Prologue

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Consensual, Romantic, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, Post Apocalypse, Group Sex, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Prologue - Well before my 'Sean Beth and Roger' and 'Black Guard Tales' this is the story of the birth of the Black Guard.

Long ago, well before the strange people called the Arks forged a civilization out of the remnants of the North American continent, a man stared intensely through hooded binoculars into the far distance. He was dressed in a loose fitting, sand colored jacket, baggy trousers stuffed into high riding boots and on his head was a white cover held in place with a black band.

"What is it?" a younger man called from below the rise. He was holding the reins of two horses and dressed practically identically to the man with the glasses.

"I see workers," he replied without moving, "dozens, and building materials. They have knocked down the stockades. I see a road, some vehicles, all protected by a squad of soldiers all heavily armed."

"What?" the younger man called in alarm. "Who are they?"

"Northerners? Townsfolk? Who else can they be?" He turned to look at the other man. "Nestor, you must go back to the herd and tell them the situation. Then you must suggest they go down to the Lower Floral and ask the Russians if we can share their pastures."

"But they're our pastures," Nestor declared, outraged. "They have no right!"

"What deeds can we show these men that they would recognize? We have decided to live outside their laws - we can't then claim its protection."

"Then we must drive them away, Suetonius?"

"How? A few hunting rifles, a bird gun or two? Less than five of the band have any sort of military training. What tactics would you advise against professional soldiers, dug in, armed with assault rifles, anti-armour rockets and directed beam weapons? They have not come to fight us, that's for sure. That force is meant to protect them against a much more dangerous foe."

"Such as?" Nestor asked.

"Politics," Suetonius shrugged. "Go on, get! And talk to the Russians nicely, you know how obstinate they can get."

"Obstinate?" Nestor said, mounting up, shaking his head. "Petty, belligerent..."

"Go!" Suetonius shouted.

"What about you?"

"I'll stay here awhile, now, quickly!"

Meanwhile, about 40 clicks away to the North, Chief Maintenance Specialist Harry 'Hap' Arnold emerged from Admin to check an approaching dust cloud. He'd already figured who his visitors were and looked forward to their arrival. He swept around the perimeter of NAS West Floral and found everything else as it should be. This was his home, his domain and nothing ventured within the wire without his say so.

West Floral had never been very big. It was originally built as a training and logistics base about 90 years ago. Later it was a communications facility and now, well, it was just another marker in the sand. NAS West Floral satisfied the North American Association that this was their territory and had always been so. Whatever military function it now served - and that function was elusive at best - it was invaluable as a bargaining chip.

Every citizen of the North American Association knew there was going to be a split - a secession of that territory called 'The Committee Provinces' from the 'Capitol'. Each military base faced the same dilemma - 'where did their loyalty lie?' The base maintenance team at NAS West Floral had chosen and, apart from Hap, their choice was with the rebel provinces. Now Hap was everything at West Floral - the sole remaining serviceman.

As he watched the distant caravan resolve itself, he smiled to himself. Going inside again, he fetched his uniform jacket with the four bar captain's patch. Hap considered himself base commander by default and a base commander had to be at least a four bar captain. He'd always wanted to be an officer since he'd first joined the Navy but never had the education nor money. In 10 years he'd made chief and, he knew, that was as far as he was likely to go before retirement. It was the system and you couldn't fight it.

The first 'van' rolled up and screeched to a halt amid a pall of dust and the clanking and whining of its hybrid drive. It was brightly painted in colorful, whimsical paintings depicting fairies, elves and arcadian symbols. A girl of about nine sprang from the open door wearing an intricately embroidered dress. Her waist length dark hair was festooned with ribbons.

"Happy!" she called, and sprang towards the 'officer' with her arms outstretched.

"Clonagh!" Hap smiled, and endured her enthusiastic embrace.

"Clonagh!" her mother called as she, too, descended from the cab of the vehicle. "Put that man down."

"Moira Lys?" Hap smiled at her. "Six months? It's been too long."

"We went away down south to the white mountains. Finn said there'd been factories there making all kinds of 'tronics. He said they'd had been left, complete, with everything still in them." Moira Lys smiled cryptically back at Hap.

"And?" Hap grinned back.

"He was right!" she screeched with delight. "You would not believe the good shit we got out of there. We traded most of it to the Spanish at Iberica. They gave us tools, and traded back through the Irish for food and home-brew. We've enough booze in the last van to keep you paralytic for a year."

"Well, now, little lady," Hap replied. "Let's all put some of our stocks together and cook up a dinner that'll be legendary. Maybe, then, we can try some of that Irish homebrew"

"Sounds like a plan," Finn agreed, following his partner out of the van. Further back, more 'Travelers' emerged from the dust; kids, teenagers and their parents; all dressed like fairground 'carnies' and all bearing gifts. 'This, ' thought, Hap, 'was going to be a good day.'

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