Doom 2099UG #7

Doom watched out of the corner of his eye, as the icon of the Neon Angel, whom he knew as Margaretta Von Geisterstadt, exited this deadly program in the hyper reality of cyberspace. Her mocking laughter echoed in his ears, as she left him alone to battle her lethal cybernetic pawns. The unliving Sumerian warriors she had designed to destroy him were doing their utmost to complete their programming, and lacking an effective weapon at the moment, Doom was unable to expeditiously dispatch them and pursue his true nemesis. As she disappeared, his full attention was once again directed to the attacking warriors.

He was less hampered by the odds in their favor than one would suspect. Six warriors opposing him was not a conclusive advantage against one such as Doom. He recalled fighting that meddlesome super- powered foursome to a standstill on many an occasion in his "youth". It seemed like a different lifetime, only he still felt the same, and the hand to hand combat skills taught to him by an ancient order of Tibetan monks had stayed with him across the boundaries of time. He deflected a rushing attack, and redirected, sending the warrior spinning onto the grass. Instinctively he whirled and ducked, avoiding a blast of incinerating heat sent his way by another warrior. The spear of red hot energy skewered the attacking warrior behind him. The image sputtered and splintered as it fell, till it's self repair protocols could no longer halt the destructive disintegration, and it faded into nothingness. One down.

Although Doom's computer icon was as well equipped as his real world self, his armor's weapons had proven ineffective in this cyber realm. Like a game, Doom had to either find the tools that would destroy his attackers, or create them. Unlike a game, this program was no "sim": if his icon were destroyed, his consciousness would never again return to his body, and he would "live" the rest of his natural life as a mindless vegetable. Margaretta had designed this site well, however, and the chances of him finding a useable weapon here appeared remote. The locus where she had set her trap was a wide, green field, with broad spreading trees and a dilapidated wooden hut tucked in the corner. It was a primitive, seemingly peaceful place, mimicking the real world down to the smallest detail, from the chirping of birds in the distance to the gentle rustling of wind through the tall grass. An early morning sun peeked through a distant fog bank, and Doom could almost feel the warmth of it on his back.

But there was no time for daydreaming here. Doom leaped away from another blast of fire from the warrior's spear, then he unexpectedly surged forward to grab the weapon in both hands. Doom was far more agile than his armored bulk might suggest, and although his strength was enhanced by his marvelous armor, the warrior before him was equally strong, and would not relinquish the weapon. Doom let the warrior pull him forward, then twisted, placing the warrior's body in between his and a third Sumerian who was swinging a heavy axe. The blade of the axe cleaved the air where Doom had once stood, and embedded with a mighty "THWACK" into the spearman's shoulder. Doom's red eyepieces stared coldly into the unfeeling eyes of the Sumerian program. There was no cry of pain or sudden fear in the wounded warrior, but the damage was enough to loosen his adversary's grip on the fire-shooting spear. Quickly Doom wrenched it away, and aimed it at the pair before him. The one behind was struggling to free the axe from the leather armor and simulated flesh of his companion's shoulder blade. But no matter how he manipulated the spear, Doom was frustrated to find that it would not fire for him. The program was obviously equipped with a failsafe, and Doom would not be afforded the luxury of time to unlock it. Instead, he turned the weapon to it's original intent, and with a magnificent heave buried it in the body of the axe-man. The spear penetrated clear to the other side of that thick torso, and the warrior fell backwards. The warrior was not finished by that seemingly horrific wound, but the point of the spear was imbedded deep into the ground, and he wriggled frantically upon the thick shaft, hopelessly pinned. Two gone, Doom thought briefly. The other warrior continued to contort his body in a frenzied fervor as he struggled to pull the axe out of his own back.

The other three warriors had recovered from Doom's earlier assault and were beginning to gather themselves for another attack. Doom chose not wait for them. Aiming for the space where Margaretta had disappeared, Doom flew through the air towards the distant sun. He quickly approached the gray fog bank that appeared to cover the once distant horizon, and just short of the gray mists he suddenly stopped. His instincts sensed something more than a atmospheric disturbance in this seething gray cloud before him. His caution was rewarded by an agitated warning from his net glider companions.

"Doom!" Elisabeth's voice came to him through a com link integrated in his armor. Her icon was busy manipulating streams of data from a distant data junction, safely removed from the forest world where the new Master of Myridia was fighting. "My lord! Don't go any further! The cloud is the representation of the delete function!" she warned hastily. "Your icon will de-rez! My Lord!? Are you there?"

"No need to shout, my dear," Doom replied with studied calm. "I have discerned the cloud's purpose independently of your analysis. Have you established your perimeter?"

Elisabeth checked her wrist monitor for the location of the other two net gliders. "Mahlon's in position, but I've lost contact with Justin momentarily. He ran into a guard dog program and was having to dive around it . . ."

"Dogs don't concern me, Net Leader," Doom answered over their comlink with barely controlled anger, "establish the bridge as I planned! Any further delay in this program may result in a breach of insurmountable proportions!"

"Yes, Master, I understand, but . . ."

"I haven't the time for 'buts' young lady," Doom interrupted. He looked over his shoulder at the rapidly closing warriors who were pursuing him even into the air. "Margaretta's playthings are proving quite resilient," he added dryly.

"The Program has too many locks," Elisabeth answered anxiously. She was on her hands and knees physically manipulating the coded bits that would give them access to the corner of cyberspace where Doom was trapped. "We'll work as fast as we can, but you'll just have to hold them off for awhile!" She didn't add what she was thinking, that he shouldn't have ever risked entering such an obvious trap in the first place. Of course, they had assumed that they could overcome any system configuration that the Neon Angel could design. But this Program was no ordinary VR space. The Program was imbued with characteristics she had never seen before and codes that were far more complex than anything they had ever encountered. Only together would they stand a chance of freeing the new leader of Myridia. And where the shock was Justin anyway?

Doom was silent for a moment as he clashed with the first of the approaching warriors. Unaccustomed though he was to cyberspace, he had a wealth of experience at waging airborne battles in his suit of armor. The warriors appeared to have no physical means of flight, but that was hardly surprising in this realm. "A useful weapon would increase my chances, Net Leader," Doom relayed as he fought. He grabbed the sword arm of the foremost warrior and held the glowing blade away from him. His voice was calm, betraying nothing of his struggles. He smashed his metal fist into the Sumerian's face, and still his adversary would not relinquish the sword. They were dangerously close to that approaching fog bank, and the other two warriors were rapidly closing in.

"That I can do," Elisabeth replied with confidence. "Nothing fancy, mind you, because the Program has chronological limitations but . . ."

Doom was shoved backwards through the air by the Sumerian, and he glanced back at that translucent barrier with conspicuous unease. The fog surged and expanded behind the embattled pair. Suddenly Doom torqued the arm of the soldier and sent him flying backwards into the fog. The warrior icon was framed momentarily against the swirling vapors, and then it disintegrated into nothingness. The sword he had held was still spinning in the air between them, and Doom lunged for it, but was too late. The sword followed it's wielder into the mists and was lost.

" . . . There! You'll have to find it in the playing field, probably near any significant landmark."

The other warriors kept their distance, cautious of the curling tendrils of oblivion that swirled around Doom. "Cowards!" Doom hissed softly with contempt. He eyed the land below them. This standoff would not last forever, already he sensed that the cloud was moving more rapidly, voraciously gobbling up the cyber terrain with every passing moment. "Get that bridge built, Net Leader!" he ordered harshly. "I've had quite enough of Margaretta's little games!"

With that Doom dropped out of the sky like a meteor, slipping past the floating cyber warriors before him and recklessly aiming for the wooden shack at the edge of the clearing. The tiny edifice was half hidden by a wide oak tree, but was the only structure within this make- believe cyber realm. He crashed through the roof in a cloud of splintering wood fibers and centuries old dust. The Sumerian warriors followed him doggedly. The remaining pair landed outside of the shack and approached the door cautiously, with weapons drawn. The small structure was barely standing, but there appeared no movement inside.

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In a stony fortress high in the rocky Pyrenees mountains, Margaretta Von Geisterstadt stretched her pale limbs and removed the cyberware from her temple. A delicious smile parted her ruby red lips as she swung her legs over the edge of the platform bed and tossed the wiring back onto the nearby control panel. Her brows creased in a moment of serious attention as she perused a nearby data monitor. Her smile returned as the program continued to run it's deadly course. There would be no escape for her Doom this time.

"Such a shame," she whispered sarcastically to herself, "he was such an unpredictable games partner. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to make another one!"

She glided easily across the black marble floor, down into an expansive living area. "Computer," she ordered, absently sifting through some program files on a long, low table, "open drapes."

Following her vocal commands instantly , the computer initiated servo- motors that silently drew the heavy drapes from a floor to ceiling picture window. Muted light streamed into the dark room as the view revealed the sun dropping slowly down behind the granite mountains. The view was breathtaking, and jaded though she was, Margaretta was forced to admire it. Fog shrouded the distant valley below, and the light from the setting sun was reflected on the jutting spires of enormous white rock columns that surrounded her hidden fortress. Then she saw a most unnatural figure, with silvery skin, reflecting in the window from a position directly behind her.

Fearlessly she whirled, shouting a command as she did. "Computer! Security alert! Intruder!" As she spoke, she recognized the pale, slight figure who calmly stood in her private chamber. "You?!" she exclaimed. As quick as the turning of a card, her alarm was replaced by a seductive bemusement. "My, my, you are a resourceful one, aren't you?" she murmured smoothly. "How did you get in here?"

"That doesn't matter," Elemental intoned dispassionately. His silvery skin rippled nervously under his body suit as Margaretta approached him, but he did not move from where he stood. His eyes followed her every move.

From the black step just below him, Margaretta looked up into those cool blue eyes. She reached up to lightly caress his face. "Well, my Doom has always been choosy with his hired help," she ran her hand along the curve of his jaw, then placed a finger on his chest. "But you seem to be the cream of the crop. I'd be interested in having you work for me. Should I call off my security alert and see if you can rise to the occasion . . .?" Her finger chased the line of his mid-section down to a point below his belt.

Elemental grabbed her hand roughly in his. "That won't be necessary," he stated. "Security abort." The flashing red light above the chamber door, suddenly stopped.

"What? You've re-written my security protocol? That was exceptionally rude!" Margaretta ripped her arm out of his hand and slapped him, hard. The blow stung her hand but that steely face didn't flinch nor flicker. She turned away to hide her disappointment and stepped lightly back down the short steps to rethink her strategy.

"Not at all," Elemental replied slowly. "I wrote this entire program."

"Feh!" Margaretta snorted unhappily, "you're skeltered, little man. Get out of my house! Go crawling back to whatever's left of Doom, and leave your demented rambling for someone who gives a shock!"

"No, I'm not insane, not yet" Elemental stated calmly. "You have just entered an Omega Program. This is my domain now, and I'm afraid that your days of deceit and disruption are over at last. I will leave this Program soon. You, however will never be allowed to leave here. Your punishment is to be trapped for eternity in cyberspace."

Margaretta glanced over her shoulder at the dive platform she had just left. That was . . . impossible . . . but, a trickle of doubt slithered down her back. "Don't play tricks with me boy," she sat down at her long couch, and casually crossed her legs. Surreptitiously, her right hand slipped instinctively between the cushions till she found a small hard object right where it should be, and her fingers closed around the object. She smiled again, her eyes full of malice. "You don't really expect me to fall for such a ridiculously obvious ploy, do you? Surely you know me better than that by now."

"Yes, I know you well enough," Elemental replied, stepping down to her level and deliberately approaching the sofa. "I know that you have a weapon beneath those cushions, and that you think you can kill me and that will prove me wrong."

Margaretta's eyes flared with anger. "You may be a fool, little man, but you're right about that!" She pulled the weapon up from the couch and leveled it at him. He did not move as her finger curled around the trigger. She fired without a second's hesitation. The weapon discharged in a brilliant flash of red-yellow flame and white smoke. But the concussion beam seemed to pass right through him, shattering a table on the other side of the room. Elemental stood before her, unaffected. Margaretta leapt from the couch with a scream and aimed again, sure that she could not miss. She fired, point blank range, and the result was the same. Enraged, she threw the weapon at him. Deftly, he caught it in one hand.

"Computer, disarm all offensive weapons in the Program," Elemental commanded. "I don't want you hurting yourself in here. You will have everything you need to survive. The program will maintain your icon in this form, forever. If you wish to eat there will always be food, water, and other necessities, but you can never again leave this mountain." He turned away from her and continued to lecture solemnly, "Everything here will function as normal, you can even continue your experiments in bio genetic engineering. You will be able to explore a pseudo-cyberspace, contained within this program, it is limited but with enough variability to last a lifetime. I alone hold all of the command codes required to exit this program. Your real body is being held in stasis. You are still alive, but you can never again return to it. Consider that my gift to you, for what Doom had in mind was far less pleasant."

"Arrgghh! You little slime!" Margaretta turned away from him, fists clenched and walked towards the window. "I still don't believe it," she said, shaking her head. "This is a sick joke. I off-lined. I'm at the fortress, and you're lying, trying to trick me." She looked out at the fading sunset in the distance.

"Computer," Elemental ordered, "repeat sunset program 112210099."

Suddenly the room brightened again, as the sun had repositioned high above the mountains once more, and was slowly heading down towards the horizon. Margaretta gasped.

"Unless you think I have the power to affect the Earth's rotation, you must now find that everything I've said is true," Elemental turned away from the starkly silent woman. "In time, you will accept this, and you may even come to enjoy this existence. It has all of the amenities and variations of the real world, but here you can do no one any harm ever again." Quietly he stepped towards the dive platform.

"Wait!" Margaretta screamed after him. "You can't leave me here like this! Whatever Doom's paying you, I'll double it! I'll triple it! Please!"

Elemental looked down at her painfully contorted features, tears streaking her face. "I'm sorry, but this is really for the best. Goodbye." He stepped back towards the dive booth, and slipped into the circuits, leaving her alone. He did not hear the foul curses that followed him.

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"Welcome to Castle Doom. How may I assist you?" Duke Stratosphere smiled and winked at the computer hostess, and casually stepped into the foyer at the entrance to the elaborate stone structure. He looked up at massive stone walls and thick, hanging tapestries perfectly simulated in this navigator program for the new Castle Doom, resurrected once more in Latveria under Doom's current monarchy. The access came to him at a price, for earlier that day he had used PIXEL Corp.'s own computer network to slip past their security grid and directly contact the Paloma program. Once face to face with Paloma, he had bargained with her for access to Doom's own systems, safely locked away in necrotoxified Latveria. Duke had learned a long time ago that program hacking was far more than breaking down fire walls. Sometimes it required a more subtle approach. He had also been anxious to meet this Paloma, this self-aware program that lived in the cyber realms, ever since the doomed gypsy boy Wire had been ensnared in her web. He was surprised to find that she too was curious to meet him. She had approached him with caution, mindful of the skill necessary to have invaded her private sanctuary. She had tested him, and he had readily proved his efficacy within her cybernetic element. In the end, she had agreed to provide him with the necessary access codes to break into Castle Doom.

"And the price for this information?" Duke had asked warily.

"A future favor, of equal value," was Paloma's cool reply.

"And what might that favor entail?"

"Nothing beyond your means, but I will let you know when the time is right," Paloma had answered cryptically, and leaving the codes behind, she had disappeared.

Duke Stratosphere was naturally cautious, but also mindful that there was no such thing as a free glide. Everything came with a price, and it was not the first time that he had bartered in favors. He looked now around the hyper reality of the Castle Doom program and a natural wariness badgered his conscience. All of this just to open an unknown program, held within the mysterious black Box! His hand rested protectively on the box, carefully out of sight within a deep pocket of his long coat. His curiosity was undiminished.

"You may access any active function within the Castle cyber systems," the Hostess explained helpfully. "Or, may I offer you a tour of the Castle?"

"A tour?" Duke turned back to the Hostess with a smile. "That would be exceptionally helpful. Can we start with the library?"

"There are seven libraries and four galleries in the Castle, as well as the Master's private collection in the west wing living suites. Where would you like to begin?"

Duke had no idea what he was looking for, but he trusted his instincts that he would know it when he found it. "Let's start with the west wing, shall we?"

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The wooden shack in another corner of cyberspace was far from Duke Stratosphere only in so much as one fold of a curtain is far from a fold on the opposite side. The image of the hut shimmered slightly in the dappled morning light as the dust settled around it's barely intact frame. The single structure, slightly off center to begin with, was leaning even farther now that Doom had deliberately crashed though the roof only moments before. The two Sumerian cyberwarriors cautiously approached the shack on foot. The two remaining programs were learning, and they had learned that their quarry was a warrior whose skills were to be respected. One readied a sword, the other aimed bow and arrow at the wooden door that hung slightly ajar on rotted hinges. From within the shack a low humming sound began, like a machine warming up, and shook the paneled walls. Suddenly the shack literally exploded from within, pelting the warriors with bullet-like fragments of wooden shrapnel. From the cloud of dust and smoke, Doom boldly strode forward, holding in his right hand a massive golden broadsword. His green cape floated serenely behind him.

"If you were living creatures," Doom intoned slowly, "now would be the time to beg for mercy."

The Sumerians responded at once by again raising their weapons. Doom countered with the glistening broadsword, grasping the weapon in both metal clad hands and positioning himself with the subtle grace of a dancer. "In this world as in any other," Doom growled, "there is no mercy for those who dare oppose the will of Doom!"

The first of the warriors launched a hail of arrows at Doom, transforming mid-flight into energy beams that Doom deflected with a flash of the gleaming blade. He batted away the rushing attack of the swordsman, pushing the warrior forcefully back into the rubble of the shack behind him. Doom turned back to the other, and quickly closed the distance while the archer hurriedly reset his bow. As the warrior looked up to aim once more, all he saw was the flash of that golden blade as Doom was suddenly upon him. The shimmering weapon cut the air, then parted the Sumerian's head from his shoulders. The head landed with a thud and a roll in the matted grass at their feet. And as the body collapsed backwards, the program convulsed, the hands and body jerked and twitched spasmodically upon the ground.

Doom whirled again to face his final opponent. The swordsman approached slowly now, carefully judging the distance between him and this new weapon. Doom and warrior circled each other cautiously, weapons raised defensively. The warrior lunged and struck with his sword, was met by the golden blade and rebuffed, and just as quickly retreated, to circle once more. Doom followed the program attentively, analyzing his every move. Again the program attacked, and again Doom deflected. This game was getting old, neither side had gained an advantage. Doom eyed the distant horizon. The fog was getting closer, now enveloping the edge of the wide meadow. The trees in the distance had all but disappeared, and still there was no word from his Net Glider Team. The program's tactics were now clear, it was to occupy Doom until they both were deleted by the approaching mists. Doom turned his attention fully back to the warrior in front of him. Doom would not allow himself to be waylaid by so craven a maneuver. He stepped back a moment, and lowered his guard as if fatigued. The warrior's instincts were true, and he approached again to strike, sensing his opponent's weakness. Doom waited until the last moment, and then stepped aside, deflecting the sword strike not with his blade but with a glancing slap from his metal palm. That opened up the warrior for the killing blow, and the Sumerian realized his mistake too late. Holding the great sword in one hand, a terrible curving strike sliced through the warrior with the singing sound of a sharpened scythe, cleaving him in two from shoulder to hip. Simulated blood and gore gurgled forth as the blade cut clear through to the other side. The warrior's eyes registered a momentary surprise as it's body separated into two distinct sections. Then, warrior fell at last, and the icon was dead. Doom regarded him once, and then turned his attention to other matters.

"Net team," he spoke firmly to his comlink with the others. "This game has run it's course. Establish your bridge now. I will tolerate this incompetence no further!"

"Don't look now, but here comes the cavalry!" Mahlon's voice sounded enthusiastically in reply.

"We made it, Lord Doom!" Elisabeth added. "Behind you at the edge of the clearing!"

Doom turned around. In the gray sky behind him was a multicolored tube of light descending from the sky. It passed though the gray fog that was slowly deleting this program and continued on to a point just within the last remaining bytes of data that made up the playing field. The bridge was his icon's escape to normal c-space. From the base of this incongruous construction, Elisabeth waved to him.

"Hurry, my lord," she advised anxiously. "Mahlon and Justin are holding the bridge together from the other side, but the Program is deteriorating quickly! This footing is not completely stable!"

"Good work, Net Leader," Doom replied. He began to march rapidly across the field as he spoke, but he had not gone two steps before his forward progress was blocked once more. A terrible specter rose up from the grass at his feet. The same warrior that a short time ago had been disabled by an axe imbedded in it's back, now held that axe in both hands and was blocking Doom from his escape route. Simulated blood covered the axe and the leather tunic the warrior wore was dark with the spreading liquid. But the wound did not seem to affect him, only the Sumerian's eyes were now a blazing blood red.

"Enough!" Doom yelled angrily. He lifted the broadsword and brought it fiercely down upon the axeman.

The Sumerian met his blow with the flashing steel of the axe, and blocked it, pushing Doom back. The two titans gathered themselves and then clashed again, this time taking the battle to the air as Doom tried to position himself between the warrior and the bridge. But the Sumerian seemed to know that the bridge was his foe's escape, and again and again he pushed Doom back. The fog had now completely enveloped all but a hundred square meters or less of the green fields. The bridge remained tantalizing close, but Sumerian warrior was following it's programming to the last. Doom was not to leave this place alive!

"Master! You must hurry!" Elisabeth cried nervously. She looked around the base where the bridge was anchored to the disappearing program. The fog was slowly eating away at that contact. She thought about stepping into the program to help Doom, then remembered that she was needed to stabilize this end of the bridge. She worked on extending the bridge's reach another few degrees as she watched the Master of Myridia struggle bodily with the warrior program.

Doom did not answer, but focused all his skills upon the attacking warrior. Sword and axe clashed in the air with the ring of heavy metal. Doom pushed the warrior back with a parry and a swing of the sword. He turned his attention for a moment towards the distant bridge, now surrounded on three sides by the encroaching fog, calculating the distance with a practiced eye. His momentary distraction precipitated an attack by his foe, and he barely deflected the hissing blow of the axe, which struck through to the armor plate at his shoulder, cutting into the flesh and bone of his icon's simulated body. The pain was real, but he was Doom. He did not cry out, but turned his anger instead back on the warrior, repeatedly striking the axe with his sword, forcing the Sumerian back with a ferocity that had tripled in bloodthirsty intensity. He was like a wounded bear, more ferocious from the smell of it's own blood. He focused his entire being upon that enemy now, striking repeatedly, ignoring the simulated ache which pierced his arms. The Sumerian could do nothing but block those flashing blows, stepping back little by little under the relentless assault until . . .

The program finally failed. The mighty axe broke at the handle, and as Doom was driving forward he pierced the body of the warrior, burying the golden sword deep into the icon's midsection. He grabbed the warrior's shoulder in his free hand, and drove the sword even deeper into the leather armor and flesh. Staring into the cold eyes of his rival, Doom twisted the blade, mutilating bone and guts, until his metal gloves were spattered with realistic gore and all sign of life finally faded from the Sumerian's body. Placing a boot in the ripped up remains of the warrior, Doom pulled his great sword away, and let the broken body fall to the ground. Doom made no sound, save the whistling rattle of his breath coming hard through the slits in his mask.

Elisabeth stood for a moment in shocked silence, then came to her senses as warnings began to flash on the control panel at her fingertips. "Doom!" she shouted through her communicator. "Get over here now!"

It took Doom only an instant to recover his senses, and he flew through the air towards the brilliantly colored bridge in the distance. The ground below him dwindled to a small patch of green under the advance of the deadly fog. All else in this cyber world was shrouded in a veil of white. Elisabeth gestured him frantically forward from her station on the bridge. But his own instincts brought him up short. He stopped at the edge, less than ten meters from the bridge, and stepped down onto the grass. Tendrils of fog licked at his silver boots.

"Come on!" Elisabeth urged, "Only a few more feet!"

"It's too far," Doom added calmly. "You'll have to extend the bridge!"

"We've reached the limit of this program, it won't go any farther!" Elisabeth jammed her fingers at the controls, but the bridge would not budge any further. "Can you jump it?" To her, the distance between her and the patch of green where Doom stood was empty space.

To Doom, that patch of fog was death. He extended the sword into the white mists, and when he pulled it back, half of the length was missing. "No," he said sullenly, and backed up further away to avoid the encroaching mists. He opened his gauntlet and began entering codes on a control panel he revealed there. "I will have to attempt a different path. Get your team back to the control room, you should be able to track the icon and initiate the emergency reintegration program at codeword: Epsilon Nine!"

"But . . . I don't have . . ." Elisabeth stuttered, confused.

"No time to explain," Doom interrupted impatiently. "Get back to the control room and do as I say, Net Leader. Or all of Myridia will be lost!" Doom lifted what was left of the golden sword towards her in a gallant salute, and in a flash of light he was gone. An instant later, the last bit of the Neon Angel's program disappeared forever in the cybermists.

Then, the safety's in the bridge where Elisabeth stood finally began to fail. Stressed to limits which the data stream could not support, and hampered by the deletion of the link, the bridge began to lose structural integrity almost immediately. To her startled dismay, bits of the bridge began to sparkle and flash, silent, deadly explosions that signaled the beginning of data decay. Without a backwards glance, Elisabeth turned and ran towards her team at the opposite end of the tunnel. "Prepare to fly, guys," she said, her voice tinged with a bitter edge. "Let's get the shock out of here!"

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In a darkened but opulently furnished mag lev limousine in the East South African country of Mozambique, three men conferred high above the flickering lights of the troubled city below. An armed escort floated a respectable distance away, sensors scanning the skies ten times per second. But the clandestine meeting was undisturbed from without, obscured from prying eyes within the curtain of the moonless night.

"What of Myridia? Has there been any support for the rebels from Doom's camp?" The elder statesman viewed a printed report with urgent concern.

"As far as anyone can tell, their position is the same as his predecessor, Czerny," the younger man reported. He wore a telemetry headset and a dark uniform, a uniform hiding an assortment of weapons and information gathering technology. A pair of Stark- Fujikawa jet boots bound his lower legs, and explained his incongruous presence in this exorbitant airborne aerie. He was normally a man who was difficult to fluster, but he seemed more than a little uncomfortable with making his report in this manner, and with personages of such high political importance. "But there has been no word from Myridia since their recent troubles in c-space. It could be that they are far too involved in domestic matters to pay current international events much concern."

"Captain, do we have any idea what has caused this recent unrest?" That was the voice from the darkened shadows. Although the covert operator knew who this man was, the sound of the voice from the shadows chilled the Captain to the bone. The voice was thick with a heavy Afrikander accent, remnant of a once lost regime.

"Sir, other than the on-going food ration shortages and continued drought, news of an atomic weapon being discharged on the North American continent, above St. Louis, seems to have inflamed an atmosphere of tension and fear among the inhabitants of the M'tuto shanty town. There are talks of an organized walkout of the textile factories tomorrow, and there appears to be a resurgence of religious ritual." The Captain of the Information and Intelligence Network opened a small notebook. "There are rumors of a 'second coming', a savior of some kind to deliver them from evil. Also, the TKU action has apparently fostered a lack of faith in current military strength."

The Captain was loathe to mention their recent failure to procure additional lands from their often hostile neighbor, the Tanzania-Kenya-Uganda Environmental and Conservation Cooperative known simply now as TKU. The TKU guarded their borders jealously, harboring the only wild lands of Africa that remain undeveloped and untainted by modern man outside of Wakanda. Recent guerilla raids into TKU territory in an attempt to "liberate" some of those resources had resulted in a resounding defeat for Mozambique forces. Despite their eco-terrorist reputation, the TKU had survived the last fifty years on sound planning and uncanny military savvy. They had also had the good fortune to be supported by the Masai, the fierce native warrior tribe that shunned all modern technology and continued to live as their ancestors had a thousand years ago.

"Despite proclamations to the contrary, it appears that this religious fantasy has managed to flourish!" the first statesman commented, tactfully steering away from any comments regarding TKU. He slammed his fist down onto the written report in front of him. "This second coming will cost us millions in lost productivity. We have to shut it down now before it gets any further. How many priests were hung last time? Twenty? Thirty? And still they cling to this dead prophet's raving."

"It will be more difficult this time, " the Captain explained. "The churches are now hundreds of private homes, and the speakers include the women and even children, coached by a handful of practitioners who have thus far avoided identification. And their following is growing, even during the curfews."

The elder statesman's frown deepened. "We will have to send in more troops, reinforce the curfew with capital punishment if necessary!"

"Yes," the leader lit a cigarette, the glowing embers lighting his wizened features in the back of the limousine momentarily. The Captain's eyes were drawn involuntarily to that glowing red beacon. "In time, we will deal with the TKU, they will pay for their nationalistic fanaticism while the rest of Africa is left to starve. For now though, the unrest in the slums will be our focus. Reinforce martial law, increase the curfews, restrict the food rations! Fill the jails to the brim if necessary! Let's show these monkeys that the only god in Mozambique is a White God, and the coloreds have no rights nor place in heaven under the eyes of God!" And the man in the shadows leaned back and smiled, smoke drifting out from between gleaming white teeth.

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"I'm falling . . . No, I remember . . . falling . . ."

Doom's consciousness drifted aimlessly, scattered in an in-between a place that was neither cyberspace nor real space. Bits and pieces of his fractured memory penetrated his consciousness simultaneously. He struggled to sort out the pieces, no longer mindful of his immediate predicament. There was a piece of something important, something he needed to remember, floating there just beyond his reach. If he could only touch it for a moment, grab it in a steel mitt and force it to follow a logical pattern.

"I . . . remember falling." His thoughts coalesced into words, reaching and gathering strength from those memories. "I was . . . someplace else . . . The air, it battered my skin, my naked body spread eagle in the sky . . . falling, as if I had fallen for eternity. Then the land rushed up to meet me, and then . . . pain. But there was the smell of dirt along with the taste of blood, and my heart rejoiced through the pain, which was not pain any longer. I was . . . home?"

The memory shut down, as his consciousness went spinning in a new direction, and a clinging blackness shrouded his mind. He had no sense of time, or of being. He was no longer real.

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In Myridia, the three net gliders off-lined quickly, but only Elisabeth pushed herself up out of the cybernetic trance, jumping off the bed with agitated impatience. Her companions, Justin and Mahlon, groaned slightly as their minds began to re-adjust to the weight of flesh. The fourth figure, on a bed slightly removed from the other three, did not move. Elisabeth spared the quietly prone armored figure a brief glance, and then dragged herself over to the main control panel located behind the glider's beds.

"Epsilon nine. Search." She ordered the computer verbally. Her voice was shaky, her body still quivering convulsively from her rapid return from c-space.

"That's a restricted access program, Elisabeth," Mahlon called over to her from where he still sat at the edge of the bed. He rubbed his eyes slowly.

"I know!" Elisabeth answered, with uncharacteristic emotion. "Doom seemed to think that this would work!" She pounded a palm on to the control panel with edgy dissatisfaction as the LED display ran through thousands of files at near warp speed. "Hurry up, damn you!"

"He's gone, Elisabeth," Justin piped in with quiet consolation from behind her. "There was no way out of that program. You saw how it gobbled up our bridge. It was unreal. He couldn't have made it." She didn't seem to respond to his words, but stood biting her thumbnail as she stared intently at the panel. "Let it go, Elis," Justin continued. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "We tried our best."

"No! I won't!" Elisabeth pushed his hand off of her shoulder. Then the computer beeped at her, finally acknowledging her search.

"Access granted." the cold computer voice replied.

"Execute!" Elisabeth fairly shouted the command to have the computer run the program.

"Epsilon nine execute acknowledged." the computer stated. "Working . . ."

Elisabeth pushed past Justin and ran over to Doom's bed, and stared worriedly down into that cold, lifeless mask. She looked up at the display, which showed a steady heart beat and brain pattern. Something at the edge of the bed caught her eye. There was an unusual piece of equipment that shouldn't be there. It was tapped into the monitor table.

"What the . . .?" She reached over Doom's still motionless body to examine the small box, but stopped suddenly as her arm brushed against something cold, wet, and sticky. She pulled her arm away reflexively. The lower part of her bare arm was splotched with dark red blood. Her eyes went wide with fear, and she put her hand down on the dark armor that covered the master's chest. She pulled the hand away as if she had touched a hot iron. Her hand was covered in blood, red, sticky and cold. Worse still, she had detected no beating of a heart present in that quiet body.

"Justin . . . Mahlon . . . ! Oh my god . . . call security! No, call a medic! Do it now!"

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" Mahlon asked, finally lowering himself from the bed.

"Security's right outside, Elis," Justin stated, walking over to Doom's bed. "What's the matter? Life signs are normal . . ."

Elisabeth was silent, speechless. Her face had lost all color. She stared at her own bloody hand. Justin walked over to the side of the bed opposite from his net commander, and instantly saw what Elisabeth had missed: a deep pool of blood drying on the floor next to the bed; the limp hand dangling over the edge; and the bypass feeder, relaying false readings into the cyberspace bio monitor that tracked the life signs of the net gliders while their consciousness flew through cyberspace.

"Oh . . . my . . . god . . ." Elisabeth mumbled again.

"What? What's happening?" Mahlon asked, stumbling up to his companions.

Justin reached over and unplugged the bypass feeder and tossed it aside. The monitors above Doom's bed now all read flatline. Alarms instantly sounded in the small room, and moments later the two security guards from outside charged into the room, weapons at the ready. Nonchalantly, Justin reached over and turned off the Epsilon nine program with deliberate finality. "I guess there's no need for that anymore," he said quietly.

"Nobody move!" The security guard ordered. "Step away from the body!"

Mahlon was still scattered. "I don't get it, Justin. What happened?"

Justin turned to Mahlon slowly, pointing to the armored form on the bed. "Assassination is what's happened," Justin stated sadly, walking away from their former ruler.

"Doom is dead."

To be continued . . .

        "As he was valiant, I honour him:
                    but as he was ambitious, I slew him."
                            Shakespeare, from JULIUS CAESAR



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