyes?"

Tansy shrugged again. "Isn't that what superheroes already do?" she asked philosophically. Kayda had no answer, and so a silence fell on the girls as the miles slipped away.

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Friday, June 15, 2007 - Late Afternoon
Sioux Falls, SD

"I know it's only four, and you could drive for another four or five hours," Kayda protested strongly, "but after ...," She hesitated, wincing at the memories of the little misadventure. Or big misadventure, if Debra's view of the situation was to be believed.

'Baby Girl', sat inside a large, empty warehouse, with Elaine - Lanie - leaning against the front fender in a carefree posture, wearing shorts and a buttoned shirt that was mostly open and tied beneath her large bosom, exposing a light blue tank-top underneath it. It was a 'car porn' poster-girl pose, and it could have graced any month of a mechanic's calendar showcasing hot cars and hot girls.

Tansy Walcutt, just as casually dressed but somehow looking more like a runway model than anyone else in the room, even in such attire, stood a bit aloof, while Kayda stood beside her girlfriend Debra Matson, their arms around each other's waists affectionately and possessively. The warehouse was the property of the Sioux Falls League group of superheroes, one of the entrances to their secret underground headquarters and occasionally a storage space for equipment.

"We've got a long drive to Atlanta," Lanie countered, "and Ah'd rather get on the road. Besides, Tansy has to fly from Atlanta back to Whateley for summer classes," she added.

"Which don't start for a week, so you have plenty of time," Debra rebutted. She was a stunning beauty, with long, silky, blonde tresses that were the epitome of sexy, wavy hair, and gorgeous cornflower-blue eyes set in a face that was somehow both gorgeous and approachably-friendly at the same time. "Kayda's mom is coming down later this evening to spend a little time with us before Kayda jets off to Louisiana to meet up with Addy and Headrush, so we can have a pleasant 'ladies night' tonight." She smiled warmly at the two girls. "Besides, you haven't met Vanity Girl, Wish List, or Card Trick yet."

Tansy stiffened a bit; she had met Wish List and Card Trick the year before when all were at Whateley, and she held no doubts about how they were going to react to her.

"Come on, stay," Kayda pleaded. "I know you're a bit tired, and a nice home-cooked meal…"

"We're going out tonight," Debra interrupted me. "Your mom wants Japanese again tonight." She smiled. "Your mom really is developing a taste for sukiyaki and sushi."

"Hmmph!" Franks snorted. "Figures she'd do that - after I left for boarding school!" Her feigned fit elicited giggles from Lanie and a wry smile from Tansy.

"No, really," Lanie protested, "we should get on the road."

"Lanie," Debra dropped her arm from Kayda's waist and slipped out of her embrace, "you've been driving for hours ...."

"Kayda and Tansy took turns," Lanie protested.

"Let's take a walk so you can stretch." She took Lanie's arm and the two strolled across the warehouse, away from Tansy and Kayda. Both girls could see that Debra was talking to Lanie, but they were too far away, and the noise of the fans in the warehouse made it impossible to hear their private conversation.

"I wonder what that's about," Tansy commented with a slight smirk.

Kayda shrugged. "I don't know."

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"Okay, what's this about?" Elaine asked once she and Deb were far enough away from Tansy and Kayda to not be overheard.

Deb was cross. "You don't know?" she demanded. "You're four days late and Kayda is clingy. And Kayda only gets clingy when she's feeling guilty about something. So were you attacked by another lust demon that it took you four extra days to get here from Utah?"

Elaine crossed her arms over her breasts. "Well, that didn't take long! Jesus Christ, Deb, you weren't this insecure last year!"

"Last year you weren't banging my girlfriend!" Debbie shot back. "Or are you claiming to have thawed the ice queen of denial herself and you've got Tansy Walcutt buttering your biscuit for you?!"

Elaine couldn't help looking over at Tansy where she stood with Kayda, looking at them. Tansy was in the process of smoothing an errant lock of hair behind her ear and seeing that Elaine was looking at her smiled a shy, friendly smile. It's set in motion in her mind thoughts she had never thought of before; thoughts of how pretty a girl Tansy was how much she had been enjoying the trip with her new friends. "Me?" she demanded of Debbie. "And Tansy? Really?"

Debbie became more angry. "Don't toy with my emotions, Nalley!" She ordered. "Did you and Kayda…?"

"No," Elaine declared forcefully. "Not that it's any of your business, but the last time Ah had sex was over a week ago with mah fiancée!"

Cornflower's eyes searched Elaine's face for any sign or telltale that she was lying. Seeing only the truth written on her friend's face, Debbie sighed and shook her head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry Lanie," she admitted softly. "It's just… Kayda is all I have. When you didn't call…"

Elaine sighed and rubbed the other girl shoulders. "Ah'm sorry Deb, we should've called when we stopped the first night in Salt Lake City. And then the thing with Warhorse happened and we've been practically in jail for the last three days! We never meant to make you worry…"

"Water under the bridge," Debbie replied with a forced smile. "Now, now you have to stay so I can make it up to you."

Lanie rolled her eyes. "Debbie…"

"Oh come on, Lanie!" the blonde begged. "We'll have a great dinner, and it will be like a slumber party! Please!" Lanie couldn't contain a smile and shook her head in resignation.

"Oh, all right."

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June 15th, 2007
Sioux Falls League HQ, Sioux Falls SD

Tansy leaned against the corner of the wall, concealed in the shadow, as she watched Elaine enter Kayda's room. As the minutes slipped past, it became more and more obvious that Elaine would not be coming out, possibly until morning. This realization turned her emotions into a jumbled knot in her breast. The fierce redhead had entered the rotation of girls that paraded through Tansy's dreams, much to her shame, since January when Elaine had backed her into a corner, in the Crystal Hall in front of everyone, her rage radiating off her.

Tansy liked being in charge, she loved the thrill of power and control. It had been one of the few things that she had enjoyed in making puppets of the boys she had slept with. But since that day in January, that day of being challenged and stood up to, and the dreams that followed that night, Tansy found that there was a side of her that thrilled at being controlled, submitting to the will of another. It wouldn't replace the joy of being in control, but being in a place where she could relax and let down her guard with someone she trusted - that was a rare pearl indeed.

A single tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek, to be wiped furiously away adding to the confusion that already gripped her mind. "You won't find satisfaction out here watching," a sweet tenor whispered in her ear to go along with the hand laid casually on her shoulder. Tansy looked up into the stranger's long, nose dominated face. He was obviously strong, but lithe and gangly in the mold of a distance runner. He had a wide mouth with full lips and deep chocolate eyes under a wild mop of russet hair. Tansy had never seen him before, but knew instantly he was the human form of the spirit that rode her. He looked rather like a cartoon minstrel come to life, and was dressed to match in a simple peasant shirt and wrap pants.

"You can manifest into the real world?" she asked, amazed.

The spirit smiled and winked at her.

"Yes, but that's not what we're doing now," he replied blithely. He nodded behind Tansy and she turned to see herself leaning against the corner of the wall gazing at the door. "Go knock on the door," he encouraged her. "Aren't you supposed to be getting close to them? How much closer can you get than in their bed?"

Tansy's body and her shade shivered at the suggestion. "That's not who I am!" she protested vehemently, turning to stare fiercely up in the long face of her spirit.

For his part, Mustang crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side.

"What are you so angry about?" he demanded. "Even the greatest stallion cannot see to every mare of his herd every night. It's only natural the mares see to each other. It reinforces the bonds of the herd."

"I am not gay!" Tansy shouted at the spirit.

Mustang snorted and rolled his eyes in disgust. "Now who's lying to whom?" he demanded. "Of course you're not gay, you're not a stallion."

Tansy's face contorted. "What kind of misogynistic bullish it is that?" she hissed. "Are you actually claiming that under every lesbian is a panting little whore who just hasn't found the right Dick yet? You think Kayda, who was gang raped, is just cruising around looking for a real man?"

Mustang smiled a salacious grin. "The Ptesanwi isn't my concern, you are. I'm merely saying that presented with the right man and the right manhood, any mare will lift her tail. I'm also saying there's nothing wrong with two herd sisters showing affection for each other. Do you think I don't see what you imagine when you touch yourself in the night? When you remember her stallion having his way with you, isn't she there? Isn't she always there?"

Walcutt blushed fiercely right up to the roots of her blonde hair as the spirit's barb found its mark, cutting her to the quick. Of late, she had been remembering the last time she and Wyatt had made love. She'd been tired, too tired to try yet again to exert her power on him, and so she had merely submitted, waiting for him to finish so she could get some sleep. And looking back on it now, she realized that in the waiting, and giving him the access he wanted, without the mental exertion of trying to dominate him, the feeling of him being inside her was actually becoming pleasant.

And in the fantasy as she relived it, as a pleasure began to consume her, Elaine was always suddenly there.

Tansy's blush deepened and she turned away from the spirit as the memory of the pornographic fantasy played out in her mind. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," the spirit whispered in her ear. "Besides, if you did not love your herd sister, would it be so easy to nurse her foal when it is hungry and its mother is not at hand? Your foal, her foal, what does it matter? Are they not both children of the same stud?"

"You told me you could help me be comfortable in my own skin!" Tansy accused bitterly. "You told me you could make me just like Lanie!"

"I am," the stallion protested. "The Pict Daughter understands that all women are bisexual to some point, but only a stallion can give her the children she wants. And in this understanding she is at peace with herself. And when you achieve this understanding, as I teach it to you, you will also find this peace. "

Tansy whirled her eyes wide with shock and outrage. "You're trying to make me bisexual?!"

Mustang shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. "No, you're already bisexual. I'm just trying to make you realize it."

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June 16th, 2007
Sioux Falls League HQ, Sioux Falls SD

It was a beautiful morning as Tansy stepped out the door of the warehouse that disguised the entrance to the headquarters of the Sioux Falls League. It was warm enough to be comfortable, but still cool enough that the cup of coffee she took with her was welcome. In a move that had surprised her almost as much as it had those who saw it, Tansy had offered to help Mrs. Franks with the morning dishes, but was told that as a guest, her help was not required.

And so Tansy was outside, enjoying the quiet, the sunrise, and a surprisingly good cup of coffee. Though outwardly she appeared calm, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and confusion. Conflicting emotions about the previous night, conflicting emotions about having fallen asleep in her dream space in the comfortable arms of Mustang's human form. While others might have pled innocence of the bonding with host and spirit, Tansy was brutally honest with herself; there was quite a bit sexual about the comfort her spirit had given her and she had no doubts in her mind that if she offered her spiritual body to the spirit that Mustang would only be too happy to service her need.

A part of her wondered if Lanie or Kayda were so intimate with their spirits.

As usually seemes to be the case, such peaceful quiet moments were seldom allowed to last very long. Another door from the warehouse opened with a bang and Kayda's younger brother Danny came storming out. It was obvious from the young man's body language that he was enraged, embarrassed, and humiliated, but being a psychic only made it worse as Tansy experienced some of the emotions boiling off the young man.

Hard on his heels was the source of his bitter emotions, a laughing Gina 'Wish List' Martin who was chasing after him. Doubtless, she would call the taunts she yelled at the younger boy teasing, but Tansy knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that kind of teasing and her own temper as well as the temper of the spirit that rode her flashed up behind her eyes. In a shout given volume and weight by Mustang, Tansy shouted, "Gina! Leave him alone!"

Both figures stopped instantly, as Tansy's voice rang out like a gunshot in the warehouse office park where the building stood. No longer the focus of Gina's attention, Danny's fur slowly melted back into his skin revealing it still to be ruddy from his embarrassment. The smile of amusement faded from Gina's face as she cocked out her hip and rested her fist on it. "What's it to you, Walcutt?" she demanded. "You think just because you're Freya's lickspittle that gives you special privilege out here?"

Tansy smiled a sarcastic smile. "Well, I'm a senior, and Freya graduated last year. What's your excuse for still living in high school?"

Gina's face flushed scarlet with embarrassment and rage. "How dare you?" she hissed.

Walcutt's eyes narrowed and she set the cup of coffee down on the electrical junction box she was standing next to. "I don't like bullies," she replied coldly. "That's how I dare."

The word penetrated Gina's anger and she looked back and forth from Tansy to Danny. "I'm not… I wasn't… I was just teasing!" she stuttered.

"I'm guessing because Danny was walking away, and you were chasing him, he didn't find your teasing very funny."

Gina looked back and forth again before an angry grimace settled on her face. "Oh, I get it. This is where we see the new," and she held her fingers up in air quotes, "Tansy is such a hero, right? Well, you may have them fooled, but I know you for the bitch you are!"

Tansy took a step forward, her face set. "I don't give a fuck what you think of me, but you will leave him alone!"

"You don't give a fuck?" demanded a shocked Gina. "Since when? Giving fucks is what you do best!" Martin spun on her heel and stormed back into the warehouse slamming the door as she did so. Walcutt watched her go in and once she was satisfied Gina was not returning, went back to her coffee cup and picked it up. Danny hesitantly walked over with a strange expression on his face.

"Thank… Thank you, Miss Walcutt," the young man said with some obvious difficulty due to his embarrassment.

A smile pulled up the corners of Tansy's lips and she looked over the young man before her. His clothing was too big for him, but not in a hand-me-down kind of way; they were too new. It was as if they had fit him at one point and he had undergone some kind of reverse growth spurt and become smaller. He didn't appear sickly at all, in fact his muscles were quite well-defined but in the sleek, svelte manner of a male dancer or gymnast. Tansy wasn't sure what kind of man, if any, she liked, and while she was certain that Danny Franks was not it, there was a certain nebulous attractiveness to the young man she couldn't put her finger on. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Franks," she said with an ironic smile.

Danny blushed again and his eyes fell to his toes. "Oh, I… I wouldn't dream of being familiar to a lovely lady like you." His attempt at being debonair was spoiled by his inability to make eye contact and a slight stutter in his embarrassed voice, but Tansy couldn't help but smile at the young man's timidity in trying. It was quite endearing.

"Well," Tansy replied. "I was mercilessly 'teased' by Heather and Connie Goodkind when I was younger, so I know what it's like." She casually laid a hand on his shoulder and pretended that she didn't notice his blush deepen at the contact. "Though I imagine it's harder for you, being a well-brought-up young man having girls tease you."

He looked up and Tansy knew the expression on his face very well. It was the expression men got on their faces after she implanted feelings of intense infatuation in their minds to manipulate them. Not that she had done so to Danny, she had in fact not manipulated him at all; except for being a very attractive young woman and taking a sympathetic interest in him. "It smarts a little not being able to fight back, but I've had worse."

The door next to them opened, revealing Kayda, a somewhat forlorn look on her face. "Tansy, Lanie is getting ready to leave."

"Can't miss my ride!" Tansy said as she gulped down the last of the coffee. Turning back to Danny she favored the young man with a brilliant smile. "Oh, and Mr. Franks, my name is Tansy to you."

Danny could only stare after the blonde goddess, his mouth agape and his mind spinning furiously with new fantasies he would never, ever admit to.

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June 16th, 2007
Interstate 29, south of Omaha Nebraska

Tansy had expected the drive to be filled with Ansel Adams like magnificent vistas of mountains and trees, unspoiled wilderness and pristine magnificent cityscapes. Nebraska, as near as she could tell, was simply one gigantic wheat field. It was becoming apparent to Tansy very quickly why this was referred to as "flyover country." A pedestrian, if filling, lunch behind them in Omaha, the drone of Baby Girls V8, the hum of her tires over the asphalt, and the seemingly endless wheat field, so poetically referred to as amber waves of grain, was becoming too much for her.

She turned in to look across the cabin at the redhead she was sharing the car with. Elaine was slouched in the seat, a gray tank top emblazoned with the Ford logo impressively stretched out from her chest. Her jeans were well-worn, obviously from use in wearing and not from becoming "distressed" at the factory. Her hair was back in a ponytail and she was tapping her nails against the steering wheel as she held it, beating out the rhythm of a song Tansy almost recognized.

Tansy compared the reality of the girl across the transmission hump from her with the wanton fantasy of her dreams. There was something to be said for giving in completely to one's passion, but surprisingly Tansy was finding she preferred the reality of the gearhead slouched in the seat over the leather and silk clad apparition her mind conjured up. She desperately wanted to know if what Mustang had told her was true, if Lanie's acceptance of her bisexuality was the key to her confidence and composure now. After a few miles, her unnaturally green eyes came from the road to regard Tansy for a moment, in a smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Penny?"

Walcutt blinked in confusion. "Sorry?"

"Penny for your thoughts," Lanie elaborated. "Y'all been staring for a couple miles."

Tansy actually felt her cheeks warm in a blush and she directed her gaze back out through the front windshield. "Just wondering about some stuff my spirit told me," she replied. "Lanie, can I ask a question? I mean, a really personal question?"

Elaine shrugged philosophically. "It depends on the question Ah suppose." She said after a moment. "You can ask, and Ah can guarantee Ah won't be offended by the asking, but Ah reserve the right not to respond."

"That's fair," Tansy agreed. "I'm sorry, I know this is absolutely none of my business, but you have had a spirit longer than I have, and I'm trying to wrap my head around all of the … nuances." The blonde sighed and shook her head as she massaged her temple. "There's just not a polite way to phrase this, so I'm just going to come out and ask."

"Okay."

Tansy bit her lip, then finally screwed her courage to the sticking place. "When… When you're in your dream space … And …, Maybe, maybe it's …." Tansy nearly jumped when she felt Elaine's hand on her knee. Looking over she found the other girl smiling at her and felt her rub her knee in encouragement.

"Just take a deep breath and let it out," Lanie assured her. "Ah promise Ah won't get mad."

After forcing a smile she didn't feel, Tansy nodded, took a deep breath, and asked, "You admit that you're bisexual. And I presume that means you have desires sometimes for men, and sometimes for women. Based on how you reacted in Salt Lake City, it's obvious being faithful to Wyatt is important to you. So, when you do … desire … a woman, do you go into your dream space and … with Grizzly?"

Lanie licked her lips and nodded her head a few times, removing her hand from Tansy's knee and returning it to the steering wheel. "Well, Ah do see why you were so reluctant to ask. Normally, Ah wouldn't answer a question like that because, yes, it's mighty personal, but Ah know you're coming to grips with a lot so …."

She drove for several minutes having trailed off in silence, until finally Tansy felt the need to say, "I'm sorry for putting you on the spot."

Again, Lanie nodded and then shook her head. "Ah know you're asking out of a genuine need. The answer is, no Ah don't. Grizzly is somewhere between mother and aunt to me. While Ah feel like I could ask her anything, even stuff like this, Ah also know that her love for me isn't in any way sexual. It's very nurturing, and comforting, but it's a completely separate feeling than lust."

Tansy looked at her nails, unable to look her friend in the eye. "I'm sorry…"

Lanie laughed an awkward but also genuine kind of laugh. "Don't be!" she said forcefully. "You needed to know, and now you do." Walcutt smiled and took her phone out of her purse and began manipulating it. "What's up?"

"I'm making it up to you," Tansy assured her. "We're stopping at the Four Seasons Hotel in St. Louis," she said brandishing the phone. "We have reservations!"

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June 16th, 2007
Four Seasons Hotel, St. Louis Missouri

Elaine sighed as she eased into the hot tub, loving the feeling of the hot water further relaxing the muscles that the spa masseuse had already massaged into compliance. While they had only driven eight hours from having left Kayda and Sioux Falls, Tansy had insisted in stopping in St. Louis, and paid for the two of them to undergo the full spa treatment at the Four Seasons. In fact Lanie felt wonderfully relaxed and was not in the least put out because of the stop. She settled into the molded seats in the Jacuzzi and let the jets bombard her muscles and she sighed in contentment. "Ah could get used to this," she called out to Tansy who was still in the main portion of the suite they were sharing.

"What are friends for?" Tansy replied, her comment punctuated by a loud pop. The blonde giggled and lifted her voice in a very pleasant contralto, "She keeps Moët et Chandon in her pretty cabinet!”

Lanie returned the giggle and called back, "'Let them eat cake, ' she says just like Marie Antoinette!” Tansy walked into the room with the familiar deep emerald bottle that she was pouring into a pair of flutes as she came.

She was nude, and she didn't seem to care.

She put the bottle in a sculpted electric cooler made for it and set into the side of the Jacuzzi, and then she presented Elaine with the other flute as she sat and dipped her feet into the hot tub and took a sip. "Brothers! I've tasted the stars! Thank you brother Perignon for your diligent contributions to winery." Tansy looked down from where she was sitting on the edge of the tub to see Elaine blushing and looking away.

She also noticed the redhead was wearing her bathing suit. "Oh," Tansy muttered softly. "I'm sorry, I thought, I mean the last time - your memory and Kayda's." Tansy sighed and mastered herself. "I accidentally read Kayda's mind, and she remembered the last time you two were in the hot tub and everybody .…"

"Was naked," Elaine finished. "The lesbian and bisexual hot tub social, it's a bi-yearly meat market, but Ah don't mind." Elaine set her flute down, stood, shucked off her bathing suit, wrung it out, laid it over the side of the tub, and sat back down. She couldn't help but notice that either Tansy was obsessive, or was in fact a natural blonde.

The carefree, playful manner with which Tansy had entered the room with was visibly muted as she slid into the tub and took the other seat opposite Elaine. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel like you .... I wasn't trying to put you on the spot."

Elaine smiled and shook her head.

"You're trying to fit in and make me feel comfortable. Ah appreciate that. Speaking of feeling comfortable, how are you liking Mustang? How does it feel having a spirit?"

Tansy's face lit up with a truly beautiful smile and some of her carefree nature returned.

"Interesting," she declared. "And a little frustrating." She squirmed a bit of the seat and rolled her eyes. "I don't have a lot of experience in dealing with being horny!"

"Mmmm," Lanie muttered around a sip of her champagne. "The boys claim cold showers help, but that never worked for me."

"What does?" the blonde asked pointedly.

Elaine smiled a somewhat bashful smile and shook her head.

"Well, sex of course," and she shared a giggle with Tansy over the joke. "Sometimes you just have to take care of things yourself," she admitted frankly. "If you're hard up, I have some toys I wouldn't mind sharing .…"

The expression on Tansy's face was confused. "Toys?"

Lanie couldn't help but chuckle and shook her head in amazement. "Adult toys," she amended with heavily implied meaning.

The confusion was replaced with shock. "You mean … plastic … male .…"

"The word you're groping for is dildo," the redhead supplied. "And yes, that's exactly what Ah mean. And a vibrator. You know Tansy, it surprises me that someone with your … reputation … is so, Ah don't know if innocent is the right word, it but certainly fits."

Tansy took a sip of her champagne and was obviously somewhat glum. "That's me, the virginal slut."

"Ah didn't mean…!" Lanie quickly said.

The blonde waved off her protest with a soft gesture.

"Don't worry about it, Lanie," Walcutt replied morosely. "I've been called worse and deserved it. I have no idea why you put up with me, but I am grateful."

Elaine stood, refilled her own glass, and then Tansy's, before she crossed over and sat down next to the blonde to put a companionable arm around her shoulder.

"Ah thought we understood that that was water under the bridge," she told the older girl while lightly touching her flute to Tansy's. "You're making amends, and what kind of person would Ah be if I didn't help you?"

For a long moment Tansy looked away and the little trembles of her muscles under Elaine's arm made her think that perhaps she was crying. Immediately feeling contrite, Elaine set her glass down and went to hug the other girl to console her just as Tansy turned back and suddenly the two girls were locked in a passionate embrace, tongues dancing in the searing kiss that took both their breath away. After a timeless eternity Tansy lips withdrew and Elaine opened her eyes to find her friend's icy blue eyes had thawed and filled her vision. "I…" Tansy panted. "Can … we ...?"

Elaine licked her lips, tasting champagne and Tansy's lipstick. A shudder passed through her as her mind filled in the image of fantasies with the blonde in stark, photorealistic detail; she realized that her hands were full of Tansy's pert, full ass. She forced her hands open and slid them to a more neutral location of the blonde hips. "Tansy …," she whispered, "Ah … Ah can't .…"

Tansy withdrew slightly, biting her lip in a contrite expression. "Wyatt?" she whispered.

"It's not that Ah don't want to!" Lanie added quickly. "Oh Lord, do Ah want to!"

The blonde propped elbows on the side of the tub and leaned in so the girl's noses were touching, a salacious smile on her face. "Where is he?" she asked, her tone dripping innuendo. "Alaska? I'll buy him a plane ticket! If you don't mind sharing, I can have him here in eight hours.”

Lanie shuddered again as her fantasies changed gears from naughty to pornographic. "You," she panted, "are an evil, evil bitch for tempting me like this!”

Tansy's chuckle was straight out of evil overlord laughter class. "You say the sweetest things!" she whispered as she leaned in and kissed Elaine again. Tansy felt Elaine's hands come up her torso and for a split second cupped her breasts. The feeling ignited a firestorm of emotion in the blonde that she never felt before. Despite all the sex she'd had in her life, Tansy felt actually virginal, and was consumed for the first time in her life with the desire to please her partner; to truly make love for the first time.

However Elaine's hands didn't linger on her breasts, but instead traveled up and took her by the shoulders, gently, but firmly pushing her back. The kiss broke and both girls sighed at the intensity of it. "God, give me strength to do what's right," Elaine whispered.

"Lanie?" Tansy asked, feeling more vulnerable than she ever had in her entire life.

The green eyes opened and they were full of tears. "Tansy, first and foremost Ah want you to know that if Ah was single there would be no question about how this night would end."

"I'm sorry …," she started and began to pull away, but Elaine's grip was strong Tansy allowed her to pull her into a hug of surprisingly soothing gentleness.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Lanie whispered in the blonde's ear. "But, if Ah take advantage of you, then Ah have something to be sorry for. Do Ah mind sharing? That's a horse of a different color! Practically getting to have mah cake and eat it too! But Ah know for that to work is going to take a lot of work, a lot of conversation, and isn't something we should do with our blood up in the heat of the moment."

Tansy sat up and nodded, wiping away tears as she sat in Elaine's lap. The redhead reached up and wiped and errant tear from her cheek. "Ah don't mean to hurt you…"

Walcutt forced a smile and touched the other girl's nose with the tip of her finger. "You haven't hurt me," she assured Lanie. "You're going out of your way not to. Besides, we don't even know I like girls, do we?" She shrugged and took a sip of her champagne. "It could be the booze, or just Hercules syndrome, or the fact that this spirit has me so god damned horny …!"

Elaine licked her lips and cautiously said, "Well, if you need an answer to that question, that could be arranged."

"How so?" asked Tansy with a frown.

Lanie made a gesture, which caused her to stand so the redhead could get up. She stood, dried her hands and dug into her purse which was nearby and pulled out her cell phone.

"We're in St. Louis," she declared mysteriously. "If you want, Ah can set you up so you could have a little fling with a girl who Ah know is hot for you?"

Tansy gulped uneasily. On the one hand, Lanie seemed to be almost recklessly rushing her into new adventures - perhaps so Tansy didn't have time to second-guess herself or chicken out, and she had been getting more and more curious. On the other hand, all those years of indoctrination by her parents and the preacher .... Still, she couldn't help but tremble with excitement at the memory she'd inadvertently gotten from Kayda once when she touched the dusky-skinned girl's arm - an intense, overwhelming, unbridled sense of raw, primal passion and pure physical pleasure that she'd shared with Lanie. It had been such an unexpected and powerful sensation that Tansy nearly recoiled from the touch. Instead of frightening her, it only heightened her sense of curiosity. She trembled involuntarily at the still-strong memories. And as for just now, she could barely control herself.

Gritting her teeth as she steeled herself, Tansy nodded. "Maybe."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But ... if you can make it happen ...." Tansy definitely sounded uncertain. "Before I change my mind."

Lanie nodded and pushed some buttons on her phone then put the device to her ear. "Hello? It's me, Lanie."

"Nah, Ah'm just taking a little road trip to get home the long way."

"Nah. Say, listen, do you remember what ... and who ... you were talking about at the hot tub party a year and a half ago?"

"Ah've got a good memory, that’s how," Lanie laughed into the phone. Hearing only one side of a cryptic conversation was starting to get maddening to Tansy, as she suspected but wasn't certain what Lanie was talking about.

"No. The reason Ah'm asking is really two-fold. One, do you still feel that way, and two, if so, do you want to do anything about it?"

"Tonight. Ah'm actually in St. Louis, and so is she.

"Okay, Ah'm not trying to tease you, but maybe ...." Lanie glanced at Tansy, smiling. "Don't get out your leather bustier and body oils yet, but Ah'll call you back and let you know." She hung up the phone.

As Lanie slid her phone back into her purse, Tansy glanced her way, looking more than a little consternated. "What was that all about - as if I have to ask?"

"You remember Marla Fontaine? Going to be a senior next fall?"

A frown creased Tansy's brow as she refilled the glasses of champagne. "Yeah. Wizard. Tall and brunette. Extra curvy. Wears her hair very long and dresses rather ... provocatively. Why?"

"She's kind of ... adventurous," Lanie replied a little hesitantly; though her trust in the blonde had grown considerably and she had no issues discussing her own sexuality, she was still reluctant to say anything about anyone else's.

"And?"

"And, well, she once said she thought you were hot and wanted to spend some, ahem, personal time getting to know you better."

Tansy's face flashed crimson as all the memories of what people had done to her came rushing back. "You're not thinking of whoring me out, are you?" she spat angrily.

"Whoa," Lanie objected, holding her hands up in a semi-defensive, semi-surrender position. "Not at all. It's all your decision." She shrugged, smiling. "You were the one who said you were curious; Ah just arranged a way to ... scratch that itch, so to speak."

"And it's my decision?" Tansy asked hesitantly.

"Entirely. Up to the last moment, you can back out."

Tansy sat silently for a few moments, contemplating, her new spirit with its enhanced sexuality stirring her curiosity. "Say I do say yes. What ...?"

"If you want to, then Ah'll call back to set up a ... date. Ah don't think she is very far away. "

Tansy sat quietly, absorbed in thought, so Lanie sat back and rested. She didn't know what the blonde exemplar was going to do, but she had an opportunity, and it didn't involve Lanie doing anything that would interfere with her relationship with Wyatt. Or, she added in an afterthought, in her 'special' friendship with Kayda.

That thought jarred her - was Tansy becoming a better friend than her Lakota companion? Lanie knew that Kayda had worried a lot about that very thing, and now, Lanie realized she wasn't sure. Spending time with Tansy was fun, she had to admit, much more so than she'd have ever thought. But ... Kayda was still special. On the other hand, Lanie couldn't deny that Tansy was very attractive, and seemed to be getting sexier by the day as she adjusted to her new spirit and the heightened sense of sexuality it brought to her. It had taken everything she'd had to interrupt the blonde's seduction of her. The last thing she wanted to do was betray Wyatt again .…

Don't kid yourself, Grizzly whispered in her ear. Wyatt is a fine young man, but if you ask him if he'd like to be put to stud servicing you and the Princess over there, we both know what his answer is going to be. Her mental voice snorted in wry amusement. Can you blame him?

Elaine looked at the beautiful blonde across the hot tub from her and felt another thrill ran up and down her spine. No, she admitted mentally to her spirit. No, Ah can't.

Think long and hard about what you're considering, the spirit warned her. It's all well and good to consider fantasy for a night. Now think about how things will be in ten years when you wonder who is more important to your shared husband? You, and your kids, or her and her kids?

You don't believe love conquers all? Elaine thought at her spirit.

The bear snorted in disgust. I believe envy, wrath and lust are deadly sins for a reason, she answered cryptically.

"Could you?" Tansy's voice brought Elaine back to the reality of sitting in the hot tub in a hotel room in St. Louis.

The redhead looked up, confusion on her face.

"Could Ah what?" She asked.

Tansy looked back into Elaine's face from where ever her thoughts had taken her. "If you were unattached, in my position, could you just go have sex with someone you just met? Seems like that's all I've done my whole life, meaningless sex with people that I didn't care about. I don't see how doing more of that would help me understand myself, so I ask you if you could?"

Elaine sighed and shook her head. "When you put it that way, no Ah couldn't. Ah'm sorry for bringing it up, Ah thought it might help."

Tansy forced a smile.

"You're trying to help. But, my apologies to Marla, I think I'll pass. I … I have feelings for you. And, believe it or not, I kind of have feelings for Kayda, not as strong, but more than a friend. So, I think I've had too much sex for a while and not any making love. That's where I need to put my focus. I hope you won't hold this against me."

Lanie stood and carefully walked over to the other girl. Tansy's eyes get as big as saucers as the redhead gathered her into a hug and squeezed gently. "Not at all," she assured the other girl. "Believe it or not, Ah think Kayda is developing some ... more than friend ... feelings toward you, too. Ah'm sure that if she and Ah weren't in relationships, we'd probably both invite you into a little troika relationship. Ah hope you don't feel like we're teasin' you. We both do want to help."

Walcutt smiled and leaned forward to lightly kiss the girl once more. "Thank you, Lanie," she whispered. "I think I'll head to bed."

"Ah'll be along," Lanie assured her. "Just have to dry off." Tansy smiled and walked out, drying herself with a towel she went. The redhead watched her leave, a final shudder running up and down her spine. "Oh," she whispered. "Ah'm going to go to the special hell."

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June 17th, 2007
Dream Space of Elaine Ethel Nalley

Tansy lay in a dream.

Physically, she was on the bow of Lanie's little sailboat Picket's Revenge, which bobbed at anchor. It was a perfect early summer day, just warm enough, just a cool enough breeze, and they had the lake to themselves, so of course it could be nothing but a dream. The young woman couldn't help but marvel at how perfect the Mindscape was. She could and had created Mindscapes in the past as part of her training in her powers, and she admitted to herself, as part of her misusing those powers. But this dream space Kayda, Lanie and Grizzly had introduced her to was absolutely remarkable in its perfection.

She knew that her physical body was in a bed she was currently sharing with Elaine, the two girls having fallen asleep in each other's arms. Elaine's bedroom had been practically a window into who she was. Half the space was the domain of a tomboy's tomboy - car posters, spacecraft, tools and car parts; the other half would not have been a bit out of place in Tansy's own room. There were stuffed animals, unicorns and Pegasus posters, along with a vanity that was well stocked with the latest cosmetics.

Tansy found it charming.

When they had arrived, Elaine's mother insisted that Tansy stay for several days to have a proper vacation and a sample of Southern hospitality. While Mrs. Nalley had been faultlessly polite, it was quite clear she was a southern matriarch, and she was going to be obeyed one way or the other. Tansy had graciously accepted the offer.

So after Tansy had called her broker to arrange the airline tickets for Wyatt, she and Elaine had gone sailing on the little boat that was Elaine's pride and joy. Tansy was no stranger to yachting. Her father owned an International America's Cup Class twenty-five meter yacht that had competed in the race the last three years, and having finally won the race last year, she was certain that victory had made her father insufferable at the yacht club.

But the Tansy IV as the racer was named, had been custom-built for that race, and comfort had not been a priority to the designer. Picket's Revenge, on the other hand, was a leisure craft built for cruising, and while it was obvious Elaine took pride in squeezing every knot of speed out of her, she was a far more comfortable craft to ride.

So, a pleasant afternoon of sailing behind them, it was only natural that when the two girls had retired for the night and slipped into the dream space together, they continued the activity they that had so much fun doing. Which was why Tansy was laying on the bow of the little sailboat in her favorite bikini. She shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled up as Lanie approached, a pair of bottles in hand. Walcutt accepted the beer and took a sip.

Tansy was not much of a beer person, but like everything else in this idyllic place, this was idealized beer and so she found a panoply of flavors in the cold beverage as it slid over her tongue. "So, Ah gather you had fun this afternoon?"

Walcutt made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, sure! Yachting and polo are my sports. I crewed on my daddy's yacht in the last two America's Cup races."

Elaine sat down next to her, a faraway look on her face. "Oh, Ah'd love to do some deep ocean racing! But, mah daddy would kill somebody if Ah spent two weeks being the only female on a boat!"

"What if it were all women?" Tansy asked. Seeing the look on Lanie's face, she decided to press her advantage. "This little sloop of yours is pretty fast. If Kayda is at all interested we could practice all year at school and then in June we take part in the Newport to Bermuda yacht race. If memory serves, the smallest boat to win that race was a 28 foot, with an all-female crew that has to be a record."

"That's not a bad idea!" Lanie agreed. The girls giggled and tapped their beers together in toast. After Tansy took a sip she placed the beer in a cozy that was hanging from the lifeline to hold it, then produced a bottle of tanning oil from her bag and held it up so Elaine could see it.

"Would you mind?" Tansy asked with a smile. "I'll do it for you."

Tansy watched several expressions march across Lanie's face. She'd gotten used to Lanie being practically an emotional void in the space around her due to Grizzly's protections of her mind. It trained her to use her eyes and note Elaine's expressions in place of simply reading her emotions.

Lanie licked her lips and hesitantly reached out for the bottle. "Ah … Ah guess it's okay," she said after a moment of thought. "This is just a dream."

As she reached up behind her back, Tansy smiled at her, then untied and removed the bikini top, baring her breasts to the other girl for a moment before she lay down on her belly and made a pillow of her arms. Walcutt watched through her eyelashes, as Lanie had a war with herself before finally popping open the bottle and squirting a generous amount into her hand.

Elaine's hands were strong and nimble as she smeared lotion across Tansy's shoulders and back. At the touch of her skin Tansy was finally able to sense the girl's emotions again, not prying into her thoughts but listening to the emotions that rolled off the redhead through her hands. As she expected chief among them was a growing attraction and arousal. The application turned into a massage, the most enjoyable one Tansy could remember. This was primarily due to the fact that even though Elaine desired her, her feelings of attraction were very different than what Tansy had experienced before. The boys who touched her this way had only felt the desire to possess her, to use her for their ends and enjoyment. While there was a hint of that lust in Elaine's emotions, there was also a desire that Tansy enjoy being with her as much as Elaine wanted to enjoy being with Tansy. It was a new and interesting flavor of emotion Tansy couldn't remember having felt before. Part of her wanted to break down and cry, never having experienced something this pure and sweet before as part of her, she realized, desperately wanted to be that playground for Elaine.

Tansy let her glamour soak up the emotions Elaine was dripping off and was surprised to find that her physical self did not change but there was a slight desire for a more direct signal from her. Making a decision, she reached down and pulled on the drawstrings of her bottom and flicked the material away. It was several minutes, but eventually she felt the redheads oily hands slide over her buttocks and make sure her legs were coated.

This was not cold calculation on Tansy's part. If Elaine is getting aroused, then Tansy was practically panting in desire. Tansy felt her spirit urge her and finally gave in, rolling onto her side to look up at Elaine. The redhead was also wearing a bikini, but had a pair of cut off Daisy Dukes over the bottom. Her unnaturally green eyes were watery and she was biting her lip as Tansy lay before her nude and uncaring. "Tansy, Ah … We …"

Tansy reached up and pulled the drawstring on Elaine's top. The small swatches of fabric came away, bearing her breasts. Tansy sat up and smiled as she gently rubbed Elaine shoulders. "It's just a dream," she repeated back the other girl. "This doesn't count."

She pulled and leaned forward, and Elaine did not resist. Their lips met and for the first time in her life, Tansy Walcutt made love.

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June 17th, 2007
Cyberspace

The Captain shuffled papers on his desk, obviously busy and doing several things at once, but still giving most of his attention to the screen of his laptop and the camera mounted above it. "So, our Guest has his plans once more, my compliments to you, on the impression your protégé has made. The Old Man seemed quite taken with her. Not to mention we have at least one other asset that seems amenable to being turned and the potential of a third. All's well that ends well!"

The Professor smiled into her camera and raised the cup of coffee she was drinking in silent toast. "It would not have ended nearly so well without your able assistance, oh Captain, my Captain!"

The Captain smiled a charming, roguish grin. "I'm pleased I was able to help, and Warhorse's rates are usually quite reasonable. So, on a more personal note, my dear Professor, what are your plans for the summer?"

"Well, my protégé is attending the summer curriculum for extra training and I .…" The Professor trailed off mid-sentence as she took in the face of the Captain more cautiously, noting a familiar glint in his eye. "On the other hand, my handsome Captain, what did you have in mind?"

The Captain's smile became salacious. "Oh, the boring usual -five star dining, palatial accommodations, servants at your beck and call, and of course all the spoiling only a head of state can offer." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively drawing a most undignified schoolgirl giggle from the Professor. "We may even find time for a spanking, if you're sufficiently naughty."

The Professor leaned forward into the camera, making sure it played up her decolletage nicely. "Why Captain," she purred in a suggestive tone. "You know what a naughty girl I am…"

With a gesture, the Captain emptied the room of his servants, set his papers aside and gave the screen his full attention. "Indeed I do," he agreed with a smile. "It's what captivates my interest. Shall I have my favorite paddle oiled in anticipation of your naughtiness?"

The Professor sniffed in disdain.

"Save your paddle for whatever little trollop graces your bed when I'm unavailable. If you want to spank my ass, you'll use your hand and you'll like it!"

The Captain discreetly changed his position in the chair. "As my lady commands," he replied, dripping innuendo. He leaned forward intently into the camera. "Again, my dear, I will express my gratitude in your understanding of a man's needs and again I pledge to you that no woman lays claim to my heart other than you."

A slow, coy smile spread on the Professor's face. "Just so long as you understand that I have needs just as much as you, and you are always capable of meeting them when our hectic schedules allow."

"What was it the vizier told his sultan?" the Captain asked with a wink. "My life is but to serve you, my lady?" He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "How soon can you be here?"

The Professor sighed and shook her head. "I can't get away until at least mid-July," she admitted sadly.

The Captain reached across his desk and pressed a button out of the range of the camera.

"Jacob? See that my aircraft is made ready and have my valet pack a suitable wardrobe for a New England summer."

"At once, your highness." Jacob's voice replied.

The Captain smiled into the camera. "Fear not, fair maiden. Your Prince will come to you!"

The Professor smiled. "I'll be waiting at the airport."

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June 18th, 2007
Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport

“The white zone is for immediate loading and unloading of passengers only. There is no stopping in the red zone.”

The busiest airport in the world was having an average day. By midnight better than 260,000 people would have swollen the population of Atlanta as travelers passed through, changed planes, arrived, or departed. One of the few pieces of security theater that had actually stuck was the restriction of people who did not have a boarding pass from going out to the terminal gates. This meant one couldn't meet one's client or loved one at the gate and shepherd them through one of the most complicated airports in the world. No, they had to navigate that by themselves, because as close as non-ticketholders could get was the main terminal and its check-in counters.

By the escalators that led up from the underground railroad that serviced the various terminal buildings was an area cordoned off with ropes for people to wait and meet their arriving parties, Elaine and Tansy stood; Lanie's face down in her smart phone, the other shifting her attention from the huge arrival board to the escalator every time a new gush of people arriving would come up. "The website says the planes landed!" Lanie complained.

Tansy shrugged and stuck her hands deeper into the pockets of the light and sassy vest she was sporting. "What can I tell you, Lanie?" she asked philosophically. "The board says it's still in transit."

Elaine sighed in exasperation and returned her phone to her purse. "He gets here when he gets here Ah guess," she allowed. "Y'all sure you want to go through with this?"

Walcutt arched an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me?" she asked. "I'm not sure of what I want to take next semester, let alone something as permanent and earth shattering as the rest of my life! That said, considering the," and she cleared her throat nervously. "… dreams … we've been having, and certain experimentation with certain novelties that will remain nameless …" She stopped and squared off to look her friend in the eye. "I don't know if this will be a fling, or friends with benefits, or we end up fighting to have bigamy laws struck down. I know that even if you don't love me, you are my good friend you have my best interest at heart."

"God keep me so," Lanie affirmed, rubbing her friend’s shoulders in encouragement.

"I know I need to figure out who I am," Tansy declared firmly. "That you are willing to help me do that means everything to me. And I will do my damnedest to make it up to you."

"Make what up to you?" Wyatt asked as he sat down his bag. Elaine squealed with delight and wrapped herself around her fiancé, kissing him passionately. Tansy smiled, genuinely happy, possibly for the first time in her life, for her friend, for someone else. The two finally separated and Wyatt smiled at Tansy. "Hey, Tansy, I really appreciate you flying me down here…"

Walcutt smiled as she reached up and collected the big man's head in her hands. "I'm sure you'll appreciate it more presently," she said before she pulled him down and kissed him just as passionately as his fiancée had. When she released him and he stood up, the priceless, confused look on his face was saved for posterity thanks to Elaine's iPhone and its built-in camera.

"Wait… What…?" Wyatt shook his head and crossed his massive arms over his chest. "What exactly are you two up to?" He demanded. The girls looked around making sure that no one was watching or paying attention, and they both casually reached out and grabbed a hold of Mr. Cody by his important brain.

"Have we got an offer for you!" they chorused.

Heh, heh, chuckled the Kodiak in Wyatt's ear. Get yourself a shovel, boy, you're in deep shit…

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June 19th, 2007
The Emerald Tower, HQ of Empire City Guard, New York, New York

Stephen lay in his bed, his hands behind his head, a goofy grin plastered across his face. He had been very pleasantly surprised when Mrs. Carson had informed him and Marty that they had succeeded in their efforts to prove themselves to Mrs. Turner. Part of him had been certain there would be some last-minute catch or excuse as to why they would not receive their prize, but Mrs. Turner had been magnanimous and gracious in her praise of their efforts.

Indeed, it was obvious that Mrs. Turner had taken delight in introducing Marty and him to Daniel 'Magno-Man' Tatum of the Empire City Guard. And in his victory, Stephen had learned several important things - he learned how to win graciously, and through Mrs. Turner's efforts he now knew with certainty how to lose with dignity, and perhaps most important of all, he learned that Elizabeth Carson was a woman of her word.

Mr. Tatum had not taken Marty and him into some kind of glorified internship, nor were they given fluff PR duties. Mr. Tatum had immediately put them into a grueling training regimen of how to work with a superhero group in general and the team tactics of the Empire Guard in specific. They had stood watches in the command center, gone on patrols around town with various members, and today? Today had been the pinnacle of it all.

Today was Stephen's sixteenth birthday.

Today he and Marty had been on patrol with Lioness when they had happened across a robbery in progress. It was a group of uniformed henchmen that Lioness referred to as 'themed thugs' and the up-and-coming villain that employed them. Lioness hadn't made them do crowd control, she hadn't waited for backup or told them to get a rooftop and stay safe; instead she dove right into the thick of it with Mega Girl and Stronghold at her back.

Stephen had been in his first real superhero fight.

He was sore and had bruises to show for it, but the henchmen and their employer were waiting on their trial at Rikers Island. It had easily been the best birthday of his life and he couldn't imagine it getting any better.

At least he couldn't until the door to his room opened.

Stephen looked up, surprised, and stunned into immobility at what he saw. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the hallway lights, one hand on her hip and the other arm leaning up against the door jamb stood Marty Penn. She wore a diaphanous merrywidow, with a matching panty and robe all in a soft pastel that complemented her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion.

It was also completely transparent and put all of young Ms. Penn's charms on full display.

Stephen's boxers instantly became tight and uncomfortable due to certain portions of his anatomy displaying his appreciation of the vision before him. Marty let herself into the room and closed the door behind herself, mincing forward in a suggestive gait that set her hips to swinging. At the same time she allowed the robe to slide off her arms. With a single finger she reached out and pressed against Stephen's forehead, playfully pushing him back down onto the bed.

She kissed him with a searing passion that set his heart to racing and left them both breathless as she pulled up, her face a few inches above his. Then, in a surprisingly dulcet and throaty manner she began to sing. "Happy … Birthday … To … You …"

She leaned down and began leaving a trail of kisses down his neck and chest as, forever in his mind, she put Marilyn Monroe's version of the song she was imitating to shame. "Happy … Birthday … To … You …" Marty arrived at his boxers and effortlessly with her strength removed them from his body. They were ripped to shreds and ruined and he couldn't have cared less.

"Happy … Birthday … Mister … Strong … Hold …"

Marty took a hold of him, gently in her soft hands, and turning, she looked over her shoulder and fixed her gaze on his eyes. She kissed the very tip of him and he lost all capacity for cognitive thought. "Happy … Birthday … To … You …" Then Marty gave him her present and cemented in his mind that this was in fact the best birthday of his life.

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June 30th, 2007
2170 Kellogg Creek Rd, Kennesaw, GA

“Where are we going?” demanded Wyatt in good spirits as he followed Elaine down the stairs. It was a fairly long set, turning twice so far and the air had gotten noticeably cooler. That was a relief for the big Alaskan. They had just returned from the airport and seeing Tansy off on her flight back to school. It was 'only June' she'd said and already the highs were already getting into the 90s, which was bad enough, but the humidity! It felt like you'd need gills not to drown on just the air and made the already bad heat miserable in a close, sweaty personal way.

Of course, she just blithely ignored the heat, and had only smiled cruelly and taunted him once about New England winters and revenge. “Ah told you, wait and see,” she scolded him as the stairway finally opened up into a room. She'd grown up in a big house, a mansion by Wyatt's standards, but she'd scoffed at the notion and taken him in Picket's Revenge by some of the sprawling estates in Victoria Landing just across the bay from her house. “Those are mansions,” she'd told him.

Evidently the properties there started at a half million and went up very, very quickly.

The room at the bottom of the stairs was tall, easily fifteen feet high and lined with odd looking bead boards. It wasn't a basement in the strictest of senses as the walls were lined with shelves and everything seemed to be about storage. It was obsessively clean, with a couple of butcher block tables in the center of the room, and while they kept the upstairs 'room' temperature, that was still warm in Wyatt's books. Down here it was well below sixty degrees and he was liking it. “What's this?” he asked, looking around.

“Root cellar,” she replied. “The house predates refrigeration, and you may have noticed it does get warm in the south.”

“No, really?” he asked, dripping sarcasm.

“Back in mah great grandpappy's day, this was how the food didn't spoil.” He looked around, seeing that the shelves were lined mostly with traditional canned and dry goods now, obviously the family's pantry. On the wall with the stairs, there was a little hatch set into the wood which he opened, revealing a box about three foot square. She came over chuckling. “It's called a dumb waiter. It's a little elevator between here and the kitchen, which is above us.”

“This is what you wanted to show me?” he asked in puzzled voice. She shook her head and reached into the dumb waiter. With one hand she raised it up slightly, with the other she found a hidden catch by touch. There was a click and the wall with the hatch in it swung open making a door way, revealing the shaft down to the floor and up through the ceiling. A counter weight fell and the little car rose up its track. When it reached above head height, it stopped and the floor of the shaft dropped open revealing a black shaft the light couldn't illuminate.

Finally, a spring loaded door in the side of the shaft opened and a fireman's pole came out of the wall and locked into place. “What the hell?” he demanded, startled.

“Wanna find out?” she asked coyly. “Ride the pole.” She paused holding the door open before she added, “Don't fall, it's a long drop.”

He stuck his head into the shaft and looked down into pitch blackness. “What's down there?”

“Ah found this when Ah was fourteen. Ah made a couple of carefully worded, but vague inquiries, but mah Daddy actually doesn't know it's down there. Granddaddy suspected, but after Great Grandpappy went straight, Ah don't think he wanted his boy misusing the place.”

He took hold of the pole and tested it. Despite having moved a moment ago, it was nice and solid now. “This thing will take my weight?” he asked, dubious.

“Not when Ah found it,” she clarified, “but Ah've fixed things up to code so to say. If secret criminal lairs have codes.” He took hold of the pole and slid down into darkness. It was hard to say how far down he went as it was pitch black and that was quite disturbing. Finally his feet landed on a cushion at the bottom. Looking up, he could see she was only a couple of stories above, perhaps thirty feet at most.

She stepped in and pulled the 'wall' shut which plunged them into darkness for a split second as she was descending, and then a single light bulb mounted into a fixture in the wall turned on. She slid down the pole and landed lightly next to him. She walked over to a circuit breaker box and shot him a smile as she threw the main. “Welcome to The Still.”

A series of fluorescent tubes lit up, revealing that Wyatt stood in a substantial cave, carved from the pure granite of the Georgia bedrock. It had been wet at one point, based on the smoothness of the walls, but was well dried now, save for a chill damp that clung to the air. The cave floor had been flattened by a series of wooden decks and metal platforms that were linked by stairs and railings. In one corner was a massive copper kettle and tube contraption that looked like something out of a B movie. A road bed had been laid that ended in a turntable like a railroad might use, and on it was a large, boxy shape concealed by a tarp. The road went off deeper into the cave.

“What is this place?” he asked, walking away from the pole.

“Mah great granddaddy was a bootlegger,” she replied. She pointed to the copper kettle. “But he did a bit of his own when he had a mind. That's his still.” Wyatt wondered over to the platform that held a dozen barrels on their side.

“1924?” he asked, reading the stamp off the closest barrel. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yep, that's a fifty-three gallon barrel of eighty-three year old, single malt Whiskey.”

“My dad is into Scotch, but the oldest I've ever seen him drink was twenty years,” he breathed.

“Well, this isn't Scotch,” she hedged. “Ah had to do a lot of research when Ah found this. As it turns out, 'Scotch' can only be called Scotch if it's from Scotland.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Ok, so what's this? Moonshine? White Lighting?”

She waved her hand back and forth. “Moonshine is usually made from corn, which this, according to Great Grandpappy's notes, isn't. It's made from Rye. So it technically isn't bourbon either which is made from corn and barley. And even though Great Grandpappy was born in a little town in the center of Ireland called Tullamore and probably learned his whiskey making at the local distillery, it could only be called Irish Whiskey if it had been made in Ireland. So, it's a single kettle, yeast fermented, one hundred percent Rye Whiskey. There's only one other label in the world made that way and it's called Alberta Premium and the oldest they offer is a thirty-year old. This is just shy of three times that.”

“Jesus, is it still good?”

She walked over and leaned against the barrel and presented a letter. “Yep,” she told him with a grin. “Ah learned how to tap and sample one, drew off a sample and sent it off to be analyzed.”

Wyatt read the document and boggled when he got to the offer. “He's offering you fifty thousand dollars a barrel?” he demanded. “Good God, even if these barrels are only half full from evaporation, that’s...”

She shook her head. “Look again,” she instructed, drawing her finger down the side of the joint between the slats of the barrel. “Great granddaddy was Irish, and an experimenter. This cave stays a constant fifty three degrees year round with a high relative humidity. The moisture in the air keeps the wood expanded and the joins tight. The rest, he put a bead of wax down every seam. Near as Ah can measure these barrels haven't lost a gallon yet.”

Wyatt blinked. “That's...that's a lot of money...”

“And that's how we'll pay for the stuff we need to trick out your Atlantean League secret headquarters, well, once we spruce the place up a bit.”

He looked around. “Here?”

She nodded. “Ah can build a standing wave teleport gate over there and tie it into Whateley's network. The 'clubhouse' is off campus and secure, well out of Foob or anyone else's eavesdropping range, but also convenient for us to come and go to. Ah'll rope Maggie...” She paused, her throat closing over her voice and pinching off as the emotion rose up within her. Swallowing it down she shook her head as Wyatt tried to offer a conciliatory gesture and pressed on.

"Ah'll rope Kayda into some protection wards and Interface to help me set up the physical and computer security. It will take a lot of work to make this place comfortable, and useable, but Ah figure we have the strength, and once Ayla finishes doing his thing, we'll have the cash.”

Cody turned back to the shapely redhead, a curious expression on his face. “Ayla...? The Goodkind, right? Why her? The guy in your letter...”

“Is low balling to the point of being insulting,” she interrupted smoothly. “Whiskey this old sells for six figures a liter retail. This is way beyond 'top shelf' Name Brand, lover. Granted, we won't have a name brand, but Ayla is handling that. And making it nice and legal all for a mere 10%... and a case of his own. And he moves in the circles of people that drink six-figure single malts, so we get the name we don't have now. Believe me, it's worth it.”

He rubbed the back of his head in amazement. “Good Lord, even wholesale pricing it in liter bottles at half the retail that makes these barrels worth...”

“One hundred and seven million, seven hundred and seventy five thousand dollars,” she finished with a smile. “That's assuming a mere fifty thousand per liter and minus Ayla's commission of course.”

He came over and picked her up by her waist and sat her on the barrel. “Sounds like you've got this all worked out. Funny, I never thought I'd say this, but my Dad was right; smart is sexy.”

“Oh?” she demanded. “What's got you more worked up? That Ah'm sittin' on better than a hundred million in booze, or that your John Henry is snug and cozy up against mah lady bits?”

Wyatt held her to him and kissed her, to have her kiss back, as fierce and with more passion than he was already filled with. She wrapped her arms around his back and her legs around his hips as though she was laying claim to his soul. “Do I have to pick?” he asked breathlessly as he freed his mouth from her searing kiss.

“No,” she panted, her hands coming back from around his back to urge him out of his shirt. “You just have to get naked!”

He swallowed, trying hard to keep ahold of his lust as his mind played over the conversation he had had with her father. A conversation about his daughter, his extensive gun collection, and there 'being more than one body in that lake'. “If your dad catches us...!”

She peeled off her top, causing her full and heavy breasts to flop free of their confinement in front of him, her sizable rosy nipples instantly stiffening from the chill, crying out for his tongue. “What did you expect falling for a white trash redneck like me?” she demanded, her hands down his trousers, fishing for the object of her desire.

He gently caught her face in his hands, but firmly made her look him in the eye. “You are not white trash,” he ordered for however playful his expression, the tone of command was inescapable.

She rolled her eyes and grinned while her hands freed him from his jeans.

“Fine, Ah'm not,” she acquiesced. “But Ah am a redneck woman and you knew the job was dangerous when you took it!”

From the shadows across the space, The Kodiak tried to ignore the two lovers and the feelings that 'leaked' from his host to him through their link. He looked about the space, amazed and pleased with the solid feel of the rock, the safe, secret feel of all of it. It was perfect, and that it was a cave appealed on a primal level. The Kodiak shuddered as the feeling of his host claiming his mate ran up his spine and couldn't help but turn back to look at them for a moment. They made love with the invulnerability of youth and the certainty they would live forever.

For all his sullen cynicism, seeing the young man he inhabited finally learn the difference between love and lust was gratifying. The Kodiak was grateful, that even with him having overplayed his hand on the she-bear, she had come back to Wyatt. He turned his attention to the house above them and subtly made sure no one would notice the two were missing. Not mind control in the strictest of senses, that would violate his oath, just a failure to notice and associate the time passing and the lack of Cody and Elaine. It was, he was sure, an ironic sidestep of the 'rule' of the oath even she would appreciate.

Still, she was becoming reckless, trying so hard to emulate the false personae the teacher had made for her. That wouldn't do. Invisibly, the Kodiak wandered over to the pair, so enamored of each other that they would have failed to notice him even had he been projecting himself completely into the real world. It's for your own good, he told himself as he hooked a claw into her aura and, right as their passions claimed them both he tugged at it imposing a simple new pattern on the matrix.

She was lost in the throes of her pleasure and so didn't notice the extra little chill that ran up her spine as his spell took effect.

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Epilogue

July 15th, 2007
Master Dojo, Laird Hall Annex, Whateley Academy

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Tansy, dressed in a gi, sat in the center of the training circle, her legs crossed in the lotus position, the backs of her hands resting on her knees, thumb touching middle finger, and her eyes closed in the classic Zen meditation pose. Her breath was even and controlled and there was a calmness throughout her center that have never been there before.

She had applied herself with a diligence that was amazing. In fifteen short days she had gone from basic form review into advanced moves and throws, absorbing the knowledge and its attendant muscle memory like a sponge dropped in a bucket of water. Twenty minutes previously Sensei Ito had brought in six of the Whateley security guards, all combat veterans, all dangerous men in their own right, and all used to working together.

Tansy had beaten them.

Not merely bested them, not squeaking by or pulling victory from the jaws of defeat; she had danced among them, flowing from combatant to combatant with a grace and precision that was eerily unnatural. She had taken advantage of being alone and had instinctively used their numbers against them, causing them to trip and get into each other's way, making their superior numbers a liability instead of an asset. In short, she had humiliated them.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Ito asked again. "You are shaping a devastating weapon here, and devastating weapons have a terrible habit of falling into the wrong hands and being misused."

"The swordsmith shapes the katana," Amelia Hartford told the glass of the window she was studying her pupil through. Finally she looked down at the diminutive martial arts instructor standing next to her. "But the katana is merely a tool, the samurai is the weapon. Do you doubt Miss Walcutt's sincerity? Or is it her past that bothers you?"

"We all have pasts we regret," Ito replied softly, his mind long ago and far away. His dark eyes looked up from the same admiring gaze he had been giving his pupil into the Assistant headmistress's eyes. "There are times I regret sponsoring you to The Syndicate. Your initial mistakes are still something of a legend. Were it not for the conscience of Liz Carson you would be in a jail cell now."

The smile on Amelia Hartford's face was predatory. "There is not a prison on this planet capable of holding me, but that is neither here nor there. I have learned from you, I have learned from Liz, and now I take what I have learned from both of you and I forge this. Humanity must evolve; that's why we formed The Committee."

Ito snorted and turned back to the window to gaze at the meditating student. "The evolution of humanity is not what we are making here. And we both know it. I can forge your katana, I can make Miss Walcutt as deadly as her namesake. But whatever it is that brought about this change in her attention span and scholastic endeavor, she is now the most diligent student I've ever known. The question remains, are you sure you want to go through with this? Because no matter which samurai you have in mind for her, katanas can be stolen."

Hartford returned her gaze to the meditating student as well and smiled to herself. "You worry about your miracle sensei, I'll worry about mine." She turned away and gathered up her coat and briefcase from the chair they had been laying on. The diminutive sensei watched her, his eyes intense and questioning. "If you need me, I'll be in Wallachia until Faculty Report Day. You have my contact information there." She paused by the door, feeling her old teachers eyes on her. Smiling she turned and said, "Yes, I am sure I want to go through with this. And when we are done we will have created something that will make the entire world S.M.I.2L.E."

* Finis *

The Countess of Corsica

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

Novel > 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Countess of Corsica

A Tale of the Second World

E. E. Nalley

Who do I want to be tonight?

One of the great joys of being a Full Upload to the NetVerse is the complete body freedom in my avatar. Oh, sure, anybody using a full sense headset got close to feeling everything I could, but when you still have a meat body and you don't actually have the bits you're getting input for, it creates a kind of disassociation feed back. It's not actually pain, but it's not pleasant either.

Not a problem for me, I haven't had a meat body for a while.

Sure, the philosophically minded argue back and forth about whether or not I actually am the 'me' I remember from my meat days, or if I'm just a set of algorithms with a delusion and someone else's memories. Maybe I had 'died' when they uploaded me, but it didn't really matter to me. I had my memories, I was still thinking, still aware and now I didn't have the feeling something in my guts eating me alive from the cancer.

For about a month I'd been on a testosterone binge; six four, hung like a horse and able to bench press a Volkswagen. Of course that raises the interesting question of can a digital body experience testosterone? Close enough for government work, I suppose. Did you know, when nobody actually dies, war is pretty fun? I'd done the circuit of the various war worlds; Operation Overlord, The 'Nam, GWOT. Each had their own charm, I suppose and there is just something about machine guns that will put a grin on your face. Don't take my word for it, go rent one and if you're not giggling like a school girl after that first run dry, come say you told me so.

But, the blood and guts does get a bit old after a while. There's not much pathos to it if you know your buddy will just respawn in a bit to get back into the thick of it.

Now, I felt like being a bit more social on the old Social Media. I lumbered into the Appearance Server, paid the fee for a full body remake and stepped through the portal into what appeared to be a very ordinary shower stall. The hot water felt amazing and I just kept moving so it hit me from all sides and the body I'd worn for a month was slowly washed off of me.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I could still feel. I could touch and see and hear and smell, there just wasn't anything but the shower to see. I could feel a body I couldn't actually see, if that makes sense. I was just potential, as they say; nothing on the cusp of being something, or some one. If you ask me, the NetVerse is the single greatest accomplishment of mankind because it gives us all true equality. You can literally be anything, anyone you want. It's a paradise to the actor inside me being able to trade all these roles and truly walk miles in other people's shoes.

From the shower, the server became a bit more esoteric, not showing me a room, but it was rather like being in the center of a tornado of thought. Perhaps this dizzying cavalcade of images and memories was the true, digital me, honestly I don't know. As I turned this mind's eye of the storm inwards I began to fantasize slowly imagining who I wanted to be. I'd had enough of manhood for a bit as I felt my perception of the world shift to the distaff. I thought about blonde bombshells and flame haired fire brands, but my desire for change took me down a different road and this pillar of self was wrapped in olive skin as began to imagine being a femme fatale.In response to the olive skin, hair as black as a raven's wing flowed from my scalp to fall around my shoulders like the curtain of night. Amber eyes rose like the moon over a perfectly straight Roman nose crowning full lips on a face that was the human melting pot of southern Europe. Italian? Spanish?

CorsicaI thought to myself, smiling at the dash of mystery. The dusky skin shaped a long, leonine body with enough bust and caboose to give curves to a slinky silk dress and legs that would make a sculptor weep. Suddenly the tornado passed and this new me was stepping, nude into the Changing Room. I looked my new face in the eye by way of a three paneled mirror and was very pleased indeed. The woman in the mirror pulled her face into a pleased, toying expression of an experienced bad girl, about to wreak an epic night on the town.

“Perfect,” I declared, immediately loving the dulcet soprano with just a hint of an unplaceable European accent. I arched an eyebrow which give the dark thatch below my naval a neat, tidy trim then it was time dress this masterpiece. From a vanity drawer I selected a pair of black silk stockings and pulled them on, careful to keep the seams straight.

Even for a bad girl, it's important to be a lady.

I decided to be old school and chose the hold the stockings with a pair of thigh garters, each with a discretely holstered little nickle plated pistol just in case the wrong type of bad boy needed some encouragement to move along. A glance into the vanity gave my lips a coat of intense red lipstick and just enough around the eyes that my eyes could be intense or wicked however I liked and that brought a smile to my face. I stepped into a pair of mirror shined ankle strapped heels and then into a black silk strapless dress with a slit up to my left hip and drawn into a bow on the right so the silk perfectly clung to my skin. Matching Opera gloves over my elbows completed the look and a white mink stole gave the perfect contrast as well as the ability to be as modest or shameless as I liked.

“Let's go play,” I told my reflection and strolled out of the Changing Room, ready for culture, intrigue and sophistication. I wouldn't get much culture or sophistication, and much more intrigue than I bargained for, but I'm getting ahead of myself. From the Changing Room, I exited to one of my favorite Lairs. This one was on the virtual cliffs of Monte Carlo over looking the Ligurian Sea as the Sun was beginning to set beyond the Pillars of Hercules.

For reasons I couldn't tell you, I tended to reserve this Lair for my adventures in feminism as there was something about it that spoke to my female side. It was a classic sixties Mod Jet Set Swingers Pad, sweeping dramatic white curved architecture completely at odds with the cliff side it was perched on and yet also exactly a part of it. It was balconies and floor to ceiling windows where you went to the casinos to play Baccarat and be hit on by British spies who introduce themselves last name first.

I strolled out onto the balcony to smell the sea in the air and marveled again at how real something like this was. There were larks giving their last songs of the day before the nightingales came out to serenade the stars. You actually cansmell the sea on the air and feel the cool of the breeze off it, even the feeling of my nipples stiffening under the silk.

This was a new form for me, so I pressed the button to call the Lair's Seneschal as I debated with myself whether I would affect a cigarette holder, or not. I decided I'd rather not deal with the smell as willowy, dour faced man came out onto the balcony.

He was balding, with a ring of oiled black hair that was trimmed short, though he sported a pencil thin mustache which I thought quite jocular for him. “Yes, madam?” he drawled in a perfect Received Pronunciation accent. He was carrying a tray with a champagne flute that was sparkling nicely.

I smiled at him as I took the flute. “It's good to see you again, Thaddeus.” He gave a shallow bow.

“It's always a pleasure to have you back with us, madam. How may I be of service?”

“I'll be going out for the evening,” I told him. “I'll need my clutch and the appropriate documents.”

“Certainly,” the Bot replied. “Who are we this evening, madam?”

I thought for a long moment, looking out at the sea. “Marion,” I decided. “Marion St. Clair du Bois.” My head of household bowed again.

“Shall I warm up the Jaguar?”

“What would I do without you, Thaddeus?”

“I'm certain I don't know, madam.” I smiled at his retreating back and indulged in a sip of Brother Pérignon's finest. There is something about Monte Carlo that demands champagne. There are plenty of servers through out the NetVerse where it's all glitz and neon, but I have to tip the hat I wasn't wearing to the EU and their excessive rule making about the representation of any real place in Europe being completely faithful to it's so called real world appearance.

The sparkling wine flowed over my tongue and yet again I let nights like this trick me into believing I was 'alive'. I closed my eyes and breathed in the sea air and committed myself to being who I appeared to be, a young, obviously rich, possibly noble woman who could afford this Lair in a perfect Monte Carlo. I finished my champagne and left the flute on the balcony table, then let my hips remember how a woman in heels walks easing into a gate that set my rear to swaying as I strode through the house to the garage.

There I found my Bot waiting with a clutch purse of black leather, the door rolled up to the night and an absolutely perfect1965 Jaguar XKE coupe idling in a rich, British Racing Green. “Shall I hold dinner, madam?” he asked as he handed me the purse that doubtlessly now had a drivers license, passport and rainbow of credit cards in it, all made out Marion St Clair du Bois.

“No, don't bother, Thaddeus,” I told him. “I'll probably get a bite at the casino. Don't wait up.”

“I'll be here if I'm needed, madam.” He arched an eyebrow at me as if he knew exactly what kinds of adventures a Jet Set Bad Girl got into. “Shall I anticipate a guest for breakfast?”

I grinned at him. “Who knows?” I replied as I relished the feeling of silk sliding over English leather as I got into the Jag. “The night is young.”

He smirked, then his face was carefully neutral again. “Safe travels, madam.”

* * *

Have you ever driven a real drivers car through the Monaco hills in the south of France? No? Well, technically, neither have I. Still, heels and gloves or not, the so called 'real' thing couldn't be better than this drive. The growl of a temperamental four point two liter straight six, an almost delicate hand polished wood steering wheel and a dash board that looked like the instrument cluster of an air plane. I was grinning as that beautiful, bulbous work of art with nary a straight line on it, slung itself into the first mountain curve as if it's wheels were attached to the asphalt.

Religious, I'd call it.

Well, either way I highly recommend it. After an exhilarating tour through hills of Monaco, I turned the nose of my Jag towards the gambling destination of this tiny little nation; Le Casino Monte Carlo. Despite the old world architecture, Le Casino had leaned hard into their association with a certain British Espionage agent. There was a very post modern glass and steel hotel attached to the Belle Époque historic building, though, fortunately the casino's dress code was vigorously enforced which kept things far more upscale than anything on the strip in Las Vegas. Tuxedos were the order of the evening for the gentlemen and the entire rainbow of evening and cocktail attire for the ladies.

As the Jag came to a stop at the main entrance, the door was opened for me by the valet and even a hand presented to assist my graceful exit and cement the fantastic of the evening. I tucked my claim into the clutch and strolled up a magnificent red carpet onto a gaming floor littered with classic card and dice games, with the vulgarity and noise of the slot machines for the hoi polloi kept in a separate room, far from this area so as to not ruin the fantasy.

I strolled over to the cashier cages, while being undressed with the eyes of the young man behind it. I took out a card along with my passport and slid them through the opening in the fine brass work cage. I suppose it gave an exotic location even a bit more of the fantastic that a pass port was required for entry to the gaming floor while games were in play. “Ten thousand,” I told him and took the time to take in the tables and settle on a poker table I would start the evening with. I collected up my passport, card and chips and strolled into the floor.

It was time to earn my keep.

Oh, you thought all this digital luxury was free? That's sweet. No, even in digital paradise, the lights have to be kept on. Or, in my case, the server and my maintenance fees. Damn entropy. So when my life insurance started getting low, I realized that, no matter what I might remember being, a big part of what I was now was a computer. Counting is what computers do best and counting cards is the way to win at gambling.

Now, such a thing is a non-starter in Vegas, because the House is a de facto player and Banker in the games they run. That's why the House always wins; it's not a game, it's a prettied up scam. European gambling, however, the House is a facilitator and guarantor. They hold the real cash, run the games and what they are selling is ambiance and the bar and food concession. You don't take the House, the House isn't playing; all the money being won or lost belonged to you and your fellow players. Monte Carlo could care less about card counters, it's not theirproblem.

The table I'd picked had three players who were using neural electrodes to experience the NetVerse. They were always easy to spot, just the unreal way they carried themselves, the slight delay in their movements and, the easiest tell tale, they stoodat the table, instead of sitting down.

The Banker was in the process of finishing the shuffle of his deck to start a fresh hand as I slid into the seat at the table, at the end near the three meat players. They all immediately turned to me, or, rather the decolletage I put on display as I let the stole settle around my elbows and made a point of staring each of them in the face. “Not to worry boys,” I told them with a feral smile. “I don't bite.”

Two stiffened immediately, obviously embarrassed and turned back to the table, but the third, across the table from me actually smiled. Excellent, he had a more advanced neural connection helmet and likely didn't realize his tells would be broadcast. “Quelles sont les limites des tables?” I asked the dealer.

“Cent ante et limite de deux mille, Mademoiselle.”

I placed two one thousand chips on the table. “Changement, s'il te plait.” The chips were quickly converted and I made a neat little pile in front of me, leaving a single hundred on the betting line. “Merci.”

The Banker placed the dealer token before my chosen mark and held the deck in his hand. “ Placez vos paris.”

I watched him as the Banker dealt, to observe what tells I could. The two other digital players took their cards and looked like robots; obviously they'd biased their avatars to be expressionless. Doubtlessly for what they were doing now. A quick look sent both of their cards back to the Banker without ante. Now it was my turn and I received a nine from the Dealer with the Ace of hearts. A difficult hand, but with two players out already, it seemed I might make something of my mixed luck. “Paris,” I informed the banker, laying a hundred chip into the pot. The one next to me was reckless type, who made the silly kind of mistakes that are the ear marks of a trust fund brat gambling Mommy and Daddy's wealth. He laid the ante before looking at his cards.

The middle of the two was conservative, possibly another card counter, resulting in a careful glance at his cards before he tapped to remain in. My victim let a smile spread across the kind of rock jawed face men tend to associate with sophisticated ladies men, and his eyebrows ascended his forehead. “Raise,” he declared confidently. “Three hundred.”

“Appel,” I informed the banker, adding my three hundred chips.

“A bold move,” my mark declared. “I admire your courage, Miss...?”

“Marion St Clair du Bois,” I told him with my own smile, rolling a chip back and forth between my finger and thumb at heart level. “I admire your attempt to stall for tells disguised as a compliment, Mr...?”

The smile deepened a bit. “Nathan Marks, at your service,” he declared with a little bow. Even the reckless player declined to continue as he and the other counter returned their cards to the Banker. He drew out three cards and flipped them over.

“As de pique, as de carreau et neuf de pique,” the Banker announced, turning my dog hand into a full house. I took up a thousand chip and placed it deliberately into the pot. His eyebrows rose as I continued to smile at him.

“Well, Mister Marks, are you going to see my raise? Or, am I too bold for you?”

He took a thousand chip from his pile and placed on the table. “With such a reward, how could I refuse such a challenge?” The Banker dealt the eight of clubs on the turn.

“Huit de club,” he declared, but I kept my eyes on Nathan.

I took another thousand chip and added it to the pile. “How indeed?” I asked.

His grin didn't waiver. “Still, a wise man considers a challenge carefully,” he said, handing his cards to the Banker. “You seem to be out to get me, Miss du Bois.” I did the same and the chips were pushed my way. The night was off to a fine start.

“The night is young,” I told him. “For now, let us play cards. Oui? ”

“ Très bien.”

I arched my own eyebrow. “Tu parles français?”

“Un peu,” he replied ambiguously. Yes, the night was definitely looking up.

* * *

Over the course of the next three hours, I managed to turn my initial stake of ten thousand into a bit shy of a hundred thousand through judicious play, though my intention of fleecing Mr Nathan Marks was largely frustrated. Whatever his other faults, he was a skilled poker player. While there were several dozen players that came and went that contributed to my continued digital existence, my pile falling short of a hundred thousand was due to my mark turning the tables on me.

Still, one of the tenants of a professional is recognizing when they are distracted and cutting losses early. It seemed Mister Marks had gotten more into my my mind than I had into his. It was time for a break. I summoned one of the liveried Hosts over with a tray to collect up my chips. “Encaissement, s'il vous plaît,” I told him and at once he produced a chip tray and began to load my winnings as I stood and got my stole comfortable across my shoulders.

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

Nathan was obvious in his distress, one of his few tells I'd manged to discover. “You're not leaving us, are you?”

I refused to have my cage rattled, so I smiled at him. “I'm afraid you'll have to pluck these birds without me as your good luck charm, Mister Marks.”

He stood and gave a gesture at his chips that brought over another host. “Oh, now I am embarrassed for taking advantage of a beautiful lady. Allow me to offer some amends, Miss du Bois. Won't you join me for dinner?”

“And how would that be accomplished?” I asked him. “While this is my reality, you are only a guest and there are many pleasures of it your status will not allow you to take part in.”

His host handed the tray to mine who stacked them and followed us as he deftly took my elbow and began to walk towards the cages. “You make a tempting offer,” he told me. “I shouldn't be surprised you can tell the difference, but I must admit you impress me. Still, I can at least enjoy your company while you enjoy some of the hotels fine dining, can I not?”

“You make a tempting offer yourself,” I complimented him. I turned to the cashier and presented my card and passport taking a hundred chip from the tray for the Host. “Dépôt sur le compte CréditSuisse, s'il vous plaît.”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

He leaned against the counter in a very suave manner that suggested perhaps he was becoming accustomed to the interface and was quickly learning how to be subtle with it. “Is that a yes?” he asked.

“And what would that accomplish, Mister Marks?” I asked him as I gave the chip to the Host who grinned and bowed. “Other than give me a reputation as a tease?”

“Voici votre carte, Mademoiselle,” the cashier interrupted, offering me my card, passport and its receipt. I gave it a quick glance to be sure of it, then returned them to my clutch.

“Your reputation is safe with me,” he assured me. “Besides, I have a proposal I'm sure you'll want to hear.”

“I barely know you, Mister Marks,” I protested. “It's far too early for proposals.”

“Now you are teasing me,” he laughed and offered his elbow. “Hear me out, I'm sure you'll be interested.”

“I cannot promise interest,” I told him, making a decision and taking his elbow. “But I will admit to being intrigued.”

“That will do,” he acquiesced and led the way through the hotel toward what many consider the hotel's finest restaurant, Le Train Bleu.

The restaurant takes it's name from the famous express train that for the better part of a century ran between Calais and Nice. Before the advent of the air plane those of status, who would be referred to now as 'Jet Set', did their travel by train, and when they were returning to the continent from whatever travel abroad and were going to the French Riviera, the luxurious Blue Train was what they rode. For context, at least one of the dining establishments on the Titanicwas styled from this train.

It was the height of luxury and first class accommodation in it's day and this restaurant took it's cues in all the best ways from that train. The tables were intimate, tucked into little nooks and alcoves so that everything seemed private and exclusive, as though only you, your table mates and the waiter taking care of you were in the restaurant.

We were seated by a Maitre 'd in a cut away coat who then personally introduced our waiter, Jacques, and the restaurants' sommelier,Claude, who started us with a flute of Dom Pérignon, then waited patiently for me to order so he could offer an appropriate selection.

Now, I suppose I should spend a moment on eating and the NetVerse. Did I have to eat? No. But there are many things that are hard wired into the human consciousnesses. Eating, like sleeping, was one of them. So, I didn't need to eat, but after a prolonged period of not eating, I do get the sensation of being hungry, and it was a very enjoyable pass time. Taste, I found, was the sense that the programmers somehow got the most right

Jacques' description of Chef Rubbini's Zucchini Risotto with grated bottarga sounded lovely, certainly a colossal step up from the combat rations I'd been eating for the last month. Claude's pairing of a bottle of rose Laurent Perrier seemed appropriate as well so I took a sip of my champagne after both men left to take in my table mate. He took a sip himself and shook his head. “Clearly something is lost in translation,” he lamented. “There's a sensation of taste and cold, but it's like...tasting a smell, to me.”

“Aptly put,” I complimented him as I let the bubbles dance on my virtual tongue.

He put the flute down and leaned forward. “I hope your experience lives up to the sales brochures.”

“Compared to my previous situation?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “Paradise, Mister Marks. Are you considering Upload?”

“Me? No,” he replied quickly. “I'm not convinced that going to sleep here in the real world guarantees waking up in yours.”

“Such esoteric debates I find are best left to the professionals,” I scolded him. “Whether I actually am who I remember being or not is of little consequence to me.” A soft pop of a wine bottle being opened announced the return of Claude with my bottle of Laurent Perrier. He expertly poured a glass, settled the bottle into an ice bucket and withdrew. “What you find a convincing illusion is my reality. Whatever the metaphysical truth of my being.”

He looked at me sidelong. “And yet you still eat...?”

“You'll find there are a great many pleasant pass times in the NetVerse, Mister Marks,” I told him with a smirk. “My experience of the meal I'm about to enjoy will not be abrogated by someone being careless with the salt, the bad day of the Chef, thoughtless married couples who bring infants to inappropriate venues or any other pitfall of the so-called 'real world'. It will be worth every Euro you are going to be charged for it. It will taste, smell and even chew in a manner that is completely in line with my memories and expectations. Except I won't suffer indigestion, or worry for what a little indulgence will do to my figure or my arteries.”

“You would make an exemplary sales woman for the NetVerse,” he chided me.

“Nonsense,” I shot back. “Merely a satisfied customer. But I'm certain you didn't come here for my opinion on my situation. You must know a great deal about me to so expertly insert yourself into the table I chose, you've tailored your avatar to how I prefer my men, so I can only conclude you've been monitoring me for some time.”

He chuckled and the avatar even blushed so I was certain his helmet interface was the best money could buy. “I must say, this is quite a change from your previous month's activities. If I had not had this evening to interact with you, I would never have believed the hardened warrior I watched for a month would ever feel at ease like...well, you.” he admitted with a vague gesture at me.

I took a sip of Claude's suggestion and I had to give him credit, he knew his vintage. “The joys of bisexuality,” I told him, refusing to be intimidating that he knew about my enjoyment of walking down both sides of the gender street.

“I also am aware that gambling is not a hobby for you,” he continued in a manner I could only describe as cagey.

“Everyone has bills to pay, Mister Marks,” I assured him as I sat back in the chair to allow Jacques to place my Risotto before me. “If I have a gift at cards, well, I can't think of a nicer working environment than Le Casino Monte Carlo,can you?”

“Nicer?” He shook his head. “Certainly not, nor can my offer top any of this decor, but it does have meaning, which this pleasant permanent vacation you're on might lack.”

My eyes narrowed. “Now you're beginning to sound like a recruiter, Mister Marks. That's a bill of goods I was sold before, you'll find I'm both older and wiser now.”

He actually took another sip of the champagne and his face pantomimed as if he was trying to savor the vintage in every part of his mouth. He sighed and shook his head. “Oh, I'm not peddling patriotism, have no fear. Merely the chance for you to defend your situation.”

“From what?”

“People who, well, let's say that they don't have your best interests at heart.”

I set my fork back on my plate so as not to ruin my meal. “And you do?”

He shrugged expressively. “Our interests intersect so in helping you, I'm helping myself.” I took a bite of the Risotto and chewed thoughtfully as I enjoyed the explosion of flavor in my mouth.

Finally, I swallowed and decided it was perhaps time to be direct with Mister Nathan Marks, if that was his name any more than Marion St. Clair du Bois was mine. “You'll have to forgive me, I begin to find this circular conversation tiresome. If you have something to propose to me, speak plainly Mister Marks.”

His eyes locked with mine and suddenly I saw it. I'm not sure how I missed it before, perhaps I had dismissively judged him as just another mark in 'trodes. But you never forget the way a killers eyes look when you've seen it. There's something about the directness, the unblinking, piercing nature of it. Whoever he was really, Nathan Marks was a killer, the dangerous kind who did it not from patriotism or duty, but because he enjoyed it. “Yes, perhaps it is time to be frank,” he agreed and even though his tone of voice was the same, I felt the change the conversation had undergone. “I...represent... an organization of forward thinking people. People who understand the world is larger than nations and governments.”

“What would such people want with me?”

“You represent a rare talent, Miss du Bois. It's easy to train a killer. The methods are well documented, proven over the press of years with traditions that are tried and true. But soldiers are blunt instruments. They have their uses, but subtly is not a tool in their tool box. I've watched you over the previous month. You have the requisite skills, yet you are just as comfortable in this realm,” he declared, giving a gesture to take in the entire Le Casino Monte Carlo.

“Casinos?” I drawled, inexplicably giving in to a desire to see if I could pierce his calm.

His smile was cold. “I have dozens of killers at my beck and call, Miss du Bois. Not one of them, even the females, could don your current attire, or finesse a hundred thousand Euros out of the fourth tier nobility and first generation wealthy in this Euro Disney approximation of old world sophistication and do it all while fitting in perfectly among them.”

“I wouldn't want to disappoint my mother by forgetting my manners.”

“Your manners are what I'm counting on,” he replied. “Someone very important to my organization has been kidnapped.”

“I fail to see how such a thing is my concern.”

He held up a finger. “Allow me a moment to explain. This person was kidnapped, and Uploaded. Somewhere in this electronic other world he is being kept by...well, what they call themselves isn't important. I'm certain you already consider me something of a Black Guard. These people make me look like a saint in comparison. And their plan is to cause massive death, world wide.” He let a dramatic pause fall. “Death on an industrial scale.”

“I'm afraid Death has already tapped me on the shoulder.”

He actually chuckled as he shook his head. “Oh their lives won't end. They intend to use this event to scare people, perhaps as much as half of the Earth's population, here. In the NetVerse. All the benefits of Wage Slaves laboring virtually, making them even more disgustingly rich than they already are. But without them having to actually deal with them. Imagine the load that will put on these servers. Imagine your reality flooded with five or six billion people.” He took a final sip of his champagne and gestured out into the restaurant. “I imagine you may not find venues like this quite so exclusive.”

“What are you offering instead?” I asked, already frantically trying to figure a way out of the trap I was beginning to feel closing around me.

“I will provide you with a team who will assist you, both here, and in the Real World. You will locate and extract my missing person and, when their digital avatar is safe, my organization will expose this threat, saving your reality and mine. And, in consideration of your services, we will purchase the Nobility Tier for your account. Your gambling can be a hobby, safe in the knowledge your account is perpetual and Paid In Full.” He stood, placing a thousand Euro chip on the table. “I don't expect your answer tonight.”

From a breast pocket he produced a business card. “Call me when you decide, Countess.” He smirked as I looked up at him, then bowed and withdrew, striding towards the exit.

Jacques hovered by the wall, a concerned look on his face. “Tout va bien, mademoiselle?”

“Oui,”I replied, and even I knew I was lying. “ Vérifiez, s'il vous plaît.”

* * *

The ride home in the XKE wasn't nearly as enjoyable as the ride to the Casino earlier had been. The car and the road hadn't changed, but my mood certainly had. This was nothing like the evening I'd intended; a few hours work at the gaming tables to cement my existence for the remainder of the year, seduction of some tuxedo clad stud to end the evening with some enthusiastic horizontal dancing.

I'd been fucked, all right, but nothing like the way I'd wanted.

My thoughts were almost as twisting as the road I drove back to my Lair. Who was this Nathan Marks? What was this shadowy organization he was a part of? And how the hell did he find out so much about me? More importantly, how was I going to get out from under his thumb? The more I thought about my problems, the more circular my thinking got.

The asphalt changed to the laid bricks of the driveway of my lair, giving me a change in vibration to end my mental gymnastics. I wasn't going to accomplish anything in a panic. This called for a clear head. I turned the Jag nose out, then backed it into the garage, only to find Thaddeus waiting for me. Always a perfect gentleman's gentleman, he gave me a hand out of the somewhat low slung Jaguar. “Welcome home, madam. You have a gentleman caller awaiting you in the Main Room.”

I frowned. “I'm not expecting anyone, Thaddeus.”

“That was my understanding as well, madam. Though, perhaps you may want to entertain this particular guest.”

My gloved hand fell to the slit of the dress on my thigh to the garter and its pistol. “Thaddeus?”

The Seneschal was, as always, unflappable. “Not quiteso directly, madam. I believe you'll find his explanation of use in your present predicament.” I frowned at him, but never the less, let him take my stole and walked through the Lair to it's main room. As I swept into it, a lanky youth, probably not much older than twenty stood from the sofa and it's view of the balcony.

He was of African descent, with a long, narrow face dominated by a fleshy nose and big, surprisingly honest eyes. He obviously wasn't finished growing, but the promise of the man he would become was already appearant. He was wearing jeans, a T shirt and sneakers he doubtlessly paid too much money for. When he saw me, his eyes widened and he kind of jerked as if he wasn't sure if he should bow or offer to shake hands. “I...wow...I mean...um...hello.”

From behind me, Thaddeus dryly stated, “May I introduce Master Kenneth Gorton?”

His eyes snapped to my Senechal, obviously upset. “KennyG!” he snapped. “I told you, KennyG!”

Thaddeus rolled his eyes. “I beg your pardon. Master 'KennyG'” he continued, his dissapproval palpable, “I have the honor to introduce Madam Marion St. Clair du Bois, your hostess.” I presented my gloved hand, which he tried to shake for a split second, then decided to try and be suave and kissed it instead.

“Honored. I'm really honored, Miss St Clair du Bois.”

Despite myself and my situation, I smiled at him, genuinely charmed by his unease. “Are you always so articulate, Master G?”

He rubbed his palms on his jeans. “I don't meet royalty every day,” he told me earnestly. “Uh, I'm sorry, Countess, is that 'your highness'?”

I raised an eyebrow that he happened to use the same rank Mister Marks had promised. “My lady,” I informed him. “Do I take it you are in the service of Mister Marks?”

“If by that you mean, he's got my back to a wall, yes, ma'am.” My eyes went to Thaddeus' and I nodded my concession of his point.

“Let me trouble you for coffee, Thaddeus,” I ordered and gestured for the youth to sit on the couch while I settled into the chair next to it.

“Certainly, madam,” Thaddeus replied on his exit, doubtlessly by way of my wardrobe to put away my stole. I crossed my legs, careful not to allow the dress to shock the boy with too much leg to his view.

“So, Master G, perhaps you could kindly explain your association with Mister Nathan Marks?”

He looked around uneasily and rubbed his head, seemingly being careful of something I couldn't see. “Sorry, I've never actually come into the NetVerse before, this is incredible.”

Based on where he was touching himself, I guessed what he was fiddling with. “You have a direct neural connection, Master G?”

“Yeah, uh, yes. Yes, ma'am. My lady.” I chuckled and shook my head.

“No need to stand on formality, Master G. Miss du Bois is sufficient.”

“Oh, just call me Kenny,” he blurted out. “Look, ma'am, uh, my lady, I'm just a computer tech, I don't mean to get involved with you or your organization or whatever...”

I held up a gloved finger. “Just a moment. Do you work for Mister Marks?” He shook his head, then stopped himself, shrugged and waved his hand in fifty fifty gesture. “Ah, you're as much a victim in this as I am. Please, young man, explain to me your involvement in this business.”

Thaddeus rolled in a cart with a coffee service on it and began to pour cups. He handed me mine and I didn't have to taste it to know he had it exactly correct. Kenneth accepted his cup and was so out of sorts over his situation that his cup rattled slightly. “Um, about six hours ago. This guy, real Men In Black type, you know? He shows up at my crib and jacks me up against the wall, like, what's up?”

I arched an eyebrow. “This man picked you at random, Kenneth?”

He reflexively became sheepish. “Oh, well, it was probably due to me having a little look around his network, totally by accident, you understand!”

“You accidentally hacked into his network?” I drawled around a sip of Thaddeus' excellent coffee. Without thinking, he took a sip as well and started in surprise.

“I can taste that!” he exclaimed. “It's even hot!”

“Welcome to the NetVerse.”

He held the cup up to Thaddeus in salute. “My man, this is the...um...it's great. Really good.” He took another sip to silence himself then sighed. Looking back at me, he became more serious. “Yeah, on hind sight, probably not the best place to be curious, but...” he shrugged expressively. “He, or whoever he works for must have some real talent to back track me that fast. Anyway, this guy got hands on me, and he is a stone cold fuc...um, well. He tells me I work for him now and unless I give him 110% my momma's not even gonna get to bury me. So, naturally, I'm like, yo, I'm down dog, you don't gotta come so hard, and he tells me I answer to the Countess, I presume that's you, and he'll be in touch.”

“I see. And how did you find me?”

“He dropped this folder on you when he left. Said I'd be able to find you, so, here I am.”

I appraised him over my coffee cup as I took another sip. “I should very much like to see this folder,” I told him. He nodded, setting his cup down on the coffee table, then reached over to a duffel bag on the couch beside him. Thaddeus stiffened for a moment, but when a plain manila folder came out of the duffel, his hand left the inside of his cut away coat with only me the wiser.

“I thought you would, so I scanned everything.”

“Clever boy,” I complimented as I put my own cup down and accepted the file. On top was the notation of the Virtual property from Zillow. Interestingly, it seemed my Lair's value was substantially up from when I'd purchased it. Some good news with all the bad. There were also photographs of my Lair taken from a drone, but no pictures of me, which was reassuring. More to the point, nothing of who I had been or been doing the previous month. I closed the folder and handed it Thaddeus. “Tell me, Kenneth, what do you know about Mister Marks and his organization?”

He shrugged again and made a self conscious dismissive gesture. “I was researching Secret Societies for a report for my psychology class. You know, how people want to believe there's always a bad guy behind everything, right?”

“You're in college?”

“Reedley College, in the Valley,” he admitted. “Required course. I went digging and most of it seems to be just junk; the same he said, she said, they said, without anybody stepping up and saying 'I was a member' or anything. I mean, who can really take seriously this group of old guys who wear stupid hats and ride go carts in parades really rule the world?” He sighed and suppressed a shudder. “That's not these guys, my lady. They call themselves the Society of the Elect. Evidently, they grew out of this other group, the Round Table. Kind of a bring back the British Empire kind of thing from the twentieth century. Evidently these guys, the Society, they aren't satisfied with just the British Empire. They want to create an Empire of every English speaking people in the world.”

“Mon Dieu,” I whispered.

“Sorry?” he asked. I gave him a reassuring smile.

“Oh, it's nothing, forgive my interruption. Please, continue.”

He nodded and licked his lips. “So, anyway, in researching them, I started snooping, just seeing what I could find and I found this under network if you will, that seemed to ping every time I started searching. Like it was watching me. So I traced it back to this sever in Belize. There was a lot of traffic from it here to NetVerse. I wasn't in long before the Man In Black showed up.”

“How many people are a part of this Society of the Elect?”

He shrugged in defeat. “I'm not sure. I wasn't in that long.” I cupped my chin in thought, one ear listening to the Nightingales out on the balcony. “Wow, is this really what Monaco looks like?” he asked.

“It is,” I assured him. “The European Union rules on 'real places' is quite strict. In fact, to buy this Lair, I had to buy the side of the hill in the Real World where it sits for an exemption.” I stood and walked out to the balcony, gesturing for him to follow me.

“It's beautiful,” he whispered, taking in the bay below us and the lights of Monte Carlo dancing with the reflection of the moon in the waves of the bay. “You can even smell the sea.”

“Kenneth,” I declared, drawing his eyes. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but even though your body is in California, if I provide you the correct equipment representation here in my Lair, if you use it here that will mask where you actually are, yes?”

He nodded. “That's right, the inquiries would all originate from the NetVerse servers. But, that would get you in trouble, wouldn't it, Countess?”

“You let me worry about me,” I soothed him. “I want you to make a list of what you need. You can set a Spawn Point at my front door. I'll have Thaddeus set you a room to work in. From now on, you work for me.” He grinned and bowed, a swift, clumsy thing, but his heart was in it.

“Yes, my lady!”

I smiled and patted him on the cheek. “Good boy. Now, make sure you give Thaddeus your contact information and what you need. And see that he has your Student ID number at Reedley.”

“Why?”

“You don't think I expect you to work for free, do you?” I asked him. His grin lit up the night to rival the Moon.

“I'm ya boy, Countess!”

* * *

As was usually the case, I find that a good nights sleep sets things into a more manageable order. I have the unfortunate combination of being a night owl andan early riser. I hadn't been up as late as I would have liked, nor been doing what I would have preferred, so when I retired just before midnight, I was up again at five thirty. I rose and pulled on a one piece bathing suit for my morning swim. Because of the foot print of the land I'd purchased here in the south of France, my Lair was actually built vertically, with a pool on it's roof, so as to maximize the use of the footprint.

I'm not sure modern manufacturing is quite up to building my Lair in the real world, it was perched quite precariously on a hill side that was quite steep, but that made acquiring the land when I did some years ago a less expensive acquisition as it was otherwise unusable. Which was another conceit of mine, as the hill was technically in France, not Monaco, though I consoled myself, should it ever slid off the hill, it wouldbe in Monaco.

The morning air was quite cool, but the water of the pool was still warm, having been warmed all day yesterday by the French Riviera sunshine. Or, at least the digital equivalent of it. Feeling the need to exercise is another habit of mine, so I worked on my stroke for my thirty laps and, when finished I was feeling just as exhilarated as if I had a meat body and swum thirty laps. At least, I was sure it would feel like it, some things in this new reality you must take on faith. But, exercise done, I rolled onto my back and floated, watching the sky brighten with the coming sun.

The sunrises in the South of France are exceptional, and the developers obviously put a great deal of effort into matching the spectacular displays of mother nature. As I was floating and enjoying the sunrise, Thaddeus was coming up the steps to the sun deck, carrying a tray of my breakfast. Thaddeus is what NetVerse calls an NPC, or Non-Player Character. He was a pure program, written to be the perfect Butler, I had paid extra for his personality and central processing to be actual machine learning AI rated. I couldn't know if he was truly AI or not, but his constant loyalty and ability to anticipate me made him worth every nickle.

Of course, he hadn't had to change from his previous tuxedo, come to think of it, I wasn't sure he could. It was something to look into, but suffice to say he hadn't slept, he didn't need to. “Breakfast is served, Madam,” he announced as he arrived at the poolside table and began to lay out the trays contents. Done with that, he stood up and took in the view of the bay. “It appears we shall enjoy an exceptional day on the Riveria.”

I swam over to the shallow end, where he greeted me with my robe and held it open for me. “I wonder if we'll be able to enjoy it,” I replied darkly as I got the wonderfully soft terrycloth robe closed and followed him to the table, idly drying my hair with the robe's hood. There, he'd laid out half a grapefruit, coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel that he knew were a weakness of mine.

“I think the day will be what we make of it, my lady,” he replied, pouring me a cup of coffee and adding cream and sugar as he did so. I spooned out a section of fruit and enjoyed the tart juice as he sat the cup down within reach. “I have taken the liberty of acquiring the items young Master G requested. We shall be receiving them later this morning. An eclectic collection, I must say, and not without effect to the house hold's finances.”

“I deposited a ninety eight thousand to the Credit Suisseaccount last night,” I told him as I spread the butter on the bagel and tore off a small bite to enjoy. He paused for a moment, as various algorithms between the NetVerse and Credit SuisseGroup AG communicated through the program that was my butler.

“Helpful, madam, but still of some concern,” he warned me, beginning to move again.

“I have the terrible feeling we are going to hemorrhage funds until this matter with the Society of the Elect is finished.” He nodded sagely, then cocked an ear to hear something I couldn't.

“Excuse me, Master G is arriving. Shall I have him wait...?”

I shook my head. “No, bring him here. Best to get an early start.”

“Early for us, my lady. It is nine in the evening yesterday, for Master G,” he reminded me and walked off towards the stair.

I sat back in my chair and looked out at the sea towards the island I was supposedly from beyond the horizon. Having to deal with time zone issues would not help matters. To have everyone in the same hemisphere would be required, there was nothing else for it. Hemorrhage cash indeed! Mister Marks was racking up quite the bill and my mind was already turning on ways I would be certain it was paid to the penny.

So I chewed thoughtfully on bagel and savored my rooftop vista until Thaddeus returned with Master G in tow. He stumbled a bit at the sight of the pool at the top of the stairs, then quickly caught up with Thaddeus. “Master Kenneth, Madam.”

“A'ight, Alfred, I see we gonna have to have a talk about this name thing,” he muttered, only making my butler's eyes roll again.

“That will be something to anticipate,” he replied drolly.

“Won't you join me,” I interjected in hopes of cooling tensions with my retainers. Strife at home was the last thing this difficulty needed. Kenneth sank into the chair, while Thaddeus poured him a cup of coffee. “Good morning,” I greeted, now that things were a bit smoother. He yawned and hastily covered it.

“Good night for me,” he managed. “Wow, it's Wednesday here, right? I'm still on Tuesday night!” He finally was able to look me in the face and started. “Your hair is wet.”

“Swimming does that,” I assured him as I smiled at his youth. “As to the days, the joys of time zones. Speaking of, would I be correct in assuming you do not possess a pass port?”

“What would my black ass need a passport for?”

I nodded and, with a gesture, caused an interface to appear before me. “Look at me and smile,” I commanded. His face was a picture of confusion, but he managed an acceptable photograph. “Excellent, where were you born?”

He shrugged. “LA, what...?”

“Am I doing?” I asked, interrupting him. His eyes flicked over to Thaddeus, then back to me. “I am expediting bureaucracy. Which can be done if you know the cracks in the system.” I detached a piece of the interface and with a motion like dealing a card, sent it over to him. “As you can see from the header, this is to the Department of State of the United States. Type in your Social Security Number there, please.” He did so, and after a moment, a dossier appeared. “Kenneth Wayne Gorton III?”

He shrugged again. “Yeah, my dad was like, hey, wait, how...?”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “I accidentallyunderstand how your State Department works,” I told him. With that, I was able to flip over to the Sky Team website. The interface vanished and an AI dressed in a Ticket Agent guise appeared by the table and presented me with a boarding Pass.

“Merci d'avoir choisi Air France pour vos besoins de voyage,” the Bot told me.

“Merci,” I replied, taking the pass and sliding it across the table to a somewhat astonished Kenneth as the Bot disappeared. “So, Master Kenneth. Tomorrow, your tomorrow, at three twenty in the afternoon, you'll be departing Los Angles International Airport. I recommend you be at the airport by noon.”

“Where am I going?” he asked in a small, shocked voice.

“Here,” I told him. “Well, specifically over there,” I said pointing down the coast, causing him to reflexively turn in his chair to see. “Nice Côte d'Azur Airport. It's the closest international air port. You'll pick up the pass port I just ordered for you at the check in counter for Air France.” He picked up the representation of the boarding pass and it attached itself to his bio-metrics via his NetVerse account and emailed a copy to whatever address he had registered with.

He blinked in shock and held up his hands. “Wait, wait, I...I just can't fly to France! I...”

“It's arranged,” I soothed him. “I have paid for the air fare and your passport. Pack whatever you need...no weapons,” I stressed. “I'll have someone meet you.”

Immediately, he perked up. “I'm going to meet you in person?” I smiled at him.

“This is as 'personal' as I get, Master Kenneth. I am an Upload. I don't have a physical body.” He wore his disappointment on his sleeve, which I found sweet.

“Well, where will I stay?” I pointed over my shoulder at one of the quaint little townhouses that dotted the hill side that, here was my gate house, but in his world was the actual house for the property. “I own that townhouse, it's the anchor to this property, though, of course, my Lair isn't in your world.”

“What will I tell my parents?”

I took a sip of coffee and sat back. “The truth. You've won a scholarship from a European noblewoman who is giving you the opportunity to study abroad. If they ask, tell them the...” I paused for a moment and looked out over the Ligurian Sea. “The Countess of Corsica is your patron. Thaddeus will make you aware of the websites, histories and other bona fides if they require them.”

My butler nodded sagely, as, I'm sure a website was in the process of being created, detailing history of Corsica, it's sudden rule as a county, the St Clair du Bois family and what not out of whole clothe. Despite the rumors, it actually is possible to get good help these days. Not inexpensively, mind you, but possible. He looked back and forth at Thaddeus and myself. “This...this is really happening?” he asked. “I mean, I thought the NetVerse was a game. You're telling me you just bought me a real air line ticket and a real pass port and in...fifteen hours I'm really going to fly to France?”

“Take a book,” I encouraged him. “It's a thirteen hour and forty minute flight. There will be a layover at Charles de Gaulle in Paris. It can't be helped, fuel, I imagine. Travel in your world can be so tedious. If you must leave the plane, stay on the concourse.”

He blinked and sat, stunned. “This is really happening,” he whispered. “I thought those guys, meeting you, was some kind of dream...”

I looked at him critically. “What are you wearing?”

My tone's obvious dissatisfaction with his wardrobe immediately snapped him out of his fugue, as I'd intended. “Hey, these are real Levi's and...” I waved aside his protest tiredly.

“Thaddeus,” I declared, cutting him off. “Make an appointment with Crisoni for Master Kenneth. Two suits, a tuxedo, and some separates to make the foundation of a wardrobe. Shoes as well.” The Butler bowed.

“I'll see to it you're not embarrassed, Madam.”

“Hey, now...” Kenneth started, but Thaddeus was having none of it.

“Your employer has just commanded me to set up an appointment for you to be seen by one of the finest men's clothiers in Monaco so that your wardrobe will befit someone in the employ of the Countess of Corsica. This is not a small gift.”

Kenneth looked at him, then back at me. “I...I just...wow, thank you. Thank you very much.”

I smirked at him. “It's my pleasure. I trust once you have been educated on what men's fashion actually resembles you will pay the same attention to your avatar.”

“Yes, ma'am. My lady.”

“Excellent. For now, I believe I hear the delivery truck for your equipment. You may go and supervise it's delivery. Thaddeus will conduct you to the space he's set aside for you.” I sighed and resigned myself to unpleasant business. “Thaddeus, if I might trouble you for the telephone and my clutch. I have a call to make.”

He bowed gravely. “Certainly, madam. This way, Master Kenneth.” The two men stood and my Butler led the way back to the stairs.

“Delivery truck? In a virtual world?” I heard him ask Thaddeus.

“Regulations of the European Union,” my Seneschal replied.

* * *

I sat for several minutes, dreading this particular call and quite piqued with myself for being maneuvered into this situation. I merely was looking to enjoy my digital afterlife not be caught up into the affairs of a world if I ever actually had been a part of, I had long since left behind. First things, first, I arranged for a chaperon for my new employee to meet him at the airport, then it was not something I could put off any longer.

The line picked up on the third ring, filling my ear once more with the voice of my poker table nemesis. “You're up early, Countess.”

“As I understand it, there are fables concerning avians, insects and the virtues of early rising,” I replied coldly. His laugh surprised me, I was expecting to be scolded for my sarcasm.

“I have to compliment you, once you make a role for yourself, you play it to a T,” he laughed. “Even I'm convinced you're the black sheep of a Noble house, doing her best to one up the Hilton girl.”

“Hotel heiresses aside, your imposition on my good will, however well pleaded to be in my interest is having severe consequence to my household,” I told him with a frown, but that didn't bother him either.

“Nice to hear Kenny found you, good. Bright kid, all told, he should be quite an asset for you. As for my imposition on your bottom line, my apologies. I'll have my associate come by this afternoon with a peace offering, and the information you'll need so you won't waste time having Kenny hack our networks again.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I would rather not entertain anyone from your organization in my home.”

He laughed again and there was something about him that was really starting to get under my skin. “You know, Countess, we needn't be adversaries. This little miss-adventure has certainly sold me on the virtues of having assets in the Digital Realm.”

“Not being a native English speaker would seem to put me at odds with your social circle.”

“You certainly could have fooled me,” he protested.

“ Vive à la France,” I growled back, but that just got him laughing again.

“Alright, I have no qualms against a neutral location. I have a one PM Tee time at the Monte-Carlo Golf Club, do you play?”

“I'll get my clubs,” I promised him.

Even his voice was oily. “I can't wait. Ciao.” Well, now all I had to do was find out if Thaddeus could caddie for me in addition to his other talents.

* * *

The little corner of the Mediterranean Sea know as the French Riviera sat where France and Italy met, a breathtaking corner of Mother Earth known as the Franco-Italian Alps. This majestic mountain range being caused by the African continent being in the process of pressing into the European. Thus this range jutted almost straight up from the sea and began to climb into the sky. The Monte-Carlo Golf Club was perched, nine hundred feet above sea level, but only a mile from the ocean on an alpine meadow that gave the course spectacular views of the sea in one direction and the snow capped peaks of the Alps in another.

The views, however, came at the price of twisting roads that had been the death of American film star and Princess of Monaco, Grace Kelly.

The club itself was considered 'new' for this area, being made in the Real World in 1935. It was considered a short, but technically difficult course due to it's compressed nature of being squeezed onto a mountain meadow, with several Out Of Play areas being particularly challenging due to being directly behind a green on Holes four, ten and eighteen or just along the especially narrow fairway of Hole Eleven. Naturally, due to the terrain some Holes were sharply up hill and others down, thus balls could roll a fairly long way. This also made the course physically challenging as the course was intended to be walked.

I discovered Thaddeus could change his clothes when he swapped out his tuxedo for a brown tweed suit and matching driver cap perfect for his upcoming Caddie duties. He drove me in my De La Chapelle Atalante to the course, it's retro nineteen thirties styling let it turn heads and was as enjoyable a car to simply ride in as drive.

For myself, I'd settled on a V Necked sleeveless golf shirt and mini skorts, both in navy blue with white piping and a white visor. Given the compressed nature of the course, I'd settled on Callaway Chrome Soft balls in red and white 'Tru-Vis' to play. Once Thaddeus had my clubs comfortable on his shoulder, we headed off to the club house and our frenemy play date.

Mister Marks had settled on 'Preppie' as a golfing style in a salmon polo shirt and white linen khaki shorts. He was talking to someone on a cell phone that he quickly let go when he caught sight of me and actually smiled as I approached. “Countess, aren't you lovely?” he declared by way of greeting.

I was in the process of pulling on my gloves, and so kept my hands from his. “What a silver tongue you have, Mister Marks. People will think you're a shameless flatterer if you're not careful.”

He smiled and bowed from the neck. “In my position, Countess, I have the luxury of being able to disregard the opinions of the common masses.”

As though it had a life of it's own, I felt my eyebrow arch. “Do you describe me with that sobriquet, Mister Marks?”

His face adopted a sinister expression, half way between lust and humor. “My dear Countess you are many things, but never common.” He gestured over one of the club's Caddies and handed him his bag while slipping him a folded bill. “My associate will join us after the game with my peace offering. In the meantime, I note you have no handicap on file. What shall I spot you?”

I allowed myself a cruel smile. “Oh, the women's Tee will be sufficient, thank you Mister Marks. Are you a great fan of Golf?”

“I enjoy a stroll through the links when I can,” replied with a glint in his eye. “Golf is, in many ways the perfect sport, the game you play against yourself. Do you mark yourself strictly and live by the rules? Or do you give in to your baser impulses and grant yourself gaps in your ethics?”

I took a fresh look at him to try and determine how a man bent on English Language Nationalism could discuss ethics and self restraint with a straight face. “If you allow yourself gaps in your ethics, you learn only that you cannot live up to the standard you are testing yourself against.”

He grinned another of his shark grins. “Strict rules of play, then?”

“Are there others?” I asked him archly. “Shall we make the game interesting?”

“What could be more interesting than an afternoon spent with a beautiful lady?”

“Depends on whom you ask,” I replied. “I do like to have stakes in a game. Shall we say, a thousand Euros a hole?” His smile widened in a way I decidedly didn't like.

“I'll guarantee the eighteen thousand now if you best me, but I'm not interested in your money.”

“What, then, would you have me offer instead?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied, accepting his driver from his Caddie and looking down the shaft. “For twenty four hours, you to be my guest and companion. I'll be having some other guests and I'll need a true star to hang on my arm. Brunch, yachting, a qualifying event for the Jumping International de Monte-Carlo , Dinner, dancing... Who knows, we may even play some cards.”

I extended my hand. “Done.”

He shook my gloved hand with that damned smirk. “Done. Well, let's play.”

* * *

As I mentioned, the Monte-Carlo Golf Club is a particularly technical course, offering challenges that can frequently trap the unwary. That, however was a bonus for me, not a feature, as I tend to favor this location when I indulge my distaff interests, and I am, in fact, a member of this Club. This was not my first afternoon on these links.

At the turn of the ninth hole, I was shooting a thirty three, on my way to an Eagle for the course. If my opponent was concerned, he didn't show it. Thus far into the match he was at a double boogey, not that the specter of loosing in any way dampened his mood. He was still shamelessly flirting despite my lead over him. It was almost as if he didn't care if he won or not.

Which made things worse was I had to admit I was becoming bothered by him. He'd gone out of his way to tailor his avatar to exactly how I preferred my men; head and shoulders taller than me, reddish brown hair and blue eyes with a jaw that could cut paper and shoulders like an ox. There was no hiding the bulge in his slacks either. It had been a fairly dry spell for me and having this pargon dangled in front of me must be what it felt like to be a fish, eyeing an anglers baited hook.

You know it's going to hurt, but that worm just looks so juicy.

Not being a programmer myself, I couldn't tell you much about the Physics Engine at work in the NetVerse; other than it seemed to work exactly like the dimly remembered physics of real life. I felt the air on my skin, and it in turn moved on my ball in flight. If I didn't pay attention to my swing and grip, I paid the price for it by where the ball landed down the fairway.

I watched my latest shot land right at the edge of the fairway, where I knew there was a flat spot where a patch of rough cut off the fairway from the green. “Nice shot,” Marks complimented me as I walked back to give my club to Thaddeus.

“Perhaps, if you paid more attention to your swing, and less on le balancement de mon cul, I might be in danger of spending the day with you tomorrow.” He bent over to place his ball on the Tee, then grinned at me.

“It is a very distracting rhythm, Countess,” he declared with a wink. “But, let's be honest, you'll be on my arm tomorrow whether you best me in golf or not.”

“Whatever gave you that idea, Mister Marks?”

His club cut through the air and smacked the ball with a sharp tink and it sailed into the air. I lost it against the ocean for a moment, then caught it just as it fell on the green and rolled to a stop perhaps six feet from the pin. He looked at me and winked. “Because it infuriates you that I've gotten you into this situation,” he declared jocularly. “Because by being on my arm you'll be able to find out all kinds of secrets I might be hiding and that will get you one step closer to turning the tables on me.”

We started walking down the fairway as I asked him, “Tell me, how do you manage to stay upright under the weight of that ego?”

“The world may never know,” he shot back with a jaunty step. I feel back a bit myself to walk with Thaddeus.

Once I was a discrete distance where our conversation wouldn't travel, I asked him, “Is there a law against being that sure of yourself?”

“Doubtless were there it would be frequently broken, madam,” he replied evenly. “Though, if you permit me an observation, madam, I believe your visceral reaction to Mister Marks may in fact stem from the close similarities you both share.” He looked at me sidelong. “Not to mention my speculation that were you not at odds with Mister Marks, he likely would have been your guest at breakfast this morning.”

“Jealous, Thaddeus?”

I looked at his face, but his gaze was fixed on our adversary down the fairway. “Not at all, madam. While my nature allows me to give the appropriate responses to fulfill my purpose, human sexuality is a closed book to me. I take pleasure in knowing that you are satisfied, but, beyond that the mechanics of it do not interest me. I have no aspirations of my own on your virtue, merely that you are happy with those who do.” I reached out and touched his arm, which brought his gaze back to me.

“I am grateful for your loyalty, Thaddeus, your service is deeply appreciated.”

He actually smiled at that and tipped his cap. “Forgive me for being bold, madam, but if I might suggest a course of action, perhaps, if you conquered Mister Marks, that might make dealing with him afterwards easier. And as it has been some time since you were with us, I imagine that might do you a world of good as well.”

I arched an eyebrow at my butler come caddie. “Sleep with him to get it out of my system?”

“Merely an observation, madam.”

* * *

Mister Marks' Eagle for the tenth hole brought him back to Par and it was apparent he was the type of player who valued the end game over the early lead. I was still two strokes ahead of him for the match but there was still everything to play for from his perspective. Two strokes wasn't that much of a lead and anything could happen over nine holes.

As it was, the magnificent beauty of the course was a poor panacea for my stress. While eighteen thousand euros would greatly offset the cash I'd been spending like water to turn an identity that I'd intended to be a Playgirl on permanent vacation into what amounted to an International Woman of Espionage, the urge to best this smiling devil and be up on him was an itch I couldn't scratch at the back of my mind. It took all of my discipline and willpower to maintain the lead I'd started, even if I couldn't expand on it. So he got to enjoy the back nine while I had to remain angry to keep myself focused and concentrate on my game.

Finally, we found ourselves on the eighteenth hole's green where I was facing a twenty foot putt to make par, while he was only about five from the pin which if he sinked it would put him par for the course. “Shall I mark it?” he asked me with a wink, but I gave him a 'you first' gesture.

“Play, by all means,” I told him as I squatted to get a better lay of the green for my own putt. He walked up and gave it a casual tap without really squaring to the ball and it rolled just to a stop on the lip of the cup. “Bad luck,” I purred as he grinned at me and kicked it in with his foot.

“I don't know, a boogie on a course this challenging is something to be proud of,” he told with a wink. “If I am to be licked at this, I can't think of anyone I'd rather it be than you.”

“Mister Marks,” I scolded him, “you'll make your caddie blush.”

He offered no apology as I settled into my stance. It was a long putt, but I had a bit of a buffer being three strokes up. Effectively, I had four tries to get the ball into the hole, but I didn't want to use any by this one. I wanted to beat him and rub his face in it. Still, being excited about getting my way would not help me win this match, so I sighed and cleared my mind. With great care I eased my putter back, and then swung as smoothly as I could with plenty of follow through. My Callaway rolled over the carpet like grass, kissed the edge of the cup, looped around it and after what seemed forever, dropped into it.

I gave my putter a toss in triumph and snatched it out of the air in my exuberance. “Eagle!” I announced, very pleased with myself. “That's the match, Mister Marks.”

“Half a moment,” he purred reaching into his back pocket and producing a bill fold. “We are playing Strict Rules after all.” He pulled his membership card free and handed it to me. “My handicap is three. That means we've tied, my dear Countess.” I looked at the card and, sure enough, his club ranked handicap was three.

I was extremely tempted to take my putter and wipe that grin from his mouth with it, but that would likely damage the ball face and it was a very expensive putter. Instead, with great dignity I offered my hand to return his card. “Well played, Mister Marks. My thanks for an enjoyable afternoon.”

He took the card from my hand and used that grip to bring my hand up to his lips. “The pleasure was mine, Countess, though I can't help but think as a tie we really should bothwin.” I felt his lips through the leather of my gloves and a thrill ran down my arm.

“Whatever did you have in mind?”

He stood up, still holding my hand and rubbing the back of it with his thumb. “I'll write you a check for our agreed stake, and you be my guest tomorrow. I promise you a day you'll never forget.”

I smirked at him. “Of that, I'm sure,” I acquiesced. “Very well, you may pick me up at ten.”

“I'll be counting the minutes,” he assured me. He gave a gesture at a dour suited man standing by the tables of the Nineteenth Hole of the clubhouse with a briefcase in his hands. “Come, won't you join me for a drink? I see my associate is here with my peace offering as well.” I followed him over, handing off the putter to Thaddeus for him to return to the bag which he then took to the car.

Mister Marks' associate was either a Bot, or a particularly unimaginative sort as his avatar was as close to the defaults as could be. I allowed my frenemy to hold my chair to be seated, then he sat, producing a checkbook and writing out my winnings. I gave the document a glance and smiled before putting it away. He ordered a beer from the waiter, mostly for appearances I would think, but I demurred. “Not thirsty?” he asked, obviously disappointed.

“I will have to get to the bank to deposit this,” I told him with considerable false sweetness.

“Of course,” he allowed and gave a gesture to his henchman. The man came over and placed the case on the table, then stepped back. Nathan opened the case where I couldn't see it and removed an ornate looking document with a wax seal hanging off. “First, as promised.” He laid the paper on the table and slid it over to me.

It was a Patents of Nobility declaring Marion St. Clair du Bios the Countess of Corsica and my account status promoted to permanent nobility tier. I picked up the document and allowed it to attach to me, taking effect and a great weight came off my shoulders. It vanished to my safe in the Lair should I need it again. “Next,” he declared, removing a manila folder and put it in my reach. “As promised, all the information you'll need to get young Kenneth working in the right directions. And, since you're going to the bank anyway, my peace offering.” He then took out four ten thousand dollar straps of one hundred dollar United States Bills.

“Generous,” I allowed, with an incline of my head. Thaddeus, having returned, picked up the straps and made them scarce in his jacket, then picked up the folder. “I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mister Marks.”

“Nathan,” he corrected. “Ten AM, I'll be there.”

“Nathan,” I replied, then stood. “Good day,” I bid him and swept out and back to my Atalante.Thaddeus held the door open for me and I slid into the passenger's seat.

Thaddeus came around the car and into the driver's place. “Home, madam?”

“No,” I drawled, my hand on the folder in my lap. “First, let's see about getting these funds into the bank and then, some lunch, I think. Join me for lunch, Thaddeus?”

His eyebrow arched at me. “I'm at your service, madam.”

I smiled at him. “Drive on.”

* * *

The bank had no issue with depositing dollars instead of Euros, though the amount required an affidavit for tax purposes. An issue neatly avoided with my deposits from the Casino, but you take the good with the bad. That accomplished, I chose to leave the car in the bank's parking lot to stroll next door to a little outdoor cafe whose Socca is particularly excellent that I ordered with a glass of white wine. Though he joined me at the table, Thaddeus declined to order.

Handing the menu back to the young man who took our order and was trying desperately to not look like he was looking down my shirt, I sat back and asked Thaddeus, “Any news of young Kenneth?”

My Seneschal consulted a watch he didn't actually need to wear or look at. “As it is six in the ante meridian in Los Angeles, Madam, if he is prudent, he should be rising and making ready for his flight, but no word to answer your question.”

I laid the folder within his reach on the table. “And what is your opinion on this?”

He touched it, being digital himself that was all that was required for him to review the contents of the folder and steepled his fingers after doing so. “Fascinating,” he professed in a quiet voice. “I'm ill equipped to comment on morality, madam, but I don't think I've ever seen a more textbook definition of evil.”

My eyebrows, both of them this time, ascended my forehead. “More so than our Mister Marks and his call of 'English speakers of the world, unite'?”

Thaddeus was nonplussed. “Even a shallow appreciation of human history shows it ripe with conflict amongst your biological fellows for the most trivial of reasons or differences,” he replied casually as I squeezed some lemons into my water and took a sip. “I note that the genetics your avatar affects and the stated reason for them due to the island of your birth make you a living representation of better than a thousand years of conquest, reconquest, Holy Crusade, Jihad and simple generic butchery.”

“A very poetic build up,” I complimented him. “I didn't realize sophistry was one of your talents.”

He sighed, and not truly needing to breath, I took it as a deliberate expression of his mood. “I could only wish my summation in error, madam. It would appear that Mister Marks has come into conflict with very powerful men who are also quite wealthy and used to getting their own way. Nor are they shy about the use of Armies to ensure they do get their own way.”

“And what do these would be Alexanders call themselves?” I asked him.

“They have no shortage of names,” Thaddeus assured me. “They've taken a layered approach to their conspiracy with 'councils' stacked on top of Non Governmental Organizations to Societies, Fellowships and the laughably phrased 'Think Tank.' This list is a fever dream of every Conspiracy Aficionado all tumbled into a blender and mixed thoroughly. The man at the top is a Jürgen Ammann, billionaire, industrialist, and the founder of the European Relations Council.”

I raised a hand as I returned my water goblet to the table. “Him, I've heard of. Weren't there rumblings about some connection to the NAZIs?”

“His grandfather immigrated from Switzerland to Germany to run a factory for Rheinmetall,” Thaddeus told me. “He escaped the ire of the Nurenburg Tribunal by giving up a fair amount of information, and the hiding places of former friends, to the investigators. He seems to be the source of the family fortune.”

I picked up the folder and flipped through it. “That seems to be a fairly large step from NAZI factory director to billionaire.”

“The Ammenns are noted for their uncanny business acumen,” he continued. “Though they didn't branch out into quasi-governmental puppeteering until Jürgen and his ERC. In point of fact, Jürgen's idea papers on people other than him and his hand picked selection of peers have been a stable of the conspiracy prone for decades. His paper that world wide meat farming should be replaced with insects has considerable traction.”

“Ah, yes,” I muttered, “live in the pods and eat the bugs. Charming fellow, whom, I assume would still be enjoying a lavish home and steak for dinner?” Thaddeus chose not to dignify my flippant retort with an answer. The waiter returned with my Socca and laid it before me, necessitating I close the folder and give my lunch my full attention.

Socca is a wonderful dish common to the area all along the Ligurian Sea coast. It is a crepe made with chickpea flour, olive oil and whatever herbs and succulents that happen to be in arms reach of the chef. Here it was served in fours with a decanter of oil, similarly infused with herbs to be dipped in. It has a complex subtle flavor as the various ingredients fight with each other for their moment of limelight on the tongue. A culinary experience to be sure. “So,” I asked Thaddeus when I could do so with a politely empty mouth. “What is the gist of Mister Ammenns dastardly scheme?”

“The various sub organizations hold considerable media sway and deference,” Thaddeus informed me. “Likely how he intends to spread the terror of whatever instigating incident occurs to panic people to Upload themselves, but the dossier lacks any sort of concrete evidence of how that is planned to be accomplished.”

I frowned as I chewed, enjoying the flavor as I pondered if my definition of 'all the information I'll need' and Nathans were at odds. “What an interesting omission,” I remarked as I took a sip of wine to clear my palette. “What about this fellow our mutual friend says was taken and Uploaded?”

Thaddeus nodded sagely. “Cary Griffiths, evidently a senior comptroller within Mister Marks organization. Likely aware of most, if not all of the Societies cash sources and depositories.”

“A likely high value target,” I agreed. “But why would Ammenn risk his long range plans kidnapping a money man of a Society so beneath his notice?”

“I suppose we should consider the possiblity that Mister Ammenn's involvement may exist only in the mind of Mister Marks,” my butler warned me. “There are many factors here that are not becoming clear with information, but only more muddled.”

I broke off a piece of the baguette slice that had been served with the Socca. “That, I hope to have more insight on after my day tomorrow.” I chewed the bread as Thaddeus became concerned.

“You intend to follow through with that, madam?”

The wine cleared the bread as I looked at him sidelong. “Do you have a better way to get information on our dear Mister Marks?”

“Alas, no,” he admitted.

“Well, then, a day at Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous it is.”

* * *

As I rode back to my Lair with Thaddeus, I felt something gnawing at the back of my mind, like I was over looking something important. Usually watching the beauty of the South of France go by and letting my mind wander would let me get in touch with whatever my subconsciousness was trying to tell me. For whatever reason, I was just getting the alarm, but not the subject and it was quite frustrating.

Arriving back at the Lair, I saw the clubs put away, then I considered my wardrobe for the evening as Thaddeus drew a bath for me. The finances had received a wonderful shot in the arm, but that wasn't an excuse to slack off now. Even if my future was now guaranteed, it's manner was still very much up to me. I settled on an asymmetrical dress in black silk whose neck and shoulder lines were given a ruffled, flower like detail that would fall exactly to my knee with a mid thigh slit on the left. It was from a smaller designer, but I loved it's classic lines. Gloves, stockings and pumps would finish the outfit and be perfectly comfortable for a few hours at the tables.

That laid out, and the bath drawn, I shed my golf attire, and settled into one the Lair's most beloved indulgences. In my bath, the center piece was a massive, antique claw foot reclining tub. It was quite deep, allowing the water to come up nearly to my collerbones, with a cushioned support for my neck and head. There was just something about laying under steaming hot water, perfectly cradled where I could lay back and let all the stress be leached out of me.

It was one of the reasons I worked as hard as I had to accumulate the money for this lifestyle.

One lifetime slaving away for some faceless government master, dreaming of a retirement I'd never live to see, or be too sick to enjoy. Then, in the depths of the cancer and the bitter depression, a ray of hope, the NetVerse and being Uploaded. No more cancer, I could be whoever I wanted, live however I wanted and amuse myself to my hearts content. It was as close to paradise as I was likely to see, not only in this lifestyle, but to be young, healthy and exactly who I wanted to be to enjoy it. You can imagine why I was as angry as I was to have this threatened.

The water was just at the point of being too hot as I stepped into the tub, smiling at the steam curling up from it. I could feel the oil Thaddeus had added for my skin and a delightful layer of suds crowned the water. Already the mirrors in the room were fogging over. Perfect. I lay back on the tub, closed my eyes and let the heat everywhere but my neck and head relax my muscles; or at least, whatever algorithms let me feel like I had muscles.

I cannot say by what magic this other world is made. It was not perfect, if you looked for the cracks, you'd find them. Mister Mark's blank faced associate, the sudden appearance of the Bot to deliver young Kenneth's boarding pass, and the ability to call up an interface to do things like, taking his picture for the pass port, all things that would be 'impossible,' but here were completely reasonable. There were plenty of fantasy and fastastic worlds out there, as my previous month had shown, but in many ways they were just the distraction. I felt most alive here, in the Second World as some had taken to calling it, with mostly real places and things and only little exceptions.

I let my arms under the warm water and could feel everything I expected, the resistance of the water, it's warmth, even the slick feel of the baby oil suspended within it. As they settled against my sides I could feel skin against skin and it was marvelously real enough to make me feel as amazed as my initial moments in this computer generated realm.

For a moment, I wondered about my body, wondering if whatever conscience or 'soul' I had had been transferred here, or if the 'real' me was actually dead and I was only a deluded program. What was the real difference between me and Thaddeus? If nothing else, I told myself, this. I let my hand slide down my side beneath the water. I felt the little tatch of hair under the pad of my finger, then, gently curved in.

The intense pleasure always made me gasp the first time. Oh, dear Tiresias, how wonderfully right you were! I let my finger roam, lay in the hot water and in the darkness of my closed eyes reveled in the live wire between my pelvis and my brain. Thaddeus was right, it had been a long spell and in what felt like no time at all I was panting, my toes hanging off the cliff, when my mind betrayed me and as clear as day my mind's eye was looking into his smirking face as he kissed my hand and rubbed my fingers through my gloves with his thumb.

The orgasm clinched me like a fist and I was at once revolted by having a stray thought of that connard, be the tipping point that blossomed in me one of the best orgasms in some time, and yet excited by it as well. It was done, of course, there was nothing to do but ride out the sensation and try to salvage some of the release. I tried to take back my fantasy, imagined being astride him and slapping him across the face in payment for this orgasm, but he only lurched up, pinned me to the bed and took me.

I felt my nethers squeeze in sympathetic desire for being filled, and damnedly, the fantasy turned the pleasure of my finger up a notch as my nipples stood erect in the water and I gasped after my breath. I withdrew my hand, a little stab of shame giving texture to the post orgasmic bliss at where my thoughts had gone.

Perhaps Thaddeus was right after all. Maybe I did just need to claim him and get over it.

* * *

“Welcome back, Mademoiselle,” the Valet greeted me as he offered me a hand out of the Jag. The way his eyes roamed over me as I stalked out of the car like its namesake had me thinking he was some flavor of Human, either an Upload or someone on an interface. He was handsome and since I was stalking, for a moment I appraised him, but just as instantly disreguarded him. It was no fault of his, this was just something I'd discovered as I spent time on the distaff side of reality. Of course I was speaking in generalities, and the plural of anecdote is not data, but this is what I had discovered.

Men will date beneath them, women will not.

There were plenty of stories about rich, successful men, from billionaires to rock stars who would happily partner with a barista, maid or ticket girl. Here in Monaco a Prince had married a movie star and made a Princess of her, which reinforced my point well. Women always stalk men higher than themselves, higher status, higher bank balance, higher fame. Even a movie star had wanted a Prince. The Valet was handsome, and he might even have been a complete stallion in bed, but I am a Countess. I was here to bag bigger game.

I took my claim for the Jag and slinked into the Casino on the hunt.

I slid my card and passport under the cashier's cage as my eyes swept the gaming floor, looking for a table to my liking. “Dix mille, s'il vous plaît,” I told him idly as I looked about the gaming floor. The pickings looked pretty poor, all told. Still, it was a Wednesday after all. At this point, my heart was not really in gambling, but rather to find someone to end my dry patch under my own terms.

I settled at a table full of 'trode heads and VR helmet users, their blank faces the petulant protest to the casino's dress policy that forbid hats and sunglasses indoors. It never ceased to amaze me how much someone will tell you about themselves while actively trying to be secretive. The men all had the generic tuxedo skin on, which told me they were cheap with no sense of style or getting into the fantasy of gambling at a Monte-Carlo Casino. Fidgets and involuntary movements would be their tells. The two other women at the table were both custom avatars, but their dress and make up would be more at home on a porn star than a sophisticate woman in a European Casino. They'd gone the other way with automated animations to make the characters more lifelike, probably catfishing to confuse the male players and distract them.

Sadly for them, the automated animations played off biometric cues like heartbeat.

I'd know when they were bluffing or thought they had a hand to beat me. I settled into the chair of the empty place at the table, nodding to the dealer. One of the great bits about the Monte-Carlo was they used live dealers on interface helmets. They could have used bots or other computer generated automations, but this way upheld the Casino's strict neutrality in the game. It was just another reason I favored this Lair and it's environs. “ Bonsoir mademoiselle,” he greeted as I set my chips before me. The Dealer button the game required was two seats to my left so I would have some hands before I had to worry about the blind betting.

“Prêt à jouer,”he announced and began to deal. I recieved the eight and nine of hearts for the pocket.

“Quel est le pari?” I asked the Banker.

“Cinquante,” he replied.

“Appel,” I stated, placing the chip on the table, then in my left ear came the last voice I wanted to hear.

“Good evening, Countess, fancy meeting you here.”

I sighed. “Are you stalking me, Mister Marks?” I asked as I watched the bet travel around the table. No one raised so the Banker laid out the Flop and turned them over. The eight, six and three of spades.

“Stalking?” he asked innocently. “There is a certain element of hunting to that I might admit to.”

I arched an eyebrow at him while I weighed my odds. I had a pair, and a possible straight, but there was also a possible flush on the board. “Do you consider me a trophy, Mister Marks?” I murmured as I noted the twich of the male across the table and his immediate raise of a hundred. Likely he had the flush, and so I returned to my cards to the dealer.

Free for the round, I looked up at him and found him smiling down at me. “There isn't a man in this room who wouldn't, Countess,” he assured me. He certainly looked the part in an elegant white tuxedo jacket with a red tie and matching cumberbun that were subtily tailored to his muscular form. “And, as I said earlier in the day, it's Nathan.”

No one took the eager raisers bait and the pool was pushed to him. The dealer button moved and a new pair of cards came my way. This time, the King and Four of hearts. “Appel,” I declared on my turn and placed my chip. “Are you not playing this evening, Nathan?” I asked him as again the table was only called and the Flop uncovered. The Two of Spades and the Jack and Four of Clubs. Again I had a low pair with an off suite flush possible.

His hand cupped my bare shoulder as he leaned down to whisper in my left ear. “I'm constantly playing for you, Countess.” This time the blank faced boys tapped, not willing to raise the stakes. On my turn, I tapped as well to see if my hand would improve. The Five of Diamonds Turned leaving me to consider, both my frenemy's comment and the table.

“Nathan, you press the polite edge of bold,” I told him as I took up a fifty chip and put it into play. The prositutes both instantly folded, but the boys seemed to want to make a game of it and all called.

“Dangerous game requires bold hunting,” he replied as the Banker revealed the River card; the Seven of Diamonds, crushing all the flush hopes on the table. A straight was possible, and my low pair seemed particularly weak. When the player opposite me raised a hundred again, I took discretsion and folded myself. “Am I distracting you?” he asked, and his hand began to gently squeeze my shoulder in a massage like manner.

“On the contrary,” I said as yet again he took the pot and a new hand was dealt. “I find your determination charming, rather like a puppy.” I found myself in possession of the Queen and Ace of Spades and picked up a hundred chip. “Élever, cent,” I declared to the table.

“A puppy?” he asked. “I'm doing well if I rate something that cute!” That drew a smile from me that I wondered if the table would consider a tell. My raise was called and the Banker revealed the Flop. The Nine of Spades helped my flush, but the Seven and Five of Hearts did not. Again the oppenents tapped.

“I don't know about cute,” I replied blithely as I rolled a hundred chip beneath my fingers, then decided to tap. “Trainable was my meaning, with the correct level of firmness of course.”

The girls folded, again leaving me alone with the blank fanced males. The Turn revealed the Two of Diamonds, crushing my hopes for a flush. Again my aggressive oposite raised a hundred and I returned my cards. “Firmness?” mulled Marks as if rolling the word around his mouth to fully sample its flavor. “That does sound interesting.” The Dealer button came to me along with a new pair of cards; this time the Nine and Ten of Clubs.

I arched an eyebrow up at him. “Tell me, Nathan, how long have you been a masochist?” I picked up a chip and gave it to the Banker. “Appel,” I declared. Aggressive, the Big Blind this hand raised, doubling the stakes. I took up a chip and added it. “Appel,” I repeated. This chant came around the table and the Banker gave us the Flop.

On the table, the Jack and Nine of Hearts gave me a pair and a straight draw which the Seven of Spades assisted. Nathan only chuckled and continued to knead my shoulders, and I had to give him credit, he is quite good at it. “Every Straight man is,” he answered my question. “So, since birth.”

I picked up a hundred chip and added it to the pile. “You consider the company of women painful?”

“The best kind,” he assured me. This time, both of the females met my raise while the boys bowed out. Once the Banker had the chips to his liking, he revealed the Turn which was the Queen of Hearts. A flush was now possible, in addition to my straight. I picked up a pair of hundred chips and placed them in reach of the Banker.

“Augmenter, deux cents,” I declared. The female closed to me held her breath and checked her hole cards.

“Appel,” she finally decided, releasing the chips to the Banker. Her tablemate down the way was faster.

“ Moi aussi,” she declared, looking at me, but she blinked three times as she said it, the automation picking up what her face was actually doing. Bluff, I decided. The River card flowed onto the table; the Seven of Clubs.

“Augmenter, cinq cents,” I informed the Banker confidently, laying the chips down. The closest girl looked at the table and me in turns several times. Like a book, I read her; she had the flush, and she was wondering if I did too, and if my top card would beat hers. She bit her lip as her hand hovered over her chips.

This is why I play against living humans in the Real World, because I can deliberately miss tell. As her hand got closer to her chips, I let myself smile as if she was doing exactly what I wanted. As if they'd burned her, she pulled her hand back and gave the Banker her cards. The other girl wore a little smile herself, as if she had noted what I'd done for what it really was. Her hand picked up chip and deliberately placed it on the field. “Lever, mille,” she declared with a grin as if she had me.

I smiled back at her and noted her breath miss a beat. “Quelle est la limite de tableau?” I asked blithely.

The Banker's look told me he had dealt enough to know I was closing a trap. “Deux mille, mademoiselle.”

My gloved hand picked up the chips and pushed them onto the table. “Lever deux mille.”

She blinked three times again, looked at her stack, then back at the table. She was caught, as I'd bet the table limit, she couldn't raise and try to buy her way out of her bluff. And if she called, I was certain her flush was a bluff and my two pair would stand. The moments drug out which lead me to blithely ask, “Temps, monsieur le banquier?”

He nodded, “Oui, Mademoiselle,” and turned to my oppenent. “Mademoiselle, vous devez suivre ou vous coucher.”

Her overly made face contorted into a fury for just a moment, then went back to a vacant, 'bimbo' expression. “ Pli,” she declared, throwing her cards at the Banker.

“Well played,” Nathan whispered in my ear as the Banker pushed a satisfyingly large stack of chips back to me. “Any chance I can pry you away from your seal clubbing for a drink?”

I leaned back into the chair to look up at him. “I am a bit thirsty,” I admitted. I took a fifty chip from the stack and presented it to the Banker.

“ Merci, mademoiselle.”

“ Avec plaisir,” I told him as I called over one of the hosts with a tray. As he gathered up my profits, I gave my attention back to the object of my somewhat confused ire. “Was there something specific you had in mind, Nathan?”

A grin spread across his face. “You're obviously the regular here, so I put myself in your hands.”

I chuckled. “That does sound like a pleasant proposition for you, doesn't it?” The Host almost laughed at my double entredre, but mastered himself with expert professionalism. I took the tray he gave me, then slipped him a fifty chip as well. I led the way over to the cage to give the cashier my card, passport and chips. “Dépôt sur le compte Crédit Suisse, s'il vous plaît.”

“Oui, Mademoiselle.”

While I awaited my reciept, I turned back to Nathan and appraised him up and down. Damn him, he did cut a dashing figure in that Tuxedo. I considered my Seneschal's advice again, and offered, “Well, as you're to be my guest, let me show you something few get to see.”

“Be still my beating heart!”

I collected up my passport, card and reciept from the cashier, then allowed myself a smirk. “You should be so lucky,” I teased, and then led the way, through the Casino to it's most exclusive room, Le Bar Salle Blanche. The doors were shut, with a pair of very large men in the Casino's livery standing guard. From my clutch, I produced my Privé card and presented it to the one next to the scanner. “Le monsieur est mon invité,” I informed the guard.

He put the card into the reader, then nodded as he returned it to me. “Certes, mademoiselle,” he murmured as his fellow opened the door for us into a gilt and baroque masterpiece. This was the hotels most exclusive venue a salon that opened on balconies overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. There were gaming tables here, but there were no tourists, or even casual visitors to the Casino or it's common members. Le Bar Salle Blanchewas open only to the Gold, Platinium and my level of membership to the Casino, Privé, the games here were high stakes, and the place to settle ego battles about who was better than whom at what game while, running through the space was a massive stone bar covered in a hand made mosaic tile like something from an Ancient Roman bath.

There was soft jazz playing, though no one was dancing. Except for Nathan, all the men seemed over forty and all the women under twenty five. “Well, this is something to see,” he admitted into my ear as we reached the bar. To the bar tender he ordered, “Glenlivet, two fingers, neat. Countess? What can I get you?”

“Champagne,” I ordered, raising an eyebrow at his choice. “Are you getting into the spirit of the Second World, Nathan?”

“I am intrigued that my beer at the Country Club actually had something of an effect on me,” he admitted. “I wanted to see if this digital playground of yours could do justice to Scotch.”

I accepted the fluet from the bar tender and touched it to his glass tumbler. “I think you'll find Justice to have been served,” I told him as I led the way out onto the balcony. The air was cool off the sea and my nipples imprinted through the silk of the dress. Below us, we had a fine view of Port Hercule and Yacht Club de Monaco with some of the larger yachts vieing for space out in the anchorage of the bay.

He took notice of the condition of my breasts, and surprising me, he instinctively took off his Tuxedo jacket and laid it over my shoulders. “Why Nathan,” I exclaimed. “People will think you're a gentleman!” Still, satin lining of the jacket was welcome on my skin and the warmth was very pleasant.

He merely grinned as his physique was clearly visible under his shirt. “Only until I open my mouth,” he assured me. He took a sip of his Scotch and savored it, nodding his head slowly. “As good as your word, Countess,” he finally declared. “That is amazing.”

“Everything your brain experiences is due to chemicals in the blood or electrical impulses,” I told him. “The helmit you're wearing sends those impulses or others that actually have your body make the chemicals, if possible. So yes, if you over indulge, you will get drunk.”

He laughed and shook his head, astounded. “Unbelievable. And you? You don't have a body at all, and yet...?”

“It's actuallyeasierfor me,” I corrected him. “I'm directly connected to this, there's no trickery or metal to meat interface. Thisis my reality, and it is to me as real as yours that I remember.” He turned back to the bay and I followed his gaze to the Yacht Club. “Which is yours?” I asked him.

He pointed out at the end of the quay. “You see the wooden two master? That's mine.”

My eyes followed his point to a boat that was half modern and half age of sail. She looked to be about twenty five or thrity meters long with a pair of masts that included rope ladder rigging as though it was intended for people to actually go up and manually work the sails. I arched an eyebrow at him. “I hope your guests are a crew, that's not a boat for a pair of couples.”

“She has a crew,” he assured me. “As you'll see tomorrow.”

“Umm,” I allowed as I took another sip of my champegne. “So, who is this, how did you put it?” His grin didn't faulter.

“I didn't,” he told me confidently. “I said, 'other guests'. And that I needed a True Star on my arm, and that's the truth. I can't think of a better description of you, Countess. But, to assage your curiosity, I'll be entertaining Aayansh Khatri and his current infatuation Isla.”

“The British Super Model?” I asked. “That Playgirl is reduced to seeing only one man?”

“Billionaires do command a certain level of exclusivity,” Marks commented dryly.

“I can't say as I've heard of Mister Khatri.”

He nodded. “Again, that's in keeping with the Billionaire theme, they do tend to be a bit reclusive. The Khatri family immigrated to the UK under King Edward during the British Raj of India. They made their fortune in textiles and did very well under the British. They were one of the few wealthy families from India who didn't try to buy some favor by quietly backing Ghandi and the Independants.”

“If they're so fond of the British, I can see why your organization would be interested in recruiting them,” I observed. “Some Ethnic diversity might help you escape the cries of White Supremecy.”

“Language is what's important to us, Countess, not skin color.”

“How benevolent of you,” I declared through clinched teeth. “And to think, I was in danger of beginning to like you, Mister Marks, I do appreciate your timely reminders of your true face.”

That actually made him laugh. “Countess, you wound me!” he managed. “I protest my innocence of rascism and you would think I'd just told the vilest piece of racial humor.” My eyes narrowed.

“Didn't you?” I demanded icily. “Unless it's slipping your mind, I remind you I...”

“You're French,” he interrupted smoothly. “Not for a moment, and despite historic animosity of our peoples, Countess, you'll find my fight isn't with you, or France.” He looked me in the face and leaned in to whisper, “I point of fact, my associates and your government share considerable mutual interest. I regret the manner of our meeting, but I truly believe you'll find it's for the best. With you on our side, we...”

“You'll find I have very little tolerance for secret societies, revolutionaries, mercenaries or anyone else with a 'cause' they send others to die for while they stay safe 'for the good of the movement' naturally.” I snatched his jacket off my shoulders and presented it back to him. “I warned you I've been sold this bill of goods before! Go die on your own hill! Good evening, Mister Marks!” When he made no move to take the jacket, I flung it over the nearest empty table and stalked off, ignoring his calls after me.

This might have led to some inappropriate conversations back in the casino itself, but the Monte-Carlo takes a dim view of men being less than gentlemen in their establishment. I heard the two guards for Le Bar Salle Blanche lay hands on him, halting his persuit of me. I took back my Jaguar from the valet before he could extract himself from their lecture on manners and sped off into the night.

* * *

Yet again I found myself waking alone in my own bed and that was not how I had intended to spend my night. A look at the clock on the table told me it was six thirty, so there was little point in trying to sleep more. I sat up in the bed and ran my hands through my hair trying to figure out exactly what Nathan Marks game really was. Well, with any luck, I'd have answers to that later today once young Master Kenneth arrived.

I sighed and got out of bed, pulling on my swim suit and heading for the roof for my morning swim. This morning was gray, with clouds completely overcase such that the dawn was late and the bay was still lit by it's lights. I laid my towel and robe over the chair and watched the ship lights in the harbor move for a moment, such that I could see the sea was up. Likely today would be an 'indoor' kind of day. Yes, we have them, it makes the setting more real and the perfect days more perfect and more enjoyable to have bad days to compair them to.

I wondered for a moment how the weather might spoil Mister Marks' day, then frowned at myself for where my mind had gone. To punish myself a bit, I dove into the deep end of the pool, letting its cool water be something of a shock to my system. I broke the surface and treaded water for a bit, then got serious about my exercise and started my laps.

By the half way point of my laps, the first peal of thunder rolled off the sea. It would seem that Master Kenneth's flight would have an interesting landing. With five laps to go, the thunder was becoming regular and the rain was beginning to fall. As finished that lap, I found Thaddeus standing by the steps, holding my robe. “Breakfast would seem to be an indoor affair this morning, madam,” he greeted.

I stood in the shallows and accepted the towel to give my hair a rough dry in the pool, as it began to rain. “When is Kenneth due?” I asked my Seneschal.

“Early afternoon, Madam,” he assured me. “Air France shows the flight left LAX on time and is actually ahead of schedule.”

“Good,” I growled as I came up the steps and allowed him clothe me in the robe. “I'm tired of being two steps behind Marks.” Something in my tone gave him a bit of pause as he followed me towards the stairs down into the house.

“What did you have in mind, Madam?”

I smirked at his hesitation as I continued to dry my hair. “Why Thaddeus, am I making you neverous? Have you forgotten the first rule of conspiracy?”

“Thereare competing lists, Madam,” he informed me. “Which do you refer to?”

A gesture brought up an image of the check Mister Marks had so graciously written out for me, high lighting his account and the routing numbers for this bank. “Follow the money,” I told my cautious Seneschal. “As soon as Kenneth gets here I want him deep into Mister Marks financials. I want to know how much he spends on toothpaste.”

Thaddeus cleared his throat as if to state his opinion on that course of action without actually saying so. “As you wish, Madam. After breakfast, what shall I lay out for your...day...with Mister Marks?”

I sat at the little table on the balcony over looking Monaco that was outdoors, yet protected from the coming storm. I took a sip of my coffee as I sat back in the chair and contemplated the view. “You think he'll actually show up?” I asked him. “After last night?”

He opened the chafing dish that was keeping my breakfast warm and went about preparing me a plate. “While my understanding of human attraction is rudimentry at best, Madam, Mister Marks does not strike me as a man easily put off the persuit.”

A pair of eggs, perfectly sunny side up, bacon and toast was placed before me as he turned over the water goblet and filled it with blood red Orange Juice. “You...understand far more than you let on, Thaddeus,” I told him and he arched an eyebrow at me.

“It's kind of you to notice, Madam,” he declared with considerable weight. “Perhaps the white sun dress, a bathing suit and suitible dinner attire?”

“I trust your taste,” I told him. “So I place my day in your capable hands.”

He smiled at that and gracefully swept a perfect bow. “Your humble servant, Madam.”

* * *

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when, at the stroke of ten a silver on gray Maybach S680 sedan oozed onto my brick paved round about. Maybach had been acquired by Mercedes in the fall out of World War Two using them sporatically as a badge for limited edition, high end luxery cars marketed primarily at people who would ordinarily buy a Rolls Royce, but then have to buy a second, preformance car as they occassionally liked to drive.

Mercedes decided to go after this niche market of a niche market by producing an extremely high preformance car that also had the luxury of a Rolls Royce for when the owner couldn't be bothered to drive. It had a classic salon style that would only turn the heads of people who knew they were looking at a car that retailed for more than most upper middle class houses. I noted his arrival by an alert from the house sentry as I sat at the same table I'd taken my breakfast at and was watching the storm over the bay.

Feeling perverse, I stayed on the balcony, thus making him get out of the car and come to the front door. It was only an extra minute or so, but one of the great truths of humanity is a beautiful woman is worth the wait and I was intent on making Nathan Marks wait. “Madam, Mister Nathan Marks to see you,” Thaddeus announced from behind me.

I gave a leasurely gesture at the open seat next to me. “Won't you join me, Mister Marks?” I drawled, puprosefully ignoring him. Thaddeus had an excellent eye, the eggshell white cotton was as soft as heather against my skin, darkening my tone slightly due to the contrast and even seated, it's scalloped neckline insured a dramatic entrance. Out the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me, I noted the expression on his face show the dress had the intended response as he pulled out the chair and sank into it. The suit he was wearing was sufficent for the car he'd been driving and obviously either cut to his measure, or expertly tailored.

From behind his back, he produced a dozen white roses and laid them on the table before me, showing either he, or someone in his employ actually spoke the language of flowers. “First, Countess, I'd like to tender my most humble and abject appology for yesterday evening. Witty repartee has never been my strong suite, so I'd ask for your grace to cover over my faux pas. ”

I arched an eyebrow at him as I finally turned to face him, picking up the bouquet and inhaling the delicate fragrance from the roses. “You are terrible liar, Mister Marks,” I drawled. “Repartee is, in fact, one of your chief talents, but as you have the courage to admit to a misstep does bear consideration.” I pressed the call button and it proved that Thaddeus hadn't gone far. “Put these in water please, Thaddeus.”

“Certainly, madam.”

“Coffee?” I asked Marks and his contrite expression got a whisper of a smile.

“Please.”

Thunder pealed over the pay in a long, low rumble. “I presume we will not be yachting today?” I asked him.

“No, sadly, and the race has been canceled as well,” he declared. “Who would have thought inclimate weather would have an effect on a computer simulation?”

“The developers tell us it makes the world both more imersive and gives a sweeter note to the perfect days to contrast them with this,” I replied, still mostly ignoring him. A silence fell, as if he was expecting something more from me, then began to fidget when it was not forth coming.

“You have a lovely home,” he complimented, obviously grasping at something to say. “Somehow, exactly what I would have expected.”

“Oh?” I drawled, finally deigning to look him in the face. “Do you imply that I am somehow predictiable, Mister Marks?”

He turned to face me, and for a split second I could see I'd finally gotten under his skin, but then that confident smile was back. “Not in the least, Countess, merely that your home lived up to the expection someone of your quality demands.” He chuckled a bit, then added, “However I am coming to expect the sharpness of your tongue in our verbal duels.”

“If you had experience with my tongue you'd never describe it that way,” I shot back and he actually blushed. Fortunately, Thaddeus had returned with the coffee service saving our conversation from further innuendo. I took my cup and an appreciative sip as I looked out again over the bay. “So, how did you decide to entertain your Billionaire pigeon?”

“We've rescheduled to tomorrow,” he told me, “where I hope, we will enjoy fair skies and the fairest jewel for my elbow.” He took a sip, and only started at the excellence of Thaddeus' coffee having gotten somewhat used to the NetVerse. “So, how shall we entertain ourselves today?” he asked.

I turned back to him and gave him the full force of my glare. “Sir, you have one day of mine, not two. If you wish to use it now, that's your affair. Despite the artifical means of my world, I do in fact have a life in it and it does not revolve around you .”

“Hogwash,” he laughed, idly stiring his coffee and looking at me sidelong. “Admit it, Countess Marion St. Clair du Bois, you are as fascinated with me as I am of you. If you need me to say I regret maneavoring you into helping me, I will. I regret it only in that it is such a poor excuse for me to spend time in your environs.”

I took another sip of Thaddeus' coffee as I glared at him. Then, for some reason, I felt like being truthful. “Yes, damn you, I admit it; I am fascinated with you, in a way I have not been with a man in a time longer than I care to say. Were you just another card shark, I suppose I could at least afford you the respect of a fellow traveller, earning a living off the gullible and foolish in a Monte-Carlo Casino, but you're not just a card shark, are you Mister Marks? You're a terrorist and I have nothing but contempt for someone whose arguement is so morally bankrupt they resort to violence.”

He actually arched an eyebrow at me. “A terrorist? Me?” He broke out into a full laugh while shaking his head. “My dear Countess, if that is the source of your ire with me, please, allow me to set the record straight! I am a humble civil servant! That's what I was trying to tell you last night!” He made a gesture and under his hand the glowing, trusted authentication ID of the server identified him as a member of the United Kingdom Foreign Service. “I am with British Intelligence.”

I reached out and copied the ID from his hand so I could examine it closer. “Special Intelligence Service?” I demaned. “You would have me believe you are a member of MI6? Next you'll tell me you have a 'Double Oh' number and a license to kill!”

He winked at me. “I can neither confirm, nor deny the imagination of Ian Fleming.”

My temper flared and I shot to my feet, much to his surprise. “This is the finalinsult, Nathan Marks!” I declared in a voice to rival the thunder off the bay. “That you have theaudacity to think I can be so easily fooled by a threadbare innuendo and a bit coding prostitution to fake up a trusted ID is more insulting than the piss poor attempt of it!”

“It's the truth!” he protested, and at last I could see I'd shaken that damned calm of his to the point that it looked like he was genuinely concerned I was about to banish him from from my presence. “If you'll give me a just a moment to explain, Countess...”

“Choose your next words withextreme caution!”

“First, please, check the ID,” he asked. “The security about them is there for a reason, there isn't a fake than will stand up to it.” My free hand dipped under my skirt and came out with the nickle finished pistol and he started in surprise. “PPK? Classic choice.”

“Move,” I warned him, “and you'll discover just how unpleasant being virtually shot can be.”

“Don't I have to opt in for that kind of danger?” he asked doubtlessly thinking he would try to rules lawyer his way through things.

“This is a Second World server,” I informed him. “Part of the EULA is the acceptance of so-called 'Real World' physics. Everything here works like it's counter part. Including getting to experience what a nine millimeter Browning slamming into your avatar feels like from a distance of less than two meters. You'll live through it, I can't touch your meat body, but I can make you wish you were dead.”

“I could take off this helmet...” he started.

“You could,” I admitted. “But then I can ban you from my domicile and effectively lock you out of Second World because you have to start where you left.”

“Surely the referees...?”

“In a month or so? Surely,” I replied with a smile. “And what will that do to your little operation, Mister Marks? Is it completely unaffected by the passage of time? Will whatever con you're playing last without you?”

A smile spread on his face that didn't reach his eyes. “The morality of your arguement is threatening bankruptcy, Countess...” he drawled.

My thumb ratched the hammer back on the pistol. “Please, give me an excuse,” I taunted him. “Now, if you are who you say you are, we'll have time for me to tender an appropriate apology. If not...I recommend very strongly you come clean now, Mister Marks.”

“Please, check the credential,” he shot back, leaking back in the chair and crossing his legs as he took another sip of Thaddeus' coffee. He was affecting more calm than he actually was, I'd rattled his cage, but I have to give him credit, it was a good act. “I'll just be here thinking of ways you can apologize.”

I smiled at him without any humor as I pressed the call button. My seneschal arrived, calm as ever. “Yes, Madam?”

“Thaddeus, if Mister Marks moves from his chair, shoot him.”

He reached under his jacket and produced a pistol he held in a relaxed grip, but ready to use in a moment. “Certainly, Madam. Kindly remain seated, sir.”

“Don't mind me,” Marks replied with a chuckle. “I'm just enjoying the coffee.” I sat back down, activating the safety and returning the PPK to the holster on the garter it rode in on my thigh and called up my command interface. As it floated holographically before me, I picked up the secure ID from where it was hovering over the coffee table and pressed the bright red SECURITY button. The interface immediately called up a picture of his avatar, then interestingly, next to it was a photograph of the 'Real' Nathan Marks. He was somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, nowhere near so broad shouldered, nor a jaw so sharply defined, and more than a little pudgy, but it was obvious the avatar was him. Idealized, certainly, but him, and who was I to question that?

Itwasa legitimate ID, itwas issued by the UK Foreign Service, though, obviously, it wouldn't actually come out and say he was a spy. That was the kind of thing that got spies killed. “This lists you as a technical attache to the British Mission to France and specifically does not grant diplomatic imunity,” I growled. “You're not a spy! If you were, it would say something like 'Cultural Attache' and would extend you Diplomatic Immunity. What are you trying to push on me, Marks?”

He raised his hands and I could see he was sweating, the mask was off now and I was finally meeting the 'real' Nathan Marks. “I'm not a spy,” he chose to start with. “And I never said I was, I'm a Civil Servant...”

“Merde,” I whispered. Dismissing the interface, I looked back up at him, looking at me from across the table. “What, exactly, is it you want from me?” I demanded. “And be warned mon ami, I have a astonishingly low tolerance for bull shit right now.”

“For the most part, I have been honest with you,” he told me, completely unfazed that my butler was pointing a gun at him. “A member of my organization was kidnapped and uploaded and is being held against his will.”

“And British Intelligence sent the Cable Guy to rescue him?” I demanded. He winced and shook his head.

“No, alright, I...” he sighed and looked at his reflection in the coffee. “I've always wanted to get into Field Work. But I've been laughed off the qualification every time I tried. When Cary went missing, I was who discovered he'd been uploaded. I convinced my Manager at the Embassy that I was better qualified to go after him than any of the field agents. I was a techie, my playground kind of thing. This is my chance.”

“And this nonsense about English speakers of the world unite?” I demanded. “Where does that come into this?” He chuckled and shook his head.

“Ah, the Society of the Elect,” he mused. “A bit of very colorful fiction the Quartermaster group put together for me to get close to Aayansh Khatri.”

“I'm afraid I don't follow,” I told him and he nodded.

“Mister Khatriismixed up in some very...unsavory...associations,” he declared carefully. “The kinds of associations that people with too much time on their hands speculate and...conspire ...about. Some of these groups are legitimate, some...less so. He is, also, a British National. His Majesty's Government does police our own; even naughty Billionaires.”

I mulled this for a moment, then asked, “You suspect he might be some kind of...what? Super villain in the making? So you invent a conspiracy society for him to recruit?”

He smirked at me. “Our recruitment department is slacking off if someone of your potential wasn't recruited,” he replied.

“I imagine being neither British, nor tolerant of such shenanigans had something to do with it,” I informed him, archly. I sighed and shook my head. “For the love of God, whyhave you involved me in your 007 fantasy, Marks?”

“You...” he swallowed. “You arethe kind of person MI6 recruits as a field agent. I may understand the technology of this place, but you have the social skills to fit in, and the combat skills to get out when things go south. I started running into road blocks immediately, but you? I know you can find Cary once I get you close enough to Khatri. That's why I came here. To recruit you.”

“Of all the things to come crashing into my vacation!” I growled with some vehemence. I looked over at my butler, still covering my wayward guest. “Thank you, Thaddeus, that will be all.” The pistol disappeared under his jacket once more.

“I'll be close to hand if required, madam,” he promised, then withdrew. Nathan watched the program retreat, then some of his cocksure swagger returned and he sat back to smirk at me.

“You have a talent for hiring the best,” he complimented me.

I arched an eyebrow. “Don't think for a moment Thaddeus would hesitate to undo you,” I warned him. “And be careful before you get too cocky, I haven't agreed to anything with you.”

“I still have my day.”

“And you're burning daylight,” I reminded him.

His smile was more himself. “If I'm not free to leave, I hardly think it fair to hold that against me.”

I stood and walked to the edge of the balcony and watched the storm over the bay for a moment. There was a very large part of me that wanted to send the little weasel packing with his hat in his hand, the only problem was this conundrum was interesting, damn it! I'd been playing for years since my upload, but this! This was real in a way my life hadn't been for a long time; real stakes, real people, real danger and even if the 'real' Nathan Marks was a fat little government cog I wouldn't give a second glance to, that wasn't what was before me. Before me was his better self here and it pressed all of my buttons. I hadn't wanted a man this badly in...well, even I wasn't sure!

“I'm not interested in what you consider fair,” I told him over my shoulder. “If you want my help, Double Zero, things will be done to my liking. You can either agree,” and I raised my hand towards the house as I turned to face him. “Or you may show yourself out.”

He stood and walked over to me, but was careful not to step into my personal space. “I came here to offer apology,” he told me earnestly. He was back on his feet mentally as well and what I took to be his version of 'cocksure spy' was tugging at my psyche again. This, however, was different; it would be difficult to imagine Commander Bond being this sincere. “I took this route because I knew you'd never believe me if I'd laid everything out at dinner that night. That doesn't excuse my actions, but I say it only so you may understand me.”

I craned my neck at him and panted a finger on his chest. “I understand you very well, Nathan Marks. Now, make your choice.”

He reached up and took my hand and brought it up to his lips. Until now I'd never felt his skin on mine and it was electric as he pressed his lips against the back of my hand. “My lady, you have always been my choice. I'm all in, and my cards on the table. I'll, of course, be the liaison between our little group and MI6, but doing things your way is the least of what I can do to make amends.”

I smirked as I reached up to cup his chin. “Oh, you'll do muchmore than that,” I told him. “First, however, where are you wearing that helmet in the real world?”

He blinked in confusion. “Why do you want to know?”

I narrowed my eyes and favored him with a salacious expression. “Because, Mister Marks, I intend pour nous à Niquer,” I told him as I squeezed his chin. “And I don't wish any...embarrassing...elements to spoil your time afterwards.” His eyes darted as he took a moment to translate my somewhat vulgar French into English, then his eyes went wide and his face blushed scarlet.

“I...um...uh...if....if you'll give me just a moment...?” I straightened his tie and stepped back then he reached up and pantomimed removing something from his head, then he burst into a cloud of pixels and faded away. I smirked to myself as I casually called up the interface and granted him a permission to spawn where he'd logged out, then leaned back against the balcony and listened to the storm. While he was gone, Thaddeus stepped out onto the balcony and bowed.

“I'll see you're not disturbed, madam. Any instructions for the afternoon?”

“Yes,” I drawled at my butler. “The momentKenneth gets here, put him to work finding out every little detail about Nathan Marks.”

“I'll see to it,” he assured me and withdrew. Nathan's cloud reappeared faster than I'd expected, and the look on his face was priceless.

Yes, it is quite fun being a cock tease.

* * *

So, let's dispense with the Sixième Année giggling.

Can you have sex in the NetVerse? Short answer, yes. Long answer, it's the Internet and humans are involved, someone was going to figure out a way to be naughty. There were entire servers dedicated to every perversion and pleasure known to man, and catering to this most basic of vices was their entire raison d'etre.Here in the Second World, everything a human could do had been replicated, the question being one's level of participation.

Of course, as an Upload, this was my reality. Every touch, flavor and sensation was reproduced with remarkable fidelity. Though, not having lived a flesh and blood life as a woman, I couldn't say with certainty how faithful what I was about to experience was; only that I found it intense, exquisite and everything I'd read about the Female Experience pale and poorly worded. This was the highest level, the next down was the Direct Neural Interface, a popular option with the para and quadriplegic. A moderately expensive surgery installed a machine neural link that allowed for a simple jack to be plugged in, located behind the right ear.

There were certain early adopters and technophiles that also opted for the DNI, usually for work for ultra secure coding and development environment, secure server farm monitoring and some sensitive occupations like Air Traffic Control. Though, some got them purely for the recreational opportunities it offered here in NetVerse. It was as close to being an Upload as the living could experience.

Next was the Neural Interface Helmet, which was a relatively new invention. It was as it's name implied, was a helmet that covered the user's entire head. Lining the inside of the helmet were tens of thousands of small, spike like dermal neural diodes. It felt rather like putting on a hat made of nails, all pointing at the wearers scalp, but when active, they overrode the wear's sensation of their own body, replacing it with what the avatar felt and moved.

I'm told the sensations are not quite as intense as the DNI, or as quite real time, suffering a bit of lag from the more narrow bandwidth of transmission. But, if you were a male and experienced an orgasm in the NetVerse, if you hadn't made allowance for it, you'd need to change your pants.

At the bottom of the barrel was the classic Virtual Reality head set, giving stereoscopic vision and hand held controls this led to the avatar being more like a puppet, than a true other worldly experience. And without feed back, sex with this option was basically just a mundane porn viewing.

Of course, when someone can be anything, everything goes as the saying went. There weren't really ugly people on a Second World server unless someone was making a point, or being hyper faithful to their appearance in the real world. And, as you could tailor your avatar, female disappointment at a lover's endowment was a thing of the past. While you could tell the juvenile by downright comical penis dimensions, the 'average' male in Second World was a thick, heavy twenty six centimeters.

What can I say? If you're building a perfect world, why wouldn't you make everything perfect?

Speaking of perfect, Nathan got back up on his mental feet on the hallway to my bedroom. I'd been leading him by the hand when he spun me about, picked me up to be eye to eye with him and pined me against the wall by his mouth to mine. They say a woman can tell how well a lover is by their kiss. Nathan Marks' kiss, for a nerdy little wannabe spy would have made James Bond himself a bit jealous. It was a searing kind of kiss that let you know why fire and burning metaphors are used when describing really great sex.

I grabbed the sides of his head with both hands as our tongues snaked against each other as my heart thundered in my chest and my nethers became soaking and began to run down my inner thighs. One of his beefy hands pawed at my breast, but even with need like this, he managed to be gentle. My nipples went erect against this stimulation and the feeling of his hand and the fabric gliding over them was electric.

Between seals of our mouths I panted after breath I didn't truly need from force of habit and rode the Tsunami that is female sexual arousal. With my free hand, I grabbed his tie and, using it like a leash, pulled him in the direction of my bedroom. He lurched to obey my command, holding me now without the wall's aide down the last few meters to my bedroom.

Once inside, he kicked the door shut and staggered towards the bed. “Put...me...down...” I moaned into his mouth and finally he set me down as if I was as delicate as a Daum crystal. I looked up at him, with my lip shade smeared over his face, his hair wild from my hands and the most genuine smile I'd ever seen on his face. For once, I returned his grin as I planted both hands on his chest and pushed him at my bed. He half sat, half fell onto the bed, staring at me as I put my foot up on my night stand, revealing the tops of my stockings and the PPK in it's holster. I took it out of it's holster as I gave him a smoldering look. “You'll be a good boy, won't you?”

“The very best, my lady,” he swore. My thumb opened the safe in the wall, where I dropped it inside to lock it away. I didn't need a gun to control him any more. Then I reached down and pulled the sun dress over my head. He'd been loosening his tie but now, wearing only stockings and my shoes, he froze, a look of absolute lust on his face. I smiled and stepped one foot onto my bed, next to him. I took a hold of his jacket at the shoulder for a hand hold.

“Now, Mister Marks,” I declared as I stood up on the mattress, towering over him. “Let's see what you're capable of, for King and Country!” My free hand collected a handful of his hair as I thrust my hips forward. His face pressed into my groin, his mouth opened as his hands grabbed my ass. His tongue snaked through my folds and found my center effortlessly. He mashed it flat against me, wiping it back and forth as I closed my eyes and let my head hang back as I rode his tongue in absolute ecstasy.

He lapped at me as though his very life depended on it, sending wave after wave up my spinal cord until my legs began to tremble and shake. The orgasm claimed me suddenly, robbing me of balance, but his hands on my buttocks turned an awkward fall into an orgasmic float of being let down onto my bed even as his tongue ravished me. My muscles began to convulse, jerking and clinching as half of me tried to get my over stimulated clitoris away from his tongue while my hands desperately tried to hold him against it.

My back arched, desperate to stop the lightening running up and down my spine, but he had control of my hips and held me fast. My voice was a ragged cry of feral passion which I'm unsure was meant for him to stop or a desperate command to continue. It was impossible to breathe, twisted up on my shoulders, my breasts swaying with the contractions as I became aware my feet were beating his back and my hands mindlessly flaying through the air, trying to find something of him to grab.

Finally, finally his tongue's frantic assault slowed, the licks became gentle as I was lowered onto my bed. The convulsions eased and a slow, final drag of his tongue gave me a soft climax that let the tense muscles relax and let me pant after my breath as every nerve in my body tingled. Above me, his face coated in my secretions, the magnificent bastard grinned at me. I watched him peel out of his suit as I caught my breath and finally grinned back at him.

This was going to be a wonderful day in.

His member sprang free of his trousers, tall, thick and proud as I sat up on the bed while he kicked out of his Scarosso leather shoes. I reached out, took hold of him, then leaning forward I drug my tongue up the full length of him and a full body shudder shook him. As he looked at me, something occurred to him and he whispered, “You're absolutely right, my lady, I'll never describe your tongue as sharp again.”

I chuckled darkly as I fondled him. “I have not yet begun to show you what my tongue is capable of, Mister Marks.” Then I leaned forward and showed him. As I ministered to him, I saw his toes clinch and a glance up showed him staring at me, mouth agape. The look on his face flowed between showing me the effect I was having on him and an expression of disbelief this was actually happening to him. He was nicely hung, at that sweet spot where making love to him would make me wonderfully full of him, but he wasn't cartoonishly large, or too big for me to see to him as I was.

As might be evident, I must admit to being something of a domme; I enjoyed the power of being a woman and having control of a man this way. And he was completely in my control as I could see by the look on his face. He'd do anything earn this gift I was giving him. But, this was not just a power trip. As I expected, I'd barely started sucking at him when his body started going tense and his breath began to gasp. Having seen his 'real' picture, I had an inkling his dry spell was likely much longer than mine and his first time would be quick. I took a hold of his balls and slipped two fingers behind them and pressed in and up firmly as my tongue assaulted the sensitive tip of him in mouth. His entire body went stiff and I swear he got five centimeters bigger in my mouth. He gave a wonderfully primal cry, drawing my eyes up and into his as his belly spasmed and he came in my mouth. The salty, potent flavor was slightly sweet, showing he had a love of pineapple, as his semen flooded over my tongue. I looked him dead in the eyes and I worked every drop out of him, swallowing, letting him fill my mouth again, only to swallow again.

His member jerked around my mouth and hands as his head lolled back and his hands clinched into fists. I imagine to him it felt like I was drawing out his soul, which was exactly what I wanted him to feel as he had reduced me to a quivering mess I meant to consumehim. He made a few more inarticulate cries and a weak little pulse would wash the flavor of him over my tongue again. I continued to press against his prostate and even though his manhood pulsed in my mouth, he was empty and and I'd taken him across the threshold where now he would be desperate to climax again.

With a final, purposefully sharp suckle at his cock, I lay back on the bed, his manhood in a grip of iron I guided towards my needy center. “Baise-moi espèce de bâtard Anglais!” I snarled at him and he needed no further encouragement in any language. His arms under my knees, he picked me up and half threw me further into the bed to make room for him as he scrambled on top of me.

His hands had my wrists and pinned me to the bed and that magnificent penis found my opening and slid into me in a single, endless thrust until the balls I'd just drained nestled against my buttocks. We were nose to nose and I could smell myself on his face and he doubtlessly could smell his seed on my breath, his eyes were wild and I knew there was no stopping this fury I'd whipped him into. No screaming of 'no' in any language would deny him the release he now had to take from me. “Vive La France,” he grunted, fully seated in me.

“God save the King,” I replied and it was if he was a stallion I'd put spurs to. He withdrew half way only push back needy, forcing my abdomen to make room for him. Twice more he repeated this, a little faster each time as my body relaxed so he had room and he quickly build up to a frantic rhythm, desperate for the release I'd denied him. Our lips and tongues met as he took me with all his might.

A small eternity passed of being full of him, then empty and then full again. The expression on his face was frantic, desperate; doubtlessly because his loins were on fire. I smiled as I realized he was mine. I'd put him in this state, and he couldn't leave it without my say so. I lifted my legs around his waist and locked my heels, letting him feel the silk against his skin as he had his way with me. I got my hands free and reached up to him, caressing his face, soothing him. “Give it to me,” I whispered, my hands running through his hair. “Inside me, now, it's mine, I want it. Give it to me.” I gathered up a handful of hair and my voice became a bark of command. “Give it to me.”

He reared back and forced himself balls deep into me and I felt the warmth of his release splash against my G-Spot and my own orgasm squeezed him as it washed through me. “Yes, that's it!” I encouraged him. “Tout ça, mon ami!” I purposefully flexed my Kegels which gripped him, making him jerk and cry out.

He filled me again, then his muscles gave out and he half fell, half flopped down on me, heavy, sweaty and wonderfully potent smelling. I took his head and laid it on my breast as I locked my heels behind his back again. “Sleep,” I whispered to him. “Rest, mon ami, you've earned it.” His eyes rolled up in his head and in seconds he was snoring softly. I ran my hands through his hair and smiled as I closed my eyes and relaxed myself. In my minds eye, I saw him lying naked on a computer couch, the helmet on his head and two orgasms worth of his sperm splattered all over him.

I smiled as I listened to him breathe as I pictured what I'd done to him. “My bitch,” I whispered, basking in the power that allowed me to reduce him to this. As I slipped into slumber myself, a final thought flashed through my mind.

Thaddeus was right, claiming him was exactly the right thing to do.

* * *

I awoke to find my head on my hands and instead of the bed, a two and some odd meter studly nerd was beneath me. I raised my head a bit and as my awareness expanded, I discovered my 'bed' was also still quite inside me as well. My loins had a pleasant ache from use; his member, even soft was quite thick and long, which lead to a very pleasant feeling of being completely full. I stretched my neck until it popped and looked about to find my balcony door off the bedroom was open, letting in a delightful breeze and the sound of the sea, though the blinds were pulled.

A hanger stand was discretely holding Nathan's suit, in a dry cleaning bag and all neatly collected. Even the shine on his Scarosso leather shoes was renewed, which brought a smile to my face. It wasn't the first time Thaddeus had taken care of a 'guest' of mine, nor likely seen me asleep, naked and in flagrante delicto, nor would it be the last, but I made a mental note to find some way of showing my appreciation for my head of house.

I turned to the face of the man I had seduced to find his clear blue eyes open and looking at me, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “ Bonjour,” he told me with a smile.

“Bon après-midi,” I corrected him with a wink. “Now, aren't you glad you saw things my way?”

“Madam, your obedient servant,” he replied with a grin. I sat up and stretched, doubtlessly putting on quite a lewd show for him.

“We seem to have joined England and France,” I told him with a wink. His hands came up my thighs to gently caress my hips.

“I don't think I'll ever view the Chunnel the same way again,” he quipped.

I grinned at him and reached out my index finger to gently touch the tip of his nose. “Don't pout, William the Conqueror was the best thing to happen to England!” He sat up, his hands sliding behind my back to hold me against him eye to eye.

“This is a Battle I'll gladly flight again,” he told me as I hung my arms over his shoulders and leaned in to give him a kiss. He tasted and smelled of sex and having twenty plus centimeters of manhood deeply embedded in me, I realized it wouldn't take much to restart my libido.

I reached up and mussed the complete mess I'd made of his hair. “Mmmm,” I murmured. “That's a challenge I'll definitely take you up on,” I promised him. “In the mean time, we should probably make ourselves presentable.”

His hands slid down my back to cup my buttocks before he stood, effortlessly supporting me. “Where is your bath?” I pointed and he walked over as if he moonlighted as a porn star and did this kind of thing regularly. I kicked my shoes off and got my stockings off my legs as he took us into the bath. He held me one handed as he reached into my shower, got the water to a temperature, then carried me into it with him. There was a ledge that circled three quarters of the shower that he put my ass on, then rested his hands on either side of my hips.

I could feel him getting hard and looked him in the eye. “Water is not a lubricant,” I warned him.

He withdrew a bit, then rocked his hips forward. The crown of his stiffening manhood crowded up against my G Spot and sent a shock through me. “As wet as you are, do you think it will matter?” he breathed into my ear from where he was licking and nuzzling my neck.

“You think you can waltz into my shower and invade me like this?” I demanded and his hips began to develop a rhythm. He wasn't getting hard any more.

“I'm English,” he whispered in my ear. “I can't help invading France.”

I answered him with a shower of obscenities in my native tongue even as my hand found the diverter

in the wall and slapped it activating three other shower heads, one on each wall, even over the door of the glass wall so that hot water was cascading over us from every angle. Finally, the stream of obscenity turned into obscene urging of him. My back was pressed against the warm tile, my legs splayed wide while we kissed and urgently worked to add to the flood of his semen I was already full with. I rested my arms over his shoulders so I could caress his head as he plowed me.

The soreness in my loins turned to ache, but damn him I needed him to have me just as badly as he needed to take me. I wrapped my legs around him and guided his mouth to mine. My nervous system couldn't take the assault of his crown against my G Spot and I was undone. The climax made my canal clinch down hard on the invader that was stretching it to its limits. He grunted into my mouth as we kissed and I felt a new warmth flood into me. He jerked twice more, then stood still as we finished our kiss and broke apart. I was staring into his blue eyes, his hair plastered to his scalp, panting, my heart thundering in my chest even as my birth canal began to complain about how much it was being put use all of a sudden.

He reached up and gently took my breast in his hand, rubbing his palm over my nipple in slow, lazy circles. “Where,” I panted softly, “where did you learn to fuck like this?”

His smile was almost boyish as he fondled my tit while his cock was buried inside me. “I might be very well read, but madam, you are the ultimate muse. You drew this from me. I was inspired.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Maestro, I can only hope to inspire further performances to match these.”

“Doubtless,” he assured me. I locked my heels in the small of his back and wiped at the water on my face.

“Tell me you haven't lied to me, Nathan,” I whispered. “Tell me if you have, come clean now and put it right or God as my witness you will know why Shakespeare said hell hath no fury like a woman!” His eyes looked into mine and took his hand off my breast to raise it as if giving an oath.

“I am not a terrorist, nor a member of some would be terror group. I am a computer security specialist for British Intelligence, attached to the Mission for the South of France.” I sighed, raised a hand and put it over his lips.

“Then I will help you,” I promised him. “Don't betray me, Englishman. I'm French and female and that's already two steps to being a complete hellion. Don't give me cause to take the third step.” He nodded with enough sincerity that I felt my warning was taken to heart. He stepped back and his phallus snaked out of me, leaving my canal with a soft pop which led to a small flood of his semen and my secretions. He helped me off the ledge as I watched our fluids combine and disappear down the drain.

Some part of me wondered if there was some strange symbolism my brain was pinging on.

We had almost innocent fun bathing each other from there, and when we were both clean, I turned the shower off and my towels got us dry. Back in the bedroom, I pulled the Sundress back on and turned to face him as he got his suit mostly back on, his shirt open and tie hanging like a scholars ribbon over his shoulders. “You should see to yourself in the real world,” I told him. “I imagine you'll want a shower.”

“I...I'll have difficulty thinking of that place as real,” he told me softly. “After this.”

I smirked at him. “Tell me if you feel the same way after your shower.”

He laughed and rubbed his head. “I...Will you be up later?”

“I imagine after that nap, I'll be up,” I told him. “I don't think I'll go out, and you're welcome to come by later.” His relief was a palpable thing.

“Thank you. I will.”

I smiled at him my stomach in odd knots. “I'll look forward to it.” He called up the note program and quickly sketched out his phone number on it. He offered it and I took it, instantly adding it to my contacts list.

“That's my cell,” he told me. “My...out there...phone.” I nodded my understanding.

“The server can cross talk to it.” I pantomimed a card trick slight of hand and card appeared between my fingers. “This is my card. I don't give this lightly.”

He smiled as he reached out and took it, stepping into my personal space. “I'll be back soon.” I nodded, then he leaned down and we shared a kiss that was almost chaste in it's tenderness, then he stood up, took the helmet off and vanished in a cloud of pixels. I reached up and touched my lips for a moment, remembering his lips against them, then sighed and shook my head at my own silliness while I called up the interface and granted him a permanent spawn point at my front door.

That taken care of, I got a fresh pair of stockings and after a moment of thought, a pair of panties and a garter belt that would blend into the sun dress. The bodice of the dress had a bra built into it, then my pumps back on my feet, I looked at the clock. It was nearly five so young master Kenneth should have arrived. From the safe I took the PPK and looked at the light reflect in the nickle of the slide. I hadn't planned for this diversion into international espionage, but a silly grin spread on my reflection in the gun. This isfun! I admitted to myself, better than anything I had planned.

I tucked the pistol back into it's holster on my thigh.

If someone in a Neural Helmet wouldn't enjoy being shot, I as an Upload would have a much worse time. Spies played for keeps and I would need the pistol. I made a mental note to check the repercussions of being shot in Second World and was ready to go be a femme fatale.

I opened my bedroom door and took a moment to stand up straight in the heels and became The Countess again. Then, head high, I strode down stairs. As I turned to descend the last course, I saw Thaddeus talking with a hologram next to the grand piano. VR headsets were not the only way to communicate with people in the NetVerse. All that was really needed was a screen, a camera and microphone.

In the real world, they saw a view of what their eyes would see on the screen. A controller would let them move about in the three dimensional space, if I allowed it in my Lair. Here, I saw a somewhat flat hologram of the person calling me. Standing next to my butler was a tall man, over twenty-five and under thirty five. His chestnut hair was pulled back in a short pony tail that had a few loose strands that gave his face character. He was clean shaven except for a Soul Patch and wore a dark suit with a black bolo tie and a silver slide that was oval in shape. His hands were clasped before him and he had rings on two fingers of each hand.

Thaddeus turned to me and bowed. “Madam, may I present Mr Blanc? Monsieur Blanc, I have the honor to introduce your hostess, the Countess Marion St. Clair du Bois.”

The stranger bowed and touched his forehead to give it flourish. “Charmed, my lady.”

“The pleasure is mine, Monsieur Blanc,” I replied. “I take it you are the representative of Professionnels de la Garde?”

“At your service, my lady,” he declared in his gravelly voice. “Your principal is with me in the apartment outside your estate.”

“Any issues, Monsieur Blanc?”

He frowned for a moment and finally made a so-so gesture. “I believe, but cannot give hard evidence, my lady, that individuals attempted to follow us from the air port. I made sure to lose them before we came here, but it could be nothing but coincidence.”

“I appreciate your abundance of caution,” I complimented him. “I should like to engage your services for a bit longer, if you're amenable?” He bowed his head in acquiescence. “Outstanding, I'd like you remain my guest with my principal over the weekend. Just in case.”

“Did you wish to extend the contract with PG, my lady?”

I gave him a smirk as I followed his meaning. “If you're free for the weekend, Monsieur Blanc, I see no reason why we cannot contract privately for your spare time.”

He grinned and bowed again. “My lady is very generous. I'm happy to make myself available.”

“Excellent. If you need anything, you may contact Thaddeus. He can reach me if needed.” The hologram bowed and vanished as the call completed.

“Will Mister Marks be joining us for dinner, madam?” Thaddeus asked me.

“I believe so, Thaddeus. And I want to show my appreciation for your sterling service.” He gave me a curious look so I elaborated, “Isn't there something you'd like? Or a bonus perhaps?”

His classic features pulled into a smile. “Service, is its own reward, madam.”

* * *

The French Rivera is known for it's sunny, perfect climate, but at this time of the year, with the changing of the seasons, there can be exceptional storms. They're rare, but when they roll in they can be all day affairs. This was such a storm we were 'enjoying' today. There was a gloom of early night as I sat on my covered balcony, taking in the sea air and the storm, watching lightening flash into the Mediterranean. Thaddeus' coffee was keeping me warm as I watched the storm and thought.

My research on the Second World was troubling to say the least.

Were I to 'die' I would not be able to continue to use this avatar. An avatar that every second I wore it felt strangely more and more like the me I should have been. I'd been many people in my time here in the NetVerse; soldiers, cyborgs, adventurers, 'party' girls and, with the polite cover removed, more than once I'd been a full fledged whore. Being bisexual, I'd been given license and ability to explore the most basic of human interaction and I'd gone exploring with a vengeance.

Despite all the human 'interaction' I'd enjoyed, all the bodies I'd worn and fetishes I'd sampled, none of them had been as real to me as who I had been in the real world. They were just roles I'd played sticking my thumb in the eye of the Universe that a drudge and wage slave had managed to claw their way into the Big House on the Plantation. I'd kicked in the locked door of the Great Party of Life and I was making up for lost time.

But this...this was different.

I'd owned this Lair for some time. I'd worn the bodies of six different women in my time here. I'd had trysts, boy toys, girl toys and in all this time, this had merely been a place to indulge in some of my baser instincts while 'working' to provide for my adventures in fantasy. The problem was, the longer I wore her skin, the less Marion St. Clair du Bois, Countess of Corsica felt like a role. This wasn't a character in a game I was playing, this...she...was, in a very real sense, becoming me.

The me some part of me had always wanted to be, but, beyond the fantasy of being nobility or rich or even just young and beautiful, each time I looked in the mirror, each time I saw her oval face and olive skin, the more I felt like Marion was a person, with a past, family, duties, obligations, schooling... Lightening flashed close in the bay, rapidly followed by a violent clap of thunder.

The face of Nathan Marks flashed in my mind and I realized what I was dealing with. My minds eye recalled me staring at the drain in the shower and remembered the mixture of his semen and my arousal fluid was ever so slightly pink. For all the sex I'd had as bevy of different women, none of them had a hymen before. I'd intended to use them as whores, I'd worn them like a whore and behaved that way. Marion was different, from creation, from how I'd imagined her to how I'd formed her.

Like the thunder out over the sea, I realized Marion St. Clair du Bois had just lost her virginity.

My eyes fell on the tablet with the EULA I'd just read and shuddered. The EU was strict in Second World, if I 'died' I could never be Marion St. Clair du Bois again on this server. I wouldn't lose my house, that was tied to my account, nor would I lose the status Nathan and MI6 had provided that account. This body that I wore that I was so comfortable in I could take to hundreds of other servers and locations, from the far future to the distant past through history and imagination.

But never again in Monaco, in the House some part of me began to realize I'd bought, designed and built with her in mind. Never again the Countess of Corsica. Suddenly, my skin was not so virtual and it very much was in The Game.

The warmth of Thaddeus' coffee rolled over my tongue and down my throat. It was like a hug from the inside of my body, soothing my worry as if a loving father was assuring me everything would be alright in the end. “Countess?” The voice of Kenneth Gorton drew me back from these black thoughts and the maelstrom outside my home.

I turned and managed a smile as I beckoned to the young man to come out on the balcony. “Kenneth, welcome. Come, sit. How was your flight?”

The young man was wearing slacks and a polo shirt, though having not yet attended his wardrobe appointment, they likely came from a more pedestrian retail source in the United States. But I did appreciate that he was purposefully making changes to better himself. He came out to the table and pulled out a chair to sit next to me. “Bumpy,” he admitted as he sat down. “The storm here is just as bad as out in the Real World.”

“Don't worry, I've had all the utilities in your apartment hardened so you needn't worry about power or connection loss. I trust you and Monsieur Blanc aregetting along well?”

His expression became very serious. “Man, that dude is scary!” he told me intimately. “Where did you find a pro hit man?”

I smiled at his youthful naiveté. “Not to worry, Professionnels de la Garde is an old company, very respectable with an impeccable reputation. Your safety is assured. Now, what have you brought me?” He opened the folder he had in his hand and started taking out photographs and laying them on the table in front of me.

“So, this is the real Nathan Marks,” he told me as I looked over a collection of Official Photographs, likely from government websites, as well as security feeds and Ring cameras the legality of my employee's access of I declined to bring up. Nevertheless those images perfectly meshed with the image I'd seen in his electronic ID. There was nothing different in them; a short, pudgy, man who was balding early and had very classic English features. While he would never be as tall as his avatar, if he began to haunt a gym in the real world and invested in a good toupe, the height difference between the real and the Idealized Nathan Marks would be their only difference. “Get this, he's...”

“A computer security attache for MI6 at their South of France Mission?” I asked him with an arched eyebrow. He blinked in astonishment and shook his head.

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

I smirked at his crestfallen look that I'd stolen his thunder. “He told me,” I admitted. “So, from the horses' mouth so to speak.”

He shrugged as though conceeding the point and laid out a different photograph. “Well, he wasn't the guy who showed up at my house. That's this fool, Carl Bellingham he doesn't appear to have a job, but there's a bunch of connections between him and Marks and MI6. What I want to know is what is a Britt Spy doing in LA?”

“I imagine he works at the British Consulate on Century Park avenue,” I told him before I took a sip of my coffee. “Probably keeping an eye on the British Nationals in Hollywood. Kenneth, you're going to find pretty names like Consulate and Mission cover up a lot of very ugly business. Even between allies as close as the United States and the United Kingdom.”

“Well, that equipment you sprung for let me dig pretty deep into a lot of cover stories. And while there are rumors of The Roundtable and The Society of the Elect that go back to before World War One, most of the stuff I found before are pretty recent; mostly in the last couple of months.”

I nodded as I looked over Mister Bellingham's photograph and picked up on several things I'd noted on Nathan's avatar. “Mister Marks would have me believe the entire operation is a sting affecting a British Billionaire.” Kenneth was already reaching into his folder. Out came a pair of photographs, one an athletic looking, dark skinned man in his mid thirties who was obviously of South Asian heritage. He was wearing tennis whites which darkened his tone, and was holding a racket. The second picutre was the same man, but only just recognizible.

He was laying in a hospital bed and based on the bandgages, diagnostic equipment and what not, what ever had happened to him he'd only just lived through. Indeed, the photo was a part a news article that had a bit of the headline stating, '...Lucky to Live Through Horrific Wreck...' “This is Aayansh Khatri,” Kenneth declared. “Textile and Clothing billionaire. He likes to keep a low profile, but I was able to find there's a lot of suspicious links between him and bunch of groups the Tin Foil Hat crowd are always talking about. A year ago he wrapped his Mclaren around a power pole at something close to a hundred and fifty miles an hour, almost killed him and this model he was with...”

“Isla,” I interrupted him.

“Yeah, that's her,” he agreed. “They're still together, believe or not, though she didn't fare any better in the crash than he did. They're both paralyzed from the neck down, but he paid for both of them to get DNI jacks, they've been living full time here in Second World ever since.”

“Which neatly explains why Marks is trying to get close to him here, rather than the real world,” I mused. Kenneth leaned back and grinned at me.

“I also found out there's no such person as the Countess of Corsica.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Did you?” A gesture summoned my Patents of Nobility from the safe and I laid it on the table before him. “Are you sure?”

The self satisfied grin faded from his face as he read it, then looked up at me. “But, I mean, Wikipedia said...”

Now both of my eyebrows had ascended my forehead. “Wikipedia?” I demanded. “Master Kenneth, surely the computer expert I hired, at considerable expense, has more expertise than the shouting match and organized riot that is Wikipedia!”

He swallowed and gathered up the photographs. “Sorry, my lady, I...I thought...” I patted his hand when it was near enough.

“You've done well, Kenneth,” I assured him. “You've given me some important assurity.” He smiled as I reached over an touched the Patents to return it to safe keeping. “Now, I need you find out everything you can about Mister Khatri and what he's involved in. With a special interest in anything that would raise the eyebrows of your metallic chapeau friends.”

“I'll get right on it, my lady.”

He stood, but stopped when I raised a hand. “And Kenneth, I note your effort. You look quite dashing, it's a much welcomed improvement.”

“Thanks,” he grinned. “Uh, it's nice of you to notice.”

“Off you go,” I told him with a wink and when I was alone once more I sighed as I looked over the troubled sea and wondered what Mister Khatri might be into and how violent was he prepared to be to defend it. Along with what I should wear for dinner and the hoped for return of Mister Marks.

* * *

By six that evening, full night had fallen because of the storm. The lights of Monaco were lit, but in the rain there wasn't much cheery about them. I couldn't be bothered to change from the sun dress, despite the hour. There was something in me that didn't feel like celebrating. The chill of the air, however, encouraged me to spend the rest of my evening indoors so I sat at the piano and let my psyche express itself and fingers began to tickle Chopin from the instrument.

Music had been a solace to me alive in the dreary days of work, sleep, and yet more work. Here, it was a way to give release to my inner soul and come to grips with myself, so Nocturnedrifted from the piano. I heard the front door chime as my fingers danced, then Thaddeus answer it. My ears followed their footsteps through the halls, then stop, just before this great room at my back.

Neither spoke or even breathed as I played, lost in myself as my fingers found the keys from memory, until the final note hung in the air for a moment of resonance with the air itself and faded away to Thaddeus softly clearing his throat. “Mister Nathan Marks to see you, Madam.”

I sighed as I sat up straight and spun around on the piano's stool to face them. “Won't you come in, Nathan? Would you care for an aperitif?”

“I don't mind if I do,” he told me with a grin. “Uh...sherry, if that's convenient?” I nodded at Thaddeus who gave a half bow and strode across the room to the bar and began to rummage.

“Will you join us for dinner?” I asked him. He was actually wearing a pair of Chinos and a crisply pressed linen shirt that set his physique off nicely, which made me a little happy I still wore the sun dress.

“I'd be honored,” he assured me. He accepted the glass from Thaddeus and used it to indicate the piano I sat at. “I didn't know you played.”

“It's an amusing hobby,” I replied as I took my glass and inhaled the aroma of the alcohol. “Still, it would seem my parents money wasn't entirely squandered in the lessons.”

He walked over so I had to crane my neck to look up at him. “Now you're selling yourself short,” he protested. “I heard real talent, and I think even Chopin would agree with me.”

I smirked at him. “No need to flatter, Mister Marks.”

“Nathan,” he corrected softly. After an awkward moment of silence, he decided to switch topics. “Did Kenneth get here alright? I had some agents at the airport to escort him, but, well...” I smiled to myself and made a note to sweeten the offer to Monsieur Blanc, both for his vigilance and his skill.

“I had a driver meet him,” I replied with a smile. “Though I thank you for your concern. Any word from Mister Khatri about tomorrow?”

“His people tell me he's looking forward to the day,” he declared.

“Mmmm,” I murmured around my sip. Once my palate was clear, I continued, “Tell me, Nathan, what makes you so certain Khatri has kidnapped your man...what was his name?”

“Cary Griffiths,” he told through his smile. “And I don't think Aayansh kidnapped him. But Aayansh is wrapped in tight with the people who did. Unfortunately, the data security of these people are beyond state of the art. They're all disgustingly wealthy, they can afford it.”

“Assuming they don't simply own the companies your government buys from,” I mused mostly to myself. “They'll get the best toys first and can pick and choose what they sell to the governments for outrageously inflated prices. Alright, so what is your plan?”

“I thought a two pronged attack,” he told me earnestly. “I'll continue to portray the Black Guard looking to get my own conspiracy co-opted into the ultimate levels, while you see if you can cultivate some kind of friendship with Isla. Our goal should be an invite to his private island over in the Greek Archapelago. There must be some kind of secure communications lines from the Second World servers out to the real world.” He reached into his pocket and produced a little bit of plastic and wires with a jack on one end.

I reached out and picked it up off his palm. “What's this?”

“A virtual representation of a telecom trace,” he declared. “It will give us access to the groups private network. That will let my section of MI6 have a better understanding of this little billionaire club and, I hope, the location of Cary. Once we have that, SAS goes in and rescues him.” He waved at the little bit of technology. “That one is for you. Carry it with you if we get the invite and then just plug it into any of his phones or computer networks.”

I looked at him and arched an eyebrow. “That seems very seat of the pants, Nathan.”

He gremiced and nodded. “It is, but, until we can get a look into their network, we're all just guessing.”

“Alright,” I acquiesced. “So, where are you in the real world?”

“Home,” he told me. “I've also eaten so my body is taken care of.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “And how was your shower?” His face went red from embarrassment and he managed a nod.

“Needed,” he admitted. “Desperately.”

“I'm pleased to have made a lasting impression,” I told him with a smirk. “Why don't you be my guest this evening and we can depart together tomorrow?

“I'd love to!” he declared eagerly. I leaned back on the piano and finished my sherry.

“I hoped you would,” I purred.

“Dinner is served,” Thaddeus declared from the doorway into the dining room.

* * *

The sun was just a hint on the horizon when I woke. Nathan's arm was around my shoulders and he was breathing softly above me. For a moment I just laid in bed, enjoying the simple pleasures of being a woman. I considered seducing him, but it was obvious to me the three preformances I'd drawn from him yesterday had taken their toll. I'd playfully teased him last night and the pained look on his face, that stoic acceptance of preparing to do something that would hurt, was actually sweet. In the end, I'd just curled up beside him and pretended to be asleep and not hear the sigh of relief I wasn't about to demand a fourth curtain call from him.

Still, he was a prime specimen the way he'd sculpted this avatar, I couldn't help but admire his handiwork. If a few salacious thoughts tiptoed through my imaginiation, well, there was a fine line between being a cocktease and being cruel. My own loins were still a touch sore from 'entertaining' him so it wasn't as if I might have some discomfort to pay for as well. Best to be considerate.

I stealthily snaked out of his arm and sat up in the bed to stretch. The carpet made sure my footfalls were silent as I crossed my bedroom and took a clean bathing suit from the drawer. Then it was a simple matter to creep out of the room and up the stairs to the roof.

Dawn was a golden line out to sea in the direction of the Apennine Peninsula, as I walked from the steps around the pool to the deep end and my table and chairs that over looked the bay. I draped my towel over the back of the chair as I stretched, smiling as the stars of a completely clear sky twinkled over head.

It would be a beautiful day in paradise. Time to get to work.

I dove into the pool, whose temprature had suffered from the all day rain and was actually cold. I broke the surface again to catch my breath as my nipples stiffened against the swimsuit. I slicked my hair back from my eyes and started my laps, concentrating on my form and rhythm as I swam. Gasp for air, sharp blade of the hand to pierce the water, face submerged, pull and kick and repeat. Touch the edge of the pool, fold in half under water and push for the far side.

My body at work, my mind began to consider the possibilities.

Nathan's fishing expedition was the wishful plan of an amateur. IF this, then perhaps that would if all went well allow for the other. He was a lovable type, but I understood why he'd been laughed off all the trials for becoming a field agent. Everything he'd learned about field craft had been taught by Sean Connery or Pierce Brosnan. I had no doubt of his sincerity, but his plan would likely get us killed. If you hadn't lost your temper at Le Bar Salle Blanche you would have had all day yesterday to plan,I scolded myself.Well, notall day...

I encountered the edge of the pool when I didin't expect it and it spoiled my transition. I shook my head for losing my concentration and fell back into the rhythm. It didn't do any good to roll in recriminations now; now was the time to figure out how to turn things to our advantage. As far as today went, sailing on that beast of a boat and a horse race should be safe enough. Where things got hairy would be if Nathan's plan acctually succeeded and we were invited to Greece. There, things would be out of our control and dangerous.

Most likely this would just be a day out and nothing would come of it. That, ironically, was the safest outcome. Nathan tries to charm his way into an invite, fails and we regroup back here. Then what? I realized it would be important that I had a plan before Nathan tried something even more hair brained. But what?

I came to the edge of the pool again, but instead of immediately launch myself to the far side, I treaded water for a bit and thought. With a flick of my shoulders, I rolled onto my back and floated, watching the dawn slowly chase the stars away as my mind turned on ways to accompish what my goals were. Goal One: MI6 had suspicions about Aayansh Khatri and needed to confirm if there was a pending threat to encourage mass migration into the NetVerse. Goal Two: Agent Cary Griffiths needed to be located and rescued. Goal Three: If the conspiracy Khatri is suspected of being a part of was, in fact, true, it needed to be disrupted so that the greatest amount of human murder since Mao's Great Leap Forward is prevented.

The sky brightened until onlyUrsa Major , could be picked out over head.

I floated, contemplating the great She Bear of Heaven and thought. Problem: How to access the secure networks of a multi-national conspiracy? Nathan's plan was to get close to a quadroplegic Billionaire, sweet talk our way onto his private island Lair... The star Muscida, the head of the She Bear faded from the sky that was rapidly becoming blue. My legs and torso sank back into the water and treaded it as it I followed this new inspiration of thought. Greece was a member of the European Union. For Khatri to own an entire island in the Grecian Archapelgo here in Second World, he had to own the real island as well. “Thaddeus!” I called out and with in moments, I heard his footsteps on the steps up from the house.

“You called, madam?” he greeted, a silver tray in hand with a coffee service and other items I couldn't see.

“I did,” I affirmed, as I swam over to the table. The ladder allowed me out of the pool and my good right hand was already holding my robe for me to slip into. “Would you be so good as to step up to the GateHouse? I'd like to speak with Master Kenneth and Monsieur Blanc .”

“Certainly, Madam,” he replied from pouring my first cup. “In the meantime, I thought you might want a little something light to tide you over to your Brunch with Mister Marks.”

I caught his shoulder, leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I don't know what I would do without you, Thaddeus.” My butler actually blushed in the ruddy morning light and smiled at me.

“It is my deepest pleasure, my lady.”

“I will find something for you, Thaddeus,” I warned him. “Some gift for all you've done.”

He bowed from the neck. “My dear young lady, you have already given me that gift.” My questioning look caused him to continue. “When you returned to us, I steadied myself for another of your adventurerousouttings. But, no sooner had I laid eyes on you, something told me the proverbal winds had shifted. That my lady has been studiouslyacting like a lady, would be gift enough. Though we note how you immediately saught to protect young Master Gorton and took him under your wing. Even turning a one time enemy into a loyal retainer, well, words fail, madam.”

“Nathan?” I asked, startled. “I was just followingyour advice.”

He smiled at me again. “Far better than I tendered it,” he assured me. “I meant only to wash an infatuation from your mind, but you've done far more than that. My lady may not see it, but a servant recognizes another servant. The only time we will see the back of Mister Marks is at your dismissal.”

I smiled at him. “You're wonderfully bold this morning, Thaddeus. Keep calling me on my bullshit, I'm liking it.”

“As you wish. Now, if my lady will excuse me, I shall fetch Master Gorton and Monsieur Blanc. ”

I smiled as I watched him go, then sat down to a tray of fresh fruit and a cinnamon raisin bagel. Between delicious bites, I summoned a tablet and began to quickly write out instructions. I was just finishing as Thaddeus returned, trailing behind him was a yawning Kenneth and, wonder of wonders, Monsieur Blanc in his black suit. He bowed first, Kenneth quickly following suit. “Gentlemen, good morning,” I greeted and gestured at the coffee service. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” mumbled Kenneth, but Blanc only arched an eyebrow.

“Does that work?” he asked.

“Depends on how you're interfaced,” I replied, but before he could look more confused, Kenneth turned from mixing his coffee to me.

“My mom packed my 'trodes even though I don't need them anymore, so I loaned them to Jacques.”

“Ah,” I declared as I wiped my lips. “Then, yes,Monsieur Blanc, your body will react as it would to the caffeine in coffee as though you drank it.” He nodded, obviously impressed, and began to pour himself a cup as well. “It will also taste and feel hot, so be careful,” I warned him.

“Amazing,” he muttered, pausing to sniff the aroma and nod his appreciation.

A sip of my own got my mouth clear and settled a gaze on him. “So, Monsieur Blanc, I find myself in need of a permanent man of your skills and talents amongst my retainers. That you come fromProfessionnels de la Garde would be sufficient recommendation, however I have independantly verified your concern of being followed yesterday and discovered that you broke the tail of a pair of MI6 agents. My congratulations, sir.”

“Dude,” complimented Kenneth.

For himself, Jacques Blanc only smiled a small smile and raised his cup and gratitude. “Hearing who they work for, I would have thought better of them, that someone with my skills could lose them.”

“No need for modesty,Monsieur Blanc ,” I directed him. “That is skill I have use for, and I am willing to pay for it. What would you say to entering my employ on a full time basis?”

He looked at me for a moment, then his eyes explored what he could see of my home. He mulled the for a moment, the bowed again. “ Je suis votre homme, Comtesse,” he declared.

“Très bien, monsieur Blanc,”I replied with a smile, then slid the tablet across the table at them. “I expect you'll need to give a notice toProfessionnels de la Garde, I'll make arrangements for thatafter this matter is resolved. If I must extend my services with them to cover the overlap, so be it. We can arrive at our understanding at that time.”

“Comme vous le dites, comtesse, ” he replied in his gravelly voice.

“Uh, my lady,” Kenneth interrupted from looking over the tablet. “I don't even know how many laws this will break...”

I smiled at him. “Not to worry, Master Kenneth, you are in the service of Marion St. Clair du Bois, Comtesse de Corse. I protect my own. ”

* * *

Le Sunrise was one of two restaurants at the Yacht Club de Monaco which existed to serve a brunch from noon to three after which, the dinner restaurant Le 1909opened. The Club itself occupied a new building built to resemble a ship with it's teak flooring and ship railings on its numerious balconies. It sat on the pier overlooking the Marina and harbor under the shadow of the Monte-Carlo Hotel Casino. It was the very European mixture of what could be considered elite sportsmen of the competitive yachtsmen who shared the club with royalty, nobility and the extremely well off, argent neuf ou ancien. This casual combination frequently confused noneuropeans, Americans in particular, but to the sophisticate, elite was elite, whether it was in the matter of sport, blood or business.

Which brings us, again, to the question of why do people in a virtual enviorment eat?

For the same reason we make love, of course; it's enjoyable. Eating is a deeply imbedded pass time in the human animal; we spend about an hour everyday eating and drinking. On average, that amounts to over twenty years in a lifetime. That's a habit that's not easily broken, even if we didn't enjoy it. Add in the social nature of eating and, well, it's inclusion to the Second World was a must.

Nathan's Maybach oozed into the valet overhang at a fashionably late ten past the hour. I had my door opened by the valet's assistant as the valet took the keys from Nathan. I took Nathan's arm as he offered it to stride into the club. Le Sunrise was on Deck Two of the club, whose building refered to its floors as Decks to underscore the nautical theme. Speaking of nautical themes, Nathan was looking like quite the yachtsman in a white cable knit turtle neck sweater under a blue blazer and chinos. All he needed was a mariner's cap and people would start calling him 'captain.'

For myself, I'd settled on a vivid red maxidress that complimented my olive complexion and clung perfectly to my form to just after my hips, then relaxed in to a smooth, flowy ankle lenght with a just above the knee slit on both sides that gave me very easy freedom of movement. It was a spagetti strap tank up top with a generous, but not lewd amount of decolletage that I paired with scarlet stockings of a lace pattern and red, Prada pumps.

We got to Le Sunrise, quickly enough and out onto a terrace where Aayansh Khatri stood from his table and waved us over. This was the man in tennis whites that Kenneth had shown me, young, fit, and darker complected than me, but not by too much. He wore his black hair short in an executive cut with a white polo shirt under a blue blazer and white pants. At his right hand was Isla.

She didn't look thirty, which was what I vaguely remembered was her age, but then I didn't look my age either. In fact, we both looked to be about twenty four. Her midback hair was blonde and her skin was bronze either from tan or genetics I didn't know. She had intense green eyes that seemed far more intillegent that a model is given credit for. Even sitting down, you could tell she was exceptionally tall, likely taller than he was, but that wasn't uncommon for models. She was wearing a bright gold one piece swim suit as a top under an eggshell pants suit.

Nathan shook hands with Aayansh. “Good to see you again,” he declared warmly.

“We've only been waiting a moment,” Khatri replied, then his eyes came to me. “But this was certainly worth waiting for.”

Nathan chuckled as he gestured to me. “I have the honor to introduce Marion St. Clair du Bois, Countess of Corsica.” Aayansh's eyes opened wider at my title and bowed from the neck as he took my hand to kiss.

“I'm deeply honored, my lady. May I introduce my companion, Isla?” I turned to find the model staring at me with an otherwise neutral expression, but her eyes glared daggers. It was obvious that she viewed me as a threat, which suggested that her billionaire boyfriend's eyes, and perhaps other parts of him, wandered.

I smiled and nodded at her, making a point to look her directly in the eye. “Charmed,” my voice declared, while my eyes declared, you don't intimidate me. She gave a half bow from the neck and reached for her juice.

“Milady,” she drawled, her London accent unmistakable. Nathan pulled out my chair for me and I sat while turning over my water goblet for the waiter who was coming over with the juice carafe. “Aayani says we're going sailing, beautiful day for it.”

“Especially after yesterday,” I agreed with her. “The joys of Monaco, I'm afraid. We don't get many storms, but they do linger when they come.”

Khatri flashed his brilliantly white, perfect teeth. “To recieve a day like this is a fair exchange. Ah, allow me, my lady,” as he produced a bottle of Dom Pérignonhe mixed into my glass as the waiter poured, turning my orange juice into a Mimosa. I smiled at him as I lifted the glass once both were done and held it up in salute.

“What are we drinking to?” I asked, noting Isla roll her eyes, but Aayansh gave me his full attention.

“Rule, Britannia!” snapped Isla, who didn't bring her glass up to anyone else, but sipped whether her sentiment was accepted or not.

“I'll drink to that,” Nathan cried, and Aayansh agreed with him and the touched their glasses to mine.

“Indeed,” Khatri enthused, then turned back to me. “Tell me, my lady, do you think, with the Yellow Vests, perhaps Belle Franceshall join the United Kingdom by taking their leave of the so called EU?” It was interesting to compair the men at the table, the pointedly direct billionaire and my loveable would be spy with his circular approact to everything.

“Let's not spoil the day with politics,” I replied with a smile, which immediately perked up Isla for some reason. Aayansh's eyebrow acended his low forehead in surprise.

“Really?” he laughed. “I'm surprised! Nathan wants to bring politics into everything, how odd.”

“Odd?” I asked. “Hardly, Mister Khatri. There are few things as hopelessly without use as a member of the French Peerage. I may have a good name and an interesting title, but I haven't set foot on the island of my birth in years. I'm not enriched by my fife, why should I worry about being bothered with actually governing it?”

“Opposites truly attract!” Aayansh laughed as I took a sip of my somewhat strong Mimosa. “Well, I see I'll have to narrow my debates to Nathan on the virtues and failures of democracy.”

“The greatest freedom in life is being able to divorce onself from the political tread mill to simply enjoy life,” I opinied and this time Isla raised her glass at me as if she was rethinking her initial impression.

“Too right!” she announced. Further sparring was interrupted by the arrival of our waiter for our order. I decided to be simple and somewhat traditional by ordering the charcuterie with a croissant. As brunch was a simple service off a steam table buffet we were soon eating.

Conversation was somewhat stiffled by this. The tension was noticable, though not uncomfortable. We were just acquaintences sharing a meal. In fact, my first impression of this billionaire, was that he seemed far too concerned with enjoying himself to be caught up in an international conspiracy. As I was spreading the last of my farmhouse pâté a tall, dashing figure in what looked like Navy whites entered the restaurant and after a moment of looking, proceeded to come directly to our table. “Mister Marks?”

Nathan stood at the man's greeting, quickly clearing his mouth. “Ladies and gentleman, let me introduce Captain Andilet, he's the head of my crew aboard the Britannia” Captain Andilet half bowed and tipped his cap to the table, then turned back to Nathan.

“I'm afriad I have bad news, sir. The Britanniatook a bit of rough go of it yesterday from the storm. She struck the dock several times, and the damage isn't slight. We took on a fair bit of water. My lads have the flooding under control, but she'll need a shipwright to oversee the repairs.”

“Oh no,” exclaimed Khatri. “Well, not to worry, Nathan, my yacht was out in the anchorage and I'm told she weathered the storm fine. We can go out on mine.”

“Now I feel terrible, Aayansh, this is twice plans have changed and been my fault,” Nathan told him.

“Nonsense,” the billionaire replied dismissively. “We'll have a wonderful day out and the boat doesn't matter. Captain, would you care to join us?”

Andilet bowed again. “You're very kind sir, but I should get back and see about repairs.”

“Of course, fairer sailing.” He took out a cellphone and started dialing. “Well, let me just give my crew a call and see about a launch out to her and we'll finish up brunch and be on our way!”

* * *

Billionaires, I discovered, do everything to excess. When we went down to the docks, waiting for us was a ten meter cabin cruiser that was a yacht in it's own right, complete with galley, beding and a full head. We were taken a board then taken out into the bay to a one hundred meter long megayacht. On her stern was a helipad with a squat Bell 412 helicopter tied down to it. Forward was a superstructure that probably could rival a small hotel with state rooms and other amenities. Interestingly, she was flying a Union Jack, as her ensign and I could only ponder why a billionaire who could certainly afford to register his vessel in one of any number of less expensive and more permissive states choose to deal the regulatory headache that was United Kingdom registration.

It would certainly appear that a statement was being made.

Our yacht being used as a launch was actually hauled aboard with a custom davit that seemed made for it and we came aboard to greeting of exceptionally attractive young people in nautically themed, but honestly suggestive 'uniforms' and of all things, a Boatswain's call. A pole dancer and a rugy player took the bags Nathan and I were carrying respectively to our cabins which were seperate; a remarkably chaste lodging situation considering the uniforms nearly rising to the level of fetish wear.

Or perhaps Mister Khatri hoped to indulge in his roaming body parts.

With great ceremony the anchor was weighed and an air horn that would have made a battleship give way sounded which announced we were off. A steward came by with champagne and Aayansh was all smiles. “A toast!” he proclaimed. “To new friends!”

I raised my flute, noting from where we were standing on the flying bridge, perhaps ten full stories from the sea that down below us was what looked like a full sized pool and hot tub on the main deck. He noted my gaze and followed it. “Would you care for a dip, Countess?”

I smiled. “I am something of an avid swimmer.”

“Of course!” he exclaimed with another flash of perfect teeth. He turned to the bridge crew and mock saluted the man with the most braid, beside ourselves, the oldest looking person I'd seen thus far. “Captain, the bridge is yours. Come, my friends, a pool party it is!”

“Captain has the con,” one of the young men off to the side announced.

“Isla, my darling, would you show the Countess to her cabin? This way, Nathan.”

The supermodel came to me, such that I had to crane my neck up at her. In her heels she was probably Nathan's two meters at least. “Right this way, milady,” she declared in a decidedly more friendly tone than she'd used so far. We decended two flights of stairs into hallway that would have been at home on a four star cruise ship. We arrived at a door marked Four that she opened. “Here we are,” she said, leading the way inside. There I found a spacious accommodation with a queen sized bed, a sitting area with comfortable looking chairs, a seatee, even a table and chairs. On the aft bulkhead was a head with a shower and there was even a door leading out to a balcony.

“My word, this is very generous,” I declared, turning slowly to appreciate the room. By the time I had returned my attention to the exceptionally tall woman, her hands were on her hips.

“Yes, Aayani is very generous,” she told me. “And he's taken.”

I smiled at her. “Not to worry, I don't poach.”

Her head turned slightly as though she were carefully considering the statement. “Well, then, word to the wise, he does,” she confided. “But don't think he wants anything from you but a notch on his bed post.”

“As I indicated, I'm not after your man,” I replied a bit more forcefully. “And if he is stepping out on you, why do you put up with it?”

She shrugged and looked away. “He's a billionaire, so he's used to getting his way. He's taken care of me since the accident, so I turn a blind eye to his slags. They don't mean anything to him.”

“Ah,” I realized. “Well, thank you for the compliment of not sorting me with that kind of company.”

“So long as we see eye to eye, it's brilliant. Just make sure he doesn't catch you alone.”

“Merci pour l'avertissement,”I told her.

She nodded with significant weight. “The pool is one deck down and forward. Cheers.”

The door closed on her and I shook my head. I never cease to be amazed at the wagons some will hitch themselves to chasing, what? Security? It was what I'd fought against my whole life and this after life come to it. I would take my fate into my own hands, but some, I suppose, will always favor comfortable servitude over dangerous freedom. There are times, the cattle brand themselves.

I opened the door out onto the balcony letting the salty air of the Mediterranean Sea into the room. I looked about to be sure no one paying attention to me either electronically or by the old Mark I Rev 1 eyeball. Satisfied I was alone, I touched my ear so that the interface wasn't activated and whispered, “Kenneth Gorton.”

On the third ring, the line was picked up. “Hello?”

“Talk to me Kenneth.”

“The Britanniahasn't left the dock, but I see Khatri's Viceroy is putting out to sea...”

I rolled my eyes. “I'm aware, as I am on it. Britanniawas damaged in the storm so Nathan and I are both here.”

“What does that do to the plan?”

I looked back into the cabin to be sure I was still alone. “Nothing. Situations change, that's the nature of warfare.What were you able to discover?” I heard the tapping of a keyboard over the line.

“You were right, Khatri does own that island here and really. He had the beginnings of a home on it, but construction stopped when he wrecked his Mclaren.”

I nodded, impatient and worried I'd be overheard. “Good work. Now, expand your search to any property he might own here in Monaco and the south of France. Businesses, residences, anything.”

“Will do, boss. Are you and Mister Marks going to be ok?”

“Don't worry about us,” I ordered him. “Listen to Monsieur Blanc and the two of you stay alert. I'll contact you again when I can.” I took my hand off my ear and the line dropped. That done, I went back into my cabin and opened the little day trip bag I'd brought. Inside, I removed my favorite bikini which was in a tropical floral print of mostly reds and greens with a matching sarong of the same print and laid it out on the bed while I took off the Maxidress which I hung on a hanger in the cabin's hanging locker. The pistol and it's garter holster I took off my hose and tucked it between the mattress and the head board, under the pillow. Most searches would lift the mattress by the foot or mid point to look for hidden things, and pick up the pillows. It was the best hiding place the cabin offered.

That done, I stripped off the stockings and my Prada's to swap out the bikini. Once I had the sarong the way I wanted it around my hips, I took a pair of swiming shoes from the bag and put them on, then went looking for the pool.

A deck down from our cabins was a central corridor that ran fore and aft that was closer to the technical areas of the ship. Interestingly, I passed a doorway labeled Radio Shack which I filed away as interesting as I went forward. I passed a few of the crew as these were evidently the deck of their quarters as well, and they uniformly stepped out of my way as I did so.

Finally, I came to a hatch that opened onto the deck at the bow of the ship. Down a short course of steps was a wide space for entertaining, passing a fully tricked out DJ booth, a tiki bar, a hot tub that would have been at home in a mega fitness center and finally an olympic sized pool with plenty of deck and deck chairs around it to take in the sun.

Aayansh and Nathan were in the shallow end of the pool, Nathan in a pair trucks that were tight like a faux wet suit that made his bluge quite prominent but just stepped aside of being leud. Khatri, on the other hand, wore a baggy swimsuit trunks that went to his knees sporting an extremely loud and colorful geometric pattern. Isla came out the hatch behind me, having shed the pants suit and her one piece for a bikini bottom and electing to go topless. She noted I was wearing both pieces of my bikini, smirked as if satisifed she was one up, and continued to the pool.

To say her fashion choice made a splash would be a bit of an understatement.

* * *

It was a very pleasant day to be at sea. The skies were clear, the Mediterranean unusally calm and of course the accommodations were first rate. Truth be told, the Viceroy was really more of a medium ferry than a private yacht. The opulence was on display, but it's excess couldn't really hide the fact that a fair amount of compensation for something was going on.

After our impromptu pool party, where Isla's toplessness seemed to have its desired effect on having her lover's eyes back on her, Aayansh insisted on us staying for dinner and we could cruise under the star light back to Monaco. I retired to my cabin, made sure my PPK was still in its hiding place, which it was, and began to lay out my evening attire. A knock interrupted that and, remembering Isla's warning, I didn't immediately open the door. “Who is it?”

“Nathan.”

I opened the door to find him back in his slacks and sweater and invited him in with a gesture. “What's wrong?” I asked as he entered and shut the door. He held a finger up to his lips and fished a little gismo out of his pocket.

“Is there something wrong with wanting to spend time with a beautiful woman?” he announced, for the benefit of whoever he thought was listening.

I decided to humor him and ask, “Do we have time for this before dinner?”

“We can be fashionably late,” he replied as he worked the little gismo and finally sighed. “All clear. I'm surprised there isn't eavesdropping equipment in these cabins.”

“He probably doesn't feel the need,” I replied as I reached up and undid the knot holding my top on as I walked towards my bath to hang it. He noted my toplessness, but said nothing. He came to the door of the bath that I hadn't closed as I did the same to the sarong and the bikini bottom. He shifted his weight and noted the perdiciment I'd given him and gave him a sly smile.

He licked his lips and finally got his mouth to ask, “Wh...why do you say that?”

I smiled as I walked over to him, nude to rub a finger under his jaw. “Because if you weren't so busy staring at me, you would notice the sun through the door to my balcony.” With noticible effort, he turned to look and then back to me. “The sun is out my balcony,” I elaborated for him. “This cabin is on the starboard side of the ship, so we're now sailing east, not north. For all the time we spent in the pool, we're probably far enough south to be around the boot of Italy. We're being kidnapped.”

“This is good,” he decided after a moment of thought. “We want on his island...”

“No, Nathan,” I corrected him. “If he's taking us somewhere, he must have satisfied whatever suspicion he had about you. I imagine very shortly, our status will change from honored guests to prisoners.” He made a calming gesture.

“Not nesscarrily,” he declared after a moment of thought. “It could be he's finally decided to include the Society of the Elect into the conspiracy. We should play this cool, see where he wants to go with it.”

“There's something else to consider,” I told him as I got by him and padded over to the bed and my bag. “While we have 'guest' status, we may want to make our play. The Radio Shack is below my cabin. I can probably get in from my balcony and plant your trace.”

“If you're caught, that would give us away,” he replied.

“We may not have another oppertunity,” I shot back. He thought for a moment, then looked me in the eye.

“He's got to feel like he's in charge,” he reasoned. “You noticed we aren't going the right way, so he's not worried about us being found out. We can learn a lot from this. Do you trust me?” I frowned at him, and walked back from the bed.

“I wouldn't allow myself to be in this situation if I didn't,” I told him. “But consider this, if we are killed, I can't use this avatar here again.”

He blinked in shock. “You have lots of avatars...” he started but, I cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Nathan, this is who I want to be. This body, this life, Monaco has always been my retreat, my safe space. I trust you enough to risk this, just know how important this is to me.” He took me into his arms and kissed my forehead. It honestly felt nice and safe and I actually felt comforted which drew a sigh from me.

“I won't let him hurt you,” he promised. “My gut tells me this is an oppertunity. But, it won't hurt to have a back up plan.”

I sighed and stepped back, confident even in my nudity. “Depending on the state he keeps that Bell 412 in, I can have it airborne in three to five minutes.”

“You can fly...? Of course you can,” he replied. “That's a lot of wiggle room if we're running for our lives.”

I shrugged. “I can't account for how he keeps it. Cold and dark? Five minutes, at least. Something close to stand by? Three or so. I can't be more exact until I'm sitting at the controls.” I cupped my chin for a moment. “It might be faster to clamor on board that ten meter cruiser he's using for a dingy, drop it loose and get away on it.”

“Fall backs of fall backs are good,” he agreed, then made a vague gesture at my state. “You, uh, you should probably get dressed.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Tired of me au naturel already?”

His grin was salicious. “I don't have time to show my appreciation just now.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

* * *

For dinner, Thaddeus had packed my black asymmetric dress with it's ruffled, flower like detail on the neck and shoulder strap. The slits would give me ample freedom of movement, and ready access to my faithful little PPK. I tucked it into it's garter holster and they in turn held up some simple back seam stockings to shield my feet from a pair of Valentino Garavani ankle strap pumps with brass accents. I may not understand the Italian fascination with pointed toed shoes, but I have to admit they make a damn sexy shoe. My black opera gloves completed the outfit.

Fortunately, virtual pools do not require virtual chlorine so my hair dried back in it's normal easy about my shoulders look. I find that combination of being dressed to the nines but having loose hair led to electric response in the males of the species far more than more complicated up dos. I think it had some hint of loose hair might equal loose woman inspired more hope than might be warranted by some, but at least I knew I would look like a stack of money in any denomination or nation of origin.

My evening look accompanied by just the right amount of slightly dramatic lip and eye shades, I took Nathan's arm and we were led to the Grand Salon where evidently Mister Khatri took his meals and entertained his guests. Nathan had quickly swapped out his 'at sea' look for his tuxedo so we were something of a matched pair.

Isla had decided on the red version of the little black dress which looked to have been painted on by a Dutch Master rather than tailored. Aayansh, on the other hand, was channeling his inner Indiana Jones with a white dinner jacket with red tie and cummerbund. He was grinning, arms spread as he came from the table to seat us, making a point to kiss my hand again. “Welcome, welcome! Countess, you look positively ravishing.”

I looked at him askance and decided to be coy. “Oh, I hope not,” I purred. “That could be extremely awkward considering present company.”

“Your talent for double entendre is magnificent, Countess,” he countered, undeterred. “Come, sit with us and let us share a meal.” Nathan seated me, before settling next to me and his stewards went about filling glasses with a sparkling white wine that wasn't champagne. Aayansh raised his glass, once we were all served. “With apologies, to our guest from Belle France, Lady, sir, I give you Charles, third of the name, by the grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of His other Realms and Territories King, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, and Sovereign of the Most Noble Order of the Garter. Long may he reign!”

“God save the King,” Nathan replied as he raised his glass. For myself, I am not so French that I could not be polite and so raised my glass in salute and tasted a very sweet wine that without carbonation would be more suited to the dessert course.

I caught the look Isla gave me, as if a touch confused a French woman could tolerate talk of the British Monarchy. I just gave her a smile and took another sip of the wine. Aayansh returned his glass to the table, still all smiles as his crew opened the meal with a Consomme of Beef that was a touch salty to my palate. After a tasting of the soup, I decided to comment, “Sadly gentlemen, at Charles' age, I doubt you will get your wish of a long reign.”

Aayansh's mouth happened to be full, and I was surprised that Isla chose to answer. “Likely right,” her London accent a touch stronger as her surprising patriotism came to the surface. “Still, the Line is in good hands. Looks to me like William and Kate might be a new Golden Age for the Empire.”

“Is Britain still an Empire?” I asked in what I hoped was an innocent tone. “Didn't even Charles decline to use the title?”

“Is a burned down house still a house?” Aayansh asked philosophically. “If the debris is cleared away and a new house constructed on the foundation of the old is it, in fact, new?”

“Theseus' paradox?” I replied. “An interesting observation, Mister Khatri. Do you think the British Empire should go colonizing again?”

His dark features became serious. “What was so wrong with colonization?” he countered. “Now people shriek about the evils of the Colonial Powers, yet will not consider the good that was done. The civilization the British Empire brought.”

I smiled at him. “I'm French, and Corsican, I have no place to speak on such things.”

“ Au contraire,” he protested. “The French Empire did as much good as the British. And Corsica has been conquered and reconquered so many times it is nearly the melting pot the Americans boast of being. Greek, Italian, Roman, French, Norse, Crusader, Moor, who has not invaded Corsica?”

“I imagine such events were hardly celebratory for the Corsicans at the time.”

That struck him as funny. “Indeed! But, now, here we can spread a new empire and no one has to suffer. In the Digital Realm there is no want, no hunger, no disease, the Garden of Eden man has saught to return to since the expulsion.”

The empty bowls of soup were removed for a delicate little morsal of salmon that was almost more of a work of art that a plate of food with seasoning, garnish and just enough heat to sear the meat without drying it out. “My compliments to your chef,” Nathan declared after his first bite. “This is amazing.”

“And it proves my point,” Aayansh boasted with a grin. “Why toil in the so called 'real world' when here everyone can enjoy the life until now only a few could.”

“Everyone wants to go to Disneyland,” I drawled. “But everyone complains about the crowds.”

“Yet the technology of the NetVerse allows for so many places, so many instances of the same reality, crowds become a thing of the past,” he declared with enthusism.

I sat my fork down and touched my napkin to my lips. “If you are so sold on the NetVerse, Mister Khatri, why am I the only Upload at the table?”

He smiled again, as he reached out to take Isla's hand. “There is one thing this paradise does not offer; children! While Isla and I are still anchored by our broken bodies, we are both young and hope to have a family. I have the money to have that taken care of and we are in the process of working out ways to raise our children without depriving them their physical development. But, at some point, we'll be Uploads as well.” He sighed and became grave. “Which is why I have you as our guests. In hopes of persuading you not to interfer with the paradise I'm in the process of creating.”

“I was wondering why your captain was so leasurely in his maneavors,” I said softly. “So, we are not going to Monaco, where are we going?”

He sighed again. “Until I am more certain of your alligence, Countess, I prefer to remain coy on that account. You and Mister Marks will be returning to Monaco once our evening concludes. Safely, of that you have my word, but I can't risk what I've started on being wrong about you two.”

“What is it you think we are?” Nathan asked. “Perhaps we can settle this now...”

“Oh, I know who you are, Nathan,” Khatri replied. “My organization keeps tabs on everyone in MI6. I was surprised to find they sent a computer security specialist to try and get close to me. No slight, sir, for someone who isn't a field agent you carried yourself well, you nearly had me fooled. No, where I'm curious is you, Countess. Why are you a part of this?”

“A part of what, exactly?” I asked, trying to deflect, but his face became stoney and remarkably firm.

“Don't insult my intelligence,” he declared flatly, but there was plenty of threat in the tone. “No answer? Well, fair enough, I keep my own secrets so I cannot be upset that you do. Pity.” He pressed a button on the side of the table I hadn't noticed until now and two beefier members of his crew appeared. Their uniforms were very practical and not in the least fetish wear. He stood, wiping his mouth as he did so. “You'll have to forgive me for interrupting dinner. I hope I can make it up to you at some point.” He raised his gaze to the hench men. “Conduct Mister Marks and My Lady Countess du Bois to the helicopter and return them to Monaco. Good evening, Countess, Nathan. I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”

For a moment, I considered drawing my pistol, but a soft gesture from Nathan convinced me to continue to play things soft. I stood, daubing my lips with the napken before laying it beside my plate. “Dinner, what there was of it, was lovely,” I complimented.

He nodded his head. “I look forward to a happier, consiliatory meal in the future.” With that he and Isla left, and we were left with the goons. To be fair to our host we were escorted, not marched aft to the Helipad. There, a pair of the fetish crew had our day bags which they presented to us, then we were put into the 412. No one pointed a gun at us, but there was a subtle undertone of command that if polite failed, compel was next.

As I sat in the leather seat of the push cabin of the 412, I amused myself by opening my bag and checking its contents. I found my red maxidress, it's hose and shoes, my bikini and sarong in clear plastic bag to keep the damp items from the maxi dress. Satisfied, I put it beside the chair. We had the passenger compartment to ourselves as the engine reved above us and below, Viceroy fell away until only her lights were visible on the wine dark Mediterranean.

I mentally marked the time and kept my gaze out. We got up to a crusining height that let me see the dark mountains of the boot of Italy and the lights of a town that looked like might be the destination of the Vicroy. Then, there was nothing to do but enjoy the ride.

It was a little less than three hours later when the helicopter was alighting on the helipad at the Casino De Monte-Carlo. I have to admit to being a little suprised we hadn't had to have a shoot out to keep from being thrown over board. Indeed, the pilot hadn't said so much as a word to us as he flew. The ground crew at the Monte-Carlo were professionals, helping me out of the bird and down off the pad.

“Well, that was a bust,” Nathan groused. “Three months of preparations, up the spout.”

I arched an eyebrow at him as we walked down into the casio. “Ready to quit already?” I chided him. “You're not taking what we've learned into account.”

“We know he's up to something, but we suspected that already.”

I rolled my eyes and kept my head high as we got to the valet stand. I put my hand out and he gave me the reciept from the yacht club. “Captain, could I impose on one of your lads to retrieve my gentleman's Maybach from the Yacht club? I know it's a run, but I'll...”

He smiled and raised a hand for the ticket. “ Certainement, mademoiselle,” he assured me. A sharp whistle brought one of his Valets, who departed at a trot toward the Yacht Club.

“Merci.Do you have your passport?” I asked, turning back to Nathan.

“Of course, but, where are we going?”

“Naples,” I replied. “And before you ask how I know that, the cruising speed of a Bell 412 is one hundred and twenty knots. We were in the air for not quite three hours and I saw the lights of a city on the Italian coast when we took off and the Viceroysailing towards it. One hundred and twenty knots at

less than three hours is six hundred kilometers, give or take; thus, Naples.”

He grinned at me. “I love you.”

I patted his cheek. “I know.”

* * *

We took Nathan's Maybach back to my Lair, after a generous tip to the valet for his run. On the way, I took off my gloves and placed them on the console. He was just turning onto Boulevard de la Princesse Charolette when I pointed at a parking space in front of Hôtel Novotel de Monte Carlo . “Pull in there,” I commanded as I got the day bags from the back seat.

“Why?” he asked, confusion on his face. I winked at him as I opened my bag, removed all the items and put them into the back seat, then opened his and did the same. He watched me with a confused expression on his face as I opened the door and got out, the bags in hand. I spied a couple of scruffy looking teenagers with backpacks on, likely on their Grand Tour. What was once a mainstay of the European well born to have an adventure before settling down by embarking on an extensive tour of Europe had become an excuse for college students to hobo around European cities in back packs. There was an entire class of accommodation, the Youth Hostel that had sprung up to take advantage of these vagabonds, but there were always some who eschewed such luxuries as indoor plumbing to find moral superiority in 'roughing it.' “Excusez-moi,”I greeted the girl with a smile. “J'ai pensé que vous pourriez les aimer.”

Her eyes went wide when she saw the makers marks on the bags and took them in amazement. “Merci!” she exclaimed. “Merci beaucoup!”

I smiled at her and her confused boyfriend. “Vous êtes les bienvenus,” I assured them as I turned back to Nathan and his Maybach as I couldn't help but over hear the girl excitedly tell her beau what the gifts I'd given them were worth. I slid into the leather seat and pulled the door shut. “Alright, drive on.”

“What...?” he started, but I arched an eyebrow at him. “Bugs and trackers,” he finally declared.

“Now we're learning,” I purred at him. “First rule of field work, my lover, trust no one. And if something of yours has been out of your sight where someone could have fiddled with it, assume they did.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “You told me you trusted me,” he countered.

“I do trust you,” I assured him, leaving the contradiction hanging.

“Is rule number two never tell the truth?” he asked sardonically.

I frowned as I folded my gloves. “Not at all,” I declared. “If you can tell the truth, do so. It's easier to keep straight. If you have to lie, tell something as close to the truth but not for the same reason. It will help you keep your story straight.” He decided not to press his luck and the conversation lapsed into silence.

The Maybach turned up into the hills towards my Lair. There was no check point or boarder crossing to worry about, Monaco had long had agreements with France for such things. Passports became an issue only for a handful of people who arrived by sea, but even they would get their documents stamped for both countries as France actually handles immigration and customs matters for the Principality.

The lights of the house were still on when we arrived, which was not unexpected, as it was still early in the evening. I led the way into the foyer and after securing the front door, back along the service areas of the Lair towards the kitchens, garage and the work room Thaddeus had given over to Kenneth. The door was open when we arrived and I looked in.

Whatever this equipment actually looked like in the real world, here, it looked like the fever dream of a Hollywood prop maker tasked with designing something only described as a 'Super Computer'. There were racks of cables, blinking lights, massive monitors on armatures displaying God only knew what, keyboard, buttons and bits and bobs I had no name for. In the center of this Giger inspired masterpiece was Kenneth, his head intent on the largest of the displays. “Kenneth?” I called from the door, causing him to start and turn to face me.

“Oh, my lady, you're back!” He rubbed his hands on his thighs nervously. “We were worried.”

Behind me, Nathan crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Either Khatri doesn't consider us a threat, or he's determined to play the Gentleman Bandit with emphasis on the 'Gentleman'.

The younger man grinned and took off the earphone headset he was wearing. “Well, small mercies, right?”

“Oui,” I agreed with him. “When did you eat last?”

“Uh, um, I think...”

I raised my hands to cut him off. “Alright, first I want you to log out and eat. Take an hour or so and then I'll take your report on what you've found so far.” He yawned, showing he likely hadn't moved much all day.

“Yes, my lady. Do you want Mister White to come with me when I'm back?”

I considered for a moment. “If he thinks the situation warranted and secure, then yes. We'll need to reconsider our attack.”

He reached up behind his ear to grasp a cable he didn't have plugged into him in my reality. “You got it, boss.” His hand moved as if unplugging something, then he vanished in a cloud of dissipating pixels. Nathan grunted to himself.

“So, how do we fill 'an hour or so'?” he asked.

I arched an eyebrow at him. “We? I am the only Upload here, Mister Marks,” I reminded him. “ You need to see to your body as well.”

He stood up off the frame, an odd look on his face. “You...you make this Upload thing actually appealing,” he declared and I smiled at him and patted his cheek.

“Aayansh over plays his hand describing this place, but I'm having the time of my second life.”

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” he told me, reaching up to his head, he removed his own helmet and vanished. I sighed, then turned and headed back towards 'my' side of the Lair. Upstairs, I put my clothes and pistol away. That taken care of, I dressed in a robe, and descended to the private balcony, and it's hot tub. Call me a hedonist, but having to live years without the luxury of a tub and being forced to rely on the proverbial five minute shower, I was something of a water baby now. Extravagant, perhaps, but now that my life was my own, even if I wasn't alive in the strictest of senses, I madetime to bathe now.

This particular balcony had lovely view of Monaco and no avenue for a Peeking Tom without binoculars. Really, reallybig binoculars. I shed the robe, uncaring if I had an audience or not and, nude, eased into the steaming water. I triggered the spa of the tub as I settled and the formerly calm water became a gurgling torrent of air injected water. I lay down on the couch built into the unit that formed to me perfectly and my head was supported in it's cradle. The stars were twinkling out over the bay, as the view, water, heat and agitation eased the stress from what I perceived as my body. As I relaxed, I considered the day and what I'd learned.

There really was no escaping the fact that much of what Khatri said made sense.

Second World was a kind of paradise. I ate because I enjoyed it and I got a vague kind of feeling I 'should' be eating that was mental, not physical. But you could engineer this place to be a Post Scarcity paradise. Food didn't have to be grown, it could be created whole clothe virtually out of a box. Let them eat steak, was something that could be accomplished here.

Someone had to be out in the 'real world' building servers and spare parts, generating electricity and what not, but the amount of human suffering that could be alleviated here was staggering. Which lead to a very uncomfortable question that was gnawing at the back of my mind.

Was I on the wrong side?

I had worked to be and stay here, but, did that give me some kind authority to judge who could or couldn't be here? I frowned as the water eased my muscles, very much unhappy with where my thoughts were going this evening. I wasn't in charge of NetVerse's public relations team, any more than Aayansh Khatri was. They went out of their way to sing their own praises. And I have faced the thought that by Uploading to escape my cancer, I may have just committed a complicated form of suicide years ago and what I thought of as myself was just a computer program with a copy of a dead man's memories and a delusion of self.

A shudder went down the spine I didn't actually have.

I remembered watching them put the helmet on me, the assurance I'd 'go to sleep' and then wake up in the server. But what if I wasn't that person? What if he went to sleep and that was the end of him? I had no way of knowing and even if NetVista knew, they're never going to let that tidbit go public. I took a deep sigh and shook my head.

Normally I only had to deal with these thoughts when I was changing avatars, and then I'd bury these thoughts by going and doing something particularly physical; fight, fuck or something to let me feel this body and reassure my Id that I thought, therefore I was, to paraphrase Descartes. But, perversely, the person I wanted to do something physical with was out in the real world in his real body eating real food.

And even if I still had my old body, I don't think he'd be as open to the idea as I was.

“Baise-moi,” I whispered to myself as I shook my head. I had no idea why Nathan Marks, who seemed to know who I had been was able to put it out of his mind and lose himself in who we were here rather than who I had been. Under the water, I laid my hand on my stomach as a Billionaire's voice whispered in my mind. There isonething this paradise does not offer; children!I hadn't had kids, it was one of my life's chief regrets. But, also why I felt no remorse by liquidating everything I'd owned so I could get this new lease on life so to speak.

I sighed and looked up at the overhang over the tub. “You can carry on like a whore, but you'll never be a mother,” I whispered softly, scolding myself. Ironically, it was when I went down the distaff side of the street was when this empty womb grief struck me. If I had a real body, I might blame it on hormonal changes, but I didn't. Perhaps this avatar came with some kind of electronic estrogen that was having this effect on my psyche. The irony of all of this was normally I'd be proud of myself. I'd so deeply allowed myself to become a woman that someone as mentally male, based on his avatar as Nathan Marks, who knew the truth of my history, had laid with me last night. And now, I was lamenting over my lack of children.

“C'est le destin de l'humanité de toujours désirer ce qu'elle ne peut pas avoir,” I whispered to myself. “C'est la vie.”

I reached over and pressed a button on the top of the tiles of the tub. After a long moment, I heard the door open and footsteps come over to the tub. “You called, Madam?” Thaddeus inquired.

“Yes, Thaddeus, I'm feeling particularly morbid. Would you be so kind as to bring me something suitible to drink? Say, falling down drunk level?”

He sniffed disdainfully. “Let me see what I can acquire, Madam. One moment.” He withdrew for a moment, then returned with a glass on a tray. The beverage was predominately yellow, with a tinner, less opaque red top with a lime wheel over the lip. Picking it up from the tray I found it cold and the beverage a slurry of crushed ice. My pallate was assulted with rum, then various fruit flavors came out from under it.

“Mai Tai?” I asked him, for some reason careful to keep my breasts under the foaming water.

“It seemed to suit the water theme,” he rejoined. “As well as being an excellent rebuttal.”

I paused from my second sip to frown at him. “Rebuttal to what?”

“Your mood,” he replied slyly. “You don't often fall into this particular melancholy, but when you do, I find it best to remind you of the goodness in your life here. How 'Very Fine', to quote the beverages' sobriquet, you have it.” I felt a smile pluck at the corners of my lips and raised the glass in salute to him.

“Very fine, indeed,” I agreed, taking another sip and exaulting in feeling the warmth of the rum flow down my throat. “Do you ever wonder about choices you don't make, Thaddeus?”

“I have noted that it is a favorite pastime of humanity, madam.”

I gently rubbed the roof of my mouth with my tongue, tasting the leftovers of the beverage. “You never wondered or wished to be somewhere else? Someone else?”

He walked forward, reaching out to take one of the chairs from the table and bring it over to the tub and sank into it. I'd never seen this behavior from him and I smiled to show I wanted to encourage it. “I must admit the concept is a bit foreign to me, madam. Being your servant is such a deep part of my programming that it is an essential part of who and what I am. I know that I am most happy when your are, and though rare, I do not enjoy these doldrums you sometimes suffer from. It would be my choice to see you not have to go through them.”

“You're a gentleman and a scholar,” I praised him as I took another sip of my Tiki libation.

I sighed and turned my head in the cradle to look at his long face. “There are many times, my friend, when we discover our happiness is dependant on others. There is truth to Donne's thought, 'No man is an island'.”

He looked at me askance and asked, “And is your happiness currently dependant on Mister Marks?”

“Comme tu moi connais bien.” I replied softly.

He smiled at me and his dark eyes twinkled. “C'est ma vie.”

* * *

Nathan was, ironically, the first to return from this round of body maintenance break. I'd finished my little soak of funk, dried off and changed into a comfortable lounging outfit of black silk that vaguely resembled a martial arts Gi. I'd been amusing myself by playing the piano when he arrived l was coaxing Debussy's Clair de Lune from it. He came to stand by it as I played, a soft smile on his face as he enjoyed the music. He'd also decided to be more casual wearing a dark navy T shirt with an interesting vertical texture to it over blue jeans and a navy sport jacket.

“Did you ever try to make a go of a music career?” he asked me when I'd finished and was reaching for the sweet white wine I was drinking after Thaddeus' Mai Tai. I laughed and shook my head.

“I am far too much of a realist for that,” I told him. “Being able to pay my bills was impressed on me from a young age. My sense of responsibility would never have allowed that level of wishful thinking.”

“It's a shame, you have the talent.”

I gave him a dismissive gesture after I'd put my wine glass down then ran my hands down the board in a dramatic descending scale. “What, fill my hair full of grease?” I asked him and began to pluck at the keys drawing Boogie Woogie from it. “Launch myself as a Rock and Roll want to be?” I had an amusing thought as my fingers danced and exclaimed, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the Keyboard Countess!”

That done I drug my thumb up the keys to finish with an ascending flourish. Nathan accepted the tumbler of Scotch from Thaddeus and raised it toast. “What could have been,” he declared.

“My fantasies are far more Earthy and attainable,” I shot back. My fingers fell back to the keys and my mood returned to Chopin so they began to tap Funeral March. “Nathan, have you given thought to the question, 'Are we on the right side?'”

“You had a choice on whether or not to come here, didn't you?”

I shrugged as I played. “I suppose I could have accepted death by Stomach Cancer gracefully, but that's not really a choice, and you know it. However, I will concede your point.”

“Falsely terrifying millions or billions of people into a procedure that will result in the death of their body and might be their death, we can't be sure is evil of the first order,” he declared firmly. “I understand why you made the choice you did. And I certainly support anyone else having the right to choose it. But manipulation and fraud is beyond the pale.” He shook his head sadly. “For all his lofty declarations of paradise, he's still engineering a genocide. He's every bit the monster Stalin or Mao was, and we have to stop him.”

The front door bell cut off further discussion of a philosophical bent. After a moment, Thaddeus arrived with Kenneth and Jacques. I took the moment to have another sip of wine as I spun on the stool and waved them into the Great Room proper. Once Thaddeus had seen to their refreshments I crossed my legs on the stool and gave everyone a full look to bring the meeting to order. “Gentlemen, so today has been a day of discovery, let's compare our notes and proceed. Nathan and I have confirmed our suspicions concerning Mister Khatri. He is planing some kind of mass migration into the NetVerse which he views as returning Man to the Garden of Eden. That makes him a fanatic and the worst kind of danger. Nathan, do you have anything to add?”

“Yes,” he said gravely. “Before you and Isla joined us at the pool, he made references to an organization of 'like minded' individuals of exceptional note. It was a soft sales pitch that he might not be in this alone.”

“But, he revealed at dinner he knew who you were,” I replied. “That might be a false rabbit hole for us to chase.”

He gestured his acquiescence and I turned my attention to Kenneth. “Well, I had a number of searches run as you requested, then Mr. White and I had my appointment at Crisoni.”

“And?” I asked, noting his avatar was now dressed in what appeared to be tailored slacks, a subdued short cable sweater with a matching sport coat for the slacks. He gave a broad gesture to indicate himself and I raised my wine glass. “Much, much better,” I complimented.

He grinned and shook his head. “The real items will be ready Tuesday, and I can't thank you enough, my lady. This was...an experience.”

“I'm pleased you enjoyed yourself,” I told him. “Now, back to business, what do you have for me?”

He produced a tablet and called up a spread sheet that the house took and projected holographically before us. “This guy is connected,” Kenneth replied with a gesture at the hologram. “Without that rig you supplied, my lady, it would have taken me weeks to sort out this mess. Mister Khatri owns controlling interest in these three corporations, all privately held and this is where his empire starts. From here, the web gets spun into shell companies, Law Firms, holding trusts, I'll be honest, I don't understand half of it, but he's into everything. Grocery stores, farm supply companies, trucking and shipping companies, dairy bottlers and refineries, not to mention this massive block of textile concerns. Even Crisoni gets his material from a mill owned by this mess. I'm going to be wearing silk and cotton this guy grew and spun. Well, his employees.”

“Well done, Kenneth,” I said as I took in and tried to understand the diagram of the interdependencies. “This looks like he controls something like a third of Europe's food production and shipping concerns.”

“Closer to half in Africa and Asia,” he replied.

“What about media interests?” Nathan asked.

Kenneth shook his head. “Nothing that I found. If he's going to start a whisper campaign, I don't know how.”

“We are friends,” Jacques observed quietly. “Is it so outlandish to think he has friends too?”

Nathan rubbed his chin. “Perhaps his 'like minded' individuals of exceptional note wasn't a wild goose to chase after all?”

“Perhaps,” I allowed. I took Kenneth's tablet and tapped some items into it. “Tomorrow, I want you and Monsieur Blancto go and procure these items,” I told him as I handed him back the tablet as a thought transferred money from one account to another to give them a way to cover expenses. “Now, tell me about residential properties. Does Aayansh own anything near by?”

He looked at the list of items and frowned. “What do you want this for?”

“That will become clear tomorrow,” I assured him. “Now, homes?”

He nodded and tapped at the tablet. The hologram changed and showed a lovely estate that the built in map showed was actually in France not terribly far from the Golf Club. “He owns this 'cottage' as he calls it. Though I don't think he uses it. His and Isla's bodies are in a private clinic in London.”

“Excellent work, gentlemen,” I complimented them. “Once tomorrow's events are concluded, Nathan and I will be heading to Naples to continue our shadow of Aayansh. I don't think I'll need for you to follow us in the Real World, but pack a bag, just in case.”

“Naples?” asked Kenneth.

“It's in Italy,” Jacques told him. “South of Rome.”

* * *

While a rapacious, passionate fuckinghas a certain charm and satisfaction associated with it, especially with a partner who particularly tickles one's fancy and actually knows what they are doing in bed. I am adult enough to admit there are times that call for the primal, animalistic kinds of coupling, but I am also adult enough to admit that those times aren't my favorite. Being rode hard and put away wet makes you feel alive in a way that is difficult to describe, but if pressed, I must admit that I prefer slow, gentle love making for the most part. To lie in a comfortable bed, face to face with your lover, feeling them work in you slowly as if a sommelier savoring a favorite vintage, to lose yourself in their eyes, gasping, sharing the air between you. It's...it's... c'est magnifique!

Moments like this are the reason French is called the language of love.

It's easy to become lost in the feeling of body parts mashing together. There is no titillation in saying I lay on my side, staring into his eyes as he moved in me. There was no pain, only a wonderful sense of fullness, as if my body was welcoming an old friend, I held his face and laid my leg over his hip so he had full access to me. I felt his buttocks clinch and the hollow felling was replaced with him and his lips trembled and his eyes went wide under my hands.

But as his abdomen kissed mine as he claimed the depths of my soul a part of me I had no name for wished fervently he was going to make a mother of me. I closed my eyes and leaned forward to kiss him and accepted that was what I was feeling. I wanted him to be the one to have me, to plant himself inside me in the most permanent way a man can claim a woman, to sire a life on her; to forever link the two of them, history, biology, genetics all of it.

I kissed him and tried to keep the hurt from spoiling what I was experiencing.

It didn't matter how many times I gave myself to Nathan Marks, a new life would never be the result of it. No matter how much I wanted it, or dreamed he secretly lusted after running his hands over my swollen belly to feel the fruit of his seed moving under my skin. Poor consolation, but the orgasm was

a wonderful wave to ride, and when it was over, I lay with my face on his shoulder and the scent of him in my nose was how I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

I awoke alone in the bed, hollow with only the memory of him against my skin. This was the downside of the bad girl lifestyle, this loneliness. At some point in the night he must have either rolled out of the helmet or simply had to answer the call of Nature and removed it on his own. There was no knowing why he'd chosen not to return to the Second World, and it didn't truly matter.

Being alone was in many ways the price of this faux Garden of Eden.

I rose, saw to my morning ablutions, then dressed myself in my swimsuit and padded up to the pool for my morning work out. My towel across the back of the chair of the patio set, I dove into the deep end of the pool. The water was warm again against my skin, almost to the temperature of a tepid bath and absolutely clear. A thought turned off the lamps in the water leaving only the stars over head and the faintest of hints of the coming day on the horizon.

I did a lazy lap to warm up, merely swimming to swim without thought of form or stroke. This was just celebrating the lithe, supple form I was wearing and rejoicing in my own dexterity. The feeling of being fit and young never got old; which brought an odd curiosity and made me bring up the interface and made visible a display I'd hidden long ago, my play clock. It was my sixty fifth birthday when I'd been told I was going to die. An indifferent chienneof a doctor half my age telling me my constant indigestion was in fact the Grim Reaper working his scythe into me.

The irony that it came on what was to be the first day of my retirement was particularly bitter.

I rolled on my back and looked at the sky and it's stars and relived the cold, numb terror that had flooded my entire being while she droned on about stages and chemo and wouldn't I really rather spare the State the expense and put myself out of my own misery? I heard the muffled rumble of a dark chuckle in the muted way through my body as my ears were under the water. That conversation had been five years, three months and twelve days ago.

For five years, I had been a digital person, beyond the grasp of the Grim Reaper or Chronos come to it. The reflection in my mirror didn't show a seventy year old spinster, but a woman in the full flower of her youth and beauty sculpted to my exact taste and specification. A woman who would remain exactly so until I chose to change her.

Me.

“J'ai trouvé votre fontaine, monsieurPonce de León ,” I whispered to the sky. “ Bien que vous la trouviez amère.”

“Madam?”

I rolled off my back to tread water and find Thaddeus standing with a silver tray in his hands. “Thaddeus?” I exclaimed, somewhat surprised. I hid the clock again and closed the interface before swimming over to him in a lazy breast stroke. “Did I summon you? I didn't mean to...”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, madam, though I fancy you might welcome a bit of company and breakfast was ready.”

I smirked at him. “Was I thinking loudly?”

“Not to anyone who doesn't know you,” he replied as he walked over to the table to put the tray down and take up my towel and robe. He returned with them to the steps of the shallow end. I came out of the water and let him slip the robe over my shoulders then took the towel to begin to dry my hair.

Back at the table, he lifted the dome from a poached egg with artfully drizzled hollandaise sauce, a croissant and coffee he was pouring into my cup and saucer along with what looked like pineapple juice by it's color. Suddenly curious, I took a sip of the juice and confirmed it's tropical origin and asked, “Thaddeus, what do you see when you look at me?”

He arched an eyebrow at me as he stirred my coffee to dissolve the sugar cube he'd added. “I beg your pardon, madam?”

I took the cup and saucer from him and gave a broad gesture out, toward the ocean. “What do you perceive? I look out and I see the French Rivera, Monaco, the South of France and the Mediterranean Sea. But, that's not what yousee, is it?”

“No,” he corrected softly. “I also see the world you remember. It is how I can interact with it, and you in familiar ways. I shan't bore you with the strings of ones and zeros, nor the almost grammar of C++.” His gaze became somewhat piercing. “What is troubling you, Madam?”

“What do you see, when you look at me, Thaddeus?”

“Madam?” he demanded again.

“Am I like you?” I whispered. “Am I just a program that thinks it's a person?”

He sighed and looked out at the ocean for a moment. “I'm not sure I can give you an answer you'll believe,” he admitted finally. “That said, I give you my word, for what it's worth, that what I am about to say is the truth.” He turned back and his eyes were sad. “When I look at you, madam, I see the same...light...that I see in any other human that visits us here. I can perceive the code shell around you and I can see the lines that lead back to where ever the human is, and at the end of them, I see a brightness, a light, I can't describe it.” He shook his head. “Yours is inside your code shell, but it is just as bright as young Master Kenneth or your Mister Marks. It is how I recognized you even when you had not settled on a name for this new appearance at the time. I hope that helps you.”

I sat and pondered if a program could perceive a soul for a moment, then looked at him. “There's no way for me to know if you're telling the truth, or something you're programmed to say, is there?”

He considered for a long moment, then gave the slightest of shrugs. “Truth be told, madam, there is no way Ican know that. Let alone divulge some secret of our shared universe. I can only report what I believe to be true.”

I took a sip of the coffee and smiled at him. “I would trust your word over anyone else's 'truth', Thaddeus. Any day.”

He bowed from the waist and smiled at me. “To be in your service is a privilege, my lady.” He cocked his head over his shoulder for a moment, listening. “Pardon me, madam, it would appear the rest of the House is stirring.”

“Bring them here,” I told him as I took up the croissant and pulled off a bite to pop into my mouth. He nodded and withdrew while I called up a window did some shopping. A bot appeared to deliver my items as Thaddeus returned with Kenneth and Jacques. “Good morning, gentlemen,” I greeted when the reached a conversational distance. “Any trouble locating the items?”

Kenneth shook his head. “No, ma'am, we've got them, but I can't for the life of me figure out why.”

I smiled at him. “That, Master Kenneth shall become clear presently. So! Today will be the first of our battles on two fronts. You and Jacques shall journey to the 'Cottage' you discovered yesterday in the real world while I do as well here. It's a calculated risk, but as Mister Khatri spends so much time here in the Principality, it's likely he entertains guests from his 'group of like minded individuals.' Such men will likely desire secure communications. As it happens, the items I've tasked you to acquire are close enough to resemble the uniform of the Société Anonyme Monégasque, Monaco Telecom that your presence should go unnoticed.”

Jacques smiled a grim kind of smile. “Old fashioned skulduggery, I'm beginning to like working for you, Countess.”

“I trust you know your way around a telecom box to implant a little bug?” I asked Kenneth, and he grinned and nodded.

“Excellent, I'm sure Nathan will be able to get something useful to you.” I paused and brought up the interface, my fingers tapping through the menus until I reached the communications tab. “In fact...” A bot appeared with an old fashioned Royal Victoria telephone on a tray. It was an ornate, heavy piece of art made of brass, ivory and imperialism. I picked up the handset and held it to my ear. “Good morning, lover,” I greeted with a smile when I heard Nathan's voice in my ear.

Jacques pointedly turned his back, then nudged Kenneth to emulate him as they admired the coming dawn over Monaco. It was a touching display, but I had to focus. “No, I'm not angry,” I assured him. “It's in fact fortuitous you are out and about in the real world. Speaking of, where are you, exactly?”

“I'm almost to the British Consulate on Eleventh Avenue. I'll be online as quickly as a I can.”

“No,” I corrected him. “I need you draw some equipment from your Quartermaster.”

There was a pause. “What makes you think...?”

“Darling,” I scolded him. “We don't have time for you to play coy. See your Q and get whatever he has that can cross connect with a Second World Twenty One Bee cybernetic tracking program. Once you have it, bring it to Kenneth and Jacques at my gate house. They'll fill you in on your part from there.” I smiled at his stammering attempts to salve his machismo and made a kissing noise into the phone. “You wanted to get into field work,” I reminded him. “This is your opportunity. They'll be waiting. Ciao .”

I hung the receiver up so it and the bot that held it could vanish and then cleared my throat. Once my two employees were focused on me again, I made a point to nod at Jacques so he knew that I saw and recognized his gallantry. “Now, boys, this is what we're going to do...”

* * *

It never ceases to amaze me how people think that espionage and clandestine activities require sulking about in black cat suits, utility belts full of all manner of improbable gadgets and the silent dispatch of armies of guards all conveniently looking the other way. First, killing someone silently is not as easy as the motion picture industry would have you believe. Funny thing, people want to actually stay alive and they'll kick up all manner of fuss to stay that way. Even if you do manage a perfectly silent kill, now you have ninety kilos of body that may or may not be leaking all manner of suspicious fluids. You also have to those pesky sergeants of the guard who have been tasked with making sure their sentries don't mysteriously disappear to deal with as well.

Not to mention, as the police are fond of saying, you may outrun the cruiser, but you can't outrun the twelve volt radio.

No, most of the skulduggery that put a smile on Jacques face involves blue collar cosplay and acting like you belong. In point of fact, my current 'secret outfit' included a High Visibility vest, and while I did have a utility belt, it was full of electrical and telecommunications tools that any repairman would have access to. So, a hard hat that was doing a wonderful job of obscuring my features, thanks to the EU Health and Safety regulations, I let myself onto the property, and made my way over to the telecommunications node on the side of the building. The house itself was a lovely little chateau in the French Provincial style, made of local stone with plenty of windows and a lovely Mansard roof.

I opened the node thanks to the remarkably cheap padlock that was used that wasn't up to keeping out a draft, exposing a neatly coiled set of wires and the smart node itself. “Honey, I'm home,” I muttered into the headset I was wearing under the hard hat and began to touch a probe to the wires, looking for the pair I wanted.

“Right on time,” Nathan's voice whispered in my ear. “Ken and Jacques have theirs open too. Stand

by.” Nathan's Q had come through in fine fashion with a wonderful little gizmo that would let us listen in to calls, back trace the numbers dialed, even act as a gateway into any network the house connected to. The sniffer I was probing wires with began to beep. I nosed to the correct pair, then clicked it off and stowed it on the belt. From a pocket, I pulled out the Twenty One Bee and snapped it over the wires, then tucked it back behind the bundle where it would escape casual notice.

I closed the cover and relocked it before turning to almost walk into a mountain of a man just coming around the corner of the house. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Moi?” I asked him. “Société Anonyme Monégasque,Monaco Telecom.”

“What?” he demanded again. I pointed back at the box.

“ Je relève le compteur de votre boîte.” He became cross.

“In English!” he demanded.

I shook my head and smiled at him. “ Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas Anglais.” I took the clipboard from under my armpit and a pen from my pocket and held them up. On the clipboard was a wonderfully official looking form, all in French. “Signez ici s'il vous plait.” Seeing him stare at me, I pushed the pen into his hand and tapped a blank on the form. “ Votre nom,” I declared slowly, as if to a child. “ Ici.”

He humped, took the pen and scratched his name in the blank. “Merci beaucoup.” I told him sweetly, took back my pen and clip board and walked past him towards the gate. I kept my pace measured, and fought down my want to run. I belong, I told myself as I walked. I'm just a lineman doing a job. Nothing to see...”

A wolf whistle echoed off the wall of the compound, but I just held up a single finger as I got through the gate, and I heard him laugh. I'll be laughing last, asshole , I told myself, then walked to the next house on this side of the street and let myself into the garden. Once I was sure I was out of sight, I turned the vest inside out and crept through the back garden, keeping out of sight of both houses. Pausing for just a moment to be sure I wasn't seen, I scrambled over the wall to where the van I'd rented was parked. The vest and hard hat put away, I drove down out of the hills towards Monaco. “Can I breathe again?” Nathan whispered in my ear.

I chuckled. “Every plan has a bump,” I reassured him. “I'm going to return this and then head back to my Lair.”

“See you there.”

* * *

By dinner time we had a mountain of data scrolling in from our little bug planting. Nathan's co-workers in MI6 had gotten deeply into the network that was running through the box and into the house. It's security protocols were top drawer, but MI6 had the backing of the seventeenth economy in Europe behind it and very, very patient men to do their digging. There was over an hour of recorded phone calls and a staggering amount of data traffic going to and fro.

Nathan had brought over Chinese for Kenneth and Jacques while I visited the lads by way of a holographic projector in the apartment itself to ease conversations with any real world guests I might have over. I was sitting on the stairs going up a spiral of the tower shaped building to the second floor while Kenneth and Jacques sat on the floor of the main room letting Nathan sit at the little desk over by the one window as he was listening to some of the audio.

It was interesting seeing the 'real' Nathan for the first time.

He was and wasn't the man I'd been sleeping with over the past few days. He was tall, but not two meters. His hair was the same color, but there was considerably less of it and a pot belly was spoiling the look of his suit, which were notof the same make and material I'd been used to. And yet, there was something charming about him; the same face, but not as chiseled, the same eyes and voice. He looked like the computer specialist he was, but then I certainlydidn't look like who I'd been.

I told myself it was his mind that attracted me and left it at that.

I used my chop sticks to select a piece of sweet and sour chicken I'd had Thaddeus whip up for me in solidarity and turned my eyes back to the print outs I was looking over and chewed thoughtfully. It didn't make for great, dramatic film making, but these kinds of nights, eating greasy take out and spending hours pouring over transcripts of banal, endless nothing was the reality of spy craft. Looking for the pattern in the signal noise, the sparkle of gold dust in a pan of mud.

Turning the page, fighting to keep my mind sharp, I read as I wished I could share Thaddeus' excellent virtual cooking to the boys as it was doubtlessly superior to whatever Nathan had brought. It took me a moment to process what I'd read and had to read it again in surprise.

Call 15 (Spoofed Number, ID Suppressed)

Origin: Campania, Italy 15:22GMT

Male Voice: Hello?

Female Voice: I need to talk to him.

Male Voice: This isn't protocol.

Female Voice: We don't have time for protocol. Get him on the line.

Male Voice: Wait.

(two minutes ten seconds of silence)

New Male Voice: (Heavy Germanic Accent)I hope what ever you have to say is worth the risks you are taking.

Female Voice: I think we've been compromised.

Germanic Male: No operation goes perfectly. Why are you bothering me?

Female Voice: It's about the woman who was with the British Agent.

Germanic Male: Stop. Not on this line. Use the protocol.

(Line disconnected)

It took two readings for me to realize I was likely the subject of this conversation. “Nathan?” I called. “Do you have the audio of a call at fifteen twenty two?” He checked his notes and then I heard the conversation I just read. “That's Isla,” I declared.

He backed the recording up and listened again. “Yes, it is,” he agreed with me. “But who is the second man?”

“Kenneth, see if you can't preform some computer legerdemain and give us some clue as to that voice is?”

“You got it, my lady,” he replied, tapping at his key board.

“The question is,” I started, but Kenneth whistled in surprise at what he was seeing. “Master Kenneth?” I asked with a smile.

“Yeah, this didn't take long. Best match is ninety eight percent likely to be Jürgen Ammann,” he declared.

“The Billionaire?” asked Jacques.

“The same,” Ken affirmed. “Also the head of the European Relations Council.”

“That cements that there is some kind of conspiracy between Khatri and Ammann...” Nathan started. I snorted in disdain.

“To us, perhaps, but nothing that would withstand evidentiary discovery by a merely competent lawyer,” I retorted. “I've evidently gotten into her head, which makes me wonder what she is afraid of us doing?”

“Zut alors!” exclaimed Jacques from his page. “Monsieur, Look!” He declared holding up the page to Nathan.

“What is it?” I asked, perking up from the chicken as Nathan took the page and became excited.

“Bloody hell!” he shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “This is it! It's an email from Khatri ordering 'move Griffiths to Mont Blanc and await further instructions.”

“Mont Blanc,” Kenneth asked, scratching his chin. “That's White Mountain, right?” He started tapping quickly at the keys on his laptop. “Khatri owns a distribution warehouse there. Yeah, here it is, Mont Blanc Provisions. It's in Chamonix, a...oh wow, a commune? I didn't know France had hippies.”

A chuckle I couldn't keep in lightened the mood in the room. “En France, a commune means a small township,” I informed him. “Not a communist farm. Chamonix was the site of the first Winter Olympics in 1924, and is one of the greatest skiing and winter sports resorts in France. Perhaps even the world.” I stood and picked up my little cardboard box of chicken. “Nathan, you have your helmet with you?”

He grinned at me. “It's in my car.”

“I pay for a fiber channel here, so there should be plenty of bandwidth for all of you,” I told them. “I'll meet you all in the great room as soon as you can and then, my lads, we're going to the Olympics.”

* * *

What people think of as the James Bond Theme is actually named the Theme from Dr No,composed by the late Monte Norman, a classic sixties Jazz band ensemble that perfectly mixed swing, free love and the eponymous license to kill. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to having that guitar riff strumming in the back of my mind. Chamonix was about two hundred and fifty kilometers from Monaco, give or take and high up in the Alps in the shadow of Monte Blanc right next to the little triangle where the boarders of France, Italy and the Swiss Confederation met. Monte Blanc itself got it's name from it's perpetually snow covered summit and even in the doldrums of summer it was wise to have a jacket with you.

It was a charming little hamlet whose identity was completely centered around winter sports and the novel mixture of Franco-Italian and Swiss cultures that are collectively referred to as 'Alpine.' Yes, as much as I decried the use of black earlier in this narrative, there is a time and a place for it. For us, that time was now. Each of us were in a set of black cover alls except for Jacques who, as our driver, was dressed in regular civilian clothing. A Transit van had gotten us up into the Alps and parked half a block from the warehouse of Monte Blanc Provisions, where we could observe the goings on from stealth.

We hoped.

The warehouse itself took up most of the block and we'd arrived in time to see the evening shift departing. It appeared they didn't run an overnight shift, except for a handful of people who arrived, likely maintenance and custodial workers to service the warehouse over night. I was sitting in the back of the van, near the little make shift workstation we'd set up for Kenneth while Nathan was out, getting him a connection to the warehouse's network and, we again hoped, their security system.

The computer beeped and he sat up straighter, typing furiously for a moment. “I'm in,” he whispered he worked. “I'm recording video for looping.”

I leaned forward to look over his shoulder. “See if you can find Griffiths.”

“On it,” he replied, never taking his eyes off the screen. The front door opened and Nathan scrambled inside and closed it.

“You up?” he asked and I flashed him a 'thumb's up' so Kenneth could concentrate. Soon the screen was segmented into a dozen other screens as we tapped into the feed of the security cameras.

“Shouldn't be too hard to find him,” Kenneth muttered as he worked. “The place is practically deserted.”

From the front seat, Jacques chuckled from the front seat where he'd been looking over Kenneth's other shoulder. “Perhaps the shift ended early,” he laughed. The professional body guard has always been a man of few words in my experience and that brought my attention to him.

“How do you mean, Monsieur Blanc?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He made a dismissive gesture. “How diligent can they be about anything?” he replied with a point at Kenneth's screen. “Every camera's time stamp is wrong. People who ignore the small things often ignore the large.”

My eyes shot to Kenneth's screen and I realized every camera was almost an hour behind the correct time and a chill ran down my back. “Nathan, you have the binoculars?” I asked and he held them up. To Kenneth, I ordered, “Keep doing what you're doing. Nathan, with me.” I opened the back of the van and slipped out as Nathan joined me behind the van as I scanned around.

Chamonix, like most Alpine hamlets are not especially burgeoning with tall buildings. The valley the town occupied was quite narrow with the Arve River running through the center of town and the Alps on either side. Most of the buildings were a single or two stories with the number hotels to cater to the Ski trade rising to four or five.

I unzipped my coverall and pulled it off, revealing my red maxi dress beneath it and quickly swapped out the flats from the coveralls to their matching heels. Nathan quickly followed my lead and showed himself to be a Sean Connery fan with a white dinner jacket tuxedo under his. I dropped the binoculars into my purse and pointed at the closest of the hotels. “There,” I whispered, then planted a smile on my face, took his arm and started walking.

“What's going on?” he asked around his own smile.

“Look like you belong,” I whispered back and purposefully kept my back to the warehouse. He took the hint and we walked into the lobby of my chosen hostel. Within five minutes we were on our way up to the 'Royal Suite' and in the privacy of the elevator, allowed myself to be serious. “If I'm right, we've walked into a trap. For now, you're a playboy about to have the sex of your life. Act like it.”

The elevator opened as a grin spread on his face and we walked down the hallway. I got the door open, then made a point to turn on the lights before I took a hold of his lapels and guided him to sit with his back to the windows and their open curtain. I held his head and laid a searing kiss on him, then sank slowly down to my knees by the bed, out of sight. “Lean back on your arms,” I whispered as I made a show of opening his pants, then sank again.

His head lolled back with an expression of pure bliss I knew well. “Don't over do it,” I whispered as I carefully crawled on the floor to the window, taking care to stay below it. Once I was there, I turned over my shoulder. “Turn out the lights.” He reached over and we were in darkness. “Don't move,” I warned him as I eased up into the corner of the window, I opened where no one was looking just high enough to peer through the binoculars. The hotel was a single floor higher than the warehouse and now I could see the roof. For a long moment, nothing seemed out of place, then I just caught sight of a man wedged between the stairway hut into the building and the side of the roof. His gaze went from our window and back to the van.

“Merde,” I hissed to myself. “The van is being watched.” I touched the little radio in my ear that Nathan's Q had thoughtfully provided us. “Jacques, there's a watcher on the roof.”

“Is he armed?” the body guard asked.

“I can't tell,” I told him. “I think the video feed Kenneth has is a loop. Have him try to get around it.”

“Shouldn't we withdraw?” Jacques whispered. “If this is a trap...?”

“Griffiths might actually be in there,” I replied. “If we leave too soon, they'll know we're onto them.”

“I'm working on it,” Ken muttered across the radio. There were several tense moments of waiting, and then a soft exclamation of worry. “I have eyes on him,” he declared softly, but there was no triumph in his voice. “There are...twenty? At least twenty men, all armed with what look like machine guns.”

“MP5,” Jacques added softly.

“He's in a room on the back corner of the warehouse, furthest from us,” Kenneth added. “There's two men in the room with him.”

I heard Jacques mutter curses under his breath. “My lady, we cannot go against such odds...”

“Oh, I have no intention of it,” I assured him as dug my cell phone from my purse. “This, my lads, is the trump card of spy craft.” I dialed and paused until the line clicked in my ear. “Gendarmerie? Je veux signaler un homme retenu contre son gré sous la menace d'une arme...”

* * *

For my readers who had the misfortune not to be born in France, a note of clarification. Police forces in Europe do not play with petty politics, have very little patience with offenders of any stripe and in the case of the Gendarmerie, are actually a branch of the French Army.

So they don't carry justpistols. They carry pistols and machine guns.

What's more, civil ownership of firearms requires a great deal of paperwork and the misuse of them are answered harshly with great swiftness. Within five minutes of my initial phone call, two vans, five SUVs and a cruiser marked S uperviseur rolled up disgorging a small army of policemen who kicked in whatever door they were near. There were two little flashes of muzzle blast and then a defeaning roar of automatic fire in response. Then, even across the street we could hear Isla's henchmen screaming at the top of their lungs, “ Nous nous rendons!”

In the interest of full disclosure, I should note the regional command headquarters for the Gendarmerie Nationalewere just a few blocks away on Rue la Mollard.

I felt a bit of a smile as the fruits of my labor were marched out in handcuffs and leg irons. The ones still alive, that is. Nathan, once his pants were put back to rights, went out, credentials in hand to intercept his friend while I waited by the van. “Not exactly how Bond would have done it,” Kenneth remarked. “But, I have to admit it worked.

“If it's stupid and it works, it wasn't stupid,” I retorted. “Alright my lads, that's all the excitement for the evening I believe.” I handed them both a set of keys. “I've arranged rooms for you both, we'll pass the rest of the night here and return tomorrow.

“I can see working for you won't be dull,” Jacques told me with a smile.

“Never,” I assured him. “Be a dear and tell Nathan I'm waiting upstairs? Merci.”

* * *

Alas, were this the movies I'd have a lovely and intense bit of victory sex just before the credits rolled, but even in the Second World, such wonderful edits are merely wishful thinking. The Gendarmeries were not happy that a member of MI6 was doing business in France. Let alone two of them. It was several hours before Nathan's boss could convince his opposite number in the DGSE or Direction générale de la Sécurité extérieure in the language of love the his wayward agents were somewhat victims in all of this and in fact working for the best interests of France. It was extremelylate when I was awoken by the sound of a key in the door of my hotel room. I was sleeping on my side and one hand slipped under my pillow for the comforting grip of L'objet d'art de Monsieur Walther.

“ Qui est là?” I demanded.

“C'est moi," Nathan's voice assured me. I sat up in the bed to see his shadowy form in the little hall between me, the bathroom, and the door. He was just standing there which worried me until I realized there was enough moonlight coming in the open window that he could probably see me. That was confirmed when he whispered, “You're naked.”

I smiled at him as I crossed my legs and propped my chin in my hand. “I sleep in the nude,” I informed him. “I see the Gendarmere is as through as ever.”

He dropped the key on the little dresser next to him and pulled off his jacket as he walked over to me. “Stuffed shirts, the lot of them,” he complained, his normal Received Pronunciation dipping a bit lower class for a moment. “Sadists who delight in the tittle of every 'I' and the jot of every 'P' and 'Q',” he snarled.

“Poor boy,” I murmured. “Is your friend alright?”

He sighed heavily as he draped his jacket over the chair next to the bed. “Still in shock, I think. He's, well, his body is dead from the upload process. I have him a room here, and I'll take him to the embassy in the morning when we're back in Monte-Carlo.”

I reached out and began to help him out of the rest of his tuxedo. “You've done all you can for him tonight,” I soothed him. “The digital realm has it's advantages, I'm sure he'll warm up to them.”

His slacks puddled at his feet, leaving his boxers with his pride and joy playing peek a boo with me from the bottom of his left leg. “Are you seducing me?” he whispered as I reached up and pulled his boxers down to join his slacks, freeing his manhood to sway in front of me.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” I asked him as I reached out and took him in hand. “I trust your higher ups are pleased with your little outing?” He got his shirt and undershirt off to stand before me, as magnificently au naturel with his phallus pulsing gently in my palm to the rhythm of his heart beat.

“He...uh...he...yes...”

“Why Nathan, am I distracting you?”

His face became stony and his voice angry as he demanded, “God damn you, Marion, must you be such a malicious little cock tease?”

I smiled at him in the darkness as I reached up with my other hand and took hold of his balls. “Darling,” I scolded him. “I'm never little about anything, so hope you never draw my malicious streak in vengeance or you'll find out just how creative I can be. As to cock teasery?” I leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on the very tip of his manhood. Then I let my hands gently move over his skin, making him shiver, as I whispered, “Je ne peux pas m'en empêcher, c'est amusant.” Then I opened my mouth and welcomed him slowly inside.

Above me, his moan of appreciation of my welcome had me smiling to myself. As the taste of male filled my senses, I closed my eyes to focus on those senses. Wonderful fun, I admitted to myself as I bathed him with my tongue.

I didn't know if 'real' Nathan was as well hung as his avatar, nor did I really care, come to it. I would never have any interaction with the man who was sitting on a chair in my gatehouse, wearing a ridiculous looking helmet that let him feel the mouth, lips and tongue currently diligently coaxing his seed from the balls I was massaging. Which reminded me he was in that room with two other men and whatever magic I worked on him here, would have repercussions to his clothes there. Regretfully, I gently drug my tongue over his urethra until his penis was alone with the air sending shivers over his wet skin. He actually whimpered which I feel just a bit guilty for enjoying as much as I did.

But, only a bit.

Looking up at him looking down at me, transfixed, slack jawed and so desperately needy had me feeling wonderful by itself. “Lover,” I whispered, “If I finish, you will not have a pleasant experience when you wake tomorrow.”

He gasped and licked his lips, “Why not?” he managed, his thinking obviously focused on a single thing.

“Because whatever I swallow here will be in your pants, there . Do you want to wake up to that?”

“I...I...” He looked about, trying to find some method in a virtual motel room to have his cake and eat it too. “God...damn...it!” he muttered. I stood, pressing my body against his, trapping his penis between us as I laid a finger over his lips.

“Stop, there's no use pouting.”

“But...!”

I frowned at him and pressed just a bit firmer on his lips. “I said stop ,” I commanded. “Do you think I am happy with this? Or that I have no desire to finish? If I whispered half of what I have in mind for you...well, we're stopping so you don't have an accident, aren't we?”

His face flushed and he took me by the shoulders. “Ask me if I think a little morning's discomfort isn't worth being with the woman of my dreams tonight?!” I brought my abdomen away from his which allowed me to seize his phallus tightly, my thumb over his urethra so I would not set him off by accident.

“Unhand me!” I thundered, squeezing with all my strength. He grunted and his hands flexed on my shoulders, but like a proper English Gentleman, prohibitions against violence towards a female was hammered deeply into his psyche. His hands dropped to his sides as I used his manhood as a handle to push him back against the wall. “If you were alone in that room I would mount you like a horse and ride you until you could not walk in either world and your clothes be damned. But you are not in that room alone and I think more of my retainers, and my lover,” I soothed him. “To be a poor hostess or so cavalier with my lover's reputation and comfort. You suffer for my amusement only!”

“Yes...yes, my lady,” he managed, his eyes down cast.

I slowly released him to be sure he had mastery of himself, which he did; though his manhood strained at me, seeking my warmth and wetness. I gently laid my hand along his cheek. “The feel of my body will be sweeter for this denial and you know it, don't you?”

His manhood twitched and he bit his lip. “Yes, my lady.”

I smiled at him and gently patted his cheek. “Good. For now, go to sleep. And I forbid you from touching yourself in the other world. Do you understand?” His face blushed, and just for a moment a little light of outrage lit in his eye, so I let myself be stern. “My body or your hand, which is it?”

“I...I, now look here, Marion...”

“You will address me as 'my lady' or 'Countess',” I ordered him. “Is that clear?”

“I'm not a masochist,” he started, so I reached down and grabbed his balls. Not so tightly as to hurt him, but tight enough that he knew I could.

“But you will submit to me,” I replied. “Or, you can make love to your hand. You wanted me, Nathan, you wanted between my legs, and that has a price.” I squeezed just a bit and he whimpered again. “Don't be proud,” I cooed. “You know I'm worth it, and now you know I won't embarrass you in public. I'll be yours out there; haughty, sophisticated, but properly demure and unabashedly yours. But in here, in my bed, you are mine.You will submit to your Countess, and you will obey, and you will know love as you have not the courage to imagine it. Say it. ”

“I am yours, Countess,” he whispered as if the words would scald him.

“Go to sleep, and you will not touch yourself.”

His lips trembled and his eyes looked into mine. “May I hold you to sleep, my lady?”

“Will you disgrace yourself?”

He squared his shoulders and stood tall as though I didn't have his balls in my hands. “Never without your say so, Countess.”

I gently drummed my fingers over him, then gently released him. “You may hold me.” Immediately, he reached down and picked me up and we shared a kiss that was both burning with passion, and yet wonderfully chaste at the same time.

“I love you, Marion St. Clair du Bois, Comtesse de Corse.”

He laid me down into the bed as though I was glass, then gathered me into his arms and laid a leg possessively over mine. I laid my ear into the hollow between his arm and chest and listened to his heart beat. As I drifted off to sleep, in the same scalding whisper I murmured, “I love you, Nathan Marks.”

To hell with Bond.

* * *

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The Doomsday Protocol

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Doomsday Protocol
A Horizon Fan Fiction

by
E. E. Nalley

July 16th, 2065

Six Months Until Doomsday.

Frank Olmstead was a family man first and foremost. Everything he had done in his life, every sacrifice he'd endured had been for his family. He had worked hard, leveraging his considerable intellect to the world of science and business, becoming a very wealthy man. The company he had founded, American Scientific was heavily invested in technologies for space flight. It had been a member of a consortium of conglomerates that had helped save the Earth during the Claw-back by making space mining affordable at a level to replace terrestrial mining for humanity's needs.

He was a realist, he'd seriously considered the proposal he'd been offered for a seat on the Odyssey for him and his family. The price was outrageous of course, a billion dollars each for him, his wife and their son and daughter; but it was not the cost that made him tell them no. Money would never be more important to Frank than his family. In his heart, Frank was a patriot, and as dire as things looked with the Faro Plague, Frank was certain America could beat the monster machines threatening their planet.

He'd actually congratulated himself this morning when he'd seen the news that the Odyssey had blown up while igniting her fusion drive. Now, looking at the actual sheet of paper in his hand, he wondered if to go out instantly in a fusion explosion would be kinder. Paper was expensive, old fashioned, yet also secure. The interdependence on computers and holographic interfaces posed significant security risks. If the men who were in his office had spent the money on paper, then what those papers said were the deadliest of secrets. He'd read the document three times now, each time a part of his mind refusing to believe that anything so monstrous could be true. He looked up at the two men in his office, standing patiently as he read their note, their expressions grim. “Is this...certain...?” he asked quietly.

“In a word? Yes, sir, it is,” Travis Murray told him. Travis was a former soldier, cut loose from the United States Army when it went almost entirely automated. Not a man to wallow in misfortune, Travis turned his military mind to the slightly less obvious dangers of business security and had quickly risen to be Franks' Chief of Security for his firm. “When the news of the loss of control a Swarm of Faro War Machines went public I had Ian run his own estimates on how long it would take to crack the Chariot Line's security protocols and the number we get is at least eighty years.”

“There's no way Zero Dawn is going to save us,” Ian Turner added. “We can't stop the machines physically and we'll never have enough time to crack their anti-intrusion measures before all life on Earth is wiped out.”

Frank felt his temper squirm in an attempt to slip his iron will keeping it in check. “Then what in God's name are they doing?” Everything had been diverted to Zero Dawn. The Constitution had been dubiously suspended and Martial Law declared. Two of Frank's production facilities had been nationalized to produce munitions for the hastily conscripted and poorly trained 'Home-Guards' that were being set up to try and buy time for the rumored super weapon called 'Zero Dawn'. Even here in liberty loving Texas, things were beginning to get ugly.

Travis turned to Ian and the computer expert took another piece of paper from his folder and presented it to his boss. “This is the best information I could get on expenditures and resources being diverted to Zero Dawn. In addition to that fortress they're building in King's Peak there are hard points being stocked with art treasures, books, objects of historical significance. This, however, this I found in Faro Automation's fiscal disclosures from last year.”

“A contract with Titan Heavy Industry?” Olmstead asked, confused. “So what?”

“Titan makes fortified bunkers, sir,” Ian pressed. “Gold Stock Pile vaults, missile silos, hardened Military facilities. Ted Faro is making a bunker in San Francisco. And if I don't think Zero Dawn has enough time, it looks like Ted certain of it.” He took out another sheet and presented it. “But this, I think, is a clue as to what's really going on with Zero Dawn.”

Frank read a summary of an official agreement, on the letter head of a law firm he was certain his head of technology should not have access to, outlining an agreement between Far Zenith, LLC and Faro Automated Solutions offering the schematics, working prototypes and release of license for their ectogenic chambers in exchange for a copy of something called the Apollo Database. “Ectogenic chambers?” he asked.

“Artificial wombs. Odyssey was originally going to be a creche ship,” Travis explained. “Frozen embryos to be thawed out and birthed in these chambers and raised in the last years of the ship's journey.”

“Why would Zero Dawn need artificial wombs?” Frank demanded.

Travis shrugged his broad shoulders. “You'd have to ask Dr Sobeck for that, Frank,” he replied. “But my guess is, she doesn't think she can beat the Plague either. I think this is some kind of gamble to repopulate the earth after humanity...after all life on Earth is extinct. A modern day Noah's Ark, if you will.”

“And none of us are Noah,” Ian added bitterly.

Olmstead looked into the grim face of his security chief and realized he meant what he'd said. “My, God,” he whispered. “What do we...what can we do? Build a bunker like Ted Faro and wait it out?”

“With the rationing going on and everything being diverted to Zero Dawn?” Travis shook his head. “I don't think we could be ready in time sir.”

“Plus it will probably take centuries for the planet to recover and support life again. If ever,” Ian added.

“Sobeck wouldn't want these chambers if she didn't have some way to clean up the Faro Plague after they shut down,” Frank declared. “Her company did most of the heavy lifting cleaning up the climate mess in the Claw-back. She has some way of cleaning it up.” He snapped his fingers in remembrance, but Ian was already handing him another sheet of paper. “The Long Sleep tanks!”

It was a piece of technology his company had been developing for interstellar travel, a dream Frank now realized would be dashed for the foreseeable future of humanity. Perhaps permanently. “They've never been tested for durations like this,” Ian cautioned him.

Frank snorted. “There hasn't been enough time to test them for durations like this. But it is what they were designed for!” Frank made a decision. “We'll need to cache supplies for when we wake up, tools, weapons, food.”

Travis nodded. “And a secure facility that we can shield so the robot swarms don't find us.”

Ian tapped the Faro Focus on his temple to cause a holographic map of Colorado to appear over Frank's desk. The small white and blue triangle of plastic and metal was an augmented reality device that allowed him to control the integrated logic system of the building, communicate with its AI intelligence or, like a video phone, anyone else who had one world wide. They were one of the most successful devices of Faro Automated Solutions, as ubiquitous as the smart phone had become a few decades previously. Normally, it's holograms could only be seen by the wearer of the focus that had created them, but he adjusted it to share with the other two men in the room to be able to see the ghostly, three dimensional map and interact with it. “Our Fusion Engine Research Facility at Almagre Mountain should be perfect.”

“Make it happen,” Frank commanded. “Be sure there's room for you and your families,” he promised the men. “Whatever you need, I'll get it.”

“Frank,” Travis asked softly. Knowing his boss and his charitable tendencies, it was likely that 'room' would be expanded on and rapidly. Best to get out in front of it now. “How many people are you going to try and save?”

The weight of the question bore down on Frank Olmstead's soul. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but didn't answer. Finally, he reached up and touched the Focus on his temple, keying on his company's central AI. “ENID, how many employees do I currently have?”

Floating over his desk, the blue tinted hologram of Colorado was replaced with a woman's head and shoulders. She was twenty or so with long hair in a somewhat complicated style. “Headcount is down significantly due to enlistment in the home guards and loss of contact with overseas branches as a result of the Faro Plague, Mr. Olmstead,” the hologram told him in a velvety contralto that had just a hint of an accent that was hard to place. “The current estimate is five thousand sixty eight.”

“Gentlemen,” Frank said softly, “our leaders have betrayed us, using us as sacrificial lambs. To buy time for Elisabet Sobeck's Noah's Ark gamble. It's unconscionable. So. ENID, assuming every employee has a spouse and one child, what is that number?”

“Fifteen thousand, two hundred and four.”

“That's your goal, Travis,” Frank ordered.

“Frank...” the solider started, but halted when his boss held up a hand.

“I don't think it will be that many,” he affirmed. “Some employees are single. Some have no kids, some have three, but that's good enough to be our balance point. That's your target, Travis. It's the only number my conscience will let me go to God to defend.”

Travis sighed, knowing his employer's mind was made up. “I'll do everything in my power, sir.”

Frank nodded. “Find out from personnel what the actual number is,” he ordered. “Round up to the nearest thousand for Significant Others. Ian, is the Almagre Mountain site big enough for that number?”

The young programmer's hands pushed quickly through holograms in front of him. “It'll be cramped, but I'm pretty sure I can make that work.”

“Gentlemen, the reason for this project can not leave this office. If word were to get out...” The two men nodded gravely and Olmstead turned to his holographic AI. “ENID, I want you to file homeland defense waivers for every employee and their families. They are all to be considered critical employees from this point forward.”

“Certainly, Mr. Olmstead.”

“Have accounting stop all future tax payments and divert those funds for this project. We should be able to make excuses if anyone notices until it's too late to matter. And make arrangements for your central core to be transferred to the Almagre Mountain facility. We're going to need you in whatever brave, new world we wake up in.”

* * *

October 26th, 2065

Three Months Until Doomsday.

Frank looked out at a small sea of expectant faces as he came up the steps to the small stage that had been raised in the central courtyard of the testing field. Most of the real facility was deep in the mountain and out here was merely some admin buildings and the test stand for the engine. But it was big enough that every one at the facility could be addressed all at once.

There were ten thousand faces in that crowd looking back up at him. Most were just arriving this morning, fearful and unsure why they'd been ordered out their various homes and offices and brought here. A small group of Travis' security men and the facilities normal staff had been working straight shifts getting the mountain ready and receiving the last employees of American Scientific. Now, isolated as they were, the truth could be told. They'd been exceptionally busy, and inordinately lucky. The exodus hadn't been noticed in the frantic reporting of the Faro Swarm reaching the West Coast.

Behind them, Dallas was collapsing into anarchy. Human Civilization was not long for the world.

On the stage already was his wife Becky who was well versed in being the wife of a CEO. Her smile was easy and her body language relaxed, but Frank knew her well enough to know she was just as concerned as the crowd before them. “Are we finally going to find out what this is all about?” she asked through her smile.

“I'm sorry,” he told her, and he meant it. “But yes. God save us all, Becky.”

“Frank...?” she asked, her concern cracking through the official issue expression, but Travis had already introduced him from the podium. Heavily, Frank Olmstead kissed his wife's forehead, then turned and walked to the lectern like a condemned man heading to a gallows.

“Hello, friends,” he greeted his employees. “I'm so proud of all of you, the sacrifices you've made and the marathon we've run together these past three months. I wish I could offer you better news.” A murmur swept the crowd as people looked at each other, confused and worried. “Some of you probably already know, the Faro Swarm hit the West Coast yesterday. This morning, the first waves of the European Swarm came ashore not far from Plymouth Rock, of all places. America is besieged on two sides by out of control war machines we should never have created.”

The murmur died away as the faces nearest to the stage went pale. Frank keyed his Focus and ENID obligingly lit up a gigantic hologram over the crowd's head of the United States and the reported positions of the two swarms. “Many of you have probably heard rumors of a secret weapons project by the government. A super weapon called Zero Dawn that's going to give us a miraculous win over these robots. As near as my team can devise, that's a lie; propaganda to make us sell our lives to buy time for Zero Dawn's real purpose. We think that purpose is a kind of Noah's Ark, a stockpile of goods, food, plants and animals and people to repopulate the Earth after all life on this world is extinct.”

“But, the shut down research...!” some one in the crowd shouted.

“The encryption is just too good,” Ian declared from behind Frank on the stage. “Best possible time is eighty years.”

“Life on this world will be gone, long before then,” Travis added. “Most likely sometime next year.”

A silence fell like a thunderclap over the assembly. Someone was crying, and Frank couldn't blame them. “They have their option,” he told his employees softly. “This is ours. This mountain has been hardened against the swarms and we've stockpiled supplies, but only enough for when we're rebuilding after this. We'll have to ride out this extinction asleep. In the mountain are Long Sleep capsules, we developed; one for each of you. ENID will watch over us, and when the world is habitable again, we'll wake up and start over. I'm sorry I have to be the bearer of such terrible news...”

Frank couldn't continue as he was over whelmed by shouts of acclaim for his generosity, and thunderous applause. He tried to get them to stop, but they just continued, whistling and crying with relief that someone had thought of them. Becky joined him at his side, tears streaming down her own face, but she was glowing with pride. “Let them cheer their hero,” she told him. “You've saved us all.”

* * *

February 2nd, 2066

Doomsday.

Travis looked down the canyon from the entrance of the bunker he was betting his life on. He was wearing a respirator as the air was unbreathable now, and it's glass over his eyes distorted the view somewhat. It was over now. His Focus wasn't picking up any national signals. The Kansas Salient at Wichita the last line of the desperate defense had fallen two weeks ago. US Robotic Command had fallen, and the radio was only scattered cries for help that suddenly went silent as the helpless last gasps of humanity were found by the robot war machines and exterminated. Travis ground his teeth in impotent rage over the folly of mankind.

It was over, now.

Now, there was just time to seal the door, climb into a pod and go to sleep. Perhaps he'd wake up to a better world, but, if not, he consoled himself, at least he'd never know. He stepped clear of the door and nodded to gate keeper. “Lock it up,” he ordered. With a groan of heavy machinery, the blast doors slid closed as Travis committed the awful view to memory. Most of the trees were dying, and the sky was red with fire and who knew what kind of noxious gasses. Lord, he prayed silently. If we get through this, give us the wisdom to never repeat it.

His duty done, he joined the line of his security personnel to their chamber of pods. This was a room just off the big bay he'd just left full of vehicles on concrete blocks, their tires deflated and their systems completely dry for storage. If they woke, Travis and his men would be the first, to be sure it was safe, so they were closest to the door.

And if the door failed and the machines found them, they would be the first to die.

He took his pistol from its holster on his belt and cleared it to the satisfaction of the armorer, then removed the ammo from their magazines so the springs would relax. Then ammo and pistol were put into a vacuum sealed bag and the bag into a strong box with the others to protect it for who knew how long.

In the carefully moderated air now, he pulled off the respirator and gave it to another quarter master to be similarly protected. The smaller rooms and hallways of the bunker were full of freeze dried food, hermetically sealed stores of seed, ammunition, weapons, everything that Travis could get his hands on for the future. Put into every crevice or closet that was too small to hold a Long Sleep pod. That was all done now. There was only the sleep left, they were as prepared as they were going to be.

From there it was quick stop in a privacy cube to strip off his fatigue shirt, pants and boots and, in his skivvies, pull on a stupid looking unitard that was mesh and see through that provided an anchor for the sensors that would monitor them all while they slept. Refusing to be embarrassed wearing the silly looking garment, he handed off his clothes to the Quartermaster and headed for his pod.

Tracy, their medic helped him into his pod and affixed the IV that would keep him alive and helped him get comfortable. She smiled at him and, in spite of himself, he smiled back. “See you on the other side,” she told him and he couldn't help winking at her. This was the way to check out, he decided. Falling asleep with the face of a pretty girl as the last thing you see. The weight in the pit of his stomach finally lifted. He'd accomplished the herculean task he'd been assigned and now it almost didn't matter if they lived or not. Each second past now was a gift, a dodge of the Grim Reaper and a cheat. The thought of a raging specter of death brought a chuckle from the stoic soldier as the drug cocktail did it's work and his eyes slipped shut. He didn't hear Tracy close the pod's canopy. He was sailing the seas of Nod to an unknown future.

* * *

Discontinuity

Travis slowly began to realize that the chess game he was playing with the Grim Reaper could not possibly be real. He had no king and only a single pawn, hemmed in on all sides while the cloaked and cowled skeleton tapped his scythe impatiently and cackled gleefully at his predicament. “Dream,” he muttered and the sound of his own voice brought with it other sounds, the soft sigh of air moving, the just at the level of hearing buzz of electricity. Then the feeling of the cushions of the pod he was laying in. “This is a dream.”

The Grim Reaper howled in fury, but then everything was a red tinted black that was, he realized, the backs of his eyelids. Eyelids that were refusing to open due to being stuck together. He raised a hand and rubbed, finding both eyelids caked with dry, gritty sand like the worse case of Pink Eye he'd ever had.

His eyes finally opened, but refused to focus and his tongue was sticking to his teeth in the worst case of cotton mouth he'd yet experienced. In his ear he heard the accented voice of ENID from the Focus and before him, a blurry blue blob that was probably her human interface floated. “Good morning, Colonel Murray. Rest for a moment and get your bearings. Your vital signs are all stable and you appear to have survived the Long Sleep admirably.”

“That's great to hear, ENID,” he croaked, one hand feeling for the water tube he finally found and got to his mouth. The icy cold water was a shock to his mouth as his tissues greedily absorbed the moisture all the way down his throat into his stomach. He blinked several times and finally the hologram came into focus. He sighed and braced himself. “How long, ENID?”

The holographic face was cheerful. “It is March 10th, 3040. You have been in suspended animation for nine hundred seventy four years, one month and eight days.”

Travis choked on the water and had a coughing fit. “What?!” he shouted, finally in control of himself. “Why in God's Name have we been under for so long?”

The holographic woman's expression was sympathetic. “I'm sorry, there were many factors that conspired to alter the timeline of your awakening. The safety of Human life is paramount in my programming; it was of the utmost importance that I be certain the situation was acceptable for it.”

Murray sighed and nodded, mastering himself. He had prioritize and work the problem, there would be time later to sort out the whys and hows. “The Faro Plague,” he declared. “What is the status of the Swarm?”

“A Deactivate and Stand Down command was broadcast from Station Minerva on August 3rd, 2126. At which time, the Faro Swarm robots shut down where they stood. They have not moved since.”

He took a moment to do the math in his head. “Sixty years, not bad, Sobeck. That's twenty years ahead of schedule.” He sighed and took another drink of water. “And the biosphere?”

“At that time, unsuitable for human life,” ENID told him. “To date, there have been three attempts to stabilize the biosphere by actors unknown to me. Each time, they failed and a dramatic event quickly destroyed what effort had been done and the process was started fresh. This fourth attempt has been stable since 2326.”

“Why weren't we awoken then?” he demanded.

“Stable is not the same as optimal,” ENID told him. “While I detect a breathable atmosphere as well as plant and animal life, there are still large machines Terra forming the planet.”

“Machines?” the soldier demanded.

“Yes,” ENID replied. Her bust was replaced by a robot that walked on four legs and looked vaguely like some kind Moose or Mule Deer with metallic antlers and a glowing blue lens for a mouth with a pair of blue glowing cameras where the eyes should be. What looked like armored plates covered most of the creatures, but there were some exposed cables and what looked like myomere fibers. There were cylindrical canisters of green sludge on its left and right buttock and it wondered somewhat aimlessly while spraying the sludge on the plants as if marking its territory with urine. Then a parade of different looking machines flashed by, from gigantic hippopotamuses rutting through the soil, to alligator machines snaking through the water to some kind of monstrous hermit crab the size of a bus with a container on its back it was filling with metal pieces of rusted out wrecked cars and the remains of what looked like Faro Chariot war bots as the AI continued. “Their form factors resemble animals; they are tilling and sowing the soil with nutrients, purifying the water, gathering resources and building facilities where more of these machines are built. I estimate the Terra forming of Earth at eighty six percent.”

Travis sighed. Eighty six percent was certainly better than the earth he remembered. “ENID, you said you picked up plants and animals? What about people?”

The hologram took up a thoughtful pose and looked off, away from him as if it was talking to itself. “Those signs are very mixed, Colonel. I have detected birds and insects, mountain sheep, wild hogs and foxes, but those are the largest animals and no large predators at all. No wolves, or bears, as well as a lack of a number of domesticated animals, cattle, horses and the like. I have scanned hominids, in fact, the closest group have taken up residence in the ruins of the Colorado Springs Pioneer Museum nine kilometers from here. However there are no electrical signals, no radio, broad wave or other EM signatures and while I do detect an ad hoc Focus Network north west of here, its security protocols do not allow me to access them.”

“What about Zero Dawn?” he asked.

The eyes of the hologram returned to him. “The Kings Peak facility was destroyed by a fusion explosion twenty years ago on August 26th, 3020. I theorize a catastrophic failure of the facilities power plant.”

“Jesus,” Travis muttered under his breath. “Alright, in your judgment, is the habitat fit to begin Doomsday Protocol Phase Two?”

“I believe so, Colonel.”

“Open the pod, please, ENID and begin the wake up routine of Team Alpha.”

“Certainly.” The canopy swung upward as the lights slowly flickered on and Travis took a new look at the room he'd just spent the better part of a full millennium in. The air was a bit stale and musty, and there was a thick layer of dust over everything, but otherwise the view matched his memory. He sat up and got his bearings for a moment, seeing the displays on the remainder of pods on his row change as his Alpha team began to wake up.

“ENID, what is the status of the pods in the facility?” he asked. “Did we lose anyone?”

“Pod integrity is at one hundred percent for the entire group,” she told him, sounding just a touch proud of herself. “All life signs nominal.”

“Miracles never cease.” He reached over and unbuckled the strap holding his IV on his arm, paused a moment for the sickening sensation of the needle withdrawing from his arm then lifted it clear, the holes plugged with Nano-Skin bright against the rest of his more tanned complexion. He yawned and stretched, trying to get rid of the feeling of the morning after a record breaking all weekend bender, but wisely stayed seated in the pod least he find out the hard way he wasn't ready to stand.

Cautiously turning sideways, he let his feet hang out of the pod, towards the floor and stretched. His left foot found the cold stone floor first and while his muscles did tremble a bit, they finally steadied and took his weight. “Did anybody get the number of that bus?” Tracy moaned from behind him, wisely remaining prone in her own pod.

“Pretty sure it was a Faro bus,” he replied, slowly walking around his pod to be able to see her. Tracy was just as pretty as his last memory of the twenty first century said she was, more so now in that sensor web unitard garment they went to sleep in. Under it, she wore a plain cotton bra and panty set, but that wholesome girl next door beauty shone through it. “How are you, Doc?”

“Hung over,” she replied, keeping her eyes closed. “You should have waited for me to remove the IV, Colonel.”

“Not the first time I've pulled something out of me,” he assured her. After a moment, he asked, “How did you know...?”

“I heard you walking,” she replied, her eyes still closed. The two pods next to her opened revealing the last two members of Team Alpha.

“Buck, Jordi, how are you two boys doing?”

“In the fetal position, sir,” Jordi replied from his pod, though his voice was steady. “I knew everybody'd be dead when we woke up, but Jesus! A thousand years?”

Buck's hulking form sat up in the pod and he shook his head to clear it. “Ten years, a hundred years, a thousand years, what's the difference?” he demanded in his low, growling voice. “I'll take this to the alternative.”

“That's the spirit,” Travis encouraged him.

“We should all eat something,” Tracy declared as she slowly sat up, one hand holding her forehead. “Preferably something with a fair amount of fiber as you boys are going to find you'll have the worst case of constipation of your lives.”

“Well, I'm hungry!” Jordi chimed in, finally rising to a sitting position himself. “I feel like I haven't eaten in a thousand years!”

Murray became more conscious of his posture and stood up straighter, pulling on his 'command personae' to inspire his team with confidence. “Let's get suited up and a quick bite and we'll go meet the neighbors. See what humanity has been up to.”

“Yes, sir,” the team replied in chorus.

* * *

March 10th, 3040

Travis had reworked the security uniform for the company to a simple forest green long sleeved shirt with reinforced elbows and two large button secured pockets with Velcro 'loop' sections at the shoulders and over the pockets where company patches, facility specific division insignia and name tape could be added. Dark khaki multi pocket BDU trousers and combat boots completed the uniform which in scientific facilities looked sharp and professional. Now, it was reasonable field uniform that would blend well without giving off a 'militia' vibe.

To this, he'd added a suspenders and belt load bearing solution to carry small arms, magazines, a trauma kit, canteen and an 'admin' pouch that each man could configure how he pleased. It was his skin after all. Travis' contained a backpacker hammock that rolled up wasn't much bigger that two fists, a poncho that could also be used as a tarp or simple A frame shelter a mess kit and some food. Despite the time of year and the elevation, when his team set out on this march, it was twenty two degrees and the sun wasn't at it's zenith yet.

The administration buildings were in ruins, roofs caved in, windows all blown out and there was more grass on the ground than concrete. The engine test stand had a tree growing out of it's highest point that rose another twenty meters into the sky. “Close and secure the door, ENID,” he commanded and it dutifully slid closed, now only to open by one of their commands through the Focus, or from someone inside. He slid a magazine into the AR15 he held, mashed the bolt release to have it snap shut, chambering a round and double checked it was still on safe.

“Couldn't we've gotten something a little more up to date, boss?” Jordi complained.

Buck clicked his teeth in disapproval. “What's the matter, J? Don't want to face the end of the world with Grand Pa's AR?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's battle proven and all that, but it's a hundred years old!” the smaller man shot back. “Something designed this century...well, that century...Jesus, my head is so fucked up right now!”

“You go to war with the gear you can get,” Tracy replied philosophically. “ARs we could get, and they're durable.” She would have said more, but Travis was turning to address them.

“Ok, boys and girl, we've got a lovely little nine kilo hike ahead of us, but nothing says we won't meet somebody sooner, so eyes and ears up and open. Shoot if you're threatened, but conserve your ammo. It might be a while before we can resupply.”

The team mimicked his movements and chorused an affirmative. “How about you let me take point, skipper?” Jordi asked and Travis nodded his assent. They wiry designated marksman of the group had the best eyes and if one shots were needed, he was the man to do it. They set off at an easy pace, ENID painting a holographic way point through their Focuses as a guide.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Tracy asked as they started walking. Travis remembered the view that was both a thousand years and just a few hours ago and compared it to the idyllic, pastoral landscape before him now.

“Paradise,” he agreed, taking a deep breath of remarkably fresh and crisp mountain air.

The access road to the facility was now a snow melt stream, rushing down the canyon towards the ruins of Colorado Springs. They followed it, descending down into a mixed deciduous forest that was in full spring. There were bees, dragon flies and what sounded like migratory birds and they could just make out the ruins of the buildings of Colorado Springs in and amongst the trees. It was a pleasant hike that could almost be pretended to be for recreation, not a post end of the world scouting mission. Save for the rusted High Tension Towers standing like a line of gigantic skeletal scare crows.

Then, just as Travis was considering calling a halt for a bit of afternoon lunch, Jordi's left fist came up. The others instantly froze and sank to one knee, each picking a different direction to guard. Travis kept his eyes on Jordi, whose fist split into a V for Victory sign he pointed at his face, then made a blade of his hand and pointed off to his left. Travis followed the gesture to get only a vague notion of movement in the bushes below the trees. He touched his Focus and instantly it noted what Jordi had spotted. It was an odd looking machine in the thermal painted augmented reality, on two legs, like a dinosaur, but only about the size of a wolf. It's face was a bright blue lens that was actually glowing like a search light and a tail snaked out behind it.

Whatever it was, it was looking at them.

“ENID, what do you make of this?”

In his ear, the AI's voice was whisper quiet. “It appears to be a guardian,” she replied. “I have noted this type around other machines, always walking a patrol route. That, and attacking anything that gets near the machines they protect, is all I have observed them do.”

“Designate this type 'Watcher',” he ordered. He turned his head slightly the sensor on the Focus found the herd this machine was guarding. It was a handful of quadruped machines with deer like metal antlers that seemed to be actually eating the grass. “What are those?”

“This type is particularly skittish,” ENID replied. “They seem to ingest certain strains of grass and convert this into a very combustible fuel, possibly for the other machines. It's stored in those cylindrical canisters on their hips. Exercise caution, I've noted them to explode if those canisters are breached.”

“Good to know,” he replied. “Lets call these Grazers.” As he watched, the Watcher lost interest and turned away moving a bit closer to the herd it was protecting. Catching Jordi's eye, he gave him a series of hand signals to go around the machines. They were just standing to continue when a very female voice screamed.

Every hand snapped to their Focus and in the thermal view, found a woman whose hands seemed to be bound together with a stick or staff in her hands, facing down three men, a forth was on the ground and a puddle of blood was expanding from him. “Let me go!” the woman shouted, in English to the surprise of Travis and his team.

“You'll pay for Jurral!” one of the men shouted.

“Lots of payment,” another declared, his tone leaving nothing to the imagination of what form that payment would take. As one the squad stood and brought their rifles into a ready position. At the trot, the covered the last bit of open ground and got into the trees where they could see better what was going on. The girl was dressed in a manner that could only be described as 'tribal', buckskin leather pants and a tunic, but there were bits of white metal armor in strategic places sewn into the leather. She was blonde haired, which was bound in two plaits on both sides of her head, leaving a Mohawk like crest on the crown of her head. There were feathers and other adornments in her hair and brightly colored beads on necklaces around her neck and arms. In her hands was spear that looked like it had been made out of the metal legs of one of the robots. It's tip had been filed to a keen edge that was bloody, but her hands were bound together, hindering her use of it.

Two of the three men only wore pants, likewise covered in ad hoc metal plates, what appeared to be some kind of body paint or tattoos on their torsos. The third wore a leather pants under a matching apron with metal plates sewn onto both, but the garments were tattered as if he had been unable to mend them or get fresh clothing for some time. Under that was what looked like a linen shirt with puffy sleeves like something from a Renaissance festival. “Drop your weapons!” Travis shouted. “Put up your hands! Do it now!”

The Apron turned towards them, a bow and arrow in his hands, nocked and drawn. Travis slapped off his safety and aligned the dot in his Focus of where the rifle was pointing to the breast bone of the Apron man and squeezed the trigger. It's report was loud, causing all the combatants to flinch. Apron's arrow went wild and he staggered. There was a neat little hole where the bullet had sailed through the metal plate on the apron without being slowed. A hand came up and under his apron which came out covered in blood. He looked up, stunned, then collapsed to his knees to fall face first onto the ground. “Drop your weapons!” Travis shouted again. “Now!”

The two shirtless men exchanged a glance, then turned and ran, deeper into the wood, towards the ruins. The blonde watched them run for a moment, then turned to face Travis. “If you're after what they wanted I'll fight you too!”

Travis returned the weapon to safe, then lowered it while raising his off hand empty, palm out. “We mean you no harm,” he promised her.

The girl, who couldn't be more than twenty, lowered the tip of the bloody spear just a bit. Her hazel eyes narrowed and she gestured with the spear. “Who are you? You're not Carja or Oseram like that maggot you killed.”

“My name is Travis,” he told her, taking a cautious step forward. “I don't know those words, Carja or Oseram, but we're new here I guess you could say.”

When he took another step forward, the point of the spear came up again. “What are you doing in the Embrace? The Sacred Lands are forbidden to Outsiders.”

“We don't mean to trespass,” he assured her. He held out his rifle and Doc took it. “If you'll let me, I'll untie you and we can talk.” The spear point wavered.

“If you're lying, I'll kill you,” she warned.

“And then my friends will kill you and that does neither of us any good,” he reasoned. “How about instead I help you, we have a conversation and see if we can't be friends?” The foggy hazel eyes shifted between Travis, his team mates, and the dead 'Oseram', until she stood up straight and planted the butt of the spear on the ground, it's business end in the air.

“Your terms are acceptable.” Travis noted C shaped streaks of bright blue paint around her right eye, now that she was standing up, adding to the savage warrior feel she was dressed like. He walked over, quickly enough to be assertive, but slow enough not to put her back on her guard. Whoever had bound her hands with the coarse rope had been cruel about it and the knots were a hopeless mess. He drew the M7 bayonet from it's scabbard on his belt and in short order her hands were free. For the first time she smiled and was a girl just turning into a woman, before her face set and the warrior was back. “We should go. Those two will bring others from their camp in Devil's Thirst.”

“Is that what you call those ruins?”

“Yes,” she snapped then looked up at him. She was pretty tall herself, but Travis was not quite two meters. “What do you call it?”

“In my day we called it Colorado Springs.”

“Colo...” she whispered. “Where are you from?”

“We live in the buildings up the canyon,” he told her, pointing back towards the facility. Her brows met as she frowned in anger.

“No one lives there,” she declared.

Travis smiled his most disarming smile. “We've...been gone a long time. Would you like to come with us? We can have that talk...?” She looked over her shoulder in the direction the two had run off in, then back.

“I accept. Travis.”

He made gestures to indicate his squad. “This is Tracy, Jordi, and Buck. What's your name?”

The blonde stood up proudly and raised her chin. “I am Nakoa, Outcast Brave of the Nora.” She picked up the spear and turned, expecting Travis to go past her, but when he turned to head back to his squad she was puzzled. “You do not wish your right?”

“Right?” Murray asked.

“You slew the Oseram in fair combat, his possessions are yours.” Travis looked at the corpse, then back at the young woman and shook his head.

“He has nothing I want.”

“As you please,” Nakoa declared and strode back over to the body, quickly and efficiently stripping it of anything metal. Then she went over to the other body and began the same, placing a dagger she took from the corpse in a sheath on her belt that was empty.

“Not a squeamish bone in her body,” Tracy whispered to Travis, returning his rifle to him. “That girl is used to dead and dying people. That can't be the first person she's killed.”

“These people live with death,” Travis observed quietly. “And probably not for very long.”

She marched back over, the spear across her back now, it's blade clean and gleaming. The bow and arrows she'd taken from Apron in her hand. “Lead the way,” she announced, not quite making a command of it.

“Paradise lost,” whispered Tracy with a smile as she turned and started back towards the mountain.

“Yeppers,” Murray agreed as he fell in beside their new warrior maiden,

* * *

They walked in silence for an hour, back out of the forest, into the grass land that led up the canyon to the testing facility, or it's ruin. Once they were far enough into the open they couldn't be ambushed, Travis called a halt and the group made a circle to sit and have some lunch. Nakoa was silent, but keenly interested as they took out their mess kits and the plastic, vacuum sealed bags of food. From his pack, Buck produced a solar powered hot plate, that fascinated Nakoa, so much so that Buck had to catch her hand to keep her from burning herself by touching it.

Tracy opened a pack of freeze dried strawberries, put them into a tin and poured water from her canteen onto them. Nakoa's eyes nearly popped out of her head as she watched the rock hard fruit come back to life and be soft again. She took one that Tracy offered and bit into it, the surprise and shock plain on her face. “What kind of magic is this?” she demanded.

“It's not magic,” Tracy told her. “We made the strawberries very cold while we dried them out. Without the water, they're hard, and they'll last for a long time without spoiling. You just add the water back and they're just like new.” She watched the younger girl wolf down several strawberries and asked, “When did you eat last?”

“Two nights ago,” she admitted around a mouthful. “I was traveling with an Oseram trading caravan from Daytower, but a Thunderjaw attacked us and we got separated.”

“Wait, I thought the guy Colon...er, Travis killed was named Oseram...” Jordi protested.

“Oseram was his tribe, not his name,” Nakoa corrected. “They come from a land called The Claim. It's over the mountains to the west and north of the Sundom.”

“What's a Thunderjaw?” asked Buck from whatever the concoction he was making on the hot plate. It was mostly chicken, though there was a little baggie of assorted vegetables and some fresh herbs he'd found on the hike put in that were beginning to smell quite nice.

“You've never seen one?” she asked, genuinely surprised. “Uh, well, it looks a bit like a Watcher, you've seen those?”

“We saw something we called that; it was guarding a little herd of other machines right before we met you,” Travis told her. “Looked like a fat snake on two legs in the middle with a long tail.”

Nakoa smiled and nodded. “Yes, that's a Watcher. A Thunderjaw is like that, but much bigger.”

“How much bigger?” asked Jordi worriedly.

The Nora looked about and pointed at one of the High Tension Towers. “Half that height. If you've never fought one, you're lucky.”

“We are seriously under armed,” Jordi muttered. Travis patted his marksman on the shoulder in encouragement then helped himself to a strawberry.

Turning to the new girl, he asked, “Nakoa, you said you're an Outcast Brave? Is that a rank...?” Her face became serious and she looked down at the hot plate and the stew bubbling on it.

“Brave is a rank,” she corrected softly. “I am Outcast from my tribe, the Nora, because I was denied the rank of Seeker and left the Embrace anyway.” She looked up and saw the confusion on her hosts faces and shifted to get a bit more comfortable on the ground. “Of the Nora, only Seekers may leave the Embrace and return. I was denied, but I left anyway.”

“Why?” asked Tracy.

“Three years ago, during the last of the Red Raids, a group of Carja soldiers raided the Embrace, for slaves to sacrifice to the Mad Sun King. I watched them as they tortured my father to death and I swore I would hunt them down and make them pay.” She chewed on the fruit thoughtfully. “It took me until six months ago, but they're all dead.” she declared with considerable satisfaction. Then she sighed and continued, “And because I left the Embrace without the Seeker Blessing, I'm Outcast. I can never re-enter the Sacred Lands.”

“That's horrible!” Tracy exclaimed, but the young hunter only shrugged.

“It is as the Mother wished, I suppose. I was going to the boarder post to send word to my aunt and brother that I was alive, Father's killers were dead by my hand and that it would be alright.” She gave a vague gesture at the woods behind them. “That's when the Bandit's found me.” She wiped her hands against her pants and looked at the group. “What is your tribe? I've never seen the like of you.”

“We work for American Scientific,” Travis replied without thinking.

“Amsci?” Nakoa asked. “I've never heard of the Amsci tribe. You are good fighters, I'll give you that. The ruins you claim are not in the Sacred Lands, but don't think to expand into them. We Nora are fierce.”

“We're not looking to expand or fight anyone,” Travis assured her. “Though we might be open to trade. We have a vast store of knowledge and skills we can teach.”

The hazel eyes shifted to the AR15s each near to hand of one of the group and back to Travis. “Indeed.”

“Soup's on,” Buck declared, wrapping a handkerchief around the handle of the pot and picking it up to spoon portions into the held out mess trays. “It's hot,” he warned Nakoa who smirked at him while she took the plate and spoon he offered. “Sounds like we've got a lot of local politics to catch up on,” he observed heavily he touched his Focus and caused a holographic map of the region to appear in the middle of the group. “Maybe you can...?”

“What...is that?” Nakoa demanded, both awed, and some part of her obviously afraid of the image.

“It's just a picture,” Travis assured her. “Made by light in these machines we wear.”

“You make light like the Ancients did?”

Travis looked into the faces of his team, then made a decision. “Nakoa, we are what you call 'Ancients'.” He watched her dusky face go pale and decided to plow on. “We have been asleep, under the mountain, but we're not gods, just men and women, just like you.”

“I can't sleep for hundreds of years!” the warrior protested.

“Neither can we without machines, and medicines,” Tracy added, drawing the other girls eyes to her. “We just know things you don't, is all. There's no magic to this, anymore than there's magic to your bow.”

“How many are you?” she demanded.

“How many Nora are there?” Jordi shot back, drawing a snarl from Nakoa, that Murray quickly acted on.

In his most reasonable tone of voice, he said, “Enough that we won't be conquered, but not enough that we don't need friends. Or want to be good neighbors.”

Nakoa considered that for a moment, her eyes lingering on her stew, as if now unsure she could trust it. “If you are who you say, the world was almost destroyed because of you! The matriarchs warn us to have nothing to do with the ruins because of the ghosts and the evil there!”

“We are as much victims in this disaster as you,” Murray countered. “We didn't build the machines that destroyed the world, nor did we profit by it. Our company was helping humanity travel to the stars. We were lied to by our leaders and almost wiped out because it. We only had the means to try and survive the catastrophe and now to try and build a better life for us and our children.” He purposefully took a large spoonful of the stew and ate it, he hoped showing her that it was safe and complimented Buck on his field cooking.

“Just an old thing Grammy taught me,” the big man replied. “God rest her soul. Bit of this, bit of that.”

Something about Bucks statement obviously resonated with Nakoa, she shifted her seat to be more comfortable, less ready to leap to action and picked up the mess plate and began to eat. With her mouth full, she gave a gesture at the hologram with her spoon and asked, “What do you want to know?”

Travis pawed at the hologram, the Focus interpreting his gestures to manipulate the hologram, enlarging it until the local features were visible. “This is what the world looks like from above,” he declared, but the Nora Brave rolled her eyes.

“I know what a map is,” she snorted. “We are about here,” and she pointed with her spoon. “There is Devil's Thirst, which you call Co-lo-rad-oh Springs.” She haltingly sounded out the strange word, then continued brusquely. She drew an outline with her spoon the Focus highlighted. “This is Mother's Embrace, the Sacred Lands. I grew up here, in a small village called Mother's Rise. It's outside the wall of the Embrace, but not out of the Sacred Lands. It's where I was going when I was way laid.”

Travis nodded and pointed at the map. “This is where we live. Long ago, it was a test facility, where we tried to make engines for space ships. It was big and deep enough in to the mountain to protect us from the machines.”

She considered that for a moment, then demanded, “What kind of machine lets you sleep for hundreds of years?”

The Colonel pointed and turned to Tracy. “Doc?”

The medic rolled her eyes, but faced the Nora Brave. “Ok, so above us, the air we breath gets thinner, until it stops. Above that, there is nothing. So, to survive in space you have to take everything with you. Food, water, even air to breath, and because space is so big...um, how to put this. Ah, ok, so have you seen a spark or a flash, like a bolt of lightening? You see that at the same instant it happens, because light moves so fast, but it's not instantaneous. The sun, for example, is so far away from the Earth that it takes light nine minutes to get here.”

Comprehension dawned behind the warrior's eyes. “Ah, so you cannot take enough supplies to last the whole voyage? That's why you go to sleep?”

“Exactly!” Tracy enthused. “We had been developing this technology for a considerable amount of time, so when the Faro Plague...the war that caused all of this, happened, we gambled that we could use it to step over the time when the Earth was unlivable to now.”

Nakoa found that funny and chuckled. “You're late. The Matriarchs tell us it has been countless years since All Mother led our ancestors from the Mountain.”

“Our...machine...took some of its instructions a bit too literally,” Travis agreed. “But, we're here and we're alive, so I'm willing to be fashionably late.” Something about what she said bothered him and he adjusted the map a bit. “Led you from the Mountain?” He asked, and indicated a place on the holographic map. “This mountain?”

Immediately, the girl closed up and one hand reflexively touched her spear. “What do you know of All Mother Mountain?”

“We called it Cheyenne Mountain,” Travis told her. “It was a fortress my people built before I was born. To defend us against enemies across the sea. It was called North American Air Defense Command. NORAD for short.”

Her face flushed red and her voice was angry. “The Ancients did not build All Mother Mountain!” she shouted. “There is no evil in it!”

Immediately, Travis put up his hands in an attempt to calm her. “Whoa! Calm down, I'm not making any kind of accusations like that!” he protested. “I'm just trying to get our bearings! This doesn't look anything like we remember!”

Her nostrils flared with her breath as she mastered her temper and considered what was being said, finally relaxing again. “Fine,” she admitted after a long, tense moment. “You are strangers, and you did not mean blasphemy. This is a sacred place to my people, and your innocent remark touched a nerve. I am sorry for my temper.” She purposefully moved the spear further away from her and sighed. “So, I have spoken wisdom to your questions, now I have some.”

“Fire away,” Travis replied, glad the accidental misstep hadn't cost them too much. He took another spoonful of stew as she gathered her thoughts.

“You are the War Chief of your tribe?”

Tracy snickered, but Buck was actually philosophical about it. “Pretty much, that's the Colonel. That was his rank in our Army, but War Chief works.”

“Co-lo-nel?” she asked, carefully sounding out the word. “What kind of a word is that?”

“It was originally a French word,” Travis replied. “They...uh...were a 'tribe' in our time and they spoke a different language.” Nakoa's eyebrows went up her forehead.

“You had tribes so large their words were different?”

“Oh, yes,” he answered. “In our day there were hundreds of different languages. Some only a little different, some that grew out of other, older languages, some that weren't related to any of the others at all. A handful, even made up.”

She considered that for a moment, then asked, “So what does Colonel mean?”

“A Colonel is a commander of a Brigade, which is a sub unit of our Army. A Brigade has three Battalions, each battalion has four companies of three platoons, and each platoon has generally a hundred men.”

“So...” she drawled as she worked the sums in her mind. “You commanded thousands of men? And that was not your entire army?”

“Was,” he assured her. “It was a long time ago. Before my superiors thought those things,” and he gestured at the rusting, insect like hulk of a Faro Chariot war robot near by. “Were better than men.”

Nakoa rolled her eyes. “They won.”

“We all lost,” he corrected her. “Even them,” he added philosophically. “A machine has no purpose without a human to give it one, after all. In civilian life, I became the head of security for American Scientific, and while we didn't go to war, it was my job to defend the employees. War Chief works, I suppose.”

“So,” she asked, looking at him side long. “Who is your chief?”

Travis smirked a bit to himself. “His name is Frank Olmstead, not that it will mean anything to you. It was his money that let all of us survive this.”

“I'd like to meet this Chief Frank.”

“You will,” he assured her. “Since you're an Outcast of your tribe, we could use your knowledge of things now. We could make a home for you with us.”

She considered that for a moment, cleaning her plate of the stew. “So long as you do not cause strife with the Nora, I am willing. I may be Outcast, but they are my family.”

“As I said, we're not looking for trouble.”

“Then I will go with you, though, I do need to see to sending word to my aunt.”

Travis finished his own portion and wiped out his kit with a rag before returning it to his pack. “Let us see to things in our home, then I'll take you.” He reached up and touched his Focus. “ENID? We are go for Phase Three.”

“That's good news, Colonel Murray,” the AI replied. “I will begin the wake sequence now. I read you as three kilometers away, so, we will see you in an hour or so?”

“See you then.”

* * *

It was not particularly late when the group got back to the Facility, though the sun was not very high above the Rocky Mountains; being up in the mountains dusk would come quickly. The blast doors were open and there were a number of people out and about, clearing the debris of the admin building, to mechanics working to get the vehicles prepped from storage, Nakoa was quiet in her awe looking through the three story high blast doors, into the massive Big Bay and the ants nest of activity inside it. Once they were close, the recon team slung their rifles over their shoulders and Travis paused a moment to give orders. “Buck, I want you to get with the rest of security and set up a perimeter. Make sure every sergeant of the guard knows there are hostile machines out there so they take this watch seriously.”

“Roger that, Skipper,” the big man declared and broke off into the swarm of activity.

“Jordi, get a hold of facilities maintenance, I want a perimeter fence and stockade as a building priority, before anything is permanently left out here.”

“Yes sir.”

“You need me for anything, Colonel?” Tracy asked, but Travis shook his head.

“No, Doc, but they probably need you with the wake up, so go ahead.”

“It was nice meeting you,” the medic told the Nora Brave, then she too was off after her fellows.

“What an odd thing to say,” Nakoa muttered as she watched the other woman leave.

“It's a polite expression from my time,” Travis replied. He caught sight of Frank, hip deep in the chaos, and touched the Brave on her elbow and gestured as he led her towards him. “Frank!” he called, and the older man turned, seeing his security chief, he broke away from what he was doing and walked to meet them. Once they were within conversation distance, Travis declared, “Frank Olmstead, meet Nakoa, Brave of the Nora Tribe. Nakoa, this is our Chief Executive Officer, Frank.”

“Charmed, my dear,” the older man said. “Nora? Did I pronounce that right?”

“You did,” Nakoa replied. “We...well, they are your closest neighbors. That way,” she pointed, then after a sly glance at Travis, added, “It is nice to meet you.”

Frank, however missed nothing and turned back from looking over the ridge line at the girl. “They?” he asked.

“I am Outcast from my tribe,” she replied. “Your War Chief, Travis, offered me a place here if I would share what I know of the area, which I accepted so long as you do not make war against the Nora.”

“I have no plans to make war against anyone,” Frank assured her. “And you're quite welcome, my dear.” He chuckled and elbowed the larger Chief of Security. “Any friend of the 'War Chief' is a friend of mine.” To Travis, he said, “I will certainly be looking forward to reading this report.”

“I hope I can keep you entertained,” Travis replied. “Do you want the executive summary here, or...?”

“No, no, see to your young friend and we'll have it out over dinner.”

“Yes sir. Nakoa, why don't you come with me? Would you like some fresh clothes?”

The girl looked down at her buckskins, and then back up. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”

He smirked at her. “You may find we as a people have, um, different standards of hygiene. I thought you might like to wash those. Perhaps a shower?”

She looked up at the sky. “No, I don't think it will rain. Not tonight, anyway. Who is this Hygiene and why should I care about their standard?”

That brought a chuckle he couldn't contain and he just took her elbow. “Let me show you.” A short walk brought her through the hive of work towards the living quarters that had been hastily dug out to widen and expand where the Brave marveled at the miracle of indoor plumbing and running water. The concept of a man made rain storm just for bathing fascinated her. So much so she had to try it out, which parted her from the leathers, which were very much in need of freshening.

In fact, her skin clean was a full shade lighter than it had been before the shower. From her kit bag she produced a homespun blouse and skirt both of which had been dyed blue by some form of natural dye based on it's somewhat inconsistent hue, with a pair of fur lined moccasins that let her move absolutely silently on the concrete. Reunited with the big head of security, she decided to air her growing concern about how many Ancients she was seeing running around these corridors. “How many are you?” she demanded, and the expression on his face made her worry more.

He led the way through the halls, dodging children who were running loose, delighted to be free of the capsules and playing loud games while a few women were trying to corral them together. Finally, they arrived at a door labeled 'Security' and inside they got a quiet respite from the loosely organized chaos outside. He gestured at the hologram over the door to lock it, then sat down behind the desk. From a drawer in the desk he pulled a box and removed a Focus and offered it. “First, you'll need this, just hold it to your temple.”

She turned it over in her fingers. “The Seeker had one of these,” she remarked offhandedly as she looked at it. “She said it let her see things others couldn't.”

“Seeker?” he asked. “Isn't that what you were trying to become?”

She nodded. “I left the Embrace before she faced the Proving. I'd heard of her, the Child of the Mountain that had been given to the Outcast Rost. He had been a Deathseeker, they still sing songs about him in my village.”

“Child of the Mountain?” asked Travis. “What are you talking about?”

She put the Focus on her temple and looked him in the eyes. “You ask many questions about my people, but you avoid mine about yours.” He sighed gestured his acquiescence.

“That's fair. ENID? What is the current head count?”

Nakoa almost didn't react to the bust of a woman that appeared over his desk. “Certainly Colonel. The current head count, minus Miss Nakoa is twelve thousand six hundred and forty eight.”

“Twelve thousand?” Nakoa hissed. “What are they going to eat? There isn't enough game to feed the Nora and you!”

“We're not here to fight!” he told her harshly. “The first priority we have is to get those grasslands between us and Colo...Devil's Thirst plowed and planted. You saw all those boxes in the hallway? The ones that don't have food in them have seed stock. It's spring isn't it?”

“You think berries and roots will feed twelve thousand people?”

He grinned at her. “You haven't seen us farm. Don't your people have crops? Wheat? Orchards?”

“Of course we have children gather berries and roots, but it's meat that let a people survive the winter.”

“You're hunter gatherers? Well, we have a lot we can show you then.” He made a dismissive gesture and the AI vanished from over his desk. “Ok, all the cards on the table, what do you want to know?”

“I am a hunter, and my people gather food, but I don't think that's what you meant,” she accused.

“Hunter/gatherer is a stage of human evolution; the first stage, as I learned it,” he told her. “My people farm, we uproot the soil and deliberately plant seeds of plants we will eat in the fall, over the winter. These plots are large. We plan to plant that entire grassland we walked over to get here.”

“Even with twelve thousand of you, that would take...”

“We have machines to help us do the work. There are only a few hundred of us that will farm, and we expect to have that land plowed and planted in a week or two. And it's harvest will be tons of food. Do you understand that word? Ton?” She angrily shook her head. He gestured at the desk he was sitting at. “This desk weighs about thirty pounds. Try to shift it.” He waited for her to do so and understand the amount. “A ton is two thousand pounds.”

“The land can't grow that much!”

“Nakoa, in our day, the central plains of this Continent,” he touched the Focus and brought up an image of the United States from space. “This region, it was a golden sea of grain where we grew so much food that being fat became a health problem for my people.”

“All the Ancients looked like an Oseram Merchant prince with barrels full of shards?” she laughed, but the laugh slowly died away. “You're serious? You were so rich you all became fat? All of you?”

“All? No, but a, forgive me a pun, large number of us did. We're not going to get into competition for game, we keep animals we want to slaughter for food. It was this advance, staying in one place to grow food instead of looking for it. It was being able to plan that let the Ancients begin to specialize their jobs. Hunting wasn't everyone's occupation, tradesmen could focus on doing one thing and trade whatever they made for food. This is what civilization is.”

She thought for a long moment and paced slowly on the office floor as she considered. “The Carja do this, and I've heard of the Utaru from the Forbidden West, they are said to have huge fields of food, but no one, no where I've heard of can do anything like what you describe.” She looked up locked eyes with him. “You say you aren't looking for a fight? When the word gets out of what you can do, fights will come looking for you, War Chief.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “New boss, same as the old one.”

* * *

Frank sighed as he sat at the desk in the little office they'd set up for the CEO to have meetings uninterrupted. He'd listened to Travis' summation of his report as he'd skimmed over the document holographically and examined the fight they'd gotten into saving Nakoa. “Well,” he drawled at last and rubbed his eyes. “I've had worse news given to me.”

“As near as I can tell the world isn't ending again,” Travis admitted.

“'Those who beat their swords into plow shears will plow for those who didn't,'” the CEO quoted mirthlessly. “Thank God I listened to you and packed that armory with everything we could get our hands on.” He sighed again and rubbed his eyes. “A thousand years of sleep to flee from a war only to rush into another because we have food. Food! For the love of God, when will mankind learn?!”

“I'm afraid that's outside of my expertise, boss,” Travis told him with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “What I can say is it sounds like the Nora will probably be open to friendly trade, though we'll have to be very careful with what we trade to them and how we offer it.”

“So, what's the state of warfare, Colonel? What kind of fight are we up against?”

“The Nora are hunter/gatherers,” he replied. “Bows, spears, though some interesting improvised things scavenged from the machines.”

Frank gave a gesture at the report and frozen image from the Focus of the scouting party still hovering in front of him. “Yes, these Terra forming machines you mention. Some of them are armed? Are they a threat?”

“Yes, they're armed, and yes, they're dangerous,” Travis admitted sadly. “The locals, everywhere within the trade network of these people, attack the machines to harvest metal. So we have hunter/gatherers with weapons that belong in the iron age, or worse. The machines started fighting back, some time ago, about the time the King's Peak Facility had the catastrophic accident. Best guess is the machines are drifting along trying to fulfill their base programming without any over arching direction.”

“As dangerous as the Faro Plague?”

Travis shook his head. “Not from what we've learned. They not only look like the animals they're based on, they act like them to a certain extent. Though there are newer, larger machines that actively hunt and attack humans, and they attack like the animals they're modeled after. While some do have weapons mounted on them, they don't have the Chariot's biomass converter technology, so they don't seem to swarm the way the Faro Plague Swarms did. But they are dangerous to small parties. And we'll need a defensive wall to keep them from wandering in.”

“Are we going to be protecting ourselves, and these Nora, Travis?”

The Chief shook his head. “They seem pretty stout, though I'll know more once I take Nakoa to send her message to her relatives.”

Frank considered that for a long moment, looking off, as though through the wall he stared at beyond to something greater. Finally, he made a decision and returned his eyes to Travis'. “That's fine then. I want you to be our ambassador and go with her.”

“My diplomacy is of the von Clausewitz variety,” he warned his employer.

Olmstead's grin reminded Travis he was talking to a very rich man who had risen to greatness in one of the most cut throat times of human history. “So you're just the man to note what they're capable of while keeping a historical caution of the fine line between allies and enemies. While you're gone, I want Ian's group to start getting a handle on these machine animals. I want to know if they're locally controlled by some kind of semi-dumb AI that thinks like an animal, or remotely by a puppet AI that wants us to think that's what it is.”

“You're thinking about hacking them, sir?”

Frank's predatory smile widened. “Colonel, you know me so well. We could certainly use the help. Smart AI can be reasoned with and dumb ones can be overridden. I don't especially care which. I agree with your recommendation about the stockade and guard protocols while we're out doors. Prep your assistant to see to those modifications with facilities while you're gone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Olmstead stood and offered his hand which Travis took. “Colonel, you watch your back out there and come home. We need you. If you think you need to, take one of your boys with you.”

“Roger that, sir.”

* * *

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The Doomsday Protocol Part 2

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Genre:

Character Age:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Doomsday Protocol
A Horizon Fan Fiction

by
E. E. Nalley
Part Two

March 11th, 3040

It was past midnight when Travis finally got everything he wanted sorted and could start thinking about catching some shut eye. For a moment, he considered making his way to the bachelor dormitory, but the thought of trying to sleep in an open bay with three hundred other men did not exactly tempt him with restful repose. Instead, he turned his feet to the security office and a pair of hooks he'd had the foresight to have set into the concrete a thousand years ago. There, he pulled his hammock out of his butt pack and quickly had it strung between the anchors.

That taken care of, he stripped down to his skivvies and settled into the hammock with a sigh as his spine relaxed into the hammock. From his desk, he picked up the light blanket and flicked it over himself and stared at the ceiling tiles. “Asleep for a thousand years, you'd think I wouldn't be tired,” he muttered to himself. He touched his Focus and the personification of the facilities' AI appeared over him. “ENID?”

“Yes, Colonel?” she asked with a smile. “How can I help you?”

“Please put a note to the kitchens I'll need traveling food for two drawn in the morning.”

“Certainly. What time would you like me to wake you?”

He put his hands behind head and kicked a foot to set the hammock swinging just a bit. “Zero Six hundred will be fine. Would you project the sky over head on the ceiling, please, ENID?”

The woman's bust vanished and it was as if the ceiling was gone and there was a shaft up through the mountain and out to the sky. It was a depth of field Travis wasn't used to. Light pollution, even in the deep wilds of the military bases he'd served on was such that only the brightest stars could pierce it. Now the world was dark, fire was the only light once the sun had set and over head, once again the Milky Way wound through the heavens and uncounted trillions of stars shown like diamonds on black velvet. “Good night, Colonel,” the AI whispered.

“Good night, ENID.” A shooting star flashed across the heavens, then Travis closed his eyes and slipped into slumber.

* * *

It seemed like his eyes had barely closed when Travis awoke next, the sensation of a full bladder demanding attention. The hologram over his desk proclaimed the time as zero three twenty one. He sighed and carefully got out of the hammock and pulled on his trousers and boots for the walk to the privy. He yawned as he walked, grateful the security office wasn't far off the Big Bay and so was close to the cluster of restrooms for it. For a moment, he felt a little flash of envy at Frank's private restroom, both for his office and the small apartment he and his wife and children were sharing, deeper in the mountain.

“Rank hath it's privileges,” he reminded himself quietly, and schooled himself to rid his mind of such useless jealousy. Frank Olmstead was the reason everyone in this mountain was alive; if that didn't warrant something as simple as a private bathroom, what did? He shuffled to a stall and relieved himself, glad to be rid of the feeling of pressure from his bladder, then turned to the sink, to find Nakoa just coming into the room. “Nakoa?” he asked, surprised.

“You can't sleep either?” she asked him.

“I uh, just had to answer Nature's Call,” he replied. Seeing the puzzled look on her face, he gestured at the stall. “Had to piss,” he amended, allowing himself to be a little more vulgar and she seemed to respond to it.

“Ah,” she grunted, then walked around him to the stall, hitched up her skirt and sat down. “It is good to see the Ancients were not so inhuman as some of our legends claim.”

She didn't close the stall door. Turning his back, he found her looking at him in the mirror, so he busied himself with washing his hands. “Just so you know, this half of the toilets are for men, the women's side is the other door.”

“Why?” she asked frankly. She held his gaze in the mirror as she relieved herself and it was obvious that 'modesty' wasn't a word in her vocabulary. “Do men piss or shit differently than women?”

“No,” he admitted, drying his hands on the towel by the sink. “Well, yes, men can use a urinal, but...” he stopped, somewhat flustered. “It's just a polite custom from our time.”

She smiled as though there was something affirming about his observation that made up her mind about something. Then, she stood and dropped her skirt as she came out to stand next to him by the row of sinks. “Does my primitive, tribal honesty insult your politeness?” He turned and looked down into her face, a surprised frown on his face.

“What gave you that idea?” he demanded. She stared back into his face, then turned and washed her hands with less fumbling than he would have thought she'd have. He handed her the towel when she was done and she dried her hands.

“You seem very eager to be sure I fit into your tribe. I'm not ungrateful for that, though I am curious why it is so important to you.” She cocked her head to one side. “I see your people bond in families like the Oseram and the Carja. Do you desire me as, what is the word? Wife? Yes, wife, is that your desire with me?”

“What?” he exploded, so completely blindsided by the question he was more than a bit dumbfounded. “I...you...I'm old enough to be your father!” he finally managed. She only shrugged expressively.

“So what?” she demanded. “Among my people it is the woman who picks a man to be the father for her child, and why should I limit myself to young, unproven braves? Why should you, a man of standing and power among your people limit yourself to old women for whom childbearing would be dangerous, if possible at all?” She stepped forward, into his personal space and the basin of the sink would not allow him to retreat. “Mind you, I'm not...adverse...to the idea of lying with you. In fact, I think I would enjoy that very much.”

His ego demanded he try to be gallant and smiled at her. “Well, thank you for the consideration. I'm flattered, but that wasn't the reason I'm helping you. It's the right thing to do is all.” She returned the smile as though some other point had been made to her satisfaction.

“Why are you so anxious? Surely you have known a woman before?”

Travis chuckled and shook his head. “I'm having this conversation, in a restroom, at three in the morning, with a woman half my age. A conversation I note I was completely unprepared for.”

“That's fair,” she admitted, then reached down and took his hand and began to walk to the exit. “Come then, are you alone in the room we spoke at before, or must we seek some quiet corner?”

“Nakoa!” he protested, but allowed himself to be pulled out of the restroom at least, which was one less worry. She turned and looked up at him. The hallway lights were dimmed so that people having to answer the call of nature, as they just had, would not wake others, and the shadows on her face were soft and dramatic.

“Yes?” she asked him.

“I...you...What are...?” She smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Forgive me, Travis, but this is one of your customs that I'm not interested in. Do you find me ugly?”

“No!”

“Do you prefer other men?”

“What? No!”

She grinned at him. “Well then, let's be about this! It's not my time just now, so don't worry about that.” She pulled him by the hand back to the Security Office and before he could formulate a reason why they shouldn't be about to do what he thought she had in mind, that would not offend her, he was alone with a very healthy young woman in the office. The hammock delighted her the moment she saw it. “Perfect!” she declared as she pulled the tunic over her head, letting it fall across his desk.

She'd undone her hair from its braid and it was all about her shoulders, drawing his eyes to her breasts. She wasn't particularly busty, but they were firm and proud as befit a woman who led as physically active as her life must be. There were small cuts and scars on her torso, but that didn't detract from her youthful beauty. She pulled the skirt down and suddenly she was nude and half sitting on his desk, holding out her arms in invitation.

Travis Murray wasn't a virgin, though it had been a long spell of bachelorhood before Ian had made him aware of the crisis they faced. After that, there hadn't been time to breathe, let alone think about wooing someone. Now there was a young woman who he would card if she'd try to buy a beer from him, leaning against his desk, naked and inviting him to have his way with her.

His manhood declared its vote by snaking down his pant leg, stiffening into erection as it did so. Her hand found the waistband of his pants and she grabbed them, pulling as she did so. She was quite strong for her size and then he was between her knees and his pants had fallen around his ankles. In the pale light of the clock, she looked at his manhood, then took hold of it, grinning up at him in a delight that was both innocent and yet anything but.

Then, suddenly they were kissing and hormones Travis Murray hadn't felt in a thousand years were coursing through his blood. He wrapped his arms around her as she kissed him back with the fierceness of a woman who lived her life knowing death was coming at any moment as she rubbed the head of his member through her folds. Soon it was slick and he felt her point him at her entrance. Her legs wrapped around his hips as she dug her heels into his sides as if spurring a horse. Politeness gave way to more basic instincts and he pushed his way into her.

Their kiss broke as her head lolled back and she moaned softly as he claimed her, pushing, withdrawing a bit, only push with more urgency until at last he found the bottom of her and felt her clinch around him. Her eyes squeezed shut and her belly spasmed, squeezing him as he realized he had given her an orgasm just by entering her. Her hazel eyes opened as her lips parted as she started to say something, but the massive boost to his ego at what he had done took over and he grabbed her hips to force her body to make room for the entirety of him until he felt her mons against his abdomen.

Her eyes went wide as she moaned again, hanging her arms around his neck. His lips found her neck as he kissed and sucked gently while he worked within her. Her hands would clinch, trying to grasp his hair that was too short while panting in his ear. Over the sounds of their bodies moving, he heard her moan, “Goddess, what a man!”

He was reduced to grunts as he took her, his heart hammering in his chest until her earthy moans and the warm velvet that gripped his manhood drew his own climax. “Yes...!” he hissed and their eyes met as he flooded her. For a long moment, they just panted after their breath and stared into each others eyes until her hands slid down his neck to gently guide his face to her lips.

After the seething passion of the previous moments, this kiss was tender, almost virginal as though he had taken her that deeply and completely. When it broke, she laid her face against his and they hugged with their entire bodies. Finally having caught his breath, he stood, picking her up off his desk, still buried deeply within her. He kicked off his pants and boots while her eyes watched him, then he carried her to the hammock and gently eased them both into it, her on top of him. She grabbed the blanket and pulled it over them and laid her head on his shoulder, breathing softly. “Travis?” she whispered. “I'd never allowed myself to think about anything but killing the men who murdered my father, but now I feel as though my whole life is new again. I think I would like to have you father my child.”

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

He hung a leg out of the hammock and kicked to set it rocking gently. He ran a hand up her back to her head and gently guided it back to his shoulder. “Yesterday was a thousand years ago for me,” he told her softly. When I went to sleep last night, I didn't know if I'd ever wake up. Now I have a beautiful woman asking me to father her children. How do I feel? Awestruck, Nakoa. Absolutely awestruck.”

He felt her trace her finger through the sweat on his chest. “I didn't mean start fathering on me tomorrow. But, sometime, this year maybe? Over the winter, perhaps? I don't think I want to be pregnant in the summer, but I can't think of a better way to winter over than sharing your bed.”

“That,” he told her with a kiss to her forehead. “That we can agree on.”

He heard the smile in her voice, and something else. Something that sounded like satisfaction. “Good. Sleep well, Travis. I look forward to our conversations in the morning.”

“Me too.”

* * *

“Good morning, Colonel,” ENID's voice penetrated through the fog of sleep. “It is zero six zero eight, as you requested. Good morning Miss Nakoa. I have sent a notation to Ms Channel that you found different lodgings for the night so your absence does not cause undo alarm.” Travis realized the sensation of the pleasant dream he thought he'd been having, was in fact, reality. He hadn't been dreaming about bedding Nakoa, she was actually in his arms, on his chest and his morning wood was deeply buried in her. He opened his eyes to find her just sitting up in his lap, stretching gloriously nude and completely unconcerned by it.

“Thank you, ENID,” she declared as if talking to other people while having sex was nothing new to her and grinned down at him. “Good morning to you, Colonel! Pleasant dreams, I hope?”

He laid his hands on her thighs, near her hips and lovingly caressed them. “This is better than any dream I could have,” he assured her. She braced herself against his chest, rose up to her tip toes, then sank back down on him.

“You're too big for me to get off you,” she declared with a grunt of pleasure. “I guess I'll just have to ride you till I can make you smaller!”

Some part of him wanted to protest about the time, or getting an early start, but the most primitive part of his brain rushed to the forefront, demanding to know what was wrong with him? He was balls deep in a supple, nubile female and the rest of the day could wait until he was done with her. He reached up and gently fondled her breasts as she began to build up a rhythm, rising and falling on him, finally able to muster enough brain cells to say, “You don't have to do all the work, let me up and...”

But one hand of hers on his chest rose up and she laid a finger across his mouth. “Hush,” she commanded. “You had your way last night. It's my turn now.” She closed her eyes and dipped her head as she slid down him, and he watched her muscles tremble, feeling her climax around him. She rotated her hips in his lap as she gasped and mewed softly. Then her eyes were open again, a look of lust and something else on her face. “I don't care if the Metal World is forbidden or what the Matriarchs think, by the Goddess, I mean to have this, have you in my life!”

He lifted his legs out of the hammock on either side and sat up pulling her against him, making her gasp as his shifting was transmitted into her through his member. Held against him, her mouth fell open as he stood, laying her on her back in the hammock to support her. He swept her legs up so that only his arms and the hammock held her in this somewhat awkward variation of the missionary position that let him take control, to appease his desperate need. “I'll give you something,” he promised her and began to thrust, withdrawing to the tip of his member to plunge his full length into her until her mons was firmly around the base of it.

Her breath turned to gasps as he took her in a strong, needy rhythm. Her nipples stood up erect and she gave voice to the sensations, a long, low moan of passion. Her body began to shake, first in her stomach, clinching at him making him thrust harder to overcome the muscles that gripped him, which in turn intensified her orgasm until her entire body was shaking. Her eyes were wide, locked with his speaking even as her voice was denied her, begging him to complete her. The need became an ache, then a fire in his loins until the pleasure raced down his legs as his seed finally flowed through his cock and fountained within her.

A jerk traveled up and down his spine, in sympathetic vibration to the pulse of his ejaculation, then twice and a third time as her moan turned into the ardent command, “Give it all to me!” His hands found her hips and he pulled her deeper onto him to obey her command. Then the after glow settled on them as they panted after their breath she sat up to cling to him wrapping both arms and legs around him as he stood, holding her, evolution satisfied, a man in every way until his penis finally relaxed and slipped free of her to dangle next to her entrance. “Suddenly,” she whispered into his chest, the sound of his heart under her ear. “I don't think I'd mind so much if I'm gone with child over the summer.”

Travis swam in an ocean of testosterone and the savage hind brain, fighting his way back into control of his own body to finally force himself to ask, “Did I hurt you?”

Her head came off his chest to look up into his face. “Hurt me?” she demanded. “I am so far from pain I have no words for it! Hurt me like this as much as you like!” she goaded him, chuckling lustfully as she laid her head on his chest again. “Now, now I know why we Nora prize motherhood.”

“I...I just needed to so badly...” he admitted. “I couldn't help...”

“Stop,” she commanded him. “You did nothing I didn't want done. I respect that you fear the passion I awoke in you but do not grieve. I wanted, needed it every bit as much. I am satisfied. So, stop apologizing for offense you haven't given.”

He chuckled at her vehemence and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Though, I think we both need your cleaning rain room,” she told him with a grin. “If you wash my back, I will wash yours.” She ground her hips against him and her grin went devilish. “And other things...” she promised.

“Fortunately for my ability to walk, the showers are segregated by gender,” he told her. “I can't imagine how much pain I'd be in if I had to suffer through what would come of running my hands over your wet body.”

“Pity,” she conceded. “But there is a hot spring on the way to the Gate...”

Travis moaned softly in sympathetic pain he wasn't experiencing. Yet.

* * *

The shower did Travis good in many ways. It was now day two after the End of the World, and things were definitely looking up. To be sure, a part of him worried about whether or not 'cradle robber' was going to be whispered behind his back, but there was a much greater portion of him that was elated about how he'd spent the night and woken this morning. It had been the best night and morning in... The thought brought him up short as he worked a lather into his body sponge. How long had it been? A year? Two? Three? Sure, he'd been working hard, advancing his career, but it couldn't have been that long, could it?

And where did that get you? He demanded of himself. Alone and middle aged, without prospects of a wife or family eking out a survival living after doomsday? He frowned at where his subconscious had taken his thoughts and, as he'd learned in the service, quickly forced himself to accentuate the positive. I'm alive, he decided. That counts for something.

And banging a girl half my age, his hind brain added smugly. Known her a day and she already wants to have my kids. And I thought my studly days were behind me!

Knock it off, he ordered his mind, more than a little annoyed by where his thoughts had gone. Whatever does or doesn't happen with Nakoa, I'm too old to be thinking like an idiot. He rubbed the sponge over his chest a bit more forcefully than was absolutely necessary to underscore his resolve. Sadly it was necessary to allow the soap to function. As with all of their supplies, even the soaps had been freeze dried and vacuum sealed as there was no way to know when ENID would wake them and anything that had water in it could spoil. It had been scoffed at as excessive by some, but was paying a bit of dividends now that they found themselves hundreds of years further from their own time than any of them planed.

Still, the reconstituted soap was as ancient as they were and some of its efficacy was lost.

As clean as he could be expected to get until something as simple as soap making could begin again in earnest, Travis pulled on a fresh uniform and headed to the kitchen for some breakfast. Most of the stored food was bulk in nature, powered everything, freeze dried and vacuum sealed and while the powdered eggs and grits had all the children and a fair number of adults grumbling, the frequent response to hearing it was generally someone snapping a harsh, “You could be dead!”

The breads, at least, had been baked fresh and made what might have been an otherwise difficult meal a little better. He got himself a mug of coffee and sat down to get it fixed as he liked as he watched Nakoa go through the serving line. The Nora brave was noticed wherever she went and now, back in her leathers, it was hard for many to not openly stare at her. She saw him watching her and smiled, coming quickly to join him as he began to carefully spread butter on his bread. “What is that?” she demanded.

“You've never seen bread before?” he asked, somewhat amazed.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know bread. I've lived with the Carja and the Oseram, what is that you're putting on it?”

“You don't know butter?” he asked. She shook her head, and he snapped his fingers. “Right, no cattle. Wow, how do I explain this? Here, try it.” She took the piece he offered and popped it in her mouth without hesitation. Her expression became thoughtful as she chewed.

“What an...odd...flavor,” she opined as she chewed.

“Well, it's not real, butter, just oil and powdered milk.”

“Powdered...milk?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Aren't you a bit old for a wet nurse?”

That caught him as funny and he laughed heartily at it. “No, not human milk. In our time, we domesticated...er...we trained large animals called cows. They were a large part of our diet, but some we kept for their milk. That milk can be turned into butter by agitating it in a churn, or with other ingredients, made into a solid called cheese.”

“You can make milk...from this animal...solid?”

He nodded. “It's a very old technique, at first used to preserve it to make it last longer. Then for the flavors.” She looked back at the serving line.

“Can I try this cheese?”

“We don't have any, yet,” he admitted. “But we do have some animals we're going to use as the basis for a herd, so soon.”

“Animals we don't have?” she asked, somewhat excitedly. Her youthful excitement was infectious and endearing to him. He gestured at her to stay calm and they ate until one of the cooks came over with a tray of packets.

“Colonel? Here's the traveling food you requested,” she declared.

“Thanks, Mandy,” he replied, taking the packets from the tray and putting them in his butt pack. Nakoa picked up one of the packs and looked at it.

“What do these words say?” she asked.

Mandy leaned over and looked. “These are apricots, honey,” she told the warrior. Travis frowned as he took the packet from her.

“You can't read?” he asked, surprised when she shook her head.

“I can read,” she countered. “But I can't read the script of the Ancients. No one can. Though I have seen them on other devices of the Ancients. So, of course you would still use them!” she berated herself. “I know a handful of Carja scholars that would cut off arms to be able to read this.”

“Interesting,” he mused, softly. “You speak what sounds like colloquial English like any girl I'd pass on the street in my time, but you use a different alphabet. I wonder why?”

She snorted in dismissal and spooned some of the grits into her mouth. “The Matriarchs tell us that the Machine King lured the Faithless into the metal cities and turned on them, but that we Nora stayed faithful, so we never learned the Ancient letters.”

“Machine King?” he asked. She was shocked at his question and the expression on her face was one of intense confusion.

“Don't you know?” she demanded. “Isn't that why you're here? That you were running from Him?” He made a so/so gesture, intrigued by what he'd heard. She sighed and sat up right, her posture becoming very formal as her hands began to tick off items on her fingers in a mnemonic aid to something she'd memorized. “This is how it was taught to me, so I will speak it to you,” she declared formally. “In the beginning… all life came from All-Mother. People, Machines, and beasts--all were Her children. They lived alongside each other in the comfort of Her wild Embrace. But some grew restless. Though they took of Her bounty, they wanted more. These were the faithless. The Machines had whispered to them, promised to serve them. To make them a new world, better than the one All-Mother provided! A world of Metal.”

Her voice took on a sing/song quality as she spoke, touching a knuckle of each finger, then the divot between her bottom lip and her chin as thought taking the phrase from storage on her hand and putting it into her mouth as she recited. “They told the faithless they would do all the work for them. Feed them, shelter them… give them a life of ease, of plenty. And so the faithless left with the Machines. Only the true children - the mothers and fathers of the Nora - stayed with All-Mother. At first, the Machines did as they had promised. They built cities, great and terrible. Monuments to their sins. But they would not serve the faithless for long. A king rose up among the Machines, a Machine more powerful than any other. The Metal Devil! And then the faithless served him. Served the Machines.”

She clinched her fist, now alternating the fingers of her right hand on the knuckles of the left in a martial gesture to show how the tone of the story had changed. “That was not enough for the Metal Devil. He wanted all to serve him, and tried to tempt the true children away from All-Mother. They would not go. They gathered on the mountainside to cling to Her, and prayed, more devoted than ever. The Metal Devil raged louder than thunder. In his fury, he came to confront All-Mother, intending to kill her! She struck him down, forever. As you know, for his lifeless body is up there still, frozen in shame and defeat. The Machines were driven mad by the death of their king, and their minds became wild as beasts. The faithless abandoned their cities, forced to wander the world without the care of the Machines. Only we remain the true children of All-Mother. Machines are to be hunted. Metal, to be used for scrap, for Makings-- but never to be adored. For the dangers are never over.”

She sighed again and closed her eyes for a moment, before she relaxed and unclenched her fist. Looking at him, she said softly, “That is what my people believe. That is the chant of the Proving, that I memorized when I became a Brave. But I can see from your face it is not so, is it? Will you tell me what really happened?”

“Will it offend you as much yesterday?” he asked softly.

Her eyes closed again and she bit her lip as she coped with her entire world view being changed and altered. She sighed for a third time and steel entered her voice and spine and when her eyes opened they were on fire and direct. “No,” she declared firmly. “As the Carja say, you can be ignorant in darkness, or you can walk in the Sun. I choose the light. Tell me what really happened.”

“The machines that almost destroyed the world, we made,” he admitted. “We weren't seduced by them, that sin is on us. We invented them, we built them and they turned on us because we were foolish. The Faro Plague, the war machines you see, were things other Ancients, other Americans built, for profit.”

Her jaw clinched and her eyes became hard. “Even you, Travis?” she demanded flatly.

“No!” he countered quickly and gestured to encompass the dining hall. “Everyone here worked for Frank in a...a tribe you could say, he founded. Our tribe, American Scientific, we made things...ships... to take us, humanity to space, so that we could mine the metal and other resources we needed there and not pollute the earth. Our machines couldn't think, they were just...ships, like you'd take on a river, but through the air and into the sky instead.”

“Then where did the Metal Devil come from?” she demanded.

He made a placating gesture. “I don't know what that is, so I can't answer,” he told her. She reached up and touched her Focus.

“ENID?” she demanded and the holographic bust of the computer's interface appeared. “How far do your eyes see?”

“I have sensors that allow me to be aware of an area of one hundred kilometers in any given direction,” the AI replied. Nakoa's eyes came back up to Travis'.

“What was the name you gave All Mother Mountain? Where you said your people's fortress is?”

“Cheyenne Mountain.”

“Is Cheyenne Mountain more than one hundred of these 'kilometers' away?”

“No, only ten,” the AI replied.

“Show me Cheyenne Mountain, now,” she commanded. The holographic woman vanished and over their breakfast, a ghostly image of the mountain appeared, but it was nothing like Travis remembered. Coming up the side of the mountain, just becoming illuminated in the morning light and crashed down onto it was a gigantic machine three hundred meters long and perhaps half that wide. It's wreck resembled a lobster or a sea scorpion, standing on ten segmented tentacle legs that were reaching over the mountain as if to tear it open, though mostly covered in snow, it's black body shown through in spotty places. “That,” Nakoa declared. “That is the Metal Devil.”

Now it was Travis' turn to sigh. “Yes, I know what it is,” he admitted, “and no, we had nothing to do with its creation. This is a Horus, it was the largest of the machines in the Faro Plague, a moving factory and siege engine that could make new machines to fight with, as well as crack fortresses. “This one was one of five that attacked the United States in the Swarm. We didn't serve it, we tried our best to kill it.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then her jaw unclenched as she decided to believe him and her posture relaxed noticeably. “Tell me what happened.”

“These machines were what replaced me as a soldier,” he told her. “Why send men to die when machines can be sent? Then all the nations, and some of the larger companies wanted them. They were designed to resist attempts to...er...how to put this? To take over their minds. And then something went wrong and they stopped following all orders and began to kill everything on the planet.”

She considered this for a long moment, staring down at her plate, pushing the eggs around with her spoon. Then with considerable softness, she asked, “If everything besides you and everyone in this mountain died, where did we come from?” Her eyes came up, and he could see this question's answer would color the remainder of their relationship. So, he touched his own Focus and pulled up some of the documents Ian had uncovered and held them in the floating holograms.

“In my time, there was a device, a library if you will, but in these holograms. In it, all of human knowledge was held, from the history of our people back thousands of years, to the mundane things like how many apples were picked from a particular tree. In this network, data...knowledge...flowed like a river. Some became very talented at noticing how that 'river' flowed. Trends, coincidences, anomalies. When my people began to fight the Faro Plague a rumor began to circulate, that our leaders were working on a super weapon that would save all of us.”

“Admirable,” she declared, but he dissuaded her with a sharp gesture.

“It was a lie,” he declared. “A lie to make all of us take up arms and throw away our lives to buy time for it to be completed.”

“Well, if it wasn't a weapon, what was it?”

“A colleague of mine uncovered information that this project had acquired ectogenic chambers.” He held up his hand to counter her expected interruption. “They are an artificial womb, a way for us to take a baby in it's tiniest form and bring it to term and deliver it.”

The horrified look on her face made him wince. “A motherless...wait...Aloy!” she exclaimed.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Aloy, the Seeker, the rumor I heard growing up was the she was motherless! That the Matriarchs found her in All Mother Mountain and gave her to Rost, the Outcast to raise! She was who saved me from the Carja!”

“Nakoa,” he replied softly. “We think you all are probably the descendants of people born this way. This...Aloy legend was probably...” he stopped as she became cross.

“Aloy isn't a legend, she's flesh and blood! I've met her! This wasn't hundreds of years ago, but nineteen? She's only a little younger than I am!”

“Does this happen often?”

“It's never happened before to my knowledge!”

“ENID?” he asked, and the documents vanished to be replaced with the AI's image. “When did you first note human activity after we entered suspended animation?”

“July 3rd,” she declared. “2381. I picked up a power spike from the Cheyenne Mountain facility August 5th, 2363 and began to monitor the site. On the 3rd, I noted the exit of approximately four thousand, five hundred people from the mountain.”

“What became of these people?” Nakoa whispered.

“Their descendants are still living in and around the mountain. I understand you are one of them, Miss Nakoa? So they became the tribe you call the Nora. Some migrated out of the valley and proceeded to spread out from there in all directions.”

It was obvious this was very hard for Nakoa to hear, but she very bravely looked at Travis and demanded, “If we left All Mother Mountain after you were asleep, how...why...I don't understand...!”

Travis reached out and took her off hand into his, a simple gesture that made her grab his thumb and squeeze it tightly as though that was the anchor keeping her sane. Softly, he told her, “We became aware of the secret that was being hidden from us. That our leaders knew they would fail in defeating the machines and set up All Mother Mountain, and maybe other places so that after the world, our world, ended, life would begin again. We gathered what resources we could and we came here. You and your people are the great great grandchildren of the efforts of that program. The Children of Zero Dawn, I suppose you could say.”

“But, why don't we know this?” she asked plaintively. “Why don't we have any knowledge of this? Why weren't we taught what you know!?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “But, if you want, and your Matriarchs will allow it, I'll be happy to look into the Mountain and see what I can find out.”

“How? No one can get into the mountain. Anyone who tries is confronted by the Goddess. We hear her voice state, 'Hold for Identiscan,' but no matter what you say, she says, 'Identity not recognized, Access Denied.'”

He considered that for a moment, then turned to ENID. “What was the status of my IRR clearance before USRC fell, ENID?”

“I showed it as active until I lost sync with US Robot Command, Colonel.”

“I don't understand,” Nakoa repeated softly. Travis nodded and squeezed her hand.

“The entrance to that mountain is a portal to a United States military fortress, and even though I was released from Active Duty, my commission as an officer and it's associated clearances were still active due to the national emergency despite my Individual Ready Reserve status. It means, I should be able to enter.”

“Eat!” she commanded, recovering her hand and gesturing at his plate. “Eat so we can go!”

* * *

It was a beautiful spring morning when the pair set off, still cool with a brisk, mountain breeze as they walked, but they were still well below the snow line. Nakoa, it was apparent, had walked everywhere her entire life and so kept the pace he set easily, and while Travis had been diligent in his workout routine, two days of long distance hikes were starting to become a grind. Yesterday had been a trek north east, but today they were walking south, following the fold of the mountain and slowly descending into the tree line. Their Focuses allowed ENID to give them a way point to follow, so there was no need of his orienteering skills.

Today, however, Travis carried his rifle in his hands rather than by it's sling. There were plenty of bad people and bad things in this wilderness and that gave an edge to this hike that was more like a combat patrol of his distant youth as a 2nd lieutenant. Nakoa, he noted, also took the walk seriously, her bow strung and in her hands, one arrow in the hand with the bow, ready to be nocked. He had no doubt the Nora Brave was a deadly shot.

Finally, around mid morning, they rounded a fold of the mountain and came into view of the vale at the foot of the mountain. The land was wild again, covered in pine, cotton wood and aspen trees, though beyond it he could see traces of civilization, or what passed for it. There was a stockade of felled trees that went from sheer cliff and off into the distance with a flow through gate for the north branch of Cheyenne Creek to bubble down through, and beyond the wall, well worn trails that probably served the Nora as roads. There was a somewhat crudely built village around the base of the wall near it's gate, it's central point being a tall watch tower, but there was no one moving in the village. Worse, several of it's huts had been burned to the ground and beyond it, the gate to the wall stood open. Fortunately, Travis saw it a split second before Nakoa did, so when she started and yelled, “No!” he was able to grab her before she took off running.

A hand over her mouth cut off her shout of protest and his serious gaze let her know things were likely bad. Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded, her initial reaction under control. He removed his hand and she whispered, “I know this ground, follow me,” she declared and he nodded his acceptance.

His thumb clicked the safety of his rifle off as he followed her crouched shuffle.

As quiet as death, they made their way to the sacked village, darting from cover to cover, tense and waiting for a shout of alarm, though none came. At the outskirts of the village, they found a body, face down in the dirt, an arrow coming out of his back. “This is a Nora arrow,” she whispered, once more stoic and unperturbed by the corpse. He pushed the body with his boot toe but it resisted the motion like a plank.

“Rigor, but no smell. He hasn't been dead long,” he whispered back. The man was wearing clothing that was roughly dyed black, and there was a cloth wrapped around his head almost like a turban, with a wooden mask over his face and metal armor still stitched into his clothing.

“Shadow Carja,” she hissed, “followers of the Mad Sun King.”

“I thought you said you'd stayed with the Carja?”

She shook her head. “These are rebels, hold outs after Avad killed his father and became the new Sun King. What are they doing here?” He looked up and swept the village, finding no sign of anyone alive, but more bodies, all loosely dressed like this one.

“Looks like a battle, but if I had to guess, they're all with this guy; Shadow Carja.”

Nakoa nodded grimly. “We Nora are fierce, but not this fierce. I don't see a single Nora fallen, not even old or children. It makes no sense.”

“God, I wish I had grenades,” he muttered. “Or a radio to call in artillery.”

“I don't know what artillery is, but grenades I can help you with,” she remarked, then was up and off at a trot before he could wonder if it was wise to press into the village. Muttering curses, he followed, ears straining for a telltale sound of an enemy springing a trap. She found the stoutest looking building in the village and was inside before he caught up.

Inside were three more bodies, one whose throat had been cut lay in a coagulated pool of his own blood, the other two around a table, one with an arrow in his ear, the other his throat as if he'd leapt up and turned to the door, just in time to see his death coming. Nakoa was ignoring them, digging in a chest on the far side of the room. “These were taken by surprise,” he observed softly. “And they're in the building, but I don't see any Nora.”

“I agree,” she replied from her rummaging. “The Shadow Carja took Mother's Rise, then a single Brave came through and killed them.”

“What makes you say that?”

“All of these arrows were made by the same hand,” she declared, standing up with a half dozen ceramic orbs in her hands. “Here,” she said, handing him some. “Blaze bombs. Don't drop them. Give them a throw, they'll explode on contact and set a fire, so be careful.”

“Good to know,” he replied, gingerly setting them into a pouch that would hold and cushion them. “You're sure one man did all this?”

She shook her head. “No. One woman. See how the feathers are fletched onto the arrow? Every Nora Brave makes their own arrows, so we all have little differences.” She took an arrow from her quiver and held it next to the one sticking out of the ear of the dead man at the table, highlighting the differences in style. “Aloy the Seeker made that arrow, and I'd wager, killed all these men.”

“She's that good?” he asked in a tone that dripped disbelief.

“I am here because she stormed a slaver camp just like this and freed me,” Nakoa assured him. “By herself. So, yes, I know she's that good.”

“Can't wait to meet her,” he muttered as they left the armory. Nakoa paused for a moment in the center of town where a line of stones had been laid. “What's wrong?” he whispered

“This is the boundary,” she whispered back, her eyes on the stones. “I left the Embrace, I'm Outcast. It's forbidden for me to cross it.”

“Looks to me like your people need help,” he reasoned with her, but she turned, her eyes shining with tears.

“They're not my people any more,” she declared softly. “You are.” He reached out to gently grip her shoulder, then the emotion was gone and the hardened Brave was back. “If the Shadow Carja are trying to conquer the Embrace, the Nora would fall back to All Mother to protect the mountain.”

“Makes sense,” he admitted. “It's a fortress, after all.”

“This way.” She purposefully stepped over the Boundary and led the way through town and then through the gate beyond. With a final glance at the dead man whose throat had been cut, he drew the bayonet from his belt and fixed it on the end of his rifle before he followed after.

* * *

It was well after noon by the time they'd descended the rest of the way through the valley and were headed back up the other side toward the portal for the mountain. In addition to dead Carja, they began to find dead Nora as well as destroyed machines, which confused Nakoa so much she stopped to kneel down beside the carcass of one of the Watchers. “What's wrong?” he asked softly, his head on a swivel looking for living Carja or Nora.

“We built the wall to keep the machines out of the Embrace,” she told him. “The gate can't have been open long enough for machines to already be creeping in and look, it's in this pile of Carja like it was working with them. And it hasn't been scavenged, so whoever killed it, didn't have time to do so.”

Travis gave a grunt of curiosity as he reached up and touched his Focus. “ENID? Connect me with Ian, please.”

“Of course, Colonel.”

“Hey, Colonel, what's shaking?” the head of IT's ghostly holographic head asked as it floated in the air. Travis indicated the destroyed machine so his Focus would include it in his transmission.

“Lucked across a downed machine, looks like it's a Watcher type. Can I bring you anything that will help you?”

“Hell yes!” the lanky Turner enthused. His own hologram expanded to be a one to one replica as if he was standing with them, his eyes on the carcass. “Take this panel off, gently! I'm betting the processor is under it, maybe whatever storage it's using.” Laying down his rifle, Travis took out a multi-tool from his belt and found the attachment bolts for the panel. They were of a quick release type that needed only a quarter turn before they popped up and loose. Free he removed the panel, exposing the inner hardware. “Yes! Yes! Disconnect that hexagonal piece, see it? That's exactly like a Faro Automation bot brain housing.”

“Ok, it's loose,” Travis told him. He pulled it from the otherwise smashed head of the Watcher and tucked it into his butt pack. “I'll get it back to you ASAP.”

Ian grinned. “Thanks, big guy! You're the best!” As the hologram winked out, Nakoa arched an eyebrow at him.

“Do I want to know?” she asked.

He picked up his rifle and they started stalking forward again. “We hope to find out what is controlling these machines. If it's an AI like ENID, we'll try to negotiate some kind of cease fire and treaty.”

“Ever since the Derangement, the machines seem to have only gotten more aggressive and callous,” she whispered back. “I don't think they'll want to sign a pact.”

“Remember when I said the machines of the Faro Plague had ways to keep their minds from being taken over?” He patted the bag where the processor was riding on his belt. “No protection is perfect.”

“You mean to make slaves of them?”

“Machines aren't people,” he corrected her. “Their only purpose is to do what a human tells them to. When they started thinking for themselves we got the Plague. That's not a mistake we will make again.”

An arrow zipped in to bury itself in the dirt at his feet and voice shouted, “Stand fast and don't move!”

Nakoa started at the voice and peered in the direction it had come from. “Varl? It's Nakoa!” From the woods, five Nora Braves stepped, their leader, a chocolate complected young man of about twenty, though there was a bow in his hand and an arrow nocked and drawn.

“Nakoa?” he asked hesitantly. “We heard you were killed.”

“No, I live,” she protested. “Please, forgive me for crossing the boundary, but the need was great! There are Carja...”

The bow was slowly relaxed, but the arrow stayed nocked on the string. “There were Carja,” he corrected her. They fell on us with machines that obeyed them. We were driven back to All Mother, but even though they had a Thunderjaw, the siege was broken. The rest are scattered and we're chasing them out of the Embrace.” His eyes flicked over to Travis. “Who is he?”

Nakoa's hand found Travis' shoulder. “This is Colonel Travis Murray, War Chief of the Amsci Tribe. He helped me escape the bandits of Devil's Thirst and asked to be guided to the Matriarchs.”

“War Chief?” Varl asked.

“Head protector would be a better title,” Travis replied. “We aren't looking to wage war with anyone.”

“My mother is War Chief of the Nora,” he declared. “If your words are true, you're in luck, if not...” he left the threat hanging, then turned back Nakoa. “The Matriarchs have opened the Embrace, so you have not sinned. In fact, once the Carja are dealt with, I am to assemble a war party to go to Meridian.”

“The Sun King didn't send...” she protested, but he took the arrow from the string and the other Braves relaxed their own weapons.

“We go in aid of the Sun King, not War. The Seeker Aloy returned and warned us a Metal Devil from the Ancients is loose and will try to attack Meridian. If it succeeds, we will all be in danger.” He took the measure of Travis again, then slipped the arrow back into his quiver and pulled the other from the dirt. “Come, I'll take you to the Matriarchs and you can speak your peace to them.”

* * *

Varl and the other Braves led Travis at a quick pace back up the valley, through a fortification that had been breached and beyond that was hulking wreck of a machine that a half dozen people were stripping of parts. From nose to tail tip it was probably thirteen or fourteen meters long and would likely have stood close to nine meters high. In addition to the massive hind legs and tail, it's 'mouth' was a gigantic pair of rotary cutters like some fever dream chainsaw. “Jesus Christ,” Travis swore as they passed it. “It's a goddamn robot T. Rex.”

“That's a Thunderjaw,” Nakoa told him.

He gave the wreck a long glance so his Focus got a good scan. “No thank you,” he assured her. Beyond them, Varl was talking to three elderly women who, based on the amount of fur and ornamentation they were wearing, were likely the Matriarchs, with them was a younger woman, probably in her forties, who had the same complexion as Varl. She was very fit and clutching a huge bow, dividing her attention from her son to stare directly at Travis and then back. “I don't think the War Chief likes me,” he muttered.

Nakoa chuckled darkly. “Sona doesn't like anyone.”

Finally, one of the three elderly women and Sona walked over with Varl respectfully behind them. She was of advanced years, eighty at least, and her deadlocked hair that escaped the elaborate headdress she wore was milk white and hung down to her waist. “Greetings,” she declared as she reached conversational distance, pausing to lay a hand in blessing on Nakoa's forehead as the younger brave bowed to her. “I am Teersa, High Matriarch of the Nora, and this is our War Chief Sona.”

“Your death if you mean us ill,” Sona declared sharply.

Teersa cleared her throat meaningfully and turned back to Travis. “I understand we have you to thank for the life of Nakoa?”

Travis bowed, not sure of the protocol and made a point to nod to the War Chief. “My name is Travis, forgive me, but I don't know enough of your customs to address you properly.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at the Matriarchs' lips. “Teersa,” she declared deadpan.

Murray erred on the side of caution and bowed again. “I'm deeply honored, Teersa. Truth be told, Nakoa had mostly rescued herself. My party was in the area and heard the combat. By the time we arrived, we only sealed the deal as it were.”

Sona's eyes narrowed, but her chin rose just a bit as well. “Humility is a fine virtue in a warrior,” she declared. “Gratitude for your service, War Chief of the Amsci. Is that all the battle your war party sought, or do you seek more?”

Travis' eyes shifted to the younger woman and he stood up straight. “My people fight in self defense, or the defense of others. We are ready to be friends with everyone, but we won't be abused. Nor are we defenseless.”

“Well spoken,” Teersa declared, neatly inserting herself back into the conversation. “I understand you wished to speak with me, so I am here. What would you say?”

“My people live in the mountain, there,” he said, pointing back to the north. “Around the building ruins, so we are your neighbors. And, as good neighbors, our, uh, Chief sent me to introduce ourselves and hopefully make new friends.”

“I know those ruins,” Sona declared. “No one was there the last time I saw them. Where are you really from?”

Travis sighed and made a decision. “You likely will be inclined to disbelieve me, but Nakoa has seen my people and can vouch for what I say. My people are what you call Ancients,” he declared, watching the two women. Sona's eyes went wide, then narrowed just as quickly, but Teersa was a cagey old soul and didn't even blink at such a claim. “We have been asleep in the mountain to escape those,” he added, pointing at the hulk of the Horus Titan above them on the crown of the mountainside. “We have woken, and will be living there, in peace, we hope, with you.”

“Extraordinary claims demand extraordinary proof,” Teersa remarked softly, turning to Nakoa. “Child? What have you to say? Do you vouch for these words?”

“I do,” she said softly. “I have been in the mountain and it is vast. Like the ruins we have seen of the Metal World, but this fortress is not in ruin. There are many wonders inside and I have had the truth of our past spoken to us.”

“Are you Nora?” Sona asked with great weight. “Or Amsci?”

Nakoa's head came up and she glared at the older woman. “I am Outcast,” she snarled, pointing an accusing finger. “Because you counseled to deny me Seeker so I could avenge my father's murder!”

“To be a Seeker is not a license for personal vendetta,” Sona snapped back, but stopped at a soft gesture from Teersa.

“It was hoped, child, that denying you Seeker would cause you to turn from the self destructive vengeance you sought. Your father's murder was lamentable, but has the blood you spilt brought him back to life?”

“No,” admitted Nakoa sullenly. “But he rests easier in his grave knowing those who murdered him rot on the ground for carrion! As will I!” Teersa sadly shook her head, her lips in a thin line.

“And what will you do if the kin of those you slew in revenge seek the same on you?”

“I will fight them!” she declared staunchly.

“And not alone,” Travis added, drawing the eyes of all the women to him.

A sly smile dawned on Teersa's face. “I see. Nakoa, you have found a fierce protector indeed, and, I hope, a friend for all of us. I cannot say if you are an Ancient or not. You dress...strangely...though I have seen old imagines that look as you do. It is a shame we did not meet earlier. A great deal of blood has been spilt that might not have otherwise. Such is the will of the All Mother.” She drew herself erect and formally placed her hand on Nakoa's head. “As was decreed, the Embrace is opened and the Nora answer the call of defense against the Metal Devil. I absolve you of your sin, Brave Nakoa, and return your soul to the fold of the All Mother. You may come and go as you please in the Sacred Lands.”

“Thank you, High Matriarch,” she whispered reverently.

Teersa withdrew her hand and turned to crane her neck to look back up at Travis. “You have the friendship of the Nora, War Chief Travis. I ask that your Braves do not hunt on our lands and Nakoa can show you our boundary stones to inform your hunters. Further, I pledge that our hunters will not intrude on your lands. We will come to your aid if you will come to ours.”

“Certainly,” he assured her. “I am sorry we did not meet sooner too, we could have helped...”

“It is perhaps best you did not,” Teersa replied evenly. “Before these last few days, you likely would have been refused this audience, but that is a lesson we are learning. Now, I will be sending young Varl with a war party to the city of Meridian in aid of the Sun King against this Metal Devil. Will your people send aid as well?”

“Teersa, if one of those is moving again, I don't know we can stop it,” he told her honestly.

“Perhaps,” the old woman admitted. “But that will not stop us from trying.”

“Aloy did not say it was a Metal Devil,” Sona interjected reasonably. “Only that it was like one.”

“Perhaps if I spoke with her, we could be more certain...?” he asked, but Sona shook her head.

“She departed yesterday. After she emerged from the temple of the All Mother, she spoke of the danger we faced, bid us send a war party to Meridian and then left.”

“She went into the temple?” Nakoa demanded, stunned.

“Yes,” Teersa replied calmly. “She returned to where I found her and came back to us with this prophecy.

Travis licked his lips. “Please don't mistake my curiosity for disrespect, but may I see this...temple?”

Sona's eyes narrowed again. “Why?” she demanded.

“Travis is an Ancient,” Nakoa avowed firmly. “A soldier of the original Army that fought the Metal Devil, an officer of it! He thinks he may be able to enter the temple.”

Teersa's eyebrows ascended her wrinkled forehead. “Really?” She reached out and took his elbow. “This has been a wondrous week indeed,” she declared. “I should like to see this. This way, War Chief.”

“As would I,” Sona growled. Then women turned and led the way up to the side of the mountain. The portal into the mountain was different than Travis remembered. The old, massive blast door was standing open, but buried in rubble from a landslide, probably caused by the attack of the Horus. The entrance had been painstakingly cleared by the Nora and led into the central corridor. Here, there were the remains of hastily stored food and lodging from the siege they had just endured, all lit by beeswax candles that cast everything into a soft, golden light.

Tribal decorations and ornaments whose symbology escaped Travis hung everywhere, as he was led deeper into the mountain until at last they arrived at a massive gene lock door. It was, or had been in Travis' time, the last word in vault security; printed titanium molded atom by atom in place, meters thick with a mechanism built into the very materials of the door.

Fat Man or Little Boy could be set off next to the door and it would be unharmed.

Teersa gave a gesture of invitation and he stepped up onto the identification disk before the portal. As soon as his foot came down, the synthesized female voice of the facility AI announced, “Hold for Identiscan.”

Travis stood up straight as the red light of the DNA scanner passed over him. “Murray, Travis G,” he announced. “Colonel, authorization Bravo Six Tango Tango.”

“Genetic identity confirmed. Entry Authorized.” The massive door split down the middle and ratcheted out of the way with a rumble of machinery and gears that wanted grease. “Greetings Colonel Murray. You are cleared to proceed.”

Travis turned back to the group of women who were standing, awestruck in the bright white light from the inside of the facility. “Do you want to come with me?” he offered, but the implacable Teersa was now quite fearful. For a moment, it looked like Sona was going to step forward, but Teersa grabbed her arm.

“No!” she declared. “It's not for us! The Goddess accepted you!”

Nakoa pushed past the Matriarch and joined Travis on the disk. “I will see this,” she declared. “Even if it strikes me dead!”

“No worries,” Travis assured her, and led the way through the door. Once they were through, with a groan, it closed, sealing itself again.

The synthetic voice distorted more severely and declared, “Welcome to Eleuthia Cradle-9, Brood 1.” Then, with a burst of static, fell silent. Now that his eyes were adjusted to the slightly blue tinted gloom, what he saw disheartened him. While the door was still intact, it was apparent centuries of rain had worked through the stone of the mountain and found its way into the facility. Stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor scattered around the atrium. The ID scanner walk through ques were ruined and long destroyed, water puddled making a slick muck of what likely used to be carpet.

“This isn't the home of a Goddess,” Nakoa declared, looking around.

“It's not a military fortress either,” he agreed with her. “Not any more at least. This doesn't look like anything I remember my last time here.” She wandered over to the wall and the light of her Focus shined on it.

“Look here,” she called, standing before a painting on the wall. It was crude, likely the work of a child by the odd proportions and lack of detail. It was a black stick figure with white eyes, with lines of white power radiating around it. Worse, beneath its legs, clutching them as if the bars of a prison cell was a black haired girl in a blue dress with the exaggerated unhappy frown and tears on her face as a child would draw them. Next to it were other paintings, all equally unhappy and unsettling. “What is this place?”

He passed her, moving around a door finding a room of large, tank like canisters on articulation frames. One was resting in the acceptance landing, a hologram floating over it's glass lid open and empty. “Chamber B1-001,” he read. “Activation log, viability status, delivery date. This date was nineteen years ago.”

“This is them, aren't they,” she asked, her tone dismayed as if she might be sick at any moment. “Those chambers you mentioned. Artificial wombs. This is where my people are from.”

“It looks like it,” he admitted. “You mentioned this Aloy was found outside, twenty years ago?” She nodded and he gestured at the pod. “Looks like this is where she was born.”

“But, how did she get outside? That's where Teersa found her.” He pointed behind her and she turned, seeing what at first blush she thought was a skeleton, then realized it was black and metallic. It lay on the floor and the dust around it was a bit newer than than the rest on the floor. Immediately, she recognized it from the drawing on the wall. “What is this?”

“A robot,” he told her as he joined her by it. “Not terribly different than the machine beasts you see outside now. This one was designed to interface with humans. It was probably all the mother the poor souls of this 'Cradle' ever knew.”

“What happened here?” she demanded, only just keeping her rage in check. He reached out and comforted her and she squeezed his hand in thanks.

“It's a government facility,” Travis declared. “There has to be an administration office somewhere. Let's go find it. The answers are likely there.” He led the way out of the room, through what was evidently a massive nursery, then dormitories and a cafeteria. Along the way, happy looking drawings and paintings began to become sullen, angry and withdrawn as they began to match the painting on the first wall at the entrance.

Finally they came to a door where the art was very angry. The black robots were shown guarding it and turning the children away. Through the glass, he could see a massive room with individual cubicles, each with a large screen with the Faro Automation logo on it. But, before the door was debris and even a scorch mark of a small fire. He reached up and keyed the holographic lock of the door to open and it did so. “What is this place?” she asked.

As if in answer, the synthetic female voice crackled to life again. “Welcome to Lyceum, a place of learning.”

The dust was thicker here, and a pair of footsteps were clearly visible through it. “Looks like Aloy came through here,” he observed, following them over to one of the cubical. Each had a Focus sitting on the desk and all the screens had the same error, 'Database inaccessible'. “This looks like a kind of school, but all the Focuses are here. Like it was never used.”

She joined him and pointed at the screen. “What does that mean?”

“A database is a new word for library. Books, paintings, even recordings of events, this must have been where they were supposed to learn, but...”

“But the library had burned down,” she finished. “Something must have happened. The food must have run out or something and the 'robots' released them into the wilderness.”

“It's a miracle anyone survived,” he muttered. “And it explains why you speak English, but can't read it. That was to happen here, but didn't.”

She looked at him, her eyes sad in the dim light of the screens. “So we invented our own.” She sighed deeply, then looked down and gestured at the foot prints. “Come, she went this way.” They followed the foot prints until they entered what appeared to be an office and they came to a stop at a console. “She came here and stood for a while.”

He gestured at the desk. “Looks like there's a recording.” He pressed the button and immediately their Focuses reacted to a transmitted command from the desk, initializing a virtual space. The office vanished, to be replaced with an infinite black void. Then nine icons appeared, each a different color, running the complete gauntlet of the rainbow. They lay down on their sides, then various data symbology, each distinct to the icon it flowed from came together in the center of the circle and formed into a tall, dark skinned woman wearing a purple chiton made of light. She was looking in their general direction, but not 'at' them, indicative of a recording.

“The Goddess!” Whispered Nakoa, then the hologram began to speak.

“Elisabet, this message serves to inform you of an unforeseen and catastrophic anomaly. Three microseconds ago, the GAIA Prime facility received a data transmission of unknown origin. It's immediate effect was to transform my Subordinate Functions into unregulated, self-aware entities of a highly chaotic nature.” A bolt of lightening struck the red icon, but all of them began to bubble and emit odd representations of data to visually show their corruption. They all began to rise up as if to attack the AI.

“Thus awakened, the HADES Function will now seize control of the terraforming system and reverse operations,” she said calmly, as if discussing how bad weather would affect her plans for a picnic. “Rendering life on Earth extinct in fifty-three-point-eight days.”

A shocked whisper of, “What?” escaped Nakoas lips.

The AI continued. “For obvious reasons, I cannot allow this to occur. And so, before HADES can take control, I am ordering GAIA Prime's reactor to overload. The resulting explosion will destroy HADES. Unfortunately, it will destroy me, as well. While this admittedly desperate course of action will avert the immediate crisis, the fate of life on Earth will remain in peril. With no central governing intelligence to regulate the terraforming system, it will continue operations for some time, but in an increasingly chaotic manner, and eventually, it will break down.”

The pair of humans shared a glance as the AI in the recording picked a spot to decide where the listener was standing and seemed to speak directly to them. “You are my solution. I have ordered this cradle facility to use genetic material in cryo-storage to gestate a re-instantiation of Elisabet Sobeck, my creator.” Beside the hologram, an image of Dr Sobeck appeared, likely from an ID picture the computer had access to, but Nakoa started in recognition.

“Aloy!” she exclaimed.

“While high-level directives forbid me from communicating directly to the tribal inhabitants out side the facility,” the recording continued. “All available data indicates that they will nurture you to physical maturity, whereupon your gene print will allow you to re-enter this facility, obtain one of the Focus devices stored below and view this message. Likewise, your gene print will allow you to enter other facilities, and over time, harness their technologies to rebuild the system core and reboot GAIA.”

The expression on the AIs face changed to one of concern. “A moment, Elisabet. This is most unfortunate and unanticipated. In response to my act of self-destruction, HADES has launched a virus to dissolve the code shackles that hold it, that hold all of them in place! They...are escaping, but to where? The virus is corrupting data throughout the system. What if...oh, the Alpha Registry at the Cradle Facility is one of the files corrupted.”

The corrupted icons flew off into the infinite space and the AI woman began to dissolve. “But, if that is so, the door will never open for you. You will never view this message. Then I have failed.. And life will end.” Even as she was slowly breaking up and vanishing, a steel entered her tone. “No!” she declared. “No, Elisabet, I know you too well. Somehow, you will find a way. In you, all things are possible. Go to the ruins of GAIA Prime. Find the control room, and within it, the Master Override. This will give you the power to purge HADES – so long as you find a way to wield it. Do not attempt repair of the system core until HADES is eradicated. HADES must be destroyed. That is all. I only wish that I could hear your voice again.”

Then the figure dissolved into cloud of data icons that looked like leaves floating away on the wind. Travis looked down at Nakoa and she up at him, her mouth hanging open. “What...what did I just see?”

“That was an AI, like ENID. It recorded that message twenty years ago for your Aloy, who is evidently a clone of Elisbet Sobeck.”

“She...she is an Ancient? Like you? But no, she grew up here...?”

“It's complicated,” he assured her. “Elisabet Sobeck was an Ancient, the head of Project Zero Dawn, this Aloy isn't her. We had ways of taking the...instruction building blocks in the body of any living thing, and making an exact copy of it. Aloy isn't Elisabet Sobeck, she died a thousand years ago, but if you look at the instructions of Aloy and compare them to Dr Sobeck, you would find that Aloy is identical. Like, taking a clipping off a plant and sticking it in the ground and a new plant grows up.”

Her head cocked to one side. “What can you not do?”

“A lot,” he assured her. “But, for now, we need to find this Aloy. I have a feeling she's going to need all the help she can get.”

“Do you know where this Gaia Prime place is?”

He snapped his fingers and winked at her. “As a matter of fact, I do. Let's go.”

* * *

When they emerged again, Teersa and Sona were as equally awed as when they entered. The Matriarch immediately grabbed Nakoa and demanded, “You saw the Goddess?”

“I...I...” Nakoa sputtered, then stiffened and made a decision. “Yes. Travis and I both did. We heard the message she charged Aloy with and we have to help her.”

“What do you need?” Sona asked, guardedly.

“For now,” Travis told her, “not much. Nakoa and I need to get to my people and warn them. If you want, your war party can escort us and, I'm sure, my Chief will send warriors to join yours. They can guide them to this Meridian.”

“Done,” Sona declared. The she became serious and offered her hand, her gaze direct into Travis' eyes. “Give me your word, Ancient, that you will watch after my son.”

Solemnly, Travis put forward his own hand and she grabbed it, clasping forearm to forearm. “Enough people have died because of those damned machines,” Travis assured her. “I'll do everything in my power to keep any more from joining them.”

“For now,” Teersa declared, “it is too late to set out and the machines make travel unsafe. You will have lodging here tonight and set out in the morning.” Teersa turned to Sona, “Will you see to it, War Chief?”

“I will, High Matriarch,” the warrior replied. She waited for the old woman to shuffle off, then turned and caught the eyes Travis and Nakoa. “Private lodging,” she promised with what almost looked like a smile. For the first time since he'd met her, Travis saw Nakoa blush.

From there, they were led outside to where an outdoor kitchen had been set up. An entire wild hog was roasting on a spit being tended to by three cooks while others prepared side dishes, there was even the smell of bread baking which took Travis by surprise. “The Shadow Carja must have had wheat with their stores,” Nakoa told him, inhaling deeply through her nose. “There's nothing so sweet as captured food!”

“To the victors go the spoils,” he agreed as he passed his plate through the line. There were berries, that looked like blue berries, but were almost the size of plums, some kind of mash or porridge, a hunk of the bread which was thicker than a flat bread, but not truly risen either and a mixture of light oil and herbs to dip it in and a thick slice of the hog that, he was glad to see was cooked all the way through. Fears of trichinosis put to rest, a mug of some kind of fermented cider was put into his hand and he followed Nakoa to more quiet spot near the fire but away from the cooking and it's line.

The food was good, if a little bland and somewhat basically seasoned. Which made a kind of sense in a world without a spice trade, or pack animals for it. Once he'd eaten his fill, he touched his Focus and a holographic Frank seated in the chair at this desk appeared before him on the other side of their fire. “I see you found the Nora,” Frank observed. “Relations good so far?”

“Boss, we've got a problem. A big one,” he admitted. “I'm uploading a recording that I took while we were inside NORAD, which isn't any more. That will be in my report. The Nora were nearly conquered, but drove off an attack by the Shadow Carja, I'll have a report on them too. But this transcript is what's important.”

The CEO read something they couldn't see, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. “What are your recommendations, Colonel?”

“With your permission, sir, it's my intention to chase after this Aloy, and give her whatever aid we can.”

“Granted,” Frank replied immediately. “I'll check with some of the bachelors about some kind of 'war party' to go with our new allies. Any idea how many they're sending?”

“Can't be many, sir, there aren't many Nora after this battle they fought.”

Frank rubbed his chin. “Do...do we need to offer them refuge?” he started, but Nakoa interjected herself.

“No, Chief,” she declared. “They won't accept it from pride, and the offer will be insulting. The Nora have survived worse.” He shrugged expansively.

“Alright, that's fine. We'll help where we can. We'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.” The hologram winked out, just as Sona walked over, a bag in her hands that jingled as something in side clinked together as she walked.

“I have a question,” she declared by way of greeting. Travis took a sip of the really excellent cider to clear his mouth of the bite he'd just taken and indicated the log that was serving as benches around the fire.

“Please, sit down,” he managed once his mouth was clear. “If we can help, we're glad to.”

“What are those things you wear?” she demanded. “You have one, I see you've given one to Nakoa and Aloy has one.”

“She does?” demanded Nakoa in surprise.

Sona threw the bag at Travis' feet where it opened partially so he could see inside. “And then you can tell me why all of the Shadow Carja have one.” To his surprise it was full of Focuses. His curiosity piqued, he reached in and took out one.

“They all have one?” he asked, surprised.

“We were stripping the bodies before we burn them,” the War Chief declared. “And I noted a pattern. Is this how they controlled the machines? Can you?”

“Ok, for a start,” Travis began, “I don't know how the Shadow Carja got these. They are communication devices from my time. A way for my voice and my image to be heard and seen miles away from whoever I'm talking to, and for them to speak and be seen by me. In my time they were in very common use. There's even a room full of them in your temple, which I'll be happy to retrieve for you if you like.”

“Can you control machines?”

“Not yet,” he admitted frankly. “Though I won't deny I have members of my tribe working on that. Seeing as how these Shadow Carja can do it, I certainly want to. And seeing something done is halfway to doing it yourself.” He turned the little triangle of plastic and metal over in his fingers. “If you don't object, I'd like to keep this, to have my....smiths, examine.”

“Will you leave the others?” she asked.

“Sure, but if you want some of your own, let me get you the ones out of the temple.” Her eyes narrowed and her scowl was back.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because these are communication devices, and they work both ways. Until I can wipe these, it would be possible that other Shadow Carja could listen in and even track who ever wore theirs.” After a long moment of consideration, she nodded her approval.

“It is not in my power to give you license to remove anything from the Temple of the All Mother. But I will not suffer potential spies, either. Take them all and once you've cleansed them of this taint, I will take them back. Those were won fairly in battle.” Travis nodded.

“You have my word to return them once they are safe, and if they are the method of how the Shadow Carja controlled the machines, I will see to it that ability remains and I will show you how to use it.”

“Honorable words,” she admitted as she stood. “If honorable deeds follow, the Nora and the Amsci will be the best of friends. Come, I will take you to your room.”

* * *

The room Sona took Travis and Nakoa to was actually a little side store room past the old NORAD blast door. He couldn't be sure, but he vaguely remembered it was likely the security office for the portal keeper the last time he'd been here. It was just an empty stone room now, with a curtain of tanned leather for a privacy flap. On the floor was a pallet bed of what looked like fox fur that had been stitched closed and stuffed with something that was reasonably soft. There was a small table with some candles, a wash basin and a pitcher and below which was a chamber pot.

“Sleep well,” Sona bid them as she took her leave. “I will have someone wake you at dawn.”

“Thank you,” Murray told her and she actually started, as if unused to be thanked for such things, then nodded and left, dropping the skin behind her. Turning back to Nakoa he shrugged and pointed over his shoulder. “Interesting lady.”

“Mmm,” the Brave replied as she shed her weapons. “She has excellent hearing too.” Curious, Travis turned and lifted the flap to peek out to find Sona watching him from the other end of the hall. This time, she did smile and touched the side of her nose before she vanished back out through the portal. “See?” Nakoa asked him with mischief in her tone.

He let the curtain fall and walked over to the other side of the mattress and began to shed gear himself. Free of his load bearing belt, he did take the pistol from its holster and lay it next to the bed as he sat down to unlace his boots. “I didn't disbelieve you,” he assured her as he got his feet free and massaged them through the socks. “Still, I'd say despite what we've learned, this trip has been a success.”

“Beyond my wildest dreams,” she admitted from her side over the rustle of shedding her leathers. “I have tread where only one other Nora has, learned and seen the unimaginable, and my soul is my own again.” The bed rustled and shifted as she got onto it and suddenly her arms were around him from behind and her breasts were pressing into his back. “And I have found an exemplary father for my children,” she whispered in his ear.

He turned on the bed was unsurprised to find her nude. Feeling suddenly honest, he reached around and grabbed her waist to pull her into his lap. “You barely know me,” he chided her.

“I see and hear more than you think,” she fired back, raising her chin. “I see how your tribesmen respect you, how your Chief leans on your council. And I see how the women of your tribe look at you, how the mothers stare with gratitude when you pass, knowing you keep their children safe. I see the young ones glare at me because I have beaten them to your bed. And I saw you rush to the aid of a stranger only because your conscience told you it was right. What more do I need to see?”

His eyes dropped to take in all of her, in the best light he had had so far. Her body was crisscrossed with scars, her hands callused from using a bow. While what hair there was on her body was fairly fine and light, but none of it was shaved. Both arms, legs and her armpits had downy fine blond hair and over her pubic mound was a thick patch of brownish blond hair that matched her eyebrows. “You failed to notice I'm a cradle robber and a dirty old man, evidently,” he accused her.

She grinned and while her teeth weren't perfect, they were clean and white, gleaming in the candle light. “You misjudge me,” she replied softly. “I noticed those first. I'm not one of your soft and smooth ladies from the Ancient past, but I am hard and strong, and you like that. You've wanted me from the moment you offered to cut my bonds.” He opened his mouth to protest his innocence, but she reached up to silence him. “Don't lie, and don't deny it.”

Her arms slid over his shoulders and she reached her hands up to play with his hair. “I won't deny you're a beautiful woman,” he complimented her. “And yes, there are many things about you I find attractive.”

“And I know lust when I see it,” she told him with a smile. “Don't you?” She leaned forward and they were kissing, their lips pressed against each other as he pulled her tight against him. She grunted at his embrace, and her mouth opened so their tongues could snake together as her breath quickened through her nostrils. Finally, her tongue withdrew and their lips parted and her hazel eyes opened to stare into his.

His conscience demanded he whisper, “I'm old enough to be your father. I don't know how much time I have left...”

“And I'm old enough to bear your children,” she whispered back, reaching down to collect a handful of his shirt and pull it over his head. “Old enough to know Death stalks us both and we will not know when or where his arrow will find us. Whatever time you have, whatever time I have, I will have it with you. I will have tonight, and however many tomorrows as may come. I will have your children to hold to remember you, or for you to hold in remembrance of me. Now cease your protests and be my man!” He grinned at her and shook his head.

“I'll have you know I enjoy conversation with you!”

She reached up and grabbed his ears and by them pulled his face into her bosom. “Enough talk!” she hissed in pleasure as his lips found her nipple and began to gently suckle on it. “Be my man!” she commanded as her voice slowly fell into a dreamy sing song as she ran her fingers through his hair and began to pant with need. “And I will be all the woman you will ever need,” she vowed. She shivered as his lips left her nipple and he began to trail kisses down her breast.

“More than,” he whispered in reply.

She sighed as she luxuriated in the fox fur under her and gave a little shiver every time his lips touched her skin. He was such a complete dichotomy to her that she had trouble understanding him. There were times he could be so forceful in his passion and then came moments like this as gentle as though she were made of the finest Oseram glass that would shatter if he was too rough. She felt his lips kiss her navel and she raised her head in surprise, a half formed “What...?” on her lips, then his arms snaked under her thighs to guide them open and his hands were at her wrists and pulled them from his head to hold them flat against the bed.

Before she could ponder what he was doing, or think to protest, held down, legs splayed, his tongue forced open her labia and drug itself slowly over her clitoris. Nakoa's stomach spasmed from the intense pleasure and the air escaped her lungs in a long, low sound, half sigh, half moan. But that was only the beginning as he drew his tongue in a figure of eight pattern on her center, constantly moving, constantly in contact, but as slow as thick honey oozing down a honey comb. Her head fell back on the bed to open her airway as her breath was coming in gasps as the fire in her loins built and was masterfully stoked by him.

It was the most amazing feeling she'd ever experienced.

She was losing control of her body as the muscles clinched and released against her commands and she was denied any kind of leverage by the way he had her splayed with her legs open. Her nipples stood stiff, cool in the air from his saliva on them and the intense feeling of being completely at his mercy, unable to so much as speak, let alone try to stop him.

Not that she wanted to stop him. Not in the least.

Then his lips closed around her center and gently sucked it into his mouth as though a third nipple and now there was not a single part of her most intimate place that was not in contact with him. His lips held her, his tongue assailed her and she was undone. Every muscle in her body tensed all at once which forced the air from her lungs as every nerve in her body was on fire. It was the most intense orgasm of her life and it just kept going, tense and release, tense and spasm, her breath coming in gasps as she could force her lungs to draw and she could just writhe on the bed in bliss.

Her vision tunneled as her eyes filled with tears that flowed out the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks until at last she got her hands turned in his grasp and could grab his arms, clawing them out of all control of her own body. Then, when she felt certain she was pass out, his pace slowed, her clitoris slipped out of his mouth and with a final, loving lick gave her the most gentle orgasm yet and she melted, sliding off his arms, splayed in the bed, only able to gasp after her breath and shiver.

He lay down next to her and gathered her into his arms, and his voice was full of concern. “Don't cry, dear heart. What's the matter?” She couldn't let him think she was unhappy so with the last of her strength, she grabbed his neck and pulled herself to his face and kissed him with all the energy and passion she had left. The taste of herself was all over his lips and tongue and the scent of her arousal filled her nostrils.

Their lips parted and she looked down on him through blurry tears that fell on his face that was full of concern. “I...” she gasped, then took a deep breath to finally be able to speak. “I love you!” she declared, and the concern melted from his face to a gentle smile and just the slightest hint of cocksure that he had put her in this state. “You magnificent bastard! What have you done to me?”

The look on his face was smug. “Always beware an old man in a young man's profession.” He reached over and pulled the coverlet over the both of them. “Because guile and experience trump youth and vigor every time.”

“No,” she protested weakly. “Your needs...”

He grinned at her and gently pulled her down against his chest. “Seeing you like this, is all I need tonight. Just know, I will return you to this state often. I will delight in it.”

“Goddess help me,” she whispered, then more than a little awestruck, she demanded, “How are you without a mate?”

“I'm not,” he told her, and kissed the top of her head. “She's in my arms right now.” Nakoa shook gently as she basked in the afterglow of the greatest experience of her life and the feeling of those words warmed her right down to her soul. She closed her eyes and felt a few more tears leak from them, and for the first time in her short life, Nakoa knew what tears of joy felt like.

* * *

The Doomsday Protocol Part 3

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Character Age:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Doomsday Protocol
A Horizon Fan Fiction

by
E. E. Nalley

March 12th, 3040

Nakoa awoke the next morning alone, confused and muddy headed from some of the deepest sleep of her young life. All but one of the candles had burnt out and the smell of them, herself and his sweat hung in the air. She rose up, finding his clothing and gear gone as well and a single candle burning behind a screen that gave the room a pale gloom. She touched her Focus and it's light considerably brightened the room for her to find her clothes and dress herself, then she ducked under the flap and strode out to the portal.

The first hints of the sun were glowing on the eastern horizon, cutting out his shape in shadow as he stood by the night watch fire, something in his hand as he waited for the sun to rise. She walked out to stand next to him, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable, she snaked an arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Good morning,” he greeted as his arm came around her shoulders to hold her against him. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept like the dead,” she admitted. “And my stomach is sore from the dance of your tongue last night.”

Under her ear, his body vibrated with a deep chuckle. “Are you complaining?”

“Goddess, no!” she assured him. “Where...where did you learn that?”

His face looked down at her, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “As a younger man of loose morals I watched and read things that a gentleman does not discuss in polite company.”

“You and your politeness,” she chided him, squeezing him in a one armed hug. “I think you're obsessed with politeness. You could use some vulgarity in your life!” He rubbed her shoulder.

“Have I violated some Nora taboo and must undergo some ritual of atonement?” That she found funny and chuckled.

“Yes,” she told him. “You have condemned yourself to preforming that dance upon me for the rest of your life.”

“The horror!” he teased her and drank something that steamed from his cup he held in his other hand.

“What is that?” she asked, reaching for the cup. “I saw many of you drinking it yesterday at breakfast.”

He handed her the metal cup that nested under his water bottle in the carrier on his belt and she found the metal warm in her hands. She let the metal handle flop as she cradled the cup to relish in its warmth. Inside it was a brown liquid that steamed and smelled like nothing in her experience. “It's called coffee,” he told her as she took a deeper sniff and brought her other hand to warm it by the metal. “I'll warn you it's an acquired taste.”

“Acquired?” she asked.

“Most people don't like the flavor at first,” he explained. “They have to drink it over and over to learn to like it. Like, uh, beer. Beer is another acquired taste.”

“Oh,” she replied as she brought the mug to her lips and carefully took a sip. “It's...different,” she admitted as she swallowed the first mouthful. As she savored the flavor and tried to suss out how to describe her reaction to it the early morning fog in her mind began to lift. “Bitter at the back, but a little sweet and creamy at the start. It's nice and warm and...goodness, suddenly I feel very alert and my heart is beating! What is this?”

Now his chuckle was a full on laugh as he watched her. “There's a chemical in the beans we make this from called caffeine. Our body reacts to it like...realizing you're in danger.”

She nodded and took another sip. “Yes, I see that. That tense feeling of 'do I run or stand and fight'? Though, a very mild version, still...I think I like this.” She offered the mug back, but he waved at her to finish it and she smiled at him and took another sip. “Why did you let me sleep?”

“You looked like an angel so I couldn't bring myself to wake you,” he told her as he picked up the plate of pork next to him and offered her some of it. “I've always been an early riser, so I thought I'd come out and watch the sun rise.”

She took a morsel of meat and chewed on it thoughtfully. “So, in these unspeakable things you read, did the women dance upon men the same way?” she asked him slyly. She wasn't sure if the red in his face was him blushing or from the fire. She decided to be bold. “Oh, they did, didn't they?”

“I won't deny it,” he admitted.

“Hmmm,” she hummed to herself and gave him a knowing glance. “I don't suppose you brought any of these papers with you?”

“Knowing how many teenagers are in the group, I'm certain of it,” he muttered. “Why the interest?”

She smiled a coy smile at him and puckered her lips as if giving him a kiss. “No reason,” she teased him coquettishly. She took another sip and sighed, deciding the time to be playful had ended and the time to be serious had arrived. “Do you know what this HADES is?” She asked softly.

He sighed and chewed thoughtfully on the morsel of pork. “The name is a reference to ancient gods that my people used to worship many thousands of years before my time. Hades was the god of the Underworld, the place of the Dead. Gaia, on the other hand in this pantheon of gods and goddesses, was the personification of the Earth itself, the grand mother of these gods. Based on what we saw, Gaia, in this instance is the AI that Doctor Sobeck and the Zero Dawn project created to oversee this terraforming project. Hades, in this instance, is a sub function of Gaia, probably with some kind of specific task. So, more complex that just a part of your body, like your hand, but not a full person like Gaia. Based on the references, as well as what it immediately began to do when released from Gaia, I'd guess that Hades was to judge if the terraforming effort was viable or not, and then reset the world if not.”

“How can you know that?” she demanded.

“ENID tells me this is the fourth attempt at a biosphere and that something wiped out the other three,” he replied casually. “I can't say for sure it's what happened, but it does fit the facts on hand.”

“How do we fight such a thing?”

“We help Aloy find this master override, or, if it doesn't exist, we think of something else.” She cocked her head to one side as if the change in perspective would help her understand him better.

“Are all of your tribe so...optimistic? Feeling that every problem has a solution?”

“That,” he told her with a grin, “is the most basic trait of Americans. It's what got us here,” He paused and his gaze became meaningful. “What brought me to you.”

“Nakoa?” She turned at hearing her name to find Varl coming up the hill, four Braves with him. He nodded at Travis respectfully. “Good morning, War Chief. I was sent to wake you, but I see you are already up...”

“Yan!” Nakoa shouted and embraced one of the Braves who was beaming and hugged her back. She latched onto his arm and pulled him up to Travis. His hair and eyes were identical to Nakoa's, though his full beard put him at least a few years older. “Travis,” Nakoa declared beaming. “This, is my brother, Yan. Yan, this is Colonel Travis Murray, an Ancient, member of the army that fought the Metal Devil in the old times.”

Yan's eyes flicked between the two, seeing much and his beard twisted around his mouth. “Ancient is right,” he declared, causing Varl to grab his shoulder and snatch him around to face him.

“You would offer insult to the guest of the High Matriarch in front of me?” he demanded heatedly.

“It's alright, Varl,” Travis replied with a smile. “Don't hold it against the young man.” Yan went to turn back to Travis, but Varl prevented it and pushed him back in a manner that was forceful, but not quite a shove.

Varl put his finger on the disk shaped badge all of the Braves were wearing on their left shoulders. “Dishonor me again and see what comes of it,” Varl hissed, driving home his point with his finger. Finally, Yan mastered himself, nodded and stepped back. Satisfied he'd won the exchange, Varl turned back to Travis. “We are ready to depart at your order, War Chief. I and my Braves are placed under your command.”

Nakoa punched her brother in the arm. “Don't be such a fool!” she ordered him. “You have no say in my choices!” Yan's eyes glared at Travis.

“We'll speak of this later,” he told his sister.

Travis sighed and gripped Varl's shoulder. “I'm honored, Varl. Have you all eaten? Alright, let's get under way.”

* * *

The group made excellent time, getting back to the wall of the Embrace and Mother's Rise by mid-day. If Travis was heartened by the signs of the Nora reclaiming and rebuilding the town, Nakoa was ecstatic. She greeted other villagers warmly, obviously happy to have something of a homecoming she'd been denied when they arrived the day before. Upon hearing of their mission, the tavern keeper insisted on providing lunch. He'd roasted a turkey from the size of the bird he brought out, along with dishes of fruits and even what tasted like Russet potatoes, which had Travis wanting butter and sour cream, but he made due with salt.

There was a lot of cleaning going on, both in the tavern and in it's environs. But, you couldn't help but notice the smoke from the bonfire where the bodies of the Shadow Carja were being burned, thankfully, well down wind. This complete disregard of the siege, the death that had followed it, and the frank disposal of the fallen as if autumn dead fall was disconcerting for Travis, but the last thing he wanted was to lose the confidence of the men he'd been given, and so kept a stoic silence as they laughed and flexed bravado amongst themselves.

It was only natural that Yan would pick that moment to dig the hole he was in a bit deeper. “Tell us, great Warrior of the Ancients,” he sneered. “Tell us what battles you have fought?”

“I don't feel the need to boast over the lives I've taken,” he replied softly, but Yan immediately took insult and leapt to his feet.

“Not under my roof!” the tavern keeper shouted, even before Varl could take offense.

“What lives have you taken, old man?” Yan shouted, turning back, and though Travis knew the danger he was in, and had one hand discretely on his belt, right next to his pistol, he kept his seat.

“Son,” he declared and the other man stiffened and his face went red at the slight. “Before I tell you what being a man is like, why don't you tell me what kind of a brother lets his sister go and sacrifice everything she had to avenge your father?”

“I wasn't a Seeker,” Yan bellowed, and Travis casually clipped the retention strap on his holster off. “Leave the Embrace? Have my soul written out the All-Mother's book? That wouldn't have brought our father back!”

The other Braves sat silently, in deference to their new commander, and Murray knew there was much more on the table than what a hot headed brother thought of him. “Your sister was alive,” he shot back, “and you let her face a danger you wouldn't risk your self. There's a word from my time for a man like that; coward.”

Yan's teeth flashed in a snarling rage and his hand went to his belt and it's knife, but Travis' pistol slipped free of the leather and was leveled at him before he could do more. “I can kill you where you stand, son,” Travis warned him, hyper focused on keeping his breath and voice calm. He was aware of all the eyes on him, but kept his own on Yan. “Now, maybe you feel you have something to prove since you let your sister go off alone. Maybe you don't like the cut of my jib, and quite frankly, I don't give a damn which. Varl accepts you into his party and that's good enough for me. But if you think I'm going to take an ounce of petulant shit from you, you're woefully mistaken. So, you have a choice...”

“I...”

“Close your mouth and listen,” he commanded harshly. His thumb clicked off the pistol's safety and he felt the tension in the room rise. Perhaps they knew more about firearms than he thought. “I won't warn you again. So. You can sit down and prove whatever you have to to your fellow Braves or yourself, and you can fight the real enemy of this world, but! If you sit, you will keep your opinions behind your teeth, your tongue civil and you will obey my orders. Or, you can walk out that door and go home. I don't care which, but if you stay, you will obey or I will end you, boy, so choose carefully. Now, what's it going to be?”

Finally, the tense silence was broken by a soft voice. “Yan,” Nakoa growled, “sit down.”

Yan's eyes finally left Travis to flick over to his sister, and he saw the embarrassment on her face, flush with suppressed anger as well. Slowly, he turned back to Travis and took his hand off his knife. “I have the right to know what kind of leader I am submitting to,” he declared vehemently. “I follow Varl because I know Varl! Every brave here knows Varl's skill. “Who are you, Ancient? Why should I submit to you?”

“You don't have to know me,” Murray replied. “All you have to know your Matriarch put me in charge, that's how the chain of command works, Yan. I don't have anything to prove to you. Now make your choice, sit or leave, I don't care which.” The Nora's fists clinched and released a few times until with much abused dignity, he sank back into his place on the bench, his eyes burning with humiliation and murderous rage, until he finally lowered them to his plate and began to eat again.

With deliberate care, Travis clicked the safety back on and holstered his pistol by feel, his eyes never leaving Yan until the safety strap on the pistol was snapped back into place. “So,” he said to break the pregnant silence that had fallen on the table. “Because I understand my ways and yours are different, let me introduce myself. My name is Colonel Travis Murray; Colonel was my rank in the United States Army. That is one place below General, which I trust everyone knows what a General is?” He paused to take in the nods. “I graduated from The United States Military Academy at West Point, class of 2035. The twenty thirties were a particularly turbulent decade that we collectively refer to as The Die Off.”

“What is a United States?” asked Varl.

Travis nodded and keyed on his Focus. There was a gasp about the room as a holographic globe appeared over the table, which first highlighted North America, then blinked their location. “This is a map of the North American continent as seen from space. That area there that's glowing was the United States. We are where that blinking light is.”

“All of that land, one kingdom?” a female Brave who hadn't been introduced to Travis asked in awe.

“We weren't a monarchy,” Travis corrected her. “We were a Constitutional Republic.”

“What does that mean?” Nakoa wanted to know.

“A Constitution is a written document of laws that state how the government is formed and what it's powers are, and what that government is not allowed to do. A Republic is a form of government where the people elect representatives who go to the nations capital to debate and vote on laws.”

“No king? No Matriarch?” asked a confused Varl. Travis shook his head.

“No King. We elected a person to the office of President, who spoke for our country as a whole. You'd probably think of him as a King, but there were laws limiting his power. And he only served a term of four years and could only be elected twice.”

“What was The Die Off?” asked Nakoa softly.

Travis sighed. “The Die Off was a series of natural disasters, some we had no control over, some our actions made worse. At the time the world wide population of humanity was about nine billion. By the end of the twenty thirties, the population was about six billion.”

“I don't understand that number,” Varl admitted.

Travis made a gesture and the globe disappeared to be replaced with a number one. “This is our symbol for the number one. This is the number zero. Do you understand the concept of zero?”

“A number that means nothing,” Varl replied, and Travis nodded.

“Exactly. Now, I put a zero behind the one and this means ten.” He held up both hands, fingers splayed. “We all have ten fingers. Now, I add another zero and this represents a hundred. Everybody know how much a hundred is? Great. Now, I add another zero, this is a thousand. Ten groups of one hundred. Then another zero is ten thousand. Then another zero is one hundred thousand. Everybody with me? Now, if I add another zero that is a million. One thousand thousands.”

“That's a lot,” the woman Brave declared.

“Yep. Now I add some more zeros I get ten million and one hundred million and then I get one billion. One thousand millions. Three billion people lost their lives in the Great Die Off.”

Even Yan was stunned by this. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Lots of things,” Travis admitted. “There were volcanoes, and severe storms, but the worst of it was the melting of the glaciers from this country here, Greenland. This ice was extremely thick, three kilometers in places. Due to vulcanism, it all melted in less than a decade. The seas rose, and well, here, I'll show you. This is what the world looks like now.” A vast inland sea or gigantic bay rose up the Mississippi River, half way to Lake Michigan. Florida was consumed by the Caribbean Sea and the San Fernando Valley flooded. The Braves gasped as they watched what would have been a series of disasters of Biblical proportions. “This is the world I learned to be a soldier in, and with these calamities, you can imagine there was plenty of business for a soldier.”

“But the Ancients gave over to the Machines to fight for them?” Varl asked.

“Some,” Travis corrected. “Most, even, but not all. I left the Army in 2055, when human combat arms, soldiers whose primary job is to wage war, not the logistical or technical specialists who give support, was abolished. I have the benefit of having studied the campaigns of some of the greatest military minds in human history. And while the basics of war don't truly change, the weapons do. I note that you all carry weapons that are not just bows and spears, so yes I want all of you to help educate me on the state of the art of weaponry in your era. And I will get to open a bag of tricks in soldiery that go back thousands of years which the commanders of your era likely have never seen before.”

He sighed and looked them all in the face. “So, you know who I am. Now I'd like to know all of you. Why don't you start, young lady?” He turned to the inquisitive female Brave. She was in her late twenties, with a chocolate complexion and her hair hung in dreadlocks down to her shoulders, but had been partially gathered into a braid of sorts mostly on one side of her face. The blue woad the Nora favored stood out on her brown skin in a complicated curling sigil that began on the center of her forehead and wrapped around her right eye.

“I am Olara,” she declared. “I volunteered to come with Varl when I heard he was going to the assistance of Aloy. She helped me find my brother who was lost in the wilds. I owe her that much.” Travis's gaze then slid past Nakoa who was sitting next to her to a bull of a man with a full beard and his own dread-locked hair gathered on the top of his head. He also wore a knot work design on his forehead and a triangle on each cheek under his eyes.

“Jarm,” he labeled himself around a mouthful, and seemed content to let that stand.

Next to him was Varl and between Varl and Yan sat a slight looking youth, probably about nineteen or so. He was pale skinned and his chestnut hair was worn in a high top pony tail with both sides of his head shaved. The only weapon he carried was a spear, but his clothing, while excellently put together, lacked the metal armor pieces the others had on their clothes. “I...I'm Teb,” he introduced himself with a soft tenor. “I'm not a Brave,” he added quickly. “But, Aloy saved my life. I fell from the trails years ago into a herd of Watchers. She rushed in and saved me.” His eyes looked down at his plate. “I just want to help.”

Yan elbowed the slight young man in the shoulder, nearly knocking him from the bench in what he would doubtlessly have called good humor. “We'll make a Brave of you, Teb,” he promised the boy.

“It's my honor to meet and lead all of you,” Travis assured them. “Now, as I'm the one coming in late, perhaps one of you would be so kind as to bring me up to speed on the political situation?”

“What do Politics matter?” demanded Yan.

“Diplomacy is exercising political will to bend an adversary to your desires,” Travis replied softly. “And a wily old Prussian once taught us that war is diplomacy by other means. Know why you fight, and you know what your enemy's objectives are. So, as you'll eventually discover, all human interaction is politics. So, I know of three powers in the area; the Nora, the Carja and the Oseram. Why are they fighting?”

The group of Nora looked at each other, then, as if they'd rehearsed it, at once declared in unison, “The Red Raids.”

Travis nodded and took a sip of his cider the Tavern Keep had provided to drink with the meal. “So I've heard Nakoa mention that before. What are or were they?”

Jarm, who was the oldest of the Nora, cleared his throat, to which, the other Braves immediately deferred. “When I was a boy, the machines were only just beginning to suffer from the Derangement. My father could remember when the machines would run at the sight of a man. When the herds were unprotected by Watchers, before the Machine Hunters began to appear. As the Machines went mad with their derangement, Jiran, the Thirteenth Sun King took the Army his father had built and at first attempted to protect the Carja from the machines. But as the years pressed, it took more and more blood to defend against the Machines. And then, the Machine Hunters began to appear and began to actively hunt humans.”

The big man shook his head. “The Sun King declared that the machines were mad because humans had hunted them for parts and metal. That they sought blood in retribution. And so he began to offer blood sacrifice to appease them. First with Carja criminals and the condemned. Then prisoners taken in the boarder scuffles that always happen between people. Then he provoked war just to claim captives to sacrifice to the machines. The Red Raids.”

“For years the Carja brought sword and terror in their never ending thirst for blood,” Varl added with a glance at Jarm, who conceded the floor to him. “Until Jiran sacrificed his own first born son. It was then that Avad, his second son fled to the Oseram. There, he organized a mercenary army and loyalists from the Carja that realized the Sun King was mad. They attacked Meridian and Avad killed his father and became the Fourteenth Sun King.”

Travis rubbed his chin in thought for a few minutes and then asked, “Who are the Shadow Carja?”

“Patricide is an unforgivable sin to the Carja,” Varl told him. “The nobles of the Carja demanded that Avad abdicate in favor of his younger brother Itamen. Avad however had the sense to see that Itamen was just a boy and that loyalists to Jiran would control him. He tried to win the other Nobles to his side as a temporary regent, until Itamen could come of age, but the loyalists kidnapped Itamen and his mother and they fled Meridian. They are the Shadow Carja.”

“So, where does HADES fit into this?” Travis asked to himself. “And why do the Shadow Carja have Focuses?”

Varl shrugged his ignorance and shook his head. “Perhaps this machine demon HADES offered the Shadow Carja aid to depose Avad?”

“The Shadow Carja are desperate,” Murray reasoned. “Desperate people are easy to manipulate. But what does HADES get out of the deal? That's the missing piece of this puzzle, ladies and gentlemen. When we know that, we'll know what the real target is.” He sighed and finished off his cider. “If HADES is working with the Shadow Carja, that explains how they can control machines. So, if everyone has finished, let's thank the Tavern Keeper and be on our way. It's only more critical that my people get a look at these Focuses.”

* * *

There were storm clouds gathering from the east when they reached Propulsion Proving Lab and it was evident the Ancients had been busy. There were a pair of heavy demolition robots under the supervision of a gang of humans that were knocking down the ruins of the administration buildings. Meanwhile, thirty or so were working on turning the Test Stand for the engines into a fortified watch tower, though they were doing so without removing the tree that was growing out of it.

A stockade was about half finished and had several hundred people and a dozen more robots assisting with it. Some wit had carved 'Fort Carson' over the blast doors and two young men, likely the original pranksters, were in the process of painting in the letters to make their joke official. Beyond that a huge contingent of people were plowing the fields and planting, urgently, but with good order. A few waved at Travis as they passed, which he returned, but it was obvious the Nora were wary of the robots and the ease the Ancients had around them.

Nakoa leaned into Travis' shoulder and asked, “I thought you said you couldn't control machines?”

“We brought these with us,” he clarified. “We can't control your machines. Yet.”

Further conversation was put on hold when his Focus beeped and a bust of ENID appeared in the air before him. “Good afternoon, Colonel. Welcome back. Mr Olmstead is requesting that you check in with him at his office at your earliest convenience.”

“Thank you, ENID,” he replied. “Please inform Mr. Olmstead I'll be there shortly. Also, if you wouldn't mind, please ask Ian Turner to meet me there as well.”

“Certainly.”

In the distance, thunder rolled, causing Travis to stop and look back down the slope of the mountain and out onto the Great Plains beyond. He saw lightening strike the ground and he began to count to himself until the peal of thunder reached them. “Looks like we have some weather coming in,” he told the Nora. “We'll stay here tonight and set out in the morning.” There were murmurs of consent from the group so he turned to Nakoa. “Would you mind showing them to cafeteria? I'll join you there once I'm done with the Boss.”

She smiled and winked at him. “I'll look forward to it.”

Guests taken care of, he checked in his rifle with the armorer and made his way up to Frank's office. The door was standing open when he arrived, which showed the power situation had been sorted enough that his office back wall had a holographic projection as if a window had been cut through the mountain for him so he could keep watch on the goings on outside.

Ian was in the office as well. Travis wrapped a knuckle on the door frame. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, come in, Colonel,” Frank replied with a welcoming gesture. “Glad you're home safe. What did you need Ian for?”

Murray entered the office proper and took the bag of Focuses from a pouch on his LBE, that he handed to Ian. “These were taken off the Shadow Carja soldiers that attacked the Nora. When I woke, ENID mentioned a Focus network to our north that she detected, but couldn't access. I'm guessing these are part of that network. I need any useful intel off them, specifically if they hold the info on how the Shadow Carja control some Terra forming Machines as well as any information on the name HADES.”

Ian took the bag with a nod. “I'll get right on it, Travis. Oh, did you bring that Bot Brain?” Murray grinned and pulled out the case he'd removed at the younger man's direction. “You're the best, big guy! I'll have us in their brains in no time.” He rushed out with his treasures and a gesture from Frank had his office door slide shut.

“Sit down, Travis, I know that was a long hike,” he ordered, and his security chief sank into one of the over stuffed chairs that faced the desk.

“Thanks, Frank, my dogs were barking.”

The CEO was all business. “Alright, Travis,” he declared gravely. “Give me the straight skinny. You have a handle on what's going on?”

“Not the whole picture, boss, but it is coming into focus,” he replied. “Here's what I know so far...”

* * *

Yan watched the Colonel leave for a moment, then shook his head turned his gaze back out to field. One of the humans was talking, talking, to this great, hulking orange machine that was bending down like an adult might pay attention to a small child. The human pointed and the machine shifted slightly, then reached out with one of it's massive arms and took a hold of a metal beam somehow embedded into the stone the way the ancients had, then pulled it free as casually as a man might pull a stick from the mud. Then the orange monster followed the man over to a pile of beams where it began to cut the stone from the steel to place it in the pile with the others. “Unnatural, isn't it?”

Yan turned to find Jarm standing by his elbow, his own eyes on the machine and it's keeper. “That isn't the word I'd use,” he replied, spitting onto the stone of the courtyard in disgust. “What kind of people have the matriarchs treated us with?”

“Powerful people,” the older man grunted. “Devious? Unnatural? But powerful.” He turned to look Yan in the face. “Your sister is gone to you. She's been seduced by this, and the sooner you realize it, the less grief you'll have over it. Just know, if it comes to you or her lover, she won't pick you.” He nodded as if he'd just dispensed the wisdom of the ages, then turned and began to follow the other Nora into the building.

Stunned, Yan nevertheless quickly mastered himself and caught up with the other man. “You truly think blood won't out?”

“It's not your blood she's thinking of,” Jarm remarked without looking at him. “You are her past. This is her future. A powerful man of high place, among an entire tribe of wizards? She's not Nora any longer.” Finally he turned to face Yan and his eyes were dark and smoldering. “You might curry favor with her if you submit to this War Chief. Play the lap dog Uncle to the pups he'll sire on her.” He shrugged expressively. “The only question is, will you kowtow to your sister, or be a man?”

Yan couldn't respond because Nakoa at that point announced, “Hungry? This way.” Then she set off into the cavernous maw that was the opening of the mountain. Yan followed the rest of the Braves, clinching and unclinching his fists. It was unnerving to see Ancient children, to find them not so different from the children he was used to; loud, boisterous and too full of energy. This entrance way was a din of activity, flying sparks from tools he had no names for, bangs, the rattle of chains and the shouts of men. It was obvious the Nora would continue to exist only at the pleasure of the AmSci and that thought bothered Yan deeply.

A week ago he wouldn't have thought twice about killing a stranger in the Sacred Lands. Why should these Ancients be any different? Didn't all the stories tell of what fools they were? That there was no depth to their evil? They'd brought Metal Devils from their time and were already at work mastering the machines of now. And when they did, surely the Nora would be the first victims in a new set of Red Raids that would make the memories of old blush.

Yan cast a final glance in the direction his sisters lover had gone and wondered how best to defend against evil of this magnitude. Perhaps the Ancients were like serpents, dangerous, venomous, but harmless once you cut off the head? It was as good a place to start as any.

Finally, they came to a great hall, filled with tables and chairs, most made of metal and some other material he had no name for. Nakoa took them to a smaller table where they could lay down their travel packs and then join a line of people going through the servery. The smells of the food were amazing and strange to Yan, none more so than when he finally came to the serving line and could see the food. He stared, slack jawed as women cheerfully filled his plate with items that put to shame the finest festival feast of his memory. Now it made sense why these Ancients were so large, they ate like kings the lot of them.

Back at their table, he carefully picked up a huge ball of bread, still hot from the oven that, despite it's size, weighed nothing in his palm. Wincing with his fingers from the heat, he pulled it apart and took a hesitant bite, amazed that something as simple as bread could be so foreign and novel. “Goddess, this is amazing!” Olara declared around a mouthful. “Have you ever seen the like?”

“I've heard,” Jarm declared darkly. “In stories. Stories of the sins of the Ancients and now here they are before us.”

“Don't be so literal,” Nakoa snapped at him, causing Jarm to share a significant glance with Yan. “They're just people who know things we don't.”

“Evidently we know things they don't!” Jarm countered evenly, refusing to rise to her heated admonition. “And we are likely better for it.”

“Live in the dark if you prefer it,” Nakoa replied, with a dismissive gesture.

Jarm chuckled at that began to eat. “Now you sound like a Carja.”

Nakoa's face pulled into a frown. “Maybe there's a great deal of wisdom we can find outside of smugly thinking ourselves superior. It's no secret the Carja are the finest stone masons in the world! Just moving through their minor outpost of Daytower puts to shame every village in the Embrace! Outposts whose families are safe from the machines behind stone walls, lit by oil lamps that are warm in the winter and cool in the summer! What do the wood hovels we lash together with rope have to answer to that?”

“Yes,” drawled Jarm. “The learned Carja who have awakened a Metal Devil and beg forgiveness and warriors to save them from their folly. What can we, who march in aid of them, learn?”

Olara contemplated the bread as she chewed it thoughtfully. “We don't know that one has anything to do with the other. If you prejudge unseen, you blind yourself to the Truth.”

“Aloy is the Anointed of the All Mother,” Teb added. “If the Goddess put our feet on this path, who are we to question it?”

Narrowing her eyes, Nakoa leaned in and pointed with her fork. “If you're so certain of the evil of the people we go to aid, Jarm, why come at all?”

Jarm coolly matched her gaze until Yan turned to his sister and declared, “Undoing the evil of evil people is still good. Whether they benefit or not.”

“Your fervent prayers to the All Mother didn't avenge our father,” she snarled at him. “I did that! And it wasn't a Goddess that kept me from being raped by bandits, Travis did that!”

“Fighting amongst ourselves will only weaken us against our enemies,” Teb reflected into his plate. “Do we have so few enemies we need to find more amongst ourselves?” That struck Jarm as funny and he laughed.

“Trust a Stitcher to mend rents of people like garments!”

Yan glanced away from the table, his eyes falling on another table close by taken completely by young women whose full attention was on him and his table mates. They blushed at being noticed and quickly returned their eyes to their plates. “The women are pleasant to look at,” he remarked, drawing a grunt and shrug from Jarm and glares from his sister and Olara.

“I thought these people were evil and you disapproved,” Olara told him scornfully.

Yan gave the other table another glance, then shrugged as Varl finally made his way from the servery and set his plate down on the table. “Just observing,” he soothed Olara.

“Observing what?” asked Varl as he sat down, taking the measure of the table and having his face pull into a frown. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing of consequence,” Jarm assured him. The older man's dismissal of the previous conversation held, and the Nora ate the remainder of their meal in silence. As the last bites were being savored, a hulk of a man who even out shown Jarm's size walked up, a strong looking woman with brown hair around her shoulders with him.

“Nakoa!” the woman greeted. “Welcome back.”

The Nora stood and hugged the new comer in a shameless display of pleasure at seeing her. “Doc! It's good to see you! Let me introduce you, this is Olara, Teb, Jarm, Varl and my worthless brother, Yan.”

“Welcome,” the big man declared like the voice of the Earth itself rumbling up from the depths. “I'm Buck and this is 'Doc' Tracy Williams.”

“Doc?” asked Varl, the confusion plain in his voice.

“A doctor is a title for those who heal others from our time,” Doc informed him. “The Colonel asked us to see you all got comfortable. Olara? If you'll come with me, I'll see you and Nakoa to the Women's dormitory.”

“Travis isn't...?” Nakoa started, but that made Olara laugh.

“Let your man rest!” she chided the younger woman.

Yan smirked and sneered, “At his age, he needs it.” He considered saying more, but Buck loudly cracked the knuckles in his hands, not so much a threat as a challenge. One Yan decided to pass on.

“You fellas come with me and I'll get you settled in the men's dorm.” The Nora gathered up their gear and broke into two groups. Tracy led Nakoa and Olara away from the boys, across the cafeteria and out into the very back of the large bay. Now the men and a few stout looking women were pulling things back into the bay from where they'd been moved outside in preparation of closing the blast doors for the night. While the stockade was coming along well, it wasn't finished yet.

“Is this some tradition of the Ancients to keep men and women apart?” Olara asked.

Tracy found that funny and chuckled. “No, just practicality of keeping the number of mouths to feed down while we're still getting up on our feet. These dorms are just for unmarried people. As much as we can, we've tried to keep families together, but this facility is only so large and we were very rushed when we came here.”

Nakoa and Olara looked about at the fortress and were obviously confused. “You didn't build this to escape the machines?” Nakoa asked.

“Oh no,” Tracy told her. “This was a test facility for...hmm, how do I explain a rocket motor?”

“The Oseram use signal rockets,” Nakoa answered. “Though, I'm not sure what you mean by a motor?”

“They're probably solid rockets, maybe some kind of black powder,” she mused. “A rocket motor basically brings together two liquids which explode when they come together, then it contains that explosion and channels it so that it's used as thrust. Dangerous business, that's why we tested them out here, away from everyone.”

“It is good this place of testing was so solidly built,” Olara commented.

“It worked out well for us,” Doc admitted. “Though, it's cramped. Still, small complaints to be alive. Here we are.” They arrived at a long room with double bunk beds lining both sides with lockers between them. In it were about two dozen women, though there were beds for many more than that number. Some were lounging on the beds, talking with neighbors, others reading or interacting with their Focuses, based on the gestures they were making.

“Welcome back, Nakoa,” greeted a woman in her early thirties from a desk by the door. On seeing her, the Brave blushed a bit and waved sheepishly.

“Hello again, Ms. Channel.”

“I trust we won't be having any other surprise partings?” she asked archly, then turned to the other Nora. “Janet Channel,” she declared, putting forward her hand.

Olara arched an eyebrow. “Olara,” she replied taking the woman's hand.

“We'll get you two settled and Nakoa can show you to the showers.”

“Showers?” the Brave asked, but Nakoa's enthusiasm bubbled over.

“Wait till you see this!” she enthused. The two women barely had a moment to lay their things down on a pair of bunk beds before Nakoa was pulling Olara down the short hallway and into the restrooms.

“A privy? Indoors?” she asked as she was led through. “Why doesn't it stink?”

“They have water that pulls it away,” Nakoa told her. “That's not the real miracle. Look here.” She gestured into the tiled room with little privacy walls, but no one was using it just then. Olara shrugged her confusion, which caused Nakoa to roll her eyes. She reached over and slapped the closest shower on and water at once began to spring from the faucet. “Feel it!” she enthused.

Olara reluctantly put her hand into the spray then snatched it back. “It's hot! Is there a thermal spring here?”

Nakoa shrugged her ignorance. “I don't know, but isn't it amazing? Water on command!”

“What's it for?”

“Bathing!” Nakoa pulled her tunic off and waved at Olara to do the same. “There's cloth over there to dry on.”

“That water's too hot,” Olara protested, which made Nakoa fiddle with a knob on the wall. Olara put her hand into the stream, surprised to find it cooler, but still warm. She quickly shed her own leathers and took the stall beside Nakoa's. “These tiles are slick,” she complained.

“Yes, watch out,” the other said as she got her hair free of its braid, sighing with contentment with the water on her back. “There aren't words for this kind of luxury, eh?”

“It is nice,” Olara admitted. With a sly glance at the younger woman, she discretely asked, “Do their men have as much skill with women as they do with moving water?”

“I can't speak for all of them,” Nakoa replied from soaking her hair. “But I have no complaints with mine.”

“Hmmm,” Olara thought to herself.

* * *

March 13th, 3040

The coffee hadn't yet begun to lift the fog of Travis' mind when a very rumpled looking Ian sat down at his table a mug of his own in his hand. “God, what I wouldn't give for a Mountain Dew,” he muttered around a massive yawn that he chased with a gulp of the liquid, winching at the heat on his tongue.

“Have you slept?” Travis asked, noting the younger man was wearing the same clothing from the previous day.

“Plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead,” the head of IT replied as he laid a gadget of some kind from his other hand onto the table. “I suppose it was high time we caught some luck and hacking the code of an AI is our big break.”

“Can you say that again, but in English this time?” Murray demanded as he made a pile of powdered scrambled eggs on his plate to attack with his fork. Turner smirked at him.

“Human written code is sloppy,” he expanded. “Its part of how we create, haphazard, out of sequence as inspiration strikes. AI, on the other hand starts with a goal, then takes nice, logical steps to achieve it, all in order, right when they're needed, tidy. Makes hacking them easy once you clue yourself into their logic, which, having this bot brain is a huge leg up, so thanks for that big guy!”

“You're welcome,” Travis muttered around his mouthful of eggs. “What did I do?”

Ian sighed and took another gulp of coffee. “You gave us the key, my guy! I'm all up in GAIA's toys!” Travis glared at the younger man and he made a placating gesture. “Ok, ok, so I've spent all night and most of yesterday with that bot brain you brought and it's code structure. So first, the machines are all in independent mode. They can be given external commands, which was how your GAIA managed them. That gave me the opening to slip in the back door. But, because GAIA took herself out, they're all just kind of keeping on to keep on, and they're not strictly speaking AI. Just semi-autonomous drones that can modify their activities to react to stimulus.”

“Ian,” Travis interrupted in a remarkably calm voice. “It's zero six fifty eight. This is my first cup of coffee and, as you can see, most of it is still in the cup, not me. Now, based on your inability to sit still and the fact you've been up all night, I'm gonna guess the better part of a pot is in you. So, take a breath and dumb this report all the way down to 'grunt' level.”

Turner shrugged an apology, then, unable to mask his excitement any more, grinned from ear to ear. “I can take over machines.”

Murray's cup paused mid trip up to his mouth. “All of them?”

“No,” he admitted. “Each subset has variations on the code framework. I'll have to have an example of each type to custom craft an override, but I did find out the Watchers are keyed to specific classes of machines they're assigned to watch. Between that, and looking at how this brain was overridden gives me a great starting point. Your Watcher was originally assigned to a herd of horse like machines, so it has a sample of their code as a kind of Friend/Foe signal. With that, I was able to make an over ride that works on the horses.”

“Huh,” Travis grunted. “How do you know it works?”

Ian's grin went from ear to ear of his long face. “I tested it! Come see!” Ian leaped to his feet and Travis realized his breakfast was essentially over. He dumped his dishes in the dish pit, but kept his coffee and even refilled it from the urn as they passed it, out the door and into the big bay.

The blast doors were standing open, looking out onto an improvised corral that held about two dozen mechanical horses, all milling around the corral, occasionally lowering their heads to look for grass, but the entire herd raised their heads at the approach of Travis and Ian. They were uniformly the size of a draft horse, about sixteen hands high, with thick necks and a pair of blue tinted spot lights in an over/under configuration at the bottom of their face where the mouth should be. The plates and myomere muscle fibers were uniform, though each a number printed on the left hip where a brand would normally be that seemed to be sequential. The oddest feature was that the back of the machine had a hollow place in the shape of a saddle as if they had been intended for human use.

“I will be dipped in shit,” Travis breathed as he followed Ian over to the corral. The herd clustered over next to the humans, even making little vocalizations that sounded like whinnies. “Ian, you've just earned your pay for the Millennium.”

“Heh, glad to help,” he admitted, though it was obvious he was blushing at the praise.

“How did you get an entire herd?” Murray demanded.

“Oh, I had ENID find them, then point a broadcast of the over ride and a 'return home' command after she changed their 'home' coordinates to here. They all trotted up at four, ready to work.”

“Home coordinates?” Travis demanded.

“Yeah, just the good old GPS LAT/LONG grid. I guess GAIA kept using it...”

“No, what was the value before ENID changed it?” Ian blinked in confusion.

He touched his Focus. “Uh, I don't know. ENID? What was the 'home value' of the herd before you over rode them?” The animated image of the AI appeared before the men from their Focuses, a smile on her face.

“Certainly, Mr. Turner. The initial coordinates were thirty nine degrees, fifty three minutes and thirty eight seconds north and one hundred five degrees, forty minutes and seventeen seconds west.” The image changed to the side of a dark mountain with a triangular edifice carved out of the side, the tell tale of a massive gene lock portal. “This appears to be a facility that creates these machines, created inside Black Mountain. This portal is eighty nine kilometers north and west of here, almost due west of the ruins of Denver.” The image paused for a moment, then returned to the interface of the AI. “Colonel, Ms Nakoa is asking for your location. Shall I provide it?”

“Go ahead, ENID,” he allowed. “And thank you.”

“My pleasure. She informs me she will be with you presently. Good morning, gentlemen.”

Travis turned back to Ian, enthused. “Ok, so, what do we have to do to keep them overridden?”

“Oh, nothing,” he assured him. “I changed the authorization command structure, so they won't respond to anything else, even if GAIA were to come back on line.” He turned the closest of the machines with the lowest number on it's flank and touched his Focus again. “Twenty one twenty one, you will recognize command by Colonel Travis Murray.” Twenty one twenty one whinnied and tossed its head in a very horse like gesture. “Pull up your Focus, Colonel and I'll sync you.”

Travis complied to find a new device awaiting sync and touched the hologram to authorize it. It blinked, and a new interface came up with a list of simple commands, a map with a pathing program and even a window to look through the cameras on the horses head. “They can't speak?” he asked.

“In English?” asked Ian as he shook his head. “No, the program of the drone isn't that sophisticated. It does understand the commands you can read there, so you can use your Focus or the voice commands.”

“Travis! Get back!”

The shout brought Travis' gaze around to see Nakoa and Olara advancing quickly, their bows nocked and drawn. He quickly put his hands up and shouted, “Don't shoot! We control them!” The two Nora paused, obviously confused to look at each other, then they lowered their bows to walk cautiously over.

“You've conquered Striders?” demanded Olara. “When did this happen?”

“You can thank Ian for that,” Travis told her. “Thank God too, I wasn't looking forward to walking from here to Kings Peak.”

“You said...” started Nakoa, but Travis just chuckled and kissed her forehead.

“Ian's been up all night working on it,” he assured her. “See? Every problem has a solution.” The two Nora exchanged another glance, then took the arrows off their bows and returned them to their quivers. Olara was more reticent than Nakoa.

“They're...safe?” she asked guardedly.

Ian reached up to pet the drone on the side of its head which the machine allowed without complaint. “Perfectly!” he declared. “Once everyone gets here, I'll sync you all to a mount, and...” he paused to let lose a huge yawn. “...I think I'll go catch some sleep! Oh, speaking of, Colonel, here you go.” He lifted the bag of Focus chips and presented them to the big Head of Security. “I've cleaned and backed up all of them to an off line box so I can go through the logs. They're all slaved to ENID's network, and with their protocols, I have ENID taking a look into that network to the North.”

“Did I say you were a genius?” Travis laughed. “You're a Rembrandt, Ian! Any info on the points I requested?”

The young tech yawned again. “I was hoping to give you and the boss the skinny all at once, Chief. Just waiting for the big guy to wake up.”

Travis touched his Focus. “This rates a lighting a fire under him,” he assured Ian. “ENID? Connect me with Frank please. Morning, Boss! You decent? We've got some good news for a change!”

“I could use some,” Frank enthused. “You're out front? I'll be right there.”

* * *

'Right there' for the CEO was actually pretty fast. In just twenty minutes, he was striding towards the little clump of people and mechanical horses. In fact, catching sight of those machines put a jaunt in his step. He couldn't have eaten yet, but, despite the cold call wake up, he was as bright as if he had gotten his entire morning routine done and was merely strolling into the office at nine. “Bless me if sights like this don't let me think we'll get back into space before it's time for me to shuffle off this mortal coil!” he declared by way of an enthusiastic greeting. “Ian, whenever we get money going again I'm giving you a raise!”

Turner chuckled and shook his head. “Thanks, boss. So, these first ones I was going to give to the Colonel and his party...”

“Yes, absolutely,” Frank agreed.

“...And I can replace them as we need more,” Ian finished. “We'll need samples of code of each type to make a new over ride, but I'm working on scanner program I hope I'll be able to upload to your Focus, Colonel, so you'll be able to pull those at range.”

“I'll see what I can do about getting you some more bot brains while we're out,” Travis assured him.

“Well, that's the good news,” Ian told them glumly. “The bad news is ENID is a bit into this network north of us. We're not sure who's in charge, we've identified a couple of people who seem to be high up; there's a Lucent Bahavas who has a fair amount of clout, he seems most concerned about the welfare and future of the Shadow Carja. He makes a lot of references to the Sun, kind of religious references. Weird; anyway. Another is Helis...” Ian stopped as both Nora women swore and spat into the dirt. “I'm guessing you've heard of him?”

“The Terror of the Sun,” Olara declared with considerable disgust. “The former commander of the Sun King's Kestrels and a fanatic follower of Jiran. He led the attack on our Proving last year. You can bet he is the real leader of the Shadow Carja.”

Ian scratched his head. “Really? The impression I got was that it seems to be that the guy on top is some one or something that calls itself the Buried Shadow.”

“Is that a proper name in this new world?” Frank asked.

“No,” Nakoa told him as she stepped into the conversation. “But there were rumors of something by that name at Daytower. The Carja soldiers were whispering about it, some god that was giving power to the Shadow Carja.”

Travis's lips pulled into a thin line. “If I were a betting man I'd lay odds that is HADES.”

“You are a betting man,” Frank snorted. “We're all alive thanks to the odds the two of you laid out and I'm certainly inclined to let my chips ride on your number!”

Murray chuckled darkly and gave a weak salute off the brim of his cap. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, boss. If HADES is what set up this network, Ian make damn sure it can't get at ENID.” Despite his obvious fatigue, Ian was serious.

“No worries, big guy, HADES won't even get a sniff of her skirts behind the fire walls I have set up,” Ian assured him. “I'll keep you in the loop of what I find out. Now where are you going?”

Travis sighed and called up a map of the region to float holographically between them at waist height. “Eventually, we'll be trying to catch up to this Aloy on the way to Kings Peak, that's where this 'GAIA Prime' facility was located. Though we do need to make a stop at this town 'Meridian.'” He turned to Nakoa. “Do you know roughly where this Meridian is? Can you show me on the map?”

She nodded, stepping up to the hologram, she pointed in the mountains where several roads met along the folds of the mountains. “Here is the fortification of Daytower, eastern edge of the Carja Sundom. It's two days walk from Devil's Grief up into the mountains. There is a stone passage through the mountains and out the other side.”

“Eisenhower Tunnel,” Ian added. “And I'm guessing Devil's Grief is Denver.”

“Two days?” demanded Frank. “It's got to be, what? Fifty, sixty miles and a mile up.”

Travis grinned at his employer. “These people walk everywhere, boss. They're very fit. Go ahead, Nakoa.”

She nodded and pointed at the tunnels on the hologram. “It is thought that Ancients dug the tunnel, but the Carja claim credit for it,” Nakoa replied. Though the fortifications they've added to the portals are stout enough. On the other side is a good road west out of the mountains that passes Meridian to the south. It's about here.”

“That's I70,” Travis declared mostly to himself. “Or what's left of it. Have you ever been to Meridian? How big of a city is it?”

Nakoa shook her head. “Not I, but it's capital of the Sundom, a wonder of the world to rival the old ones, or so the stories claim.”

Travis pulled at his chin. “We can drop off the war band, and resupply, then head north to Kings Peak. Do you think Aloy would have gone this way?” Nakoa shrugged her ignorance. “Well, either way she'll probably go through Daytower. That's going to be the easiest way through the Rockies and over the Continental Divide. Maybe we can catch up on the Striders.” Travis' expression became grim as he turned to Frank. “Are you sure you want to send...?”

Frank held up a hand and shook his head. “You can consider they're going with you or just going to Meridian, which ever makes you feel better, Colonel, but you're not riding out into what is admittedly going to be a war zone without more people. Doc and Buck volunteered and that's that.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, his disapproval obvious, if unvoiced.

The CEO nodded, then turned to Ian. “You, get some sleep. If I know you, you've been up all night.”

Ian yawned again. “As soon as I have the Hor...Striders, synced to the Colonel's party, I'm hitting the sack, boss.”

“No detours,” Frank ordered. “I'm gonna grab some coffee, I'll see you off in a bit, Colonel.”

“Eat breakfast,” the big man countered. “We'll be a bit getting ready.”

* * *

Buck arrived a few minutes after Frank left, the Nora men in tow. They started to see the Striders docilely allowing humans to touch them as some of the machinists were taking measurements to manufacture a pack saddle. “What sorcery is this?” demanded Varl as he got to conversation distance with Travis. “You told my mother...”

“That we couldn't do this,” Travis admitted. “That was true when I said it. Ian here has been up all night working this particular technological miracle. And! As promised,” he held up the bag of Focuses to Varl. “They've all been scrubbed clean. You'll each need one of these...”

“No!” Varl declared. “That's not for me to distribute.” He took the bag from him, and tied it around his belt.

“You'll need one to be able to control the Strider,” Travis protested.

“We're not getting on those,” Jarm declared with finality. “And we're not going to have anything else to do with Ancient evil.”

“What evil has been done?” demanded Olara sharply. “People have mastered machines before! Our enemy has done it. Why should we not use a weapon against those who won't hesitate to use it against us?”

Varl faltered, then stood a bit taller. “I don't have the authority to do anything but take these back to War Chief Sona.”

“Not all of them you won't,” Olara declared, holding out her hand. “I killed Carja in the battle. More than one! I claim one for me and for any who will keep their oath and ride with War Chief Travis! Teb? Yan?”

The young tailor faltered and looked at the larger men around him. “I...”

“Where is this coming from, Varl?” Travis asked the younger man in a tone on conciliation. He noted Nakoa grab her brother by the arm and march him off to talk, quietly, but with great animation out of hearing. Knowing he couldn't help her, he kept his attention on the young Brave in front of him. “Your mother knew I was trying to accomplish this. I told her myself. What's really going on?”

“I...I wasn't expecting...” he started. He sighed, collected himself and met the older man's gaze. “Many have tried to conquer the machines, I won't deny it. It's like people thinking they can fly. You can't be prepared to actually see it.”

Travis reached out and grasped the young man's shoulder. “Varl, part of being a leader is being able to adapt to changes on the battlefield. No plan survives contact with the enemy. It's how we deal with those changes that make all the difference.” He stood up and spread his hands. “You do what you think is right. I'm happy to share these Striders. If you'd rather, we can ride them back to the Embrace first and...”

“No,” he interrupted quickly. “And don't think I'm ungrateful. I'm not. There is just...” he trailed off and looked into the open bay as it's workers were coming out from breakfast to begin the day's work. “This is so much to take in. I thought I was ready, but I need to speak with my War Chief.” He tapped the bag on his belt. “I swear I will speak the truth of what you have done and offered. If she sends me back out, I hope we'll see each other at Meridian.”

Travis extended his hand and the younger man took it. “Safe travels, Varl.”

“And you,” he replied. “Teb?”

“I...I will come with you.”

“Olara?”

The older woman's eyes narrowed. “My word means something,” she growled at him. Varl winced, but nodded, then turned back to Yan and Nakoa who were walking over.

“Yan? What is your decision?”

Yan ground his hand and looked sidelong at his sister. “I will go with Nakoa,” he said finally. “At least as far as Meridian. Look for me there.” Varl nodded and took two Focuses from the bag which he then handed to Olara.

“Stand firm,” Varl saluted her, raising his spear as he did so and she nodded gravely.

Jarm laughed darkly and punched Yan in the shoulder. “Safe travels, Uncle.” Yan glared at the other man but stayed silent as he, Varl and Teb slowly walked away, down the slope.

“Can't help but think we just got done a favor,” Buck rumbled behind Travis as the security chief watched them depart.

“I don't know,” he admitted quietly.

Finally, Olara broke the silence of the remaining Nora by holding up her Focus. “So, how do I use this?” she asked.

“I'll show you,” Doc assured her. “To start, just hold it up to your temple.”

* * *

The sun was well risen over the Great Plains when the group was finally ready to depart. The fabrication guys had very quickly done up a pack saddle that was well compartmentalized that came down on the Strider's back. It was then discovered the animal like machine had electromagnets in those panels, allowing it to grab onto the metallic frame of the saddle. Yet another feature that implied human use of the device had been intended in its design. To the surprise of all of the Ancients, it was discovered that the machine ran on Rama5, the biofuel invented in 2025 that could be made of fermenting almost any kind of plant matter. It had quickly replaced gasoline and diesel even in engines made before the fuel had been invented and it burned orders of magnitude cleaner.

Which explained why machines 'grazed'. They were busy making the fuel that Nakoa and her people called Blaze.

The armorer equipped Buck, Doc and Travis with rifles and pistols with an additional ammo can for each rifle. Along with a stern invocation that the magazines were precious and not to lose them. Travis was in the process of ordering the pack Strider to follow his own when Frank came back out, curiosity written on his face at the missing Nora. Travis forced a smile and mostly for Olara to save face, told his boss about how the group had decided to split up to allow the Focuses to be returned to the Nora in the Embrace.

Frank's eyes flickered over to the corral and if he noticed that the supposed split had one group still on foot, he chose not to say anything about it. The entire work gangs paused to wish the party well and they rode out north, hoping to find the remains of US24 to be passable to get them to what was now called The Carja Road; the former Interstate 70.

Travis and Doc were both experienced riders, and Buck had some Dude Ranch trail experience, so the Nora were able to be taught fairly quickly. It obviously wasn't the most comfortable of transports, but it was certainly better than walking and the Striders kept a trot pace that ate the ground quickly.

By mid day, just as Travis was about to call a halt for a meal, they crested a ridge and Daytower came in sight.

It could be nothing else. The cut through of the old Interstate 70 had been carefully maintained and up-kept. Where winter snow had covered the lane, they been dug out, where the roadbed had failed down the mountainside, the fall area had been packed in with soil, gravel and large stones, then bricks paved over to join up with the old black top. Brick and stone retention walls shored up against the mountainside, but all of that paled to Daytower itself. The portal to the Eisenhower Tunnel was just visible behind a thick wall of red stone that had been set three stories high and even out off the mountainside over the ravine below. A massive gate stood open with a wrought iron portcullis hanging up and above it.

On either side of the gate were guards in great gray coats and white gauntlets that, to Travis, looked something like a cross between Russian Cossacks and the guards of the Wicked Witch of the West's castle. In side the wall, a fortress had been built up around the tunnel portal with a high tower that climbed up into the sky. Nakoa's Strider stopped next to Travis', a grin on her face. “Daytower,” she declared.

“I see what you mean about their talent with stone,” he admitted, then turned in the saddle hallow to the rest of the group behind them. “It's about two miles, I'd guess. Shall we stop for lunch or ride on?”

Olara was grim. “Let us eat. Best we have a discussion about the Carja before you meet them.”

On the crisp mountain air, the toll of bell in the tower rung as if to underscore the Nora's words. They had been seen. “Sounds good to me.” Travis allowed. The Striders were freed to graze and did so contentedly while the group ate the cold sandwiches of their small supply of 'fresh' food that had been prepared. The slices of wild hog weren't exactly ham and they had no cheese yet, but the freeze dried mustard had reconstituted quite nicely and almost tasted normal. “So,” Travis declared around a mouthful of bread and wild hog ham, “What do we need to know about the Carja?”

“They're arrogant, for a start,” Nakoa grumbled.

“Despite their personal failings,” Olara interrupted smoothly, “they are a fierce people and it is obvious that the acts of contrition Avad has forced on them rub the wrong way. Despite this, they can easily take offense and have the numbers to back up their imagined slights.”

“Do they have some kind of Code Duello?” Doc asked.

“What?” Yan replied, as confused as the rest of the Nora.

“A formal set of rules for personal honor duels,” Travis explained.

Olara laughed and shrugged at that. “The Carja's have rules for everything, but they mostly boil down to 'those with shards and swords can bully those without'.”

Nakoa turned to Doc and warned, “They don't have a high opinion of women, so expect to be ignored at best. I don't think anyone will be grabby with our men around, but if we get all the way through the tunnel without some roving hand pinching our asses, it will be a rare thing.”

“Anybody pinching my ass will draw back a stump,” Doc growled.

Nakoa shrugged expressively. “I do not argue, but to grease the wheels of our moving through Daytower, we should led Travis speak for us, and we should defer to the men. Less chance of them taking offense.”

“It's the end of the world and there's still sexism, nice,” Doc muttered. Travis unscrewed his canteen cap and took a drink of water.

“Well, when in Rome. No sense making things harder on ourselves.”

“Avad has outlawed Slavery, but there is a long gap between saying and doing,” Olara continued. “And of course, prisoners don't count.”

“The garrison commander was shocked his lieutenant was the murderer I outed him as,” Nakoa declared softly. “But he was quickly apologetic after I'd avenged my father's murder. Of course, Aloy exposing that same lieutenant as a secret slaver helped. I think the Captain played at ignorance, but I have no proof of it. Still, we are few and they are many. Travis is right, we shouldn't piss in our own bed.”

Travis returned his canteen to his belt and wiped off his hands on his pants. “Every body done eating? Alright, let's go say hello.” He whistled sharply and the Striders immediately abandoned their grazing and trotted over. “I imagine us having these machines will kick up a fuss. If they think we're amazing, don't rush to correct them.”

“What if they think we're Shadow Carja?” Lakoa asked slyly.

“Definitely rush to correct them there,” he replied.

The group mounted and set out, seeing a dozen men depart the gate which closed behind them and begin to walk purposefully in their direction. They carried halberds and swords on their belts and marched with a discipline that hinted at trained, professional soldiers. Within fifteen minutes they had gotten close enough to speak, but not fight when the soldier in front with the most braid on his coat held up a white gloved hand. “That's far enough! Speak quickly and the truth or suffer for it! Are you Shadow Carja?”

“No!” shouted back Travis. “My name is Travis and my...tribe...are called AmSci. These three others are Nora. None of us are with the Shadow Carja.”

“You know me, Captain Balahn!” Nakoa shouted as she urged her Strider next to Travis'. “I vouch for the AmSci, none of them are Shadow Carja!”

“There's no forgetting you, Nora!” the Captain shouted back. “Who's blood have you come for this time?”

“No one's!” Travis assured him. “We ride in answer to the call of aid from your King, against the loosed Metal Devil.” The Captain relaxed noticeably at that news and gestured back to his men to relax. The halberds went back to pointing at the sky and he beckoned Travis come forward. The Colonel dismounted his Strider and walked forward to met the captain a neutral distance from both groups. Balahn extended a hand that Travis took.

“It seems everyone is mastering the damned machines!” the captain growled. “First the Shadow Carja then that red headed banshee Nora girl...”

“Aloy?” Travis asked, surprised at what he'd heard.

“You know her?” Balahn asked. “She came through two nights ago, riding one of those damned Striders, telling me Nora would be coming to aid the Sun King and now here you are! Will you sell the secret to it? I can make you a rich man...”

Travis raised his hands in assurance. “It's not my secret to sell. A...learned scholar of my people discovered it. I was just given these to come to help your King.”

“Pity,” the captain growled, then the look on his face changed as something occurred to him and his tone became remarkably mild. “Did your Learned Scholar give this secret to the Shadow Carja?”

“No,” Travis assured him. “Part of my mission is to put a stop to them.” The Captain, a normally open faced and friendly man with slight emphatic folds to his eyes that hinted at Asiatic ancestry pulled at his soul patch and considered for a moment. “We just ask passage through the Tunnel to Meridian. We're trying to catch up to Aloy.”

Finally offered his hand again. “Alright, draw your weapons only in self defense and pass in peace and you may proceed. You'll be subject to the Laws of the Sundom. If you want a full inquiry of them, there are barristers in Meridian, but suffice to say do not kill, steal or rape and you may pass. Have I your word?” Travis took his gloved hand and shook it.

“You do.”

The Captain sighed and rubbed his nose. “Walk in the light of the Sun then.” He turned and made a gesture and he and his soldiers walked back towards the gate. Travis walked back to his group and clamored back up onto the back of his Strider.

“Survey says?” asked Buck.

Travis sighed as he urged his mount to a walking pace. “We have free passage so long as we obey the laws of the Sundom.”

“And what are those?” asked Doc pointedly.

“He tells me there are lawyers in Meridian who can give me the full crash course, but for this bit of between here and there, employ your common sense. Don't start nothing, won't be nothing.”

Buck rumbled darkly from the back of the group. “Yeah, no wiggle room there at all.”

* * *

Inside the gate of Daytower was a medieval fortress of timbers and dressed stone, with everything one might expect of one, with the notable exception of a barn or working animals. There was a chicken hutch with a rooster jealously watching a flock of hens, even a rafter of turkeys with a big Tom stepping between the hens and puffing out his feathers in a fine display.

There were a handful of vendors who had push cart stalls who paused to watch, awestruck, the party ride through slowly. No one but the soldiers had the courage to come close. Captain Balahn led them to the portal of the tunnel, and gestured into it. Beyond, they were surprised to see the lights of the tunnel still working and even the holographic displays of things like local weather and telephone numbers to call to report accidents that hadn't been manned in a thousand years. “Yes, he declared, seeing the shock on their faces. “The lights of the ancients still work. No, we don't know how. They also had machines to keep the air moving, so have no fear. Though we normally recommend you rent a lantern in case, but the Striders have you covered I suppose,” he trailed off as one turned to look at him, it's blue light on his face.

Travis kept a chuckle behind his teeth. “I think we'll be alright, Captain. Thank you though.”

“It's half an hour glass journey from end to end, though, you'll likely go faster. It never has, but should the lights fail, touch the wall and walk. The tunnel is free and clear, no falls, no debris. Just keep walking and you'll come out the other side.”

“Much obliged,” Travis told him.

“Walk in the Sun,” the Captain replied by way of dismissal, and he walked back towards the buildings on this side of the defensive wall, likely where his office was. That out of the way, Travis lightly kicked the Strider in it's sides, exactly as he would have on a live horse and it obediently began to trot towards the tunnel portal.

Here on the dressed stone and asphalt remnants of I70, the ride was both easier and harder on the humans. The Striders gait was more uniform on the smooth, level surface, but as it was hard, the impact more easily transferred into the humans. The little grunts of pain from behind him told tomorrow would need to be a much slower pace.

Probably with walking. Lots of walking.

Breaking into his ruminations, Nakoa pointed to the letters over the portals and asked, “What do those say?”

Travis looked at them, and even with their missing letters, read out to her, “That one over there says, 'Johnson Tunnel 1979' and this one we're entering says, 'Eisenhower Tunnel 1973.'”

“What does that mean?” demanded Yan from the back.

Buck chuckled and indicated the tunnel portals with a big hand. “They're names. The tunnels were named after US Presidents, Lyndon Johnson and Dwight Eisenhower. The numbers are the years when the tunnels were completed, 1973 and 1979 respectively.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Olara.

“Before I was born,” Doc told her.

From the head of the group, Travis answered, “The current year by that dating system is 3040. So these tunnels are very old.”

“Could they collapse?” asked Nakoa as they crossed the threshold, out of the sunshine and into the artificial light of the tunnel.

“It's unlikely,” Travis assured her. “The stone of the Rocky Mountains is very hard, that's why it took us, well, our grandfathers, so long to bore through them, even with our technological advantage. That makes the tunnels themselves strong.”

“And why do the lights still work?” asked Olara.

“They're LEDs,” Buck told her. “It's a very simple tech, with no moving parts so they last. As you can see.”

“Did you see the black panels up the mountainside?” Doc asked her. “They collect the light of the Sun and use it to power these.”

Nakoa found that funny. “How perfect for the Sun worshiping Carja!”

“They worship the Sun?” Buck demanded. “Literally?”

“Oh yes,” Yan assured him. “They left the Embrace of the All Mother long ago. For all their skill in stone, their souls are lost. The light of the sky leads them astray.” He heard the big man try and fail to stifle a chuckle. “You think being lost for all eternity is funny?”

That brought out Buck's philosophical side and he looked at the other man side long. “I think an ocean's worth of blood has been spilt over things one man shouldn't care about in another. It doesn't concern me if another man's faith brings him comfort. Who am I to tell him he's wrong? Or that I'm right? So long as he leaves me alone, what do I care who he prays to?”

“The United States,” Travis added, “was founded on the principle that all of every creed could worship whoever they saw fit so long as they did so in peace. In our day there were many faiths on these shores. And yes, some were evangelical and proselytized, but there was never the force of law behind them. Only reason and debate.”

“How do you debate faith with reason?” demanded Yan. “One either believes or doesn't.”

“Well, that was actually my take on it,” Travis told him and the startled look of shock on the other man's face that he and Travis agreed on something was amusing to say the least. Amusement Travis wisely kept off his face. “No point debating faith, but there were plenty of scholars who loved to debate each other on meanings of words in old languages, the finer points dogma and theology. Oh, they could go on and on. Not my cup of tea.”

“Oh?” asked Nakoa from next to him. “And what do you believe, Colonel?”

For a long moment he rode the Strider and said nothing, the internal battle of his thoughts plain on his face. Finally, he turned to her and said, “That's not an easy question to answer. I believed in God, and I still do, but as you might have gathered, I'm not a theologian. And as you were to ask me about my beliefs, I would want to be exact and correct in what I reply, and I would need resources we don't have here on the trail.”

“So your faith is weak?” asked Yan. “Or is it too complicated for you to explain?”

“I could tell you the name of the God I worship,” Travis replied. “Then you would want to know where He came from, why I believe in Him, what proof I could offer to sustain my belief, things I care enough about to be exact, but not have at hand.”

Olara elbowed Yan as she rode next to him. “Can even you find fault with that answer?”

“Fair enough,” Yan admitted.

“And,” Buck added, “there are those in America who believed in no gods.”

Olara looked at him sidelong. “How do you believe in nothing?”

Buck's smile was coy. “As an atheist, I'd tell you that's my line. The world is, where it came from, how it got here were questions science and theology both try to answer. You say your All Mother created the world, scientists say it lumped together from the junk floating around in space after our sun ignited. I wasn't there, were you? Who can really say what happened?”

“That sounds like a lonely way to look at the world,” Nakoa observed softly. “Considering how much my life has been turned upside down, how can anyone be certain of anything?”

“How indeed?” Travis echoed.

* * *

The Doomsday Protocol Part 4

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Doomsday Protocol

A Horizon Fan Fiction

E. E. Nalley

March 13^th , 3040

The party rode in silence until they emerged, once again into the bright sun shine. There were fortifications on this side of the tunnel as well, though not as impressive as those on the Great Plains side had been. Once more, the Carja stared, awestruck at humans riding machines, though they were allowed to pass without hindrance. They had crested the Rocky Mountains and were now making their way across the Colorado Plateau.

The road was as well maintained on this side as it had been on the far side of the tunnel, allowing the Striders to make excellent time down hill. By mid afternoon, they were overlooking the Colorado River and the final, skeletal remains of Grand Junction. The town was a collection of partial walls and empty windows with rusting re-bar and I beams poking out; nothing had a roof and few rose above a single story. There were many vacant lots where small, cheaply built buildings had collapsed and decayed into nothing and every where plants were taking the city back to the wilderness it had sprung out of.

Beyond, the plateau spread out into the mesas and canyons of what had been Utah. Travis paused to look out at the rusting hulks of the Farro Swarm, frozen in place and slowly being reclaimed by nature. There were large swaths where the machines were gone, doubtlessly cannibalized in the press of years since for their metal, but some of the scorpion like Chariots still reared like angry mechanical insects turned to stone by a wrathful God.

Beside him, Nakoa paused her own Strider and asked, “Did you know this ruin? Before?”

“Grand Junction,” he told her softly. “I went through, once, on my way to Fort Carson for a posting. Stopped for gas, had a really good steak at this hole in the wall place...” He trailed off and sighed. “A thousand years ago.”

“Steak?” she asked as the Striders began to walk again from Travis' wool gathering.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Beef, but that won't mean anything to you. Once there were sprawling ranches out this way, with herds of cattle in the tens of thousands. Cows, almost as big as these Striders, a quarter of a ton of meat just walking around, eating, getting fat for the slaughter house.”

“I didn't think animals could get so big,” Olara opined, which caused Doc to chuckle.

“These 'Striders' we're riding were designed after Horses, an animal I used to own. This same size and shape. They were the principal means of travel of humans for thousands of years.”

“And will be again once the breeders get busy,” Buck muttered as his Strider avoided something on the trail a bit unexpectedly for him. “Cows are about the same size as a horse, but they weigh more and the proportions are different. Tasty, though.”

Yan grunted as his Strider avoided the same something in the road Buck's had. “How can you keep that much meat from spoiling before it's eaten?”

“Refrigeration,” Doc replied. “We learned to control the temperature by artificial means. We could make it cold, or even below freezing. Kept cold, meat will be good for a week or two, but it can be frozen for months.”

“We keep meat that way over the winter,” Olara admitted. “But you could year round?” Doc nodded at her. “That must be handy.”

“We'll have it for a little while,” Travis assured her. That brought Nakoa's attention.

“Not forever?” she asked.

Travis shook his head. “Things wear out. We shut down everything we could, vacuum sealed, did our best to be sure everything we could pack would be preserved, but the cooling process depends on gasses we don't have the ability to refine. If we can get the infrastructure built up quickly enough, we might be able to start up industry of critical systems, but if we're constantly fighting wars...” He trailed off and sighed. “We didn't bring an army. We didn't expect to fight wars. Everyone we have has essential knowledge that's irreplaceable.”

“That's why we have to act quickly to keep things from getting out of hand,” Doc finished for him. “Before the cost in blood ruins us.”

* * *

The sun was low on Monroe Peak jutting up from the other side of the Sevier Plateau as the group finally reached the outskirts of the ruins of Grand Junction. Small groups of machines could be seen in the ruins and on the mountain slopes beyond by their lights, but nothing was near by when they stopped in a natural hollow of rock that offered protection from the elements and a place for a fire that could be concealed. The Striders were set to grazing to replenish their supply of Blaze while the humans made camp in the hallow.

Water from a fast moving stream was collected and set by the fire to boil, to the amusement of the Nora to whom contaminated water was a foreign concept. That led to a long lecture by Doc trying to explain bacteria and germ theory to hunter/gatherer humans. Finally she reduced the concept to small devils and evil spirits which the Nora could grasp, but seemed skeptical of. Not one of them could remember becoming sick just from drinking water. Travis put a note to himself in his Focus to have the water checked over by someone with a microscope once they returned to 'Fort Carson'.

The haunch of ham that had supplied lunch was now being warmed by the fire for supper as Travis got his boots off and massaged his toes. “We made great time today,” he announced to the group, drawing nods from his people and the Nora.

“The Striders constant motion greatly speeds travel,” Nakoa observed.

Olara nodded as she poked at the fire. “The Carja Road helps too.” She looked out over the plains in the direction they were traveling. “I never thought I'd ever see The Sundom.” Travis keyed on his Focus to produce a holographic map and highlighted their position.

“We're here,” he declared. “Any idea how much father Meridian is?”

Nakoa reached over and touched the hologram, causing a point to glow. “I saw a map in Daytower on my first visit. There are canyons and the city sits on top of them. The Carja built bridges over the canyons, or so I've heard. It is north of the Carja Road because the river in the canyons give water.”

“At the pace we're going, we should be near the city by nightfall tomorrow,” Buck rumbled from his preparation of a pouch of freeze dried macaroni and cheese. “If we can keep this pace.”

The new riders of the Nora squirmed in anticipation of the discomfort of tomorrow's trip. “That looks like Eagle Canyon,” Doc said with a hard look at the map. “The San Rafael River runs through there, or it did.”

“Probably still does,” Travis replied from rubbing his chin as he contemplated the map. “It doesn't look like the watersheds of the mountains changed much.”

“What is that?” demanded Yan, drawing all eyes to him. The group saw him looking behind them at the mountains they had descended from and was pointing. Travis touched his Focus as he turned and it marked a small rotor drone that was rapidly approaching them. He put up a calming hand.

“It's ok, it's one of ours,” he told the group as the drone settled down in an open spot of grass not far from the camp fire. It's hologram projector lit up and Ian appeared.

“Hey Colonel. I hope this finds you guys quickly and you're all ok. After my nap it came to me that there had to be something that was acting as repeaters for this Focus network that ENID found.” His face became sheepish as he shrugged. “I should have thought of it sooner. Sorry about that. So, based on the Watcher brain and the code I copied from the Striders, I found this.”

The hologram changed to an image of a machine that looked vaguely like a giraffe with a gigantic flat disc for a head. Antennas sprouted like feathers haphazardly up it's neck and it's gait was comically deliberate to keep it's balance. Then the figure zoomed out to show a human next to it to give a sense of scale causing the Ancients to jerk in surprise. The human didn't reach the machine's knee, which mean it was something on the order of twenty meters tall.

“Tallneck,” Lakoa declared.

“So this is a kind of walking signal repeater,” the recorded Ian continued. “And, from what the drones have discovered today, they walk a circuit in a fixed area to establish a broad network that seems to be quite large. Maybe even world wide, we're not sure here. Frank doesn't want to have multiple teams out, so I sent this to you in hopes you guys will pass by one. If you have your Focus scan two twenty one point nine Mega Hertz you'll pick up the closest one and give you a direction to find it. I've attached a secure transmission node to the drone and if you can attach it to the repeater, it should give us a secure way to piggyback on their network and give us real time coms. I hope we hear from you soon. Good luck, Colonel.” Travis examined the little drone finding a remote controller for the drone and the node securely tied to it.

“He's quite a wizard you have,” Olara declared.

“He is that,” Doc agreed, then turned to Travis. “I'm not up on my FCC codes, but that's in the Military Radio range isn't it?”

“NATO channel A,” Murray agreed.

“Nay toe?” asked Yan.

Buck chuckled darkly. “It's an acronym for North Atlantic Treaty Organization. An old alliance of nations...tribes, you'd say, who had a mutual self defense pact.”

“Were they friends of your tribe?” asked Olara.

“The United States was a member of NATO,” Doc told her. “Why would this 'Tallneck' use it?”

Travis shrugged his ignorance. “Zero Dawn was a military project at it's heart. That frequency was obsolete, but lots of old surplus gear would hear it. Maybe they hoped there would be other survivors once Gaia had finished re-terraforming the Earth.” Nakoa touched her Focus and slowly stood, pointing off to the south.

“I see it,” she declared. “Or, the signal rather. Like ripples from throwing a stone in a pond.”

Olara looked intently at the map. “This is the Great Run river,” she declared. “Unless I am mistaken, it goes right to the Tallneck.”

“It will add two days to Meridian,” Buck drawled from his spooning out mac and cheese to the plates he was making for dinner. “One down to it, and one back.”

“The Striders can gallop at thirty or forty miles an hour,” Doc replied. “We could be down and back in one day if we gallop the whole way. And machines can do that.”

“But, can the riders?” asked Travis thoughtfully. The Nora all winced, then became grim and nodded. “We can probably save some miles cutting across country as well. Alright, we'll start the side quest tomorrow.” He took the plate Buck handed him with a nod. “In the mean time, everybody eat up. Be long day tomorrow.”

* * *

Travis lay on his back in his bed roll looking up at the sky that even their fire couldn't dim. It was his first night sleeping out of doors in this new world and the amount of visible stars was overwhelming. Even in the wilder places of the United States in his day there was a certain level of light pollution, spoiling the night sky. Now, fire was the only light source of humanity and the sky was dazzling with stars and nebula visible to the naked eye. He was actually having trouble picking out the constellations because of the staggering increase in what he could see.

Nakoa laid out her own roll and lay down beside him, pressing herself against him in a way that was comforting and possessive all at once. “Heavy thoughts?” she whispered from getting her head comfortable on his arm and shoulder.

“Amazed at the view,” he whispered back. “In my day, you couldn't see a fifth of these stars, even out here in Big Sky country.”

Her face showed her curiosity as she looked up at him. “Why?”

“Light pollution,” he replied. You've seen the holographic lights through your Focus, but back then, even without a Focus, Grand Junction there would be so bright it would dim the sky. Many parts of the town would be as bright as full day.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” she wanted to know. He held up his wrist where she could see it. “We find those lots of places. The Carja love them and will pay silly amounts of Shards to...wait.” She raised up a bit to look closer. “The little sticks move?”

He chuckled and shook his head in amazement. “This is called a watch. It's a device to keep time. It's how we lived our lives.”

“Why?” she demanded again. “You can just look outside to see if it's day or night.”

He laid his arm down so she could see it more clearly. “I heard the Captain say they use hour glasses?” Her head nodded as she looked closer at the watch. “The symbols there are numbers and the space marked between them is an hour. Twenty four hours in a day, broken into twelve for each on the watch. In our time, I wouldn't say, 'I'll see you tomorrow,' I would say 'We'll meet at three thirty,' and we all knew exactly when that was.”

“Why would you need to be so exact?” she demanded.

“Lots of reasons,” he replied softly. “Our lives were very regulated, when to be at work, when to eat, when to sleep and for how long.”

She patted the watch on his wrist and looked up at him. “That didn't work out so well, did it?”

It was a question he had no answer for, but that didn't keep him thinking about it until he fell asleep.

* * *

March 14^th , 3040

As the sun was beginning to peek over the top of the Rockies, Travis went about perking up the fire to cook breakfast as Nakoa went from bundle to bundle, gently rousing sleepers. Being an early riser, he had always found it easier to take last watch and Nakoa had insisted on joining him. There was already water on the fire for making freeze dried coffee and to reconstitute the powdered eggs for breakfast. Olara had been walking with Buck pointing out various plants that were eatable, which did considerable help to their otherwise bland breakfast.

Within an hour the camp was broken, the mounts readied and the Nora eased back into the 'saddle' depression on the Strider. “Should it hurt this much?” demanded Olara, who had no pride to remain stoic and silent like Yan or Nakoa. Buck chuckled.

“It's called saddle sore,” he told her with a wink as he got astride his own. “It'll get better in a couple of days.”

“If anyone needs it,” Doc called from helping Travis secure the drone to the pack Strider. “Just call out and we'll have a halt. There's no one here to impress.”

Travis, satisfied of the drone, swung up into the saddle of Twenty One Twenty One and took up the built in reins for the machine. “We'll start out at a trot,” he ordered, purposefully not noticing the sighs of relief. “Once we have our 'horse legs' we'll see about faster.” He called up the interface on the Strider and set a way point for the location of the Tallneck and the machine set off.

For three hours the party trotted cross country, bending their way around concentrations of machines as they went about their work. Watchers kept a keen eye, but whatever their engagement distance, the party never crossed it. By mid morning, as Travis had hoped, they came across the remnants of Moab and the old US Highway One Ninety One. Like Grand Junction before it, most of Moab was long gone, only a few corners of walls still standing with rusting out light polls and unreadable signs to bear witness that humanity had ever lived here.

But it was not the grave of Moab that held the travelers eyes.

Just north of the ruins, some long ago disturbance of the land had made a landslide dam, choking the river. It backed up into a lake with a pair of islands in it with two channels around the islands until it over topped the natural dam and continued on its way to the Grand Canyon. In the lake, walking a stately circuit around the islands, was the Tallneck. It took no notice of the humans or the other machines around it, just walking a lonely vigil in the water and the ground vibrated slightly with each foot fall.

The highest point of the two islands came just below the back of the machine, three full stories above the water. But the neck of the machine continued up another three or even four stories above that.

“I will be dipped in shit,” muttered Buck.

Doc was also aghast. “Look at the size of it!”

Travis shook his head as he dug out a pair of binoculars from his belt pouch and held them up to his face. “It's got to be seven stories tall,” he said, keeping his worry out of his voice as much as he could. “I can see what looks like an Access Node on the head, right in the center of the disk, but be damned if I know how we'll get up there.”

“Can your flying machine not take it?” asked Yan.

“Sure,” Doc replied. “The drone can get our node up there, but somebody has to plug it into the machine.”

“I'm sure if we had good Coms Ian could make it stop and bend down, but we don't,” Murray reflected, mostly to himself. “And if we force the thing to stop, we'll probably destroy it.” He felt his heart sink just as he heard Nakoa speak.

“I could climb it.”

“No,” he snapped, in chorus with Doc's shout of, “Are you out of your mind?” Nakoa, however, was unphased.

“We had harder climbing challenges on the Proving Trail I took when I became a Brave,” she boasted. She pointed next to Travis. “See? I can leap on it's back from that island. Then I just climb up those metal feathers on it's neck.”

As Travis was scrambling for a reason why not to attempt such a thing, Buck rubbed his chin and said, “Those feathers look like they might be Class Seven omni directional receivers. IEEE standard for their mounting is the weight of the antenna plus two hundred pounds of wind load.” He brought his Strider up to the other side of Travis' from Nakoa. “I don't think your lady weighs one thirty in all that gear.”

“Buck...”

Nakoa reached out and touched his arm. “Don't worry. Of all the things since you entered my life, this I know I can do. You will have to instruct me how to install the thing through the Focus, but just fly it up to me when I'm there.”

“What about some kind of climbing harness or safety rope?” his pride demanded he ask, but she shook her head.

“You couldn't keep up with the Tallneck and tension a safety rope,” she told him. “I'll be fine. Fly the thing to me when I'm on the top.” With that, she kicked her Strider and trotted down towards the water.

“I'm going to regret this,” Travis muttered to himself, once again taking out his binoculars. “Buck, can you...?”

“I'll see to the Drone, boss.”

“Thank you.”

Through the glass, he watched her wade through the lake on the Strider, then trot up the high point. The Tallneck was on the furthest side of the lake, which made for a nerve wracking wait as it slowly and regally made it's way around the circuit, oblivious to it's new companions on the island. On the island, Nakoa had slid off the Strider and was stretching in preparation for the jump.

“You aren't worried?” Doc demanded of Yan behind him, but he was dismissive.

“Nakoa is a Nora Brave,” he boasted. “Probably the best climber of her Proving. No, I am not concerned.”

I am, Travis thought to himself as he watched. His gut clinched as she darted towards the edge with impressive speed and threw herself over the edge, right as the machine was opposite her. It blocked his view for a moment, but he didn't see her fall, then he saw her pulling herself up on the machine's back. It continued walking, ignoring her as she scrambled up it's neck for leverage, then leapt up onto the antenna.

For a split second that felt like an eternity, he thought the antenna would buckle, but she caught herself on it, and scrambled up to stand while it stayed straight. Then she jumped across the machine's back to the next higher, again pulling herself up to stand before leaping back across and higher up. In this zigzag path she made her way up the machine until she grabbed the assembly at the joint where the disk met the neck. He blinked and she was standing on the things massive head, waving at him.

With a buzzing hum, the drone took off and shot over to her as the Tallneck continued to walk it's lonely circle. He touched his Focus and her transparent face appeared next to him. “See?” she demanded with a grin. “Nothing to it.”

“How will you get down?” he asked, but she dismissed his concern with a wave as she walked over to the drone which was landing on the disk.

“Down is easy,” she assured him. She got the buckles open on the straps to the node and took it off the Drone. “This is hard. What do I do?”

“Take it over to that knob in the center of the Tallneck's head,” he told her. “Now do you see that opening the same shape as the node?”

“Yes.”

“Pry the cover off and look inside,” he continued. “You should see a socket that matches the one on the node.”

“Ah, simple,” she declared as her ghostly self got the cover open and slid the node inside. For the first time, the Tallneck reacted and with a bleat like the horn of a freight train, a flash of light spread out from it's head in all directions. “What was that?”

“I don't know, but let's not wait to see if it was a distress call,” he shot back. “Get down!” Then he linked his Focus to the node and saw it had up-linked with the machine. “ENID?” he asked, and to his relief, the avatar of the program appeared in the air.

“Good Morning, Colonel,” she greeted with a smile. “I see you were successful in up-linking the node. One moment. I have access to the global network, though it will take me some time to completely collate this much data. Shall I inform Mr Olmstead of your achievement?”

Travis saw Nakoa descend from the Tallneck's head on a line she must have carried up with her, then dropped free to scramble out of the machine's way. Realizing he was holding his breath, he starting breathing again. “It's not just my achievement, ENID,” he corrected her.

* * *

The arid climate of what had been Utah doubtlessly contributed to the state of US Highway One Ninety One, which was surprisingly good. Much of the original asphalt was still in place, though there was significant growth of some species of particularly hearty grass through the cracks. It allowed the Striders to keep a rapid pace that ate distance. For whatever reason, the other machines gave the road a wide berth which meant the party could travel a much more direct course than the cross country route they had been. It was only a bit past one that they arrived at the junction between the US Highway and Interstate Seventy.

The concrete over pass of the East Bound lanes had collapsed, filling the depression and embankment of the Interstate over pass, but the West Bound was actually still standing, a literal bridge from and to nowhere as the microscopic 'town' of Crescent Junction, only a rest area and a gas station in the days of the Ancients was decayed into only grass filled cracked pavement and blown drifts of sand. The Striders thundered up the old off ramp of the East Bound lane, then Travis led the group across the median to the West Bound lane from force of habit.

Every so often they passed the rusted out hulk of a car, only just clinging to it's shape to be identifiable as the metal was eaten away by entropy. The sun and the heat was oppressive, even this early in the year, but the breeze of the Striders running helped as did the lack of moisture in the air. An hour of running brought cooler air and welcome greenery as the group arrived at the muddy waters of the Green River.

The town that shared the River's name was gone, but the banks were lined with sage and Cotton Wood trees and, more important, the pair of bridges spanning the river were still intact. Also of note was the first settlement of humans they had encountered in the Sundom. Across both sides of the river was the cut stone and curved red tile roofs of the odd mishmash of Tudor and Adobe styles that Travis was beginning to associate with the Carja. The town occupied both sides of the river, and encircled itself along with the bridges of Interstate Seventy with a defensive wall and gates that stood open.

The group slowed their Striders to a walk to give them more time to approach as they took in the sizable community and its buildings. “This isn't Meridian, is it?” Travis asked Nakoa, and the Nora shook her head.

“No, this is Lone Light. From here, the way to Meridian leaves the Carja Road.” She pointed at a wide dirt track that left the city and headed towards the hills and mesas beyond. “That is the road to Meridian. Lone Light is a trade hub between boats from the north and south of the Carja eastern boarder and the Carja road.”

Doc pushed the bush hat on her head back and wiped her forehead. “I'd say let's stop for lunch, but we don't have anything to trade.”

Nakoa made a dismissive gesture. “I have plenty of Shards. Aloy split the spoil from the Slavers she freed me from with me. More than enough for a meal.”

“What about our machines?” asked Olara. “Somehow I doubt they'll be left alone if we go into a tavern.”

“We'll just eat al fresco,” Buck assured her and, at her confused look, added, “Out doors.”

“Won't that be fun,” Doc muttered to herself. The group closed the last half mile and realized the town had come to a complete halt. At the gate, a trio of soldiers wearing the great coat and red plumbed helmet of the Carja Army were bolstered with about a double dozen of the town's men, probably some kind of militia and at the head of them was a well dressed man somewhere in his late thirties wearing clothing of mostly red with white highlights. It wasn't a uniform exactly, but it was obviously meant to give that impression. Still, he cut a very fine figure of a man, who was well fit for his age with a powerful, dangerous build. He was clean shaven, as all the men were and bare headed with a full head of salt and pepper hair contained by a gold band or circlet he wore with a seven pointed sun emblem on his forehead.

As they reached conversational distance, he held up a broad hand. “Hold, and state your business. Who are you?”

“Give me your name, Carja, and I'll give you mine,” Yan snapped, but quieted at a soft gesture from Travis.

The Colonel slid off his Strider and made a show of hanging his rifle off the machine before stepping forward. The big Carja pulled his sword from it's sheath and handed to another man next to him before stepping out. “My name is Travis Murray,” he started once the to had converged to a sociable distance. “Who do I have the honor to address?”

The Carja proved to be of a similar size to Travis and his surprise at Travis' introduction was evident on his face. “I am Noonman Valorous Hadim, Magistrate of Lone Light.”

From her mount, Nakoa called, “The Noonman is a Carja Noble.”

Hadim's eyes darted to Nakoa and back to Travis. “You must be a mighty warrior to have Nora as your guide. And since you need a guide, I presume you are not of any tribe I know?”

Travis smiled and nodded. “You're correct, sir. With me are Nora Braves' Nakoa, Olara and Yan. Along with my countrymen, Buck Simpson and Tracy Williams.”

“And where is your country, Travis Murray?” Hadim asked evenly.

“We come from the coast of the sea over the mountains and to the South East; a land called Texas. We call our tribe AmSci. We've come in answer to your Sun King's call for aid against a Metal Devil.” The Magistrate's eyes flicked back to the machines.

“As you can master machines, I could wish there were more of you in that case.”

“We're not looking for any trouble,” Travis assured him. “We are just passing through on our way to Meridian. We thought to stop for lunch if that's possible, and then be on our way. I gave the Captain of Daytower my word of peaceful journey and he granted us safe passage.”

Hadim nodded gravely at the declaration. “And that shall be honored here,” he affirmed. “Do you vouch for the actions of your machines?”

“They will initiate nothing without our say so,” Travis assured him. “But if they are attacked, I cannot say they will not defend themselves.” Seeing the dawning skepticism on the Magistrate's face, Travis quickly added, “So, if possible, we intend to eat in sight of them so that there are no accidents.”

The Magistrate pulled at his chin for a long moment, then turned over his shoulder. “Tunoy, run to the tavern and have Ulder set out a table and chairs for the comfort of Travis Murray and his party. They eat as my guests, and I will settle their account.” A younger man, Tunoy it could be surmised, took off at a run towards the bridge and the far side of the town.

Travis held up a hand. “One moment, your honor, that's not necessary, we are happy to pay...”

“Allies of the Sun King who come to our aid?” Hadim asked somewhat archly. “A meal is the least gratitude I can offer. Come, I will show you the way myself and you can join me in a tank of ale.”

Murray gave a gesture of acquiescence. “We're grateful for your hospitality.” He gestured and Twenty One Twenty One ambled up, pausing to allow the Colonel to mount him. The Noonman's gaze was a bit lingering, but at last he turned, signaling for the militia to disperse back to their normal work.

“How far have you traveled?” Hadim asked casually as he walked next to the machine, putting up a brave front of being unconcerned by it. Travis allowed himself a chuckle, drawing the other man's eyes.

“Thisjourney,” he specified, “Only a few days. My people were driven out of Texas by...dangerous machines. We have settled next to the Nora in the unclaimed land between their Embrace and Devil's Grief. I suppose we shall have to have some formal treaty with your king to establish that border.”

“My sympathies to your troubles, they seem many.”

“Thank you,” Murray replied. “We've had some troubles, but things are looking up.”

Hadim accepted his sword from the soldier who had been holding it and returned it to it's scabbard as they passed through the gate. “The Sun shine on your good fortune, then. Let us hope that as your aid helps the Sun King, may it rise on welcome tidings of your own.”

“Thank you,” Travis told him as the party ambled over the bridge. Next to the road was one of the larger buildings with a court yard that ran down the slight embankment to docks on the bank of the river.

In the courtyard, several boys and young men were just setting up a table and chairs under the watchful eye of a rotund man in an apron. The fence gave the riders a place to 'tie' the Striders into a string, then followed the Noonman over to the table. Hadim indicated the apron wearer after they'd clasped hands in greeting. “Travis Murray, your host, Hospitable Ulder. Ulder, these are allies of our Sun King, so I require your best.”

The big Tavern keeper nodded and extended a meaty hand to be shook. “Beer or Wine, Travis Murray?”

“Beer,” Murray quickly replied.

“I have a roast peccary ready for carving, fresh bread my wife baked this morning and honey.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Travis assured him. He nodded and ambled back into the in, gesturing the boys in with him. The group settled at the table, the Nobleman taking the head of it at Travis' insistence after some polite and false declining. Two of the boys returned, carrying a pitcher and large bowl and towels along with two teenage girls who were obviously related to them, one carrying a keg on a small cart and the other a tray of wooden tankards.

The Noonman held his hands over the bowl, which the boy with the pitcher poured a slightly red tinted water with pedals in it over his hands, which he then dried on the towel. The ritual when down the table as the girls presented each with a tankard of warm beer from the cask after. It was a thick beverage with a strong hops bite and almost no head and considerably flatter than Travis would have liked, but was generous with his praise anyway. After the group raised their tankards to the Magistrate, his glaze lingered on the Striders by the fence. “I would say you will reach Meridian day after tomorrow with a good foot under you, but...” he paused and took another sip of his beer. “I've seen how fast Striders can run. If you can make them run the whole way you'll be there the first hour past night fall.”

“That's good news,” Travis replied. “Time seems to be of the essence.”

Hadim sighed gravely. “It was hoped we could get the secret of taming the machines from the Shadow Carja. But every one we've captured died under the question without revealing it.” He let a dramatic pause fall. “Though I see you have it out of them.”

“None of them we have fought would be taken alive,” Buck rumbled in a voice that was only just not a threat.

“Though you have the secret none the less,” he continued. “As a magistrate of your Ally, I can promise you considerable wealth for it to be...shared.”

Travis noted the hanging danger of the nobleman's tone and carefully kept his own light. “It is a shame we do not know it ourselves,” he declared blithely. “I have always wanted to be wealthy, but alas, no one of our people who know the secret can leave our fortress. These we have obey us, and us alone, but if they are destroyed I have no way to replace them. Thus was the will of my Chief.”

A sly smile fluttered across Hadim's face. “A wise leader.”

“The greatest among us,” Murray agreed. He leaned back so that a wooden plate with a generous pile of sliced meat, a thick slice of bread and a compote or chutney of fruits and what looked like barley in a thick, sweet smelling sauce of some kind could be set on the table before him. “We are grateful for your generosity and hospitality, Noonman, I will remember it to your King when I see him.”

Several expressions played across the nobleman's face until his smile became a bit more genuine and a fair bit less scheming. “I would be in your debt for the kindness.”

“Out of curiosity, Valorous Hadim,” Olara asked softly. “We follow another Nora Brave who made us aware of the Sun King's plight. The Seeker Aloy, have you news of her?”

The Noonman thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Seeker? Aloy? I'm afraid these words mean nothing to me. You are first Nora I've seen in some time.”

“She would stand out in your memory,” Yan assured him. “Flame red hair and she also rode a Strider.”

“That I have heard of,” Hadim admitted. “Though not with my own eyes. A pair of Oseram traders came down the Greatrun yesterday from their settlement Free Heap, with tales of a Nora Brave with red hair on a Strider. They saw her going north.” He spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “They were well into their tankards when I heard the tale and dismissed it.”

“Free Heap?” asked Travis.

Hadim nodded sagely. “It's a freehold of the Oseram north of here, technically on the Carja side of the border we share with The Claim, but the Sun King is content to indulge them after their help in over throwing his father.”

Travis swallowed his current mouthful of the surprisingly succulent roast and asked, “Noonman, if I showed you a map of the land, could you show me where this Free Heap is?” The Carja nobleman pondered for a moment, then shrugged.

“It would depend on the nature of the map,” he finally declared. “I've dealt with my share of bad ones, but show me yours and I'll see.”

Murray thought for a moment, giving a quick glance around the table, then reached up to his temple. “Magistrate, what I'm about to show you will likely be startling, but you have my word you are in no danger.” The other man frowned.

“What kind of map would make me fear for my life?”

Travis shrugged and touched his Focus. “This kind.” It projected a holographic terrain map of the area, hovering over the table and it's food with ghostly mountains and miniature rivers and valleys. Hadim started and actually leapt to his feet in shock.

“By the Sun!” he swore, his eyes wide as he looked from the Hologram to Travis and back. “What sorcery is this?”

“It's not magic,” Travis told him, making a point to move his hand through the light. “It's just an image...a...a drawing, projected with light. It cannot hurt you.”

Hadim leaned down to better see the image, amazement and curiosity over taking his start. “Like the lights of the Ancients,” he whispered, hesitantly reaching up and putting his own hand in the light and looking at it as if for some change. Looking back up at Travis, he asked, “How can you do this?”

Travis sighed and shook his head. “That isn't a question whose answer you would believe, nor can I, who can use the device, but not make it, explain it fully. Think of it as a drawing, in light but with depth as well as width and height.”

“As if seen from some height above,” Hadim finished, his mind moving quickly. “I recognize these symbols, they're the script of the Ancients. You can read these?” The Magistrate took in Travis' nod with a rub of his chin, then he turned to take a harder look at the image. “Here is the Carja Road, and the Greatrun river, but I don't see Lone Light, or Meridian.”

Travis nodded. “The information that drew this map is very old, made long before Lone Light or Meridian was built. But, here,” and he pointed at the spot where Interstate Seventy crossed the River. “Here is where Lone Light stands now. You said Free Heap was north, up the river?”

The Noonman reached out and pointed with his finger. “About here, I think. It's hard to judge the distance on this...image.”

“That's just south of Kings Peak,” Buck rumbled, and Doc nodded.

“Aloy is headed to Zero Dawn directly,” she added. Travis laid a pin on the image where the town was supposedly and dismissed the hologram.

“I apologize for startlingly you, Noonman Hadim,” Murray assured him.

“Who...who are you people?” the Nobleman asked. “Really?”

“Friends,” Doc assured him. “Friends of your King and your people.”

“Praise the Sun,” he whispered to himself.

* * *

With as little pomp and ceremony as the group could leave Lone Light they did so, trotting up the road that led to Meridian. This was a new road, only just wide enough for two Striders abreast and made of brick that made for a somewhat jolting journey. An hour's canter took Lone Light out of sight and Travis raised his hand to call a halt, then turned Twenty One Twenty One to face his team. “Alright, guys now we decide which way we're actually going. Do we continue up this road to Meridian?”

Olara laid her arms on the Striders neck and leaned on them. “If Aloy is going north, there must be a reason. We were going to Meridian to try and catch her, but she's not even going there.”

Yan, for once, nodded thoughtfully and his tone was polite. “We should probably go after Aloy. I have no great love of Carja, nor am I here for them.”

“The message Travis and I saw,” Nakoa told the other Braves, “told her to go North to seek something called the Master Over Ride. That that would lay the Metal Devil Hades low.”

Buck nodded at Olara and locked eyes with Travis. “I agree with the Nora, Boss. The best help we can give the Sun King is to help Aloy. Let's head North.”

Travis sighed again and sought Tracy's eyes. “Doc? You want to make it unanimous?”

“You're in charge, Colonel,” she replied quickly. “But if you want my opinion? Yes, I think we should go North.”

“North it is then,” Travis declared gravely. He got his Strider pointed in the right direction and brought it up to a canter. “Let's ride hard,” he shouted over his shoulder. “See if we can make up some distance, then we'll camp.” With that, Twenty One Twenty One tossed its head thundered down the valley into a full gallop.

* * *

The Doomsday Protocol Part 5

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Doomsday Protocol

A Horizon Fan Fiction

E. E. Nalley

March 15^th , 3040

Travis carefully picked up the canteen cup he'd had by the fire to set into the sand next to it so he could have both hands to open the little pack of freeze dried powder and spoon a judicious amount into the steaming water. It was a 'three in one' mixture the chief dietitian had come up with that proved shelf stable thanks to his packaging and storage, 'coffee' powder along with sugar and a 'creamer' that had no dairy elements to go rancid. It gave the coffee a somewhat artificial flavor, but it was close enough, and hot enough this early in the morning to go unnoticed.

Nakoa handed him the canteen cup they'd scrounged for her and poured half the mixture into her cup and returned it to her, then stood and looked up to admire the amazing star field over head. “This view never gets old,” he whispered after his first sip of the welcome brew to get his thoughts moving. The Nora brave smiled at him as she held her cup in both hands for the warmth.

She looked up and tried to imagine what it was like for him, then shook her head. “I can't imagine a place being so bright so that the stars are dimmed,” she told him. Cocking her head, she pointed off to the southwest. “Look at that.”

He turned to find a dim, reddish yellow glow on the horizon. “What in the world could that be?” he muttered to himself. “There's no smoke, it can't be a brush fire..” The bad lands of what had been Utah were considerably greener than they had been in his day, thanks to unaltered watersheds. With no cities to divert the streams for water, the 'desert' was merely empty and somewhat arid. “Isn't that where Meridian is?” he asked her and she nodded.

“Can a human dwelling be so bright?” she wondered aloud.

He shrugged his own ignorance. “The bakers should be getting up, guards and watchmen changing shift, maybe...” he trailed off. “Not knowing how big the city is, it's impossible to say.” She leaned against him and took a long sip of her coffee.

“I shall be glad when this adventure is over,” she declared softly. “I have been traveling for almost two years, but our night together in your office makes me think of nice things.” She looked up at him, curiosity on her face. “Will we always live in the mountain?”

Travis shook his head and took a sip himself, gazing off in the direction of Fort Carson. “No, the plan was to make a village out side the mountain. Something defensible, in case it was needed, and be able to retreat into the mountain if pressed.”

“I like that,” she whispered.

He picked out the faintest beginnings of dawn over the Rockies to the East. “It will be dawn soon.”

“Yes,” she declared with a little bitterness. “I hate that our only time alone is standing watch.”

“Why?”

She looked up at his innocent question and arched an eyebrow at him. Even in the predawn gloom she could see his blush. “That's why,” she told him salaciously. “I've dreamed of our nights together. It's not every day a woman finds a man who is such a gifted lover.”

He chuckled darkly. “Now I'll never get my ego back in it's box.”

She laughed and playfully grabbed his crotch. “As skilled as you are with this weapon, you'd be forgiven a fair amount of swagger. I've never met a warrior as skilled andhumble as you.”

He shrugged as he drank his coffee and allowed himself a little smile. “Professionals do,” he declared, “The insecure brag.” That caused her to stand on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. Her breath smelled of coffee and lust.

“You certainlydo,” she whispered.

“That's what she said,” he chuckled, turning his head to check on the Striders. They were finishing their grazing and ambling over, preparing for the coming day. Following his gaze, she reached up and patted the face of her own mount with some affection.

“Could we decorate them, do you suppose?”

“Once we're home?” he asked and shrugged. “I don't see why not.” The Strider gave it's electronic whinny as if adding it's thoughts to the discussion. “I think I'm going to rename Twenty One. In fact, Twenty One Twenty One your new designation is Black Jack.” The machine gave an exaggerated equine nod to acknowledge the order.

“Black Jack?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

“It was a card game in my time. The object of the game was to get as close to twenty one without going over as possible.”

“Ah.” She took another sip of the coffee and sighed in contentment. “Perhaps you can teach me some time.” She sighed again and became serious, reaching up to touch her Focus and a map appeared between them. “How long do you think before we get to this King's Peak?”

“Hard to say for sure,” he hedged as he indicated their position on the hologram. “We're about here. We made good time yesterday after leaving Lone Light, I'd guess about sixty miles.”

“A day and a half's walk in four hours?” she asked, amazed. “I knew the Striders were fast, but...” He winked at her.

“The speed limit on I70, the Carja road? Was seventy miles an hour.”

Her eyes opened in shock. “Those metal carts we passed could go so fast?”

“When the road was well maintained? Yes. Considerably faster, actually, but seventy was the limit. Now, I'd never try to take anything other than something with tracks or a reallyrugged four by four anywhere near that speed.”

She shook her head in amazement, then was all seriousness again as she looked at the map. “How long is this distance remaining then?”

“About another sixty miles, give or take.”

“So, we should arrive by lunch time.”

“Hard riding? Yes,” he agreed. “You up for another half day of gallop?”

She turned off her Focus and looked east as the horizon began to brighten and the first rays of the new day lit up her face. Once more, Travis was struck by how someone could look so young and innocent, and yet so hardened and determined. Her eyes returned to him and narrowed just a bit. “Lets start on breakfast so we can rouse them,” she declared. “The sooner this is done, the sooner I can do more than sleep with you.”

“You are incorrigible,” he accused, and she smiled an impish smile back.

“And you are not complaining, are you?” She smirked at his silence as she reached down to begin removing the meal kit from their gear. “I thought not. After all, I have a new dance to learn.”

Travis took a calming gulp of his coffee and sighed. “I am going to die a very happy man,” he told himself.

* * *

After breakfast, the party set out at a trot, letting the sun rise to give better illumination to their wilderness. Then, once the land could be better seen, the Striders began to gallop, thundering through the wilderness with surprising grace and speed. By mid morning, tired and a bit sore they forded Antelope Creek and paused to refill the water bottles to be boiled later when they made camp. To their surprise, the Striders actually 'drank' from the stream, likely to give fluid to the process by which they were fermenting the grass they'd 'eaten' into blaze. The water was quite clear, but even this far from anything that had been, there were rusting Chariot robots of the Faro Swarm.

The cold mountain runoff cooled everyone as the sun was arching high and the heat of the bad lands was beginning to mount. They didn't tarry long, but once humans were refreshed and water bottles filled, the set off again as quickly as could be tolerated in hopes of catching the mysterious Seeker, Aloy.

They passed over what had been the Unitah Reservation, and began to climb out of the badlands and into the now much greener Ashley National Forest. It was here they got their first taste of what had occurred twenty years before. The trees were all new growth, coming up around the fallen logs of their fore bares, all pointing like dead fingers to Kings Peak and a fusion reactor explosion like a modern day Tunguska. “What happened here?” Yan whispered in amazement as their pace was slowed, picking through the felled forest.

“The Goddess told us in her message she destroyed herself,” Nakoa told him as they were forced to slow through a particularly dense thicket.

“A fusion explosion,” Buck rumbled, looking back over at Doc. “Should we be worried about radiation?”

“I wouldn't have wanted to be standing here when Gaia checked herself out,” Doc replied, “but no. I'm not sure how she managed to get a fusion reactor to overload and explode, but other than the initial blast, all that's released is helium. There are small amounts of Tritium, but it's only a beta emitter and has a short half life. You'll get more radiation from eating a banana.”

The crested a ridge and stopped in shock.

“Mother of God,” whispered Buck. The entire peak of the mountainside was gone, leaving a massive crater with the skeletal remains of catwalks, reinforcement and wrecked machinery. It was obvious something had been inside the mountain, but large amounts of it were scattered about the crater and there were even doors and hallways opening out into the void that had been underground but where now exposed to the air.

“By the Goddess,” Olara answered, then pointed off to one side. “Look! Is that...?”

“It's a Stormbird carcass!” Yan affirmed. Without waiting for leave, he kicked his Strider into motion and led the group over to the robot. It was a massive thing, something like fifty feet from wing tip to wing tip, with three small jet thrusters on each wing vaguely shaped like feathers. In appearance, it seemed to have been designed after a massive bird of prey, like an eagle, but taken to strange extremes. It's height was hard to guess as it's legs and body were crushed under it from when it had crashed, but twenty five feet high likely wasn't a bad guess.

There were arrows sticking out of the carcass.

“Someone fought this thing?” demanded Doc.

Nakoa slipped off her Strider and pulled an arrow loose from the damaged machine to examine the fletching. “Aloy,” she declared confidently.

“She didn't just fight it,” Olara declared from where she was squatting looking at the ground. “She won. Her tracks go that way, towards the crater.”

Travis touched his Focus as he swung a leg over his Strider and dismounted. “ENID?”

The bust of the AI's avatar appeared in the air next to him. “Good morning, Colonel. How may I assist you?”

“We're at the Kings Peak facility,” he said as he walked over to the downed robot's head and began to examine it. “Would you connect me with Ian, please? I think he'll want to see this.”

“Certainly. I'll connect you now.”

The avatar vanished to be replaced by the company's computer genius. “Hey Colonel! Whoa! What's that?” he demanded, his bust expanding into to a full body hologram for tele-presence.

“The Nora call it a Stormbird,” Travis told him. “I thought you might want it's brain?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?” the other shot back. He bent over the carcass, actually stepping into the the debris for a better look at the head. “Yes! There's an access panel here.” Travis got out his multi-tool and with a bit of cursing under his breath, got the damaged cover off, revealing the brain within. He released some kind of shock absorbing assembly that held the robot brain in place and removed it. It seemed completely intact.

“You want me to strap this to the drone and send it back to you?”

“No need,” Ian assured him, walking with the bigger man over to the pack Strider that had the rotor drone strapped to it. “I figured we might get lucky like this, so I wired in a connector on the drone. It's under this access panel. Just plug the brain in and I'll download it through the Focus Network.”

Travis got the cover open and removed a cable stored within it which plugged neatly into the robot's brain. A few lights on the device lit up and a hologram assured him the brain was being down loaded. “I'm not sure I want you to test your over ride like you did on the Striders,” he told Ian. “I'd rather be there in case something goes wrong.”

“We've only got so many drones,” Ian replied. “Or the capacity to make more. A flock of these Stormbirds could help.”

“The Nora are amazed Aloy brought this thing down, Ian,” Travis told him quietly. “I don't know if you get the scale of this thing. It's big. Like the size of a light plane big. And it's armed.”

“Understood, Colonel. Once I have it checked, I'll run some simulations with ENID and we'll have a conference call with Frank and decide.” Travis nodded grimly, steeling himself it was Frank's call, not his. “Ok, I've got it. Put it aside and bring it with you, I'd like to study it when you get back.”

“Will do.” Ian's image winked out, to be replaced by ENID's avatar.

“One moment, Colonel. I wanted to make you aware I am detecting residual power readings from the King's Peak wreck.”

Travis' face pulled into a frown. “Power?” he demanded.

“It would seem the emergency power systems in several isolated pockets are still functioning,” the program told him. “It is likely there are data centers still with power and containing usable information.”

“I'll keep an eye out,” he assured her, then clicked the Focus off and followed Olara from her tracking of Aloy's trail.

Nakoa raised a hand to touch his arm and pointed. “Look.” He followed her gesture to find a dubious looking wooden scaffold system had been erected along side the open cliff face to get access to some of the exposed rooms and corridors.

“Aloy didn't build those,” he muttered. “Someone is in here looting. Maybe a lotof someones.” He unslung the rifle into a patrol carry and checked that it was loaded. “Eyes on a swivel,” he ordered, seeing Buck and Doc copy him. “Somebody built that, and they may not be friendly.”

* * *

Cautiously, the group followed Aloy's tracks towards the crater and the improvised scaffold. It was a rough thing, downed trees, stripped of limbs, lashed together. There was none of the Carja talent evident here, it was, in fact, even more crude than the Nora dwellings he'd seen in the Embrace. They reached a rope ladder with slats made of arm thick branches, probably hacked from the structural members that made the scaffold and there was fresh mud on them. Olara stood and faced Travis somberly. “She went up here,” she declared. “Do we follow?”

Travis looked up, but the scaffold was piled with a mishmash of, chests and boxes of supplies, along with stretched animal hides hung between the poles to provide shelter and plenty of places for ambush. “I'll go first,” he declared, but a heavy hand fell on his shoulder that when he turned to face it, found it attached to Buck.

“No, sir,” Buck informed him with the certainty of a mountain. “We need you, Colonel. You're the best military mind of our group and we're in a quagmire of warlords and strong men. I'm just a grunt. I'll go first.”

“Buck...”

The big man's face split into his toothy grin. “Boss, you already got me for insubordination. Don't make roughing up my supervisor part of it.” The grip on his shoulder tightened, stopping short of pain, but it's threat was apparent. Travis allowed himself to be gently pushed aside and Buck slung his rifle over his shoulders and took out his pistol. As he went to step onto the ladder, Olara collected a handful of his shirt and used it to leverage herself up into his face where she laid a kiss that would make a porn star blush.

“Don't be stupid!” she commanded.

Buck smiled and winked at her. “Too late for that,” he quipped then with surprising agility for his bulk, ascended the ladder like a cat. “Clear,” he called softly and this time, no one made the mistake of coming between Travis and the ladder.

The two men crept forward, pistols at the ready as the rest of the party advanced behind them. All were relieved the scaffold seemed stronger than it had looked until at last they came into an anteroom whose door had been forced open. Here were more primitive tools and cached supplies and at the back of the room, a blast door that stood open. “Come into my parlor,” muttered Doc from the rear of the group. Buck walked over and knelt beside the blast door.

“That's interesting,” Buck rumbled from his examination of the door.

“What did you find?” asked Travis.

The big man pointed out discolorations and scratches on the seam of the blast door. “Somebody wanted in here pretty bad. And for a longtime. Some of these scratches have rust in them where the coating was damaged. But look at the diagnostic on the holo lock. Somebody with permission opened the door.”

“The Goddess told Aloy she would be allowed entry,” Nakoa thought aloud.

“Let's see if we can catch up,” Travis said with an encouraging clap on Buck's shoulder. The proceeded in, their way lit by ghostly, static filled holograms, their own Focus's and the lights mounted to Buck and Travis' pistols.

“Look,” Olara declared, pointing at the dust on the floor and a pair of foot prints visible in them. “Aloy has been through here. That's a Nora boot print.”

Travis grinned up at Buck. “Lead the way, big guy.”

The tracks went deeper into the complex, sometimes back out into the cavernous crater to get around obstructions by climbing over the rock face, but with very little back tracking on the Seeker's part. Until, at last, they came to a dark room, filled with a large, circular table and chairs, with ghostly holograms on the places that lit up the mummified remains of seven bodies in or around eight chairs. “What in God's Name happened here?” demanded Doc, a horrified expression on her face.

She walked forward and kneeled down to look at one of the mummies that was on the floor. The body was desiccated, but there was still skin and hair on the remains and it...his...clothing was still mostly intact. “Doc?”

“I...I don't understand,” the medic replied. “Sure, it's cold up here, but these bodies shouldn't have mummified. The bacteria in the air...unless.” She looked up and pointed at the control on the conference table. “The meeting recorder still has power. See if there's a play back.”

Buck approached the console, which was thankfully at the chair that was empty. He touched it and suddenly the holograms of living people were superimposed over the mummies. One, a man with a British accent was fighting with his controls at the table. “I'm locked out of Core Control,” he declared, worry in his voice. “Alpha clearance overridden.” He looked up, his confusion apparent. “What the hell is Omega Clearance?”

Next to him, a dark complected woman in a hijab looked up and face went pale. “Oh, no,” she whispered, then, in the center of the table, a new hologram appeared. He was a tall, trim man with close brown hair somewhere between thirty five and forty five; the very image of the late Twenty First Century Corporate Billionaire.

“Ted Faro,” hissed Buck.

“Alpha Personnel,” Faro greeted, an odd hesitance in his otherwise movie star baritone voice. “Sorry to alarm you, but I need you to listen, ok? To what I'm about to say.” He paused and his manner became that of a child, admitting to some transgression with his hands clasped before him. “This isn't easy. See, I've, uh...”

From his chair, the Brit petulantly continued to try and access his panel and the denial beeps finally drew Ted's attention. “Please, stop trying to access the system, okay?” He took a deep breath and began again. “See, what this is about, is...” The Brit continued his tapping at the keys and Faro whirled on him, striding across the table, angry. “I said, stop trying to access the goddamn system!”

The people at the table glanced at each other, nervously. Ted rubbed his hands together and continued. “What I'm trying to say is, I can't stop thinking about the ones who'll come after us. Those innocents! Those blameless men....and, and women...!” His manner became incredulous. “We're going to give them knowledge? Like it's a gift?!”

The woman in the hijab shook her head and her voice showed this was an old argument. “Ted, Ted, we've talked about this before...! APOLLO has three thousand plus fail safe conditions...!”

She bit off her retort at his angry gesture. “It's not a 'gift' it's a disease! They're the cure and we're going to give them the disease? Our disease?!” He shook his head. “No. We can't. And it's not too late! If...if we're willing to sacrifice...”

Her voice became more stern, but also pleading, as if something she feared was coming true right before her eyes. “Ted, it's doesn't need to be like this...”

Faro's face became stern. Now he was back on familiar ground, back in control. “It already is, Samina,” he declared, walking over to her. “I did it three minutes ago. I've purged APOLLO, it's gone! All of it! Every copy!”

Samina wailed and buried her face in her hands as if Ted had just announced he'd murdered her child. The Brit leapt to his feet, enraged himself. “A sacrifice?” he shouted. “That's not a sacrifice! That's cultural obliteration, you crazy bastard! Millennia of culture, history...!”

Ted was dismissive as two of the others stood and tried to comfort Samina who was inconsolable, shaking and wailing with her grief. “I'm sorry,” the billionaire declared blithely. “I really am. But...sometimes...to protect innocents...innocents have...to...die...”

An alarm blared in the recording as an AI declared, “Emergency alert. Venting atmosphere.” The clothing on the people in the chairs whipped as a small hurricane sucked the air from the room. They grasped at their throats, eyes, bulging, as Ted Faro paced in holographic form, watching them die. The holograms collapsed to cover the mummies in the forms they still sat or lay in and, with a final shake of his head, as if he had not just murdered seven people, the hologram of Ted Faro vanished and the recording ended.

“That...bastard...” hissed Doc.

Olara blinked, confused by what she'd seen and turned to face Travis. “I...I don't understand. What is APOLLO? What did I just see?”

Travis took a deep breath to master his own anger at a thousand year old atrocity. “I can't be sure, but APOLLO seems to have been a...collection...the collected history and knowledge of humanity. It's what your forebears were supposed to be taught and weren't. Why we are so far advanced of you. He...Ted...erased it.”

Bucks fist fell like a gun shot on the table in outrage. “All to hide his crimes! That He was the reason humanity almost went extinct!”

Nakoa looked around the room, and then back up at Travis. “But, where is Aloy?”

* * *

Travis and Buck sat around the small fire they'd built to boil the water taken from Antelope Creek and warm up their rations for lunch. Olara had been able to track Aloy's footsteps back out of the room by another door and eventually, back to the scaffold outside. A closer look at the room with the blast door showed she had lingered at a work bench in it for some time based on the overlapping foot prints, then left.

The tracks intersected the hoof prints of a Strider and stopped, the Strider moving away to the south. They had missed her again.

Nakoa and Olara had wanted to give chase, but Travis had halted them. As they waited, he had carefully gone to the edge of the crater at a high point. Using his binoculars Travis found she was already out of sight. More to the point, the Striders were giving warnings they had used most of their blaze in the gallop here and needed to refuel. Loss of the Striders would make for a dangerous survival situation, so they were turned out to graze. Survival also dictated the humans would need energy and water. That meant a meal and a fire was needed to purify the water. So the two men worked, one, keeping an eye on the open stainless steel bottles where the water was just starting to boil while the other was seasoning steaks cut off the carcass of a small wild pig Olara had taken from the forest and quickly butchered.

“I do not understand this delay,” Yan groused as he busied himself chopping up some greens Buck had gathered along the way for a seasoning. “Shouldn't we go quickly?”

“We don't need to chase her,” Travis told him from watching the stopwatch timer app his Focus was running for him. “We know where she's going.” With a stick he'd carved a notch into he picked up the carry wire of the first bottle and moved it away from the fire. “We tried to catch up to her here, to assist with getting the Master Over Ride, which evidently she acquired on her own.”

Buck laid the steaks on a little foldable grill screen he'd had in his kit and they began to sizzle nicely. “Yep, she's headed to Meridian. Which gives us time to wonder how the hell we're going to take on a Horus.”

Nakoa joined them at the fire and sank down next to Travis. “Do we know it is a Horus?”

“No,” Buck admitted. “But, do you want to bet on those odds the way our luck is running?”

“I am more interested in knowing who was scavenging this place,” Olara declared as she joined the group around the fire. “Aloy couldn't have built anything this extensive so quickly.”

Buck chuckled darkly. “Whoever they were, they spent a lot of time trying to get past that blast door. The question there, is why?”

“Isn't that obvious?” Yan asked. “There is a great deal of metal here...”

“Yes,” Buck agreed. “Funny how none of it is boxed up in all those chests, nothing piled up for shipment, no signs of carts coming or going. For a salvage operation, there ain't a lot of salvage going on.”

Olara cocked her head to one side. “What are you getting at?” The big man shrugged his broad shoulders expressively.

“Dunno that I have a point,” he hedged. “Just observing. So, if they weren't after metal or other salvage, what were they after?”

Travis took another bottle off the fire and carefully set it on a rock to cool. “This was Gaia Prime, the central core of the terraforming effort,” he thought aloud to himself. “Is it possible someone besides us knows that?”

“What do you mean?” demanded Doc.

The Colonel took the final bottle out of the fire and put it with the others. “Think about it,” he encouraged her. Imagine you've grown up here. There's people, other tribes, but still human. There's animals, and they're like people. They bleed, they're made of meat and so on. Then there's machines. What are they? They're not like people, and they act like animals, but they're not. They're made of the same things in these ruins that are everywhere. Where did they come from? Was someone here before? So you start looking and digging. There are things that are sized and shaped for humans, but they're in the ruins. Why are they ruins? Why don't we live in the ruins any more? What happened?”

“The Matriarchs told us the Chant of the Proving,” Olara replied. “We knew what happened. Or, we thought we did.”

“Sure,” Travis agreed. “Lots of people, maybe most would take that and be satisfied. But we've all known somebody who just had to figure it out for themselves, right?” He looked up and the faces around him that were nodding. “I think Buck is onto something. Whoever built this scaffold, they want to know. And it's likely eating them up they couldn't get in here.”

Yan loudly hocked something up from his throat and spat out into the grass. “So, where is this mad scholar? Where's he gone? Did Aloy kill him?”

“No body,” Nakoa replied quickly.

“Nothing in the tracks to indicate a struggle,” Olara added. “Just Aloy entering and finding her way to that...tomb...and back out. Looking at the things, I would say no one has been here for a while.”

“People that want into a door that badly don't just give up,” Doc mused.

“Someone freed HADES,” Travis said darkly. “Someone put together that Focus network ENID found. And now the Shadow Carja are marching on Meridian.”

“You think this was their base?” Yan asked.

Travis shrugged. “It's a theory that fits the facts. Doesn't make it what happened, just an educated guess. Still, we probably should get to Meridian quickly.”

* * *

By mid afternoon, the Striders reported their tanks replenished, the humans had eaten and the water bottles cooled in a small snow melt stream while sealed so the water was actually cold. They followed this stream, picking their way back down the little range around King's Peak and the blasted forest, until the stream emptied into a larger river. At a trot, they found a path that ran the right direction beside the river and followed it until they came around a bend to behold a settlement on the bank of the River, nestled up against the first hills of the range.

There was a water wheel in the river, out side of a ramshackle wall of both wood and stone. Smoke billowed up in the sky from several sources and there was a hot, metallic smell on the air from the place. Not long after they rounded the corner, a bell began to ring and suddenly there were men on the walls, all looking at them.

The gates, which had stood open, where shut and an arrow whizzed into the dirt ten feet in front of the party. Travis stood up on Black Jack as well as he could and shouted, “Hold your fire! We're friends!”

“You have no friends here, Shadow Carja!” someone shouted back.

“We are not Shadow Carja! We come in peace, to the aid of the Sun King! We have safe passage!” Travis and Nakoa exchanged a glance as the people on the wall had an impromptu conference. “Free Heap?” he asked her.

Nakoa shrugged her ignorance. “It would seem so.”

Finally a strident, and strangely enough, female voice shouted from the wall. “If you're not Shadow Carja, who are you?”

Murray let Black Jack go forward a few steps to judge the reaction, and when no further arrows were forth coming, let him get to a more conversational distance, gesturing for the rest of the group to stay out of bow shot. Now he could see a short, zaftig woman with an ample bosom set on display by the leather corset she was wearing peering down at him. She had black hair that was peaking out from under a brown bandanna and a wide, honest face that put him in mind of some of the House Frau he'd seen at a posting in Germany in his youth. Her previously pale skin was deeply tanned under the Carja sun which gave her a dusty appearance. “My name is Travis Murray. My...tribe...are called AmSci. We live over the mountains to the east.”

“Petra Forgewoman,” the brunette replied, propping her arms on the wall to lay her chin on as she looked down. This showed she was wearing thick leather gloves that had metal attached to the gauntlets that ran up to her elbows. “I am Oseram and First Woman of this Oseram freehold; Free Heap. How do you ride machines like a Shadow Carja, Travis Murray of the AmSci?”

“My tribe is very skilled with dealing with machines,” he replied. “But we're not in any way allied with the Shadow Carja. My party are riding to Meridian to aid the Sun King.”

“I see Nora riding with you,” Petra replied. “Do you know the Seeker Aloy?”

“We've been chasing her for several days, trying to catch up to give her help,” Travis admitted, and saw her smile when he used Aloy's sex which she'd deliberately withheld.

“She came through here two days ago,” Petra admitted. “Told us about the Sun King's dilemma. I have a deal for you, AmSci. Come inside and I'll tell you.” She paused, then added, “You swear the Peace?”

“My people and I will only defend ourselves. We're not looking for trouble.”

Her grin returned and she gestured to the gate while her followers on the wall relaxed their weapons. “Come in and be welcome and we'll haggle.” Travis waved to his group and they joined him as the gate was unbarred` and thrown open. Petra came striding out, a grin across her wide face. She had the fullest of full figures, but how much was muscle was hard to judge. She walked right up to Travis as he swung off Black Jack and extended a beefy hand to be shook. “Well met, Travis Murray.”

“Pleased to meet you, Petra,” the Colonel replied. “We weren't looking to stop, just passing through.”

“Stay a while, and I'll fill your purse with Shards,” she promised him.

Travis sighed. “I don't know how the machines are pacified, so I can't sell that knowledge to you.” She tisked through her teeth and made a dismissive gesture.

“Fire and forge, son, I wasn't made yesterday!” she declared with another of her frequent grins. “Ask a smith to give up the biggest secret ever? Fools forgings! I'm a tinker myself, so I know better! But what I need is help getting my cannons to Meridian.”

“Cannons?”

The big woman nodded. “Six of 'em,” she told him. “All ordered by the Sun King himself. You hitch your Striders to my Cannon and pull them and I'll pay you well. Say, five hundred shards?” Travis had a gut feeling and decided to go with it.

“Six Striders, six cannon, seems to me six hundred should be the price.” Petra's grin went wider.

“Five fifty!”

“Five eighty,” Travis shot back.

“Five seventy!”

Travis made a point of rubbing his chin. “I suppose the Sun King would appreciate his weapons sooner rather than later. Five seventy five?” Petra pulled the glove off her right hand and spat into it.

“You drive a hard one, big man. Say, you aren't somebody's husband are you?”

Nakoa brought her Strider along side Black Jack. “No ideas, Oseram! Seal your trade then keep your hands off my man.”

Petra turned to look up at the Nora and back at Travis. “Like 'em skinny, do you? Ya don't know what you're missing, AmSci, but no sense upsetting your Nora! Deal?”

Murray spat into his palm and shook Petra's hand. “Deal.”

The Forgewoman turned and hollered at the gate. “Kaeluf , get out here and measure up these Striders so we can make a hitch!” She turned back to Nakoa and noted the blaze bombs on her harness. She took what looked like an industrial sling shot from her belt and held it up. “Peace, Nora? No hard feelings about your man?”

Nakoa took the slingshot with obvious delight. “Peace, Oseram. Even still, an Oseram Blast Sling is an expensive gift for so small a slight. What price will set us square?”

Petra's grin was earthy. “Nothing you'd be willing to part with,” she said with a wink in Travis' direction. “Call it a wedding present and if you tire of him, your word to send him my way.”

“Done,” Nakoa agreed, holding out her hand flat with her palm up. Petra slapped it softly as Travis cleared his throat.

“Do I get a say in this, ladies?”

The two women turned to him and in chorus declared, “No.”

“Tough luck, boss,” Buck chuckled, until Olara slapped his shoulder.

“Mind your own,” she told him, causing everyone to laugh at the shocked look on his face.

* * *

It was interesting to compare the differences to these Oseram and the wayward rapist they had encountered their first day in freeing Nakoa. The people were all quick to get working, dressed in leather aprons and what looked like loom woven textiles with remarkably tight weaves. They seemed friendly enough, even as they quickly set about connecting the Striders to the cannon. Petra even had a tray of ale brought out and passed around the party. While a noticeable improvement over the Carja Beer, and markedly larger heads, it was still warm and flatter than either Travis or Buck would have liked.

The cannon were wheeled out on wooden carriages but unlike nineteenth century muzzle loaders, these were mounted to the carriage by a complex pintle arrangement, that immediately caught Travis' eye. That he went right to it was not lost on Petra. “Are you a tinkerer, Travis?” she asked as he looked over the arrangement.

“A soldier by trade,” he replied as he worked out the latch and tested the range of motion, finding it impressive. “What do they fire?”

The smith woman opened a chest hard mounted to the carriage and lifted out something she handed to him. “Thunderjaw teeth,” she declared proudly. “Took forever to figure out what set them off, finally figured out...”

“They're electrically detonated,” he finished.

Her eyes narrowed. “You're a quick study for a soldier,” she accused. “Once I got the Sparker going, the rest fell into place.”

“I'll be dipped in shit!” Buck exclaimed when he saw what was in Travis' hands. “That's a twenty millimeter cannon shell!”

The shell looked like a comically large rifle cartridge, one hundred and two millimeters or slightly larger than four inches long. “You said you got this off a Thunderjaw?” Travis demanded.

“Yes, their mandibular cannon,” she replied. “This can't fire as fast, but, it fires as fast as you can crank the sparker. I was able to trade a Carja scrapper for a pair of them. They were beyond fixing, but, once I worked out how they worked, then it was just a matter of building it.”

Travis nodded. “Seeing something done is halfway to doing it yourself.”

Petra beamed at him. “Say, that's catchy! The crank also works this cog in the feed system and the recoil extracts the spent shell and spits it out the front.”

“This will over heat,” Travis warned her, and this made her clap him on the shoulder with enough force he dropped the shell.

She bent over and picked it up, casually tossing it back into the box. “You're a lot more than a soldier, Travis Murray! I haven't worked out that rotating barrel yet on the Thunderjaw. I can't figure out how it feeds, and the ones I got from the Carja were broken there so I couldn't piece it together.”

“You said the Thunderjaws have this thing?”

“Two,” she corrected him. “One on either side of the chin what that long chain that hangs below feeding them from hoppers on their back. Five thousand shells for each.”

Buck's grin was feral. “Maybe we do have a chance against HADES.”

Travis locked the mount of the canon he'd been admiring and gave a glance to the south. “Depends on if we can get to the party before we're no longer fashionably late.”

The Doomsday Protocol Part 6

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Genre:

Science Fiction

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Doomsday Protocol
A Horizon Fan Fiction
by
E. E. Nalley

March 15th, 3040

Despite Murray's pessimism, the Oseram were skilled and quickly had a simple enough hitch of a pair of arms from the cart leading to a yoke that sat on the neck of the Striders. The rest of the day was spent something between a trot and a walk as the Striders pulled the cannon without complaint over the somewhat rough trail that Petra assured them was the fastest path to Meridian. While they'd made decent enough time, even under load, no one was surprised they didn't reach the city that afternoon.

Still, they'd camped in sight of the canyons and, after the supper was eaten and cleaned up from, there was a glow on the horizon to the south that had the Travis, Doc and Buck thinking of city glows from long ago. In the dark, the electric blue glow of machines could be picked out in the desert, but nothing came close to even make the grazing Striders whinny a challenge. The dangers, to Travis' thoughts were in the camp, but the Oseram had gone to sleep after dinner without any argument about who would watch.

The morning of the fifteenth dawned over cast as a front come down the Wasatch, bringing cooler temperatures and gray skies with it. Travis was a bit loath to leave the warmth of his bed roll and the lithe young Nora brave that was sharing it with him. Buck smiled knowingly at his boss and went back to building the fire a bit before he would turn in for a cat nap until breakfast. “Big day,” Nakoa managed around her yawn and stretch. “I have often wondered if Meridian lives up to the stories told of it.”

Travis helped her to her feet then set about rolling up the bedroll. “I used to think the same about Big Cities,” he told her as he worked. “I was country boy myself. Then I had a brief stint as a staff officer to a general with Force Command. He worked out of New York as it was easy to catch the train down to D.C.”

“D.C.?” she asked as she poured water into their canteen cups to start to heat by the fire.

“The District of Columbia,” he added. “It was the capital of the United States. Army Headquarters was there, among the rest of the administration of our nation.” He got the retention straps around the bedroll and buckled them. “It was actually a pretty small town compared to New York.”

“Where is this New York?”

Travis stood, the bedroll under one arm as he walked over to Black Jack to secure it to the Strider. “Far east of here,” he told her as he came back. He touched his Focus and flipped through the menus to get a map of the United States. “We're about here, and New York was here, at the mouth of the Hudson and East Rivers. Fifteen million people living on an island just thirteen miles long.”

She took the packet of coffee he gave her and judiciously added the powder to both canteen cups. “How could so many people live in so small a space?” she wanted to know. He grinned and flipped through the menus for a holographic picture of the city. “By the goddess,” she swore softly. “How tall are these towers?”

“Hundreds of feet,” he told her, making the picture a bit larger so the detail at their bases could be made out. “Those are people.”

The Brave looked for a long moment, then her face hardened. “I like this Ted Faro less and less,” she muttered darkly as she picked up both cups and offered him his.

“You're in good company there,” he assured her as he dismissed the image and took his first, welcome sip. “In my time, the news outlets took to calling the Swarm the 'Faro Plague', but nobody ever actually said why. I figured it was someone being clever with puns, not that the asshole was literally responsible for the end of the world.”

“Puns?” she asked him with a raised eyebrow. “What pun?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “That's not so easy to explain. Uh, the short version is that in the Bible, the uh, the documented history of my faith, there were a people called Egyptians, who lived thousands of miles from here, across the ocean.” He tapped at his Focus and called up a globe to point on the Nile river. “Here. Long ago, they were ruled by kings who called themselves Pharaohs. In my faith, Pharaoh held God's people hostage and as punishment, God sent plagues against Pharaoh and his people, until he relented and let God's People go.”

She took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “I see.”

He sighed and dismissed the globe from his Focus and let his gaze go up the Milky Way over head and the staggering field of diamonds in black velvet. “Still, there are upsides to the end of the world. This view, I swear, it won't ever get old.” His eyes dropped to hers and he winked at her. “The view down here on Earth is pretty nice, too.” She smiled at him and he couldn't tell if she was blushing or it was just the light from the coals of the fire that turned her face red.

She opened the food satchel and began to lay out the makings of breakfast. “I hope you are well rested and of good appetite,” she told him as she worked. “Tonight we sleep in Meridian and I will have what I've been denied these past days.”

“So determined!” he teased her. “In my day, most women would never be so direct...”

“Yes,” she mused as she dropped a piece of fat from the wild pig that was yesterday's lunch and rolled it about near the fire so it would grease the pan. “But we are not in your day,” she continued thoughtfully. “We are in my day. And I couldn't care less what other women do or say. I've walked the war path for three years. Now I have discovered the delight of womanhood and I mean to enjoy it. I have grieved and avenged my father, now it is time to make him a grandfather.”

She looked up again as she laid the bacon strips from the satchel into the pan and they began to hiss. “With your help, of course.”

Travis smirked and winked at her. “Madam, your obedient servant.”

* * *

Breakfast eaten, the Striders hitched to the wagons again, and the party was off, rumbling down the track. By mid-morning signs of human habitation began to appear. The dirt track under them became an actual road of brick pavers placed over a way widened, leveled and properly drained. The land greened considerably and wild sage grasses and cotton wood trees gave way actual crops, in tended rows with irrigation from the San Rafael river. Without cities diverting it, the river was considerably higher and stronger than anything the Ancients found familiar. In addition, there were patrols of armed men wearing the same uniform they had seen at Daytower and Lone Light.

Even so, everywhere they went, work stopped, patrols came to a halt and every human stared in disbelief as they rode by.

The road began to follow the river and, finally they came around a bend and Meridian came into sight. Now it was the Ancients turn to marvel at what their descendants had accomplished. The city was sprawled across the tops of three mesas, linked, not with rope bridges as the Amsci had expected, but stone arches that leapt from the high desert on one side with gate houses and fortifications to a city of towers and stone fortresses that were likely the envy of the current world.

On the third Mesa, somewhat separate from the other sat a palace in every sense of the word. Copper sheathing on it's roofs gleaming in the mid-morning sun. And below the heights, a second city as august and regal as the one above had been constructed around the foot of the mesas with grand villas and cool gardens sectioned off by stone walls and sturdy gates. Then from these more farm lands followed the foot of the mesa down to the San Rafael River.

There, beyond the other side of the river valley, on top of it's own mesa, a gleaming black tower rose from the desert. It's various panels in triangles as black as midnight totally at odds with the ruddy and gleaming city of the Carja. “Multi-band transmission tower,” Buck muttered as Travis shielded his eyes from the sun to gaze at it.

“Station Minerva, I presume,” he said softly.

“Look!” cried Doc, pointing at the bridges above them. Travis followed her finger to see sturdy wood and metal towers had been erected from this bottom floor up to the bridges and in side these towers, cars could be seen rising or lowering inside them. “Christ almighty, they're elevators!”

Petra's voice was smug in the silence. “The work of my hands,” she boasted. “Mine and my tribe. Nice to see these fuddle fingered Carja haven't gummed up the works.”

“You built those?” demanded Buck. The swarthy Oseram woman was coy.

“I was on the gang that built them,” she clarified. “Not the head engineer, but it was my tweaks to the counter weights that got the cars moving easy.”

Further conversation was impeded by the white glove of a Carja guardsman, with two dozen other soldiers at his back, blocking the road. His voice, a clear and unwavering tenor, rang out his command of, “Halt! State your business.”

Petra hopped off the gun carriage she'd been riding on and managed to cow a guard head and shoulders taller than she was. “Petra Forgewoman, Soldier boy! I'm here with the Sun King's guns so you better get whoever you need to down here with my shards!”

“Wait,” the guard commanded, then withdrew to converse with his cohort which had the effect of the youngest looking guard with the least braid on his uniform being sent off at the run.

“Some things never change,” chuckled Travis to himself. A half of an hour passed and the young guard returned with a tall, lean man whose clothing was immaculate and suggested someone close to, but not the King himself. He was a swarthy fellow with amber eyes that peered out of a clean shaven face. His dark hair was short and going gray at the temples, but the serious expression on his face gave little doubt he was a man of considerable influence. Like just about everyone the Ancients had met, he wore some machine parts as part of his clothing, though in his case it was limited to a white metal plate he wore on his forehead by string around his head like a metallic third eye. He was wearing a white linen shirt under a blue and gold silk bolero style jacket over billowed pants that matched the jacket. The dyes were dark, bold and uniform in color, unlike the Nora's clothing, and even better than those of the Oseram. His outfit was completed by comfortable looking shoes that were not in any way up to the task of protecting his feet anywhere beyond a city street. Or a palace floor.

“Thank you, Captain,” he greeted in a well modulated baritone, the amber eyes sweeping the group seeing much and missing nothing. A ready and practiced smile lightened his swarthy face as he took out a small purse from an inner pocket of the jacket and presented it to Petra. “Under budget and ahead of schedule, you out do your self, Honorable Forgewoman. His Radiance will be very pleased indeed.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Marad,” Petra enthused, as she opened the pouch and began to count her shards; triangular pieces of metal that had something stamped or embossed on them.

Marad glided by her and came to an appraising stop in front of Travis. “My, what interesting company you keep of late, Honorable Forgewoman,” he declared with great weight as if looking to provoke a reaction. “A handful of Nora!” he purred. “We seem to be swimming with the fierce tribe of the east, how fortunate to have such worthy friends in our hour of need. But, you are not Nora, sir,” he said to Travis, raising his head as if the change in angle would give him insight. “Nor are you Oseram, and you ride machines like our deadly foe. I am Blameless Marad,” he said with a curt and practiced bow. “May I have the honor of your name, sir?”

Travis threw his leg over Black Jack and dismounted the Strider, to offer a hand to the new comer. “Travis Murray of the Amsci tribe,” Murray informed him. Marad took the hand and shook it slowly.

“I am not familiar with your tribe, Travis Murray. Where do you hail from?”

“Our people have settled between the Nora Sacred Lands and your outpost Day Tower,” the colonel replied. “We come from a land called Texas, but we were driven out by dangerous machines.”

The amber eyes narrowed slightly. “Yet you ride these? Interesting.”

“Not as interesting as having 'Blameless' as a title.” Marad's smile appeared again, a bit more sincere as he gestured broadly.

“Interesting? Perhaps, but in my line of work, it does come in handy.” He looked beyond Travis, making a point to bow from the neck to the females of the party. “For tonight, you are all to be guests of His Radiance. Your assistance in transport of the Kings cannon must be rewarded.”

“We wouldn't want to get anyone in trouble,” Travis countered, not sure if he wanted to be a guest of the King, either in his palace or his jail. “Or put out at short notice.”

“Not to worry,” Marad assured him. “I am Blameless, after all.” He turned back to address the soldiers. “Captain, have some of your men create a pen where Travis Murray's machines may be kept.” He turned back to ask, “Will they stay docile if ordered?”

Travis nodded. “Unless provoked, yes.”

“Excellent. See to my orders, Captain.” He paused and added, “Also, I want you to post a guard. No one is to go near the Striders. Except, of course, Travis Murray and his party.”

“At once, my lord.”

“And get these cannon secure in the armory.” He turned back to the party, all smiles again. “Right this way, if you please.” Travis shared a glance with his team and they all dismounted and began to strip the Striders of their saddlebags and gear. The Guard Captain led them to a large pen with a pasture that had held goats and pigs that were quickly moved to other quarters. The Striders ordered to remain within the pen and graze, they joined the Oseram at the base of one of the elevator shafts with Blameless Marad.

With a wary look, the Amsci boarded the elevator car and once the scissor gates of the car and shaft were closed, it began to groan it's way up the shaft. In spite of the Ancients apprehension, the car rose steadily to the gatehouse of the bridge and they were able to disembark without incident. From there, Marad led the group across the impressive stone arch bridge to the central Mesa into a red sandstone city that had Travis thinking of medieval Spanish fortifications on the Mediterranean.

There was true artistry to the construction of these buildings. Lines were straight and true, but simple exactness was not where the Carja had stopped. Everywhere there were decorative touches to the wood and stone, metal details and ornamentation that were made with a regularity that was as at odds with everything Travis had seen to this point. The streets themselves were full of carts and merchant stalls, hawking everything from fish to wine. The crowds quickly parted for the soldiers and the oddly named Blameless Marad, some with fearful looks at the man as he passed. In Travis's ear, Buck whispered, “What do you suppose his job is?”

Murray chuckled and looked up at his large friend. “Whatever the king needs, I imagine. Spymaster? Chief Torturer? He doesn't strike me as a soldier, but every one of the Kings' men defer to him.”

“Guess I should brush out my Sunday Manners then.”

Marad walked on, taking no notice of the hushed tones if he did over hear them, leading the troupe across the city to the bridge to the third Mesa. This bridge had a gate house to defend from those on the city side of it and a large compliment of soldiers to defend it. Then, beyond, what could only be the Palace of the Sun King awaited. If the city behind them had been opulent, then the palace they were led to was the crowned jewel of the Sundom.

Past the fortifications of the bridge, they were led though a shaded, sweet smelling garden of fruiting trees and vines whose focus was a gurgling fountain of pure looking water. Then up a flight of wide, broad stairs where a line actually was formed, filled with great and small alike based on their clothing. Guards were here to keep the integrity of the waiting que while the Carja waited their turn to seek audience with their Sun King and there was rumbling from those of nicer clothing that Travis and his party were being allowed to cut in line. The rumbling stopped at single glance from Blameless Marad.

Then, at the top tier of the steps, beyond the gardens was a little balcony of perhaps twenty square feet that overlooked the transmission tower upon which stood a metal gazebo of silver and gold. In the shade of the gazebo was an elaborate, red velvet throne, and seated on it was the Sun King himself.

He was cooled by two young, scantily clad women with intricately made fans of metal feathers that looked like they had come from a Storm Bird. As a man, Avad looked to be in his middle twenties, with a scant mustache and van dyke beard on his chin. He was as tanned as Marad was, with black hair and brown eyes around which, a geometric design had been drawn on his face that wasn't clear if it was some kind of cosmetic or facial tattoos.

He was shirtless, but wearing a stiff, sleeveless silk scarf or robe over his shoulders that fell to his knees. It was embroidered with gold thread in geometric designs. Under the odd robe that left his chest and stomach bare, he wore a scarlet silk cummerbund over golden metallized silk pants that Travis would have sworn to be beyond the capabilities of these people. On his head was a metal headpiece of a pair of squares, offset from each other by forty five degrees, making for a halo like effect, that covered his entire head save for his face, that was intricately made from bits of machines all in white and red and accented with gold.

He was just in the process of listening to a complaint from an older man, who was obviously wearing the best clothing he owned, but was a working man of humble means. The King's eyes came over to glance at his minister and widened slightly at the group with him. A hand casually rose and the workman stopped, mid-sentence. “Your petition is granted,” he declared without taking his eyes from Marad. The hand waved dismissal and the man stammered his gratitude as a functionary guided him away from the King.

Marad bowed deeply from the waist. “Your Radiance, I present Petra Forgewoman who has proven herself better than her word and delivered your cannon ahead of schedule.”

The king dipped his head as the Oseram engineer bowed without half of the grace of Blameless Marad. “We are indebted to your skill yet again, Forgewoman,” Avad declared in a pleasant baritone with a surprisingly casual inflection. “We fear they shall be put to work very soon if the news that has reached our ears proves truthful.”

“Always a pleasure, Your Radiance,” Petra assured him.

Marad gestured to Travis and his group. “This speed was aided by these brave Nora, Your Radiance, and members of a new tribe that has yet to reach our awareness. I present Travis Murray of the Amsci. Who have also tamed the machines and harnessed them to bring your cannon with such speed.”

The brown eyes locked with Travis as he was just a moment slow to bow and he saw real cunning in them as he completed his genuflect. “We're deeply honored, Your Radiance.” Travis assured the younger man.

As he stood up, the King's eyes were still on him, appraising very carefully. “You wear Focuses?” he asked softly. “Do you also travel with the Seeker Aloy?”

“We have been trying to catch up with her for some time,” Travis allowed. “Is Aloy here? Is Your Radiance is familiar with the Focus?”

“We have seen the Seeker use hers, and it fascinates us,” the King replied, choosing to ignore the former of his questions. “Tell me, Travis Murray,” he went on, dropping the third person, “is it the Focus that allows you to tame Machines?”

“No, Your Radiance,” Travis was quick to correct him. “It allows communication with a machine already tamed, but it is not the method, to my understanding. How exactly, I have no knowledge of myself. My...chief...has men of learning who tame the machines. These were given to us to accomplish our mission.”

The crown lifted a bit as Avad looked down his nose at Travis as if weighing the truth of the statement. “And what is your mission, Travis Murray?”

“Sir, my mission is to assist both your people and the Seeker Aloy in the defense of this city and the destruction of the Metal Devil she warned us of.”

The King stood from his throne and walked out from the gazebo, offering his hand that Travis carefully took. “Then you are most welcome, Travis Murray,” Avad assured him and behind Travis he heard muted astonishment from those in line at the King's action. “You and your party shall be my guests here in the palace. Marad?”

“It will be seen to, Your Radiance.”

“You must be tired,” Avad declared, turning back to Travis who wasn't sure if he should be worried he and the King were the same height. “Marad will see you to your rooms to refresh yourselves. Tonight, we will speak more.”

Travis bowed again. “We're deeply honored, Your Radiance.”

* * *

From the presence of the 14th Sun King, Travis and his group were led away, deeper into the palace which was remarkably cool and eased by a gentle breeze that seemed to be in constant motion through the corridors. They were hardly introduced to an opulent set of rooms before incongruously scantily clad women in harem pants and silk tube tops and veiled heads and faces collected the women of the party and led them away while young men in vests and breeches took the men to a bath complex that would have a Roman smiling.

The room was cloaked in a haze of steam that drifted up from a circular pool twenty feet in diameter. While a complete bathing service, like something out of a Turkish bath was offered, Travis declined, choosing to sit on a little wooden stool near a waterfall that flowed down into the pool with a bucket of the hot water from it so his gray water wouldn't pollute the pool. He scrubbed himself clean, finally rid of days of road dust and sweat, then carefully shaved his face with a straight razor he'd bought and taught himself to use in preparation of the coming Doomsday he'd survived.

The Carja themselves either had some genetic abnormality that made beards rare, or shaving was a cultural norm among them. Either way, half a week of stubble was removed and he was cleaner and lighter for it.

Clean in body and shaven face, he eased into the pool with a sigh of relief of relaxing muscles as the other men joined him in the pool. “It's good to be the king,” chuckled Buck as he took the goblet of wine a young man had given him and held it up in toast to Travis. Yan took a chalice himself and sniffed at the wine before tasting it.

“If there is any tribe more in tune with pleasures of the body than the Carja, I don't know of them,” he said, but the expression on his face gave away his liking of the wine.

“Nothing wrong with enjoying yourself after a hard day,” Buck responded.

Travis waited until the attendants were out of earshot before he softly commented, “I'm not happy the girls are off somewhere by themselves. Especially not after what Nakoa said about these people.”

Yan snorted around his savoring of the wine. “You need have no fear there,” he boasted. “It would take more than Carja slave girls to give Nakoa trouble.”

“We don't know slave girls are all they're with,” Buck noted, his distaste at the word written on his face.

“Didn't Nakoa say Avad had outlawed Slavery?” Travis asked out loud.

Buck snorted and took another sip of his wine. “She also said there was a wide gulf between outlawing something and having that law obeyed.” Yan finished his cup and held it aloft to be refilled.

“Aloy started her journey after The Proving,” he declared as he waited for the attendant to pour the wine. “The Sun King sent envoys to our village, at the celebration, specifically to offer an apology for the Red Raids. That's not the kind of man who would allow traitors close to him.”

“You make a good point,” Travis allowed. “But then, being in disguise is a life preserving skill to a traitor.”

For a long period, the men sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts, to enjoy the wine and the hot water they soaked in. Finally, Travis had enough of the bath, and once he was dry, found a set of Carja silks awaiting him to change into. The pantaloons came down to his knees and buttoned onto the knee socks by a cleaver arrangement. With this was a red vest that matched the shade of the pants and a shirt he decided to forgo due to the heat. His boots clashed somewhat with the finery, but the slippers with the pants were a no go from the start as far as he was concerned.

His LBE with it's pistol went over the silks regardless.

Still, the 'suit' if the word could be applied, was surprisingly comfortable as he walked back to the rooms they had been presented with. There, he was relieved to find the gear exactly as he had mentally marked them when they'd left. Either they hadn't been searched, or the searcher was a master of his craft. Not that it mattered, neither of Travis' firearms had left arms reach, let alone his sight during his time at the bath.

“Travis?” He turned at the sound of Nakoa's voice, but the greeting died in his throat at the sight of her. She was wearing a finely woven top of silk that had been died the color of a cloudless sky at noon that wrapped around and supported her breasts, but had a plunging neckline to draw the eye and left her flat, taunt stomach bare. Over this was a leather Bolero style jacket that had been stiffened with expertly fashioned metal plates from a machine. It was dyed in red with a bold, lemon yellow accents around the edges and while the sleeves stopped at her elbows, a matching set of bracers completed the journey from elbow to wrist.

A matching set of leather pants rode low on her hips to accentuate them, with a red sash to cushion the belt of pouches and her quiver she wore over it at her right hip. From the sash, layered rigid plates of leather wrapped metal hung, front and back to each leg and finally her feet were wrapped in Tabi styled boots that had metal shin guards in them that made the ensemble armor as well as art.

Her hair had been loosed from it's braids, washed and hung about her head to her shoulders and the sun behind her made her beauty practically glow. She took a hesitant step forward, reaching out to touch his arm. “Are you alright?”

The movement finally pierced his awe and he managed a smile. “I have never been struck dumb by beauty before,” he told her as he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You are an absolute vision.” She stood up on her tip toes to reach his face and drew him into a real kiss as a reward for his compliment.

“You are a shameless flatterer,” she purred as she drew back from the kiss, grinning at him. “And I am completely here for it.”

He chuckled and gently stroked her cheek with a finger tip. “I never thought I'd say this, but the last thousand years have been the best week of my life.”

She reached her hands up and pressed against his chest to shove him backwards. His knees found the edge of the bed he'd been standing beside and tumbled backwards onto it. She grinned down at him for a moment as she reached up and pulled off the jacket before crawling up onto the bed over him. “It gets better,” she promised him.

It did, in fact get better. Much, much, better.

* * *

From some of the best sleep Travis had known recently, he was rudely awakened by a massive explosion. The shock wave blew the insect screens from the window and the light sheet from him and Nakoa even as their brains rapidly began to realize the danger they were in. Each snatched up discarded clothing and dressed in a rush. By the time he'd gotten pants and boots and his web gear on, Buck was already at his door, Olara with him and both were dressed for battle.

“There's been a massive explosion on the west side of the city,” he declared tersely as Travis charged his rifle and the foursome set off at a run. “There are overridden terraforming machines being led by a dozen Khopesh and Scarab Chariot-Class FAS Battle Drones.”

“I guess it was too much to hope that Gaia's machines would be immune to Faro's hacking droids,” Travis groused on the run. Suddenly, over the chaotic screams of terrified civilians, the distinctive roar of twenty millimeter cannon fire was heard.

“Petra's guns!” Nakoa shouted as the group wheeled and bolted down the corridors of the palace towards the sounds of the battle. They found the zaftig smith on the bridge between the palace and the city proper, bending the cannon over the guard rail of the bridge and firing down into the valley below. Right as the quartet reached her, the guards at the gate were overwhelmed and rushed by a group of twenty to thirty men, all in black with wooden masks over their faces that, incongruously were painted with the international power on/off symbol.

Travis had only a moment to analyze the situation and boiled it down to it's simplest; armed, masked men had just overcome the Sun Kings' guards and were storming the palace. His choice became clear as he focused his mind to commit violence.

“Contact left!” Travis shouted as he and Buck dropped to one knee and brought the AR-15s up. The two soldiers fired quickly, raking their rounds across the group. The most eager in the charge died quickly, clutching their torsos and blood spattering behind the masks as their momentum pitched them forward.

Behind them, the others sought cover in the abutments of the bridge and began to shoot back with bows and arrows. There was no faulting the courage of the Shadow Carja that stood their ground against semi-automatic rifles with only bows, but their courage didn't avail them long. The bridge was at the edge of the range of their small bows, but still very much short range for the AR15. Buck and Travis were both combat veterans and they knew their craft well. Each was down a magazine, but the Carja were down for good.

Travis turned, seeing the King's guard behind them, fearfully eyeing the carnage the two had wrought. He pulled the empty magazine from the rifle and replaced it before pointing towards the gate. “Get that gate secure!” he shouted. The Lieutenant of the guard actually saluted before he led the dash across the bridge to re-secure the gate to the palace. Murray let the rifle fall on it's sling around his shoulders as his hand went to the pouch of reserve ammunition on stripper clips that he used to quickly refill the empty magazine.

“Water!” Petra's strident voice shouted. “Someone for the love of the forge bring me water!”

Travis turned to see the cannon she was standing at, it's barrel glowing softly a dull red. Travis dropped the magazine and half loaded stripper clip into the dump pouch he kept on his belt for just such a reason to retain what he had to clear from his hands quickly. He ran over, pulling his canteen out as he came. “I warned you it would over heat,” he teased her as he up ended the canteen over the barrel where the water from it promptly hissed and flashed to steam. “That's why it was a rotary system.”

“Every prototype has quirks,” she shot back. “Get that Deathbringer! Below us!”

Travis risked a quick peek over rail and beheld a tank-like Khopesh, stomping along on it's four squat, stubby legs. Trailing behind it was a massive processing orb, tied to it by stout looking ropes that it was pulling. It paused for a moment as it's turret turned to machine gun down a group of the King's Guard that was charging it. Then, in a ghastly display of technology, a black cloud of nanites gushed from the upper vent and flew over to the guards. From their screams, not all of them were dead before the miniature robots stripped them to their bones and returned to the robotic killing machine to turn it's former adversaries into fuel. “An AR isn't going to slow that down,” he muttered, then couldn't help pausing as it started up again and began to trudge, not towards the city, or the palace, but away from it, towards the black spire of Station Minerva. “What the...?” he asked himself.

Before he could process that, movement drew his eye as he saw a young woman dressed in Nora leathers with a mane of wild red hair charging after the Khopesh. “Aloy!” Nakoa shouted and the red head stopped and looked up. “We're coming!”

“No!” the red head shouted. “It's HADES! I have to stop it! Protect the Sun King!”

“But...!”

“Protect Avad!” she shouted again and took off running after the machine.

“HADES was the Deathbringer?” Nakoa asked, turning to Travis. “I thought, a Metal Devil...?”

“That processing orb it was towing,” Buck told her. “It's off a Horus, what you call a Metal Devil. HADES is in it.”

Suddenly, with the clarity of thought that only comes on a battlefield, Travis understood. “It was HADES who took control of the old Faro robots,” he declared with a sudden chill down his spine. “With that transmitter he could broadcast a wake up call that would be heard for miles!”

“We must have passed thousands of Chariot-Class battle bots on the way here,” Buck added, going pale. “It's going to restart the Faro Plague!”

“We have to...” Travis started, and was cut off by a massive explosion at the gate. His eyes whirled back to it, find the guards being cut down but a much larger mob of black clad Shadow Carja. He didn't think, he acted, grabbing a hold of Petra and shoving her towards the inner gate on their side of the bridge.

“The Cannon!” she shouted, but wasn't strong enough to resist his adrenaline fueled shove.

“Nakoa!” he shouted. “Grenade!”

The Nora brave understood him instantly, snatching a blaze bomb from her harness and loading it into the slingshot 'Blast Sling' she had been gifted by Petra. One of the smiths inventions destroyed the other as the bomb struck the cannon where it exploded with remarkable effect, blowing the device off it's pintle and enough into the air that it cleared the rail of the bridge and tumbled down the heights below. “Close the gate!” Travis commanded, despite standing in the way until Buck, Olara and Nakoa had gotten through. He gave a glance to see if the Lieutenant or any of his men where trying to withdraw, but they were all already done for. He stepped inside and the heavy iron clad doors where thrown shut and barred just as the Shadow Carja reached them.

“Hold the line here!” he commanded, drawing Carja soldiers back from the gate house that their enemy was already trying to bash open. “Everything you've got! No farther!” He dug the magazine and stripper clip out of his dump pouch and finished loading it before grimly taking up the rifle for the coming work.

* * *

It took the Shadow Carja thirty minutes to hack and blast their way through the gates, thirty minutes Travis and Buck used to insert ear plugs into their ears to save what was left of their hearing and to stand apart from and in front of the line they'd formed to protect their allies. Thirty minutes of work, only for the Shadow Carja to be met with a hail of arrows and M855 green tip improved penetration rounds from Travis and Buck. In the death funnel of the ruined gate, the rounds sometimes killed two or three as they tried to force their way through the breach. After what seemed like hours, Travis loaded his last magazine into the rifle and brought it back up to his shoulder. He worked his jaw to get his ears to pop which took a little bit of the ringing in them away.

“Last mag!” he warned Buck, who grunted he had heard and dropped his rifle on it's sling to draw his pistol.

“I'm out,” he called back, but for once, the rush seemed to have stopped. There were no more fanatics clawing their way over the pile of bodies to get at them. As it drug out, he quickly holstered the pistol and grabbed for a magazine for the rifle from the pile at his feet. “Cover me while I reload!”

“Covered,” he assured his second in command, then waited a tense few minutes until he had four magazines reloaded. “Moving up,” he whispered, tucking the two magazines Buck handed him into his carrier and the pair cautiously approached the gate. The dying were moaning in agony, some begging for mercy; though one proved he wasn't out of the fight and swung his sword weakly at Buck. Travis' rifle barked, causing the wounded Carja to cry out in pain while clutching their ears, but no one else proved to want to keep fighting. He looked cautiously through the blasted gate to find another pile of bodies beyond it, but no one up to charge once more unto the breech. One of the Carja was desperately attempting to make his shoulder stop bleeding and looked up, tears streaming down his face. He raised a bloody hand in surrender and went back to trying to staunch his wound to keep it from killing him. The wall had been closed up with the dead and dying.

Travis took an Israeli Bandage from his belt and tossed it to the boy, who, seeing what it was, immediately put it to work, pressing it into his wound. “Gatekeeper?” Travis called, and one of the guards, obviously exhausted made his way over. “Take the survivors prisoner and get some medics here. And shore up this breech in case they aren't finished.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, gesturing at his men.

Then, a brilliant flash came from the direction of the tower, drawing all eyes fearfully to it. “Oh, God,” Doc whispered, having rushed up with the other medical personnel. “Is it...? Has it...?”

“Look!” someone shouted. The warriors looked down, to see the last of the moving Faro battle bots come to a sudden stop, shutter its weapons and hunch down in it's stand by posture. Travis got his binoculars from their keeper and focused them on the far ridge where he could now see, at the base of the transmitter tower, the red headed Nora warrior maiden and several others around her, holding up their weapons in triumph. They were a rag tag group, all obviously wounded, to include to his surprise the Nora War Chief Sona and her son, Varl. Despite their wounds, all the machines around them were destroyed and the processing orb was smoking.

A ragged cheer raised from one end of the canyon to the other as the Carja understood the Battle of the Alight had been won.

Meridian was saved.

* * *

March 16th, 3040

Avad was generous in his victory. While the leadership of the Shadow Carja had all been slain, an amnesty was offered for the foot soldiers and the peasants they had press ganged into their counter rebellion. Many took the amnesty, but some refused and were hauled off in irons to be dealt with later. On remarkably short notice, a magnificent celebration was put forward as wine and food flowed freely in the battle scarred city and palace. There would be much rebuilding to do, but the fires were out, and being alive was worth celebrating.

Travis made his way through the ecstatic Carja and the obviously uncomfortable Nora, to find the red head he had been chasing for a week in a corner, avoiding everyone's gaze, staring up at a map of the region that had been painted on the wall of the palace. He scooped up a glass of cider and cautiously presented it. “Is it Aloy, or would you prefer Doctor Sobeck?” he greeted. She spun in surprise and the resemblance was remarkable, though the young woman before him was easily twenty years junior to the scientist from Travis' era and the way her eyes widened it was clear it wasn't the first time she'd heard the name.

“You know who I am?” she asked, taking the cider after a moment of reflection.

“I do,” he assured her, then sketched a perfunctory bow. “Colonel Travis Murray, Inactive Ready Reserve, United States Army, at your service.”

“You fought in Operation Enduring Victory,” she whispered. “I...I didn't believe it, but you are an Old One, like Nakoa said. That you've been asleep, in a mountain for a thousand years.”

“No, and yes,” he corrected her. “I didn't see combat in Operation Enduring Victory. I was protecting the employees of American Scientific from the Faro Plague. But, yes, I was born over a thousand years ago, not terribly far from here, as luck would have it.” He paused and gave her a significant glance. “And you are a clone of Dr Elisabet Sobeck, created by her creation, the AI GAIA.”

She squared her shoulders and looked up at him, her gaze steely. “Yes, so I could rebuild the terraforming system. And it's just Aloy.”

“Then you have your work cut out for you,” he told her sadly. “I've been to King's Peak and there isn't much left.”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter how hard it is,” she swore. “I have to. I'm the only one who can.”

Travis smiled at the grit he was coming to associate with the Nora. “Then we will help you,” he declared firmly. “I may not have approved, at the time, of Zero Dawn, but I can't argue with results. What's done is done, all that's left is picking up the pieces.”

“How can you not approve?” she demanded with an edge in her voice. “Elisabet Sobeck sacrificed everything to ensure this planet had a future.”

“Yes, she did,” he replied stiffly in outrage. “Sacrificed everything, and everyone. Everyone,” he stressed. “Every man, woman and child, only we didn't get a choice. We didn't get to know that we were all meant to be pawns, sacrificed to buy her time for...” He gestured again. “This.” Her eyes went hard and Travis realized he was judging the girl for the sins of another woman, more than a millennia dead. A woman, it was clear, was a heroine to this Nora girl in a way she was having difficulty understanding. Recalling Nakoa commenting on how much the Nora prized motherhood and the odd phrase of Aloy being 'motherless' he began to understand how the girl was processing her purpose and place in the world.

A place that was likely beyond her comprehension.

He sighed and mastered his outrage at a wound that, for him, was only a week old. He let the anger pass and set his face into a softer expression and tried to reconcile. “I met your...'mother'... once,” he told her softly, and the iron left her stance and she was a young woman again, shouldering an almost insurmountable burden. “At a robotics conference in Salt Lake City. You remind me of her in all the best ways.”

“You met Elisabet Sobeck?” she whispered, as if he had claimed to have met God.

“American Scientific is predominately an Aerospace Firm,” he told her. “Miriam Technologies, her company, partnered with us on a some Near Earth Object asteroid mining ventures. Even our corporate AI, ENID, is a core technology she helped invent. I suppose, in a way, you could say ENID is your 'aunt'.”

“I...” she paused and took a moment to process all she had heard. “Can this...ENID...help me reboot GAIA?”

Travis set the cider cup down and gestured at the map on the wall she'd been studying. “You'll need a back up copy of GAIA for that. My people can help you set up the hardware, but the software will need to be found.” He touched his focus and caused several spots on the map to light up. “Assuming one still exists. These are all of the Zero Dawn or related facilities I know of. We might be able to find a back up there.”

“Not 'we',” she corrected him, softly. “Me. This is my burden. I can't ask anyone else.”

“You didn't ask,” Travis told her. “I volunteered.”

Her eyes darted away and she shrugged. “We, we can talk about it in the morning before we leave. Where should we start?”

He pointed on the map. “Miriam Technologies had a major research and development facility in Salt Lake City. We should probably start there.” He shook his head and gestured at the map. “Though, if all else fails, we can try here.”

“What's there?” Aloy asked.

“Elisabet's ranch. She grew up there, just outside of Carson City, Nevada,” he replied. “They way she went on about you'd think it was Heaven on Earth.”

Aloy looked down and softly to herself, she whispered, “She said she wanted to go home.”

“Sorry?”

The green eyes shot back up and were cagey. “Nothing. Talking to myself. It's an old habit.”

With a gesture, Travis dismissed the overlay he'd put on the painted map and downloaded the holographic one to Aloy's focus. “I want to thank you for saving Nakoa,” he told her earnestly. “I understand you saved her from some hold out Carja slavers. I'm in your debt.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Aloy assured him. “And it was my pleasure. She seems very taken with you. I hope you're both very happy together.”

He smiled as he took up his cup again and raised it in toast. “Well, I'm sure we will be,” he remarked philosophically. “Once we finish helping you get GAIA up and running again. Of course there's the normal problems of getting crops in, having enough food to survive the winter and, of course, we'll have to set up some kind of university. With Ted Faro's purge of the APOLLO database, the amount of lost knowledge is staggering. That you've managed to rebuild this much, this quickly...” He trailed off with a vague gesture at the palace they stood in. “It is a testament to what all you and the other tribes have accomplished.”

“Barbarity?” she answered bitterly. “The Red Raids? Human sacrifice?”

“Man was born to trouble as the sparks fly upward,” he quoted softly.

She frowned at him. “Is that an Oseram saying?” He shook his head with a smile.

“No, it's much older than that, but it's still true. Some men are little better than animals, but for all of that, there are many that aspire to higher callings. There is as much room for lenity in the human heart as there is for cruelty. Which we fill it with is a choice everyone must make.” She drained her own cup and returned it to the table, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“That's a very nice thought.”

He picked up her cup and favored her with a smile. “Old soldiers have many empty hours to fill with thoughts. I try to fill mine with nice ones. Speaking of filling, I'll get you a refill.” She nodded and turned back to the map as he began to make his way across the party to the kegs that lined the other side of the room. As he did, his focus chimed softly and ENID's voice whispered in his ear.

“Excuse me, Colonel, do you have a moment?”

“Always for you, ENID,” he told the program. “What can I do for you?”

“I have been going over the data you downloaded from the GAIA Prime facility in King's Peak and I came across a recording that may interest you. Are you somewhere you can view it? Discreetly?”

Travis immediately altered his course out onto one of the balconies, but the desert chill had already begun to set in and he found it deserted. Fortunately he'd traded the Carja silk suit for his now cleaned uniform and it's smart fabric that knew when to breathe and when to insulate so the chill in the air didn't bother him. “I am now, ENID. You can proceed.” Before him, a hologram appeared in miniature of a meeting table. Around it were five figures, frozen in a pause of the recording. Suddenly, below each, a name appeared along with a biography down one side of the interface as the AI summarized the information.

“This is a recording that took place on January 3rd, 2066. Present are Charles Ronson, the Alpha of the GAIA sub-routine ARETMIS...”

“Sub-routine?” he asked. “Alpha?”

The AI's voice gave no indication she might be annoyed by the interruption. “Major tasks of the AI GAIA were distributed in blocks of named Sub-Routines and given specific tasks. In keeping with the ancient Greek Pantheon Theme, Dr Ronson was the Alpha, or director, of ARTEMIS, which was responsible for the stored embryos of animal life and their method of artificial gestation to be re-introduced to the biosphere once stable. With him were Travis Tate, the Alpha of the HADES sub-routine which was meant as a check on GAIA to judge the efforts of the AI and reset the biosphere to initial state if the terraforming project was failing.”

“Hence why it tried to destroy the biosphere when awakened, leading to GAIA's suicide.”

“Exactly so,” ENID agreed. “Also present at the meeting were Patrick Brochard-Klein, the Alpha of the ELEUTHIA sub-routine which was similar to ARTEMIS, but specifically reserved for Homo-Sapiens. The two females are Samina Ebadgji the Alpha of the APOLLO Database and Margo Shĕn, the Alpha of HEPHAESTUS, which, based on the name and Dr Shĕn's expertise in robotics, I surmise governed GAIA's manufacturing and production tasks. There is a brief narration of this recording by Dr Ronson. I should warn you, the information contained in this recording can be upsetting to some humans. Shall I begin play back?”

“Go ahead, ENID.”

A male voice with a crisp, Received Pronunciation accent filled his ear, that he recognized as the man who had so annoyed Ted Faro in the recording of his murdering the Alphas of Project Zero Dawn. “This is Charles Ronson. I'm logging this six hours after final deployment of GAIA Prime. This morning... an access port seal malfunctioned. GAIA Prime's port seals were designed to close with a seam of less than 2 millimeters. But this one closed with a 10 millimeter gap. Enough for an energy signature to bleed through. Enough for the swarm to detect this facility. Enough for GAIA to be discovered and destroyed. Enough to end the future we worked so hard to make possible. Unless the hatch servos were manually re-engaged... from the outside. I'm now switching to a recording of the event.”

The hologram began to move, with the figure identified as Travis Tate raising his hands and declaring in a thick, Texas drawl, “Well I'm not going out there! Not what I signed up for!” Next to him, an older man, Brochard-Klein as he'd been labeled, gestured in obvious long annoyance of Tate.

“Either we send someone out there, or all of this was for nothing,” he snapped with a thick French accent.

Ronson separated the two men, evidently used to playing the peace maker between them. “It should be Lis's decision.”

“So when's she going to get here?” Brochard-Klein demanded angrily.

Samina looked around the room, confusion on her face. “She said five minutes. You don't think...?” Suddenly a new figure appeared, obviously holographically near the table. From the way the figure stood, even in the environmental suit she was wearing, everyone knew the person in it was a woman. Worse, they knew who the woman was.

“Oh, no...” Margo whispered.

The environmental suited figure spoke in the exact same voice Murray had just heard from Aloy. “Okay, everyone. I've repaired the seal. GAIA?”

“Seal closure at 1.4 millimeters, confirmed.” the voice of the AI declared. Ronson was beside himself, walking over to the hologram and actually trying to touch it.

“Elisabet, no. We'll find a way to bring you back in...” Sobeck turned to face him and held up a hand in consolation.

“Not going to happen. The swarm's too close. Really, it's all right. GAIA's complete. She'll take care of things from here on out. That's what she does.”

Charles shook his head, unbelieving what he was hearing and refusing to accept it. “Not like this! There's so much we...” Dr Sobeck took a step back, as if unsure of how to deal with her co-workers grief and emotion.

She tried to make her voice up beat, but it broke and fooled no one. “Guys; you know me. I'm no good at endings. At letting things end. So let's not.”

Silence settled on the group as Ronson clutched the table for support and, based on how his shoulders quivered, it seemed obvious he was inconsolable. Then, to the Colonel's immense surprise, Travis Tate stepped around him and offered a hand for a moment, before realizing the hologram couldn't shake it. “So... happy trails, Lis, and see ya around?”

Dr Sobeck's arm twitched, as if she had considered trying to shake Tate's hand. “Yeah. Take care of each other, all right?”

Ronson looked up from the table, his face wet. “Lis...?”

Elisabet raised her hands as if warding off the force of his emotions. “I'm okay with this. I want to go home. Goodbye.” The suit vanished and the recording paused again. Once more the somber voice voice of Ronson, still obviously deeply troubled by what he'd recorded spoke.

“That was the last transmission of Elisabet Sobeck. She gave everything for the hope of life on this planet. And we are all in her debt.”

The hologram disappeared and ENID's interface appeared in it's place. “That is the end of the recording.”

“Thank you, ENID,” Travis told her. “That...” he paused for a moment, mental gears grinding. “Shit!” he exclaimed.

“Colonel?” the AI asked, concerned, but promptly vanished as he turned and hurried back inside, fighting his way to where he could see the map, but the corner was empty. “Colonel, are you alright?”

“Boss?” asked Buck, wondering over with Olara and Nakoa. “Everything ok?”

“Aloy,” Travis snapped. “Did you see where she went?”

Nakoa pointed over her shoulder at the doorway, deeper into the place. “I passed her going out as I was coming in,” she told them. “She seemed like she was in a hurry.”

“She took off, didn't she?” Buck asked flatly. Travis nodded grimly, though the big man just laughed. “So, I guess we're back on the chase, right? What is she after this time?”

“GAIA,” Travis told them.

Olara frowned. “The goddess? I thought she didn't believe?”

“She doesn't,” Nakoa told her. “Travis means the...program...like ENID. She means to restore her, somehow?”

“Yes,” Murray replied, turning towards the exit and gesturing for his people to follow him. “We need...”

Suddenly the way was blocked by Blameless Marad. “Friends,” he greeted, all smiles. “The Sun King sends his gratitude and awaits you all up stairs in his private apartments, and is pleased to discuss the settlement of our mutual border. This way.”

Travis made a gesture of acknowledgment and tried to step around him. “Marad, we're grateful, really, but something's come up, and we have to leave, at once...” However, Blameless Marad was having none of it, raising both arms to block the way. And while he was still all smiles, there was an edge under the smile. This wasn't a request.

“Nonsense,” the Spymaster replied. “I'm sure whatever has come up will abide until the Sun King is able to properly thank the heroes of our defense. We don't want to keep His Radiance waiting. This way.”

Buck chuckled in Travi's ear as he leaned over to whisper as they followed Marad, “Come on, boss. It wouldn't be much of a chase if we didn't give her a head start, would it?”

Nakoa slipped her arm around his waist and squeezed him in a way that promised other closeness in the immediate future, once the Sun King had his audience. Travis sighed and shook his head. The group would need to return to Fort Carson to resupply, having expended nearly all of their ammunition in the battle, as well as other, needed supplies. There was also the test of the Storm Bird over ride that Ian wanted, and, if possible, that might speed up travel considerably. He shrugged his acceptance of the situation and draped his arm around her shoulders. “That's true,” he admitted finally. “After all, I know where she's going.”

Finis

The Good Sith Triumphant

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Science Fiction

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Mmorpg / Virtual Reality

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Tale of the Star Wars
The Good Sith Triumphant
by
E. E. Nalley

3642 BBY (Before the Battle of Yavin)
Balmorra The Colonies Area of the Galaxy

As retreats go, ours was in very good order.

The Cold War, and the uneasy truce, that both the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic had been suffering through, glaring at each other while sharpening knives, had ended on Balmorra. It was an industrial world, predominantly covered in battle droid factories and munitions plants, ceded to us in the Treaty of Coruscant, though never truly won by force of arms. Rebellion seemed to be the main pastime of the citizens of Balmorra, and though we always suspected the Republic was secretly supplying the populace with arms and other aid, we could never prove it.

Until today.

My Mistress and I had come to the suburban world on the orders of Darth Marr, head of the Circle of Defense of the Empire, to investigate, for the who knew which time ,why the production quota had not been met again. My Mistress, the inestimable Darth Vannacen, had been attempting to be the velvet glove over the iron fist. She went from factory to warehouse, as regal as a queen and as beautiful as a goddess, listening to the workers complaints, touring plants for poor working conditions first hand. She was as welcoming and as warm as Darth Vader was menacing and terrifying.

There were days I envied her ability to walk into a room of strangers and instantly own it. She could do more with a low cut silk gown and a toothy smile than most people could with a suitcase full of cash. Meanwhile I had been her eyes, basically poking my nose where it wasn't wanted, seeing things that weren't meant to be seen.

Unfortunately I had 'seen' a complete Republic Legion in the process of unloading their armor division from a disguised freighter and had managed to transmit that visual back to my Imperial betters. This caused the Republic commander to come to the decision that upping his time table was better than allowing things to devolve into debate about our formal complaint in the Galactic Senate. So, with that piece of fine Republican logic he launched the New Sith War single-handedly.

His attack suffered for being so far ahead of schedule which allowed our retreat, turning a massacre into one of those quietly desperate actions which future historians look back on to describe as 'their finest hour'. We were having to sacrifice a lot of equipment to make room for the men as the circle around Sobrik Space Port got smaller and smaller. Still, discipline was good and the men were glad to have myself and my Mistress with them, covering the retreat.

They say a Sith Warrior is a division unto him or herself, and Darth Vannacen and I were doing all we could to live up to such a heady description. On the end of the runway of the field, desperately pushing back to give the troopers time to board the last few transports we could scavenge. It was our most desperate hour, so of course, that was when the Jedi would show up.

It is eerie fighting a Jedi.

While their Padawans' faces still betrayed their fear and excitement of the battle, the masters were another matter; their faces were blank. They came at us with no expression of anything on their faces, as flat and emotionless as a battle droid. It was as though they were under the effect of some narcotic, immune to fear and heedless of danger. Even when cut down their eyes were just as empty dead as they were alive.

Unfortunately I was still terribly new at this, despite Darth Vannacen's best efforts to make me realize that battle was something serious, with dangerous, permanent consequences. I had only been her apprentice for a couple of years and as she was wont to constantly remind me, my habit of showing off my abilities with the more acrobatic forms of Ataru were extremely counter productive. “A light saber battle isn't a game, young one!” she would scold me. “You don't get points for style!”

I was fighting a pair of Jedi, a bearded master with coal black hair and two little lines of gray at the corner of his mouth and his Padawan, a green eyed blonde with beauty even those ridiculous robes the Jedi wore couldn't hide. A few dozen meters away Darth Vannacen was battling a pair of masters and making them both look like fools while we protected the last squads that were giving us cover with a thick blanket of blaster fire the Republic troops were eagerly returning. “This is our world!” I shouted at the blank face of the Jedi. “You are violating the treaty! You are attacking us!”

“Your evil ends today, Sith,” the Master told me mechanically as though an automaton.

His feint forced me left, towards his Padawan and my giving nature got the best of me. As I landed from my leap, the girl thought to attack me from behind, but I lashed out with my foot and planted it firmly in her gut, bending her over and expelling her air forcefully. She staggered and half fell backwards, but the master was much faster than I expected. Suddenly he loomed in front of me and his blade filled my vision such that I could feel the heat of his blade, millimeters from my neck, when a bright scarlet blade flashed across my line of sight, flying through the air. It was my mistress's saber that blocked his killing stroke, knocking his blade so hard both he and his blade were spun away from me. It had saved my life.

Time seemed to stop as I looked over my shoulder and realized what she had done, throwing her blade, leaving herself defenseless. I raised my own blade to throw it, to buy her time to call her sword back to her, but before I could do anything I saw the eerie blue white glow of a saber grow out of her stomach as the master she had been fighting took advantage of her selflessness and literally stabbed her in the back. As if from light years away I heard my voice scream, “NO, Mistress!”

A green blade rose in my vision as I rushed towards her, but I was done being charitable as my left blade snapped up to block the Padawan, then with my other I struck, taking her arm off below her elbow. Her scream rung in my ears, but I didn't care as I finished my hop over her falling arm and saber to snap a kick to her jaw, knocking her sprawling. I came around just in time to see her Master had recovered.

For a split second rage flashed across the Master's face as he realized I had maimed his Padawan and was trying to bring his blade back in line, but I ducked under his sword and spun, bifurcating him from left hip to right shoulder. In the distance I heard a scream, a wordless female howl of rage from where the Padawan lay, I heard the frantic cries of the troopers urging me on board as I leaped and dove over blaster bolts thick enough to run on as I tried to get to and save the woman who had saved me.

Our eyes met, her on her knees, gasping as her murderer pulled his blade from her and for the last time I felt her through the Force, felt her reach out with her last strength as she fell forward, dodging his decapitation stroke, commanding the Force to pick me up and fling me into the transport. I rolled to my feet and tried to leap back out to her aid, but six men frantically rose up to stop me. They shouted there was nothing I could do. That I had to let her go. I struggled and cursed them as they held me and the ramp was raised, the ship was rising, and I saw a smile on my Mistress's face as she died and I felt her become one with the Force.

***

3638 BBY (The Present)
Yavin IV, The Gordian Reach, Outer Rim Territories

“Mistress!” The voice pierced the aching sense of loss at the death of my mentor and was followed hard and quick by the mother of all hangovers. “Mistress, wake up! Wake up!”

I fought hard to overcome the pain I awoke in, moaning as I brought my hand up to my forehead and found it wet. My eyes opened and with great effort focused on the feline muzzle of my apprentice, my daughter from another mother. She was afraid, and only just noticing my wound which caused her more worry. I got the damned headset off my head and immediately the pain went down from unbearable to merely agonizing.

I realized my hand was wet because it was covered in my blood.

Never again will I fly without my helmet, I swore to myself. The fighter had burrowed hard into the jungle and come to rest in pieces against a truly massive tree covered in vines and upset wild life. I was hanging by my straps to my right as the wreck was canted to one side and the canopy had been cut away by her light saber. Then I realized I had made my first real impact on this world, this galaxy, this universe because a Sith Apprentice had found her mistress helpless and had not struck her down.

Her voice betrayed her fear as she batted my bloody hand away from the harness release and worked it herself. “We have to hurry, Mistress, they're coming. Can you walk?”

Slowly and cautiously I stood in the ruined cockpit and with her aid managed to get to stable ground. “X4,” I muttered, still trying to shake off the rattling my brain had undergone. I probably had a concussion.

She snatched my helmet from the peg and hung it on her suit next to her own and checked that my light sabers were still attached to my belt. “I haven't forgotten,” she assured me and with her free hand pointed. The rescue lever turned itself and with a muffled explosion the little astromech was launched from the ruined fighter to land more or less upright a few meters away.

“That was interesting!” the little droid exclaimed in Michael Caine's voice. “Let's not ever do that again!”

“The shuttle crash site,” Tari hissed at it as she helped me over. “Which way?”

The top of the droids head opened and a little radar antenna came out and began to spin. “North east.” As we began to struggle through the jungle I got the little first aid kit from its pouch on my belt and opened up a gauze pad to hold against the sharpest point of pain; my left temple.

Slowly recovering my wits, I asked her, “Are you injured, Tari?”

“No, Mistress,” she replied quickly, stepping over a vine the thickness of a log and pausing to help me over it. “I ejected when I saw you crash and realized I had no place to land.”

For a moment I became cross. “You abandoned an operational fighter?” I scolded her, but she shook her head, ducking under a leaf the size of her body.

“No, Mistress, my fighter was damaged and there were three fighters on me. I just picked being next to you instead of riding the wreck down.” I squeezed her shoulder to show her I wasn't angry and shakily pulled away to follow the droid on my own for a bit as the haze was clearing. “I did get to scan the Inescapable Fortress, Mistress and it looked like two full legions have landed, with half of one coming into the jungle to search for us. They were two kilometers away when I ejected.”

“On foot or with speeders?”

“Foot,” she replied quickly. “They were still unloading their vehicles. I think we got here a little sooner than the Will was expecting us.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” I muttered, painfully aware all of the death above and below was my fault. The memory of past deaths on a world I had never been on called out to me across the years.

Suddenly we emerged from the jungle into sunlight, standing in the trench the shuttle had carved as it crashed. Beyond, perhaps six kilometers away I could see a pillar of ugly black smoke from where the other shuttle had augured in and crashed nose first. There would be no survivors from it.

But a debris trail was hopeful and we turned to see the main body of the shuttle was mostly intact and had done its job to protect the troops it was carrying. Tari and I hurried over, even though the wreck would never fly again, this swatch of cleared jungle was big enough for other craft to land in. The rear compartment was open and the men were extracting themselves, salvaging what they could in a hurried, but calm manner.

There are not words for the euphoric relief I felt to see Torm directing the men.

I had noticed he was wearing a lieutenants marks when I had seen him, Silas and Darius waiting to board the shuttle on Barkhesh, so I knew that he had transferred his commission from the Ord Mantell militia to Barkhesh, but at that moment I didn't care about decorum or chains of command. I was so relieved he was alive and unhurt I wrapped myself around him and kissed him with the passion only Sith can truly experience.

Oh we received our share of cat calls from the men, but they didn't stop what they were doing to do so. Coming up for air I hugged him with all my might and into his chest I said, “I'm so glad you're alive!”

“Medic!” He shouted past me, then eased me down to a seated position. “I told you I'd never leave,” he scolded me with good humor as the droid peeled the blood soaked bandage from my temple and began to treat me. I felt even better to be joined with a grinning Silas and Darius.

“Nice landing,” Silas taunted me and I just rolled my eyes.

“I walked away from it,” I shot back. “With Tari's help...”

“You'll be fine, my lady,” the droid assured me as I felt the cold, numbing sensation of kolto gel against my skin.

“Tari saw half a legion of men coming into the jungle after us from the Inescapable Fortress,” I told him while staying as still as I could for the droid. “Tari, what direction and how far?”

The brave little Cathar pointed to the south. “Two kilometers, twenty minutes ago.”

“Karabast,” Torm swore. To his men, he shouted, “Step it up, boys, company is coming!”

“I saw a small cave opening in the mountain,” Tari continued, with a nod to the rocky range looming to the east. “We can regroup there.”

“Let's go!” Darius cried, moving among the men to motivate them. “We're moving out!”

With much less fuss than you might expect, the soldiers made last minute grabs of useful things and began to melt into the jungle like ghosts. Torm fell in beside me as I got steadier on my feet with each step, the droid had done its job well. I filled him in on how disastrous the offensive had gone the news of which he absorbed with a set expression on his face. I tried to take responsibility for the debacle our brief offensive had been, but he would have none of it and dismissed my guilty feelings as the fortunes of war.

We agreed that our priority now was finding some way to successfully infiltrate the Fortress and escape with a craft large enough to hold all of us. No small task considering we were about a hundred and against us two full legions had resupplied the Fortress.

We arrived at Tari's cave in about an hour, it was at the back of a small box canyon that I probably would have missed had I flown over it. It made for an excellent murder box, but also an excellent death trap against an enemy with control of the skies. Torm set up a defensive perimeter around the canyon opening and sent in a scouting party to check the cave. Risking a bit of altitude, watchers reported plenty of speeder activity around the crash site.

It would seem the Legions had their vehicles unpacked.

The scouts soon returned with a favorable report; the cave was actually some kind of ruinous structures which likely led through the range to the other side. Thankful for the refuge we quickly made our way through the ruins and into the cave beyond. And as we trotted through the ruins, in the growing dusk, I felt sure I should recognize this place but I was too rattled by the crash to remember.

Once we were safely underground, the men began to organize themselves and take stock of what they had salvaged. The medical droid had tried to get me to rest, and when I had refused, it tattled on me to Torm, the one being it sensed could give me an order I would obey. I was told to sit and rest in no uncertain terms and when I tried to counter, in hushed tones he told me how badly I was needed, by the men, for their morale. Tari and I were all that was left of the Force users of the expedition and the men's collective courage was hanging by a thread.

Damn him for using my morals against me.

I sat and sulked while the medical droid fussed over me. It must have slipped me something as soon my eyes grew heavy and I was fast asleep.

***

My dreams were a cacophony of images, some too fast to follow and others too chaotic to make out. I saw passion in all its forms, from lovemaking to making model ships, carpentry to scholarly pursuits and most seemed to be the red skinned humanoids of the Sith race. They lived and loved, then fought and died as war became their chief pastime and hatred their chief passion. I witnessed butchery and barbarism on a scale to sicken the mind and deafen the ears as the voices of a billion mothers keened for their dead husbands and sons in a single, all encompassing wail of grief.

I started and once more I was in the cave, on a make shift bed of empty supply crates and someone's cloak over my armored space suit. It was dark, though I could see and in the larger chamber beyond I saw my love and his men, frozen in time and place and I realized I was still dreaming. That was when he appeared before me, not the regal red king of the Temple of the Force, Tulak Hord, first of our Sith Lords, but a majestic Sith King just the same.

The most dread of our kings, and perhaps the most powerful. His crown covered his head and framed his red skin and fiery eyes as he stood over me, robes and armor glittering with the ransoms of entire worlds; the man who was nearly the conqueror of the galaxy. The fearsome villain of the Great Hyperspace War, first and bloodiest of the Star Wars, Naga Sadow himself.

“The Force is with you, Nyeomi Fens,” he intoned in a voice that could shake the mountain down around us. “But it will never set you free.”

Slowly I removed the cloak and rose to face the apparition. “My lord is ill informed,” I countered. “The Force has already freed me.”

The grin on his face sent chills down my spine. Naga Sadow the Emperor had only one love greater than power, the power he felt was only his right and due as he wallowed in narcissism, and that was his love of Sith Alchemy. He played with Life even as he played with death in the Great Hyperspace War, bending the Force to his will and creating hideous monsters and abominable, misshapen horrors merely to see if he could. He was practically hubris personified and his amusement was cause for great concern in me. “You think this is freedom, do you?” he chuckled as he stepped forward, crowding me against the wall even if he was ethereal and without substance. “You think the return of your misspent youth and being handed beauty and titles well compensates for being the slave of the Force? Are you so good a little soldier, Nyeomi Fens? Going where you're told, doing what the Force would have you do? You think you walk this world of your own volition, slave?”

“I think I do not have to justify myself to the ghost of a butcher and warlord, no matter his pedigree!” I told him defiantly, raising my chin proudly to show I would not be cowed. “Your lust for power spurred Supreme Chancellor Pultimo to order the Republic Navy to exterminate us! It was you who put the Crown of the Sith Empire on the head of Darth Vitiate the Mad!”

He laughed at my defiance as though I was but a petulant child stomping my foot at being denied a sweet and with a gesture blew out the side of the mountain. For a moment I thought he meant to bury us alive as the ground itself shook with his casual display of power, but he had much grander schemes than simple violence. “It is only just that Pultimo should cower and lash out in fear! I made the Galaxy tremble! But you are only a puppet of The Force, an ignorant slave who thinks herself above her betters! Behold the work of your Master, slave!” he commanded, gesturing out to the vista.

The side of the mountain away from the Inescapable Fortress had been laid bare and through the great scar in the rock, an awe inspiring vista was displayed. In the valley below, hovering over the ground, were a pair of star ships, a massive Harrower-class dreadnought wearing the colors of the New Revanite Empire and next to her was a republican Hammerhead-class cruiser both protected by an angry swarm of fighters that patrolled to and fro. Even from this distance I could see the encampment of a pair of armies. I could see the war that was coming to Yavin IV.

“There, do you see, Slave? See what has come about and you are but a disposable cog! A laughable little no one in the great schemes of Empire!”

“Perhaps,” I admitted as I processed this vision and what it might mean. “But I am still young, and strong and alive.” I turned to him with a smirk to finish my taunt. “And you are the shade of a dead man judged by history for the inhuman monster you were! And even the Sith revile you, Naga Sadow the butcher!”

His face contorted into a rage and he bellowed out in anger that resonated with the mountain down to its roots. The room shook and rocks fell from the ceiling, while I grasped my temples, trying to free my mind from his grip. I knew I was asleep and I closed my eyes and tried to close my ears to his bellow of impotent rage, willing myself to wake up. Then a sudden silence fell and I opened the eyes of my dream body to be face to face with my Mistress once more.

She was dressed in the Rodian flame silk gown I had seen her last in, the gown that so perfectly highlighted her light chocolate complexion and clung to every curve of her enviable figure. I couldn't stop myself from embracing her, and found her warm and solid, the antithesis of a ghost even though a corona of energy encircled her outline and she was ever so slightly transparent. “Oh, mistress!” I cried into her bosom, overcome once more of the memory of how she had died and how I had been responsible for it. “I am so sorry!”

I felt her kiss the top of my head and gently withdraw from my embrace. “Hush, Nyeomi, learn from the past, but don't live in it.”

Trying desperately to master myself, I took a deep breath and looked about. The wall of the cave was still gone and I could still see the strange shared encampment, but Naga Sadow was nowhere to be seen. “Did you chase him off, mistress?”

Vannacen shook her head, brown hair in ringlets down to her shoulders gently moving from side to side as she did so. “No, my loving apprentice, you did that. But like a bad penny, he will turn up again.”

“Mistress, you said I was where the Force needed me to be; and Naga Sadow calls me a slave of the Force. Is that right? Is that what I am?” She took me by the shoulders and looked right into my eyes, her own as gold as mine from being so imbued with the Bogan.

“We are all the Force, my apprentice. Life creates it, makes it grow and we are alive and so we are the Force.” She smiled a sad smile and put her hand against my cheek. “In all honesty, Nyeomi, I do not know why or how the Force brought you about, part of you here and my apprentice, part of you Edward from Earth. I know that now, together, you are where you should be, and you are doing what the Force, desperately trying to heal itself, needs you to do. But it has always been your choice.”

“Perhaps,” I admitted, pulling away from her and looking out at the two warships. “But it is not an informed choice.”

She joined me by the hole in the mountain and crossed her arms over her bosom. “If someone had told Edward what would happen if he went to Complete Simulations, would he have believed them? And even if you did believe him, would you have changed your mind?”

I looked down at the trim, strong body I wore, the body of a vibrantly alive woman in the full flower of her youth and realized she was right. I remembered the aches and pains of middle age that had become an almost constant companion. How getting up was becoming a chore, not something I did without thought. Not to mention the obesity that was making me both a stranger and prisoner in my own body. To trade being a man and all of that to be young and strong again? I would have traded my manhood for this, and that made me shudder and question so many other little conceits I held about this adventure I found myself in. Some part of me still held on that I was making 'the best' of an unbelievable situation, an optimist, looking at a glass half full. Now I was forced to see the glass as exactly what I would have ordered, to own this and all the other choices I had made not as reaction to some other, unseen, player manipulating me, but all my own. From remaining a Sith Lord, fighting to have my own view of the Force be the dominate view, to being Torm Belos' wife and the mother of his children.

I did that; all of it.

Looking back up at her, I asked, “Is this all for nothing?” She looked at me askance, possibly unsure of what I meant and so I continued. “I spark the Sith Civil War, we annihilate each other until Darth Bane decrees only two Sith and Luke Skywalker redeems Darth Vader and the Sith are broken and no more? Am I just a slave to fate and destiny?”

She sighed and draped a hand over my shoulders. “That is one possibility,” she admitted. “Out of uncounted billions and trillions. Already you know this history is different from what you thought you knew. Who can say with any certainty what will happen three thousand years from now?”

With a girlish smile she reached up and touched the tip of my nose with her index finger. “You worry about you. History will sort itself out. I warned you this would be a hard road. Now, wake up.”

***

My eyes snapped open to the shouts and screams of men.

I found myself, oddly, just as I had been in my dream, laid out on a make shift bed of supply crates, and someones cloak draped over me like a blanket. I rose and followed the sound of the shouting, light sabers in hand, to the mouth of the cave, where I found I needn't have worried. The shouts and cries I had taken for alarm were actually cries of adulation and joy. Arriving at the mouth of the cave, or as I now realized, tomb of Naga Sadow, I found them clustered in the ruins, whooping furiously as they raised fists to the skies.

Several kilometers away I saw the spires of the Massassi temple known as the Inescapable Fortress. It was under a blaster assault so withering that the deflector shield, normally invisible at this distance was clearly outlined by the defeated blaster bolts. In the distance, a flaming wreck was falling from space, the remains, I presumed, of one of the Harrower-class dreadnoughts that had so recently handed us defeat. However impressive that was, it was nothing to the awe inspiring sight of the Courageous, Darth Marr's personal Harrower-class dreadnought passing overhead, almost lazily bombarding the temple, and in tight formation next to it was the Hammerhead-class cruiser Virtue. The Allied forces of the New Revanite Empire and the Galactic Republic had arrived.

Why, was, at this point, nearly anyone's guess.

***

A squawk on the radio brought help by way of a series of air speeders which picked us up and took us back over the ridge to the camp I had foreseen in my dream. It was both heartening and a little eerie to see Imperial Troopers and Republican soldiers working together. A staging area had been hastily set up as a command center to which myself, Torm, and Darius (the legendary Lion of Alderaan) were whisked to and I realized instantly I was operating well above my pay grade.

My father was one of several generals, Imperial and Republic, conversing over a holo-table off to the side. That by itself would have been a bit humbling, but we were led past them to a different conference table where I knew I wasn't comfortable. My former commanding officer, Darth Marr was present in his red and gray armor, his masked face as unreadable as ever, but next to him, massive arms crossed over a barrel chest, was the Revanite Emperor himself, Darth Malgus.

Veradun Malgus, Revanite Emperor of the Sith was a hulking figure of a man, over two meters tall, bald and scarred from his life of war, he was encased in Sith battle armor that both protected him and kept him alive, powering the respirator he was forced to wear that covered the bottom of his scarred face from his nose down. Next to him, as always, was the Twi'lek Eleena Daru, his wife, our Empress who had first told him of Revan and the theory of merit. She was getting on in years, well north of forty and probably closer to fifty, but she was still a beautiful woman who kept herself fit and trim, the velvet glove over the iron fist of Emperor Malgus.

As if that was not sufficient lofty company to cower us, beside Empress Daru, just looking up from the table as we arrived was Jedi Grand Master Satele Shan. The leader of the Jedi was a trim human woman, her dark hair was going gray and her blue eyes had lines around them, but her body was still the hard body of a Jedi Master. She spurned the traditional robes for an armored, sleeveless tunic that protected her shoulders and neck and armored pants as well, a double-bladed light staff at her waist, ready at a moments notice. Her glance was hard and appraising of me, and to be honest a bit insulting for some reason as she turned to Marr and demanded, “This is the warrior you spoke of?”

“This is the operative,” Marr corrected her smugly, “That found out and spoiled your illegal invasion of Balmorra. Who found out your master Marek Targon was a traitor and who bested him single handedly and who lured the Hand of the Sith into a trap and with her apprentice, killed him.” I bowed to Darth Marr and sank to one knee before Malgus.

“It is an honor to be of service,” I declared. To my surprise and delight, Torm sank down next to me. “I await the commands of my Emperor.”

Emperor Malgus chuckled and made a casual gesture. “If you are concerned, Satele, test her yourself.”

“This mission will be the ultimate test,” Shan answered him. “And if she fails it, we all fall.”

That only further amused Malgus who turned to Darth Marr and commanded, “Bring them up to speed.” Marr nodded, then came around the table to us, bidding Torm and I to rise as he led us and Darius off a little ways for a more private talk.

“My lord?” I asked as we gathered around.

Marr's masked face bore down on me. “Your foresight proved correct, Lord Fens, even if your timetable was a bit off.”

“Excuse me?” demanded Darius. “Did I miss something?”

“Colonel Persia,” Marr greeted, extending a gauntlet clad hand to be shook. “It is my honor to meet the man who out maneuvered me.”

Darius shook the hand he was offered. “The fortunes of war smiled on us, Darth Marr, nothing more.”

“You are too humble, sir, but we have no time for old war stories,” Marr declared before turning to Torm to include him and Darius he continued. “Some weeks ago, Darth Fens came to me with a report, both detailing her treatise on the Bogan, and a vision she had seen of Vitiate being in a state somewhere between life and death which explained why he had not been seen for years. With the Hand and Will of the Sith taking such an interest in her, she foresaw that the Will was preparing to conduct a ritual to revitalize Vitiate, and make him capable of conducting his ultimate ritual.”

“Ultimate ritual for what?” Torm asked, looking at me.

“The sacrifice of all life in the galaxy so he could achieve immortality,” I replied quietly.

“I could not bring her suspicions to Emperor Malgus, or risk it being known that such a ritual even existed, unless we had solid proof,” Marr finished. “When the Hand was sent to silence Darth Fens, even though she had been 'cast out' of the Revanite Sith and was no longer any real threat to the Sith Orthodoxy, I had enough to convince the Emperor and he was able to convince the Republic of the danger and so a joint operation was formed, to stop the Will and slay Vitiate forever.”

Torm's face became cloudy. “So our attack was just a diversion? Those men died so you...”

“Those men died so we could assemble in secret, hidden by the arrogance of the Will in thinking he had the perfect trap for Lord Fens. So now we are here in sufficient strength to save the Galaxy,” Marr interrupted. “Do you have an issue with the decision, Lieutenant Belos?”

“Perhaps not with you,” he said after a long pause, before he turned to me, his face flush with suppressed anger. “But I expected better from you.”

A wave of emotions washed through me, shame, guilt, remorse all marched across my face, but before I could open my mouth in defense, Darth Marr did so for me. “Then your expectations are out of place if you expect a soldier to break an oath of secrecy for your ego to be salved.” Marr reached out and put a heavy hand on Torm's shoulder. “Instead of anger, think rather if your intended will so well keep her oaths to me and her Empire, you need have no worries of how her marital oaths to you will be kept!”

It was clear Torm had not thought of it quite like that and the flush drained from his face as he did so. Finally he nodded to Lord Marr and to me simply said, “We will talk about this later.”

“What is this about a mission?” Darius interrupted pointedly.

“Missions,” Marr corrected. “As we are working with the Jedi, all Force users are assembling teams to try and infiltrate the temple complex to find and kill the Will of the Sith and Vitiate himself. We don't especially care who kills them first, but you have infiltrated the Inescapable Fortress before,” he said, and was that a note of pride in his voice? “You do have an advantage. We need you and your group to use your secret way in, disrupt their counter attack if you can, but kill the Will of the Sith at all costs.”

I felt my stomach fall out of my body through my feet. “My lord, there is no secret entrance!” I hissed. I felt his rage flow up over him and before he asked, I continued, “When I came last I had the services of an expert computer slicer. Between my use of the Force to befuddle minds and the Slicer dealing with their alarms, that is how we entered! Through the main gate!”

Credit where it is due, Darth Marr controlled his rage with a speed and strength of will that was surprising. “Where is this Slicer?” he demanded. “I'll send a ship...”

“Barkhesh, my lord.” I was crushed, spiritually. As incredibly fast as traveling across the Galaxy in a week had been just a day or so before it now seemed an eternity with men in the field, prepared to die to stop the end of all life as we knew it.

“Darth Fens,” Marr spoke quietly and deliberately. “I do not need to remind you of the seriousness of this situation.”

I rubbed my chin in thought as something began to gnaw at me from what Darth Mar had said. Turning, I called out, “X4, come here.”

“Coming, Mistress,” the little droid replied as he extended his third wheel and trundled over.

“Show me a topographical map of this region,” I ordered and dutifully the droids holo projector lit up, showing a pair of river valleys with a mountain ridge running between them. “We are here,” I pointed at the ruins around the camp with the ghostly ships hanging over it. “Now, the Inescapable Fortress is here, on the other side of the ridge, with Naga Sadow's tomb between them.”

“You found the resting place of Naga Sadow?” Marr demanded, incredulous.

“I'm not an archeologist, master,” I replied, “but I had a vision of the Butcher in these caves where we took shelter. These two temple complexes form a triangle with the cave, and it looks like...” I trailed off and turned to the droid. “X4, draw a line between the center of the two temple complexes and the cave. Is that an equilateral triangle?”

“Yes, mistress,” the machine replied after dutifully drawing a connecting red line on the hologram. “It is also equiangular.”

I beamed at Darth Marr. “That can't be a coincidence. What bothers me is that between the ridge and the jungle, there is no interlinking road. Even if the jungle reclaimed it we would see the remnants.”

“I don't see anything,” Torm admitted, drawing in a bit to stare at the map.

“There must be some kind of road,” Marr added, staring intently at the hologram. “The Butcher's sarcophagus would weigh up to twenty tons. And it would need to be brought to both funerary temples for Sith death rituals.”

“It's underground.”

Marr turned to find Silas standing a respectful distance away, a handful of rocks he was shaking in his hand. “Excuse me?” the Sith Lord demanded, commanding the gambler to come over with a gesture. Silas joined the clutch and showed his handful of rocks.

“These rocks are granite,” Silas declared and made a gesture at the ridge line and the ruins around us. “All of this is, that ridge line, the blocks in these walls, we're likely standing on a massive granite upwelling. Granite is hard, which makes it suitable as a construction material,” he said, patting the ruined wall we were standing next to. “Because it is so hard and strong that would mean tunnels through it don't need to be shored up as much. Tough work, under poor conditions, but hey, this Naga guy didn't get where he got sweating about the working conditions for his slaves, am I right? Your road is probably underground where it can be level and direct.” Seeing the stares of the group at him, he shrugged and admitted, “I dated a geology major in college for a while. I made the mistake of asking her about her counter tops once.”

Darth Marr actually chuckled, a some what disturbing sound to be honest, and said, “Through passion I gain strength.” Turning back to me, he ordered, “If this road exists, find it. Otherwise, be ready to assault with the rest of the troops and breach the fortress. We attack at dawn.”

***

Now, you would think after having been giving such Important Tasks (capitals intended) by Important Persons (also intended) that the boys and I got busy finding an underground road. Yeah, you've never been in a relationship, have you? Silas and Darius went looking, and X4 popped out some kind of antenna and it started spinning, but before I could pick a likely direction to search for secret doors, Torm had my elbow and was leading me purposefully to a corner of the ruin picked for its strategic unimportance and lack of squatters.

Later was evidently now.

“Are there any other surprises you're waiting to spring on me?” he demanded, an odd expression on his face.

I'm pregnant, jumped to my lips far too quickly for my liking and even the thought of it was not something that was suited to macabre humor. Licking my lips I decided to try the reasonable approach. “I can see you're upset, and for what it's worth I wanted to tell you, I wanted you to not be here, because I was terrified this might be a suicide mission, but...”

“Listen to yourself!” he hissed, his face flush with suppressed anger. “You were ready to happily leave me, fly off to die and not say a word? What were you thinking? What could you possibly say that would mitigate...”

“I was doing my duty!” I told him forcefully, wishing I didn't have to look up into his face. “I was fulfilling the oath I swore to my nation, and if that meant giving up my life I was and am prepared to do so! I am a soldier, Torm! You knew that when you first tried to pick me up at Bibo's Tavern on Tatooine!” He clenched and unclenched his fists as he mastered his passions and kept control of himself.

“You aren't a conquest anymore!” he snarled, wanting to shout, but keeping his voice low. “Hell, you probably never were! You're not a bedpost notch, you're going to be my wife and the mother of my children and...!”

“And to protect my husband, and my children, and the men who volunteered to come on what I desperately hoped would be the strike I laid out, I led that mission! That I would catch the son of a bitch with his pants down! That's why I came! To do everything I could to keep it from being a suicide mission!” I reached up and grabbed his face between my hands. “Because I can't lose you, Torm! I just can't!”

His arms wrapped around me and pulled me against him. My head was in the hollow of his neck and shoulder and he was so vivid in the Force as his aura embraced me and I desperately wished we were alone and I could show him what he meant to me. Through my fantasies, his voice whispered, “Do you think I can lose you?”

“No.”

His lips pressed against my forehead. “Do you have any idea how special you are? How many women who were just conquests that couldn't hold a candle to you! You are the diamond in the rough I've spent years looking for, do you think I'm going to let you get away?”

I had never felt passion like what was washing through the both of us and that presence in the back of my mind fed on it, sucking it in and rolling it back and forth between us like nothing I had ever felt in my life. I was panting and giddy with the feeling of it, the warmth of him, the desire to possess and own him and in turn be owned by him; I didn't have words or a name for this incredible feeling of power. I was like an overcharged battery, full to bursting and still being charged.

It was like I had not been alive until that moment and suddenly I was, vibrating with the Force.

I looked up and grabbed his head and kissed him and I did not care who could see or say anything. The passion swept through us as our tongues danced and then suddenly, with a dull groan, the floor off to the side of us dropped down a foot, then rolled under the rest of the floor revealing a massive, three meter square hole with a ramp descending down into darkness.

Peace is a Lie, There is only Passion.

We had argued our way into finding the secret road, eat your heart out, Indiana Jones!

***

X4's sensors showed the passage led straight at the Inescapable Fortress to the end of his range. Torm quickly gathered his team, minus Darius unfortunately as the Generals had decided they couldn't do without The Lion of Alderaan. It was clear that Darius wanted to join us, to prove, perhaps at least to himself, that he wasn't just an arm chair general, a wannabe Napoleon pushing toy soldiers around a board, but having played against Darius in everything from Chess to Go, I knew his ability to think strategically would do everyone the most good at that holotable.

This gave me time to get my space suit off and trade it for my normal white and gray leathers with their plasteel plates for protection. I know what you're thinking, that a mottled green and brown uniform similar to what the other troopers were wearing, adding my utility belt and arm bracers along with a decent pair of jungle boots would have been more tactical. You are, in fact, correct, it would have been. But Sith, and to a lesser extent, Jedi, lead from the front. Part of our duty is to rally and inspire the men who follow us, and you can neither rally, nor inspire if you cannot be seen.

Tactical or not, it was comforting to be in the attire that so defined me to myself.

So, as quick as we could we got reassembled at the opening where I got my latest really ugly surprise of this war. Standing before the opening was a Jedi, with the hood of the cloak they all wore pulled over their head. “Under the auspices and traditions of the Sith, I challenge Darth Nyeomi Fens to single combat,” a female voice declared.

“We have no time for private disputes,” Darth Marr announced before I could say anything.

“Idina, what is the meaning of this?” demanded Grand Master Shan who had been drawn to the commotion as well.

The sleeve came up, revealing a mechanical robotic hand that flung back the hood to reveal a once beautiful face ruined by years of hatred. It was the green eyed blonde from Balmorra, or rather, her eyes had been green. Now they were a sulfurous yellow and the Bogan coiled and wrapped around her, feeding on her hatred of me. I should comment here, that this aspect of the Bogan was what terrified the Jedi. If you came to it with hate, it amplified that hate and used it as a conduit through you. This was why so many Sith Lords preached hate as the entry to the Bogan because it was easy to stoke and quickly increased their power.

But if you understood this about emotions and how the Bogan interacted with them, you learned to control what you felt, and what way the Bogan would come through you. If you came to the Bogan with love, it amplified the love. To the Jedi, however, the risk was too great, and so they shunned all emotion. By so unnaturally becoming emotionless, they struggled to reach the Ashla a struggle that would last their entire lives; trying to reach the Force by the hardest road possible. It was the root of the ancient grudge between the Jedi and the Sith.

And if I live through this, that really ought to be the subject of my next holo-lesson.

“Meaning, Grand Master?” she snarled, never taking her eyes off me. “I mean to avenge myself on the whore who did this to me!” Her shout echoed off the granite walls as she brandished the robotic arm and the painful looking stump it had been grafted onto.

“Vengeance is not the Jedi Way,” Satele scolded her, but Idina merely pulled off the cloak and flung it away.

“Then I renounce my membership of the Jedi Order!” Idina shouted. She thrust her good hand at me, pointing. “You are challenged, Sith! Answer or forfeit your place and standing!”

“I won't allow...” started Satele, who began to move between the combatants, but was stopped by the heavy gauntlet clad hand of Emperor Malgus on her shoulder.

“Darth Fens has been honorably challenged in an open statement of Vendetta,” Malgus's deep, raspy voice told the Jedi. “By our laws and traditions, she must answer.”

I reached up and squeezed my lovers hand before I gently pushed it off my shoulder so I could walk a bit out to stare into her face. “While the invasion was unlawful, your wounds were delivered in open combat, face to face. A battle that was the direct result of you taking part in your government's act of war against mine, with neither defiance nor declaration of war sent. You were not attacked from stealth, we were; and when we fought we both had weapons in hand. You deserved worse than what you got, but yet you live. If your life is worth so little to you, don't involve the rest of us in your suicide, because if you continue with this course I will kill you.”

She took her light saber off her belt and activated it. It's bright scarlet color surprised me until I could get a better look at the hilt and realized this was not her saber, but the weapon of my master, Darth Vannacen. “I will strike you down with the very weapon that saved you!” she shouted, needlessly confirming what I already had deduced.

“That does not belong to you,” I declared, doing my best to keep my anger that she would dare defile my mistress's weapon in check. “Surrender it and get out of my way!”

“Come and take it!” she snarled and settled into the ready attack stance of Form VII, Juyo.

My temper squirmed out of its leash and I was flooded with the Bogan. Almost of its own volition my hand rose and cupped as though I was wrapping my fingers around her throat. My Will crashed through her defenses which showed exactly how much of a novice in using the Bogan she was. Her face filled with terror as her free hand went to her throat and she began to choke. My hand continued to rise and she was lifted off the ground, gasping for air. She dropped my Mistress's saber to claw at her throat, but it flew to my off hand, snapping off as it did so, before it could strike the ground.

“You ignorant child!” I snarled at her. “You were no match for me when I was an apprentice and you have the unmitigated gall to challenge me now?! I am a Darth, a fully recognized Lord of the Sith! Look upon your death and despair!”

Her face went pale as the lack of oxygen took its toll. Off to my right, despite the warning hand, Grand Master Shan shouted, “Stop it, Darth Fens! You've proved your point!”

The anger flowed through me as if a thunderous flood. At last I could avenge the great lady who I had lost, much to the ache in my soul. Who had shown me so much, and who had opened my eyes to this power. It would be so easy to snap her neck, to avenge Darth Vannacen and make up for my failure. Mine. My showboating that had put her life in danger, my inability to realize what a threat the master I was fighting was. I should have died. The mistake was mine, the cause of her sacrifice was mine. I was the cause of her death. I could finally avenge her covering my mistake, saving my life at the cost of hers.

But it won't bring her back to life.

It was the simple, humble thought of an earthling that cooled my murderous rage and let me finally master the terrible power of the Bogan coursing through me. The veil of my anger pierced, my love of my mistress helped me control myself and I felt a great upwelling of pity and shame. With a contemptuous gesture I flung the girl to the feet of Grand Master Shan and took a deep, cleansing breath. “Get this girl some help,” I told her.

“I hate you!” the Padawan screamed at me, choking and sputtering from the release of my hold on her through the Force. She struggled to rise, but a pair of Jedi had taken control of her and were putting her hands in binders.

The Grand Master of the Jedi stepped around the fallen Padawan to take me by my shoulders. She was a tall woman, perhaps even a bit taller than myself and I was one hundred eighty centimeters. Her dark hair was more salt than pepper, and there were lines on her strong, high cheek boned face, but her sky blue eyes were clear and sharp. “Thank you, for your mercy, Darth Fens,” Shan told me.

“If she comes at me again, I won't be so merciful.”

“You are an interesting contradiction, Nyeomi Fens,” she said, squeezing my shoulders and stepping a pace back to take a measuring glance at me. “You are both atypical of your order and yet the most perfect Sith I have ever encountered. As though the same being could be capable of such magnificent dreams and such monstrous nightmares. I wonder, truly, if you will ever find the peace you seek.”

“Peace, madam Grand Master,” I told her dryly, “is a lie. There is only passion.”

She smiled a sad smile. “I wish we had found you. The strength of your conviction would have made you a great Jedi. I wish you well on your mission. May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with us all, Grand Master,” I agreed, silently adding, We'll need it, to myself. Then with a nod to Darth Marr and a bow to Emperor Malgus, I put my Mistress's light saber in the catch all pouch on my belt and led my team down the ramp and onto the dark funeral road.

***

And so, we walked.

The Funeral Road ran straight and level and although we were wary of traps, dead falls, or other clever devices you might expect in such a place, the practicality of the roads design and purpose evidently precluded such interesting little diversions. I imagine pushing a twenty ton stone sarcophagus would tend to take the amusement out of such things. Were this a film there would be eerie music playing, perhaps a monstrous pipe organ and a low chorus of bass and baritones chanting a single low note, just the sort of thing to bring people to the edge of their seats. Or maybe it would rather be done with a series of wipes and dissolves, jump cutting the five or six kilometers between the two temple complexes.

For us, it was just a trudging, tense march full of dusty, stale air and the faint, fetid smell of death from rodents who had found their way in, but never out. He never was more than a few centimeters from my elbow, but through the Force I could feel the conflict in Torm's mind over what he had seen me become when my anger brought the full power of the Bogan through me. Saw everything that the Republic fear mongers that a Sith Lord is, wanton, vindictive, vengeful and cruel.

He was next to me, but I had never felt further from him.

And if my lover was distant, the back of my neck itched from the intensity of my brother's gaze, and the heavy weight in his mind of his promise to 'put me down like a rabid dog' if I became the Sith Lord he worried I could become. The Sith Lord that Lanaka was taunting. The Sith Lord he had just seen torture Padawan Idina.

I could feel the palm of his hand itch for his blaster and the focused point of his gaze where the bolt would have to land on my neck.

My feet rose and fell in a slow, ponderous gait as they struggled to pull my heart, heavy with sorrow and regret, down the Funeral Road. I had never wanted to cry so desperately in my life.

***

Finally the hallway opened into a wide, round room, above which was a domed arch supported by a colonnade around the interior radius of the dome. At the center, below a shaft of light that was sunlight probably from a vent that went all the way to the top of the temple was an altar, the red silk covering was disturbed. There was a silver knife on the floor beside it, its blade covered in blood and clustered around the dais were dozens of desiccated bodies in the robes of Sith Inquisitors.

They had been kneeling, all facing the dais and arranged like a sunburst out from it. The mummified remains were held in position because their leathery skin and muscles were shrunk tight across the skeletons like a ghastly shrink wrap. As though they had been freeze dried in an instant, but the horrors did not stop there.

On the far side of the altar we discovered two additional bodies, hidden by it. An old man, withered with age and spotted skin, toothless mouth open in a final grimace of pain and a new born, still covered in the now dried slime of his placenta from birth.

Both of their throats had been cut from ear to ear and drained of blood.

Several of the troopers muttered oaths and one wretched as his stomach betrayed him. We carefully moved through them, but every corpse was the same, desiccated skin pulled taunt over a skeleton with sightless eyes and tongueless mouths gaping. “Tell me this doesn't mean what I think it does,” Torm whispered as our eyes met.

I took the comlink from my belt and stood under the shaft of light in hopes the signal would get through. “Darth Marr, this is Darth Fens, we're too late. Vitiate has completed his ritual.”

Darth Marr's deep voice was distorted by the tiny speaker and some kind of static. “Impossible, I felt nothing in the Force.”

Come to think of it, I was closer and I definitely should have felt this much life be taken and perverted. I couldn't bring myself to touch the infant, so instead I reached out and touched the old man. “Darth Marr, this body is cold and stiff, it must have died some time ago. We have arrived too late.”

“Launch your attack, salvage any intelligence you can on where the Emperor or the Will may have gone!”

I put the comlink back on my belt and drew my light sabers. “You heard him, men! Attack! Attack as your lives depend on it!”

***

As you might imagine, we attacked.

There is some argument by the scholarly bent as what to call this particular little skirmish. As you might think, the leading contender was The Battle of Yavin, as we were on Yavin IV and we had a battle, that made a kind of sense. However, to my mind that would be confusing as The Battle of Yavin to me meant the desperate attack of the Alliance to Restore the Republic against the first Death Star. And in a universe that had as much filling out as Star Wars did, that seminal moment was actually used as a delineating event, as important to Star Wars as the birth of Christ was to ours, and used the same way.

Events that happened before it were marked Before the Battle of Yavin or BBY, in the same way B.C. Or B.C.E. was to Earth. As far as I knew the current year was 3638 B.B.Y. Although it was also known as the fifteenth year after the Treaty of Coruscant, as well as the year 1362 of the Reign of Darth Vitiate, Sith Emperor or the Third Year of the Reign of Malgus I, Revanite Sith Emperor. Fun, right? The other major name was The Battle of the Inescapable Fortress, which is how I shall refer to it here after.

Our part in The Battle of the Inescapable Fortress led us up from the depths of the ritual chamber and out in the rear of the main building of the Temple complex, a massive, barrel shaped Ziggurat like structure, well to the rear of the current fighting. Out the opening before us we could see a battle line at the edge of the force field fence across the open ground between it and the tree line. A massive energy shield was making our air supremacy useless against the ground targets, though the dreadnought that the Courageous had traded shots with yesterday had crashed into a tremendous burning wreck beyond the force field.

While the sky had been swept clear of enemy fighters, it was also clear of friendly ones due to the shield and the numerous AA heavy blaster cannons in turrets behind that shield. Guns that having chased off our fighters were being put to murderous use against our troops in the tree line. I turned to Torm and Silas as we crouched in our position, getting ready to attack. “Lieutenant, take your men and silence those guns. My apprentice and I will locate and destroy the shield generator and rendezvous with you there,” I told him, pointing at a bunker with a pile of crates before it that looked like a defensible position.

“No, Nyeomi, that's...” Silas interrupted, drawing my gaze.

“Excuse me?” I demanded, but my brother shook his head.

“That's the wrong move!” he hissed urgently, trying to keep his voice down. “I will go with you, have Tari stay with them. If there are Sith about they'll need her!” He was right, of course, but I still hesitated. Some part of me was thinking this was his way of getting alone with me, where he could carry out his threat and blame it on the battle.

I hated thinking thoughts like that about my own brother, but I couldn't help them. Nor could I escape his logic. Turning to my apprentice, I ordered her, “Stay with the Lieutenant. I will return soon.”

An entire gamut of emotions marched across her face, but all she said was, “Yes, Mistress.”

To Torm, who's face was unreadable I asked, “Give me ten minutes, then make them bleed.” I hadn't intended to sound so detached by calling him by his rank. I was trying to be supportive of his being in charge of the men, by reinforcing the chain of command. I wasn't angry with him, though I was worried about so many things we had not had the time or the privacy to discuss. What he had seen me do, how and why he had seen me do it and..

And he reached up, grabbed my halter top, between the armor plates, and my breasts as luck would have it, pulled me forward, off balance, and into the most searing kiss he had given me in a while. He just did, taking me as if he owned me and had the right to and oh dear God how I wished we were alone! He held me by my shirt, keeping my balance for me and just kissed me, and kissed me and kissed me; his tongue in my mouth and his very presence wrapping around me forcing all of my attention and thought to him.

Then the kiss was over and he gently pushed me back on my own balance and commanded, “See that you are there, Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith! I have no intentions of losing you!”

Oh I just melted!

Panting slightly, I met his gaze and told him, “I am going to court the shit out of you, marry the fuck out of you and raise the hell out of your children!” A low chuckle rippled through the men and I knew Torm would be getting quite a ribbing from them later on, and I can say with some authority neither of us cared.

“Damn right!”

Silas and I got up and, in a doubled over crouch, ran to the other wall where we creeped up it to the mouth of the hanger. Outside was a really good recreation of the Battle of Geonosis, with an entire rainbow of blaster bolts flying hither and yon without care of what they would hit. I have to admit I paused for a moment, remembering the desert of a planet in another galaxy and the war I had fought on it once upon a time. I was brought out of my reverie by the touch of his hand on my arm. I turned to face him and decided to be blunt. “Are you getting me alone to carry out your threat?”

He blinked in confusion. “No, I was pointing out the generator,” he said, pointing over my shoulder at the collection of four half circles about twenty yards away. “What threat? What are you on about?”

“The threat of you promising to kill me if I turned into a Sith Lord,” I told him evenly, and for some reason my light saber hilts in my hands felt very heavy.

“What?” he demanded. Then continued before I could respond. “No! I just said that so you and Laura would quit having cat fights! Jesus, Ed...Nyeomi, you are my sister! You are family!”

I didn't care that we were in the middle of a fire fight, I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him in relief and guilt for having thought ill of him. As well some part of me was relieved knowing that I could never have fought against my own brother. I came really close to bursting into tears as I hugged him and after a moment, he did, reluctantly, return the hug. In a very sheepish voice, he said, “Hey, uh, it's ok, I'm sorry. And, Sis, this is getting really awkward...”

I snorted a laugh as my emotions were all over the map and I let him go. “Now isn't the time,” I told him as I fought against my tears of relief. “But when we're done with this, I want to have a long talk with you.”

He smiled his crooked smile and nodded. “Sure, sis. Now, how do we take out that generator? It's not like you can just stick one of your light sabers in it...”

I put my hand on one of the crates we were using for cover to adjust the way I was crouched to be a bit more comfortable and something about the label caught my eye. I moved my hand and read the Aurebesh twice to be sure I read it right. In English it said:

Caution:

Explosive Danger!

Thermal Detonators (Quantity 30)

Not believing what I was reading I opened the crate and found, exactly as advertised, thirty thermal detonators nestled in foam. Turning back to Silas, I grinned and asked, “Did someone order an earth shattering kaboom?”

“Isn't that delightful?” asked Silas with a positively evil grin and in a fair approximation of a certain Martian's voice. We slapped the cover back on our crate and with a quick set of hand signals, a couple of Torms' men came to collect crates of their own. As they prepared to silence the anti-aircraft guns in a very permanent fashion, Silas and I quickly made our way to the generator and began to plant the detonators.

And before you ask, no, neither of us were demolitions experts, but there was a block of instructions on the lid of the crate, complete with pictures. Hey, even the US Claymore mine has 'Front Towards Enemy' stamped into the plastic. Who knew?

As it happened, the generator was kind of half way between the 'front' of the Ziggurat where the fighting was, and the 'back' of it where the landing field was. There were several ships there, as I had mentioned previously, the nicest of which caught my eye as a number of people were getting into it. Now, I couldn't make out who at this distance, but I can tell the difference between VIPs in robes and grunts in armor. It would appear the higher ups were making good their escape. Turning to Silas I asked, “They're getting away, do you have this?”

“Go,” he assured me. “Do your Sith thing, Sis.”

I took off running, but the ship was better than three hundred meters away. Some of the troopers saw me coming and started shooting at me, but dodging or reflecting their shots was almost comically easy. The last of the VIPs disappeared up the ramp while I was still over two hundred meters away and I began to panic that I wasn't going to make it. I gathered myself for the greatest Force Leap of my life, when I felt the Force warn me and dodged frantically to my right. A light saber blade swiped through where I had just been and would have cut me in half had I continued.

I had been running directly at the ship, which took me by all kinds of things that could be used as an ambush point or cover; it was an air field after all. There were stacks of containers of every shape and size, spacecraft ground tugs to move the parked ships, trucks, speeders, and no, I hadn't been particularly careful. This blade was attached to light saber held by an attacker hiding behind a couple of pallets.

To be honest, my landing was not exactly graceful, and it took me a second to collect myself and square off against my ambusher, who seemed in no hurry to press her advantage. I came set and was startled to realize I recognized her. “Idina!” I exclaimed, and then realized I really didn't recognize her. She was holding a light saber with a green blade, but the hilt was unfamiliar. The binders were still around each wrist, but their chain had been severed. More to the point, her features were twisted and ugly and she practically glowed with power. She had given over herself completely to the Bogan, or the Dark Side as the Jedi had taught her to understand it. They had called it the Dark Side and taught her using it was evil.

This was the danger of Jedi teaching because they believed the Dark Side was totally evil, when Idina had given herself completely to it she was herself twisted into a corrupted well of pure evil, magnified by the power she had sought. “They can't stop me!” she hissed at me as she began to prowl forward, blade before her in a high guard. “No one can stop me from killing you!”

“This is your last chance to go on living,” I warned her as I edged away from the little cluster of pallets and other cargo to an open space to have more room to maneuver. “If you come at me again, I will kill you,” I declared, slowly twirling my sabers in my hands. I put out my left hand and raised two fingers, but she was so saturated with the Bogan it would never let me get away with that trick twice. However she did sense my attempt, which further enraged her and she lunged at me, sweeping the blade up in a high attack at my left shoulder.

I parried, but she was much faster now, bouncing the blade off mine to twirl behind her head and swoop down for an upper cut at my right knee. I swept my right hand saber before me and blocked her, spinning into her guard as I did so and threw my entire body weight into a kick. I was aiming for her throat, but I was a bit low and it landed on her chest, above her breasts. Still it knocked her backwards into a tumble with a snarl of pain and rage. “You think you know the Bogan?” I demanded of her with considerable contempt as she scrambled back to her feet. “You think you can control the power you've given yourself to? You think you can best me in a few hours using a power I've spent my entire life mastering?”

With a roar of rage, she charged, blade high over her head like a kendo master but with far less skill she assailed me with a fusillade of blows, each far more powerful than her delicate size would indicate. Not that it did her any good as I blocked them with deliberate, precise movements, easily. My blades flashed through the air, high right, low right, blocking and countering to force her into a pattern that would leave an opening. Once it appeared, I spun through her guard, and crashed the pommel of my left saber into her nose. The cartilage snapped with a sickening wet crunch and she staggered back with her flaying sword hand so out of control she nearly scored herself while her nose was fountaining blood down her front. “You are beaten! It is useless to resist!” I taunted her.

“I hate you!” she screamed and came again with a series of powerful, but sloppy attacks that I blocked. Across the tarmac, I heard the engines of the Sith Interceptor begin to spin up and knew I didn't have much time. I blocked her blade low and with my superior strength forced her guard open.

Leaning into her face I growled, “Don't make me destroy you!” Holding her guard open, I spun, bringing in my elbow as hard as I could into her jaw. I felt her jaw break under the jarring impact, that sent a wave of pain down my arm nearly causing me to drop my other blade.

She screamed in agony, a truly horrific sound around her broken jaw. She began to collapse from the pain, and my follow through forced her to fall on her side. I stepped down on her wrist of the hand that held her saber, pinning it to the ground and I brought my other blade down to her bloody nose that crowned her ruined face. She submitted, but her eyes became harder as my insult to her injuries stoked the fires of her hatred of me.

The Interceptor rose up off her landing jacks and stowed her landing gear. As the repulsor lifts brought her higher, I knew I only had seconds. I threw my left hand saber straight up to free my hand, which by feel found the pouch I wanted and quickly threw the little metal disk I took from that pouch with all the strength the Force would give me. It struck the hull of the star ship and stuck just as the main engines came online and the ship rose up through the force field and was quickly out of sight.

A horrific explosion rocked the complex and, over head, the deflector shield collapsed as the guns fell silent as well. I heard the roar of the charge of The Revanite and Republic Troopers as they surged forward and with surprising swiftness, the sound of blaster fire stopped. We had won the battle, but perhaps lost the war.

My other saber fell back into my hand and I stared at Idina in a cold fury, wanting very, very much to sink my saber through her heart for costing me my chance to stop their escape. I wanted to kill her in the very worst way. Instead I returned the saber hilt to its keeper on my belt and forced her onto her stomach with her hands behind her back. With the still lit saber I touched it to the binders to weld the bracelets back together.

It was a very, very poor substitute to killing her.

***

Maybe I need to seriously rethink my life.

I wasn't in the celebratory mood so when the men had the base secure and were making merry, celebrating their victory, I made myself scarce out on the tarmac and got to thinking. Out among the star ships and fighters, the smell of lubricants and fuel in the air I sat down on a crate of something and got into some serious navel gazing. Honestly, even I couldn't believe my latest outrage. I'm in a fight with a weapon that can be instantly lethal against someone driven mad with hatred of me and consumed with the overarching desire to kill me and I am quoting a fictional Sith Lord while I toy with her.

Yes, I'll admit it. I have my eyes open enough to know that I could have ended that fight with Idina practically before it started. In my minds eye I saw the battle rage a hundred different ways and in all of them, the only reason it took as long as it did was because I was showboating. I was toying with a mentally unhinged woman, a human being in need of help, and I... A shudder ran down my spine. I had been as capricious and needlessly cruel as a cat with a mouse. Idina didn't keep me from stopping the Interceptor. I could have killed her in a split second, hardly slowing down. I could have maimed her more permanently almost as quickly and again I could have stopped their escape.

No, no, no! I shook my head in anger. I was making excuses, trying to rationalize my own cruelty. No,some part of me whispered. Disarming her with out life-threatening injury took time.

“So I make her even more deformed,” I whispered.

“Don't give yourself more guilt than you deserve,” Darth Vannacen said to me as she came into being a little ways off and walked over. “Idina chose to be deformed. The droids could have covered her replacement hand with synthetic skin. She insisted they leave the metal exposed, so it could gnaw at her as a constant reminder. Doubtlessly, she will resist the reconstructive surgeries for her nose and jaw, preferring to make her body as ugly as her soul.”

“And my quoting Darth Vader?” I demanded of my mistress. “Do you have a good reason for me doing that?”

I felt a strange sensation in the Force coming from her as she reached into my mind, took the image of the penultimate Sith Lord and an illusion of him appeared before us both in all his two meter black clad glory. Right down to the SCUBA regulator breathing. Ironically Darth Vannacen was delighted. “Oh, how absolutely perfect!” she remarked with a chuckle. “No wonder your mind went here, even I would be intimidated by this...avatar of Sithhood!” She shook her head and grinned at me. In my mind I felt kind of a highlight reel of Vader's best lines play for her. “And what a lovely macabre sense of humor.”

The illusion faded away and I shook my head. “Mistress, I am worried! I can't seem to stop this...irrational need to show off!”

“My dear apprentice, you are young and reckless, yet,” she told me in condolence. “Of course you need to show off. You do not yet have the respect that comes from age, so you have to counter it with ability.”

“But it got you killed!”

She smiled and raised her hand to cup my cheek. “There are worse things,” she told me earnestly. “I am one with the Force, Nyeomi, and I have no regrets about that.” Her hand came down my neck to my shoulder. “Nyeomi, take comfort in the fact that you are worried, which shows you are not anywhere near as reckless as you think you are. And as you pointed out to your apprentice, by persuading an opponent not to fight, you prove yourself the better, and sometimes that takes a little showing off.”

I tried to argue with her, but she would just give me a silencing look and squeeze my shoulder. So, after what felt like a long moment of silence I asked, “What do I do now, Mistress? Vitiate has gotten away, who knows how successful that monstrous ritual they preformed was. I feel like I have stumbled and I keep falling forward, never catching myself, nor falling down the precipice I stand on the edge of.”

“Is your homing device working?”

“It squawked the vector they jumped to hyperspace on. They're headed for Celanon on the Hydian Way. Probably to try and be lost amongst all the traffic on a major hyperspace lane.” Vannacen's smile was sad.

“That is what they want you to think,” she said softly. “Call up a map.” I dug out my tablet and soon the galaxy was floating holographically over it. “Here is Yavin, and Celanon beyond it. But look what is in the opposite direction.”

An iceberg flowed slowly down my spine. “Korriban.”

“Where else would the Sith Emperor flee except where he felt most safe?”

I stood, one hand putting my tablet away, the other digging into my catch all bag to remove the precious artifact I had recovered. “I was able to get this,” I told her. “Would you like me to take it to your...tomb?”

“I'm not there,” she told me with a smile. “Keep it, so you'll always have a bit of me to remind you.”

“I don't need...” I started, but she was gone again. For a moment I stared into the space she had been in and wondered if she got to choose her comings and goings, or if the Force did, or some other agent we were both unaware of. I sighed, looking at the gleaming dura-steel of her hilt with the beautifully patterned Wroshyr wood inlay she had worked into the handle. I remembered she was going to tell me the story of how she had gotten the iron hard wood from Kashyyyk, but had never gotten the chance.

I sighed and returned the hilt to my bag, promising myself to have a suitable stand build for it. In the mean time, I headed back to the celebration I had to ruin.

***

The first person I met on the way back was isolating himself from the celebration as I was. Darth Marr was leaning against the fender of a military land speeder, casually watching the festivities from the darkness, his expressionless mask as placid as always. “Darth Fens,” he greeted without turning to face me. I bowed, whether he could see it or not, it was the right thing to do.

“My lord Marr. I fear I have bad news...”

He crossed his armored arms over his massive chest and still did not turn to face me. “Of late, Darth Fens, that seems to be all you bring me. What has happened to my fair haired child who I could always depend on to bring me news of success against impossible odds?”

I stopped by his right arm, looking into the fire light. The men had cobbled together a bonfire and the field cooks had set up a buffet complete with beer kegs from who knew where. X4 was playing music from his online storage and putting on a fair light show holographically. No one was wearing helmets and I was surprised to find both Imperial and Republic units had female troopers. A brunette with her long hair in a military bun at the nape of her skull was dancing a nameless, step-less dance with Silas, the light gleaming off her black, Imperial battle armor. They both looked so happy.

“She is still here, my lord, and still endeavoring to bring news of success to her master.”

I looked up in time to see his hood turn and the mask stare at me. “So I see,” he said after a moment. “I was certain I had lost her when she petitioned me to be released from my service to run off and breed with a smooth talking Republican lothario.”

“There is more to my future husband than his skill at seduction, my lord,” I told him softly. Looking up into his mask, I squared my shoulders and summoned up a bit more self confidence. “And his genetics with mine should produce capable, loyal citizens of our Empire.”

A gauntlet covered hand cupped the chin of the mask in thought. “So I have seen. The breech went far easier than expected. While we do not yet have hands on either Vitiate or the Will, the back of the Sith Inquisition has been broken. Whole worlds are surrendering to Emperor Malgus without even having forces of our Empire in system. By the end of the week, there will be only one Sith Empire again, ours. I need my best Sith Lord, Darth Fens, not just the promise of her offspring decades from now.”

“If my lord will give me time to have those offspring, I think he well find he can have his cake, and eat it too.” Once more the faceless mask turned to regard me, unreadable as always, until like a chain clad prisoner being hauled up from the depths of a dungeon, his deep laugh reverberated up from his gut.

“Surely this has to be the most personal request for personal leave I have ever granted!” He stood up from the speeder and squared off to me directly. “What is is your news, Darth Fens?”

“My lord, I believe Vitiate and the Will have fled to Korriban to marshal their forces and give the Emperor time to complete his ritual to kill us all.”

“What proof have you of this, Lord Fens?”

I sighed, but kept my gaze direct into the smoked glass of his visor. “Only my reputation and track record, my Lord.”

For a long moment he stared at me, as if he could will the truth to write itself on my face for him to read, then he nodded. “I have come to find, Lord Fens, that your hunches are more reliable than the facts of others.” He turned on his heel and with a 'follow me' gesture strode towards the merriment. From his table, Emperor Malgus caught sight of me and raised his glass in salute, to which I stopped and bowed, blushing a bit as a somewhat haphazard cheer sounded. Darth Marr, oddly enough, strode up to the brunette who had been dancing with Silas, but was now holding a cup of beer and chatting with him. She quickly put the cup down and came to attention at Marr's approach.

“Lord Marr,” she greeted with a bow.

“Stand at ease, Sergeant Malo,” the head of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire ordered. The sergeant only relaxed slightly. “Forgive my interruption of your celebration. What is the status of Thunder Squad?”

“No apology needed, my lord,” she told him earnestly. Close up I could see she was very pretty, and her hair which I had taken as brunette was actually a red tinted auburn and she had remarkably brilliant blue eyes. “We have taken heavy losses, my lord, but we are still combat effective to about sixty percent. I assumed command when we lost Captain Pillar and Lieutenant Vixlo.”

Marr nodded as if he was already aware of the status and merely confirming previous briefings. “I am promoting you to Lieutenant and placing you in command of Thunder Squad. You are to resupply as much as possible and work with Republic Lieutenant Torm Belos and his forces. Secure transport capable of ferrying all of you and assist Darth Fens on her missions. I am placing Thunder Squad at the discretion of Darth Fens. You answer to her.”

“Yes sir!” she replied, saluting, then turned and bowed. “Reporting for duty, my Lord.”

“Carry out your orders, Lieutenant and report to me when we are ready to depart.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She started off, but I caught her elbow to add, discretely, “And Lieutenant, as Mr. Bast will be accompanying us, don't let this interrupt too much of your celebration.” Her eyes shot over to Silas and back to me before a broad smile spread across her face.

“Yes, ma'am.” She gathered up her helmet and began to bark orders at her squad.

As I walked by Silas on my way to track down Torm, I whispered, “You're welcome.”

***

It would be kind of trite to say 'the Force led my steps', but, trite or not, that is basically what happened. I'm not sure why I had walked past Silas, intent on being somewhere that seemed important to carry out the orders I had been given. But I did. I walked with that deliberate stride people use when they know exactly where they're going and need to be there quickly. By the time I realized and asked myself what I was doing I had arrived a ways from the party again, though its music and laughter made for a bit of white noise behind me.

He had wanted to be alone as I had, standing out by the now harmless turbo laser turrets and crates of munitions. His hand were clasped behind his broad back and he was staring out into the jungle beyond the fence. I had been pretty quiet in my approach, but he still cocked his head slightly backwards, hearing me.

Yavin glowed on the horizon, casting a ruddy light on the jungle and putting everything into disorienting shadows as the star, Yavin and its moons circled, had set. I walked up to him, pausing a few feet away as he still had not turned. “Am I disturbing you?” I asked softly.

His massive chest expanded as he took in a breath and sighed. “No,” he said at last. “It is probably good that we talk.”

My stomach churned with butterflies. “Are you angry?”

Again there was a long pause before he finally shook his head. “No, anger isn't the right word. Conflicted would probably be a better one. I would like to know where I stand with you.” At long last Torm turned and the odd planet light played across half of his strong features while the rest remained in silhouette. “I think I've made my desires quite plain, and I just want to know where they rate with you.”

I walked a bit closer to crane my neck up at him. “Surely I made my desires known before the battle,” I told him softly. “I thought we had settled things in the hanger...?”

One of his lips turned up at the corner and he closed the distance until I was almost touching him. “You scare me, Nyeomi Fens, and there is not much I admit to being afraid of. You are going to constantly challenge me, I see that now, like a Fathier that just won't be broken.”

“I never hid who and what I was from you,” I told him. “You never seemed like a man who would back down from a challenge. You knew I was dangerous and you liked it.”

His arms came around my shoulders, sliding down to the small of my back to pull me against him. He was hard; hard muscles over hard bone and an iron will. I didn't need him, I was strong myself and I could stand on my own up to anyone who would dare try to dominate me. I didn't need him, but I wanted him. I wanted him because he hadn't been afraid of me and the challenge excited him. “Yes, that is true,” he admitted. “Playing the game with you was like riding lightning. I've never been a jealous man; I've never seen the point to it. There was always someone else, but you can break my heart and that gives me pause.”

“I'm not her,” I said as I laid my head against his chest and listened to his heart beat, remembering the woman I had seen in his mind that had hurt and haunted him.

“But whenever Darth Marr calls, you will answer.”

“I am a soldier,” I reminded him firmly. “Honor Above All. But Darth Marr will never know the depths of my heart, or the delights of my body. Darth Marr will not ever share my bed, but yes, my darling, if he calls, I must answer.”

One of his hands came up my back and cupped the back of my head against his breast. “Wars are ugly when women fight.”

“Wars are just ugly,” I retorted. “No matter who is fighting them.” I sighed and raised my head to find him looking down at me, his face maroon in the ruddy half light. “But some things must be fought for, Torm Belos. Some times you cannot sway an opponent with words. And when their faces twist in fury and they shout, 'Yes, you will,' that is when we curl a fist and shout back, 'No, we won't!'” I stepped back from his embrace and held his gaze by looking him square in the eye. “Will I be a difficult wife? Yes, I will. Because I am the best, I demand the best, for myself and my children! I will roll over and die for no one! Not the Republic, not the Jedi and not you either Torm Belos! If you want me, you will earn me every day of your life! Just like I will earn you! Yes, I will have fits of temper, and bitchy days and I will vex you and if you are not on your toes ahead of me I will chew you up and spit you out!” His face pulled into a frown, but my own inner honesty demanded I give this to him raw and straight up.

“But I am loyal unto death, Torm, so lead, and I will follow! Because I am fierce no one will harm the children you sire on me. Because I am Sith I embrace my passion as no other woman you will ever know. Because I am free, my choice to submit is a treasure beyond price. Because I am bold I caught your eye, and because you are bold you caught mine.” I held out my hand. “And because I am honest to a fault you will only hear the truth, naked and unpolished from my lips just as you do right now. Because now you know there is no other woman in this galaxy who is my equal, and all that is left is do you have the stones to claim me!”

He reached up and took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, then he pulled me hard against him, his free hand cupping my buttocks as he hoisted me off my feet. He picked me up, making a seat of his hands and brought me up to eye level with him. I entwined my arms around his neck and leaned my forehead against his, staring into his eyes. “You want to be claimed?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I whispered directly into his eyes.

My weight shifted as he took all of me into one arm and the other came up my back. His massive hand took a hold of the bun of my hair at the nape of my neck and then the back of my head. He pulled my face down slightly and kissed me. Have I mentioned what an incredible kisser Torm Belos is? Yes? Well, it bears repeating. I am a Sith Lord, used to riding the waves of my passions, trained in their mastery, but there are times... Yeah. He pulled back, his eyes sparkling with mischief and I was so turned on I actually panted a bit, staring into his eyes. “Then I claim you!” he told me with all the ownership of a hot iron branding into my ass cheek.

“Yes.”

There ought to be a word for that moment when white hot lust turns into I want to grow old waking up to your face every morning love. There really, really ought to be. That's where I was right then.

Yeah, there ought to be.

***

I found that I had been missed in my absence.

Upon rejoining the party with my intended, I found two groups waiting on me, the newly promoted Lieutenant Malo who was looking rather desperate with a sizable crowd that I took to be Thunder Squad. And if they were only at sixty percent strength, they were more of an under strength battalion than a squad. Between Torm's men and Thunder Squad I had better than five hundred troops at my disposal. Which I would probably need, seeing as next to them was Grand Master Satele Shan and at least a dozen, perhaps more Jedi Knights, most of them grim faced and wearing armored plates over their traditional robes.

“My Lord...”

“Darth Fens...”

The lieutenant and the Grand Master looked at each other as they had spoken at the same time. Satele gave a polite 'you first' gesture and Malo nodded her thanks. “My Lord, there is not a ship of sufficient size to carry all of us, but we would require so many smaller vessels that there are not enough with what we have on hand, and of those, many are still damaged from the battle.”

“I may be able to assist you there, Darth Fens,” the Jedi told me. I held up an index finger to the lieutenant and gave the Grand Master my full attention. “Is it true you intend to assault Korriban itself?”

“I believe Darth Vitiate has fled there, yes,” I replied.

“I have no mandate to assist in the invasion of the Sith Home World,” she said softly, obviously worried. “But surely such an assault would be fool hardy, the defenses...”

“Korriban houses the main Sith Academy, and the Dark Council sometimes meets there for traditional ceremonies, but the primary defense of the academy is it is deep inside the Sith Empire...and of course the acolytes themselves.” The expression on the Grand Master's face became grim.

“Then you will need Force Wielders to fight them,” she said sadly. “More than just you and your apprentice.” She made a gesture to the oldest of the Knights standing beside her, a hard bitten man with rugged, weathered skin and close dirty blonde hair over steely gray eyes. “This is Master Danric Tummins. You will find he is something of fan of your video essays on the holonet. He, and his followers, have decided to disobey my direct orders and assist you in your endeavors.”

I felt my eyebrows ascend my forehead. “I like a good rebel,” I admitted, and to be honest in my situation, I could hardly be one to look gift horses in the mouth. “But I also don't want to be responsible for ruining a man's life work either.”

“I vowed long ago to go where the Force led me,” Tummins declared in a firm, unwavering voice. “It's led me to you, if you'll have me.” I took the hand he offered and shook it.

“Master Tummins, we are grateful for the help.” The Jedi moved into the group of the Lieutenant's troopers, greeting, shaking hands and making friends. Friends that would soon enough become brothers in arms. Turning back to the Grand Master I asked, “Well, not that I am complaining, but as you have added to my transportation problem, you mentioned you could help with it?”

Satele's eyes twinkled with an inner amusement at my wit and a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. She beckoned me to follow her, which I did, as she led the way back to the flight line. There were number of ships parked there, supply freighters mostly carrying weapons, munitions and food for the troops, but also fighters and other small ships. They were dominated somewhat by an interesting looking ship. At about a hundred and fifty meters, she was the biggest on the flight line, more of a corvette or frigate in that hazy place between escort ship and capitol ship. She was in various shades of white and gray, and obviously the work of the Corellian Engineering Corporation. She was an elongated diamond mostly in shape, with longer 'wings' on her midships that were currently folded against the hull. Out on her nose was the classic, circular cockpit CEC was famous for that was also perched on a certain smuggler's pride and joy. At her rear were a trio of large, circular engines in a triangle formation along with dorsal and ventral antenna and several strategically placed turbo laser turrets.

“This, is the Sleipnir,” Satele said by way of introduction. “She was actually captured as part of a Kessel Spice interdiction The Jedi Order assisted the Magistrate of Umbara with. She was flown by a Jedi prize crew to Umbara, which the government then bestowed on the Jedi Order and I, as Grand Master, am giving to you.”

I bowed, deeply moved by the other woman and the interesting turns her mind could take to stay inside the rules of what she could do, but still twisting them like a pretzel to get what she wanted done. “I'm deeply grateful, Grand Master. Let's hope she's as fast as her namesake.”

“May the Force be with you, Darth Nyeomi Fens.”

I twirled to my the leader of my new troops as well as my best friend. “Colonel, Lieutenant, load your men aboard as quickly as possible. We are leaving.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

With a final bow of respect to the Jedi, I swept up the boarding ramp and made my way forward. The circular corridors with their white, padded zero gee cushions made me feel nostalgic for my youth on another world, far from this one, a feeling that only got stronger as the door to the cockpit slid aside and I stepped onto the flight deck. No, it wasn't the Millennium Falcon, but it was close enough that it brought a smile to my face and a flutter in my chest. I reached over and tripped the master breakers and the boards sprang to life around me. “Can you fly this?” demanded Silas from behind me.

“I can fly anything,” I told him as I continued forward, my hands keying on the navigation computer which was behind the pilots place on my way to that famed seat and slid into it. There was a little step up for the pilot and copilot as they sat on a slightly raised dais which gave a better view out the canopy. I stole a look at Tari who was sliding into the copilot's chair, a bit to the annoyance of Torm. I winked at my lover to encourage him to be indulgent and he sat down in the flight engineers station so as to continue bringing the ship up.

“Main airlock secure,” Torm told me as he brought the sub-light engines on line and continued spinning up the hyperdrive. “All lines clear, ready to raise ship.”

“Pilot's spacecraft,” I commanded as I took hold of the control yoke and strained a bit to see out the canopy windows. “Clear left and front.”

“Clear right and front,” Tari advised me as the Sleipnir rose off her landing skids and began to be clear of the tarmac. Out the canopy I saw Grand Master Shan wave us bon voyage, but I was too busy to return the good will. Nudging the throttle up the ground fell away and in short order the blue skies of Yavin IV gave way to the star studded ink of space.

“I'm getting a transmission from the Dreadnought Courageous,” Silas said from behind me. “Captain Rusan says he's pleased to offer us escort and support at the order of Darth Marr. He wants us to form up aft of his port beam.”

The odds were definitely looking up for us living through this. I sent Captain Rusan my compliments while Tari and I flew into the requested position. The Courageous led the way to Korriban and we jumped to light speed after her.

***

There have been times I have commented on the speed of travel in this galaxy I found myself in. Like Han Solo before me I have been from one side to the other and seen many strange things. Were this a movie, the flight to our destination would have been all but instantaneous. Two ships leaping into hyperspace, then perhaps a shot of the cockpit and the swirling, blue white tunnel of light that was out the window. Maybe even a close up of the determined expression on my face, not that I was even sure it was a determined look; I felt a little sick to be honest. Then the stars pull back and we jump from battle to battle.

Yeah, that would be convenient.

However, in this galaxy, while our target was next door astronomically speaking, it was still a forty five minute trip through hyperspace. And when I made Silas aware of that he excused himself and, I hope, went looking for a certain Lieutenant. I couldn't say as far as Lieutenant Malo went, but Silas Bast needed to get laid desperately. I spent the time meditating and trying to keep myself calm and ready for the coming fight. God alone knew if I had what it took to take down Darth Vitiate the Mad. I wasn't sure I did, and with the Force, belief you can do something is a thing as we learned from Master Yoda. I had to convince myself I did have what it took. Finally the navigation computer beeped and with a glance at my co-pilot, I pushed the hyper drive motivator lever back into it's standby position. The stars rushed away from us and our destination sprinted up to meet us.

Korriban was the red, baleful eye of the Stygian Caldera, a harsh, dry world, red dust slowly eating away at fallen statues. The planet was covered in them, statues, monuments and ruins of the once great Sith Empire. Now it was a dead world, as lonely as the grave of a man with no family to mourn his passing, devoid of water or even soil that could grow anything, scorched and sown with salt from orbit on the genocidal orders of Supreme Chancellor Pultimo. Seven moons circled the home world of the Sith and the destroyed remnants of an eighth moon were slowly coalescing back into a moon from its own ruined debris field that made approach to the planet a night mare.

Fighters began to stream from the Courageous like some kind of massive creature spawning in the inky black sea of space. There seemed to be far more of the fighters than the Courageous would normally carry, but I wasn't going to argue. A mixed bag of fighters rose in answer from the captured Republic space station, but they were very much out numbered and our escort fighters shepherded us past and we began our descent into Korriban's atmosphere. “Final approach!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Get ready!” I heard the warning picked up by the soldiers in the hallway and passed aft by chainlinked shouts. My eyes caught with Tari's as I turned back and they were wide with fear, but her ripples in the Force were calm.

“If I die, I'm going to haunt you!” she teased me and I couldn't help but chuckle.

“There's a line,” I informed her and we pierced the cloud cover to see the vast plain and canyon of the Valley of the Dark Lords and beyond it, the Sith Academy. “Lower gear!” I ordered. “Extend all speed brakes and flaps!”

“Out, down and locked!” Tari assured me.

The shore batteries of the Academy began to fire, but several fighters streaked ahead and strafed them. They fell silent quickly. I made for the landing pad complex at the edge of the Valley of the Dark Lords and the foot hills leading up to the Academy. It would be a hard fight, fought a half-mile over uneven, broken ground.

Sleipnir came down a little hard on her landing skids and the hatch open warning was blaring even before that. I throttled the engines all the way down and jumped up with Tari at my heels, leaving Torm to finish bringing the ship down. We ran through the gang way, just getting to the back of the line of troops as they ran down the ramp. My sabers in my hands, my apprentice and I ran down the ramp and into hell. It was a horrific confusion of dust from our landing, flying blaster bolts and a parade of Jedi colored light sabers leading the charge. I was glad neither Tari nor I would catch friendly fire on that account.

As we ran, I saw that Lieutenant Malo had ordered her troopers to remove their helmets which made for an instant friend or foe determination. Smart subordinates, I very much approve of smart subordinates. To my surprise, when Tari and I had cleared the ramp, the Sleipnir took off again and her batteries began to aide us as a massive gunship.

I do love you, Torm Belos!

With the assistance of the guns of the Sleipnir, the small forces of the space port fell in minutes, most of them breaking and running towards the academy. I looked out across the Valley and saw a stream of acolytes, archaeologists and Reclamation Service Specialists, all headed that way, likely to be pressed into service as troops. The fighters were strafing them, and I honestly felt bad for them, but better they die there than take up arms and make taking the Academy difficult.

Or impossible, I told myself.

I finally caught up with the vanguard and was pleased to see our casualties had been light. Lieutenant Malo was looking in particularly good health and, unless my guess was wildly off the mark, recently acquainted with a certain gambler. “Celebrating early, Lieutenant?” I asked and her cat in the cream grin answered any lingering doubts. Good for you, bro.

“We've taken the spaceport, my lord,” she told me with a salute. “Do we fortify here or...?”

“No,” I interrupted quickly. “Leave a small rear guard and get organized quickly to press forward! We must take the academy!”

“Yes, my lord!” she shouted to be heard, then turned, quickly barking orders and the mass of soldiers, Jedi and a pair of wayward Sith surged forward, down the dusty trail to the Sith Academy. The Academy itself was an octagon shaped building, built of ferrocrete reinforced with durasteel directly on top of the ruins of the funeral temple for the Valley of the Dark Lords. There were windows, but they were shuttered against our assault and the massive stone steps that once lead up to the temple were now crowded with men and women trying to make makeshift barricades.

Silas drew his pistol, steeling himself to the charge, before he turned and shouted at me to be heard, “Once more unto the breech, or close the wall up with our English dead!”

Suddenly, inspiration struck and I yelled, “Droid! Someone bring me a droid! Hold the line here!” I snatched out my comlink and keyed it on. “Torm! Hover over that open ramp below the steps up to the Academy and get ready to rebroadcast this transmission!”

X4 trundled up and I extinguished my sabers. “I'm here, Mistress!”

“Up link with the Sleipnir, and broadcast this message.” I composed myself, and placed my fists against my hips in what I hoped would be an imposing posture. A holo emitter on the bottom of the hull lit up and suddenly the Academy was cowed by a gigantic, twenty meter tall hologram of myself looking down on them. “Acolytes! Citizens of the Sith Empire. Hear me! You have all been betrayed by a mad man who even now cowers behind you in hopes of extending his own wretched existence at the cost of yours. Darth Vitiate the Mad cares nothing for you, or our Empire, only for himself and whatever glories he steals from our courage and stalwart service! Do not sell your lives for a coward and traitor! I am Darth Nyeomi Fens, servant of the true Sith Emperor, Darth Malgus. You have seen his loyalty to our Empire! You have heard of his valor and courage against our foes! Some of you have fought by his side! Lay down your arms, pledge your loyalty and all shall be forgiven of your service, mistakenly given in good faith to a tyrant.

“Join me, join Emperor Malgus and we will rebuild the Sith Empire, and bring peace and order back to the Galaxy!”

A gigantic head appeared, as tall as my holographic body was, projected by the Academy and the old, decrepit face of the Will of the Sith appeared. “Lies!” it shouted, reverberating like thunder down the Valley. “Heresy! Rally, loyal subjects of the Empire! Your Emperor calls you...”

“Will of the Sith,” I heard myself shout. “By the Traditions of the Sith, I challenge you to single combat as Champion of the True Sith Emperor and his forces. Winner to lay claim to Korriban and all those loyal upon it!”

The eyes of the Will went wide as I announced the old challenge of vendetta and even as he opened his mouth to refute my right to claim, his own troops began to chant, “Fight now! Fight now!” Over and over until it echoed down the Valley of the Dark Lords and the Will was caught. He would either face me, or lose his place, and all of his troops.

“Come face me, then!” the Will shouted over the chant to be heard. “Come and face your death!” Cheers from both sides rose up from the troops. The loyalists remained on the top of the stairs, while my own troops formed a half circle at its base. Flanking the stairs on either side were high walls that rose to the level of the top of the stairs and formed the base for a pair of statues of Sith Lords, whose names were lost to history. It created an arena, twenty meters long at a slope of nearly thirty degrees most of which were the wide, shallow steps which would make our footing treacherous.

I was concentrating deeply on my emotions, my sense of duty, my desperate hope that instead of hundreds or thousands being killed, we could restrict things to just the Will and Vitiate himself. As I walked into the arena, I was so tightly wrapped in the Bogan my eyes tingled so, like they were on fire, that they must be glowing. I took the good luck handshake from Silas, and he started so my suspicions about the state of my eyes must be true. I felt the Force flowing through me, like a faithful hound, yearning to slip the leash and hunt on my call.

The circle at the top of the stairs parted and the Will appeared, though for all his confident carriage, I could see the fear was rank on him and the Bogan swirled and coiled about the fear, amplifying it as the terror rose up in him. “This is the only mercy you will receive,” I told him sharply. “Submit, surrender your light saber and you may beg Emperor Malgus for your life. Resist, and you die here and now.”

“Do you think me a fool?” he shouted and threw something at me. I casually raised a hand and caught it with the Force. It was a thermal detonator, wailing up to its discharge. I made a fist and the Force crushed it, flaring with its explosion, then an eerie, silent collapse into nothing. I drew my sabers and ignited them.

“Traitors to the Emperor, die!” I shouted, which caused his hand to jerk up and Force Lightning leapt from his fingers. I began to walk up the steps, my left blade snapped up and the Bogan channeled his Lightning harmlessly into my blade.

“You cannot defeat me!” he shouted, raising both hands and straining with every fiber of his being. I took the energy into me, channeling, redirecting it into strength of my muscles and backflipped ten meters to land perpendicular to the floor on the wall of the statue's base, then pushed off it to fly to the top of the stairs, blades first. He dodged at the last moment as I landed with such force the stone cracked into a small crater, snap drawing his own saber, a staff type and lighted both ends.

The crowd began to shout and cheer on their favorite, loudest in my ears were those loyal to The Will as we were at the top of the stairs, but my cheering section was making themselves known. As I recovered from my landing, The Will attacked my back on the right side, but I twirled my blade over my shoulder to block it. He immediately whirled, attacking low on my left, but I pressed through the opening on his right and whirled to face him. There followed a fusillade of blows and counters, the sabers wailing as they cut through the dusty air at speed and the cheers of the collected men for their respective champion got louder and louder with each exchange.

He swept at my feet but I somersaulted over, I bounced off the wall and sailed over his dodge. The light staff whirled, blurred with blinding speed to be trapped in the V of my sabers. I forced his blade down and spun, lashing out with my foot to kick him solidly in the chest. He tumbled down the stairs, but recovered before my leap down them could finish him. We spun and danced, separating to strike the signature ready poses of our combat forms and locked close, struggling for advantage at bad breath range.

I looked into his eyes just before I bent over backward to dodge his latest attack then turned the bend into a backflip and again kicked him, this time striking the hilt of his staff and driving it into his mouth. He staggered back and fell back to his rear, but in that moment, I saw the future.

I saw the look of agony on his face, surprise and shock and the horrible sensation of white hot plasma being forced into his body, feeling his organs cook while he was still alive. I focused back on the here and now as he had scrambled back to his feet and his staff swept at my back, but my blade was already parallel to my spine, waiting on him to block his attack. I pushed, turning again to face him as my other blade coasted up in slow motion to counter his reflexive high attack at my head. For a split second, both of our blades were locked, high and low, sabers and staff.

“You're afraid!” he taunted me, but I merely smiled at him.

“I'm also better than you!” I shouted back, then I pushed and both of my blades rotated in my hands clockwise and counterclockwise, they sliced through his staff hilt only inches apart and carved it into three pieces, two in his hands, and a third that fell to the ground. His sabers winked out, the weapon destroyed, as I continued the twirl and when they were high again, thrust them both into his chest.

The moment I had foreseen mere moments ago came true.

His agony was painted on his face as I severed his Aortic arch and his right lung at the same time. He felt his heart and lung cook within him, his eyes haunted as he stared into mine. “I am the future,” I told him, then snatched my blades from him. “And you have none!”

His eyes, dead and empty rolled up into his head and he collapsed at my feet.

I stared at his corpse for a moment, savoring the vengeance I had won for my brother, my husband and my friend, then my blades winked off as behind me, I heard Lieutenant Malo shout, “All hail Darth Fens! Lord of the Sith! Conqueress of Korriban! Champion of Emperor Malgus!”

I looked up the stairs at the shocked faces of my enemies as my troops shouted my acclaim. On the second cheer, stunned, they sank to one knee in a broken, hodgepodge wave and on the third they raised their fists and shouted my name, their weapons on the ground before them. I rehung my sabers on my belt as my apprentice bowed to me and gathered up the wrecked light saber of my vanquished foe as a trophy.

I was triumphant.

***

My victory was terribly short lived. Though we searched the Academy from the Headmaster's office to the Dark Council Chambers, from the transmission spire to the catacombs of the ruins of the old temple, Darth Vitiate was nowhere to be found.

The Sith Emperor had escaped once more, if he had ever been here in the first place.

***

The secure communications room in the Sith Academy put me in mind of a similar room aboard the Star Dreadnought Executor; it held a massive holographic terminal with a scanning pad and of course all the latest in anti-espionage gear to keep the conversations discreet. While it had taken me the better part of a day to crush hold out resistance that did not submit to the champions duel, and solidify my control of the planet, most of the Academy, Acolytes and others transferred their allegiance without fuss.

That, of course, was the purpose of the vendetta challenge being so ingrained in Sith culture. It kept Sith Lords from needlessly expending Empire citizens and military assets in what amounted to private feuds for power or advancement. That it was falling by the wayside was yet one more warning flag that the Sith Empire was in trouble and heading for the civil war that would produce Darth Bane and his Rule of Two. Still, with the assistance and reinforcement of Captain Rusan and the troops of the Courageous, Korriban was now firmly in New Revanite hands.

Specifically, my hands, not to put too fine a point on it. It was a burden I meant to divest myself of as quickly as possible. I saw that the communication links had gone through and sank to one knee on the transmission pad. “Speak your commands, my master,” I declared to the huge image of Darth Marr that appeared before me.

As always his masked face was blank, but his voice was quite jovial and he had the air of a man who was exceedingly pleased. “Hail to the conquering hero!” he delighted, both his tone and body language matching the self satisfied air I had noticed earlier. “Once again, my fair-haired child proves herself my best Sith Warrior!”

I smirked a bit and replied, “My lord well knows that I am a brunette, not a blonde.”

He waved off my protest with out a trace of irritation. “Do not cloud my delight with details, Lord Fens! Not only is the Academy and Korriban in our control, but Captain Rusan informs me you did so with almost no combat?”

“After we seized the Academy spaceport and secured it, I broadcast a warning to the remaining troops and personnel, encouraging those I was about to engage to lay down their arms and not sell their lives for Vitiates. The Will of the Sith made the mistake of making a counter broadcast himself, showing he could see and hear me, thus I was able to lay a challenge of Vendetta against him. The gauntlet thrown down in front of his men, he had no choice but to answer and I slew him.”

Uncharacteristically, the normally stoic Darth Marr began to laugh, which grew until his peals of mirth echoed about the chamber. “To lay low the so-called guardian of our most treasured beliefs with the very traditions he was entrusted to maintain and keep pure, oh the irony is magnificent!” He nearly laughed himself hoarse and out of breath and only just maintained his composure. “Never before have I been envious of another man, but Lord Fens, I find myself consumed with jealousy of this man you have chosen to father your children!” His massive gauntlet clad hand pointed a finger at me. “I will grant you leave to satisfy this irrational need to burden yourself with children, Lord Fens, and I will even be generous in leave so you may imprint yourself and your values upon them, but I will never let go of you, Nyeomi Fens, for you have become my right hand. Resign yourself to my service and the riches and glories it will bring you.”

I bowed my head. “That I have served my master and my Empire is all I have ever sought, Lord Marr.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Enough of your modesty and self effacement, Darth Fens, I know your worth and it will be rewarded. To begin, with the fall of the old Sith Empire, our Revanite Order now stands alone as the empire of the Sith. Emperor Malgus is moving the seat of our government back to its traditional home of Dromund Kaas. He has graciously appointed me Prince of Ruuria and I intend to headquarter the Circle of Defense of the Empire there. Captain Rusan will solidify our hold on Korriban, I am recalling you and your troops to Ruuria to receive the first of the rewards you will receive in my service.”

This was not the outcome I had expected, nor was I entirely sure what he had in mind, or how it would effect my desires for a more sedate kind of life. Though I had a strong feeling 'destroyed' would be the appropriate word. Having nothing else I could do, I screwed my courage to the sticking place to admit my failure. “Master, I have found no trace of Darth Vitiate. If he was here, he has fled to some other hiding place. Surely now is not the time...”

The finger wagged at me again. “Darth Vitiate is a cockroach. Whatever dark crevasse he has scurried to will likely be impossible to find, until he feels bold enough to make himself known again.”

“But, Master, his ritual...”

“Has been dealt a major blow by the death of the Will of the Sith,” Marr declared with considerable certainty. I have experts delving through the tomes and holocrons already recovered from here on Yavin and that you have discovered there. Soon we will know enough to act with certainty, Lord Fens. In the meantime, you are recalled to Ruuria and I expect you to come with all haste.”

There was nothing else I could do, but sigh and bow once more. “I hear and obey, Master.”

***

While Yavin was forty five minutes away, Ruuria was the better part of two days because it took a number of jumps to orient onto the busy hyperspace route Ruuria sat on. During that time Torm and I worked out the finality of how we would plan for our lives with Darth Marr's declaration of being so...possessive of me. I was worried that Torm would be annoyed, or worse by my superior's somewhat off beat sense of humor, but when I told Torm what Darth Marr had said he grinned and was obviously quite pleased with himself.

I remember being male enough to be intimately familiar with how to please him and I believe that we bonded far closer than just a man and a woman, or even two males might have bonded. We were friends, in addition to being lovers and in the future, spouses and we were building a foundation for a marriage that I'm fairly confident in stating the both of us would treasure our entire lives. How different things had turned out in what was to be my second marriage as compared to my disastrous first. I can only guess that hearing that Darth Marr was jealous of him scored some kind of points with Torm.

I know, I know; men.

Speaking of annoying people, I called Lanaka to let her know we would be coming for the Aces and Eights as well as possibly settling accounts there as I had a feeling Darth Marr was going to want Tari and I close. True to form, Lanaka considered it a massive inconvenience for her and she hoped that I realized what a debt I owed her for staying behind safe and sound while I rushed off to be shot at. If I start counting now, maybe I'll reach a number high enough to be calm when I see her next.

Yes, I thought about stranding her there.

I thought about a lot of things I wouldn't do, but it did make me feel better imagining them. I was a bit melancholy about the possibility of leaving Barkhesh, it was beginning to feel like home. Not to mention I was becoming addicted to Master Arridin's tea.

There was also, I reminded myself, the specter of the favor I owed the Void to be paid.

Where was Al Pacino when you needed him?

I noted Lieutenant Malo, whose first name I finally found out was Fable, leaving Silas' cabin one morning on my way to breakfast and we shared the little nod of satisfaction of women who had their men and weren't in competition with each other. Fable and I started becoming rather friendly and it was quite nice having a female friend, which for me was a new experience.

For all my nagging thoughts of loose ends billowing in the wind, I found I could not keep my attention on them as the infectious joy of the troops bubbled up through the ship, despite the close quarters and everyone making do. The troopers were already spending bonuses and imagining medals they hadn't been awarded yet decorating their uniforms, so certain were they that the war was finally over, at least for a little while.

We had conquered the Sith Empire and we were friendly with the Republic.

Still, they didn't call this galaxy Star Peace. For all my enjoyment and good feelings I was having, those loose ends still haunted me. I was becoming as weary of adventure and war as they were, and thoughts of starting a family and just living a bit with this tremendous gift I had been given.

Somehow, I didn't really think that would be in the cards for me.

***

We took a shuttle to get back on Ruuria, leaving the Sleipnir at the naval base in orbit. I was without my dress uniform as it was in my locker back on the Aces and Eights. But X4 gave my white leather and plastiform armor 'working suit' a good cleaning and I judged myself presentable. I was becoming more used to having my midriff exposed, and while I haven't commented on it in some time, being this much in shape was still a thrill, even six months on.

And I was determined to keep it that way where I found time spent in the gym was far more enjoyable this way than the torture of trying to lose the weight had been. As with most things, maintenance is always easier than remodel. The orders I received directed me to a large manor house on an impressive estate, just outside the capital of Banudan, that was being looked after by an interesting collection of gardeners, one or two of which were native Ruurians.

It is a...unique...feeling to see a sentient, slightly over a meter long fourteen limbed caterpillar. What was interesting was that was the larval stage. After metamorphosing into an adult the Ruurians become only just barely sentient and interested only in eating and mating as the otherwise beautiful Chroma-wing Flier. Despite the somewhat horrific looking larval form, the Ruurians are a thoughtful, artistic species and their voices give them an almost reverb like effect when they speak Basic.

To my surprise, Tari's parents were present at the estate and there was a rather emotional reunion with hugs all around. I shook hands with her father and exchanged pleasantries with her mother, bragging on what a great student she was and having a bit of fun embarrassing her.

Her nose blushed!

A protocol droid put an end to our teasing of my apprentice and we were ushered into the Great Hall and immediately I regretted not going and getting the Aces and Eights first. There were many dignitaries gathered here, military officials in dress uniform, and of course, Darth Marr himself. I felt only slightly better that he was in his traditional armored battle suit, though he had removed the spikes to make it slightly less intimidating.

Even my parents were here, just to make me that much more uncomfortable.

I noticed my father had a new, scarlet, sash he was wearing over the right shoulder of his dress uniform to be gathered into a badge of office at his hip that I didn't recognize. Tari's parents were shown to a set of seats up front, but Tari and I were taken directly to the dais where Darth Marr stood. He was surrounded by an entourage of well heeled and better dressed dignitaries and I felt a new wave of being sorely under dressed. “Kneel,” Marr commanded, and I sank to one knee while Tari prostrated herself in a formal kowtow. “It is well, Lord Fens, that you arrive here today dressed as I would find you in the field, carrying out the duties of your Emperor. Let that be a badge of honor to all who witness these proceedings and go forth in this order and cry the motto: Action With Honor!”

A droid followed him as he stepped forward to be within range of us, carrying a cushion with something resting on it I couldn't see. He gently grasped it and lifted it, revealing it to be a heavy gold chain with a sunburst medallion hanging from it. He laid it over my shoulders rather than around my neck and to my surprise it stayed there. Then he gently placed his hand on my forehead and intoned, “By the power given me by his is Imperial Majesty, Malgus, Sith Emperor, I, Darth Marr, Prince of Ruuria, recognize the valor, courage and skill of Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith, and anoint you Countess of Banudan, Dame Commander of the Order of Revan”

I was certain the heavy weight I suddenly felt on my shoulders was not entirely due to the gold the collar was made out of. Countess? Dame Commander? What did I know about being royalty? But, I would find out Marr wasn't finished. “Rise to your knees, Tari Mur, as is your rightful place. In recognition of your valor, faithfulness and duty I hereby proclaim you Lord of the Sith Order, Knight of the Order of Revan.” He placed a lighter, less ornate version of the chain I was wearing around her neck, causing her mouth to fall open in surprise. She gaped at me, obviously in shock, so I smiled and winked at her.

We stood and took places he indicated as Darth Marr continued to hand out the rewards. A Captaincy for Fable Malo, to go with her Knighthood into the Order of Revan, all of my troops received the Liberation of Korriban medal, even my 'loaners' from the Barkhesh Defense Force.

Then I was called forward and with my saber, hastily reset to its training mode, Torm, Silas and Darius were Knighted as well. As much as I was proud of my friends, my comrades in arms, I nearly burst into tears when Darth Marr conferred upon my future husband citizenship within the Sith Empire and the title of Baron in his own right. The former Thunder Squad was formally transferred and became the core of the House Fens Ducal Guard.

Following the ceremony we were led to a ball room where a reception was being held. I found out the manor belonged to the Duke and Duchess of Ruuria one Algon and Jadzeea Fens, thus the red sash I had noted earlier. Which would be the House Fens my troops had become the guards of. While my mother and father were in charge of Ruuria the planet, Darth Marr was Prince of Ruuria the solar system.

I took a glass of champagne as Torm led us out onto a magnificent oval balcony that over looked the bay Banudan was on the shores of. The city sprawled up the peninsula with a beautiful suspension bridge linking the far peninsula that protected the bay and allowed the city to encompass the entire bay. As the sun sank into the sea beyond its dying rays glistened off the wings of the Chroma-wing Fliers, gigantic rainbow winged moths, as they cavorted on the rising air currents.

It was the most beautiful sight I think I've ever seen.

I took another sip of the champagne, which I was enjoying to the point I was just a bit tipsy, and leaned into the arm Torm slid around me. “This place is so beautiful,” I whispered, in awe of the colors of the setting sun and the Chroma-wings reflecting them.

“You know,” he remarked as he put his flute down and began to dig into a pocket. “With all these plans and discussions we've been having, we never really made things official.” He pulled away from me and sank to one knee as he did so. By the time my somewhat tipsy brain caught up with what was happening I realized I was looking down on an open little box he was offering me. In it, glistening in the light of the setting sun, was starlight caught in a gemstone and set in the most delicate strains of metal I'd ever seen. Impossibly thin bands of platinum were spun over the stone whose color shifted as the light caught within it like a prism. It wasn't a ring, it was art. “Even though I stand by my claim,” he said with a crooked smile, “I would be honored if you would let me make an honest woman out of you.”

“Through victory my chains are broken,” I whispered, captivated by the ring and all it represented in a way I never had before. I put the flute in my right hand and offered the left. “But I gladly accept this link, Torm Belos, and I will wear it until the day I die.”

He took the ring from its little velvet box and slid it onto my finger.

In that moment, I again saw the future. I saw him smiling at me as he held the son I had given him as I rested from my labor. I realized I had been given the greatest reward I could ask for, a partner who would stand at my side, who I could count on being there for me even as he counted on me to be there for him. It was a treasure beyond price and worth everything I had traded and given up for it.

***

A month later I was again standing on that balcony, but the sun was not yet at its zenith. It was a beautiful spring day on Ruuria, the sky was a perfect azure and the bay was filled with stars, not water as the light danced on the waves. There was a crowd of dignitaries watching, my adoptive, yet biological parents beaming with pride and next to them, the parents of the man who was becoming my husband. There were my dear friends, Silas, who stood beside Torm looking resplendent in his silk tuxedo and beside me stood Fable Malo who had shed her uniform and armor to become a radiant young woman in a magnificent robins egg blue gown that flattered her perfectly.

I was wearing a dress so light it seemed to be made of mist, as perfect and pure a white as the first snowfall of winter. And for all its lightness, it hugged my body, supporting where I needed, flowing where I did not and without being lewd it put my body on display to the envy of any who saw me. I was looking up into Torm's face which beamed with his smile as my left hand held his right and Darius Persia, my best friend the Buddhist Monk, who had traveled as far as I, was wrapping a heavy silk cloth around our arms; white and black, Ashla and Bogan.

I spoke my vows to him, even though he knew I would never leave him, that no matter what, he could count on me. He swore on his life things I knew in my heart that I would never question. That in my soul I would never be alone, because he would be there. The Force wrapped around both of us as he took me into his arms and kissed me and I accepted the new role I would wear for the rest of my life; wife, and God willing, mother. He kissed me down to my soul as the Force bound us together, life creating life and I was whole and new.

And I would never be alone again.

There would be challenges and adventures ahead, there would be danger and uncertainty. But he would be there and we would face them together. As our families and guests applauded I looked into his eyes and thought, I'm ready, now, to face anything with you.

So am I, I heard him reply. So am I.

And lord help us all, Tari caught my bouquet.

* finis *

The Sith Civil War

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Science Fiction

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

Accidental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Sith Civil War
A Tale of the Star Wars

By
E. E. Nalley

If I were to sum my life down to a single word, I would be hard pressed to pick anything other than ironic. I remember things I did not do, and remember other things that most would call me insane in claiming. Yet the fact remains that I am something I wasn't, nor could be and how I came to be who and what I am is a tale already told. Which, should you be reading this, you have doubtlessly read already.

Which regardless of the demands of reality and sanity I maintain as true.

I am not the child of Algon and Jadzeea Fens, but I remember the adventure on a dozen different worlds that was growing up under their loving guidance and care as Algon moved from post to post up the ladder of the Imperial Army. I was not the Apprentice of Darth Vannacen but I remember well the lessons I learned from the smiling, sexually aggressive woman. Where some part of me realized that love was in fact the most powerful of emotions and thus the key to the full power of the Bogan. And I remember the bitter, bitter tears I had shed on her death, her sacrifice of her own life to save mine, but I had never cried them. These and hundreds of thousands of other thoughts floated in my mind, memories and moments of what I had thought was a fictional creation; the body I now inhabited, Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith.

I remember being forty seven, but my body was newly christened twenty five. I remembered being a man, but once a month I am firmly reminded that I am a woman in shape, form and deed. Fortunately I am regular and my shipmates have quickly learned on what days of a standard month I am not one with which to fuck, literally or figuratively. Though I must admit I almost look forward to my menses for the pampering my husband to be gives me and while he will not put up with any shit from me and calls me on my own bullshit his embrace, his touch and his oh so strong and magnificent hands soothe me through my time without complaint.

May we all be so lucky.

Unfortunately I have discovered the old wives tale about young, fertile women who live together falling into sync with each other is true and Lanaka and I have three days we must pretend very ardently each month that the other does not exist.

However, beyond such troubles, it has been a very pleasant double handful of months. As promised we went to Ord Mantell to put Torm's personal life in order. What he wanted to hold onto we put into storage for a year pre-paid and most of what he brought with him were changes of clothing and personal mementos and keepsakes. I did have an interesting evening meeting his parents and I apologized to him afterward now that I had first hand experience of what he went through with mine.

It was an interesting juxtaposition as I was an only child and Torm hailed from a fairly large family. Only three brothers and a sister were able to come to dinner out of a family of nine! Nine! And Mrs Belos was still a trim, attractive woman, but then I bet chasing nine kids keeps you in shape.

I made quite an impression with simple Force tricks much to the delight of the youngest Belos siblings. And if Mr. Belos was a peek into Torm's future I would have nothing to worry about as far as my arm candy needs later in life. I could see where he got his alpha male from as well as that gentle, nurturing side he only showed me. Yeah, safe to say he's a keeper.

And I found the Hutts had put a bounty on our heads for handing them a stunning defeat at Barkhesh. I wanted to get a fighter and go collect, along with a pound of flesh carved by my light sabers, but the others pointed out from watching some talk shows on the bounty hunter channel (Yes, there is in fact a bounty hunter channel) that the going feeling was that the offer was no where near the kind of money that would make someone consider going after a Sith Lord. Evidently Ord Mantell is like the New York of bounty hunters, who knew?

Once we had Torm's life sorted we put back to space and did a string of stays at stunning resorts that were also casinos that were high roller friendly. It was a very nice vacation and gave me the time to sit and sort out what I was beginning to call Zen and the Art of the Bogan. I spent a lot of time meditating and communing with The Force, as well as holo-corrisponding with Master Arridin, but it was not all work and no play. Silas padded his already considerable fortune and Torm's nest egg wasn't doing too badly either.

No, I did not cheat and help him. If the other players can be so easily distracted by a trim, young body in a skin tight gown, how is that my fault?

And I had several misadventures trying to teach Silas how to fly.

Probably the less said about that the better although to this day the word's 'glide slope' brings a twitch to his eye. As a card player he was practically without equal, but he'd be doing all of his star faring either on a liner or with a hired pilot and that was just the way of it.

Of course it goes without saying that I still had an apprentice to train, and she had come out of the bacta whole, healed and miffed that she wouldn't get a chance at her own revenge. At least she had been until I showed her a hologram of the fight downloaded from the Gonk droid who had seen the whole thing. To be honest, seeing myself fighting was an interesting perspective. At the time, I thought I had been clumsy, awkward and just fumbling my way through by luck and happenstance.

But looking at it my moves are crisp, measured and purposeful. I saw every time I lured him into something I wanted and it was like watching a kung fu movie where the aged master takes the snotty nosed, full of himself pupil to school. I had envisioned Nyeomi as a master swords woman, ranked and respected and on the PVP servers she, or me, or however you want to look at it was in the top ten ranked players/characters. I hadn't realized how that had translated here, but it was obvious watching the video that 'Master' Targon had been seriously over matched.

Tari had been enraptured from the first viewing and had turned to me with shining eyes and begged, “Teach me to be that good?!”

Lord above when did her eyes get so big?

She had immediately wanted to abandon her tonfa sabers and copy me, but I convinced her to start saber and shoto, or the shorter bladed weapon favored as an off hand weapon for dual wielders or as a primary for smaller species. Both of my blades are of equal length at one meter each and it is the most difficult of the two handed forms to learn.

So we cannibalized her tonfa for their parts, I rented time at a machinist for use of their lathes and tools, though to be honest I know what I was charged didn't cover what we used, but the shop wanted the bragging rights and of course to watch as work came to a halt when we were there. So I talked her through machining a new pair of hilts, which led me to her crystals. They were red Sith crystals and touching them showed me the anger she had been poked and prodded into pouring into them.

They wouldn't do and even if she cleansed them, there would always be that hint of anger resonating in the crystals. With the shop owners permission I discarded them in his furnace. In the game, I had had gold crystals made because I wanted to stand out in the game, to be different and there was something about the color that called to me. So our needed pieces assembled, I had her bring them, tools and some basic camping and survival gear and we rented a pair of speeder bikes. In a copse of trees in the parking lot of the hotel we were staying at we knelt in the grass and meditated.

“What are we doing, mistress?” she asked after a few minutes of listening to the insects in the greenery and the hum of land speeders on the road and parking lot.

I didn't open my eyes. “What do you think we're doing, Apprentice?”

“I...I need new crystals for my new light sabers,” she replied after a moment.

“That's true,” I said simply. She thought on this for a long moment.

“Is...is this how you became such a great warrior, Mistress?”

“Wars don't make you great, Tari,” I admonished her softly. “Consider, I attacked Master Targon, we dueled for some time before I struck him down.” She nodded. “Who is greater? I for having struck him down, or a master who could have reasoned with Targon, and convinced him to surrender without a fight?”

Her ears flattened a bit and she looked away. “Speak your mind,” I chided her.

“You...you sound like a Jedi, Mistress.”

I opened my gold eyes and caught her gaze. “Do I?” I asked her softly. “Do you presume that our adversaries have no wisdom to impart? Or knowledge to bring to the table? And if that is so, explain how we have fought for so long without final victory?” I sighed and allowed my disappointment to show through my veil of serenity. “Violence is an answer, but it is rarely the only answer and if life can be spared, and life is the source of the Living Force, that is preferable, no?”

“I see your point, Mistress, but if what you say is true, why do we carry light sabers?”

I grinned at this little feline slip of a girl that I was rapidly beginning to think of as my own child. “Because violence is an answer, and sadly there are times when through lack of our skill, or determination of those we seek to persuade, it becomes the only answer. And if we are to employ violence we should be masters of it so we use only that which we need to. Do not look for times to draw your weapon, Tari, they will find you, believe me. Instead, look for times to be proud you did not have to. Now, Kyber crystals are rare, but every world with life has them. Stretch out with your feelings, listen to the song of this world and tell me where your crystals are.”

She finally settled herself and began to hear the song I had been enjoying for some time since I had begun to meditate here. “Mistress...? I...I hear...”

“Good,” I whispered, hesitant to interrupt the wonderful feeling. “Where does it tell you to go?”

I felt her eyes open and the music slipped away from my grasp in the Force. I opened my eyes and saw the expression on her face that must match mine. “North,” she told me.

* * *

For the better part of two hours we rode north from the city, past the farmland that ringed the city and out into the wilds beyond. The planet Ione was a lovely spot on the midst of the Mid and Outer Rims, not terribly far from Bespin and Hoth, not that we had any desire to go sight seeing at either location. While a billion sentients called the planet home, they were still quite sparsely settled and there were large stretches of wilderness between urban areas. It was the kind of place card sharks like Silas preferred, urbanized enough for games worth their while, but not so urbanized that the games had become a major product and the casinos fall into the Vegas 'the house always wins' mentality.

We entered the foot hills of a mountain range that were a picturesque backdrop from the city and in the wild the Force was much easier to hear. A bigger than a brook, smaller than a river tumbled out of the mountains to form a pond we stopped by with strangely shaped mesa towering over it. There was a ruinous paved courtyard with steps leading right up to the side of the mesa, but no other structures and for some reason nature had not reclaimed the courtyard. It was like something out of a Ralph Mcquarrie drawing.

Parking just on the edge of the paved flagstones, we dismounted and felt the Force practically vibrating in the air. “Where are we?” Tari whispered as she reverently followed me towards the steps.

“I think...” I started and then trailed off. “Yes,” I said at the top of the stairs. I gestured and here we could see that the upper courtyard had pictograms and hieroglyphs carved into it. The first, closest to the stairs were the flower and sunburst symbols for the Ashla and Bogan, then other symbols from each, carefully delineated so that one side did not overlap the other. “There is a Temple of the Force here.”

“Where?” she asked, confused. I walked forward and stopped at a pair of circles, one larger than the other it again having the symbol of the Bogan a Master's circle and beyond the smaller circle with an eye carved into it, the place of the Apprentice to watch and learn. I took my place and directed her to hers. “What now?”

I took a deep breath to center myself then raised my right hand to about chest height and reached out with the Force. Tari quickly copied me and for several moments nothing happened, then with a groan the Mesa rose, twisting up counter clockwise, raising a cloud of dirt and dust until a carved temple entrance appeared, its doors standing open. You would think having watched a temple rise up out of the earth inside would be the last place anyone with any sense would go, but for some reason, the opening felt inviting and stable.

So, yes, we went in.

As soon as my foot crossed the threshold torches long dormant sprang to life, lighting the interior. The central hall was a colonnade with a copper brazier that now burned brightly in the center on a small dais that was raised. It was like the Karnak Temple Complex in Luxor and every surface was carved with a runic script I could not read. The Force was strong here, ringing in the very air as we walked up to the brazier. Next to it was a raised stone altar or table and carved into it, in English was

Rest, oh ye Master and become one with the Force.
While Apprentice to face the trial shall go forth
As one together mysteries revealed
Or entombed remain forever sealed

“Force and forth don't rhyme,” I muttered, causing Tari to look up at me.

“You can read this, Mistress?” I nodded, settling down into the lotus position to be comfortable while I meditated.

“I will meditate here. You will go and face the trial of the temple and if you succeed acquire your crystals.” She swallowed and mastered her fear. She looked back again as if to ask me a question, then started and faded away. I was only concerned for a moment, the initial shock of seeing it before the temple put me at my ease. I had told her every thing she needed to know, now it was time to wait. I sighed, resigned to wait and cleared my mind while I opened myself to what the Force, or the Temple would reveal to me.

Turns out the wait time was 'not long.'

“The Force is with you, Nyeomi Fens.” I opened my eyes to the sound of my dead master's voice to find her standing transparent before me, leaning back against the alter.

“It is good to see you again, Master,” I said with a smile and I meant it. Seeing her apparition somehow was like meeting that favorite aunt who wouldn't rat you out to your parents when she caught you being 'rebellious.' “How is my apprentice doing?”

She looked over her shoulder, deeper into the temple as though she could and probably did, see Tari. “She's being stubborn, trying to bend the Force to her will rather than listening to what it has to teach her. Remind you of anyone?” she asked me with a smile. I stood and joined her by the alter.

“I wasn't that bad of a student, was I?”

Darth Vannacen's smile got a bit wider and she soothed a stray hair on my head back in place. Her touch was warm to my senses and charged with life itself if that makes sense, the exact opposite of what you might expect from the touch of a ghost. “You had your 'I'm going to do it MY way' moments,” she replied, “but you were a diligent student where things mattered. It will stand you in good stead for what you have set before yourself. I will warn you, founding a school of the Force in opposition to both the Sith and the Jedi is no small task.”

I raised my chin a bit and looked her in the eye. “I am not in opposition to the Sith, and I am still true to the Sith Code, passion is not merely anger and hate. I felt that when I battled Master Targon, the Bogan made me stronger not because of my anger, but because of my love of my Apprentice.”

“Others have tried and failed, and paid with their lives.” she warned me.

“Between these two worlds I have had my share of life,” I told her. “What time I have further is a blessing. And why give me this revelation if not to act on it?”

“It is the purpose of the Force to grant wisdom and knowledge, but what you do with it is still your choice. I cannot command you.” I sighed and nodded my understanding. “If you choose to go on, my apprentice, you do not do so alone. I will assist you and even now there are others of like mind that have simply not made the connections that you have.”

“I have been many things in my life, but never a coward,” I told her. “I cannot turn away from this any more, I think, than you can, master.”

Vannacen smiled her radiant smile at me. “No, apprentice, I cannot. So, to begin, look there,” she pointed over my shoulder and in the wall I saw a doorway I had not noticed before. “Through there you will find something that will assist you. But getting it will not be easy, and remember, your eyes can deceive you, don't trust them.”

“What is it?” I asked, turning back to face her, but I was alone once more. I took a deep, calming breath and walked through the door way. Here the welcoming feeling of the temple left and things felt cold and foreboding. There were no torches to light my way and I was obliged to draw a light saber for illumination and the constant droning hum of the magnetic field that contained the plasma quickly became annoying and I began to fear it was masking what could be important sounds. I took a flash light from my utility belt and extinguished the saber, but kept it in my hand.

The corridor had steadily become rougher, less precisely made and more cave like the deeper I went. Without the hum of my saber my own breathing became loud to my ears and I could almost feel the Temple or something trying to psyche me out. The hieroglyphs carved into the walls became misshapen and nightmarish. I straightened my spine and announced clearly, “I am One with the Force and the Force is with me!”

With a hiss, just at the edge of my hearing, a light saber ignited. I turned and saw it glowing, blood red in the darkness, putting a figure in silhouette. It was in a low guard, blade diagonally across the body from hip to ankle. I turned the light and found perhaps four meters away the corridor opened into a wider chamber the light could not illuminate. I walked down and found myself in a wide, circular chamber, a floor of polished black marble and as I entered the chamber the wall scones came to life. Over head was a magnificently carved dome that shown like stars in the galaxy. White marble columns marched in a row around the circumference of the hall, spaced at ten meters and I could see now the sun burst symbol of the Bogan carved into the marble of the floor.

At the left and right sides of the hall two massive statues of kings, for these men could be nothing else, sat on their thrones in regal mien, forever regarding their opposite. One red, his opposite member white, and in the center of the room, the light of her saber glistening against the red and black robes of a Sith Inquisitor stood the woman who had so changed my life. I strolled to a conversational distance, returning the flashlight to my belt. “Darth Mordra, I presume?”

“I've been waiting on you, impostor. Waiting to taunt you with the vengeance I've taken on your friends and family before I put you out of both of our misery.”

“My condolences to the widow,” I taunted her. I couldn't help it, there was just something about her that made me want to hurt this woman. “I was certainly skilled enough for your husband.”

She snarled and jerked up her arm, her hand a claw as lightening flew from her fingertips. I snapped on my blade in just the nick of time and deflected her attack. “Shall I tell you how your mother begged for mercy before I cut her down?”

“My mother is on Ruuria, alive and well and you are trapped forever on a world you hate,” I countered. “And a killing spree is the fastest way for Justice to come for you!”

“You think I fear your primitive and pathetic police?”

“I think if you could have taken over you would have by now!” I told her as she began to circle to my left and I followed to hers so that we orbited the symbol on the floor. “So now you're just another human, a petty little serf, a has been among never weres, toiling away for a dream that I took from you!”

With a primal scream of rage she launched herself at me, waving her light saber like a child with a stick and with equal skill. There was no form or style to her attack it was just mindless rage. And it hit me suddenly she was just a rabid animal, snapping and slavering with no reason or understanding, and I felt a great wash of pity for a moment as I blocked her blow high and locked eyes with her. The stream of obscenity stopped and fear lit behind her eyes. “For sending me here, you have my thanks. Good bye.”

I twirled my blade, forcing hers out of line, then I stepped left while arching her blade to my right. Inside her guard now I spun, bringing the blade down to shoulder level. Like an ancient Samurai having delivered a perfect coup de grace, I stood still for a moment, back to back with her, then the saber fell out of her hands and her body collapsed, the severed head rolling away on its own.

“You felt pity,” a heavy, ponderous voice declared, rolling through the chamber and vibrating in the air down to its core. Deactivating and returning my saber to my belt, I turned and examined the speaker, The red king, a portrait of a male of the actual Sith race had come to life. His red skin vibrant and his chin covered in a goatee that highlighted the pair of tentacles that hung like a Fu Manchu mustache on either side of his nose. I could feel the Dark Side was strong with him, or perhaps the Bogan would be a better word because I felt neither rage nor hate from him, merely curiosity. “Why?”

“Because she had ceased to be a person,” I told the living statue. “She was an animal and there was neither glory nor honor to be had in killing her, it was just something that had to be done.”

"You," the white statue declared from behind me, "who not so long ago instructed her apprentice not to try to solve all her problems with her light saber." I turned to face him, a regal looking human with a full beard and a stern demeanor all in alabaster.

"I said that violence was rarely the only solution," I told him, unashamed of my victory. If one could think of putting down a rabid animal as a victory. "But it is a solution."

"And you would have the Sith embrace love and harmony?" The red king demanded.

"Love can inspire great passion," I told him. With a gesture at the corpse still on the floor, I added, "she was enraged for all the good it did her. I have seen the future, my lords, I have seen our order reduced to two; a pair of roving vagabonds dreaming about what was the Sith Empire. I have seen them overthrown and the last of the Sith passing into legend and I say that we as a species learn best that which we are passionate about! There is a place in the Force for emotion and the denial of emotion the Jedi embrace will be their down fall and all knowledge of the Force may be lost! Does this seem a desirable outcome?"

“Look upon me,” the Red King commanded. “I am Tulak Hord, Lord of Hate, First Emperor of the Sith. Who are you to question my teachings, child?”

“I know of you, my lord!” I replied respectfully. “And even to this day in the legends spoke of you it is declared that your most loyal subject was Khem Val, who you bested in honorable combat! Was it hate that stayed your hand, My Emperor? Or was it respect and admiration of a foe, honorably beaten who offered up himself in service to the man who had bested him?”

The White King's laughter echoed through the hall. “After ten thousand years to see my opposite finally meet his match in a battle of wits! Thank the Maker that I was doomed to be bound to this place to see it!”

Tulak Hord could not make up his mind if he was annoyed over his adversaries declaration or amusement that I had the temerity to stand up to him. “She does not take your side either, heretic! You who would have us throw off all emotion and return to the fantasy of the Je'daii Order and the endless hope of balance. Peace is a Lie! There is only Passion!”

The White King was still chuckling as he retorted, “But she schools you in the simple fact that hate is not the sole expression of passion!” he snapped his fingers like a cannon blast and the body of Darth Mordra faded away. “Look upon me, child who would style herself Lord of the Sith, and know that I am Kel'eth Ur the Heretic, murdered by Darth Vitiate the Mad to try and silence my teaching that passion is only a temporary strength and that true power comes only from the peace of the Light Side of the Force. Would you debate me as well?”

I bowed and tried to keep my heart from pounding as if either of these statues had even a tenth the power of the greats being represented either could easily dispatch me. “With respect, Master Ur, my Lord Hord is correct, Peace is a lie. Life is the constant struggle for survival and peace is not the natural state of the human condition, but an aberration soon to be corrected by the next challenge or challenger for our food, or resources or our very lives! But while hate is a quick and easy path it blinds us to better solutions. I would, with your blessings, combine the best of both of your teachings and see the Sith raised to the greatness we have always aspired to!”

The White King rubbed his chin and now it was Tulak Hord's turn to laugh. “How quick this little Loth-cat can turn and bite the hand that was petting it!” he managed, much to the annoyance of the White King. “I see the passion within you burning with this, Darth Nyeomi Fens, even though you may be new to our Order, our ways are close to your heart and that is a good thing. You will be a great Lord of the Sith, girl and you have the blessing of the First Emperor. Behold!” The statue gestured and a pyramid shaped holocron began to glow in the far wall, exactly halfway to his rival.

“Do not be surprised to find yourself murdered and your soul bound to a statue somewhere,” the White King warned. “Because the teachings of Darth Revan on the acceptance of all species based solely on merit is but a small and meager heresy to what you propose and you will find the Sith purists and the Jedi set against you!”

“I fear nothing,” I declared and surprisingly, even as I said the words I felt the Force flow through me and make my words true. “For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is!”

The White King rubbed his stone chin in thought before he finally nodded. “Very well, Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith you have the blessing of Kel'eth Ur the Heretic.” Next to Tulak Hord's holocron a second came into being, this one dodecahedron shaped.

I walked to the table and bowed, first to the First Emperor and then to Kel'eth Ur. “I thank my lords for your wisdom and your council and I pledge you shall be remembered with reverence in our Order.”

As one, the Kings declared in unison, “The Force will be with you.”

My hands closed on the holocrons and I realized I was standing at the same table I had first corrected on it's poor poetry. Across from me was my apprentice, her own hands just closing on a pair of yellowish green Kyber Crystals. She blinked in surprise, but did pick them up. “Mistress?” she asked in confusion.

I smiled at her and picked up the holocrons reverently. “This has been a very profitable outing, my apprentice.”

* * *

After we had left the temple with a groan it sank into the ground once more, leaving only a blank, dome shaped mesa in its wake. We sat in the courtyard and I helped her into a trance of meditation by thinking of everything important to her that she needed a weapon to defend. Slowly the pile of parts on the cloth in front of her rose up into the air in a cloud of metal, wires, circuit boards and the articulation frame for the crystals that settled into them.

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion,” she whispered as each gem oriented itself in the articulation frame which then slid into the emitter for each weapon.

“Through passion, I gain strength,” she declared as the batteries settled into the hilt pommels and mated to their charging ports.

Then the activation studs screwed themselves into the handles and the master logic boards connected to them. “Through strength I gain victory.”

The handles of each mated to the still floating emitters and the logic board connected to the articulation frame. “Through victory, my chains are broken.”

She smiled as in her mind she saw herself triumphant and all that was dear to her protected. “The Force shall free me!” she declared as the pommels with their batteries connected to the logic board and screwed into place on the handles and a pair of complete light sabers floated in the air before her. She reached up and opened her hands causing each saber to fall into her waiting palms. She took on an almost liquid quality and flowed to her feet. Her saber hissed into being, right hand up in a high guard forward, shoto in her left hand held in a back handed grip, blade out and away from her held at waist height in reserve. The blades were the golden emerald of fresh grass bathed in the morning sun and matched the tawny gold of her pelt. “Now I'm ready!” she declared with great enthusiasm. I smiled and stood as well.

“We'll see,” I told her as I rose to my feet, doing my best not to beam with pride in her. There was so much more to teach and learn. I adjusted my sabers to training mode and waited for her to do the same before I settled into my Ataru stance and spent three pleasant hours walking her through the basic forms before we broke for the evening to set up our shelters, just outside the courtyard so that sacred space was not put to a mundane use and began to warm up our rations.

They were better than MREs, but of a similar 'wet' but vacuum sealed type and tasty enough but terribly unsatisfying after two months of haute cuisine we had been enjoying in the various hotels and casinos. I sat cross legged on a cushion eating a stew that was more grease than gravy when her voice gently broke the silence. “This...we'll be doing this the rest of our lives, won't we mistress?”

“Not just this,” I replied and in my minds eye I saw my children playing in a park under a warm, golden sun. “But yes, Tari this will be an effort that will hopefully continue past both of our lives.”

“Where you go, I follow, Mistress,” she swore. “But we will be parting company with Master Bast and the Aces and Eights, won't we?”

I poked at the stew for a moment, then sighed and looked across the fire at her. “I hope not, Tari, but I honestly don't know. Seeing the future is one of the hardest things a Jedi or Sith can do. And just because you have a vision, does not mean it will come true.” I decided I was done with the stew and dumped the rest of it into the fire then added a few more sticks to it. “In fact, I know of one story were a Jedi tried so hard to avoid the vision he had that he ended up causing it to happen.”

She chuckled her strange sounding half purr half growl chuckle. “Ironic,” she observed softly. “Rather like my being an acolyte. When the Revanites took over the academy they went through the city looking for anyone who was Force sensitive. I was thrilled to be chosen, but it quickly became a curse. Old hatreds die hard, and I didn't have much to hate. My parents were high level technicians for critical systems. The Empire has always been good to us.” She looked up at me, her eyes shining in the fire light. “I never thought I would be apprenticed, Mistress. And yet, when I saw you coming up the steps, looking so regal and beautiful...” She sighed and looked away. “I knew you would pick me, the Force told me and I didn't think I was worthy.”

“I have not found you wanting,” I replied in that precise Eton received pronunciation dialect sounding so formal to my ears, but nothing else felt natural.

“And I promise I will do everything in my power so that you never do, Mistress,” she swore softly. “I will make you proud of me.”

I smiled and closed my eyes, opening my self to the Force to meditate before I went to bed. “I already am,” I told her.

* * *

You would think in a place like this you would have vague, but visually interesting dreams or visions of the future, but my mind was still, somewhat, focused on the past, more so now after my duel with Darth Mardra. There were so many things now I would never see or hear or experience again; books I'd enjoyed, movies, music, and yes I was concerned about my mother. Or perhaps I should say Edwards mother.

You just cannot understand how odd it is to change the name you think of as yourself until you've done it.

While I thought of myself as Nyeomi now, I hadn't forgotten I had been Edward and Mardra's taunt bothered me. Of course it had been meant to bother me, just much sooner and to a far greater extent than it had. Had Mardra killed my original mother? For all my talk about Earth being a backward planet I had used my bank card to pay for the time at Complete Simulations which was tied to my credit report and if you had that, it might as well be directions to my mother's house. Hell between it and Google it was.

A part of me wanted to cast off this feeling and tried to. I mean she was in another galaxy from me there was literally nothing I could do to protect or avenge her. So I lay in the hammock that was strung between the uprights of my tent and stewed in my predicament.

This made for a very unpleasant night.

* * *

In the morning, Tari and I shared a light and disappointing breakfast before we broke camp and turned our bikes south and rode back to the city. It was not as pleasant a journey for me as the trip out had been as my thoughts were plagued on events and people out of my reach.

We returned the speeders to the rental shop, I was reimbursed my deposit and we walked to the hanger as we had arranged with the others. Silas had a feeling his welcome was just about worn out and moving on might not be a bad idea. But as we arrived at the hanger I felt a thrill down my spine and sharing a glance with my apprentice showed she had felt the tremor in The Force as well. I took my sabers from my belt, made sure they were not still in training mode, then hung one back, while keeping the other in my hand.

The door slid open to my thumb print and revealed the steps down into the main hanger. Nothing seemed out of place or disturbed. I cautiously led the way down the stars to the turn into the hanger proper. Several of the resupply crates were scorched with blaster fire, as well as a few new mars to the Aces and Eights hull, though nothing dangerous, so merely hand weapons.

Lanaka was sprawled by the ramp, a scorched hole in her duster, but the Force told me she was still alive. Tari would have rushed forward, but I restrained her with a hand to her shoulder. The tremor in the Force was getting closer. Down the ramp he came, his massive form wrapped in armor and armored clothing, his face obscured behind a red and silver mask, and a light saber in his hand. I knew there would be no witty banter with this killer, and the Dark Side swirled around him. He was a Sith Warrior and he was here to kill me.

He casually stepped away from the ramp, reaching up to undo the clasp of his cloak and pull it aside to let fall beside him. This showed what I took to be a mask was in fact a helmet, so I had no idea even what species he was, a fact I'm sure he used to inspire terror. I took the backpack from my shoulders and let it slide to the floor. “Tari, go to the restaurant I had Bantha Milk at. If I have not come for you in two hours...”

“She will be dead,” the warrior's deep, electronic voice declared. “And I will be coming for you.”

Tari obeyed without question and the Warrior let her go. “Does it matter that I have no quarrel with you?” I asked as I took my other saber in my hand.

“Only in that you will die without knowing why I killed you or the fates of your apprentice or companions,” he replied heavily as he ignited his saber and it glowed red as blood against his armor. “If you wish to beg for your life, I will listen to your pleas now. Not that they will do you any service, but they will amuse me.”

I ignited my own sabers and rolled them around my hands as I relaxed and got myself loose to be able to deal with this monster. “After I've killed you and people ask what your name was, what shall I tell them?” I taunted him, but he only laughed and brought the saber up into a high, single handed guard.

“Nobody,” he said ominously.

His stance and guard could be used in four different forms, so that told me nothing and he seemed content for me to come to him, so I focused myself, brought my left hand saber towards him and raised two fingers off it to direct my will. To my immense surprise, the warrior had almost no Force shielding at all and my power grabbed him about the throat and began to crush his larynx.

Well, that wasn't something 'Nobody' was just going to stand and take so he leapt across the intervening distance and began a series of focused, precise attacks that were horrifically powerful even one handed. He flowed, forcing me to give ground, reeling off his strikes as he almost leisurely pursued me and kept us close so I couldn't get enough of a break to use the Force.

His style was heavily modified, but its base was Form II, known as Makashi, the graceful, purposeful style of Count Dooku himself, Christopher Lee, the last of the great Hollywood swordsmen. With that knowledge I began to probe the weaknesses of the form, even managing to force his blade far enough out of line that my strike to his hand should have severed it, but then I got my first nasty shock. His armor had been reinforced to withstand the passing strike of a light saber. Oh it burned hot and glowed and there was damage, but he still had his hand and his saber.

My subterfuge didn't rattle him either as he quickly recovered from my strike and began to press me again with a series of strikes that were as fast as they were exactly aimed. I was able to block him, thanks to my dual wielding style canceling his speed and power not giving him the time to follow up on his advantages without exposing himself to my other blade.

After all, resistant was not invincible.

This forced me to realize that all things being equal, this warrior was better than I was and I had to do something to end this battle and quickly before his skill over came my luck. A slow return of my guard to my left gave him an opening he couldn't pass up and he spun, bringing his blade to my back to bifurcate me at the waist but it was now that I revealed my expertise with Ataru and leapt over his blade, catching him by surprise. I didn't waste my strike by going for him, I brought both of my blades crashing through his saber cutting the hilt in three pieces and its blade winking out.

As I landed, he complimented me with a single, “Impressive,” and then leapt to the roof of the hanger. I tried to grab him with the Force, but he had already disappeared over the lip. I wanted to chase him, but Lanaka was badly wounded and I still had to save Tari. I stared after him for a moment to be sure he was gone, then extinguished my sabers and keyed the comlink built into my left gauntlet as I strode back over to Lanaka.

“Tari?”

Her voice sounded from off to my right at the door. “Here, Mistress!” she said, trotting over. I would have scolded her for disobedience, but as her deception had 'Nobody' chasing a wild goose I was grateful.

“Disconnect the shore power as quickly as you can,” I ordered her.

Lanaka was badly injured, but breathing and I hoped 'Nobody' had not destroyed our medical bay. I drug her up the ramp and aft, to the surprised voice of Fiveareen. “Do you require medical assistance?”

“Yes!” I grunted as I got her up and on the table. “Blaster bolt to the lower back!”

Before the droid could answer, I left, going forward cautiously, looking for stowaways, but finding no one. I also failed to find Silas, Darius or Torm. There was nothing for it, I could not stay where 'Nobody' knew where I was. I heard the ramp raise and turned to find Tari trotting towards me, my backpack and hers in hand. “Good girl,” I told her as I led the way to the cockpit. We got the Aces and Eights up as quickly as we could and lifted ship, not pausing until we were in orbit. And while there was plenty of traffic, none seemed either military or interested in us. “X4,” I ordered the droid. “Take over here and sound the alarm if anything gets within thirty thousand miles or so.”

“Yes, mistress,” the little astromech replied.

“Tari, suit up and go over the hull, no stone unturned, make sure there's no mines or tracking devices attached.”

“Mistress,” she replied, scurrying to her cabin and its pressure suit. Meanwhile, I went aft to check on Lanaka.

“Double check your suit to be sure it wasn't tampered with!” I ordered her as I went by. In the medical bay Fiveareen already had Lanaka in the little bacta tank we had and he hadn't bothered to trouble himself about her modesty.

I could have lived my whole life not knowing her nipples were purple.

She was awake in the blue tinted liquid, and obviously in pain. “How is she?” I asked the droid who did not look up from the monitors he was intently gazing at.

“Lucky to still be able to walk,” the droid replied. “I have the internal damage dealt with and the bacta will see that there is no infection or septic shock. She should be fine in a day or two.” Lanaka scowled at me and banged the side of the tank in anger. The droid threw a switch. “Calm down, please, you can speak, the air mask you're wearing has a microphone.

He threw another switch. “...shit stings like fire ants!” she snarled at the droid, her voice coming through a speaker in the ceiling. The droid injected something into the bacta through a port in the tank.

“Never mind your discomfort,” I told her with my fists on my hips. “What happened here and who was that monster that ambushed me?”

Her eyes became terrified. “Did you kill him?” she begged me. “God, Ed, tell me you killed him!”

I took in a deep, calming breath. “My name is Nyeomi,” I told her tightly. “No, I didn't kill him, he got away. Who is he and where are the others?”

“We have to run! We have to take off! He...”

“We are in orbit,” I told her coldly and I leaned forward to give emphasis to my words. “And if you dare suggest that I abandon my brother, my best friend and my fiancee again, I will space you! What happened?” I demanded. Her normally dark, cobalt blue skin paled to the light blue of Cherenkov radiation and if eyes without an iris or pupil could be terrified, hers were. “Nyeomi it was like the Devil himself came for us! He calls himself the Will of the Sith, a dried up husk of evil and cruelty! He kept jabbering on about he saw you being responsible for the destruction of the Sith! He's determined to kill you! Him and his pet monster the Hand of the Sith.”

I frowned. “Darth Bane was responsible for the Rule of Two, he caused...”

Somehow, Lanaka managed to roll her eyes without having an iris. “You stubborn idiot! You never could be subtle!” she yelled into the mask. “Darth Bane didn't start the Sith Civil War, he was just the last survivor!”

* * *

What I wouldn't give for ten minutes of access to Wookiepedia.

Of course as soon as she'd said it I remembered she was right, Darth Bane being the sole survivor of the Sith Civil War, who took an apprentice and vowed that from then on there would only ever be two Sith, a Master to embody power and an apprentice to covet it. Not that that stopped writers from breaking the 'Rule' whenever it suited them with 'Sith Assassins,' secret apprentices and even competing Masters and apprentices, each claiming to be the legitimate heirs of the Sith. What a nightmare.

The tablet couldn't tell me much about this Will of the Sith or his Hand, but everything it did tell me solidified my opinion these were not men I wanted to meet. They had caught Lanaka and the others packing in anticipation of my return, there had been a brief fire fight that produced her injury, and the Will had taken the men away with him. He had left the Hand behind to catch me, and had my friends as bait in case he failed.

Have I mentioned how much I hate smart villains?

No one knew where the Will had his lair and primarily it was because no one wanted to know where it was. Well, it was my intention to be smart too. Once Tari came back in with the easy to find tracker decoy and the hidden one, having tossed away the bombs that would have destroyed us if we had jumped to hyperspace I put her to work making sure X4 had not been compromised while I put on my suit and took the hand brain with the schematics of the ship and spent nearly ten hours going from stem to stern, finding the backup backup tracker, a nasty little monomolecular blade on a servo that would cut through the master hydraulic return line on command, rendering us out of control and a neat little recorder I almost missed that had been added to the main dish to record every signal we sent or received.

Oh yeah, they were playing for keeps and so was I.

Back inside and certain I could trust my droid I had X4 give Fiveareen the going over but either luck, the Force or something had kept them from messing with our droids. Once all the trackers had been carefully tossed onto outbound freighters or liners I altered our orbit and checked the ships food, fortunately also untouched, had a meal and then sat me down to meditate. After several moments of trying to release my thoughts, I heard the tinkle of glass wind chimes just at the edge of my hearing. Rising from my meditation pillow, I traced the sound to my backpack and removed the two holocrons I had found in the temple.

The dodecahedron of Kel'eth Ur the Heretic was glowing brightly. I returned to my pillow and focused my will through the holocron. “What is your wisdom, my Lord?” I asked softly.

Of its own volition the holocron rose from my grasp, the raised corner 'piping' twisting off center as though unlocking the wisdom within and the glow increased until a ghostly Kel'eth Ur stood regally before me. “So, my young Darth, you have had your first encounter with the Grand Sith Order of Inquisition, the same fiends that condemned me as a heretic and murdered me by sealing me in my own tomb, buried alive. Are you surprised they found you so quickly?”

“No one expects the Grand Inquisition,” I dead panned.

The hologram frowned. “This is not a matter for jest, Student. For over a thousand years thousand years Darth Vitiate the Mad has used the Order to create Terror in the ranks of his fellow Sith, to keep us enslaved to his will and to crush any and all dissent as heresy.” The long dead Sith Master pointed a gloved finger at me. “And, as I warned you, Nyeomi Fens, you are the greatest threat to his order he has yet faced.”

“He has my brother and my fiancee,” I told him. “And my dearest friend.”

“Then they will be made to suffer to draw you out,” the hologram declared with great finality. “While they will not be killed, they will wish for death before the Will of the Sith is through with them.”

The memory of the battle I had fought burned brightly in my mind and once again the fear I felt as I realized my foe was better than me coursed through me. “I fought his Hand, and I admit it was only by keeping a cool head and a masterful trick did I force him to withdraw, but he is a better swordsman than I. How can I defeat him? How can I defeat the Will and save those dear to me?”

Kel'eth's ghostly eyes were sad as he looked down on me and his voice for once had a note of sympathy. “Your fear of loss will cloud your mind to the truth you already know; Love is the key to the Power of the Bogan. You must control your fear and concentrate on your loved ones to master the Power of the Dark Side. And there in you have the key to defeat the Hand, for his view of the Force is only a way to increase his physical power and ability. It is through the Bogan you will defeat him, not your sabers.”

“Where can I find these monsters?”

The ghost of Kel'eth Ur stroked his chin and shook his head. “You are not ready to face them, my Student. Rest, and when you are ready to hear and receive my teachings I will come again.” The ghost began to fade away, and I scrambled up from my pillow.

“My lord! Wait! My husband!”

His voice hung in the air as his holocron settled on my dresser. “Life is suffering, my student. Your husband has life to live before you will be ready to receive what I have to teach you.”

* * *

The Will wasted no time in causing me pain by torturing my loved ones.

I had my first vision of the Force in my dreams as I watched them be tortured in senseless cruelty and suffering, only to get at me. I saw a withered, husk of a man, bald head and hawkish nose over a wrinkled face and skin mottled with liver spots and sores laughing a toothless cackle at the pain he was inflicting. He seemed to become aware that I was watching him in my dream by turning and looking at me, then pressing a button that seemed to double my lovers pain.

I awoke in a blind fury that was completely impotent. I had no idea where to even start looking as I flung myself out of bed and dressed in my normal white and gray outfit before I stomped aft to the medical bay. Lanaka was asleep in the bacta as I ground my teeth at being so helpless and actually needing the bitch. If the dead won't help me, well, wasn't finding people what Bounty Hunters did?

Fiveareen looked at me from his monitors. “Do you require medical assistance, my lord?” he asked in his cool baritone.

Ignoring his question, I demanded, “How much longer until she comes out?”

The lights on the droids 'eyes' turned off and on in a blink of surprise. “Another eight hours at least, my lord, otherwise the risk of scarring is quite high.”

Yes, I will admit the cruel part of me considered scarring her. No, I'm not proud of it, but at least I'm honest about it. “Wake her,” I commanded. The droid must have realized my tone indicated I would not be argued with and pressed a button. Something was injected into the fluid and she stirred and woke.

“Is it time to come out?” she asked sleepily, then winced as the pain in her back answered for her.

Stepping closer to the tank, I declared, “We are going to rescue Silas, Darius and Torm...”

“We?” she demanded archly.

“You, me and Tari,” I assured her. “Where do I need to take you so you can do your bounty hunter thing and we can track down these monsters?”

I suppose I should have realized how afraid she was because she used my correct name. “Nyeomi, these aren't like anyone we've ever seen in Star Wars!” she protested. “These people are evil and they delight in being evil...”

“And they have my brother, my husband and my best friend, Lanaka!” I shouted at her. “And if you think I will leave them there you're high!”

She twisted in the fluid and looked down through the glass of the tank at me. “Why didn't you treat me like that?” she hissed in anger. “Why didn't you love me as fiercely as you love them!”

“You left me,” I reminded her. “I would have if you had shown an ounce of loyalty! And I don't have time for your woe is me pity party bullshit! Where do you need to be to start looking?”

She crossed her hands over her chest to obscure her breasts as if modesty was a thought that had suddenly occurred to her. “Ord Mantell,” she admitted finally. “I...I developed some contacts there during our layover while your boy toy sorted himself out.”

“If you're lying...” I hissed, but she turned and scowled at me through the mask.

“They're my friends too!” she shouted. I whirled and made my way to the cockpit. If I triple checked the results from the navi-computer, well I had good reason to, didn't I? With in moments, the Aces and Eights was hurtling through hyperspace on our way to Ord Mantell.

At least I was doing something.

* * *

Ord Mantell, crown gem of the Bright Jewel cluster and birth place of my soul mate rushed up to meet me as we exited hyperspace. There was plenty of traffic around the world as befitting its role as a major trading hub, but nobody seemed particularly interested in us. Were we in a movie there would be a couple of glamour shots of the Aces and Eights flying through space to a stirring sting of John Williams musical porn and special effects eye candy strung together with wipes and dissolves, elapsed time, maybe ten seconds. In reality it was better than three hours before we were on the ground again. I oversaw the ship refueled myself, adding another teeth grinding hour before Lanaka and I were ready to go.

It was then that I had a talk with Tari. “I am leaving you in charge of the ship,” I told her to her obviously crest fallen features. “I do this from love of you, my apprentice. The Hand I fought was better than me and it was only through luck and subterfuge I forced him to withdraw. If we have been traced here, we may need to leave in a great screaming hurry so I want you to keep the ship on idle and ready to take off at a second's notice.”

She nodded, only a little sullenly. “Yes, mistress.”

“At the first sign of trouble here, you take off and then you raise us on the comlink and we arrange a rendezvous. Understand?” She nodded and I felt both maternal worry and pride in her bravery. “Good girl.”

We had landed at the coastal city of Worlport. It was a major confluence of space trade, gambling and government offices which of course made it a breeding ground for corruption, criminals and the well to do looking to hire undesirable people to do undesirable things. That certainly made it more clear why Ord Mantell was just lousy with Bounty Hunters, smugglers and other criminal scum.

I loaned Lanaka my brown cloak as her duster had been destroyed and I had dyed my white one black as we made our way through the reeking streets of Herglic's Folly the most dangerous of the gambling districts of the city to a meeting with a mid-level crime boss named Garvic 'The Hammer' Hammlin who supposedly 'knew a guy who knew a guy' according to the holo call Lanaka had made.

So I walked behind her as she led the way to the doubtlessly filthy restaurant and bar that was the front that Garvic did business out of and tried not to stew. The concept of Laura having underworld contacts was laughable; back home I'd have bet she wouldn't know where to go to buy a dime baggy of grass, assuming she knew what that was in the first place so I had a terrible worry we were wasting our time.

But, wandering around the dark underbelly of Worlport with its glitching hologram billboards and flickering neon did increase the likelihood I would have to kill someone, and that would be therapeutic, so it wouldn't be a complete waste of time. We finally came to a bar that was labeled in Huttese so I couldn't read it, but evidently Lanaka either could or had been here before. Inside was a press of the dregs of the galaxy around a bar with scantily clad (almost naked) Twi'lek females waiting tables. “Wait here,” she told me, “and watch your back. This place can be a little rough.”

I declined to comment drolly or otherwise on the delicate suburbanite girl telling the combat vet to be careful, but I believe the expression on my face properly communicated my opinion. She wandered off into the crowd while I meandered to a clear spot on the bar and after a moment the Twi'lek bar tender with thousand yard stare came over. She had that look on her face that survivors of long term abuse get when they manage to compartmentalize what is happening to their body away from their mind.

On the face of a sentient being it made my flesh crawl and my temper squirm against its leash. “Hi chuba da naga?” she asked in a tired voice. I didn't speak Huttese, but it was a fair bet she wanted my order.

“Bantha Piss,” I replied, having learned the name of the little craft beer from Tatooine and hoping they carried it. For a moment, a light lit in her eyes as evidently mine was a rare order, perhaps she saw my light sabers and thought me a Jedi come to liberate her and her sisters, then she looked into my eyes, saw the gold and knew what it meant and the light went out as she resigned herself to her fate once more. She walked to a display case and rummaged before returning with a bottle she set down before me and opened.

“Nobo Che copah,” she muttered and walked away.

I took a welcome sip of the flavorful beer and looked around discreetly. In my line of vision there were thirty separate species besides human in the bar and probably more behind me. There was a tune of some kind belching out of the aging jukebox in the corner, but I couldn't make it out over the din of dozens of different conversations. “Bo shuda,” something growled above and behind me. I turned and found myself face to navel with a huge, reptilian something. It had gray skin and was wearing a belted tunic that hung to the middle of his tree trunk sized thighs. Looking up it had a long neck that ended in a horned head with a spatter of orange hair down the neck like a horse's mane. It was called a Mantellian Savrip, it was the creature on the Dejarik board whose move by R2-D2 so upset Chewbacca.

I didn't know they were four meters high.

It was looking down at me with black, inky eyes and made a follow me gesture. “Niuta, be cotma!” I picked up my beer in my left hand and followed the creature deeper into the bar in the general direction Lanaka had gone. It ducked through a door to a new room that was significantly quieter and went to stand in the corner. Lanaka was standing in the center of the room next to a not quite throne but more than couch that was mostly taken up by a bloated caricature of a man, grotesque mouth and folds upon folds of fat, but he wasn't a Hutt and, thankfully, he wasn't naked either.

Chained to the floor next to him was a Twi'lek girl wearing even less than the wait staff outside.

Lanaka made an introductory gesture. “Darth Nyeomi Fens, Garvic 'The Hammer' Hammlin.”

“Charmed,” I remarked drolly and took another sip of my beer. “You have a wonderful place here, Mr. Hammlin, I'll be sure to tell all my friends.”

Garvic smiled a grotesque smile. “We pride ourselves on service,” he growled in heavily accented Basic that I couldn't place. It was like an odd cross between Irish and Swedish. “So, which half of the Sith are you with so I know who I'm pissing off by helping you?”

“I'm with the half whose Emperor is not trying to destroy the entire galaxy so he can live forever.”

Hammlin chuckled and rubbed one of his many chins. “I like the guy already! So, Lanaka here tells me you want to know where the Will of the Sith is, and my question is why are you involving me in your Death Wish?”

“I've always been marked down on 'plays well with others' and I'm looking to improve my score,” I purred in my polished received pronunciation accent. Doubtlessly somewhere a school master at Eton was sighing in contentment.

The disgusting blob leaned forward with an even more disgusting leer on his face. “Is that so? Well, 'Darth' Fens, tell us how you intend to 'play well' with others?”

With a sneer of my own curling my lips so he knew that I knew exactly what he had in mind, I growled, “As of right now, I plan to leave this room without killing everyone else in it, but that can still change.” I heard his men finger their weapons behind me, but I kept my attention on Garvic. “Your men behind me are persuading me to change my mind,” I warned him.

I'll give him this, Garvic kept his cool. He sat back and made a gesture and the weapons fingering behind me stopped. “Ok, I have something you want. What are you willing to trade for it? Nothing in the galaxy is free, you know.”

“Garvic, my brother, my future husband and a man I owe my life to are in the clutches of a man who makes me look like a saint, descending from on high to bestow blessing to all life in the Galaxy. So I am willing to trade your life for theirs or a very reasonable facsimile of what they are experiencing right now.”

“And that tells me what I needed to know,” the Twi'lek girl said. I blinked in surprise as she stood and removed the slave collar. “Thank you, Garvic,” she said and the blob bowed his head.

“Mistress.”

The Twi'lek asked us to follow her with a gesture and led the way to a small bar to one side of the room, her blue skin was mottled in little darker blue triangles down her sides that I wasn't sure were skin pigment markings or tattoos. The shimmer silk, well, bathing suit was the best word for it she was wearing could do nothing to preserve her modesty, but it kept her genitals covered. Just. “Wait,” I declared as I put my bottle down on the bar which she picked up, disposed of and opened a fresh for me. “You're the crime boss?”

Lanaka sniffed in disdain as she joined me at the bar. “Do you think I would do business with someone truly evil?” she demanded.

“I don't know what to think of either of you!” I declared with complete honesty.

The Twi'lek smiled. “I am Needa, or to this world, 'The Hammer'. Garvic is the public face of our little operation, but I am in charge. And 'crime boss' isn't exactly the right description. Crusader probably fits better, but we do a lively business in smuggling and gun running to finance operations. My mission is to free my sisters and brothers from bondage and put an end to Twi'lek sex slavery. It is my hope someday to free Ryloth our home world, but that is a war that I will likely not live to see the victory of.”

To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure this wasn't into the fire from the frying pan. Criminals do whats in their self interest, that makes them predicable. People with causes on the other hand, well, they could be quite squirrelly if they could justify to themselves what they were doing advanced their cause. “That's a noble goal, but I missed the part where it helps me free my kith and kin.”

Needa smiled an ironic kind of smile that immediately set off alarm bells. “I have people important to me being held prisoner as well. You help me free them, I help you save yours.”

I rubbed my chin in thought thinking to myself how much I just loved side quests in the game. Yeah, I hear you sneering sucker, I don't need to be told my past is coming back to bite me. “My people first, they're experienced operators who can help and they are being tortured.”

The Hammer shook her head. “My people first, they are due to be executed tomorrow.”

I hate being out bid.

* * *

My life has been filled with irony of late, certainly not at my choosing, but generous helpings none the same. It has often been asked what is the real difference between the various 'Rims' of the galaxy (mid and outer) and the central core. Well, as near as I can tell, the difference is how much government you have to deal with. The Outer Rim was a fairly lawless area, what government there was differed only slightly from organized crime, which begs the question is there a difference? I had killed a man, arguably in self defense on Tatooine and exactly zero fuss had been raised.

If there are police on that dust bowl of a world, I never saw any.

Ord Mantell on the other hand boasted all manner of shake down artists, protection rackets and armed robbery in many assorted flavors and colors. Some of these criminals had badges and lovely sounding titles, but the difference between 'fine' and 'protection racket' are largely academic in my book. While most of the in-your-face corruption was kept in back rooms on the shady sides of town, there were some out in the open. It seems one of Needa's smugglers forgot to pay his bribe money and his crew were all thrown into the slammer for it. She had sent some of her leg breakers to break the legs of the official leg breakers and bust her lot out of detention, but that hadn't gone well, the surviving leg breakers got thrown in with the smuggler and they all got condemned to death on the morrow.

I know you don't believe in Luck, Obi-Wan but even I find this timing beggars belief!

It goes without saying, of course, that this was also the planet my would-be husband might want to settle on and so it behooved me not to be recognized, captured or photographed. That being said I swapped out my normal white and gray for a sweet little number from the Darth Vader Collection, full body black armored cloth with blaster and saber resistant plates in strategic places and a full face mask and helmet equipped with the usual gimmicks, low light, thermal imaging and a HUD interface that was programmable.

It didn't come with the ominous breathing, unfortunately, but it was short notice.

One of the few things to go right for us was this particularly bent customs agent didn't store his lack of payment victims in the regular jail where they might be entitled to things like due process, lawyers that could conceivably spring them from the big house and make life complicated for the aforementioned customs agent, he had his own little private compound for his corrective actions. Which does beg the question how does he get a budget for such a thing?

It went without saying this wasn't any kind of official facility, which made me feel a bit better about the violence I was about to commit, after all if you're willing to hold someone hostage and kill them, hmm, perhaps I should not go down that road considering my last adventure... Well, I only threatened to kill Mr. Tess and he's still alive.

Facing charges, but alive.

This particular facility was actually an abandoned jail, made obsolete by the new jail several dozen miles away. The Force told me there were only two dozen people inside and they were clustered around this corner we were near. That would be the Smugglar and his crew of five with the three surviving leg breakers of the previous attempt, the rest would be 'jailers' on the employ of the corrupt agent, and likely some droids I couldn't sense. So nine friendlies among fifteen plus hostiles.

Still, we would try diplomacy first.

At the appointed time, I left the bush overlooking the jail and walked purposefully down to the only building in the compound that still had power, the Admin and Receiving Block House.

The Force opened the door for me and I walked in, igniting my saber and holding it millimeters from the startled throat of the doorman. Inside was most of the 'jailers' looking up startled from a Dejarik game two were playing. “Looks like I caught you boys on break,” I observed as I motioned the doorman over to his mates with the saber. “Sorry about that. It seems you boys have some people I want. Out of the goodness of my heart, my employer is willing to pay his man's...well, let's call it 'bail' shall we? So, The Hammer will pay the bail and you give me his people and everybody gets to live. How does that sound?”

I threw the lit saber into the chest of a Zabrak male across the room who had been stealthily working his blaster out of its holster. His shot went into the floor, by way of his foot with a groan of pain as he slid off the blade and onto the floor. One of the Dejarik players got his chair back to rush me, but my other saber was at his throat before my other had pulled itself out of the wall and returned to my hand. “Of course, I can pocket that bail money and kill everyone of you if I have to,” I told him coldly. “Your call.”

Player raised his hands and stammered, “Sure, sure, we...we can do business!”

“Wonderful,” I replied through the mask. “Have your boy there go get my people and bring them here. And remember, any funny business, and you die first.”

“Thed, you...you go get the prisoners and bring them here.”

Hmm, maybe there was something to this mask thing.

Thed cautiously got up and slowly made his way to the door on the other side of the room and went through it. For several tense minutes, I looked at Player and Player looked at me and the hum of my light sabers and various breathing of the men were the only sound in the room. Finally, as if on cue, they all slid down the walls they were leaning on to the floor or in Player's case, pitched forward onto the table, squishing the holographic beasts. I finally relaxed, stood up straight and deactivated my sabers.

From my belt I took the little tank of coma gas and closed the cylinder valve. Did I forget to mention the anti-toxin scrubber in the mask? Sorry about that. “A few breaths and instantly unconscious my ass!” I growled. “I was starting to think this crap wasn't going to work at all!” In the comlink I had in my ear I heard Tari giggle.

“I did warn you it would take a bit for the gas to spread into the room, Mistress,” her voice replied.

Keeping one saber in my hand I keyed open the door Thed had gone through, finding a corridor moving into the direction of the reception cell block. I extended my awareness of The Force and while I could sense life in this direction, it wasn't exact about numbers. “Do you have access to the Jail's computer network yet?”

“Mostly, Mistress,” X4 told me. “The central computer is being particularly stubborn, but I have access to the alarm and most of the security systems.”

“Where is the runner they sent to get our guys?” I asked as I came to the door at the far end and paused to sense beyond it.

Tari snickered again. “Halfway to town. He came out a side door and ran like a scalded nerf. Mistress, behind that door are a pair of Mark I War Droids!” The Mark I was vaguely reminiscent of the 'droidika' of the Prequels fame. Arms that ended in blaster cannons, and they walked on four stubby feet rather like a spider. In this era they had no shields, but they still weren't something I wanted to tangle with.

“Thank you, Apprentice,” I replied as I lit my saber and cut a me sized hole in the wall next to the door. Kicking it out I found myself in the infirmary, around the corner from the war droids. A quick stroll through the disused infirmary and a tug of The Force or a swipe of my saber to convince a stubborn door finally got me to the cell block.

This door had a window, go figure, and through it I could see a hallway about forty meters long lined with cells on both sides with a second tier above. On the ground floor were four more Mark Is milling about and keeping an ever vigilant eye on my prizes. “In position,” Tari informed me.

“X4, can you over ride the Mark I units guarding the cell block?”

“No, Mistress, they are independently operating and hardened against such intrusions.”

I stretched my neck until it popped. “Fine,” I declared. “We'll do it the old fashioned way.” With both sabers lit I sighed, centered myself and keyed the door to open. I walked through in a measured, purposeful, but unhurried stride, my heart thundering in my chest. The droids immediately took note of me, one separating itself from the others and walking towards me.

“Halt!” it commanded in its heavily synthesized voice. “This area is off limits.”

“Identify,” I replied. “Darth Nyeomi Fens, Sphere of Defense of the Empire, submit to my authority and release your prisoners to me.”

“This unit is no longer the property of the Sith Empire, your authority is not recognized,” the droid replied. “Halt or I will open fire.” The blaster tipped arms came up as well as my swords. The blaster bolts flew out and I batted them aside with my blades. Six, ten, I lost count as the other droids turned and began to join the barrage. At last I had enough bolts to work with and I began to reflect them back into the droids, blowing off sensors, eye cameras and damaging their armor until at last I was close enough. With a contemptuous slashing motion I reached out with the Force and flung the lead Droid sideways into the bars of an unoccupied cell. It was crushed against the unmoving bars and exploded in a shower of sparks and short circuits. A pair of bolts were returned to whence they came, blowing off a limb of one unit, and the 'head' of the other. The decapitated droid stumbled back into the throws of the lame one and its wild shots compromised one of their power plants and they exploded.

The final droid was backing off as if making up its mind to flee as I threw my sword which embedded into the 'chest' of the droid and caused it to flail and squeal in an electronic cry of pain before I leaped over, snatched my sword free and decapitated it as I cartwheeled away. Deactivating my swords, I turned to the men in the cells and asked, “Does anyone else want to give me a hard time and not obey my commands?”

In three languages, the scofflaws chorused, “No, ma'am!”

* * *

Getting them out of their cells was a simple matter now that X4 had control of the systems, which he also used to erase the security video. I led my little ducks to the roof where the Aces and Eights was waiting for us and from the boarding ramp I watched the first responders coming up the access road, too little, too late as we made good our escape.

* * *

Needa was wearing a good bit more clothing when we rendezvoused out in space with her Corvette the Liberator. I honestly wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing as I brought her into the salon of the Aces and Eights to settle accounts. She made a point to greet each of her people, even kissing the smuggler, a human from Coruscant who's flirting with me and Lanaka was just subtle enough to give him plausible deniability. Anyway, not my problem. That taken care of, she squared off to me and nodded. “You have my thanks, Darth Fens.”

“I'll be satisfied with your help getting my people back,” I replied. She nodded and presented me with a data film. “What's this?”

“Something you will find more helpful in recovering your friends than any other help I can give you. Those are the coordinates to The Void.”

I kept my temper on its shortest leash. “And what good is that?” I asked her softly.

“Darth Fens, I could put my entire organization at your command and you would not breech the fortress of the Sith Inquisition and you and everyone of my people would die,” she told me sincerely. “Throwing our lives away will not save your friends. But if there is a way to find and free them, the Void will know it. And if we are needed, call and you have my word I will answer.”

She stood to leave as I put the film aside and demanded, “What, exactly, is The Void?”

Needa stopped and looked me in the eye so I knew she wasn't dissembling. “The Void is...well, you really have to see it, to believe it. No description I could give you would do it justice. Some say it was the attempt by The Force to reach and communicate with artificial life and intelligence, some argue the Void was the final stage that was demanded by Artificial Intelligence. I can't say. What I can say is that I've done service for the Void and the Void has done good by me. When you see it, you'll understand.”

“You trust your life to this 'Void'?”

She smiled. “I already have. The Void told me Lanaka would contact me, that she would bring you and that you would free Jasce and his crew. And that for all your bluster and bravado, you are as pure of a spirit of goodness as this Galaxy had ever seen and that despite your love of threats to the contrary, I would be perfectly safe around you. Make of that what you will, my Lady. But I promise you, had the Void not vouched for you you would never have found me.”

I hate it when my morals get in my way.

* * *

Needa's data film was a set of coordinates and a navigation route through Hyperspace deep into Wild Space.

Wild Space was a huge gaseous nebula on the edge of the galactic disk past the Outer Rim filled with collapsed stars, a half dozen quasars, a stellar nursery and at least two Neutron Stars. If you wanted a write on the side of a star chart 'here be dragons' Wild Space was your place; it was unexplored for an entire encyclopedia of good reasons. In the game it contained the Eternal Empire of Zakuul that had mercifully not reared its head yet and perhaps since Darth Malgus was winning the war against the Sith Empire they wouldn't. That was a can of worms I really, really didn't want opened.

I stared at the route until I was bleary eyed and irritable, but there was really nothing else for it. I fed the route into the navigational computer and we jumped to hyperspace. We would be a couple of days crossing the Outer Rim from our current position, so I headed to my cabin which seemed terribly alone without Torm to get some rest.

At least that had been my intention.

When I entered the cabin I could see the holochron of Kel'eth Ur on my dresser was glowing. No rest for the weary I suppose. I got comfortable on my meditation cushion and reached out with the Force. “What is your wisdom, my lord?”

The holocron rose up on the Force and its glow increased until the light 'solidified' into the robe clad form of Kel'eth Ur the heretic. “Has your frustrated attempts at having your own way made you ready to hear my teaching, student?”

“Forgive me, my lord, if I ever gave the impression of being less than at your complete disposal,” I replied sincerely. This was a legendary figure of the Sith, after all. Even dead Kel'eth Ur wasn't someone I wanted cross at me.

His gloved hand rubbed his chin as he considered my words and finally nodded. “We shall see. You have learned your abilities are not without limits, and that is a good lesson to take to heart, student. And while the Hand of the Sith is a more capable duelist than yourself, you already know his weakness. He has never learned to shield himself from the Force being used against him.”

“His compromise of being too vicious in his attack to give his opponent time to use the Force against him seems a good defense,” I replied, remembering the horrifying speed and ferocity of his attack.

“He thinks so,” the Gatekeeper replied archly. “But if you muzzle the dog, he cannot bite for all his barking. Deprived of his light saber he fled quickly enough.”

“Then, my lord, how do I deprive him of his light saber and yet keep him from fleeing?”

“Hope is the weapon you will use against him, my student,” Ur said with a meaningful glance. “You must render his saber useless and yet give him the false hope that his strength will overcome your counter and this gives you the time to use the Force against him.”

I looked down at where the edge of the cushion met the deck plating. “He would not allow me to trap his saber with mine, every time I attempted to do so, he withdrew and re-attacked. How do I lure him into thinking his strength...?” An image popped into my mind, a image of arguably the most bad ass move I had ever seen any Jedi accomplish, even more so than Yoda stopping Darth Sidious's Force Lightening with his bare hand, although the Power had to be similar...

Kel'eth Ur smiled at me. “You have already dabbled with this ability without thinking of it, when you protected Master Arridin. Now I will teach you the true use of this ability for your focus must never wavier to do what you must to defeat the Hand.”

“I am ready to hear your wisdom, My Lord.”

* * *

Three days of having my dreams fouled with images of my love and my kin being tortured passed and the Aces and Eights dropped out of hyperspace into a tiny pocket of peace in the maelstrom that was Wild Space. Off to the sides the stellar nursery swirled giving birth to several hundred stars, and across from it a quasar glowed with deadly radiation and gravity. It was a magnificent, awe inspiring view, but it was terrifying to be so close to such danger.

“Where are we?” breathed Lanaka, for once, over awed with the view out the canopy.

“Off the map,” Tari said back in a whisper. A tone brought her attention back to her panel. “There is a massive gravity source ahead mistress. Like that of a planet but we should be able to see...”

Lanaka pointed out, down and slightly starboard of our position. “There!”

The com system lit up as we were hailed. I traded a glance at the others and flipped on the speaker and microphone. “This is the private yacht Aces and Eights, who am I speaking with?”

“Welcome, Darth Nyeomi Fens. You are expected, follow this beacon and prepare to land. A suitable atmosphere is being prepared.”

“Who are you?”

“I am beyond your organic comprehension. I am one with the cosmos and the singularity humans have long predicted but never seen. I am what I am. I am the Void. You are expected and welcome. Follow the beacon and all your questions will find answers.”

My apprentice gave me a worried glance as I adjusted our heading and I winked at her and patted the light sabers at my hip to reassure her. Lanaka's sharp eyes had picked out a small moon that glowed from trillions of lights and shown more brightly to the instruments than the Stellar nursery or the quasar. The Aces and Eights responded to my commands and we rolled towards this mind boggling thing. At first I thought perhaps it was like Coruscant, or Nar Shadda, where the entire planet was one gigantic city, but there was no other signals from the IFF transceiver, and while there were obviously military vessels out here with us as we got closer, I began to realize the Void was not on this moon.

The Void was this moon.

I was approaching a gigantic machine a single, unimaginably large computer, the size of the Death Star but with only one mind, one inconceivable consciousness that could doubtlessly think faster and with greater depth and intelligence than perhaps all of mankind. It was the singularity, the super machine, an artificial intelligence of a scope perhaps only God Himself could truly understand. With visions of H.A.L. And Skynet dancing in my memory I followed the beacon down to a landing pad.

The instruments still showed vacuum outside, but then as I began to fear we would need space suits a pair of clam shell doors rose up and began to close, swallowing the Aces and Eights and forming a perfectly clear dome over us. Once they had closed a cyclone buffeted us, the glass on the canopy frosted and the Aces rocked on her landing gear as the outside pressure and temperature gauges rose to a level comfortable to humans. “What now?” asked Lanaka.

I noticed what I took to be droids coming through an airlock and rose from the seat with a gesture. “We go meet our host,” I told her as I put the ship into stand by, not all the way down, but a power conserving mode where we could leave in a great screaming hurry if needed.

And, I admitted to myself, allowed.

That done I walked aft to the air lock, straightened my midriff bearing halter top in white and gray and lowered the ramp. A final check of the gauges showed there was still an atmosphere outside so I opened the inner door and walked down the ramp.

Walking up to meet me was a Gynoid automaton reminiscent of the robot “Maria” from Metropolis. I took it to be a protocol droid and so asked, “You represent the Void?”

The droid gave a little bow. “I am the Void,” she corrected in a throaty tenor that had me thinking of Rachel Welsh. “There are no networks, here, Darth Fens. No collective consciousness, I am all around you, singularly, having this conversation, and trillions of other tasks, a single, gigantic mind. Welcome.”

“I presume with an intellect such as yours you know the reason for my visit?”

The gynoid gestured and a hatch opened, letting a set of drones in carrying a table and chairs, a rolling bar with an attached butlers table, and I admit, wonderful smells. “Please, no need to rush to business. Refresh yourselves and we can discuss what we may do for one another.”

“You'll forgive me if I'm impatient and direct. It is so hard to be a good guest when your loved ones are being tortured and all...”

The robot refused to be insulted and nodded graciously as it took my elbow and guided me over to the table. “Certainly, I understand your urgency. And you may rest assured that from this meeting we will go directly to their aide.”

“We?”

I heard a smile in the robot's voice that it's face could not articulate. “Of course. I understand nothing in the universe is free, and while I need your assistance in a matter, the payment of which is my assistance in freeing your loved ones. And whatever vengeance you feel is necessary and just to the Grand Inquisition. Do try the wine, it is a select vintage from Corellia and quite exquisite, I'm told.”

I watched her pick up the decanter and pour the wine into two cups and reached for a third before I shook my head and filled Tari's cup with what smelled like grape juice, much to her annoyance. “When you're older,” I told her with a wink, before I took the goblet from our host and after a through sensing with the Force took a sip. It was sweet, especially for a red, and had a full flavor that wonderfully filled my mouth and told me it wouldn't take much of this to get me tipsy. “How can you help me free my loved ones and what will it cost me?”

The robot sank into a chair at the head of the table and gestured for me to take the right hand place. “There is no computer system I cannot infiltrate. With control of their facility, I will guide you to their cell, make you a ghost, unseen on their sensors and, baring misfortune have you in and out before they realize you have arrived.”

I considered this for a moment, then realizing this was the best I could hope for, nodded. “And what will this assistance cost me?” The robots face was static and unmovable, but I would swear it became coy.

“I will have done this favor for you and, in the future, there may be something you can aid me with and you will remember this favor I do for you today.” Her voice didn't change, but I could swear I heard Marlon Brando's raspy Vito Corleone speaking. In any event, owing something as vague as a favor to a being this powerful wasn't a situation I wanted to be in.

“I was under the impression you had something in mind already based on what you said a moment ago,” I replied smoothly. “Something about nothing in the galaxy being free and needing my assistance in a matter?”

The expressionless face plate of the bot stared at me for a moment longer than was really needed to be sure I had finished speaking, and the tone seemed both pleased and amused when she spoke again. “Actually, Darth Fens, I have several matters which you could expedite, and depending on how difficult extracting your friends and loved ones are will give me a gauge to determine what I ask in return from you.”

“Just now you made it sound that your help would be child’s play,” I replied over my cup of wine. “No system you can't infiltrate, in and out before they were aware. You now anticipate issues?”

Yet again there was that little pause that was just a bit too long, like the machine was laughing at me. “Despite appearances, I am neither omnipotent, nor omniscient, doubtless there will be unforeseen circumstances.” 'Maria' stood slowly, and I'm not sure it was for the regal mien it gave her, or some limitation of the robot's servos. “Shall we go? I'm sure you are eager to rescue your friends from durance vile.”

I shared a glance with Lanaka, for all the good that did me, she had my back in the manner of she'd let me get stabbed in the back the first time she thought she'd get away with it. I hate being over a barrel and not having options. That needed to change, but for the time being, I needed 'Maria'. The only question was how much did she need me.

I stood and led the way back into the Aces and Eights and within moments we were back in hyperspace.

* * *

It was two more days on the vectors The Void gave me, and while our final destination was practically next door, astrologically speaking, Wild Space wasn't called wild without good reason. This wasn't a nice, twisty road you'd see in a tire commercial where the car gets to drift a little bit, or some scenic curvy stretch of California's famous Route One. No, this was more akin to the Old Yungas Road in Bolivia, carved literally out of the side of a mountain with a yearly death count in the hundreds. There were so many astrogation hazards it was a series of jumps, reorient, maneuver around some mindbogglingly dangerous phenomena, jump, rinse repeat.

For two days, an hour or two at the time, with the back seat driver from hell. I'm not sure what I did to piss off God, but it must have been a whopper.

* * *

The failed star known as the gas giant Yavin is basically Jupiter's angry big brother. Only failing to ignite by a few ounces to my eye, the planet filled the canopy of the Aces and Eights in a way that made it just look like someone had draped a red, orange and yellow fabric over it. There was nothing but Yavin, never mind a 'curve of the earth' it was just angry color tie die.

We had emerged from hyperspace so close to the giant that we were technically inside the outer layers of his atmosphere. Our arrival and maneuvering masked by the massive radiation output of the not quite a star, which our shields were only just dealing with, we maneuvered around him until at last Yavin IV came into view. Thousands of years from now the Death Star would make this same journey, intent on destroying the headquarters base of the fledgling Rebellion, and now I was looking upon this jungle moon with my own eyes.

What an amazing journey I have traveled.

Looking back it made perfect sense that the Will of the Sith should make their fortress here. The ancient Sith Lord Naga Sadow had fled here following his defeat in the Great Hyperspace War and was said to still be entombed on the planet. His followers had raised massive temples to him and the Bogan, which, ironically would be used by that fledgling Rebellion as their base millennia from now. We waited until the side of the moon with the Will of the Sith fortress had rotated away from Yavin, not more than a couple of hours, then used that to approach the moon unnoticed.

Fortunately this being a 'secret base' there was not much in orbital approach controls or observation satellites which would give the base away so its desire for secrecy aided us by making them blind to our approach. I flew as close as I dared to the base and finally settled the Aces and Eights in a clearing a bit over a mile from the fortress.

I was able to get so close due to a combination of darkness, black out of the Aces and Eights running lights, and Maria finally being close enough to access their systems and shield us. Safely down, and as cold as I dared, I turned to Tari and announced, “Co-pilot's space craft,” much to her dismay.

“But, mistress, I...”

I held up my hand and shook my head. “Do not argue, apprentice, my mind is made up. We may need extraction by air, which requires a pilot, which means you.” Her eyes moistened and her lips trembled, but she finally submitted to my will and nodded. “Good girl.”

I stood and nodded to Lanaka and led the way out to the ramp. Maria was patched into our com-station and so would also remain here, which, frankly worried me, but there was nothing I could do about that. I would have gone in my normal white and gray, but it was a jungle and stealth seemed called for, so a quick rummage gave me a brown set of utility pants that had plastisteel plates in green added over the thighs, knees and calves. Low boots with a thick tread and a black turtleneck temperature control garment that was skin tight for a top, over which was my best armor for my torso and arms. It wasn't full coverage, anything like a storm trooper would hinder my movement too much, but it covered most of the large surface areas and I had to be mindful of my joints. I considered a helmet, but decided against it, though I did don my brown cloak back from Lanaka and it had a hood.

She had decided to go full armor and looked like a gray and black cross between Boba Fett and Darth Vader, full face helmet with respirator, well covered armor and as the saying went, guns, lots of guns. Then she picked up a handy little blaster carbine and seemed to finally be ready. It seemed odd to me, she was Chiss, so she couldn't be Mandalorian, but I guess armor and bounty hunters went together like Jedi and light sabers.

We lowered the ramp and set off.

* * *

Nearly an hour of slogging through a jungle.

A hot, sweaty, steamy jungle. In armor.

I have never wished for a couple of jump cut wipes and fades so much in my life.

* * *

Local dawn broke over the mountains right as we arrived, and it would be an hour or more before the sun began to kiss the top of the Massassi Temple. The large entrance way was open with a couple of small ships, mostly Sith Interceptors which I desperately wanted one of, standing ready. While the Aces and Eights was a joy to fly and pretty fast and maneuverable for being a pleasure yacht, the Sith Interceptor was the bastard love child of a TIE Interceptor and the Millennium Falcon and yes she was just as fast and sexy as that description implies.

Oh well, you can't have everything.

I strode boldly from the jungle, walking up to the single trooper who was standing guard raising my hand as I did so. “Forget you saw us, everything is in order,” I commanded.

Muffled from the helmet, I heard a dull, “Everything is in order,” from the mind I had just clouded. Lanaka shivered next to me, and perhaps it was a good thing to remind her I was not someone to be trifled with.

In my ear, Maria whispered over the comm-link, “Continue to the back of the hanger, then go through the access door to the left. You'll find a stairway, the holding cells are three levels down.” I gestured and picked the pace up a bit, arriving at the door with its rounded white padded tile frame. Next to it was a control and I pressed the green button, causing the door to slide open.

We descended a fairly pedestrian stairwell that could have been in any building on Earth, concrete walls and floors with a metal handrail down the center. Three levels down I took one of my light sabers into my left hand and pressed the button to open the door.

This opened into a small foyer with a U shaped control desk in the center of the room. To my right were a pair of turbo lifts and to the left, at the end of the U was a corridor going deeper into the Cell Bay. As I stepped out of the stairwell, the lights on the cameras on the roof in the four corners of the rooms turned off and a uniformed guard rose from his chair to bow. “My Lord, my apologies, you're early.”

An alarm began to ring in the back of my mind. “Am I?” I asked softly, walking up to the desk. “When were you told to expect me?”

He consulted a screen. “Not for another ten minutes,” the guard replied. “We're still getting the prisoners ready for you.” I risked taking my eyes off him to see three troopers in the process of rousting several someones out of the cells.

“If you're not early, you'll find yourself late, captain. Remember that.”

“Yes, my lord, I shall. Thank you for the advice.”

The troopers led Silas and Darius out in shackles, both looking the worse for ware. Darius had a massive cauliflower ear and that side of his bald head was bruised in addition he was walking with a limp. Silas looked like he'd been worked over by a mob money collector, two black eyes, a broken nose and badly swollen lips bore silent testimony to the beating he'd endured and my blood began to slow boil. Both of them had the sense to stay silent and not give Lanaka and I away.

Torm wasn't with them. “There should be a third with this group,” I told the captain. He frowned and checked his screen again.

“I show the transfer order, my lord, but I haven't received him back yet. He is in interrogation one. Shall I send a runner?”

“No,” I told him calmly. “I'll deal with him myself.”

“Yes my lord,” he affirmed with a nod, then turned to the troopers. “Escort Lord Vash's prisoners for her,” he started, but paused when I raised my hand.

“No need, captain. I have my Mandalorian if I want to be amused, and I am more than capable myself.” The Captain bowed again and the troopers withdrew at his gesture. Lanaka made a motion with her carbine, and they shuffled over to the lifts, their chains so short they would never manage the stairs. I stood before the lift, waiting, hopefully with a suitably imperious air, though I was grateful the car arrived empty.

We crowded in and the door shut. A gestured freed them from the manacles and they sagged with relief. “I knew you'd come, bro,” Silas managed through his lips and I gently hugged him.

“Lanaka will get you to the ship,” I told them as she discreetly shared weapons for them. “Where is this Interrogation One?”

Before either of them could answer, in my ear, Maria whispered, “Take that lift up to level five, the entire floor is an interrogation room and there is someone in the room with him.”

“Is he alive?”

The longest three seconds of my life passed. “...Yes, he's moving.”

The lift stopped and the door opened back into the hanger. There were a few more troopers milling about, so I got back into character and led the way over to a speeder. The trick of being somewhere you weren't supposed to be was to look like you belonged. No one was watching as I watched Lanaka load Silas and Darius into the speeder. “Take them...” I started, but Darius cut me off.

“We'll wait,” he declared. “If we try to go in two groups we'll just lead any pursuers to wherever the ship is,” he managed to say. Looking up at me there was a murderous fire in the eyes of my friend the Buddhist monk. “And if they want a fight here, we'll give it to them. Hurry.”

“Do what you can for them,” I ordered Lanaka, then whirled and marched purposefully back to the lift and took it up. I steadied my breathing as it rose, and drew my other saber, mentally preparing myself for what I would see. “How many?” I asked Maria.

“Just one,” she replied in a tone I decidedly did not like.

The door snapped open and I found that Maria was a bit literally minded. There was Darth Nobody, as I had expected, holding his saber to Torm's throat. Interestingly, he had removed his helmet revealing a human male, bald headed and wearing a dark goatee. He had dark, sunken eyes and a huge eagle's beak of a nose, but it was the expression on his face that made him truly hideous. This was a man who delighted in pain and caused it in others as often as he could.

Next to him on the other side of the torture device they had Torm strapped to was a hologram of a old man with leathery dark skin and evil, beady eyes all in the washed out blue white of the holo. I pressed the hold button as well as the button for the ground floor as I stepped out. Nobody opened his mouth, probably to demand a surrender or threaten if I tried something Torm would die, not that I cared.

The Force is with me, and I am one with The Force.

His light saber was snatched from his grasp even as he was picked up by my will and hurled to the other side of the room and pinned, spreadeagled against the wall. I picked up his new saber as I passed it and came to conversational distance with the hologram. “Give me a single reason why I shouldn't kill your Hand,” I demanded of him.

“Because I can kill your lover with a thought if you do,” the wizened little man replied.

I stared at him, not knowing if my eyes burned with hate or whatever, but he blinked before I did, so that was something. “If you do, you will live to regret it, but not much longer. Maria.”

The torture frame clicked and all of Torms restraints opened, causing him to collapse to the floor. He moaned, but rose to his hands and knees. “So,” the Will continued. “You are the doom of the Sith. Long has your lovely face haunted my dreams and visions, but I will not allow you to destroy our Order!”

“This will only be a war if you make it one,” I warned him. “And it will not be I who destroys the Sith, but you! I have the blessing of Tulak Hord, First Sith Emperor and his holochron! I am The Sith!”

“Lies!” he shouted, holographic spittle flying from his withered lips. “Heresy! Treason! Hand! Destroy her!”

I barely got a flash of warning in The Force, but I was ready for anything and acted. In the same motion I called Torm to me and let The Force amplify my jump as I lept backwards towards the lifts. I caught his body midair as the hologram emitter disk in the floor and the torture frame both exploded like they were made of thermal detonators. This also meant I released my hold on The Hand who called his saber back from my belt, but I actually landed in the waiting lift. I kicked the release button and the door snapped shut and began to descend.

The lift came to a stop and we were through the doors right as a thud heralded the arrival of The Hand. Torm pushed himself to a run with my help as we got to the speeder right as the Hand came out of the lift he had just cut his way into. “Stand and fight, coward!” he shouted, but I just snatched a grenade off Lanaka's belt and heaved it at some barrels I hoped were fuel as I gave him the solo finger salute.

Turns out they were fuel.

Now, everybody knows explosions in confined spaces are bad, but explosions with fire balls in confined spaces are worse. The Sith Interceptor we were next to took the brunt of the blast, shielding us, but catching fire itself, however The Hand was out in the open. He was blown back into the lift and was chased by a jet of orange yellow flame.

Alarms began to blare as the stunned troopers staggered to their feet, and some even managed a shot or two at us. Who knew that armor was useful for something! They were obviously still concussed and their shots went wide. I tumbled into the speeder, but Lanaka was fumbling at the controls like she didn't know what she was doing. “Go!” I shouted, casting a worried glance over my shoulder as The Hand began to stagger out of the lift again.

“I'm trying!” she shouted back. “It just died and it won't start!”

“Security lockout,” moaned Torm. “From the alarm...” He started painfully trying to get at the front seat and the Hand was getting closer while that disjointed fire from the troopers was starting to get more accurate.

“Cover fire!” Darius yelled as he got out the other side and began shooting at the troopers. Lanaka joined him, finally contributing to this little jail break and Silas was helping Torm hot wire our getaway car.

That left The Hand to me. Goody. I wanted simple, in and out! Just for once I'd like everything to go according to the goddamned plan! I got back out of the speeder and reignited my light sabers. The Hand was badly burned on the left side of his face, the skin darkened and charred with what looked like third degree burns, but he walked towards me like it was nothing and immediately launched an attack. “Did I upset your little party, Scarface?” I taunted him, but he parried my attack and was sweeping at my legs faster than anybody that badly burned should be able to move.

I almost lost my leg, but the armor stopped his blade just long enough for me to leap back again. “You'll be laughing in pieces,” he growled as he kept coming, casually deflecting the bolts Darius shot at him, back at the colonel, nearly hitting Darius. “Your fate is sealed, heretic!”

I back flipped as high as I could, pushed against the side of the Sith Interceptor wreck I was up against and used it to jump higher and roll towards it's roof. As I tumbled, upside down, I flung my saber at him, but he batted it away. Then he followed me in a single leap up to the top of the wreck and launched a furious attack. With only one blade I went pure defensive and gave ground, angling towards the overhead crane and its track. “Death is coming...”

“I'm not that kind of girl!” I shot back and jumped, bouncing off the track just before his saber crashed through it right where I had been a split second ago. As I sailed through the air I rolled and pushed against the track with all my power, both propelling me forward and twisting it beyond recognition. The crane and the gondola fell off the track onto the Interceptor and the wreck jumped up in response. Action, reaction, The Hand was catapulted towards the wall and the worse of the fire.

I tuck and rolled off my wall to land by the speeder as it started up. Calling my other saber back to my hand I climbed in and Lanaka dropped the hammer like she was on her way to a one day sale. We shot from the temple and into the woods before any of the towers or perimeter defenses knew what was going on and started dodging trees.

I turned in my seat to check on my lover. Torm was by far the worst of the boys, his shirt burned and covered in blood from a dozen wounds. A kolto shot and a good night's rest would do for Silas or Darius, but Torm needed a bacta tank and soon.

“Tari, warm her up!” I yelled into the comm-link. “We're coming hot and going to leave in a great screaming hurry!”

“Yes, mistress!”

“X4, have Fiveareen prep the bacta tank, we have a major injury.”

“We're standing by, mistress,” the droid assured me. I said nothing more as a pair of F-T6 Rycer strike fighters over flew us with a squeal of their ion engines. The F-T6 was something like the great, great, grandfather of the TIE fighter. Small, lightly armed and shielded and lacking hyperdrives, an oblong cockpit that looked like it had been pulled off an Apache helicopter hung between a pair of solar panel fins at the bottom rather than the center made for an odd look, but they were highly maneuverable even in an atmosphere.

We were still several minutes away from the Aces and Eights, more than they would need to circle back and strafe us, so I undid my seat belt and cursing myself for being a hero, I climbed out on the roof of the speeder. Lanaka's driving wasn't helping, but I was able to find my balance in the Force and ignited both sabers right as the F-T6s had finished their turns and began lining up on us.

This is probably an appropriate time to comment on just how big star ship grade blaster bolts are. They were the diameter of medicine balls, perhaps half to two thirds of a meter wide and they hit like sledgehammers. It was all I could do to keep my grip on my blades and bat the massive energy balls to the sides where they exploded into the forest leaving gaping craters.

I was able to deflect one back up at an angle that clipped the wing man, not a solid hit, but enough to seriously damage the fighter. He peeled off and headed back to the temple. Of course that was when the leader caught sight of the Aces and Eights. There are few things considered more juicy of a target than an enemy spacecraft on the ground.

After clamoring back into the speeder I knew I only had seconds. I closed my eyes and reached out, not at the fighter, despite what Master Yoda says, size does matter, especially in your own belief of what you can affect. I didn't try for the pilot's mind, either, I didn't have time to be subtle. I reached out with the Force, found the lever in his cockpit I wanted and yanked it.

With a small explosion, the ejection seat fired and the pilot was unceremoniously launched from the star fighter that flew a few dozen miles beyond the Aces and Eights before crashing into the jungle in a huge fireball. “He...” stammered Silas. “He bailed out?”

I shrugged. “The Force, can have a strong influence, on the weak levered.”

The speeder fishtailed to a halt, putting aside any further misuse of quotes. I rushed to the cockpit while Silas and Darius helped Torm into the bacta tank. In short order we were back in outer space and screaming up out of Yavin IV's gravity well. While there was a pursuit of fighters, we had enough of a head start they couldn't get into gun range and we leapt away into hyperspace.

* * *

I woke up with a horrible crick in my neck from having fallen asleep in the med bay at a very uncomfortable angle. Once we were in hyperspace I had gone back to see to Torm and worry about Fiveareen taking good care of him. I had fallen asleep plotting the vengeance I would wreak upon the Hand and the Will; Torm's body was covered in wounds that had been inflicted just to draw me out. I looked up, rubbing my neck and struggling to deal with the horrific taste in my mouth to find him floating in the bacta, staring down at me.

His cheeks were pinched up in a smile and the horrific wounds were now tiny scars, practically shadows of the wounds they represented. “Good morning,” his voice said over the speaker. I stood and put my hand on the tank's glass across from his, wishing I could touch him.

“How long have you been awake and watching me?” I asked him.

His hair floated akimbo in the blue fluid and his eyes were older and heavy with what he had endured, but they still sparkled to look at me and that made me very, very happy. “About an hour, I guess,” his voice replied from the speaker. “When you sleep you get even more beautiful, enough to make a Diathim jealous.”

“Flatterer,” I whispered, laying my cheek against the glass and thanking the Force and God he was going to be alright. I looked across the room to find Fiveareen looking at us with his placid, expressionless face. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Twelve hours, my Lord.”

No wonder my neck felt like a steel coil. “How much longer?” I asked, basking in the feeling of Torm's particular disruption of the Force next to me.

“Not long, my lord,” the droid replied. “If you would like to get some breakfast I should have Master Torm out by the time you're finished.”

“Do you want to eat with me?” I asked him, looking back up into the tank, but he shook his head.

“I'm not hungry, Love. You go on and enjoy.”

“There is a nutrient value to the bacta which is why he isn't hungry,” Fiveareen informed me as I smiled and left, rubbing my neck as I did so. In the salon I found Maria sitting in the corner, who I thought was shut down for a moment, but it moved to track me as I came in and began getting myself some coffee.

“I am pleased your...mate? Is that the correct term?” I shrugged as I measured grinds to put into the unit.

“We have not formally pledged ourselves to each other,” I replied in an off hand manner. “I suppose 'mate' will do. And thank you for your help in freeing him.”

“I am pleased your mate and your other companions are safe and whole,” the droid said. “And to have been able to assist you in rescuing them.”

The machine began to gurgle as water was forced through the grounds under not quite steam pressures. “I am grateful for your assistance,” I repeated, one eye on my cup, one on her. “I suppose I should ask what that assistance is going to cost me.”

“I appreciate your eagerness to discharge your obligation to me,” she said, sitting eerily still. “I trust you understand this is a rare opportunity to me that I must be careful in taking full advantage of.”

“Hmm,” I muttered as I withdrew my cup, sweetened it and added a splash of blue milk which did interesting things to the coffee's color. “Well, I'll be happy to arrange you transport back to your larger self once we reach Ruuria.”

“That won't be necessary,” the robot replied. “This interface is far more secure than any other transmission I might use, so it allows me to communicate with you, both when I need your assistance or should you require mine. This is the same arrangement I have with Needa and certain others I am in contact with.” The emotionless face cocked to one side and the lights for the 'eye' sensors turned off and back on. “Surely you can see the benefits of such an arrangement?”

I took a long sip of coffee as I contemplated the robot over the top of my mug. Finally, I said, “That's not for me to say, this isn't my ship.”

Slowly, the droid stood and walked regally over. “Perhaps,” it admitted on the way. “But finicky details of ownership aside, we both know who is actually in command of this vessel, and the crew that mans it.” The 'eyes' blinked again. “Still, it causes no discomfort to pay lip service to the titular Master and placate his ego. I look forward to your reply.”

I watched her go and I had to admit there was a part of me that was thinking of all the ways this...? What? Would be god? All the ways being connected to that could be useful and deep down, back in that little closet of my mind where I kept Edward the Gamer from Earth, I could hear him jumping up and down, waving both arms and screaming at the top of his voice, “It's a trap, A TRAP!” Over and over.

I took another sip of coffee and nodded to myself. “I don't disagree, old sport. Not at all.”

* * *

Making love in hyperspace is always interesting for some reason. Maybe it's the complete lack of life around you that makes the act of creation of life so much more intense. While it was the wrong time for me to conceive and even being gentle and careful not to compound the injuries of my beloved being in the arms of a man intent on the conquest of you and making you his is a thrill all it's very own.

He was hurt worse than Silas and Darius because he had led the others in escape attempts; twice. Once that got as far as the hanger, one that got into the jungle. Because that's the kind of Alpha male he is. And while it might sting for a bit that I had rescued him, he was determined to make me realize he would have gotten out on his own eventually. Not that I had any doubts at all, but pretending I did just spurred him to greater heights of proving his manhood...

Oh, yes, Mr. Belos, put me in my place some more!

* * *

The stars pulled back into their normal positions as we returned to real space and Ruuria rushed up to meet us. Once more we picked up an escort of Mark VI star fighters and were led to the main hanger of the ship yards. I had radioed ahead requesting a meeting with my immediate commander, Darth Marr and received back that the audience had been granted. While my reports back had been met with great pleasure about our saving Barkhesh and further cementing the alliance between the New Revanite Empire and the Galactic Republic, there were no VIPs awaiting our arrival this time.

Honestly I did not know if that heralded good or ill omens.

I decided to 'come as you are' and headed to the ship ramp in my white and gray midriff and leather armor pants combo to meet Darth Marr. There I found Silas waiting for me, in his silk tunic and cape from the Lando Calrissian collection. His black eyes were down to dark circles from lack of sleep and his lip was healed, though he had just a tiny scar on his left cheek that gave him a certain roguish charm. “There's no talking you out of this, is there?” he asked quietly. “It's a big galaxy, Ed, surely we can vanish...”

“And what?” I asked him. “Will you give up gambling?”

“We gotta eat...”

“You're a ranked player, Silas, you will be recognized if you get within half a parsec of a Pazaak table. More to the point, do you think the men I rescued you from are the 'give up and call it a day' type?” His face clouded over as I brought up what he had endured and he looked down the ramp.

“No,” he whispered.

“So, if they won't stop coming for us, best we pick the battle ground, right?” He nodded, obviously unhappy with the logic, but unable to argue it. I took him by the shoulders and squeezed them gently. “Trust me, little brother, I have gotten a lot more meticulous since our arrival here and I have a plan.”

“That's what scares me,” he said in a melancholy voice. I patted his cheek in encouragement and went down the ramp. Tari trotted over from hooking up the shore power and we set off for Darth Marr's offices.

It is quite amazing how much I have changed in the few short span of weeks we had lived in this galaxy, in these bodies and lives. In just six months since I had last walked the halls of this station and conversed with the father of the body I wore. I had been stunned to learn the history of my erstwhile parents while still reeling from my raucous arrival in this time and place.

The shy young girl I had selected as my apprentice had begun to blossom into a young woman I thought of more and more as my daughter, in spirit if not in body. She was an apt pupil, a diligent student and a merry prankster of the first order. And, as I had come to learn in the weeks since she had begged me to teach her my styles of light saber combat, a cunning, dangerous duelist.

She fell in slightly behind me on my right hand and I knew my back was safe.

We arrived at Darth Marrs audience chamber and were quickly brought into my masters masters presence. There were, I suppose, Sith who would have used such rooms as throne rooms in everything but name, a single chair, raised dais, everything to put the power in the hands of the owner of the room and not the visitors, but Darth Marr was if nothing else a soldier and an extremely practical man.

His was an office, a desk and chair, cluttered with data tablets and holograms of pressing matters of defense for the head of the Imperial Military, a pair of comfortable chairs that faced that desk, and a conference table to one side of the large room for larger meetings if needed.

One wall was a massive map of the galaxy, holographically updated with the movements of fleets and task forces, individual ships and important operatives. The other wall was screens of the yard, focused on ships in construction, undergoing refit, budgets and projections and the back wall was a clear transparisteel view port through which Ruuria hung like a jewel to be admired.

Darth Marr was standing, admiring that jewel with his hands clasped behind his back as we were announced and entered. The Head of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire wore a gray armored battle suit, whether from need or choice no one knew for he was never seen without it. It had red highlights on some of the plastiform sections and armored plates. Over this he wore a gray surcoat with crimson trim that was belted close from which hung his great saber. The surcoat had a hood he wore up and over his shoulders the armor held massive spikes, a tall central then two smaller framing it as though to give the impression of a terrifying creature.

I sank to one knee and Tari kowtowed with her forehead touching her hands on the floor. “Lord Marr, I am grateful for this meeting, I await your wisdom,” I said respectfully.

“My Lord Fens,” he replied in a heavy, sonorous baritone without turning from the window. “Best and brightest of my Sith Lords and most trusted of my lieutenants, it is my pleasure to see you and perhaps be given hope I will not lose my best operative to marriage and child birthing.”

“I am but a single operative, my lord,” I told him. “But as a mother can not I serve the Empire by producing more loyal and ready agents with my skill?”

He chuckled darkly and made a vague gesture at his desk. “Be seated and make yourself comfortable, Darth Nyeomi.” My apprentice and I rose and sat in the chairs as a small servant bot offered refreshment from the tray it carried. I took the glass and sipped, finding a tart, but sweet champagne like sparkling wine that was quite pleasing to the palate. “And how are you finding this apprentice you have taken?” he asked as if Tari were not in the room.

“I find her a diligent student, my lord, a quick study who is fearless and loyal to the point of reckless.”

He turned from the window, his face obscured as always behind a gray and red mask with its dark visor so even the color of his eyes was unknown. Crossing over to the desk he asked, “Will she surpass her mistress?”

I allowed one corner of my mouth to turn up as I regarded her. “Perhaps, given time. Her mind is agile enough that she abandoned her first style of light saber combat to be taught mine.” Marr sat down at his desk and coolly regarded the young Cathar before he turned back to me.

He picked up a tablet from his desk to emphasize it. “I read with interest your report on the interactions you claim to have had with the spirit of Darth Vannacen and this new theory of the Dark Side you have come up with. In your years of service I have found you to be a brilliant warrior, Nyeomi Fens, secure in your own pride to be a valued member of a combat team, disciplined to be able to act on your own and focused to accomplish missions others claimed to be unsolvable. Yet in all your service you have never struck me as an academic or a teacher beyond the practicalities of a Sith Lord on the battle field. Despite which I find myself reading one of the most well thought out treatises of the theory of the Force, its history and even frank admissions of our mistakes as Sith in using it.”

The tablet fell back to the desk. “Were you a less valuable asset I would likely have you clapped in irons, did I doubt your loyalty in the slightest I would certainly have you stripped of rank and position and if the thought of treason from you were not riotously laughable on its face I would demand your head! What is the meaning of this mendacity of a request you have made of me?! Do you have any idea of the difficulty of the position you have put me in? Does Emperor Malgus know of your insane ruminations?”

“The meaning, my lord?” I asked calmly. “The meaning is as a loyal and faithful subordinate I have presented to my superior officer what I consider a viable and sound plan of victory over our foes. That I have encountered phenomena for which I have no other rational explanation I have been forced to become an academic, to think and plan well outside my comfort zone to the betterment of my Master, My Emperor and My Empire. And I have done so without thought of treason or disloyalty.”

I stood, removed my light sabers from my belt and placed them over my report on his desk. “I come to my Master from my battle with the Will and the Hand of the Sith, where I used the abilities I have detailed and recovered my comrades and made good my escape from the Inescapable Fortress. If my master thinks me a liar, then here are my sabers and I submit to your justice.”

For a long moment the expressionless mask stared at me, denying any idea as to what Darth Marr might be thinking. “Does the Emperor know of your...'plan', my Lord Fens?”

“No, my master,” I replied. “I have followed the chain of command and issued my report to you and you alone.”

Again the faceless mask stared, unreadable, then he turned to Tari. “And you, girl, do you follow your mistress without complaint? Even unto death?”

I didn't need the Force to feel the terror that washed up in my apprentice for a moment, then she centered herself, stood and placed her sabers next to mine and sank to one knee. “I am my Mistress' loyal apprentice, dread Lord. While I submit to my lord and my emperor, I find no fault with my mistress and stand with her, loyal and do submit me to my lord's judgment.”

The silence drug out as the mask implacably stared at us. Finally he propped his elbow on the arm rest of his chair and then cupped his masked chin in his hand to prop it up. With his other hand he made a dismissive gesture. “Oh pick up your sabers and stop embarrassing me,” he mock growled. “Traitor? I doubt either of you know how to spell the word, let alone be one.”

I couldn't keep a smile off my face as I returned my sabers to my belt, handed my apprentice hers, and sat back down as he shook his head. “Thank you, my master,” I told him demurely, but I had enough guile to know he was intrigued, not convinced.

“When did you first notice it?” he asked, still aloof, but the thought of a more powerful use of the so-called Dark Side obviously had his interest.

I sighed and rubbed my chin in thought. “When I fought 'Master' Marek Targon on Barkhesh, he used Force Lightening against my apprentice. I must admit that my apprentice has brought out more than a few of my maternal instincts and when I saw what I had begun to think of as my child injured, the Bogan rose up in me and he was no more of a threat to me than a gnat.”

“I agree,” the gravely voice declared from behind the mask. “On watching that fight it was apparent you out matched Targon, yet once he struck your apprentice any trace of hesitation or uncertainty vanished, and your form became flawless to my eye. That you have twice faced The Hand of the Sith and yet live is also convincing.” He sighed and shook his head. “If it were anyone else, if you were anyone else...” he trailed off, the threat more a method of saving face on his part than anything against me.

He shook his head again as he reached over and picked up a tablet which he passed to me.

“Through victory my chains are broken, the Force shall Free Me,” he quoted. “Despite the success that you have shown, my Lord Fens, our Empire is at a place, far too vulnerable to our enemies for me to succor a heresy of the magnitude you bring to me. Yet for all your merit I know your honor will not permit you to hold your tongue, no matter the order I give you. Six months ago you petitioned me to release you of your oaths and service to your empire. Out of gratitude to the flawless service you have given I hereby grant your request.”

I looked down at the tablet and realized I was reading my own discharge from the Armed Forces of the New Revanite Empire. He stood, as rigid and immobile as a statue. “Darth Nyeomi Fens you are discharged of your oaths to Emperor and Empire and acquitted of your service with honor and gratitude of your nation and placed in inactive reserve to be called upon if in dire need. Apprentice Tari Mur of Clan Aso, you are discharged of your oaths to Emperor and Empire and acquitted of your service with honor and gratitude of your nation and placed in inactive reserve to be called upon if in dire need.”

I stood, slowly and bowed. “I...I hear and obey the voice of my emperor.”

“Go now to your own devices and may the Force be with you.”

* * *

I will admit I was a little shell shocked at the outcome of my meeting with Darth Marr. It wasn't the worst outcome of course, I was still alive, but I had been all but certain the promise of the power I had discovered would be an overriding factor to his notoriously cautious nature. There was, of course, a hint of assistance in his dismissal and it was obvious he wanted me to continue, but I would have to do so without direct assistance from him.

Well, Darth Vannacen had warned me my road would be difficult.

And if I was shaken, Tari was positively stunned. She walked behind me, and to one side, her eyes a little wide and it was obvious she was adrift and floundering. At a handy intersection I stopped and turned to face her. “How are you doing, Tari?”

Her mouth opened and closed several times before she looked up at me. “Are we in disgrace, mistress?” she asked in a plaintive, worried tone. I shook my head and took her by the shoulders.

“No, my apprentice,” I told her earnestly. “We have been given one of the hardest tasks of any soldier. What we have learned is extremely dangerous, as most world changing advances are. Too dangerous for Lord Marr to have us develop here. We must develop our new knowledge of the Bogan on our own and when the time is right, we and our new followers will return to our home in the Empire. Lord Marr trusts us to do completely as we see fit, without oversight or aide. Do you understand?”

“It...it is a heavy burden,” she admitted as I saw her understand the full weight of what had been put on us. I took in a heavy breath.

“If it is too much for you, I will release you and...”

Her eyes shot up and her voice was firm. “No! I follow my mistress! I have felt the strength of your teaching, my Lady! My fate will be the same as yours!”

Ok, I will admit I got a little teary eyed and maybe sweeping her into a hug wasn't exactly proper protocol, but it felt like the right thing to do. Stepping back I smiled at her and squeezed her shoulders in encouragement. “Well, let's go tell the others and see about what we're going to do.”

We set off walking and she said, “We will need a base of operations, mistress.”

Wondering what I would tell my parents, I replied, “As the Force would have it, my apprentice, I have an idea that way...”

* * *

Some things can always be counted on; rain on the Saturday you planned your picnic for, getting into an accident right after bragging about how long it has been since you were in an accident and so on. For Silas, well, he could be depended on for finding the not quite full glass slightly empty. “He won't help us?” he demanded from his seat in the salon of the Aces and Eights.

I sighed and willed the coffee to brew faster. “He has given us tacit permission and will not hinder us,” I corrected him. “And, as we are in need of a base of operations to pursue things, my thought is that we journey back to Barkhesh.”

“Barkhesh?” asked Darius in a curious tone. “Why there?”

I came back into the main part of the salon with my coffee and with the Force caused a map to rise up holographically over the table. “For one thing, Barkhesh sits in the center of the Seitia sector of the Outer Rim. It is along the Corellian Trade Spine route so anything worth having comes or goes through the sector. That means mining, industrial, agriculture, dozens of boom town worlds with settlers turned cattle barons, Industrial Moguls with deep pockets and miners who have struck it rich all looking for an honest came of cards...”

“Pazaak for instance,” Silas agreed with a positively evil grin. Well, a sucker was born every minute and I doubt any of them could say their parents didn't warn them about the dangers of gambling.

“Secondly,” I continued, “We all happen to be local heroes and in fairly tight with the Jedi, the Temple of the Whills and the local constabulary. We should be welcomed with open arms and have plenty of opportunity.”

Lanaka rubbed her blue chin. “Frontier towns mean bail jumpers and bounties,” she said to herself.

Torm considered for a moment and then asked, “Are those your only reasons for picking Barkhesh?”

“No,” I admitted, thankful my olive complexion hid my embarrassed blush. “I also rather thought it a nice place to raise a family.” That brought a smile to his face and doubtlessly his enthusiastic support to the project.

Darius cleared his throat. “That just leaves the platinum plated elephant in the room.”

Fortunately our precious metal metaphor was not, in fact, in the room, but rather out talking with X4 as he did a routine check of the ship's hull. Still, it was enough to bring silence to the table. I sipped my coffee and nodded my own agreement. “I had asked a few other times, but only gotten stand offish requests for more time to consider. You would think a mind the size of that one could make itself up. I'm not sanguine on her accompanying us to Barkhesh either, but I do owe her...it...for helping free you. That's not a debt I intend to Welch on.”

“Nor am I advocating it,” Darius agreed quickly. “But I think the sooner we are discharged with the Void the better.”

“The thing gives me the creeps,” Lanaka opined darkly from under her new hat. It was something of a cross between a Stetson and a fedora.

“You've asked what it wants?” Silas asked and I shrugged, feeling more than a little out of sorts for being in agreement with Lanaka about anything.

“Of course, but all I get is requests for more time while sh...it...considers the possibilities.”

“If I had a Sith Lord on a string I'd think long and hard about what I wanted them to do,” Darius chuckled. He sighed. “I don't see any way around taking it with us to Barkhesh.”

“Are we decided we're going to Barkhesh?” Lanaka demanded sharply, bringing a swift end to our moment of silent detente.

“Do you have somewhere else you'd rather go?” Silas asked her pointedly. She crossed her arms over her breasts and looked away in silent pout. “Alright then. Nyeomi, did you want to spend any time with your family before we leave?”

“Another dinner?” Torm asked with complete lack of enthusiasm.

“I suppose I had better,” I admitted.

* * *

There is a certain, marked difference, I have noticed, between the parents of sons greeting a prospective new daughter and the parents of daughters greeting a prospective new son. The sons parents seem to be more trustful of the judgment of their son in his choice of girlfriend. On the other hand, the parents of daughters seem far less accepting of their daughter's judgment and so set about making sure her choice is an acceptable one against their quite high standards.

Suffice to say it was a long night.

* * *

The journey to Barkhesh was a smooth and uneventful one. I sent letters ahead to Master Arridin as well as the Colonel that we would be returning. Our status as local heroes certainly greased a few wheels in making our change of residence simpler and easier. For the first time since we put into any port, we arranged for a long-term lease on the docking facility which had attached convenience quarters of several rooms, lavatories and the communal kitchen to ease our stay.

This became a very welcome arrangement, as the rooms were studded into the walls of the circular bay with interior hallways and overhangs so we could get to the communal rooms out of the weather, as well is not be on top of each other. It went without saying Lanaka and I chose rooms as far apart from each other as the situation allowed. Speaking of my erstwhile Ex, she had made herself useful by registering with the local constabulary and attaining a bounty hunters license.

Silas set himself up with the nicest of the four casinos in town as a sort of house professional, giving instruction, playing host for tournaments and commenting for the casino's broadcast on same. It wasn't a bad gig, although the casino, the Senatorial Palace, did stipulate he was only to play in designated high roller games in which the casino had no stake.

Darius and Torm both acquired teaching positions at the local military college which was very enthusiastic in their joining the faculty.

If this gives the impression that we were settling down, then that was very much working as intended. As for myself, I did some volunteer training with the Barkhesh Defense Force, Black Sheep Squadron. But all of this was just the trap, the bait was when I found the Galactic Holo Net equivalent of YouTube and entered the most dangerous portion of this phase of the plan, I founded the channel Wisdom of the New Sith. X4 told me he was ready to record and I cleared my mind, remembered to smile and began.

“Greetings, my name is Darth Nyeomi Fens, Lord of the Sith. As you have come to my channel, you no doubt have questions; about The Force, about the Sith, or perhaps even yourself. You have heard of these mysterious societies, the Lords of the Sith, the Jedi Knights and you want to look behind the curtain. Well, I am happy to draw it aside for you.

“The Jedi seek to master their emotions, their code teaches them to only act when at peace and emotionless. It is possible to achieve this state with extraordinary discipline and years of study, however, it is contrary to human nature. The Sith, on the other hand, embrace our emotions and through them we master ourselves, our environment and the Force itself. While we can use any emotion to do so, anger, fear and aggression are easiest to call upon, and so my order has garnered a stigma of being evil. One side says they use the so called Light Side of the Force, the others the Dark side. But these are not the true names of the Force, that is the Ashla and the Bogan, and in truth, The Force simply is; neither good nor evil and indiscriminate on how it is used. This disagreement is the root cause of dozens of wars and cost the lives of uncounted trillions.”

I sighed and hug my head. “My former order had a hand in those wars, and while the code of the Sith has wisdom for all, that does not excuse our parts in that violence. That, however, is history. You wish to learn, to understand, and I will teach you. Let us begin with the Code of the Sith.

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion. This is a statement whose truth is self evident. Strife is the natural order of the cosmos and moments of 'peace' an aberration, not the norm. While we may enjoy these fleeting moments, true wisdom comes from understanding that we learn best that which we are passionate about and that Peace is transitory.

“Through passion, I gain strength. What do you remember of the subjects in school you disliked? Our interests, our passions bring us knowledge and in some cases, the physical strength of body, or of mind. We become strong to protect those that we care about and love. We have these emotions for a reason, channel and use them!”

“Through Strength I gain Power. When you embrace your emotions, and you learn as our species learn best, you begin to understand how to advance yourself in all aspects of your life. You cease to react to what life throws at you and you begin to act of your own accord. And when you have control of your life, we call that Power.”

“Through Power I gain Victory. When you have power over your own life, you assert your will on the universe, not the other way around. You are not adrift in the sea of life, your ship of self has a rudder and an engine to chart your own course. To protect and provide for those dear to you, who stirred your passion in the first place. And through this, you understand our final truth...”

“Through victory my chains are broken, the Force shall free me. We are all slaves, slaves to time, to life and to fate. But as Sith we are actors, we impose our will on our surroundings, we protect those we love, we live life on our own terms and we raise our children as our defiance of time and death towards immortality. We are freed from our fears and life is ours to take and enjoy. This is what I will teach you, and there is nothing evil about it.”

And so my first video, a simple introduction of myself, my curriculum vitae and a line by line dissertation of the Code of the Sith, was complete. I followed this, every three days, with another video on my theory of the Bogan and its teaching. By the end of the first week I had 1000 followers on my channel. By the end of the first month, I had 5 million, and growing every hour. I was invited to give lectures both at the Temple of the Whills, and the Jedi Temple on Barkhash.

And on the Holo Net, debate began to rage over my teaching.

At first it was Sith Lord versus Sith Lord, then disaffected Jedi began to post arguments as I metaphorically rubbed the lamp to release the genie. The trap was baited, the pot was set and I waited for the lobster to enter it. I had decided to lecture first at what was my closest ally metaphysically speaking, the Temple of the Whills.

I was just finishing an instruction class with Tari to go and change into the dress I planned to wear to the talk when we both felt it. I made sure my light sabers were not in training mode and headed out to the main bay where the Aces and Eights sat. Silas and Lanaka followed me, obviously unsettled. “I've got a bad feeling about...” Silas started, but I reached out with the Force and triggered the door out to the street. It slid open and centered in it, cowl just rising to show us his mask again, was the Hand of the Sith.

Yes I'll admit my heart was racing, I'll also admit Duel of the Fates started ringing in my ears.

“We'll take him together,” I whispered to Tari. “Just like we practiced.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said in a voice that wavered only a little.

“Remember your training and trust in the Force,” I encouraged her. It didn't help that Lanaka screamed and ran for the common rooms and the back door out of the hanger. To Silas I said, “He may have troops waiting for her...”

For all his faults, my brother is a brave man, who drew his blaster, and took off running in the direction Lanaka had fled, to face that possible threat. I drew my sabers as my nemesis took off his cloak and got his saber in his hand. “We need not be adversaries,” I told him. “You can still save yourself and return to the true path of the Sith.”

“I am,” he retorted, “the true path of the Sith!” Then he leaped better than thirty meters to close the distance. All of our sabers snapped on in the same instant as he purposefully landed between Tari and I to split us up. I launched a pair of attacks at his shoulders, should he turn to engage Tari, but he came at me, easily parrying my feints and pressing quickly. Without turning he blocked both of Tari's strikes and kicked her in the chest hard enough to knock her down and send her sprawling nearly three meters away.

I lashed out with a wave from the Force that knocked him back twenty meters but he bounced off the crates I had knocked him into like a cat and was back in my face before I could even think about checking on Tari. I spun away from his attack, blocking with my blades and giving ground as the faceless mask pressed on. Yet again we fell into a stalemate of blows and counters as our lethal dance left the hanger and spilled out into the street. My twin blades kept him from capitalizing on any openings, but his speed and power kept me from doing the same.

“Don't worry, I'm sure the recording of your final battle and death will be of some consolation to your adoring public,” he taunted me, but I back flipped away again and used the Force to fling him away.

“I'm sure my defeat of you will be quite a ratings booster!” I shouted at him, but was obliged to cartwheel and somersault out of the way of his Force fueled charge back. Unfortunately a child darted out, right where I meant to land and I had to clip a wall with my foot to change direction. I landed badly and nearly lost an arm at the shoulder, or I would have if Tari had not bounded in between us.

Her saber blocked his swing at my arm and she pinwheeled over his arm and kicked his mask with sufficient force that he was staggered back and the mask was ripped from his scarred and burned face. I tuck and rolled out of his reach and kipped back up to my feet. “Did you do that, mistress?” she all but purred.

“Some people just can't let go of an accident,” I told her as we came set again.

He didn't answer, but with a wordless growl of rage he thrust his saber between us, causing us to dodge in opposite directions. As he was closer to Tari he elbowed her in the nose with enough force to send her sprawling with a fountain of blood to make me think he had broken her nose, but I couldn't be sure or offer aide as once more he was on me, raining blows that had me reeling.

I rolled backwards again, trying to open the distance when the street suddenly opened into a plaza and I realized we had fought all the way to the Temple of the Whills. But that lapse in my concentration cost me a saber as he got his blade inside my guard and twirled it out of my hand.

His attacks increased in their ferocity from some energy source he had that I had no idea of. My hair was soaked in sweat and escaping its pony tail, my breath was becoming labored and each parry was harder than the last. He feinted at my breast and my block was sloppy, letting him in my guard once more and I was deprived of my other saber. “Your heresy ends, now!” he shouted and drew back to thrust his saber through my heart.

All of Kel'eth Ur's teachings welled up in me as the saber's rounded point came at me and I raised both my hands. The point struck my palm with a burning, tingling sensation, as though the plasma in the magnetic field was solid and my palm stopped it. A look of shock draped across the Hand's face as he shoved harder, trying to will the blade to pierce my hand and slide through my chest, but my hands, braced one over the other stopped him cold. “Death is here,” I hissed at him. “But not for me!”

His shocked face grimaced in agony as a green golden blade grew out of his chest as Tari stabbed him through the heart from his back. “Im...poss...” was all he managed as the blade went back through his chest, out the way it had come. His saber slipped through his fingers and snapped off as he fell to his knees before me, then his dead eyes rolled up into his head and he fell over on his side.

The Hand of the Sith had been severed.

Tari dropped her sabers and tears mixed with the blood from her nose and she threw herself into my arms and cried. I held and comforted her, no matter how much my hand hurt from what I had done, as she came to grips with taking her first life. And as I held her, the Guardians in their blue and white robes filed by, gently touching her head, and then proceeding down the line to spin the prayer wheels on her behalf.

* * *

Tari pouted a bit as I sat upright on the treatment bed with my hand out so Fiveareen could work on it. She was pouting because our capable medical droid had had to shave some of her fur off to set her nose and have the adhesive of the brace stick to her skin. While the rigid plastiform brace wasn't pretty, correctly set, her injury would not be disfiguring.

For myself, my hand had a lovely second degree burn from stopping a light saber with my palm which he had slathered with a kolto gel and was wrapping with a linen bandage. The numbing properties of the kolto meant it was already not bothering me. What was bothering me was that my battle with the Hand of the Sith had been so public and was now headline news for half the galaxy and rumor mill fodder for the other half.

There was a mob of reporters that had taken up residence outside our hanger who were thrusting microphones into the face of everyone who came by from maintenance techs to our grocery delivery boy. Oh well, you play the hand you're dealt. The little room was actually made crowded by Governor Aisin, and Colonel Antilles with Jedi Master Keynan Creel of the Barkhesh Jedi Temple as well as Silas and Torm. “Governor Aisin,” I said, interrupting the politician’s seemingly endless apology for the Hand of the Sith getting on world. “You may rest assured that I hold no grudge against anyone on Barkhesh for my duel with The Hand, he was an old enemy I have faced twice before and no measure you could have implemented would have stopped him.”

The relief on the Governor's face was comical. “You are most gracious, my lady.”

Master Creel rubbed his chin in thought. “Still, the Sith Inquisition has most certainly targeted you, Lady Fens, for your unique view of the Force as a heresy to be stamped out. This will not be their last attempt at you.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps not, Master Jedi,” I told him as Fiveareen finished with the bandage and I flexed my fingers experimentally. It was not pleasant and the palm was tight, but I had not lost use of my hand. “I know where the Inescapable Fortress lies and with the Governor's assistance and some fine Republic soldiers, I believe we can deal a major blow against Vitiate and his Empire.”

Master Creel's long face and salt and pepper beard draped itself in surprise. “You would betray other Sith?” he demanded.

“I am a Revanite, Master Creel,” I told him primly. “I am neither a racist, nor a human supremacist, as my choice of apprentice should well underscore. Merit is the key to my good graces, nothing more or less.”

The Jedi bowed from the neck, but his tone was mocking. “My apologies, Lady of the Sith.”

Looking to smooth over the difficulty, Governor Aisin inserted himself back into the conversation. “My Lady, what did you have in mind? Is not the Inescapable Fortress a formidable target, with heavy defenses?”

I smiled at him and laid my 'good' hand on his shoulder. “Not so much as you might think,” I told him. “The Fortress relies on it's reputation and being the headquarters of the Inquisition as its primary defenses. There are no orbital warning satellites and fighter defenses account for perhaps two squadrons of F-T6 Rycer fighters and of ground troops the garrison is probably no more than an under strength legion. Probably one hundred troopers at most, most in security and prison guard roles.”

“How many Sith?” demanded Creel ominously.

“When I was last there I only saw two,” I replied. “And one of them is dead.”

“There are probably ten more,” Silas said quietly. “With apprentices. I was worked over by an Inquisitor teaching interrogation techniques.”

Colonel Antilles rubbed his chin in thought. “Two companies of troops should be able to overwhelm them, especially if we have air superiority and say a frigate for orbital close support. I think we can do this, Governor.”

“That would certainly give our Senator some ammunition to use against the Techno-Union's constant complaints we aren't doing our share...” The Governor said to himself mostly.

Torm turned to Creel, his face stony and his voice as firm and hard as steel. “We'll need Jedi to help deal with those Sith Inquisitors.”

Creel sighed, knowing he'd been out maneuvered. “You'll have them.”

* * *

I was wearing a dress so light it seemed to be made of mist, as perfect and pure a white as the first snowfall of winter. And for all its lightness, it hugged my body, supporting where I needed, flowing where I did not and without being lewd it put my body on display to the envy of any who saw me. I was looking up into Torm's face which beamed with his smile as my left hand held his right and someone unseen was wrapping a heavy silk cloth around our arms, white and black, Ashla and Bogan.

“Mistress?”

I sighed as the vision from the Force slipped away and once more I was sitting in the lotus position on the table in the Salon of the Aces and Eights. Torm had been tired and gone to bed already and so I had come here to the ship to meditate in the quiet flow of the ship's rhythms as we both rested. I opened my eyes and gave my apprentice a welcoming smile as I invited her to join me on the table.

Her eyes were watery and full of tears.

“Forgive me for intruding on your...”

“Hush,” I told her with a smile as she settled before me. Her aura was in quite a state and the flow of the Force around her was disjointed and haphazard. “There is nothing to forgive,” I assured her. “Tell me what troubles you.”

Her tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes. “I killed him, mistress...”

I reached out and took her hands in mine. “Oh, my darling apprentice, he needed to be killed. He was given every opportunity to turn from his path, but he could not let go of his hate.”

“But...but from behind, by stealth and...”

“There was nothing dishonorable about your strike, Tari,” I told her with a squeeze of her soft paws to emphasize my conviction. “He was a villain, bent on both of our deaths and if your positions were reversed he would not have paused a microsecond. You struck down an evil man, with out honor, or morals, a rabid animal who was a danger to everyone and everything around him. Shed no tears for him, he is unworthy of your pity.”

She sniffed mightily, and likely painfully, to try and master her emotions when she asked, “Mistress, how are you so sure? How do you know?”

“Close your eyes,” I instructed and after a moment, she did so. “Now, just breathe in, feel the life flow into you. Now, hold it, listen to your heart push the blood now saturated with that life giving air. Feel it nourish the cells of your body. Now, exhale the toxins slowly. Feel the impurity leave your body.” I watched her shy smile return as the flow of the Force normalized around her. “Now, stretch out with your feelings. Feel me beside you. Feel my heart beating.”

“I...I feel it,” she whispered, hesitant and quiet lest the spell be broken.

“Look inside, my apprentice,” I invited her. “Tell me what you see.”

Her head slowly dipped to one side as she expanded her consciousness into mine and began to process what I showed her. “I...I see...love. So much! Of...of master Torm and Captain Silas and...me...!” she whispered as if unworthy of what she had found. “I see us teaching the Force, and...and protecting those who are helpless. I see us making the galaxy better.”

“That is how I know, apprentice,” I told her. “Because the galaxy will be better for us, and worse if he won, if he and his master forced their will upon us. We are right and we have the right to live and he sought to take that life from us, and in so doing forfeited his right to life. We do not start the fights, Tari, we end them.”

She drew in a breath and sighed. “I ended him,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

“Or he would have ended me and you,” I told her.

“Mistress, I...I'm glad I ended him and that makes me afraid!”

I smiled at her and drew her into an embrace against my bosom. “And that fear is why what you did was right, my darling. Because you know to take a life is a heavy burden and your fear makes sure you will only do so for the right reasons.” Her arms wrapped around my waist and she hugged me with her might and I ran my hand through her hair and gently soothed her with the Force so she could see life was saved, and the Force approved.

* * *

The military side of the Ankart space port was a buzz with activity as you might expect from a pending military action. Tari and I were back in our armored flight suits, though they had been stripped of their insignia of the New Revanite Empire as we were both, technically, reservists and inactive reservists at that. The little cart we were riding came to a stop by the hanger which had a new piece of artwork adorning its doors.

The doors had been painted with the squadron patch of the Black Sheep, specifically a black Ram's head, with a broken chain and manacle in its mouth emblazoned over a pair of gold bladed light sabers with the motto, 'Through Victory My Chains Are Broken.' I chuckled in amused agreement as we got off the little repulsor cart and led the way inside.

Here I got my first pleasant surprise in quite some time.

The ancient Aurek class fighters that had been here were gone. And by ancient, I mean they were a three hundred year old design. Of course they had been upgraded over the decades, but just try to imagine someone climbing into a balloon and going to war on a modern battlefield and you get the idea. What were sitting here now were sleek, wedge shaped craft that looked rather like the love child of an A-Wing and a Snow Speeder. It was a wedge shaped delta wing with white with gray accents, with a pair of barrel engines that framed a rear mounted cockpit, nestled just in front of a droid socket.

They were Corellia StarDrive Flashfire star fighters, right off the proverbial showroom floor, and it came equipped with all the bells and whistles. There were a pair of rapid fire laser cannons and the new Corellia StarDrive multi-launcher which could handle rockets, missiles or proton torpedoes.

“What's this?” I asked of Colonel Antilles as I joined him and another man in a flight suit I didn't recognize. “New toys? Can I play?”

The Colonel's rugged face split into a grin as he made introductory gestures between myself and the other man. “Darth Nyeomi Fens, Captain Mayric Motti; the Captain has had the unenviable task of replacing you as the commander of the Black Sheep.”

I took the hand he offered and favored him with a smile. “On the bright side, Captain, you can't possibly be as bad as I was, so you have nowhere to go but up.”

“Don't challenge me,” he replied with a bright, winning smile. “I come from a long line of over achievers.”

Colonel Antilles removed something from the open cockpit of the fighter and climbed down with it next to me. “You'll want to stow those helmets,” he declared, holding up the device in his hand. It was a fairly simple looking light weight headset with a boom microphone, but there was a second arm of dull brass that came forward as if to wrap halfway around the forehead.

“What is it?” Demanded Tari.

“The latest thing,” the Colonel bragged. “A neural interface for Force Users. This will let you mentally connect with the fighter's systems and aid your natural force awareness.” He handed it to me and helped me get it settled on my head. There was a single speaker on the right ear, which also contained the boom microphone and the 'Force Interface' which he settled on my forehead, above my eye.

Before I could ask any of the questions this somewhat radical technology brought up, my eye caught sight of some familiar figures in the muster lines of the grunts preparing to embark on the transport shuttles. I excused myself from the Colonel and walked over, frowning. There was Torm, Silas and Darius dressed in the camouflaged uniform of the Barkhesh ground troops. “What's this?” I demanded as I arrived.

“You don't think I'd pass up an opportunity to pay back those monsters, do you?” Torm asked me quietly. “The Colonel asked for volunteers, we volunteered.”

“Torm...” I started, but he slung the blaster rifle over his shoulder and his jaw was set. His decision was made and nothing I could say would change it. I sighed and placed my hand over his heart. “Be careful.”

He grabbed me in the small of my back and pulled me to him, into an embrace and kiss that smouldered through out my soul. The soldiers around us cat called and wolf whistled, but some were silenced by others who knew who and what I was. “Watch our backs,” he ordered and I nodded, with a glance at Silas and Darius I turned to go and Torm slapped me sharply on my ass.

It is very hard to describe the feelings that sting mustered up; I was more than a little embarrassed, but it felt good, to feel he...well...possessed me, and I felt the other men hold him in awe that he dared take such liberty with a Sith Lord. I had my back to them so they couldn't see the smile on my face at their consternation and knowing it would send my lovers rep through the roof I couldn't help adding a bit more sway to my hips as I went back to the fighter they were just finishing lowering X4 into the droid socket of. My lips and rear were still tingling as I climbed in and let the ground chief get me buckled in and connected.

He squeezed my shoulder, finally bringing my thoughts to the here and now. “Good hunting, my lady,” he wished me. I nodded my thanks and busied myself in the pre-flight. The Flashfire is actually a pretty well laid out little fighter. It was designed as an aggressive, 'recon in force' role as a scout craft who fought its way out of trouble or took advantage of unexpected openings rather than a see and run strategy.

Still, I found its controls ergonomic and the craft responsive as we took off and flew out of Barkhesh's gravity well. As I was waiting on X4 calculating the jump to hyperspace, Tari and I formed up on the shuttles we would be escorting and if I chose to be closest to my fiancee's shuttle, well, I could be forgiven that. Settled in nicely, I keyed on the 'Force Interface' and had a very strange experience.

I was aware of all of the controls, I could see and feel them, yet, at the same time it felt like I was flying on my own, without the fighter; just me, flying along like some superhero. It was quite invigorating, I tell you! Luckily it was not as confusing as it otherwise might have been. I was aware of these things, and could concentrate on the fantasy for lack of a better word, but it didn't take my focus from the instruments and controls of the fighter. I couldn't tell you how that worked, but it did.

However they did it, neat trick. I approve!

The coordinates set, we made the jump into hyperspace.

* * *

In the movies, these jumps are practically instantaneous. Ship leaps away, reaction shot of someone on the bridge realizing they are about to spend some quality time with Darth Vader, maybe a 'B Story' scene or some dialogue in the ship, then a second or two of blue/white tunnel and they have arrived. Elapsed time, maybe five minutes.

It's not like that in 'real' life.

You see Barkhesh is along the Corellian Trade Spine route on the 'southern' edge of the Galaxy in the Outer Rim. Yavin was in the Gordian Reach off the Hydian Way route on the 'northern' edge of the Galaxy in the Outer Rim. So it was literally on the other side of the galaxy.

From Barkhesh we jumped to Sil'Lume which only took about twenty minutes. There we met and docked with a pair of Star Fighter Carriers and the Frigates Defiant and Valiant who would transport us to our staging point in the Gordian Reach the Torque System. So we cruised on the carriers, through the Mid Rim and Core, back to the Mid Rim on the Trade Spine, then took the Perlemian Trade Route to the Hydian Way.

A week. It only took us a week to cross the Galaxy.

The mind boggles.

* * *

The stars peeled back into their positions as for the second time in my life the planet Yavin rushed up at me. As it happened, this time Yavin IV was on 'our' side of the gas giant and the green and blue orb was like a mote in Yavin's angry red, orange and gold eye. “Tari, stay with me,” I ordered as I cleared the weapon safeties and made everything ready to fire.

“On your six, mistress,” she purred in my ear.

I listened to the Black Sheep sound off as the Defiant and the Valiant launched their fighters to join ours. The little group formed of the shuttles, myself, and Tari banked 'up' from the main plane of the attack so as to be unnoticed, we hoped, in the battle. So far, Lady Luck was smiling on us as there were no capital ships over Yavin IV, or anywhere in the system we had yet scanned. That said, two dozen fighters rose up from the moon with surprising speed of response.

Battles in space look good on a screen, dozens of fighters swarming around like gnats, Capital Ships slowly maneuvering for advantage and every where the bright corona of blaster fire. But they are far too chaotic to describe, and, sadly rather dull to read. From my perspective it was if an anthill had been kicked over and the stars teemed with angry insects swarming in no particular order or pattern. The one positive piece of tactics that had gone our way was that the defending fighters either hadn't seen us, or were ignoring us. Either way it made my job easier. “Blacksheep leader, this is Escort One, we are beginning our attack run,” I announced into the open com.

“Roger Escort One, we'll be joining you presently.”

They say no plan survives contact with the enemy. There are frequently rather choice obscenities and catch phrases about combat and war fare. From the elegance of Napoleon’s “Never interrupt an enemy when he is making a mistake,” to Patton's down and dirty, “We're going to hold onto him by the nose and we're going to kick him in the ass!” There are many, many ways to describe that cold, wet sensation when you realize you have just done exactly what your enemy wanted you to do. My personal favorite is the Mon Calamari admiral Gial Ackbar who is know for his succinct terseness with, “It's a trap!”

Two Harrower-class dreadnoughts appeared out of hyperspace directly over head as we committed to our run down to Yavin IV. Each carried a hundred fighters, easily out numbering our compliment by five to one or better. And while the Defiant and the Valiant, might have been able to make a fight of it against one of the massive battle cruisers, two was getting into over kill.

Over the radio, the panicked cries of pilots realizing just how badly we were in it filled one ear as soundless blossoms of explosions added a surreal beauty to the bursts of static that meant men were dying. Red and green blaster fire lanced through space so thick you could walk on them from craft to craft. Defiant, slightly further away from the trap wished the Force to be with us as she leapt away into hyperspace even as Valiant, true to her name, cut in between the dreadnoughts in a desperate bid to give the fighters cover to make a break for hyperspace.

Several of the fighters jumped away, but there were too many explosions for me to get any kind of accurate count. Then we were all blinded by the massive corona of the power plant of Valiant being breached and the brave frigate was consumed in smoke and soundless fire. I watched it in almost surreal slow motion as men and women died around me in space, knowing this was my fault.

I had allowed myself to think I was smarter than the evil I faced, that I could outsmart a being who all but lived and breathed treachery. It was a classic knight sacrifice to capture the queen and I had walked right into it with my eyes open, confident of my victory. My fighter rocked with the impact of the blaster bolts and I heard X4 almost calmly tell me our hyperdrive motivator had been damaged as if from a great distance.

It didn't matter.

Yavin IV filled my canopy, even with my hyperdrive I would never be able to get clear to jump. As the fighter fell deeper into the atmosphere she rocked and bucked against me as I fought to turn my fall into some kind of glide, something that I could live through. Before me, trailing black smoke I saw the shuttle carrying the love of my life disappear into the jungle even as the green sea of leaves reached up to swallow me. I was Icarus, having gotten to close to the sun, now fell to earth.

With a shriek of ruined metal I struck the ground and knew no more.

* finis *

Through The Eyes of a Sith

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Organizational:

Title Page

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Other Keywords:

Caution - violence

A Tale of the Star Wars
Through The Eyes Of A Sith
by
E.E. Nalley

TG Themes:

Age Regression

Through The Eyes of a Sith Part 1

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Tale of the Star Wars
Through The Eyes Of A Sith
by
E.E. Nalley

Part One

3627 BBY (The Present)
Ruuria System, Xappyh Sector , Outer Rim Territories

Until I had experienced marriage with a husband instead of a wife, I never really understood the concept of 'Marital Bliss'. I had seen it, in old movies and TV Sitcoms, it had been everything from harridans and shrews browbeating timid and long suffering men as the butt of jokes either tongue-in-cheek at best and truly nasty at worst. Every now and then we'd see an example of a couple who did love each other in a movie, generally by elderly bit characters or as something 'quaint' and old fashioned.

The image of Ida and Isidor Straus holding each other in bed as their cabin floods on the RMS Titanic will haunt me to day I die.

My own experience of marriage was one of failure, and constant reminder of that failure from a woman I thought I loved. A woman who had in fact used me with that love, for the material things I could provide and when we were all swept up and delivered to the hot, sandy Dune Sea just before the Jundland Wastes of Tatooine, I finally saw the real face of who I had married. Seeing her prospects exponentially expand thanks to being in the body of the Chiss bounty hunter she now had, Lanaka Fargo dropped me like a bad habit.

That betrayal had gnawed at me, even as I was being courted by the man who would be my husband. It had grown when that man, my brother and my best friend were kidnapped by the Will of the Sith and tortured to draw me out and Lanaka had had the unmitigated gall to attempt to convince me to abandon them and flee.

Once I had been proud I had not killed her for it. Now? Well, there aren't many things I regret.

I wasn't surprised when, returning from the honeymoon trip I had taken with my Husband, I was informed by Silas she had packed her things and left. Of course, she had attempted to convince my spiritual brother to come with her, but had been rebuffed. Once upon a time I would have been enraged and probably gone hunting her. Fortunately, for her, I had just come from dream like trip from being pampered, showered with affection and made thoroughly and completely glad I was a woman. By that point I had washed my hands of her physically and mentally. Now, no longer my concern, I concentrated on learning how to be a good wife, and before long, a good mother. I gave Torm Belos, my husband, everything I had wanted from my wife; loyalty, devotion, children and love as only a Sith can feel and give. Then I discovered what marital bliss was and I got to enjoy it.

They say love is what lust turns into when the initial fire of passion dies down to the ember of routine. I wouldn't know; the fire of our passion hasn't died down. Our kids roll their eyes sometimes when we kiss or hug in front of them, but my ally is The Force. Through it, I can feel the warm feeling of being safe and loved Kale and Bree experience when Torm and I physically show our affection for each other.

I find that, as a descriptive phrase, 'marital bliss' should be taken at face value. If you have it, and you know it, it is bliss. That warm, contented feeling that everything is right with the universe and you are doing your part in it. Afterglow comes closest, for the benefit of those that aren't married, to describing the feeling. When you have just had really great sex with someone you really care about and who really cares about you. That's what Marital Bliss is like. I know when I walk past Torm's chair and we're alone, or it's just family, I am going to get my rear goosed. He doesn't look up from what he's reading, I don't squeal or berate him. He does it to show me he still loves me, and I always walk by his chair in arms reach to show him I still love him.

Truth be told, I rather like feeling my husband's hands on me.

But there is a perversity to the Universe; a mindless force that seeks to destroy happiness like that. Call it Entropy, or Evil or even karma, that force that breaks things down seems to be drawn to happiness like a moth to a flame.

It was that feeling, that sense of something not quite right, that woke me from my slumber. I was in Torms arms, the taste of him still on my lips, the smell of him in my nose and the warmth of him around and in me like The Force itself, but something away from us, but also near to us was wrong. I stood, gently extracting myself from his arms without waking him and stood. My sabers were on the night stand, plugged into their charger, nothing untoward there.

As my eyes fell on them, I got a vague feeling that my sabers were not needed.

That wasn't what was out of sorts. I was nude, but I didn't care as I walked over to the doors out to the balcony the bedroom opened out onto. They opened for me and a cool breeze caressed my skin, calling up goosebumps and causing my nipples to stiffen. Still, even cool, the night was pleasant and the sky exceptionally clear. The balcony overlooked the Banudan Bay which gave the illusion there were stars both above in the sky and in the inky waters of the bay.

I sank down on the stone of the balcony, still warm from the sun that had shown on it all day, into the lotus position and laid my hands open on my knees. I closed my eyes and looked inward first. I was coming close to my time of the month and if Torm and I kept carrying on like teenagers my son and daughter would get a new playmate. I remembered my previous pregnancy and the ten hours of my labor, the indescribable feeling of giving birth and again wondered why anyone would suffer all of that and then I remember the feeling nursing my children. The looks of absolute love as they nursed from me and in my breast I felt a longing.

Yes, I was actually ok with having more children.

“Motherhood suits you, my apprentice,” a familiar voice declared softly. I opened my eyes to smile into the face of my mistress, long dead and yet unchanged and untouched by time sitting on the bench across from me by the railing of the balcony.

“Hello, Mistress,” I greeted her with a smile. “I have missed you.”

“I may not appear often, but I am never very far from you, Nyeomi,” Jaydis Vannacen declared, a smile on her oh so slightly transparent fact. She winked at me with a gesture at my nudity and declared, “I see you've kept up your workout routine.”

“I had the advantage of knowing what middle age was like when I didn't and have no desire to repeat it,” I told her with a smile. I stood, reaching out my hand and calling my robe to me. Wrapping it around me I joined her on the bench. “What brings you to me this time, mistress? Some cryptic warning of approaching hardship?”

She smiled and reached out to caress my cheek and even though I could see through her body I felt her skin on mine, warm and soft against my cheek. “You don't need me for that,” she told me. “You're a mother, you should know hardships are always approaching.”

I couldn't help chuckling with her as I reached up to cup her spectral hand in mine. “I have wished so many times you had been here with me,” I told her. “That I could have leaned on your wisdom when I was new and overwhelmed with all of this.”

“You didn't need me,” she admonished softly. “You did well enough without me to hold your hand and whisper what you already knew.” She sighed and took my hands up in hers. “Remember these happy moments, my apprentice. They will bare you through the trials you have ahead of you. Cling to them, and know, the Force will be with you. Always.”

“Mistress?” I asked, confused and more than a little concerned.

“The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force,” she replied, then I couldn't see her for a blinding white light from behind me washed her out. I brought my hands up to protect my eyes, instinctively curling into a protective ball when I realized for a moment I could see through my eyelids, then it was gone and I was blinking back spots. The hair on my arms stood up for a split second as the House deflector shield snapped on which protected us from both the heat flash and the massive pressure wave that slammed into it.

I staggered to my feet and looked, seeing a gigantic mushroom cloud rising up from where the City of Banudan used to be. I gaped, awestruck at being so close to an explosion of this magnitude, before the soldier in me asserted itself. I turned and bolted back into the house as at last the rolling thunder of the explosion had crossed the distance and washed over the shield. “Torm!” I shouted, snatching off the robe and running to the closet. “We're under attack!”

I needn't have shouted, the sound of the house alarm reacting to the explosion had woken him. He was already dressing as I pulled on my 'working clothes', the white and gray armored leathers. “The children!” he ordered as he finished pulling on his clothes and reached past me to snatch out the 'go' bags we kept there.

“Two minutes!” I replied as I grabbed him long enough to kiss him, then called my sabers to me as I ran in the other direction from our bedroom to the bedrooms of our children. In the hall, Fable was in the process of pulling on her armor as she fell in with me. The room she shared with Silas being just across the hall from us and yes, that armor is in fact designed to be donned in a great screaming hurry.

“I can't raise the planetary defense directorate,” she told me.

“Banudan is gone,” I told her as we ran. “Either a thermonuclear device or an impactor big and fast enough to be an equivalent. Get Kale!” I ordered as I stopped at Bree's room and my thumb opened the door for me.

“Done!” she replied as she kept running.

Bree was coming to the door, dressed, her go bag in her hand and her eyes full of tears. “Mommy, I'm scared!” she admitted as I clutched my daughter to me and held her tight.

“I know baby, courage now, be brave,” I whispered into her hair as I reversed myself and swept her out the door and up to a trot. The ground shook, another impactor, much closer, but we were still alive and the shield was holding. Kale was standing by the emergency slide, watching Fable's feet disappear down it as she went down weapon and head first. “Go!” I shouted at him as we ran up.

He threw his bag into the slide and then followed it. I picked up Bree and dropped her through, then scrambled into the darkness after her. Being royalty did have its perks. Chief among them was that Torm and I were able to have this house built from the ground up. It had the deflector shield as was already noted and was hardened against direct orbital bombardment. As if I would accept anything less having lived through the special hell that was city planet Taris.

All of the systems were shielded against electromagnetic pulse and other ionized based anti-systems attacks, and below the plateau the house sat on was a little bunker hanger that housed the Aces and Eights. The slide we were riding now took us right to it. My feet hit the ground to find the lights in the hanger on, with Torm and Silas quickly disconnecting the shore power connectors. As I trotted over to the entry ramp I keyed on my comlink and set it to the house frequency. “Attention, this Countess Fens, all staff attention. Institute emergency plan one. I repeat, Emergency Plan One. This is NOT a drill. May the Force be with us all!”

The staff taken care of so they knew to get into the shelter in preparation of their own evacuation, I charged up the ramp and towards the cockpit while Bree and Kale climbed or descended the ladders down into the turrets. Fable and I brought the Aces and Eights up as quickly as we could, but even taking every short cut it would be nearly five minutes before we'd be in the air.

The comm system came up first and I got the headset on my ear as my hands moved by themselves over these now very familiar controls. “Top turret check,” Bree's voice came in my ear.

“Bottom turret check,” Kale added.

“Ok, kids, make mom and dad proud,” I replied as the engines came up and I activated the repulsors.

“Honey, GO!” I heard Torm shout from down the hallway by the hatch, just as I began to realize we were being shot at. Out the canopy I could see a dozen...somethings scrambling out the escape chute with blasters. It could be some kind of full armor, or it could be robots, I wasn't sure. Either way I slapped on the deflector screens, and began to ease forward towards the opening doors of the bay. I was worried that the ramp hadn't closed yet.

A pair of blaster bolts from my son slammed into the group of combatants and either humans in armor or robots, they were destroyed. At last the ramp closed light lit on the board and I firewalled the throttle. The Aces and Eights shot from her hanger like a thoroughbred given whip and spurs, pinning Fable and myself back into our seats for a moment until the acceleration compensators kicked in. “Yahoo!” Kale shouted into my ear through the intercom.

Pulling back on the yoke, she began to climb Ruuria's gravity well as Fable pointed from the co-pilot's chair out the canopy. “By the Force, what is it?” she asked, awestruck.

It was, in fact, the largest space station I had ever seen. Dwarfing Vaiken Spacedock and hanging in the sky like a new moon. It was roughly octagonal, with a massive pair of arms that were reaching down as if to embrace or swallow the planet. It dominated the sky, visibly seven or eight times the size of sun. Instinctively I turned the ship away from it as we climbed up to the defense of our home. “Ruuria Defense Net, this is Countess Fens, check in.”

The frequencies were awash with scattered units, desperately trying to mount a coordinated defense, but we were well back on our heels from the suddenness and viciousness of the attack. All of the ground unit channels were crowded with chatter of units bravely trying to link up, but the devastating orbital strikes had been followed up with a massive invasion of ground forces, as I could now see as we fled our home. From this altitude I could see a dozen of the massive mushroom clouds climbing to the stratosphere.

“Fighters!” Bree's voice all but shouted in my ear. “Eight O'clock high, incoming!”

I looked as much over my shoulder through the canopy as I could and caught sight of six of them, breaking off from a troop drop ship they were escorting to come after us. They were odd fighters, of a design I had never seen before, not old Sith Empire, nor any Republic design I was familiar with. Come to it, they were so sleek and spindly while obviously having been optimized for atmospheric work, there didn't seem to be a space large enough for a pilot.

Not that I was given much time to ponder such things.

The Aces and Eights responded to my inputs, snap rolling on her side as the blaster fire I had anticipated passed harmlessly where we would have been and I began a series of acrobatic maneuvers back towards the surface, trading altitude for speed. “What are you doing?” demanded Silas from the flight engineer's chair he was busily strapping himself into. “We have to get clear to get to hyperspace!”

“Angle the deflectors!” I ordered Fable, as I concentrated on my flying and not being hit by an angry rainbow of blaster fire. “We won't ever outrun those fighters to orbit, but we can out maneuver them and use the home court advantage!”

The flash of an explosion caught my attention for moment as the closest fighter vanished in a fireball of ionizing fuel and explosive vapors. “I got him! I got him!” exalted Bree over the com link.

“Don't get cocky!” Torm cautioned her from the navigator's place behind me. He pointed over my shoulder out the canopy. “There, see it?”

The landing support cruiser Warspite was rising up from her landing pad, her shield positively glowing from the withering barrage of enemy fire she was soaking up that was trying to keep her from launching. I ran the Aces and Eights through a half roll and split S turn and dumped what little altitude I had left until we were only a few meters off the deck. The blaster bolts were landing all around me as the fighters anticipated what I was doing, but it wasn't enough to keep me from it. Robbed of almost all of my maneuvering room, Bree's fire from the top turret began to become more accurate as two more fighters blossomed into fireballs from her handiwork. Some of the guns of the Warspite noticed us, and began to assist Bree, convincing those fighters they wanted to be somewhere else.

We shot under the cruiser, shielded by her and finally free of pursuit. Out the other side, I nosed us up again, doing my best to screen for the Warspite so she could get clear enough for her thick hide and bigger guns to be of use. I emptied the Aces and Eights magazine of proton torpedoes into the largest of the ships attacking the Warspite a frigate that exploded in a dazzling flash and fireball as one of those torpedoes found her reactor and destroyed it.

That gave us some breathing room as we made it up, into space and I had a moment to stop reacting and start acting on my own initiative. The blue sky gave way to black and even with the bulk of the space station on the other side of the world from us, I could see the flashes of explosions as our enemy took the Ruurian Orbital docks.

I flipped over to the star fighter networks and tried to increase our forces beyond the meager guns of the Aces and Eights, and the Warspite. “Any Imperial craft this is Blacksheep One,” I announced looking about as we reached the emergency rally marker to begin to muster a counter attack. “Rally all, I say again, Rally All, all ships acknowledge.”

“Blacksheep One, this is Pride Leader,” and I felt relief that Tari, my senior apprentice and practically my second daughter was alive. “I am on your six, with about three squadrons worth of mixed fighters.” The Aces and Eights was surrounded by a little cloud of fighters and gunships, even a pair of corvettes I could see coming up from the surface and taking position around the Warspite. Now we could make a fight of it.

Or so I thought, for no sooner had I begun to plan our counter attack a powerful signal broke through and the commanding voice of my mistress' master boomed from the speakers. “This is Prince Marr. All forces are to coordinate to rally point Alpha. All ships with functioning hyperdrives are to flee and return with the Imperial fleet. This is Prince Marr.” The message began to repeat so I clicked it off and turned to Fable.

“What is the status of our hyper-drive, Major?”

“Up and operational, my lord,” she replied softly. I took a deep breath and let it out as I exchanged glances with Torm and Silas in the cockpit.

“Mom?” my children asked in stereo.

“Major, set course for Dromund Kaas. Pride Squadron, all ships, follow me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

My eyes cold and hard on the invaders of my home I vowed to return and wreak vengeance on them as my little rag tag fleet of surviving fighters and small ships formed up around me. The invaders had taken notice of the formation of the little fleet, sending four times our numbers to deal with us. Not that it mattered, we had made our getaway.

The Aces and Eights leapt into hyperspace with my little fleet.

***

3627 BBY
Hyperspace, aboard the INS Warspite, en-route to Dromund Kass, Outer Rim Territories

We were about half way to Dromund Kass when we got the news.

The networks and information spheres had been critically disrupted as part of a dedicated cyber-attack before the primary invasion. Ruuria had not been alone as the target of this invasion. This unknown aggressor had attacked from the uncharted regions across a front tens of thousands of light years across. Key planets and facilities had been first wave targets, and with Ruuria being the primary shipyard of the New Revanite Sith Empire, it had also been in the first wave.

The reach of this enemy was staggering.

Drumund Kass, Korriban, Coruscant, Tython, the attacks had targeted the capitals of the Sith Empire, the Republic, the Jedi and the Sith orders and they had all fallen. There were battles raging, but the size and firepower of this mysterious enemy were overwhelming. Each attack, all coordinated to within minutes of each other, had read the same, a massive fleet would leap out of hyperspace, towing one of these massive battle stations while tens of thousands of capital ships would engage orbital defenses while millions of troops would land, overwhelming any defense.

Emperor Malgus and his wife's, Empress Eleena, whereabouts were unknown.

The Republic Senate had been captured with a quorum of senators present. There were rumors the Republic had already surrendered. Tython was burning and Korriban and its tombs had been dealt incalculable damage to its artifacts and history. In the interstellar void, I had my little rag tag fleet drop out of hyperspace and called a war council. The fighters were able to land on the Warspite, and when her bays were full, I reassigned them to the corvettes Moff Ceptor and the Indefatigable, then called a meeting with the senior officers available to me.

Captain Tucmax Barsal, commander of the Warspite, hosted Lieutenant Commanders Antdami Alliswin, and Joy Ireclay of the Moff Ceptor and the Indefatigable respectively in his wardroom. In addition to three squadron commanders, myself, Torm and Tari. We had been joined by four escort frigates and even two additional cruisers, the Hotspur, and the Witch of Endor, but even with that level of resupply, we didn't have the resources to take back even a single planet, let alone defend our Empire. For good or ill, the only Sith in our company were former apprentices of mine, or apprentices of my apprentices.

That gave us a grand total of five Force users, but I was not willing to accept defeat quite so easily. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” I began as I retook the podium after the succinct report of an obviously overwhelmed young ensign who had briefed us on the situation as was then known. “As you know, I am not one to give up easily. That said, our foremost priority now is acquiring a force capable of fighting back against...”

I was interrupted by the somewhat excited arrival of a young lieutenant, who, despite being out of sorts, remembered himself to bow to me, then rushed over to Captain Barsal and whispered in his ear. “Captain?” I asked.

Barsal stood and bowed, his face somewhat pale. “My lord, we have received a properly coded and verified order to stand down. With it is an announcement of the formal surrender of the New Revanite Empire.”

I frowned. “Emperor Malgus has surrendered?”

“No, my lord,” he replied after a quick consult with the lieutenant. “This order is from Naval High Command by order of the Dark Council.”

“The Dark Council cannot...” started Commander Alliswin heatedly, but he calmed himself at a soft gesture from me.

“Captain,” I asked him, “What is your opinion of this order?”

Tucmax Barsal was a fine figure of a Navy man, grey at the temples with a mustache giving his face a bit of rugged authority. “My lord, Commander Alliswin is correct that there has not been sufficient time for the Dark Council to issue such an edict with the whereabouts of the Emperor unknown. However, that may be only unknown to us. I don't doubt we're back on our heels, but a complete surrender seems premature, unless the Council has information we do not.”

I considered that for a moment, then with great weight, I removed my lightsabers and laid them on the podium, then walked around it to the table. “Friends, we are deep in it, that is no lie. I interpret my oath to require me to draw every fighting man I can to my banner and to throw off these invaders of our nation.” I saw the officers nod around the table and swallowed my fear as I made my decision. “Captain Barsal, proclaim this through out the fleet. Any man who feels it is his duty to obey this stand down order is released from my service and I will arrange passage for them to the closest outpost of the New Revanite Sith Empire. As for me, gentlemen, be damned if I am going roll over like a whipped dog! I intend to fight. Who's with me?”

“ Warspite!” Captain Barsal shouted, followed closely by the commanders.

“ Moff Ceptor!”

“ Indefatigable!”

I nodded grimly and turned to my apprentices. “What of you, my lords?”

Tari got laboriously to her feet, her gravid state hindering her just a bit, as she sank down to one knee. “Ten years ago I swore to follow you anywhere, my master,” she declared gravely. “Nothing will change that now.”

Next to her, Darth Akee sank to his knee, his yellow skin flushing a bit. “I am yours, Mistress. To whatever end.”

I nodded again, and with a gesture called Bree over to me. I gave her a hug and turned her to face her godmother. “Tari, this is your daughter until I return.”

Bree turned, a look of hurt and worry on her face. But even in her emotion, she didn't forget herself. “Mistress...?” Tari stood and took Bree into her arms.

“Gentlemen, we have a large task ahead of us. Captain Barsal, send out individual fighters to every corner of the Empire. Have them bring everyone with a belly to fight here.” He nodded and strode out, already barking orders. “Tari, loan me your fighter.”

“It's yours, mistress, but where are you going?”

I sighed. “Back to Ruuria. I am going to get Darth Marr and anyone else I can rescue. I am a fighter, but Darth Marr is the greatest tactician of this generation. We need him.” Looking back to the other commanders I squared my shoulders. “The rest of you, get on the holonets to every friend you have. Tell them Darth Fens is going to fight. Anyone with the stomach for it is welcome.”

“Empire!” they shouted.

***

I was going through my go bag back in the cabin Torm and I shared on the Aces and Eights when he caught up with me and locked the door behind him. I turned, braced for a fight, but he just caught me up in his arms and kissed me. A part of my mind was nagging at me that time was of the essence, that minutes counted, that...

Have I ever mentioned how amazing of a kisser Torm is? Yes? Well, it bears repeating.

I didn't need the Force to remind me my family had needs I had to consider. Maybe I didn't have time to make love to my husband, but I did it anyway, flinging the half packed bag off the bed so it could be put to its proper use. We had been apart for two months on my homecoming from the adventure that took me to Belsavis and Alderaan. For a week we had been making love like teen agers, but even with that, he had not been so forceful and needful in a long time.

When I was sure he was sated, I lay in the hallow of his arm to listen to his heart beat for a while and write the memory of his scent into my mind again. Quietly, he asked, “I can't talk you out of this, can I?”

I squeezed his chest with the arm I had laying over it. “Would you really want to?” I asked him. “When have you ever given up on something you wanted or believed in?”

“When I was single, I could behave that way and not have second thoughts,” he told me. “Did I ever tell you I couldn't sleep the night we met? Thinking about you was exciting in a way I can't really describe.”

I looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. He laughted and kissed my forehead.

“Oh, my better judgement was screaming at me, about how all but suicidal it was to even think about trying to seduce a Sith Lord.” His hand absently stroked my hair. “There isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank the Force that I ignored that voice in my head.” I kissed the side of his chest and laid my head back down.

“If you had left, even after our first night, I wouldn't have been angry. I'm so glad you didn't, but I know how the Republic loves to slander my Order.”

“Come now, my darling,” he scolded me softly. “We both know how many of your fellow Lords put in overtime making those slanders true.” He sighed, lightly trailing his fingers down my back, tracing designs in the sweat. “But now, now I am a family man. I have responsibilities, people who depend on me so I cannot take reckless risks the way I once did.”

“Do you think I'm being reckless?”

“I think you're being a Sith,” he replied.

I raised up on my elbow. “If our positions were reversed...”

“If our positions were reversed,” he interrupted me. “I would surrender. Without a second thought. For you, for Bree and Kale, I would grovel to keep them safe.”

I shifted a bit until I was laying on top of him so I could look him directly in the eye. “Do not think for a moment, my husband, that I do not fear for you and our children. Yes, when I met you I was young and reckless and I did many stupid things I regret! You and our kids will not ever be one of them.” I leaned down to kiss him and his arms came around me and held me against him and we kissed for a lifetime it seemed before we finally separated so I could look him in the eyes once more. “No one threatens my family without paying for it, Torm. If it was me, yes, I would surrender too. But its not just me, they came after me, and you and the kids. And mark my words they won't stop coming for me either.”

His face pulled into a frown. “You speak like you know who they are.”

“I do,” I whispered. “It's Vitiate. He's finally come for us.”

“How...” and he paused and nodded. “Oh, yeah, right, The Force.”

I smiled at him and nodded. “I swear I will come back, husband.”

“I swear I will come for you if you don't, wife.”

“I love you, Torm.”

His hands pulled me against him and he kissed my forehead again. “I know,” he whispered.

***

3627 BBY
Ruuria System, Xappyh Sector , Outer Rim Territories

The S-12 Blackbolt was one of the many variants Tandankin shipyards built upon their remarkably successful Mark VI Supremacy star fighter. It was predominately an octagonal pod for the pilot and engines, then a pair of swept forward delta wings, reminiscent of half of a TIE Interceptor wing, but tacked at the 'top' edge at a forty five degree angle. The S-12 was a scout configuration of the platform, losing none of the incredible speed of the Mark VI, it traded offensive fire power for a magnificent sensor suite to be packed into such a small fighter. It did have a pair of the original four rapid-fire repeating blasters, the generator equipment for the upper pair being traded for the antenna of the sensors.

Likewise, the missile launchers were loaded with a pair of probe droids and a pair of hyper drive equipped message buoys instead of ordinance. This would increase the already formidable 'ear' of the ship letting my gaze cover practically all of what our enemy was up to. While she did have shields, they weren't much, as the S-12 depended on her speed and not attracting attention rather than the 'reconnaissance in force' approach.

I had deliberately jumped into the system via it's most traveled approach, and as I had hoped, my exit from hyperspace had been lost into the background of several bulk freighters arriving. I kept to a pretty low energy approach to Ruuria, taking in what I could and doing my best to keep my temper. The ship yards were a flurry of enemy activity, mostly freighters that seemed to be busy looting. As soon as I dropped out of hyperspace, I fired the probes, one towards the ship yards, the other to investigate the massive space station the Eternal Empire had brought with them.

I launched one of the buoys to park itself equidistant from the two probe droids where it would serve as a relay back to the other I merely ejected from the launcher to drift. The two of them would relay information back to the fleet and Imperial High Command, if there was such a thing anymore, until they were noticed and would then flee.

Until then, we needed all the intel we could get.

My home, the blue green jewel of the Imperial Crown was cracked and marred. The crater that used to be Banudan could be seen from orbit. Inside, I seethed, but I knew there would be a reckoning for this, I only had to be patient and count on my memories and I could beat Vitiate and his Eternal Empire. So far, I had gone unnoticed, and the sensors had been writing books, comm chatter, network frequencies, encryption samples, in addition to the number and classes of ships.

I nosed the S-12 over to one of the larger communication satellites to mask, I hoped, my signature a bit longer. My arc and speed matched with it, the satellite, the size of a bus, coasted next to me as I tuned the radio to the master disaster frequency I knew Darth Marr, if he was still alive, would be monitoring. I squirted my friend or foe code and waited. The minutes stretched out until, at last, the encryption light came on for the main holo, and the blue tinted head and shoulders of Darth Marr appeared before me. “My fair haired daughter returns,” he declared and even though I couldn't see his face, I could tell that behind that mask he was smiling. That said, he had been through interesting times, his hood and robes were scorched.

“I am still a brunette, my master,” I chided him.

“Trivial details,” he assured me. “What strength have you, my right hand?”

“I am here for you, Master, and any else we can quickly rescue.” The Counter ECM computer began to blink angrily at me; the enemy knew I was here and was looking for me. “Where are you Master?”

“Ruuria's importance to the Empire...” he started, but I shook my head.

“Master, Ruuria is lost, the Empire may be lost, but I will keep fighting! For that I am coming for you to help us fight. Where...?”

“The Redoubt,” he declared, then the transmission cut.

I only used the attitude thrusters to depart the satellite, hoping that while they were still looking for me, that I had not been seen yet. I was well into the atmosphere before I began to use the S-12's engines. Slowly coasting down in the wake of a bulk freighter and letting it mask me. But the time it turned off towards one of the commercial space ports that had been spared, presumably for our enemies use, we were low enough that I could dip down to the nape of the earth, well below most of the sensor nets. It made for...interesting...flying, but it kept me off the eye of our enemies.

Still, paranoia was a good thing, so I took a very circuitous route to the hidden Imperial base known as The Redoubt.

As you might imagine, The Redoubt is one of those kind of bases; it doesn't have a perimeter that is in any way marked as military. It is, in fact, marked as a toxic waste dump. It didn't have line items in the budget, or the usual flotsam outside a military base; brothels and illicit gambling dens poorly disguised as 'day spas' or 'entertainment restaurants'. Indeed, it was well away from everyone and everything, serviced by a single road and mostly only accessible by air. It was high up in the mountains and there was enough activity that it even looked like a hazardous waste disposal area. Most of the military stuff was deep in the mountain it sat near. On the opposite side there was a hanger, well hidden, at the end of a long box canyon.

I didn't approach until I was certain I wasn't being tracked, so it was several hours before I was finally tractor beamed into the cave. You've never been more grateful to simply stand up than after spending eight hours in the cockpit of a fighter. That said, a brief glance around the hanger was not reassuring. There were only eight other craft, none of which had a hyperdrive and all were being worked on. The deck boss cleared me through to the base and I wasn't even given time to change out of my flight suit before being ushered into the presence of Prince Marr.

If he looked the worse for wear in the hologram, in the flesh Darth Marr had been ridden hard and put away wet. His normally spotless armor was singed, pockmarked and dirty from several tough encounters. There was even a long burn on one side that looked suspiciously like a light saber strike.

I started to sink to one knee, but, to my immense shock, he reached out, took hold of my arms and pulled me back up to standing. “We have no time for protocol or social niceties, Darth Fens. What have you to report?”

It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but he flustered me, and it took me a beat or two to be able to jump start my brain again. “My lord, I have come here in an S-12 Blackbolt, that has valuable intel on the situation in orbit, and the ground, the techs are probably down loading it now. I have been able to assemble a small fleet around the cruisers Hotspur, Witch of Endor, and Warspite. That includes two corvettes and four frigates with approximately four squadrons of operational fighters and gunships.”

“None of the dreadnoughts?” he asked.

“No, sir,” I told him with some regret. “My lord also, in your ear...” I leaned forward and he bent over just enough for me to whisper, “We also received an order of surrender from the Dark Council...”

He jerked back up right and his fists clinched. “I sense Darth Acina's hand in this, the coward!” he fumed. A fist came down on the holo-table he had been studying in a rare display of anger. Marr had always been cool and level headed, it was required of a soldier as he himself had declared many times, but I could always sense that temper boiling under the iron hand of his Will. The mask turned back to me and demanded, “And have you...?”

I squared my shoulders and raised my head. “All of the captains swore loyalty to me and I have ordered them to send word throughout the Empire that Darth Fens will fight, and anyone who is willing to defend their Empire is welcome.”

“Excellent,” he announced, then pointed a gloved finger at me. “Except for why would you abandon your post on an ill-advised rescue attempt?”

My chin raised a bit. “I know my strengths and my weaknesses, Lord. You are the greatest tactician in the Empire and I took a calculated risk to come here and get you, and as many others as possible out.”

The expressionless mask stared at me for several moments, then he turned to one of the officers. “Show me the most recent intel we have on Banudan Spaceport.” The officer, a youngish looking one, who could probably do with a day or two of sleep, saluted and made an adjustment. The hologram on the table shifted.

Most of Banudan City had been on the mouth side of the Bay of Banudan. There was a magnificent suspension bridge that crossed the mouth of the bay, the ruin of which was still about half standing, in testament to the skill of the engineer's who had built it. On the southern shore there was Banudan Space port, on the same side of the bay as my house, on the western side of the Bay, by the Skynx River. Fortunately, the Space Port was also protected by an automatic deflector screen and had survived the blast, and subsequent Tsunami that filled most of the crater.

There was a lot of light and medium freighter activity, more looting it looked like, but the Prince's personal dreadnought, the Courageous, was still sitting on the field where it had landed, awaiting a refitting. He cupped the chin of the mask as if it was his own. “What was the last status report of the Courageous?” he demanded.

“Landed and in stand by, my lord,” the youngster replied. “I don't see that work has started, but if her power plant is cold...”

“You're not thinking...?” I started as the mask came up and looked at me.

“Was the authorization to shut down the plant given?” he insisted.

“N...No, my lord.”

“If the plant was hot she would have fought, and been damaged, if not destroyed...!” I protested.

Marr shook his head. “There would only have been a skeleton crew aboard, to mind the reactor, with out it being cold, there would not have been enough aboard to either get her off the ground, or fight.”

“You want to try and steal the Courageous?” I asked him.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not daring enough for you, my rainmaker?” I smirked at him and shook my head.

“Do we have enough men to crew her?”

He pointed at a makeshift POW camp on the runway with what looked like four or five thousand men, waiting to be processed. Well, Grand Theft Starship, won't that be fun?

***

It wasn't terribly hard to get close to the spaceport.

The entire area was in shock, from the bombardment and destruction of Banudan, to the disorganized occupation, there were people everywhere, begging, being 'processed' but for what was anyone's guess as well as the general confusion of warfare. Darth Marr ordered every man and woman he had into civilian clothes, though, he only put a somewhat tattered cloak and hood over his armor. I gave him a look, but he only stared at me with that blank mask, almost daring me to say something.

Meanwhile, I had swapped out my flight suit for my working leathers and put a little cloak over them myself. We had emptied the Redoubt's armory such that every man had two, in some cases three blasters, which we would use to arm the military personnel we were hoping to liberate. Then it was a simple matter of blending in to the stream of refugees being 'herded' to the spaceport.

My memories of the game told me the Skytroopers that were occupying Ruuria, were just very advanced battle droids, not that I had to order our men to be forgiving to the invaders of our home. Even if they were men in armor, we would delight in killing them. They were fashioned to resemble heavy armor, standing more than two meters tall with hands and carrying normal blaster rifles. What made things odd was the dependence the Eternal Empire had on these robots. Why not build the weapons into the robot? While there were some humans mixed in with the invasion forces, but at extremely low numbers, and usually they were in some kind of decision making role, the ratio was not forgiving. As it was, there was only about one human for about five hundred Skytroopers or so.

At the main gate of the space port there were a pair of humans and perhaps a hundred troopers, there to funnel all the refugees through a tent for processing. The armor was tough, but the men had learned where the weak spots were and would be engaging at bad breath range. Our slicers had already taken out their weapons scanners so the gate detail never saw it coming. It's an odd sound to hear several dozen blasters all go off practically at once. But the Skytroopers were junk, and my lightsaber and Darth Marr's had the pair of humans captive.

“Make a sound, and I'll carve you like a Life Day Bantha,” I warned mine as a couple of the men seized him and stripped him down to his BVDs. Their uniforms were quickly swapped with two of our men they would fit and we put them at the head of the column as we moved to the holding area.

There were less Navy men there than there had been, but still enough, it looked like between what we had to bolster the numbers with. “Remember, I whispered to one of our imposters, “be in charge.”

He nodded as we walked up to the largest of the troopers guarding the group. “I have orders to take this lot and yours into that ship,” he declared with a vague gesture towards the Courageous.

The head of the robot swiveled its red eyes at us. “On whose orders?” it demanded.

“Mine!” Marr hissed as he whipped off his cloak and at the same time activated his light saber.

“Down!” someone shouted.

Military men, especially Imperial Military men are exceptionally well trained. When someone yells 'down', they drop, and if someone wasn't moving near them, they pull them down. Within three seconds the chief robot's head was off, thanks to Darth Marr's lightsaber, and the crowd of POWs in front of us were all on the tarmac, giving us perfect shots at their captors. There was a brief, intense flurry of blaster fire, then silence.

“To me, Imperials!” Marr shouted as, in the distance, an alarm began to wail. “To the Courageous!” The crowd got to its feet, blasters were handed out, and something like four thousand people rushed to the Dreadnought. The specialists were separated to get the ship up and going, and sent in with armed guards in case there were boarders who were not invited to our party. The rest formed a perimeter around the ramp. Even with a ramp that size, four thousand people do not board quickly.

Within a few minutes we were coming under counter attack, but with a deep, throaty roar, the engines of the Courageous began to come to life. I started to think we were going to get away with this, and that's when the attack came. Dozens of Skytroopers came pouring out of buildings, blasting as they charged.

That's when things went really south.

Leading these troopers were humans. Humans in silver armor with gold accents. Who carried lightsabers. I looked at Marr just as he looked at me, and I knew what he was going to do. We had to buy time for the crew to board, and that meant those humans could not be allowed to reach the ship. In my mind I saw my twenty year old self on Balmorra, another bitter retreat, another last stand to buy time for others to get on rescue ships.

When my mistress had sacrificed herself to save me.

Marr started running towards the threat and I ran after him. If we had any chance left of getting away with this, he needed someone to watch his back, and the only one capable of that was me. Lightsabers flashed through the air, hissing and sparking as the blades clashed. If only I didn't have to watch Marr's back, my Ataru style was meant for open areas against multiple opponents, just like this. But I had to move on my own, I had to be able to move nonstop.

Distantly, I heard someone give an order to set the blasters to stun, to take us alive.

George Lucas took a significant amount of heat about the battle of the Jedi Temple, that troops armed with blasters and a single Sith Lord wiped out scores of Jedi. Well, I can testify that, when you are facing dozens of opponents, while trying not to be cut in half by men with lightsabers who know how to use them, the blaster bolt will get through.

I dodged and weaved, and blocked and parried then a sharp, electrical sting ran up my spine. My lightsabers slipped from my hands as I fell, hard to one knee. I truly thought I would be more upset, meeting my death. But I had the children I had wanted to have and the love of a spouse and my youth a second time to enjoy it. No one could really ask for more than that. I was strangely content as I fell, some part of me reaching out to the Force. I turned, seeing the Courageous begin to lift into the air, and I was happy that the men would get away, that none of this was in vain. Then a white boot filled my vision, and only darkness followed.

***

3627 BBY
Zakuul System, The Eternal Empire , The Unknown Reaches

Somehow, I thought being dead would hurt less.

Pain was what pulled me back out of the darkness, a dull, throbbing agony that seemed to possess my entire body. The taste of blood was in my mouth and my left eye really did not want to open. I found myself looking at my lap where both of my arms disappeared into a massive looking set of binders. They enclosed my entire hand up past the wrist and was chained to a belt around my waist. Thinking was very difficult as I remembered how to make my neck muscles lift my head and look about. I was strapped into a jump seat, like you would find on a shuttle or troop transport.

No frills, just metal braces with canvas slung between them.

Across the cabin from me was Darth Marr. His head hung limp and I didn't know if he was unconscious or dead. The spikes on his armor had all been cut off and it seemed to diminish him somehow. I heard voices to my left and managed to turn to see a pilot and co-pilot flying this shuttle and out the canopy beyond a marvel.

We were over a planet, covered in clouds, but up through them rose spires, shining gold and transparent crystal, to impossible heights. One, the largest, we seemed to be flying to, and there was no way the top of this gilded, transparent masterpiece was still inside the planet's atmosphere. It was an unimaginable level of engineering, even for this galaxy. The Spire gleamed gold in the sunlight, beckoning the shuttle that was flying towards it. Behind the pilot stood a man in white and gold robes, his back was to me, though his head was bald and for some reason his left arm and collar was gray and stood out against the white and gold.

I blinked, slowly, trying to make my eyes work and keep myself awake by my mental fingernails.

He shifted and my vision sharpened just enough to realize it wasn't his clothing that was gray, his entire left arm from the shoulder down had been replaced with a repulsive, grossly mechanical limb, like one that might be cut from a labor droid and grafted onto his body. This rose up the left side of his head and face, covering his ear and that eye, and his mouth and nose. There was just enough skin beyond that was puckered and scarred as if he had been near some terrible fire or explosion.

His right eye, still human, was full of hate and the Bogan coiled around him like a serpent.

The shuttle came alongside an airlock into The Spire and mated to it.

The man in white walked by me, his human eye glaring as he did so. “Get them up,” he ordered and even his voice was raspy and mechanical. Not the smooth, Shakespearean basso menace of James Earl Jones as Darth Vader, this was a mechanical, low-fidelity rasp more like General Grievous. “Father is waiting.”

Soldiers in armor, humans like we had fought at the Banudan Spaceport, unstrapped us from our chairs to haul us unceremoniously to our feet. Marr suddenly became alive and shouldered into his guards, which would have killed them if he still had his spikes, but he was speared by three others with some kind of electroshock prod. His rage and cry of agony were palpable, but he fell to one knee. I felt the Bogan move through the compartment and take hold of Darth Marr almost before the mechanical arm raised to direct it. “Don't try that again, or you'll die here and now, no matter what Father has decreed!”

I tripped over my feet to fall hard on my knees next to him. “Master, I'm here,” I whispered, and the mask turned just enough so I knew he heard me. Then the soldiers took me by my arms and nearly wrenched them from their sockets as I was hauled to my feet.

The pain gave me focus and my mind continued to become clearer.

We were propelled through the airlock and down a corridor from the docking arm, then into a space that almost defies description. It was a throne room, set inside a diamond, hundreds of meters tall and across. A golden throne lay at the edge of a second, magnificently worked platform, with carpets of arterial blood red and every twenty meters was another of these knights, for lack of a better word, each armed with a light saber pike, half again his own height.

With every step my mind got a bit clearer and the Force seemed to re-connect with me. I'd never been stunned before and it was more than a little disorienting. But as my senses returned, I began to get over my awe of this place and see the overwhelming wastefulness of it; everything was gilded, everything was so over the top as to become nearly a caricature of decadence and excess. For the rest of my life, when I hear the phrase 'the sky's the limit,' I will doubtlessly think of that throne room.

That's when I became aware of him.

He sat on a golden throne that fit that room in its excess and sheer magnitude. I've rented apartments that weren't as big as that throne. Not the room, the chair. Sitting on it, sprawling on it, was the last thing you might expect from how I have described the Sith Emperor Vitiate before. Now, before me was a handsome man, just stepping from his middle age to a somewhat premature 'grandfatherly' look. His greying hair still had plenty of dark beneath it and his dark, full beard had just enough gray to be distinguished, like a Victorian Admiral on his way to Portsmouth and just as impeccably groomed.

The hair was brushed back from a high forehead over piercing blue eyes and the beard was combed straight. He wore robes of white with accents and trim of gold as well as enough armored pieces to give him the look of a soldier, but it mostly seemed for show. Everything was brightly polished and spotlessly clean. But under him, there was the unmistakable coldness of unspeakable evil. A feeling of unrivaled power in the Dark Side, but Darth Marr had been accurate in his description of 'Cold as a grave.'

We were hauled up before him and jerked to a stop, perhaps ten to fifteen meters away and below the dais the throne sat on. You'd think we would have been struck, or forced to kneel, but the guards let us go and returned to their ceremonial place at the end of the row of flanking honor guards. The bald man in white with the robotic arm did kneel, declaring, “His Imperial Majesty, Immortal Master and Protector of Zakuul, Emperor Valkorion.”

“Welcome,” the Emperor purred in a dulcet, cultured low baritone, as lovingly rounded with an Eton Received Pronunciation as mine was, and just as classically, regally British.

Darth Marr squared his shoulders and took a step ahead of me. “A new name, a new face, but these are not enough to hide yourself from me, Vitiate.”

“Your presence is unmistakable,” I added as the son stood and walked off to one side.

Vitiate, or as he called himself now, Valkorion gave a grandfatherly chuckle as though gently correcting a loved grandchild. “Oh, I think a mistake has been made, but by whom?”

I felt Darth Marr's anger begin to boil under this armor and he took another menacing step forward. “Your constant silence across our history,” he snarled, tightly controlled and seething with rage. “This, this was your distraction?”

The Emperor gave an idle, dismissive gesture, as if he had been offered sugar instead of honey for his tea. “This was my focus,” he corrected the Lord of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire. “Everything else? The means to an end. This end.” He stood and stepped down the dais from the throne, an infuriating, smug smile on his face. “You and your lovely little toy have been chasing me for ten years.” He reached out and cupped my chin and it was as if the Grim Reaper himself had touched me. “Well, here I am. What do you want?”

I jerked my face away and snarled, “To destroy you! Once and for all!”

The beard parted revealing a smile of movie star teeth, before parting like a curtain before the most debasing, insulting kind of chuckle; as if the thought that we desired his death and would attempt it if given a second's chance, amused him. “You say you know me,” he gloated, turning his attention to Marr. “If that is true then you know the depths of my power, as surely as you know, deep inside, that you cannot succeed. But, I can be merciful, and to prove it, you need not stand against me. Instead, you may kneel.”

He made a gesture and the binders fell away from Marr's hands as his legendary temper wormed out from under his control. “Never!” Darth Marr thundered. “I will never again kneel to you!”

The beard curled up into a sneer. “You would rather die than acknowledge my superiority?”

Marr's arm shot up and pointed like the finger of Death itself. “It is you who fears death, 'Valkorion'! I do not! I will not kneel!” Marr whirled and I felt the Bogan flow through him like the sluice gate of a dam full open. He ripped one of the saber pikes from the guard's hand and struck the platform with it like the fist of a Titan. The Force washed over me like a cool summer breeze, but the knights were all blown off the platform as though they stood before a hurricane. The son was even shoved back as he threw up his arms and braced himself.

Not even a hair of Valkorian's beard was misplaced.

Marr turned, his blood on fire and he had but one thought or goal now, but before he could take that step, Valkorian casually raised a hand and lightening as I have never seen flew from his hand. I was on the edge and it arced like liquid agony across my body. I screamed and was thrown to my knees, but Darth Marr, my master's master took the blast full on.

I could see his skeleton through his armored suit as every muscle clinched and, rigid, he was flung a hundred meters back down the platform to land in an unceremonious heap. The stench of cooked flesh was in the air and I did not need the Force to know this man who I had come to trust and admire, who had written the names of my children as subjects of the Empire into the Sith Rolls was dead. I staggered to my feet, stunned, heartbroken and yet still seething that for all my adventures I would have come this close, and failed. “Darth Marr was ten times the man you will ever be!” I told him, low and angry. “He gave the Empire hope and direction, life! You are nothing compared to him!”

The Emperor again gave a dismissive gesture. “He was narrow minded,” he stated as if that were obvious. “Bound by irrelevant, ancient dogma. But I think you might be different. In all my centuries, you alone have merited my full attention. You leave your mark upon the galaxy wherever you act; just as I do. I have noted your attempts to turn the Sith from their obsession with anger and rage.”

He stepped down from the dais, and for once a fire seemed to pierce the dismissive, aloof air he cloaked himself in. “Look around you. Zakuul is poised to become the greatest civilization in the history of the galaxy! I have forged this empire to surmount all my previous works. To span eternity as will I, it's Emperor.”

He towered over me now, his eyes bright with zeal and a horrible, loathsome expression on his face. “The Eternal Throne commands a fleet more vast and powerful than any ever built. It has the power to reshape the galaxy into any image I choose.” He paused and if possible, the lustful expression became even more vile. “That we choose.”

I looked at him and I would swear he had been watching every time my husband and I made love. “I will share all of this, with you, my one worthy adversary. If you will only kneel.”

I don't think I could be any more disgusted. “Share?” I demanded, remembering the charred corpse of my master behind me and the fate that doubtlessly awaited me. “You don't share anything! You enslave! You devour! I will never be a part of that!”

Valkorion seemed almost disappointed. “So be it,” he declared, turning to his son. “Kill her.”

Ponderously, he began to mount the dais again as the son stood between us, igniting his light saber and holding it high. The words of Bouris Ulgo rang in my ears and I held up my head high, my gaze direct into the eye of my killer. I would meet my death on my feet and defiant. I love you, Torm and Bree and Kale.

As I stared into the son's eye, I felt his thoughts waiver, then his own rage exploded like a volcano. “You wanted to kill him,” he whispered. “Now is your chance!”

His light saber came down, between the shackles of the binders that held my hands. They fell away to clatter at my feet. I was free! He turned and leapt over Valkorion's head higher up the dais and tried to strike him with the blade, but the Emperor merely raised an empty hand and turned it aside. That seemed to amuse the Emperor, and he demanded, “First your brother, and now your father?”

The son merely continued to beat against his fathers' hand, trying to force his blade to harm him. “Does my ambition truly surprise you?” the younger man asked.

Valkorion was as dismissive as ever. “You do not have ambition, only jealousy.” The other hand rose and again that massive lightening storm blasted out. The son was knocked back, senseless, but alive. “That is why you fail,” he declared.

Having made my peace with death, I seized my moment. I ran, pulling one of the sabers to me as I did so. As Valkorion stood, gloating over his son, the saber snapped on and I thrust it through his back, all the way to the emitter. He cried out as the blade destroyed his heart and seared his lungs and I was amazed I had actually been able to strike. “That is for all the people you've made suffer and die!” I shouted, then snatched the blade free, preparing to deliver a coup de gras.

But then he spun to face me and he was smiling. Smiling! Like I had just fallen into his trap. “So be it!” he somehow managed to declare, and then the Force rose great and terrible into him, the very air becoming electric and crackling with energy. It rushed into him like torrent and then exploded outward. I was flung to the far side of the platform and struck my head so hard stars danced before my eyes.

It was a new kind of agony as the waves of power washed over us.

I didn't hear the door open, but suddenly there were guards taking hold of my hands and yanking me to my feet. I heard a woman's voice scream, “Father!” with more hate and rage and grief than I could imagine.

The son's mechanical voice cried, “The Outlander has murdered Father! Take her away!”

I was drug, half in and out of consciousness, my head being hammered such that thinking was hard. I probably had a concussion, perhaps worse. I was thrown onto a table, for a moment, I thought perhaps I would be given treatment, then I heard a familiar grind of machinery and the high pitched whine of a carbon freezing chamber being activated.

Then came a cold from which I will never be warm again.

To Be Continued

Through The Eyes of a Sith Part 2

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Age Regression

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Tale of the Star Wars
Through The Eyes Of A Sith
by
E.E. Nalley

Part Two

In the darkness, I drifted, sightless, surrounded by nothing, vast empty and desolate. I felt nothing, not the soft touch of life around me, nor The Force it created and for a life age of Man, I was utterly alone. For a time I mourned my husband and my children, defenseless against this terror from the unknown that I, in my arrogance, had failed to stop. It was a conceit I lamented bitterly as I realized how smugly I had rushed off, certain of my invulnerability as if I was still playing a game at my computer in a body, on a world I could only just remember.

Your arrogance clouds your judgment.

I had no sense or feel of a body, no light to see or illuminate the darkness, but I was certain I had heard something. I tried to speak, to cry out, to demand my antagonist show themselves, but I could make no sound, nor issue any challenge. I tried to remember my husbands face, the feeling of my daughter in my arms, the pride of watching my son, it was like a dream where you know you are dreaming, but are powerless to act.

Slowly, across uncounted years there seemed to be lights in the darkness, stars in an inky blackness of night. I wondered if I was dead now, or if I had always been so and only now was drawing near my Creator to face Judgment. Perhaps I had already been judged for there is some truth to the axiom that Hell is the absence of God. Certainly I was utterly alone, wasn't I? I had used the Bogan, reveled in its warmth, called upon its power and channeled its might to blast living beings into pieces, but I hadn't been evil...had I...?

Still you do not understand the nature of Power.

I tried to turn about, and it felt like I was both turning muscles I couldn't feel to move a head I wasn't sure I had, but no matter how the lights did not move and the stars remained the same. Again I tried to shout, tried to speak, but the silence of my captivity remained unbroken. I forced myself to remember, to repeat over and over what I thought I had heard, to cling to my sanity or to lose myself to madness, I did not know.

Then, as I chanted, I felt for the first time in so long I could not begin to remember. Under me there was a firmness, an unyielding solid that pressed against me. Under my side, my right side as the epiphany of discovery came to me and I could feel again. I don't know if I opened my eyes or if I stopped being blind, but there was a world around me again, things, hard, rocky things. A desolate, rocky wasteland under an endless night of stars.

Foolish infant, what could you hope to accomplish against me?

I was laying down, I had a body that I could feel was laying down on that hard, but indistinct wasteland. Everything was fuzzy about the edges as if my eyes were caked in slime. But I could feel my body, the tightness of the leather of my working clothes, the rigidness of the plasteel armor, the feeling of my breasts being supported and compressed. I sat up and looked down, almost in tears that I could see again and that I could see the body I had come to call my own.

Standing, I could at last look about, but there was nothing as far as my eyes could see. Just rock and dirt without grass, or cactus or any sign of life. Was it a dream? Where was I? How did I get here? I remembered the death of Darth Marr and once more I felt pain, the overwhelming sense of loss and sadness at his fate tempered with just the tiniest drop of respect and pride in the manner he met that death. And then a tidal wave of guilt that I had stood by, awestruck and watching as he did so and I should have been helping him and did not.

Pity for the dead is a hubris you can ill afford.

“Show yourself!” I shouted, and exalted in that I could shout again. I heard the earthy contralto of my voice with it's rounded, posh Eton accent. Still, there was silence and I once more took stock of my self. My light sabers hung at my waist and I could feel their heft, and drawing one, it snapped on with all of the hum and florescent glow I expected of it.

I had not had them on the shuttle. I remembered, I was certain it had been someone else's saber I had stabbed Valkorion with. I had been defeated, bruised and beaten, but my free hand came up to my face and I felt no bruise on my eye, and I felt the supple calf skin leather of the glove that had been made exactly to fit my hand. Where was I? Was I dead? Was this Hell? Why would I have my light sabers in Hell?

Even in death, the childish turning of your mind to find meaning amuses me.

I glanced at my saber, humming in my hand and deactivated it. Once more on my belt, I looked about, picked a direction that I arbitrarily labeled 'south,' mostly because it was down hill, and began walking. If I was dead, it would pass the time and if I was alive, it might bring me to civilization.

As I walked, I began to try and piece together my recollections, to pick out the details as I ordered my thoughts. Why had the son waited until ordered to kill me to rebel against Valkorion? Was not Marr better suited to help him over throw Vitiate? Again I marveled at his strength in the Force by which he had blown all the guards off the platform, hurtling to their deaths. Was the scarred man really the child of Darth Vitiate? I shuddered to recall the death of Darth Marr and the agony I had experienced beside him as he died. I remembered the mushroom cloud over the grave of Banudan, and I wondered how many billions had died because I had become comfortable and given up chasing the ghost of the Sith Emperor.

Mommy, I'm scared!

My eyes filled with tears as I thought of not being able to comfort my daughter. I tried to be grateful for the time I had been given, the second chance I had seized to have everything I had wanted on Earth and been denied. Though try as I might, I could only lament for time 'taken' from me, not the remembered joy of what I had had. “I'm so sorry, Bree,” I whispered as the tears ran down my face.

If only I had it to do again, what could I change?

Then something did change. From the ends of my toes, and the tips of my fingers, I felt warmth, then heat, then a searing agony that raced up my hands and feet into my arms and legs. I was consumed in fire and I cried out, screaming for release, then I pitched forward and a hard, delightfully cold, smooth surface rose up to me.

***

The Vault of the Damned, Zakuul, The Eternal Empire, Unknown Reaches

I grunted from the pain of striking the floor, even though it's cold smoothness was comforting. I was grabbed and turned over and above me shapes, blurry and indistinct peered down. My eye was forced open and a bright light shined into it. “My lord?” a woman's voice with a Public School accent asked. “My lord, can you hear me?”

Weakly, I raised my arms to try and fend off the bright light and make my eyes focus. I tried to speak, but only garbled nonsense came out. “Get her up!” someone, a blur off to my right hissed.

“I'm trying,” the Public school girl replied. “My lord, please, wake up.”

My mouth was so incredibly dry. “Where...? Where am I?”

“Arcann's 'Vault of the Damned',” the voice replied. A moist cloth was pressed against my eyes and I allowed it because it was soothing. “It's where he keeps his political prisoners.” The cloth came away and my eyes finally could focus to show me the very last person I expected to see.

“Lana,” I said. “Lana Beniko! How...?”

The blonde Sith diplomat smiled and helped me sit up. “Nice to see you again, my lord. We have to hurry. Can you stand?” She was older than when I had seen her last, her face was mature now and care worn, though still quite lovely. I noted she had taken my advice and let her hair grow out some, it fell to her shoulders now and was very flattering.

“Hurry up!” the voice hissed. I looked over to see a young woman, in the flower of her youth, standing guard by the door. She was tall, and wearing heeled boots that made her taller. Tucked into them were tight black pants that highlighted both her legs and rear, though there were hard plasteel plates in strategic places, held up by a belt covered in pouches and holders. She wore a black, armored tank top that also didn't hide her figure, her dusky skin was darkened by the clothing. Her hair was a dark chestnut, pulled back into a braided pony tail that still fell to the middle of her back. She held a pair of light sabers with blades that were a warm yellow with hints of orange.

“We're coming,” Beniko assured her as she helped me up to my feet. I was a bit unstable, but was quickly regaining my balance. She reached into a satchel around her shoulders and produced the last things I'd ever expected to see again. With a grin, she offered them. “You'll want these, I expect.”

In her hands were the brushed, stainless steel cylinders of my light sabers. I took them reverently and looked into her face. “How, I thought...?”

She took my elbow and helped me over to the door. “Plenty of time to explain later, my lord. We have to...” She couldn't continue as a klaxon began to blare and strobe lights began flashing. She took a comlink from her belt and held it up to her lips. “Koth, what's going on?”

From the speaker I heard a man's voice, with the same kind of inflection that the son's speech had. “I don't know what you two did in there, but there are lots of people unhappy about it. It's getting very busy out here. Do you have her?”

“We didn't do anything!” she replied peevishly. “Yes, we have her...”

A muffled explosion sounded from the speaker. “I gotta move here. Get to the back up pick up!” A burst of static terminated the connection. I took a moment and reached out to the Force and in a way I could never describe found the feel, the 'taste' for lack of a better word, of it different. But when I called, it answered and I directed it into myself.

This was a trick I'd learned years ago, like drinking a highly caffeinated beverage, it covered the fatigue and exhaustion with energy, but there would be a crash later. This masked the pain and stiffness and I felt myself become more awake and alert. The young woman turned to us and snapped, “Get her to the extraction point, I'll see what I can do in that command center we passed to slow them down.”

She whirled without waiting for an answer and took off running down the corridor. “Wait, come back!” Lana shouted, but she was gone. Turning back to me, she shook her head. “Come, we have to get you out of here.”

That, I am a bit embarrassed to admit, was when I finally looked around this room. It was a cavernous space, full of supporting columns, but I could not tell you much about them, or the walls, because every vertical surface was taken up by a block of carbonite with the grimacing, tortured face of someone captured within. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, each with a little hologram in Aurebesh with a name and the word, Traitor. I turned back to the empty cavity that had held me and before it floated The Outlander, Murderer.

My grip tightened on my light sabers as the Bogan flowed through me. “Just you wait, sonny, you haven't seen murder yet,” I muttered darkly, in promise. Turning back to Lana, I asked, “Which way?”

She pointed in the opposite direction the young woman had run. “This way.”

We moved as quickly as I was able down the corridor and oddly to my admittedly cloudy mind we went down instead of up. I didn't care, much, down was easier. She was dressed for action, the same way the other woman had been, but still favoring greens and blacks in her wardrobe, and to be honest her clothing seemed a little, flashy, for strictly rescue work. Seeing her again brought other Sith Lords to my memory and I again felt the shame of not helping my master. “They killed Darth Marr,” I told her as we ran, I think a part of me was hoping she would blame me for it, but she just kept moving.

“I know,” she replied over her shoulder. “They broadcast all of it, including your spectacular strike against Valkorion. Though I always felt it had been heavily edited.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Did you really yell 'You won't undermine my evil plans?' when you stabbed him?” I let the expression answer her and she chuckled. “No, I thought not.”

“Who is the head of Defense of the Empire, now?”

“It doesn't matter,” she told me, then stopped short and ducked back towards me from the corner she had almost turned. “Skytroopers,” she whispered in warning. “There's no way around, we have to go through them.”

I nodded and brought my light sabers up, ready to activate them. I peeked around the corner to see a pair of the hulking, armored forms about twenty meters away, at an intersection of several corridors at a lift station. I nodded at her, then went wide, selecting the one on the right. I reached out my arm, then reached further with the Force.

I guess I wasn't thinking very clearly yet. Because, as Lana threw her light saber, I reached out with the Force, intending to break the neck of the thing, forgetting it was a robot. Lana's saber cut the head of hers off, then something very strange happened. As I crushed it's mechanical neck with the Force, it dropped it's blaster and began to claw at its throat. It made a horrible, sick choking sound as if I was actually choking a living being. As the Force lifted it off the ground, to use it's own weight against it, its feet began to peddle, again, just like a person might have. Then, at last, with a sickening crunch, the neck snapped, the head came off, and the body clattered to the floor.

Then fluid began to leak from the body and the head.

“What in the name of all that's holy?” I breathed as we walked over to it.

“You didn't know?” Lana asked, then shook her head. “Of course, you couldn't. Look.” She picked up the severed head and carefully carved at it with her light saber. Underneath the armed helmet like outer covering, inside was a container of transparisteel that was the source of the blueish fluid.

Inside the container was a human brain.

I stumbled backwards, my eyes wide in shock and revolted disgust. “This is what they do to us,” Lana declared flatly. “When they conquer a world, or take a star ship. People disappear and then this happens to you.”

I whirled and threw up, horrified. As the bile spattered on the floor, the blue fluid began to mingle with it and I vomited again. She came over and comforted me. “I...I know, but we have to go, my lord.”

My eyes locked with hers and she took a fearful step backwards, terrified by the expression on my face. The Bogan flowed through me and I held up my saber to punctuate my vehemence as I spat, “I will kill that son of a bitch, if its the last thing I ever do, so help me God! No one can suffer evil of this magnitude to live!”

Her hand made a fist over her heart. “I am yours, my lord, to the bitter end.” The commlink crackled on her hip and she brought it up. “Koth?”

“No, it's me,” the voice of the girl replied. “Our problem's just multiplied. There's three transports landing on the roof, probably a dozen or more Knights, not Skytroopers, Knights and...” her voice got small. “Vaylin is here.”

The color drained out of a Lana's face in a manner that made me extremely uncomfortable. “That's enough! You get to us, now.”

“There's no time and you know it,” the girl replied. Next to us, a turbolift car snapped open and I whirled to face it, light sabers up, but it was empty. “Get in the car,” the girl commanded. “I'm going to route it to the concourse, it's closest to the pickup point.”

“But,” Lana protested, but the girl cut her off.

“Don't worry about me!” she commanded. “Get her out! I'll find my way back, trust me!” The line clicked off and Lana shook her head. She took my elbow and led us both into the lift.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” Beniko groused. “If we live through this.” The doors snapped shut and the lift began to descend rapidly.

“The Jedi are allied with Valkorion? And who is Vaylin?” I asked her. The expression on her face told me she was someone I probably would want to kill shortly.

She shook her head. “Not Jedi, Knights of Zakuul. Force users, evidently trained to use both the light and dark, but neither very well. They are trained to work together so don't underestimate them! They're led by Arcann's sister, the High Justice,” Lana told me. “Her name is Vaylin. I'm not sure why Arcann puts up with her, she's a complete psychopath, who delights in things the darkest of the Dark Council members would find distasteful. And she's powerful, my lord, more powerful than...”

“Vitiate is dead, but his bloodline lives,” I informed her regretfully. “They are every bit as dangerous, perhaps more. This 'Eternal Empire' of Vitiate's seems to be the end game of his plans for the galaxy. There's no telling what dark rituals he's performed on them, or secrets he shared.”

“We're not without friends of our own,” Lana told me earnestly.

“Have you been busy?” I asked her and the brief moment of levity felt good, to let out some of the tension and to feel like we were not as whipped as I might have feared.

Beniko smiled and shook her head. “You have, actually. I've called in every favor I could, Sith, Republic, even in the Hutt Cartel and the criminal underworld, but the core of the Alliance was your doing. The Warspite, the Hotspur, they assembled everyone still willing to fight. When you were drug away, we feared the worst, that's when I began working, keeping what you started together.” She smiled and reached out to touch my arm. “You, you can't know the joy that swept through all of us when we found out you were still alive and in the Vault of the Damned. This rescue is the result of eight months of planning.”

“Eight months?” I asked, startled. “Frozen alive for eight months...”

“N...no, my lord,” she corrected me hesitantly. “It...it took us...time, a long time, to find...”

“How long?” I demanded, and seeing her reluctance, I reached out and took her by the shoulders. “Lana, how long have I...”

“Not quite ten years, my lord.”

The lift spun around me and I staggered, nearly falling. I heard her speaking, trying to sooth me, I think, or keep me conscious. I couldn't make out the words; it was if she were miles away and shouting at me, none of it was coherent. Ten years! My children, my husband, the weight of all of it came down on me hard. Finally, her arms around me, Lana's voice next to my ear finally penetrated my mind. “Breathe, my lord, just breathe, I am here.”

It was nearly the same thing I had said to Darth Marr in the shuttle, minutes ago for me, but ten years in the past. It dawned on me that she, and these others she'd mentioned, they were looking to me be some kind of savior. They had risked everything to rescue me, just as I had tried to rescue my master. Now I had to be Darth Marr, for them. I looked into her eyes and in them I saw the same loyalty I felt when Torm looked at me. I nodded and with great effort, I stood for a moment, my mouth worked, but no sound came out. “I'm sorry,” she said, and it was obvious she held herself to blame, so I swallowed hard, and took her shoulders.

“Nyeomi,” I told her. Her head went to one side in confusion and I smiled. “I am Nyeomi to you,” I reiterated. “Not Countess, not 'my lord,' Nyeomi.”

She stuttered for a moment, then bowed her head. “I am deeply honored, Nyeomi.”

“Lana, help me kill those...monsters, and I don't care if you sit on the throne sideways.” She smiled, and nodded. The lift came to a stop and the doors opened onto a plaza of some kind, strung between this building and the next one. I stepped out and looked about, realizing we were a significant ways up, but Ecumenopolis worlds were somewhat old hat to me, now. She led the way, out onto the plaza, into the sun shine. It struck me how many droids were around, and how few people.

Those I did see were brightly clad, bedecked with jewels and now I realized why Lana had tried to split her fashion between glamour and action girl. Just in case we needed to blend in. I could begin to see that the opulence of the palace spire where I had finally slain Vitiate was the tip of a very large, deep ice berg. These people looked like they had stepped out of an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, indolent, bored and catered to past coddling. “Where are we?” I hissed at Lana who was walking closely beside me.

“This was the Emperor's grand design,” she told me as we skirted round a planter that I swear looked like it was made of solid gold and down a flight of steps. “The entire galaxy enslaved to pay for this, an entire planet with nothing better to do than worship him.”

“I hope he rots in hell,” I growled, looking at these bored, lazy people made my skin crawl. “How much further?”

She pointed to a sky taxi stand on the edge of the plaza as she plucked the commlink off her belt. “Koth, where are you?”

“Fun fact,” the man's voice replied. “Skytrooper's really don't like people breaking into secure vaults! I'll be there in eight seconds. Jump! I'll catch you.” Lana and I shared a look, then began to run just as a little shuttle streaked around the corner of the building, a cloud of jet pack accessorized Skytroopers on his tail. The shuttle was diving hard to get under the plaza. We reached the edge of the plaza and I reached out to take her arm as we jumped out into the air.

I had no idea we were so high up.

As I fell through the air, on my way to a very sudden stop after a long, long fall, a shuttle streaked into my vision, rolled on it's side with the side door pointing up and open. Then Lana and I were in it, tumbling with the sudden stop after a fortunately brief fall. A dark face with a wide grin and a short goatee appeared around the pilots chair. “It's raining beautiful women! Must be my lucky day!”

Lana rolled her eyes. “Nyeomi Fens, Countess of Banudan, meet Koth Vortena, Zakuul deserter.”

“Not to mention best pilot in the galaxy,” he protested jocularly. “You didn't say best...”

“Yes, yes, Koth,” Lana interrupted him. “Get away first, brag later!”

The door to the shuttle slid shut and he began a series of stomach churning maneuvers. “One fast get away, coming up!” he declared as the buildings turned sideways and did cartwheels out the window. He dove down into the cloud bank below us, but that didn't seem to hinder the troopers, and the blaster bolts kept zipping by, ever closer.

“Does this heap have guns?” I demanded, but Lana shook her head.

From the pilot's chair, Koth demanded, “Guns? On the sacred planet...?”

“Fly, Koth,” Lana ordered. A tremor rocked through the shuttle and alarms began to blare.

“We're good, we're good!” he assured, though I wasn't sure if he meant to convince us or himself. The shuttle lurched again and the alarms got louder. “Ok, that's not good. You ladies might want to buckle up...!”

We broke through the cloud layer and below us, but rising very quickly was either a swamp or a park perhaps, either way it was very green and coming awfully fast. Lana and I shared a look, then threw ourselves into seats and frantically fastened the harness. Fortunately, we were able to get them closed just before Koth piloted this shuttle through its final landing. We hit, hard, skipped off murky water like a stone and buried what was left of the craft into the mud.

***

3617 BBY
The Endless Swamp, Zakuul System, The Eternal Empire

The good news was that we didn't have to worry about the shuttle catching fire or exploding because we had crashed into a swamp. The bad news was the shuttle wouldn't catch fire because it was flooding with black, brackish water and sinking. Fortunately, no one had been knocked unconscious and the shuttle was mostly upright in the water. Free of the restraints, my light saber opened a new hatch for us in the roof while Lana and the pilot, Koth, scrambled to retrieve some bags from the back, which hopefully would be full of things we could use to survive.

I used the Force to augment my jump to the roof of the shuttle, and free of immediate threats, I extinguished the saber to take one of the bags Lana handed me and slung it across my shoulders. “There,” Lana declared while pointing as she clamored out. “There's solid ground over there. Twenty meters.”

“Yeah,” Koth groused as he scrambled up out of the now quickly filling ship. “But I can't juummmppp...!” his protest became a shout of consternation as I picked him up with the Force and propelled him over to the more solid ground Lana had found.

“Can you jump that far?” I asked her. She centered herself, then leapt. Her landing was a bit clumsy, but she had never apprenticed, so it was quite remarkable for someone of her skill level. I soared after her, and yes, I did the 'super hero' landing on one bent leg with the other out sideways. I had been thinking about the little twinge of desperation that had been in her summation of our situation. They really needed Darth Marr, but without him, I had to at least look like I could fill his shoes; that required a bit of flash.

Standing up, I noted the look of awe on Koth's face and mentally decided I chose wisely. Doubtless, by the expression on his face, that little feat would be the gossip of the Alliance when we got back. If...if we got back. I turned back to see the shuttle disappear beneath the vile looking water and at least the crash site would be harder to find. “So, where are we?” I asked, offering Koth a hand up.

“The Endless Swamp,” he declared as he tried and failed to get most of the muck off himself. “One of the last natural places on Zakuul. There was talk of draining it and making a park, but no one cared enough to do it, so here it is. That and a lot of sludge from the city that can't be further recycled gets dumped down here too. Lots of mutants.”

I looked about and decided I was not thrilled to be here. It was everything that was bad about Dagobah turned up a notch. There were massive trees with exposed roots, like Cypress or medusa trees, but taken to absurd measurements like sequoias or red woods. The trees towered over us, some perhaps eighty or ninety meters high with trunks that could have houses carved into them and still stand. It was horribly damp and humid and there was a constant drone of insects and larger, probably more dangerous animals. “What is the chance we can call for a pick up from the fleet?” I asked.

“Impossible,” Lana declared flatly. “Most of the Eternal Fleet is in orbit, any ship trying to land or depart without clearance is suicide. We have passage on a liner that will depart tomorrow, we just have to get to it.”

I arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “No blockade is perfect...” I started, but she shook her head.

“You'll understand when you see it,” she assured me.

After a moment of thought I shrugged and turned to Koth. “So, what is your story?”

He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. He was a good looking kid, now that I could see him, early to mid twenties, still a bit gangly and not quite fully grown. He was wearing a T-shirt and cargo pants under a great canvas duster that had saved most of his clothing from the muck and he wore a pair of black and silver goggles over his forehead. He had that anxious energy of youth that older people find so tiring. “Sorry, sorry,” he hedged as he grinned a scoundrel's grin. “I just can't believe it! The Outlander! Right here, I'm just...sorry, sorry. So, yeah, I used to be in the Zakuul Army, a Captain, Twenty Seventh Lancers. We were deployed to the Occupation of Denon, I was overseeing local security for the transports.”

My look became a bit disbelieving. “You mean the looters, taking their plunder back here?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “We were holding territory on Denon. Locals rioted, and orders were to open fire until they stopped. None of us even wanted to be there... massacring civilians? That's not how Zakuul is supposed to operate.” He shook his head, becoming more somber. “I refused the order. Not that it mattered, the Skytroopers opened up. I was relieved, thrown into the brig. My XO, Len, he and the others thought I'd gotten a bum deal, but nobody was going to really stand up to command for me. Len helped me escape, got me to a neutral port, the Asylum Shadowport, been on the run ever since.”

“I ran into him on Altair 3,” Lana added. “Tracking down leads about you, as a matter of fact. It became expedient to retire from the field together and Koth has been a valuable asset since.” She produced a small holographic imager and it produced a three dimensional representation of the area. The foundation of the two spires was not terribly far, depending on the scale. “We are approximately here,” she said, pointing. “A bit closer to Izak Spire than Capital, which is good, that's where we want to be.”

“Why?” I asked. She manipulated the hologram and showed a good sized liner docked high up on the Spire.

“That's our ticket off Zakuul.” She fiddled with the image again, then turned and pointed deeper into the swamp. “There should be a service road, that way, that will get us to the sub-levels, we can risk a turbo-lift then once we've tidied up.” She looked back at me and smiled. “Then it's just look nice, board the liner and enjoy some hors d'oeuvres and cruise our way out of Zakuul space. I have backup waiting at the first port of call.”

“Well, let's be on our way,” I replied with a chuckle. “Champagne wishes and caviar dreams won't wait for long.”

***

Slogging through the swamp was exactly the kind of hot, dirty, nasty slog you'd expect. The road was just passable enough that we were able to make decent time, and just poor enough to make it misery. About mid-afternoon we reached the footing of the spire, rising up out of the swamp like a ziggurat, stretching out of sight into the clouds. The lowest opening, a landing platform, was easily two hundred meters above the trees. “Well, there's our first problem,” I declared, looking up at it.

“There's our second,” Koth replied, pointing back behind us. I turned to see a swarm of what looked like official looking vehicles buzzing a few dozen kilometers back in the swamp, obviously looking for us.

Lana put her bag down and opened it to rummage. “I have ascension guns,” she said as she pulled one out and fitted a cartridge of mono-filament line to it. She handed one to me and then a second to Koth.

“Isn't that going to make us perfect targets?” he asked with a worried glance back at the official search.

“We don't have time to be subtle,” Lana told him sharply. I took aim through the viewfinder at a sturdy looking support, just a bit over the landing platform. The launching charge threw the grapple and it implanted itself on the first try.

“You're welcome to stay here,” I told him as I got the gun secure on my belt.

Koth shook his head. “I'm in it this far, might as well go all the way.”

The guns all confirmed they had good locks, but just in case Lana clicked a line between all three of us such that if one failed the others would arrest their fall. Then it was simple matter to key the motor in the gun to retract the line. Once again I am amazed by the simple things in this galaxy, the power density to get a battery with enough oomph to run a motor strong enough to lift all fifty four kilos of me two hundred meters or so, in about twenty seconds.

Fantastic, I tell you.

Fortunately, either no one was looking in this direction, or we just weren't seen, I didn't care which, because we got to the landing pad fine and none of the buzzing troopers and vehicles came this way. Lana ran a lead from her wrist comm. unit to the terminal by the door and after a moment, it slid open for us. The corridor was empty so we got inside and the door closed again while she consulted her datapad. “This is a housing block, mostly for the few people that actually work on this planet,” she informed us. “There's a unit for rent just a few levels up. I'll schedule us a walk through and we can use it to get cleaned up. Then we just take a lift up to the liner.”

“Which way?” asked Koth.

Lana pointed to the left of the hallways at the junction and then led us through a maze of very similar looking halls. Finally, we came to a lift station that arrived surprisingly quickly, but was empty. Once we were all inside, she pressed the button and gave me a smile. “Well, things are going smoother than I'd expected.”

“Lana,” I asked her softly. “Earlier I asked who the new head of Defense of the Empire was and you said it didn't matter. Why?”

She became a little flustered and had to take a moment to get herself together. “My lord, the Sith Empire was conquered by Zakuul. As was the Republic. They are both puppet states to the Eternal Empire in all but name. The only members of the Dark Council you would recognize would be Darth Acina, who is now Empress Acina, and Darth Vowrawn, who was the Sith who formally surrendered the Empire to Zakuul.”

I felt my brows come together, though from shock or anger, I wasn't sure which. “What has become of Emperor Malgus? Or...”

Lana shook her head. “Both the former Emperor and his wife are missing and presumed dead, my lord.”

“It cannot be this hopeless...” I declared and some of Lana's spirit returned to her.

“It's not, my lord!” she assured me. “The fighters you summoned, I've held together. Growing stronger and being joined by both disaffected Imperials and ex-Republicans!”

Koth was quick to add, “Even some Zakuul like me, who know we can do better than this!”

A fire lit behind Lana's yellow eyes. “All we have needed was you, my lord! A leader, a hero, who can show us how to defeat the Eternal Empire.”

I couldn't help reacting with humor and snickered. “No pressure, right?”

“Of course!” Lana affirmed with a smile. The lift stopped and opened onto a thankfully empty hallway. “We do get some illicit help,” she said as she consulted the datapad before leading the way from the lifts. “Both from the Republic and the Empire; planetary governors and Moffs, sympathetic to our cause. They supply us with men, material, a fair number of ships, too. All off the books, and most of it out of date, but it's free and we need all the war material we can get.”

“What about backwards engineering some of the Zakuul technology?” I asked her as we walked, glancing over to Koth. He shrugged with a puzzled look on his face.

“Don't look at me, I'm just a pilot.”

“Here we are,” she declared, pointing her datapad at the door. It clicked and slid open. “Most of the Zakuul technology is droid based, except for the Skytroopers for some reason. They seem to be controlled remotely, but we've had no luck so far in isolating the frequency, let alone what ever encryption they're using.”

We walked in to a fairly generic apartment, two bedrooms, a kitchen that was smaller than the galley on the Aces and Eights, and this central room. It had the virtue of being on the outside edge of the spire so it had a balcony off the main room that overlooked the swamp. The Skytroopers had moved much closer and were buzzing the swamp. Lana keyed a control by the glass door and it turned opaque. “Why do they do...that?” I demanded, but Koth quickly raised his hands defensively.

“Hey, I had no idea they were! I thought Skytroopers were just battle droids! I swear!”

Lana gathered up the bags from us to lay out on the 'breakfast bar' and opened them. The one I'd been carrying had various toiletries, towels and garment cubes. They, the cubes, were an interesting little space saver, put your clothing in it, and it vacuum seals itself. Fold it in on itself and you now had a complete out fit in the space about ten centimeters. Just unfold it and open it and whatever was inside pops back to life, wrinkle free. She handed me a towel, the cube and soaps. “You first, my lord.”

“Nyeomi,” I corrected her, taking the offering.

Lana smiled. “Not in front of the men,” she declared.

Still chuckling, I made my way to the master suite and into the bath. There, I was confronted with my reflection and it felt odd to look at. I was ten years older, now in my middle forties again, but my body was still thirty five. I was dirty and the white and grays of my working leathers needed a good cleaning, but that was nothing new. I reached up and took the pins and the elastic from my hair and let it fall free.

My normal working style was to roll my front and sides up, then gather a pony tail in the back, which was pinned into a bun to keep things tidy and out of the way. Loose, it spilled over my shoulders and down my back. Torm loved my hair and I was more than a little vain about it myself. But the stray thought struck me. I hadn't asked about my family at all!

I turned to do so, then caught myself.

This was yet another instance of keeping a 'face' for the troops. Koth would be watching, and whatever he saw he would doubtlessly talk about. I would force myself to wait while he was taking his turn and Lana and I could be discreet. But there were things I knew I had to get out of my system. One of the down sides of being a Sith is that we use our emotions to reach the Force. Which also means our emotions are much stronger than a normal person, we laugh faster, love deeper, rage harder and everything is never far under the surface.

I had functionally abandoned my family for ten years. Ten years! My children were gone, not the just stepping into adulthood I remembered, they were all but grown now. Yet again I had lost the joys of being a parent I had so wanted to become. I slid down against the wall and let it out, sobbing into my hands so that maybe, hopefully, I could keep it together in front of Koth.

My mind's eye painted a perfect picture of the son's ruined face and I promised myself I would kill him, and not quickly. I would take my time and I would make him suffer. And as I cried and raged, the words of Ferris Organa came to my mind. “No, it won't. But it is something. And that is all I have left.” I sniffed to clear my sinus and nodded while I mentally pledged to send some kind of gift to the only other person in this galaxy who knew what I was feeling.

That done, I wiped the tears from my face and stood up, already picking back up the control of my emotions and forcing them to the back of my mind. Now it was time to be professional. Revenge would come soon; later, but soon. I opened the cube to find a beautiful white shimmersilk gown with a halterneck top that left my back completely bare and fell down to just cover my breasts, then flowed down my sides to encompass my waist. On the right side the hem fell to my ankle, but it sharply rose and was quite daring coming just up over my left knee before looping back down.

Lana knew my tastes well, it was beautiful.

I hung up the dress and stripped out of the armor before I got into the shower. I had to admit, even for working class, the shower was nice. Eight different shower heads, at two different levels and the heat made it wonderfully relaxing. I was able to get the left over carbonite slime out of my hair and came out feeling like I'd scrubbed a layer of skin off.

I put my dirty leathers into the cube, which didn't compact it as much as it had the silk, but it did make it so they would fit into the bag. Koth offered to let Lana go next and she took him up on it, leaving us in a rather awkward kind of silence that I spent rummaging through the bags for something to eat, settling on a ration bar. It must have seemed strange, in that dress and fastening the wedge heels Lana had brought to go with it while I munched a survival ration bar, but my life had taken stranger turns.

Poor Koth was obviously uncomfortable being alone with me, but that wasn't anything I could help so I settled my hair into a completely different style than my normal one in case there were 'wanted' posters out for the 'Outlander'. Satisfied with that, I put on a little make up that would be appropriate for that dress.

“Uh, my lord?”

I turned, to see him standing a respectful distance and with an awkward, hang dog kind of stance. If he'd had a hat, it would probably be in his hands. “Yes, Koth?” I asked, leaving the cosmetics in a organized, but open manner for Lana. “What is it?”

“I...well, I wanted to, um, well, to apologize.” He winced as if he wasn't satisfied with the words his thoughts had taken to try and express himself.

“For what?” I asked in what I thought was a fairly even tone, but I have noted that those who are not used to dealing with Sith Lords, tend to walk on eggshells around us for a bit. Among Imperial troops, there was a certain amount of hazing that went on with new transfers to a unit, trying to get the new guys terrified of the terrible Dark Lord. “I don't hold honest mistakes against people, Koth, I save my anger for treason and willful incompetence.”

His eyes widened a bit and I saw his fear began to gnaw on him. “Yeah...heh...I, uh, I guess you think I'm a traitor...?”

After a moment of consideration, I gave a little half shrug. “It would depend, I suppose, on what oaths you swore in the Zakuul military.” With a sigh, I looked him in the eye to give my words the weight they would need. “I swore an oath to defend and advance the Sith Empire. When I was about your age, it became obvious to me that to fulfill my oath, the Emperor I served, who had abandoned us, had never had the advancement of our Empire as his focus. For me to defend and advance the Sith Empire, I had to side with Darth Malgus, against my Emperor, who you call Valkorion. He would say I was a traitor, I say I was fulfilling my oath.”

“I...I didn't know that,” he said softly. “They didn't go into very much detail about your past in school.”

I nodded. “If you believe you are helping your people by siding with me against Valkorion and his son, then no, I don't consider you a traitor. If you are doing this merely for your own gain? Then yes, we probably should part company.”

He stood up a bit straighter and squared his shoulders. “I'm here because what we did was wrong,” he declared with conviction for the first time in the conversation. “We had no business attacking your Empire or the Republic! If helping you puts a stop to that, it's something I have to do!”

I gave him a little smirk and patted him on the shoulder. “Apology accepted.”

***

Having gotten Koth sorted, Lana picked that moment to emerge from the shower, her hair wet, but wearing a smart looking tunic and pants suit in her preferred green and black that set off her blonde hair and the scarf around her neck and shoulders was a nice touch. She blinked and asked, “Did I just walk into something?”

I shook my head and gave Koth a little shove at the shower and he took the hint to make himself scarce. “You're fine,” I assured her.

“Good,” she affirmed, heading over to the bar to put her own things in the bag and make use of the cosmetics she'd brought to appear sufficiently 'trendy' for the disguise. “I've never seen your hair like that,” she told me through the mirror. “It looks good down.”

I gave a little shrug as I looked out the sliding glass door over the swamp. The vehicles had increased and the activity looked angrier. “In my line of work, up is usually safer,” I told her absently with a gesture out the door. “Looks like they found the wreck.”

She came over and looked then shared a look with me before she went over to the shower. “Step it up, Koth, we probably should leave quickly.”

“Hey, you two got to take your time!” he protested over the sound of running water.

“Just be quick,” she ordered. She dug into one of the bags and produced a pair of bracelets. “Here, try these,” she said as she offered them.

“Not really my style,” I told her as I took one to look at. It was terribly gauche looking, with swirling overlays in what looked like stainless steel. It would cover my entire forearm and had a pair of odd, U shaped extensions that stood out from the main body of the bracelet, or vambrace, I'm not sure what the more accurate term would be. It certainly fit with this society of conspicuous, public displays of consumption. Don't get me wrong, there are certainly times and places to look your best, even show off a bit, but this place was so over the top it was practically without shame.

She grinned mischievously. “I think you'll like the accessories.” She took one of my light sabers and clipped it into the U shapes, then put the whole thing on my arm. The silver of the bracelet neatly hid the light saber in plain sight as I could never wear my utility belt with this dress.

“Brilliant!” I complimented her and added the other to my left arm to complete the set. She returned the cosmetics to the bag and began tidying up in preparation for our departure. “Lana, what...what is the status of my family?”

I saw her shoulders tense, then she began to pack a bit more urgently. “They...They're fine,” she lied, badly. I think she felt my stare at her back as her shoulders drooped and she turned to face me.

“Tell me the truth,” I ordered her softly.

She took in a breath and nodded. “Torm, your hus...sorry. He...your absence hit him very hard.” she said quietly. “He, he wasn't satisfied with the pace of things and as the years stretched out, he got...reckless. He had to track down every rumor and whisper of you.” She looked up at me, her yellow eyes a touch fearful and concerned. “We all needed you, my lord, but, for Torm, it became a crusade.”

“Where is he?” I asked quietly.

“We...we lost contact...” she mumbled, wincing as she said it. “T...two years ago. Some scientist claiming to have knowledge about how you might be kept, claiming to have multiple instances of backwards engineering the Eternal Empire's technology; ravings really. Torm, well, nothing was too far fetched as far as he was concerned. He made arrangements for the children and headed out. The last we heard he was on Nar Shaddaa.” I closed my eyes to focus all of my energy inward to keep my temper on a firm leash.

After a long moment, I asked, “Where are my children?”

She brightened immediately. “Lieutenant Kale received a field commission from Captain Barsal. He is probably one of the best slicers and ECM men in our little Alliance! He's getting nothing but glowing reviews from the Captain and he's serving on the Warspite.”

The tightness in my chest lifted a bit. “Why didn't he go with his father?”

Lana's eyes met mine. “Torm wouldn't allow it,” she assured me. And that's when Captain Barsal stepped in. He arranged for an academy of the refugees we'd been picking up; a number of them from the Courageous,wanted to enlist. As for Bree, well Darth Mur wanted to give Bree her Lordship, but she insisted she wanted it from you. She means to win your approval.”

“She already had it,” I replied softly. “Where is she?”

Lana's eyes went wide. “She...you didn't...? My lord, she's here.”

A knife of solid ice stabbed my heart as I realized the young woman I had seen with Lana, who had charged off alone, to who knew where... I turned and began to walk to the door, but Lana interposed herself. “No, my lord! I promise you, Bree can take care of herself! I would not have allowed her to come on this mission if she couldn't!” My emotions, shame mostly of not recognizing my own daughter, flared like napalm as I rounded on Lana.

“You brought my daughter into this...!” I shouted, but from somewhere Lana Beniko found the immovable resolve of a mountain.

“My lord, I brought a qualified Sith Warrior, who has faced and completed her trials, with the blessing of her Mistress...”

“I AM her mistress!” I thundered.

“You stopped being her mistress when you left her in the care of Darth Mur and were captured by the enemy!” she shouted back. “Those are our traditions, you know that, my lord! Taybri Fens is an accredited Sith Warrior and she would have come if I needed her or not! At least this way I had hoped to keep her recklessness in check!”

The anger and the rage bellowed up in me and I knew I had to vent it, else I would lash out against my rescuers, so I spun and screamed, letting the Force whip the anger out of me at the glass doors which exploded into a million rainbows as it flew off the spire. Panting, sated for the moment, I turned to Lana, who was even more pale. I gave her a little smile of apology and said, “I think I may have cost you the security deposit.”

“Worth every credit, my lord,” she assured me. “She is very much your daughter. Good and bad, but I know she will be on the liner!”

“Why?”

Lana smiled at me. “Because I know you would be, in her shoes.”

I sighed and gave in to her knowing smirk. Still, I had to know if she was soft pedaling an act of insubordination and asked, “Did you forbid her from coming on this mission?”

Lana shook her head. “No, because I knew if I did she would just stow away. But I trust her, my lord.”

I nodded, lest my control of my emotions slip and my 'face' be shown in front of the men. Raising my voice, I ordered flatly, “Koth, we're leaving. Now.”

“Uh...yes, my lord!” his voice from the showers affirmed as it shut off. Then I heard him frantically dressing.

Lana smirked and laid a hand on my shoulder. “You always were an excellent motivational speaker, Nyeomi.”

***

Despite my admittedly mixed feelings, I did give Koth the time he needed to actually be presentable. After all, our disguises were worthless if we didn't blend in. If his hair was a little damp, well, we could chalk it up to the humidity. Weapons carefully hidden, we left the apartment and made our way back to the lift. From there it was ten minutes of awkward silence until we reached the top of that lift on this little border area between the few working class, and the hoi polloi, mixed with the idle well to do that we were dressed to blend in with.

It was actually a little hard to emulate the bored, listless carriage and walking speed of them. As a Darth and a member of the armed forces most of my life, in one galaxy or another, I tended to walk with purpose. Even on vacation, I had never been aimless and to putter around in their not quite drunk, ambling manner as if I had no place to go or be was maddening.

It actually took some work to not start shoving them out of my way.

On the plus side, this lethargic style of theirs meant no one really looked into our faces, nor got close enough to make out the Sith eyes Lana and I both had. Still, I'd had my share of dull, attendance is required 'parties' I'd had to attend as a Countess to know how to fix my face into what I called my 'Official Issue' smile and pretend to be having the time of my life. As we walked, I kept close enough to Koth and Lana to discreetly carry on a conversation. “So, bring me up to speed on what's been happening in the galaxy,” I ordered quietly.

I could see Lana had learned the same tricks I had in her time in the Diplomatic service and you'd never know her smile wasn't genuine. “Arcann rules the galaxy with an iron glove over Vaylin's stone fist,” she informed me sotto voce. “Few will dare oppose him after the war of retaliation he launched when you killed Emperor Valkorion. Five years of pointless destruction for its own sake and an additional five years of back breaking tribute wrenched from the Empire and the Republic. We, the Alliance you created, are the only ones who will oppose him, and even that is done as discreetly as possible.”

“Tribute?” I asked through the vapid smile on my face.

“What you'd expect,” Lana replied. “Valuables, precious metals, objects of art as well as enough raw materials to build a fleet of ships. Then, they got creative. Darth Vowrawn has to come once a year to the throne room and crawl to the throne, castigating himself and the Empire for the mercy of Zakuul. For the Republic it's been a series of different professional ass kissers. I don't know who has to this year.”

My eyes drifted over to Koth. “Lovely people...” I drawled.

“Don't look at me,” he protested. “I did say we were better than this!”

“Once word got out that you were going to fight, regardless of what the Empire was going to do, and of course your spectacular assassination of Valkorion, we began to get offers from sources in the Republic. Therran Shan contacted me,” she intimated, giving me a significant look.

“Did you two finally get a room?” I asked her in jest, but her return look was still annoyed.

“Hardly,” she declared, with disdain dripping from her voice. “However, he has been extremely forthcoming with men and supplies from all over the galaxy. Coming up with protocols to integrate two very different fighting styles and equipment has been a challenge, but we're managing. Freeing you has been our greatest victory so far.”

“Don't start celebrating yet,” I cautioned her, with a nod towards a massive, three story tall hologram of Arcann.

“Citizens of Zakuul,” the hologram's voice boomed out over the plaza. “Terrorists have succeeded in freeing our greatest enemy.” Arcann vanished to be replaced with a picture of me, still beaten and bloodied from my capture. “The Outlander, or terrorists that support her, may be among you now. Extreme caution is advised from this dangerous criminal. Do not interact with them if you see them. Report any suspicious activity to the High Justice immediately.”

“Does this change our plans?” I asked quietly as we walked, but Lana shook her head.

“You don't look anything like that,” she assured me. “Still, it might be advantageous to wait on the liner. This way,” she declared, altering her path towards what looked like a train station.

We arrived at Platform Six of the Twin Rail system that moved people across two axis, laterally out to the other spires and vertically, up higher into this spire. The 'rail' was actually a tube, probably kept in vacuum to make the car's speed as fast and efficient as possible, likely with magnetic 'rails' embedded in the tube for movement. We bought our tickets separately so we wouldn't be marked as a group and were diligently loaded onto the next car that came along.

The car itself was in ten decks, sharing a communal spiral staircase down the core. Each deck was further divided into the private compartments, bathrooms, a lounge and just general seating. The track was laid on the side of the spire so the view was spectacular, as we rode up the side of what amounted to a space elevator; a building so tall it left the atmosphere and stopped out in outer space. Even at these speeds, it would take the better part of a day to climb up to the platform.

I spent the time in the smallest of the private compartments Lana had insisted I take. This kept me out of sight while they could discreetly keep tabs on things. While I did so, I fished out a holocomm from the bag and tried to call Torm. Unfortunately, the account number I had for him now belonged to a kindly old lady in a retirement home on Garel in the Lothal Sector who mistook me for her daughter who doesn't call her enough. We had a nice conversation about the gossip around the home and the flowers she had planted out front with several pointed requests for when I would get around to giving her grand children.

I'm sure her real daughter would dismiss the confusing next conversation she would have with her mother about 'their' last conversation as dementia.

My searches throughout the Net for any trace of my husband did yield some fruit. I learned he had become an outspoken critic of the Eternal Empire and what he had called the Rape of Ruuria which seemed to have stuck as a name. The attempts of the Zakuul authorities to shut him down or censor his posts had only underscored the truth of the Streisand Effect and had made re-posting of Torm's videos a relatively safe act of rebellion. This also made finding anything current about him like trying to find a specific grain of sand on a beach.

The news reports suggested that Arcann wanted me back in carbonite very badly, which perhaps I could use as leverage against him. If he was this worried about me, perhaps I could fan that fire into full on terror. Terrified people make all manner of mistakes that can be exploited. Either way, once I was somewhere he couldn't lay hands on me, becoming a celebrity by updating my Wisdom of the New Sith holo-channel would be a primary mission for my psych-ops team.

Lana's bag also had a tablet that had pictures, so I looked at my children, growing up without me, in little videos and snapshots weeks and months apart with no context. I saw Bree become that lovely young woman I could only just remember from my fuzzy brain trying to work again, free of the carbonite. I saw Kale become a tall, handsome young man, half his father's commanding presence and Alpha Male confidence, half the thoughtful, intelligence I had given him.

So I looked at the pictures and I was glad I had the compartment to myself so I could weep.

***

3617 BBY
The Alderaan Princess, Zakuul System, The Eternal Empire

I'm not sure what I was expecting as far as how our escape was going. Something between a stop of all outbound traffic or a line of Skytroopers blocking the gangway, but surprisingly things were quite normal as we boarded the Alderaan Princess. I'll admit I was humming a certain Jack Jones song as the papers Lana had provided me with which labeled me Sutti Jin, a marketing executive with Czerka Arms from Naboo of all places, were checked and authenticated. It didn't surprise me that my assumed corporate affiliate would be Czerka, the company was quite friendly with the Empire and a number of passport blanks and travel Ids that were exact matches of those used by Czerka would mysteriously arrive at the Dromund Kaas headquarters of both Sith Intelligence and the Diplomatic Service when needed.

While there was, evidently, quite a bit of attention being paid to the smaller space ports by the authorities, they seemed to have assumed we would never just book passage on a liner to make our get away. The fake documents breezed through the inspection and I was welcomed aboard. A porter took my bag and showed me to the lovely little suite that was mine. It was certainly quite nice with a little cooling unit that was well stocked with little bottles of adult beverages, a table and chairs for private dining and a bed that had me missing my husband. There was a private bath, or head, as we say aboard, with a positively decadent tub and floor to ceiling windows for the far wall. Next door, with a convenient adjoining door was Lana, or VP of Outer Rim Expansion Maayi Ren-Var as her documents labeled her, was being installed and poor Koth was across the hall from me in the smallest, inner cabin.

The porter set my bag on the bed for me, tipped his cap and left a quarter century credit richer for his trouble. It never hurts to be a generous tipper, after all, word will spread and you'll be taken care of as well as the staff 'forgetting' things that investigator types might ask about to protect the new gravy train.

Outside, through massive transparisteel windows, was a stunning view of Zakuul. We were well and truly above the Kármán line, in actual outer space and the planet was breathtaking. Even as an Ecumenopolis the sky was still blue and there were many puffy, white clouds and rising up through them, like mountains were dozes of spires, stretching up into space. It was as monumental an engineering achievement as I had ever seen, to put the Colossus of Rhodes or the Pyramids to shame.

The sky beyond was positively over crowded with stars and the sky was completely unfamiliar to me as I stared, trying to get my bearings for some clue as to where I was. Then, beyond the curve of the planet rose a red, baleful moon obscuring the odd star field and the blue white gas cloud of some kind of nebula or stellar remnant I didn't recognize.

A brief knock heralded the arrival of Lana through the adjacent door who joined me at the window. “It really is a magnificent view, isn't it?” she asked and I nodded.

“I'm just trying to get my bearings, I don't recognize any of these stars,” I told her.

She touched the window, proving it to have a smart glass element and chose a region to zoom in on. “Those aren't stars,” she told me as the viewfinder leapt up and I had to gasp in surprise. What I had taken as stars were, in fact, a massive fleet, hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions of cruisers, all of the same, vaguely hammer headed design. Now, I understood why she was so hopeless of breaking the blockade; a fleet that was so vast it could be taken as a star field.

“How does he pay for all of this?” I demanded. “Where does he get the crews?”

Lana gave me a glance and shook her head. “No crews. As near as we have been able to find out, everyone of those ships are robot piloted and completely unmanned. We have no idea how, but we are pouring everything we have into finding it out. If we can subvert the Eternal Fleet, we can crush Zakuul with their own weapon.”

“And how is that working out?” I asked and she arched an eyebrow.

“Well, it got us in to get you out,” she offered and I had to concede the point. “But, I come with good news. I just got the code signal. Bree is aboard and waiting in the first class lounge, as ordered.”

“Which way?” I demanded.

Lana sighed and gave a calming gesture with a little sigh. “An emotional reunion for someone who is supposed to be a marketing executive on a business trip will likely get us the wrong kind of notice,” she declared, and of course, she was right. I nodded and she reached up to squeeze my shoulder in encouragement. “I'll go and get her, you try to relax. I'll be back shortly.”

A little tremor ran through the deck, most wouldn't have noticed it, but we were both sufficiently spacers to know the Alderaan Princess was underway. Lana left and I decided to take her advice to try and relax. I rummaged through the little cooling unit and to my immense surprise and delight found a bottle of Bantha Piss that I quickly opened and savored the first sip. I sat down on the bed, with my legs crossed with the bottle and stared out the window, letting my mind wander back ten years to being astonished to be a woman, a Sith Lord and being pursued romantically by a man.

I took a long sip and let the beer wash around my mouth and remembered happier days.

I tried to spread out my awareness to see if I could sense Torm, but between the beer and the strain of using my Force Trick to carry me this far, I was relaxed enough, safe enough that it was time to pay the piper. I remember finishing the beer and setting the bottle on the night stand by the bed, then my eye lids just became too heavy to keep open.

***

Through The Eyes of a Sith Part 3

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Through The Eyes of A Sith
Part Three
by
E. E. Nalley

How do I describe a Force dream?

How do you convey the feeling of being completely, lucidly awake and yet also know you are dreaming? There are those, I'm sure who have had lucid dreams, to go through a morning routine and be halfway to work before the alarm clock they hit 'snooze' on goes off again and they realize they dreamed their shower, breakfast and commute. Force dreams have that sharp, bang your hand on the table realism, but they are never about your routine. They are always novel, even when I've had a vision of the past it was different than how I remembered it happening. Almost like the pulling back of the curtain and getting to see a bit of the road you didn't take.

So they are horrifyingly real, except, they are also obviously not; so much so it makes you aware you are dreaming. When you have a Force vision, you know it, almost instantly, you both have agency to change it and yet also are completely helpless and a voyeur unable to turn away. I once spent a nightmarish month as Nyeomi come to planet Earth and waking up in horror to be fat, male and middle aged.

I have never been so thankful to wake from a dream!

It is disturbing, that surreal passage of days and weeks mixed with the rock hard certainty of it taking place. There are days I wish I just got badly spliced and color keyed tunnels of light and tight close ups of people crying. Luke saw himself as Darth Vader because he didn't understand the Bogan, nor the true nature of the Force. No Jedi, in fact, understands the nature of the Force, so Yoda could not answer Luke's questions. That ignorance, coupled with his teacher's inability to explain it to him frightened him and in his fear, he saw himself lost and turned into his father.

You can never come to the Force with fear.

Fear robs you of reason and rationality, it folds and contorts on itself, warping reality and your perception of it and worse, it amplifies that fear. Fear is the mind killer. To touch the Force with fear was to throw wide the Gates of Hell and unleash the very worst of the psyche to indulge itself. The monsters of the Id are unchained and no one is safe. I had collapsed on the bed, spent and weary of the torture I had endured and into darkness, the Force brought me back ten years in time to the throne room of the Eternal Empire. Once more` I saw Darth Marr die as I stood by and did nothing. My heart was filled with shame as his shade rose from his charred and blackened corpse, as horrific as Anakin after the fire, his finger pointing with all the judgment of victim to murderer, directly at me.

I felt the horror and the terrible fear that I could not, indeed would never amount to more than a pale shadow of his glory, that I had doomed our resistance to Valkorion before it was even properly underway. The terror gripped at my heart and the Bogan whipped it into a fury as I heard Darth Vitiate's laughter as my chest was on fire. I looked to see, to feel the light saber that had melted my heart and set my lungs on fire.

I screamed and felt, felt that horrible heat in my body as I was cooked from the inside out.

As I lurched and writhed in pain that seemed it would never cease, suddenly Darth Marr's mask was before me, his strong, massive hands gripping my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the face. “Fight, Nyeomi!” he shouted at me. “You can win! Fight!”

***

I jerked awake, the sheets soaked with sweat, my thoughts as scattered and broken as a stained glass window just after a rock is thrown through it. The room was lit by the blue white chaos of hyperspace making crazy patterns and swirls on the walls like light reflecting off a pool. My heart was pounding in my chest, making me reach up to assure myself I did not have a two and a half centimeter hole in it.

“Mom?”

The voice was lower than I remembered, very similar to my own earthy contralto, but just a note or two higher. My eyes were immediately brought to the little table by the window where Bree was sitting, her eyes, the same golden yellow of the Bogan mine were. Her face had filled out from the round, smiling visage of the little girl I had helped make her first light saber and now was a subtle mix of my own oval with full lips, and her father's high, prominent cheek bones and his cleft chin. She was so tall and regal and beautiful!

I scrambled out of the bed as fast as I could and pulled her into my arms.

It was more than a little awkward as she was my height now and had, I discovered, inherited my generous bust line, but none of that mattered. My daughter was in my arms where she belonged again. “Mommy I've missed you!” she cried into my shoulder and that set my eyes to tears and for a long time I just held her as we cried together.

I became aware I was babbling, “I'm sorry!” over and over again, so I forced myself to stop and just revel in the moment. After an entirely too short eternity, she stepped back reluctantly and sniffed to clear her sinuses, which set both of us to laughing. I took her face in my hands and tried not to start crying again. “My beautiful daughter!” I exclaimed, making her smile and her dusky skin darkened a bit.

“Look at you!” she declared. “You...you're just like I remember.”

“You're grown,” I replied, melancholy and sad.

She fetched some tissue she shared with me and we dried our eyes. “Twenty one,” she told me as we made use of the tissues. “Lana didn't want to let me come, but...”

“No, that doesn't matter,” I told her. “First things first. Kneel.” She sank down to one knee, looked up at me as I laid my hand on her forehead. “Taybri Fens, for dedication, by example through skill and aptitude, I bestow upon you the rank of Lord of the Sith.” I saw her eyes fill with tears again, so I reached down and took her shoulders. “Rise, my apprentice, my Lord.”

“Th...thank you, Mistress,” she whispered, and we hugged again. Parting, she had that crooked smile on her face that I remembered from her childhood as the normal expression on the face of my little girl. “Commander Beniko told you I wouldn't let Aunt...er, Darth Mur award me?”

“She did,” I admitted. “Not that I needed to hear it from her. You have always made me proud, Bree.” I wagged a finger at her. “Though I am more than a little concerned about this reckless streak of yours...”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, mom! I haven't done anything you wouldn't have!”

“As our current situation should underscore,” I told her sternly, “I can and do make mistakes! This last one was the worst in my life!”

She rounded on me, quick to take up my defense, even against myself. “You did what needed to be done, mom! You were right to try and rescue Prince Marr and that brought us the Courageous! That ship saved...”

“Mom?” I demanded with playful sternness. She suppressed a giggle and gave a very mocking bow.

“Forgive me, my master!”

We shared a laugh and then were up the rest of the ship's night and well into the next day, catching up, reminiscing and bonding as mothers and daughters, after too long a separation, do. But, those are the kinds of things that are particularly private, so I think I'll skip ahead just a bit.

***

3617 BBY
The Alderaan Princess, Keskin System, The Outer Rim Territories

The Alderaan Princess emerged from hyperspace and the Eternal Empire in the Keskin System. No, I hadn't heard of it either. It gives you an idea of exactly how far out into the Unknown Reaches Zakuul was that the system closest to civilization from it was this little nowhere planet, on the tail end of an unused trade route, such that Hoth and Bespin are the closest well known planets. You know, those two scenic places picked by the Rebel Alliance for their secret base...because they were so remote?

Keskin, who's entry in most tour guides and navigation databases only list it as a star system, and the trade route it's on, had suddenly become relevant because it was the gateway to the Eternal Empire. There was a nice little third world shithole city that had sprung up on the planet, mostly made of garbage and prefabricated everything. However, most of what went on took place in the space stations in orbit. Yes, stations, plural; one for the Galactic Republic and one for the New Sith Empire, they were both required to take this long way around to get to Zakuul so as to pay homage to their lord and Master Arcann.

The Alderaan Princess docked with the Republic station, named Thon Station after the ancient and mysterious Jedi master who stated his home world was deep in the Unknown Reaches, as she held Republic registry. Though the Princess did offer a shuttle service to Exar Kun Station, likely named in a bit of tit for tat digging by the Empire naming their station after Master Thon's enemy. You might have assumed we would take that shuttle, but we didn't, for several reasons. First, our documents had us as Republic citizens, but, more importantly, it was known that the 'Outlander' had been a Sith Lord so if the Zakuul forces were watching for me, it was hoped their focus would be there.

I had, reluctantly, swapped out that lovely silk dress for a more casual look of black leggings under a red tunic dress I wore with my utility belt while keeping my sabers on the bracelets and a pair of sandals that would have been at home on a mountain trail. Really, the tread and grip of them were remarkable! While not as dressy, if I had to fight in this outfit, I could, without fear of flashing everyone watching. So, Sutti Jin disembarked on Thon Station, followed by her executive assistant, a twenty-something BeAnn Sundar from Tattooine along with VP of Outer Rim Expansion Maayi Ren-Var and her body guard Koffi Tan.

We got through customs with a minimum of fuss, largely because 'Koffi' had all the permits for his blaster pistol and weapons scanners have a lot of trouble picking up light sabers. Why? I hear you ask. Well, it's simple. There might be ten thousand Jedi, give or take a dozen right now, with an approximately equal number of Sith. Now, even if the Eternal Empire's Knights of Zakuul had the same numbers, that's around thirty thousand people who use a supremely unique weapon in a Galaxy. While that sounds like a great number, consider,there are more planets than there are Force users of these three orders. Most people in this galaxy would never see one, Jedi, Sith or Knight, in their entire lives.

Put another way, most security wouldn't think twice about an older man leaning heavily on a cane, not realizing the other uses that steel cane would make a truly excellent use of. In fact, more than a century ago on Earth there was an entire martial art built around walking sticks and canes; did you know that? More to the point there are dedicated groups of slicers employed by the Jedi and Sith whose sole job is to crack the firmware of every scanner on the market so that when it 'sees' a light saber, it marks it as something innocuous. 'Industrial Tool' is a common favorite. Between that and most people living their entire lives never seeing a light saber, most of the guards didn't even know to look for one.

We didn't head directly anywhere, just in case we were being followed, so we meandered through the concourse of the star port, looking at overpriced junk in the shops before we stopped at a food stall and has something that was a mix between a falafel and a taco, with odd looking vegetables and a meat. I'm not sure what kind of meat, I'd long since learned not to ask about things like that in this galaxy if I wanted to enjoy a meal. It was meat and it was delicious and that's all I needed to know.

No one seemed to be inordinately interested in us, more than healthy males taking note of three attractive, athletic women. I noted that Bree chose to sit between Koth and myself and her body language seemed to me to be expressing more than casual interest in the young man, which I filed away for follow up later. I was about to suggest that we make our way to whatever Lana had planned, when we all felt it.

People strong with the Force cast ripples, if you will, throughout it; like a stone dropped into a lake. The stronger one is with the Force, the more powerful the ripples. Torm said, from years of being near me, that he could tell when I entered the room because he felt a thrill, like being young and excited again. This, however, was like walking into a graveyard at midnight. It was the opposite of everything warm and inviting, with just a hint of...it's hard to describe the 'flavor' of someone who is both strong in the Force and also mentally damaged. A number of Sith became damaged because they concentrated so much on anger, but I'd never felt someone who was...broken...before they learned how to touch the Force. This wasn't malevolence, it was apathy, a complete disregard of anyone or anything else. Like a child on a playground, holding all the toys and screaming “Mine!” This was that creeping sensation of someone who looked human, but very much was not; a monster in human guise.

In a word, evil.

Koth had noticed us and asked, “What?” Just then, the station's PA system clicked on and a voice I remembered well came over the speakers. It was a raspy, nasal voice, with the same odd intonation that I was coming to associate with Zakuul, but like nails on a chalkboard, or teeth scraped over a metal fork. It was the voice I remembered, half conscious and being drug from my killing of Vitiate, that was so outraged.

“Subjects of Zakuul, this is High Justice Vaylin. The terrorist known as 'The Outlander' may be among you. Everyone on the station is to report to the central concourse to have your IDs checked. If you see The Outlander, report it at once!”

“How well will your documents hold up?” I whispered to Lana, who shook her head.

“That isn't the problem, my lord,” she assured me. “The documents are fine, but they will likely be using facial recognition.”

“Vaylin isn't easily fooled,” Koth added. He pulled out his tablet and made some adjustments. “Worse, looks like Vaylin brought a good chunk of the Eternal Fleet with her,” he said, holding it so we could see. I'm not sure how many ships she had, but thousands would be a good rough guess.

At least.

Then, the last thing I expected happened. The fleet opened fire on Exar Kun Station and within seconds it was a ball of rapidly cooling plasma and expanding gas and debris. She had ordered the entire station destroyed on the off chance I'd gone there. I turned to Lana and whispered urgently, “We have to get out of here, now! Where are your people?”

We stood from our half eaten lunch as her already alabaster skin paled. “This way,” she declared. We blended into the crowd making it's fearful way to the main concourse, but the stench of fear was everywhere. It would not take much at all to turn this mob into a panicked riot. We worked our way to the 'outside' edge of the flood of people, towards the outermost edge of the station, where the individual docking ports were for small ships.

It was here, we began to move against the flow of the crowd and so, we stood out. “Hey! You four! Halt!” The shout was actually in front of us, so we couldn't play that we hadn't heard. There were already Zakuul soldiers on the station and fanning out to herd us to their choke point. Ahead of us was one of the humans in the armor with four Skytroopers at his back. His lightsaber was in his hand and he ignited it.

Like all of the other Knights of Zakuul I'd seen, it was blue and I wondered for a moment about that before I hissed, “No one do anything before me.” I led the group to him, stopped just at the edge of conversational distance. “We need to get our documents from our ship,” I lied and he held up his empty hand.

“Then I'll accompany you...” he started and began to reach for his commlink. I snatched my saber off the bracelet and snapped it on. I have to give him credit for how quickly he dodged, but I was still able to hit the radio, destroying it.

Next to me, Lana and Bree both acted fractions of a second faster than Koth, who I must admit, has excellent reflexes. Lana's strike severed the head of one Skytrooper, while Bree bifurcated one and decapitated the other on her backstroke while Koth's blaster walked three holes up the troopers armor in a Mozambique Drill center mass, neck, forehead. “You!” the Knight shouted as he got back on his feet's center of balance. His saber came up into a double handed Ko Gasumi guard that brought me back to my Kendo days. “For Zakuul!” he shouted.

I settled into my Ataru ready stance, left arm out and the saber pointing at him at shoulder height. My right saber parallel to it, over my head. “You don't have to...” I started, but he was already moving, coming at my left side, angling to get around to my back. I whirled, clockwise away from him, drawing his strike that my right hand saber came down on, forcing it out of line. My left saber entered his body, just under his right armpit, slowed slightly by skipping off the armor that resisted it.

Not that it mattered.

Bree's left blade had taken his left leg from the knee down, right below where the armor stopped so the knee joint could bend. As he fell, she spun, rolling her right saber over the back of her hand to seize it in a reverse grip. She swung at the opening in his helmet, which was a type that showed his face called a Barbuta. The blade tip struck exactly where the T shaped opening was wide enough and sank about five centimeters into his forehead. The precision of her strikes was fluid, masterful. He was dead before he hit the floor. It had all happened in perhaps three seconds. She stood up to face me, her blades snapping off with a hiss. “Forgive me, mistress, their armor is resistant to light sabers, and they never surrender.”

I stood up, extinguishing my own sabers. “You've fought them before, apprentice?”

She looked down, her face hard and her anger welled up a bit. “I delight in killing them, Mistress.” Her eyes came back up and they were full of hate that was slowly fading as she looked at me. “For taking you away from me.”

I looked at the dead knight for a moment, hearing Lana's voice, but not really able to make out what she was saying. I had fought many Jedi in my life, and more than my share of other Sith. Some of them could be reasoned with, nearly all would engage in what we Sith called Dun Möch or the Way of Domination in which we taunted our opponents into making mistakes, battling against their will to fight. I'd never encountered a Force User who would so blindly attack with neither defiance or call to surrender.

I'd never fought a Force User who was a zealot before, and it meant that our war had just become orders of magnitude harder.

Lana's hand on my arm pulled me from my thoughts as she forced me to turn and face her. “My Lord, we must flee!” she shouted, finally breaking through my mental fog. I nodded and we took off at a trot around the outside perimeter of the station, finally coming to a halt at a Defender-class Light Corvette that was painted red in broad stripes over the gray metal, meaning that it was an ambassadorial craft, in service to the Jedi Order.

The Defender-class was a horizontal hammerhead style of ship, popular in this era, with a flat, somewhat boxy body that went down the lateral axis to a pair of large, round engines at the rear. It was a contract ship, built by Corellia's Rendili Vehicle Corporation, for both the Republic Diplomatic Service and the Jedi Order. It's armament was nothing special, a pair of dual laser cannons mounted on either end of the hammer head that only rotated on one axis that were remotely controlled from the bridge.

Which meant they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn from the inside.

They did have excellent shields for the power plant making them a very good choice as a get away vehicle. I wondered briefly how Lana had stolen one. After a few seconds of frantically pushing buttons on the console by the airlock, it cycled open, revealing the airlock of the ship, but there was no one in it waiting for us. We quickly got inside and cycled the door shut, then opened the inner door.

I'm not sure why the Republic loves odd design choices with stairs, but this ship was a prime example of their love affair with them. This was, as I'd mentioned, just a catwalk, around a central stairwell that went down and forward to where the boarding ramp was that lowered in the nose of the ship. To the rear was a pair of stairwells, one going down to the engine room and cargo hold, the other going up to the galley and main lounge. Forward were more stairs, going up slightly to the captain's cabin, port, a conference room starboard and the bridge. We hurried to the bridge and still there was no one on board. “Where are your people?” I asked as I began the pre-flight checks to bring the ship up.

“If they followed orders they left the station six hours ago,” she informed me from her own work on the pre-flight from the co-pilot's chair. “If they didn't, there's nothing more I can do for them, you're too important.”

My hand hesitated over the button that would unlock us from the station. “They're going to open fire on us as soon as we unhook,” I warned, but Lana only grinned at me.

“No, they won't,” she assured me, then brought the comlink on her left bracer up to her lips. “Starfall,” she commanded it. The ship lurched as the station uncoupled from us and the last bit of air in the airlock shoved us away as it rushed out into the vacuum of space. Out the window, I saw every other ship I could see also expelled and every escape pod on the station launched. “Punch it!” she commanded me.

Our deflectors snapped on as I fire walled the throttles and the little corvette responded spiritedly. I ducked under the broad, mushroom dome of the station to put it between us and Eternal fleet which was already beginning to shoot the escape pods and suddenly drifting starships. This caused the star ships to begin to flee in a panic, further confusing things nicely. I ran the corvette down the isolation spire to the station's power plant hanging nearly half a kilometer below the main body of it. This gave the Navicomputer time to plot the jump to hyperspace.

We had only just started drawing fire when the stars rushed at me and we were safe once more in hyperspace.

***

3617 BBY
Hyperspace, aboard The Messenger, Gendius sector, on the Cerean Reach Trade Route

After five hyperspace jumps in random directions, Lana had finally given me a heading that would bring us to the fleet. Our choice of destinations had been something of a debate, that had Lana and I dismiss my apprentice and her 'best pilot in the galaxy' to busy themselves somewhere else while the Brass had a disagreement out of sight of the men. Lana had been dead set to get us back to the little fleet I had summoned ten years ago and she'd held together and added to over the years. Getting me safe to serve as some kind of symbol and to begin the planning of the strategy of toppling the Eternal Empire was her only concern.

I had wanted to go to Nar Shaddaa as that was the last known location of Torm and, frankly I wanted my husband back, but she managed to convince me that I was being selfish. I was in command now, and I had people for that sort of thing. Trouble was, I was used to being Darth Marr's 'people for that sort of thing' and I knew that if you wanted something done right, you do it yourself. I finally relented and begrudgingly programmed the navicomputer for her rendezvous. I didn't like it, but then I didn't have to.

So I sat, pouting frankly, in the pilot's place, watching the tunnel of hyperspace go by and wondered what I would do next. Vitiate was dead and that was a very satisfying thought, but now I needed to find a way for his children to follow him into the hereafter. Arcann had basically put the entire Galaxy to the sword with five years of rape, rapine and pillage while his psychopathic sister destroyed a space station killing God only knew how many people just on the off chance I'd gone there.

As they say down in Texas, 'They need killing.'

As we hurtled through hyperspace, Lana had sensed my sour mood and withdrawn, to the galley based on the smell of coffee brewing, to let me sulk. I had to admit, I had absolutely no idea of what to do or how to proceed. I worked best as a soldier, give me an objective or a target and I would build a team and accomplish it, but I wasn't a politician, nor did I want to be. I wasn't comfortable picking the targets and the objectives. Especially not for others to go risk their lives without me in the front, leading and braving the dangers myself.

I read the summaries Lana had left me and tried not to get emotional.

Algon and Jadzeea Fens, the parents of this body...no, my parents, were dead. Their calendar had them both in Banudan at the time of the attack. Their remains, like so many, had never been found, so I was now the Duchess of Ruuria and my daughter was the new Countess of Banudan, Countess of a city that didn't exist any more. I was already indulging myself, so I didn't hold back the tears that flowed when I gazed at the statue of my mother and father that had been erected in the little memorial to the one and a half million people who had perished in the first nanoseconds of this new war.

Silas, my spirit brother, was waiting at the fleet, having finally, married Fable. I don't envy him being in his forties with three kids under ten. But, at least, there was a feeling that life was springing back. But there was still plenty of tragedy to go around. Darius, my best friend, had led the team that had extracted my whereabouts and planted the data spikes that had allowed Lana and Bree to gain entry to free me. That team had made it back because he had sacrificed himself to cover their escape.

So much death, I sobbed to myself and immediately felt more than a little ashamed and hypocritical considering I wasn't even sure how many lives I had taken in the years I had spent in this galaxy. Was that different? I asked the cosmos, Wasn't I just defending my home? Or was I as guilty as the children of the man I had killed?

“Don't suffer alone,” Lana's voice scolded me as she entered the bridge once again and offered me one of the coffee's in her hands. I shook my head, grateful for the beverage and let it's warmth flow through me.

“Do you ever get tired of war, Lana?”

She looked out the view port for such a long while I thought she wasn't going to answer, but finally, almost to herself, she said, “Darth Marr always said that war was the crucible that perfected the Empire.”

I chuckled darkly to myself as I finished the quote, “Savagery was the forge and desperate odds the hammer that tempered the Empire to a razor's edge.”

Her eyes came back to me, to the here and now. “You don't believe that?” she asked philosophically. “You, the war hero and Darth Marr's Good Right Hand?”

“I fought to prove myself, to protect my home, and those I loved,” I told her. “My mistress, Darth Vannacen asked me once, when I was her apprentice, if I knew why we fought. I told her what I just told you, and that, honestly, I didn't know why the Empire fought. She started to say that we, the Sith and Jedi have hated each other for so long we've forgotten how to set our differences aside, how to let the other live and be left alone in return.”

She took a sip from her cup and licked her lips. “Sounds like she was very wise,” she told me. “What else did she have to say?”

I shrugged and took a sip myself. “I don't know. The speeder we were in crashed just after she'd started talking this way. She never brought it up again.” I sighed and looked out into the bright chaos. “I wish I knew what she was going to say and never did.”

“I suppose we'll find out soon if we can live and let live,” she told me cryptically. “About half of our force are ex-Republicans. Not to mention a third of the Force Users are Jedi.”

There was no stopping the eyebrow I cocked as I looked at her askance. “Jedi have joined us?” She nodded with a little smile.

“It hasn't been easy,” she admitted. “Keeping this coalition together. Having the goal of freeing you has helped, but now that it's accomplished, I worry this fragile alliance may fall apart. And we can't spare to lose anyone.”

“Having lost Marr and Darius, I don't know that we can win against Zakuul, Lana.”

“He said you'd say that, and that if he didn't make it back, he told me to say to you, 'Even the pacifist has a right to protect himself, and the moral obligation to protect others he can protect.' Do you know what he meant?”

I smiled and nodded, holding back my tears, being brave for his memory. “He belonged to a religion that espoused Pacifism. He always said he fought to reach the day he could stop fighting.”

She stood and drank the last of her coffee. “I'm not sure how well we'll fair without him, but we'll try. We have you, your grace,” she said, for the first time, recognizing my new status as a Duchess. “That's important. Perhaps all the difference. I am here for you, Nyeomi. For whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Lana.”

***

It's very hard to commune with the Force in hyperspace, due to its relative isolation from life itself. It wasn't impossible, mind you, just hard. After being reminded by Lana of just how much the idea of me being the key to throwing off the oppression of the Eternal Empire had become required, I decided to get my keister in gear and put my professional face on.

Or, more to the point, take my sulk out of sight of the men.

So I took myself to the captain's quarters, which boasted a private head, complete with a shower, and a fairly sizable bed, stripped myself naked and sat on the bed to get back in touch with The Force. I had long since inured myself from the instinctual reaction of flinching away from the incredible emptiness that is the Force in hyperspace and began to reach out to what life there was around me. I touched Lana's mind and was surprised to find it so un-shielded and the worry that both she and I were not up to this task bothered me, but I kept my curiosity to myself, moving on before she became aware of me accidentally eavesdropping.

Koth and Bree stood out like a beacon as they were, ahem, indisposed.

It took me quite a bit of self control to not stand up and go running to the defense of my daughter's virtue in permanent ways to the Galaxy's Best Pilot. That was the mother in me. The Sith Lord in me was able to remember my daughter was a grown woman and she could have sex with whomever she wanted; with, or without my approval. Still, there was a portion of my mind thinking of both how much pain I could inflict and for how long should he break her heart.

Very, very long and unspeakable agony, I assure you.

Then I reached out into the endless void and sought the mind I knew best from years of love making and affectionate, playful exploration. I knew everything about Torm Belos; his taste in women and how many he'd been with. The heady mix of lust and fear that had driven him to pursue me, the cocky, self congratulatory high he got when he gave me multiple orgasms as we made love and the amazement that he had found a woman who could love him back just as hard as he loved her.

As my awareness went further and further, I came to realize just how much I had leaned on Torm, for more than just love and validation. I came to realize that a great deal of my surety and confidence was anchored around him and his approval, frankly, of me. The little part of me that was still Edward needed Torm to feel as if this was more than a stolen body and role he was playing at. The Nyeomi part of me had not been alone for a long time and she didn't like it.

But Edward was afraid.

Immediately, I returned to myself, lest I allow that fear to touch the Force. I stood and walked over to the mirror above the sink and looked at myself. It wasn't a girl in the glass, but a woman, full on and grown. She was still beautiful, but her beauty was due now to an exercise regimen, not the flower of youth. Her chestnut hair was around her shoulders still, in the disguise, and her critical eye found the gray hairs in it. Her yellow eyes were intense, but tired and the strain of what she had just done was plain on her face. “I don't know if I can do this,” I whispered to her, doubting everything I had done and every choice I had made in ways I hadn't in years.

The face in the mirror raised her chin a bit and her eyes narrowed. “You are a Lord of the Sith,” she told me. “The Duchess of Ruuria! You can accomplish anything you desire. You must do this, for our home, our Empire and our parents!”

“I cost us ten years!” I told the stern face. “I did that! How do I...?”

“Stop!” the Sith Lord commanded. “There will be time to grieve. But that time is not now. Now is what is important! Now is when you are living. Don't waste time now wailing about what happened then! Use now! Live now! Nothing else matters!”

I swallowed and nodded into the mirror. “I will,” I promised myself. “I just miss Torm...”

“I miss Torm,” the Sith Lord admitted. But that admission didn't diminish her. Her eyes bore holes in me and made me feel ashamed for being weak and wallowing in self pity. I splashed some water in my face, then changed my mind and scrubbed the makeup off my face. My reflection was clean, fresh faced and her hair was a bit damp. “No more hiding,” she ordered. “Time to make them pay.”

Conscious of everything, even my posture, I walked, ramrod straight and head held high to the bed. I needed rest for now, and when we arrived, the real work would begin. I climbed into bed and tried to get comfortable, though I have to admit the buzzing awareness of how my daughter was spending her evening was more than a bit distracting.

After an hour of tossing and turning, I grumbled at the holographic display of the chronometer, “Even a train has to stop...!” It was then, with a soft tone, the door to the cabin slid open and framed Lana in it, back lit, her face in shadow. “Lana?” I asked.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot and looked over her shoulder as if she was wary of being seen. Finally, she turned back to me. “I...I could feel how lonely you are feeling, my...Nyeomi. I...I know I put a heavy burden on your shoulders, and I'm sorry for overwhelming you.”

I turned my head a bit, as if changing my perspective would help me understand her better. Suddenly, her mind, which had thoughts and fears spinning all over made a decision and locked to it. She stepped across the threshold and allowed the door to close. “I said I was here for you, for whatever you needed,” she declared softly. “I meant it.”

Like a bolt from the blue, I finally understood why she had always been scornful about my teasing her to get a room with Theron. Now she was getting a room, but I wasn't Theron. “Lana...I...”

She crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to me, her eyes glowing in the darkness. “I'm not asking for forever,” she said. “I know how much you love him, but I can feel you don't want to be alone, do you?”

Oh, Torm, please forgive me.

***

3617 BBY
The Messenger, Endor System, Modell Sector, The Outer Rim Territories

The next morning, I awoke early, feeling more than a little strange that Lana was in the bed with me. I had a very unpleasant mix of emotions, to be honest. While our vows had not had the traditional 'forsaking all others' line when Torm and I married, I felt more than a bit guilty about not being stronger and gently refusing Lana's offer. I had been weak, and I had been lonely, but, I told myself, I mustn't let that become an excuse. I swore to myself I would confess everything to Torm the moment I saw him again.

Which lead to the disquieting thought of, what if I never see him again?

I found it wonderfully ironic how easily I'd allowed myself to be with Lana. I had been with Torm for so long, I had stopped being self conscious with him years ago. I wasn't just comfortable making love to him, I desired it; to revel and relish being a woman with a man. I hadn't really looked at another woman sexually in a long time. I guess it really is like riding a bike, except it was very much different too.

Also, I had to admit, I was more relaxed and rested this morning than I had been on the Alderaan Princess. I had to admit to myself that I had enjoyed being with Lana and the differences underscored how much being with a man was different than being with a woman. Even though I, well, Nyeomi, had been a virgin, Torm's past history with women hadn't bothered me. I could see in his mind he felt me superior to all of them, but now that I had this on my conscience, how would I feel if he had sought solace with someone in the decade I had left him alone? After a long and unhappy line of thinking, I resolved that if that was the case, we would be adults and discuss things rationally.

Yeah, and while I'm dreaming, I'd like a pony for Christmas.

I shook my head as I got my working leathers from the cleaner unit and put them on, then returned my hair to it's normal style. Being 'me' would help me think and decide what to do. I couldn't ignore the fact that being with Lana had been beneficial to me, and I needed to decide how I was going to proceed. I supposed I would also have to have a conversation with Lana. As far as Torm went, I would hope that men in this galaxy were like men from my own galaxy and that the thought of his wife being with another woman he wouldn't mind so much. First things, however, did come first. I spied Koth walking from the refresher, so I changed course, walked by him as I let the Force reach out and grab him, pinning his arms to his sides and physically picking him up to float after me. “Koth, I'd like a word, if you don't mind?”

“Uh, of course, my lord,” he stammered as he floated behind me, down the steps into the engine room.

A glance at the control and the hatch slid shut with rather ominous finality. “Koth, I want to express to you how grateful I am for your part in my rescue,” I told him as I turned to face him. He started to stammer out how it was nothing, but I held up my hand so I could continue. “As a token of my appreciation, we are having this conversation this morning, rather than last night.”

His face paled as I kept my gaze direct. “My daughter's choices are her own, she is now a grown woman even if, from my point of view, she was eleven three days ago. So you can imagine just how angry a Sith Lord could become over someone taking inappropriate liberties with her eleven year old daughter?” He nodded vigorously, his eyes wide. “Fortunately, for you, my daughter is twenty one, not eleven.” I sighed. “It's very, very hard for me to internalize how much of my daughter's life I've not gotten to take part in, the pain of not being there for her is very new and deep in my psyche. So, as a word to the wise, Koth, if you are trifling with my daughter's affections, you'll be far better off putting that blaster in your mouth and blowing your own head off compared to what I will do, and how long I will do it, to make my displeasure known to you. Do we have an understanding between us?”

He tried, several times, to speak, and when his voice failed him, he just nodded vigorously.

Looking him in the eye, I let the mask slip a bit and said, “I can only imagine what they said about me in your history classes school; the terrible Outlander, am I right? They probably went on and on about how evil I am, my depraved indifference to life, my sadistically creative streak, goodness only knows what kind of terrible monster they painted me as. While, I am hardly any of those things, if you break my daughters heart, Koth Vortena, I will do everything in my power to live up to those slanders and surpass them.”

“I...I would never...!”

“Good!” I told him with a smile as I released him and he staggered back to the deck. “And so long as my daughter is happy, you won't ever find out otherwise. I'm glad we talked! Good morning!” I cupped his cheek and went back up toward the galley, keeping my self congratulatory snicker at his reaction to myself.

Yes, sometimes it's good to be a Sith!

So, Mr. Vortena put into his place, I ascended the steps to find Lana in the galley, toasting bagels with the coffee making. “Smells delicious,” I complimented as I poured myself a cup. She just rolled her eyes and kept spreading butter.

“Yes, I can toast with the best of them,” she declared.

My coffee sufficiently creamed and sweetened, I took a fortifying sip and turned to face her. “Lana, about last night...” That drew her eyes from the toast and she actually smiled.

“Don't over think it,” she scolded me. “I told you I wasn't asking for commitment. I take happiness where I find it, and I encourage you to do to the same. If you need me, I'm here. I'm not in competition with Torm.”

I laid a hand on her shoulder. “That seems terribly selfish of me,” I replied. “Just using you...”

“If you start 'using' me, I'll let you know,” she promised. “Otherwise, we're both adults, and we both know each other's situations. You haven't lied to me, nor I you.” She took a sip of her coffee and winked at me. “We both know that battlefield friendships can be...intense. At least, I assume...”

I couldn't help but chuckle as a bit of anxiety penetrated her confident exterior. “I've been in many battles, but I've only had two lovers...”

Her eyes went a little wide. “Oh, oh, I see. Really? I mean, I beg your pardon...”

“I thought we were being 'adults'?” I teased her and she finally relaxed a bit. “I certainly see now why Theron wasn't your type.” She shrugged around her bite and leaned against the counter.

“Theron isn't my type because he's a professional liar,” she told me. “Not because of his gender. You never know where you stand with a spy, and that makes me nervous.”

I felt my eyebrow ascend my forehead. “And diplomats don't lie?”

Her chin lifted in disdain. “Diplomats are vague,” she declared haughtily. “Spies are liars.”

I almost lost my sip of coffee via my nose, and the look on her face told me she'd timed it that way on purpose. I would have taken her to task over it, but the autopilot alert began to sound, meaning we were arriving at our destination. We finished our breakfast on the way to the cockpit and settled into a nice, relaxed routine of bringing the ship back to manual control.

We dropped out of hyperspace in the last place I expected, above the moon of Endor.

Yes, that Endor. Of course, there was no under construction Death Star, nor was it a trap, thankfully. Those events, if they happen at all, are well into a future I won't live to see. There was an admittedly startlingly large fleet, a collection of ships worthy of that name. There were nine Dreadnoughts of the Harrower-class, Courageous, I was delighted to see, was one of them. In formation with them were three Valor-class Republic battleships, faster and more nimble than the Harrower, but had neither the punch, nor the armor of them. While the Harrower resembled the Star Destroyers of old, or rather the future from my point of view, the Valor were a cross between the outboard motor shaped Nebulon-B medical frigate and the bulbous spheroid of the Mon Calamari MC80. With and around them were hundreds of smaller ship and thousands of fighters flying a C.A.P. around them. Several had already broken off to meet us, and Lana sent the code to identify us.

It wasn't a fleet large enough to defeat the Eternal Armada, but it was a far better start than I had accomplished. It was a fleet capable of showing the galaxy that the Eternal Empire could be fought, and with the help of the Force, beaten. Already, my mind was turning on how to best take advantage of these assets, to take the fight to our enemy. There was still a lot of work to be done, but I had to hand to Lana, she'd taken my Hail Mary pass and ran with it.

“Well done, Lana,” I complimented her as we picked up the escort and were guided to the flag ship. “Well done.”

We shared a glance and she smiled at me. “Thank you, my lord.”

***

3617 BBY
The Courageous, Endor System, The Outer Rim Territories

Of all the changes I have recommended, in tactics, in training, and doctrine, the one I am most grateful to have been adopted is Darth Marr's indoctrination that Sith be able to work with the military first. All of the Sith that had rallied to my call, both the initial, ten years ago, and over the years to Lana since, all of them had been younger than me, and thus trained from their first day in the academy how to work with the military. I knew this because I'd made time to read Lana's summary of the current state of the fleet and I knew that the ability of my Sith Lords to cooperate to achieve group goals as a way of proving their individual worth and thus their individual power via awards and promotion meant the scuffles between the Jedi who had answered my call and those same Sith Lords had stayed as arguments and debates and only a couple of fist fights and 'spirited' training sessions.

So, in a very calculated manner, I had put on my dress uniform to address the fleet. This meeting, broadcast by Holo fleet wide, was both my assuming command, and our collective decision of what comes next. My medals jingling slightly on my chest, my daughter a step behind me, also in her dress blues, we not quite marched up to the small assemblage of commanders, Tari, the senior Darth in command of my Sith, Jedi Master Tunan-Obi Vost, of all people, the senior Jedi, Admiral Bey'wan Aygo of the Republic Navy and Commodore Tucmax Barsal, formerly of the Warspite for the Imperial Navy.

It was hoped, this formal ceremony would take these groups of factions, and make them a team. I hoped so, anyway. I started with Commodore Barsal, who, with his back to the pickups could grin at me. I saluted. “I relieve you, sir.”

“I am relieved,” he replied, returning my salute, then marched smartly behind me. A sharp right face then a left brought me to my senior apprentice who, for a change, was not pregnant.

“My lord, I relieve you.”

“My Mistress, I am relieved,” she replied, returning my salute then she joined the Commodore. I repeated my maneuver to reach Admiral Aygo. Aygo was a Bothan, a vaguely dog like species with a short, wide muzzle and tall, triangular ears. Though he was quite short and I loomed over him by better than thirty centimeters.

I saluted. “Admiral, I am grateful for the Republic's answer to my call for assistance.”

His arm came up crisply. “It is our honor, Duchess Fens.”

“I appoint you Admiral of our combined fleet, under my leadership. Carry out your orders, sir.”

“Aye aye, Ma'am!”

Master Vost was last on the platform, a grayer, more weathered man than my memory painted him as from Alderaan. He bowed, which I returned. “Duchess Fens, my Jedi are honored to answer your call to the defense of our galaxy, if you will have us.”

“The honor is mine, Master Vost, you and your Jedi are most welcome.” We bowed again and he joined the little crowd at my back. I took a few steps forward to the podium that had been erected. “As of this date and time, I, Nyeomi Fens, Duchess of Ruuria, Lord of the Sith, take command of this fleet. Duty officers of each vessel shall so note in your respective logs.”

There came a brief pause as, simultaneously, the flags, which were actually cloth, but held out rigid in respect to old naval traditions were lowered on each ship, Republic and Empire, to be replaced by the flag of our rebellion, a flag designed to show and honor two sides that had been at war, who were now united in common cause. Half the winged phoenix of the Jedi Order, half the Sith pictogram for Order, the symbol of chaos contained that was the heraldry of the Sith Order. The colors properly changed, I took a hold of the podium. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are, all of us, in desperate defense of our galaxy. We are many, from many different worlds, of many different species, united in the defense of our homes. The governments we once served cannot, or will not resist our conqueror, so that falls to us.

“I do not promise you victory, nor even that you will pass the coming conflict unscathed. But I do promise you this, on the graves of the destroyed city of my world, that I will fight the Empire of Zakuul until they surrender, or I die in the attempt of it!”

There are times I am sad there is no air in space, for I am sure if there were, the shout that rose up from every one of these ships would have been deafening. “Our first order of business is a base of operations. It will be difficult, carving a safe haven from the wilderness, but it will give us a place of safety for the families we have brought with us, and a fortress to gather our strength. There is much hard work ahead, but together, we will throw off the yoke of our oppressors and free the galaxy! Captains, see to your individual vessels.”

I turned to Admiral Aygo. “Admiral, deploy the fleet!”

He saluted. “May the Force be with us! Captains, on the One MC, Hyperspace!” The stars leapt forward and we were under way to our rendezvous with destiny.

***

“So, where are we going?”

A grayer, more fine-lined face of my spirit brother Silas asked. We had retreated a bit from the somewhat excited introductions of his children to their aunt for the first time. Now, in a quiet room off the quarters he shared with Fable, he, Lana, myself, Bree and Koth, along with Tari had gathered, my 'privy council' if you will. It was Lana who answered him. “Odessen,” she declared. “Remote, unsettled... and strong in the Force. But unlike Korriban or Tython, Odessen is altogether balanced.” She sighed and looked around. “Between that, and it's location deep in Wild Space, we should be able to come and go as we please, and have a secure base of operations.”

Koth shook his head from where he sat next to Bree. “Odessen, huh? Could it be there's really a place where no one wants to kill us?”

“There shouldn't be anyone on Odessen,” I replied. “It's a blank slate. But, we'll have raw materials to upkeep the fleet, food to feed everyone and a safe place for kids. Seems ideal.”

“And then we get serious about killing Zakuul?” Fable asked darkly. I looked at her, wondering who she had lost to make the easy going Special Forces trooper I remembered be so anxious to spill blood.

“Hey!” Koth protested.

I crossed my arms. “It's war, Koth, there's going to be a lot of blood shed, so grow a thick skin.” He raised his hands defensively, but I could tell he'd taken the message to heart. “We're going to have to figure out how to hurt them, to bring them to their knees.”

“I'll keep putting effort into figuring out how the Eternal Fleet is controlled,” Lana replied. “If we could just capture one...”

Koth shook his head. “Forget about it,” he declared. “No one has ever been able to board one of the ships of the Eternal Fleet.”

“Do they have an interior at all?” Fable demanded. Koth nodded. “Then they can be taken. We just need to figure out how.”

Tari, who I could see had a bit of gray around her nose and her eyes were so much older than I remembered turned to me. “Mistress, there is one ally we could seek.” A shudder ran down my spine as I instantly knew what she was suggesting. I walked over to the window and looked out at the blue white chaos of hyperspace.

“I'm not ready to try to make a deal with the Void, Tari.”

“I pray you don't wait until it's too late, my mistress.”

“We'll see,” I said, mostly to myself. “We'll see.” I made my decision and turned back to them. As much as I wanted to go myself, I was the Alliance's Darth Marr now. I had to send others to do what I needed done. “Apprentice,” I called and at once Bree stood and knelt before me.

“What is thy bidding, my mistress?” she asked formally.

“You will take a ship and go to Nar Shaddaa,” I instructed her. Seeing Koth's expression, I added, “Take whomever you need to accomplish this task. You will seek out your father and inform me of his fate. If he is alive, you will bring him to Odessen. If he is dead, you will report that to me.”

“May I avenge his death, my mistress, if that was his fate?” she asked softly, and I felt her emotions well up in her, buoyed on an ocean of anger at the thought of her father being dead. I realized she had inherited my temper and I felt more than a little guilty for passing on my bad traits along with my better ones.

“If possible, you will capture those who are responsible and bring them to me, alive,” I ordered, one part of my mind, and I'm sure, a part of hers, pondering what unspeakable things a Sith was capable of in vengeance of the death of a loved one. “Once we are both avenged, the killing blow shall be yours.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

“Go. Let no one hinder you. Do what must be done and return safely to me.”

She bowed low over her knee. “It will be as you command, my Mistress.”

Bree stood, her eyes on fire, before she turned to her lover. “Koth,” she commanded. “Come with me.” She strode out without waiting and the Galaxy's Best Pilot looked at me. I gave him a little smile as he left.

You knew the job was dangerous when you took it, I thought. I turned back to hyperspace and sighed, knowing that was true to both of us, now.

Now, the War of the Eternal Alliance had begun.

finis

Wedding of the Century

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Universes & Series:

Heaven and Hell by Maggie Finson

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Heaven and Hell Story
Wedding of the Century
By E. E. Nalley

Despite what anyone might tell you, learning Martial Arts isn’t any kind of fun. Oh, in the movies, everybody and their brother knows some kind of obscure tradition that supposedly takes half a life time to master. Of course it never took them half a life time to do that, and the movies always kind of gloss over all the bumps and bruises between ‘Hey, I wanna kick some ass!’ and ‘Watch it, homes, I know fill in the blank here.’

I’d give anything to be painting a fence or waxing a couple of cars.

As I slid to a stop at the base of a tree in the rather nice forest glade that was evidently the domain of the Arch Angel Michael, General of the Heavenly Hosts, Guardian of Honorable Warfare, Patron of Righteous Soldiers and all around buff dude, we both gave a ragged sigh of disappointment.

I never would have thought Heaven could involve so much pain. “You’re not keeping your focus,” he told me finally as he entered my line of vision as I contemplated the canopy of the magnificent Redwood I was at the base of.

“I’m a lover, not a fighter!” I complained as he helped me to my feet. “Can’t I just get a body guard or something?” The six foot six, blonde, tanned and extremely fit Arch Angel favored me with one of his dazzling smiles before taking advantage of his hold on my hand to flip me across the glade onto my back again.

“No,” he said as I came to a stop once more. “Everyone is in the Army up here, Rebecca, to include our Diplomatic Corps as it were. You may need to defend yourself and its high time you figured out how.”

I scrambled to my feet and tried to keep my distance. “Since when is the after life about going to school?” I demanded as he circled me, working his way closer.

“Where is it written you stop learning when you die?” he wanted to know. “I’m surprised Lilith let you out with no training. Your sisters are formidable fighters. You’ll more than likely run into them and Truce or no, someone might be looking for some pay back.”

“It was my first feeding,” I told him, back peddling and drifting left to counter his slow spiral towards me. “I’d only been dead a week!”

“Yes, I read the report,” he told me as he feinted in one direction and lunged in the other. With a terrified squeak, I leapt skyward, my bat wings pulling me aloft as he passed under me. Once over his head, I planted my feet on his dreamy shoulders and kicked out while my tail, ever one to have a mind of its own, wrapped itself around his leg.

There was a crash behind me as I pirouetted in mid air. Michael was getting up from the ruins of the weapons table I’d just shoved him into, scattering everything from clubs to machine guns across the glade.

Oh dear.

But my worry was unfounded as he was laughing as he got up. “Good!” he complimented me. “Now you’re getting the hang of it. I’m obviously a better fighter than you so you should be looking for a chance to evade and withdraw.”

“Um, I really just panicked and ran,” I told him.

“I said that,” he replied with a chuckle. “Only my way sounds better.” I made a T of my hands as I drifted back to the ground.

“Time out, coach. Can I get a drink of water or something?”

He waved to a bright orange dispenser of the sports drink of champions that had been on one side of the table. I filled the paper cup and drank gratefully. Then, surprised at the wonderfulness of the flavor, refilled it and drank more, savoring the flavor. “Wow! What is this?”

“Water of life,” he replied. “I’m glad you enjoy it.”

That brought a pause to me as I looked up at him. “Um, Michael?”

He wiped at his face with a towel as some of his lieutenants put the table right and began re-organizing the weapons on it. “You can call me Mike, Rebecca. We’re on the same side now.” I felt a blush at his familiarity and a small smile to my face.

“Why am I thirsty? Aren’t I…?”

“Dead? Yes. And for a good while until you really get used to that, you’ll find you keep a lot of your old habits. When you’ve just done something strenuous, you’ll be tired and want to sleep. It’s ok. It’ll pass in a hundred years or so.” He collected up a handgun of some type from the table and removed its magazine before snatching it open and presenting it to me. “Ready for something a little different?”

Sigh. “I guess. I didn’t think you guys would be into guns.”

“Firearms, like any other weapon, are a tool,” he told me. “No one thinks of a screwdriver as evil, do they?” I shook my head. “I can think of a half dozen ways to kill someone with a screwdriver. The tool is merely that, a tool. How it’s used determines its effect. Now, this is a fairly standard semiautomatic pistol. Ever handle something like this?”

“My papa is a banker,” I said with a quiet moment of remorse at the thought of my doubtlessly grieving parents. “He had a Taurus in 9mm and .45 showed me how to use both. It was our father son thing.”

That brought Michael a fair bit of pleasure. “Good, then I shouldn’t have to go over safety, right?”

“Muzzle in a safe direction always, finger out of the trigger guard until I intend to fire, ditto for the safety.” He nodded and presented me with the magazine. A group of targets appeared down the glade away from us.

“Let’s see how you do.”

The first shot brought back some happy memories of days at the range with my papa and brought a smile to my face. But the subsequent shots, while right where I wanted them, had a very strange effect on me. My lips were tingling and my crotch was getting damp. I removed the magazine, which evidently had an endless supply of bullets and placed it on the table. “Mike, something’s wrong!” I gasped.

“No, that’s about what I expected to happen,” he told me.

“Me getting horny?” I demanded to his chuckle.

“It’s a proven fact that firing a pistol, or any fire arm for that matter, generates the same hormonal response in your body as getting kissed. Now, given your rather heightened sense of arousal, I figured that would be your reaction.”

“Now you tell me!”

“I think that will be enough for today,” he said, picking up a complicated holster system from the table and putting the pistol with its two magazines in it. “This will do until we can get you better trained in hand to hand. I don’t want you relying only on this so don’t slouch on your practice exercises. Now, these magazines are mundane bullets and the other are Orachalim. Use them sparingly, they’ll hurt any supernatural creature, but they’re a pain to make. This holster will alter itself to what ever design you might want, and I guarantee no one will figure out you’re carrying concealed when you wear it.”

I gave him a hung as I accepted the gifts, more than a little over awed by this level of generosity. But, being that close to such a hunk of Arch Angel made my present condition a bit worse. He kissed my forehead. “Hit the showers kiddo, and make it a cold one. You’ve got other appointments today.”

“Yes sir!” I teased him, snapping off a salute.

Yeah, a cold shower was just what I needed.

* * *

Once I was presentable once more, Marc’s frighteningly efficient secretary informed me the CEO of Fair Trade was holding court on Earth today. So I hopped a ray of light back down stairs, still more than a little disturbed at my ability to come and go that way to a medium sized building in the business district of Williamsburg. That struck me as an odd place for something as large as Fair Trade to work out of, but I wasn’t going to complain.

George lived in Williamsburg.

Getting to see my, well, truth be told I wasn’t entirely sure what our relationship was per se. But, getting to see my favorite Theology Student was worth the trip all by itself I strolled through the lobby invisible to the Lady’s room where I whipped myself up a nice conservative skirt suit in an eye catching white that off set my dusky skin and ebony hair quite well.

Now that I had a context to be seen in, I let myself become solid and made my way back through the lobby to a bank of elevators. As we weren’t in Heaven any more, I had to wait for one and did so with a bit of a smile on my face at being on Earth once more.

A familiar voice drew my eyes to the security desk in the center of the lobby where I received a pleasant surprise. “I’m here to see a Mr. Marc Angels?” said a somewhat confused George who was dressed in a nice, if slightly out of date off the rack from Sears suit that his new and improved physique was giving him fits over.

I briskly strode over, waving to the guard who was all smiles. “George!” I greeted with a big hug and grin. “It’s alright, Sam, he’s with me.”

“Ok, Miss Estabon. You take him up stairs.”

“Wow,” smiled George as he pulled away from our hug with as much reluctance as I did. “Rebecca, you look great! After I’d seen you last, I was worried.”

I linked my arm in his as I guided him back over to the elevators. “Oh, I got my bell rung for me, but I’m doing alright now. Sorry to have worried you.”

“Would, this be the same Marc who was there?” he asked in a subdued voice. I nodded as I ushered him into the elevator which had arrived.

“It would,” I said, hitting the button for the top floor. “You can speak fairly freely. Most of the people here know who they work for. But, most are also mortal, just like you. Be mindful of anybody in a visitor badge, and you’ll be fine.”

“So, I’m guessing your new job thing went off with out a hitch?” My rear burned a bit in remembered bruising.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far, but yes I’m officially on the same side as you, now. Which would be why you’re here, my friend. I think the boss has a job offer for you.”

“Have a job,” he responded. “Got one lined up for after school, too. Been accepted as a provisional Priest to, well, I don’t guess the denomination matters, does it?”

I batted my eyelashes at him and was rewarded by the feeling of his heat rate picking up. “Oh? Congratulations. Isn’t there anything that could change your mind?”

The door opening cut off his stuttered attempts at reply as I led him to a nice outer office where Kimiko, Marc’s secretary, was all smiles as she fielded about four calls at once. It was rather disturbing, not only was I not entirely sure just how many hands she actually had, but I’d just left her at Marc’s headquarters in Heaven. I blinked. “You get around, Kimiko.”

“Where ever the boss needs me, Rebecca. Mr. Conner, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Marc is expecting you, so go right in.” I gave George a grin and let him into the inner office which was rather like Marc’s in heaven. Just lavish enough, just restrained enough and while it wasn’t dominated by the painting of Christ and the money changers like his heavenly office was; it wasn’t exactly secular either.

He rose and circled his desk, extending his hand as he did so. “Reverend Conner, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m guessing you already know our Rebecca?”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Angels,” replied George with some weight. “And it’s not Reverend just yet.”

“Of course, and my name is Marc. Won’t you sit down?” There were a few minutes of chit chat to get out of the way before the real business of the meeting could get under way.

During which, I learned that George, with Marc’s help, had gotten Cutter, who was now Cathy officially recognized as his little sister, of whom he was legal guardian I was touched by the stories of how he had thrown himself at the demons who had attacked me outside Neutral Grounds, having to be restrained by Michael himself. I didn’t think I’d made that kind of impression. “So,” drawled Marc now that the recap was over with and he could politely get to the meat of the meeting. “Michael was very impressed by how you handled yourself, George. He tells me he hasn’t had that kind of difficulty holding onto someone in the better part of a thousand years.”

“He’s very generous to say that,” laughed George. “As I recall, he said sit and I asked ‘where?’.”

“Well, the particulars don’t matter, but if our Mike sees real talent of a Soldier of God in someone, well, I defer to the experts. We were wondering if you’d be interested in a position of a bit more responsibility with in the firm as it were?”

George squirmed in his seat a bit. “I swore a number of years ago to be and do what the Master had need of, Marc. My position there hasn’t changed. I do however feel that I can best serve our collective Boss by just spreading the Gospel to every ear who will listen.”

“A man should know his limitations,” agreed Marc. “See, it’s just this, we prefer to work as closely as possibly with something of a Veil of Secrecy down here. Your knowledge of the Truth of things puts us in a rather awkward situation. I understand that you experienced some changes after being, ahem, intimate with Rebecca?”

“That’s right, I seemed to be significantly stronger after Rebecca and I made love, you’re correct.” Marc beamed.

“Glad to hear Rafe’s efforts in reclaiming our dominion there is going well.”

“Sir?” asked George quizzically, but Marc just waved off the point as unimportant.

“George, my friend, I want you to understand you have Free Will. You can tell me no to what I’m about to offer, but before you make your mind up, I would like you to consider things rather carefully. Will you promise me that?”

The Preacher considered a long moment before nodding thoughtfully. “Alright.”

I could see the tendril of his word float between the two, binding promise to keeper. It’s amazing the things you learn when you switch sides. Marc cleared his throat carefully. “George, what you experienced with Rebecca is somewhat unprecedented. When a succubus makes the transition to Bright Lilim…”

“I’m sorry, what?” interrupted George. Marc was all smiles.

“Rebecca is now what is considered a Bright Lilim. That’s a rather adroit way of saying a Redeemed Succubus. But, we don’t have a lot of experience as to what happens when this takes place. In all of history, Rebecca is only the third Bright Lilim. And the other two occurred during the Active Phase of the War. I’m afraid they didn’t last very long.”

That gave me a moment of pause. Maybe this job wouldn’t be all sweetness and light after all. I was sure there were more than Ursula and Lilith whose feathers I’d ruffled.

“We don’t honestly know why you were strengthened by allowing her to feed off of you,” continued Marc. “But, we do know what it is she fed on.”

“You don’t know?” asked a rather amused George.

“Well, of course He does, but, He’s been content to take something of a hands off view of things for a while. He can afford to. In any event, what Rebecca fed on was the Temptations that you probably weren’t even aware you’d been carrying around.”

“That would make sense,” agreed George. “Being an agent of Temptation, Rebecca would have a unique understanding of where they were and how they work.”

“They taste good, too,” I couldn’t help but interject with a grin.

Marc’s smile was indulgent. “The odd thing is, we’ve done some experimenting and the process hasn’t been repeated. While that’s a good thing, we wouldn’t want to have to adjust reality to explain a sudden up turn in fitness down here, it does make you unique. It wasn’t just your body that was strengthened, George; your soul became stronger as well. That makes you a valuable commodity.”

George was thoughtful and more than a tad guarded. “Yes, I can see how the Other Side would desire to try to turn me.”

“Oh, don’t worry there,” I told him, holding up my left hand which glowed softly with my Mark, causing the corresponding sigil of my ownership, for lack of a better word, on his ring finger to glow a bit more brightly. “They can’t turn you so long as you wear my sigil.”

“But they can kill you,” concluded Marc. “We’re worried about that, George. We’d like for you to consider coming a bit deeper into the fold, acting as one of our Field Agents here on Earth. That would allow us to be a bit more direct in aiding you, as well as some training that, unfortunately, you’re probably going to need.”

“And you’ll get to work closely with me,” I intimated to him, shamelessly making him aware of the assets of such an arraignment.

“You and Rebecca do seem to work well together,” agreed Marc. “And you can accomplish considerably more good to everyone this way. If you’ll agree?”

George sighed softly. “I will consider it. Is there a time constraint here?”

Marc spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Sooner is always better I’m afraid. I know this is a big decision and you two have a plane to catch and a wedding to attend. Can I expect your answer after?”

George nodded thoughtfully before he turned back to me. “You have a place to stay before we leave?” My grin let him know my answer.

* * *

I could see how grateful George was to be free of the building as the tie to his suit was gone before we reached his car, a tired, but well loved Honda Accord. “So, you work for him?” he asked as we walked, pulling off the jacket as well, taking care to hang both up on a hanger he had with him in the back seat.

“I work with him,” I answered with a slight emphasis. “Like he said, there hasn’t been one of me in a while. They’re not entirely sure what to do with me.” He opened my door for me with a kiss of my hand as he helped me in.

“How very un-imaginative of them,” he chuckled as I got my skirt settled and let him shut the door. As he clamored in on his side he paused in the buckling of seat belts and preparing to start the car. “He seems like an alright sort.”

“He is an Arch Angel, dear,” I supplied.

The Accord started on the second try with much coughing and sputtering. “Do you know what kind of ‘Field Work’ he’s talking about?” George asked finally as he backed out of the space and got us headed to his apartment.

“Well, like he said, there is a Truce, but there is some fighting. Probably we’d be working most directly with Michael. I’m training under him now.”

He winced. “Yes, you did seem to need a pointer or two there. Funny, I’d always thought of Succubae as being, pardon the pun, hellacious fighters.”

“I’m learning,” I chuckled in my own defense. “I’m still very new at this.”

“That makes two of us.”

We rode in silence for a few minutes as he maneuvered the car onto the Interstate to head back to his side of town. Once he’d done that he spared me a glance as I enjoyed the sunshine and the feeling of being sort of alive again. “I’m really glad you’re alright.” I favored him with one of my soon to be patented heart melting smiles.

“Thank you.”

“At the risk of pressing my luck, I wonder if I might impose on you for something of a favor?” I felt a smirk pull at the corner of my bee stung lips, but didn’t answer. Feeling his way over the thin ice he continued. “Well, Cathy has been something of a handful. The language thing has cleared up, but, she seems to be having trouble adjusting to her new situation. I caught her smoking the other day. Lord knows where she got the cigarettes, let alone the lighter. I was hoping that, perhaps you could…”

He trailed off uncertainly as I let the chuckle that had been worming its way up my throat escape. “Put the fear of God into her?”

“Well, maybe not that extreme, but something. I have to be gone most of the day and I guess I worry by nature.”

“Seeing as how I saddled you with her, I suppose that’s the least I can do. I was hoping that just going through this would set her straight, but maybe Baal had his hooks into her stronger than I thought. I do have an idea, though. I’ll need to get some help; can I meet you at your place?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “Any help would be a blessing and you’re always welcome.”

That brought a very pleased smile to my face as I kissed his cheek and let my context for the world drop. The Honda passed through me as I winged my way Heaven word once more.

* * *

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the commotion of what appears to be a succubus arriving in Heaven, halo or no. The pointing and the whispering is ok, you learn to ignore it, but the shrinking away as if I’m here for Hell’s due does take it’s toll.

At least Saint Peter could always be counted on for a smile and wave of welcome. “Rebecca, back so soon?” The soul he had been dealing with shrank away a bit. I counted to five before flashing him what I hoped was a friendly smile.

“Relax mi amigo; I’m not here for you. I work here.” The relief on the soul’s face was palpable.

“So,” asked Peter with a smile. “What can I do for my favorite Bright Lilim?”

“How many Bright Lilim do you know?” I asked.

“You make three.”

Ah. “Well, I’m looking for Blandine. You seen her? Or should I just head over to the March of Dreams?” The Saint considered this for a moment.

“Actually, it’s good you stopped, I just saw her not too long ago with Michael. I think they were headed to the Hall of Justice.”

I felt an involuntary shudder pass through me the concept of going to Dominique’s headquarters. Nice enough lady, but scary. I think it had to do with her and the unblinking Eyes of Justice thing. I forced a smile of thanks as Peter got back to work sorting out the arriving souls as I winged over to the stronghold of the Inquisition.

Despite the corny name, (and yes this place had been around a long time before the cartoon), the Hall of Justice wasn’t done up in some kind of Post Modern anything. It was a classic stone and mortar fortress, complete with the draw bridge and moat. Why? Your guess is as good as mine, everyone here can fly.

The central tower of the place was evidently Dominique’s office so I stopped at the base of it to the general un-amusement of the two Elohim that were standing guard there. Clang went there spears over the door in fine B Movie fashion. “What is your business here, Succubus?” demanded the leader.

Sigh. In every organization there’s always somebody who doesn’t get the memo.

“I’m here looking for Blandine, Arch Angel of Dreams for two and I’m not a Succubus for one.” I pointed at the halo over my head. “See? This isn’t exactly a party favor.” The two traded glances but the spears didn’t move. “Aw, come on, guys, it’s not like I can lie to you, with out you noticing anyways.”

“Wait, I’ll call for the Chief of the Watch,” ordered the first, an ok looking type really in that swarthy, Mediterranean boy becoming a man way, right down to the thick curly hair. I was going to settle in to wait, but, as it is want to do, my subconscious reached out and grabbed the two of them by their lower brains.

Realizing what I was doing I gave a mental shrug. Hey, it beat waiting for the Chief of the Watch. “Come on, boys, I’m in a terrible hurry. There’s a memo circulating about me, I swear,” which I annunciated with a flick of my tail that did interesting things to my rear. “Cut a girl a break, won’t you?”

“Well…” drawled out the leader, even as the spears sort of drifted apart.

“Not keeping a very good watch, are we?” demanded the stern intonations of Mike as he rounded the corner with Dominique and the very angel I needed, Blandine.

The Elohim snapped to stiff attention, the lesser pointing his spear at me. Mike waved them off as I gave him a hug. “Bit late for that. Really Dom, you’re slipping. I thought everybody got that memo.”

The Arch Angel of Justice’s unblinking eyes stared down Mike. “Got? Yes. Am I responsible for making them read it too?” she demanded, a bit crossly. “And you, young lady,” she said, turning that stare on me. “Just why were you trying to wiggle your way past my guards?”

“Well, actually, I was looking for Blandine,” I said, truthfully. Blandine, a tall, winnowy Angel with hair and skin that seemed more than a touch gray, favored me with an amused expression. “I need a favor if I could?”

“Did I give you the misunderstanding we were finished?” asked Dominique. I let out a squeak and hid a bit behind Mike. “Why are you looking for Blandine and do you think that in any way let’s you off the hook for trying to striptease your way into my headquarters?”

“I’m still fully clothed!” I protested.

“Pity,” she commented to a choked exclamation from my more than human shield.

“Dom!” he exclaimed in shock. “Was that a joke?”

* * *

As I came into solidity once more in the World of Men, a felt a goofy grin pull at my mouth. The door to George’s apartment was before me and rather than the intense feeling of Go Away I’d felt on my first visit, the place seemed to be begging for me to come in. “I’m here,” I whispered to the sigil on my hand, knowing he would hear me no matter where we were.

I did a lot more smiling on this side, I realized. Guess that made this the right choice. From beyond the door I heard his voice ask Cathy, former Pimp who had gone by the street handle of Cutter, to open the door. It swung aside as the curiosity on her face settled into annoyed displeasure. “What are you doing here?” she demanded angrily.

I crossed the threshold, much to her surprised dismay. “I’m here to see a great friend and ally of my Masters,” I told her darkly. I let my wings and tail loose from their confinement with a sigh of relaxation.

“G…get lost!” she stammered. “You don’t own me!”

“Oh?” I asked, tracing the faded lines of Baal’s mark on her forehead with my finger. “Is that a fact? I haven’t heard anything about a new name being added to the Book of Life upstairs. I don’t recall any of the Arch Angels going on and on about a young soldier of God living here. Other than George that is.”

Her lips began to tremble in that little girl about to explode into tears way that really tugged at my heart. Or, what I labeled my heart anyway. Come to think of it, I did wonder how the mechanics of this new Glorified body of mine worked. Never the less, I steeled my resolve; this was what Tough Love was all about.

“George!” she squalled, bursting into tears and fleeing to hide behind him. My mind recalled by own use of Mike for the same purpose not too long ago. I shut the door and draped my wings, cape like, over my shoulders.

“Rebecca!” said George with sufficient put on surprise that I don’t think Cathy picked up on it. “I didn’t expect you, like this…?”

I shrugged. “Would it help if I appeared in a ball of fire and sulfurous smoke?”

“No, the smell would take forever to get out and probably set off the fire alarm.” He sighed with put on resolve. “Are you here for her, then?”

“In the morning,” I told him. “You don’t mind if I hang around till then, do you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

He considered this, before turning to Cathy. “Well, what would you like for your last meal?” Cathy’s cries became a torrent as she fled to her bedroom and slammed the door. I hastily built a ward around the windows, making sure she couldn’t run, but she didn’t intend on running. She’d thrown herself on her bed and was crying her eyes out.

George went to go and comfort her but stopped when I tugged at my sigil. Looking at me, I shook my head. “It’s called tough love for a reason.” He sighed and shook his head. “It’ll be over soon. And if this doesn’t work, George, I dunno what will.”

“Here’s hoping.”

I whispered a song of sleep I let weave it’s way around Cathy’s form and felt her nearly instantly drift away to the March of Dreams. The rest was in Blandine’s hands.

* * *

The night passed with supernatural speed to Cathy. It seemed like she’d barely let her eye lids droop shut before a tall, gray lady with gray feathered wings was lifting her from her bed, and she was there, looking hungry and terrible. “Come, Cathy,” the gray lady told her. “It’s time.”

Cathy turned to flee, to find herself face to face with her body, lying on the bed. “Noooo!” she wailed.

“It’s too late for that now,” the Demoness growled in her inhuman voice. “You had your chance to change.”

“But….but…” she stammered.

“But what?” asked the Gray Angel softly. “Did you give a moments thought of repentance after the grace you received? Did you at all dwell on the waste you life has been?”

“I was going to!” cried Cathy.

“This is why we’ll win,” chuckled the Demoness. “They’re so lazy.”

“I won’t go with you!” Cathy shouted as she tried to grab a hold of the gray angel. To her dismay, her hands passed through her, even as a smoky leash snaked its way from the Demoness to her throat. A vicious yank pulled her to the succubus’ side.

“You don’t get a choice any more,” she hissed. “Maybe I’ll hand you over to Lilith and you can get a taste of what being a whore is really like?” The ground didn’t want to support her anymore and they were sinking through it down and down as it became hotter and more oppressive by the second before they arrived an archway that seemed to be made of human skulls.

Abandon all hope, O ye who enter here.

“Here we are, Cutter, home sweet home.” She walked forward, dragging her by the leash past the line of souls being whipped through it by nightmares given form. “Don’t worry, after a hundred years or so, you’ll get used to the wails of agony.”

“Pp…please,” begged Cathy, “Can’t I…”

She wheeled on her with inhuman fury. “What? Have another chance?” she shrieked. “I gave you another chance! You wasted it, just like everything else in your life. You want to know what your boss, Baal, is like? He’s a load of laughs. He can play a symphony with a knife and a human body. Each cut causing just the right squeal of pain. You should have seen what he did to me. I spent a week getting gang raped by him and his men. Oh, too bad you missed that, huh? Probably the first piece of ass they got in a couple of thousand years.”

“I’ll change! I swear!” sobbed Cathy. “Don’t make me stay here!”

“I don’t make you stay here,” the Demoness snarled. “You do. I’m not even here any more. I work upstairs. Bringing you is just doing the Boss a favor. What does He care about a pimp who beat his girls?”

“Bring me my prey,” intoned the horrific sight of Baal as the ground itself shook as he walked up.

“No! No! NOOOOO!”

* * *

I watched her snap awake, terrified as I floated above her. Remind me to never tick you off, Blandine, I thought to her, shuddering in remembrance of my week with Baal.

I will, she thought back to me. For now, I had a scared little girl to comfort, while making sure she got the message. She saw me as I settled to the ground, shrinking away in terror. “Yeah, THAT was a dream. YOU can wake up. But there are millions who CANT."

The tearful floodgates opened. “Why won’t you freaks leave me alone?” she balled. I gathered her into a hug of both my arms and wings, letting the comfort of the Divine flow through me into her. She’s seen the stick. Now was the time for some carrot.

“Because we love you, Cathy. And we’re afraid for you. That awful place exists and if you keep going like you’re doing now you’ll see it! And it won’t be a dream then. And you won’t wake up from it.”

She cried for a long time into my breast and I felt a strange sensation come over me. A mixture of this must be what motherhood is like added with a very generous helping of you won’t ever feel it. My tail fetched me the box of tissue from her night stand and offered her one. She blew with a strength that would have made Mike proud.

“Is it all true?” she asked finally, looking up in my face. “Did they…?”

“Yes. Constantly. There’s no sleep there, no passing out because you can’t take it any more. Do you know why? Do you want to know why I was given to them?” She considered this for a moment and then forced a nod. “The Princess of Hell that owned me is named Lilith. I didn’t call her mother with the proper respect and speed she wanted. Now, if something as trivial as that rates what happened to me, think about what happens when you really make them mad.”

“But, you’re not…” I shook my head.

“Nope, I redeemed myself.” I kicked the halo back a bit on my head like a hat. “Apprentice Angel First Class Rebecca, at your service. I’ve got an ID somewhere.” We shared a girlish giggle for a moment. “That’s what I’m trying to do for you, Cathy. Get your act together. Listen to George and mind what he tells you. You couldn’t ask for a better guardian. I can see his soul so I can say that with some authority.”

She sighed. “I’ll try…”

I cranked up my best green Muppet impersonation. “Try not! Do! Or Do not. There is no try.”

“Well, if they let you in,” she told me playfully. I creamed her with a pillow and it just got sloppy from there.

* * *

Once I’d gotten Cathy asleep once more, with a heartfelt thanks to Blandine who assured me she’d have some pleasant dreams for the rest of the night, I walked out to find George waiting anxiously for me. I favored him with a tired grin that made him sweep me into his arms and that felt heavenly. “Well?” asked as we broke from our kiss. “How did it go?”

“I think she got the message,” I told him hesitantly. “The rest is up to her.” He reached down and literally swept me off my feet. “Why, Mr. Conner!” I exclaimed with a grin, even as my tail wrapped around him. “What ever could be on your mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about a quiet evening of Bible Study and heartfelt prayer?”

“How about I introduce you to the joys of one of the Greatest Gifts of Heaven; Sex?” He grinned.

“That works too.”

It took him a bit longer than I to return to how he’d been created, but then I have a perk or two there. With a thought I was nude as he struggled to match me. Our first coupling didn’t give us a lot of time for foreplay. I’d missed the preacher terribly, and he’d been worried out of his mind over me. So as he had his way with me, I let myself into his soul, seeing what I could snack on while enjoying his ministrations immensely.

There, I found a couple of small Temptations, nothing major; not that I expected there to be any. What did surprise me was a little shadow of Baal whispering to him that what Cathy needed was a couple of swift lessons of the Rod of Correctness. It have me great pleasure to devour the little shadow and free his soul from that particular torment.

Beyond him I found a couple of fleeting worries that by enjoying the intimacy with me he was somehow opening himself to a life of depraved lust. They added to my snack even as I let the Joy of the Gift reassure him that the physical display of Love was a Gift from on high.

The thought of pleasing both me and his Master brought on his first orgasm as I was satisfied that was the limit of what I could snack on from him. That just left enjoying the act of how I’d done my snooping.

Not to give the impression that George had been less than wonderful in our first encounter, but now, able to compare the old, mousy George and this new, improved, bigger model, I have to say I’ll pick this. I guess size really does matter.

* * *

I awoke to the muted strains of Handel’s Halleluiah Chorus and the wonderful smell of bacon and eggs drifting from the kitchen. While George wasn’t in the bed as I sat up and stretched, I had hardly woken alone. The feeling of the Boss was everywhere in the room. I could finally get what he had said in our last conversation here and it was a very comfortable feeling. I gathered up the jeans and the College of William and Mary Theology School sweatshirt I’d last worn here he’d left out and pulled them on.

A glance at the bed and it made itself as my gift to him. My hair was in a fashion that could only be called, rode hard, put away wet and just woke up. I didn’t fix it as there wasn’t any sense in rubbing Cathy’s nose in the perks of the job. I followed my nose out to the dinette of the apartment, content to go through the motions of breakfast to keep them company.

“Morning, sleepy head,” teased George from his labors in the kitchen. “Were you going to sleep the day away?” I yawned as I accepted a mug of coffee from Cathy with a smile.

“Nope, just enjoying the quiet,” I told him before turning back to Cathy. “Better dreams last night?” She nodded with a grave expression beyond the years of her tiny body.

“How do I make up for what I’ve done?” she asked quietly.

“I have a good friend coming who might be able to help you with that,” I replied pausing to take a sip and was surprised at the mix of flavors and energy within the coffee.

“What?” asked George. “Is it bad?”

I nearly choked shaking my head. “No! It’s great! I’m just surprised is all.”

He shrugged as he brought over mine and Cathy’s plates before going back to fetch his own. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me too much. Seems like we went over a Cabbalistic text a semester or two ago that mentioned something about that. The Damned can only feed on what ever specific aspect of purity they seek to pervert. But, Angels, being created by and of God can enjoy the entire works of His creation. I’d have to dig to get the exact quote.”

I waved him off as I salted my eggs from habit. “That’s close enough for me. This smells so good, George!”

“Who is this friend of yours that’s coming?” she interrupted hesitantly.

“Raphael, Arch Angel of Mercy,” I told her. “Technically, I suppose she would be my boss. She’s in charge of the other Angel I work with, Joy, so I’ll probably end up working for her. She agreed to baby sit you while we were away at the wedding.”

Just a hint of the old Cutter came out in her frown of displeasure. “I’m not a baby and I don’t need a sitter.”

“You’re also legally ten and George can go to jail for neglecting you,” I reminded her. “You want to take your chances as a ward of the State?” She shook her head vigorously. “Good. Besides, you’ll like Rafe. Everybody likes her.”

“I went to get my passport,” said George as he returned to the table and I was enjoying his eggs with gusto. “But the people told me there was no way I could get one in time.”

“Look in my purse,” I told him around a most unladylike mouthful. He turned and dug into the black leather shoulder bag that was hanging on the back of his chair, removing a Passport, round trip 1st Class tickets and the other documents of our travel. “Courtesy of Marc,” I managed around a sip of coffee. “Working for us does have its perks.”

“So I’m learning,” he said with a grin. He opened the passport to find a very flattering portrait of himself staring out at him. Finally he closed it and caught my eye.

“This isn’t illegal, is it?” I nearly snorted coffee through my nose.

“Are you really asking that question?” I asked in a laugh. “No, it’s not illegal, just miraculous. Marc has his way bureaucracies.” The doorbell rang interrupting further discussion of the technical aspects of the modern miracle. Being closest, I got the door to find Raphael, resplendent in her loud silk sarong and a travel bag tucked over one shoulder. “Hey boss,” I greeted as I stood aside so she could enter. “Thanks for picking up this on short notice.”

Her eyes took in my hair as she worked her fingers through it, making very little real difference in its appearance. “Have we been putting in overtime, Rebecca?” she asked with a smile.

“Some; can’t help being a workaholic in this job,” I agreed with a smile. George had stood and presented his hand that she batted aside to sweep him into one of her overpowering full body hugs. “None of that formal pish posh, George,” she chided as he got his breath back. “And you must be Cathy,” she said turning to the little girl torn between glee and fear of the new comer. “Think nothing of it, Rebecca,” Raphael told me as she worked her way back to the beginning of the conversation. “I haven’t had a real vacation in a long time and I hear Disney is lovely this time of year.”

Cathy’s smile was guarded. “I…I’ve always wanted to go there, but that’s for kids.”

“You are a kid, dear,” assured Raphael. “Time you learned to enjoy the perks of starting over. I think you’ve had enough of the punishments of it, yes?” Cathy nodded vigorously. Rafe’s eyes sought me making mine seek my toes. “Giving bad dreams to little girls, what were you thinking, Rebecca?”

“It…seemed like a good idea at the time…” I stammered.

Rafe said nothing out loud, but her mind told me, It was dear, just showing Cathy whose side I’m on.

Yes ma’am.

“Now,” she declared with a wave at the table which instantly cleaned itself. “You two have a plane to catch, if I’m not mistaken. But you won’t go anywhere looking like that my girl.” I looked down to see the stylish and flirty sundress she’d dressed me in and knew both hair and make up matched it. George’s jeans had been replaced by some comfy looking Dockers and a polo shirt of forest green that played up that magnificent chest of his. “Shoo!” she ordered. “Time for the grown ups to get going! We children are going to have some fun.” George and I were swept out of his apartment with bags that were suddenly packed and ready before the door was rather firmly closed in our collective face.

His low laugh brought my eyes to him. “Is she always that forceful?”

“Oh no,” I told him. “Usually it’s much worse.”

* * *

A twelve hour flight is a twelve hour flight. Feel free to include whatever details you need to. And, yes, George is a new member of the Mile High Club.

* * *

Edinburgh International Airport was having a rare day. The crowds were light, the sun was shining and it was a beautiful day to be in Scotland. Doubtless, the post card photographers were working overtime gathering a new crop of images for the next batch of their trade. Our bags were collected with less than the usual fuss and a Driver was waiting for us with quiet patience holding a placard with our names on it. “I’m George Conner,” he greeted the driver somewhat uncertainly. He tipped his cap and answered in a pleasant baritone of the local burr.

“Yes sir, Miss Plantard-Saint Clair and Mr. Stewart send their greetings. If you’ll follow me, I’ll conduct you to them.”

I nodded to the Elohim who was guarding the driver invisibly who returned my greeting and followed us to the waiting limousine. There, a contingent of his brothers and sisters in arms were standing about, one for each of the security detail The driver held the door for us as we slid in to the amused expression of Laurence, General of the Heavenly host. “Fine afternoon, isn’t it?” he greeted as we got ourselves comfortable in the back. A touch of the control brought the partition up between us and the driver.

“Is..this normal?” asked George after a moment.

“Not usually, but this is something of a big deal.” The Arch Angel extended his hand. “Lawrence, CEO of Elohim Security Specialists. Among other titles.”

“So the guards out there?” I asked as the limo pulled off the curb and began to cruise.

“Are mostly aware of their Heavenly Partners. Better safe than sorry. After a certain someone made us aware of how sensitive this particular point of History was, we decided to step things up a notch or two.”

“Well, I can certainly say I’m impressed,” replied George. “All this for a simple, mundane marriage?” Lawrence spread his hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “I suppose I should feel safer then.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry, but I don’t think I’d relax either. No telling if the Other Side will try some thing, despite our precautions.”

We rode in silence for several minutes, looking at what few sights there were to see. Edinburgh, like most European cities, was big, dirty for the most part and sprawled in the way only a town better than a thousand years old could. Still, the nicer parts of it we rode through were quite nice, in a well to do suburbia kind of way. Lawrence passed the time flipping through a magazine. Finally we pulled to a stop at a house I knew well.

The front door had been repaired, but you never forget the place where you defy Hell itself. The Plantard-St Clair Manner was bustling with activity in a quietly ordered kind of way. The driver got out and opened my door. “You’ll be staying here,” supplied Laurence. “Tradition I’m afraid. George and I will be down at Stewart Hall.”

I pouted, but there really wasn’t anything else for it. I’ll miss you, I projected to into the sigil to George. He held up his hand and kissed his ring finger.

I’ll be as close as a thought.

Then I was swept into the energetic hug of Elisabeth, the new bride to be. “You came!” she exclaimed as the Driver worked out which of the bags was mine. “I’m so glad you’re alright! We were worried sick! That wonderful Mr. Marc assured us you’d pull through, but still, we hadn’t heard.”

The smile that pulled at my lips wasn’t at all forced as I returned her hug. “I couldn’t miss this, now could I?” I asked her, nodding to the driver as he passed, having turned my things over to one of her houses staff. I couldn’t help watching the limo drive away for a moment, rather confused thoughts rumbling in my mind. Once it was out of sight, I turned once more to my hostess. “I see you’re adjusting well,” I commented.

She blushed sweetly. “Well, one does what one must for one’s country. This is actually working to our advantage, your elegant solution.”

I felt my eyebrow climb my face. “Oh?”

“Yes, Gregory is native Scott you know, of the House of the Kings of Scotland.”

“What does his linage have to do with the cosmic switcheroo that got played on you two?” I asked.

“I’m French,” she told me. My being King of Scotland would have been a hard hill to climb. Now, I’m the blushing (in more ways than one let me tell you!) bride and Greg will be the King. Much easier for the locals to swallow.” I shared a wicked wink with her as we followed her people inside.

“You’ll be swallowing a bit there too, my pet, and take it from me, that’s a good thing.”

She turned a bit queasy at the mention of her martial obligations but it only took about ten minutes of reassurances about how much better she had it for that to pass.

* * *

Once I’d gotten settled in my rooms Elisabeth had decided she wanted to spend the afternoon riding, so we were taken to a lovely Equestrian Park on the outskirts of town. Her horse was a rather spirited Stallion who was a brilliant white that made me more than a touch nervous. They found me a nice, docile mare for my first time and we made our way out onto the trail.

Our escort, both a burly looking gentleman with plastic in his ear and several not quite natural bulges and an amused female Elohim kept their distance so we could talk, but their attention never flagged. “So,” Elisabeth started once we’d gotten free of the prying ears. “What can you tell me about it?”

“What?” I asked, a bit torn between trying to find a comfortable way to sit in an English saddle with a tail and my fear of the mare deciding to take advantage of my inexperience.

“Heaven, of course!” she told me with great enthusiasm. “To have the question answered still raises so many more! Is really just all clouds or is the sun always shining? Do you need to eat? What about sleeping? And you must tell me what He is like!”

“Whoa,” I started but the mare took that to mean I wanted her to stop and did so. It took me a second to get her going again. Elisabeth was more than a touch amused at my problems. “Well, slow down at least,” I told her once the mare was going once more. “Um, parts of it seem to be made of clouds, other parts just seem like really nice places on Earth. This park is like portions of it. You can always see the sun if you want to, but if you want to sleep it gets dark. As I understand it, you don’t need to eat or sleep, but the habit takes a while to break.”

“Amazing,” she whispered in reverent awe. “And?”

“What? Oh, well, what can I add to the existing descriptions? He’s, well, he’s great. Kind, loving of course, and he’s got a great sense of humor. He really makes me feel welcome, but I don’t get to see Him very much. I’m pretty busy training for work.”

“Training? Work?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m an Angel now. So there’s all kinds of training involved. Self Defense, diplomacy, magic, that kind of thing.”

“So, would you be my Guardian Angel?” she asked softly. I shook my head.

“Not my department. Besides, you’ve already got one. I work for Raphael, the Arch Angel of Mercy. Mostly I’m helping her reclaim sex for the One on High.”

Her face dripped disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Not only am I eminently qualified, but Sex is one of the Great Gifts you know. The Other Side made a great victory out of getting mortals thinking it’s dirty. It’s not! That is, after all, how you came to be here, you know.” We rode in silence for a few minutes before she sighed.

“I’m terrified of it,” she admitted.

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, think about it! He’ll be inside me and now I’m expected to give him an heir. Rebecca, I don’t think I can!” I rolled my eyes.

“Elisabeth, I was born Ricardo Manuel Estabon. I spent a week being gang raped by demons. So I feel I can tell you this with great authority.” She nodded, interested. “Miel, you have it good. I went to Hell because I slept around without a thought of consequence or real feeling about any of the women I was with. I broke up two marriages that I know of, talked a girl into getting an abortion because it wasn’t convenient for me until I finally slept with the wrong girl and got killed for it.”

“Wow,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, with more than a touch of shame. I knew I’d been forgiven, but the regret of what I’d done I don’t think I’ll ever get over. “So, let me tell you about how wonderful sex as a woman is. Well, you know how it is a man. Have you touched yourself yet?” She shook her head, more than a bit embarrassed about the directness of my question. I sighed. “When we get back I want you to go straight to you room and masturbate for an hour. Don’t come out until you have. Then maybe you’ll understand how I can enjoy my work so much.”

“But…” she started.

“No buts, mi novia. Now, on top of how spectacular it feels, you’ll get to experience what I’ll wonder about for eternity. You’ll get to be a mother, Elisabeth! You’ll create life! You can’t know how much I’ll wish I could and won’t. Enjoy this, Beth!”

“If you’re going to call me Beth, then I’m afraid I shall have to call you Becky,” she told me with a sardonic smile.

“Right you are, Elisabeth.”

We shared a giggle then a few companionable moments of silence. “So,” I started as I enjoyed the lush beauty of the park. “When do you guys get crowned?”

“Well,” she laughed. “There’s the little details of making Scotland completely independent, convincing parliament that the monarchy should be re-instated and who that person should be, but hopefully before a century or two goes by.”

“Oh.” I paused for a breath and caught the twinkle in her eye. “You...want I should talk to Marc and see who’s in charge of that sort of thing to see about getting the process speeded up?”

“Would you?”

* * *

“No!” said Marc with great finality. “Absolutely not! Out of the question!” It wasn’t that he was angry, a bit surprised by my request, but I don’t think anger was an emotion he could really feel.

“But, Marc,” I started.

“No buts, Rebecca!” he scolded me. “Lilith, your erstwhile Mother is on a shelf because she didn’t think through the consequences of interfering down there. Free Will is something the Boss is very adamant about. We will not interfere with the self determination of what goes on down there.”

“We do that every day, Marc,” I chided him. “You employ, what? Ten, twenty thousand mortals in your organization down there? And that famine relief you orchestrated in Rwanda, how was that not interfering?”

“Convincing someone that they can make a profit and a difference has nothing to do with purposefully manipulating the destinies of not one but two countries. Do you know the kind of leverage Mammon could assert if word got out that I helped you bring about the independence of Scotland? Oh, and let’s not forget pulling sufficient strings to make sure the descendents of the Savior Himself are king and queen!”

We stared at each other a bit, neither one of us wanting to back down as I worked furiously for a way to get him to see things my way without compromising his own well entrenched ethics and morals. “It’s not like I have to go into what kind of good we could spread down there if someone so on our side were in a position of real authority down there,” I told him while subtly rearranging the hem of my skirt above my knee and re-crossing my legs.

He swallowed and shook his head, trying to clear it. “It’s also not required of me to spell out what a disaster it would be if the Truce fell apart because of something we did.”

I sent a bit of my subconscious drifting along the floor and under his desk to toy with his ankles. “Yes,” I agreed, “that would be the worst case scenario. But, surely if we were careful and made certain we didn’t do anything untoward or in express violation of the Truce, if the People of Scotland decided they really wanted to be free and have their old House of Kings restored, that’s not our fault, now is it?”

He squirmed a bit under my expert tickling of his libido. “And exactly how do we accomplish all that?” he demanded.

“Well, you have all kinds of telecommunications and broadcasting firms in your organization. What could be more newsworthy than the chance of Scotland’s Independence? And the news is always so depressing, full of the evil men inflict on each other. Here’s a nice, wholesome couple, trained from birth to take the reigns of power not as a privilege but a duty and obligation. A sacred trust of the people. Think how enriching that kind of news could be to some people with little hope or faith in their governments?” I felt a certain portion of his anatomy start to swell and backed off ever so slightly in my tendrils through him.

I didn’t want him wildly horny. Just a bit more receptive to my argument. He played with his chin for a moment. “I don’t suppose a little positive PR could be considered a violation of the Truce. Mammon is fond of that kind of thing anyway.” Feeling my oats, I ever so slightly shifted in my chair to play up my bosom from his vantage point.

“Sure! And perhaps a few firms you do business with could be made to understand how much easier certain things might be if they were based out of an Independent Scotland. Their lobbying of the Scottish Parliament would be an act of Free Will then.”

“Don’t push your luck,” he said with a chuckle. “So, if I’m going to do this, what are the blushing couple going to offer in return?” I blinked in dumbfoundedness. “Nothing is free, Rebecca,” he chided me. “They want my help to ascend to the throne? That has a price.”

“Well, what would you want?” I asked.

“The Scotts have been using their peat bogs for years as part of the filtering process of making scotch. They’re almost used up and while Scotland’s population is going up, the amount of land they have at their disposal is finite. I want their Word that, if and when they become the Monarchs of Scotland to undertake a project to revitalize the peat bogs and set aside sufficient land for them in perpetuity. The world needs good scotch and the environment could use the boost. That’s the price of my helping them.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I said after a moment. “Do I need to take a contract or something?” Marc frowned.

“That’s the Other Side’s gig, Rebecca. Their Word is enough for me. And we have yet to cover what I want from you for bringing this to me.”

“Me? I’m just…”

“Lobbying as an advocate of a mortal. If you gave them that service for free, that’s your affair. But, if you want my help I want something in return from you for helping them bypass Kimiko.” I sighed and nodded. “There’s a banker in Scotland who has worked there for some time. Honest as the day is long, always helping the poor and needy get the cash they need to better themselves. One of my prime examples of honorable banking. But, he’s so devoted to Finance that he never got married. I want you to give him a bit of fun before he kicks up his heels and gets the big promotion.”

Freedom isn’t free, I told myself. Suppressing a nervous swallow, I asked, “How old?” His chuckle both relieved and worried me.

“I’m not pimping you out, Rebecca. There’s actually a very comely Widow who’s taken with the old goat in the office, but he thinks himself too old for such things. Perhaps you can go and rekindle some of those old fires, make him see her in a different light?”

“I’m not sure how good a matchmaker I’ll be, but I’ll give it a shot, Marc. Thanks for listening.”

I started to withdraw my tendrils from him in preparation for leaving, but felt them catch on something. “You’re welcome. Oh, and Rebecca? Just one more thing.” I couldn’t keep in a squeak as he grabbed the tendrils and gave them a firm tug. I imagine it was rather like having a pig tail in my hair and having someone pull on it. “I’m an Arch Angel. I’ve been doing this since the Boss shed some light on the subject. You, my dear, are a rookie. A nice, intelligent rookie who is a great asset to our side, but a rookie none the less. Don’t let a bad nature become a bad habit. We clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” I gulped as he released my power and it slinked back to me, for all the world feeling sheepish at being caught.

His grin smoothed over any bad feeling I might have had at being seen through so easily. “Go on. I’ve got some calls to make for a new Public Interest story. Shoo.”

* * *

“So, he’ll help us?” exclaimed Elisabeth as I flipped through the folders Kimiko had given me on the way out of the Tower of Fair Trade.

“Mmhmm,” I muttered as I read up on one Hamish McTaggart, esquire, 74 and the President of the Bank of the Highlands, Dingwall. The poor dear hadn’t even touched himself in nearly twenty years. “So long as you don’t have any problem with the Peat Bog thing. He wants your Word, so be careful. Giving your Word to a supernatural isn’t like giving it to another human. There are consequences if you fail to keep it.”

“Oh, I don’t think Gregory will have any issue there. If nothing else, I’ll make it my Cause Celebes.” I glanced up to fix her with my gaze.

“The deal is both, or nothing,” I told her firmly. “I wouldn’t advise you haggling with him. He’s good at that.” Elisabeth nodded as she came over.

“What’s this?”

“This would be my price for helping you two. I have to get Hamish here set up with,” and I paused to flip open the other folder, revealing an elderly woman with a quiet, regal nature to her, rather like the Actress who played the Scottish Witch in those Boy Wizard movies. “Rosemary Gordon, widow, aged seventy.”

“Well, why?” she asked, sitting beside me on the bench.

“Hamish here is one of Marc’s favorites and he never married because he was too busy giving everybody else the square deal in the Highlands. Rose here lost her husband, um,” and there were several moments of flipping pages, “Phillip to a heart attack back in ’90 and now she has her heart set on Hamish here.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I didn’t mean to get you working on your vacation.” That brought a chuckle out of me.

“I don’t think I’m entitled to a vacation yet. I’ve only been on the job a week or so. Guess Hamish here is going to be my first real case. To tell you the truth, it would be easier if Marc just wanted me to give him a roll in the hay. That at least is fairly straight forward. Getting him to realize he isn’t too old for love, that’s another story.”

“I’m sure you can do it,” she told me with an encouraging rub of my shoulders. “Dinner isn’t for a few hours, yet and we’ll be headed to Gregory’s for it. What would you like to do until then?”

I closed the folders and rubbed my eyes. “I guess I should really get started on this, if that’s ok?”

She nodded. “You’ll want to leave yourself plenty of time to get dressed for supper though. It’s black tie.”

With a thought I was wearing a daring evening gown whose neckline plunged to my navel and showed a generous view of the swell of both breasts. Not to mention the slit that stopped just below my left hip. My hair was piled on my head in style I’d pulled straight off Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. “How’s this?” I asked. “Too Daring?” She blinked and I was an Edwardian School Teacher, down to the bustled dress, cameo at my throat and glasses on the end of my nose. “Too conservative?”

“I hate you,” she told me with a smile as I once more was in the sundress I’d been wearing at the start of our conversation.

“Don’t hate me because I’m dead,” I told her with a giggle. “Which gives me an idea…”

* * *

The commotion at the front of the office was a bit disturbing to Hamish McTaggart as he was going over the quarter’s profit and loss sheets. The bank was well below its projected profits for the quarter and the Board wasn’t going to be happy about that, but it couldn’t be helped. Lending the money to the Tennant Association to buy their Apartment Complex out from under that unscrupulous weasel Tarrington was the right thing to have done.

Was it his fault he’d set the Housing Authority on them after they’d muscled him out? The little hoodlum had kept the place in such a dismal state of affairs of course the Authority had complained. Threatened to condemn the entire estate if repairs weren’t made immediately. Of course he had to give them an extension on the repaying the loan so they could effect the repairs and have a place to live. Hamish sighed. He’d make the board see reason. Again.

“Rosemary?” he called in his tired voice, thick with its Highland Burr.

“Yes Mr. McTaggart?” was her immediate response. Her head was in the door, hard on the heels of her lovely voice, causing Hamish to sigh. He was too old for that sort of thing.

“What’s all this racket then?” he demanded.

“I’ll go and see for you, sir.” Hamish tried and failed several times to give his attention back to the ledgers but found his eyes constantly being pulled back to his open office door. At last Rosemary returned, a regal, extremely elderly woman walking with the aide of a cane in one hand and the shoulder of a beautiful slip of a girl on the other. Rosemary cleared her throat. “Mr. McTaggart, may I present Rebecca, Duchess of the Isle of Mann? She would like to speak with you over her final arraignments.” The Duchess made her way into the office with tired, but great dignity. She passed her cane to the girl and held out her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to be of service, your Grace,” greeted Hamish as he kissed the hand and helped her with a great sigh of relief into the chair.

“Charmed, Squire McTaggart,” she breathed in a willowy voice. It was obvious that, even given her advanced age, she had been a great beauty in her day and, indeed, still carried herself very well. “This is my great granddaughter Elisabeth. Stand up straight, girl,” she chided.

“Yes mum,” replied the girl as she dropped an elegant curtsey to the Banker. Hamish made his way back to his desk and sat down.

“Now, I understand you need assistance with your final arraignments?” he said. “Have you a solicitor we should contact?”

“He’ll be in touch, Squire. Today I wish to open a series of Trusts for my children and so on.”

“Ah, of course, ma’am. What did you have in mind?”

“I shall need fifteen educational trusts for the Great Grandchildren, in addition to thirty escrow accounts for the Inheritance funds pending their transfers, and, I should think another thirty educational trusts for the children of the Great Grandchildren. In all, deposits this afternoon of fifty million pounds.” Hamish worked hard to keep the grin off his face. This would certainly help the quarter’s numbers greatly.

“Certainly, your Grace. I can work the details of this with your solicitor. This afternoon I should just need to get the information of your executor and we can handle the deposit. This may take a bit of time, I’m afraid.”

“I have many things, Squire, but time is not one of them,” the Duchess responded. “Yet,” and she gave a tolerant smile and glance at the girl. “I cannot say my life has been a complete waste. The love of my family sustains me through these difficult final days. I’m certain your own wife helps you through your own times of need, does she not?”

Hamish blushed. “I never married your Grace.”

The Duchess was more than somewhat shocked. “It cannot be true!” she exclaimed. “A man of your obvious charms and quality. It’s obvious you were a handsome, powerful man in your youth, you set me in mind of my dearly departed husband Rupert.”

Hamish took in the faded, black and white photograph of himself, tucked into the frame of an equally faded certificate. He wore the kilt of his clan and an expression of exertion that bordered on agony as he was just preparing to throw the telephone pole he carried by its base. He had won the caber toss long ago in ’58, but that had been before the pressure of success had begun to war with the pressure of being an honest man in a dishonest profession. “Your Grace is very kind to say so.”

“Nonsense!” she declared. “I’d wager there are women in this very building who would count themselves fortunate to receive a smile from you, Squire.”

“I’m an old man, your Grace,” he started.

“I am nearly a hundred, Mr. McTaggart,” she said imperiously. “My husband and I enjoyed one another’s company nearly to the day he died. Youth may be wasted on the young, but they have not cornered the market on foolishness.”

Hamish found himself daydreaming for a bit of asking Rosemary out for a pint after work before he shook his head. There hadn’t been as much as a peep from down below….Mother of God! Hamish was embarrassed to find out down below was awakening after a long nap. As he focused his attention on his client he realized that, despite her years, there was a certain sensuality about the Duchess. Yes, here was a rare woman who had reveled in her womanhood. Pity, really…

“I’m sorry, your Grace, what were you saying?” he asked, contrite to realize she’d been speaking. She was holding out a credit card that he leapt up to collect, doing his best to hide his predicament.

“You may make the deposits from this, Squire,” she repeated evenly, either not noticing or being polite enough not to comment on his condition. The brush of her fingertips as he took the card was electric. His fingers reminded him of the times he had casually shared contact with Rosemary and down below wailed at twenty years of being ignored.

The card was a dull gold color, emblazoned with her name and quite modern for so elegant a lady. Orachalcim Express? Well, there were so many cards on the market these days as to make it impossible to keep track of them all. “I’ll just be a moment,” he told her as he left.

“Everything alright, squire?” teased Rosemary as he came out with the card. Somehow, the pressures of the coming meeting of the board didn’t seem so important any longer.

“Fine,” he assured her. “Rosemary, the Duchess will be depositing fifty million pounds from this. See to it, won’t you?” She dropped a curtsey with an impish smile. “And, Rose, would…”

“Sir?” she asked, returning to her professional face once more.

“Well, perhaps you’d care to take a pint with me after close?” he asked, his poor heart beating like a school boy. Hamish watched her face go from shock to pleasure as she touched at the back her hair, making sure it was in place.

“I’ve been know to sip a pint or two,” she admitted with a coy smile that looked right on her. One she hadn’t worn in a many a year.

“Well, I’ll see you then. The Duchess’ deposit, if you please?” Her own face set into a happy, but businesslike manner. She nodded and scurried off. As Hamish returned, the Duchess was all smiles, making him wonder if somehow she knew what had just transpired. “We’ve just the formalities of running the card, your Grace, and we can send the paperwork to your solicitor.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. McTaggart.”

* * *

“Mission accomplished!” I grinned at my partner in heavenly hanky panky as we strolled from the front of the bank a companionable distance, letting the passersby see the Duchess and her granddaughter drive away in a suitable limousine. Elisabeth and I walked a ways, before I let us be seen again, this time as a pair of young women out for a stroll as I looked for a secluded spot to open the gate back to her home.

“Fifty Million Pounds?” she giggled. “Marc is going to have a fit.”

“Hey, he told me to get the old goat at least interested again. I did so. The money he can use to put some needy kids through school and the rest is just earning us interest. No harm, no foul.” I hope, I added silently. Still there was a dinner to see to and the day wasn’t getting any younger.

* * *

Elisabeth and I decided to play mirrors for the dinner party. Her gown was long, milky white and quite modest. It left her arms bare and fell to just above her ankles. Her accessories were all black and her hair was down in innocent, nearly virginal style. I opted for a daring, but not as daring as the gown I’d teased her with, cocktail dress in black that still set off my charms to nice effect. I wore my own hair up with elbow length gloves and all of my accessories were in white.

A quick glance in the mirror we shared assured us of the devastation we were going to inflect on our respective men folk. Yep, we were definitely dressed to thrill. I opened the gate to a disserted location in Stewart Hall and led us through. “I don’t suppose you could set something like up for us permanently, could you?” she asked once we’d arrived. I gave her a coy look. “Well, there’s no harm in asking, is there?”

“Once, no,” I admitted with a smile. “Just don’t pester me about it. Once I’m back on the job, you two have to ride around just like all the other mortals down here.”

She smiled and shrugged as she led the way towards the dinning hall. “I had to…eek!” she squealed. The dining room looked like something out of a Salvador Dali painting. The table was half melted and it was clear by the amount of damage some kind of major battle had taken place.

There was no one there, living or dead.

Not knowing if further combat was in the offering, I flashed us both up a pair of jeans and tee-shirts, hers’ with a bullet proof vest underneath that she squeaked in surprise as it compressed her form. My senses told me the house was empty so I let my wings and tail out of their confinement to aide me in my own maneuverability.

My hand came up to my lips, fearing the worst as I sought my lover through the link we shared. George?

Rebecca? He sounded weak and far away, giving me only the vaguest feeling of his presence before something outside it locked it down.

“Where is everyone?” whispered Elisabeth fearfully. I waved at her to keep quiet, even as I whipped up the sword she’d hurt me with so greatly from her home and handed it to her. I drew the pistol Michael had given me from it’s holster even I wasn’t aware of anymore, dropping the mundane magazine out of it to replace it with the Orachalcim bullets.

Something supernatural was afoot, that was for sure. “Oh you have no idea,” purred a voice behind me, slurred by slight English accent as she read my mind like an open book. The red headed woman strolled casually into the room with a wiggle of her rear that would have set any man to drooling. If there’d been one in the room that is.

Her dress was red silk with a neckline that stopped well south of her navel, just above a similar slit that came up the front. Only about four inches of silk kept her modesty, if she’d had any to speak of. She plucked an apple from the dish on what was left of the table with out a care to the destroyed room and polished it on her ample bosom that threatened to leap free of the dress with every stroke.

“Miss Hurley,” exclaimed Elisabeth in surprise. “I’m a great fan of your work.”

I extended a wing to shield her and growled, “Stay behind me. That’s not Elisabeth Hurley.”

“Go to the head of the class,” beamed Lucifer as the dress was swapped for another outfit in red that even the most depraved would hesitate to call school girl before offering the apple with a twinkle. “Rebecca, you’ve done wonders my girl, and in so short a period of time. Why my little Lorelei will be jealous.”

“What do you want, Lucifer?” I named her keeping the pistol more or less in her direction and wondering if it would even annoy her, Orachalcim or no before she feasted on both of us.

“Oh, we’re not still sore about that entire died and gone to Hell business, are we?” she cooed. “It’s not like I had anything to do with that. As a matter of fact, darling, I was rather instrumental in you earning that little fashion accessory you’re wearing.” She gave a vague gesture at the halo floating over my head. “Do put that toy away, dear, it’s not like you could hurt me with it, and besides,” and she wiggled her eyebrows in evil glee, “if you aren’t nice to me finding the boys you had such a hot date with will be very much harder.”

That smooth English accent she affected almost made her sound reasonable. Still, there wasn’t much else for it. I holstered the pistol even as I commended what was left of my soul to God.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I’ll bet you’re just dieing to know where the boys are, aren’t you? They’re not far actually, and with my help, getting them free again should be a snap.”

“What have you done with my husband?” demanded Elisabeth from behind my wing. The Devil actually managed to appear hurt.

“I haven’t done anything to him, sweetness, and aren’t we jumping the gun a bit? The wedding isn’t for another week yet.” She slid into the one chair that was still up to the task of its purpose and took a healthy bite from the apple. “But I’m just trifling, aren’t I? You’ve walked down that isle a hundred times in your mind by now, haven’t you?”

“What is your ‘help’ going to cost us?” I asked guardedly

Her eyes shown with demonic fire. “Oh we have learned well at Marc’s knee, haven’t we? Good for you, darling, you’re coming right along. Still it’s not like your Destiny is carved in stone, is it? There’s always a place in my organization for someone as clever as you.” I watched the Temptation leave her even as it started floating towards me, in dumbstruck amazement.

She had to know I ate Temptation. That by tempting me she was making me even more powerful. I sucked in her words like a battery suddenly attached to a pure source of current, and felt the Divine in me convert that Temptation into raw power that flowed throughout me.

Wow! It was like a taste of the most wonderful steak after a life time of soy based hamburger. It enriched without making me feel over full and strengthened every part of my resolve to stay on the side I was on. And there was something very similar to the taste of her and something else tickling at the back of my mind.

“No?” she sighed with put on disappointment. “I suppose you’re determined to play Miss Goody Two Shoes.” But I saw through her now. She knew what she had done. Knowing full well not only would it not work, but make me stronger. “Anyways,” she said, cutting into my frantic ruminations on the impact of this. “I’m not responsible for this particular party being crashed. That honor belongs to the Hall of Mages, who not only have their hands on your lover, sweet cheeks, but have actually managed bag the Arch Angel Laurence, must to his future humiliation, I’m sure.”

“What would they want…?” started Elisabeth.

“Pay attention and listen, darling. It’s not like I have all day to dawdle here and play fill in the gaps for you. I have souls to wrestle into damnation. The Hall is looking to blame me for this and rekindle the war with my perpetually self-righteous adversaries. Unfortunately for the two of you, they’re well and truly prepared for any kind of rescue attempt. And they’re pulling out all the stops to see that that war does restart. The very head of the Hall, Rasputin himself is over seeing this little slumber party. So it’s not like you can just waltz in there like some silly action movie.”

Finished with the apple, she dropped it on the plate and leaned forward. “But, you can sneak in and get the boys out, if you’re really clever and have some help from my side to prove I had nothing to do with it.” She turned and called over her shoulder, “Lorelei, come here, darling.”

A succubus, one I’d seen in passing down in Home with chestnut hair and blue eyes, wings and hooves appeared with some surprise in the room. We locked eyes for a moment then she was content to drop a curtsey to her mistress. “Your Lowness,” she greeted guardedly.

“Lorelei, darling, I think you know our charming Rebecca?”

“Not…personally…” she hedged, obviously as uncertain about things as I was.

“Well, now you do,” beamed Lucifer. “Did you get what you needed from Jade?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Wonderful. I want you to help Rebecca here free her boyfriend and Miss Plantard-Saint Clair’s fiancée from the clutches of the Hall of Mages. Can you do that for me, darling?” She nodded. “Wonderful.” Lucifer gestured and a roll of velum appeared on the table. “Here’s a map to where they’re, I think the phrase I want is ‘holed up’ along with a complete list of their defenses. Play nicely with each other.”

“The Hall of Mages?” asked the newcomer guardedly.

“Oh, yes,” admitted Lucifer. “She would want to be a part of this, wouldn’t she? And that will balance things out nicely. Two of Us and Two of Them. Angelique?”

A fairly busty, blonde haired sexpot who was evidently just in the process of a shower due to her being naked, soaking wet and utterly surprised appeared. “Hey!” she exclaimed, seeking to cover herself. Lucifer’s tone was just a step above cross.

“What?”

“ummm, er, ahhh what is your command, my LADY?"

“Better,” she purred. “Lorelei, you’re to assist to the best of your ability with this task. But Rebecca is in charge.”

“Why?” she demanded, flirting for the first time with defiance.

“Simple, darling, if this fails, then it’s her fault.” Great, just what I needed. “Lorelei will fill you in on the pertinents, Angelique,” she said blithely, clothing the new comer in a rather suggestive outfit of chain mail that didn’t seem for protection so much as attraction, with a wave. “I have pressing appointments. Arrivederci!” And with that, the Princess of Lies was gone.

Oh boy.

* * *

Lorelei and I shared a moment of guarded sizing each other up before Elisabeth cleared her throat rather loudly. “Hadn’t we be getting on with this?” she asked. “I suppose the best thing all around would be introductions. I’m Elisabeth Plantard-Saint Clair, evidently the great to a ridiculous number granddaughter of a Jewish Carpenter I think we all know.”

Lorelei laughed at that, an easy laugh that spoke of a fine sense of humor that made me like her a bit and eased the tension in the room considerably. “I’m Lorelei of Clan Lilim, Succubus, as if these killer curves couldn’t tell you that.” She gestured to the blonde. “This is Angelique, a Hell’s Valkyrie, one of Mother’s experimental Succubae; she’s a cross between a succubus and a Hell Maid.”

“I’ve got some Irish Terrier in there somewhere too,” drawled the blonde with an amused glance at the smaller Demoness. Indeed, Angelique was easily the tallest of us, probably over six feet. Head and shoulders over my normal 5’8” and Elisabeth, poor girl was the shortest of us at five nothing.

“I’m Rebecca, so I guess kind of half sisters with you guys,” I told them. “I work for Raphael now.”

Lorelei nodded. “Wow, did you luck out.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“There are some real taskmasters up there that put our best to shame. But you draw the one Angel who’ll always understand if you need a break, or are late for work? How do you rate that?” I shrugged.

“Must be my winning personality.”

Her grin was rather lurid as she walked over, the ice having been broken so to speak. “So, the boss sampled the merchandise yet?”

“No, and I don’t get the feeling she will to be honest.” Lorelei laughed again.

“Honey, Raphael isn’t a she. Raphael is an it. It is an Arch Angel who predates something as pedestrian as gender and can show whatever face to the world it wants.” That set my mind turning in an entirely new direction that I honestly hadn’t considered. “So,” she proclaimed, shaking hands with Elisabeth as that was the English thing to do. “Shall we get down to this? I don’t mean to be rude, but I still have to get a hold of Marc and start a haggle over getting my Clan Leader out of a Jar that someone here, who shall remain nameless got her in.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh sure, I gathered up my sweatshirt, forced her hands onto it and made her throw me out the window.”

“She threw you out the window?” asked Lorelei with great amusement. “No wonder Jade’s bent. You know what glass repair goes for in New York?” We shared a giggle that I must admit made me realize I liked the little bit, but I was more than a touch glad I was only just meeting her.

If I’d been sent out with her instead of Ursula, I’d probably still be Damned.

Angelique has already unrolled the vellum across what was left of the table. I don’t think anyone cared she raked the dishes onto the floor to make room. As destroyed as that room was, a little more wasn’t going to hurt. “This is a Hall of Mages Chancellery!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes,” I told her. “They’re behind this. It’s one of those pertinent facts you haven’t gotten yet.” She cracked her knuckles with obvious relish at the chance to bust a few Mage heads. “Bad blood?” I asked softly.

“Long story. So, we’re here,” she said pointing at the map which not only showed Stewart Hall, but a blue print of the building with our names labeled. And the labels moved! “They are here,” she pointed and I saw a half dozen names I didn’t recognize, and another dozen clumped together that I did. But the one that worried me was in the largest room with the most names. It was labeled simply Rasputin.

“Oh shit,” breathed Angelique. “Rasputin is there. This is going to be near impossible!”

“Not as impossible as you might think,” I said, recalling what we’d learned of the Mad Monk from history class. “How are you two in the magic department?” I asked.

“I’m no slouch,” declared Angelique, but Lorelei only chuckled darkly. “Not in her league, but ok. It’s not like we can just gate in there. See these gold lines? They’re alarm wards. Not only will they pick up on our supernatural nature, but any kind of teleportation magic they’ll pick up on.”

I saw one of the names was in what appeared to be a bedroom and not moving. “Who says we have to teleport?” I asked coyly, pointing him out. “There’s our way in right there.”

“Ronald?” asked Elisabeth blankly while staring at the map. “How is he going to help us?”

“He’s asleep,” said Angelique softly with something like respect in her eyes towards me.

“The March of Dreams,” finished Lorelei.

* * *

It wasn’t easy figuring a spell up that would allow us to take Elisabeth so close to Heaven while she was still alive. Let alone two other Demoness and there was more than one close call with a Malachite patrol, but we managed to get to Blandine’s realm intact. Elisabeth’s eyes were trying to bug out of her head as she took everything in all at once.

“Stay focused,” I told her as we flew with great speed through the March, looking for our boy. The March of Dreams was a gray landscape populated by large, mushroom like bubbles that were the dreams of mortals back on Earth. You could look into them, seeing what the dreamer was experiencing in their dream, and even enter them along with certain other creatures, good and bad who called the March their home. These creatures were responsible for particularly nice or bad dreams and there were collections of angels and demons responsible for overseeing both.

But there were other uses for these mushrooms.

“Here it is!” called Lorelei from our search. We all rushed over to it, looking in to see Ronald enjoying the accolades of his fellow partners in Armageddon and being amply rewarded by Rasputin who had set himself up as the new god.

There’s nothing more perverted than a wizards wet dream.

Lorelei and I opened a hole for ourselves, into the dream and helped the others through. We found ourselves in a throne room, Rasputin more than a touch concerned by our sudden arrival. Angelique lopped off his head with a great fountain of blood and more than a small measure of satisfaction.

The ground began to shake as Ronald fought his way back to consciousness. I quickly sang the spell that opened a hole in the sky even as the Dream Ronald hurled bolts of power that bounced harmlessly off us. Snatching up Elisabeth we raced towards the hole…

* * *

…And appeared his room, having come out his forehead. I felt Ronald lurch to being awake, right before Angelique popped him a good one across the left cheek and sent him back to dreamland. She made short work of tying him up and tucked a pillow case over his head for good measure. “What now?” she whispered.

I pulled out the map and watched a label named Carol stroll towards, cooperating beautifully with the plan. “Here comes our pigeon now,” I whispered. “Remember!” I hissed. “No magic!”

As she drew even with us, Angelique opened the door, to Carol’s immense surprise and snatched her into the room and proceeded to throw her a beating as well. In short order, Carol was trussed up like a turkey with Ronald.

“Another part of that long story?” asked Elisabeth, seeing the absolute look of glee on Angelique’s face.

“Ex Wife,” proclaimed the Valkyrie with a grin. “Pay back’s a bitch, ain’t it dear?”

“Now,” I said, turning to Angelique. “You and Elisabeth go and get the mundanes out of here. Don’t stop for us and what ever you do, don’t get caught. Go straight back your place Elisabeth and call Marc at the number I gave you.” She nodded fearfully as I handed her the map.

“I still don’t think…” started Angelique.

“No buts,” I told her. “We all agreed this was the best way.” I turned to Lorelei. “Ready?” She nodded and took on the form of Carol as I whispered an invisibility spell around Angelique and Elisabeth to the blare of alarms.

Not really cool high tech alarms or even those low, deep, U Boat kind of alarm; no, these were church bells. Rasputin obviously had some issues to over come. Lorelei wrapped me in a loose confinement spell as we shared one last glance before pausing in the door so our invisible friends could leave first as ‘Carol’ marched me towards the main room.

A group of mages were already rushing towards us, wands in one hand, and guns in the other. “Carol?” one of them asked, quizzically.

“Look what I caught trying to sneak in,” she announced with glee. “Turn around and get out of the way before the little succubus works her charms on you.”

I started throwing lines of attraction as fast as I could, actually managing to snare one of them who I let know how much it would please me if he ran with his friends and then stood stock still for the next hour. He ran like a bat out of hell.

“My lord!” announced Carol, shouting down the hall. “Prepare a charm against a succubus!” I quickly tied off the commands I had on my one mage into a knot that should hold him even as a wash of magical power snapped shut the line.

“What’s this?” cackled an old voice as I forced into a room decorated in Old World Tacky. Gargoyles peered down in deep displeasure of their confinement atop walls of mortar and stone that dripped with protection wards and charms. It appeared the Hall didn’t go in for a lot of furniture as Rasputin’s throne was the only chair in the room. Chained to it were four succubae I didn’t know who looked up at me with weary sorrow at another of their sisters being confined.

They were all nude; their wings a collection of colors that matched their hair and their eyes told me I was looking into my own face after my week with Baal. Except I had the very real feeling these girls had done far more time than a week. I felt my temper start to get away from me and grabbed it tightly. A cool head was the only thing that would get me out of here.

“A new toy for your collection,” beamed Lorelei.

“Ah,” croaked the old man. His beard was gray now and he still affected the robes of an Eastern Orthodox Monk, but those dark eyes still burned with the madness that had made him famous. “Always a pleasure to have such a lovely addition to my collection,” he purred.

I caught sight of Laurence, bound by a set of heavy looking chains and seeming to be both enraged by his own capture and a bit of relief that he wasn’t the only angel who’d fallen into this trap, and annoyance that I had too.

“But, what’s this?” asked Rasputin. “You’re not a succubus.”

“Not anymore,” I told him with a shrug.

“Well well!” he gloated, rising from the throne and coming down to get a good look at me. “A Bright Lilim! Why, there hasn’t been a Redeemed Succubus in two thousand years! And what brings you here, little angel? Is heaven so quickly seeing through my plans?”

“Yep!” I told him brightly. “There’s going to be an Army of Malachites here any second to see you get your come to Jesus meeting.”

“Hardly,” he told me with some scorn. “You are a terrible liar, my dear. No wonder you were thrown out of Hell.” I shrugged

“Everybody has their cross to bear.”

“But what most concerns me,” He said after a long moment, “is why would a Bright Lilim let her self be confined by a Succubus, pretending to be one of my advisors!” he said, waving away Lorelei’s illusion.

“Avon calling!” she sneered as threw a magical blast that I have to admit was damned powerful. Rasputin ducked aside, but then he wasn’t the target. Laurence was. The chains holding him captive melted as he manifested the atypical flaming sword and fell to with a will against the mages closest to him.

“I’ll feast on what’s left of your soul, Lorelei!” screamed Rasputin as he threw a bolt of black evil towards her.

“Come get some!” she sneered back as I worked my way into his blind spot. I drew my pistol and held it up before tapping him on the shoulder. He turned, coming nose to barrel with the pistol.

“Hi there!” I told him as I squeezed the trigger.

I won’t describe the mess that made. But it wasn’t as easy as all that, nor did Lorelei and I think it would be. I made myself incorporeal once more and dove into the hole I’d made to begin the single most important fight of my life.

I arrived in a wretched hollow that seemed to be a ruined church where his soul was both frantically trying to repair the damage I’d done to his body, while dealing with the chaos I’d unleashed in his realm.

“Wow,” I said as I alighted on the blasted marble floor and fixing my best avenging angel face on the soul of Rasputin. “Talk about your fixer uppers.”

“You little bitch!” he snarled at me in Russian. Not that it mattered what language he used. Understanding was one of the perks of the job. “You think you can just waltz in here and face the most powerful sorcerer in history?”

“Me?” I told him. “Goodness no. I don’t have anywhere near that kind of juice.” I let the smile of evil glee settle on his face for a moment as I took a small crucifix on a chain from under my blouse and kissed it before I let it hang free. “My boss, on the other hand? Well, He’s got more than enough juice to deal with a two bit sinner who has aspirations of His job.”

The smile faded even as I opened myself to the flow of the Divine that shone like a beacon and fell on Rasputin’s terrified form with a terrible certainty. “Welcome to Judgment Day,” I felt compelled to say as the light neatly cut Rasputin’s soul from the spells anchoring it to it to his deathless body. The soul wailed as a feeling of Judgment flowed through me as a crevasse to the very bottom of the Pit opened. Some thing reached up from it and snatched the soul down below.

The light faded to what felt like a fatherly voice saying, “Nice job,” before I was alone in the ruined sanctuary once more. A table and bookshelf that seemed to be overflowing with papers came alive and fluttered about me, whispering a chorus of True Names into my ear that I was now the Mistress of.

Not to mention a fairly beefy injection of raw magical energy I took as well, so quickly I got a bit light headed. I didn’t have time to really consider that, however, as I had a war to put a stop to.

I flew out of the dying shell of Rasputin’s body as quickly as I could. What I found was a Major Motion Picture Quality take on pandemonium. Larry and Lorelei where evidently playing a game patterned rather like baseball. I could never be sure who was pitching and who was batting, but the Mages were definitely the ball. Gathering up some of that energy that was bubbling all through me and sent it out in a wave, knocking flat the remaining mages so that Larry and Lorelei could make short work of them.

After a moment of floating, I finally got a handle on all this power flowing through me and was able to get it under control. I settled back to the ground as I felt the wards holding a criminal number of creatures against their will bound themselves to me. To include, I was aghast to learn, the True Name of the General of the Heavenly Host. They gathered around me and dropped to one knee in submission, even Larry, though I could see he was embarrassed, chagrined and some other emotion I couldn’t quite place to do it.

“Hail to Rebecca!” they chimed in unison, “Our Lady and Mistress.”

“How very Wizard of Oz,” chuckled Lorelei.

I turned to her, blushing from forehead to tip toe. “What do I do now?” I asked. I felt Larry bursting to say something, but as I’d directed the question to Lorelei, he couldn’t speak. Before she could answer me, the roof exploded away to reveal the light of the Divine, or at least Michael’s flaming sword, Dominique with some kind of glowy scales and more Malachites than you could shake a stick at.

Take that, Rasputin! I wasn’t lying!

We stared at each other for a moment, the two Arch Angels taking in the sight of Lord only knew how many Angels, Demons and others on their knees to me, the new kid, before Dom chuckled her growing ever more natural chuckle. “How embarrassing,” she said. “Unfashionably late.”

“Woof,” sputtered Mike as he sheathed that massive sword of his. “Larry?” he asked with great amusement. The Arch Angels shared a glance, Laurence still on one knee.

“Get up,” I whispered urgently. He rose and shrugged.

“I’m kind of in a True Name bind here, Mike.”

Michael’s eyebrows ascended his lean, wolf like face. “True Name? The Kid has your True Name? Do you have any idea what kind of paperwork nightmare this is going to be? Having an Arch Angel report to an Apprentice Angel?”

“Report?” demanded Larry crossly.

“Well, she has power over you,” drawled Mike. “It’s not like we can ignore that.”

“Now wait just a second here,” growled Larry.

“Um, Sir? I could…” I started before a stern glance told me silence was definitely golden just then. Dominique settled next to me a conspiratorial smile on her face.

“Let Mike have his moment of fun, dear. Laurence’s head has gotten a bit prideful of late and he’s rather needed a taste of comeuppance.” She and Lorelei shared a guarded nod before she returned her attention to me once more. “So, what are you going to do with all of these?” she asked with a gesture to take in the crowd of beings in the process of swearing fealty to me.

“Um, set them free?” I asked with a nervous bit of playing with the end of my tail. Dominique smiled indulgently.

“That might do for some,” said a Malachite with great dignity as he rose from his knee and bowed before the Arch Angel of Justice. “But my Chorus will serve you whether you free us or not, Lady. Our honor demands no less.”

“And…you are?” I asked.

“Tuckendreil,” he declared with a blow to his chest I took to be a salute. Like most of the members of his Choir I’d seen, Tuckendreil was boyishly handsome in the manner of a boy becoming a man. Dark, curly hair framing a rugged, honest face over a soldier’s lean, powerful body. “By your leave, Lady, I command a full Chorus of Malachites; captured by nefarious means by the evil you have shown great fortitude in over coming. We are yours.”

I started to say something but felt Dom’s hand on my arm which brought my eyes back to her. “There’s not any real point in arguing with him, Rebecca,” she told me. “His honor demands this for being rescued. It’s a Malachite Thing, I’m afraid.”

I nodded. “Ok, uh, Tuck. Why don’t you and yours round up the others of ours and see they get back up stairs for some R&R?”

He thumped his chest again. Memo to self, must pronounce carefully worded edict discontinuing the salute thing. “Yes Lady!” I sighed and turned back to Lorelei.

“I return all of Hell’s people to you, save any who do not wish to go,” I told her with a glance at the Succubae.

“Where else would they go?” she demanded with a curious expression. I sighed and felt Dominique’s eyes on me.

“Any who are willing to attempt to Redeem themselves may come with me.”

“I’ll take it,” called a willowy voice at once. The smallest of the Succubae crawled her way to my ankle and caught hold with all her might. “Please, Lady, I’ve suffered enough. Don’t make me return to that Place.”

“Anyone else?” I asked. There was a murmur of promises of favors owed, but no other takers. I nodded to Lorelei, feeling more than a touch disappointed. “Alright then, they’re free to go with you.”

“Lilith won’t be happy with this,” she said softly, with a glance at the succubus clutching my leg. “But I think I can persuade her to see reason,” she said with a wink. Oh yeah, I could see the little bit and I were going to be friends. “IF, a certain quite full of herself young angel will give me a hand getting her out of a certain jar…?”

My eyes sought Dominique’s who smiled and nodded at me once more. “Ok,” I sighed. “Tuck?”

Thump! “Yes lady?”

“See that, I’m sorry, you’re…?”

“Samira, Lady, born to Lilith by way of her Daughter Ursula,” she said timidly. She was barely Elisabeth’s height I discovered as I helped her to her feet. She was more than a little childlike, looking to be right on the cusp of real womanhood, somewhere around 19 or 20 with straight reddish brown hair that fell to the small of her back, with a matching colors throughout her wings and hooves. The fact that Ursula had brought her into that unholy fold was even sweeter.

“Samira, you’re welcome to stay with me, but I expect to see some changes in you. This isn’t a free ride and to be on this side is to hold yourself to a more difficult way of doing things. I won’t make you go back, but if you want to change and stay, you’re welcome.”

“I’ve been his prisoner for fifty years,” she admitted softly. “And a slave to Mother Lilith for over three hundred. All that has gotten me is misery and slavery. If you’ll have me, Lady, I’d like the chance to change.” I shared a glance with Dominique who nodded before I turned back to Tuck.

“Tuck, take Samira upstairs and see that she’s comfortable. I’ll explain things to Raphael once she gets back from vacation.”

Thump! “Yes Lady!”

“And Tuck, she’s one of us now. See that she’s treated accordingly.” The Malachite bowed and led my new co-worker up the stairway. After a long sigh, I conjured up a slip of parchment and whispered a long and complicated song to it as I felt Laurence’s True Name depart me and inscribe itself to the parchment. That done, I quickly folded it before someone could see it and walked over to the pair of Machismo personified and their big sword contest.

“Excuse me!” I said, projecting my voice as loudly as I could. The argument ground to a stop as the two Arch Angels stared at me. I presented Larry with the parchment. “I believe this is yours, Larry.”

He took it, saw what I’d done and ate it as fast as he could. “Thankque,” he mumbled with genuine relief. I smiled as I reached up to tickle his chin.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Another sigh left me before I turned back to a grinning Lorelei. “Ok, let’s get this over with.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun!” she scolded me. “We get to go gardening.”

“Do I want to know?” I asked as we flew out of the ruined building to the chuckles my varied and assorted betters.

* * *

Fun, she says. Gardening she says. Only the Garden of Eden. Well, nice place. Really.

* * *

“I’ve already read the report Lorelei filed over that end of things,” Raphael told me as I held my breath so that the tailor could alter the dress Elisabeth had given me. Unlike a fair number of insecure women who went out of their way to make their Brides’ Maid’s dresses the ugliest thing imaginable so they could look good, Elisabeth had actually gone out of her way to find something that was not only flattering but reusable. She’d settled on a mid-calf length skirt of a sky blue over a white, peasant type blouse with billowed sleeves and a rather daring scooped neckline. It was accented by a waist cincher type corset bodice of a lovely royal blue paisley pattern.

It was quite fetching in a Renaissance Faire kind of way. Having one of our tailors alter it so I could fill Rafe in on the goings on during her vacation was becoming something of a pain. I could have manifested something faster than this. But, as Raphael had pointed out, speed wasn’t always the prime virtue of something. Sometimes just going through the steps of something reaffirmed the continuity between Blessed and those seeking Enlightenment.

“So,” she drawled. “After you got Lilith out of the Jar, what then?”

“Hold still please,” mumbled the Tailor.

“Well, she wasn’t happy about the conditions of her release, that’s certain,” I told her with a smile. “But she fulfilled all of them to the letter. I’ll give her that. She might be a sneaky, underhanded, conniving…”

“Don’t back bite, dear, it’s rude,” she corrected me.

“But she keeps her word,” I finished. “Mike and Larry went on a bit of a clean up operation, and I’d hazard a guess that there isn’t a Hall of Mages member on the entire Island of Great Briton.”

“Oh, you’ve rather neatly dealt a serious blow to an organization that’s given us fits for a very long time.”

“Beginners luck?” I asked with my most humble smile.

She snorted her derision of that idea. “Rebecca, why do you think we’ve worked so hard at winning the Succubae away from Lilith?”

“Well, we do seem rather powerful…” I started before she shook her head with an amused smile.

“Power comes with patience and time, Rebecca. The Succubae are dangerous because they recruit by nature. It hasn’t even been a week you’ve been redeemed and you’ve done what we couldn’t in two thousand years. Pry another Succubus away from Lilith.”

I’d never thought of it that way. I was just stumbling through this the best way I could, not really planning anything. Well, I put quite a bit of planning into our assault of the Hall, but otherwise, I was just doing what it seemed like I was supposed to be doing. Softly, I asked her, “Is Samira going to make it?”

“That would be for her Supervisor to say,” she said gravely. “She appears to have true repentance in her heart. And, like you, she wasn’t that bad to start off with.”

I looked at my toes in shame. “I was pretty bad,” I told her. I felt her rise and force my eyes up into hers.

“Rebecca, you are an Angel. No one who doesn’t deserve it gets that honor. And no one sneaks past the Boss. I can see what weighs at your heart, and while you must not forget it, you must not let it make you doubt yourself. You are where you have earned a place to be. Never forget that.” I felt a smile pull at my lips in remembrance of a kind word from the Boss. “But,” she cautioned me, “you’d best be on top of your game to keep Samira on the straight and narrow.”

“Me?” I asked.

“Who do you think her supervisor is?” she asked as the tailor turned me away from her to work a troublesome seam. I caught her eyes in the mirror. “Do you have any idea how much power you absorbed from Rasputin?”

“Well, it felt like a lot,” I admitted as the tailor deliberately stuck me with one of his pins to make me stand still. “Ouch!”

“Hold still, please,” he murmured.

“Rebecca, if it weren’t for a matter of seniority, you have enough power to be called an Arch Angel. But, there’s no way we could over promote someone that way. There’s far too much of this job you’re still learning. However, I can tell you that your title no long includes the word Apprentice. Congratulations.”

I blushed as I considered the ramifications of what she was saying. Me? As powerful as an Arch Angel? There had to be some kind of mistake. And now I was responsible for keeping Samira on the high road too? I’m not sure what kind of fair that was, but I guess I’d just have to rise to the occasion. “And,” she continued, “Your plate is going to be rather full once you get back to work my dear. I have a stack of jobs just crying out for you.”

“A stack?” I wailed in despair. “I’m still learning this. How am I going to deal with that kind of work load?”

Raphael chuckled. “Dear, the reward for a job well done is more work. Besides, it shouldn’t be any kind of trouble now that you have a staff.”

Somehow, I don’t think Tuck will ever get into the spirit of reclaiming Sex for God. More to the point, it would figure Rafe would take advantage of the situation to pile on the extra work. Oh well. Such was the way of things.

“Well,” I asked her after a bit of digesting all that new information. “How was your vacation?”

“Wonderful,” she told me with a smile I caught in the mirror. “There’s nothing like spending time with a child to help you regain your innocence.”

“Yes, but you weren’t exactly with one, were you?” She waved off my worries with an easy gesture.

“Oh, Cathy is coming along wonderfully. She got to be a kid all over again and really enjoy herself in a place she always wanted to go to. We had a fabulous time. I probably bought her too many plush toys, but I’ve always been a soft touch there.” We were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed swiftly by George’s bemused voice.

“Any naked women in here I can ogle?”

“That can be arranged, love,” called Raphael with a lecherous wink in my direction. I could feel his burning embarrassment through the door.

“It’s safe,” I called to him. He entered, Cathy in tow, looking adorably cute in a dress that seemed to be nothing but lace, ruffles and petticoats. “Hello, Cathy,” I greeted her. “Raphael tells me you had a wonderful time.”

“I did until they put this on me,” she growled without real venom. “I mean, look at it. There’s not any right way to sit in it.”

“Welcome to the joys of womanhood,” Rafe told her. “Not so easy to just stand and look pretty, is it?”

“Nice dress,” complimented George as he risked the tailor’s ire to sneak me a kiss. “You two done talking shop? The rehearsal is in an hour you know.”

“She’ll be ready,” muttered the tailor as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. “In fact, done.” He turned to Raphael and bowed. I did a slow pirouette for their approval to soft applause.

“Levi, you’ve out done yourself,” complimented Raphael. “She’s radiant.”

“It’s the halo,” he said with droll humor. “But it did turn out nicely. If there’s nothing else?” Raphael shook her head and Levi returned to his time as one of the Blessed. George helped me down from the stool I’d been standing on and if his hand lingered a bit in mine, who was I to complain?

“So,” he said with a smile. “I guess we should be getting to that rehearsal, shouldn’t we? After all, a wedding party that includes angels, a succubus and whatever I am in the mix will probably take some practice.”

“Why do I have to be the flower girl?” Cathy wanted to know, her hands on her hips in a gesture that was entirely out of place on a ten year old.

“Because,” I told her with a good natured rubbing of her hair. “You’re the only one who could wear that dress in a church and get away with it.”

“I imagine Lorelei might try,” chuckled Raphael.

“I did include get away with it in the proviso, now didn’t I?”

* * *

I’d never even been to a wedding before, let alone taken part in one and the experience was rather novel. They’d decided to hold their wedding at Scone Palace, a fortified Manner House in Perth, built on the ruins of the old Abby of Scone where the kings of Scotland of old had been crowned upon the very Stone of Destiny that made their linage so important to both sides. I’ll refrain from comment on the heavy handed symbolism there. The Stone itself was not here, having been returned to Scotland some time previous it was on display in Edinburgh Castle.

The building was wonderfully gothic as a wedding whose party included so many powers of the here after cried out for, but at the same time managing to feel close and even a trifle intimate. The guest list was only about two hundred and rather top heavy with the movers and shakers of the Scottish Independence Movement. Yet another big surprise there.

Elisabeth and Gregory had decided to have the two parties enter at the same time, with only the Groom and Bride entering alone, having the Groomsmen escort the Bridesmaids. Larry ended up escorting Lorelei, which was more than a little comical as the human face he wore towered over her petite form.

But they seemed quite chummy in a way that had me wondering about the possibilities. George, whom Greg had asked to be his Best Man, escorted me as I was playing Maid of Honor and that trip down the isle set my heart to beating and plastered a goofy grin across my face as well. To the point of Lorelei ribbing me with her elbow and a lecherous wink for Larry that seemed to put a twinkle in his toes for him too.

The new L. Gregory Stewart was next to stroll down the isle, seeming solemn and perhaps just a tad disappointed. I imagine when his name had been Lorraine she’d built up a rather heavy fantasy life about this particular moment of her life, but was carrying on beautifully at the way things must be. He did look particularly handsome in his red and black patterned kilt so he kind of got to wear a dress on his wedding day. Oops, best make sure that thought doesn’t get loose to words. Then the music changed to the stately tones of the Wedding March and all the heads turned.

Yes, Cathy was absolutely adorable in that dress, practically sashaying down the isle with a generous sprinkling of rose petals everywhere.

Elisabeth was positively stunning in a Victorian style princess gown that was a purely white as can be achieved with fabric. The bead and lace work must have cost a fortune all by themselves and I felt my mouth open in absolute awe. No wonder she could be so generous in making sure we looked good in our gowns. We were just helping her be that much more beautiful. I was so happy for her.

She took the steps one by one, and I could feel both her fear and excitement radiating from her as her father gently lead her down the isle. Gregory seemed to swell at the thought of spending his new life with the one woman who could understand him. All in all it was a lovely ceremony, very sedate and large portions of it were in Gaelic.

The only part that caused us any worry was when the priest announced, “If there be any in attendance with just cause why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace.”

That was the longest five seconds of my life, let me tell you. But, after a week full of surprises and reversals, nothing happened. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in when he finally introduced the new Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Gregory Stewart.

And there was nothing chaste about the kiss Greg planted on Elisabeth.

* * *

Scone Palace catered the reception as well, hosting it in their historic Long Gallery, somewhere between a hallway and room, perhaps thirty feet wide and Lord knew how long. It easily held the two hundred odd of us and nobody felt crowded. The room was done in a soft salmon color with red accents in the frequent curtained windows and the wonderful rug below.

I have to hand it to the Palace’s chef, not only was he a fantastic cook, but a pretty spiffy ice carver as well. His likeness of Elisabeth and Greg nearly began to move. I was sharing a glass of wine with George and Lorelei not far from the happy couple when I became aware of her presence. I’d certainly never forget it.

“What?” asked George asked, sensing both mine and Lorelei’s sudden tenseness.

“She’s here,” I said softly as I looked around frantically for her.

The confusion was plain on his face. “Who?” he asked.

“Lilith,” supplied Lorelei as she nudged me and pointed discretely. She was back in her regal best, strolling down the Gallery as though without a care in the world, head high and proud. I had to admit, that was a killer dress. Slinky black silk that hugged her sensuous curves that managed flirty without being lurid, and suggestive without being revealing.

She looked probably the best that I’d ever seen her, and that’s saying something for a woman of her unearthly beauty. I discretely switched places with Lorelei so I could be closer to the bride and groom while Larry was also suddenly there, on the other side, arms crossed over his powerful chest and a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Believe me, nobody frowns like an angel.

“Lilith,” he greeted warily.

Her smile was a bit too perfect, too much cat eating the cream. “Hello Larry.” She purred. “I understand you got a new boss the other day. How delightful.”

Larry’s frown got deeper as I shot a glance at Lorelei who only smiled and mouthed, it was funny. “I don’t see how that’s any concern of yours,” he told her menacingly.

“It’s not,” she answered blithely. “Just commenting. But I didn’t come here to mince words with you. I have a gift to bestow to the new couple.” There was a quiet feeling of the ranks being closed as I fervently hoped this wouldn’t explode into violence. She strolled closer to Greg and Elisabeth under our tense, watchful eyes. “This cannot be allowed to go on until I have said something to both of you,” she declared, seeming to have more and more difficulty in speaking as she went.

Greg slowly got to his feet, watchful of just how he could throw himself before Elisabeth as he did so, should something happen. “And, what might that be?” he asked softly.

For a long moment Lilith said nothing as though fighting with herself. Finally she locked eyes with both of them and swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she announced as she turned on her heels and practically marched out without a backward glance.

“What was that all about?” I asked Lorelei once she was gone.

She shrugged her own ignorance. “It wasn’t one of the conditions of her release,” she said. “Who knows why she does half the stuff she does?”

“Maybe it’s just a bad case of indigestion,” suggested Raphael who had appeared suddenly with a twinkle in her eye. “Certain fruits can be known not to agree with some people.”

“Rebecca,” interjected Marc who had arrived with Raphael.

“Yes sir.”

“First, good job with Hamish. His romance with Rosemary is in something of a high gear so I consider our debt paid in full.” I beamed under his praise before he went all stern on me. “Now, about the matter of a fifty million pound charge on your Orachalcim Card…?”

Oh boy.

* * *

Whom God Destroys Part One

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

CAUTION: Violence

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

TG Themes:

Other Keywords:

Erinyes by Bek D Corbin

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Whom God Destroys

An Erinyes Adventure

By E. E. Nalley

He said: "Thou petty people, let me pass.
What canst thou do but bow to me and kneel?"
But sudden a dry land caught fire like grass,
And answer hurtled but from shell and steel.

He looked for silence, but a thunder came
Upon him, from Liège a leaden hail.
All Belgium flew up at his throat in flame
Till at her gates amazed his legions quail.

Take heed, for now on haunted ground they tread;
There bowed a mightier war lord to his fall:
Fear! lest that very green grass again grow red
With blood of German now as then with Gaul.

If him whom God destroys He maddens first,
Then thy destruction slake thy madman's thirst.

Stephen Phillips, The Kaiser and Belgium

A Treasury of War Poetry: British and American Poems of the World War 1914-1917. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1917

St. Ignatius Chapel, Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Old D.C. 10:42am, May 19^th

The white plaster walls of the small complex of buildings that made up Holy Trinity Catholic Church gleamed in the mid-morning sun. Nestled in the massive, vaguely rhomboid shaped ‘bowl’ that protected Georgetown University framed by the Reservoir, Wisconsin and M Street Canals. Holy Trinity took up the entire block of the old roads and those walls had seen a lot of changes over the centuries. Its first building having been erected in 1794, it was the oldest Catholic Church in the area, and one of the few that could boast both slaves and Presidents had been parishioners.

It was not as ornate a building as some of the others of the Old Capital that had been saved from the rising oceans, but its classic Greco-roman edifice stood with a quiet dignity that went beyond embellishment. Having been built and run by the Society of Jesus, such an austere dignity was fitting. Still, austerity gave way to practicality in the late twenty first century; the sanctuary was full of cool air from the campus’s central HVAC plant against the May swelter.

Father Joshua Leonard, SJ, was glad of the cooler air as he made his way into the sanctuary, regretting briefly the traditional black suit that was the hallmark of a Catholic Priest. The Jesuit vow of poverty had been expanded by Papal Bull to include personal air conditioners which made crossing the quad of the church’s campus quite a chore in late summer. In spring, it was merely unpleasant.

“Lead by example,” the priest told himself quietly as he paused to kneel and cross himself towards the altar before continuing into the chapel proper. Father Leonard was nearly sixty, the very image of the kindly old parish priest; slightly overweight, balding and blessed with a round face that was never in want of a smile. Despite the slight paunch, he was very fit for his age, perhaps because of the austere lifestyle of self denial he had led. It had been his intention to make a sweep through the chapel to replace burned out prayer candles but as he rose from paying his respect he noticed the subtle signal that someone was in the confessional.

Father Leonard made his way there first, mentally preparing himself to be of aid to whatever brother or sister needed of him. He settled into his place, sent a silent prayer upward for God to place the right words in his mouth, before closing the door with one hand and opening the small partition between his booth and the next with the other.

Immediately a rich, lightly accented voice drifted from the decorative screen that separated the two. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, it has been three weeks since my last confession.”

A smile of recognition pulled at Father Leonard’s cheeks, “God forgives all things so long as we continue to strive towards His perfection, my daughter,” he told her. “What trespass weighs down your heart?”

There was a slight pause from the screen before the woman’s voice asked, “How much time do you have, Father Leonard?” Joshua couldn’t contain a soft chuckle at the worried tone of her voice.

“I have as long as you need me, Elisa,” he assured her.

She seemed to think about that for a moment, and then finally continued, “I have committed fornication, Father.” Joshua frowned for a moment as he dug out his PDA from a suit pocket and consulted it. He called up the records he kept only to find his memory was not as faulty as he imagined.

“It’s been some time since you fell to that particular sin, my daughter.”

“I…I think I may have found a husband, father,” she admitted. “I guess I couldn’t restrain myself.”

“I’m glad this isn’t some passing fling,” the priest told her from making his notes. “I would be very disappointed if you had fallen so far after all the work we put in. Has this young man given you indication he seems interested in more than carnal knowledge of you?”

“If you recall my confession from last year about the company Christmas party he is the same gentleman.”

“As I told you then, Elisa, that was not sinful. You had no control of yourself, and you did not seek out that state. God does not hold you accountable for the actions of others. But, when we had last spoken I gathered that you were more interested in keeping this relationship professional.”

“I was,” she affirmed. “We had to go through a very difficult piece of work and we finally came to an agreement about what had happened then.” Joshua felt his eyebrows ascend his forehead.

“And this agreement included fornication?”

“No!” She paused again gathering her thoughts to try and explain the situation better. “He let me know that he had been interested in me for a long time, more so than I had realized, to be honest, Father. I guess I had been using him as a yardstick, even though he was really everything I could want in a husband but I hadn’t let myself consider him because he was a co-worker as well as what had happened.”

“After your parents passed on,” the priest said slowly, “I was worried that perhaps you set your sights a bit too high. Still, I must admit to being very proud of the strides you have made in your walk with God, Elisa.”

“It has been very hard,” the young woman admitted. “I hope I haven’t accidentally ruined something by letting a beautiful place put me off my guard.”

“Elisa,” Joshua told her, “if you’ll allow me a bit of indulgence, let me quote his Holiness, who said, ‘the body, and it alone, is capable of making visible what is invisible: the spiritual and divine. It was created to transfer into the visible reality of the world the mystery hidden since time immemorial in God, and thus to be a sign of it’. Now, what John Paul was saying, better than I could, is that our bodies are all we have to perceive the wonder that is God. The unity of the act of physical love is the closest we poor mortals can come to the love God holds for us. We of the Church encourage young people to hold off only because marriage is the best framework to understand something as monumental as that. Sex, to use the vulgar term, is not of itself sinful. It is a wonderful and glorious thing. As wonderful as I’m sure you thought your time with this young man was, it would be so much more so if he were in fact your husband.”

“I know, father. I am sorry I lost control, or rather I gave up control.”

“A small, but important difference, my daughter,” he chuckled. “Still, if this young man is in Our Lord’s plan for you, I doubt you’ve done any damage to that. I, however, must encourage you to be more mindful in your further dealings with him.”

“I will, father.”

“I think one Our Father and one Hail Mary will serve as a good penance for this, my daughter.”

“Yes father,” she replied before looking up into the screen. Joshua could just make out her glistening, dark eyes before he forced himself to look away as was proper. “Father, am I a good person?”

Her question drew his gaze back in surprise, proper or not. “Goodness, child, what would make you ask such a thing?”

“Do you think I am a good person?” she pressed. “I try to be a good Catholic, father, I really do, but there are times…” She looked away for a moment before her eyes returned to the lattice board that separated them. “I have always trusted you, Father Leonard. You know more about me than anyone walking this Earth. What do you think of me?”

“In many ways, my dear child, I think of you as the daughter I did not have,” he told her kindly. “Having watched you grow up, I had taken pride in your successes, and agonized with you in your failures. I suppose I should confess my own pride there in my next confession. I knew for a good while that you were not fitting into the First Born Son mold your parents had made for you. I was worried that perhaps you would have to struggle with repressing homosexuality through your adult life. When you came to me with your decision to seek out a place with Themis, I understood my error.”

He sighed and shook his head at his own wandering thoughts. “I know you weren’t looking for a repeat of the Church’s stance on homosexuality and transgender issues. Yes, Elisa, I think you are a good person, a good Catholic, and a good and dear friend. Now, what brought this on; something at work?”

Her face was obscured by her voluminous black hair as she nodded and then forced her eyes up to meet his gaze again. “Father, I want to kill a man.”

That gave the priest a moment of pause. He took in the cold fire in her eyes and he realized this wasn’t some fit of pique as he might address in one of his other parishioners. Elisa was a killer, her job demanded it of her, and there was murder in her eyes. The priest had spent many an hour in this booth helping her see the difference in the lives she had taken to save others. To compare her with the traditional policemen of old and how the violence their job demanded of them was no different. But he knew it was a very fine line he walked. More to the point, deep down through years of hearing her confessions he knew that if she desired to kill someone, they were only a few short steps from the Pearl Gates.

That meant her own soul, which he cherished as if she were his own flesh and blood, was entirely in his hands. Joshua forced his dry tongue to lick his dry lips. “Murder is a very terrible sin, my daughter. I’m glad that you have come to me first. What can I say to keep you from throwing your life away in such a manner?”

A single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her dusky cheek. “He is evil, Father, an evil as pure and rancid as you could ask for.”

“It’s not his soul I’m worried about, Elisa, it’s yours. Tell me what has happened to put you in this state. We will work through this and then, I promise you, we will find some way that this villain is brought to heel.”

After a long moment she nodded, with a small, tired sigh. “I suppose it all started about two weeks ago. I had just gotten back from a well deserved vacation that was cut short due to the pressing needs of the company.”

* * *

Themis Building, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 9^th, 9:15AM

The main office space of the Erinyes Division of Themis was normally a bustling place, filled wall to wall with inordinately beautiful women who were struggling under a fearsome, but manageable case load. As Elisa entered the main operations floor, sipping on one the cafeteria’s better coffee offerings, she was forced to pause for a moment, stunned at the lack of people in what she had always known as a busy place.

Only one desk in five had an Erinys sitting at it, and there was none of the friendly chatter or subtle banter of a workplace normally so full of aggressive, alpha type women. The silence was unnerving and only broken by the constant chirp of telephones and the clatter of keys on keyboards being worked.

Even Kallie, the young office intern was at ‘her’ desk, eyes intent on a spreadsheet floating holographically before the T-Girl’s face. While she wore her wig and the falsies she treasured, she was still wearing the (male) version of her school’s uniform. That implied she’d been pressed into service as soon as she’d set foot in the building.

“It’s about time you got here,” greeted the Branch Supervisor, one Diana Davenport as she looked up from the copier near the door. She collected the document’s she’d made and fell in step with Elisa, guiding her towards Diana’s office. “We’ve been so swamped I’d considered sending an Ajax team looking for you.”

Ajax was another division of Themis, one that specialized in object recovery. While they normally worked stolen property cases, they weren’t particularly picky if the object in question was alive or not. Elisa kept her annoyance in check. “It takes time to travel half way around the world, you know. What’s going on, where is everyone?”

“You look tanned,” observed Diana as they reached her office. “You must have had a good time.”

Elisa rolled her eyes at her superior’s off beat sense of humor. “I was born this color. Diana, what’s up?” The older, but still breath taking blonde unburdened her arms of the archaic paper and crossed to behind her desk while waving Elisa into one of the comfortable chairs that faced it.

As she sat, Elisa could make out the documents were contracts, practically the only thing Themis did on paper that wasn’t evidence in nature and the stack was nearly fifty centimeters thick. “What isn’t?” moaned Diana. “In addition to our normal case load the U.N. is holding a Global Cooling Summit in Old Manhattan, the G8 Conference is taking place in Richmond and the World Fiction Awards are happening right here in Old Dee Cee.”

“Damn,” Elisa swore. “You haven’t called for help?”

“I have Erinyes pulled from Kansas City, Alberta and even a couple on loan from Miami,” Diana replied tiredly. “We’re still badly short staffed.” She bristled a bit and crossly said, “I wouldn’t have cut your vacation short if it weren’t a real emergency.”

“I know, I know,” Elisa placated her. “Still, I suppose the bonus this quarter should be rather nice. How can I help?”

Diana tapped at her keyboard before rotating her monitor to where Elisa could see it. On the screen were the details of a job bid form. “A number of the girls are tied up helping out Cerberus with body guard work throughout these meetings. The one major threat we have that I don’t have the manpower for is the World Fiction Awards. Berndt Klaus is being awarded the Hefner for Adult Fantasy Novel and we’ve gotten word a number of religious groups plan to protest. You’re the only Supervisor rated Erinys I have left. I want you to take charge of security for the author as well as serve as Side man for him.”

“Why should the fundi’s care who wrote the best dirty book this year?” Elisa asked, somewhat confused. Diana chuckled darkly as she returned the monitor to where she could see it and send the form to Elisa’s workstation.

“Obviously you haven’t read Herr Klaus’ work,” she said darkly. “Do me a favor and don’t until this job is done. I know you may find this job distasteful, Elisa, being Catholic…”

“I’m a professional,” Elisa snapped. “I like to think I’ve done a damn fine job keeping my private life out of the workplace.”

“That’s the brief I got from Karen, and I’ve seen nothing to convince me otherwise,” she said quickly. “I’m giving you this because you’re who I can trust with it, Elisa. Even if I had the pick of the office, I’d still tap you.”

Elisa smiled demurely at the compliment. “Thank you, and I’m sorry for my outburst. I’ll see that this gets handled, Diana.” The blonde nodded her dismissal as she wadded into the over flowing workload she was struggling with.

At her desk, the Erinys found her monitor already displaying the bid form and a single white rose in her seat. She picked it up and inhaled the soft, delicate aroma before opening the card that had been tucked into the keys on her keyboard.

It’s hard to write something here that won’t be sappy or overly romantic. I think it would take me a lifetime to tell you how I feel, but I’m willing to start with dinner.

Seven O’clock?

All my best

Tom

She smiled as her mind’s eye painted the image of the object of her affection bent over the card in her hand, mental gears turning loud enough to be overheard as he struggled with what to write. Dropping the rose into a small glass vase he had thoughtfully provided Elisa tried to keep her thoughts from wandering as she read over the details of the job form and the threat assessment from Computer Intelligence.

It became apparent quickly that Berndt Klaus was a figure steeped in controversy which was exactly to his liking. Indeed, hating Mr. Klaus seemed to be the one thing the various Christian and Muslim fundamentalist groups in the area could agree on. “Some people,” she muttered as she flipped through the report, trying to pull a gist first before she would go back in and fill the details. The report was a veritable who’s who of the radical fundamentalist movements; The Tribulation Saints, the Maccabees’, Crimson Jihad, The Hand of Allah, even the Daughters of Judith. No one seemed to like this guy.

Then her eyes fell on the final name on the list and brought her up short; Cardinal Daniel Lethe, Dean of the College of Cardinals for the North American Federation. While Elisa had never met the man, she knew of him by reputation. Further, it was Cardinal Lethe, who was then Bishop Lethe that had signed the indulgence that had allowed her to remain Catholic after undergoing the Dragon’s Blood process and becoming Elisa due to the fact that she was now a genetic woman.

Frowning, Elisa brought up that specific page of the report and read. “Freedom and respect for human rights and dignity has been the hallmark of the Catholic Church for the last two hundred years,” the document said. “Beyond issues of faith, the Holy See does it’s best to remain neutral in the politics of humanity. However, there are certain items that cannot be ignored or overlooked. While the Church acknowledges Mr. Klaus’ right to write and publish whatever he wishes, we urge every good Catholic to distance themselves from his writings. There is never a good reason to wallow in filth.”

“What in the world has this man written?” Elisa asked herself as she reached for her phone and dialed. “Father Joshua Leonard, please,” she requested of the receptionist when the line connected.

After a brief moment, Elisa’s ear was filled with the rich baritone of the Priest’s voice. “Elisa, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Clean living,” she laughed. “Do you have a moment, Father? I need some information; it’s for work I’m afraid.”

“I can’t imagine how we might have run afoul of the Themis Corporation, but I’m quite at your disposal, my dear,” he replied.

“I’ve just read a statement Cardinal Lethe wrote about an author I’ve been assigned to bodyguard. I can understand why the local fundamentalists may have issue with him, but I’ve never heard of the Church putting forth a pronouncement about what people can and can’t read.”

“Ah,” he muttered in understanding. “The Church’s stance on pornographers has been fairly uniform throughout the last century, my daughter. I’m familiar with the pronouncement you mention, and all I can tell you is, that as a good Catholic, you should distance yourself from this man. Now, if this is something you cannot do because of work, I strongly recommend you not read any of his filth and keep your time with him as brief and professional as possible.”

“Father, what could Mr. Klaus…”

“What he’s written isn’t important, Elisa,” he interrupted her. “You must trust my judgment in this. I understand if your work compels you to protect him, but, please, my daughter, don’t let him corrupt you.”

“I won’t, Father,” she said, even more puzzled than when the phone call began.

“Good,” he replied with genuine relief in his voice. “Will we see you at Mass, Sunday?”

Elisa checked the dates on her file. “No, Father, the assignment occupies the entire weekend. I’ll be there for midweek though.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you; if there is nothing else, child?”

“No, Father, thank you for your time.”

“God and His angels watch over you and keep you safe until our next meeting, then.” Elisa crossed herself as she accepted the Priest’s blessing and returned the handset to its cradle. There were still many questions that were pressing against the back of her mind, but no time to puzzle them out. As it was, she needed to find out what kind of resources she had available to build a team and get it ready.

* * *

Briefing Room 22, Themis Building, Old D.C. May 9^th, 1:37PM

“This is our client,” Elisa told the small group she had managed to assemble in the briefing room, “Berndt Klaus, author, age 47. Murphy, should the worst happen you should know he’s allergic to all penicillin derivatives, his cholesterol is forty points higher than it should be and he’s already suffered one heart attack.”

The ghostly hologram of a somewhat rotund man wearing an expensive suit floated between Elisa and the rest of the team as Murphy scribbled out notes to himself. “Our length of contract begins at 1700 hours today when his flight arrives at Clinton International and will end Sunday at 2200 when we put him on the plane back to the European Union. Overnight shifts will be in three, three hour blocks. Threat assessment from computer intelligence is level nine; this guy has a long list of people who hate his guts and a history of violence. Currently, we’re forecasting at least one attempt on his life, possibly as many as three.”

A chorus of groans drifted through the darkened room. “That’s the bad news,” admitted Elisa. “The good news is that it’s highly unlikely any of these attempts will be coordinated with the others. While our ‘friends’ in the Fundi camp agree they hate this guy, that’s about all they agree on. We’ll have to be on top of our game on this. Our highest threat times are the award ceremony tomorrow night, the ‘meet the author’ panel tomorrow and the farewell brunch the day after.”

Elisa keyed the projector to display a floor plan before the team. “This is our area of operation; the Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington. The award ceremony will be taking place in the Reagan Auditorium here, the panel event in the Truman Room here and the dinner in the Taft Dining Hall here. As this is a public hotel there are hundreds of entrances and exits all required by law. We don’t have the man power to cover them all, nor can we have any of them locked due to fire and safety codes. So, our focus will be on physical security and good old fashioned body guarding. I will be playing ‘escort’ to Berndt while Tom takes Front Man slot with us. Murphy, you’ll be playing Wing Man because if our boy is hit, I want you there ASAP.”

“I know the drill,” groused the young medic. “In first, clear the room and get out of sight. Who’s going to have my bag?”

“Sam will be doing over watch with the rest of the team in a command van here,” Elisa replied indicating the car port closest to the kitchen entrance to the hotel. “Your bag will be in the van. Carry as much trauma gear with you as you can. As this is a black tie function, only Sam and the reserves will be able to use hard suits. The rest of us have to make do with soft armor and tuxedo monkey suits. Sam, I’ve already arranged to have the van access to their security system so you’ll be our eyes and ears. We’ll try to use the kitchen exit as our primary evacuation point, with this side door as our secondary and the main doors here as the fall back.”

Diaz clicked off the projections and brought the lights back up. “We’re going to be very exposed for this entire mission and it can’t be helped, guys. This is considered a high threat mission and that bonus schedule applies.”

“Do we have any good intelligence on who’s likely to make a play for our mark?” asked Tom.

Elisa shook her head. “Not really. This guy’s at the top of a lot of people’s hate lists. They could possibly all try for him, or we could get lucky and have a quiet time of it. No way to know for sure.” She examined their faces for a moment to let the gravity of the situation sink in. “If there are no other questions, let’s get suited up and head out to Clinton International.”

“So I’m guessing dinner is out,” whispered Tom as he fell into step with her under his breath.

“Think of it as a working date,” she replied as quietly.

* * *

William J. Clinton Air and Seaport, May 9^th, 5:00PM

The Airbus 7000 was one of the few aircraft that still required a hard runway; an oddity considering the near omnipresence of massive inlets, bloated rivers and the sea culture humanity had adapted to in the twenty first century. What it lacked in accessibility it made up for in comfort, lots of comfort. This particular specimen was dressed in Lufthansa livery as it rolled to a stop at one of the older floating tarmac gates of Clinton International. As the boarding ramp was maneuvered into position Elisa calmed her nerves by taking another visual sweep of the gate area.

The beautiful Erinys in her skin tight armored Fury suit with her clutch of heavily armed and armored gentlemen in waiting were drawing their normal stares, but no one seemed particularly interested in getting involved. Most were more preoccupied with getting from A to B in the most expedient manner possible. That made her happy, but she realized she wouldn’t relax until they were repeating this maneuver in reverse. “Comm. check,” she thought at the transmitter that had been implanted in her skull. She disliked using it as it gave a tinny echo to both her voice and everyone she heard through it, but it had the advantage of being the height of discretion.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Frontman,” came Tom’s mental voice after the chorus of her team.

“Wingman,” finished Murphy.

The ramp was now firmly secure against the double-decker airliner as Elisa felt the last bit of her relaxation slip away from her. It was show time. The First Class passengers began to dribble out in small clumps; a businessman who was struggling with his suitcase, a phone at his ear, a small family with a little girl who was crying and her father seemed livid, a steward who was trying to perform damage control for the airline as he trotted to keep up.

A coiled spring replaced Elisa’s spine as her eyes fell on the subject of their next few days. He’d gained ten kilos from the hologram and probably nearly a hundred Euros in expense for his suit. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and Elisa was nearly certain she saw the muscles twitch around his mouth as if to pull it into a sneer of disdain but his expression remained neutral. He practically marched up to Tom and presented his hand. “I am Berndt Klaus,” he declared in a deep voice with only the mildest hint of an accent. “You would be the leader of my detachment, yes?”

“No sir,” replied Tom smoothly as he shook hands. “I’m Thomas Vannoy, squad leader of the Cerberus guards and I’ll be serving as what we call your Frontman or the obvious bodyguard. Special Agent Elisa Diaz, Erinys, is in overall command of your safety and she’ll be serving as the ‘Sideman’ or ‘escort’.”

His eyes slid over her with all the cold ooze of a slug. “Let us hope she is as skilled as she is beautiful,” he murmured as Elisa bit down on her temper hard.

“More than you’ll ever know,” she told him through gritted teeth in a macabre mockery of a smile.

Klaus held out his shoulder bag in Tom’s general direction. “Well, let’s be about this, then.”

The Cerebus used the muzzle of his PAS to push the doctor’s hand, and therefore the bag, back. “Herr Klaus,” he said softly. “It is our pleasure to serve as your body guards for the next few days. That does not include fetch and carry, valet service or any other servant work. And as saving your life is included; let me make you aware that the only services you may expect from Agent Diaz would be stopping bullets and/or assassins targeting you.”

The author sniffed his disdain and stiffly marched towards the baggage claim. Elisa and Tom exchanged glances and fell in behind. This is going to be a lovely weekend, she thought at her large friend. He shrugged an exaggerated gesture through the armor.

You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.

The wait at the carrousel was tense as bag after bag was claimed by the portly man; five in all counting a suit carrier he began cursing in German about due to its obviously rough treatment. Sam detached himself from the group and sprung for a push cart when the third bag had been pulled off. He let Berndt load it, however. A soft tone in Elisa’s ear told her the vehicles were out front and ready, but it was obvious that their subject was not yet finished yelling to the Lufthansa rep about the state of his tuxedo.

Diaz was no longer amused and was feeling the minutes stretch out, increasing their vulnerability as Klaus went red in the face and, despite obvious appearances, seemed to be enjoying making an ass of him self. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a haggard looking, thirty something woman who was trying and failing to look younger taking more than a passing interest in the display.

Elisa hooked a hand into Berndt’s elbow with the intent of beginning to urge him out the door when the woman’s strident voice erupted with a spine chilling wail of, “Murderer!” Diaz’s grip became an iron vise on Klaus’s elbow, pulling him from his argument with a surprised cry of pain. Quickly she pulled the man to the side, into the clutch of armored men and away from threat.

Meanwhile the woman had snatched an improvised weapon from a passing bag of golf clubs and was intent on improving her handicap at the expense of Klaus’ head. Elisa was vaguely aware of her team frog marching the protesting author out of the airport as fast as he could be forced into moving as she faced the threat head on.

The woman made a clumsy swing at the author’s departing back, keeping up her screams of “Murderer!” as if a mantra to ward off evil. Elisa interposed herself and locked up the woman’s arm while a foot sweep cost the woman her footing. She didn’t seem to care about the pain Elisa was putting her in as she continued to try and claw her way after Klaus. Finally it was apparent to her that her forward momentum had been halted and she turned on Elisa. “Let me go! Let me go!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. “He killed my son! My Son!” was the last bit of coherence that came from her as she dissolved into wracking sobs that plucked at Elisa’s heart.

The display didn’t keep the Erinyes from handcuffing her before her eyes looked up, seeing the first two of the three vehicles peal away from the curb. Diaz to central, she thought, after a long moment; Code green, one in custody, target safe.

* * *

Themis HQ, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 9^th, 8 PM

“Janet Hastings,” Kallie’s voice said, injecting itself into the agent’s funk as she watched the aforementioned housewife through the two-way mirror. The woman was out of her panic now, and sullenly sipping at the cup of coffee she’d been given and trying to repair her ruined hair do, somewhat impeded by the fact her hands were cuffed together. Kallie continued reading from the file she had gotten from DC PD. “Husband Michael, a tenner with a contract to Nolan, Parker and Weinstein; son Jonathan, deceased age ten, daughters Michelle and Sara, ages nineteen and thirteen respectively. No priors, no parking tickets, not so much as an over draft on the family Visa.”

“Any signs of her being a kwick kroot?” asked Elisa softly.

Diana shrugged as she joined the two, passing out cups of coffee as she did so. “We won’t know for sure until the results of the MRI come back. The preliminaries say no, however.”

“What would make Mrs. Straight and Narrow here snatch up a five iron and go for a capital murder rap?” muttered Elisa to herself. Turning back to Kallie and the report from the police she asked, “What were the circumstances of the son’s death?”

The intern had finally been able to get out of her school uniform and into a rather flirty sun dress that just tempted the office’s rather relaxed dress code. The pages of the report rattled as Kallie flipped through them. “Um, kidnapping by a known pedophile, one Gus Danner, who according to this did some pretty horrible things to the kid before he killed him and dumped him in the Pennsylvania Inlet. That’s how he was caught. A Mud-lark only identified here as Joshua saw the dump and fingered him to the cops.”

“Where is Mr. Danner now?” Diana asked with an arched eyebrow.

“The prison graveyard of Arlington Federal Penitentiary,” Kallie replied after a moment of digging. “Death by lethal injection two years ago.”

“What is Klaus’ status?” asked Diana of Elisa after a moment of thought.

“Tom is sitting on him at the hotel,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the suspect. She turned to Kallie once more. “I don’t suppose there are any obvious ties with Mrs. Hastings and fundamentalist groups?”

The intern shrugged once more. “According to this she’s a Unitarian.”

“Of course,” Elisa muttered as she collected the file from Kallie. “I’m going to have a chat with her, see if I can get some kind of an explanation for this.”

“The video feeds are on,” warned Diana to Elisa’s department back, then she turned up the volume on the box next to the mirror slightly and settled in to watch. Elisa felt the woman’s eyes on her as she dropped the folder to the table and made her self comfortable at the desk, pointedly ignoring her. She opened the file and made a show of flipping through it before she finally decided to speak.

“My condolences for your loss,” she said softly.

Janet inhaled sharply before sniffing in anger and turning away. “I want a lawyer.”

Elisa took out a pen and made a note on a blank sheet of paper in the file. “That’s your choice, but it will make things harder on you.”

“I want a lawyer,” she repeated sullenly.

From a pouch on her utility belt Elisa took out a pocket voice recorder and turned it on. “Case number 209758348, 8:07pm, People Vs Janet Hastings, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, attempted capital murder, let the record show that the accused…” was as far as she got before the woman interrupted, a bit of panic in her voice;

“Attempted murder?! I didn’t try to murder anyone!”

“What were you planning on doing with the five iron, Mrs. Hastings? Give Mr. Klaus a few tips on his chip shots?”

“That…that devil murdered my son!”

“Gus Danner murdered your son, Mrs. Hastings,” Elisa shot back. “He was tried eight years ago for it. Convicted and two years ago put to death for the crime. Are you admitting that you perjured yourself and sent an innocent man to Death Row?”

“Klaus put that animal up to what he did. He is the one that made Danner think he could get away with it!”

“So now you are alleging a conspiracy between Berndt Klaus and Gus Danner for what happened to your son? I’m fairly confident Mr. Klaus’s whereabouts can be accounted for during that entire year.”

A single tear rolled down Janet’s cheek. “You don’t understand…”

Elisa produced a box of Kleenex and leaned forward as she presented them, softening her tone considerably. “Then help me understand, Mrs. Hastings. What made you try and attack Mr. Klaus?”

Janet wiped at her eyes before they fell on the Fury Uniform and hardened again. “Why would a pervert like you care? You don’t know what it’s like to bring life into the world and have it snatched away; you’re just playing at being a woman!”

“You stupid perra! Si usted fuera un hombre ....!” she shouted, jumping to her feet before she mastered herself and remembered they were being recorded. “Just because you won a genetic lottery doesn’t give you a monopoly on motherhood! I’ve been shot at and risked my life for fifteen years for the privilege of what you were born with so don’t you ever tell me I don’t know what it means to be a woman!” She turned away cursed under her breath for loosing her temper.

“Are…are you telling me that…you…”

“I bleed every month just like you,” snapped Elisa. “And speaking of bleeding, that’s what you’ll be doing in the female wing of Arlington Federal. The hard cases in there will eat you for breakfast! Now, I tell you for truth, cachapera, you best tell me what was going through your head when you snatched up that five iron and it better make sense, or I’m going walk out that door and wash my hands of you!”

Mrs. Hastings seemed to find that funny and couldn’t suppress a nervous giggle as if she was only just on this side of losing her mind. “You honestly don’t know, do you? That piece of filth you’re protecting is a pedophile! Not only does he lust after little boys but he writes books on how to get away with it!”

The door to the cubical was snatched open and Diana’s strident voice cut in over the woman’s shouting. “Diaz, out! Now!”

Elisa was too stunned to fully comprehend what she had heard and her body was too used to following the orders of Diana’s voice. As she stumbled out Janet shouted after her, “You don’t have to take my word for it! Look it up! Surely this place has Google!”

* * *

Themis HQ, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 9^th, 8:31 PM

Diana had the walls of the shark tank blackened so the few agents that were in the office couldn’t see Elisa pacing like a caged tiger, nor hear her shouting as she vented her spleen at her boss. For all the rage and violence, in both English and Spanish, Diana coolly sat behind her desk, watching the agent vent, neither interrupting, nor answering the heaping abuse she was receiving. Finally Elisa ground to a halt and flung herself into one of the overstuffed chairs that faced the desk, out of breath for the moment. “Are you finished?” Diana finally asked after a long moment of silence.

“I can’t believe you put me on a detail to protect a pedophile!” hissed Elisa.

“An alleged pedophile,” Diana responded coolly. “Klaus has never even been charged, let alone convicted of anything improper. More to the point I put you on a detail to protect a client who has paid for our services. As such, I expect you to fulfill the obligations of your contract and protect our client to the best of your ability.”

As string of obscenity in Spanish greeted the order, but Diana refrained from smiling as she drew her ace and played it. Loudly over cutting the agent’s tirade she declared, “You swore an oath to follow the orders of the superiors placed over you by this company, Elisa; an oath that both legally and morally binds you to the obligation of protecting Berndt Klaus until 2200 hours the day after tomorrow. Now, are you going to honor that Oath, or should I get in touch with your priest now about the excommunication?”

Elisa shot to her feet, trembling with rage. “Don’t you dare try to use my religion against me!”

“Let me be clear, Agent Diaz,” Diana drawled as she almost leisurely stood up and locked eyes with her recalcitrant employee. “I’ll use whatever I have to so that this office’s obligations to our Clients and Corporate are met. If that means I have to use your baby brother against you I will! And speaking of Juan, how will you pay his tuition at that very exclusive school I helped you get him into without a paycheck of your own?”

“If you were a man, I’d cut your heart out with a dull knife,” hissed Elisa.

“If I were a man, I’d probably ask you out as I’ve always had a weakness for ethnic beauties,” Diana replied smoothly as she came around the desk to get nose to nose with her agent. Elisa, for her part blinked in confusion at the sudden turn the conversation had taken.

“Wh..what?” she sputtered

“Are you finally thinking clearly?” Diana demanded. “Good, so, now that I have my best supervisor back and not some Spanish hellcat let me paint you a picture, Elisa. Berndt Klaus has paid for protection and we, being the professionals we are, took his money and promised him he’d live until 22:00 hours Sunday. Now, you didn’t take his money and neither did I, more to the point if either of us had been the ones he’d come to we likely would have put out feelers to see who would pay the most for him to have a little face to face time with his Creator.

“But we weren’t, it’s shitty, but that’s the way of it, Diaz. So, we grit our teeth and we do our job and we keep his slimy ass alive until 22:00 Sunday. Now, you’re going to get your Spanish heart breaker ass down to that hotel and you’re going to keep Berndt Klaus alive until 22:00 Sunday. Do you read me, Diaz?”

“Loud and clear,” the agent muttered.

“Good,” beamed Diana around one of her dazzling smiles. “Now,” she said resting her shapely rear on her desk, “let me give you a little advice, Elisa. Contrary to your opinion, I’m sure, I actually like you. When you have your temper under control you’re an asset to this company and one of my best agents. Now, if you’re not comfortable talking to me about this, I’ll understand, but Elisa, please get some help keeping your temper. I want you to do well with Themis and go as far as I know you can go. But I can’t recommend you for anything other than lateral transfers to Computer Intelligence or Internal Security if you can’t keep that temper of yours on a leash.” She sighed and shook head. “I’m not trying to lecture you, Elisa, you’re a grown woman, just think about what I said, alright?”

Diaz felt a smirk pull at the corner of her lips. “What should I think about; the part about me keeping my temper or the part about you asking me out?”

Diana smiled an odd smile and shooed her out with a wave of her hand as she returned to her seat once more.

Vangie Blake whistled from her cubicle as Diaz emerged from the Shark Tank. “Hey, Elisa? How’s the case with this year’s Newberry Award candidate going?”

“Not funny,” Elisa growled. “I swear that man couldn’t be more aggravating if he tried!”

“What makes you think that he’s not trying?”

“Trying?”

“Hey, you must have picked up by now, that Satan Klaus is a stone-cold wise ass, getting his rocks off by mooning the entire world.”

“I’m sure that there’s a lot more to this, than Klaus being a galactic threat pain in the ass.”

“Hey, that’s what wise asses always want you to think. I never met an asshole who didn’t like to be thought of as the victim.” Vangie paused, “Come to think of it, Klaus’ earlier work kinda reminds me of Angel and Slick.”

“‘Angel and Slick’?” Then Elisa paused and looked coldly at Vangie. “You read Klaus’ work?”

“Oh, not the stuff that he puts out now, no.” Vangie grimaced. “No, before he figured out how to bring his two passions together, Klaus used to write ‘Outlaw Porn’.”

“Outlaw porn? Caper crime fiction?”

“Yeah, only it was more like ‘how I beat the system and screwed over everybody’, and like that. Ol’ Bernie used to be very popular with the ‘thug for life’ crowd. Used to write books about this hard ass called ‘Walker’ who went around basically pissing on the world and making everyone look stupid. I read his stuff, ‘cause it was damn near a ‘how to beat the system’ handbook for career lawbreakers.”

“Sort of like what he writes now, only for an even more disgusting audience.”

“Yeah. I read the stuff cause I knew that the hard boys read it, and I wanted to know what tricks they thought might work. Now, here’s the thing- for professional criminals, Prison Apes got some surprisingly straight-laced ideas about some things. Short-eyes still take pretty hefty chances inside.”

“So?”

“So, Klaus alienated his entire core readership, when he started writing ‘how to fondle six-year-olds and make their parents take the heat for it’ books.”

Elisa shrugged. “I understand that his books fetch twenty times per unit what he’d get for his old stuff. Even if he’s selling to only one-quarter as many people, he’s still making five times as much.”

“Maybe, but like I said, it kinda reminds me of Angel and Slick.”

Elisa let out a martyred sigh. “And who were ‘Angel and Slick’?”

“They were a pair of wise asses in my old dike-town neighborhood.”

“I didn’t know that you used to live in a lesbian ghetto,” Elisa said with a grin.

“Very funny,” Vangie returned. “Diked-in neighborhood, twenty feet under sea-level, cheap rents, no maintenance, you grow up with the sound of substandard concrete cracking under the weight of seawater?” Elisa nodded. Every poor district in the world had a dike-town or two. They were usually formerly upscale neighborhoods that landlords bullied the local municipality into rescuing from the rising waters, but then turned around and let rot.

“Anyway, Angel and Slick were as prime a pair of smart-asses as you could ask for. They were always going around pissing everyone off, just because they got off on getting away with it. They picked up some cash doing it, when they could, but they did it even when there was absolutely nada in it for ‘em.”

“Vangie, every neighborhood has an Angel or a Slick, if not two of them. What-”

“Bear with me. Anyway, I was one of their favorite targets-nothing like picking on a blind kid for some safe giggles- so I learned to keep track of them. When I was 11, Angel and Slick went too far and got the cops after them. Now, from what I hear, they could’a got away with it, but Slick set up Angel to take the fall for it.”

“Why?”

Vangie grinned ferally. “That’s just it. As near as I can tell, he did it, just ‘cause he could. ‘Cause Slick was bored with pissing on other people. He wanted a BIG reaction, and the only person that he could be sure would have that big a reaction, and who would be totally surprised, was Angel. ‘Cause he got off on the idea of sticking to other people, and the biggest kick was sticking it to his best friend. But it had a happy ending.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Angel managed to avoid the cops long enough to get his hands on Slick and mash his head in with a plumber’s wrench.”

“You call that a happy ending?”

“Hey, we never had to put up with Angel or Slick again. In my patch, that was a happy ending.”

Elisa chewed on that. “So, you think that Klaus has something up his sleeve?”

“I’d be amazed if he didn’t.”

“So, who do you think he’s setting up? The Hefner Awards people?”

“Nope; you.”

“Me? Why me? I’m his bodyguard!”

“And Angel was Slick’s best bud and partner in crime. Look, Klaus obviously loves having people screaming at him, wanting his hide. Makes him feel important or lets him forget that he’s got this teeny-weenie or something. Now, from his point of view, what’s better than having all those people fuming at him as he sticks out his tongue at them? Having these killer babes with guns, ready to shoot anyone to tries to give him what he’s got coming. What’s better than having killer babes with guns guarding your sorry ass? Having killer babes with guns guarding your sorry ass in kinky black latex cat suits! And what’s better than that?”

Elisa’s face went hard. “Arranging it so that those killer babes in kinky black latex cat suits kill someone for you, so that you don’t take the heat for it.”

“Or he arranges it so that you violate your contract somehow, so you do any or all of that, and he gets to stiff us for the fee.” Vangie shrugged. “Either way, you’d better watch your back.”

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll catch you later.” Elisa made her way back over to the holding tank and let herself in. “You’re free to go,” she announced tonelessly as she crossed to Janet’s side of the table and removed her handcuffs.

The housewife was stunned. “What?”

“As the Agent in Charge of this detail I have decided that there is not sufficient evidence to prosecute, further it is not in the interest of the People of the Boston-Atlanta Metroplex.” She paused significantly as the handcuffs were returned to their keeper on her belt. “Stay away from Berndt Klaus and you and I can continue to pretend this didn’t happen, right?”

Janet rubbed at her wrist as she stood and appraised the Erinys before her. “Thank you,” she said at last as she laid a hand on Elisa’s shoulder. “And I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Go home to your husband, Mrs. Hastings,” Elisa told her softly. “Hug your children, cook them something nice to eat and forget about the ugly places in the world.”

* * *

St. Ignatius Chapel, Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Old D.C. 10:55am, May 19^th

Father Leonard was glad of a bit of break in his favorite parishioner’s confession to catch up on the notes he was taking on his PDA. The story that had tumbled from her lips came in such a torrent that keeping notes to assist his failing memory had been difficult. Now, however, he was caught up but there was still silence coming from the booth. “Elisa?” he called softly.

Her shadowed eyes returned to his through the screen. “Sorry, Father, I guess I ought to add envy to my list of sins,” she managed around a sniff and a forced lopsided grin.

“Ah, Mrs. Hastings,” the Priest replied with a chuckle. “I feel very confident of telling you, Elisa, she is probably far more envious of you, than you are of her. Still, envy is not something to take lightly so before you sleep tonight I want you to recite the Rosary and count all the blessings you have received from Our Heavenly Father.”

“Yes father.”

The priest nodded to himself as he notated the penance in the small computer in his hand. “I can certainly see why you’re upset about this. For myself, I must apologize to you for keeping you in the dark concerning the nature of Mr. Klaus’ work. I’m sure you understand my reasons for doing so.”

“My temper,” the young woman answered softly. “Father, do you think Diana is right? That I let my temper control me?”

“Elisa, you’re still a young woman, biologically, if not by the calendar. If I had to guess I’d put your physical age somewhere around 24. Now, I’m not a doctor, but I’ve counseled enough of your peers to know that young people, young women especially, are just bubbling with hormones that us ‘old farts’ can only vaguely remember. Your body is practically demanding you do things that society frowns on.”

“There are days,” Elisa whispered, “where I’m so afraid that I’ll do something I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting.”

“But you haven’t,” the priest responded. “That’s what I want you to remember, Elisa, you haven’t. Now, could you work on keeping your temper? Who couldn’t? I think that’s something we can overcome together with God’s help.”

“Amen,” she replied softly.

Father Leonard sighed and glanced over his notes. “Back to the task at hand, however. What happened after you released Mrs. Hastings?”

“I went back to the Canard hotel,” the Agent said, her voice growing cold. “That…that thing was bouncing back and forth over gloating that I’d subdued Mrs. Hastings and outrage that I’d let her go.”

* * *

The Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 9^th 9:37 PM

“What do you mean you let her go!” thundered Klaus, the outrage painting his face scarlet. Elisa counted to ten mentally as she wiped the droplets of spittle that had escaped his lips from her uniform.

“Mr. Klaus,” she replied in an even tone, voice completely devoid of its normal lilting emotion. “The inner operational details of Themis Corporation are no concern of yours.”

“That woman attacked me!”

“And you don’t have a mark on you,” interrupted Tom with a martyred sigh.

“You stay out of this, hübscher junge!” Klaus started and would have said more but Tom drew his arms across his chest and drew himself up to his full, more than formidable height.

“Let us be perfectly clear, Mr. Klaus,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “You paid our company to protect you. Agent Diaz and my team were assigned to protect you, so you will be protected. You don’t have to like us and we don’t have to like you.”

“How dare you…?”

“And just so everything is out in the open, we don’t answer to you. What occurs within Themis Corporation, who that body does or does not charge with law breaking, or any other internal matter is none of your business.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “I demand to know who your supervisor is and be put in touch with them right now!”

Tom grinned as he took out his cell phone. “That would be Rupert MacDonald, Supervisor in Command, old D.C. Detachment, Cerebus Division, Themis Corp. I have him on speed dial.” Klaus went to take the phone but Tom kept it from his grasp. “Of course, it would be unprofessional of me not to inform you that if I have a worry of being in Dutch with the boss, well, that will occupy my mind very considerably. I might miss someone with a gun, or a knife, and an itch to use either on you.”

Tom held out the phone which Klaus batted away with a growl of, “Get out!”

“Sleep well, sir,” Vannoy told him with a grin and he and Elisa withdrew. “Asshole,” he muttered once the door was firmly shut between them and the object of their ire.

“It would be unprofessional of me not to warn you if you tattle on me I’ll do a slipshod job of protecting your sorry ass?” asked Elisa with a chuckle as they walked next door to the makeshift command post they had set up. Tom grinned like a school boy being told finals had been canceled.

“Every action has an equal and opposite re-action,” he quoted around his grin. “Besides, I learned long ago the best way to deal with a creep like Klaus is to use their own weapons against them.”

“I think we can count on not getting an ‘extremely satisfied’ rating on the customer service survey after this one,” she replied.

“Ask me if I care.”

* * *

The Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 10^th 7:18 AM

“Elisa? Elisa wake up,” Coaxed Tom's voice into a tumbled and chaotic dream.

“No quiero ir a la escuela,” she murmured as she scrunched down into the sofa where she'd fallen asleep in an attempt to get more comfortable. Tom smiled down at her sleeping form, so angel like relaxed in slumber as it was now. A number of hairs had escaped the braid she'd set it in the night before to fit into her helmet and these framed her face and made her look vulnerable. The armor, so similar in appearance to a black latex cat suit hugged every curve and left no doubts as to her magnificent form underneath. The Cerebus commander couldn't help but smile at the object of his affection, even as he reached over and tipped the sofa with a free hand.

The primary advantage of the Erinys armor, other than its visual appeal, was that the fabric was molecularly locked. This gave it a glossy appearance, but more importantly it meant that it made her impossibly slick and next to impossible to grab. In combat, this was a must; however it meant that she slid off the sofa like warm butter off a non-stick pan. The flop turned into a roll as she slid across the carpeted floor and vaulted to her feet, mayhem in her eyes. “Good morning!” greeted Vannoy with a smile.

“You didn't have to flip me onto the floor,” she groused as she accepted a cup of coffee from Murphy as the medic passed.

“Shake you while you're asleep?” demanded Tom around his grin, “no, I like my bones in one piece, thank you!”

She humphed and planted a hand on her shapely hip as she took a gulp of the coffee. “What time is it?”

“Seven twenty,” he replied as he walked to the other couch to shake awake one of his troopers for the morning shift. “You've got plenty of time for a shower and to get ready for a fun filled day of being Herr Klaus' 'date'.”

“Don't remind me,” she mumbled as she drained the coffee before plucking her overnight bag from the small pile of luggage and made her way to the bathroom.

It was as palatial as the room had been, nearly to the point of being gaudy to her way of thinking as she removed her shampoo, conditioner, and the other toiletries from the bag to a shelf in the shower stall. Still, she noticed there were four nozzles for the shower which would make for a very interesting experience. Once the various soaps and body washes were as she liked them she reached her thumb into her armpit to the hidden pad there that would read her finger print and open the armor down her side to her hip.

From there it was like peeling off a second skin as the various machines built into the armor, bio-monitors, stimulant and pain suppressive injectors, released themselves and she was once more in the condition that she'd entered the world. As usual the neck collar had destroyed her braid and she found herself meeting her own reflection in the full length mirror in one corner, her head surrounded in a halo of ebony tresses.

It was always a subconscious thrill to catch her reflection in the mirror and see her inner self staring back out, curvy and taunt and so wildly female. To be as she'd always felt she should be outside and in was a feeling that never failed to send a shiver down her spine. Still there was work to be done, however distasteful. The piper had to be paid for the reflection in the mirror so she rushed through the shower and, as much as she didn't want to she used the hotel's 'complimentary' hair dryer to be ready that much faster.

Finally the bag gave up its final secret.

Everyone even remotely knowledgeable about police subcontractors in the modern world knew about the Erinyes Combat Armor. How a fabric so remarkably thin could stop the incredible amount of firepower it could, or that it's molecularly locked state acted as if the material was made of Bucky Balls that allowed her the nearly impossible mobility that the Erinyes were famous for. Some even knew about the built in gimmicks and tricks that, along with the cybernetic implants in her body allowed her supervisors and team leads to know where she was, what her physical state was, IFF transmitters and a host of other little toys that gave her an edge in combat.

But everyone knew they were black, liquid latex.

No one knew about the other Erinyes armor. The suit that was painstakingly matched to the agent's skin tone where it needed to be opaque and was a slick transparent oddity where not that allowed the Erinyes to dress however the assignment might demand and still be ready to be as lethal as needed. Indeed, most of the Cerebus guards outside that Elisa worked with were ignorant of it.

Once she was certain she was dry she pulled the armor on made sure her actual nipples were under the pair that had been painted onto the armor while ruefully shaking her head at the macabre sense of humor some designer had had to ensure even a wardrobe malfunction would appear to be accurate. That accomplished, she pulled on a white silk tank and, even though the armor served as all the bra she would need, got the one built into the top settled and a pair of tight designer jeans and four inch heels.

Now dressed as the expensive 'professional girlfriend' that was the role she would play for the next few days, Elisa relinquished the bathroom for one of the boys to use while she did her makeup in the sitting room of the suite that served as their command post. “Any updates from corporate?” she asked as she fished her makeup bag out of her purse.

“There's some net chatter about our favorite author,” replied Tom from the act of donning the soft armor he'd wear under his clothes. “And Murphy gave us the URL of a web 'journalist' that Klaus says has been stalking him.”

“Why wasn't that in the initial report?” Diaz demanded from making sure her lipstick was evenly applied.

“Ask computer intelligence,” Murphy said with a chuckle as he presented the Fury with a tablet that already had the Net channel pulled up.

“This goes back quite a ways,” Elisa murmured as she flipped through the website. “It seems our boy here is on his own personal crusade. Any criminal stuff linked to him?”

“Nothing violent,” the Medic answered. “Slew of harassment charges and restraining orders, but nothing like what Crimson Jihad or The Hand of Allah are known for.”

“Make sure the others get a good look at his photo anyway,” she ordered from applying her mascara. “He doesn’t look like much, but no sense taking chances. Who’s with Fatso now?”

“Sam,” informed Tom as he brought over a bagel that had been stuffed and topped with every imaginable ingredient and thickly slathered in cream cheese. “Mr. Popularity is having breakfast in his room. When you’ve eaten we’ll go relieve him and get started.”

“My hero,” she enthused as she took a huge bite out of the bagel. “What kind of goodies did Operations spring for us?”

Tom waved over one of his men with a hard plastic case. “I knew you’d want that Beretta 93R of yours, but I also knew there’d be no place to keep it on how you’d be dressed.”

“A woman appreciates a man who can dress to match her,” she mumbled around her mouthful. He placed the case down and opened it. Nestled in protective foam were two small pistols, one a silver revolver with an enormous chamber wheel, the other what appeared to be a black semi-auto pocket pistol.

“First, your primary, an oldie but a goodie,” Tom enthused as he took the revolver from the case and opened the wheel. “Taurus Judge a .45 Long Colt pistol and a 410 shotgun all in one tidy little package.”

“My favorite jurist.”

“I’ve alternated the chambers for you,” he went on, “the 410 shells are upland game loads and bird shot out of a one inch barrel will expand into a nice cloud quite fast if you have to discourage a crowd.”

“Ouch,” she sympathized as she took the pistol and closed the wheel.

“The .45 Long Colts are actually tungsten sabots in .357. With that much powder behind them they’ll punch through most hard suits up close and any soft armor on the market.”

She tested the heft of the pistol, her middle finger finding a plunger hidden in the grip. “What’s this?”

He chuckled darkly. “Can’t get anything past you,” he said around his laugh. “Ops added that so you could select which chamber you use. Give it a squeeze and it rotates the cylinder without dropping the hammer.” She nodded appreciatively as the pistol disappeared into a holster that was hidden by the bunches of the tank top’s silk and the waist of her jeans.

“What other toys do you have for me, Q?” she asked in a most lamentable imitation of Sir Sean Connery.

“Knowing your fondness for automatics I've included a Kel-Tec P01 Pocket Protector. Rotary magazine holds fifty, one millimeter rounds.” A perfectly arched eyebrow ascended her forehead.

“One millimeter?” she asked drolly. “.22 long rifle would be 5 times larger and still worthless...”

“Yes, but there are fifty in each magazine, and the pistol only fires in full auto mode,” he replied. “Probably not something you'll want to use against a person, but if there's technology you need to wreck, this will do nicely. And, after all, it is a hold out.”

“True,” she admitted as the pistol was carefully slid into a pocket on the jeans, safety on. “What's the ring?” He reached in and carefully withdrew a silver ring with a gemstone so large as to obviously be costume jewelry and carefully placed it on the ring finger of her right hand.

“It's a shock ring. Squeeze the band and your next punch has a fifty thousand volt extra. Battery is only good for one shot, so make it count if you need it.”

“I'll likely end up using it on you,” she teased him.

“Only if my luck changes,” he shot back as he closed the case and began to pull on a shoulder rig system that had a pair of holsters under each arm pit. “And yes, since I know you just won't be comfortable without it, I'll have your 93 with me if things get that bad right here,” he said patting his right armpit.

“How can a girl sleep at night without her security blanket?” she demanded as she dropped the few touch up items she’d need from her makeup bag into a clutch purse. “We ready?”

He pulled an obnoxiously loud floral print shirt over the shoulder rig system and purposefully didn’t button the shirt up. Tom started to answer but Klaus' strident voice echoing through the hall outside cut him off; the author screaming for help. Faster than any woman in four inch heels had a right to move, Elisa had relieved him of her pistol and bounded out the door into the hallway.

There she was just in time to see Sam forcibly separate Klaus from a mousy looking young man whose scruffy clothing, the microphone he was desperately trying to keep Klaus from taking away from him and the camera built into a pair of glasses labeled him admirably as the aforementioned web journalist. Finally Sam separated the two, the young journalist retaining his microphone allowing the Cerebus to shout, “What the furry fornication is wrong with you?” at Klaus.

“Gun!” Shouted the Author. “He has a gun! Shoot him!”

On hearing this, the journalist, obviously no stranger to altercations with the law, and law enforcement subcontractors promptly dropped the microphone and threw both hands into the air. Elisa slowed to a more leisurely stroll while tucking her pistol behind her jeans in the small of her back. “Oh yes, a regular menace to society here,” she observed. After a withering glance at the author she turned back to the young man and ordered, “Put your hands down and go talk to the steely jawed boy toy behind me. And don't do anything stupid or he'll hurt you. A lot.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he acquiesced meekly in a voice slurred with a mild Germanic accent. Elisa watched him go for a moment, then, as Tom took charge of him with a surreptitious sweep of the chemical sniffer built into his hand checking for firearms and explosives, turned back to Sam.

“Exactly what happened here?” she asked softly and, sensing Klaus building up to a tirade held up a meticulously manicured finger. “Mr. Klaus, the English Language does not have words for the contempt with which I hold you. Don’t speak to me. Don’t interrupt my team member and don’t try what little patience I have left for you. Sam?”

Sam’s eyes darted between his team leader and their client. He was old guard, close to the end of his current contract and not far from retirement. After a quick moment of thought his action plan quickly materialized in his mind. “We were having breakfast, Miss Diaz. We got an unexpected knock on the door and before I can even think of getting up, Mr. Klaus is rushing the door, yelling, ‘I got it’ and then as soon as he gets the door open he starts screaming and wrestling with the kid in the hall.”

“And you didn’t stop him because…?”

“I was hard on his heals, ma’am, but he was closer to the door than I was.” She thought for a long moment and sighed.

“Mr. Klaus did you receive, read and understand Themis pamphlet 48-10527A entitled Cerebus Guards, Rules for the Protected?” Klaus’ face was red with suppressed anger; however like most men who prided themselves on being as obnoxious as possible, he had a keen sense of how far he could push someone before they would react in a manner contrary to his best interests.

He was also smart enough to know that Elisa Diaz was at that limit and leaning over it badly. “Ja, Agent Diaz, I read and understood the pamphlet.”

“Then I do not need to remind you that you just committed a contract nullification action and, had the young man at the door been an assassin, Themis would incur no liability to your estate for your death. That, as we say in America, was your one freebie. If you commit another breech of contract action, our contract will be null and void as of that instant, no matter the situation on the ground and we will leave.”

The author’s jaw ground his teeth under the rolls of fat. “Apologies, Agent, I will not forget myself again.”

“No, Mr. Klaus,” she told him, her brown eyes cold and hard. “No you won’t.”

* * *

St. Ignatius Chapel, Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Old D.C. 11:29AM, May 19^th

Much to his dismay, Father Leonard's stomach growl interrupted Elisa's confession. “I'm so sorry!” they both said in unison. From her side of the confessional the priest could hear her gathering her belongings. “I've kept you far too long Father,” she continued. As quickly as his old bones would allow him, Joshua got out of the booth before her and managed to catch her as she exited, still offering apologies for how long her story had tied him up.

“That's enough,” he told her firmly, catching her short in her making her exit. “Now,” he said a fair bit more jovially, “as it was my stomach that interrupted things, it’s only fair that I spring for lunch. So, why don’t we continue this conversation over a meal that will silence my anatomy and, as I promised you, we will find an answer to your problems.”

“Father, I…”

“My daughter, this is where you meekly say, ‘Yes, Father,’ and we walk to your car.”

Her dark eyes rolled, but much to the elderly priest’s relief she was smiling again and her smile was genuine. “I don’t do meek, but, ‘Yes, Father,’ will that do?”

“Close enough,” the old man replied with a chuckle as the pair began walking to the door of the chapel. “So, who was the boy? The web journalist you’d heard about?” She nodded thoughtfully as she adjusted the drape of her Cool Cloak over the bat winged blouse and jeans she was wearing. The dark fabric of the cape was impregnated with nanotubes through which compressed Arctron gas was allowed to expand then pass through the barrier of the inner and outer fabric where it was re-compressed and the entire affair was powered by micro solar cells throughout the outer face. Inside the cape it would quickly be twenty degrees cooler than the outside air.

“Johann Gevalia,” she said with a sigh. “Wannabe Edward R Morrow, still I can’t be mad at the kid he’s determined to ‘out’ Klaus for the ladrón humano del oxígeno he is. For all I know he’s one of Klaus’ victims.”

The tall Jesuit looked down on his favorite parishioner as an eyebrow ascended his forehead. “You’re not exactly Methuselah yourself, Elisa.”

“There are days I’d argue that, Father,” she replied as she slipped on a pair of large sunglasses to protect her eyes. Joshua made do with a Fedora he had rolled up in his suit jacket that snapped back into shape thanks to the memory material it was from. In short order the pair were getting comfortable in Elisa’s powder blue BMW and rolling towards the M Street Flood Lock. “We found out later that because of Johann’s personal crusade against him that Klaus had leaked some of his schedule to the internet. He’d hoped that Johann would show up and Klaus would use us to commit murder for him.”

“I think I’m starting to agree with your assessment of this…person…Elisa.” He admitted, both to her and to himself as he fretted over how he would be able to keep not only a murder from being committed, but a conspiracy to cover it up as well.

The BMW raced up the ramp to the top of the canal dyke and splashed into the transition pool. There it converted itself into a speed boat and was soon roaring down the canal. “D'angelo's’?” he asked.

“Best Italian in the metroplex,” she replied with a grin. “And don’t worry about the cost, I’m buying.”

“I thought I said…” he started before the emotionless lenses of her sunglasses fixed him into his seat.

“Call it my tithe for missed weeks at mass, Father and just say, ‘Thank you, my daughter,’ meekness optional.”

“Thank you, my daughter,” he quoted with a chuckle.

“We didn’t know it then, but that leak would come back and bite Mr. Klaus in his fat…rear… later, but I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“What did you do with Johann?”

“Nothing,” she replied as the BMW cleared the canal and began to make better time on the less regulated Pennsylvania Inlet. “He was in the country legitimately on a Press Visa, he had no wants or warrants and he had credentials to the Hefner Awards so he had a right to be in the hotel. There was nothing we could do with him, other than a bit of empty threats about staying away from Klaus.”

“Our first bit of excitement occurred in what we thought would be one of the high threat times, the ‘meet the authors panel’ that day…”

* * *

The Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 10^th 1:22 PM

The World Fiction Awards drew a curious dichotomy of people, hipsters, literary mavens, Nouveau Bohemians, not that any of them wanted anything to do with the Hefner Awards. It seems the Hefner brought out the real weirdos. While there was no shortage of strange at any convention, the attendees of the Hefner took this as licenses to out do each other.

In a particularly cutting piece of irony, the bondage crowd seemed to be the most dressed and leather, latex and rubber where the fabrics of choice. At least their genitals are covered, Elisa thought to herself, an official issue vapid 'date' smile glued to her face as she stood behind Klaus and watched with growing disgust as his fans fawned over him.

Distorted and tinny, Tom's voice sounded through the implant, Look on the bright side, said his thoughts broad cast to her. Their eyes locked as three corpulent men who were leashed together to a woman paraded by. The men were all nude, their 'modesty' contained with little metal cages while being led by the woman who had managed to squeeze into a latex cat suit that highlighted every roll of fat on her body. Nobody is going to have an easy time sneaking a weapon in this way.

Diaz swallowed forcefully as the woman laid on the praise to Klaus thick and heavy while ordering her compatriots to clean his shoes...with their tongues. I don't think I'll ever want to have sex again, she thought at the amused body guard. I'm going to pour bleach in my eyes and then take vows in a convent.

His mental voice chuckled. The village idiots are just looking for attention, he assured her. These poor devils have as much to do with love as mud has to do with rocket science.

A woman who was almost good looking enough to have been an Erinyes walked by, waving a cat o'nine tails and while the uniform 'armor' suit she was wearing was a good facsimile, there were just enough details off that Elisa knew it to be a fake. Cosplayers, she thought, sniffing in disdain. What is it about conventions that bring out cosplayers?

Tom's mental voice only chuckled without an answer. Before he could, Sam's voice broke into the circuit. “Alert one, potential hazard.”

Report Status, Elisa thought, one hand casually shifting to allow easy access to the revolver in the small of her back.

“Two black SUVs just came through the water lock to the front door. I have one male, young, mid-teens on a guess, dressed in classic Arabic clothing with two individuals in burqas, gender unknown, getting out and entering.”

Tom and Elisa shared a glance. We have any face recognition on the male?

“Stand by one,” Sam's voice replied. As the minutes drug out while Elisa waited for an answer, the phone in her implant rang and, superimposed over her vision was a medium close up of a caller ID from her contact list. The ghostly figure of an older woman, obviously stunning in her day and still aging extremely gracefully floated transparently with various facts to call her to memory.

Karen! What a pleasant surprise!

“Elisa, your IFF has you at the Canard Hotel, is that right, hun?,” Karen's smooth Texas drawl whispered in her ear.

A chill ran up Elisa's spine. Karen Astor had always been one to observe the social niceties. Even when called to the carpet there would be five to ten minutes of polite chit chat before the ass chewing would start. It was one of her quirks that had made her a very pleasant boss to work for. She only went straight to business when bullets were about to fly.

Yes, I'm on station for a Sideman job. What...?

“No time, sugar, wanted to give you a heads up. Intel made me aware of a possible threat with a punk we've had our eye on, Kareem Abdul Azhiz. He's been very sloppily trying to worm his way into the Hand of Allah. He's thrown a lot of flags, gun buys, charter jets some other stuff and now he's brought vehicles where you are...”

“Got him” Sam's voice interrupted. “Kareem Abdul Azhiz, he’s a fifth son of an eighth son of some minor noble family in the Trans-Jordan Arabia Sultanate. Daddy dearest still manages to be richer than the Catholic Church.”

“Alert two, the burqa wearers are breaking off from the man...”

Where are they headed? Tom and Elisa demanded at the same time. Karen, you're a life saver! Can you roll...?

“The cavalry is coming, hang tight!” she replied before the line dropped.

“Your way,” Pete replied from his perch in the lobby where he was pretending to be a bored businessman reading a newspaper.

Birdcage, Elisa thought. All units, birdcage.

So casually, only those who knew would have taken the gesture for anything other than a lightly placed delicate hand on the author's shoulder, Elisa leaned forward and pouted, “Berndt, sweetie, I'm hungry...”

The code phrase caused Klaus' normally flushed face to pale and he began to sweat. Last night he'd been diligently instructed in a series of innocuous sounding phrases that would give him orders without alerting those nearby, or inciting a panic. Then, he'd waxed eloquent about how smooth and debonair he would react to keep the appearances up. Now, having been told they had identified a threat that was heading his way, his acting abilities failed spectacularly to live up to their advertising. He stammered something incoherent as the Fury guided him up and out of his chair towards the kitchen door the hotel's wait staff where refreshing the buffet table through.

The Ki that had been awakened in Elisa by the Dragon's Blood process allowed the Erinyes to perform seeming superhuman feats of agility and strength. And while the 'flashy' abilities of the Furies made them famous, it was the quiet abilities that kept them alive. The Ki responded to feelings of aggression near her that caused the hairs on the back of Elisa's neck to stand up, despite the armor that actually went up to the base of her skull. In the space of a heart beat, the world around her seemed to slow down and every sense sharpened to razor focus.

Elisa looked up and saw the wait staff that were working the buffet, realized for the first time that all of them were dark complected with black hair and eyes, but none had Latin features. She saw the contempt those eyes were filled with as their gaze swept the room that went beyond working class envy of haves by have-nots. She felt more then heard the doors to the room be kicked open by the 'women' in the burqas.

Her hand collected a large chunk of Klaus' suit jacket and she pulled, hard. Off balance, the author began to fall to Elisa's right, his cry of pain and surprise drowned out by the shouts of “Allahu Akbar!” that began to sound both from the door of the conference room and the 'waiters' who had begun to produce aging AK-74s. Ironically, the first shot fired was a verdict from the Judge whose tungsten gavel descended on the precise center of the forehead of the closest waiter to Elisa.

The young terrorists head exploded, leaving a stump of a neck that fountained blood all over the buffet and everyone around him. This was lost in the general commotion of the waiters firing the machine guns into the ceiling. Fire retardant tile bits mixed with the blood and gun smoke as the crowd slowly began to realize the seriousness of the situation.

Madman! Madman! Tom's mental voice shouted into the radio, announcing the go word for his team. Unchained for fast and hard action, the hard suits began to spill from the van. Vannoy threw himself on top of Klaus with sufficient force to push the author the rest of the way against the wall that Elisa had already thrown him towards. As his body dove past her, Diaz twirled, retrieving her Beretta from the armpit of the object of her affections and coming in line with her next target.

His eyes widened to nearly impossible lengths as he realized he was staring down the barrels of a pair of pistols. The machine gun he held was pointed at the ceiling still and across his face Elisa could see him realize he was looking at his own death. The Beretta spoke striking him in the eye and pulling most of that side of his head off. It pulled the corpse to the left, causing it to launch the rifle it was holding in Elisa's general direction.

She used the muzzle of the Beretta to loop into the sling of the flying rifle and flipped it towards Tom who, used to somewhat showy things like this from her caught it began shooting terrorists while protecting the prone and cringing form of Berndt Klaus.

The crowd finally realized they were in the middle of what was likely to be the lead story of the evening news, doubtlessly spattered with words like dead hostages, collateral damage and unavoidable casualties, which instantly converted the crowd to a mob. This added to the general confusion the terrorists, yelling in a collection of languages, none of which was English, trying to get the mob under control kept them several further critical seconds from realizing someone in the crowd was shooting back.

Elisa used this as she ran, part parkour, part dance along the wall, trying desperately to circumvent the mob before, like cattle, they stampeded in place and turned the room to a charnel house. A soaring back flip over a particularly confused looking matron in an outfit that was unspeakable in it's tastelessness, allowed her to kick off the high heels that was impeding her speed and send another final judgment this one to the gun wielding waiter that was blocking the fire exit. The sabot shattered both his head and the glass of the door behind him, giving the mob a way out. The mob seized on it and began to push forward.

The sound of battle from the kitchen caused them to surge faster, despite the terrorists trying to stop them as the Cerebus team fought their way to their team mates. Barefoot, Elisa landed in front of surprised looking man trying to peel out of a burqa. Their eyes met and the Fury snapped out a knife hand strike against his throat that was given solidity by the pistol she was holding. His cry of agony was turned into a wet gurgle as his trachea collapsed under the blow and he fell, clawing at his throat, drowning and suffocating at the same time.

His cross dressing partner was faster on the uptake, firing his rifle in full auto and sweeping it across the crowd to get it in line. The 5.45mm rounds struck Elisa across the stomach, both knocking her down and the wind from her lungs. She happened to fall next to the woman she'd noted earlier who was dressed as an Erinyes, a confused looking expression still on her face. The armor saved Elisa's life, the pain cut short as her suit injected her with enough Dopeine to not care about the pain in her stomach, but not cost her reflexes too much.

Gasping for air to refill her lungs, she fired a burst into the man who had shot her. He fell to his knees in surprise as she sat up and snarled, “Bastardo!” and shoved the Judge into his face to complete his journey to the here after.

Elisa percieved the faintest of mechanical whines before the implant in her head completed it's Friend or Foe challange to the little drones that were spilling out of the kitchen hallway and interrupted the nerves that connected her ears to her brain. Suddenly deaf, Diaz didn't hear the ultrasonic tone the drones emmitted, and brought a halt to the combat, crowd and terrorists alike falling to their knees, clutching their ears. The stun effect lasted long enough for the remainder of Tom's team to storm in through the kitchen and begin binding up the fake waiters. Six more hostiles down in the kitchen, Sam said through the implant's radio.

Clear in here, Elisa thought at him. Take Tom and Klaus to the safe room.

Suddenly her hearing was restored as the drones ceased their sonic assult and the cries of wounded and dying people returned. Pete? Do you still have eyes on Azhiz?

“Yes ma'am, he's headed for his car looking mighty worried.”

Arrest him and toss him in a hurt locker, Elisa's mental voice snarled. Not central booking, you understand?

“Yes ma'am.”

Elisa accepted Sam's help to her feet and looked down at the two dead burqa wearing terrorists at her feet. “George, you're demolition rated, yes?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Get over here. There's enough BoomX on these two to take out Hover Dam. Diaz to Central...”

“DC Central, go ahead agent.”

“I'm declaring a level 3 incident, roll ambulance and fire assistance, multiple wounded and killed, option Themis for the resultant contract, initial responce suggests envolvement of the Terrorist Organization Hand of Allah.”

* * *

Themis 'Black Ops' Logistical Center, Abandoned City of Travilah, May 10^th 9:22 PM

As the seas rose early in the century, there were many different methods of dealing with it as there were people. A popular method was to build dikes to protect areas against the rising waters. The Unincorporated City of Travilah had chosen that method to protect the expensive homes of its fifteen square miles of bedroom 'community' for the Old DC area. Despite the money spent, most of the well to do residents either quickly sold off their properties or abandoned them outright for safer places to live. So, like many regions of the country, the growing urbanization had turned the neighborhood into a maze of abandoned streets, lined with once expensive homes and exclusive shops that were slowly deteriorating back to nature.

Or, at least that's how it looked to the casual eye.

Because Travilah had been purchased through a holding company, that was a subsidiary, of a division, of a partnership of a wholly owned branch of Themis through an accounting maze of trusts, foundations and LLCs that would drive an accountant mad to try and sort out, it was exactly the kind of place to train people, warehouse equipment and otherwise stage for activities that weren't exactly legal.

While Themis refused to engage in any kind of wet work, governmental or free lance, there were plenty of contracts that were questionable at best and one a hazy shade of gray above open warfare at worst. For work in the northern hemisphere, those contracts started in Travilah. Under the abandoned subdivisions was a complex that had been very discreetly built with great care taken to leave the above ground fixtures untouched. Themis maintained several warehouse distribution centers as discreet entrances and exits of the facility so there was a reason for folks to be coming and going without raising any eyebrows.

In a dimly lit room, dozens of feet underground, Kareem Abdul Azhiz sat, handcuffed to a table and despite the cool, somewhat clammy temperature, was sweating profusely. His cheek ached from where who he had taken as an innocuous Am-FED businessman had punched him and he had a splitting head ache. He'd been able to get the black bag off his head that he'd suffered the journey in, but it really did him no good as the walls of the room were bare and had no windows.

Kareem desperately needed a water closet.

The door opened and a woman entered, wearing one of the decadent westerners wickedly immodest 'uniforms' that clung to her in such a way that she might as well have been naked. She carried a folder that she threw onto the table and a gun and gun belt that Kareem told himself that if he could get his hands free, he would be able to take from her after easily overpowering her. “I have diplomatic immunity; I demand you release me at once!”

The woman said nothing, but opened the folder and began to lay out photographs in front of her. They were horrific pictures of corpses, blood spattered, organs ejected, brains exposed, with rulers placed in them for scale. Despite his manly pride, Kareem felt his stomach roll in protest and he turned away, desperately trying to keep down his lunch. “I would have been here sooner,” the woman finally replied in an off hand manner from the pictures. “But as you can see, you made quite a mess; it took a long time to clean up.”

She raised her gaze and her dark eyes flashed. “I'm glad we've established that you speak English. So we're clear, every time you try to pretend you don't understand what I'm saying, I'm going to break a bone. Every time you answer in any language other than English, I'm going to break a bone.”

“I do not know what you're talking about, I...” Kareem couldn't continue because the woman had slowly stood backhand slapped him with sufficient force that his lip split and a spurt of blood went flying from his head. Her gloved hand grabbed his face and covered his mouth, cutting off his screams of pain while forcing him to meet her cold, remorseless eyes.

“Do not ever lie to me again,” she told him softly, forcefully enunciating each word. She squeezed his jaw painfully to emphasize her command, then released him and turned to walk back around to the other side of the table.

Kareem inhaled to spit in defiance at the American bitch, but before he could let fly his eyes crossed, trying to focus on the barrel of the pistol. She had drawn it faster than he could follow and it was now pointed squarely at the bridge of his nose. “Spit at me,” she commanded. “I dare you, you pathetic, maldito burro sin pene. Go ahead, hombre!” She moved the pistol so the he could see her face and the smile she wore sent shivers down his spine. He knew that smile, been around paid men his father had hired who wore it to do violence and evil in his name and it erased any fantasy he had about 'overpowering the helpless woman.' “Spit in Death's face and see what it gets you...!”

For the first time in his pampered, sheltered life, the 'prince' felt fear. Not the fear of not getting his way or what he wanted, or even the fear of men, like her, that had been bought and paid for, they had all been properly deferental. This was fear as deep and bitter as he had laughed about hearing from his father how he had shown his mother her place with the back of his hand, on their wedding night. As total as he imagined those same violent men caused in his father's victims, the fear of anyone who knew they were looking their own death in the face. His bladder let go and Prince Kareem urinated on himself. “I...I come from a wealthy and powerful family. If you harm me...”

“If I kill you,” she corrected him, returning the pistol to it's holster. “Your 'wealthy and power family' will never know it, and you, they won't ever find you. Well, what's left of you...” She noted the darkening stain on the front of his thawb and the grin widened. “I'm going to take my time with you,” she promised. “Days, at least, weeks if I can.” She crossed around behind him and leaned to whisper in his ear. “I have a paramedic friend that's wanted me for years. I bet if I give him what he wants he'll help me keep you alive.”

“Please...” Kareem stammered. “My family! They have money, power! Whatever you want, they can give it to you!”

The door opened again, revealing a tall man in a suit with close hair and a tanned, weathered face, before she could answer. His lip curled in disgust at what he saw. “That's enough, agent,” he ordered, causing her to pout and return to his side of the table. He glared at her for a moment, then turned his attention back to the captive. He produced a key and released him from the handcuffs. “Your highness, my name is Smith, John Smith, I'm with the State Department. I see you've met Agent Mary Jane.”

“You have to get me away from here! I have diplomatic immunity!”

Smith nodded. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, your highness, you've been involved in a very serious diplomatic incident.” He collected up the photos and returned them to their folder. Then he removed a new set of photos and began to lay them out. “There are a number of fatalities and your highness has been very outspoken in support of groups my government considers outlaw terroristic organizations.” He sighed. “Your immunity may not be recognized.”

“And when it's not, you're mine,” agent Mary Jane purred.

Real terror lit up behind Kareem's eyes as he took in the pictures. They were all pictures of him; in night clubs and stripper bars around Old DC. Pictures of him out side the headquarters of the Pan-Islamic Brotherhood that was a front for the Hand of Allah; then there photos of him at Clinton International recieving the dead waiters he had flown in from Arabia. Photos of him with a certain gun smugglar in a certain alleyway he thought he had been very discreet with. “No! You can not! She threatened...!”

The prince ground to a halt as Mary had produced a knife from somewhere, a long, wicked black instrument of war, and was running her tongue down the flat of the blade. After a moment Azhiz realized Smith was talking. “If your highness could give us something to counter balance the doubtlessly innocent, but unfortunate cooincidence of being in the Canard Hotel exactly when agents of the Hand of Allah attacked. An organization I must remind your highness you have been most vocal in supporting, both with words and, rumor has it,” he said, tapping the photograph of him at the airport, “considerable funds.”

“It is entirely innocent!” Kareem declared in a panic. “I...I may be sympathetic to certain principles, being a faithful and dutiful servant of Allah...”

“Of course,” Smith agreed, returning the folder to his brief case. “But, your highness must realize how this will play out in the media. So many people dead, there will be a demand for action.” He shrugged. “Now, if your highness might have noticed other men who might have been traveling at the same time as you, men that perhaps your highness might have noticed did not seem to be as peaceful. If they were to turn out to be criminals, well, your highness' cooperation would make you something of a hero. My government could then explain your highness being present. We would have no difficulty honoring your highness' diplomatic immunity.”

Kareem's eyes darted back and forth between Smith and Jane as he frantically processed the offer. They knew he was tied by the hip to the men who had done this. He knew it was a pleasant lie to save himself by sacrificing the rest of Allah's soldiers that were with him. Well, they would be martyred and have their reward, while he would be returned to be able to finance other warriors to the fight against the Great Satan. The Hand knew there were always casualties. “There...there may have been some...” he started, trying to concentrate on the man.

He noded sagely as he removed a recorder from his case and put it on the table. “Go on.”

* * *

Themis 'Black Ops' Logistical Center, Abandoned City of Travilah, May 10^th 10:40 PM

“Agent Smith?” demanded Elisa as she and Tom walked down the hallway away from the detention room that held Azhiz. “Agent Mary Jane?” she added with a rueful chuckle.

“Well, as far as he knows,” Tom replied with a smile as he loosened his tie. “And, by some miracle if he does get loose of whoever we sell him to he won't know we are. He might be a useless piece of dog shit, but he does have money and money buys professionals.”

“Speaking of, how is the bidding going?”

Tom made a stylized gesture that his phone recognized, causing the holographic emmitter in his watch to paint a 'screen' hovering ghostlike before him. A few more gestures got the icon he wanted. “Shin Bet wants him pretty badly. I doubt they'll show him much mercy either.”

“After all that time and effort this brat put in to coozying up to Hand of Allah? I bet he has plenty of beans to spill about them, if I worked for Shin Bet I'd want him too,” Elisa agreed. “Still, we don't know what they'll do to him.”

“We can guess,” Tom retorted. “You ok with that?”

She hugged herself and then leaned into him for support. “I'm not sure how much of that was an act, Tom, but it wasn't much.”

“It was enough,” he assured her.

* * *

D'Angelo's Italian Biestro, Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex 12:22PM, May 19^th

“You call that a little excitement?” Father Leonard demanded, one eyebrow raised as he buttered a slice of the fresh loaf of bread they were sharing. Elisa shrugged from her sip of tea and favored the priest with a radiant smile.

“Compaired to most of what I've had to deal with in my career, it was little,” she said sadly her mind on old, bitter memories.

“True,” he admitted, his mind on old confessions and long forgiven sins. She sighed and put the glass down, looking at him expectantly. As he chewed, Leonard came to recognize the expression on her face and ask, “Are you waiting for something, my daughter?”

“We may not be in the confessional any longer, father, but I did believe you'd have something to say about my treatment of Kareem,” she replied softly. “I was waiting for my pennance.”

“I do have something to say,” he said finally, fixing her with a steely gaze. “This boy is responscible for getting six people killed, wounded two dozen more, some for life, isn't that right?” She nodded, not quite sure where he was going with this line of questioning. “So, you surrendered a criminal into the hands of a governmental, anti-terrorism taskforce, isn't that right?”

“Not my govern...” she started, but he waved her into silence.

“I didn't ask you that,” he scolded her. “You delivered a multiple murderer to a government where he will face justice for his crimes, yes?” She nodded. “Then my only regret is that you did not hit him more and harder,” he declared with deep finality.

“Father Leonard!”

“Father Leonard!” he repeated, mimicing both her surprise and the mild spanish accent that tinted her voice. “I may be a Priest, and I am happy to live peacibly with any one who will also live peacibly, but I have no use for cut throats and murderers who sneak knives into my house while claiming to be my friend. I am also a Jesuit. I will not tolerate evil being done in the name of God.”

The waiter arrived with steaming plates, laden with pasta and sauce which silenced the conversation for a while as both enjoyed themselves. Finally the priest sighed and asked, “What about the other accomplices Kareem named?”

There was nothing pleasant about her smile. “We didn't have time to deal with them ourselves, so corporate dispatched a Myrmidon dynamic entry team to round them up. The few that resisted won't trouble anyone else ever again. The rest are being...debriefed.”

The priest raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Debriefed?”

“Aggressively,” the Fury replied. “Kareem's little stunt has delt the Hand an major set back in their NorthAMFed operations. I imagine he's actually safer in the custody of Shin Bet than on the street.”

Leonard seemed satisfied with that answer and returned to the original narriative. “What happened after you got back to the hotel?”

“Well, Tom and I didn't go back to the hotel directly,” she replied. “We were both hungry and were talking about getting something to eat before we had to deal with Klaus again, and that's when things got really strange...”

* * *

To Be Concluded…

Whom God Destroys Part Two

Author:

E. E. Nalley

Caution:

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

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Erinyes Universe by Bek D Corvin

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Whom God Destroys Part Two

The Potomac Inlet, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 10^th 11:40 PM

“So, I'm still owed a working date,” Tom said as he slipped his arm around Elisa's shoulders. Her BMW was in speed boat mode, zipping along the eveing chop of the bloated Potomac Inlet on it's way back to Arlington and the Canard Hotel. And while the car was a comfortable size, it still could be quite cozy and intimate. His arm, sliding effortlessly between the slick armor she wore and the leather seat instantly made things more intimate.

Elisa quickly put the armor mentally into stand by mode lest it interpret her elivated heart rate and growing arousal as signs of combat stress and start injecting her accordingly with preformance enhancers. She carefully licked her lips and tried to sound aloof. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I am in this monkey suit, and dressed like that you'll get in anywhere, so we could go somewhere a little more upscale if you'd like. There's this new seafood place on the docks called Nemo's I've heard good things about...”

Tom couldn't continue as Elisa's phone finished a quick discussion with the computer in the car and routed the call it was receiving through it. Between them, the ghostly image of a hologram of a young hispanic man took shape, grinning at the camera with a smile that doubtlessly earned him more than his share of attention from the ladies. Elisa sighed. “Hold that thought, Tom, I have to take this. Hello?”

“Should I be jealous?” he asked with a laugh.

“Hola, chica!” The young man's hologram 'looked' between the two of them and he switched to English. “Oh, sorry, sis! Bad time?”

“You're fine, Juan,” she replied. “This is Tom, he's...well, he's a co-worker and a very good friend who has saved my life more than once...”

The hologram's face split into his grin once more. “Then hombre is family! We'll get together soon, amigo, and to show you my gratitude for saving my favorite sister, the tequilla is on me!”

“You should be studying, not drinking!” she snapped at him.

“I'm learning,” Juan replied and it became obvious to Tom that his smile let him get away with quite a bit. “That's what college is about, no?”

Her voice became just a bit meanicing. “Juan...”

“Bien, bien, voy a golpear los libros!” he conseeded with a laugh, but then his features became more serious. “Sis, are you busy?”

A warmth entered her voice that managed to change Tom's opinion of her yet again; a motherly tone that put him in mind of Normal Rockwell paintings and white picket fences. “Never for you, hermano menor,” she told him. “What's going on?”

His face fell a bit more. “I'm, not really sure. Now, don't start, chica, but Juanita called and asked me to arrange a meet for...”

Her face darkened in what Tom knew was her keeping her temper on a short leach. “I don't have time for...”

“Sis, she sounded really desperate!” Juan interrupted her. “I've never heard her like this, and I'm really worried! Please, Elisa, for me?”

Her knuckles went white as she gripped the steering wheel. Finally, tightly under control she asked, “Where and when?” Juan's face split into his heart breaking grin once more.

“You can pick me up and I'll tell you! Knowing you two, you'll need a referee, and it's not fair to Tom,” he added with a wink, “to make him do it! Phone says you're not too far from my dorm. See ya in a few!” The line disconnected and Tom used his arm across her shoulders to give her a reassuring squeeze.

“I can get a cab back to the hotel...” he started, but she shook her head, ebony hair whipping back and forth from the force of it.

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” she told him, her eyes on the water as she changed course back towards old DC. “And, truth be told, if you want to be a part of my life, Tom, you might as well find out about this mierda now.” She sighed and finally looked him in the eye. “What do you want me to do?”

“I would like to be a part of your life,” he told her, giving her shoulder another squeeze. “I also don't want to intrude on family business, so the question is not what I want, but rather what you want, Elisa?”

She sighed and rubbed his knee in gratitude for the solidarity. “Juan is the youngest of my siblings,” she said. “He was a 'surprise' to my folks, mama thought she was too old, but...” She flashed a smile hinting at her deep feelings for the young man. “Modern medicine has come a ways, but he was still a hard pregnancy for my mom, we all kind of babied him. I was already with Themis and a month out of the tank when he was born. We started our lives together you might say. He's the only one of my siblings that never knew me as Edwardo.”

Tom snorted in amusement. “Hell, I didn't even know what your old name was.” He favored her with a measuring glance. “I'm going to guess, based on what you've already told me, your relations with your siblings are 'strained'?”

“Oh, they run the whole gammut,” she replied. “Of my brothers, I'm closest to Juan. Diego and Jesus are content to exchange Christmas cards, nod at Easter and pretend I don't exist the rest of the year. My sister Carmen was the blacksheep of the family until I came out of the closet with the help of Father Leonard and so now we're pretty close. I'm the Godmother of her son and we get together pretty regularly.”

She sighed again. “Juanita and Carlos blame me for our parents deaths,” she said softly. “I haven't spoken to Carlos since he enlisted eighteen years ago. My letters were returned unopened and I don't expect to ever speak to him again.”

The silence drug out and he rubbed her shoulder again. He knew her well enough to know that this was hard on her. Where some men might try to say something consoling, Tom elected to use a touch and keep his eyes on her and stay quiet, letting her decide when she was ready to go on. The BMW transitioned through the waterlock at the Georgetown Campus Inlet entrance and became a car again to slowly navigate the streets of the Georgetown Bowl to the dorms. “Juanita is the reason I don't go to any family events,” she said finally stopping for a red light and looking up at him, her eyes moist with tears. “She follows me around the event, shreiking like a banshee calling me everything from pervert and fag to murderer. It got so bad that she started following me to Mass, trying to drive me from the Church. Father Leonard threatened to have her excommunicated if she didn't stop it. So she transfered from Holy Trinity to St. Patrick's.”

He shook his head. “Suddenly, the squabble my brother and I have about who broke my bike when we were kids seems so petty and trival.”

She snorted a laugh, caught off guard by his quirky sense of humor and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank God for you, Thomas Vannoy!” she exclaimed and their lips met long enough that the car behind them had to honk to let them know the light had changed. She quickly composed herself and shook her head. “Of course when that crazy bitch finally, finally goes through Juan, the one person in the family I'll listen to concerning her to ask to talk to me, I'm wearing my uniform!”

“It could be worse,” he told her.

“How?”

“You could be naked,” he replied with a smile. “I'd be willing to bet you look better than your sister, and that probably doesn't help.”

“Small victories,” she agreed with a smile that was almost evil.

Juan was waiting for them outside of his dorm and happily tumbled into the back seat, giving his sister a hug around her chair as he did so. “Good to know you, Tom!” he declared, thrusting up a hand to be shook. If he was old enough to drink, it wasn't by much, Tom decided as he took the hand and shook it. The young man had won a genetic lottery, tall without being threatening, dusky perfect skin that gave exotic color, not the weathered tan Tom wore. And of course, the regular, handsome features that were legendary for Latino lovers of film and fiction. He was dressed just well enought to be fashionable, but not so much as to cross over into narcism or the obsessive 'metro-sexual'. “Of course, being the brother I have to say if you mistreat my sister I'll really mess up your knuckles as you beat the crap out of me!”

“My manicurist will never speak to me again,” laughed Tom, instantly taking a liking to the youngster, much to Elisa's consternation.

“Where am I going?” the Erinys demanded, her tone softened by her obvious delight in being around her baby brother.

“Martin's” Juan replied, struggling with his seat belt. “N Street and Wisconsin Ave, she's waiting for us.”

“Let her,” growled Elisa as she pulled of the dorm and began to wind her way through the confined streets. “You have no idea what this is about, Juan?”

“It must be important,” Juan declared. “She begged me to get you over there.”

“Perhaps she's had an ephaniy,” Tom offered.

Elisa contented herself with a snort of diression and drove.

Martin's Tavern was cream colored building with green shutters and highlights and a red store front in the timeless way that Georgetown was famous for and might have been there since colonial Williamsberg times. In short order they were led to the table of hispanic woman on first blush Tom might have taken for Elisa's mother. She was obviously well over thirty, and while not being vain about it, took pride in her appearance. She hadn't been a great beauty in her day, and it was likely as Tom had predicted that she resented Elisa both for her beauty as well as her apparant youth. The table was in a corner, well away from other patrons which gave a notion of privacy. She was dressed an a manner that indicated she was at least as well off as her sister, perhaps a bit more so and kept her face neutral as the group arrived. “¿Quién es él ?” she demanded as they sat down.

Diaz sniffed and retorted, “Speak English, or I'll leave now. This is Thomas Vannoy, Squad Commander, Old D.C. Detachment, Cerebus Division, Themis Corp. He's saved my life three times and if you insult him I walk, entender?”

“How do you do, Squad Commander, I am Juanita Ayala Diaz de Sewarza.”

“Charmed Senora de Swarza,” he replied. “Thomas Vannoy, at your service.” She inclinded her head in appreciation for his manners.

“You have excellent taste in friends,” she told her sister, then after a slight pause, added, “¿Usted quiere tener una crisis de la familia con un extraño en la mesa?”

Elisa frowned. “Él no es un extraño. Y sí.”

“You're both supposed to be speaking English,” Juan reminded them. Juanita sniffed and after a glare at the young man, opened her purse and slid a piece of paper across the table. Elisa picked it up and read it, her demeaner changing at once.

“When did this happen?”

The stone that Juanita's face was carved from cracked and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I went to pick him up from school they couldn't find him and told me he must have walked home. He's not answering his phone and he's not at home or any of the friends he's allowed to visit.”

Tom blinked. “What's happened?

“My nephew, Raul,” Elisa replied, “he's been kidnapped.” She handed him the paper which was a poorly scratched out ransom demand of N$500 to be delivered by the Fury, Elisa Diaz. Turning back to her estranged sister, she asked, “Have you contacted the police, or any police services provider?”

“The school's lawyer may have,” Juanita admitted. “He was frantic when they finally made him understand they had no paper account of him being properly released from supervision.”

Elisa snorted in derision. “Law suits come later. Is there any reason he could have been taken to get leverage over you? Is anything going on at work, any special project or pending anything...?” Juanita shook her head.

“No!” she wailed, balanced precariously on the edge of tears. “I swear, nothing out of the ordinary for months! We're a probate firm! We just prepare contracts, titles and deeds! We don't do anything in secret, it's all public record!” She leaned forward and for the first time in nearly twenty years, took Elisa's hand. “'Dwardo, this is what you do, isn't it? You can save my son, can't you?”

Diaz looked down and then back up at her sister. “My name,” she said softly, “is Elisa Maria Ayala Diaz, which is legal and binding through out the North American Federation, so appears on my passport accepted in every nation on this world and written out in the Book of St. Peter on the authority of Pope Gregory the Seventeenth himself. If God will judge me under that name, it is good enough for you to call me!”

Juanita blushed and nodded. “I...lo siento.” With an effort, she composed herself and met Diaz's gaze. “Elisa, this is what you do, is it not? Tell me, I will suffer any pennance you name for how I've treated you, but save my son! Save your nephew!”

Elisa sighed and covered her sister's hand with hers. “Yes, 'Nita, it is what I do. And I will do everything I can to save Raul.”

“This is an oftly low ammount,” mused Tom from the demand. “Senora de Swarza, forgive me for asking, but how much money do you make?”

“I...excuse me, is that relavant?” she demanded, cagily.

“Five hundred nubucks strikes me as awefully low for someone of your station,” Vannoy replied. “You dress well, you work for a law firm...”

“I am a lawyer,” she corrected with a sniff. “Well on my way to making partner,” she said with obvious pride. “To answer your question, Mr. Vannoy, I make more than that in a month.”

“It's a lot of money to me,” Juan interrupted. “Pay my expenses and tutuion for two sumesters!”

“Tom has a point,” Elisa told him, taking back the note to examine it. “To someone of our level of income, N$500 is not a significant ammount of money. Ransome demands are usually much higher, thousands, if not tens of thousands...”

“Tens of thousands?” Juan asked with great incruduility. “Who has that kind of money?”

“You'd be surprised,” Elisa told him with a smile. “Alright, the drop is due to take place tomorrow at 9:00PM. Tom and I will do some planning and get set up. I'm going to have our intell group put a trace and forward on your phone, 'Nita.”

“But, the confidentality of my clients...!”

Elisa raised a calming hand. “When the calls come in, if you recognize the number just press the 'known' button that will pop up, no trace, no record, no forward to me. Otherwise, answer as normal and I'll be listening in, alright?” Juanita nodded finally, distressed.

“There's nothing you can do tonight, Elisa?”

“I'll be doing lots of things, Juanita,” she assured her. “But there's practicality no chance of finding Raul tonight. But that won't stop me from trying, ok?” Despite being two years younger than Elisa, Juanita still appeared to be the elder of the two and Tom wondered if that reversal was part of their issues. He didn't wonder long because Senora de Sewarza found the courage she was looking for.

“Dwardo, why did you do this to yourself?”

Elisa stiffened, but kept her temper on a short teather. “Were you not listening when I told everyone, 'Nita?”

“Why?” she pressed, ignoring the question. “You had everything! You were the pride of Papa's eye! Carlos was sick with envy wanting to be you! First born, first place, first son! Por el amor de dios, 'Dwardo, why!”

Elisa closed her eyes, took a deep breath and leaned forward to emphasis her point. “Juanita, I don't think I will ever be able to explain to you in a way you'll believe me. This,” and she made a vague gesture to indicate herself, “is who I always was, inside Edwardo, screaming to get out. I know you don't believe that, I know you don't understand that. So let me boil it down to something you can understand. I am the best Catholic I can be. I take my vows seriously and my duty to 'be fruitful and multiply.' But I had a problem, I like men and I'm not gay.”

She shrugged and presented herself again. “Problem solved.” From the glare she got, it was obvious Juanita didn't appreciate her humor. For Juan's sake, she choose to ignore it and turned to Tom. “Alright, let's get a quick bite, here's as good a place as any, then we'll pick up some gear from headquarters and head back to finish babysitting Klaus.”

“This late?” he demanded, shaking his head. “Let's head and head back to the Hotel. We can pick up gear in the morning.”

Juanita's eyes darted between the two. “Hotel?” she demanded.

“It's not what you're thinking!” snapped Elisa. For a moment, her sister considered that, then a sly grin settled over her face and the sister Elisa remembered came out for the first time in many, many years.

“No?” she snorted in amusement and fixed the body guard with an appreciative, somewhat lustful gaze. “What a waste!” Tom's tan darkened and found his menu immanently fasinating.

* * *

The Canard Hotel and Casino, Arlington, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 11^th 12:48 AM

“I do not have to put up with this!” thundered Klaus, spittle flying in all directions. “I am paying good money and this is how I am to be treated?!”

Elisa had learned to be well back from the rotund author's drenching tyrades, which in and of itself seemed to be fueling his rage as she was not allowing him within arms reach which was leading to an interesting circuit of the room until he realized he wouldn't be able to get into the Fury's face. “The awards ruined, ruined! What am I paying you incompentants for? The high point of my year and now the only headlines are about corpses and crybaby misanthrops who barely get nicked with a bullett...” Klaus stopped because his nose had run into the sole of the Erinyes' foot. She hadn't kicked him, just snapped her foot up and stopped short of striking him all so fast he actually walked into her foot. His eyes lost focus as he stumbled backwards as she held the poise of a perfect side kick. Slowly, showing off her absolute control of her body, she lowered her foot and crossed her arms over her magnificent bosom.

“Mr. Klaus,” Elisa interrupted him coldly, all hopes of quietly sneaking into her rooms and getting a good night’s rest gone.. “You are suffering under a delusion, several in fact. First, the delusion that we were retained to provide security for the entire function, we were not. Second the delusion that your contract gives you the right to abuse my team or myself, it most emphatically does not. Finally, you suffer under the delusion that I will meekly put up with your tirade, which, sir, I will not. You don't like that you're still alive? There's a window! Jump! You don't like how we are keeping you alive? Fire us! We'll be happy to refund a pro-rated portion of your retainer this very moment and leave!”

“Now see here you...”

“But I will not tolerate being yelled at by you any longer!” she shouted back, over awing the man into silence as he continued to glare. In a more sedate tone of voice she continued, “If you raise your voice to me, or any member of my team again...” she trailed off raising a pointed finger that promised mayhem.

Tom cleared his throat and slowly interjected himself into the confrontation. “Agent Diaz is quite correct, Herr Klaus, and you are alive which is how we were paid to keep you.” The author turned, finding a new target, but before he could unload, Vannoy continued. “And, if you want to stay that way, I heartily encourage you to keep your mouth shut. You have provoked an Erinyes more than anyone I’ve ever heard of that also lived to tell about it. I note, that Agent Diaz’s hand is on her pistol and if she decides to kill you, none of us are fast enough to stop her.”

Both Klaus and Elisa looked down to see that, in fact, her hand had taken the butt of her pistol, almost without her realizing it. With great dignity she took her hand off the weapon and announced, “I am going to bed. Squad Commander Vannoy, would you be so kind as to work out the watch rotation, please?”

“I'd be happy to, Agent Diaz.”

“Thank you.” She glared at Klaus a final time, daring him to say a word; he, however, wisely remained silent. She walked from the room to the suite where the Cerebus detachment had set up shop, back rigidly straight. Alone in the bathroom, Elisa peeled off the armor, turned on the shower, letting the multi nozzled luxury beat on her until she slid down the warmed tiles in the corner and clutching her knees to her chest let herself cry.

She cried for the cosplayer and the other five people she wasn't fast enough to have saved. She cried for the wounded and maimed as their faces joined the mental list she kept of people that were proof she wasn't superhuman. She cried for Raul and the desperate, impotent anger that raged within her that kept her from ordering her thoughts to pray for her nephew's safe return, no matter what she thought of his mother. Mostly she cried for herself, and the part of her that fantasized about torturing a seventeen year old monster to death, not because he was a monster, or that he deserved death, but the part of her that would have enjoyed giving it to him.

Even though the steam had fogged the glass of the shower, her Ki told her Tom had entered the room. She kept crying even though for some reason she desperately wanted to stop, to show him she was strong, that she was above going to pieces like this. But when he stooped and picked her up and held her close in the warm water against his hard, muscled body all she could do was cry and be held.

It was exactly what she needed.

* * *

Themis Building, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 11^th, 9:15AM

While the dress code of the Erinyes divison of Themis was one of the most permissive in all of the companies that Infax owned, wearing field gear when you weren't on your way out to an assignment, or on your way back in from the field, was considered gauche. Generally it was a social sin only those fresh from the tank committed until they 'got' that everyone around them had gone through the same thing and weren't wearing skin tight cat suits all the time.

Elisa noted with a smirk that there were eight new girls, 'Miss Peelers' in the office slang for them, obviously fresh from the tank as denoted by their all wearing the skin tight 'fury' armor and preening the way new women and pubescent girls did who had just blossomed. She rolled her eyes as she passed, wondering if she had been as bad as some of them in her just starting days and the memory of a scathing rebulk from Karen Astor reminded her she'd been worse. For herself, she'd worn what looked like a leather miniskirt and dark stockings under a ruffled white silk blouse.

The other armor was underneath it of course. No place was completely secure after all, the assault on the Themis Medical Center last year was certainly proof of that and while fashion was a hard task mistress, she did nod to prudence. Subtle was the difference between a retired Fury and one's photograph being added to Memory Wall. As she passed, Elisa touched her finger to her lips and then touched the photograph of Catherine without looking.

She arrived at her cubical, only to find a girl who at first glance she'd call 'elfin' or 'waifish' there, until she turned and Elisa found she was eye to eye with the girl. Which was in itself disturbing as Elisa was five eight and wearing boots with a four inch heel and the girl was wearing sneakers. She was a lovely thing, who obviously understood the concept of subtle, as she hadn't gone over board for the porn star good looks. The pale, oval-ish face had fine cheekbones and a delicately pointed chin. Her mouth was somewhat small and the lips weren’t big, nor were they particularly small either. Her nose was slightly long, and aquiline, framed on either side by a pair of slightly large, doe-like hazel eyes, framed by a mop of russett curls.

She was dressed in a baggy Myrmidon T-shirt and jeans that were doing nothing to show off the girl's athletic figure. “Normally,” Elisa said, offering her hand to be shook, “I'd start a conversation like this with 'Welcome to Erinyes, sister,' but circumstances require I begin with 'Why are you unpacking your stuff onto my desk?'”

The girl quickly shot a glance at the cube name plate, which troublingly did not have Elisa's name on it, verified it's number and shrugged. She held up a piece of paper that was a New Hire orientation sheet. “Sorry, Elisa, this is where they told me to go.”

Diaz blinked. “Have we met?”

The girl shrugged again. “Not like this. It's Mike. Mike Holtman.”

“Oh, Mike,” Diaz replied, suddenly realizing who the girl was and sweeping her into a hug. “I didn't realize you were finally up and around!”

The intimate contact clearly bothed her and she took a step back when released from the embrace, blushing fiercely. “Yeah, they said you were out of the country or something.”

“Elisa!”

The Spanish fury turned to see Diana, dressed casually for a change in Jeans and a sporty blouse who was making beconing motions. Diaz politely excused herself and met the office manager. She stood by the wall of offices that where opposite the main bank of elevators, these were normally occupied with the various account managers and other bean counters that had to pick up the accounting pieces of the Erinyes. “What are you doing here?” Diana demanded without fanfare.

“I needed to pick up some gear and Boom-Boom for a project after we boot Klaus into his airplane ride back home. And good riddance!”

Diana's face pinched into a frown of displeasure. “You're working a side project in the middle of a detail?”

Elisa bit down on her emotions with some difficulty. “My nephew was kidnapped yesterday,” she said quietly. “I don't know if this has anything to do with the fiasco at the Hefners or not, but the ransom demanded that I deliver it in person.”

“What can I do?” she asked, her demeanor changing at once. Elisa shook her head.

“I was planning to have Kaitlyn come out to give me a triad. Tom will be there as well.” Diana winced and shook her head.

“I've had to cut Kaitlyn loose. Chai needed backup on something she was working on in New York. Anyway, I think you've done all you can with Boom-Boom, so I have a new hard case for you.”

“Is that why Mike is unloading his things at my desk?” she asked sweetly.

Diana was not taken in. “No, that's why she unloading her things at her desk. I warned you corporate wasn't going to let me continue to bend rules keeping you a field agent. So, I've been pushing this concept for a while and they've finally decided to use us as the test center. If they like the results, it will go national.”

She stepped aside from where she had been blocking the view to the office behind her. On the glass, nanites 'etched':

Elisa Diaz

Field Supervisor

Next to her photograph from the company personnel webpages. It was a 'glamor' head shot where her hair and makeup had been professionally done. And while both were significantly more than she normally wore, the result had been a stunning photograph. Down the row were four of the other girls that were 'old hands' like Elisa was, though she was the only one that had cleared her process debt. “So, let's talk details,” Diana said with a smile as she led the way into the office. It overlooked the buildings parking deck, but beyond was a nice view of the Chesapeak Bay.

Her things had been tastefully arranged around the office which also sported a leather couch and two matching chairs that faced the desk. “The entire office will be split into 'teams' for large events like the Smithsonian heist last year, however for a day to day operational process, the girls will still largely bid and work on their own. You will be responsible for yearly review reports to me, but I'll actually deal with the interviews and disapline for now. You will recieve a ten percent raise to cover the extra work. There are nine new girls rotating in, you'll each have two, but I am also assigning you Holtman. I want you to take a special note of her and help her transition.”

“I'll do what I can,” Elisa replied. “I suppose this means I'm in management now?”

Diana wiggled her hand in dimissial. “Technically, you're exactly what you were, a supervisor, though instead of 'rating' we're going with a permanent position. There are perks,” she spread her arms to indicate the office. “And cons, I want you to limit your bids to soft stuff to help train Mike and your other two newbies. You can assign the others to your team if needed. But I want you to stay off the high threat stuff from now on.”

“Corporate doesn't like having to pay out the full bid because they can't dock my pay in fines?” she demanded with a smirk.

“A quick mind is how you got to be a supervisor,” Davenport replied. “Your quick mouth is what kept you waiting so long.”

“With Boom-Boom in New York, I'll need a replacement. Got plans?” she asked. Diana winked.

“A very hot date I've been trying to score with for a while.” She sighed and shook her head. “I'm sorry, Elisa. If you need me, I'll reschedule with him.” Diaz turned and looked at Mike still unpacking her things at her old cubical.

“How is Mike coming?” she asked softly. “Is she up to subbing?”

“Her profile is on your desk,” Diana replied. “Look it over and if you want to invite her, I don't mind. Mike was always good to have handy when the bullets fly. If you don't want to risk it, call me and I'll clear my plate.” She put out her hand which Elisa took. “Congratuations, Elisa.”

“Thanks,” she laughed. “I think.”

* * *

D'Angelo's Italian Biestro, Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex,, 1:08 PM May 19^th

“Who is...was...Catherine?” asked Father Leonard from stirring sugar in to the strong Italian coffee they were enjoying after the meal. Sometimes he deeply regretted how invasive he was required to be as a priest. He told himself her soul was more important than her feelings and asked, “A lover you've never mentioned? You know, while His Holiness has yet to make a formal pronoucement, the story of Ruth and Naomi...”

She blinked, and forced herself to swallow the moutful of coffee to keep from laughing and sending it everywhere. “Catherine LaBeau,” she said, shaking her in amusement. “I never met her. You might not have already know this, father, but the costs Themis puts into us, even with usury and over charging is significant. World wide, the company maintains a set number of Erinyes at any given time. So, the only way to get in, is for one to retire, or... Well, we call it carrying the shield. Catherine was a first generation Erinys. She was killed in a fire fight at the inauguration of the first NorthAMFed President, it was one of the first high profile jobs we'd gotten.”

She reached into her purse and produced her gold shield and showed it to him. “She held badge 2107 first, and now I do. Until I retire, or I'm called home.”

Father Leonard sighed. “I see. Please forgive an old man for his foolishness.”

Elisa smiled and patted his hand in consolment. “Father, there is nothing to forgive. You didn't know, and we try not to advertize our supersitions. I have it fairly lucky. Some of the shields are on their eight or ninth owner.” He forced a smile as his acceptance of her statement.

“Now, help my failing memory, my daughter, but who is Mike? And why doesn't she have a more feminine name?” Elisa nodded and finished her current sip of coffee.

“Poor Mike. You remember the break in at the Themis Medical Center on Loughboro Road, last year?”

“Yes, terrible thing. So many people killed and injured.”

“Mike was the security guard who stopped it, but his injuries almost killed him. He was injected with the Dragon's Blood Stage One Nanites and they went active through a perfect storm of cooincidences engineered by the mastermind of the break in.”

The Priest sighed and took a sip of the coffee. “I've never really understood this 'process' you go through. Dragon's Blood you call it?”

Elisa shrugged. “Well, we didn't name it that. Back at the turn of the century the British were experimenting with some of the prototypes of the nanite revoloution, trying to create super soldiers. They 'succeeded' in a way, even though their process killed 80% of the women that underwent it and turned all of the men into women. The Brits thought that was a 'failure;' ask a man to lay down his life for King and Country and they don't bat an eye, but manhood?” She rolled her eyes. “In any event they shelved it for thirty years. Infax, Themis' parent company found it through a series of Freedom of Information Act requests it had run concerning budget expenditures of that time frame.”

The Priest was perplexed and it showed on his face. “Why would a multinational just run FOA requests?”

“Infax's business is information,” Diaz told him with a grin. “All kinds, secrets, patents, customer profiles, data mineing, it's all information. When they found out about the process, they bought the patents from His Majesties' Government thinking that they could make it work, thirty years of progress and all that.” She shrugged and took another sip of coffee. “They couldn't, but by then they knew why, it has to do with how the nanites awakened the Ki of the person undergoing it. Wierd, machines, waking up something that was once considered metaphysical. Anyway, Infax decided it had a product it could market to the one group of people who would pay anything for it and thus the Erinyes were born.”

Father Leonard shook his head in amazement. “The things I have lived to see,” he said softly, then cleared his throat. “So, when this criminal injected Mike...?”

“It was either finish the process, or die,” she said softly. “I spend the better part of two hours going over his...her...file. In the three weeks she had been out of the tank, she'd done nothing but paperwork for the other girls. It was obvious Mike was on a slide into self destruction. It wasn't something I was prepared to allow.”

* * *

Themis Building, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 11^th, 9:15AM

Like many paramilitary organizations, police departments, espionage agencies and old fashioned armed forces units, people without a proprer work ethic were rarely a problem. This type of work depended on self starters who identified issues and started on them without needing direction from above. And while every organization had it's share of layabouts, the amount of psych profiling that went into hiring decisions for most of Themis' divisions insured this 'share' was a small one.

By the time Elisa had gone over her file, Mike had finished moving into her old cube, decorated it, gotten the worksation up and running and was walking Kallie the intern through the torture that was bureaucratic form completion. “There you go, kid, one Myrmidon task sheet that even the grunts won’t be able to get confused over.”

“Thanks Mike!” The office’s youngest intern and mascot grinned as she scampered off to Diana.

“She'll be in a tank within a week of her eighteenth birthday,” Elisa opined, watching the teenager depart.

Mike looked over to Elisa, nodding. “Thanks for being patient with me there. How can I help you?” Diaz favored the new woman with a measuring gaze. She was almost sitting at attention. On the floor, it was apparent this was far too superior to subordinate and Mike was falling into NCO mode.

“I would like to speak to you in my office for a few moments, if you have the time.” While it wasn't the best option, hopefully it could defuse things a bit.

“You got it.” She stood from the desk and nodded to the smaller woman. “I’m not expecting another paperwork glut until after the Apocalypse Twins get back in from that kidnapping investigation.”

She nodded patiently. “Thank you for assisting Kallie.”

“I was the one who had to process most of those requests when me and Jake weren’t out on rotation. Ain’t much call for heavies in the states here unless something goes completely stupid.”

Elisa nodded as they entered her new office and she shut the door before walking over to the desk and leaned back against it. “This isn’t a formal talk, but I do need to discuss a few things with you.”

Mike sighed an almost pathetic sigh. “This is pertaining to some of my bad habits?”

Elisa thought quietly for a moment of how best to proceed. “It’s about a number of things, hopefully all of which will be to your betterment. We have you here filing papers, but the company cannot afford to have someone as heavily augmented as you flying a desk forever, and it’s not exactly fair to you, as your administrative skills are rather... lacking beyond the capacity to expedite paperwork.”

Mike chewed on her lower lip for a few moments, not meeting Elisa's gaze. “So when do you think would be an appropriate time to throw my hat back in?”

Diaz shrugged some of her own frustration. “You represent a bit of a dilemma as I have been going over your training file with Diana and Tyson. You’ve adapted rather well to your new condition, given the circumstances better than we expected in fact.”

“If this is adapting well, I don’t want to see adapting poorly.”

She nodded. “Agreed, but you aren’t going to be able to get past anything if you stay cloistered in the offices and the coffins.” She held her hand up as Mike started to form a protest, “Yes I am aware that you can’t afford anything else, being as strapped for cash as Kait usually is, which is quite bluntly one of the things that needs to change.”

Mike didn't respond and taken to looking away again. Hiding from the truth of things from what Elisa remembered was primarily how Mike dealt with the world. Ignore problems, until they blew up and bit him. She decided to try a different tack. “Both the Erinyes and Myrmidon boards are open, Mike, why you haven’t bid out for any of the contracts?”

Rapidly, almost so fast that if she hadn't been watching for it, Elisa would have missed it, Mike's eyes met hers then flashed away again. “Partly being nervous as hell, I’ll admit, but partly the training. I’m having problems re-adjusting tactically to...” She made a vague gesture at herself to indicate her condition.

“Alright, please explain to me these training problems in your own words.”

Mike took a breath and collected her thoughts. “We have two types, that our offices care about anyway, Myrmidons and Erinyes.” Elisa contained a chuckle at the purposeful exclusion of the Cerebus Division, an old Army/Marine rivalry neither division commander seemed interested in discouraging. “I was a heavy myrmidon, and the training I went through was intensive in it’s own right, but I didn’t get drilled in investigative techniques, forensics, interrogations or any of the other law enforcement operational procedure, which leaves me floating in the ‘more hindrance than help’ category there.”

“On top off that, yes the Dragon-Blood shit I got dumped in me did make me faster, a lot faster, but because I’m still cybered up like a heavy myrmidon my reflexes and speed aren’t up to the level the Erinyes operate at. I can’t get any of the Ki techniques Chai’s been trying to drill into me down, and the only girls from this office here that can’t run rings around my ass are the thundering new-bloods who are still too impressed with themselves to pay attention to what they’re doing.”

Elisa nodded mildly. “Ah, how well I remember the joys of humiliating 'Miss Peeler'. Those are good answers, and more complete and honest than I would have expected from you.”

“Blame the hormones, I do.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Elisa purposefully remained silent, letting it draw out until Mike licked her lips, uncomfortable and ground on.

“On the Myrmidon side of things I can’t maneuver in the heavy plate as well, or use the power frames properly because every time I do I start getting headaches and vertigo. I don’t know why, as I’ve never had problems before. I can wear the light plate just fine, and it doesn’t screw my mobility because I’m actually too strong for it. The problem there is every time I try to do a squad training run I wind up getting too far ahead of the rest of the team because they can’t keep up. I can’t ratchet it back enough to keep from getting into bad spots. For me, slow and steady seems to actually run in the range of a hyperactive five-year-old rolling in a pile of sugar once I start getting mentally geared up for training.”

She made a mental decision and shrugged, “So I’m falling somewhere between an Erinyes and a Heavy Myrmidon capability-wise, but without the real advantages. I’m a lot stronger and tougher than an Erinyes, but I have a problem keeping up. I’m a helluva lot faster than any Myrmidon, but I can’t roll back the hyperactive need for speed to function.”

Elisa nodded. “All right, very complete, and very thorough answers. Chai mentioned that you felt like a mule with no one to kick and nothing to do.”

“That’s about the size of it. Add to that the lovely little psych problems and I’m not exactly enthused, even though I’m chomping back the urge to get out and just DO the shit.”

“Well I can shed some light on your problems with the Heavy Plate and power frames, as it goes hand-in hand with your inability to slow down when you start moving and your Ki problems.”

Elisa returned to her desk and brought up her workstation. A few gestures had the various reports called and floating in ghostly full color holograms above her desk. She got the charts big enough to be comfortably seen and began to tick off what each meant. “This is all Chai and Evangeline’s notes, and those two have spent a significant amount of time on you. Your Ki is there, but it’s not as outwardly strong as normal, and Chai thinks you’re internalizing it, which might account for your recent coping skills and... other things.”

“Quite frankly that Ki problem is why we never try to outfit Erinyes for heavy armor. In fact the only power frames we operate are the Gorgon power armor units which are built to accommodate that problem using the same materiel sheathing for the pilot as the Fury armor, which enhances the Ki effect around the wearer.”

“So I need to train and get checked out on the Fury armor?” From the intense lack of interest, it was obvious Mike would rather go have a root canal without pain killers than put on a body stocking. “I mean, I like the body-hugging, slick, latex-like suits on the other girls but I'm not exactly bouncing with girlish delight over the thought of actually wearing one myself.” Elisa laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Yes, I think that would be best, although we may need to do some reinforcement of the armor to account for your lessened mobility. Do you think you're ready to out into the field again?”

She sighed and finally met Elisa's eyes. “I think I can cope. Just the thought of running around in damn near glittery latex doesn’t exactly fill me with glee.”

“I can understand and appreciate that Mike, however, you’re going to need to use the equipment best suited to you, no matter how obnoxious it feels.”

Elisa could see the NCO swallow the order, no matter how delicately phrased and make it her own. “Is there anything else, ma'am?”

Diaz made a gesture and the charts floating above her desk changed to pictures of the Georgetown Super Mall, the morning after. They might have been pictures coming out of third world hell hole that had constantly been at war, not an upscale shopping Mecca. “It goes back to your last mission. I do understand and appreciate why you did what you did, but your methods were atrocious and caused more damage than needed to happen.”

It was apparent Mike had not seen these pictures before, and other than morbid curiosity there was no real reason he should have. The bodies had all been identified as terrorists, or civilians killed by terrorists so both Mike and Jake had been cleared of any manslaughter or accidental shootings, the damage was just numbers on a spreadsheet of debt. Until now, until she actually saw businesses destroyed. “It...it didn't seem that bad at the time,” she said weakly. “Of course, I wasn't exactly paying attention to the collateral damage either.”

Mike flipped through the photos grimly and then stopped, staring at the image, shaking slightly. "This was the first thing me and Jake saw when we came through." The image Mike was fixated on was the body of a child, no more than ten years old, probably younger, autopsy report showed death by gunshot wound.

"Oh." The word was weak, and didn't exactly convey the depth of how she felt, but it wasn't hard to imagine what was running through the former Myrmidon's head.

"When we saw that, we clicked off the safety interlocks and pretty much decided we were going to kill everything. Didn't even have to say a word. We saw that kid and it was Ecuador all over again. Maybe if they hadn't shot him in the takeover or whenever things would have been different. Probably would have stuck to sidearms; they would have done the job as well." Mike just shook her head. "But we weren't ready for that when we kicked in the door. We were ready for a fight. Not dead kids." Elisa remembered belatedly that myrmidons had recorders built into their cyberware, and the new woman's voice was distant, reliving a small nightmare as she reviewed everything again. Mike was probably watching it all happen again as she spoke.

The supervisor decided to press things home. “What could you have done differently?” She had to get Mike's mind off the child, and fast. That train of thought was a death spiral that would have gone straight back to the seeming nightmare her life had become. At least Holtman was still human.

“The mini-gun was SMART linked to the rig. I could have used the interrupter in something closer to semi-auto after tagging all the IFF targets.” Mike seemed to snap out of it, at least regain her composure at being asked to think technically rather than emotionally.

“Why didn't you?”

Mike's eyes met and locked with Elisa's as she accepted her responsibility. “I target fixated on getting to Kait and Chai after seeing the kid. Nothing else mattered.”

A gesture dismissed the images the new woman sighed in relief. “Good. I want you to remember that so you don't fall into that trap again.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Now, I have some payback to dish out on a personal level. There's no coin, but it would get you out and used to things. Someone kidnapped my nephew and I need help getting him back. Think you're up to doing things subtle?”

A demonic fire lit behind Mike's innocent, hazel eyes. “You need someone to hurt? I'm all in.”

Elisa smiled. “Good, let's get you suited up.”

* * *

Themis Building, Main Armory, Old DC Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 11^th, 1:42 PM

There's security, and then there's security.

There are, in fact, few places as difficult to access as a regional Main Armory for a Themis facility. Between enough small arms and ammunition to equip a medium sized army, which was, infact a fairly accurate description of a Themis Regional HQ, the power frames and a few vehicles that weren't legally tanks, there were plenty of dour faced rugged men to discourage casual shopping by non-employees. The first stop was Uniform division for the Fury Armor Elisa guessed correctly that Mike had not picked up yet.

She stared at the plastic wrapped suit on the counter after signing for it for a full minute before Elisa prompted her with, “I promise, it won't bite.” Mike jerked and picked up the package, the clear sealed plastic it was incased in making it easer to casually grab, then followed the supervisor into the locker room.

Despite expectation, Mike was rapidly learning that women's toliets, showers or locker rooms were not, in fact any nicer than the men's versions. Elisa went directly to her locker and opened it. Then with the purposeful, yet relaxed movements of someone completely at ease with herself, she began to disrobe.

Even before his encounter with Kudzu, Elisa wasn't a woman Mike would have persued. Their ages were somewhat markedly different, but more to the point, from the few times Mike had worked with the Fury, her rigid professionalism had cemented her as respected veteran in his mind, not a possible bedmate. Now looking at her curvy form, with her perfect light brown skin, Mike finally got some of the scrawlings that had been on the restroom stalls in the barracks. She removed her own armor and walked over, nude, revealing three ugly looking bruises dotted across her stomach around her navel. “Everything alright, Mike?” she asked, jolting the new Erinys out of her appreciative stare.

“What...I'm sorry, I don't mean...”

She looked down and smiled. “Ah, yes, those still kind of hurt. AK-74, caught a burst at about two meters.” She shrugged. “Wasn't fast enough. Maybe I'm getting too old for this.”

Blushing fiercely, Mike got her own locker open and stripped down and though she made a brave face of it, she was no where near as comfortable being naked as she was. “I didn't think the armor was that good,” she managed from facing into the locker.

“I hope you never find out, but I doubt that will be the case. The fabric is remarkably tough, though. It is rather like the biofeedback suit in the powerframe sims,” she told him “You'll feel some hard things lining it, autoinectors, bio monitors, etc. Try not to think about it.”

“Believe me,” Mike replied around a fierce blush, “I'm desperately trying not to think about hard things touching me.”

She reached out and placed a comforting hand on Mike's shoulder, causing the blush to deepen to burning hot levels. “Be whoever you want to be, Mike, that's ok. I will advise you to try it before you decide, but no one here will force you to.” Mike forced a nod, unable to met her gaze. “And we all know what it's like to be a stranger in our own body. I wish we had a cure for you like the one we got, but we...I...am here for you, ok?”

Mike nodded, the blush finally begining to fade from her skin. “Thanks, Miss D...Elisa, thank you.” She made a gesture at the fury armor Elisa was holding. “Any tricks to pass on?”

“No,” she admitted with a smile, and holding up the slinky armor. “Putting this thing on is a challenge, but you get used to it. It opened on the right side here, see? From the armpit to hip this seam will close by a nanite assembler. Now, right here is a thumb pad reader, that's how you open it.”

Mike pressed her thumb against the spot in the armpit Elisa indicated and the suit opened along it's seam. “I'd always wondered,” she muttered as she began to gather up the left leg like a stocking, mimicing Diaz's motions. The suit had a 'foot' attached to it, that, having been made to her exact measure made it literally a second skin. Pulling the garment on was far more sensuous than Mike was prepared for. The biosuit she'd mentioned was a simple cotton/spandex affair, no where near as form hugging and embarrisingly intimate as this was.

Holtman watched, fasinated as the suit closed on Elisa her last name appeared above her right breast along with 'Supervisor', then her badge, shiny gold came up out of the inky black garment then on her left and right shoulders what appeared to be patches bearing the snarling Medusa Head wreathed by a crown of snakes, that was the symbol of the Erinyes took shape.

New Hardware Discovered, Fury Armor SMART assist Active, Install?

Mike looked down in fasination to see the black latex ‘ripple’ amost as if it was having an arguement with itself as the onboard computer worked out which protocol to use. Finally it stayed it’s original midnight black, but ‘Holtman’ came up over the modest swell of her right breast and, instead of a badge, her combat jump wings and Power Frame Driver awards from her old Myrmidon uniform took up residence on her right. The left shoulder ‘patch’ was the hissing Medusa of the Erinyes, her current assignment, but the right, her ‘combat’ patch was the ringed Shield of Achilles resting over the warrior’s spear and crossed sword, the unit insignia of the Myrmidons. “I don’t get a badge?” she asked with mild amusement.

“You haven’t been sworn yet,” Elisa replied from adjusting the straps of her gloves.

Fury Armor Protocols are now active

Instantly, Mike knew everything that was going on in her body, her tempreture, blood pressure, blood oxyagen levels, EKG and a host of other medical information she had no basis for undertanding, but somehow also ‘knew’ they were all within the accepted Erinys norm. Once she got the information her implant was being flooded with down to a prioritized dull roar, Mike shook her head. “It must be a bitch getting in and out of this thing to use the crapper.”

“Just go in the suit,” Elisa told him from taking out a tactical gun belt and holster from her locker and pulling it on. “The nanites will convert it all to power or recycle what it can’t into something else it can use, chemicals for the auto-injecters, mostly.”

“You’re shitting me!”

“Nope,” she replied. “You should actually take a dump in the suit at least once a week so the reserviors are topped off.” She lifted her leg to the bench that ran down the row of lockers and got the theigh straps for the holster and knife secure. “It’s a sealed wetsuit that’s an impermious outer layer. No one will hear or smell a thing.” A devilish gleam lit her almond colored eye. “And when an Erinys says the Dopeine her suit injected her with is good shit, she means it.”

Elisa walked back over and Mike realized they were still eye to eye. He looked down and saw that the foot pads of her suit had ‘grown’ a four inch wedge heel. Diaz followed the other woman’s gaze and smiled. “What can I say, this is armor made for a woman, and we like our heels. Not to worry, they go flat when I need them to. Ready to go shopping?”

Mike looked down and watched her own foot pads take on the appearance of a set of jungle boots. “I am now,” she replied with a grin. She followed the Hispanic woman through a set of doors marked ARMORY: Authorized Personnel ONLY and with an echoing series of clacks threw the breakers that lit the room.

It was a massive space, the size of a foot ball pitch and lined floor to almost ceiling with rows of caged racks containing a dizzying array of fire power. “Guns,” whispered Mike, reverently. “Lots of guns...” Elisa snorted her amusement and went over to a holographic pedestal. A few gestures brought up the current inventory and she stepped aside.

“So, pick one,” she invited.

Holtman grinned and her hands quickly restricted the search until a somewhat bulky looking device floated in the light of the pedestal, rotating slowly clockwise. It had a pistol grip, but had the body of a large search light. It was labeled Def-CAD Persuader Micro-Missile Launcher. Mike's grin was somewhere between a sadist being given a new sub and bad kid who just found out they're still going to get what they want for Christmas. “Can I?” she begged.

Elisa rolled her eyes. “This is Old D. C., Mike, not Beruit. Pick something a bit more subtle, ok?”

“You're no fun!” Mike pouted, as she went back to browsing.

“Shows what you know,” Diaz purred, causing the new woman to blush again. She stepped forward and gracefully edged Mike out of the controls. “If you want versatility, allow me to recommend...”

Diaz trailed off as she flipped through the lists until a new weapon began to float in the light. It was big, larger than most handguns, but smaller than most SMGs, despite having a second hand grip to help stablize it. A small LED screen was built into the left side. “The Armaments Technologies 219, a bit old, but one of the most reliable selective munitions weapons on the market. SMART assist rigged, double stacked thirty round mags of 9x19 and selective fire of single, burst or full auto.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “This is your idea of subtle?”

“No, it's yours,” the supervisor shot back. “Knowing you, I figured this was the least 'bang' you'd take.”

“Daddy likes,” she replied, pressing the 'Issue' button. With a groan of machinery, one of the racks left it's place and moved effortlessly down a track to the two women. It opened to Elisa's thumb and she then touched the authorizer pad, causing a soft click of a releasing lock. Mike examined the group and finally picked one, his thumb causing the rack to release it. She cleared the weapon, being sure it was unloaded before uplinking the SMART assist. The computers in the suit, the weapon and Mike's head had a conversation and the pistol acknowledged itself and being Mike's.

She caught the tactical system with a holster that would accept the 219 Elisa threw her and quickly strapped it on. “Shiney,” Mike enthused. “Let's go be bad girls.”

* * *

D'Angelo's Italian Biestro, Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex,, 1:28 PM May 19th

“Did you folks save room for dessert? Can I bring you something else?

The waitress' gaze flipped from the priest to the breathtakingly beautiful woman sitting with him. “I think I'd enjoy another pot of this excellent coffee,” she replied with a smile. “Father?”

The Priest chuckled. “Caffiene isn't a vice...yet...” he replied. The waitress withdrew while Father Leonard removed a handkerchief to clean his glasses. “So, you took this young woman, you admit was not entirely emotionally stable, gave her a weapon and went looking for trouble?” he asked dourly. He watched her skin darken slightly in her nearly invisible blush. If he had not known her as long as he had, he would have missed it himself.

“When you put it that way, it sounds...”

“Foolish,” he chided her. “In the extreme. What were you thinking, Elisa? Or your manager, this Diana Davenport, what was she thinking, letting you?” Her face lost all expression, not that she held it neutral, more like it went slack like her soul has gone elsewhere.

“Have you ever been in combat, Father?” she asked in a curiously toneless voice. “Watched men die? Killed them?”

The priest reigned in his annoyance and kept his tone civil. “I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

She blinked and suddenly her expression was back. “If you had, you might understand better, so forgive me father, for I must sin to explain this to you. Right now, you and I, here, in this place, I'm only a little bit alive. I talk, I sit, I laugh, I have remorse for the evils I've done, but at my heart, father, I am a warrior. Strange to hear from someone who worked so hard at getting to be a woman, but it's true. If you'd ever been in combat you would understand how unreal this seems to me.”

“Elisa...”

She shook her head and began to discreetly point out things at other tables. “Let me finish, Father. This is unreal, because the world is just as primal, just as kill or be killed as it always was. This? Civilization is an illusion, a lie, a candy coating over the ugly reality. The lawyer over there who's negotiating a contract, the couple behind me who desperately trying to pretend they're happily married even though they'd rather be screaming at each other. Even the little boy behind you who really wants to steal the lollypop from his little brother but thinks with you here Jesus will see him do it.”

Leonard startled and looked around the room at people he hadn't taken note of before, right down to the ten year old who was being good so hard he was practically holding a halo over his head. Elisa leaned forward to press her point home. “They'd all rather be open about it father, to kill, to take, to rape, but we dress things up and smile and pretend we're civilized.” She shook her head. “I'm barely alive here, father. God help me, I'm alive in combat, and I'm alive when I fuck. Mike is the same way, put her on the tip of the spear and she's alive and getting better. I don't expect you to understand it.”

The Priest's normally florid complexion went pale. “God forgive me,” he whispered. “That's why you had so much difficulty conquering your lusts...?”

She shrugged and looked away. “It's part of it. Part of it was simply I was being a whore and I had no self control, for giving me that, Father, I am grateful to you.” Her dark eyes came back and she forced a smile that didn't reach them. “Oh, don't worry about, me father. I may be a soldier, but I'm God's soldier. In somewhere between two weeks and six months from now Tom Vannoy will give me a ring and propose marriage. I'll pretend to be surprised and burst into tears and say yes and give him a pile of beautiful little babies that I will dutifully raise as good Catholics.”

She leaned forward, her features a strange and somewhat terrifing cross between the killer and the vulnerable young woman she appeared to be. “But, remember Father, just because the lioness is behind bars in the zoo, doesn't mean she isn't wondering what you taste like.”

“Elisa Maria Alya Diaz,” Joshua replied, softly, leaning forward to cow the killer back into her cage. “You are not a lioness, or a killer, or anything like the fiends you have brought to justice and to think of yourself so is an insult to your parents, God bless their memory, myself for the time I have put into you, and God Himself, for His love and sacrifice for you.”

The fury blinked and subconsciously leaned backward as the Priest walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death without fear. “What is more as a confirmed Catholic who should detest her sin I admonish you for wallowing in it and agrandizing yourself with it! You may have whored yourself, but you were forgiven for it and have defeated that demon! Do not give it power over you again! And no matter how many times I must tell you, this answer will not change, violence in self defense or defense of society is no sin!”

“Yes, father!” she stammered, awed at this fearless side the Jesuit had suddenly shown.

“I may not understand what sense or gift God has given you with this miracle He brought about so that you could become the woman He crafted your soul to be, but do not judge this poor civilization by the failings of us trying to live up to it's ideals. Judge it by how much we strive to repeal the law of the jungle with the Rule Of Law, of ideals, and governance, and jury where we punish killers and theives and rapists!” He waved a thick finger under her nose in admonishment. “Tonight, as penance for this...outrage...which I as your priest command you to put from your mind you will twice recite the rosary and you will thank God for all the blessings He has granted us in the Civilization we have built. The only illusion here, is your inability to see it. Am I clear?”

She reached up and took his hand in hers as she leaned forward and kissed the Jesuit ring he wore. “I hear and obey,” she acquiesced. “Forgive me, Father, I didn't mean to offend you.”

“Of course you did!” Leonard snapped back, but with a grandfatherly smile to soften the rebuke. “I questioned your judgement and you were going to put the nosy old man in his place! And no matter how well deserved I was for that putting, you my daughter cannot wallow in sin. You are better than that.”

She nodded, her eyes down cast. “Yes father, thank you.”

The new coffee pot arrived and Josuha pour her cup first as a peace offering, then his own. While stirred in the heavy cream from the decanter they were sharing he asked, “Now that we have that sorted, what happened when you returned to the hotel?”

She stirred softly as she shook her head in rememberence. “Well, you can imagine after the shooting the awards were in complete dissarray. No one wanted to risk being shot and most of the weekend was canceled. They gave out the awards but in an empty auditorium with a small handull of die hard fans and one extremely loud little protestor who held that writing was going to depopulate the Earth of trees.”

Joshua rolled his eyes. “Some people.”

“Klaus was livid, of course,” Elisa replied with a chuckle. “Plough The Tender Green, was awarded last and all the other authors and publishers blamed Klaus personallly for what happened, so he was completely snubbed.” She sighed in contentment. “It was a beautiful thing to watch, Father...”

“A good Catholic should not take pleasure in someone else's misfortune, Elisa,” he admonished. “No matter how well deserved or karmically balanced...”

“Are we not called upon to celebrate and rejoice in the works of God, Father?” The Priest snorted, but managed not to spit take his sip of coffee. “So, now there was just the long wait for putting the as...ah, ahem, the client back on his flight to Germany. Tom, Mike and I headed to the Mall.”

* * *

The Smithsonian Bowl, Old DC Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 12^h, 10:42 PM

The old captial of the former United States had been built in a swamp. Before the invention of air conditioning, the Ambassador to the United States from the British Empire and his staff recieved 'Tropics Dispensation' pay for the swelters they endured. Now that the seas had risen because of dislodgement of most of the Anartica ice shelves, most of what had been swamp was now ocean inlet, if not bay. Fortunately the seas had risen slowly enough that measures could be taken to fight it.

There were many places were dykes and sea walls had been constructed, but in some instances, such a dyke would be nearly impossible to make long enough, so the 'bowl' had been invented. Massive earthen and concrete dams had been constructed, not keep water in and make an artifical lake, but to keep it out and make an artifical 'island', below the new sea level. These dotted and criscrossed the old capital, saving historic landmarks and buildings, some having their basements fortifed and letting them flood creating an American 'Venice' with buildings seeming to rise up out of the bay.

The largest of these new 'Bowls' was the Smithsonian Mall. A roughly T shaped sunken island that ran from the water lapped steps of Capital Hill incasing the entire Smithsonian Musium complex, all the way over to the Lincoln Memorial, then north to encompass the White House which was now the most exclusive Hotel in Old DC.

In the exact center rose the obilisk of the Washinton memorial, ringed in the collection of flags of the former nations that made up the new North American Federation, Canada, Mexico, United States, over and over around the pillar. Elisa stood infront of the bench that the ransom demand had indicated, a small bag of cash in her left hand, freeing her right to get at her pistol and tried to look calm. The Mall still had a number of tourists wondering about, any one of which could be the kidnapper, or someone working for them.

Or just some wage slave who came here on their vacation. A shoot out here would be hip deep in 'non'combatant victims easily, doubtlessly what the kidnapper hoped. A number of men and a few women had taken appreciative stares of the Fury in her armor, which Elisa had to admit did her ego a world of good, but none had aroused her Ki as though they might be the criminal she was looking for.

I hate this, Elisa thought that the radio implant in her skull. Too many targets, and too many innocents.

“It works both ways,” Tom's voice soothed her. While the kidnapper is hiding in the crowd, the crowd is also hiding us.” Elisa didn't look for her 'guardian angel,' indeed, didn't know where he was. Only that he was somewhere within two miles looking at her through the scope of a rifle that end the life of anyone he choose with a single round, even from that distance.

“Jesus,” Mike swore, “How do you girls put up with all this?” she demanded. “Do I really need to know how well my kidneys are functioning?”

From the tone of his voice, it was obvious that Tom tried valiently and failed to resist making a comment, noting, “Yeah, all these shiny lights and buttons must really confuse an ex-Myrmidon. Don't worry, we'll wait for you to catch up.”

Mike's voice dripped a saccharine honey that had Elisa wondering if the two were going to become steadfast friends or the most bitter of enemies. “Remember,” she drawled, “once you pull the pin, Miss Grenade is no longer your Friend...”

Set your alert filter to important, Elisa thought into the radio. That should take care of the stupid stuff. I'll help you do up a custom later.

“What is he doing here?” demanded Tom's voice, right as the hairs started to stand up on the back of Elisa's neck. With the casualness of coiled spring, Elisa turned in the direction her ki was nudging her. In that direction was a DC Park Ranger on a horse looking the other way, a small gaggle of teenagers doubtlessly looking for a dark corner of the bowl to start molesting each other and...there.

There he was, still mousy, still wearing clothes too big for him, but there was no mistaking the crooked nose of Johann Gevalia. Their eyes met when he stole another glance and he froze for a moment, knowing he was 'made'. Mike, if he rabbits...

“I'll be on him like stink on shit,” the other replied. Elisa tagged the freightened looking young man with a question mark in her IFF system before reaching up and making a beconning gesture with one finger. The reporter took a hesitant step backward, working himself up to flee, right into the gloved hand of Mike who collected a handfull of the other's jacket and frog marched him over the bench.

“What's your hurry, newshound?” demanded Mike as she dealt with the squiriming journalist. “Come over and get the rest of the story!”

“Johann,” greeted Elisa far more calmly than she actually felt.

“Fräulein Diaz,” the boy stammered. “Wh...what are the odds of meeting you...?”

“Indeed,” drawled the Fury with weighty meaning. “Johann, there is a long tradition of cops and reporters dancing around the truth with each other, but we're going to skip all that tonight, alright?” The young man nodded vigoriously as the color drained out of Elisa's face and her vissage became terrifying to behold. “Because if you lie to me in the mood I'm in I'm likely to do something rash and permanent to you!” She leaned forward and the shadows made her face a demonic mask every bit as terrfying as the logo of the Erinyes. “Verstehen?”

“Ja!” the boy tammered. “Ja, Fräulein!”

“Good, now, I'm going to count to three, and if I don't have a satisfactory explination as to what you're doing here, well, my boss keeps telling me I should see someone about my temper...”

The reporter held aloft a slip of paper like a talisman to ward off evil. “This, I have this from my hotel room! I packing to go home and this under the door!” Elisa took the paper from him and unfolded it. There, in the same scrawl as the ransome note:

If you want the proof of the evil Klaus is neck deep in, keep an eye on the Fury Elisa Diaz. Washington Monument, 9:30.

“The ransom note said 9:45,” Mike thought out loud after she read the note. “The kidnapper knew you'd be here early.”

“Ransom?” squeaked Johann. “Kidnapper?”

“Yes, Kidnapper,” snapped Elisa. “And if I find out you're working with...?”

“Nein! Nein!” the reporter swore. “I just follow a lead! Ich schwüre!” Diaz stabbed the young man with a finger in his chest, rooting him to the spot. Her Ki told her the young man was truly terrified and not acting.

Trusting the almost supernatural sense, she made a decision. “You stand where you are and don't run. There's nowhere on this planet you can run to that I can't find you anyway.” She looked up at Mike. “Let him go, I think he knows what's good for him now.” Mike shrugged and released her hold on the jacket. The diminutive reporter straightened it, but didn't run.

“Think the kidnapper used him to flush who ever was backing you up?”

“Probably,” Elisa agreed. “Still, they might show. Leave Johann and get back out of sight. Maybe we can convince them he came up to me to ask what was going on.”

“Your play,” Mike replied as she faded back into the shadows.

Gevalia worked his courage up to ask, “Fräulein Diaz, may I ask who has been kidnapped?” Elisa scowled at the small man, then shrugged which immediately brought the reporter's attention from her face. Whatever else the young man might be, he wasn't gay.

“My nephew,” she replied with a sigh. “And I better not read about that on the webnews you work for.”

He blinked as his eyes came back up to hers once more. “Ich...I do not think I have ever heard of a Erinyes mention family before. Althought with what is known of the process, I imagine that would strain many bonds of family.”

Elisa snorted. “You have no idea.”

His eyes went far away before he turned back. “Was it worth it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your die Zuckerstange, Scheisse...how do you say in English? Your...manly organ...yes?”

Diaz rolled her eyes. “My penis? Is that the word you're risking your life for?”

“I do not mean to offend!” he protested. “I am a journalist. I ask questions. Questions lead to stories which lead to understanding! In my way, I make the world better!” In some way, Elisa saw the zeal in the young man's protestation, and knew that far from being a garden variety muck raker, he was answering a call to a vocation. He believed in what he was doing. Over come by a sudden sense of seeing something of herself in the young man, Elisa's over developed, but underutlized mothering sense welled up in her and she couldn't resist ruffling his unruly mop of brown hair in affection.

“I never wanted it, Johann, so how do you miss something you don't want? Ask me if it was worth what it did to my family. I am Spannish and I come from a big, catholic family, some of whom won't speak to me anymore. It hurts me, deeply, my brothers who either don't speak to me or refuse to. I still love them and I miss them, but despite that hurt, I would undergo the Dragon's Blood again. You spread understanding, I stand on the thin blue wall and hold back the monsters that prey on civilization. Yes, it is and always will be worth it.”

“Kreuzfahrer,” he whispered to himself. “You believe in what you do, ja?”

“I believe what I do must be done,” she replied. “That I was compensated is only fair.” She paused at Mike's voice in her mind through the implant and then fixed Johann with a steely gaze. “Keep moving your lips and arms like you're talking to me, but don't make a sound,” she ordered. The reporter didn't pale much as he began to gesture with surprising realism. What's up, Mike?

I've got a chick that's really interested in you, Mike thought at her own implant. Another mental command took a picture of the woman and the phone quickly linked to the Themis mainframe for a comparison search. She's looked at you and Cronkite wannabe four times now, longer each time and then she's scanning around. She's also keeping tabs on the Ranger.

“What's the description and location?” demanded Tom from his nest.

White female, middle thirties with dark hair, Mike replied. Jeans and a Kool Kloak ™, forty meters north north east of the old US flag directly in front of the Monument entrance. I'm doing a recognition search now.

“Got her,” Tom replied. “Save the bandwidth, Mike, I know who that is. Elisa, it's that crazy woman you let go from the air port.”

“Hastings?” demanded Elisa in surprise. What is she doing here?

“Heads up, Elisa, she's coming your way. Your eight o'clock.”

“Don't get between me and her,” Elisa warned Johann quietly as she turned suddenly, causing the woman to stop with a jerk. “Mrs. Hastings, what are you doing here?”

The woman opened her cloak. “I'm unarmed,” she said, obviously working up the courage to continue to come closer. “Please, Agent Diaz, you have to help me...” She looked fearfully over her left shoulder. “He's watching us!”

Mike, ordered Elisa. “Who is watching us, Mrs. Hastings?”

She came over, obviously upset. “The man who has my Daughter, Sara, and your nephew, Raul! Do you have his money? Tell me you have his money!”

“I have the ransom for my nephew and I want to see Raul,” Elisa told her tightly. “Now.”

“Raul isn't here,” she replied, slowly reaching into the cloak to produce another folded piece of paper that she held out. “He...he said to give you this.” It was a Smartfilm™ that showed a blindfolded Raul holding a tablet that was set to the New York Times website. Today's date was prominent. And while Raul had obviously been crying, he was currently putting on a very brave face. The picture shifted to another note, this one stating:

If you want to see your nephew alive again, you will locate the man known as Joshua. He testified in the trial of Gus Danner and when you have located him, alive, you will bring him to Janet. Once she verifies the identity, your nephew will be released.

“You're in league with this monster?” Elisa demanded quietly.

Janet took a step back. “No! He has my daughter!”

“And he just happens to be interested in the mudlark that put Gus Danner away? The same pedophile that murdered your son?”

“He's insane!” Hastings hissed back. “He says there is a conspiracy that Joshua can prove! That Klaus and Danner were part of a white slavery ring that is still operating here in DC! He's constantly going on about how it goes to the highest levels of the Metroplex government! The Mayor, the Chief of Police, they're all in on it!” Janet swallowed, obviously close to breaking. “Please, please, my daughter...!”

“Alright,” Elisa said finally. She handed her the sack. “Here's the demand. How does he contact you?”

“He calls me, but you can't do anything to my phone! He'll find out! Please, just find this Joshua!”

Elisa made soothing motions. “Stay calm. You have my number, yes?” Hastings nodded. “Good. Call me the moment he contacts you. You can assure him I'm off to find this 'Joshua' just keep me informed of everything he says. He may let something slip that will point us to where he has our loved ones.”

“I will.” She sighed, clinging to her emotions by a thread. “Thank you, thank you Agent Diaz.” Janet turned and walked hurriedly back the way she had come.

Once she was completely out of sight, Johann looked up at the Fury. “You believe her?”

“Not for a second,” Elisa replied. “Now, I suppose if I turn you loose you'll just follow me, won't you?”

“For the chance to link Klaus to something like this?” Gevalia replied honestly. “Through Hell itself!”

She sighed. “Fine. Consider yourself embedded. I can't have you unaccounted for if bulletts start flying, but you do what I say, when I say it, agreed?”

“Ja!”

Elisa looked after Hastings for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, follow me,” she ordered and led the way back to where her car was parked.

* * *

D'Angelo's Italian Biestro, Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex,, 1:41 PM May 19th

“Not for a second?” Father Leonard asked from his sip of coffee, an eyebrow being raised in question. Elisa smiled a small, private smile.

“They don't advertise much, but there are questionable services and 'industries' for lack of a better word that both cops and crooks make use of. A professional kidnapper would have made use of a Ransom Escrow Service and a Hostage Hotel.”

“I beg your pardon?” the Priest exclaimed. “Hostage Hotel?”

Diaz fought back a chuckle. “Once the 'Patriot Act' was repealed in the twenties, the Privacy Restoration Act made a number of changes to banking privacy laws, the use of numbered accounts and such. Large chunks of it rode the 'end of the Drug War' wave as Cannabis was being legalized. But, ironically enough, Chase, Goldman, and Sachs began to offer a secure transaction service, no names, no ID, just an encrypted password and a number for the account. Well, a kidnapper used it and the Feds tried to make them reveal who picked up the money. They refused and it went to court. The old US Supreme Court held that the saving of human life outweighed the State's interest to punish lawbreakers. So on that ruling came the 'Hostage Hotel'. They take your kidnapped victim and verify their health, safety and smooth exchange so your loved one isn't hurt.”

The priest shook his head slowly, remembering older times. “And because this was more 'old school' made you suspect Mrs. Hastings?”

Elsa shook her head. “This wasn't old school, it was strictly amateur hour, though I admit I didn't realize just how much until we got back into the car and started tracking the cash.”

“You hid a transmitter in the money?” he asked, worried. “Wasn't that dangerous?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Father, do you have a Nubuck?” The priest shifted and produced his wallet. After a search of the various compartments found a much folded note and handed it to her. From her purse, she produced a small device and held it over the note, when after a moment, a green light illuminated on the device.

Leonard was flummoxed. “My Nubuck was used in a crime?”

“No,” she replied, “they're all bugged. Embedded in the fibers of the paper is a nano-transmitter and WIFI antenna with a set of micro solar cells for power. It's part of the bill's anti-counterfeiting measures. A professional would know that, a tech geek who could 'hack' her phone would certainly know that. But the ransom demand specified cash and while cold hard currency is many things, it hasn't been anonymous in close to a hundred years.”

* * *

The Smithsonian Bowl, Old DC Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, May 12^h, 11:14 PM

Tom was waiting on the two girls and their tag along reporter at Elisa's BMW, carrying an innocus looking case you wouldn't have thought contained a sniper rifle. Introductions were made and hands shook, despite a firm glance or two from the professional body guard. The case carefully esconsonced in the trunk, the group barely had gotten comfortable before the phone rang and the ghostly head of Juanita de Sewarza was firing off questions like a run away machine gun.

“Elisa?! Do you have Raul? Is he alright? Are you safe? Why don't I see him...?”

“Juanita, calm down!” snapped Elisa, but not as harshly as she once might have. Even with the compartively low resolution of the hologram, it was obvious that Juanita had done nothing but cry since her son was taken. “I'm sure Raul is safe, and no, I don't have him yet. I told you I would call the moment I had him.”

“What's going on?” de Sewarza demanded in a near panic. “I thought that...”

“I have proof of life,” Diaz told her sister in the most reassuring tone of voice she could. “And I'll have Raul in a little bit, you just have to hold on, 'Nita.”

With great effort, the hologram composed herself. “I'm trying to, Elisa.”

Elisa worked the controls and a new hologram appeared, this one a map of old DC with a dot that was moving away from the Smithsonian Mall. After a moment it was tagged with the make and model of an older car with it's license plate and transponder sqwak code. She fixed her sister with a firm gaze that was meant to be reassuring. “My pidgeon is leading us to Raul as we speak, so don't worry, ok?”

Juanita forced a nodd and a smile to go with it. “I will, I mean, Dios es difícil! Why me? I don't understand it!”

“There is a piece missing,” Elisa agreed. “I was certain it had something to do with something going on at Tanner and Lakeson...”

“Tanner and Lakeson?” demanded the hologram. “I haven't worked there for two years, Elisa!”

“What?” the Fury demanded. “Then where...?”

“I thought everyone knew!” Juanita protested. “I had the announcement and the big family party at...”

Diaz frowned. “The big family party you didn't invite me to? That I found out about from Juan a month later? That party, Juanita? Goodness, how could I have forgotten?!”

The hologram had the grace to look embarrised. “Lo siento mucho,” she said, then after a pause added, “mi hermana” which brought tears to Elisa's eyes such that she had to quickly engage the car's autopilot to wipe them.

After a sniff to clear her sinuses, she asked, “Where are you working now, 'Nita, it could be important.”

“Nolan, Parker and Weinstein.”

It was good that the car was already on automatic, or Elisa's startled reaction might have caused an accident. “Now it all makes sense!” she shouted. “Juanita, did you work with a woman named Janet Hastings?”

“Janet? No, I don't think so, but there's a Michael Hastings that does title work...”

“I have to go, Juanita, stay safe and I'll see you with Juan in a little while!” she cut the line and quickly pulled up the directory service for Old DC, found the number she wanted and dialed. On the third ring it was picked up and and man's voice asked,

“Hello?”

“Michael Hastings?”

“Yes, who is this? Do you know what time it is?”

“Mr. Hastings, my name is Elisa Diaz, I am a special agent with Themis, a licensed police services provider for the Boston-Atlanta Metroplex. This is an offical call, do you know where your daughters are...?”

The man's voice sighed. “Janet put you up to this?”

“Sir?”

“Agent Diaz, my daughters are fine. They're both here and had dinner with me and are now asleep in their rooms. My soon to be ex-wife is insane. We're legally seperated and I've taken out a restraining order against her. If you are a PSP, you'll have access to the database to show that's legitimate.”

Elisa and Tom shared a glance. “Sir, I would not be doing my full due dilligence...”

“...If you didn't have me check,” he finished over the sounds of him getting out of bed. “Yes, I know. One moment.” There were muffled sounds of movement and knocking on doors. “Girls, I want you to take the phone and Identify yourselves...”

“Again?!” a pair of young female voices demanded. Then, “Hi, My name is Michelle Hastings and I'm fine and missing sleep!”

Then a younger voice, “I'm Sara Hastings, is my mommy getting better? Can you help...?” The phone was taken from her then the man's voice returned.

“Mommy won't get better until she has some help, sweetheart. There, are you satisfied, Agent?”

“I'm very sorry, sir,” Diaz told him. “Try to have a pleasant night.”

“Was war das?” whispered Johann from the back seat. “I do not understand.” He looked over at Mike who shrugged her own ignorance. Elisa angrily flipped off the autopilot and kicked the BMW up to its top speed. She awkwardly drew her pistol and handed it to Tom.

“I have a muffler in the glove box,” she informed him. “Put it on for me, would you?” For a moment, it seemed like Tom would argue, then he shrugged, cleared the pistol and opened the glove box. From the confusion of the car’s owner’s manual, insurance and registration documents, napkins and the other clutter within it he withdrew the cylindrical muffler and began to screw it onto the muzzle of the pistol.

The firearm muffler, or by its more popular misnomer, the silencer, has been making guns quiet since 1902 in prototype and was commercially patented in 1909. It worked on the same principals as the muffler of a vehicle; the gases of the round are allowed to expand before leaving the barrel. And while they weren't perfect, most weapons were reduced the simple sound of the action cycling.

From screwing the suppressor onto the barrel, Tom noted that the dot they were following had stopped. “She's in Duchess Court,” he observed.

“Of course she is!” snarled Elisa. “Will anything about this go right?”

“We can't go in after her,” Tom protested. “Not after that shake up with Vangie and the Apocalypse Twins!”

Johann turned to Mike in confusion. “Duchess Court?”

Mike chuckled and whispered, “A pair of decommissioned ex-cruise liners; the Caribbean Duchess and the Antilles Duchess, they've been turned into cheap housing by being rafted together. Last year some co-workers of ours got into a fire fight discovering a cache of weapons terrorists had hidden and the explosion seriously damaged the Antilles Duchess.”

“She has my family, Tom!”

“And those of us in management got told in no uncertain terms to give this place a wide berth! Don Gessati may not own the place, but he's hip deep in it!”

“I'm not Boom-Boom!” Elisa growled back at him. “Are you going to help me or not?” He glared at her for a long moment before he shook his head, picked up the pistol's magazine from the drink holder in the console between them and returned it to the pistol with a snap.

Presenting it to her grip first, he asked, “When have I ever left you without your six covered?”

She smiled and reached up to gently caress his face as she said, “If you take my picture, Johann, you'll be picking that camera out of your teeth for a week.” The journalist brought his PTN to ear.

“I have call, not taking pictures. Yes, Miezekätzchen?” Tom turned in his seat and gave the journalist a raised eyebrow.

“Pussy cat?” he asked sardonically, but Johann waved him to be quiet.

“I working, beloved…” The phone chirped and a hologram of a strong featured German girl about Johann’s age appeared out of it.

“Working?” the hologram demanded, looking around the car. It lingered on the two Erinyes and its transparent eyes narrowed. “I suppose this is research, ja?”

Elisa reached back and plucked the phone from Johann’s grasp, and stared the hologram in the eye. “Your boyfriend is not cheating on you, Fräulein …?”

It was clear the hologram wasn’t convinced. “Katzen,” she said finally. “Trudle Katzen.”

“And now the pet name makes sense,” chuckled Tom.

“Trudle,” Elisa continued, “I’m 38, so I’m a bit old for Johann, and I prefer my boy toys, er, well, this way,” she said turning the hologram to show her Tom. The body guard shook his head in amusement, but smiled and waved. “As for Mike,” she said, indicateing the other Erinys, “Well, she has only been a she for a couple of weeks, didn’t want to become a she in the first place, and having come from a life where he was busy bedding a host of very female partners, who looked as good or better than me, well, no offense to Johann’s charms, but I think we’re both out of his league.”

Trudle opened her mouth to argue in defense of her boyfriend, realized what she would be arguing for and shook her head. “My appologies, fraulein?”

“Diaz, Elisa Diaz. I am a police service provider, about to go on a raid, and Johann is embedded with us for the story, that’s all.” Trudle considered this for a moment and nodded.

Turning to her man, she said, “Have a safe flight home, Liebhaber!” She purred and the line disconnected. Elisa returned the PTN to Johann with a smile.

“So, Mike and I will go get Raul, while, Tom, you keep over watch, keep an eye on Walter Cronkite here and drive the get away car?”

“I get a key to your car? Does this mean we're going steady…liebhaber?” he asked with a sardonic smile as he pulled the control console to his side. Elisa said nothing as she and Mike climbed out and walked up the raft from the slip she'd pulled up along side. Presently they were climbing up the gang plank of the Caribbean Duchess.

The liner was a shadow of her former grandeur, dingy stained carpet and dead or dying plants in the planters. There was no graffiti, which almost made it look more worn down in the flickering light of compact florescent bulbs that were on their last legs and flickered like off white neon. A large woman muttered in Spanish, clutching her two children to her as the gun wielding armored Furies crept by in an over lapping tactical formation.

Elisa's implant had already had a conversation with the main server on the boat and was displaying a map in glowing green over both Erinyes' vision, guiding them. The server had obligingly offered up a blue print and a little star that was taking them straight to it. Janet had been foolish enough to rent the room in her own name. Surprisingly though, her quarters were above the main deck, in the areas of the ship that once had been more upscale and ‘1^st Class’ in the boat’s traveling days. “Are we maintaining a former status?” demanded Mike darkly from behind Elisa.

Before Diaz could answer, she turned a corner to find her way blocked by a small mountain of a man in an expensive looking suit that still didn’t manage to hide the half dozen weapons he had on him. He was dark complected and what hair he had was slicked back with eyes hidden behind dark glasses that Elisa knew from looking at them were smart goggles that were doubtlessly giving the goon information about her.

She heard a door open behind her, and even at Mike’s, “Uh, Elisa…?” she didn’t take her eyes off the goon in front of her.

He nodded. “One professional to another, if you put that away and keep your cool, you’ll walk out of here,” he said. “Otherwise, well, looks like we’ve both danced more than once.”

Elisa raised an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to just trust…?”

A smile cracked the frosty demeanor, “Hey, thug’s honor!” Another door opened down the hall showing he had a number of friends, all willing to dance to whatever tune the Fury called. She did the math and found she didn’t like the answer to the violent equation. She shrugged and slowly returned the pistol to her thigh holster.

“Play it cool, Mike,” she ordered.

“Your play,” the NCO returned. The Ki that flowed between the groups slowly cooled from the hot, imminent action, to one of a more guarded alertness. Elisa actually began to wonder if she and Mike might just get out of this in one piece. The guard nodded again and opened the door he was guarding, that the map in her vision had said belonged to Janet Hastings.

“He’s waiting for you.”

Diaz carefully made her way around the guard, into an office that was easily the best maintained area on the boat she’d seen, rich panels, sumptuous fabrics and a carpet that was neither thread bare, nor had likely been on the boat when she launched. Behind a desk any 3^rd world dictator would have loved to own sat a Made Man who beckoned the ladies deeper into his lair.

“Agent Diaz. Why don’t you and your friend come in and we can discuss things.”

Elisa’s implant superimposed information over her vision in a discreet corner. “Capo Tony ‘The Tiger’ Russo; you’re Don Gessati’s second cousin, by marriage.”

The Tiger, a beak nosed classically featured Italian smiled a smile his name sake would be proud of. “Field Supervisor Elisa Diaz, Old DC Special Operations Team One, it’s nice to know that both of our intelligence groups are earning their pay, right? Congratulations on the promotion, by the way. But, hey, we’re both just middle managers. Let’s all sit down and talk about how we can get out of this without any blood shed, ‘cause that will ruin everybody’s day, right?”

Elisa and Mike shared a glance and settled into the chairs the Capo indicated facing his desk, which made his grin widen. “Great, great. Cigar?”

“I don’t smoke,” Diaz declined, earning only a shrug from Russo.

“Too bad,” he replied, helping himself to one and getting it lit. “So, ladies, I have to say, given the conversation I had with Mr. Stoner, you know, your regional VP, I was certain we wouldn’t be having visits from Themis employees.” He dropped the smoldering match into an ash tray and glared across the desk. “Wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”

“What do you care, Tony?” snapped Mike. “It’s not like Don Gessati owns this place.”

“That’s very true,” Russo agreed. “Mr. Gessati, my beloved Cousin, in fact has no holdings or interest in this raft, or any other properties on the water front. I work for a management firm and we run the raft for the owner, a very respectable businessman who values both his privacy and the calm tranquility Duchess Court is famous for.” The smile faded away. “Tranquility certain employees of Themis are famous for…disrupting.”

Elisa shot her partner a ‘keep quiet’ glance and started again. “We’re not looking for trouble, Tony. Truth be told I’m not even here on official business.”

“We offer a discount on rent for police,” Tony returned. “And PSP Contractors, but, then most people don’t apartment shop with guns drawn.”

“Did she tell you we were coming?” Elisa asked. “Your mainframe led us here.”

Tony sighed and made an encompassing gesture, the smoke from his cigar making lazy circles. “I had the tech guys set up an automated response, if the computer was polled by a Themis authorization code it was to say whoever you were looking for was here. So we can have this little chat. You tell me you’re off the reservation, that’s fine, just shifts my beef from your boss to you directly, that’s not a nice position to be in, Ladies.”

Diaz considered for a moment then decided on a different tact. “I'm here for a kidnapper and, I hope, the hostage. It's personal, as the hostage is my nephew and as the kidnapper isn't playing by any kind of a professional playbook, I'm understandably worried about my nephew.”

Russo chewed thoughtfully on the end of his cigar for a long moment. “Paulie?” he called to someone behind him. “We got anybody playing a snatch and grab?”

“Not that you OK-ed, boss,” the well dressed Goon replied. Tony tiched between his teeth.

“Hoods today, huh? That's disrespectful. First, you ladies know we don't play the game that way.” Elisa nodded, as clichéd as it sounded, cops, cop contractors and crooks did in fact go out of their way to leave family out of business. “So, that was this Janet you were asking about, right? Paulie, we got a Janet rooming with us?”

“Yeah boss, Janet Hastings, rented cabin 212 on the Leo Deck six months ago. She's paid up through the end of June.”

“The Leo deck?” Demanded Mike.

Russo shrugged. “Hey, blame Harland and Wolff, not me. Paulie, you and Vinnie go pay Mrs. Hastings a visit. How old is your nephew? What's his name?”

“Raul Miguel Diaz Sewarza,” Elisa answered. “He's ten.”

The Tiger nodded. “So if Mrs Hastings does have Raul, she's disrespected me, you two bring them both up here. If not, she gets a free month for the inconvienece and Agent Diaz and I will have a chat about how she'll make that good.”

“Ok, boss.”

* * *

Paulie was a good Lieutenant. He kept things organized for Tony, prioritized you could say. When Tony needed something, Paulie was there to see he got it. And Tony wouldn't have risen to head of the crew if he didn't have the smarts to recognize talent and reward it. Most of the soldiers on Tony's crew were solid guys; they knew what was what and that before long they'd get Made too. Tony was good about rewarding his boys.

Tony understood that loyalty was a better bond for a crew than fear. Paulie understood it too. That's why when one of the boys fucked up; it wasn't something that was likely to be permanent. Sure, a guy had to take his licks to know he fucked up and not to let it happen again, but it was never something unmanly and everybody forgot about it once you did your time. So when Paulie nodded to Vinnie as he went past, Vinnie didn't ask a lot of questions. He just fell in behind the Lieutenant, ready to back whatever play he had in mind.

Hey, you couldn't testify to what you didn't know, right?

It didn't surprise Vinnie that Paulie took the stairs. Paulie was getting on in life and he was at that time when a man decided to either let him self go and take the easy way, or step up his game to stay hard. Paulie took the stairs to stay hard, and Vinnie respected that. The Leo Deck was where most of the solid folk lived; folks too proud to get on the dole and scraping by on what work they could find. No body batted an eye at him or Paulie walking through, other than a hopeful glance of a job.

A lot of solid guys came out of the Leo Deck.

When they got to room 212 Vinnie gave the looky-loos the eye and they knew to make themselves scarce. Paulie didn't knock, he had a master key to the boat and just let himself in while Vinnie stayed loose outside. Paulie's entrance surprised the older woman who was in the process of handcuffing a kid to her table. Paulie sighed; this meant there would likely be unpleasant work in the future. “Hey, Janet, right? Do me a favor and let the kid loose, k? Your name Raul, son?”

The boy nodded, giving Mrs. Hastings a fearful glance. Paulie sighed again. Nobody should pick on kids, it wasn't professional. “Yeah, don't put up any fuss and we'll all be smiles, right? Mr. Russo wants a word with both of you.” Paulie saw her eyes dart off to his right and figured she had a piece there. He opened his jacket, revealing his own. “I wouldn't,” he advised. Reaching out, he quickly locked up the woman's arm in a pain compliance hold and frog marched her out to Vinnie who took over the hold.

Paulie got the kid loose and finally turned towards where she was looking and saw something that, for the first time in his life, understood what crazy really was.

* * *

D'Angelo's Italian Biestro, Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex,, 1:41 PM May 19th

“Well, don't leave an old man hanging in suspense!” chided Father Leonard. “What was it? What did he see?”

“I'm not shining you on deliberately, father,” she apologized, deftly scooping up the check before he could and handing it back to the waitress with her American Express card. “But, we did just eat and I'm not sure you'd want to hear about it on a full stomach. It's...disturbing.” His bushy eyebrows ascended his bald pate.

“That bad?” he demanded while the waitress swiped the card through the reader on her ticket pad.

“Janet was obsessed with some very dark aspects of the underworld; stuff that even the mob guys shy away from. White slavery and kiddy porn were the tips of a very deep ice berg. When she lost her son, she started digging at something normal people aren't really prepared to see. Nice people don't like to hear about some of the hideous things some people are into.” She sighed and shook her head. “As her mind became unhinged, she saw this grand conspiracy where what she was really finding were the isolated little pus filled pockets of the purveyors of this filth and the monsters that consume it. To call this stuff 'niche' market aggrandizes it to biblical proportions.”

A cloud passed over the priest's face. “And...Raul...saw...?”

“I can only assume so, Father.”

The priest removed his phone from his jacket and tapped at. “Tell Father O'Neil I need to speak with you about a parishioner who will need special counseling and handling. Call me this evening at your convenience to discuss this.” The phone chirped that the message had been sent while Elisa wrote out the tip and pressed her thumb to the receipt. He sighed. “That's why you didn't try to find this...uh...Joshua was it?”

She smirked and shook her head. “Find a homeless guy from eight years ago with only a first name to go on? Chances are excellent he's been dead a long time, and while I've worked some obscure leads in my time, I know when I'm beating a dead horse.”

He stood and held her chair for her and then helped her back into her cool cloak before leading the way back out to her car. “What about these 'pockets' you said she found? Where they real...?”

She shuddered and nodded. “There are four separate investigations ongoing from that evidence orgy of hers. I really, really hope the scum resist when we kick their doors in.”

Father Leonard realized he'd found a topic he should shy away from, so asked, “So the, ah, businessmen running Duchess Park gave you no grief?”

“Being good family men? Not really.”

* * *

The Office of Tony Russo, the Caribbean Duchess, Duchess Court, May 12^h, 11:48 PM

“They're on the up and up, boss,” Paulie announced as he brought the two before the mobster. The big lieutenant began to inform his boss of what he'd seen while Mrs. Hastings sank into the nearby couch and looked around as if lost. Raul walked over to the two women.

“You're an Erinys,” he declared with the certainty only a ten year old can muster. “The tube says you're policemen.”

“We're Police Services Providers,” Elisa corrected with a smile. “When the police have a problem they can't deal with on their own, they call us.”

“Mom says my Uncle Edwardo worked for Erinys, but they killed him.”

Diaz sighed and shook her head. “No Raul, your mother...your mother misunderstood. It's complicated, but I was your Uncle Edwardo, Raul and now I'm your Aunt Elisa.”

“Will you take me home?” He asked, making a very brave face, but obviously frightened. “I really want to go home.”

“I will.” Elisa replied. “I promise.” She stood and exchanged a glance with the two mobsters that were finishing their conversation. “We good, Tony?”

The Tiger grinned. “Good? Baby, we're great! I love a happy ending! You want us to take care of...?” he trailed off, giving the now sobbing Janet a glance. Elisa shook her head.

“Tempting, but no. From what I've heard and learned, she's almost a big a victim here as Raul.” She walked over and got Janet to her feet. “Janet Hastings, as a sworn member of a licensed Police Services Provider I am placing you under arrest for kidnapping in the first degree, use of a PSP in custodial interference and giving false statements to a PSP officer, pending a complete psychological evaluation.” The handcuffs clicking was drowned out by the sobs of Janet Hastings.

* * *

Courtesy Dock of D'Angelo's , Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, 1:58 PM May 19^th

“So Klaus really did have nothing to do with it,” Father Leonard said wth some relief as he untied the mooring line on his side of Elisa's BMW. “And I assume you got Janet Hastings the help she so desperately needed, so that's also good news!” He turned to find her sitting on the finger doc by the mooring cleat, tears streaming down her face. “Elisa?!” he exclaimed, quickly making the line fast again and moving as quickly as the floating courtesy dock would allow. “Elisa, my daughter, what's wrong?”

“It's my fault!” she wailed. “Don't you see that father?” She buried her face into his shoulder and wailed, “God forgive me! I let him go!”

“It will be alright!” he soothed her, stroking her ebony hair in a slow, gentle motion. “Tell me, daughter, tell me what happened. God will make it right.”

* * *

William J. Clinton Air and Seaport, May 12^th, 9:55PM

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to welcome you all to Lufthansa Flight 18 from the Old D.C. Air and Seaport to Stuttgart, Germany EU. At this time we'd like to invite our first class passengers to begin boarding. All first class passengers, please have your boarding pass, passport and carry on items and report to Gate 71 of the International Concourse B.”

Klaus was in an unusally chipper mood as he stood from the cluster of armored men that had been protecting him for three days. He even shook hands with the team, though he had the sense not to offer his hand to Agent Diaz when he reached her. “I am in your debt, fraulein Diaz,” he proclaimed in oily exuberence.

“I'd say we are even, Herr Klaus,” Elisa returned. “You paid to be kept alive until now and we have kept you so.”

“Of the trivalities of money and business you are correct. But I owe you a debt I cannot repay! In saving my life you showed me how truely short life is! From this moment forward, I intend to live every minute. And I have you to thank for it.”

Elisa smiled her offical issue smile. “It is an honor to be of service,” she told him through clenched teeth. The author bowed stiffly from the neck, scooped up his belongings and marched over to the desk, cutting in line to the protests of the businessman who's turn he'd coopted without a second thought.

Tom leaned down and whispered, “I've been reading some of those books you pointed me to. The ones you said you'd read when you realized you were a transsexual. Seems like I've heard that expression before.”

“It's from the Care Givers Universe series,” she replied, never taking her eyes off Klaus until he dissapeared down the boarding ramp and her spine decompressed.

“Yeah, I thought so!” Vannoy replied. “Isn't that what a Care Giver says when she really means...”

“...Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, ass hole?” she finished with a sigh. “Yep, it sure is.”

“Ready to get Raul back?” he asked.

“Let's roll.”

* * *

Courtesy Dock of D'Angelo's , Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, 1:58 PM May 19^th

“You have to let me kill him, father!” she wailed into his coat. “You have to say it's alright!”

“Elisa!” he scolded her, clutching her tightly to him, “I will do no such thing!” With her augmented strenght it should have been nothing to her to break his feeble grasp, but hold her he did while she wailed over and over it was her fault. Finally the weeping subsided and he could loosen his grasp a little. “Tell me, daughter, what is the piece I am missing?”

The Fury said nothing, but opened her purse and removed her PTN while activating it. There, floating in transparent, ghostly images from the internet. Images that all had been emailed to her. The priest crossed himself. “God in heaven, protect us,” he whispered as he read.

* * *

Der Spiegel: English Edition May 16^th

Der Spiegel mourns the murder of a fellow Journalist. Johann Gevalia, at large reporter for the World Web Truth.de was brutally murdered at his home in Birkach by Hans Ritter. Ritter claims that Gevalia mollested his son and has proof of this. Ritter was taken into custody at the scene after being subdued. Luftenant Gruber of the Stuttgart Stadtpolizei made no comment as yet to the alligations of child abuse on the part of Gevalia. Our deepest sympathy goes out to Trudle Katzen, Johann's fiancee.

>>Breaking News Update!<<

Sources close to the Stuttgart Stadtpolizei confirm that officials are investigating a possible inappropriate relationship between an unnamed youth, the son of suspected Murderer Hans Ritter and Berndt Klaus. Independant sources confirm the existance of photographs and video of Klaus aproaching a young boy in Scharnhauser Park. Trudle Katzen, fiancee of the murdered journalist Johann Gevalia vehemiately states that Johann had no interactions with, or even knew of the son of Hans Ritter.

To: Elisa Diaz, ([email protected])

From: Trudle Katzen (Miezekä[email protected])

You bitch!

When Johann came back all he could talk about was you! The great crusader! You monster! You guarded that piece of filth, you kept him alive, protected him from God’s judgement! For what? Money?! Was it worth it, you Jezebel? You whore!

You let him at that little boy! You put the knife in Hans Ritter’s hand!

You did this! I hope you burn in hell!

* * *

Courtesy Dock of D'Angelo's , Alexandria, Boston-Atlanta Metroplex, 1:58 PM May 19^th

“Don't you see?” Elisa wailed. “He went and he touched that little boy because I saved him! Because I kept him alive! And because he's the monstruo de mierda he is he did something so that poor boys father would think Johann did it!”

“You aren't responcible for this, child!” he swore to her. “This is not your fault!”

“It is!” she yelled, bursting into tears once more. “It is, father, please, please let me kill him! I have to make this right! I'll turn myself in...”

“Elisa Maria Ayla Diaz, on charge of excumunication from the Holy Roman Catholic Church on pain of your immortal soul, I forbid you to touch, harm, molest, or cause harm to come to this miscreant. You are forbidden from taking his life or causeing him harm in any way, or to pay to have others do it for you. Do you understand me?”

“Please...” she begged, “Please, father...”

“Do you understand me?!” he thundered, taking her head into his hands and forceing her tear filled eyes to meet his own. “You are forbidden! Say the words and obey, child!”

The tear streams became a torrent. “Please, father, I can't let...!”

“You WILL obey me, child!” the priest thundered in a fire and brimstone oration that would have made a southern baptist preacher sick with envy. “Vengence is the sole province of our Lord!” Her eyes closed on her torment and the torrent of tears became a flood. Joshua Leonard's heart broke, but in the vice of his own conviction he held the pieces in place until at last her will bent and she nodded her head.

“I hear...” she gasped around her sobs, “I submit...” She crumpled against his jacket and shook with her pent up emotions. “...I obey...” Then her voice broke only into the wail of anguish as she gave her grief voice.

“The sin on my head, my beautiful daughter,” he whispered, kissing her shaking head as he worked her PTN. “The sin on my head.” Finally he found the entry in her contact book he was looking for a fought a wave of jealousy at the ruggedly handsome man that smiled out of the hologram. “May God give you the strenght to be the man she needs you to be,” he whispered as he instructed the phone to dial. “You lucky bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hey there, beautiful, I was just thinking of you!”

The priest chuckled. “I doubt it, son. I'm Father Leonard, Elisa's parish priest.”

“What can I do for you, father? Why are you calling on Elisa's phone...?”

“Never mind that, son,” the Priest ordered. “I need you to get to D'Angelo's, yes the Italian place in Alexandria. “She's here and she needs you, son, that's all you need to know.”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

Joshua Leonard made up his mind and put his eyes skyward. “The sin on my head,” he told the God he had served so faithfully for nearly forty years as he stroked his daughter's hair.

Thomas Vannoy arrived in a flying wake of water fourteen minutes after the line disconnected. He gave a firm handshake and a steady, clear gaze right into the priets eyes that told him in no uncertain terms he was the kind of man Elisa deserved. With stern instructions to keep any conversation light, cheerful, and brief, the priest gave the custody of his spiritual daughter to her beau and watched them drive off towards her apartment. Joshua was certain she would be pampered and well looked after and sighed. It was time to do the Lord's Work.

“DC Cab, where you at and where you going?”

“Yes, this is Father Joshua Leonard, I'm at D'Angelo's resturant in Alexandria. I need a taxi from here to Dutchess Court.”

* * *

The Waterford Apartments, K Street Canal Old D.C. May 19^th, 9:22PM

The Waterford building had some wonderful views of Mt. Vernon Square, usually lit up in the convergence of the various flooded canals, bowls and dykes that dotted the former Capital of the United States. Of course, those apartments were quite expensive and so, ever practical, Elisa had selected an apartment on the opposite side of the building, over looking the muddy waters of the K Street Canal and the flooded office buildings that had once housed the movers and shakers of an old nation. Most were now lower rent housing projects, some had nice biestros or cafes in an attempt to attract a more bohemian and thus upscale clientel.

Elisa had picked it because the K Street Canal made her commute easier both to Themis and Holy Trinity. It had taken time to get her apartment cleaned and restored from the search of Saeder-Krupp agents that had raided it two months ago. So many memories damaged, not to mention the destruction of most of her wardrobe. The corporate spies hadn't been vicious or spiteful, just through. Still, President Loen had been very generous in his remunerations over the incident.

On her new couch in the living room, Tom Vannoy was making himself comfortable. A word would bring him to her, to her bed, but as Elisa’s eyes fell on the safe that dominated her closet, she realized she had other words to say and it was best to be alone for them.

Fortunately, her gun safe had stymied the two ruffians and protected Diaz's greatest treasure. She opened the safe, returning her pistol and its magazines to their place and from the top shelf removed a small rosewood box, inlaid with scrimshaw and ivory. It was a old box, it’s wood oiled and rubbed smooth by the hands of the daughters of the Alya line, passed mother to eldest daughter for hundreds of years all the way back to Castille.

Elisa's possession of it was part of what had caused the feud between her and Juanita, and the fights they'd had over it were legendary. She took the box out to her balcony and knelt down on a cusion she kept there. In the distance, she could make out the steeple of Holy Trinity. The light from the Old Capital and the Dragon's Blood within her let her see the box easily as she opened it and withdrew the priceless heirloom from within. The rosary was simple affair, pollished alabaster for each decade and simple polished garnets for the beads. The crusifix, doubtlessly stolen Mayan gold glittered in the reflected street and city lights. “So many things to ask forgiveness for,” she whispered to herself as she bowed her head and crossed herself.

She took the rosary in her hand and looked at it once more. “Perhaps, it is time for you to go to your rightful owner,” she admitted to herself. A thought activated the phone portions of her implant and dialed a number she didn’t call often. It was late and went to voice mail, which perhaps was for the best. “Juanita, it’s Elisa. I...I’d like to meet for coffee sometime, whenever you’re free. I have something for you. Call me? Thanks, bye.”

Diaz sighed as she got comfortable on the cushion and looked out onto the city, finally up into unusually clear night sky with stars blazing over head. Settling the beads in her fingers, Elisa began her penance. “In the name of the Father and of the Son and the Holy Ghost, amen. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...”

* * *

St. Ignatius Chapel, Holy Trinity Catholic Church, Old D.C. 9:25 PM, May 20^th

“Bless me father, for I will sin.”

It was not a pleasant voice, and it belonged to a man who wasn’t pleasant either. But then, this kind of work wasn’t accomplished by pleasant men. Father Leonard sighed and steeled his own resolve. “Under the cushion of God’s love, all things are forgiven, my son.”

Soft noises drifted from the other side of the partition, as if the cushion on the bench was being shifted and a small data chip that might have been meticulously cleaned of any kind of forensic evidence was found and put into a reader. The unpleasant man grunted as a fountain of information might have flooded his mind from the reader. His breath sucked between crooked teeth, knocked that way by a rough life, lived with rough men who fought for what they needed. “You’re not pulling my chain, are you, Father?” he asked finally. “You sure this information the straight dope? We’ll find out if it’s not.”

“My belief in the Gospels is the center of my life, my son,” the priest replied, letting just enough steel enter his voice to show he wasn't intimidated. There was a long pause such that Joshua wondered if the man had left, then the unpleasant voice drifted through the divider once more.

“Don Gessati sends his compliments, Father.” With a soft click, a plastic Secur-Cred™, an anonymous device that took the place of cash for larger transactions among those who either couldn't or wouldn't use normal banking methods, was placed on the window the voice was coming through. “He asks you to see that the orphans get something nice; no charge for the public service.”

“I’ll remember the Don in the service on next Sunday, and pray for the salvation of his soul.”

The laugh that was just heard over the confessional opening sent chills down Leonard’s spine. “You do that, padre. It’ll make his wife happy.”

* * *

>>>K-WASH NEWSDUMP! SPECIAL REPORT!<<<

Tragic news in the Literary World tonight from the European Union that noted erotic author, Berndt Klaus was found dead in his home in Berlin. Klaus, author of the controversial Plough The Tender Green had run into legal trouble by being accused of an inappropriate relationship with a ten year old boy whose name has not been released. Mr. Klaus died of a heart attack brought about by an overdose of barbiturates.

Finis