Tales of the "Pink Mist" Ch. 09

"What's this?" she asked.

"This is a tether-trace. It links us together and allows you to follow me through the network, or if we get separated, I can find you. If we get attacked by a rogue program or another cyber-runner, yank the quick release and you'll be transported to this room. I would advise you to do it only if I tell you as the trip back will really mess with your mind. It won't cause any permanent damage, but your lunch will probably wind up on the floor. For some reason, it's worse than getting torn out of the network. No one's been able to figure out that part."

Quillan eyed the tether-trace.

"Couldn't I simply remove my goggles?"

Alice waved her hand and conjured a digital clock in her palm. The clock showed that five minutes had passed since the beginning of their foray into the network.

"Right now, in this node, we're operating at O.R.T.; Outside Real Time. If you were attacked here, I could fend off the attack and give you time to do exactly that." She dismissed the clock and pointed at the stream of rushing ones and zeroes. "We'll be in there...in the datastream itself. It operates on N.T.; Network Time. It is much, much faster than O.R.T. If you were to attempt to remove your goggles during an attack in the network, you would be braindead before your realworld hand moved from the bed. The tether-trace is infinitely faster and safer."

"Alice, you're beginning to scare me. You know I don't like being in control of situations."

Warm, soft lips on hers although the figure was several feet away. She realized that the realworld Alice was kissing her realworld body.

"You trust me." A statement, not a question.

Quillan nodded her head.

"Quillan, while you are the pirate queen in the outside world," the Alice-figure seemed to smile, "this is my domain. I'm the pirate queen here."

Alice turned and waded into the datastream, vanishing in an instant. The tether-trace grew taut and stretched into the distance downstream as if it was a fishing line being pulled by a catch. No tugging or pulling, it just stretched away as if made of elastic. Quillan took a deep breath and waded in, then ducked her head into the stream.

A momentary flash of light. She blinked.

She now stood in a shimmering silver hallway lit by an unseen light source. Objects of all types hurried past her: books, eyeless beings, pencils, old fashioned automobiles, spacecraft, fish, et cetera. Standing before her was a multicolored ball, resembling a beach ball, only this one had feet. It extruded part of its side...sort of a blob-arm... It waved.

"Hello, Quillan," said the Alice-Ball. "Welcome to the network."

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"Walker, Walker, Walker. This is Arc Two. We're here to pick you up. Authentication code - Uniform Victor One One Seven Delta. We're a hundred meters to your right. Form on us, we gotcha."

The sudden blur of a human rushing toward their position, a light assault machinegun in his hands laying down a deadly spray of hard-slugs to his rear.

"Arc Two, this is Arc Seven. Target acquired."

"Arc Seven, fire at will. Arc Four, suppressive fire on the left flank!"

"Arc Two, this is Arc Six. Three of the four are bag-fodder. The lizard did a helluva job, though. Suggest we armor the last guy and see what he can do. He wants in on this."

Don Rathberger opened up with fully automatic plasma fire into the underbrush to keep the Mongans heads down.

"This is Arc Two. Roger on that. Armor him up and let him rip! Slave the other three suits to him. They know where we are now, so there's no need to be quiet anymore!"

The sounds of gunfire a few yards away to his right. He swung right, spotted his teammate and the remaining recon man, firing past them as he moved up to assist with extraction of the one still-living commando. As he fired, his teammate slapped her wristwatch and then began firing once more. Back at the insertion zone, the four unmanned powered armor suits came to life, stood up and began running in the direction of the woman. Her wristwatch contained a simple transmitter and homing beacon; its sole purpose was to signal the armor to get to this spot as quickly as possible.

They had been searching for several hours when one of the team had spotted a fairly large squad of Mongan troops. As he moved in for a better look, the ugly six-legged lizard (thought lost and destroyed during the insertion) blasted in from the left and began tearing the squad apart. Almost its entire head was made of teeth. The lizard had been programmed to find the DNA of the squad they were seeking and protect the living members. It had been given explicit orders not to engage anything which wasn't a direct threat to the team or itself. Since it was going crazy, this meant that the commandos were very close.

An intense female voice came over the headsets. Witchiepoo.

"Arc Two, this is Arc One. No need to burst transmit your co-ordinates. We know exactly where you are, and so does every Mongan on the fucking planet. Their comm net's jammed with radio traffic. We'll be there in five. THEY'LL be there in four...get ready to un-ass with a quickness."

"Check, Arc One. Break. Arc squad, collapse on me, reload if you get the chance. Get that man in a suit! Designate Shield Actual."

The powered armor suits lumbered up and stopped, the commando running to one and climbing into it. Almost immediately, the suit started firing with pinpoint accuracy at the encroaching Mongans, giving his rescuers the time needed to regroup and reload. It was joined by the other three suits, their computers slaved to it. Together, they blasted entire lanes of brush clear of leaves, leaving no cover for the Mongans. It was a slaughter.

"Shield Actual online and firing," intoned a new, quiet voice. The man sounded relaxed and indifferent to what was happening, despite the fact that the rest of his recon unit was dead.

Anyone who's ever seen combat will testify that a sixty second wait while under intense fire by an almost overwhelming force can be the longest period in a person's life. No exception here. It seemed that the enemy was pouring out laser and plasma bolts a thousand times faster than their own return fire. Nevertheless, with the help of the powered armor's immense firepower, the Mongan ground troop strength in the area was soon severely diminished and Rathberger's people began firing into the air at the four fighters which were darting and dancing around. It was like trying to hit a mosquito with a sewing needle.

The four P.A. suits were unleashing a furious wall of smart missiles at the aircraft and plasma bolts at the ground troops.

"This is Shield Actual," reported the manned P.A. suit, sensors actively seeking targets, "we have a pair of Mongan fighters coming up from our six. Broadcasting a different ident signal from the others."

"Arc One here," said a friendly female voice, "put your heads down and hug a tree. We're here to play! Shield Actual, try not to hit us. TALLY-HO!"

The Witchipoo and Twinkie's appropriated pair of Mongan fighters screamed low over the trees and shot upwards in unison. Both craft twitched left and opened up on the underbellies of a pair of enemy fighters. The Mongans never knew what hit them.

As the squad did their best to help, tossing off a few ineffective shots at the remaining pair of Mongan fighters, a Mongan light frigate hovered over them and began settling slowly, allowing them to move out of the way. It's rear loading ramp was open and no gunfire was coming from it.

"Climb in, guys, and we'll get the fuck outta here. Bigass motherfuckers are headed this way. If we're still here in two minutes, we WON'T be here in three minutes..."

The fighters were now dogfighting, chasing each other and trying to get the upper hand. The squad, carrying five inert bodies, scrambled into the rear of the frigate, the powered armor still firing and moving in after them.

"Arc One, this is Arc Two. We're all set."

The frigate lifted immediately, turned back in the direction it came from and began accelerating away.

"Okay, gang," said Witchiepoo, "get to the front of that bay as far as you can go. We gotta park these bitches. Twinkie, you're up."

"Right on. Heading in now." Twinkie's craft arched away from the fight as Witchiepoo continued to fight and fire at the enemy. Twinkie closed rapidly with the frigate.

Twinkie's craft disappeared in a huge fireball.

"Uh-oh...Daddy's home...shitshitshitshit..." muttered Witchiepoo. As a former pilot for the ultra-elite, ultra-secretive Prey Patrol, she didn't have time to mourn; she'd lost too many friends to feel anything right now. Only the survival of those still among the living counted. "You guys get clear. I'll be along shortly."

Witchiepoo's fighter dodged sideways directly into the path of a Mongan Battlecruiser.

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Floating. Weightless. Serene. Soft, ethereal music; barely registering on the consciousness. If "Perfect" could be experienced, this was it.

A thousand mistlike beings, like airborne jellyfish floated peacefully through the air surrounding her. Occasionally, one would float past and lightly, softer than a feather, brush her nude body with its tentacles. A full tentacle trailed languidly across her tummy, not dry, not wet...something in between. The tip of one touched a nipple...almost a gentle, concentrated breeze.

In the back of Quillan's mind, three words kept repeating: I am yours. I am yours. No matter how many times the phrase was repeated, the litany didn't seem repititious. It seemed genuine.

I am yours.

As she floated, she stretched sensuously, arching her back, letting her eyelids relax and half close. There was no hurry here, no rush, nothing but peace and perfection all around.

A jellyfish floated directly to her. Its translucent skin allowing her to see the large rings inside as it slowly pulsed and undulated. She saw herself reflected in the skin, also.

I am yours.

One tentacle slowly raised and hung in front of her. Somehow, she knew what to do. She raised a hand to meet it and tenderly closed her fingers over it. The remaining tentacles slowly enveloped her from head to toe. There was no fear or trepidation on her part. She was experiencing, "Perfect."

The tentacles began moving in different directions. Her shoulders, back, tummy, each arm, each leg, in fact each toe and finger were wrapped in these soft, barely palpable tentacles. A single tentacle as thick as her ring finger slid into her slit and laid itself across her clit but didn't stop there. It continued through her lips, constantly stimulating the clit as it entered her vagina.

I am yours.

Coiling around and around itself inside her, it began filling her. Since there are no nerve endings in that part of the body, she only knew intense pleasure as it slid over her clitoris and seemingly continually entered her. Pressure inside built as the tentacle continued to enter her. Just as she was beginning to feel an uncomfortableness inside her, the tip of the tentacle exited, leaving the writhing mass inside. It moved to her puckered sphincter and gently pushed inside her rear opening as well, repeating the procedure of filling her.

All the while, she sat on the very precipice of orgasm as her clit was constantly stimulated; her entire body covered with random, gentle, feathered breezes. She wanted to come. She NEEDED to come.

Alice's voice in her head.

"Are you ready?"

I am yours.

Unable to speak, all Quillan could do was nod her head and gaze at the jellyfish with pleading eyes.

Warm lips on her own. A deep kiss. Tongues entwining.

Like the pull-start on a lawnmower, as one, the tentacles retracted.

She experienced several sensations, seemingly at the same instant.

A slight friction burn over her entire body followed immediately by the cool air of the chamber in which she floated and the tentacles caressing her bare skin. The sudden emptying of her rectum and vagina were backdropped against the tentacle over her clit in one long continuous sliding motion.

Quillan's universe seemed to explode as she came in the longest single orgasm of her entire life. A soul-shattering orgasm. Her heart seemed to burst. She felt every synapse in her brain fire as a single unit.

I.

Am.

Yours.

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Five bright pink ships of varying designs wove through the traffic around the station known as Hell's Purgatory and slid noiselessly into their respective bays. On the far side of the station, a Mongan light frigate was granted a bay all to itself.

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As the light frigate accelerated away from the battle, the rear loading door closed. The Meat Squaddies quickly found jumpseats and strapped in without being told. The powered armor suits engaged powerful electromagnets in their feet, sticking them to the deck. The ship pointed its nose skyward, the enormous engines accelerating it into space.

A click was heard from the overhead speakers. It was obvious from the chatter coming through that the speaker had been turned on as a courtesy so those in the bay could hear the conversation between the pilot and the backup ships a half-parsec away. That voice was familiar.

"Arc Actual, this is Arc Three," said Twinkie's matter-of-fact voice. "Pickup complete. Transmitting this ship's code. We'd appreciate it if you didn't kill us. Expect us at your location in approximately twenty minutes. Two zero mikes. Please confirm."

"Arc Three, this is Arc Actual. We confirm your transmission and we'll be ready," replied Charleen.

"Arc Three, this is Arc One," came Witchypoo's voice, "Take it easy when you jump to hyperspace. I dunno how strong these clamps are. Wish I coulda brought this bastard in."

"Hey, Arc One, I thought you were a badass." A giggle came through the speakers.

"'Badass' don't mean 'stupid,' bitch. Just get us out of here in one piece."

"Right on, babe. Negative atmosphere in eleven seconds; jump in twelve. Hang on to your hot ass."

A full quarter of the available craft on the planet below was in hot pursuit of the fleeing group. Twinkie engaged the hyperspace drive and the planet quickly shrank and disappeared behind them. She knew that every sensor on the local Mongan net was tracking her every move, the enemy computers gauging the line of travel when she warped away. They could therefore calculate her destination and follow her. They wouldn't know where she actually stopped, of course, but with a little detective work, it would be easy to find out.

Twinkie's fingers flew over the keypad as she input new destination co-ordinates. She dropped from warp, confirmed the new co-ordinates, and re-entered hyperspace. She did this twice more at random and, satisfied that they had completely shaken their pursuers, input the location of her backup ships. They too had flown to the rendezvous after their transmissions, knowing that the Mongans could triangulate on the signal and send everything they had.

The seven ships clustered tightly together, separated by no more than a hundred yards. Salli took control of the puny computer on the light frigate and attuned its shimmerpad's frequency to that of the rest. Then, the fun began.

The crews of the ships all took turns stepping onto the pads and being bounced from one ship to another, one of those being the commando. An electrical shell game. The energy emissions of activating the pads would surely be picked up by the Mongans and they would converge on this one spot in space. It would take the enemy quite a while to sift through the transmitted and received data to figure out where the commando was. By the time, they figured it all out, the PM crew would be long gone and the commando on his way to Earth-Actual.

The commando's last bounce was into the Hlata recon ship which was clamped firmly on top of the light frigate. The bodies of his comrades were transferred by powered armor into the bay of the recon ship for burial when they returned home.

The commando offered his thanks and warped away.

One by one, the remaining ships left the group and used circuitous routes back to Purgatory. The last out were the two missile carriers, they had set their missiles on timers, unloaded them all into space and then blasted away.

The missiles exploded scattering their radioactive particles into space. A few Mongan ships dropped into the area just as the missiles detonated. It wasn't a pretty sight to behold.