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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

CyberEpic

by Redhawk

Part V: Omega

The War

The major in charge of the Rolling O's fighting wing barked orders at the four other pilots. "Alrighty then, boys. Coming up on their last known coordinates. Stay sharp and keep your eyes peeled. They couldn't have gotten far."

He busied himself with the controls of his 'copter, an R34 Recluse, rechecking altitude, weapons, and location. The ground below them rushed by in a blur of desert brown. They would be coming up on I-84 within minutes.

Official reconnaisance and satellite photos had shown the Corps convoy to be about ten vehicles and heading east for Boise. Operatives inside Azteca were unable to give any decent information on manpower, however. It was a pretty sure bet that the corps was sending relief troops to stabilize their hold on the city.

The 'copters came in low over a rise and the interstate highway lay before them. Heading west, they cut through the dry air.

"There they are! Twelve o'clock! Right on the money!" a pilot, Iggy, exclaimed happily.

As their information had stated, ten vehicles were heading for them. Six were fully armed riot cars. The remaining four looked to be armored personnel carriers - not much in firepower, but thick skinned enough to cause some difficulties.

The major, known as the Boss, said, "Let's go, boys! Fire at will! Let's flatline these puppies!"

The five machines swooped towards the lead vehicle, Boss' wingmen coming around to the flanks of the column. The major opened up with his Walther cannons, the first round exploding too far forward to do any damage. Getting a better range, Boss fired again. The lead vehicle, a riot car, exploded in pyrotechnics. The personnel carrier behind was unable to stop in time and plowed right into the explosion, blowing itself up as well.

A riot car behind the explosions pulled to the left and opened fire on one of the flanking 'copters, even as two riot cars from behind roared forward to get into the action. A fireball erupted to the major's left and he heard one of his men say, "They got JC!" The vehicle turned towards him and fired a missile. Boss jerked the controls of his Recluse, pulling himself out of the missile's path by mere inches. The wingman on his right fired at the riot car, catching it square on and destroying it.

"Score three for Uncle Sam!"

"And one for the Corps," Boss muttered.

Of the two Corps vehicles that had moved forward, the one on the left fired several rounds at the remaining bird on Boss' left. The radio crackled as he heard, "I'm hit! I'm losing fuel!"

"Pull out, Snoop!" the major ordered. He watched as the pilot hesitated for a second. "That's an order, lieutenant! Return to base!" he barked and the 'copter pulled away.

A flash of white and Boss cursed. The riot car before him was firing as he hovered dead in the sky. He pulled to the right to avoid another blast and nailed the vehicle with the cannon.

"Four to two!"

"Shaddup, Mac," another voice cut in.

Two riot cars on the right fired simultaneously at the 'copters near them. The furthest one veered right and avoided any damage, the missile shooting off to detonate in some field. The pilot open fired, decimating the car.

The other 'copter wasn't as lucky.

"Dammit! I'm hit, Boss!"

"Pull out, Mac! Follow Snoop!"

"I can't, sir! Controls are sluggish.... I'm losing altitude!" the frantic voice said.

"Then unplug, dammit!" barked the major. There was silence and he checked his control panel. The lieutenant was still plugged into his bird. "Unplug, Mac! Get offline!"

"No, sir." The voice was calm. "I'm gonna take these suckers out."

"Mac! That's an order! Offline now!" the major bellowed.

There was no answer as the smoking, wounded 'copter began to fall. The pilot fought the controls for every inch of air time, targeting the center of the remaining Corps formation. The tortured bird shook and shimmied before plummeting down. The resulting crash took out another riot car and an armored personnel carrier, clipping yet a third APC that had been too close.

"Seven to three," the major murmured.

McAndrews chomped viciously on his stylus, staring down into the amphitheater. Technicians removed the virtual reality helmet and gear from Lt. MacNelson, revealing dead eyes and blood running out his nose and ears. One tech checked for a pulse and shook her head. She gestured for a gurney and the body was removed.

Three of the five pilots remained in their chairs, hooked to the Recluses that were miles away. Lt. Lapotasky wasn't at the fight, having been sent back. His was going to be the longest VR trip, flying his wounded bird home manually.

"We have a surrender, base," the major's voice could be heard over the speakers. "One riot car and approximately thirty shock troopers from the remaining APCs."

McAndrews punched a button on the console beside him. "You know the drill, Major."

"Yes, sir. No mercy."

"Affirmative. Take 'em out." He paused a moment. "And congratulations."

The Courier Virus was a rather interesting little computer glitch. The Canadian Government Ministry had worked for years to develop it and its counterpart.

While the purpose of any computer virus is to crash a system, this one went a step or two further. It wasn't content to crash a system and be done with it. It wanted to share itself, to be a true virus, to be as contagious as possible. Therefore, when it had been downloaded into Tank's computer, it searched for the modem and Internet software. Accessing the phone and network lines, it proceeded to spread its message to others.

Having connected to Tank's 'net provider, it uploaded to the main computers that were running that system. And then it filtered itself down to the hundreds of other current users. Those people who still used archaic keyboards were safe, though their systems were not. Those who were physically attached to their equipment through interface cables, however, got a rather rude shock.... Literally. Not enough to do severe damage - as one hacker would state months later, it was "just enough to scramble, not enough to fry."

Once downloaded to these new computers, the modem/software search began again - accessing other providers, telnet 'puters, old fashioned bulletin boards, email proggies and intranet computers. And so on and on. It really didn't take an inordinate amount of time before it began to infect governmental and corporation computers.

"Shimizu!" the man barked into his phone line as he chased bits of data across his desktop. He was seated in his office, doing his best to keep updated on the convoy's progress.

"Harrelson here, sir. Are you online?" the voice asked anxiously.

The Asian scowled. "Of course I'm online, you idiot! I'm working!"

"Unplug now, sir!" the aide said sharply.

"Why?! Whatever for? What's going on, Harrelson?"

"A virus, sir. It's been downloaded to some of our systems. It's just a matter of time...."

"Virus?" Shimizu's eyes narrowed. "Have you run the proggie we got from the courier?"

"Yes, sir." There was a pause.

"And....?"

"And nothing, sir. It's not the same! It's a completely different virus altogether!"

The executive began swearing. "Well, fix it, Harrelson! NOW!!"

"Yes, sir, we're do--"

And the power went dead all over the Pacific northwest area.

Two frantic groups moved within the confines of the basement. Liz and Tank worked diligently over their computers, quickly dismantling them to see what kind of physical damage had been done over and above the programming. Liz had moved the remaining computer to one side, as if physical separation from the infected ones would make a difference in the long run.

The Red Wolves surrounded the couch where Dusky had settled her unconscious lover. The dark woman checked frantically for a pulse, relief evident in her face when she found the steady rhythm. Peeling back eyelids, she peered into royal blue orbs, noting the uneven dilation of the pupils. "Concussion," she murmured. Looking up to Shake, she said, "Get me a wet rag. We need to wake her up."

Shannon fought her way up from the blackness surrounding her. Her head throbbed and there was a burning sensation where the port on her neck was. As she approached consciousness, she felt someone cradling her, coolness on her face and neck. With a groan, she opened her eyes. A pair of silver and emerald ones gazed back at her, full of concern.

"How do you feel?" the dark woman asked.

"Like crap," she mumbled, moving slowly to sit up. Warm hands helped her. The redhead reached up and rubbed her temples. "What happened?"

Dusky pursed her lips, setting the wet rag down on the table beside her. "What do you remember?"

Shannon's brow furrowed. It hurt to think. "I dunno. Did I fall asleep?" She felt for the port, finding herself offline. "Did we get the data?" The courier looked at her lover in confusion. "What am I doing over here? And why can't I remember the download?" She looked over her shoulder at the two computer techs working on their electronics. "What happened?"

The pack leader took Shannon's hand. "Calm down, you're okay." She brushed a hand through red gold hair. "Whatever you were carrying caused the system to crash. There was some sort of electrical feedback through the interface cable. I disconnected you and brought you over here."

"Caused it to crash?"

Liz looked up from what they were doing. "You were carrying a virus. It infected two of our decks and made it to an outside phone line."

"Well, I guess that explains why Uncle Sam didn't want it," Remy said from where he was standing behind the couch. "Question is, if they knew what she was carrying, why'd they set up an escort for her?"

"And such a poor one, at that." Dusky's eyes narrowed. "Maybe they didn't want her to reach Boise. If that virus had gotten into Corporation hands first...."

"Uncle Sam'd win the war," Shake finished, brown eyes wide.

"Well, Uncle Sam must have the proggie to control it, then," Liz growled in exasperation. Tank's hands flew in intricate patterns and the older woman's face became even more irritated.

"What'd he say?" Shannon asked.

"He says not necessarily. Otherwise they wouldn't have had a problem with you downloading to their system in the first place."

"True," the redhead murmured.

"Now, wait a minute," Dusky said crossly, standing up to pace the room. "Canada GovMin sent a courier to Uncle Sam with a virus.....so Corps could capture it? But Uncle Sam doesn't have the proggie to fix it? We're talking major malaçia here, on a fucking global scale!"

The bald man signed again and Liz said, "That about covers it."

Shannon caught the dark woman's eye. "Malaçia?"

"Double dealing."

"Oh." Her head throbbed and she lay back against the couch, closing her eyes. Shannon felt movement as someone sat next to her. Fingers brushed the bangs away from her eyes.

"Oh, no, preciada. You have to stay awake for awhile. That jolt gave you a concussion."

The courier opened her eyes. "It did?" At the acknowledging nod, she groaned and closed her eyes again. "No wonder my head hurts so much."

"I've got some 'dorphs in my bag," Shake volunteered. He made a move to go back to the spare room but was stopped by Remy's outstretched hand.

"How long we staying, Dusk?" the elder asked his niece.

The dark woman frowned and shrugged. "We should wait until the heat's off outside. We might have a better chance of getting out now that the Corps are mucking things up." Despite herself, she yawned.

"You need to relax for a bit. Let's wait until nightfall?"

Dusky considered it and nodded. "Sounds good."

"Now you and your señorita go back into the spare room. We'll keep an eye on things here." At the woman's blank look, he raised an eyebrow. With an air of innocence, he continued, "She needs something to take care of her headache."

Shake snickered and turned away. The courier blushed as the pack leader beside her smirked slightly.

Well. Puta to señorita in less than twenty-four. Will wonders never cease? "Okay, uncle, it's a deal." She rose from the couch and grasped Shannon's hand, pulling the smaller woman to her feet. "C'mon, preciada, let's take care of your headache."

And then the power went out.

There were muffled curses from Shake and Liz. Dusky's infrared option on her cyberoptic kicked in and she was able to keep tabs on all occupants in the room. As Liz spoke and moved, she kept her hand on her pistol.

"Everybody stay put," Liz ordered. She groped her way across the pitch black room until she reached what had appeared to have been a closet. Opening the door, she fiddled around with something inside. The sound of a motor filled the room and a few of the lights came back on. "Generator for emergencies," she exclaimed with a grin, shutting the door. "Brown outs are a bitch."

Tank nodded in agreement and turned back to his computers. Remy settled down on the couch and pulled out a knife and stone. The older woman dusted off her hands and wandered back to the computer station, Shake following to curiously watch the dismantling.

Dusky gave the room a final scan before squeezing her lover's hand. "C'mon, preciada," she said in a low voice. "I'll check Shake's bags for the 'dorphs." The dark woman led Shannon out of the room.

Now that the power grid was down, further infection from the virus was a moot point. The concern, at least in the larger towns and cities, was now going to be man. Even as the power failed in Seattle and Portland, Tacoma and Lewiston, the darker element reached out to stir things up. Gang wars flared, the downtrodden took their chance to better their lives, neighbors long held in check by civilization resorted to vigilantism to right the wrongs done to them. And, as darkness settled over the communities, it would only get worse.

The virus itself had reached far further than the Pacific northwest, however. It diligently propagated itself, spreading and spreading and spreading...

Dusky directed the redhead to sit on the bed as she dug through the gear. A low light over the door burned dimly, hooked up to the emergency generator in the next room. After a bit of rummaging, the pack leader found what she was looking for and sat next to Shannon.

"How ya feeling?" she asked, moving honey gold hair to the side. "Any nausea? Upset stomach?"

"No. I don't think so." Shannon felt pressure as an endorphin patch was firmly pressed to the base of her neck at the hairline. "Just a splitting headache. My port feels a little weird...." Callused hands gently guided her head to one side.

"Looks a little red, but that's all," Dusky said after a close inspection in the semidark. "We'll have to have it looked at when this is over. I know a decent ripper doc in Tacoma who's good with processors."

"Great." The pain in Shannon's head began to abate, the 'dorphs speedily coursing through her system. She sighed and slumped a bit as the worse of the throbbing disappeared. Soon, even the dull ache would be gone for awhile.

"Better?"

"Oh, yeah. Much," the courier breathed in relief.

"Think you could eat some?"

Shannon tilted her head to one side as she considered. "I could give it a go." Her stomach grumbled and she blushed with a slight smile.

The pack leader chuckled and moved back to the gear, rummaging around for some rations. She plopped down next to her lover and handed the woman a food pouch. "Take it slow, preciada."

"Thanks." With a nod of red gold hair, the courier opened the pouch and began nibbling at the heated food. The pain's gone. That's a relief! She kept attention on her belly, not wanting to get sick and waste the pack's dwindling food supply. Shannon was mildly happy to note that her stomach was quite happy with its offering and had no complaints.

When she was finished, Shannon moved further onto the bed to sit on her knees, back to the headboard. She patted the mattress in front of her. "C'mere." At Dusky's raised eyebrow, she said, "Your uncle said you need to relax. Nothing more relaxing than a back massage." Shannon grinned. "I come from a long family line of master masseuses."

"Really?" the dark woman asked, a smile quirking the corner of her lips. "Looks like I got a pretty good deal when I picked you up." She, too, moved further onto the bed, settling down in front of the redhead. She felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned to look at Shannon.

"The jacket and shirt's gotta go, lover," the smaller woman stated with a grin. "Otherwise, you won't get the full... uh... 'benefits' of the massage." She wiggled her eyebrows.

With a chuckle Dusky did as she was told, tossing the garments to the foot of the bed. "Anything else?" she drawled.

"Well, yeah.... But that can wait until later."

The pack leader smirked. She moved her thick hair to her right shoulder and felt small hands dig into her shoulders and neck. Her head dropped and her eyes closed in contentment as long abused muscles were given their due.

"My god, Dusky! These are rocks, not shoulders!" Shannon exclaimed. Her only answer was a dry chuckle.

"So, tell me about Shannon Elias, master masseuse," the dark woman said.

The redhead pursed her lips. "Hmmm. Not much to tell, really. My life hasn't been near as exciting as yours has." She became silent in thought. After a few moments, she continued, "I'm a poor little rich girl, a Corpsbrat. Only child, private schools, tutors, you know."

"How'd a Corpsbrat end up a courier? That's an independent career. Didn't wanna follow in your parents' footsteps?"

Shannon shrugged slightly and concentrated on a knot in the muscles before her. "My folks had been assigned to the Panama embassy. They were killed in a terrorist strike during the Food Riots of '41."

Dusky stilled the hand on her left shoulder as she turned a bit to look behind her. "I'm sorry," she said in all seriousness.

The courier shrugged again, this time with a slight smile. "Thanks. It's okay, though. That was years ago." She squeezed the shoulder lightly before directing her lover back to her previous position, continuing on with the massage. "Anyway, I ended up running away from the Corps Orphanage they put me in. Spent a few years on the streets, doing what streetkids do." Her hands moved lower, palms applied to the shoulder blades. "About three years ago, a fixer found me. Said I had some money coming to me from the Corps my parents had worked for. After giving him a cut for locating me, I had enough for a processor and storage unit." Shannon heard a small groan as she applied pressure to the muscles beneath the shoulder blades and grinned. "And there you have it. What about you?"

"What about me?" Dusky asked, startled at the turn of the conversation.

Shannon laughed lightly. "Okay... For starters, tell me about the tattoos."

"Oh." The pack leader blinked silver/green eyes. "Well, they represent belonging and rank in the tribe."

"And....?" the redhead urged.

Dusky blew out a breath. "And." Her brow furrowed. "Let's see. The first one is given on the naming day of a baby to signify belonging. The second is for reaching adulthood. The third is for completion of military service. Uh, the fourth is reserved for those people who reach some sort of position in the clan."

"But, Shake's got two and you said he hasn't been through the ceremony yet."

"Yeah, but we've seen some pretty heavy fighting this year. He's made several kills on his own and collected several scalps. That alone makes him an adult and warrior in the clan. The ceremony is just that - an acknowledgement."

Shannon's hands moved to the tanned lower back. "Do all of your people have to go through the military?"

"Oh, no!" Dusky shook her dark head. "It just depends on the individual. Those that don't want to be warriors don't do the Sun Dance or enter the military. The youths are considered adults at sixteen. Instead of military service, they get another tat when they've reached some sort of precision with their chosen fields - you know, like mechanics, electronics, and that."

"Oh, okay." The redhead returned her attention to the woman's shoulders. "So, you and Remy have the same number. Elders equal leaders?" She dug firmly into the muscles.

"Mmmm. No." God, this feels good! "When my father was killed, it put me in charge. When we have the ceremony for Shake, I'll have another tat added."

Shannon leaned forward, bringing her lips close to the pack leader's left ear. "If I stay with you, do I get tattooed as well?" she asked in a low voice. She grinned at the shiver that ran through the woman's body.

Dusky gulped. "Um, if you want to. It would help integrate you into the pack." She felt warm breath on her ear and closed her eyes, trying to maintain some control. "Will you stay?" she whispered. There was a long pause behind her as the hands on her shoulders varied between strong kneading and light caresses. She could feel the tickle of her lover's hair brushing her back.

"I haven't decided yet," was the responding whisper. Shannon sat back and studied the dark woman before her, hands playing across skin. In a louder voice, she continued, "There's something I need to know before I can."

Bracing herself, Dusky asked, "What?" She swallowed again.

The redhead leaned forward again and whispered into her ear, "Will you give yourself to me, Dusky Holt?" The woman before her froze and she sat back again, continuing the massage, allowing the dark woman space to think.

"Will you give yourself to me, Dusky Holt?" Will I? It's not that I don't want to. Can I? That's the question, isn't it? The younger woman searched inside, delving into places she rarely went, for the answer. Her father's voice. "You have to control yourself before you can lead. You cannot control others, but they will follow your example if you're strong." She had always been in control, in every aspect she could be - childhood games, emotions, battles, sex. Even in the Sun Dance she had been in control of herself, the very last of her peers to tear herself away from the agony and visions that had enveloped her.

Her eyes closed, Dusky searched herself. Royal blue eyes staring into hers for the first time, the flash of - what was it? - arcing between them. The comfort of arms around her waist as they rode the bike. Feeling like this woman was the other half of her soul. Their kiss, her taste, her smell. The fiery temper to match the hair. The dark woman remembered the previous night, the courier writhing beneath her hands, moaning. I'll do everything possible to keep you with me. "Everything," she whispered.

"What?" The hands on her shoulders stilled.

Dusky cleared her throat, opening her eyes. In a louder voice, she said, "I'll give you everything."

Unshed tears stung Shannon's eyes, tears of relief, of love, of awe. She leaned forward again, hands moving down to caress the darker woman's upper arms. "I don't want everything, love," she whispered fiercely. "I want you."

"You have it," was the response.

Shannon rose up on her knees and leaned against the strong back. Her left hand traced feather light patterns across her lover's shoulder and neck, grasping her chin and tilting her head for a kiss. Their lips met with the same hunger that they were becoming accustomed to, ravenous desire, never quenched. A tongue sought entry and was allowed, lips parting. The courier felt a hand in her hair, pressing her into the kiss, and she growled into the woman's mouth, a surge of fire running through her system.

A hand trailed up the tender underside of Dusky's arm, moving past the crook of her elbow to slide up and surround the wrist that was buried in polished red gold. Another hand splayed across the ribs on her right, inexorably gliding around to her belly. The dark woman's hand was pulled away from its haven, brought firmly down and pressed onto her leather-clad thigh. As her preciada pulled away from the kiss, she groaned, mourning the loss.

"No," she was told firmly. "Give yourself to me."

Dusky bit her lower lip and nodded. She was rewarded with another soul searing kiss as the hand on her wrist released her and slid back up the way it had come, teasing sensitive skin. Goosebumps followed in its wake and she shivered despite the heat she was feeling. The hand on her belly moved up until the thumb traced the swell of her right breast. Again the kiss broke off.

"You're very beautiful, princess," Shannon whispered into her ear, caressing it with her tongue, delighting in the shivers and sighs she created. One hand continued up to cup a breast, thumb barely brushing the nipple. The other continued its movement down the ribs, past the hip and along the stretch of thigh. "I dreamt of you that first night. Dreamt of having you, of taking you."

Moaning, Dusky weakly lay her head back against the woman behind her. Lips and teeth found their way to her neck, nibbling and nipping the flesh. Fingernails on her thigh scratched a path back to her hip and she sighed with a growl, heart pounding. It was so hard to not just spin around and take her tormentor right there. The thumb brushed her nipple again, harder this time, and she felt the resulting burn through her body, centering between her legs with a tingling throb.

Shannon tickled the woman's belly with her left hand, fumbling with the buckle of the pack leader's belt. "Do you want me to take you, princess?" She bit down on the tanned shoulder before her even as she pinched Dusky's nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it.

Her hands clenched into fists, the dark woman arched into the contact with a gasp and a loud groan. She could feel herself soaking her leathers, her skin on fire.

"What do you want, princess?" asked the husky voice behind her.

Dusky felt a wry grin on her face, despite the delicious agony she was enduring. Paybacks are a bitch. She inhaled deeply to work her way through her body's inability to communicate. Her nipple was pinched again, the breast squeezed firmly in a warm hand, and she lost all thought at the sensation, gasping yet again.

"What do you want, princess?"

"Take me," she whispered back, panting. And her lover complied, hands moving down to finish loosening the belt and unfasten the leather pants she wore. Small fingers played in dark curls, tracing a volatile path to their destination. Dusky moved her legs to allow easier access.

Shannon traced fingers back up the taut stomach to tease the other breast as her right hand continued to blaze a trail northward. It was a tight fit, but not uncomfortable, as she worked her way down and felt moisture. She moaned at what she felt. "You're so wet," she murmured, immersing her fingers in the slickness. The redhead felt her lover's hips move and she heard a sighing moan. With slow, measured strokes she matched her movement to Dusky's.

The dark woman rode her lover's hand, her fists digging into the bedding on either side of her. A warm mouth and hand never stopped their own attentions on her throat and breast, kneading, licking, fondling, nibbling. A thumb found the raw bundle of nerves at her center, driving Dusky even further in her passion.

For her part, the redhead reveled in the woman flexing and moaning under her hands. This is it. This is the dream. She released a nipple long enough to guide those beautiful lips towards her own, taking her princess, owning her. As she felt Dusky reach the edge, she broke off the kiss and growled passionately into her ear, "You're mine, princess. Come for me."

Dusky froze, barely hearing, as she fell over the precipice. "Preciada!" she called out, muscles clenching as she felt wave after wave of sensation roll through her body. Her lover continued her ministrations, encouraging yet a second orgasm to shudder through her body, before slowing and finally stopping.

As her lover fell back against her, Shannon propped herself against the headboard, keeping her arms wrapped around the dark woman. "I love you, princess."

The Flight

"Alright, I want everything in position by oh three hundred," McAndrews growled to one of his aides.

The captain dutifully took down notes. "Yes, sir. I'll have the message encrypted and sent out."

The general chewed on the ever present stylus. Damn, what I wouldn't give for a cigarette! His office was lit by two lanterns, the electrical and phone lines useless. In place of his phone was a battery powered field unit, an archaic piece of equipment that had long ago been abandoned in favor of the newfangled contraptions of the 21st century. "Thank God, Uncle Sam doesn't throw anything away," he mumbled to himself.

"Sir?" the aide asked.

McAndrews looked up sharply. "Nothing. Talking to myself. It's called senility."

"Yes, sir."

He sighed and removed the stylus from his teeth. "We attack at dawn. Make sure the proper attack codes get out there." He turned towards the window, watching dusk fall. "Damn, I hate short-wave radios."

As darkness began to fall in Boise, the two women wandered back into the living area of the safe house, arms around each other, the smell of food beckoning them.

Remy sat at a table in the kitchen area, solemnly peeling potatoes, as Liz sliced them up and set them to frying on a propane camp stove. Tank was still working on his computers, though he had apparently decided that they weren't worth the effort to fix. The two that had been infected were now at his other work station where he was dismantling them for salvage.

Shake was peering at a book as he sat on the couch, occasionally moving his free hand and studying its position. He glanced up at the women and grinned. He winked at Dusky and said, "You relaxed now?"

"Very," she responded, smiling rakishly back and squeezing her lover's waist. There was an answering squeeze and she looked down into royal blue eyes, a faint blush tinting the fair skin. Her smile softened as she imagined small wolfprint tattoos on the courier's face. Mine, her eyes said.

Mine, was the answer.

"It's getting on towards dark, Dusk," Remy called from his seat. "Figured out what we're gonna do, yet?"

The pack leader tore herself away from her preciada with regret. She ran long fingers through her dark hair and moved closer to her uncle. "There was a lot of damage to the gate out there. I figure our chances are pretty good getting out that way." She settled down in another chair, leaning elbows on knees. "Has there been any word from the outside?"

Shake, Tank, and Shannon moved towards the conversation. The redhead stood behind Dusky, gently rubbing the woman's shoulders. Tank pulled up a third chair and straddled it as the teenager leaned against the counter.

Liz stirred the frying food with a spatula. "Actually, we were able to pick up a little bit from a short-wave we keep for emergencies," she said. "Can't seem to pick up much outside of Boise, but we've gotten several reports from inside the city." She adjusted the flame and covered the pan, turning around to face the younger woman. "Apparently, the Corps attacked from two sides - this gate getting the worst of the assault. No other gates were messed with that we know of."

"There's rioting, of course. Looting," Remy continued. "It'll be getting more violent once the sun goes down. Don't know how many of Uncle Sam's people made it through the attack - not many, I suspect."

The group considered their friend and packmate, Delva, solemnly.

Tank's hands began their dance and Shake stared at them intently. Liz said, "At least we're in a good location. Not many people will be looting houses just yet. Most of the stuff's gonna happen outside of the residential areas."

"True," Dusky said. She chewed over the scanty information she had. Gotta get preciada outta the city and away from both factions. One decently damaged gate and lots of rioting in the streets to keep Corps distracted. "Anybody hear anything from outside?"

Liz blew out a breath and scrubbed at her face. "Not really. I've gotten some garbled stuff. It was kinda hard to understand." She brushed her white hair out of her eyes. "We're not the only ones without power. I think it's pretty widespread. That virus took a lot of systems down, Uncle's and Corps'."

Remy finished his chore and set the knife he had been using on the table. He rose and went to the sink to rinse his hands. "You know that Uncle Sam ain't gonna let this ride. They're gonna take the city back, even if it's in pieces."

Tank and Dusky both nodded in agreement. "It's just a matter of time before Uncle Sam sets up a form of communication and gets their troops in place," the dark woman said. She considered for a moment. "Probably at dawn tomorrow. That should have given them enough time to do something about it. And," she offered with a glance at her uncle, "if I know Corps, they've already sent reinforcements here."

Remy nodded at her.

Dusky sighed and leaned back into the gentle caresses on her shoulders. "Let's bail late at night, early morning - before Uncle Sam has a chance to attack. If we make it out, their attack will help cover our tracks."

"Sounds good," Shake said. "What about Delva?"

The pack leader scowled. "He's a grown man. He can take care of himself." I hope, she added. "If he's made it this far, he should be okay. He'll meet up with us when he can." She looked Liz and Tank over in speculation. "You two wanna chip in with us?"

Liz's eyebrows raised in surprise at the invitation. "Um.... I dunno." She glanced at her husband. "We'll have to talk about it."

Dusky nodded. "Alright. Let me know before we leave. You two are good in a firefight. We could use ya." She stood and stretched. "Now where's this short-wave radio you're talking about?"

Delva huddled in the basement of a house on the north side. Surrounding him were members of his platoon - what was left of them. About fifteen had made it through the bombing and subsequent battles at the various gates.

"Dammit! I say we cut and run! Corps ain't gonna give a shit!" said one of the men.

"No way! I'm no coward!" another responded.

This verbal battle had lasted far longer than any fight the group had been involved with. Their superiors were dead and now they drifted with no direction.

"What do you say, featherhead?" a third asked. "You outrank us all at this point."

Delva grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him as he stood until toes were dangling inches above the concrete floor. "First, I say that my name is Featherman, and don't you forget it," he growled. At the man's strangled agreement, he released him, dropping him to the ground with a thump. He looked around the basement, watching wary eyes regard his large form. "Second, I say we killfile two scripts with one proggie. Let's get out of the city and hook up with Uncle Sam at Mt. Home."

There was a muttered round of agreement and Delva squatted down again. Time to make some plans.

Darkness fell over the country in a thick blanket of chaos. It covered half the United States, reaching from the virus' origin in Boise, Idaho, to Colorado, Texas, and nearly to the Great Lakes. There were some vague meanderings on news programs on the east coast, but the urgency of the situation was lost from the lack of comprehension, the inability to understand just how extensive this computer virus was.

And America wasn't the only one suffering. Large portions of South and Latin America were experiencing the same problems, the virus having found its way through corporation and governmental computers to the country's allies. In Europe, Paris was burning and the pope was unable to give comforting words to his worldwide flock.

Some countries appeared to be unaffected, however. Canada being the primary one, despite its proximity. Australia, India, the British Isles, South Africa. There were a few other scattered countries in the Eastern bloc, as well. Somehow, walls had been erected in the cyberworld, causing the virus to crash uselessly against them.

But, the virus wasn't particular. So long as there was some way to move, to multiply, it did - washing uselessly up against the barriers that had been put in its path, rampaging on like a wild river successfully diverted to other places. And multiply it did.

The nomads finished their meal, Shannon and Dusky helping Liz clean up. Tank had returned to his beloved computers while Shake and Remy went to the back room to get their gear gathered up for the coming assault on the gate.

"So," Shannon said. "How long have you and Tank been together?" she asked the older woman, taking a stab at making conversation. Her lover was currently doing her 'Big Bad Pack Leader' rendition and hadn't spoken more than two words after they had begun eating.

"About seven years," Liz replied, handing over a foil wrapped package for the redhead to put in the refrigerator. "I came up from Laca, searching for this badass hacker who messed with my friends," she continued with a small smile. She chuckled. "It was love at first sight."

"Really?" Shannon asked.

"No." Liz laughed. "He seemed to think so. I sure as hell didn't. I just wanted to mess up his deck and go back home." She shrugged. "Couldn't get past his security."

Tank rapped on the table to get her attention, signing away with a grin.

"Yeah, yeah," Liz laughed good naturedly. "He says he had to do something to keep me coming back. Well, it worked!" Finishing with their work, she wiped her hands off and approached the large man. "Next thing I know, I'm moving in with him and becoming his personal techie."

The other women followed her into the room, Dusky sprawling on the couch and Shannon perching on the arm next to her. A possessive arm draped itself across the courier's thigh, the hand caressing her kneecap. Shannon ran her fingers through dark hair.

"Do you think you'll come with us?" Shannon asked the couple.

The man and woman looked at each other. "Well," Liz started, "it really depends on this virus. If it ain't too bad, there's no reason we can't continue on here."

"And if it is?" Dusky drawled, silver/green eyes watching the couple steadily.

"Well, then --" Liz froze at the sound of a door slamming upstairs.

Dusky shot out of her seat, pistol drawn. Remy and Shake silently made their way into the main room. With a grace and silence that belied his size, Tank also rose and moved over to the ladder, picking up his rifle along the way.

The group could hear the floorboards above them creak as the intruder slowly walked across the room above. Shannon could follow the person's progress with her eyes, matching the noise and the shuffling location.

Whoever it was stopped upon reaching the closet door. Tank took the safety off of the rifle and brought it up to his shoulder, sighting the door overhead.

Shannon found a .45 put into her hand and felt a strong hand guide her quietly to stand behind the pack leader. She glanced at Liz and found the older woman pointing a rifle that could easily have been referred to as an 'elephant' gun in days of yore. The other two nomads were positioned to triangulate their fire with Tank's.

There was a soft rapping on the door above, a staccato of sound that varied and lasted for nearly a minute.

Tank grinned and brought his rifle down, setting it against the wall before surging up the ladder to the door.

Liz was smiling as well. At Dusky's sharp look, she assured, "It's okay. It's a friend."

The nomads slowly relaxed their stances but didn't put their weapons away. They watched as Tank unlocked the door and scrambled back down. Seconds later, another large man came down into the room.

"Delva!" Shannon exclaimed.

The big nomad grinned, hands held away from his body. "Well, who the hell else did ya expect?"

It was nearly three in the morning when the pack was ready to go. Dusky stood on guard with the others as Shannon, Tank and Liz finished packing the couple's things into Delva's riot car.

The news from the big Wolf hadn't been good. Boise was going to become a bloodbath as the two sides of the civil war took out their frustrations on each other. The only safe place to be was somewhere else. There weren't enough Corps personnel to keep the city easily and Uncle Sam was going to throw it's relatively hefty weight around. It was a sure bet.

Further out in the lot, hidden from normal eyesight, were four soldiers - part of Delva's fire team. The other two teams were already in position, he had said. They were preparing to take the gate and escape. Dusky had no trouble keeping an eye on them with her infrared optic. According to Delva, these were the last of Uncle Sam's troops in the city, the last of his platoon. Their survival lay in the hands of a few soldiers that had been out for Shannon's blood.

She didn't trust them.

Glowing red behind her was the downtown area. Fires had been started from the rioting and looting and the sounds of angry voices and gunfire drifted easily towards them. Even this far away, the smell of smoke and blood assailed her nostrils.

"We're ready to roll," Shannon said softly as she approached the darker woman.

Dusky nodded and looked over to her packmates. Without a word, they mounted their motorcycles. Liz and Tank were already inside the riot car, starting it up.

Delva trotted over to his pack leader. "Give us five minutes to get there. We're on foot. Then, the riot car comes behind us and you three behind it."

Nodding in agreement, Dusky kick started her bike. He jogged away, calling his fireteam together and the five soldiers moved north.

With a smile of reassurance, the dark woman helped Shannon get on behind her. She put the .45 back into the woman's hands. "Don't fail to use this if you need it," she said over her shoulder, a serious green eye mock glaring at her.

Shannon swallowed. "I won't." She gripped the pistol tightly and wrapped her arms around her lover's waist, leaning her head against leather clad shoulders.

Dusky steered her motorcycle towards the riot car. When Tank opened the window, she glanced in at the two of them. "Ready to go?" At his answering nod, she said, "Okay then. Let's do it. You're in the lead."

Another nod at the riot car pulled away, flanked by Shake and Remy with Dusky bringing up the rear.

Delva paused his fire team about a block and a half away from the gate. He sent two of his men to either side, signaling his other teams to begin their attack. Even as his men returned, he saw the beginning of the assault on the wounded gate before them.

One of the two gate towers had been completely burned to the ground in the previous attack by Corps. The other was burnt so badly, its usefulness was hardly an issue. A hastily erected guard shack had been set up to the right of the gate, in front of the decimated tower. Two machinegun nests had been built on either side of the road, as well. Aside from the manning of the machineguns, there appeared to be four Corps shock troopers hanging out in front of the wire contraption that had been placed across the road.

The fireteam to his right, B Team, swung in a hair earlier than the one on his left, A Team. Within seconds, the shocktroopers were aware of an attack as their machinegun nest on the right exploded with a large report. Another explosion occurred to the left, but the gunner in the sandbagged area was uninjured and opened fire on A Team. Even as the shocktroopers in the open dived for cover, two soldiers from A were killed, falling to the ground in a hail of bullets.

The three remaining members of A split up. One dodged right, firing his rifle and nailing two of the shocktroopers before they could reach any sort of cover. As the middle soldier sprayed rounds at the machinegun nest, his buddy went to the left and was able to get close enough to toss a grenade into the hole. The nest exploded in flame and there were screams as bodies flew out of it.

The two remaining shocktroopers had finally made it to the relative safety of the machinegun nest on the right. To their surprise, the weapon was still in firing condition, having suffered no damage from the explosive round that had been lobbed into it at the beginning of the fight. As B Team neared them, one of the troopers laughed and opened fire. Three of Uncle Sam's soldiers danced as the rounds perforated their bodies. The other two dived for cover. One of the soldiers tossed a second grenade into the nest, taking the entire thing out for the second time.

The three remaining members of A Team finally reached the gate only to discover that there were two more machinegunners on the other side. Alerted by the noise of the battle behind them, the troopers outside the gate had had time to reverse their positions. One soldier of A dashed around the corner of the ruined tower, receiving a rash of bullets in his chest for his troubles. His remaining friends reversed their direction, ending up in the destroyed machinegun nest on the left.

After a quick conference and an examination of the machinegun, the two soldiers burst out from their cover, making a break for the gate. One fired the machinegun, the other his rifle until they got within sight of the nest on the other side. The second soldier fired a grenade into the position, whooping as it took the nest out. Their joy didn't last long, however, as a second machinegun outside the gate cut them down.

"Sir!" The aide rushed into the makeshift office.

"What, captain? We attack in less than an hour. What else is there?" McAndrews growled, looking up from the city map he was studying. The ever present stylus was moving furiously around between his teeth.

"There's fighting at one of the gates, sir! Explosions, gunfire."

The general stopped chewing and blinked. "Any idea who it is?"

"No, sir. We can't get a good ID on them. Whoever it is is giving the Corps hell, though, sir."

"Show me which gate!" McAndrews ordered.

The aide moved forward and eagerly pointed out the position.

The general studied the map, eyes narrowed, stylus moving. "Everything's in place?"

"Yes, sir."

With a satisfied nod, he removed the stylus and pursed his lips. "Roust the men. We attack in five minutes." As the aide blinked at him, he barked, "Now, man!"

"Y... y... Yes, sir!" The captain ran out of the room.

"Let's kick some Corporation butt."

Now aware of the danger lying outside the gates, the remaining members of A Team carefully moved along the wall towards the half ruined tower. They stopped at the machinegun nest along the way, only to be disappointed that the weapon was useless.

Delva looked behind him and saw the approaching vehicles of his pack. "Finally," he breathed. "Okay, fellahs, let's go in there and kick some butt!" With a yell, he lead his fireteam down the middle of the street towards the gate, firing his rifle on automatic at the remaining machinegunners. One shocktrooper raised his head at an unfortunate time and lost it, a round taking out his brain.

The machinegunner opened fire, taking out two members of C Team as the three others scattered to either side of the road. Behind them, the well protected riot car roared forward, its own gunports blazing.

Overhead, missiles could be heard whistling through the air to explode inside the city. As the riot car took out the final resistance and smashed through the gate, another missile could be heard as it neared. The three motorcycles followed it through the gate, as well as the remaining five members of Uncle Sam's garrison.

And the gate exploded as McAndrews' orders were followed, a massive fireball reaching up into the dark early morning sky.

CyberEpic continues in Future

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