This story is a bit wordy and fairly long, so if you are looking for immediate gratification, you might want to look elsewhere.
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The following story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between actual persons, living or dead (or just confused) is entirely coincidental. Please do not copy/redistribute the story, in part or in total, without the author's permission.
This story takes place in the fictional city of Springfield, California several hundred years in the future, so don't go looking for it on a map. Over the course the series, I will borrow quite a bit from my "Dead Man's World" series, so it might help (but isn't a requirement) if you read those stories. And in my little fictional world, there are no unwanted pregnancies or STD's, except as plot driving devices. The author encourages the practice of safe-sex.
This story also contains lesbian sexual activity.
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"Dust to Dust" Ch. 03
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Dusty groaned as she closed her textbook. Midterms were over, but the next round of tests weren't far off. Things had been surprisingly quiet around campus. There had been two attempts by Purity spies to get close to her, but Ash had dispensed with them quickly, and it seemed that the terrorist organization had finally decided that scaring Mr. Trendenfall was not worth the losses that they were taking trying to get to his daughter.
At Dusty's request, professor VanHouten had been brought in to help Chancellor Valar in working on Ash's condition. The professor had been overwhelmed by it all, but was drawn by the same curiosity that tugged at the chancellor. But even with their combined knowledge, they had been unable to unravel the mystery that was Ash.
Dusty's bodyguard sat unmoving at her standard place near the window. The other girls in the suite had become accustomed to the strange presence. The only one it bothered was Katrina, and that was only because her lover and mistress had become disinterested in physical activity since Ash moved in.
It was actually time for one of their regularly scheduled visits to the Chancellor's office.
"Okay, we're off," Dusty said, throwing on her "outside" clothes, which were nondescript at Ash's request.
"May I come with you?" Katrina asked. She very much wanted to see Valar again.
"Of course," Dusty chuckled. She could tell that her friend had an enormous crush on one of the most powerful men on Terra. She looked at Ash. "And we're escorting professor VanHouten there, correct?"
"Correct. We should go now."
Vexla and Vetlia decided to stay behind, so the other three headed out to the coach. They arrived at the professor's town-home shortly. But when Ash stepped off the coach and started looking around, Dusty knew that something was wrong.
Martha VanHouten opened the door so she could head out to the coach, but Ash jumped forward and shoved her to the ground. At that exact moment, everyone heard a wizzing sound and several bullet holes appeared in the door where the professor had just been standing.
Ash thought things had been too simple. Now she just guessed that they had been observing the groups patterns, trying to find a new way to strike. She looked at the coach. The driver had been shot dead, but Katrina and Dusty were safe inside. But they would not remain safe. "Inside!" she shouted, then exploded into a cloud of soot, obscuring any would-be snipers from being able to target the young women as they rushed inside. Once her charges were more secure . . .
"Stay down until I come for you," she said. Then, as the women watched on, she produced two hand-held rail weapons with scopes from out of nowhere and started pointing at rooftops. As the professor slammed the door shut, Dusty saw two bodies toppling to the street.
"You have an overly exciting life," the professor panted. She was more than a bit terrified, but there was something exhilarating about being caught up in all the cloak and dagger. Though she would really have preferred not to have her door shot up.
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Outside . . .
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Sean O'Reilly was nervous. He had been tapped to lead the Purity hit squad onto Terra with the simple goal of killing one human girl and anyone with her. He had been told she would be protected . . . he had been told it would be difficult . . . but still, there was only the one guard.
But he watched as the woman . . . the ghost . . . move with uncanny speed and determination. He had started with eight snipers, but four had been killed almost instantly. He looked around with his scope. He saw Bill Hannity over on another rooftop . . . the man was looking around frantically.
"Hannity," he whispered into his coms unit. "Get a hold of yourself. I'm going to have Hume move down and . . . "
*Where IS Hume? (click)* came the radio reply.
O'Reilly looked at the rooftop where Humes was supposed to be hiding and he gritted his teeth. Hume was propped up against a chimney, the top of his head missing from a shot just under the jawline. 'Who IS this bitch?!' he thought. He scanned back to look at Hume, but the man was missing.
"Hannity!" he shouted into communicator, "get back to your position and . . ." O'Reilly stopped shouting. He had found Hannity . . . the man had been thrown onto the street and was impaled on a wrought-iron fence. "Impossible," he told to himself. "No one moves that fast!"
Something caught his attention. The last member of his team, Tilton, had made his way to ground level and was fleeing down the street. The man's nerve had cracked.
O'Reilly stood up and screamed down the street in a blind panic, "Tilton, you get back here or I'll . . ."
Tilton stopped. There were two things that frightened O'Reilly at that moment. One was the large red splotch that slowly appeared in Tilton's back as the young man collapsed to the ground. The second thing was the little "thwump" of a rail-gun being discharged that he had heard when the man was gunned down. This was frightening to him because the sound had emanated from . . . right . . . behind . . . him.
In the dusk of his life, Sean O'Reilly knew true fear. Fear wore the face of a pale-ish eighteen year old girl with the most stagnant eyes he had eve seen. She held highly illegal rail pistols in both hands, one of which was still pointed at the man she had just killed from an impossibly long distance. He tried to pull his side-arm, but the woman stepped forward, kneeing him in the groin, stepping on his foot and bringing the butt of her other gun down on the back of his head. He collapsed nicely. And while the world was spinning and his ears were ringing, he was still able to hear the woman speak in something that sounded like venting steam . . .
"You have information that I want. You will give it to me. The only question is how long you want this to take." Something in the back of Ash's mind reminded her that what she was about to do stood on "questionable" moral ground, but the logical part of her brain overruled it. If this man had information that might help her, it made sense that she should take it. "Now," she continued, pointing one of her pistols at his knee-cap, "start talking."
