Epilogue

Glimpses of the Future

High General Desmond Greenwaldt drummed his fingers impatiently on the railing of the balcony as he looked out over Terminus Village. The fires had been put out but there were several columns of smoke still rising from the smoldering ruins. Thanks to his intelligence network, the coup attempt had been discovered early on and he'd been able to quash it with a minimum of effort but there had still been several hard fights.

The General glanced at his watch. That damned boy is late, he thought. Of all mornings to have to do without my coffee- The General never went to the Ham and Eggs Cafe in the mornings any more- a consistent routine like that would be on open invitation to anyone contemplating assassination- but he still favored its coffee above any other kind and always sent his aid for a full carafe each morning.

Colonel Prescott's betrayal had shocked and saddened him. He had considered the man to be a friend. They had argued about the right way to go about escaping from this world but it had always seemed to Greenwaldt to be only a disagreement in methods, not goals. For the man to attempt to break away, taking troops and skilled men with him to live elsewhere on the continent was unimaginable. Could the man not see that unity and cohesion was the only thing that kept them going?

As Greg had said, there were several gates that could be used to escape from Terminus. Each one was guarded in a different manner but they all had one thing in common: It took a brave, intelligent, and determined individual to make it through- and without the help of a devoted and well-trained digimon partner, it was impossible. The thing that Greg hadn't told them was that each gate was designed for a single use. Once the tamer and partner had defeated the guardian and gone through, the gate disappeared. One brave person couldn't open the way out for everyone else.

Greenwalt had determined to find a way to keep the gates open. After his take-over of the government, he had made it a capital crime to discover a gate without reporting it and had made several group assaults, trying to keep the guardian alive but controlled and the gate open as large groups tried to pass through. So far he had failed but he was certain that he would eventually succeed.

But not if men like Colonel Prescott undermined him.

Greenwaldt told himself that he had no personal grudge against the man but he was glad that he had been captured alive. A public execution would convince the population that no rebellion would be tolerated and that the only possible course of action was to work together under the direction of their High General. He just hoped he wouldn't have to preside over the man's death without his morning coffee.

Greenwaldt heard a noise from behind him. At last! He thought and turned back into the room. He crossed the study and was about to seat himself at his desk when the large double doors burst open with such violence that one of them came off its hinges completely. In the doorway crouched a Lynxmon, red flames rippling along its body, its blazing eyes fixed on the General where he stood frozen in shock.

"The Colonel sends his regards," the Lynxmon snarled- and leaped..

New America was a larger than average nation. Though the borders kept changing, it covered most of what had been Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Eastern Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. Washington D.C. was the capital and the central district still looked remarkably like it had before the Change. It had struggled with neighboring states for a few years but after a while things had settled into a fairly peaceful and stable situation.

President Gwendolyn Sundstrom found that negotiations worked much better for her than outright force but she was both willing and very able to wield force if the occasion called for it. Currently she was engaged in what had once been called "shuttle diplomacy" with both the Republic of Texas and Northern California.

The Texans were the easy ones. She could charm them out of anything it seemed. Strangely, they had an attitude that was even more laid-back than the old stereotype of the Californians. Plus, the subtle sexism of their culture made them constantly underestimate her.

The Northern Californians were a lot more worrisome to her. New America's Digital Defense Force scared the pants off of most other nations and was one of the best bargaining chips she had. Not so with the Northern Californians. Minister Funakoshi's own troops were rumored to be at least equal to her own but nobody seemed to know for sure. The current mission's purpose was not only to work out a treaty- possibly an alliance- with them but to also get a decent assessment of their strength.

President Sundstrom skimmed the report on her desk in the Oval Office. She would read it in detail later but she always preferred to get a summary directly from the source. She punched a button on the intercom and said, "Send in General O'Brien and bring in a tray of tea." She stood and crossed half-way to the door to greet her old friend.

The General saluted crisply with a polite, "Madam President."

Gwen nodded and replied, "General O'Brien."

As soon as the aid had put down the tray and left the office, the two women relaxed, hugged each other warmly, and kissed each other on the cheek.

Gwen stepped back and gave her friend the once-over. "No surfer's tan, Melissa?" she kidded. "Here I arraigned a nice California vacation for you and I bet all you did was work!"

"I don't tan, I burn," Melissa grinned back at her. It was a joke. Melissa no longer tanned or burned. Like Gwen she had "frozen" herself while in peak condition by entering a digital gate and then returning to Earth. Her pale, freckled skin was now permanent and unchanging.

They sat together on one of the couches and Gwen poured tea for them both. "I've glanced at your report," she said. "So, Funakoshi's tamers lived up to the rumors?"

Melissa nodded. "The old fart knew exactly why I was there and offered to have his students put on a demonstration for my entertainment. Gwen-" she shook her head in amazement, "-they're scary. I've brought back some video footage but it really doesn't do them justice. If I can boil down my recommendations to you into one sentence?"

"Please do."

"Let's never make those guys mad at us."

Gwen nodded thoughtfully and nibbled at a sweet biscuit. "It's probably good that we're on separate coasts with all the Wild Lands in between. Not much reason to butt heads. Or is there?" She was referring to the other reason she had chosen Melissa to head that particular diplomatic mission.

Melissa shook her head. "I didn't see her. They told me she'd left almost six months ago."

"Left? I thought she was their bad-ass in chief."

"Was. The old guy doesn't say a damn thing straight-out but I also talked to the students and I get the impression she went looking for Greg."

"Digital Dimension then? Well, good luck to her- she's going to need it! And even if she's still harboring a grudge she'll be far away from us." Gwen sighed with a feeling of relief.

"What about our digital colonies?" Melissa asked. "Isn't it possible Lisa might-"

Gwen laughed. "You've been away, so you haven't heard. The radio communication problem we've been having? It turns out that there isn't any interference over there."

"No? Then why can't the four colonies reach each other by radio?"

Gwen grinned. "We sent out twelve mapping drones in all directions from Eastam, programmed to fly in a straight line and turn back when they lost radio contact. That was over a week ago. They're still going."

Melissa's face went through several amusing expressions as she figured out what that statement meant, ending in one of amazement. "At 350 miles per hour, that means-"

"Nine days," Gwen told her, "over 150,000 miles in diameter and still going with no end in sight." She paused to let that sink in and then continued. "So we did a little test. Sent out a powerful radio burst from the big tower in Southam on an isolated frequency and had the other three colonies listen for it. Only Westam has picked it up so far- nine hours later. The Digital Dimension is unbelievably huge. And there may be more than one- there may be hundreds- we just don't know.

"That means we have all the room to expand we could ever need!"

"Yes- no more worries about a population explosion. Discovering that digitized people can still have children is no longer an impending disaster. I wish all our problems would vanish as easily. With Trailmon lines connecting the colonies through DC, we can still keep in the colonies in close enough contact for mutual support." Gwen paused and then smiled slightly, "But to keep the colonies tied to us, I'm going to need good Governors, men with good diplomatic skills, men with the ability to fight when necessary- you never know what kind of hostile digimon might pop up suddenly-, men with intelligence, men with courage, men with freckles-"

"What?"

"Or women," Gwen shrugged. "Are you interested in the job?"

Melissa hesitated, hardly believing what she'd just heard. "I- well- would I get to pick which colony?"

"Ah," Gwen said, her smile growing larger, "Isn't there a handsome guy named Rick running the Survey Corps in Northam? I've heard some rumors-" Aside from her diplomatic and fighting skills, that was one thing Gwen really liked about General O'Brien: She blushed so prettily.

They called her Lisa the Blade but not because of any preference she had in weapons. She wore one long utility knife at the back of her belt but could effectively use anything that came to hand from pebbles to newel posts. She had grown much taller in the years she had spent with Master Funakoshi but had hardly gained any extra weight at all. She got her name because she was long and lean and sharp, like the blade of a sword. She lived and breathed the combat arts until Master Funakoshi had declared that there was nothing more he could teach her. She stayed in California, serving the emerging government, teaching young fighters and tamers, and training herself until she felt she could grow no stronger. Then there was nothing to keep her there. She was respected by most, feared by all, but truly loved by none. None but her partner.

She said her farewells to the few people who she considered friends and then to her Master. He was sad to see her go but knew that she had her own destiny to pursue and would be happier doing so.. They parted in a small, seemingly insignificant room of the mountain-top school. All it contained was several tatami mats and a gate to the Digital Dimension. The digital gates were all different. They could look like anything: a door: a cave: a long hallway; a staircase; or in this case, an old blue British Police Box that clashed with the traditional Japanese decor. Greg had installed it there as a sort of joke but since neither Lisa nor the old man had ever watched Doctor Who, it was lost on them.

"You are always welcome here, child," Funakoshi said kindly.

Thank you, sensei," she said, bowing low in respect. "I will return someday, I'm sure. Hopefully I will bring another of your old students with me."

"Ah, that would be good. I would like to see Greg again. It has been too long."

Lisa and Fangmon flowed gracefully into the faux TARDIS and emerged in another world.

"Which way?" Fangmon rumbled to his tamer.

Lisa put one hand lightly on his neck and scanned the surroundings. "No idea," she admitted. "I think I'll just have to trust my instincts- that way will do for now."

Two figures struggled through a howling sand storm. They carried a heavy chest between them which would have been awkward enough even if they hadn't been trying to ascend a narrow trail cut into the face of a gigantic stone cliff. They had to pause and grip the rock whenever a powerful gust threatened to topple them into the abyss below but made agonizingly slow progress, nevertheless.

At last they reached the mouth of a cave and scrambled inside out of the wind. They went deep into the cave until the howling of the storm was only a distant moan and set down their burden.

Greg unwound the hood and cloak from around himself, shedding torrents of sand as he did so. "Damn! I think I swallowed half the desert!"

Renamon shook herself violently and a cloud of dust surrounded her for a moment before settling to the floor of the cave. "At least the storm has covered our tracks. Even the Slythemon won't be able to pick up our trail now."

"Creepy-assed bastards," Greg sneered, "I wouldn't have minded kicking the snot out of a few of them."

"Mmm," Renamon agreed distractedly while combing more sand out of her ruff, "the problem was that there were thousands of them."

"Yeah," Greg agreed. "Too bad. Oh well, we've got what we came for," he patted the chest, "plus a little bit more. And the Kingdom of the Spire has lost so much face they'll pretend they had no intentions of invading in the first place. Everybody wins!"

"Except the Spires," Renamon pointed out.

"Fuck 'em," Greg muttered cheerfully as he worked at the lock of the chest. "If they hadn't treated you so badly, hadn't stolen your pendant, they could have gone merrily on their warmongering way without any interference from me. They're lucky I didn't drop their palace into the Great Rift."

"Could you have done that?"

"I think so," Greg said. "This dimension's so damned big now that it's got too much 'reality inertia' or something like that for me to work any major changes but I can still do some decent demolition if I concentrate hard enough. Why they built that place right on the edge of the Rift, I'll never figure out-"

"So why not demolish that lock instead of cursing and struggling with it?"

Greg looked up with a sour expression, "Hey, I'm supposed to be the genius around here!" He turned back to the chest, glared at it, and there was a sharp crack. He opened the lid and lifted a golden pendant set with a large sapphire out of it. "Here it is! And- wow! This is great!"

"Don't tell me the crown jewels are in there, too?"

Greg grinned. "First, your pendant!" He motioned for her to lift up her ruff and fastened the chain around her neck.

Renamon touched it with a finger as she let her ruff fall back in place to conceal it. "I treasure it because it's a gift from you," she said, "but was it worth the risks of taking on an entire kingdom of homicidal zealots to get it back?"

"Totally worth it!" Greg nodded emphatically. "And mostly a lot of fun, if you recall. Besides, you never know when you might need it."

"Never," she said, shaking her head, "When I need to power up or digivolve you'll be there to do it for me. Giving me this power-" she touched the pendant through her ruff again, "-that was a wonderful gesture, a sign that you considered me an equal and I love you even more for it. But you're still my tamer. You always will be."

"I'm still the boss, huh?" he grinned at her.

"Yes, Greg," Renamon said in a completely serious, dangerously meek voice.

"Alright then," he grinned evilly and reached into the chest. He pulled out a couple of exquisite gowns and spread them on the floor of the cave. "Lie down on these, face-down and close your eyes."

She gave him one quizzical glance but did as she was told. She heard him take something else out of the chest that clattered metallicly and then cross over and kneel next to her. "Don't tell me the Princess was into bondage," she muttered. "If those are golden manacles you've got I bet they won't fit around my wrists."

"Oh, they are gold, alright," Greg said, "and gem-encrusted, to boot! But they're something much more useful than a pair of handcuffs. Hey, no peeking!"

"I was blinking sand out of my eyes," Renamon said.

"Sure you were," Greg chided her playfully. "For that bit of disobedience I decree that you will have an extra dozen strokes!" And he swept the priceless hair brushes the full length of her back. He brushed her until every last grain of sand was gone and her fur gleamed as bright as the gold of the brush backs.

"Ohhh," Renamon breathed, as she rose to a sitting position, "that was wonderful!"

Greg smiled at her and hefted the brushes in his hands, "I think we ought to keep these as souvenirs, don't you?"

"Gold's heavy," Renamon said, "and we do so much traveling-"

Greg thought he detected something in her tone of voice. "Would you like to settle down someplace for a while? I thought you enjoyed all the exploring we've been doing but if-"

"Oh, I do!" She hurried to reassure him, "I love seeing all the new places and new people but- but I think we may need to have a stable home for a while."

Greg cocked his head questioningly.

"Well-" Renamon rose to her knees and shifted so that she showed her profile to Greg. She placed her hands far back on her hips and arched her back. "See anything?" she asked.

"The goddess I'm seriously thinking of defiling," Greg grinned at her.

Renamon smiled sweetly, "Something different," she clarified.

Greg knew every powerful curve of her body and with the pose she was holding, from under her ribs to between her hipbones, her belly should have been straight and flat. But it wasn't. It wasn't much of a difference but it was definitely there; a sleek little bulge.

Greg, genius and cool-headed fighter that he was, responded in the time-honored tradition of turning into a babbling idiot.

/\/\/\ The End /\/\/\