Night Skies Hotel IX: Tears Of The Giants free porn video

Night Skies Hotel IX: Tears of the Giants By Solari Historian's note: This story is set during the "modern" era of the Night Skies Hotel; specifically, from May 2006 through September 2006. It isn't necessary to have read the other NSH stories in order to appreciate this one, but there are some references to events and characters from those stories. Credit for the songs "I Know You're Out There Somewhere" and "I'll Be There" go to The Moody Blues and Escape Club, respectively. *** "All of our victories are ephemeral. Only our defeats are final." - Brigadier General Gil Cel *** "All units, return to the rendezvous point. I repeat, all units return to the rendezvous point." The transmission - coded so that the natives couldn't decipher it, let alone pick it out from the snarl of electronic communications engulfing their world - droned on, the speaker's voice strong, steady and very masculine. "Close-up observations have confirmed the initial findings of the long-range probes: This timeline is of no interest to the Patriarchy." The Panther's pilot watched silently, via his heads-up display, as thirteen blue dots representing a squadron of cloaked Panthers - each carrying a team of observers - closed in on the rendezvous point, emerging from hidden roosts across the planet. He activated his comlink. "Master baron, my crew and I request permission to remain over our sector." "Reason?" "Nothing major, milord," the pilot reported, "just some discrepancies between what the probes mapped and what our own scans are showing. Probably just some new construction since the probes were here." "Very well, then," the master baron said after a lengthy pause. "Don't dawdle, dostum. Our Vanguard battle group is due for some rest and relaxation on Terra in two days." The crew's faces lit up upon hearing his words; the dostum didn't miss their reaction. "Milord," he said, unable to keep a smile from slipping into his voice, "we wouldn't miss an opportunity to visit the primeline for anything. It's been too long since we had a chance to kick back with a woman on each arm." "I thought as much," the master baron harrumphed. "Then it's settled. I shall see you on the other side, brothers!" With that, the thirteen blue dots vanished, one by one, from the dostum's heads-up display, slipping into a small, discreet gateway. The dostum's smile disappeared with the last of the Panthers, as did the crew's joviality. He looked at them - five in all, each trained for infiltration, espionage and sabotage on top of the usual military prowess - and nodded curtly. "We've got duties to attend to and a deadline to beat," he said simply. "Let's do it, brothers." *** "For the umpteenth time, it's Enlil. Not Earth. Not Terra. Not Gaia." Skye's exasperation punctuated each word. "The people of this timeline call their world Enlil." "Enlil? Why on Earth did they ..." Skye glanced at Marissa and brought a finger to her lips as she pulled the green, steam-powered sedan into the mall's parking lot. Depowering the sedan, she favored the dancer - Former dancer, she mentally corrected herself - with a frosty look. "I haven't the faintest idea why this timeline gave itself the Sumerian name for Earth and, frankly, I don't care to learn because it has no bearing on the mission ..." her voice trailed off as her eyes narrowed. "Didn't they teach you anything during those preparatory classes in the Night Skies Hotel?" "Uh-huh," Marissa said innocently. "New pole positions and the latest sexual techniques." Her emerald-green eyes glimmered mischievously. "Schooling ain't what it used to be, is it?" Skye sighed as realization dawned. "You two are playing with me again, aren't you?" "We had you going for at least ten minutes this time!" Megan piped up, unable to contain her laughter any longer. "Come on, Skye. Do you really think we would've been cleared to join this mission with you as observers if the Queen Dominus and guild mistresses didn't feel we were up to the task?" "Score one for the neophytes," Skye said. "It's just that this is a major operation to ..." "Gather intelligence on the Patriarchy from a source who claims to have the inside scoop on one of their major secrets," Marissa finished solemnly. "And you're feeling the pressure of being the mission's leader not only because of its importance, but because you're responsible for us as well," Megan added. She gazed knowingly at Skye. "How's that for summing up your feelings?" Skye nodded ever so slowly. "Not bad, not bad at all." She cracked a small smile. "I guess those classes did teach you two a thing or two." A tapping sound interrupted their conversation. The trio turned toward the driver's side window, where a woman clad in what appeared to be a police officer's uniform stood, nightstick in hand. "Is everything all right in there?" she asked in a muffled voice. Skye rolled her window down, making sure to keep her hands in full view as, out of her peripheral vision, she saw the officer had a companion. A big guy, he was on the other side of the sedan, watching closely, his hand never straying too far from what appeared to be a gun belt. "We're quite fine, ma'am," she said apologetically. "We didn't mean to arouse your suspicions. We'll be on our way." "Not so fast. Your IDs, please." Skye gave the woman a plastic-and-metal card, as did Marissa and Megan. The trio prayed the Science Guild had done its homework as the police officer closely examined the cards, then passed them through a bulky reader. "You're all cleared," she said, handing the cards back. "Have a pleasant day, citizens." With that she was gone, as was her partner, leaving nary an explanation for the seemingly random ID check. "That was unsettling," Marissa said, her voice subdued. "The instructors weren't kidding when they said this timeline was paranoid," Megan added. Skye nodded. "A world divided into hostile power blocs will do that to its inhabitants," she said. "Be thankful the contact didn't want to meet us in a library. The powers that be really keep those places under the microscope." Marissa and Megan nodded their assent as the women exited their sedan, its steam engine still hissing softly and popping as it settled down. They wound their way through foot traffic into the bustling Mall of America lookalike, and immediately noticed a common motif. There were cameras all over the place. *** The football field-sized space station serenely orbited Enlil. Shaped like a bicycle wheel, its four primary spokes converged on a hub that was anything but serene as its crew struggled to solve something of a mystery. "Anything new on that reading, captain?" "No, sir. Our specialists are still trying to refine the data but ...," he shrugged his shoulders, " ...it's not looking good." It wasn't what Brigadier General Gil Cel wanted to hear. He floated, weightless, through the space station's command chamber to where the row of specialists sat, strapped in. Their shoulders tensed as their frustrated commanding officer slipped his booted feet into special floor anchors and stood behind them next to the captain. He wasn't going anywhere. "High command in Philadelphia is breathing down my neck on this one," he said. "I need to give them something. They're afraid the SinoBloc might be up to mischief again." "General," the captain began, "I wish I had better news, but I don't. The specialists have been using every trick in the book to glean something - anything! - new on what it was the scanner picked up." He ran his hands through his thinning hair. "Sir, it doesn't help matters any that this is one-of-a-kind experimental technology, and that whatever that return was, it was detectable for less than a tenth of a second. We ..." "Sirs!" It was one of the specialists. "I think I've got something!" The wide-eyed, young man turned toward his superior officers. Gil nodded. "Go ahead, son. Tell us what you got." "It took a lot of digging and cross-referencing, but I believe I've found the source of the return." Everyone in the command chamber stared expectantly at the specialist. He gulped, then plowed on. "Sirs, it's in a LaGrange Point. Specifically, the L5 position." "That's impossible!" the captain rumbled. "No bloc has anything that far out from Enlil!" The general frowned, deep in thought. LaGrange Points were where the gravitational forces and orbital motion among celestial bodies - in this case, Sol, Enlil and Nanna - balanced each other out. His frown deepened. Such points, if made accessible, would be ideal locations for a range of space-based applications. And since no bloc had the ability to scan the LaGrange Points in detail - of which there were five of them, not all stable - they would be invaluable for things that, well, perhaps a bloc didn't want its foes to know about. "Let's not be so hasty, Najjar," Gil said, using the captain's given name. "The technological race among the blocs never ends." He nodded toward the specialists. "That scanner of ours is proof of that." He turned to the captain. "Who's to say the Euro-IndoBloc - or worse, the SinoBloc - didn't have a breakthrough of some sort that gave it the ability to take advantage of the LaGrange Points?" "Personally, I think everyone underestimates the IncaBloc but ...," he shrugged, "... there's a reason you're a brigadier general, Gil. You've earned it, and, for what it's worth, the crew and I will back you all the way if you take this to the high command." The general smiled. "That's always good to hear," he said. He turned toward the row of specialists. "Is the scanner's recalibration process finished yet?" Five nods, all in unison. "Then let's probe that LaGrange Point a few more times just to be safe. Patience, after all, has won our bloc more than a few battles over the last century." Gil disengaged himself from the floor anchors. "In the meantime, I get to baby-sit Philadelphia." He floated toward the main exit. "They're as jumpy down there as they've ever been." *** "Your scientists swear upon their lives to the Champions that the latest information is accurate?" The life-size hologram of Grand Fleet Lord Devus shimmered slightly as the pair of fleet lords, on bended knee before him, nodded at once. He sneered, his smooth, tanned skin moving fluidly over well-defined facial muscles. "I guess that old adage - never send a robot to do a man's work - holds true after all." He gestured dismissively. "Reinforcements will be dispatched shortly. Meanwhile, prepare your battle groups for action." *** Omri moved as best he could through the mall's crowded corridors - as wide as they were, they weren't wide enough to handle weekend traffic, insofar as he was concerned. He came up with new and inventive invectives for the mall's architects every time he bumped into another hapless soul. He was up to twelve - "Oomph! My apologies, ma'am!" - no, make that thirteen, invectives now. "I see them!" Tristan Nazir's voice sounded loud in Omri's ears, coming as it did from a period-sized nano-like device affixed to his eardrum. "Three women straight ahead in the primary food court. The computer's matched their facial details with what we have on record." Omri pretended to clear his throat as he spoke to his sub-dostum via the faux wedding band. "Good to hear. Now, get into position. I don't want any surprises!" Obviously, he wasn't alone; he had allies to ensure nothing untoward happened. Like a squad of Patriarchal shock troops beaming in unexpectedly from a parallel timeline and raising havoc. It would be a lethal mistake to underestimate the capabilities of the Intelligence Directorate, as more than a few would-be James Bond-types had learned to their eternal regret. Omri really wished he could call upon the full extent of his abilities - it might give him the extra second or two he needed to avoid such a nightmare scenario - but blending in was of paramount importance. After all, catching the attention of this timeline's paranoid authorities was just about as bad as getting caught in an ambush. Omri sized up the women with nanite-enhanced eyes as he entered the vast and chaotic food court. They were seated at the far side and, as was typical of the Sisterhood, were glorious specimens of femininity: thick, curly locks of jet-black hair spilled past their shoulders, touching the tops of full, generous breasts - covered, thankfully - whose dark nipples and aerolae were obvious, even through the fabric. Don't they know what bras are? Omri asked himself. Probably not. They don't seem to need them. Aside from their hourglass figures, their most alluring attraction had to be their faces. So soft and oval-shaped, with perky noses, expressive, emerald-green eyes, full, pouty, moist red-lipsticked lips ... Snap out of it, soldier! Omri chided himself. By the gods, looks can be deceiving! Their very beauty and seemingly utter femininity were weapons of sorts, keeping opponents, real or perceived, off-balance until the trap was sprung, and the foolish male was killed or, worse, became one of them. Careful, Omri, he told himself. Don't let the propaganda color your views about them. Sure, they have their problems, but so does anyone else who's human. A third of the way into the food court, Omri cast a few discreet glances; reassuringly, his quad of allies were scattered within the crowds, doing middling impressions of long-suffering husbands waiting for their wives to return from shopping. Omri squared his shoulders and strode forward, the code phrase echoing over and over in his mind: "I'd take a glass of Gaian wine over a bottle of Wild Woman any day of the week." *** "We're returning to Timeline 0579 in force." Master Baron Kian Saber remained at attention as his fleet lord's deep, melodious voice filled the flag officer's private chamber. "You're the first line officer to be informed of this development." "May I ask why, milord?" The fleet lord, his face obscured by shadows, inclined his head. "It's a reward, of sorts. The information relayed by your observers proved to be more enlightening than first thought." "I was led to believe that Enlil was of no interest to us, that we had other timelines of more importance to bring to heel." "That was what the battle group's scientists thought as well," the fleet lord confirmed, "until, on a lark, they examined an anomalous blip in the data stream." He smiled as the line officer's interest visibly picked up. "It turns out, master baron, that Enlil's crust is shot through with teridium." Kian's eyes widened as the implication hit home. "Project Starbridge!" "Precisely. Teridium, and a lot of it, is the element they've been looking for," the fleet lord said. "With it, they can strengthen the materials they're working with tenfold!" He leaned forward, his face coming into the light, revealing a twisted and horribly scarred visage, with a milky white eye offsetting a black one. "Now go, Master Baron Kian Saber. The squadron you're attached to is being refitted for combat, and shall be part of the first assault wave!" "I still have a crew finishing its survey over a part of Enlil, milord." "Order them to rendezvous with the battle groups when they come through," the fleet lord said, his face once again hidden by the shadows. "They, too, shall be a part of history." *** "Skye, I'm picking up five signatures," Megan said softly as she adjusted what outwardly appeared to be a trinket of cheap jewelry on her left wrist. "They're closing in on our position." With an almost imperceptible nod, Skye discreetly checked her timepiece - which really did much more than keep track of time - and pursed her lips. "They're unarmed, just as we were told they would be." "Why so many?" It was Marissa, her emerald-green eyes scanning the crowds, watchful for any sign of danger. She had taken her classroom lessons to heart. Skye took a sip from her drink. "They're fulfilling the same function you two are - they're observers, making sure all is as advertised." She grinned savagely at her sisters. "I'd do the same if I were approaching gorgeous women whose bodies were known biological weapons." The women checked their modified comsigs again; the five blips were still there, albeit a hundred or so feet closer. The devices had been altered by the Science Guild to detect quantum signatures that didn't correspond with native timelines. It was part of a larger effort to thwart Patriarchal infiltration efforts after one too many had succeeded - such as with the Blue Eagle Hotel - resulting in great destruction and greater loss of life. It's show time, sisters, Skye relayed telepathically as she looked up from the comsig, the nearest blip resolving into the shape of a well-muscled, lean-faced black man. She smiled sweetly at the escort. He didn't return the smile. *** "Dostum!" The voice belonged to the crew member who had remained behind on the Panther, monitoring the overall situation. "We've been ordered to end the survey and return to the rendezvous point immediately!" Omri stopped in his tracks. "Why?!" Ahead of him, one of the women was smiling at his sub-dostum. "We're so damn close!" He ignored the odd looks passersby gave him. "Battle groups, sir," the man said softly, amazement in his voice as he listened to the automated signal burst from Master Baron Kian Saber. "Twenty of them! They're coming through in less than an hour!" Omri's face went white. That was more than enough firepower to level a planet like Enlil. Something big was going down. "We've got to get out of here, and fast!" He pressed one of the faux diamonds on the equally faux wedding band. It was the abort signal. *** The unsmiling black man was gone in the blink of an eye. "What the ...?!" Skye looked around, bewildered, seeing no sign of him or, for that matter, the others. She looked at her comsig, which showed five blips, all right, but now they were moving away faster than they had approached. "They're running!" Her heart sank at the implication. "Damn! We were this close to making contact!" "They were Patriarchy!" Marissa added in a stunned tone. "Their quantum signatures all but screamed Terra!" Skye nodded. In the few moments she had seen the black man, it had been obvious, even without comsig confirmation. It was something about the way they carried themselves, how they all had a lean, hungry look about them. Like lions in perpetual pursuit of prey. "I ... I'm afraid," Megan said softly, her training cracking ever so slightly. "This wasn't supposed to happen!" Skye swore under her breath, her mind racing. Everything was going to hell in a handbasket, as the people of Timeline 0600 were fond of saying. I'm not going to relish explaining this one to the Queen Dominus and the guild mistresses. Aloud, "We're getting out of here while we still can - there's a reason our contact fled, and I bet it had nothing to do with us." *** "Our scans just detected something odd, captain," the specialist said. He pointed to the monitor before him as Najjar floated over. "This data fluctuation indicates that, for less than an instant, something in the L5 point gave off a burst of energy. That's strange, sir, but what's even stranger is that the computer doesn't recognize what kind of energy it is." Najjar rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Scuttlebutt has it the SinoBloc is testing a new type of technology that weaponizes light," he said. "A secret lab in a supposedly inaccessible LaGrange Point would be the ideal location for such experimentation." The computer chirped. The specialist and the captain turned their attention to the monitor, as did others in the command chamber. Their jaws dropped as not one, but two data spikes appeared as the L5 point was scanned again. These fluctuations, however, were far from being nearly imperceptible - they were big, bold and stood out like a bull in a china shop. "Sir, the energy readings are off the scale!" The specialist's voice was filled with tightly controlled awe. "There's another spike!" Najjar didn't mince words. "Go to high alert. NOW!" the captain barked. Klaxons sounded - WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! - and lighting levels went blood-red. Najjar smiled grimly, knowing the general was already on his way to the command chamber, conference call with high command in Philadelphia be damned. *** Master Baron Kian Saber stared at the Panther's oversized tactical display as, outside the small, black, ovoid ship, a city-sized shadow cut through the abyss of space. He smiled as the magnificent Vanguard - shaped like a black, equilateral triangle with gray, skyscraper-like towers crowding its upper surface - moved into the display's field of view, surrounded by what appeared to be a swarm of gnats. In reality, they were Stingrays, Dragonflies, other Panthers and battle group support craft. A second battle group moved into view. Then a third. Space ahead of the master baron's Panther was literally choked with ships locked in an intricate dance with each other. "Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six." Kian lended his voice to the countdown. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One." A seemingly infinitesimal pause. "Zero." Multiple energy whirlpools coalesced ahead of the battle groups, burrowing through the permeable fabric of space and time separating timelines 0549 and 0579. The microscopic-sized, multi-colored whirlpools didn't remain that size for long, growing by leaps and bounds in less than the blink of an eye, turning blindingly white as their intensity strengthened. In less than seven seconds, breakthrough was achieved and the maws of ravening energy settled down into stable, monochromatic gateways. The battle groups surged forward, slipping into the transit points. Kian felt the Panther tremble ever so slightly as its power levels soared. On the tactical display, he saw his own Vanguard battle group - the most powerful of the twenty, and deliberately left to bring up the rear - moving, engines alight. The Panther, slaved to the Vanguard, moved in lockstep with its battle group. He gazed at his crew as they worked industriously, monitoring systems and going over, once again, strategic and tactical plans regarding Timeline 0579. It was a scene, Kian knew, that was being duplicated on each and every ship as a war plan customized for Enlil - based on all the intelligence the Patriarchy had of the onetime backwater timeline - was rehearsed one last time. "Soon, my brothers," he boomed, "we shall have the honor of leading the first atmospheric assault against our newest serfs!" He chuckled. "It's just too damn bad Dostum Omri Drang and his crew are going to miss out on all the fun!" *** "I can't believe this," Skye muttered, her fingers stroking the locket looped around her neck. "The beacon isn't working! It's powering up, but it's almost like something's having a dampening effect on it!" Marissa and Megan exchanged knowing looks. Unless Skye could activate the beacon, there would be no retrieval attempt. They would be marooned in a wild timeline. The former dancers had always known the possibility of being stranded existed - their instructors had been brutally honest with their students - but, knowing it was an incredibly rare from a statistical standpoint, had opted to continue their training. After all, what were the odds it would ever happen to them? Well, Marissa thought, it seems the odds have an odd way of catching up with oneself at the most inopportune of times. The trio of women were hurrying toward their steamer sedan, struggling to pass through crowds that stretched all the way out into the parking lot. More than a few pedestrians were unceremoniously shoved aside as desperation lengthened their strides and shortened their tempers. Whatever it was that sent a team of Patriarchal fifth columnists fleeing was something not to be taken lightly. Did someone betray them? Megan thought. Are they being hunted down one by one even now? Did they ... "Skye. Megan. We've got company!" It was Marissa. She gestured in the direction of their vehicle. "It's our friends from earlier in the day." The secret police woman and her hulking partner were not fazed in the least by the irritated look Skye directed their way as the trio came to a stop before them. "May we be of assistance, officers?" Skye asked neutrally. "This vehicle is stolen," the female secret police officer said brusquely. "Care to explain?" "What?!" The accusation befuddled Skye for only an instant, but it was enough to raise the officers' paranoia to a new level. After all, one never knew in today's world when a rival bloc might be trying to sneak a few espionage types in. Or, worse, terrorists. This was Philadelphia, after all, the bloc's capital. "We purchased this steamer sedan fair and square from a dealership!" Skye said truthfully. Whether the business had been legitimate, of course, never crossed the minds of the Sisterhood's operatives. They had had more pressing matters on their minds at the time. "We've got the papers to prove it, too!" "Tell it to my superiors," the secret police woman replied icily. Her voice became more formal, "In the name of the AmerBloc Police and Security Agency, you're under arrest." She gestured at her partner. "Cuff 'em, Danno." "We don't have time for this," Skye murmured, almost regretfully, glancing around to make sure they were alone. Her right arm blurred, then came up fluidly, a small gun in her hand. Danno's eyes widened in the instant before he was cut down, struck by a bolt of golden energy. With nary a word, Skye turned on his partner and fired again. She collapsed against the sedan, her fingers still wrapped limply around her service weapon, some sort of slugthrower. "C'mon, help me drag their bodies away from the vehicle!" Skye commanded. Marissa and Megan complied. "Are ... are they dead?" Megan asked afterward, looking briefly back at the still forms as she joined Skye and Marissa in the sedan. "No. Just stunned," Skye said curtly as she slammed the door shut and fired up the steamer. "We're not the Patriarchy. Never forget that." *** "What are they?" Gil murmured as he floated in the command chamber with Najjar and a dozen others. Although nothing was physically visible through the thick viewports, it was a different story with the experimental scanner. The monitors showed what it had detected - twenty massive, triangle-shaped objects, each surrounded by clouds of smaller returns. "The damn things are the size of small cities!" A woman's voice crackled over the chamber's intercom. "Status report, brigadier general!" It was Philadelphia. "What's going on up there?!" "We're still trying to figure that out, madam president." "Make it quick! It's getting dangerous down here! Every bloc is up in arms!" There was a burst of noise in the background; the president's voice came back, obviously distracted. "What?! Reassure the IncaBloc ambassador we had nothing to do with this!" A short pause. "And order the SumerBloc to stop probing our air defenses - that is, unless they want us to use their precious bombers for target practice!" Gil glanced a specialist, who shook his head forlornly. "The ships have no matches in any of the databases," he reported. "The same holds true with composition and energy output." He shrugged. "At best, sir, I can guess that the ships are built from some sort of exotic metal, maybe related to titanium, but the energy?" He threw up his hands. "It's beyond any of us!" The general steeped his fingers, choosing his words carefully. "Madam president, I believe we're facing a first-contact situation with an unknown, starfaring civilization." His words left a shocked silence in the command chamber. "You've seen the data," he reasoned. "Couple that with the reaction from the other blocs, and it leads to one logical conclusion. Those ships out there did not originate anywhere on or near Enlil." Her sigh was audible over the intercom. "You're a good man, general," the president said, "but you've been exposed to one too many cosmic rays." Her voice hardened as paranoia seized her. "We've been outfoxed by the SinoBloc, it's as simple as that. Now they're 'showing the flag,' so to speak, something they wouldn't do unless they already had us by the throat!" "If we had the same advantage the SinoBloc allegedly now has, would we be so stupid as to flaunt it before using it?" Gil stated calmly. "I've served long enough to know the answer: We'd use it first, and flaunt it afterward!" He took a breath. "Think about it, madam president, please! Now's not the time to ..." "Don't underestimate the SinoBloc's capabilities! If any bloc could pull a stunt like this, it'd be them! How do you think they came to dominate one-third of the planet?!" "I've been in the military for decades, madam president! I know ..." A surprised yelp from a specialist cut him off. "Sirs! The scanner is detecting movement!" Gil twisted around as best he could in the weightless environment, and saw the group of triangular giants - and their attendant clouds of smaller ships - splitting up. Some motherships, as Gil had come to consider the massive vessels, were heading toward a major bloc's space station, including his and its SinoBloc equivalent. A console beeped. "General! It's the commander of the SinoBloc outpost!" another specialist called out. "He's demanding to know what we're ..." All they focused on in Philadelphia was "movement" and "demanding." "They're making their move?" It was the president, her voice deadly quiet. "Then so be it. Damn the SinoBloc and their demands!" A breathless pause, then: "We will not be caught with our pants down. I'm ordering all conventional AmerBloc military forces into action." "NO! Madam president ...," Gil yelled, but it was too late. The president had severed the connection, undoubtedly making tracks for AmerBloc One, if she wasn't already aboard the aircraft. "Damnit! Damnit all to hell!" the general roared as events spun out of his control. "General, you're going to want to see this," Najjar said, touching Gil's shoulder. "The mothership approaching us has entered visual range." The sight took the crew's breath away: The vast ship was matte black, with only occasional, winking pinpoints of light on the hull giving away its position. Well, that plus the fact that it blotted out the starfield where it was, looming larger and larger before the relatively tiny space station, and had its flotilla of smaller ships - some red, some white - swarming around it. And if that wasn't enough, odd, gray tower-like structures rose from its upper surface. Below the spectacle was Enlil, already alit as titanic armies - facing each other for nearly a hundred years across various bloc borders - collided head-on. The AmerBloc-SinoBloc war hadn't remained confined between the two for very long. "Those ships are centuries beyond Enlil's capabilities," Gil declared. He looked at Najjar, but the captain's emotions were hard to read in the emergency lighting. "Look at what they've accomplished, captain, compared to us!" He swept his hand before a viewport where, far below, a bright burst of light filled the skies above Athens, confirming that the war was no longer just conventional, either. "Send the universal greeting ... it's the least we can do before self-destructing before their eyes." Najjar nodded at a specialist. A moment later: "It's done, sirs!" Followed by: "Sirs! The IncaBloc space station has opened fire on a mothership!" Gil buried his face in his hands. *** "That's the best they can do?" the fleet lord sighed as the IncaBloc's missiles detonated more than twenty miles from the Vanguard, obliterated the instant they entered the range of its automated weapons points. "I was hoping they'd have some evasive capabilities!" He shook his head and continued pacing. A discreet cough interrupted his thoughts. "Yes?" "Milord, what of the universal greeting from the AmerBloc space station?" The scarred man laughed, its melodious nature incongruous with his face. "I have to admit, the slide show was amusing in a quaint sort of way," he observed. He demeanor grew serious. "That said, send our standard reply ... and inform the other Vanguards that Operation Enlil will be initiated momentarily." *** "We are the Patriarchy. The conquest of your planet is under way. Our armies shall crush your cities, obliterate your societies and forevermore silence you. Truces are irrelevant. You will find no mercy at our hands. You have but one option: Kneel before your new overlords, or be destroyed." The command chamber was utterly silent once again, save for the whirring of machinery. A lone voice ventured to break the quietude. "Sirs, it's in all languages, and is being broadcast on all known frequencies - and quite a few we didn't know about," a specialist reported. "We're sure it's coming from these motherships?" Najjar asked. The specialist nodded. "Positive, sir." "Target the nearest mothership and fire everything we have at her," Gil ordered. He suspected they were all about to die. Better to go out in a blaze of glory, he thought, although I never imagined it'd happen like this. "Missiles away," Najjar reported an instant later. "We've got forty of 'em, a lot more than the six the IncaBloc threw their way." He smiled grimly. "Better yet, ours will pack one helluva wallop - they're armed with those newfangled nuclear warheads, after all." "They're responding, sirs!" a specialist called out. "It's an energy burst of some kind, maybe related to an electromagnetic pulse!" A brief pause. "All twenty motherships are pulsing!" Then, on the monitors before them, the forty missiles - along with nearly two hundred others fired by other blocs' space stations - stuttered in their flight paths, then tumbled out of control as the pulses washed over them en route for the space stations and, more ominously, Enlil itself. "What the ...?!" Gil began, only to be thrown into a bulkhead as a jolt rocked the station. Staring disbelievingly out of a viewport, he watched as lights winked out across the station, an effect that was upon the command chamber almost instantaneously. He covered his ears as an electronic howl filled the chamber, blowing out not only the blood-red lights, but the computer systems as well. A scorched scent filled the air, along with a lot of arcing, sparking and hissing. This can't be good, the general thought, still a bit woozy from hitting his head. A few lights popped back on. Far too few. Even worse, only a single computer remained working, and it wasn't sounding good. "My GOD!" Najjar sputtered from somewhere in the dimness. "Talk about a wallop! Our EMP shielding never stood a chance against it!" Something flitted by a viewport. Several other somethings flashed by moments later. A specialist pressed his face to a viewport and gasped. "General! Captain! I ... I can hardly make out the surface of Enlil, there's so many ships!" Another specialist spoke up. "By the way, sirs, life support appears to be a goner." *** "The ship! Get to the ship!" Omri exhorted his crew as they scrambled through the underbrush. "It's our only chance!" A flight of eleven AmerBloc warplanes slashed across the sky overhead, escorting what appeared to be a massive jetliner. A flash lit up the heavens - moments later, one of the jets fell out of formation, then a second, both plummeting toward the ground. They were quickly joined by seven other warplanes and, more ominously, the jetliner itself. Omri hazarded a glance up, his enhanced hearing having picked up a slight shift in the aircrafts' harmonics, confirming what his eyes had already told him to be true. He shook his head and picked up the pace as the Panther unshrouded in the center of a meadow the group had just entered. An entry irised open, revealing the crewman who had stayed behind. His eyes widened as, in the distance, a series of booms echoed, followed by billowing columns of oily, sooty fireballs that smudged the horizon where the aircraft had slammed into the earth. "Those jets were taken out by a Pulsar burst!" Omri shouted as he clambered aboard, bringing up the rear of his group. "We all know what that means." It was the Patriarchy's calling card, the very first thing they did to timelines possessing electronics: knock out as much of the foe's network as possible. It was a tactic used to great effect as far back as the Chaotic Times of Terra's past, when it had been a simple EMP, albeit a powerful one. A Pulsar burst alone was oftentimes enough to bring a timeline to its knees. If not, well, that's what the other elements of an invasion - orbital bombardment, aerial assaults, naval action, ground troops and more - were for. "We're getting out here," Omri growled as he dove into the pilot's seat and brought systems online from standby mode. "I'll be damned if we're going to get hit by friendly fire." The Panther rose silently into the air and made a beeline for the L5 point. As the blue faded into inky blackness, points of light - and a lot of them - became visible. They weren't stars. Seconds later, another Panther hurtled past them on a trajectory that would take it north up the East Coast of the AmerBloc toward Philadelphia, where a terrible spear of brilliant, white light had just gouged a mile-wide crater out of the capital's heart. It was followed by twelve other Panthers. "That's our squadron!" Omri observed as multiple ID tags popped up on his HUD. He comlinked the master baron's craft. "Milord, Dostum Omri Drang and crew reporting in." "You cut it a bit close, dostum," Kian boomed as his visage appeared in the upper-right quadrant of the HUD. "My apologies, milord," Omri replied respectfully. "We were preoccupied with our work." Kian's mouth turned upward. "Mark my words, dostum, your work ethic is going to take you places in the Patriarchy - unless it kills you first," he said. "For now, you and your crew are to report for debriefing, after which you will rejoin the squadron for pacification duties." "Yes, milord." "Oh, and dostum ...?" "Yes?" "Rest and relaxation on Terra has been delayed indefinitely." Kian grinned. "Just in case you were wondering, dostum." *** "Is the beacon working yet, Marissa?!" Skye scowled as her sister fiddled with the device, then shook her head. "Damn!" Her foot pressed down on the sedan's accelerator, and the green vehicle began weaving through traffic. "By the goddesses' blackest hearts! What could be wrong with it?" She shook her head. "Think, Skye, think!" she scolded herself as she dodged oncoming vehicles. "It worked when we entered this timeline," Megan offered. "I tested it just before the Chimera left!" "Yes, yes! I know ..." Skye's voice trailed off momentarily as the answer suddenly became obvious. "Distance! That's it! DISTANCE!" She turned slightly and gave Megan a high-five. "You're a gift from the goddesses, you know that?!" She nodded at Marissa, who looked slightly miffed. "You, too!" Mollified, Marissa favored Skye with a simple question. "Distance? How?" Skye swerved back into the proper lane just as a piston-powered big rig roared by, its horn blaring. "The Chimera left us within walking distance of that vehicle dealership, which the salesman said was fifty-two miles southwest of Philadelphia," she explained. "Right now, we're about twenty-seven miles southwest of the capital!" She laughed, her confidence restored. "Something around the capital is interfering with the beacon. Perhaps some sort of frequency used in urbanized areas, or maybe a mineral, or ..." Suddenly the radio blared: "THIS IS A BULLETIN, WE REPEAT THIS IS A BULLETIN. WKRP HAS JUST LEARNED THAT THE HIGH COMMAND HAS EVACUATED PHILADELPHIA. THIS IS ALL WE KNOW AT THIS MOMENT. STAY TUNED FOR FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS." Almost on cue, a gigantic shadow passed over the sedan as a jetliner bearing the AmerBloc flag shrieked by overhead, escorted by no less than eleven fighters. Ahead of them, vehicles pulled off to the side of the busy superhighway - or stopped in the middle of it - as drivers and their passengers craned their heads out of their windows, staring in awe ... and feeling a sudden, sickening sense that something was terribly, terribly wrong. "NEWSFLASH! NEWSFLASH! AMERBLOC MILITARY FORCES HAVE ENGAGED SINOBLOC ELEMENTS!" The announcer was verging on hysteria. "UNCONFIRMED REPORTS INDICATE MAJOR NAVAL BATTLES ARE OCCURRING OFF THE COASTS NEAR NEW YORK CITY, HOUSTON AND MIAMI ... THERE ARE REPORTS OF SINOBLOC BOMBERS SIGHTED OVER ALASKA ..." "Well, I think we know why our contact fled," Skye said grimly as her brow furrowed. "This had to have developed unexpectedly, otherwise we wouldn't have been sent here." "OH, GOD! OH, GOD! WE HAVE REPORTS THAT THE EUROBLOC CITY OF ATHENS HAS BEEN DESTROYED! THE BIRTHPLACE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION IS GONE! OH, GOD! OH ..." The radio crackled, then burst back to life. But instead of near-hysterical announcer, a cool, remorseless voice filled the airwaves: "We are the Patriarchy. The conquest of your planet is under way. Our armies shall crush your cities, obliterate your societies and ..." Skye turned the radio off. "OK, it's official: We're having a bad day," she muttered, her white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel. "But not as bad as Enlil's about to have." Once again she pressed down on the accelerator, zipping around slow drivers, dodging oncoming vehicles and careening around those who were stopped along the superhighway as they listened to the first Patriarchal broadcast of their lives, looks of disbelief on their faces. Others gestured, shaking their heads. She knew they would be dead or enslaved very soon, and had no desire to be anywhere on Enlil when the Patriarchy showed up in force. Skye gave Megan a brief, hopeful look. "I could use some good news about now." Megan powered up the beacon, then shook her head. Skye sighed and glanced at a map on the seat next to her; the dealership was fifteen miles away. "So close, yet so far ..." Her voice trailed off as flashing lights appeared in the sedan's rear-view mirror. The trio groaned in unison as a pair of cruisers - marked with the insignia and color scheme of the AmerBloc Police and Security Agency - gained on them. "Well, at least we had a head start on them," Marissa offered in a small voice. "Had being the operative word," Skye muttered. She floored the accelerator ... and gasped as the sky itself seemingly came alive ahead of them. A shockwave of roiling light washed across the heavens and, just like that, the sedan became so much dead weight, its electronics fried in an instant. Skye wrestled with the steering wheel as Marissa and Megan clutched each other in the back seat. Behind them, the two cruisers slammed into each other and spun off onto the superhighway's shoulders. Secret police swarmed out of the their damaged vehicles and opened fire, the PING! PING! PING! of slugs rattling the sedan, but not penetrating its thick, steel hide. The wheels, however, were another story entirely. "Hang on!" Skye howled despairingly as the sedan pulled inexorably toward the edge of the superhighway, despite her almost superhuman efforts to the contrary. "We're going in!" The sedan careened off the roadway, crashed through a barrier and flew into a steep, rocky ditch lined by towering trees. BOOM! "Aaahhh!" CRASH! "Eeekkk!" BOOM! "Nnnooo!" CRASH! "Aaaiiieee!" CRUNCH! The sedan rested amid the now-broken low branches of an immense, immovable tree, the net-like remains of a fence wrapped around its front end. The silence was parted only by the thin, high-pitched whistle of steam escaping from the cracked compression chamber - and by the distant bass rumble of thunder as the sky opened up on Philadelphia, hellish bolts of spaceborne lightning smashing into the AmerBloc capital. *** "Efforts to restore life support have failed, sirs," the specialist reported, working as best he could with the single computer that remained functional. "And as far as I can tell, we're the only station personnel still alive - but that won't be the case much longer." Gil and Najjar ignored him, staring, mesmerized, at the Patriarchal mothership hanging outside the ravaged space station. Flurries of gigantic energy beams stabbed out from its underside, vanishing into the atmosphere of Enlil, the tops of miles-high fireballs and debris clouds marking their points of impact. City after city was being pounded into rubble. Base after base was being destroyed with impunity. Neither officer had ever seen weapons of such power. Whoever these Patriarchal bastards were, they had done their homework. Not even supposedly top secret sites were being spared. "Sirs?" Gil and Najjar started, the uncertainty in the specialist's voice jolting them back to their own rather dire situation. "It's time to leave," the general said, his voice hollow. "There isn't much more we can do up here ... and I suspect this space station isn't going to be allowed to remain in one piece much longer." As if to reinforce that point, a single, small ship swept in and depowered its drives. It appeared to be a fighter of some sort, and was the same matte-black color as the mothership. Drifting in closer, its pilot - clad in a gray jumpsuit with a monstrous, dragon-like insignia etched into it - became partially visible. His head was encased in some sort of high-tech helmet, but his gesture was universal: a slashing motion across his throat. Najjar responded with another seemingly universal gesture: The captain flipped him the bird. The enemy pilot's response? He repowered his drives and pulled away from the AmerBloc space station. Najjar snorted, then joined the others in filing into a cramped escape pod. The general brought up the rear, sealing the entry after ensuring the entire bridge chamber contingent - fourteen altogether, including himself and Najjar - was safely aboard. "The least we could've done was activate the self-destruct sequence," a specialist sighed. "And we would have," Gil said as he occupied the pilot's seat in the cramped vessel, "had it not been slagged by that damn pulse of theirs." He leaned forward, efficiently flipping switches and turning dials. "Start praying, folks, that this crate wasn't fried by the pulse." The egg-shaped pod dropped away from the space station with a KERCHUNK! The rocket motor kicked in a second later, and the craft hurtled away just as the Patriarchal Stingray returned, its energy weapons and missile pods alight, engulfing the station in a kaleidoscope of color. It blew apart moments later, a great fiery chunk of it following in the pod's wake. "General!" "I know," Gil replied calmly as he guided the pod, the gap closing frighteningly fast between it and the debris that had once been the station's command chamber. "Hang on, folks. It's gonna get rough just about ... NOW!" He threw the pod into a tight turn, just barely avoiding the debris as it barreled past, still gaining momentum and beginning to glow as it plunged into Enlil's outer atmosphere. "There we go. That wasn't - uh-oh." "I don't like the sound of that," Najjar called out as he clung to a crashcouch. "The rocket motor is failing," Gil explained, his shoulders hunched over the controls. "It appears their pulse damaged it; I'm not going to be able to get us where I wanted to go." "And where was that?" "As far from Philadelphia as possible." Gil gestured toward Enlil's surface, where the eastern seaboard of the AmerBloc was coming into view. Great swaths of the continent were shrouded by smoke and debris clouds, within which flared points of malevolent light - firestorms. "It doesn't look like that's going to happen." *** "Uhh." Megan tried to move, but couldn't. She groaned again and opened her eyes, only to see Marissa sprawled across her lap. "Are you OK?" she asked, gently nudging her sister. "I've felt better," Marissa said groggily as she gingerly sat upright, her head woozy. Focusing on the still figure in the driver's seat, she called out, "Skye? How about you?" There was no response. Marissa leaned forward, gently shaking her sister's shoulder. "Hey, you did a good job. We're all still in one ..." Her voice trailed off as her head cleared. Skye stared straight ahead at the tree branch that had smashed through the windshield and pierced her chest, pinning her like a bug to the seat. Her emerald-green eyes were dull. Lifeless. A rivulet of blood had trickled from the corner of Skye's mouth, but most of it had pooled below the ragged hole in her chest. Marissa screamed. "What? What is it?!" Megan leaned forward, her eyes falling on Skye, whose lifeless hands still held the steering wheel in a death grip. Her scream joined Marissa's. "No. Noo! Nooo!!" Marissa sobbed, rocking back and forth. "I ... I was just talking to her and now she's d ... d ... dead!" "What will we do?!" Megan wailed. "Oh, goddesses! We're alone now and ...," she shook the beacon in frustration, "... this damn thing still refuses to work!" Marissa breathed deeply. "OK, breathe in, breathe out," she commanded herself, falling back on her training. "Expect the unexpected, and you will survive," she recited from memory. Looking around, she muttered, "Well, this is about as unexpected as one can get." She tried the door, but it refused to budge. "No problem," Marissa said as she repositioned herself, coiling her legs. She kicked with all of her might. Once, then twice, smiling grimly as - with a shriek of warped metal - the door popped open. "C'mon. Let's get out of here, Megan." The pair crawled out of the battered sedan and stood, looking around. Grayish-white clouds scudded across the deep blue ocean that was the sky as the wind whistled forlornly through the trees lining the ditch. In the distance, a group of silverish specks could be seen descending toward the burning remnants of Philadelphia. "Patriarchal dropships," Megan surmised, their shapes triggering a genetic memory. "That's not good, but I suppose it could be worse. At least a gateway hasn't opened up near us." "Not yet, anyway." Marissa slowly picked her way across the rock-filled ditch and clambered up the superhighway's grade. What she saw next took her breath away. "By the goddesses!" Her tone renewed Megan's alarm. "What is it now? A column of Patriarchal armor?!" "No." Marissa's voice was melancholy as she surveyed the scene before her. "They're dead, Megan. All of them. We must have been unconscious for some time ... it looks like ..." her voice cracked as she covered her mouth with a trembling hand, tears brightening her emerald-green eyes. Megan joined her sister on the highway. Blasted vehicles, still-steaming craters and the charred corpses of countless men, women - including the secret police officers who had been chasing them - and most heart-wrenchingly, children, were everywhere, scattered about like scorched mannequins. It looked like some had been trying to flee, while others had apparently been caught unawares in or near their vehicles. A child's ball, adorned with soot-smudged decorations, rolled down the highway, nudged along by the wind. "It must have been a turkey shoot for the Patriarchy," Megan said, reaching over to comfort Marissa. "It's the Sisterhood's fault," she said, her voice monotone. "Our ancestors had the power to stop them ... but ... but ... goddesses! They were naive, made soft by centuries of peace!" "Yes, and they died for it, too," Megan said quietly. "Just the first of many." She scanned the desolate roadway, looking for any movement. As far as she could tell, there was none. "We need to keep moving," she said at last, gesturing at the beacon in her hand. "If we're to get off of Enlil alive, we need to find a place where this works and call home, so to speak." "Not yet," Marissa said. She slipped back over the edge of the roadway, weaving her way down into the ditch. Looking back at Megan, she hollered, "We're not leaving Skye like this. She deserves something better than becoming carrion for the birds." She hefted a rock and nodded at Megan, an unspoken understanding passing between them. An hour passed, and the two stood before a small, simple cairn, Skye's mortal remains entombed within. Marissa and Megan began chanting softly, offering a prayer for the dead not only for their sister's soul, but also for the men, women and children on the highway, giving them a proper send-off as they undertook their journey into Eternity. Tears glimmered and spilled, staining their cheeks and blurring their vision as the chant reached a crescendo, then trailed off into sobs and the whisper of the wind through their long, flowing jet-black hair. "That was beautiful." Marissa and Megan whirled, taken by surprise. A group of men stood there, numbering at least fifteen strong. Some armed with nothing more than knives, others with slugthrowers. All scruffy and desperate-looking. One of the men stepped forward, his clothing ragged and torn, with biceps and abs to die for. "I've never heard such a melodious language before." His icy gray eyes, set in a rough, square-like face crowned by a shaved skull, tracked the women. "Tell me, what's it called?" "It's the tongue of my ancestors," Marissa offered as she weighed the situation, and found it distinctively unfavorable. These men were dangerous. "It's a mourning song." "Morning song?" Beefcake guffawed. "It's not morning, ladies." His companions laughed, evidently thinking it best to go along with his humor, or lack thereof. "Why, there's nothing to mourn, especially for us. After all, we just found two delectable damsels in distress." "Distress? I don't think so," Megan blurted. "Wanna bet?" His face twisted into a snarl. "Get 'em, boys!" Marissa whipped out Skye's pistol and fired. A golden burst of energy washed over one of the charging men, dropping him instantly. She pivoted and fired again. Another man went down. Then a third. A wail distracted her - it was Megan! Marissa turned her weapon on the man grappling with her sister, prepared to fire - and wavered, afraid she would hit Megan instead of her attacker. It was all the time the others needed; they dogpiled Marissa, stripping the gun from her grasping hands. "Fucking bitches!" Beefcake screamed, spittle flying, as he delivered a vicious kick to Marissa's prone body, knocking the wind out of her. "Thought you were tough, didn't you?! Well, we'll see who's on top now!" He undid his trousers and pulled down his underwear; an engorged, purple-headed penis popped out and bobbed in the air. The other men quickly removed Marissa and Megan's clothing as he advanced on the former. "I like bitches who fight back," he crooned, his eyes half-mad. "It makes it all the more enjoyable when I shove my cock into their pussies afterward!" Beefcake lived up to his boast. He climbed atop Marissa as the others held her down and, with a single, fluid stroke, his penis parted her vaginal folds and plunged deep into her. He began pumping as she lay there, her emerald-green eyes burning with hatred. His eyes, however, were rolled back in pure pleasure as he drove into her, the pressure building and building within his balls, then roaring with delight as they contracted, spraying a load of semen into Marissa's reproductive tract. Megan, next to her, was suffering a similar humiliation. "Now that's what I call a good fucking," Beefcake said as he stood, tucked his softening penis back into his underwear and pulled up his trousers. "Have at 'em, boys," he commanded, "but give your mates who were shot first dibs." He examined the little ray gun the bitch had used as his men proceeded to repeatedly ravage her and her friend over. He had never seen such a weapon before. Fortunately, it appeared to only stun whoever it hit, rather than killing them. Beefcake grinned like a kid in a candy shop as he fiddled with it for a moment, then called out to one of the men who had had the audacity to challenge his authority earlier in the day. It would be fun knocking the son-of-a-bitch on his ass. "Hey! This is what you get for pissing me off!" Beefcake growled as he pointed the gun at the man and fired. But his jaw dropped when, instead of being stunned, the would-be challenger simply vanished in a golden conflagration, his shriek cut off almost before it could even begin. Beefcake quickly recovered his wits as the other men looked on, momentarily shocked out of their sex-fueled frenzy. "Well, I guess the lady's little gun can kill after all." His men laughed uncertainly for a moment, then returned to ravaging their victims. He gingerly put the ray gun in a pocket - Does that thing have a safety switch?! - and turned his attention to another trinket: the beacon. He handled it carefully, lest it turn out to be one of those new atom bombs he had heard Philadelphia had perfected. It wouldn't do to get blown up prematurely, not when there was a lot of pillaging and raping left to do in the wake of whatever it was that had upended the world. Some nutcase, now deceased after being parted from his wedding band, had claimed it was aliens, but Beefcake put his money on the SinoBloc. He laughed at the absurdity of aliens causing the mayhem, but frowned as another possibility crossed his mind. Slipping the trinket into a pocket, he stalked over to where his men continued to have their way with the bitches. "Who do you work for?" Beefcake snapped as he nudged Marissa with his boot. "SinoBloc? Are you fuckers turncoats to the AmerBloc cause?!" His voice grew louder. "You two were carrying some sort of ray gun and an atom bomb! That's not normal! What'd they pay you?! What was your target?! What ..." "You will cease-and-desist immediately, sir," a deep, resonant voice rang out. Beefcake gritted his teeth, his hand reaching into the pocket holding the little ray gun as he turned on the voice's owner. It was killing time. Again. "You want to challenge me, mag ..." he fell silent as he assessed the situation before him. It was a man, all right, but he had friends. Heavily armed friends, all in uniforms. AmerBloc Space Force uniforms, to be specific. Worse, they had Beefcake's entire gang covered with their weapons. He dropped the ray gun, letting his arms hang limply. His gang followed suit. "Funny seeing you folks here. Shouldn't you be up in orbit duking it out with the SinoBloc about now?" "The SinoBloc?" The man - whose blue uniform was adorned with a single gold star on each collar - laughed harshly. "They're not the enemy, fool. The Patriarchy is." He snorted. "You should be fighting them, not beating and raping defenseless women." "Never heard of 'em, spaceman." "That's Brigadier General Gil Cel to you, vagabond," the man boomed. He looked past Beefcake and his gang to the victimized women, shaking his head sadly. "Do you two need any sort of assistance?" Marissa and Megan didn't answer so much in words as they did action. They leaped to their feet, grabbed their clothing and sped off into the trees. They had had enough with males for the time being. One of Gil's men started, but the brigadier general shook his head. "Let them go. We can't waste time looking for folks who don't want to be helped." He turned to gang's leader. "We should kill all of you," Gil told Beefcake, his tone amiable, "but ammunition is too precious to waste on human shitbags." He sneered. "Besides, you'll meet the Patriarchy soon enough - and when you do, they'll crush you like the vermin you are." He gestured to his soldiers. "Disarm them. They're not worth expending bullets over, but neither will I leave them armed and dangerous." Beefcake made a move for the ray gun, but a weapon chattered, a line of bullets kicking up the dirt in front of him. "You're pushing your luck, vagabond," Gil said venomously. "Live, and you can still choose to help Enlil. Die now, and you die a criminal's death." It was over in less than fifteen minutes. Gil's men found six slugthrowers, a dozen knives and two chains among their adversaries, who had been subjected to strip searches. But most interesting of all was the small, black gun etched with some odd writing and what appeared to be a golden locket shaped like a teardrop. It, too, had the strange writing on it. Whatever they were, they definitely weren't of SinoBloc manufacture. The language was indecipherable, and the items looked ... well, they looked out of place, almost ahead of their time. "Bind them," Gil ordered as he slipped the curious devices into a pocket. "We don't want them following us and making mischief. We've got bigger fish to fry." Gil, Najjar and the others set off down the superhighway - or, rather, what was left of it - not long afterward, leaving behind a trussed-up Beefcake and his crew. "I'll get you for this, you hear?!" he screamed. "Nobody messes with me and lives to see another sunrise!" The grounded spacers ignored his ranting and raving, their minds occupied by more pressing issues. And so their forms shrank and then vanished into the distance as they moved quickly away from the still-burning ruins of Philadelphia. They had to act fast if they were to counter the Patriarchy, and the redoubts - carved into hills and hidden in forests decades ago - would be ideal for sheltering a nascent resistance movement. *** Marissa splashed about in the stream, scrubbing her skin almost raw with handfuls of light-colored sand from the streambed. Megan looked on from the nearest bank, having bathed and redressed herself more than two hours ago. The sun hovered above the horizon, close to bringing to an end the day that had changed Enlil - and them, for that matter - forever. The wind had long since died away, but thick plumes of soot still stained the horizon, particularly in the direction of Philadelphia. "Come on, Marissa. You're as clean as you're ever going to get." "Not quite," Marissa muttered, reaching for more sand. "We deserved it, you know." "Come again?" "Think about it: How do the males we initiate against their will feel?" Marissa splashed her face with cold, clear water. "What are their last thoughts as they see tits ballooning out from their chests, feel the crevice opening between their fat-marbled thighs, hear their sisters-to-be in their heads?" A pause. "Isn't what we do to them a sort of rape?" "I hadn't thought of it that way." "I'm not surprised. I wonder how many of us really do." Marissa swam to the shore and rose from the stream, gloriously beautiful in her primal nakedness. "Sometimes I think our twin drives to survive and destroy the Patriarchy have warped our people." She dried off as Megan handed clothing to her. "Have you ever heard of the Soulsister Ceremony?" "In passing." Megan cocked her head. "Why?" Marissa wriggled into her shirt, which did little to conceal the swell of her generous bosom. "It was a religious ritual our ancestors took part in. It brought a female and a male together, and when it ended, there were two females. The soulsisters," she explained. "It was how most new sisters, aside from natural population growth, were brought into being. Best of all, it was voluntary - the male knew what would happen, but his love was such that it didn't matter that he would become female in the process." She sighed. "Why can't we bring more sisters into the fold that way?" "But how many males would voluntarily become females," Megan asked, "and, in addition to that, run the very real risk of having to give up their lives to stop the Patriarchy?" "Probably not many," Marissa admitted. "Can't say I blame them, really. After all, why should they risk their lives for us? They don't have a stake in the outcome of this war." "I can think of many timelines that felt the same way ... until it was too late for regrets." Marissa sighed. "Which brings me back to what I said earlier: Our ancestors had the power to stop the Patriarchy when it was still relatively small. But they were too na?ve to see what was coming. And so, in the centuries since Gaia's fall, the Sisterhood warped into a twiste