CyberEpic

Disclaimers:

Copyright: The characters of Xena: Warrior Princess are owned by MCA/Universal and used here without permission. References to certain theories of dark, enigmatic, computerized futures belong to whoever.... The genre is so far gone now, I cant really say it only belongs to Gibson. Everything else is mine.

Warnings: This story contains same-gender sexual subtext throughout to include at least one rather steamy scene of two women having a very good time. There are the standard scenes of violence. This story contains several expletives as well. This story has references to drugs/alcohol to include usage, sales and distribution of same. If you're under the age of consent, leave. If it's illegal where you're currently residing, move. If any of these bug you, then bug out.

Suggested listening: 'The Last of the Mohicans' soundtrack.... My inspiration! And, by extension, anything by Clannad! (Pretty weird when you consider this is a CYBERPUNK story.....) Consider this a 'Mohican/Johnny Mnemonic' crossover.....

Author's Note: Since finishing and posting this CyberUber tale in August 1998 I've been a little put off by it. I'm not the only one, either, since I heard from several of you folks out there that it just didn't seem.... finished.... Well, at the time, there'd been some major things going on in RL (doncha HATE it when that happens?) and I lost interest in the story. Couldn't seem to get the gumption to finish the blasted thing.

Now, I'm not saying that it's any better. For the most part, I've merely shuffled scenes around a bit. But I've added a smidge more cybernetics and, ultimately, maybe another scene or two.... We'll see how it all turns out, eh?

Comments to Redhawk. No bad mouthin', lippy, attitude stuff. Honest criticism would be appreciated.

Illustrated CyberEpic

Conway wearily rubbed at her eyes before continuing. It wasn't quite dawn, yet. The sky hadn't begun to lighten, but what little nature was still present in the world held its collective breath in anticipation of it. "So you haven't found her then?"

"No, ma'am. We have located two of the three nomads that brought her in, however," answered the woman across from her, the one who had just recently been promoted to sergeant.

The elderly woman sat at her desk, chewing her lower lip. Either the kid knew that the jig was up, which was highly unlikely, or she was just out having a good time and would be back for business hours. "Where are the nomads?"

"They've apparently set up residence at Ritzy's for the night. We've seen the two men exiting and entering the building. Right now, the younger one is under surveillance in the bar. The older one seems to have a room there."

Conway considered this, remembering the courier's adamant defense of the pack. Hmmmm..... Maybe we could killfile two birds with one script..... "Get ahold of the local authorities. Let's have the bar raided. Of course, the military will 'help'." She pulled her keyboard to her and began typing away. "Let's see if we can arrange an 'accident' for the nomads. I think are chances are pretty good that the courier's with them."

Shannon's eyes opened slowly, not wanting to yet unwilling to continue sleeping. She lay on the bed in Dusky's room, a strong nomadic body wrapped around her smaller frame, a sheet draped over both of them. With a soft smile, she turned her head and studied the other woman as she slept, idly caressing the upper arm that crossed over her, tracing the ritual scarring.

It was still full dark outside, but it was the darkness of silent waiting, of the quiet before the storm, where everything held breathlessly still and awaited the rising sun. The moon had set long ago and the only illumination in the room were the lights from streetlamps and advertisements and the Ritzy's sign.

Her hand reached further up the arm, reaching to brush a lock of dark hair away from Dusky's face. She marveled at the soft smile this elicited. So.... sweet, Shannon thought. A list of words came forth - pure, innocent, loving. Her brow furrowed in doubt. But is this for me? Or am I just the one in her bed? What happens when this is all over? What happens when she wakes up?

Gently, so as not to arouse her lover, the courier eased out of the other woman's arms and off the bed. Not being able to help herself, she scooped up Dusky's discarded shirt and donned it rather than her own dress, wanting to have the nomad with her even in their physical separation. Shannon quietly curled up on the floor in the corner by the window, staring out.

She had no illusions that this was all some romantic lark. Dusky was from a completely different culture than her own. And, in that culture, Shannon was a gringa, a foreigner. Not of the body, she thought with a smirk, remembering an ancient science fiction vid'. Things were going to change, as soon as the dark woman opened her emerald and silver eyes. This afterglow of - is it love? - would have to deal with the harsh light of reality.

Shannon remembered the previous evening's talk of Aryans and scalps and wars. Could I live with that? Knowing that everyday would bring a new opportunity to kill or be killed? Knowing that she would have to kill? Or die? I don't know.... She unconsciously shook her red gold hair. Providing that option is even open, she continued ruefully, remembering Remy's dissatisfaction with her.

She paused as Dusky stirred in the bed, rolling over on her side to face the courier. The woman frowned in her sleep, hand searching for her bedmate, but didn't wake. She relaxed, clutching at the pillow for a substitute.

And what if that's not an option? Her royal blue eyes distractedly roamed the graceful curves of her lover. She imagined Dusky in Canada, living with her, meeting her acquaintances, plugging into the local scene that the courier was hooked into. No. She shook her head again. No. It'll kill her to live like that. And the Wolves wouldn't have a leader. And somewhere deep down inside, Shannon didn't want to be the one responsible for the broken woman the nomad would become in that scenario. Never cage the wild.

She sighed and stared back out the window. All of it was a moot point anyway, if she couldn't get out of Boise. Corps wanted her dead, Uncle Sam wanted her dead. And what of GovMin? Why send her to certain death unless they were involved too? And who's involved with who, anyway? No answer was forthcoming. Elias, if you get out of this with your skin, you stick to small contracts from now on. No more government involvement, regardless of the money, she vowed.

Shannon looked back to the bed. The nomad watched her with strange eyes that flashed in the minimal light. The redhead smiled softly and rose to her feet, crossing the small room. The oversized white shirt slid easily from her shoulders and she eased back into the bed, Dusky covering her with the sheet and wrapping herself back around the smaller woman.

"Are you okay?" Dusky asked, cradling the courier and brushing her fingers through red gold hair.

When nothing more was forthcoming, the nomad brought her thumb over to caress a cheek and jaw. "About....?" she prompted, wanting - no, needing - to know.

Shannon gave a slight shrug and dropped her eyes. "A question you asked downstairs last night." Pause. "Now what?" She looked back at Dusky.

The dark woman nodded in understanding and lay back, holding Shannon closely, staring at the ceiling. Now what? "Now, we survive," she said. "We take it one day at a time and get through this feedback. There's not much else to do."

The redhead nodded, resigned, hearing what she hoped not to hear but expected. "Um.... Could I ask for your help in getting me back to Canada then?" she asked hopefully, wanting to spend as much time in the dark woman's presence as possible.

Dusky's eyes narrowed. Canada? Didn't mi preciada understand? "Do you want to go back to Canada?" came the whispered question.

Dusky rolled over, propping herself up on an elbow and looked down at the other woman. "What do you want, Shannon Elias?" Silver/green eyes bored into the courier's.

The redhead was so startled by the sound of her name coming for the first time from Dusky's mouth, that she answered truthfully. "I want to stay with you." She mentally smacked herself in the forehead as soon as the words were out. Angered at her inability to keep her mouth shut, she broke away from Dusky's grasp, sitting up on the edge of the bed and wrapping her arms around herself. Zero, zero, zero!

She felt the bed shift behind her, felt the warm body heat radiating against her back. Muscular arms wrapped around her from behind as did tanned legs, breasts pressing into her back. Warm breath whispered into her left ear.

"Then stay with me." Not giving the redhead a chance to respond, Dusky continued in a low voice. "I told you, you're mine, preciada. That hasn't changed." As Shannon leaned back into the embrace, she asked, "Do you have someone else? Someone at home?"

Shannon snorted tearfully, entwining her arms with the dark woman's. "Why? Your uncle hates me, both sides of your civil war are after me, Canada might be after me, too. Besides, even if things work out, in America I'd be an illegal alien - I couldn't even get any work. I'd be a burden to you." She snorted again. "And if your uncle doesn't hate me now, he'd hate me for that."

The redhead released the tension of the last two days, her lover holding her, supporting her, humming a quiet song in her ear. As her tears of anger, fear, and frustration fell, she was rocked gently.

Dusky held her lover in her arms, crooning a song her mother used to sing when she was a child in need of soothing. Another, deeper part of herself tried to sort out what she was feeling. This woman she held was... what? Everything? And when did that happen, anyway? The dark woman caressed light skin. What do I have to offer her, anyway? Not much. Life on the road, no permanent home. Dusky knew that the nomadic lifestyle was not for 'normal' people. It was something she had been raised in, not Shannon. Unless the redhead could adapt thoroughly, she would be miserable. But, I've got to try. We've got to try.

Eventually, the sobs faded, the tears dried up, and she sniffed. Shannon found herself turned slightly to the left, a corner of the sheet used to clean up her face.

"Good." The Wolf pulled away to lay back on the bed, propped up against the wall. She beckoned Shannon to her and they snuggled together. "First, Remy does not hate you. He's an old man, set in his ways. He's just seen nearly his entire family wiped out by gringas." Long fingers caressed the redhead's arm and shoulder. "He worries about me. He wants me to find a husband and give him lots of little ones to dote on in his old age." She closed her eyes, remembering the running argument over the last two years.

"Second," she continued, eyes opening. "this mess will work out. Hell, we've been wanted by the government for over forty years. It's slow and clunky and it'll take forever for it to catch us. The Corps just want what's in your head, and we're gonna give it to them." She gave the woman a squeeze. "And Canada.... Who cares? They sent you to die," she growled. "It's nothing to get citizenship papers forged. We've got connections in several cities for that."

Dusky hugged the courier to her. She whispered, "Besides, I want you to stay, too."

"Yes. You're mi preciada. I don't know how or why, but I feel that we belong together." The dark woman swallowed nervously. This baring of the soul isn't an easy thing. But, I'm a Red Wolf, the leader of my people, and I will be strong, she told herself, gathering her courage. "Shannon Elias, I am Dusky Holt, leader of the Red Wolves, and I love you."

There was a long silence, punctuated only by two heartbeats. Both women had stopped breathing, one in fear and the other in surprise. With no answering words forthcoming, Dusky's face became stonelike. She reminded herself to breathe and relaxed her grip on the redhead. I will be strong, she told herself.

She loves me...? Shannon's mind chortled. Me?! She wrapped her mind around that thought, not realizing what the silence was doing to the dark woman. When she felt the arms loosening their hold on her, her heart fluttered, slightly panicked. She clutched Dusky to her, not relinquishing her grasp. Royal blue eyes looked up into a stone faced nomad's. "I love you, too, Dusky," she breathed. The rigid mask broke apart under her gaze and fell away, revealing a beautiful young woman and Shannon smiled.

"Y..you do?" the nomad whispered. She suddenly felt like she was four years old and being given another piece of fry bread by an indulgent aunt. "Then you'll stay?" Slight trickle of dread. "No! You don't have to answer yet.... Let's just get through this feedback first." She gathered Shannon up in her arms.

There was an insistent rap on the door. "Dusky?" Shake's muffled voice came through.

The leader growled, disentangling herself. "That boy has some serious work to do on his timing." She flashed a smile at the giggle from her lover.

Rising, she quickly threw on her shirt and padded to the door. Shannon watched her hips sway and the muscles in her legs flex as she wrapped the sheet around herself. Beautiful doesn't cut it at all......

The door unlocked, Shake fairly burst into the room. He grinned apologetically at the half naked pack leader. "We got trouble downstairs. Army's chippin' in - weapons and all."

Dusky sent the teenager to gather his things and roust Remy. Within minutes she was dressed in her leathers, strapping soft boots onto her feet. She had thrown some clothing at Shannon - the shirt she had worn earlier and a pair of soft trousers. "Roll up the leggings. That'll have to do until we can get outta here."

She checked her weapons carefully. The grenade launcher was gone, but she still had the sniper rifle on her bike in the garage. Three knives, a .45 automatic, and an Armalite 44 heavy autopistol. The pack leader also had three fragmentation grenades left that she transferred to the pockets of her leather jacket. With a moment's thought, she handed the .45 to Shannon.

The redhead gulped nervously as she took the handgun. It's heavy! she thought, before concentrating on what Dusky was telling her about the weapon. Safety switch, extra clips, how to change ammo. Okay. "Got it." Shannon removed the magazine from the base of the weapon, reloaded it, and cocked the .45 to show her comprehension. It was a little awkward, but she made up for her lack of experience with efficiency.

There was a sudden loud pounding on the door. Someone screamed in the hallway. Shots were heard. The screaming stopped, choked off.

"Dammit!" Dusky hissed. "He was followed!" She shoved her lover to one side, away from the doorway. "Get down!"

Shannon crouched behind the Wolf, thumb on the safety of her pistol and heart in her throat. Peering to one side, she watched the door closely over Dusky's left shoulder. The dark woman held her own weapon loosely in her left hand, staring intently at the door.

There were more shots, the door around the locking mechanism disintegrating. Light glared through the holes, illuminating the smoke and dust of the destruction. Dusky lifted the Armalite, taking careful aim. The door was kicked open and something metallic tossed in.

Fuck! Grenade! Dusky was moving without thought, the deadly dance begun. She fired two shots at the door to discourage any further invasion as she flipped through the air. She landed beside the still rolling grenade and with a well-aimed kick, sent it flying back out into the hallway. The dark woman had just barely enough time to return to her lover, driving the two of them to the ground before the explosion jolted the hallway.

There were more screams that gurgled off to moans. As the dust settled, Dusky picked herself up and edged to the door. She quickly darted across the frame, getting a quick glance of the hall. The dark woman's attention was drawn to movement from Shannon, and she held up a hand, indicating that the courier stay put. The redhead nodded and stood up against the wall.

With slow grace, Dusky eased around the corner of the door. Three soldiers lay in the destruction of their grenade. Two were in pieces, but there was one that had been a few feet further down the hall who was still alive, moaning and writhing as she held her innards. At the end of the hall were the bodies of two civilians. The screamers. There were no signs of her packmates, yet. At least Shake was out of the area when they got here.

The dark woman quickly moved to the third soldier and knelt beside her. "Looking for me?" she asked, eyes continuing to scan the hall.

"Nomad...?" the blonde woman moaned. She coughed weakly, blood spattering out of her mouth, before shaking her head no. "Elias. Courier."

Knuckles turning white from gripping the pistol so tightly, Shannon edged closer to the door. She didn't hear much from the hallway. At least no gunshots. Peeking around the corner, she saw the carnage and her stomach did flip-flops. Oh, yuck! She looked away from the remains of the two soldiers, drawing in huge gasps of air to calm her nausea. Movement caught her eye and she watched in horror as Dusky executed a third soldier she was kneeling beside, pumping a round into the woman's head.

She ducked back into the room, leaning against the wall. She felt lightheaded and couldn't seem to catch her breath. Knowing that the nomads killed was one thing. Actually watching the process was quite another. Shannon's legs gave out and she slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Get through it, Elias. Deal. This is the way it'll be if you stay.

"Put your head between your knees," a low voice ordered. "Breathe deeply, slow count of five."

Shannon complied. Her breathing evened out and she felt more connected with her surroundings. After a few moments, she raised her head to look into concerned silver/green eyes. A dark hand ran through her hair, caressing her neck.

Dusky nodded and planted a kiss on her forehead. "We've gotta get to Remy and Shake," she said, breaking away to grab up her saddlebag. "I need you to follow my orders implicitly." The dark woman watched Shannon intently until she received an answering nod. "Okay. Stay behind me, keep your eyes open." She moved to the door. "Let's go."

The two women moved through the halls, Shannon resolutely not looking at any bodies scattered around. Noises filtered up from the bar below - gunshots, screams, some explosions. The fire alarm was sounding, set off by the smoke from weapons, adding to the cacophony of sound and confusion. There was more gunfire on their floor, but the women couldn't see any threat. Several patrons were dashing about the halls in various stages of undress, fleeing rooms, grabbing up gear, looking for exits.

They rounded a corner and found much the same scene that was in their own hallway. Two soldiers were down and a third was prone, using a dead comrade as cover while he traded shots with the nomads in Remy's room. Dusky shoved Shannon back behind the wall, took aim and killed him.

"Uncle," she called softly. "It's clear." Seconds later, the two other members of her pack trotted towards her, weapons and gear in hands. "Everybody okay?" As she scanned them both, Dusky stopped to raise an eyebrow at Shake. "You were followed, little man," she said, grinning at his flush. "Don't let it happen again." She cuffed him on his good arm and turned away.

Dusky led them towards the emergency stairs, where everybody else was heading, too. "You remember how many there were, Shake?"

"A dozen, maybe up to twenty. They're working with the bacon on this raid. Lotsa blacksuits down there, too."

The pack found one of the fire exit doors, not because of the flickering 'Exit' sign above it, but by the mass of humanity huddled around it. The door was closed and no one was moving.

Only one burly man took umbrage at her brisk manner and she pistol whipped him as she passed, knocking him on his butt. The man growled and prepared to rise, blood trickling from his mouth. He found himself looking down the barrel of a .45.

"Don't," Shannon said firmly, backed up by two other Red Wolves bristling with armament.

The man raised his hands in surrender, a silly grin coming to his bloody lips. "Okay. I won't. It's chill, input."

"Oh." I have got to get a slang dictionary for this place. She shook her head and moved away, leaving the man to the tender mercies of the nomads.

Dusky had made it to the door. A dead woman was there as well as two wounded men. A third man was applying pressure to a wound to stop the copious bleeding. "What's going on here?" she asked, kneeling by the medic.

"Troops on the stairs. Firing at everything that moves," he answered. The man he was working on went into convulsions, dying in a sudden smelly moment as all the muscles in his body completely relaxed, flooding the area with urine, feces, and blood. "Dammit!"

Dusky looked exasperated. She stood and turned to the crowd behind her. "Anybody have any weapons?" she demanded.

Several did, but all were either knives or small caliber pistols. The dark woman shook her head scornfully. "Stupid sheep," she muttered. "Have you tried the other stairs?"

"Yeah." She pursed her lips, silver/green eyes distant as she considered her options. Uncle Sam is after mi preciada. And, it looks like us as well. Three grenades. Three sets of stairs. She eyed the crowd who was now looking to her for direction.

Picking two men, she pulled two grenades out of her pocket, handing them over. "Go to the other stairs. When you hear an explosion, toss these down and then rush the fuckers." She watched the men nod and leave the crowd, trotting away.

The dark woman turned back to the door. "C'mon, let's get these bodies out of the way."

A few minutes later, the corpses were stacked further down the hall, the wounded man with them. The Wolves were huddled by the door, checking ammunition and prepping for the run. All of the civilians were backed away from them, domesticated animals in the presence of wildness.

Shannon had checked her pistol for the third time, scared and nervous. Will it always be this way with these people? she wondered. Constant stress, danger? The redhead sighed. God, I hope not. I can't take this on a regular basis.

Startled, Shannon looked into a pair of elderly green eyes. "Um...yeah, I guess." She shrugged at Remy. "This is all kinda, you know.... new."

He nodded solemnly. "You'll get used to it. Adapt. It's not always this way." He took a deep breath. "I apologize for my earlier behavior and words."

Amelia Lukich, newly appointed sergeant in charge of the courier termination, stood at the base of one of the fire exits with a private. Some blood dripped down from above onto her crisp uniform, but she didn't mind it much. It just meant she was doing her job well.

The platoon had lost contact with 1st squad. 1st had been sent up after the boy. 2nd was deployed outside the exits, picking off the few that were escaping the firefight in the bar. She was with 3rd on the stairs, keeping the hotel patrons pinned.

As soon as the police were finished, she was going to have 2nd move up to her position and she was going to take the upper levels. There was no way in hell she was going to end up like her previous sergeant, demoted and sent to Bumfuck, America. Conway was going to be very happy with her.

There was noise above when the metal fire door was pushed open a bit. The private in front of Lukich eased up the stairs, peering through his rifle sights at the landing above. She brought her own rifle up to her shoulder and followed, backing her soldier up.

She frowned at the metallic clatter she heard. What the hell....? Lukich froze as she saw the round object bounce by. "Grenade!" she yelled, surging up the stairs, shoving the private forward.

The explosion tossed her and she felt the shrapnel shredding her back and legs. The sergeant fell forward, trapping the private's legs. The door above burst open and the nomads she had been looking for were there. The elderly man with the braided beard raised his pistol. There was a flash from the muzzle and then it was dark.

Even as Remy finished off the soldiers in the stairwell, two more explosions occurred from the other stairwells. "At least they can follow orders," Dusky grumbled.

Shake pushed past Remy to take point, wanting to redeem himself for leading the soldiers to his packleader. A second round went into the private as he passed, a booted foot shoving the corpses to one side. At the bottom of the stairs, the door to the balcony area of the bar was teetering on one hinge, the metal dented and torn where shrapnel had hit it at close range.

The teenager slipped past the door and eased closer to the next set of stairs. He snuck a peek downwards, quickly pulling his head back, just in case. There was no one further down. He moved slowly forward, looking for traps and soldiers.

Behind him, Remy followed with Shannon, Dusky bringing up the rear. The dark woman glared at the civilians in the hall, her threat imminent. No one wanted to charge down the stairs. At least, not until the nomads were off of them. Several people turned and headed for the other stairways, knowing them to be clear now. As they passed the bodies, Dusky picked up the private's rifle, holstering her pistol.

Shannon swallowed hard, refusing to look down as she passed the dead soldiers. After passing the door and moving further down the stairs, she felt something warm dripping on her arm. Glancing over sharply, she watched another drop of blood splatter on her.

A part of her wanted to rage at the injustice of the killing and destruction. She wanted to wipe the blood off her arm, knowing that it would only smear and remain as a stain on her soul. And there was another part of her, one that was primal and feral, a part that had long been dormant. That part wanted to survive, at all costs.

Shannon inhaled deeply, counting to five, and exhaled the same way, regulating her breathing. She continued down the stairs, ignoring the blood on her arm. Deal, Elias.

Remy glanced back at her once and nodded at her acceptance, a speculative look on his face.

As Shake reached the next landing, he signaled that it was clear. The door beside him opened out onto the bar proper. From the sounds of it, there was a hell of a firefight going on inside. Obviously, some of the patrons didn't particularly like the police and were making their feelings known.

The door itself was a bit dented in places. Whether from the current situation or previous raids was unknown. The teenager scanned it with a practiced eye, noting the wires. "Alarmed," he said softly.

Dusky moved forward to take point, bringing Shannon up between the two men. "Let's see if we can make it to the garage." As they moved past, Remy took the rear guard.

Again they met no resistance as they reached the bottom of the stairwell and the final door. Behind them, the alarm went off as the crowd from above finally made it downstairs to the bar level and opened the door. The noises from the firefight echoed in the small confines, sounding as if all the minions of hell were at war. The acrid smells of plastique, cordite and gunpowder filled the stairwell.

"Well, so much for a silent attack," Dusky called to her packmates. Ignoring the wiring on the door before her, she pulled it open and dived into the basement garage, rolling and rifle ready.

The alarm hooted mournfully. Shake dashed in and to the other side of the doorway, using a beat up hovercar as a shield. Remy put a hand on the redhead's shoulder, keeping her pinned to the wall inside the stairwell.

After a few seconds, Dusky peered over the car she was hiding behind, scanning the garage. It wasn't completely abandoned. A few people from the other fire exits had made it down to the parking area. They were more interested in getting away from the raid than dealing with armed nomads.

Deeming it safe for the time, the pack leader rose to her feet. "Let's get to the bikes."

They trotted to where the motorcycles were parked, Remy glancing over them with a practiced eye. When he nodded, the others surged forward to mount them. Shake's new bike wasn't as beat up as his previous one, but it was still a Harley. Dusky shoved the rifle into an empty scabbard and attached her saddle bags with a practiced hand. She kick started the engine and took Shannon's forearm, helping her onto the bike.

Remy took the lead, the teenager keeping the rear guard for the time being. Their top priority was seeing that the redhead survived. The three bikes moved slowly for the garage exit, weaving between refugees from the fight upstairs.

Only one man was stupid enough to try and grab at the escaping nomads, and he wasn't going to be grabbing anybody else ever again. Shannon shuddered and buried her face in Dusky's shoulders, the spray of blood from the man's throat catching her right side. The nomad's knife disappeared and her hand squeezed the redhead's around her waist before returning to the business of getting them out of the basement.

The elder had to veer to one side as an old Chevy squealed its tires and fishtailed by. The vehicle hit a man in leather, tossing him to one side to be smashed against a pillar, but never stopped. As it sped through the entrance and into supposed freedom, it blew up in a huge fireball of orange and yellows. It's momentum kept it going for a few more feet, despite the fact that two of its wheels had literally been blown off. It hobbled to a stop, lighting up the street.

"Shit," Dusky cursed, pulling to one side of the garage opening, with Remy. Shake soon followed. The three left the bikes, Shannon on one, to investigate. Another car blew through the opening, making a hard right turn and trying to get away. This time, the nomads were able to see the brilliant flash and whoosh of an anti tank missile being fired from across the street. Even with bad aim, the vehicle was hit and exploded. "Must be heat seekers," the dark woman said.

"No. Heat seekers are pretty sensitive. They've probably calibrated them just for motorcycles. Anything with a larger heat source would simply be easier to hit," Remy said quietly.

As they pondered their rapidly dwindling options, a few civilians ran out of the garage, opting to stay away from their cars. That didn't work either, as automatic gunfire from across the street cut them all down.

Suddenly a riot car came speeding around the corner, blocking the soldiers' view of the garage entrance. Weapons on that side of the car began blaring, taking part of the 3rd squad out. The drivers' window opened and a familiar face looked out at them.

Not needing any further encouragement, the Wolves clambered back onto their bikes and took off. In a matter of seconds, the riot car followed. It pulled up close to Remy, who was still in the lead.

"Follow me. I've got a safe flop," the large nomad called. At Remy's nod, the car pulled forward and sped up, the three Wolves following closely.

Shimizu was pretty sure that whoever had designed this room had seen far too many ancient science fiction vid's.

It was large, almost cavernous, and extremely dark. The major source of lighting came from the huge computer displays on one wall. Several workstations were set up in rows and each had their own individual lights, as well, currently manned by several people who were plugged into the 'net. People bustled back and forth with files and paperwork on the catwalk above.

The Asian man sat at the command center, a large half circle workstation with three others. He was there only as an observer for his employer.

The largest display on the wall was a line drawing of the world map. Several other displays showed the current rates of exchange and stocks. However, two panels were showing maps of the area around Boise. On these displays, there were two groupings of red triangles and two groupings of small blue dots. The triangles, according to the maps were several miles away from the Wall, while the dots were quite a bit closer.

"Alright, people," a man next to him spoke up. "Let's look good." The man was dressed in a jumpsuit that strained at its fastenings from his bulk. "Report!" he barked into an intercom.

One set of triangles blinked. "Beta One in position." Another set blinked. "Beta Two in position." Then a set of blue dots. "Comrade One in position." The final set of blue dots blinked. "Comrade Two in position."

"Let's do it, then. Commence radio jamming." The man leaned back in his chair, a frown on his face. "Beta One and Two, fire at will. Repeat. Fire at will."

Conway sat at her desk, chewing her fingernail. The raid had been engaged at Ritzy's for a quarter hour. The last communication with Lukich had told her that the squad sent into the hotel area had lost radio contact with the rest of the platoon.

According to what she was picking up from the police scanner on her desk, apparently a booster gang had been in residence in the bar when the raid commenced. The original blacksuits had gotten pinned by their fire, and the police had been forced to send in their SWAT team. The fighting was ferocious with many casualties on both sides.

So long as they get the courier, she thought to herself. Maybe I should send another squad or two......? Conway mentally shook her head. The less people who know about the operation, the better. She leaned back in her chair and ran fingers through her short, graying hair. Hope they finish it soon.... This waiting's gonna kill me!

So involved with the police scanner, it took the woman a few moments to realize that she was hearing an air raid siren in the distance. Even as the sound registered, another closer one took up the mournful call. What the hell....? She felt the building shake. A second rocking occurred as she made her way to her office door. This time, the accompanying explosion reached her ears as well. She threw open the door and looked into a chaos-filled hallway.

Grabbing a passing soldier, she demanded, "What the hell is going on out there?"

The soldier, a young man barely out of his teens, stared at her. "We're under attack, ma'am," he squeaked, freckles standing out against a pale face.

Conway left the soldier, dashing back into her office. She picked up the phone and tried to get hold of HQ. A busy signal was her only answer. "Damn it!" she exploding, smashing the phone down. "Now is not the time for this shit!"

She stood in her office for a few moments, trying to think of what to do. If they were lucky, Mt. Home Air Force Base had been alerted and back up was on the way. If they weren't, they were screwed. She had to make sure the courier was dusted. The only option was to go to Ritzy's herself.

Mind made up, Conway opened a desk drawer and pulled out an Ares Light Fire pistol. Checking the load and scooping up extra clips of ammunition, she headed for the door. Next stop, motor pool, she thought grimly.

Miles away from the base, the Azteca Corporation tactical group nicknamed Beta One launched another fiery present from its perch on Table Rock towards the Uncle Sam city of Boise. It was lovingly gift wrapped in the white and orange plastic of a missile. Within seconds, it soared past the Boise Wall and began a graceful arc downwards.

Conway stepped out of the building. Hearing a whistling noise, she looked up. In eerie slow motion, she saw the orange cone of a missilehead falling from the sky. There was no time to dodge or run, she could only helplessly watch as it approached her with lethal speed. As it impacted with her frumpy body, it exploded, taking out quite a bit of the building her office had been housed in.

The commander of Comrade Two waited until the attack from Betas One and Two were well underway before he ordered his men in. His two point men used Panther cannons to eliminate the towers at the gate he was positioned at, twin pyres raining shrapnel and body parts down upon the unsuspecting garrison.

Comrade Two was positioned along a ridge, just within firing range, to the south of Interstate 84. As the garrison came to the awareness that they were being attacked by a more pertinent threat that the missiles flying overhead, they began to concentrate their efforts at maintaining the integrity of the gate.

With radio jamming in effect from the Corps, it took precious moments of time for the information to filter back to HQ at the base. Finally, the danger was assessed and troops were found to support the defense.

As the two forces engaged each other, the commander smiled and picked up his radio. "Comrade Two to Comrade One. We are engaged, repeat, we are engaged. She's all yours."

There was a tinny response. "Comrade One to Comrade Two. Thanks, partner! Give 'em hell! Out."

Comrade One roared down from the northern foothills, three large riot cars filled with shock troopers and several smaller vehicles for support. They zipped past an ancient pioneer cemetery to their right and, as they neared the Boise Wall, they spread out and opened fire. Time to take the city.

The nomadic convoy didn't appear to have anyone following them. What with Uncle Sam still trying to extricate what was left of their attackers from the Ritzy's fiasco, they were safe for the moment.

Shannon held onto Dusky's waist tightly, face still buried in the dark woman's shoulders and hair. She was still feeling shock at the amount of violence that had been aimed at them.... At her. This was all for me.

The redhead squeezed the waist and nodded forlornly, still caught up in self recriminations.

Dusky scowled to herself. The way her preciada was clinging to her, she doubted that the woman was okay at all. If it had been a wound, Shake would have seen it and told her by now. It's gotta wait 'til we get where we're going, dammit.

Over the sounds of the Harleys, air raid sirens could be heard in the distance. Explosions, as well, though the Wolves didn't have time for speculation. They had to get to wherever Delva was leading them before they were spotted by Uncle Sam.

They cruised along N. 3rd, within sight of the Boise Wall. On Fort, they took a left, following that with another left onto Franklin, and headed further back into town. As they neared the intersection of Franklin and 8th, a huge fireball to their right grabbed their attention.

A few blocks away, the towers that were guarding the Foothills gate were in flames. There were sounds of automatic gunfire and another explosion as the gate itself became shredded metal links. A white riot car burst through the smoke and flame, gunports blazing.

Dusky sped up, passing Remy and matching Delva's riot car. "How far?" she yelled.

"Well, hustle, dammit! We're gonna have a hell of a party with the Corps chippin' in!"

Delva nodded and accelerated. The dark woman stayed with the riot car, her packmates bringing up the rear. As promised, three blocks later, they slowed down and pulled around the back of an old brick apartment complex.

As the vehicles ground to a halt, two strangers, a man and a woman, piled out of Delva's car, dragging camouflage tarps with them. In seconds, the bikes were covered, blending in with the overgrown yard. The man ducked into Delva's vehicle, emerging with some weapons. The woman waved the nomads towards the complex.

"They're chill, Dusk. They can help the gringa." He took her forearm, gripping it tightly. "I've gotta get back to the base. It'll be expected."

Dusky looked back at the nomads waiting at the door with Shannon and the gringas. She made the decision and the group entered the building. Delva clambered back into his riot car and pulled away.

After nearly two hours of fighting, the word finally came through that the Uncle Sam city of Boise, Idaho had been taken. Little resistance was left, just small pockets of soldiers or police, and those would be taken care of swiftly.

Shimizu grinned to himself. Now we search for the courier. It was all he could do to not rub his hands together and cackle.

"I'm Liz and this is Tank," the woman said as they hustled through the apartment. She was an older woman, hair nearly white, with a small, wiry build. The man who took up the rear was much like his nick - at first appearance, a muscle bound jock with a bald head. Upon closer inspection, the soft brown eyes belied the dangerous exterior.

The apartment they had entered was abandoned, with trash and broken furniture scattered about. Dusky's heightened sense and cyberoptic picked up a rat moving in a far corner. There was just enough light from the rising sun coming through the cracked and dirty windows to illuminate the area.

Liz led them to a small door under a set of stairs. "Ladder here, folks," she warned. "Watch out." She opened the door, grabbed a rung set into the wall and swung down with the ease of familiarity.

The Wolves looked at their leader and Dusky nodded, urging them on. A quick glance out the window showed the flames from one of the towers in the distance. The building shook from a distant explosion, and then it was her turn.

Once Shannon got off the ladder, she stepped away to give Shake some room and looked warily around the basement. The elder was already there, keeping an eye on Liz as she bustled around, turning on lights.

The basement was large and roomy, the only illumination being the lights that the woman was turning on. On closer inspection, all the windows had been boarded up. Despite the size, it still had a cluttered appearance to it - computer parts, books, extra clothing, tools, old dishes and cups all vied for space on every conceivable surface. To one side of the room was a long table made of an old door and beat up filing cabinets. Three computers rested there, at odds with the rest of the couple's belongings. They were sleek and shiny, obviously well tended.

Up on the ladder, Tank finally entered, shutting and locking the door behind him before coming down. Shake and Dusty were already waiting, the nomads creating a lethal triangle around Shannon. No weapons had been drawn, but the tension was thick and their stance indicated that it would take no time to quash any attack.

Tank lumbered past the four, setting his weapons down on the coffee table. He turned and looked them up and down before moving over to Liz at the computer stations. His hands began to weave a tale, moving through the air with a grace that belied his rough and tumble appearance.

Liz turned to them. "Tank wants the courier to have a seat so we can do a diagnostic on her processor."

Shannon took a step forward, but was blocked by Dusky's arm. "He's deaf?" the dark woman asked.

"Good." Dusky moved forward and glared into soft brown eyes. "If anything happens to mi preciada, you'll live to regret it," she growled.

Tank nodded his bald head solemnly even as Shannon stepped forward and put a hand on the dark woman's shoulder. Dusky turned to her, face softening.

"It's okay. I've done this before," the courier said quietly. "It's the standard way of doing things."

Dusky studied her for a few moments and then nodded agreement, stepping back. But not too far. She glanced back at her packmates and Shake moved to the other side of the room for a different vantage point of the proceedings. Remy turned and idled off, poking around and getting a feel for the layout of the basement.

Shannon settled down into the chair offered. The couple acted much the way a nurse and surgeon would act in the operating room - Tank worked on her while Liz occasionally helped by handing him tools and diagnostic equipment.

First off, Tank checked the port behind her right ear. With a few hand signals, he and Liz retrieved a computer pad and adapted a cable for it. Tank handed the plug to Shannon and watched as she expertly hooked it up. Several minutes passed as the big man peered at the information he was receiving, occasionally typing in commands.

Remy returned to Dusky. "Two bathrooms - one's being used for a film lab. Two bedrooms - one used, one not." He glanced over at the courier. "How long we staying?"

"I'll take our gear to the unused bedroom, then." He moved away at the nod from his niece, gathering their gear.

"No, they were sent separately," Shannon responded. "My contact at the base said she had them."

Another, smaller computer pad was hooked up to the courier. Numbers and letters began to flash across it's tiny screen as it fed bits of data to the courier's CPU, trying to hit upon the proper codes.

"Oh, I'd say so," the dark woman said, moving forward and putting her hand on her lover's shoulder.

As Liz threw sandwiches together in the kitchen under Shake's watchful eye, Remy set up shop in a corner of the living room and cleaned his pistol. His rifle was close at hand. Tank retreated to another long table that was a clutter of electronic equipment where he worked on dismantling an old computer to salvage the parts.

Dusky left the redhead alone long enough to find a bowl and a rag. Filling the bowl with water, she returned and settled down on a stool, beginning to clean the blood Shannon's face and neck. She was careful not to jostle the cord running from the woman's neck to the computer. The courier closed her eyes and enjoyed it.

When the dark woman moved down to get the blood from her upper arm, Shannon opened her eyes. "Can I ask a question?"

Silver and emerald eyes flickered up to her face before returning to the task at hand. With a slight smile, Dusky said, "Sure."

"Where'd you get the cyberware?" the redhead asked, the fingers of her left hand tracing the path of the tiny red tattoos on Dusky's right cheekbone.

"Mmmm. Training accident in the Marines. They call it 'friendly fire'." The pack leader finished her clean up and set the bowl aside. She moved the stool around until she was seated behind her lover.

"You don't look old enough to have been in the Marines," Shannon observed, feeling long fingers begin to massage her stiff shoulder muscles. "Oh, that's nice."

There was quiet for a moment as Dusky concentrated on a particularly recalcitrant knot. "It's a tradition with us. When a warrior reaches sixteen, they participate in the Sun Dance. After they heal up, they join the military." She shrugged. "We usually have a get-together during the summer solstice. Have ceremonies, do the dance, welcome home those who've served their time. This year we couldn't."

Across the room, Remy spoke up. "We could always have the ceremony when this is over. No need to wait for next year." He finished with his pistol and began reassembling it.

Dusky's brow furrowed. "That'll leave only two of us for nearly a year. Would that be wise?"

Remy finished with the assembly and holstered his weapon. He looked at the two women. "One person ain't gonna make any difference, Dusk." Green eyes settled on the courier. "Will it?"

Shannon blinked at the elder. "You're asking me?!" A simple nod was her only response. She felt a sympathetic squeeze on her shoulder and then her lover's hand were gone. "Is this a test?" She studied Remy who returned her gaze steadily. "Well, one person does make a difference," she hemmed. At his nod, she grew a bit bolder. "Still, with only three of you now, his leaving will have an effect. You said it's not always this way?"

Again the nod. This was accompanied by the low voice behind her. "It only gets this bad once or twice a year. We've already seen more fighting this year than we do in most."

"Shake will know intellectually that you couldn't weaken your position further by allowing him to go. But his heart will still feel held back, not a warrior, not a man." Shannon's eyes lit up. "That's it, isn't it? It's what your people do to become adults in your pack!"

Shannon wondered if she was going to pass this test. And how many more will there be? "I'd let him go, do the ceremonies and the dance. When he's healed, enlist him."

"And what would you do, Uncle?" the voice behind her asked. A warm hand settled back onto the redhead's neck, rubbing it.

With a slight quirk to his lips, he tilted his head to one side. "I'd do the same." He rose and stretched. "I'm gonna go take a nap, Dusk. Three hours sleep doesn't make it for these old bones." He sauntered down the hall.

"I guess I passed," Shannon muttered. She blushed lightly when the dark woman behind her chuckled, not realizing she had been overheard.

General Dan McAndrews chewed viciously on the end of the stylus as he stared at the satellite maps laid out in front of him. Since losing contact with Boise, his staff had been collecting all the data they could get their hands on and he'd already been in contact with the President.

His office at the Mountain Home Air Force Base was fairly large, as befitted his rank, with an ancient mahogany desk and shelves. The desk was currently buried under surveillance and recon maps and reports. The other chairs in his office were occupied by his aides - one on the phone with NASA and one twitching and spasming in that unique dance of the online connected.

It was a given that Boise had been taken by the Corps. The Azteca branch, most likely. Most of the base itself appeared to be in ruins and there was severe damage to two of the gates. Some damage to the city itself. Them's the breaks in war, he growled to himself. It'd been a long time since any of the Corporations had made a move on a major metropolis. Why the hell they doing it now?

The printer on his desk livened up, spitting out more reports and paperwork. The aide on the 'net spoke, "Here're some numbers from the latest recon, General. Possible occupancy rates at this point." There was a pause. "It appears that Azteca is sending more shock troopers to the city. Looks like a regular convoy moving up I-84."

McAndrews' face soured. He chewed the stylus with more energy. Waving his hand imperiously at the aide on the phone, he ordered, "Get off! We need to set up an ambush."

After everyone had eaten, the morning was spent quietly. Dusky sent Shake for a nap as well, the teenager having stayed up all night in the bar. Tank continued his salvaging mission in one corner and Liz elected to crash on the couch. At some point, the elderly woman had flipped on the vid' to watch the news reports before lying down. The dark woman took the opportunity to clean and sharpen the knife she had used in Ritzy's garage.

Not having much freedom of motion, Shannon closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of metal on stone. For some odd reason, the sound comforted her, soothed her. A feeling of peace invaded her to the depths of her soul and she drifted off to sleep.

Dusky finished up the blade and slipped it into a scabbard on her wrist. Next out was the .45 which she automatically disassembled for a thorough going over. Hearing a soft snuffle, she glanced up at Shannon, noticing the deep even breathing of sleep.

Mi preciada, she thought. Will you stay with me? Or will you come to your senses when this malícia is over and return to your home? Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and gather the redhead in her arms, to hold her forever. Instead, she dropped her gaze and returned her attention to the pistol. One day at a time, Wolf. One day at a time.

Never had she felt this way for a woman, gringa or not. Never had a woman had so much of an impact on her within minutes of meeting. Dusky wasn't sure exactly what prompted her to invite the courier to join them after the ambush two days ago, but she sent her thanks to the Great Spirit for it.

The pistol, having not been fired, was still clean as a whistle. Dusky put it back together, loaded it, and stuck it in her holster. Next up was the rifle she had liberated from the soldier on the stairs.

She examined the standard issue M22A2. It was the same model as the one she had discarded on the road the day before. With a little credit out, she'd be able to pick up a grenade launcher for it and be back to her original armament. It was good to know that there'd be a use for the grenade rounds she still had.

Dusky dismantled the rifle, beginning the arduous process of cleaning the discharge from every nook and cranny. Her thoughts drifted back in time, to another love that she had been lucky enough to witness.

The love her parents had held for each other had become almost legendary in the clan. Camilla Three Mountain had been a beautiful young woman. Some said that Dusky looked just like her. Camilla had been Ice's second wife, the first having died childless in the time before he and his brother joined the Red Wolves. Dusky's childhood memories were full with her parents' adoration.

When she was ten, Camilla died in childbirth, the baby later being named after the mother. It had been a hard time that almost crippled Ice. But, Remy took over the raising of his nieces, allowing the pack leader time to heal and refocus on his clan. As her uncle had never married, the baby became the property of the entire clan - she had been nursed, spanked, and doted on by every woman in the clan at some point or another. Dusky herself had begun her warrior training in earnest.

Her father never married again. And now Dusky understood why. Once a love of that magnitude had been experienced, all else was a pale imitation. Silver/green eyes studied Shannon's sleeping face. What will I do if you go home? Her heart ached and a lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard and returned to the rifle. You won't go. I'll do everything possible to keep you with me. "Everything," she whispered, a fiercely quiet vow.

Lost in her thoughts, the pack leader finished up with the rifle. Her final weapon, the Armalite 44, was removed from its holster. It hadn't been fired, but it was best to have a look anyway.

Remy entered the room, nodded at Tank and pulled up one of the desk chairs to the stool his niece was resting on. Sinking into it, he pointed a chin at the sleeping courier. "How's it going?"

A quick glance at the lit display on the instrument connected to the redhead and Dusky said, "Pretty good. Looks like we're only a couple of numbers short. Should be any time now."

Her uncle nodded. "Good." He watched the dark woman work. "How are you, vida?"

Dusky smiled and looked up. "Doing good, Uncle." She glanced over at Shannon. "You remember my mother?"

Any idea that this was a simple case of infatuation died at this point. Remy finally understood the depth of feeling his niece held for the gringa. And, truth be told, seeing them together reminded him of another pair of women he had known as a child, back before the world fell apart. His brother's young voice trickled through the years and he could almost see Ice standing before him in all his boyish bravado.

"Ice? Cool! My name is Ice now!"

The younger boy pouted a bit and shoved a stuffed animal onto the ground from a park bench. "What about me?" he asked a golden woman, eyes pleading.

The young woman cocked her head to one side, happy to oblige. "How about Remy?"

"Remy." He chewed his upper lip and nodded in thought. "Okay.... I like Remy." His face broke into a smile. "Thanks, Rickie!!"

The dark woman's face broke into a smile. Her green eye looked suspiciously damp, but no tears fell. "Thank you, Uncle," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

The instrument hooked up to Shannon began screeching an alarm, jolting the redhead awake and the nomads to combat readiness.

Tank hustled over, Liz close behind rubbing sleep from her eyes. The big man cleared the alarm, shutting it off and tapped in a few commands. He signed vigorously at the others and unplugged the cable from the box, inserting it into one of the computers.

Dusky nodded, her own pistol in hand. She put it away and reassembled the Armalite. "Good morning," she said to Shannon with a grin.

"Morning," the redhead grumped, a cross look on her face. "Have I told you how much I detest alarm clocks?"

"Hallelujah," Shannon breathed and sat up carefully. "Yet another valid reason to hang out with you folks."

Liz cut in. "You said ten megs compressed, right?" At the answering nod, she continued, "Okay, then. This should hold it. Might even be able to crack the encryption, too! Wouldn't that be a hoot?" The older woman fairly cackled at the thought.

Tank pushed the keypad to Shannon, pointing to the 'enter' button. He nodded to her, indicating it was all hers.

"Okay." Shannon settled herself in her chair, finger on the button. Downloading was almost as bad as uploading. It always felt like her sinuses were totally plugged and suddenly all drained away. While the resulting sensation was one of relief, it also made her head feel hollow, like there was nothing left inside. Taking a deep breath, she centered herself, closed her eyes and hit the button.

All eyes were on the computer screen. A small bar graph appeared, blinking 'download in progress.' As the information transferred from Shannon's storage unit into the hard drive, a green bar began to grow and numbers beneath remarked on the percentage downloaded. It wasn't a long process, by any means. Within thirty seconds, the halfway point had been reached. At the end of a full minute, the markers showed it at ninety percent. Just as it reached one hundred, two things happened simultaneously.

Dusky's hand was still on Shannon's head. There was a loud snap and the nomad's hand was literally thrown off. The redhead's body stiffened up and jerked. The smell of ozone was in the air.

At the same time, the computer that the information had been downloaded to appeared to crash. The screen flashed once and went dark, but a modem could be heard dialing. The computer next to it showed a download in progress, even as the first computer connected with an outside network.

"NO!" Dusky yelled. She grabbed the cable connecting her lover to the computer, feeling the jolt of electricity feeding through it, and yanked it out. Shannon stopped convulsing and passed out. Shake and Remy helped their leader move her away from the computer workstations.

Tank grabbed the keyboard to the first computer, punching in commands that were ignored. The second computer's download completed itself and the same thing happened to it. In desperation, Liz yanked the connections to the third computer before it, too, could get infected.

"It's a fucking virus!" she whispered, hearing the modem on the second computer fire up. She reached behind the computer and yanked out the phone lines before it could connect. By the time Tank thought to reach for the first computer's lines, it was too late.

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